#remembering how much i used to play on my own... girl WHAT was your problem

[mrparable]

i thought people were purposely exaggerating how the pandemic affected them but no they were rlly going insane over not being able to go out. like dude that was my normal

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered

i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)

~~~

Lovefool

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you

summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…

word count: 4.4

~~~

2011

You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.

He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”

“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.

Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.

“What question?” He responds.

“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”

~~~

1993

Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.

You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.

The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.

What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?

Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.

At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.

It was around that time that he had found the mask.

It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.

He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.

Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.

He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.

“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.

“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”

Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.

Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.

~~~

The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.

However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.

So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.

He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.

After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”

Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.

“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.

“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?

“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.

“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”

You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”

“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.

“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.

Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.

“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.

“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.

He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”

He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.

~~~

“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.

Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”

“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”

Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”

Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.

So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.

It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.

On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

“Is this really for me?” You asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.

You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”

“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”

Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.

“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”

You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.

~~~

The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”

You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.

“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”

You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”

You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”

“How is it scary?” He laughed.

“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.

“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.

“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”

“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.

You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”

“Well, is that what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.

“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.

“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”

Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”

You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.

“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”

His heart practically stopped. “What?”

“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”

Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.

As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.

You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.

He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.

He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.

When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.

You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.

You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”

“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”

He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.

“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”

“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.

“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”

You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.

“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”

“What?” You asked.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.

~~~

2011

“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”

All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.

Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.

You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”

“So?”

You shrug. “Wanna hook up?”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

���Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

[thedensworld]

How to Summon Demon

Pairing: S.Coups x reader

Genre: Supernatural AU, humor, angst

Summary: your friends and you playfully played game to call the Hot Demon in high school. What if he actually summoned?

"Nothing's happened to Jinah, right?" Sonhee asked anxiously once they were done spelling. Jinah, sitting in the middle of the other three girls, sighed with relief. Despite her brave front in offering herself as the bride of the demon, deep inside, she was a bit scared.

"Why do we even play this game?" Hana scoffed, pushing herself onto the bed and lying down, looking at you, Sonhee, and Jinah with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

You shrugged and followed Hana, mumbling, "Just wanted to make Sonhee happy." Sonhee threw a playful protest, her face lighting up in mock offense.

"Hey, I just said it would be fun. Wasn't it fun?" Sonhee turned to everyone, seeking validation. Jinah nodded slightly, still feeling the remnants of her fear, while you and Hana exchanged glances before shrugging noncommittally.

"It's almost midnight; let's sleep. We have school tomorrow," you reminded them.

Sitting in the café years later, you watched with pride how your friends had grown. Sonhee, now with her little girl in a stroller, Jinah with a baby on the way, and Hana recently married to a Singaporean man she met on a business trip. Each of them had blossomed in their own way, their lives a testament to the passage of time and the enduring strength of your bond.

The four of you laughed, the tension dissipating as you reminisced about old times. Living together in the same dorm room 15 years ago had forged an unexpectedly intimate relationship among you all. You remembered the countless nights spent talking until dawn, the shared secrets, and the unspoken bond that had formed over time. The room had witnessed your collective fears and triumphs, your tears and laughter.

You felt a warm sense of pride and nostalgia as you observed how much the four of you had grown over the past 15 years. Meeting at 15, you were now on the brink of your 30s, each of you carving out your own path in life. The years had flown by, but the connection remained strong, a comforting constant amidst the changes.

"Can you believe it's been 15 years?" you mused aloud, smiling at the thought.

Sonhee laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Time flies when you're having fun, right?"

Jinah nodded, gently rubbing her baby bump. "And when you're with the right people."

Hana raised her glass of iced coffee, a twinkle in her eye. "To us, and to many more years of friendship."

As you all clinked glasses, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the journey you had shared, and excited for the many memories yet to be made.

As you all clinked glasses, your phone rang, breaking the moment. Glancing at the screen, you saw it was your manager calling. You answered quickly, noting the urgency in their voice.

Jinah grinned playfully. "Look at you, Mr. Rising Star. Who would've thought our quiet and calm 15-year-old would become a famous actor?"

Everyone chuckled, and you shrugged with a modest smile. "Yeah, who would've thought?"

Your manager's voice interrupted again, reminding you of your upcoming salon appointment. "Sorry, guys, I have to go. My manager is waiting for me," you said, standing up.

"Always busy," Hana teased, but her eyes were warm with understanding.

Sonhee added, "Thanks for making time for us, even with your hectic schedule."

You nodded, feeling a pang of regret for leaving so soon. "I'll see you all soon, I promise." With a wave of goodbye, you stepped out of the café, the cool breeze a contrast to the warmth you felt inside from the reunion.

As you approached the car, you saw your manager waiting impatiently. "Sorry for the wait," you said, sliding into the passenger seat.

"No problem. We have to keep moving if we want to stay on schedule," your manager replied, already pulling out into the street.

As the car sped through the bustling city streets, you felt a sudden, jarring jolt. The car veered wildly, and you heard the heart-stopping sound of screeching tires. The world seemed to move in slow motion as another vehicle collided with yours, the impact sending a shockwave through your body. The sound of shattering glass filled your ears, and the force of the crash threw you violently against the seatbelt. The world around you faded into an ominous silence as everything went black.

You got into a car accident.

*

In the darkness, you found yourself in a strange liminal space, caught between life and death. A surreal atmosphere enveloped you, a mix of chilling stillness and an ethereal glow. Memories of your friends, your career, and your life flashed before your eyes, mingling with an eerie quiet. Time felt distorted, stretching out endlessly, as if you were floating in a void.

Suddenly, you felt a pull, an irresistible force drawing you back to consciousness. You opened your eyes to find yourself in an unfamiliar, opulent room. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate designs, and ancient tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes of otherworldly realms. The air was thick with an intoxicating scent, both alluring and unsettling.

Before you stood a man of striking appearance. His features were almost otherworldly—sharp, chiseled, and undeniably handsome. Yet, there was something intimidating about him, an aura of power that made your heart race with unease.

"Welcome," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "You've crossed a threshold few ever do."

You struggled to sit up, confusion and fear mingling in your mind. "Where am I? Who are you?" you managed to ask.

The man took a step closer, his intense gaze never leaving yours. "You are in a place between worlds," he replied enigmatically. "As for me, you may call me S.Coups."

You jolted awake, your last memory of the car accident with your manager flashing vividly before you. "Am I... dead? Are you Death?" you asked hesitantly, the urge of panic clear in your eyes as the man named S.Coups stared at you.

He smiled and walked over to a nearby sofa. You realized that you were lying on a bed in what appeared to be a luxurious bedroom. The sheer comfort and opulence of the room sent waves of confusion through you. If you were dead, how could you be in such a paradise-like place? Had you lived your life so righteously that you deserved a place like this? And who exactly was this S.Coups?

"I saved you," S.Coups said, breaking the silence.

You watched him breathlessly. "From the accident?" you asked, and he nodded.

You sighed in relief, thinking you weren't dead yet. But your relief was short-lived as he continued. "Yet," he added, as if he could read your thoughts. "Your body is likely in the hospital now, undergoing surgeries and treatments. What you are right now is your soul, caught in between."

His words echoed in your mind: a place between worlds. The gravity of the situation began to dawn on you.

"I'm a demon. I've been waiting for you for 15 years."

You watched his face intently, then suddenly burst into laughter. Your head turned around to find the hidden cameras as you said, "Is this a prank? Was the accident earlier part of the setup?" You smiled, still half-believing it was a joke.

"If it is, you better stop. It's not funny anymore, and I'm going to sue everyone involved," you continued, standing from the bed and walking toward him.

S.Coups smiled and laughed softly at your boldness. He stood in front of you, his tall figure towering over you as he approached closer. Your breath hitched, intimidated by his presence.

"I'm the demon you summoned 15 years ago, and I saved you from death because you're my wife," he stated calmly.

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Stop it. How do you guys know about the little game I played with my friends? Did they tell you?"

Suddenly, you felt your body plummet, as if falling from a great height. Your legs weakened, and your head spun. The room around you distorted, everything warping and blurring except for S.Coups and his intense gaze. Your body fell toward him, and he caught you, his hold steady and strong. In an instant, you were back in the bedroom, gasping for breath.

You pushed away from him, your heart pounding as the realization hit. This wasn't a prank. It wasn't a real bedroom. It was indeed a place between worlds.

"Do you believe it now?" S.Coups asked, his voice steady and unyielding.

You stared at him, the truth settling heavily in your mind. The memories of your friends, the innocent game, and the promise you had made all those years ago now seemed to carry a weight you hadn't understood at the time. The opulent room, his enigmatic presence, and the surreal experience all pointed to one undeniable fact: this was real.

"What do you want from me?"

*

Seungcheol, once trapped in an eternal detention, was finally released. The 700-year-long punishment had ended, but he couldn't return to his world. Instead, he found himself once again in the place between worlds, now known as the demon S.Coups.

S.Coups' role was to punish evil in the human world, a decree from God for Seungcheol's past transgressions when he was a human. "You will harvest what you planted," was the divine edict, and Seungcheol, now as S.Coups, had to enforce it.

He thought his penance was complete, but God had another plan. A future wife. When Seungcheol learned that his future wife would be a human soul, just like him, he felt a wave of relief. But days turned into years, and no one was given to him. The endless wait began to weigh heavily on his spirit.

Until one night, a group of teenage girls summoned him. Among them was the girl who offered herself as his bride, but another girl caught his eye.

Y/n.

His eyes widened in recognition. After a thousand years, he could finally see you again. "You can have her now," he heard the voice of God, instructing him to claim his bride.

"What will happen to her?" Seungcheol asked, his voice trembling.

"She will die. Her soul will be bonded to you," came the solemn reply.

Seungcheol's gaze shifted to the girl who had captivated him. "How about her?" he asked, pointing to you.

There was a pregnant pause before he heard another voice, filled with a knowing sadness. "So you still remember her?"

Seungcheol closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. "Is this part of the never-ending punishment? That you won't let us be together?"

As you stood there, grappling with the enormity of the situation, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of fear and curiosity. The life you had known felt distant and fragile, replaced by a reality that defied all logic and expectation.

"What do you want from me?" Seungcheol heard you ask, your voice tinged with a mix of desperation and anger. "Why me? Jinah was the one who sacrificed!" you shouted, and Seungcheol took a step back unconsciously, taken aback by your sudden rage.

He watched as you shook your head, your hands running through your hair in frustration. "What about my family? What are they going to do without me?"

Seungcheol closed his eyes, a flash of your family—your mother and siblings—discussing your inheritance while you still lay on the operating table, clenching his heart. Even after years, you were still a people's person, and yet you were still betrayed by those you loved.

Seungcheol took a deep breath and gently took your hand, touching you for the first time in a thousand years. He was glad you didn't fight his touch. "I chose you. That's why you're here," Seungcheol said softly.

Your eyes softened as tears welled up, ready to stream down your cheeks. He watched as you sighed and then sobbed, your emotions overwhelming you.

"Why did you choose me? Tell me the reason!" you demanded, your voice cracking with emotion.

There was a pregnant pause before Seungcheol looked you deeply in the eyes and asked, "Do you really want to know the answer?"

*

"Yes, this is part of your punishment. I planted her into your heart, but you decided to kill her in your past life. Fate has turned its back on you," the divine voice intoned.

Seungcheol cried out in regret, "Forgive me! It was an impulsive move driven by emotion. I love her, I really love her."

"That's your consequence," the voice replied sternly.

"What must I do to have her as my wife again? I'll do anything, I'll take any burden," Seungcheol pleaded desperately.

"Are you sure?" the voice asked, its tone grave.

Seungcheol nodded, desperation evident in his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."

The voice continued, "She will die in 15 years in a car accident. You will have a chance to claim her soul at that moment. However, once you save her, her soul will awaken without any memory of you. She will hate you and treat you the opposite of how she used to. Your powers will fade. And lastly, you will be haunted by the memory of how you killed her until she finally comes to love you again."

As Seungcheol stood there, tears streaming down his face, the weight of the punishment and the path ahead seemed almost unbearable. But his love for you was unwavering, and he knew he would endure any hardship to be with you again.

Seungcheol jolted awake, his heart pounding. He stared at his palms and breathed a sigh of relief when he found no blood. The haunting had started, and he wasn't sure how long he could survive seeing himself kill you over and over again.

He covered his face, and sobs escaped his mouth. He couldn't control his emotions as his powers faded once he claimed your soul. This was the worst punishment ever given to him—loving you more and more but also being haunted by the memory of killing you repeatedly.

Seungcheol had been a crown prince, married to you, the daughter of one of his father's ministers. It wasn't an arranged marriage; in fact, he had liked you from the first time he saw you. However, as he became increasingly distracted by military duties, he grew distant from you.

Your father, the minister, was discovered to be one of the emperor's betrayers, plotting to murder the king and his family. The order to eliminate everyone in your father's family became serious, and even you, the prince's wife, were targeted.

"Seungcheol," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Please, tell me this isn't true. Tell me my father’s actions won't tear us apart."

Seungcheol's heart ached at the sight of you, his beloved wife, so vulnerable and frightened. But the bitter taste of betrayal gnawed at him. "I wish I could," he said, his voice cold. "But the betrayal runs deep, and the emperor has decreed that your father's entire family must be punished."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gripped his hands tighter. "I had no knowledge of his plans. I swear to you, Seungcheol, I am innocent."

He pulled his hands away, stepping back. "How can I trust you? Your father plotted to kill the emperor and his family. How do I know you weren't part of it?"

You looked at him, shocked and hurt. "You really believe I would betray you? I am your wife, Seungcheol. I love you."

His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Love? How can I be sure? Maybe you were waiting for the right moment to strike, just like your father."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "No, that's not true. I would never harm you."

Seungcheol clenched his fists, struggling with the turmoil inside him. "Your father betrayed the kingdom. The law is clear. Everyone in his family must be punished."

You stood up, desperation in your voice. "We can run, leave the palace, start a new life somewhere far away from all of this."

Seungcheol's face twisted with pain. "Running would only bring more misery. We would be hunted, and our lives would be filled with fear and uncertainty. I cannot bear to see you live like that."

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, there was a silence filled with unspoken words. "Then what will you do?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

His face contorted with sorrow as he reached out to touch your cheek. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "But I cannot let them harm you. I would rather end your life myself than see you suffer at the hands of others."

You stepped back, shock and disbelief written on your face. "You would kill me? How could you say such a thing?"

Tears streamed down his face as he dropped to his knees. "Because I love you," he cried. "I cannot let you suffer. If there is any way to spare you pain, even if it means taking your life, I will do it. But please, know that I do this out of love, not malice."

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. "How can love lead to this? How can you claim to love me and still be willing to take my life?"

Seungcheol sobbed, his heart breaking. "I don't know, but I cannot bear to see you in pain. Please, forgive me."

You fell to your knees beside him, your tears mingling with his as you held each other. "I love you, Seungcheol," you whispered. "But I cannot forgive this. I cannot understand how love can lead to such a cruel fate."

In that moment, Seungcheol knew that he had lost you, not just physically but emotionally. The bond that had once brought you together was now shattered by the weight of duty and betrayal. He held you close, the two of you wrapped in a final embrace as the night closed in around you.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with sobs. "I'm so sorry."

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he prepared to do the unthinkable, driven by a whirlwind of emotions—love, betrayal, and regret—praying that one day, in another life, he might find a way to make things right.

As he brought the dagger closer to your chest, your eyes met his, filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I wish I would never love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, the last breath escaping your lips.

Seungcheol's heart shattered at your words, the weight of your loss crashing down on him with unbearable force. He held you close as life slipped away from you, his soul forever marked by the tragic end of your love.

*

You woke up to a searing pain coursing through your body. Every muscle ached, every breath felt like fire in your lungs, and any attempt to move was met with an unforgiving resistance. Your throat was dry, and your voice failed you when you tried to speak. The only thing you could do was blink—slow, deliberate blinks that felt like your only connection to the world.

Where am I? you wondered, heart pounding with disoriented fear. The ceiling above you was a sterile white, and the faint hum of medical equipment filled the air with an eerie rhythm.

"Honey, you're awake!" Your mother’s familiar voice rang out, shaky with relief and overflowing with love. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she leaned over you, cupping your face gently with trembling hands. Her touch was warm—so achingly familiar it almost brought tears to your own eyes.

You blinked slowly, trying to signal that you were aware, that you heard her. Her smile grew wider, and her tears flowed freely, a soft, choked laugh escaping her lips. "You're back," she whispered, brushing your hair away from your face. Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions, and her gaze was filled with a love so deep it made your chest ache in a different, more tender way.

Moments later, the door swung open with a soft thud, and a small crowd of nurses and a doctor hurried in. The steady beeping of machines quickened as the medical team surrounded you. Gloves snapped, charts were flipped, and lights flashed as they assessed you from head to toe. A nurse adjusted the IV in your arm, her touch clinical but careful. Another nurse gently lifted your head to check the support of your neck brace, moving with precise, practiced care.

"Her condition is stable now," the doctor announced, his voice calm but firm, like an anchor in a storm. His eyes scanned your vitals, and he made a few notes on his clipboard. "If her condition continues to improve, she’ll be on the road to recovery soon."

Recovery. The word echoed in your mind, heavy with meaning. Your heart swelled with hope but also with fear. What had happened to you? The accident... Flashes of shattered glass, screeching tires, and the weightless feeling of falling rushed back to you. Your breathing grew shallow, your body frozen in place as panic began to set in.

"It's okay, honey. You're safe now," your mother reassured you, noticing the shift in your expression. She leaned in closer, stroking your hair in soft, soothing motions. "You're safe. Just focus on resting, okay? You're so strong, my baby. So strong."

Her words washed over you like a lullaby. Though your body was battered and broken, though your voice had been taken from you, a small flicker of determination sparked in your chest. You had made it back. And if you could come back from that, you could do anything.

So it was all a dream? That thought echoed in your mind as fragments of your memory drifted to that strange, surreal place. A place that was neither here nor there, filled with an eerie stillness, and a man—no, a being—who had claimed to be your husband. Not just any husband, but a demon husband living in a realm caught between life and death.

It made sense now. You had survived a near-death experience. This was just your mind's way of coping, you reasoned. You’d even played roles like this before in your career—characters trapped in a dreamlike coma, their subconscious creating vivid, otherworldly illusions. It had to be something like that. A hallucination. A figment of a fractured mind.

"Mom, he insisted on coming in. He said he's her boyfriend," your sister’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade of clarity.

Your heart gave a jolt. Her footsteps were light but purposeful as she entered the room, your brother following close behind. Then, another set of footsteps, heavier and more deliberate, echoed behind them. You couldn't see clearly from where you lay, but you caught glimpses of a tall figure. Pale skin. Sharp features. Pink lips pressed into a calm, almost knowing smile. His tailored outfit clung to him with the precision of someone who knew how to command attention.

Your mother’s soft gasp followed. You could practically hear her eyes scanning him from head to toe. "I didn’t know Y/N had such a handsome boyfriend," she muttered with a hint of playful disbelief. "Come in, kid."

Boyfriend? Your heart skipped a beat, confusion quickly morphing into suspicion.

The man stepped forward, his presence filling the room like a shadow stretching at dusk. You felt him before you saw him, his gaze sharp and deliberate, like he knew exactly where you were. The weight of his presence was familiar—too familiar.

No. It couldn’t be.

The world around you blurred for a moment as you focused on him, your heart pounding like a distant drum. Slowly, your eyes adjusted, and there he was.

S.Coups.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening in disbelief. It was him. The same man—the same demon—who had introduced himself as your husband in that strange place. The same one who had called you "wife" with a smirk that both unnerved and intrigued you.

But how? How was he here? Wasn’t he just a figment of your coma-induced dream?

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours, his movements as smooth as silk. His gaze was steady, filled with an unspoken familiarity that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice deep and honeyed, like the low hum of thunder before a storm.

Before you could even think to react, he reached out and touched your head.

A sudden warmth spread through you, sinking deep into your bones. The sharp, constant ache in your body dulled instantly, like his touch had drained the pain away. You blinked, your eyes wide with shock. How—?

"You remember?" His eyes softened, his smile tilting ever so slightly, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Your breath came out in shallow, uneven bursts, panic surging through you. Your mind screamed at you that this wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be real. And yet, there he stood, his face mere inches from yours, eyes crinkled with quiet affection, as if you'd been reunited after a long journey apart.

He leaned in, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"Hello again... wife."

His words hung in the air like a spell, impossible to break, impossible to deny. Your heart thudded violently against your ribs, your mind caught between disbelief and something far more dangerous—recognition.

*

You sat on the hospital bed, propped up by pillows, your gaze fixed on the television screen. The news anchor's voice echoed softly in the background, but your attention was glued to the flashing headline in bold letters:

"Life-or-Death Accident of Rising Actress, Ji Y/N."

The footage cut to chaotic scenes of the accident site — twisted metal, shattered glass, and flashing sirens painting a grim picture. Reporters swarmed like vultures, their cameras capturing every angle. Clips of journalists stationed outside the hospital played next, eager to catch any update on your condition.

Your fingers twitched, clenching lightly at the sheets on your lap. It was surreal watching yourself become a headline, your life reduced to a media frenzy.

"Eat your food," a familiar voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked and turned your head, meeting the steady gaze of S.Coups. He stood by the side of your bed, casually placing a tray of food on the table before you. He’d been by your side for the past three days, an unwavering, uninvited presence that somehow no one questioned. Your family had been hesitant at first, but S.Coups had insisted on taking care of you himself. Somehow, his calm authority left no room for argument.

You watched him now as he adjusted the tray, his movements fluid but precise, like someone used to being in control. His sharp features were framed by soft strands of dark hair, and despite the sterile hospital lighting, he looked impossibly flawless.

“Eat,” he said again, his tone gentle but firm. “You need to get your strength back.”

You glanced down at the meal he’d prepared. It looked simple but warm, the kind of home-cooked meal that made you nostalgic for days long gone. Slowly, you reached for the spoon, your muscles moving with less strain than before.

The doctors had been baffled. Just days ago, they said you’d need weeks, maybe months, to recover from fractured ribs and broken bones. Yet, each day since you woke up, the pain had lessened significantly. Too quickly. It didn’t make sense.

The doctors called it a "miraculous recovery." But you knew better.

Your eyes shifted back to S.Coups. The man — no, the demon — who had stayed by your side like a guardian shadow. Whenever the pain had been too much to bear, he would press his palm against your forehead. Warmth would flood your body, and every ache, every sharp pang, would simply… vanish. Like it had been lifted straight out of you.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. Then, you thought it was a dream. But now, you knew better.

You stared at him as he leaned back, arms crossed, his eyes half-lidded with a calm patience that made him look almost human. Almost.

"How do you do that?" you asked, your voice raspy from disuse but strong enough to be heard. It was the first time you’d spoken properly since you woke up.

His gaze shifted to you, sharp but unbothered, like he'd been waiting for the question. Slowly, a small, knowing smile curled on his lips.

“Demon power,” he said simply, like it was the most natural answer in the world.

Your breath caught in your chest. So, he is a demon.

The spoon in your hand hovered mid-air, forgotten as you stared at him. Everything suddenly felt too real. The impossible healing. The way no one questioned his presence. The strange familiarity in his eyes, like he’d known you far longer than these past three days.

Your heart thudded in your chest, not from fear, but from the unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, your "dream" wasn’t a dream at all.

And maybe, just maybe, you were still caught somewhere between life and death.

“Why are you here?” you asked, voice steadier this time.

His eyes didn’t waver. If anything, his smile widened just a fraction, his gaze holding a weight you couldn’t name.

“To make sure you don’t forget,” he said softly, leaning in close. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder before a storm. “You still owe me, wife.”

The chill that ran down your spine had nothing to do with the hospital air conditioning.

"You and your friends summoned me," he added, his tone casual as he moved to sit on the chair beside you, legs crossed like he had all the time in the world. His sharp eyes stayed on you, unblinking. "So, here I am."

His words hit like a sharp jolt to your mind. You shook your head slowly, disbelief tugging at your features. “That’s ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, voice laced with doubt.

“Ridiculous?” He raised a brow, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his cheek. “The fact that you survived that accident alone is ridiculous.”

His words hung in the air like smoke, dense and suffocating.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, his smile too sharp to be kind. “I asked God to do this. He fulfilled it,” he said with a quiet kind of pride, like he was sharing a secret no mortal should ever hear. His eyes glinted with something between arrogance and mischief. “Deep down, I know I’m still His favorite.”

His words were so absurd, so unreal, that all you could do was stare. Your gaze stayed on him, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of someone entirely too comfortable in a situation he shouldn’t belong in. Slowly, you shifted your eyes back to the food.

You raised the spoon again, shoveling a small bite into your mouth. The bland taste of hospital food was grounding, a bitter reminder of reality. You chewed slowly, each movement of your jaw deliberate as you processed his words. Ridiculous, you thought, swallowing the lump in your throat along with the food. His presence, his words, everything about this situation was ridiculous.

But he wasn’t wrong.

The fact that you survived that accident without a single permanent injury, without so much as a scar, was a miracle that even the doctors couldn’t explain. There was no logic to it. No sense.

You glanced at him again. He was watching you, his gaze heavy with something you couldn't name. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but somehow, you felt like he was seeing right through you.

You remembered it now. His voice, the warmth of his touch on your forehead. The words he’d spoken when the pain had been at its peak.

“I saved you.”

Your fingers tightened around the spoon.

What have I done?

*

Humans were such curious creatures. Noisy, excitable, and always so desperate to capture fleeting moments as if they could freeze time with a camera. Seungcheol had seen it happen countless times over the centuries, but today it was different.

Today, they were capturing her.

He pushed your wheelchair slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd of humans that swarmed around you. Cameras flashed like sparks of lightning, their voices colliding in a mess of questions, calls, and murmurs. Some of them called your name, others whispered about him, the "mysterious man" accompanying you.

He glanced down at you. Your head was tilted forward, face shielded behind a mask, large sunglasses, and a hat pulled low over your head. You were tense, your hands gripping the armrests like they were your only anchor. Embarrassment, he recognized. You were embarrassed. All because you weren’t wearing makeup.

He didn’t understand it. With or without that powder on your face, you were still beautiful. His wife had always been beautiful, no matter the life, no matter the face. Humans and their insecurities… He scoffed softly but didn’t comment on it. You wouldn’t hear him anyway.

“Where to, Mr. Choi?” the driver asked as he pulled open the back door of the car.

“Mr. Choi?” your voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of noise like a thread of clarity. You tilted your head just enough to glance at him. He met your gaze through the dark lenses of your sunglasses.

He supposed it was only natural for you to be curious.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he answered smoothly, pushing the wheelchair closer to the car. “That’s my real name.” He nodded toward the driver, who was adjusting his gloves. “And that’s Chan. My phoenix.”

You turned your head to the driver, eyes narrowing behind your glasses. You tilted your head slightly, as if analyzing him. Ah, she’s doubting it, Seungcheol thought, amused.

“He’s human,” you stated firmly, like it was a fact no one could dispute.

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. Of course you’d think that. Humans always relied on their eyes first. They never bothered to look beyond.

“He’s a phoenix,” Seungcheol replied, his voice carrying a note of pride. “He’s just in human form right now.”

You blinked once. Twice. Then, your brows furrowed deeply, and you leaned back in the wheelchair like you needed space to process his words. Good. She should process it slowly. Seungcheol had learned long ago that humans resisted the truth until it smacked them right in the face. They all do.

“You raised him?” you asked slowly, as if testing the words on your tongue.

He glanced toward Chan, who stood quietly by the car, eyes forward, disciplined as ever. A good phoenix, he thought. He still remembered the day he found the ember, barely flickering, weak and desperate to burn. Seungcheol had breathed life into it, raised it, trained it, and now here it was — his phoenix, his loyal servant.

“I raised him from an ember,” he said, turning his gaze back to you. She won’t believe it. Watch. “He’s been with me ever since.”

Your face twisted, lips pulling into a small grimace. It was the same face you made whenever you were trying to make sense of something ridiculous. You’d made that face before — in lifetimes past. He remembered it well.

"Right," you muttered, eyes flickering between him and Chan. She’s still holding on to her logic. He could practically hear your mind ticking, trying to find a way to rationalize it. Humans always did.

"Do you have a house here?" you asked, your voice quieter, calmer. A shift in topic. Smart girl.

He nodded. "You remember it, don't you?"

He watched you shift in your seat, lips pressing into a thin line. It was like you didn’t want to admit it, but he knew you had seen it — his house of the other worl. Grand, old, and nestled on the edge of the woods where the mist never fully cleared. You'd walked through those halls once, your voice echoing softly as you called for him.

“In this world, I move from time to time,” Seungcheol continued, his tone nonchalant as he helped you into the car. His hands were firm but gentle on your waist as he guided you into the seat. “I change identities too. Right now, I’m Park Ian.”

"Park Ian," you repeated, glancing at him once you were settled. Your lips twitched in mild disbelief. "You have a lot of names."

He chuckled under his breath. She’s catching on. Sliding into the seat beside you, he glanced at her, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“I’ve lived in this world for over 700 years,” he said, his voice laced with something older, something heavier. “It’s not wise to keep the same name for that long.”

You didn’t say anything at first, but he saw the way your gaze faltered. Good. Let it sink in. His words weren’t just words; they were a reminder. A reminder that he had seen centuries pass. While emperors rose and fell, while entire dynasties crumbled to dust, he remained.

He leaned his head back against the seat, eyes still on you. He could see it now — the way your thoughts were running circles in your head, trying to make sense of it. Humans always sought a sense of "normal." It was in their nature. But normal didn’t exist. It never had.

“You shouldn’t freak out temporary creatures with your real identity,” he added with a shrug, his gaze shifting to the window.

Silence filled the car, and for a moment, it was peaceful. He liked the stillness of it. No flashing lights. No noise. Just the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of your breathing. Temporary creatures, he thought again.

You stayed quiet for a while, but he didn’t mind. He could feel the shift in your presence — the quiet tension of realization setting in. You’d heard his words, understood them, but you were still trying to reject them. It was only natural. Humans didn’t want to be reminded of how little time they had.

But Seungcheol had never seen you as "temporary." Not in this life. Not in any of your past lives.

Every version of you had found him, one way or another. And this version — the one sitting next to him, stubborn and sharp as ever — was no different.

Humans liked to believe in fate. But fate wasn’t some grand, invisible thread. Fate was just a series of choices leading to an inevitable end.

Seungcheol turned his head to watch you, his gaze soft but unwavering. This is the one I’ve been waiting for.

“Rest,” he said quietly. “We’ve got a long drive ahead.”

You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment, but you leaned back in your seat, letting your eyes close behind the tinted lenses of your sunglasses.

He watched you for a moment longer before turning his gaze back to the road ahead. The weight of time didn’t feel as heavy today. Not when you were here, next to him.

Temporary, huh? His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. No, not this one.

*

Seungcheol had always been fascinated by how human architecture evolved with each passing century. Gone were the ornate, intricate designs of old. Now, humans favored simplicity — clean lines, wide-open spaces, and muted tones. Minimalist, modern, efficient. He’d seen it all before, but this time, he decided to adapt.

That’s how he ended up with this house. Modern. Sleek. Sharp edges softened by natural light. It was the kind of house humans admired in magazines but rarely lived in. For Seungcheol, it was just another shell, another temporary shelter in a world he didn’t truly belong to.

He rarely stayed here, anyway. His "work" demanded it. Decades of building and maintaining a "family business" — that’s what he called it whenever humans asked. But the truth was far less ordinary. He’d been running it alone for centuries. No heirs, no partners. Just him. It was a clever front for something far older and far more important.

And when the human world grew too loud, too tedious, he returned to his other world — the one between life and death. There, he answered to only one higher power. God. As a demon, he completed every task given to him, no questions asked. No rest, no reprieve. Seven hundred years of orders, assignments, and quiet obedience.

But you were here now, and that made it different.

“Do you like the house?” he asked as he pushed your wheelchair through the wide front door. The smooth, polished floor gleamed beneath the soft, ambient lighting. Everything smelled new, untouched, like the world hadn’t yet left its mark on it.

You glanced around, brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval. “I have my own house,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as you took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Seungcheol let out a low breath, barely a sigh, but enough to hint at his growing patience. Humans were always slow to accept things they couldn’t control.

“Not anymore,” he replied firmly. He moved to stand in front of you, then crouched down until his eyes were level with yours. His gaze was steady, unwavering, the kind that made it hard to look away. “Your family plans to send you to their house. Not because they want to take care of you.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate.

Your eyes narrowed even more, suspicion creeping into your expression. “What do you mean by that?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle with one missing piece. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his face now only inches from yours.

“They think you’re going to die,” he said bluntly. No sugarcoating. No soft words. He knew you’d hate that, but he also knew you’d rather hear the truth. “So they sold your house. Even met with a lawyer to discuss your inheritance.”

Your face twisted in disbelief, lips parting as if to protest. But you didn’t speak. Not right away.

“No,” you said, shaking your head slowly, like you were trying to convince yourself. “They wouldn’t—”

“They would,” Seungcheol cut in, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Humans are predictable. They prepare for loss the moment it feels inevitable.” His voice wasn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact, as if he were explaining the weather. “You were unconscious for weeks. They thought that was it. People do selfish things when they think they’ve already lost someone.”

You stared at him, lips pressed tightly together, eyes darting away like you didn’t want to hear any more. But he knew you were listening. Humans always listened when it came to betrayal.

“They’re not bad people,” Seungcheol added, his tone softer this time. “Just scared. And fear makes people act without thinking.”

You stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes locked on the polished floor beneath you. Seungcheol didn’t rush you. He’d seen humans go through every stage of grief — denial, anger, sadness, acceptance. He could tell you were stuck somewhere between the first two. He was there too when he lost you.

Finally, you let out a short, bitter laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “They sold my house while I was still breathing,” you muttered, shaking your head like it was all some sort of cruel joke.

Seungcheol didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

He stood, gaze still fixed on you. His hands slid into the pockets of his coat as he glanced around the house, the house he’d chosen for you. Modern. Simple. Quiet. A space where no one could touch you, not even the people you thought you could trust.

“Forget them for now,” he said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like the snap of a thread. “This house is yours for as long as you want it.”

You lifted your eyes to him, doubt still lingering in the lines of your face. “And what if I don’t want it?”

His lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. “Then I’ll keep it for you until you do.”

He watched the way your brows twitched, how you clenched your jaw like you didn’t want to argue anymore. Smart girl. You knew when a battle wasn’t worth fighting.

"You're mine, after all," he added under his breath, the words barely a whisper but sharp enough to linger.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, sharp and unyielding. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Seungcheol.”

He grinned wider, his teeth flashing like a predator who’d already won. Ah, there she is. He’d missed that fire in you. Humans didn’t realize how much of themselves stayed the same, life after life. But he’d seen it. He’d seen you — fierce, stubborn, and unwilling to bend to anyone, not even him.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice slow and smooth like honey drizzling from a spoon. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Seven hundred years. Thousands of lifetimes. And here you were, once again, right in front of him.

Time, after all, had never been a problem for him.

*

You had been living in Seungcheol's house for two months now, still on the slow path to recovery. The entertainment industry had labeled it a "hiatus," but it felt more like exile. Each day blended into the next with therapy sessions, quiet meals, and far too much time alone.

The last time you’d seen your manager was a month ago, a week after you were discharged from the hospital. She arrived unannounced, her presence loud and familiar in the otherwise quiet house. The moment she spotted Chan assisting you from the kitchen to the couch, her eyes had narrowed with suspicion.

“He’s helping me since I can’t move around on my own,” you’d explained casually, trying to deflect the sudden scrutiny.

“Then who is he?” she’d asked, her tone sharper this time.

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes narrowed further, like she was piecing together a mystery. Then she leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “The man pushing your wheelchair out of the hospital. Who is he?”

Your chest tightened. Seungcheol.

“I didn’t know you were in a relationship,” she continued, eyes darting between you and Chan like she was searching for signs of a hidden romance. “The CEO was ready to throw hands when he saw the media frenzy, but…” She shrugged, letting out a breathy laugh. “The reaction was positive, surprisingly. Everyone’s happy to see someone taking care of you after the accident.”

You stayed quiet, fingers curling into the blanket draped over your lap.

She was in that accident too. You'd forgotten. Her arm had been in a cast that day, her hand fractured and bruised. She showed you footage from the crash — grainy, black-and-white CCTV video from a nearby traffic camera. It played on her phone screen as you watched in silence.

The truck came out of nowhere, barreling through the red light. It struck your car right in the center — the exact spot where you’d been sitting. Metal crumpled like paper. Glass shattered into a blizzard of shards. Your heart lurched watching it, even though you’d lived it.

“The accident’s still under investigation,” she muttered, tapping the screen to replay it. Her eyes didn’t leave the footage. “The truck driver vanished. No trace of him anywhere.

Her words lingered in your mind long after she left.

That night, as you lay in bed, the realization settled in. You should have died that day.

The media, of course, had latched onto the man by your side. Photos and clips of Seungcheol pushing your wheelchair circulated like wildfire. He was too striking to be ignored. His sharp features, his composed demeanor, and the air of quiet authority he carried made it impossible for people to look away.

“I can’t believe you’re dating some insanely wealthy man behind my back!” your manager had teased, her grin wide, eyes sparkling with mischief. She clearly thought she was joking, but her words weighed heavier than she realized.

If only she knew. If only you knew.

You’d tried to escape him once — just once. Back at the hospital, during a physiotherapy session, you’d convinced yourself you could sneak away. With your wheelchair, you’d rolled slowly toward the exit, heart pounding in sync with each push of the wheels. Just a little further. Just a little more.

Then, suddenly, he was there.

Standing at the end of the hall, hands in his coat pockets, eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting the whole time.

“Going somewhere?” Seungcheol had asked, his voice calm but sharp. You froze. His eyes weren’t angry, but there was something in them that made you feel like a child caught sneaking out past curfew.

Your heart sank as he approached, slow, deliberate steps echoing down the hall. Without a word, he crouched behind your wheelchair and began pushing you back to the therapy room. No chance. No escape.

Now, he was gone.

“Mr. Choi has business with God,” Chan had explained casually one morning over breakfast, like it was normal. You’d stopped mid-bite, staring at him in disbelief.

“Business with God?” you repeated, the words foreign and bizarre on your tongue.

Chan only nodded, scooping rice into a bowl like it wasn’t the most absurd statement you’d ever heard. “He’ll be back in a few days.”

In the absence of Seungcheol, you’d spent more time with Chan. At first, you didn’t know what to make of him. He seemed normal enough — polite, helpful, always willing to assist. Until the night you saw it.

It had been a small argument, nothing serious. You’d gotten frustrated, snapped at him for not hearing you properly. He’d turned to face you, and for just a moment — a flash, like a flickering candle in a dark room — his eyes blurred with fire. Not anger, not metaphorical fire. Actual flames. His irises burned with molten gold and red, flickering like embers.

You froze, heart stuttering in your chest.

His eyes returned to normal as quickly as they’d changed.

Later, Seungcheol had scolded you. “He could burn this house to the ground if you make him angry again,” he’d said, voice stern like a parent warning a child not to play with fire. You hadn’t argued.

“Do you know why I’m his wife?” you asked Chan, your voice calm as you watched him prepare dinner. The question had been nagging at you for weeks.

He glanced up from the stove, eyes flicking to you like he was gauging how much to say. After a moment, he set the spatula down and walked over to the table, sitting across from you.

“Mr. Choi was a human,” he said, his tone steady but serious. “And you were his wife in the past.”

Your fork hovered in mid-air. “…He was human?”

Chan nodded, eyes never leaving yours.

The revelation sent a sharp chill down your spine. Seungcheol had never mentioned it. Not once. All you knew was that he was a demon, powerful beyond reason, and that he had abilities that humans could only call magic. You had never thought to ask where he’d come from or what he’d been before.

“How do you know that?” you asked, still trying to piece it all together.

Chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he tilted his head, gaze thoughtful. “I was a gift,” he said slowly, like he was unraveling a memory he hadn’t touched in centuries. “A present from God to Mr. Choi. He told me about you back then.”

Your brows furrowed. “A present? Why would God give him a phoenix as a present?”

Chan shrugged, his expression distant, as if his mind had traveled far away. “Because he was sad,” he said quietly.

You frowned. “Why was he sad?”

He tilted his head the other way, eyes distant but warm with memory. “I don’t really remember,” he admitted, tapping a finger on the table. “But he’s always sad.”

Always sad.

Those words echoed in your mind long after dinner was over. It felt like the kind of truth no one says out loud, the kind that lives quietly in the shadows. Seungcheol was human. You were his wife. He’s always been sad.

Later that night, you sat by the window, staring at the moon. You wondered if he was looking at the same sky from wherever he was.

How long have you been sad, Seungcheol? you thought to yourself. And how long have you been searching for me?

The answers, you realized, would come in time. Seungcheol was nothing if not patient. Seven hundred years patient.

"Waiting for me?"

You jolted in your wheelchair, heart nearly leaping out of your chest. Seungcheol stood behind you, his presence as sudden and quiet as a shadow. You clutched at your chest, fingers pressing firmly against your ribs like you were trying to keep your heart from breaking free.

“Can you not do that?” you hissed, still catching your breath. “I could die of a heart attack.”

He chuckled, low and warm like distant thunder. “I’ll just save you from death again,” he replied, his grin sharp but not unkind.

He moved gracefully to the couch in front of you, sinking into it like a king on his throne. His eyes, dark and deep, fixed on you with quiet curiosity. “You seemed lost in thought,” he noted, tilting his head ever so slightly.

You sighed, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. It was still strange, looking at him. He had all the features of a man — pale skin, sharp jawline, and a face that looked like it had been carved with careful precision. If you’d passed him on the street, you’d think he was just another good-looking human. But now you knew better.

No one had ever taught you that demons could have soft brown eyes and smiles that made you forget to breathe.

Your voice came quieter this time, more careful, like you were testing your own courage. “You said you chose me.” You watched his face closely. “When we summoned you 15 years ago, instead of Jinah, you chose me. Was it because I was your wife… even before?”

His eyes lowered for a moment. Silence hung in the air like a held breath. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But you don’t remember.”

You swallowed, something tight forming in your throat. “Then why did you need a bride at all?” you pressed, brows knitting together. “Why a wife? You’re a demon. What would a demon need with a wife?”

His gaze lifted back to you, unreadable but steady. “It’s part of God’s plan,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “He always has a plan — for everyone, for everything.”

You watched him closely, eyes searching his face for something more. His voice was calm, his words sure, but his eyes.

Chan’s words echoed in your mind. “He’s always sad.”

You saw it now. It wasn’t loud or obvious. It wasn’t in the way he spoke or moved. It was in the small things — the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his shoulders always seemed to carry a weight no one else could see.

Your hand lifted on its own, slow and unthinking, like a force greater than you was guiding it. Your fingertips brushed his cheek, warm and solid beneath your touch. It was natural, effortless, like muscle memory from a life you no longer remembered.

“Is it part of His plan too?” you asked softly, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. “To make you wait for 700 years?”

Seungcheol’s eyes flickered with something unspoken — a brief, vulnerable crack in his armor. But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached up, taking your hand in his. His palm was firm, steady, and for a moment, it felt like you were the one being held together.

He didn’t look at you as he stood, his hand slipping away from yours too soon. His back faced you as he started toward the hallway, his footsteps silent but certain.

“I’ll send Chan to get you to bed,” he said, his voice distant now, as if he’d already gone somewhere far away. “Rest well.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You sat there, staring at the space where he’d stood. His warmth lingered on your fingertips, his words circling your mind like a song stuck on repeat.

God’s plan. A wife. 700 years.

You wondered which part of the plan was meant for him — and which part was meant for you.

*

Seungcheol didn’t have a nightmare last night. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the haunting dreams that plagued him since the day he chose you as his bride did not come. Instead, he woke up feeling unusually refreshed — as if he were human, ready to take on the day with renewed energy.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale before stepping out of his room. The house was quiet, but the faint sound of shuffling reached his ears. Following it, he found Chan standing in front of you, his arm raised, supporting your weight as you trained yourself to walk again.

Chan had mentioned it before — that you’d been making progress, slowly but surely. But seeing it for himself stirred something in Seungcheol. Determination flickered in your eyes as you gritted your teeth, wobbling slightly with each step.

He moved toward you, his eyes locked on you with quiet focus. He didn’t say a word as he reached out, placing his hands firmly on your arms. A burst of energy surged from him to you — a gift of strength that only he could give.

His shoulders felt heavier instantly, the weight of his own body doubling as exhaustion seeped into his bones. It was a familiar strain, but he didn’t mind. He’d done it a thousand times before. You needed it more than he did.

"Isn't it taking you too long to start walking again?" Seungcheol teased lightly, his voice warm but sharp enough to stir you into action. "You must be tired of that wheelchair by now."

He lowered Chan’s arms, freeing you from the support, and moved slightly back, giving you space. His gaze was firm, unwavering, like he was daring you to prove him wrong.

"No, no, no!" you cried out, eyes wide with panic as you reached out for Chan. "Don't let go—"

But Seungcheol was faster. He pulled Chan away with ease, his smirk as sharp as ever. "You’re fine. Walk."

Your heart raced as you braced yourself, every muscle in your legs trembling. But then, something unexpected happened. You took a step. It wasn’t as hard as before. Your body moved with surprising ease, like something inside you had shifted.

"See?" Seungcheol’s voice was a quiet triumph. He stepped beside you, offering his arm. Without hesitation, you leaned on him, letting him guide you as you slowly took another step, and another.

“Wow…” you breathed, eyes darting around as you moved further than you had in weeks. “Demon power, huh?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He smirked down at you, his gaze glinting with pride. “Told you it works.”

"I’ll prepare food," Chan called out, excusing himself to the kitchen with a grin, clearly satisfied with your progress.

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing at Seungcheol with an expression that was part awe, part disbelief. "You know," you said between slow, steady steps, "if I’d known having a demon around would be this useful, I would’ve summoned one sooner."

Seungcheol chuckled, his voice deep and smooth like rolling thunder. "If only you knew what it cost me to be here."

Your smile faltered just a little, eyes darting to his face. His words carried more weight than you expected. But before you could ask, he guided you forward, his arm steady at your side.

“Focus,” he said softly. “One step at a time, wife.”

And just like that, your heart did that annoying little flip it had been doing more and more often lately.

"Shall we go to the garden?" Seungcheol's voice was low but firm, and you nodded, letting him guide you along the stone pathway of his serene, well-kept garden. The cool breeze carried the soft rustle of leaves, and the distant chirping of birds filled the quiet.

Your steps were slow but steady, each one a small victory. Seungcheol stayed by your side, his presence a steady anchor.

"How's your sleep?" he asked, glancing at you.

"I had a dream," you replied, gaze lost in thought.

"What kind of dream?"

You shook your head, trying to piece it together. "It felt like the Joseon era. I was wearing a hanbok—like, a princess’s hanbok. It was really elegant. I looked pretty, though." You smiled, lifting your chin with playful pride.

Seungcheol let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You were."

You turned to him, eyes widening in surprise. "Really?" There was a faint blush dusting your cheeks, and Seungcheol noticed it right away. He always noticed.

"I don't say it enough, but you were beautiful," he admitted, his gaze unwavering.

Your lips parted slightly, stunned by his sincerity. For a moment, you forgot how to walk. "You’re making me curious about my past lives," you said softly, your voice tinged with wonder. "What kind of person was I?"

He glanced at you, his eyes growing distant, like he was seeing something far away — something only he could see. His heart ached at the memories. You were always the same. Kind, beautiful, and selfless to a fault. You let yourself be pulled into an arranged marriage for the sake of your family. Your family betrayed you. Your husband betrayed you.

And worst of all, he betrayed you.

He killed you.

Seungcheol's chest felt tight. He took a deep breath, shaking his head free of the painful memories. He couldn't let you see that part of him. Not yet.

"You were a noisy wife," he finally said, his lips curling into a teasing grin.

You froze, eyes narrowing into sharp slits. "What?" Your hand shot out to slap his arm, but he dodged it with ease, laughing under his breath. You swung again, but this time, he caught your wrist and tugged you toward him.

"Hey—!" you yelped, stumbling forward.

He pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his arms firmly around you. It wasn’t a tight hold, just enough to keep you close. For a second, you stiffened, but the warmth of his body against yours made you relax. Slowly, you let your head rest against his chest.

Warmth.

For the first time in a long, long while, Seungcheol felt warmth. It seeped into his bones, into the cracks of his soul that he’d long thought would never heal.

The quiet hum of life around you both melted into the background. The past felt distant, and for a brief moment, it didn’t matter. But the past always had a way of creeping back in.

God had offered him a wife to end his task as a demon and earn a peaceful life in Heaven. But that wife — the one chosen for him — never arrived. Time after time, life after life, Seungcheol watched you. You were never meant to be his. You were meant for the world, not for him.

But God let him see you. Again and again. In every lifetime, you crossed his path. Sometimes as a stranger. Sometimes as a friend. Sometimes as someone out of reach. Each time, he pleaded. Each time, he begged.

"Please, just this once."

"Please, let it be her."

But God was silent.

“Heaven is only for those who work for it,” God had said during one of their rare conversations. “Work hard until you no longer desire it.”

For centuries, Seungcheol followed orders, accepting every task God gave him as a demon. For centuries, he hardened his heart, accepting that you were not his to have. He was ready to give it all up, ready to accept his fate as a demon forever.

Until the day you and your friends summoned him.

He still remembered the look on your face — wide-eyed, stunned, and just as beautiful as the day you were taken from him. You didn’t recognize him, of course. You were never supposed to. But something in you felt him.

That day, Seungcheol realized something.

God had answered him.

His bond with you had been restored, not by force, but by choice. God had let him have you again. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t fate. It was a gift.

And Seungcheol had never been so grateful.

“Heaven is waiting for you and your cherished one,” God had told him once, long ago.

But Seungcheol didn’t care about Heaven anymore. He had already found it.

He pressed his chin lightly against the top of your head, his eyes shut as he let himself enjoy the warmth of you in his arms.

He wouldn’t lose you again.

No matter what.

*

You jolted awake, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The remnants of the nightmare clung to your mind like a heavy fog. You were back in the Joseon era, dressed in a hanbok that made you feel regal, yet trapped. You were in a room that resembled a royal bedroom, adorned with intricate tapestries and golden accents.

Then, the man appeared. He was so familiar, yet his face remained a blur, like a memory just out of reach. He approached you, pulling you into an embrace, and for a brief moment, you felt warmth and safety. But that feeling quickly turned to terror as pain shot through your stomach.

Your breath hitched, and the warmth flooding from your core felt too real. You could feel the blood pooling, the sharpness of the blade searing through your body. The pain was suffocating, overwhelming. The man's arms tightened around you, but his presence felt wrong. His face—familiar yet unrecognizable—hovered just beyond your reach. And then, you saw it—his eyes, full of regret, full of sorrow—but it didn’t stop the blade from twisting deeper.

"Y/n!" The man’s voice echoed in your ears, but it wasn’t the man you thought you knew. The pain intensified, and then, everything went black.

You gasped, your body jerking upright.

Seungcheol’s strong hands gripped your shoulders, his face a mix of concern and relief as he pulled you into the safety of his arms. Chan stood beside the bed, his expression tense, as if he had witnessed the nightmare unfold with you.

Seungcheol’s voice was soft but firm, “Y/n, you’re safe. It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and your hands trembled as you placed them on your stomach, feeling the phantom pain that had lingered even after you woke. You were still shaken, the remnants of the nightmare crawling under your skin.

You pulled back slightly, your heart still racing, as the pieces of the nightmare began to click together. The man in the dream, the one who had held you so tightly, the one who had caused you such unbearable pain... It was him.

Your breath hitched, and you whispered in disbelief, “It was you…”

Seungcheol froze for a moment, his expression unreadable as the words hung in the air between you two. Chan, who had been standing silently by the door, shifted uncomfortably but remained quiet.

Seungcheol's gaze dropped to your hands, which were still trembling slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but tinged with an emotion you couldn’t place.

You shook your head, trying to piece together the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “But you said… You said we were married. That I was your wife.” The realization hit you like a cold wave, freezing every part of you except the ache in your chest. “Then… Why would you kill me?”

Seungcheol’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as the weight of centuries seemed to bear down on him. He move closer but didn’t speak right away. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, as though the memory itself cut deeper than any wound could

“It’s just a dream,” Chan's voice broke the silence, his eyes darting between you and Seungcheol. He stood at the door, arms folded, his gaze sharp and knowing, like he was the only one who could truly read the room. “Don’t overthink it. Dreams are messy like that.”

But it wasn’t just a dream. You could feel it in your bones, in the lingering sensation of pain still curling in your stomach. It was too vivid, too visceral, as if you had lived it once before. And Seungcheol—he wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t saying anything at all.

Seungcheol glanced at you briefly, his face unreadable, before turning away like he couldn't bear to face you. Chan sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping. The Phoenix, ever rational and collected, decided it was time to put out the flames. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a cup of steaming peppermint tea.

“Drink this,” he said softly, placing it on your nightstand. His fingers hovered over the rim of the cup for a second longer than necessary, the warmth from the tea mirroring the warmth in his gaze. “It’ll calm you down. Bad dreams have a way of sticking to you, but they’re just that—dreams.”

You stared at the tea, then at Chan, then at Seungcheol. He sat at the edge of your bed, head bowed, one hand resting on his knee. He hummed softly, a tune unfamiliar but oddly comforting. The sound washed over you like a lullaby, pulling you into its gentle rhythm. The exhaustion from your nightmare crept back in, and before you knew it, your eyes grew heavier.

The last thing you saw was Seungcheol’s eyes on you. He wasn’t looking at you like a demon. He wasn’t looking at you like a monster. He was looking at you like a man weighed down by something heavier than the world itself.

When Seungcheol closed the bedroom door behind him, his eyes met Chan’s. The silence between them was sharp as a blade, tension hanging in the air like a fog that refused to lift. Chan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his golden eyes fixed on Seungcheol like he’d just uncovered a dark secret.

“It was her memory,” Chan said, his voice low but firm. There was no doubt in his tone. No hesitation. Seungcheol nodded slowly, confirming it without a word.

Chan’s eyes widened in shock. He tilted his head, as if seeing Seungcheol for the first time. “You killed her?” he whispered, his words quiet but cutting. He glanced toward your room, careful not to be overheard. “You killed your own wife, master?”

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes void of emotion. He looked tired. More than that, he looked… resigned.

“Why?” Chan asked, his voice tight with disbelief. “What do you want me to say, Chan?” Seungcheol’s voice was hollow, almost bitter. “Yes, I killed her. I killed the only person I was supposed to protect.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was filled with the weight of unspoken sins. Chan’s eyes flickered with flames—small but unmistakably angry flames, his pupils a swirling amber glow. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His fingers flexed, and Seungcheol knew that if anyone else had confessed to such a thing, they would’ve been ashes by now.

But Chan didn’t lash out. He didn’t burn anything down. Instead, he lowered his head, his expression hard but thoughtful. “Why?” he asked again, this time slower, more controlled.

Seungcheol glanced at him, eyes hollow yet sharp. “Because I was desperate. Because I was weak. Because I was too afraid to lose her the way I had before. Fear doesn’t just eat at you—it consumes you until you’d rather burn everything down than face it.” His voice cracked near the end, but he steadied himself with a long, slow breath.

Chan stayed quiet, his gaze never leaving Seungcheol’s face. His eyes dimmed, no longer burning with anger but with something closer to understanding. “You regret it,” he stated, not as a question but as a fact.

Seungcheol let out a hollow chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Regret?” He shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve lived with that regret for hundreds of years, Chan. Regret is the only thing that stays with me no matter how many lives I live.”

Chan didn’t reply, but the air shifted. His eyes lingered on Seungcheol for a beat longer before he turned and started down the hall. But as he reached his bedroom door, he stopped.

Without looking back, he asked one last question. “Does she know?”

Seungcheol lowered his gaze, eyes distant as if he were somewhere far, far away. “Not yet.”

Chan glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sharp and knowing. “She will.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond, and Chan disappeared into his room, closing the door behind him.

Left alone in the hallway, Seungcheol leaned his back against the wall, eyes drifting to the ceiling. His chest rose and fell slowly, each breath deeper than the last.

He knew Chan was right. You would remember. It was only a matter of time. Memories from the past had a way of bleeding into dreams, and dreams had a way of dragging the truth to the surface. He had seen it happen before.

But Seungcheol wasn’t ready. Not yet. He still had time to figure out how to explain himself, how to make you understand. If you knew the full truth now, you would hate him, and he wouldn't blame you for it.

His eyes flickered with red as he pushed himself off the wall. He turned his gaze toward the sky visible through the window at the end of the hall. It was a deep, endless black, dotted with faint stars. Somewhere beyond that black sky, beyond the world of men and demons, God was watching. He was always watching.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice low but sharp. “Are you watching how everything’s falling apart? Is this your idea of a lesson?”

Silence. No answer. But Seungcheol wasn’t surprised. God had always been quiet when it mattered most.

His fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms. “If I’m supposed to repent, tell me how. If I’m supposed to atone, tell me what I need to do.” His breath came heavier, sharper, his voice trembling with something between rage and desperation. “If you want me to suffer, just say it. I’ll endure it. But don't make her suffer anymore. Please.”

Still, there was only silence. The weight of it pressed down on him harder than any curse or punishment ever could.

Seungcheol turned away from the window, his eyes dimmer than before. “Fine,” he muttered bitterly. “Keep watching. But when she remembers everything, don’t expect me to stay quiet.”

With that, he headed down the hall toward his own room, footsteps slow, his heart heavier than ever. The past was clawing its way back to you, and once it reached you, everything he had built with you could be reduced to dust.

But for now, you were still sleeping peacefully behind that door, and for now, that was enough.

Just for a little longer, he would hold onto the fragile peace between you.

*

“You guys are awfully quiet today,” you remarked, glancing over your shoulder as you prepped the vegetables. It was a rare sight — the demon and his phoenix companion both seated at the dining table, each hidden behind a newspaper like two old men with too much time on their hands. Neither of them offered a snarky reply, which only added to your curiosity.

The rhythmic sound of your knife chopping vegetables echoed softly in the kitchen. You moved with ease, the repetitive motion almost meditative — until it wasn’t. The weight of the knife in your hand suddenly felt different, heavier somehow, like something cold and sharp was pressing against your skin.

Your breath hitched. The sensation was far too familiar. Too vivid. It wasn't the smooth grip of the kitchen knife you felt — it was the cold, unyielding touch of a blade against your stomach. Your eyes widened as a sudden flash of your dream came rushing back.

“You okay?” Chan’s voice was gentle but sharp, his eyes already on you. Before you could respond, he was next to you, taking the knife from your hand with a quiet but firm grip. “I’ll take over.” His tone left no room for argument.

You nodded slowly, handing him the apron and stepping back. “Thanks,” you muttered, rubbing your hands together to ease the tension in your fingers.

You sat at the table beside Seungcheol, still a little dazed. The rustle of paper caught your attention as he lowered his newspaper, folding it neatly before turning to you. His dark eyes scanned you, quiet and calculating, like he could see every thought running through your mind.

“What do you think about the wedding next month?” he asked, his voice so casual it almost didn’t register at first.

The sound of Chan’s knife chopping on the cutting board abruptly stopped. You stiffened, eyes darting to Seungcheol, searching his face for any sign that he was joking. But he wasn't. His gaze was steady, unwavering, like he'd just asked if you wanted sugar in your tea.

"The… the wedding?" Your voice faltered as you blinked at him, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Next month?”

Chan’s knife resumed its steady rhythm, but slower now, more deliberate. Your heart, on the other hand, picked up speed.

Seungcheol tilted his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips tugging into a sly grin. “You’re the one who said you were ready, weren’t you?” he leaned in, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand. His voice was honey-smooth, but there was a sharpness underneath it, like a hidden blade. “I’m just following through.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. You did tell him you were ready. You’d said it with so much confidence, too. But that was before the dream. Before the flood of questions you couldn’t shake.

“I didn’t think it would be so soon,” you said slowly, trying to sound nonchalant. “A month feels… fast.”

“We’ve waited for lifetimes,” Seungcheol replied, eyes fixed on yours with quiet intensity. “A month is nothing.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You knew he was being literal. The idea of reincarnation and past lives was still something you were trying to grasp, but Seungcheol talked about it like it was as normal as breathing. Every time he mentioned it, it felt like he was placing invisible weights on your chest.

“Don’t I get a say in the date?” you asked, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You did.” His grin widened, sharper now. “When you said you were ready.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to snap back with something clever, but the words didn’t come. He was playing you, and he knew it. Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, the very picture of smug satisfaction.

Chan placed the chopped vegetables into a pot, letting out a loud exhale like he was trying to release some of the tension. “I think she deserves a second opinion, Master,” Chan said, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon, his tone a little too neutral.

“And you think you’re the one to give it?” Seungcheol quipped, one brow raised.

“Better than you forcing a date on her.” Chan’s eyes flicked toward you, a knowing look flashing across his face before he glanced back at the pot.

You folded your arms, mirroring Seungcheol’s stance. “Yeah, I’m with Chan on this one.”

Seungcheol's eyes moved between you and Chan, his grin fading into something softer but more dangerous. His fingers drummed lightly on the table. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low like a distant rumble of thunder. “We’ll discuss it. But no more stalling, Y/N. You said you were ready. Don’t take it back now.”

The way he said it wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t a request either. It was a reminder. An unspoken promise.

You swallowed hard, forcing a light laugh as you reached for the tea Chan had poured earlier. “I’m not stalling,” you said, staring into the cup as if the swirling liquid could give you answers. “I just… want to be sure.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately, and when you looked up, he was still watching you. Not like a predator. Not like a demon. But like a man waiting for something. An answer? A sign? A chance to explain himself?

Your fingers gripped the warm cup, and for a moment, you remembered the feeling of blood seeping through your hands in that dream. The phantom pain from the stab wound still lingered, sharp and fresh. You glanced at Seungcheol and, for the briefest moment, you saw it. A flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Regret, perhaps.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said suddenly, his tone quieter now. His gaze flickered down to the table before he lifted his eyes back to you. “I’m not the man you saw in your dream.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Your fingers tightened around the cup, eyes narrowing at him.

“I never told you about my dream.”

Seungcheol's eyes widened, if only for a split second. He didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact, but you saw the realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, his gaze dropping for a moment too long.

“I guessed,” he said with a shrug, but the casual act didn’t fool you.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your silence was enough to make him shift in his chair, his hand running through his hair like he’d just realized he’d made a mistake.

You were sitting on the couch, absorbed in a late-night TV show, when Chan nudged you, shaking you out of your trance. You hadn’t even realized he was calling your name until he moved you gently, concern written across his face.

“What’s going on?” you asked, blinking in confusion. The room seemed to tilt for a moment, and before you could register what was happening, the images shifted. You were no longer in the safe, cozy space of your living room.

In front of you was a bloody war, swords clashing, people screaming as they fought under a stormy sky. The chaos felt so real, so vivid, it was as though you were right there in the middle of it. You looked around, panic rising in your chest, but all you could see were the bloodied soldiers fighting relentlessly. A knot formed in your stomach, and without thinking, you turned and fled, stumbling toward a room and locking the door behind you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, racing in time with the noise of battle outside.

“What was that?” you whispered to yourself, trying to catch your breath.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

It was Seungcheol.

“Y/n? You okay? You’re pale,” Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts as he placed a plate of fruit in front of you, his eyes concerned.

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake the remnants of the war from your mind. “Where’s Seungcheol?” you asked, looking around, noticing the absence of the familiar presence that often made you feel safe.

Chan shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You always know where your master is. What’s going on? You two fight?” Your words came out teasing, but there was an underlying concern you couldn’t hide.

Chan’s lips curled into a small pout, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but think he resembled a bird, especially with the way his eyes softened. “Just angry.”

You couldn’t suppress a small laugh at his pout. “Aww, look at you, a cute bird,” you teased, brushing a stray strand of his hair out of his face. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the moment. “But seriously, what’s going on? You guys fight over something important?”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Just found out something he’s been hiding from me for a hundred years,” Chan muttered, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

Your curiosity piqued. “And it is?” You leaned in slightly, eager to hear more.

Chan’s expression darkened, and he shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? Keeping a secret? I didn’t know birds could do that.” You grinned, teasing him again.

He sat up straight, flapping his arms in mock indignation. “I’ve always been able to keep a secret!” His eyes widened with mock offense, but there was a playful twinkle in his gaze.

You chuckled, feeling the tension in your chest loosen slightly. “Alright, alright, you’ve got your secrets. But can’t you tell me just a little bit? Just a hint?”

Chan’s face softened, his gaze shifting to the floor, clearly wrestling with something in his mind. He fidgeted uncomfortably before speaking again, his voice quieter now. “It’s about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “About me?” you repeated, leaning in closer, searching his eyes for any clues.

Chan bit his lip, clearly torn. “It’s something only Mr. Choi can tell you. I can’t say more. But… just trust me, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly, taking in his words. It was clear that whatever this secret was, it was huge, and Chan wasn’t about to break his master’s trust.

You nodded, realizing this was one mystery you wouldn’t be able to solve on your own. However deep inside, you felt an uneasy stir at the thought of what this secret could be.

Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts again, softer this time. “Do you love him?”

The question caught you off guard. For a moment, you were frozen, your mind racing as you tried to understand the weight of what he was asking. You glanced at him, noticing the serious look on his face. It was unlike the usual playful banter between you two, and something about his demeanor made you pause.

“What do you mean, love him?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost as if you were questioning yourself. Your thoughts immediately shifted to Seungcheol.

How had he treated you?

He was always there when you needed him, gentle and patient, offering you warmth and safety. He had protected you when you felt vulnerable and helped you navigate through the chaos of everything supernatural. His presence had always felt like a comfort, a steady anchor in the storm.

The way he looked at you, his eyes so full of emotion, and how he spoke to you with such care and respect—no one had ever treated you like that before. It felt like you were his priority, always.

A small, unsure smile tugged at your lips. “I… I think he’s treated me better than anyone ever has.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you instantly realized the truth behind them.

It wasn’t just the way Seungcheol had taken care of you. It wasn’t just his kindness or the way he always made sure you were safe.

It was the way your heart fluttered when he was around, the way he made you feel seen and cared for, the way your pulse quickened when he smiled at you. Everything he did, every little gesture, made you feel special, and that feeling had grown inside you, so quietly and steadily that you hadn’t even realized it until now.

“I think… I might like him,” you murmured, the realization hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. But then, a small fear crept in, a hesitation in your chest. “Or maybe… I love him?”

Chan’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not a bad thing, you know.” He paused, his tone sincere now. “He feels the same about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and a warmth spread across your chest. The idea that Seungcheol might feel the same way about you, that he might be going through something similar, left you breathless.

But as the silence settled between you and Chan, you realized that you didn’t need to figure it all out right away.

For the first time, the idea of love—real, unspoken love—seemed less terrifying and more like something worth exploring. Something you were ready to embrace.

As you sat there, letting the weight of everything sink in, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm. Whatever was to come, whatever the future held for you and Seungcheol, you knew one thing for sure: you were no longer running from your feelings. You were ready to face them, to understand them, and maybe, just maybe, to love him too.

*

Is it love? Or is it guilt?

Seungcheol couldn’t differentiate it anymore. Every time he looked at you, the warmth in his chest surged, as it always had. You were just as beautiful, gentle, and kind as you had been before. And yet, the thought of you loving him back felt like a nightmare he couldn't escape.

"She will forget you until she loves you again," the words echoed in his mind, words spoken by a voice long past but still haunting him.

Was the return of your memories a sign that you might love him again?

The idea should have filled him with relief, with hope, but instead, it only made him uneasy. The more you remembered, the more it felt like he was walking closer to the edge of a cliff—one he’d already fallen off once.

And then, the truth hit him with a weight he couldn’t shake: If you remembered everything—every betrayal, every lie, every death—what would happen to the fragile bond you were starting to form again? You had promised, in your past life, that you would never love him again.

How could he live with the fact that he had once killed you, the woman he loved, and then had to watch you remember it all over again?

The fear that gripped Seungcheol was suffocating. It was the nightmare he had long tried to bury deep inside himself, the nightmare that now threatened to resurface as your memories awakened.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to step away. Every part of him wanted you, wanted to protect you, to make up for the damage he had caused in every life, but how could he? How could he expect you to forgive him, let alone love him again, after everything he had done?

It felt like a cycle he couldn't escape. Every time you got closer, the ghosts of his past pulled him further away from you. And yet, his heart couldn’t help but yearn for the possibility, for the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

But that fear… that deep, gnawing fear of losing you again—of repeating the same painful mistake—was a burden he didn’t know how to carry.

“I think I love you,” He raised his head, and his eyes met yours. There was something haunting about them. Not sadness. Not guilt. It was worse, like he was staring past you, into something only he could see.

“You don’t remember everything yet,” he finally said, voice low like a distant rumble of thunder. His gaze shifted down to his hands, fingers curling slowly. “If you did, you wouldn’t say that.”

His words made your heart pound in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Seungcheol leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His broad shoulders lifted and fell with a heavy sigh, and you could feel it — the weight of something unspoken hanging between you.

“In one of your past lives,” Seungcheol started, swallowing hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed like he was choking on the words. “I killed you.”

Your breath hitched, like all the air had been stolen from your lungs. “What?”

His eyes stayed on you, unwavering, as if he’d been preparing himself for this moment for centuries.

“You were supposed to be punished,” Seungcheol continued, his words heavier than stone. “Because of your father. He betrayed the king — my father. They were going to execute you. Everyone wanted it to be a public display. They wanted you to suffer.” His eyes darkened, like he was seeing it happen all over again. “I couldn’t let them do that to you.”

Your body froze. Everything about him felt too close, too real, too raw.

“So you did it yourself,” you whispered, your voice hollow.

He nodded slowly. “I thought it would be mercy. I thought it would be kinder if it was me.” His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you, eyes fixed on the night sky like it could offer him solace. “But it wasn’t. It was the cruelest thing I could’ve done.”

Your head was spinning, the image from your dream flashing before your eyes — the hanbok, the royal chamber, the warmth flooding from your core. The man who held you. The knife. The betrayal.

“It was you,” you breathed, feeling like you were falling from a great height. Your heart clenched, your throat tight as if you’d been stabbed all over again.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out strained, like they had been trapped inside him for centuries. “I begged God to curse me instead. To punish me, not you.” He let out a hollow laugh, filled with self-loathing. “And He did.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “That’s why you’re... ”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the sky, as if he didn’t have the right to face you. “I killed the only person I ever loved. That was my sin. So He made me immortal. A demon bound to the living world, forced to watch you live and die over and over again, knowing you’d never forgive me.” His gaze shifted to you slowly, like he was afraid of what he’d see. “And I deserve it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Your chest ached, every breath feeling like it was dragging in broken glass.

“You kept this from me,” you said, voice trembling but sharp. “All this time, you never told me.”

“Would it have changed anything?” he asked quietly. “Would you have stayed if you knew?”

You didn’t answer, because you didn’t know.

Seungcheol leaned back, his head resting against the wall, eyes closed as if he was bracing for something. “I knew this day would come. I knew you’d remember. And I knew you’d hate me.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Your heart was at war with itself. Anger. Sadness. Hurt. But somewhere, hidden beneath the storm of it all, was something else.

Love.

Because even if he was a demon, even if he had killed you once, Seungcheol was still the one who protected you. The one who held you together when you were falling apart. The one who saw you when no one else did.

But now, you didn’t know which part of you was speaking — the woman from the past or the woman you were now.

“Go,” you whispered, your voice breaking like shattered glass.

“Y/n…” His voice wavered, and he reached for you.

“I said go!” You shot to your feet, stepping back as if he had already hurt you. Your breath was shallow, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t — I can’t think. Just go.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. He stayed there, watching you with eyes that held centuries of regret. But then he stood. No argument. No plea. He walked toward the door, his every step slow and deliberate.

He stopped at the doorway, his back still to you. “I’ll go,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll never stop watching over you. Even if you hate me for the rest of your life, I won’t stop.”

The door clicked shut.

And finally, the tears fell.

*

Seungcheol thought he was hallucinating when he saw you sitting casually on one of the couches. His heart stilled, eyes narrowing in disbelief. This wasn’t his house — it was the house between worlds, a place unreachable by mortals. Yet, there you were, as if you belonged there all along.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice sharp with confusion, his eyes locked on you as if you'd vanish if he blinked.

Before you could answer, a blur of flames shot through the room. Seungcheol tilted his head just in time to see Chan flying in his Phoenix form, flames trailing behind him like ribbons of light. With a single spin, Chan landed gracefully on Seungcheol’s shoulder, now in his small bird form, feathers slightly charred.

It didn’t take Seungcheol long to figure it out. Regeneration. Chan had recently gone through it. But that only raised more questions. His eyes darted between you and the Phoenix.

You grinned, hands lazily tracing the edge of a nearby shelf. “So, how's the wedding planning going?” you asked, your tone light, playful, like you were discussing a friend's weekend plans. Your nonchalance only made Seungcheol’s unease deepen.

He took a step forward, eyes narrowing further. “You're dead... again?” His voice was laced with disbelief and a hint of exhaustion. This can’t be happening.

You glanced over your shoulder with a sly smile. “Blame your Phoenix pet.” Your eyes flicked to Chan, who suddenly preened his feathers as if he’d done nothing wrong. "He decided to burn down the house while I was sleeping off a couple of sleeping pills.”

Seungcheol’s gaze snapped to Chan, his eyes sharp like a blade. “You burned the whole house down while regenerating?”

You were drowning. Not in water, but in the weight of everything that Seungcheol had left behind. The nights felt colder without him, the silence sharper, and the world dimmer. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You told yourself you were strong, that you didn’t need him.

Every night, you lay awake, tangled in bedsheets that smelled like nothing at all. Your dreams weren’t yours anymore. They were his. The visions came like cruel reminders — flashes of him, his eyes watching you, his hand reaching out just as you jolted awake. You gasped for breath as if clawing your way out of an endless abyss.

They said loving a demon had a price. But nobody told you the cost would be this.

You sat on the edge of your bed, eyes hollow from the sleepless nights that had stolen days from you. Your fingers ran across the label of a bottle of pills, the cool plastic oddly comforting against your skin.

One pill.

But silence didn’t come.

Two pills.

Three pills. The weight on your chest lightened just a little. Or maybe that was just hope.

It should have stopped there.

But it didn’t.

Four. Five. Six. Each one easier than the last. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just the steady hum of nothingness promising to cradle you.

You lost count somewhere between "this is fine" and "I don't want to feel anymore."

And then, everything went dark.

Chan was already watching.

He had watched you for weeks, seen the cracks in your resolve, the quiet pain you tried to bury under fake smiles.

But this… this was different.

He saw the bottle roll from your hand, spinning slowly until it lay still on the floor. You had slumped over on the bed, your breathing uneven, shallow. He heard it — that faint, struggling gasp for air.

And he knew.

He knew what was happening.

"Killing someone is a sin, including killing yourself."

That was what Seungcheol had told him after his first regeneration. It wasn’t a lesson Chan had forgotten, because it had been one of the only times his master had looked at him with fear.

That day, Seungcheol's voice had been as sharp as his eyes. "Don’t play with death, Chan. Phoenixes don’t die — they burn to become better. But if you’re not careful, you’ll mistake destruction for growth.”

His master had been shaken. Chan knew it wasn’t for himself. It was for the thought of someone else trying to do the same.

Chan had always been curious about that. What made demons, demons? If Seungcheol was cursed into becoming a demon because of sin, because he took a life that wasn’t his to take, then maybe…

Maybe it worked both ways.

“Regeneration,” Chan muttered to himself, his wings fluttering as he hopped from the windowsill to the edge of the bed. His sharp gaze scanned you, taking in every detail. The slow rise and fall of your chest. The way your fingers twitched slightly. You were still alive — barely.

He tilted his head. It could work.

If taking a life can curse you into a demon...

His gaze hardened with resolve.

Then maybe taking your own life could do the same.

"Don’t hate me for this," he muttered, his hand flexing at his side, heat radiating from his fingertips. He raised his palm, a small orb of fire flickering into existence, the soft hum of flames the only sound in the quiet room.

He glanced at you one more time, his gaze softening. He didn’t want to do it. But the alternative was worse.

The flames grew brighter, the heat curling in the air around him. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as smoke began to rise from the carpet. The first spark caught, spreading faster than even he expected. The flames crawled like hungry beasts, licking the edges of the bed frame, the walls, and finally the sheets beneath you.

Chan didn’t look away. He couldn’t.

His master had warned him that fire was a dangerous thing. That flames could destroy as easily as they could cleanse.

But this wasn’t destruction.

This was rebirth.

Seungcheol froze, realization hitting him like a stone to the chest. “No,” he muttered, his eyes wide with disbelief. His breathing grew shallow as he glanced at you, sitting there so calmly on the couch, your fingers tracing the seam of the cushion like none of this mattered. “You didn’t.”

Chan straightened, his face hardening with resolve. “I did.”

Seungcheol lunged at him, grabbing Chan by the collar and yanking him forward. “You burned her?!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the space. Chan’s eyes didn’t waver, despite the threat in front of him.

“She was already gone,” Chan shot back, voice sharp, his eyes unwavering. “Do you know how many pills she took?” His voice cracked on the last word, his fingers curling into fists. “She was dying, Master! I just…” His gaze flickered to you, his jaw tightening. “I just gave her a chance.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make!” Seungcheol roared, his voice full of something raw, something close to desperation. His grip on Chan’s collar tightened. “You think you know how to control life and death now?”

Chan didn’t back down. He leaned forward, meeting Seungcheol's gaze head-on. “I learned it from you.”

Those words hit Seungcheol harder than any blade. His grip loosened, and Chan shoved him back with a scowl.

“She wasn’t supposed to die,” Chan muttered, adjusting his collar. “She wasn’t supposed to leave us.” His voice was softer this time, quieter, like he wasn’t just talking to his master but to himself. "So I did what you did. I used fire to rewrite fate."

Seungcheol ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, eyes flickering toward you. His gaze softened, but it was tinted with something more fragile—guilt.

Your eyes met his, calm yet sharp. You tilted your head. “You’re mad at him?” you asked, gesturing toward Chan with a lazy wave of your hand. “But didn’t you do the same thing once?”

Seungcheol’s body went rigid. His gaze flickered, his lips parting, but no words came out.

“You killed me too, didn’t you?” you said it so plainly, so casually, as if it were something as mundane as asking about the weather. You tilted your head, watching him closely, like you were trying to gauge his reaction. “Didn’t you, Seungcheol?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Chan looked away, his jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

Seungcheol stared at you like he’d just been stabbed. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fists curling slowly at his sides. He tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

"You’re really bad at hiding it,” you said with a small, bitter smile. “Every time I dream about it, I see you. You always look the same.” You leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees, eyes sharp like a blade poised to strike. “So tell me, Seungcheol. Tell me what you did.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You raised an eyebrow. “If you can’t say it, I will.” You leaned forward further, close enough that your gaze was all he could see. Your voice was low, cold, and unforgiving. “You killed me.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes. As if by doing so, he could escape it. As if shutting out the world would make it less real.

“I did,” he whispered, his voice hollow, broken at the edges. His eyes opened slowly, filled with something heavy, something that had been weighing on him for centuries. “I killed you.”

You stared at him, your gaze unwavering, piercing straight through him. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“Why?” you asked, voice so soft it felt like a dagger sliding between ribs.

Seungcheol’s lips parted, but nothing came out. His jaw clenched, his shoulders tense like he was holding up the weight of the world. "Because they were going to do worse." His voice was sharp, tight like he was forcing every word out of his throat. "Your father was declared a traitor. The entire kingdom wanted you dead. They would’ve dragged you through the streets, humiliated you, torn you apart piece by piece."

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with something more painful than regret—remorse.

“I didn’t want them to have that power over you,” he said, his voice hoarse like he’d been screaming silently for centuries. “So I did it myself.”

You froze. The weight of his words pressed down on you, sinking deep into your chest. You felt the air leave your lungs, your vision blurring for a second before you blinked it away.

“Because you loved me,” you whispered, barely a breath of sound.

Seungcheol’s face twisted in agony. “Yes.”

You leaned back, shoulders tense, hands curling into fists on your lap. A bitter laugh escaped you, sharp and hollow. "You loved me," you echoed, each word laced with venom. “And you still killed me.”

Seungcheol’s eyes shut tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, but you saw the crack in his armor. His hands trembled at his sides. Don’t look at me like that.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. "What did it feel like, Seungcheol?” you asked, your voice ice cold. "When you looked at me for the last time and decided I had to die—what did it feel like?”

He didn't answer. He couldn’t. His silence spoke louder than words ever could.

“Was it quick?” you pressed, your voice rising. “Did you hesitate? Did you stop for even a second?”

“Stop it,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Or did you tell yourself you were doing it for me?” Your eyes locked onto his, burning like an open flame. “Did you think that would make it hurt less?”

“Stop it!” Seungcheol roared, his voice cracking like thunder. His chest heaved, eyes wild as he took a step back, gaze filled with something that looked too much like fear.

“But you didn’t stop,” you said, voice sharp like a blade dragging against stone. “You didn’t stop, Seungcheol. Not when I begged. Not when I cried. Not even when I called your name.”

Seungcheol flinched as if you’d struck him. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw locking tight as his hands curled into fists. He stood perfectly still, like if he moved even an inch, he’d break.

“Do you know what it’s like to look at someone you love and realize they’ve already decided you’re better off dead?” Your voice trembled but didn’t break. Each word hit him harder than the last, cutting deeper, sharper. “Do you know what it’s like to feel their hands on you, to feel their warmth one second and cold steel the next?”

His breathing grew shallow. He shook his head, eyes still shut. “Don’t do this.”

“I felt it, Seungcheol,” you continued, your voice louder now, raw with every ounce of pain you’d buried for so long. “I remember it now. The way you looked at me—like you were trying to convince yourself it was mercy.” You stepped closer, each step slow and deliberate, the weight of your words following you. “But it wasn’t mercy, was it?”

His eyes snapped open, wild and desperate. "I had no choice!" he roared, voice cracking like thunder. "They were going to drag you through the streets, humiliate you, torture you—I couldn’t let them do that to you!"

His chest heaved with every breath, his gaze frantic like a man drowning with no shore in sight. “I thought... I thought if it had to be done, it should be me,” he said, his voice quieter now, trembling with the weight of it all. “I thought you’d understand.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but none of them fell. Your chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, trying to hold yourself together when all you wanted to do was scream. “Understand?” you echoed, disbelief laced in every syllable. “You think I’d understand that you killed me?” You took another step forward, eyes blazing. “I would’ve fought, Seungcheol. I would’ve fought them until my last breath. I didn’t need you to ‘save’ me.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. For once, he had nothing to say.

“You didn’t save me, Seungcheol,” you said, voice hollow now. “You stole me.”

Silence hung between you like an unbearable weight. Chan stood off to the side, gaze flickering between the two of you, his expression unreadable. He didn’t interfere. He knew this wasn’t his fight.

“I thought…” Seungcheol’s voice cracked, so soft it barely reached you. “I thought you’d hate me.” He looked at you now—not as a demon, not as a king’s son, but as a man stripped bare, raw and broken. “But I didn’t think you’d remember.”

You let out a sharp breath, a humorless laugh escaping you. “Hate you?” you repeated, eyes narrowing. “I hated you so much I swore I’d never love you again.” Your voice broke on the last word, but you didn’t stop. You refused to stop. "I told myself, in my next life, I would never let myself fall for you again.”

Your gaze softened, but it wasn’t with love—it was with pity.

“And look at me now,” you whispered, voice thick with bitterness. “Back where I started.”

Seungcheol's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

“Do you know what’s worse than hating you, Seungcheol?” you asked quietly, each word laced with an ache he could feel in his bones. “It’s realizing that after everything, after the lies, after the betrayal, after the blade you put in my heart…” You took one last step, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin. “I still love you.”

His world shattered. You saw it in the way his eyes flickered, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reach for you but knew he had no right. He looked at you like you were something holy he had defiled with his own hands.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you challenged, eyes blazing with the weight of a thousand lifetimes of pain. “Because you don’t deserve it?” You leaned in, voice sharp and unforgiving. “You don’t. You never did.”

His breathing hitched, his shoulders trembling as he took a step back, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. "I know," he rasped, his voice raw, wrecked. "I know I don't."

“Then why do you look at me like you still want it?” you shot back, and he staggered as if you’d struck him.

You stared at him, heart aching in a way that was far too familiar. Love was supposed to be kind, warm, gentle. But with him, it was brutal. It tore through you, raw and unyielding, like an old scar reopening over and over again.

“Seungcheol,” you said quietly, no anger, no malice—just the simple, unbearable truth. “You killed me once. And somehow, you’re still killing me.”

He dropped to his knees. His hands pressed against the ground as if the weight of your words was too much to carry. His head hung low, eyes shut tight, his breath coming out in short, shallow gasps. He looked like he was praying for forgiveness. But he knew better than anyone—demons don't get to pray.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking like something inside him had finally broken. He pressed his forehead to the ground, his hands gripping the dirt beneath him like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The sound of his voice, so broken, so desperate, filled the room like a haunting melody. He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t dare look at you. For a demon like him, lowering himself like this was an act of surrender, an admission of every sin, every failure.

But you didn’t move. You didn’t reach out.

“Sorry won’t bring me back,” you said softly, your voice steady even as your eyes stung with unshed tears. You watched him crumble before you, the weight of his sin finally crushing him. “Sorry won’t undo what you did.”

He didn’t reply. He just stayed there, on his knees, forehead pressed to the ground like a man waiting for judgment.

But judgment never came.

Instead, you turned away. Your heart felt heavier than ever, but you walked past him, step by step, until he was behind you. You didn’t look back.

“Don’t follow me, Seungcheol,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard every word. "Not this time."

He didn’t move. He didn’t chase you. He stayed on his knees, still and silent, with only the sound of his shallow breathing to remind him that he was still alive. Alive but not living.

Chan glanced at his master, his eyes filled with something that could’ve been pity or disappointment. He looked away, his gaze following you instead.

“She’ll never stop loving you, you know,” Chan muttered, his voice carrying across the room. “That’s the curse, isn't it?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. His fingers dug into the ground, eyes still shut, the weight of eternity pressing down on him.

"She'll keep loving you, even when it hurts." Chan's gaze softened as he watched you disappear beyond the door. “And you'll keep hurting her, won’t you?”

Still, Seungcheol said nothing.

Because he knew.

That was the curse.

The curse of love.

Of sin.

Of demons who dared to love like mortals.

The end

[notlhecxzsa]

Secret Garden In My Mind - N.R

Summary: Y/n's first day was a...roller coaster ride. But, it got more exciting with her first unexpected interaction with Natasha popping out of nowhere, with only the two of them being left alone in the house.

Author's Note: Hiii! Goshhh, I'm so sorry for making y'all waittt, so here's this! I hope it's enough to forgive me guys HAHA! hope you'll enjoyyyy, let's see where this will lead. 3k+ words.

Warnings: Blood, cursing, blood curdling domesticity (natasha being so soft and idiot), Y/n being a material wife (fuck her parents)

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Natasha's POV:

I saw how those familiar eyes widen, a spatula went in front of her, as if she was trying to hide from me by putting it on her chest. I swallowed a bump on my throat, mentally cursing myself for how I reacted. Of course, she'll be here. God, Natasha.

"I-... I was- I was just... Ms. Maria said I- I can cook the nuggets..." It came out almost as a question. I falter for a moment before regaining my composure back.

If money could make the ground to swallow me whole, that would where my billions will go. Gosh, am I drunk?

"Sorry... I'm sorry..." Those words left my mouth with no hesitation, making me falter once again. Why am I saying sorry? I don't apologize. Especially not under the roof I own and not to some... stranger. "I thought... I thought you were somebody, I'm really sorry..." I mentally face palm, biting my tongue as my inner turmoil just got louder. I mean, how can I stop apologizing when she look so... those eyes! I mean...Ugh, I'm going mad.

"Go on, you can... finish your—whatever you're cooking." I immediately turned to leave just in time when Maria step in the kitchen, a phone in hand and a frown on her face.

"Did you shout?" Fuck.

"Follow me." I commanded, walking past her without bothering to excuse myself.

I saw in my peripheral vision how the new presence that is with us put her head down, making the nagging feeling inside my chest flutter even more. As I walked away, my hearing caught the words that left Maria's mouth.

"Don't worry about her, you just eat whatever you want, okay? I'll be right outside in the balcony." I could imagine a small smile playing on her face, making me roll my eyes.

I marched towards the balcony, mixed feelings clouding my mind as a small headache started to hit me. Gosh, she's already here? Why wasn't I notified? Wait... Maybe, I was? But, if I am, I could've remembered it!

"Why the hell is she here?" I whispered in a shout as I face away from her, looking out in the view before us, both of my arms on the railings. I couldn't let her see my face, and notice that I'm in a turbulence inside my mind.

"What do you mean? I've already told you that last night before you went out with those two girls...." I winced as I remembered how I decided to pick two last night, wondering if it could help me out of the mess I'm in. Still, I kicked them out before I could even close the door of one of  the rooms inside that bar I go to. "...You even told me you'll be picking her up, Nat. But, I've received your phone calls, I couldn't reach you so I decided to do it myself-" Feeling irritated, I faced her with so much confusion and annoyance visible in my face.

"Maria, you can't take initiatives on such things like this! She's mine to think about—she—she's my problem for god's sake!" Mentally, I was taken aback by the things I have said. I wondered if it's my first time telling her something like this, but I chose to not falter. I saw how her eyes widened a little, not ignoring the flash of hurt that ran around it.

"What the fuck, Nat? Since when did it become a problem with me cleaning your dirt? Doing your work? She's yours to think about, but did you see how you handled her earlier? No shit, Romanoff, you yelled at her! Did you even see how startled she was? She's here, somewhere foreign to her and with people she barely knew." I gulped down the saliva on my throat, suddenly finding it hard to talk about and find the right words to stand still and claim my dominant towards her.

"What's been happening to you, Natalia? You're not doing like yourself this past couple of days..." I heard her claimed a long breath before exhaling it out. "If it's about work, tell me and I'll handle it. About your family? Your dad? Tell me and I'll help you, we'll help you. We're not your enemies here, come on. We've come so far together already... I'm not a stranger." With that, a gust of wind passed by me as she walked out the huge sliding door. That was when I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding still.

Am I losing my mind? Maria was right, I am not myself. I just couldn't understand what is happening. Everything feels too much and it angers me how I can't even resolve my own problem.

I turned to catch a glimpse of what moved in my peripheral vision. I watched as the two woman inside the penthouse talk to each other, gazing down, there's was a small plate of chicken nuggets in Y/n's hand, offering it to Maria. A flutter crossed my chest, I couldn't help but to clear my throat as I looked away, trying to take my attention to other things outside. But, even the birds and the skies couldn't compel to the face of an angel right here before me.

Looking back, I saw Y/n looking down now, I frowned, thinking of what they might be talking about. Raising her hand, Maria pat her head, resulting to my frown deepening. After that, she said some words that made Y/n look up with those doe eyed gaze. I held a breathe when Y/n walked towards Maria, closing the distance between them and hugging her.

I started to walk inside, my hands itching to grab something...someone— oh stop it. My feet faltered when I saw Maria raised her arms and reciprocated the intimate gesture. Hell, I don't even remember when I last hugged that woman and she's letting some random girl hug her after meeting for a few hours?

Deciding to stop the bullshit, if you could call it that, I made my way inside the penthouse, I was at a distnce when just in time, they pulled away from each other. Clearing my throat, they both looked at me, Maria stepping back instantly, holding a bowl in her hand.

"Maria, go get Clint on the phone and tell here to deal with New York and let Bucky deal with Budapest. I'm not feeling very well, I'm taking the day off." After that, I turned my gaze towards Y/n who was looking down, picking at her hands. I rolled my eyes mentally, before walking past them— between them. One of my hand automatically took the bowl away from Maria's hold as I marched upstairs towards my room. I could feel her eyes burning holes in the back of my head, but I couldn't careless. It was my money that bought this, and there's so much food there, they could just cook again.

Maybe, a day off is all that I need.

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^°^~°^~

Y/n's POV:

"Well, I'm gonna go for now. I'll come back later and I'll check on you—do you have a phone? Maybe, I can get your number so it'll be easier for you to ask me if you need something." I looked up at Maria as she started speaking, shaking my head after she finished asking.

"I- uh... I don't have one..." I gulped when she squinted her eyes at me in a way that I don't understand. "But- but, I do have a laptop... I just- I don't have any socials... can I text you through my laptop?" I asked, and it took a moment before she responded.

"No, I uh... Oh! we hand that landline here..." She pointed at the telephone by the kitchen counter that was sitting on the far corner, and smiled slightly, feeling better to see that there's a telephone. That, I could use. "And we also have that somewhere in the living room, don't worry, I'll request Natasha to put one up in your room while we wait to buy you a phone, okay?" I nodded, smiling up at her before I remembered something.

"Oh, do-do you want me to cook you nuggets? Or I-" I was cut of by her.

"Don't worry about it, I'm not that hungry. I should get going now, I'll write down my number for you first... wait." She walked away, and I was left in the kitchen. I let out a sigh I didn't know I was holding as I sit on one of the stools she have here. It was so big, everything and everywhere is so big.

The nuggets are great! Does every nuggets here on New York taste like this? Is this some kind of special nuggets? Speaking of nuggets, I look towards where Natasha had disappeared from the corner.

Maybe she's in her room, Maria pointed it out to me earlier, does she want more nuggets? She said she was not feeling very well, maybe I could cook her some more foods? Bring her meds?

"Here." Maria gave me a piece of 1 sheet paper, there were two numbers. "The first one is my number and the second one is Natasha's, just in case she's not here and you need something. And, by the way, if she bothered you don't mind too much about it, she's just- she's just like that." I just nodded along the words she let out, still sitting on the stool so I was looking up at her.

"Would you—should I... uhmmm... Can I bring Natalia more foods? Maybe she needs medicine, or... or anything? I can do it." I asked politely, my hands fumbling around the paper she gave me. I didn't said anything wrong, right? That's what Mama and Dada said, to take care of Natasha, to look after her, to give her anything she needs. Anything she wants.

"Oh, uhh, I don't know about that. She can handle herself. You just make yourself at home, alright? Rest if you need to, I'll be back before you know it." I nodded once again, standing up as I went in for a hug.

She's very welcoming, very kind towards me. I've never met a stranger be this kind to me, it makes me miss home, miss Lucy. I just really need a hug right now and hugging Maria felt right.

Only one of her arms wrapped around me, and I pulled away. "I'm sorry if I kept hugging you—I hope I'm not making you feel uncomfortable... I just... I really need it." I explained, looking anywhere but her eyes.

"It's fine, don't worry." She pat my head before straightening out her shirt. "I should go now, we wouldn't want a dragon showering me with fire." I giggled at what she said and nodded as she started walking away.

"Take care, Ms. Maria. Thank you so much." I said gratefully, waving my hand at her.

She shook her head and waved back before disappearing into a corner. I sighed as I was left on my own thoughts, what can I do for the rest of the day? Can I watch TV? Natalia is here with me, maybe I could get to know her more? Looking around, I glanced at the clock and saw that it's almost past lunch time. Has she eaten already? Maybe she was hungry that's why she took the nuggets.

Standing up, I walked to the fridge, deciding to see what I could cook for her, or maybe for Maria also for when she get home later. There's so many foods here, all of them are fresh and well restocked, I wonder if it's all new.

Sighing, I stood up and look into nothingness, facing where Natasha had left earlier. Should I go check on her? Will it be okay? I'm just gonna check on her only. Golly, maybe she's sleeping? I suddenly jumped at the sound of thump and a sprained curse coming through the hallway.

Worry filled my head so I quickly closed the fridge and ran to where it was coming from. Turning on the corner, I saw Natasha with a vase broken into pieces around her feet. My eyes widened as I yelp her name.

"Natalia! Are you okay?" I asked as I watched her clutching her feet. She's in the exact corner, was she coming to the kitchen? I didn't hear her footsteps.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck... fucking hell!" My eyes widened more and I immediately raised my hand to support her body, but no doubt in my that I would come tumbling around with her if she ever did fell down. She's strong and... big!

"Your feet is bleeding! Golly! Come on, let me help you get to the living." Her hand automatically took a hold of mine while she kept cursing. I just pretended to not hear it, if only I could close my ears but my hands are all full. "What happened to you? Where does it hurt? Golly." I rambled as we walked past the kitchen into the living room where I helped her sit down on the couch, her body almost pulling mine along as she did so.

I immediately stood up straight and ran to the kitchen. "Wait for me." I looked for a clean cloth and found nothing. "Do you have any first aid kit here?!" I yelled gently through the kitchen as I rummaged around.

"By the restroom!" She yelled out with a booming voice and I immediately went to the restroom near. I thankfully quickly found a clean cloth and a box of aid kit beside it, taking it in my hands I immediately ran back, putting it on her feet before I went back again to the kitchen to get a big bowl and then filled it with water.

"Just wait for me, Natalia!" I said in a hurry. I was already panicking, especially after seeing the blood stream going to the floor of her living room.

Golly, hurry up, Y/n!

Soon enough, I was sitting by her feet, my leg folded so I was practically sitting on my ankles. The first thing I did was to stop the bleeding, and then after that I cleaned it with the things available inside the kit for cleaning the wounds along with my bowl of water. She was quiet the whole time, if it were me, I would be crying. The wound is not that big but it is deep, but at the same time there were no stitcher needed.

Good thing Lucy taught me many things.

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^

3rd Person's POV:

As silence enveloped the surrounding of Natasha's living room, only the sound of Y/n's hand tending her foot was heard. The younger girl was too focused on mending what was hurt to notice the pair of green forest eyes gazing at her. The bumps running along Natasha's skin at the feeling her soft and gentle touch.

She's never been handled like this before, with so much care, so much... Gosh, she's thinking too much once again. Y/n's hand gracefully worked through helping Natasha's wound, while Natasha almost forgot what happened to her already.

"Uhmm..." Y/n cleared her throat, taking Natasha out of the trance she was in. "Would you... would you like something to eat?" Y/n asked, so soft that Natasha could possibly sleep at the sound of it. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" Y/n rambled as she rolled the gauze around Natasha's foot.

There was a moment of silence, Y/n could feel herself getting nervous, already wishing to take back what she said. Suddenly, Natasha ask, "Where did you learn that?"

"Lucy—she's my... uhm... my caregiver. She's been with me since I was a baby. She uh... she thought me many things, including this." Y/n said and Natasha couldn't help but hear the longingness lacing through her voice. There was a certain sadness that Natasha couldn't pinpoint. But, she chose to not ask anything, feeling that it might be a sensitive topic.

"Ahhhh... Lucille, right?" Y/n's head snapped up at her, her eyes filled with wonder. Their face was inches far away from each other as Natasha was leaning forward.

"You know her?" Y/n asked before looking down, as if shying away from Natasha's deep gaze.

"Yeah, I do. Been so long since I last talked to her... I was maybe... 8 or 10 above I don't know." There was an anomaly in Natasha's voice, a certain softness as she shared something she didn't know she would share. It was a very long time, she's not usually like this, sharing something to someone. But, it felt right as those words automatically came out her mouth.

Y/n was silent, only nodding her head as a reply but Natasha could see the gears working through her head. "Aren't you hot?" Natasha blurted, suddenly.

"Hmm?" Y/n asked, looking up while holding Natasha's foot.

Natasha gazes at the girl's face, from how her eyebrows were raised in question and how her eyes circled in wonder. Her pink mouth agape as her nose widens a little in every breath. "You're wearing a sweater and pants. You're all covered up." Natasha said, her eyes focused on Y/n's lips.

Y/n is not an idiot, she sensed how Natasha's eyes raked her face, shying away, she looked down, deciding to finish mending her feet. "I'm uh... no, I'm fine." Now, Natasha observed that there was an edge on her voice, as if wanting to drop the topic down.

Full of wonder, Natasha thought. She's mysterious but at the same time she's an open book, full of words that Natasha is yet to dicover. She could only wonder what lies beneath the cover.

"There. All done. Stay here, I'll clean the vase-would you like something first? Water?..." Y/n started cleaning up the mess she made while mending Natasha's foot. "Anything?" Looking up to see Natasha's burning gaze still on her.

"No. No, nothing..." Y/n nodded and said a small 'okay', standing up with the things in her hand.

"If you need me just call out, okay? You just stay here and don't put any pressure on that, it might start bleeding." Y/n explained before disappearing into the kitchen.

Natasha was left in her own thoughts, her eyes not leaving the vacant space where the young girl had disappeared. What the hell just happened? There were no awkwardness around them, maybe Y/n's shying away, but beyond that it was... comfortable. Natasha felt comfortable... she felt fuzzy, as if those splitting moments were merely a dream.

Is she dreaming?

She could hear Y/n walking around behind her, then the sound of the glass being picked up. It was as if all her senses was focused on the girl, and she let it be as she rest on the sofa.

Before she knew it, she was already napping on her million dollar couch, her heart beating in a soft beat for the first time as her mind was somehow at peace while she uses the soft and gentle movement of the girl as a music to fall asleep on.

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Author's Note: Here you go, everyone! Hope I could finish the next one already, mwehehehehe, thank you so much! and so sorryyyy for making you wait. (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

[nanaloveswo-men]

pairing: hiromi higuruma x reader (fluffy and suggestive) summary: hiromi wasn't expecting to meet a plushie collection - your children, you explained - the first time he sleep in your bedroom. wc: 1.5k

hiromi was quite nervous. he had been at your apartment a few times before, but all quick visits. like when he was waiting for you to change your clothes from work, or when you had to grab your purse. he even had been here alone when you asked if he could water your plants while you were out of town because of work.

but today was different, this would be the first time he was here to stay the night. all night.

of course, this was something normal for lovers, but still, there was something so intimate about entering someone's house. especially someone you loved. knowing the place where they rest, where they are the most vulnerable. he liked this so much.

different from the times hiromi was here before, now he got his sweet time admiring your home, the furniture you were so proud of - 'i chose all by myself', you would say, and he would always smile and say that you did such a good job.

"a pretty picture you have here" you look back at him from your spot in the kitchen trying to see what photo he was talking about. you got flustered when you discovered.

you were still in middle school when the photo was taken. a selfie you took with an old friend, even though you were kind of weird in that time, that picture was special. reminded you of when things were easier, not better, just nostalgic.

"stop. everyone was ugly in middle school. i bet you were too" you hum and higuruma pondered.

he remembers when he was young. not a time he would like to go back to. problems at home, and all the kids who used to make fun of his nose. not that he cared too much about it, but he didn't like it either. "i think you were pretty. still are, actually." he avoided the topic about himself, you noticed.

"how dare you to lie right under my nose. how can i trust you if you say that i was pretty when i looked like a gremlin, huh?" you tease him when you feel his arms hugging your waist.

he laughs right into your ear "a cute gremlin" he says kissing where your neck connect with your shoulder. "i was definitely an ugly one."

the kiss tickles your skin, and you giggle with the feeling. not expecting, but not surprised.

"teenagers were mean. they used to joke about the size of my nose. can't say they weren't creative with the nicknames tho" hiromi says hiding his face on your neck.

you turn your body to face him, your forehead resting against his own. one of your hands holding his face while the other was caressing his the bone on his nose.

"they were dumb for sure. bet they regret it now, seeing that you are such a handsome man with a handsome big nose" hiromi laughs hearing you. he can't help, you sounded so cute trying to comfort him.

actually, nowadays he couldn't care less about those jokes nor the kids who made them, but hearing your sweet voice complimenting him, he could play the victim for some minutes.

"i still feel kind of bad, so you can continue." immediately, you understood the game he was playing.

classic higuruma, playing with you so he can be spoiled. you did your best to contain the smile forming on your face.

running your hands down his back, you tilt your head to the side a bit like you were thinking. "they were probably jealous 'cause everyone knows that man with big nose are a hundred percent hotter."

"what more?" he asks holding you in place with both hands on your waist.

you giggled looking at him. hiromi stands with puppy eyes, and if you didn't know him better you could say that he was almost crying. he was a good actor, you would give him that.

"and the girls were just trying to get your attention. luck me they couldn't get it" you say standing on your tiptoes almost touching his mouth with yours.

you would have kissed him if he didn't had turn his head to the other side. instead, you kissed the side of his right cheek.

"i need to hear more to heal my heart" at this point, hiromi was just messing with you, running his hands down your body and looking down at you with his pretty eyes.

you groan in displeasure. you were happy to play his little game until you got aroused with the way his hands caressed you and how good his voice sounded.

"hiromiiii, stop teasing me" you begged locking your arms behind his neck.

"you're right. we should eat dinner now, before it gets cold" he says releasing the iron grip he had on you.

you look at the take out placed on the counter of the kitchen. hiromi had bought it from your favorite restaurant on his way to your apartment. the food which you loved, now was the only thing between you and the attention you needed from your boyfriend.

on the other side, hiromi was smiling during the whole dinner, making you even more pissed. how dare he, getting you all aroused and then leaving you with absolutely nothing, not even a little kiss.

---

hiromi looked at his reflection on the mirror. after dinner, you went straight to the bathroom to take a shower, claiming that you couldn't wait to finally clean your body after the day.

gentleman as always, hiromi waited patiently on the couch for your return so he could take his own bath. even though you said take he could wait in your bedroom, he didn't feel comfortable to enter your personal space without you.

he swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing that you were on the other side of the bedroom door, already in your cute pink pajamas. slowly, he opened the door, getting a view of your pretty face, the rest of your body covered by the blanket.

"you took so long, i almost thought that you drowned at the shower" you said without looking at him, focused on the phone in your hands.

"sorry, got lost on my way here" he joked, getting under the blanket with you.

rolling your eyes, you finally turned off the phone. "you're not as funny as you think" he only smiled, getting closer to you.

"blame a man for only trying to make his girl laugh, i must confess, i'm guilty" when he was almost hugging you, you suddenly sat on the bed, looking everywhere for something he didn't know. "what are you looking for?"

you got up from the bed, kicking his legs on the process, but only when you turned the lights on, he finally saw what was on the top of your drawer.

a bunch of plushies, in all colors, sizes and types of animals, staring directly at him, almost judging his sins and the things he was about to do.

"sorry, i have to turn them to face the wall, don't want to let them see anything lewd" you explained "can you help me?"

and hiromi couldn't find in his heart to deny you.

"i didn't know you were the kind to collect plushies." he said turning the last one to the wall. he did find a bit weird, but in a certain way, it was cute, and he loved everything about you.

you looked horrified at him, like he had made a horrible mistake. "it's not just a 'plushie collection', they are special, they are like my children."

he wasn't expecting that. noticing the pout on your face, hiromi made his best to not laugh, even though you weren't convinced at all.

"it's the sanrio collection, i even have some that are rare" you explained showing the catalog marked with a glittery pen on the ones you already possessed. "you know, it's not easy to convince a little girl that you'll do better use of a plushie than her."

"did you fight a little girl for a plushie?" he asked, not surprised, but curious.

you denied him with a nod. "of course i did not, i talked with her, just like my lawyer boyfriend taught me to."

it took you about twenty minutes to convince the girl, but in the end, you left the store with a rare one in hands.

"remember me again, how old are you? maybe you're still the cute gremlin in the picture" he teased taking the plushie out of your hands. he looked at it, and to be honest, it was kind of cute.

"thinking now, if they are my children, and you are my boyfriend, you're kind of their father" in your head, this made absolutely sense.

hiromi gently put the plushie he was holding on the drawer again, making sure that it was facing the wall. "i'm not sure if i want to be father of them, but i'm sure that i want to date their mama."

"hiromi!" you slapped his chest, not believing in what he had just said.

still, you couldn't deny that you loved the way he was kissing you with so much passion. poor plushies that had to listen their parents the whole night.

[sincerelyneo]

birthday | h.rj

“so cover your eyes, i have a surprise”

💿now playing: birthday by katy perry

❯ summary: It’s your boyfriend’s first birthday with you. Too bad he’s too stubborn to tell you what he wants, leaving you to take matters into your own hands. Still, you’re certain the little blue set you have at the back of your closet will be just the perfect present for him.

❯ pairings: renjun x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, tooth rotting fluff.

❯ words: 5.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, lingerie, birthday sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), slight begging, praising, heavy petting, reader uses she/her pronouns, renjun calls reader his girl, renjun is very smitten, reader dresses up for renjun’s birthday.

a/n: i’m in the process of going through my old google docs to find my old fics and repost them.

“Could you please stop being so stubborn?!”

It’s the twelfth time this week you’ve asked Renjun what he wanted for his birthday. You’ve asked the boy so much you swear you’ve had this argument in every part of your house: the living room, the bedroom, the dining room, and even the bathroom. But today, your boyfriend is adamant he doesn’t want anything in the kitchen. 

“I don’t understand you sometimes,” you huff, folding your arms across your chest and pressing your weight against the island. “You had no problem telling Chenle and Mark what you wanted, why are you giving me a hard time?” 

Renjun chuckles to himself as he starts placing last night’s leftover pizza in the microwave. 

You’re right — he knows you’re right — and he thinks about how willing he was to tell Mark about the new expensive shoes he had seen and needed to have. 

“This isn’t funny!” You groan. 

“Baby, I’ve told you a thousand times, you don’t need to get me anything,” he finishes twiddling the dial before turning around and pressing his arms against the counter behind him. 

You notice the way the arm muscles, that his short-sleeved t-shirt was exposing, tense and the way his veins become more prominent. He always looks so hot in the morning, hair dishevelled and eyes droopy from staying up all night just to fuck you. And you swear, if you weren’t so goddamn mad at him right now you’d fall to your knees instantly and fumble with his pyjama bottoms. 

“But I just want to treat you, Jun,” you whine, bouncing a little in distress. Renjun sucks a breath between his teeth as his eyes flick to your boobs.

He pushes himself off the counter and pulls you into a big bear hug, he was good at giving those, and the two of you always knew the minute he engulfs you in them you become putty in his hands. 

“You spoil me enough already by being my girl,” he presses a soft kiss to your hair and you almost melt — but then you remember, this is the twelfth time he’s played this tactic to avoid this conversation —  and you were sure as hell not letting him whither out of it once again. 

You untangle his arms from your sides and watch him smirk as they fall. This is usually the part where you kiss his nose and tell him to stop being so cute, but not today — you’re pissed. 

“I’m not falling for it this time, Huang,” you shove your hands on your hips, “so quit playing around and just tell me what you want.”

He huffs, “Baby, do we have to do this now, it’s early.”

“Yes, we’re doing this now! You’re not getting any younger!”

He rolls his eyes. He just doesn’t get it. Why can’t you understand that he doesn’t want you to spend your money on him? He didn’t need you to pamper him with expensive gifts just to know that you love him. He already knows that — you make it very clear to him when you're screaming his name. He finds it ironic actually, that you’re the one calling him stubborn yet you won’t give up on this. And that’s when he gets his idea. 

“I know what I want-”. Your eyes light up with joy the minute he says it. “-I want you to stop asking me what I want. Now that would be the best present to date,” and now they’re dimming. 

“You’re impossible, you know that?!”

“It’s all a part of my charm,” he winks. 

The microwave beeps and Renjun lets out a sigh of relief as he pulls out the hot plate. He takes a bite, mouth full and says, 

“I know you’re not gonna drop this, so we’ll finish this after my pizza.” 

Then he saunters past you and into the living room.   

You in fact did not finish that conversation after Renjun’s pizza. You did try, but your boyfriend was great at nuzzling into your neck and gripping your thighs tight enough to distract you. 

So now, you’re standing here, in your kitchen, on his birthday, trying to make him breakfast as a last minute surprise. It was a small but possible gesture considering he had not given you anything to work with. 

Renjun stumbles out of the kitchen half asleep, hair all over the place with his sweatpants hanging off his hips. He rubs his eyes, wincing at the shriek of the smoke alarm that had woken him up. 

The sight he found in front of him was you, standing on top of the kitchen counter, frantically waving a dish towel at the smoke alarm to get it to stop. You’re covered in flour from trying to make pancakes from scratch, smoke steaming from the frying pan.

When the screeching does stop, you blow out a heavy frustrated sigh dropping your hands to your side noticing Renjun. He’s standing there, leaning against the door frame with a wide grin plastered on his face; looking from you to the kitchen that looks like a bomb exploded in it. 

"What's all this?" he asks, eyes lit up to match the amused look on his face.

You give him a sheepish smile. Gesturing to the plate of black pancakes on the bench across from him.

"Uhm... Happy Birthday?"

“Ah, so you finally decided on a birthday present.” 

“Yeah, but I think I’ve ruined whatever it was supposed to be.” 

The two of you look down at the ruined breakfast. You’re embarrassed but he’s so sweet about it, and still offers to eat the pancakes. You tell him not to, unless he wanted this birthday to be his last.

He comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around and pressing into you so you have to land your hands on the island counter in front. He nestles in against your ear. 

“Thanks for trying though.” 

You look up at him over your shoulder, “Don’t underestimate me, Huang. There’s more.” 

“More?” His eyebrow quirks.

You nod and grab his hand to lead him into the living room. He follows suit, eventually flopping down on the leather sofa. 

“You didn’t have to do all this, Y/N.” 

“Shhh,” you dismiss him, "just no peeking, okay?” 

"I would never.” 

Renjun can't see, he's sitting there with his hands pressed against his face. 

You’re honestly starting to regret this whole thing. This wasn’t even your idea but it was Haechan’s suggestion to surprise your boyfriend with lingerie. Well, not exactly lingerie, he just told you to do ‘something sexy for him,’ and this was what you landed on.

Calling Haechan was a last resort, you were in a moment of crisis and panic about only having a week left to whip up your boyfriend a present. You were hoping your boyfriend may have mentioned something to his friends — but he hadn’t — so alas here you are. 

You’re saving this for last though. For now, you have his actual wrapped present for him to open, and you’re just praying he likes it. It’s hard to buy presents for a man who has almost everything. 

You set the wrapped present on the coffee table in front of him, and move to sit next to him, adjusting the black silk robe you put on this morning to hide his real surprise underneath. 

"Okay, you can look,” you finally tell him, watching his hands drop faster than you can blink but his eyes immediately get caught by the black smooth material riding up your skin. He starts raking his gaze over your thighs before bringing it to your face.

The black pupils in his eyes expand inside the brown, a slow pleased form of excitement tugging his mouth up at the corner to flash his teeth.

You’re anxious to see what he thinks of his gift, you just want him to unwrap it already so you can see his reaction. 

"Open your present," you whine at him taking too long. 

But Renjun’s more impatient than you. His fingers starting to toy with the drawstring of the robe around your waist, trying to tug at the knot there with a pout.

"But I want this one.” 

You push his eager hands away and he huffs, shoulders slumping as his gaze goes to the table with his bottom lip pushed out. 

"I’m sure you do," you tease, reaching over to pick up his present wrapped in patterned blue paper. 

"It’s sort of a silly present, but I thought you might like it,”  you explain, watching him trace his fingers over the wrapping paper with an amused smile. 

"I kinda don't wanna open it... it's wrapped so pretty.” 

"Please open it — the suspense is killing me.” 

His frantic skilled fingers discard the paper next to him as he tore it away. He then picks up the small leather book in his lap that's now exposed.  A bright, albeit kind of confused laugh bursts from him as he looks. 

“Flick through it,” you instruct, and he does. 

You bite your lip, watching him inspect it. It’s a scrapbook you managed to put together last minute. “Some of the pages are blank, figured we could fill it out together as we do more things.” 

"I love it" he butts in, looking at you with a grin as he keeps flicking through it.

He leans over to kiss you, but you press your finger against his lips to halt him, watching his brows twitch together as his lips pucker against your finger, "We went over this at Christmas, open your presents first or we'll be here all night — you can have a kiss once you're done."

In response to your rules, he slams the scrapbook closed, dropping it on the table. Then you’re being grabbed and yanked towards him so fast that you fumble into his lap. His hand grabs your thigh to hoist it up over him, so your knees sit on either side of his hips.

Everything is so fast; you barely have time to register it. His large hands are grasping at your jaw, while his fingers splay against your cheek until he's pushing his mouth against yours with a force that knocks oxygen clean out of you.

He's sucking in quick broken breaths through his nose, putting everything into the kiss that's harsh and tender all at once. His hands slip from your jaw into your hair, pulling you closer to him so your hands rest against his chest and you fist at the fabric. 

He tears his mouth away for the briefest moment. You’re staring at each other with eyes red and glossy. 

“So I take it you liked it?” you ask with a bite of your lip. 

He shakes his head while smiling before tugging you forward again. His tongue delving back past your lips, “Of course I fucking like it.” 

His hands drop from your hair to grope over your waist and hips to hold you against him. You haven’t even gotten to your last present for him yet and he’s already crippling with desire. 

Renjun keeps his mouth hovering close to yours,

"Like? No like isn’t the right word — it's not good enough," he manages between kisses, "I love it, I love you.”

"It’s not that amazing," you hush him as he paws at your back and tries to connect your mouths again. 

“Yes, it is, because you made it."

You hate (love) the way he’s always so sweet and reassuring. You know he does it for your reaction, to tease you and make your cheeks turn red. So, you try to escape him before he gets the chance to make a snarky remark about the blush on your cheeks. 

But attempting to lift yourself off of him causes him to immediately protest, digging his fingers into your skin through the silk as he tries to move his face to your neck to attack there instead.

You push at his chest, and he whines a pathetic sound that has your skin tingling, "Don't tease me baby please, don't be mean. It’s my birthday.”

"I'm not trying to tease you,” you shake your head, pulling back and shuffling off of him, but he won’t let you.

After a long battle, you mange to unclamp his stubborn hands while he stares at you with desperate puzzled eyes.

"Then stop moving and come here,” he tries to reach for you to pull you back down but you step away, moving further from the couch. 

His gaze darts from your feet to your face, wetting his lips while watching you intensely. You see him take his bottom lip between his teeth when you move your hands to the knot at the front of your robe and slowly start to slip it undone. 

His eyes flash wider and his fingers grip tighter around his knees where he's sat with his legs spread wide. You can feel nerves buzzing in your body, taking a coaxing breath as you lock your eyes with his.

"You ready to open your last present?"

The anticipation in the air is palpable, it's enough to have your fingers trembling with the way Renjun’s suspenseful gaze keeps locking on you. But the thing that’s making your heart surge the most is the emotion behind his eyes. 

You never do things like this. At least, you haven’t with Renjun. And even though he tells you every day that you’re so beautiful and so perfect, you can’t help but feel your nerves tighten. 

"You gonna show me what's under there?” Renjun encourages in a slow voice, full of rasp. You watch his chest jump with a breath when you grip the edges of the robe to pull it open.

He notices you hesitate, and his brows twitch together as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "Don't be nervous, ever. Not with me."

You compose yourself with his encouragement. But you still hold your breath as you let the robe start to slip from your shoulders, the silky fabric inching down as you open it until it hits the floor. Your heart hammers with every bit of skin being revealed as you stand there in a set of blue lingerie. 

It's like time stops. Renjun hasn't so much as taken a breath, eyes frozen on you, darting everywhere at once.

You start to tense up, but then he lets out a breath. He clears his throat a few times and opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out; he just sits there with his mouth ajar. You glance up at him, feeling your heart accelerate and blood rush to your cheeks. On the other hand, it looks like Renjun’s brain has completely short-circuited.

Harnessing a surge of confidence from his reaction, you take a few steps to close the gap between the two of you. His eyes stay transfixed as they trace over every inch of blue decorating your body. You’re standing between his spread legs, and he falls back against the backrest of the couch with a slight thud.

"Do you like it?" You ask, keeping your voice quiet. 

"I - I, uh..." He swallows, then blinks once, twice, and then closes his eyes shaking his head like he can't concentrate, "Uh - fuck, I..."

"Everything okay, Jun?" You suppress a smile and watch as he takes a deep breath when his eyes drift open, and he smooths his hair away from his forehead.

"No, I'm not - what the fuck are you trying to do to me...baby," he stumbles over his words, taking you in with another once over like he can't believe it. Then he brings his hands up to hover near your hips. "So, this is what you finally came up with?"

You chew on your lip, face feeling hot from how flattered you feel over his reaction. You’re not sure what you expected, but you didn't expect him to be this well... stunned.

"I wanted to give you the best birthday,” you murmur, “so yeah, I bought it for you."

He breathes like the oxygen was kicked out of him, reaching for your hands and pulling you towards him until you’re perching a knee on either side of his hips and resting your limbs on his shoulders.

His hands hover near your hips again and trace down over your thighs, but he doesn't touch them — not yet anyway. 

"I don't even think I deserve to touch you in this."

"Don’t say that. Haechan thought this would be a good idea," you tell him, feeling his hands finally settle on your thighs and watching his eyes flash wider as his jaw clenches.

Yep. That was the total wrong thing to say to him right now.

You wait for Renjun to blow a blood vessel in his forehead, but instead, his eyes go down to your cleavage under the blue mesh of your bra and he takes in a slow breath.

"This is what she talks to my friends about?" he mutters to himself, and you try so hard not to crack a smile.

His gaze drifts up to yours again, and he swallows; moving his hands up your thighs to feel his palms over the straps and garters enriching your skin before his jaw softens. 

"Well... look at it this way" you coax him, keeping your tone gentle whilst you smooth your hands over his shoulders to rest against his neck, "You're the only one that gets to take this off of me.” 

Your words have your boyfriend lifting his brows, and sucking his lower lip under his teeth and that old bothered look melts away to a much more pleased one, "Just me?"

"Only you," you nod, feeling his fingers press harder into the skin of your hips when he rests his hands there.

"Forever?"

“Always.”

He wets his lips, leaning in more so your noses nearly touch and his rough voice whispers into the air between you, "Can I tell you a secret?"

You can only manage a nod, chest tight from how the atmosphere feels like it's strangling you. There is such an intense feeling, because he's looking at you with hungry eyes that also look flooded with heart crippling love.

His hands move from your hips to trace his fingertips up your back, “You’re the first girl who’s ever done something like this for me.” 

He trails off to brush his nose against yours, before nudging it against your cheek and keeping his lips just out of reach. You feel your eyes start to burn, that lump lodging in your throat as you exhale a shaky breath. 

"I’m so fucking obsessed with you, Y/N. You just wouldn’t believe it," his fingers ghost back down your back, and he keeps his stare on yours.

"Please shut up and kiss me," you burst your words out in a single breath, gripping the sides of his neck to tug him towards you and connect with his lips. 

It's like a rupture of pressure as soon as your mouths touch, and Renjun sucks in a sharp gasp through his nose; attacking your lips with his in a kiss that's desperate and frantic.

His hands go straight to your now bare ass, that's only covered by two measly straps of the lingerie, and grips it. He starts hoisting you up, your arms clinging around his shoulders as tight as your thighs wrap around his hips. He blindly makes his way towards your bedroom, trying his hardest not to trip over his own feet or walk into something with you around him. 

Both of your lungs are trying to suck in the air but become nothing but a ball of gasps and pants mixed with shaky breaths and trembling limbs. 

He manages to make it into your dim bedroom when he urges your thighs down until your feet hit the ground and he's the one that drops down to sit on the edge of the bed. You stand in front of him, weak at the knees and cloudy in the brain with blood rushing through your body like fire.

Renjun stares up at you, his cheeks tinted with the flush that's crept down his neck to match the cherry colour of his raw lips. You move towards him. It’s like you have a magnet in your chest tugging at you with all its force to get you closer to him.

"Turn for me. I wanna get a proper look at you — see how lucky I am,” he rasps out of breath, and the deep gravelly sound leaving him makes your spine shiver.

His hands on your hips urge you to spin around. You’re not sure how your legs are able to withstand it considering how jelly-like they feel. 

"I’m the luckiest man alive...God fuckin help me,” he whispers to himself and you can’t help but allow your whole body to erupt in goosebumps when his eyes burn into every part of your skin. 

He’s lust drunk on you. 

Renjun’s hands come up, going to the blue material hiding your chest from him. He begins letting his fingers follow the edges of it, teasing his digits over your perked nipples. He continues going down and repeating his brushing over the garter belt and panties, taking in each detail like he never wants to forget it. 

"I kinda don't wanna open it... you're wrapped so pretty," he murmurs, looking up to catch your eyes and mimicking his earlier words.

Your hands are shaking from the tension in the air. His knuckles graze against the front of your underwear, making your breath hitch in your throat. He drags his tongue across his lower lip, sliding his palms down the front of your thighs. 

“I don’t think I have enough words to thank you for today. But I think I can show you.” 

You can't take this anymore, and before you can think twice you rush forward, leaning down to grasp his face and clamber on top of him. You kiss him as hard as you can, the force making him fall backwards as his shoulders hit the mattress with a bounce. 

He only gives you a few seconds before he's flipping you. Climbing over you and ushering you further up the bed. When his lips detach from yours, Renjun pushes himself up onto his knees to look down at you perched between his legs.

His chest is heaving, hair all over the place with random strands dangling in front of his forehead. He moves his hands to throw off his t-shirt. You get drunk off the sight of him when he focuses on getting his pyjama bottoms off. 

He drops forward as soon as his legs are free, his large hands dipping into the bed next to your waist with your legs bent on either side of his shoulders. He turns his head to leave a trail of heated wet open kisses up your skin that makes your centre throb.

Every action feels heightened, so intense but gentle. His movements are heated but careful like he's trying to fuck your heart but love your body at the same time.

Your hands move to his hair, stroking through it as he moves his mouth to your other thigh, paying it the same attention. You gasp when he takes the strap from your garter between his teeth to let it snap back against your skin.

"Jun please..." you sigh in a wavering breath. 

"Okay baby" he hushes against your skin, moving his hands to grip the hem of your underwear sitting over the top of the garter, "Gonna be so good to you. Make you feel how I do."

You hold your breath when you feel him gently start to tug it down your hips. His eyes focus on his hands dragging the material down your thighs like he's savouring the moment. Then he’s sitting up on his knees again to lift your legs and remove your underwear completely.

He dangles the blue fabric on his fingertip, raising a cheeky brow at you, "Think I might keep these."

"Don't you dare,” you burst out laughing, swatting at his hand as he giggles to himself.

He drops the underwear next to you on the bed, moving his hands to slip under your back. You arch to help him while he feels around and uses his fingers to unclasp your bra. His gaze is admiring, watching it slip off your arms.

"Definitely keeping this too.” 

You roll your eyes, grinning to yourself. But that smile is quickly wiped away when his eyes lock on your face and one hand takes your thigh to push it against the bed and spread your legs further apart. He drags his fingers up your slit; tracing through the warmth and arousal that had already soaked into the fabric he'd since removed.

Your mouth falls open at the same time his brows pinch hard together, his jaw clenched as he lets his gaze momentarily flick down to his fingers exploring your cunt.

Your hips buck up when he focuses his fingertips against the sensitive nerves, making you feel like your clit has its own heartbeat as jolts of pleasure shoot through you. Renjun leans forward to rest his hand next to your head, dipping his mouth down to latch it around your nipple, nipping and sucking against it.

"Oh-, fuck,” you hiss curving your chest up as your hips start to squirm. He traces slow lazy patterns against your clit, "Renjun - please, don't tease me - just, fuck I need—"

Your words are cut short when he applies more pressure to your nerves, massaging leg-numbing patterns against you while his teeth give your nipple a gentle tug before he moves to the other one to pay it the same attention. You gasp at the cold air that hits the bud.

"Tell me how it feels," he mumbles against your flesh when he moves his mouth to drag his lips between your cleavage, "I wanna know how you feel right now, tell me."

Like your vagina is about to scream in agony if he doesn’t hurry up and fuck you.

"S-So good," you manage to pant out, squeezing your eyes closed as your hips rut against his fingers when he dips them down to slip through your dripping centre to tease at your hole. "It’s amazing b-but I'm going to explode if you keep teas-"

Renjun shakes his head, flicking his eyes up to stare at you under his lashes when he licks a wet stripe up between your breasts. 

“No, I wanna know how you feel-" his lips press against the skin over your heart, "-tell me how you feel about me."

You choke on a moan when he dips his fingers down inside your pussy at your silence, sinking his middle and ring finger deep as his hot forehead drops against your chest. 

"Tell me,” He groans, voice low dropping deeper as he relishes your gripping around his fingers, "please."

"I feel- it feels like - uh, god I feel —" you whimper when he curls his fingers, massaging inside of you at that pressure point that makes your stomach quiver. "I l-love y-you."

It comes out as rambling. You’re stuttering like a mindless lunatic — but the one thing you're sure of is that it’s the truth. 

Your barely coherent words make Renjun still his fingers, sucking in a heavy broken breath when he lifts his face to seal his mouth against yours. His hand grabs hold of your thigh to hook it around his hip as he shifts closer until you feel the weight of his warm length heavy against your pubic bone. 

"I fucking love you too," he pants out against your lips, his voice thick and strained, "So fucking much I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop."

You roll your hips up against him, threading your fingers into his hair, "I don’t want you to ever stop — I want you to fuck me, please fuck me."

The tight knot in your lower half feels like torture at this point as his fingers are still working slow. He hushes you when he sees the distraught look on your face and hears the muffled whines from you as his motions become very still.

"Shhhh," his hips lift back as his hand wraps around the base of his length. He teases it up and down your drenched folds, "I'm not gonna stop - I just - I don't wanna fuck you... it's not the right word. It's more than that. Need you to feel that it’s more than that.” 

He applies pressure with his tip against your pussy, holding his weight up on his elbow next to you so he can tilt his head up and watch your face. His heavy glazed eyes locked on yours with his brows hooded over them. 

"Please keep looking at me."

You fight to stop your eyes from fluttering shut, staying captivated by the way his pink lips part and the way they twitch to verbalise a silent moan when he inches forward a fraction to feel his tip slip past the threshold and into you.

Your brows are scrunched together in pleasure, fighting to keep your hips still as the moment feels paralysing. 

He pushes forward in a slow savouring motion. When he finally sinks into you completely, you stretch around him. His teeth suck in his lower lip between them, while a low skin-tingling moan echoes from deep in his chest as he stays still.

"Wrap your legs around me - I wanna be closer."

You do as he asks, tightening your thighs around his hips and resting the heels of your feet against his own thighs. You feel him sink even deeper and you watch the veins in his neck strain at the feeling.

"Please move" you beg, barely able to get the whisper out. 

Renjun struggles to keep his breathing even as he watches your face, slowly drawing his hips back, wrecking you as he rolls his hips forward in a motion to fill you again.

Your fingers tighten in his hair when your hips come up to meet his. He starts in a slow drawn-out rhythm, panting out a soft groan.

Your eyes threaten to drift closed again, the blissful feeling enveloping all of your limbs too much to stay conscious. Renjun ducks his face down, attaching his mouth to yours and you moan into the kiss which elicits a stomach-knotting whine from him.

Before you know what's going on, Renjun is rolling you, turning on his side with you facing him and taking hold of your leg to hook it over his hips. His other arm wraps under your waist and around your back. His hand reaches between you, grasping his length and placing it at your opening before he thrusts into you again making you cry out at the feeling from this angle.

He keeps you hugged close to him, connecting you with him in long deep strokes while his hand comes up to tangle in your hair and he presses his forehead against yours. 

"Stay with me" he pleads, "Keep looking at me. Look at how you make me feel."

You can only respond with a gasp that hitches in your throat when he buries himself into you as deep as he can, rolling himself against you as your nails dig into the skin of his back. 

His hand slips from your hair for a brief moment, to reach and grab for your hand which he guides down to the spot between your legs. You take the hint; letting your fingers find your throbbing clit and work towards unravelling the tightness in your abdomen.

"Oh- god, shit,” you whimper, shocked by the combination of all the sensations consuming your body. Your hips start to writhe at the feeling.

"That's it baby - you make me feel so fuckin good, I want you to feel it too," he pants, forehead slick with sweat while both your bodies feel like they're burning and his thrusts start to build with more purpose. He’s fucking into you at an erotic speed as if he's trying to spill out every feeling he has with his body.

Your stomach starts to tremble as warmth floods your lower half, and your muscles start to contract and flutter around him. It only encourages him to slow down the rhythm to drag out the feeling to a point you don't know how to handle.

You can feel him being swallowed inside of you with each thrust as your fingers slip down to where you’re joined. You toy with your clit helping your body reach a point where it’s trembling over the edge. 

Renjun finally caves, moving his face to bury against your neck, when your walls contract around him and your hips roll with his. 

"Fuck, Y/N".

His breathing gets even more ragged as every muscle in his body becomes tense with his movements. He begs muffled words against your skin; tightening his arm around you like he somehow needs you closer.

"Tell me you love me again.” 

You manage to stutter out a breathless "I love you,” heaving out the air in your lungs as you work your fingers faster and Renjun fucks you further in love with him — if that’s possible. 

"No, say you love me. Say my name, Y/N," he groans, pulling his hips back only to thrust them forward so deep you cry out. 

You rack your nails down his skin while your leg tightens around his hip to pull him closer. 

“I love you, Renjun. So fucking much.” 

His thrusts become more abrupt at your words. "That's my girl" he rasps. 

When he feels you tipping over the edge his thrusts quicken at animalistic speed. "Go on baby - cum - let me feel it."

You couldn't stop it even if you tried — you wouldn’t. 

You let out a scream from the back of your throat at the force of him and chant out a string of mumbles of his name. Your body convulses and shakes whilst you clamp around his length to which Renjun grunts at the feeling, whispering praises to coax you through it.

"Always so good for me — fuck!" His sentence gets cut short with a loud growl that sounds like it was punched out of him. His rhythm falters as he clings to you and sobs out moans against your neck.

He snaps his hips forward and sinks into you to grind his hips against you to linger in the feeling. His muscles shuddering and jolting as he gasps for air and his own orgasm punches into him. 

Hearing and feeling him in so much bliss is only dragging out the aftershocks of your own orgasm. You’re both a mess of limbs and shameless noises before you feel him still completely. His release erupts into you in warm spurts, his body twitching with each one.

You’re like a limp puddle, but Renjun stays clung to you, sucking in harsh breaths not daring to move and keeping your sweaty bodies tangled.

"Fuck, if not knowing what I want for my birthday means I get to have you like this, I never want anything ever again," he rasps, laughing under his breath and sounding delirious.

You can only hum in response, your mind too fucked out to even respond. 

You lay wrapped up in each other, and you know you need to get cleaned up, but you honestly can't be bothered. Enjoying the post-orgasmic pleasure too much. 

"Happy fucking birthday to me!”  he drawls, finally letting his face fall flush against the pillow.

[autumnbrambleagain]

Favourite caves of qud mods? I wanna dive in and fully mod my game

I don't have the energy to turn these into hyperlinks so you have to do the work of typing these names into the workshop and finding them, I apologize that I am not apologizing.

Hearthpyre and the Clever Girl Fork are obvious necessities. Starapple Valley and Regrowing Plants and Qud Fishing is on that list too for being able to make your own imprint on the world. With how the uh, story's themes go, I am even more feeling validated in my decision to spend most of the game building bases and farming and stuff.

Dynamic Background Color because I don't even remember what the game looks like without it anymore. I think I use the More Dots mod too.

Allography lets you add descriptions to things, including yourself, which is great.

1 Percent Loot Drops adds a ton of neat, very balanced items.

Cleaning Robots lets you have robots that clean fluids and I honestly just wish one in on EVERY settlement so they don't become giant messes after one visit. Indispensable mod.

Choose Your Fighter is good if you aren't a lunatic like me who just makes your own phenotypes and sprites and pets and dialogue for every character you play.

Jademouth is what I would argue to be the best, most diegetically natural town mod in the game. It adds very little to the world outside of itself, and adds a very much needed mid-game town with a fun quest and good characters. None of the writing feels out of place, it doesn't add encounters all over the map, it keeps to its own lane and does an great job of it.

Cryptogeology is an incredibly good quest which helps guide you to each town in the game naturally, has a ton of flavor, and a really decent reward. It feels like a natural part of the game.

Tealeaves adds a much-needed merchant to the Six Day Stilt who is also very well written and lets you get a chance at Newly Sentient Beings rep.

Issachari Evolved adds much needed variety to that faction.

Nightmare Treats gives you a lot more ways to reroll mutations, AND ways to gain mental stats. Eat them. It's safe. Nothing bad will happen.

Wired Child is a fun mid-late stage quest in Ezra that gets you a VERY nice weapon if you can manage it.

Return of the Arcwyrk. You need more enemies in your life. zzzap.

Knife Fights at Eddy's is mandatory, I'm sorry I don't make the rules.

A Specter is Haunting Qud adds some VERY nasty enemies and you deserve to be killed by them. Things should be scarier. Get scared. Basically Templar Hologram Wraith Knights but they're Eater ghosts. Fucked up! I won't tell you how to beat them figure it out yourself.

Village Finder because I hate the "go to each parasang and press + and then -" when looking for villages. Am I that dumb my character can't notice villages when walking through them.

Folk Scrap and Mundanity. Mandatory. Very flavorful.

Baboons of Babel adds much needed variety to baboon faction.

Judicators of Qud add a fun neat challenging robot who is kind of like if a leering stalker and a feral lah had a baby that wasn't the sum of its parts but something all its own.

Disjecta Membra's lore feels a little out of sync with 1.0, and it makes the game a giant mess. So basically, enemies can be infected, and when they die things get Interesting. It can cause huge problems and it's a fucking mess. It can make Call to Arms an unworkable disaster and Templar historical sites become unmanageable. I love it. I cannot play without it. It makes the game so much more challenging and stressful, especially in the early/midgame. The writing is fucking incredible even if its flavor doesn't line up exactly right anymore. Do not do this on your first playthrough but after your first playthrough install this and suffer with me forever. This might be my favorite new-content mod tbh.

Your Own Personal Relics is a neat adjustment to the Item Naming system which honestly I just wish-name things when I mod them to max anyway but it's neat.

Feline's Furnishings are good tiles.

Fluid Storage is great and the Klein Bottles are fantastic and putting 500 drams in their weightless moebius will never go wrong for you ever.

I think that should do you with the unimax's share of the mods I use!

Sidenote, Eule does a lot of mods that are Very Cool but also last time I used them they had a problem of all of them would spawn things in the jungle, so with all of them active every jungle screen would have like, their populations taken over by all the Argent Somethingorother and the Unseen Adversaries and the Arboreta Guys. None of them work with 1.0 anyway I don't think, and the mods ARE very high quality! But their spawn rates were extremely overpowering to the point where the jungle was basically just entirely made of those 3 factions and it was a Bit Much.

I'm also about to try out the Labyrinthine Trail and Xeototin Mechanical Somethingorother for the first time but I haven't done them yet so i have no comment.

Also Facial Equipment Diversity is neat too.

[kagakuoniryu]

Alastor x reader I've written randomly to vent about a shitty situation I'm currently living

Summary : a new guest you knew from your past life arrive at the hotel, she was that one person who bullied you throigh high school, but she mooks too angelic to be guilty

Code : E/n (ennemy/name)

Tags : fem reader, etablished relationship, angst for the most part, there will maybe be a part 2, mentions of bullying, reader is TRAUMATIZED, english is not my first language, may have some inaccuracy about the show since I'm just projecting, and of course probably ooc characters

It wasn't a bad day, at least not in a place like hell, it was even quite nice, charlie was babbling about a new team bonding activity as usual, and it was nice being with your friends, until around 2 pm...when a new guest arrived...

Oh you remembered her...from high school, so pretty, so popular, she was you best friends ! You should have been overjoyed to see her down here !

Well...not exactly, because she wasn't your best friend anymore, you hardly bear to be in the same room as her, of anger, from your history and how your friendship ended...but also of fear and dread...

You were both teens back then, you and eager to have many friends ! You had your own group of friends, and she was a separate individual, spending her time with her boyfriend often, that's okay by you, you were happy for her, and when that boy left her you welcomed her with open arms ! You became best friend soon, even inseparable ! You heard her badmouth you to your friend group from time to time, but she told you it was okay, it was "to know who was fake" then, one by one, your friends ghosted you, but you had her, she was there at least, making new friends, each time you introduced her they left soon enough, you thought that maybe you were the problem and stopped trying, your best friend was there after all

Until a boy came along, love at first sight for you, he had everything ! He had so much...your best friend wanted him too...and with that, she had him, when you called her out she called you an homewrecker and a toxic friend getting in the way of her relationship, that ended badly and an argument followed, while you stayed on the down low, she texted your few friends left, and any new friends you managed to make telling them how awful you were, so you ended up closing your media althogether, moving away, and never hearing about her ever again

And there she was, she didn't really looked different from her time on her, a round face and blond hair, she didn't looked like she fitted in hell, but you you were different, your body jointed like a doll, mocking your life as the puppet of those who wanted to play you, but if not your appearance, your personnality changed, you were more confident, your boyfriend was a powerful overlord too ! No, not boyfriend, he proposed a month ago after all, he was your fiancee now, and you had friends, through thick and thin, you knew they wouldn't buy into her lie at least !

Having an hard time to breath you sucked it up, maybe she wouldn't recognize you ?

Wrong

How wrong

"Hello ! Welcome to the hazbin hotel ! Guys this is our new guest !" Charlie started with her usually cheerfulness

"Hi everyone ! My name is E/n, I barely arrived in hell ! And I figured that if I could, I would want to be redeemed ! After all everyone deserves second chances !" The girl said back

Her voice hasn't changed, neither her tone, that fake nice tone you used to hear every day, here, one again in flesh and blood, not through a phone, not through class, but..here...

Breathing harder than ever, you only went back to reality when husk called out to you

"Hey ? You seem weird, like you've seen some ghost ?" His tone nonchalant as always showed half concerns, but for him, it was a lot

"A glass, of whiskey, or vodka, whatever you got, strongest you got please"

"Wowowo...alright, that's not your type to drink, what's up...?"

"I-I...I know this girl...she...listens, I can't be in her presence sober, I knew her from where I was alive...we had...some bad conflict...she did some awful things to me, and I got bad issues after that...I said some mean things to her too, we were kids, but since then I'm scared I'll lose all my friends again !"

Husk just nodded at my whispered rant, trying to calm myself, I didn't even insisted on a glass and went straight to my own room since alastor and I didn't shared one yet, not before marriage he said

Later that day, angel vaggie and charlie passed by my room, concerned by my absence, I told them everything, how I ended up abandonning the notion of making friends when I was alive, the calls, the insults, they looked at me with compassion, charlie said she believes that she could have changed, and even if I doubted it, I wanted to believes it

Alastor arrived to spend some quality time with me, dancing on old jazz music far from my time, reading a book, basking in silence with each others

After a while, I thought I could talk about E/n with him, he was my fiancee after all ?

"Al ?" I started, unsure

"Yes my dear ?"

"You know about that new guest at the hotel ?"

"Ah yes, what a cultivated lady, quite entertaining, she was really into songs from the 1980s not my style at all, we had a long discussion about music genres, she's actually quite against modern technology and that picture show"

"Oh...so...you like her company ?"

"She is not insufferable if that's your question"

Finally you decided against your first idea, perhaps she had changed in the end ? Perhaps a new friendship was possible ? With healthy fondation, you could get your bestfriend back !

Wrong again

You revealed her the next day who you were, well, used to be, what linked the two of you back in the living realms, for others, nothing changed, but for you it was subtle, for exemple she never interrupted anyone, but when it came to you each time your mouth opened she would cut you out

She was such a charmer too, a quality you envied her, her audience was captivated, and soon even alastor was her aquaintance, he presented her rosie of course ! Just like he did for charlie !

And just like he did for you...

Rosie found her delightful, and from your tea parties at 3 with her and alastor, became 4, adding E/n

A comment about your appearance back in high school, an embarassing moment you had, a silly crush, every single detail of your life was used to mock you, even your crush on a video game character

Soon you always found excuses to avoid going to the tea party, and spend most of our time outside of the hotel, feeling akward in her presence

You tried talking about it to charlie or maybe vaggie, to no avail, they said how nice E/n was and how much progress she was making, if they weren't saying you sounded silly thinking that in these 3 weeks she took your place, you still felt like it...

And it all confirmed when, after a whole day of searching for everyone, they finally came back to the hotel from shopping...without you

"Finally you're here toots ! We tried searching for ya before going but you weren't anywhere !" Angel started, holding many bags in each arms

"What do you mean ? I was in my room all day ?"

"Wait you weren't out ? E/n told us she saw you leave ?"

"Oh I'm sorry my eyes deceived me...next time I'll still check your room !" As everyone looked sorry I couldn't help but see it, even for a second...

She smirked...

Of course she did, she never changed

This started becoming common occurence, either the others left you behind, or you could leave the entire day without them noticing, and at some point, angel, husk and sir pentious started to distance themselves from you

"Hey angel, hum...you wanna hang out...? Go to a club, or drink with husk, just spend some time betweens pal ?"

"Sorry sweet cheeks, but we're partying with E/n tonight and...she doesn't feel comfortable around you..."

"Wha ? Angel what are you talking about ?"

"She told us about it, about the two of you, hos jealous and manipulative you were, you even tried to make her dump her boyfriend, that wasn't cool of you, I don't want to take side on this, but if I hang out with one of you, I'd rather not force her to be with the other for both your sanities"

"Oh...ok"

That's all you could have mustered, because what was there to muster, you were in hell, all the proof you used to have were on your previous phone in the living realm, but even if angel and the other favored her, mayne your fiancee could understand your side ?

Gently you knocked on alastor's hotel room as he called you to come in, he was currently eating his dinner, a...fresh venison...but you shook your head lightly, taking a sit across the table

"Al, can I vent to you for a bit...?"

"What is it my dear ? But please, spare me your story with E/n, as much as I love a good gossip, the young lady did you a favor by never taking vengance in the living realm, I wouldn't want the two of you to get in troubles once again"

"Al, please it's serious, she's telling lies about le ! And you believes her ? I'm your fiancee ! She's in hell as well !"

"And so are you, and so am I, I am not interested in knowing the why who is were, but I admit your little querrel is...quite entertaining !"

"So your fiancee see her ex bully...and all you think about is entertainment ?"

"Well, ma chère (my dear) as far as we are all concerned, without proof, both of you could be the liar, it's about, who's able to convince the public, just like on a stage"

Alastor's half sadistic smile didn't amused you, you just sighed, getting up, wamking slowly toward the exit of his room, if even your own fiancee, the man you loved refused to believes you, who would ?

You couldn't see alastor's curious expression as you left, he just wanted to prolounge the fun and not outright gives you the solution, but seeing you give up almost made him that for once he screwed up badly

[anakin-skywalker-always]

Fluffy 🌸 with Clone Wars Anakin please? 🥺🥺 with maybe Ahsoka and Obi-Wan shipping them?

The Long Game

Pairing: Clone Wars Era!Anakin x Jedi!Knight Reader 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: Nothing too bad, but due to the nature of the Clone Wars obviously there is potential mentions of death/loss/wounds etc. I am Australian and therefore swear words aren’t worth a warning for me, but I shall place a warning here regardless. As always, let me know if you think there should be something listed here. 

Words: 1.5k - sorry its very short, I'm hoping a part 2 will be requested <3

Author’s Notes: ahhhhh! Thank you for the request @darthgloris I hope this is okay I had a brief idea and I ran with it, hope its still fluffy enough for you! 🥰 This was requested via my Emoji Request Prompts

Anakin was nothing if not arrogant, egotistical and, surprisingly talented to boot. As a youngling he excelled, as a Padawan learner he saved Senator and friend Padmé Amidala’s life more than once. Now, as General Skywalker, Anakin felt like he had grown into himself, grown into his power. It felt limitless, he was limitless. Anakin often had dreams of spreading himself thin, extending his power across the galaxy like a blanket, keeping everyone and everything safe.

He thought highly of himself, it wasn’t a secret. And, he didn’t think it was particularly a problem. He was the Chosen One, was he not? If anyone in the Jedi Temple was allowed to peacock a bit, it was him. 

Well, that’s how Anakin rationalised it to himself anyway. Besides, Anakin did not like playing the long game. What was the point when he could sieze everything he wanted now? 

Regardless, he had a sharp learning curve when it came to his own Padawan learner, Ashoka Tano. The snippy young girl challenged him more than most. He saw so much of himself in her, the power, the strength, the raw talent. Frustratingly, Anakin saw his faults in her too. Occasionally, the arrogance being something that Anakin couldn’t ignore. Like right now for example. 

“Please Kestis the only reason you were moved from youngling to Padawan,” Ashoka paused, pointing her spoon at her young red-headed friend. “Is because the council wanted to try and mellow out your Master with the responsibility of a child.” 

Anakin cringed as the young boy - Cal Kestis - pouted at the breakfast table. Anakin could sense Obi-wan’s displeasure from beside him, he saw his old master holding his tongue, allowing Anakin to take the floor in order to berate his Padawan. 

Unfortunately, she had a point. And, embarrassingly enough, Ashoka’s argument came straight from the kitchen, so they say. Well, his mother, Shmi, used to say. Anakin remembered expressing the same frustration only a few weeks prior. Jedi Knight, Jedi Master, Council member and friend, Y/N L/N, was unable to join Anakin and Ashoka on a crucial mission in the outer rim, due to the passover of her new, young apprentice: Cal Kestis. It perhaps wasn’t the most fair or patient thing for Anakin to do, but he blamed the boy and focused all of his frustration on the twelve-year-old. 

Fuck it, Anakin thought. He had to admit to himself, he was a little jealous of the boy. He could not help but want to be the center of your attention, at all times. Which isn’t a very Jedi thing to want. But Anakin wanted more. He always did. He always felt distracted, like he was slipping away from his mental fortitude the more he thought of you. You were playing some kind of long game with him, and he didn’t like it, the guessing, the pining - it all kept him up at night more than the war had. 

Anakin supposed he was ought to be worried about it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He pined after you, and all he wanted was for you to maybe, even consider him more than a work colleague. 

“Ahsoka.” Anakin said sternly, as he pushed his Jedi mandated food around his Jedi mandated plate with his Jedi mandated fork, not bothering to look up at his young charge. “Watch your snippy mouth.” 

“She’s not wrong, Master.” Meekly, Cal Kestis mirrored General Skywalker across the table. Anakin felt for the young boy then. Anakin looked up, finally taking in the boy. With his fiery hair and splattering of freckles across his face, he seemed inherently sad, with his lips held tight in a line. Anakin couldn’t help but remember the same expression on his own face as he made his way around Watto’s junkyard. 

“Do you not like your Master, young Kestis?” Obi-wan sensed Anakin’s mind was far, far away, the anxiety rolling off him in thick waves. 

Cal looked up, quickly, at the two Jedi knights in front of him. He felt like he was in shock, as if the air had been torn from his lungs. Of all the questions he expected to be asked, that was not one of them. 

“No!” Cal defended, adamantly. “No! Well yes!” The young Padawan could feel the heat rise to his pale face, heating the back of his neck. General Kenobi quirked an eyebrow at the boy, urging him to continue. Kestis sighed, gathering his thoughts once more. He was embarrassed. “I am afraid I am too attached to Master L/N.” He started. Anakin felt his lip twitch, fighting a smile at the honesty from the young learner. Cal continued, “I don’t want to let her down, but my lightsaber skills are not where she wants them to be, I need more training but I am afraid to ask.” 

From the corner of his eye Anakin watched as Obi-wan opened his mouth. He knew what his old master would say: Just ask, Padawan. That is what the master is there for, to teach. But Anakin knew what it felt like to want more. 

“I would be happy to provide you with additional combat training, Padawan Cal Kestis.” Anakin leant back in his chair, both hands happily resting behind his head, left ankle at home on his right knee, lips comfortably in a smirk. 

Long game it was. 

Your eyes scanned the meals room in the Temple for your Padawan learner. You knew that you could use the force to locate him, if you wanted. But, your relationship with Cal was still so new, and somehow that felt like encroaching on the young boy’s privacy. 

Besides, there was another presence in the large dining hall that almost overwhelmed you. Anakin Skywalker. 

Arrogant, talented, intelligent, calculated, The Chosen One, handsome, flirtatious. You weren’t sure where you stood with Anakin. You longed to call him friend, but you were ultimately convinced he saw you little more as a colleague. 

Despite all that though, he was a hard man to escape at the best of times. And now, since Cal and Anakin’s Padwan, Ahsoka Tano, were friends, you knew that Anakin would always be around. 

You couldn’t help the schoolgirl flutter that it striked into you. It was exciting, you supposed, to finally have something a bit easy on the eye about constantly. It certainly made the war a little easier, to do missions with Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. 

Eventually, Cal’s beautiful bright hair shone like a beacon for you. You began to weave your way across the room. You couldn’t help to admit that you’ve become attached to him, you deeply cared for him, his wellbeing. As much as you loved the Jedi, you often thought of Cal playing, running free with kids his own age. Not becoming a soldier on the front lines of an intergalactic war. Perhaps that was why you slacked on Cal’s training. You simply wanted him to be loved, to be happy, to be a child. 

All of the fondness you held so tightly quickly got packed away once you realised who Cal was sat with. Approaching the breakfast table you clocked Anakin’s relaxed figure. The effortlessly beautiful set of his lips, the way that his eyelashes curled upwards, you were convinced his demeanour was larger than life. And, maybe, perhaps, you let your eyes wander for a beat longer than what was socially acceptable. 

Gently you placed your hand on Cal’s shoulder, perhaps it was because you were his Master, or maybe it was something deeper, something maternal, but you always felt more at ease when you had him close. With a slight bow of your head, you opened:

“Morning to you Master Kenobi, Ahsoka.” You took a moment to lick your lips, your whole mouth had gone dry, but you tried desperately to save yourself from Anakin’s piercing gaze. “General Skywalker.” The rest greeted you verbally, but Anakin said nothing, just a simple tilt of his head. You held Anakin’s gaze, his blue eyes held something else in them, you felt like he was playing some kind of game. You didn’t mind game, but only if you knew the rules, and Anakin was one to make up the play as he went along. You felt Cal clear his throat, his body lurching under your hand.

Finally, you broke the contact with Anakin, ruffiling Cal’s hair, and placing his braid behind his ear. “If you’d excusae us, my Padawan and I have much to do.” 

Anakin waited for at least 30 seconds for you and your Padawan to start walking away before he turned in his chair to follow you out with his eyes. 

Ahsoka watched as her usually oh-so-clever and suave and calculating Master watch Cal Kestis and his Master leave the dining hall like a Lothal Cat waiting for its owner to return. She couldn’t help but smile, Anakin’s pining was hilarious, and Master L/N was a good choice. She turned to share a look with Master Kenobi, and to Ahsoka’s delight he was chuckling softly to himself, coving his smile with his hand, playing it off as if he was simply stroking his beard. 

Ahsoka knew Anakin thought he was playing some kind of long game, but it was going to be a painfully long pining. Not if she was going to have anything to do with it.

------

P.S This is a side account, my main is @mayhemories, so I will be answering any comments with that account but rest assured it is still me :) <3

Much love, El. 

[kaciebello]

Pigeon ball invitation

Masterlist Badger express ★ Blaise Zabini x Hufflepuff! reader (fem) Summary: Teaching Hufflepuff how to dance was not on Blasies to-do list  Warnings: no use of y/n,  Authors note: Haiya! This is a sequel series to the whole delivery one. This one is gonna focus on the boys separately! hope you enjoy it! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) word count: 1.1k Song: Box - NCT Dream

Blaise comes from a rich family. Yes, he knows their wealth comes from his mother's multiple husbands. But he was not going to spoil her fun. What was spoiling his however was attending all these balls and events.  And one thing he despised even more was dancing. That's why he was frustrated as we watched the Hufflepuff girl glide on the floor. His head hung low as he watched her trip over her own feet.

Why he even agreed to teach her is beyond him. Maybe she batted her eyelashes at him or promised him a free delivery service. He can't remember.

“How are you this bad? I've seen you balance on a flying broom.” He says rubbing his temples. The girl stops and looks at him with a pout. 

“That's easier.” She argues back.

“ How is balancing on a moving stick easier than moving around a solid ground.” She shrugs unable to answer him. 

Right now, she was contemplating her choice of a teacher. She could have asked any of the boys really, she just wasn't sure anyone could teach her ballroom dancing but Blaise.

“Okay, one more time. And please, try to remember the steps.” He says and waves his wand so that the music plays. The girl just sings and makes her to the dummy that has been her dancing partner for the past 30 minutes.

The first few steps are now engraved in her memory and she has no problem dancing that part. It's the twist that comes after, somehow she always manages to twist her feet together. Just as she did now, in panic she even managed to trip the dummy, making it fall. When Blaise heard the thud he did not even need to turn around.

The girl looks at him with an awkward smile. He wants to say something and express his frustration, but she cuts him off.

“Maybe if I was dancing with a human!” She hurls out before thinking. That stops him in his tracks, she's not wrong. Maybe if he has her dancing with someone she will be less likely to trip them and make them face the floor. Yes, it was like 99% she would, but not 100.

“Nobody is willing to risk their feet-”

“You could.”

“EH?” He stops in his tracks. Once again, she is right. It's starting to get on his nerves. He sighs and makes his way to her.

“Fine. But only once.” He says and the girl nods. He grabs one hand to his and places the other one on her waist. She smiles up at him, making it obvious she finally got what she wanted. Blaise just huffs.

“Don't look at your feet too much.” She looks up at him to argue but just nods when she sees his serious face. With a simple wave of his wrist, the music starts to play and they start to dance. As always the first few steps are done correctly and with no problem. 

He could see the girl was more nervous with every second they got closer to the twist. They got into positions and he listed his arms so she could twirl around. Her skirt flowed a bit. At the last second her feet tangled a bit, but Blaise was prepared. Not wanting to embrace her, and frankly not wanting to dance anymore he quickly stabled her by her waist and continued to dance. Giving her a mere second to comprehend what was happening before she had to follow his lead.

When he looked down he could see her smiling seemingly proud of herself. That prompted a smile on his face too. They continued dancing and when the song was nearing the end, he knew what he had to do.

on the last note, he stopped in his tracks and pulled her closer to her body. She did not even have time to react before he dipped her. Wide eyes met his leisurely smile.

“This was not in the original dance.” She says holding on to him for her dear life. She may be a witch but she is not immune to bruises. He just shrugs. Their faces were so close he could feel her talking before he heard it.

“I guess not.” With that, he straightens them up, but not letting her go just yet.  She just looks at him as he swings them in this makeshift hug.

“That was hard.” She whispers just enough for him to hear. He lets out a laugh that rings throughout the whole ballroom.

“Wait till you have to do in a dress and heels.” He says and takes a few steps away from her. She lets out a whine at his words. He once again laughs. Holding his hand out for her to take. He was well aware he said only once, but he hoped she did not register that and he could impress her more. She takes it, getting into positions again.

A coo is heard throughout the ballroom making them stop in their tracks. Suddenly from one of the open windows,  a dove comes down with a little paper wrapped around his leg.

“A pigeon?” he asks and the girl gives him a dirty look, before reaching into her pocket and giving the dove a treat while taking the note.

“A dove, I use them when someone can't reach me. Or when I need to deliver outside of school.” She explains making him look at her weirdly.

“We have owls?” He says and she just mumbles about it not being her style. An idea popped up in his head. He runs to his bag and quickly scribbles something on a piece of paper. He runs back and hands it to the girl. She looks at him confused and she just flashes his smile.

“I do have a free delivery, no?” he asks and she just sighs and nods taking the note from him. She goes to put it in her pocket but he stops her.

“I need it to reach my mom,” he says and her eyes just widen. Before she can ask he shooks his head and answers her.

“You have about the same foot size, she might have some shoes that would feel nice while dancing.” He says and her eyes widen again.

“How do you know this stuff?” She asks but ties the note to the dove before letting it fly away.

“God forbid man express an ounce of girlish whimsy.” He says rolling his eyes. Before extending his hand to her for another dance. She hesitates but takes it nonetheless.

“With no dipping?”

“With all the dipping honey.”

Taglist: @daisiesformylove , @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @anyam444 , @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet , @iwishigotswallowed , @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @bunnyhopsstuff , @deluluassapocalypse

[onlyjaeyun]

very much curious about your thoughts and opinions on brother's bff heeseung who realizes you have a thing for hands... his hands specifically.

can we just agree that heeseung owns the brother's bff trope like ???? fits him so well??? also his hands are so pretty, so pretty that I would happily have them around my neck my favourite necklace fr 👍🏼

my dear moony baby you're so right because lee heeseung fits no concept as well as the brother's best friend trope and i will stand by this with everything i have 🤕 (example a: my smau poison)

heeseung's a naturally flirty guy and everyone around him knows this. you know it too, yet you never really thought he'd see you as flirtable enough, you're just his best friend's younger sister after all. you two mught not have grown up together but he's been around longer than you can actually remember, and maybe that's what makes him so..tempting.

or maybe it's the way he always makes sure to compliment snd praise you for your hard work and how well you've been doing. he's also not very touchy or the type of guy to overstep boundaries, yet with you he simply can't hold himself back and as soon as he notices the way you melt into his touch like it was made for you, hee's a goner.

at first, he doesn't even realise just how much attention you pay to his hands. he's always noticed your eyes wandering when he talked to you or others but it definitely took him a bit to follow your hungry gaze and that's when he knew he's got you wrapped around one of his pretty fingers.

all of a sudden he starts wearing his rings more frequently, even going as far as showing them off to you by grabbing your hand or wrapping his fingers around your wrist and explaining to you how much he likes each one of them.

it doesn't take much for you two to get a little bolder, a little less hesitant and subtle about the tension between you but heeseung knows you'd never make the first step. that's probably what's made you even more intriguing to him, or maybe it's the fact that you're somehow a forbidden fruit he's been fantasising about for too long.

the mere thought of getting a taste has been driving him into insanity and before he can stop himself, heeseung finds himself standing behind you, calmly watching the way you're taking care of the task in front of you before he casually asks you to teach him. (he doesn't actually give a fuck but he'd use every opportunity to touch you he can get)

by the time you're slowly starting to squirm underneath his touch, he's already busy littering your soft neck in his open mouthed kisses, whispering sweet praises into your ear as he tells you to keep going because you wouldn't wanna be caught now, would you?

you have absolutely no idea how you find yourself practically pushing one of his pretty hands between your legs, begging him to just please touch you only for heeseung to make this little game you two have been playing a little bit more fun by denying you his touch.

"how about you tell me about all of those naughty thoughts about my hands first and then i'll see what i can do to take care of your little problem hm, pretty girl?"

and how on earth were you supposed to deny him such a sweet request when his hands have been the only thing on your mind for the past who knows how long?

that's exactly why you find yourself with your face buried in his neck, inhaling his sweet scent as you try to muffle your moans and whimpers because of how good he's making you feel when all hd's doing is rubbing that cute little clit of yours through your messy panties.

"we're going to have a lot of fun, baby", is the only thing he says after turning you knto an actual mess but not before pushing his fingers coated in your juices into your mouth to let you know just how serious he is about his little threat.

[dovveri]

what if nerd momo x bimbo reader author I need u

failing maths, but getting the girl

synopsis: momo and y/n have hated each other ever since an incident in first year. now, y/n's failing a class and momo offers to help.

warnings: mentions of blood and cuts, overbearing parents, drugs, implied sex

w/c: 4.0k

a/n: this is kinda funny for me bcs im blonde and my dad keeps making jokes in chinese about how im ltr a blonde bimbo now. anyway i combined these 2 reqs bcs im lazy forgive me anon/s

⋆｡°✎ᝰ ˎˊ˗

"y/n!"

you turn in the corridor, almost crashing into the burly man behind you who yells a "watch where you're going blondie!" before rushing off to a class he was probably late to.

you spot your friends who had called you, grinning and waving you over, "can't go one day on campus without running someone down can you?" a friend teases.

you pout, "i didn't walk into anyone yesterday!"

"no but you got stuck in the revolving door outside the chem building."

you whine at their teasing, you were a naturally clumsy person! sometimes you'd mix up salt and sugar, and sometimes you'd lose your car keys only to find them still in the ignition keyhole of your car from the last time you used it.

"so you coming to that party tonight? i heard some famous dj from the states is playing."

"awwh really?! i can't tonight i'm failing that dumb math class i have to take and i have a quiz tomorrow so i gotta study."

"you're failing everything y/n, what difference would one night make for you anyway?" a scoff from a student passing by, who you recognise as the infamous hirai momo from the back of her head and the evil way she sends a side-eye at you and your friend group in disgust.

"i wouldn't be if it weren't for your sad ass hirai!"

"stop looking at my ass and get your eyes on some books for once."

momo was meant to be your roommate in first year. although you had accidentally locked her out in the rain for 5 hours while you were hooking up with someone you can't remember the name of anymore. that was during orientation week, safe to say she was pissed and completely drenched when you finally let her in. she filed for a roommate change not long after, citing "poor etiquette and stupidity that could infect my genius", and being the university's most promising academic scholar, she pretty much got whatever she wanted. meaning she also got you assigned to the harshest tutors and markers as her own form of personal revenge, essentially making you fail most of your first year courses. which is why you were even taking this math class again.

the problem arose however, when you find out you would actually lose your scholarship if you failed another class. so failing was definitely not an option.

⋆｡°✎ᝰ ˎˊ˗

“you failed.”

“what!? but i studied all night! i even brought the right calculator model this time!”

“miss l/n, bringing the correct calculator doesn’t help you if you don’t know how to use it. and neither does studying all night if you haven’t been coming to class for most of the semester.”

you’re gaping at the professor in disbelief.

“i’m afraid you’ll lose your scholarship if you fail the upcoming final exam. take this as your final warning. good day miss l/n.”

the door is shut in your face while you're still left trying to process exactly what just happened, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

a familiar scoff behind you brings you back though, "what is y/n l/n doing here outside the staff meeting room? what? about to blow one of your professors for marks or something?"

you spin, stepping into her space, faces inches away from each other, "you jealous or something hirai? i'll blow you too if you beg."

you revel in the way her cheeks immediately flush, a slightly shaky finger pushing up the glasses on her nose as she looks away, "jokes on you l/n. i don't have a dick dimwit."

"you don't need one for me to make you feel good."

she's sputtering, moving around you quickly to escape, knocking on the staff door. you smirk, reveling in the slight win over her but immediately forgetting the feeling of triumph when you realise you're still fucked for your final in 2 weeks.

⋆｡°✎ᝰ ˎˊ˗

"y/n, you know i love you, but i cannot explain this again in any other way."

you groan, hands coming up to pull at your hair.

"but you got like a high affliction or something for this class last year! if you can't teach me i'm actually royally screwed, pleaseee?"

"it's high distinction sweetie. and just because someone's good at something doesn't mean they're a good teacher. sorry to break it to you but i couldn't teach my little cousins how to multiply fractions without wanting to commit homicide."

you wrinkle your nose, "gross dude they're literally related to you."

"no babes homicide means i wanted to kill them."

"oh... i guess that's better?"

"focus! c'mon you remember how to do the cross product right?"

"i don't get ittttttt!!!!!!! isn't that just multiplication? a times b equals ab!"

"this isn't algebra it's vectors. cross product isn't multiplication y/n."

you groan again, facepalming the desk in front of you.

your friend sighs, "sorry y/n i have to get going now. promised my boyfriend i'd go watch his game tonight."

"what?! you can't leave me here!"

your friend's already packing up their stuff though, "sorry! good luck with the studying though!"

you wail in goodbye, sitting up again and slapping your face a few times, trying to hype yourself up.

two minutes later, and you're still absolutely nowhere.

you decide to go out for a quick stroll rather than start a campfire in the middle of the library with all your papers. the evening breeze feels refreshing against your skin as you take in the sky. breathing in a deep sigh and closing your eyes briefly.

definitely the wrong idea when you crash headfirst into something that yelps a "what the fuck!" followed by the sound of smashing glass and a whine of pain.

your eyes are quick to open and you stare down at a bleeding hirai momo next to what looks to be a ruined 3D print of a final project or something.

"oh shit momo! are you okay?" you crouch down quickly, trying to collect the glass pieces that have broken, yelping when a piece digs into your skin.

"has all that bleach finally reached your brain y/n? who goes for broken glass with their bare hands?" she's frowning, rubbing her head a little and inspecting the cut across her arm.

"i-i'm sorry i-"

she sighs, "save it. i've had a long enough day as it is. being around you any longer is just gonna increase my chances of dying to some freak plane crash or something." she's standing up and brushing her hands off on her pants muttering to herself, "i'll have to call security to come clean this up."

you realise then that her eyes look a little puffier than usual, slightly tinged with red, the telltale signs of crying.

you suddenly feel terrible. whatever you had just broken seemed like an extremely intricate piece of work, and she was still bleeding down her arm but she didn't seem to pay it much mind, taking a phone out of her pocket and dialing security.

you step to the side and wait for her to finish talking on the phone. she doesn't realise you haven't left yet, swearing under her breath as she assess the damage once again.

when she turns and sees you again, she scowls, "what are you still doing here bimbo? don't you have a dick to ride or some jewelry to shine?"

you ignore her, blushing instead, "you're still bleeding."'

she looks surprised at that response, glancing at her arm again briefly and shrugging, "it's whatever. i'll clean it up later."

you wrap a hand around her wrist then, still not meeting her eyes, "let me? it'll be hard to bandage it properly with your left hand. and i kinda owe you for all of-" you gesture vaguely with your other hand at the ground, "this."

she's tugging her hand back quickly though, "don't bother. you'd probably make it worse. just go home y/n."

you sigh exasperatedly, "won't you just let me help! i feel bad okay? i can't just leave you here bleeding onto the concrete waiting for security to come clean this up."

she's surprised at your outburst, eyes locking onto yours and then nodding slightly. you don't let her rethink her decision as you drag her back inside the library, heading into the storeroom where you knew they had emergency first aid supplies.

you sit her down on the chair and rummage through the small kit for some alcohol wipes to clean the wound first.

she's eyeing you with a sort of caution, but is quick to clench her eyes shut and gasp at the first sting of disinfectant.

it's quiet for a bit while you work on cleaning her wound.

"where'd you learn first aid?" she speaks up first, eyes meting yours again.

"my little sister used to play around a lot with the rougher kids in the neighborhood. so she was always coming home with scratches and cuts and my mom was at work most of the time so i had to learn to take care of her myself."

momo hums, "guess that didn't really translate to taking care of yourself then huh? i mean with the way you're always tripping over air and stuff, you're more of a danger to yourself than a serial killer would be." there's no malice to her words this time, just lightly teasing you and you smile.

"i am sorry by the way. for breaking that. it looked like it'll be pretty hard to replicate."

"nah. i can just print another one tomorrow don't worry."

you both fall into silence again as you finish cleaning her wound, going to collect a few of the bandages to start wrapping around her arm.

you clear your throat a little awkwardly, "so... long day?"

she chuckles humorlessly in response, "something like that."

"wanna talk about it?"

she bristles then, and you're quick to correct yourself, "i mean you don't have to. just... making conversation."

it's quiet for a little longer and you're finishing wrapping her up, grabbing a small adhesive to stick it all together when she sighs. "sorry. just had a lot of pressure from back home lately. my parents keep wanting me to hurry up and graduate so i can go back to japan and take over the family companies. they called earlier saying how they're cutting off my funding for next year if i continue to drag out my studies."

"what? but you're only 23. don't you have like, things left you wanna do before you're all old and unable to move anymore?"

she giggles a little, its the first time you've heard that from her, "yeah tons actually. i've always wanted to see the northern lights and stay in one of those cute little igloos in finland, maybe go to antarctica and do some research there."

"okay! do that! what's stopping you?"

she smiles at you sadly, "my parents won't allow it. they'd disown me for not taking over their companies. and frankly, i'd be broke without them. i don't have the kind of money to keep living abroad like this if they were to stop supporting me."

you tilt your head a little in confusion, "can't you find a job?"

she's laughing then, a full, nose-scrunching laugh, "not with the classes i'm taking. i'd have to either take part-time study, which my parents would literally kill me for because it's 'embarassing' and would bring shame on our family name, or... never sleep again and take a night job or something."

you frown, sitting back on your heels.

"thanks for this by the way. you're still hurt though, do you want me to do you?"

"-and don't make a weird joke about that." she interrupts you before you can even open your mouth.

you pout, nodding a little as she laughs, and grabs the first aid box from you, gently placing your hand in her lap and cleaning your fingers.

you're caught by the way her eyebrows furrow a little in concentration, her teeth biting into her bottom lip slightly, and you can't help but think she looks cute.

you're brought quickly out of these alarming thoughts though, when she asks "how come you're in the library so late on a friday night anyway? never thought the day would come."

you groan, remembering the stack of math papers you have sitting on your desk, "i have to study for a math final coming next week. if i fail i lose my scholarship and i can't let my mom pay for any of this. she's already worked hard enough getting both my sister and me through school."

momo looks surprised at your admission, "oh. i'm sorry. i didn't know you were on scholarship."

you hum, "yeah most people don't assume it from looking at me." you tease a little, flipping your blonde hair over your shoulder and giving a little jingle of your bracelets.

"i'm not materialistic or anything but i enjoy having things that make me look nice y'know?"

she rolls her eyes, placing bandaids carefully onto your fingers.

"you don't need any of those things anyway."

you're caught again, unsure whether that was a compliment or some new way of torturing you.

she clears her throat, "all done."

you look at your hand, cutely littered with some winnie the pooh bandaids she must have found in the first aid kit.

you beam up at her, "thanks!"

she blushes a little and looks away from you, shyly rubbing the back of her neck, "hey look... i can help you study for that test next week if you want. don't want you losing your scholarship over something simple like that. plus i kinda helped go through all the first year math exams for some extra credit with the head of department."

you're shocked at first, and then jumping and squealing, bringing her up with you, "what?! you will?! oh my god thank you!!!!! holy shit oh my god i'm not gonna fail oh shit i'm-"

she's shooshing you in an instant though, a hand clamped over your mouth, eyes darting behind you, "y/n! we're still in a library!"

you grin when she lets you go, whispering loudly, "thank you!"

she's rolling her eyes and letting herself be dragged over to your table, praying that she didn't make the wrong decision deciding to help you.

⋆｡°✎ᝰ ˎˊ˗

momo's standing outside your lecture theatre, waiting for your class to end. you texted her saying you were getting your final results back today so she decided to pop by and make sure everything was okay.

once students start exiting the class she slips in, walking towards the professor who's packing up her stuff..

"momo! good to see you here. although i'm a little surprised. i wasn't expecting you."

"hey professor kwon. i'm just here to-"

momo's attacked from the back, you're squealing as you latch onto her excitedly, waving a test paper in front of her face, "i passed! momo look i passed! with a 62!!!!! that's higher than i've ever gotten!!!!!"

"miss l/n. i didn't know you knew momo." professor kwon is looking you up and down with a little distaste but you ignore it, squeezing momo even tighter in thanks.

"y/n- stop- wait lemme see that-" she snatches the paper out of your hand and scans it, eyes lighting up when she confirms you did in fact pass.

"congratulations! all that hard work really paid off."

you're blushing, "couldn't have done it without you hirai. c'mon, come out with my friends and i tonight to celebrate!"

"o-oh i don't know about that y/n... i've got-"

"study yeah yeah you always do. but you've gotta relax every now and then you know?"

"miss l/n is right momo. you're the most hardworking student here you should give yourself a break every now and then."

you're nodding fiercely, "right right! thanks professor kim!"

she looks at you with a glare, "kwon. its professor kwon miss l/n."

you're nodding, waving her off shaking momo, "c'mon pleaseeeeeeee? i'll pay for everything. as a thanks for helping me. and i can afford it now too since i won't be losing my scholarship which is also thanks to you so..!"

momo's still uncertain, hand at the back of her neck again, a nervous tick you've picked up on.

"oh professor i just remembered!" you're switching back to your professor, excitement and attention everywhere, "you were looking for outstanding students to tutor next semester right? how about momo? she's the only reason i passed this final and trust me when i say i'm a pretty difficult student to teach."

"oh?" the professor looks towards momo who's eyes have widened, "i had actually planned on asking you regardless but seeing as you were very successful with miss l/n it's just even more proof that you'd be a great teacher. what do you say momo? it's paid decently and great on your academic and work transcripts as well..."

you're looking between your professor and momo with full eyes.

momo looks like she's about to reject the offer, you knew it was because her parents expected her to be back in japan next year but you stop her before she's able to say anything.

"momo! this is great! this is exactly what you need! a job while you're still at uni so you can study at any time but still get paid for it!"

"y/n..."

"it's okay momo. think about it and let me know if you're interested and you've got the job 100%. i've got to get going to my next class now but goodbye girls, congratulations miss l/n but i hope i won't be seeing you in my class next year."

"oh definitely not professor kim!" you wave enthusiastically, giggling at the way the professor sighs in defeat.

you look back at momo who still looks a little stunned.

"well? what do you think?" you ask her excitedly.

"i- i don't know... there's a lot to think about..."

you tilt your head to the side a little in confusion, a gesture momo was beginning to grow fond of.

"i can't just abandon my family y/n. it's a decision that will take me some time to go over." she smiles at you gently, you can't believe this was the same girl who used to call you mean words and intentionally pray on your downfall.

"mm okay. i don't really get it but as long as you're happy in the end it doesn't matter. now c'mon! you coming tonight or not?"

she sighs fondly, "yeah yeah just this once. and we better be home by 12!"

you're pulling her along again scoffing, "riiiiiiiiight 12pm maybe."

"y/n!"

⋆｡°✎ᝰ ˎˊ˗

momo was most definitely out of her comfort zone. she mostly stuck to the bar, avoiding eye contact with people who tried to approach her. she quickly ordered another drink, hoping the alcohol could at least ease her nerves.

you were most definitely in your zone. you adored being able to dress up and let loose, especially when everyone else is so drunk you’re no longer the only person falling over themselves. you could laugh a little and have fun as well.

you could feel momo’s eyes on you and you ached to drag her out onto the dance floor and join you but she was adamant on staying by the bar when you had tried.

you’re not sure if it was the alcohol or maybe you were just attracted to her now after you’ve spent a whole week studying with her pretty much every minute of every day. but she looked good. you licked your lips as your eyes trailed down the slant of her jawline, her neck and clavicles outlined in the halter top she was sporting. your eyes politely moved past her chest but darted straight down to the abs that she apparently had hidden from the entire student body. how did she even have time to have abs when she always had her nose in a book or was in a lab conducting experiments?

you snap out of it when you realise said abs were moving closer to you for some reason, and suddenly she's all in your space, shoving someone behind you that you hadn't even realised was there in your momo-induced daze.

you turn to see a man with half his shirt unbuttoned and a look of surprise on his face. "the fuck dude?"

momo says nothing, reaching for your drink instead, sticking a finger in and swirling it around for 2 seconds before bringing it to her lips.

that was hot.

"rohypnol."

"what? what the fuck are you on about?" the guy is annoyed, drawing the attention of bystanders as they create a small circle around the three of you, you spot your friends in the crowd looking at you in confusion silently asking what's going on?

you can only shake your head, attention moving back to momo who's standing up straight, almost chest to chest with the guy now.

"rohypnol. a drug belonging to the benzodiazepine class of drugs that inhibits the central nervous system causing the user to experience extreme drowsiness and even blackout in some cases. it can also cause the user memory loss and brings the user to a higher state of intoxication in a rapid amount of time. it's street name is roofies."

the man is sputtering now, "w-what? what is this bullshit? what are you tryna say huh?"

"that you tried to roofie my friend here. do you want me to call the police? have them check this drink for traces of the drug?"

"what!? the fuck?!"

momo sighs, her eyes closing for a second, "is your vocabulary only limited to what? and the fuck? it's getting tiring talking to you."

he's gaping like a fish, the people surrounding you have called security over and they're tying his hands behind his back and he's left squirming against them, yelling more curses as momo stands stoically, watching him get taken away.

she sighs when he's out of sight and turns to you with a smile, "you should be more careful. you could've been hurt tonight."

you can't even think straight and the music is being turned back up, and momo looks so good, you can't help the way you're pulling her in by the waist and planting your lips on hers.

she makes a sound of surprise and is shocked for a second, but closes her eyes and returns the kiss, maneuvering you a little so she can place the spiked drink on a nearby table before her hand returns to you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other on your shoulder.

you're a little desperate when you claw at her abs that are now within touching distance, and she giggles into the kiss. you mutter a small shut up, reattaching your lips, feeling all the adrenaline of the night pumping through you as you mould yourself against her.

"god is it weird that- that kinda turned me on a little?" you're speaking between breaths, her lips swallowing up your words, not letting you catch a break.

she hums lightly against you, "which part?"

"the- when you were talking- about all those chemicals- and whatever-"

she breaks away from you then, an eyebrow arched and a hint of a smirk on her face, "you get off on me talking nerdy?"

you want to wipe that smirk off her face. "take me home and i'll show you what i get off on."

her eyes darken considerably, and she's tugging you towards the exit, grabbing the spiked drink and pouring it down the drain first to make sure no one drinks it. the little action of consideration even when you're both overwhelmed with lust just gets you more wet.

you send a quick text to your friends saying you had to leave early, and then you're in a cab, lips on each other's again, hands roaming and exploring every inch of available skin.

you suppose the one good thing out of that math exam was it bringing the two of you together at last.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Do you love my daddy?

Vladimir Makarov x babysitter fem Reader

Let's imagine Makarov has a daughter, he's a single dad and you have been his daughter's babysitter since... The first time he saw you holding her in your arms, what if during these years you not only developed feelings for the little girl but also for her father too? What if one day your secret is discovered by her and runs to spill the Beans?

Warning: I know it says 'x Fem reader ' but I think you can read it as a Neutral, there's no physical description. Spelling and grammatical errors, as always I think is not probably the best story but I haven't posted anything in a while because I've been feeling a little depressed and this one was waiting on the list. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

From the moment the little baby was in Vladimir's arms, he knew he needed someone capable enough to protect his daughter, someone strong but also with a warm and noble heart to love the girl as if was hers.

He spent long days and nights trying to find someone with those characteristics and spent long sleepless nights with the newborn baby, it was a hard mission, until he found you, totally unexpected, he was driving while his precious baby girl was in the backseat, he was so focused on the baby who was crying disconsolately that he almost hit you with the car, you reacted quickly and yelled at him.

«HEY! Focus on the road asshole!»

That's when he saw you, he was ready to put a bullet in your precious skull until he remembered there was a baby with him who suddenly stopped making noise. The baby was still crying but not breathing. He stopped the car right there and ran to open the door, you thought he was going to give you problems but he totally ignored you, that's when you saw him carrying a baby in his arms, something was wrong, you saw the baby's red face changing to purple. It wasn't breathing, a sobbing spasm.

«Baby, come on, breath, what's going on!?»

Without thinking too much you walked to him and took the baby from his arms.

He didn't try to protest, you put the baby in the next seat, you started to talk to the baby with a soft voice, in calm, while she was laying on one side, you were giving her small pats and rubbing her back with your free hand.

- It's okay baby, breath, I need you to take air, come on honey, you can do it, you're scaring your daddy.

The baby was getting more purple so you increased the intensity of the pats In her back and held her, positioning her tiny body over your forearm with her head resting over your palm.

Vladimir didn't know the fear until that moment, he was afraid, pleading you could do something when finally, his daughter made a noise again, a strong and loud whimper. You smiled, clearly you were as worried as him.

- Oh yes! That's it baby, good girl, you made it!

There was something about the way you held his baby that made Makarov realize you were the answer to his pleas. He was lost in thoughts until you brought him back.

- Hey, here you have. She will probably fall asleep... These tantrums leave the babies exhausted.

- Ah, yes, thanks.

- Sorry, I suppose that's why you weren't paying attention to the road, I'm really sorry.

- It's okay, you saved her... How did you do that?

- I'm a nurse, your baby was having sobbing spasms, we have to learn those things if we don't want to lose them during their tantrums.

Like fallen from the sky, that's how everything started, he almost begged you to work for him, he didn't care if you didn't know about personal defense or combat, he paid you the most expensive course. And the payment was three times more than what you asked him for.

Time flies, and the girl and you create a strong bond, she's such a precious pearl, you adore her as much as Vladimir, the man can't say no to his little princess, you go wherever they go, you cook, play, study and do everything with the girl, you feel like her mom, it's no longer a job, she became part of your life, she lives in your heart just like her dad, who's a gentleman, he treats you with kindness and tender all the time, you try to convince yourself it's only because you're raising his kid, but even those thoughts can't help you to not develop that silly little crush on him.

And He makes it more difficult, he sends flowers every morning for you and his daughter when he's not at home, he brings presents for both when he's back, joins you In the kitchen to help with the dinner or wakes up before you to make the breakfast, takes you and his daughter to the park so the three of you can have a picnic afternoon, joins to the playing time and reads fairytale stories for the girl every night. Out of home Vladimir Makarov is fierce, brave, strong and chaotic but when he's with his daughter and you, he's the opposite, you love both sides of the coin.

It's late at night, you're sure the little girl is deeply asleep so you decide to call your best friend, and as always you're talking about your crush.

«Y/n, I swear that man considerate you as his wife at this point, the kid is almost 6 years old, you're with them since she was a newborn...»

You feel your cheeks getting red, maybe your friend is right but... you can't create fake hopes In your head, this job is the best thing that ever happened to you and you don't want to lose it for those silly feelings.

- I don't think so, he's merely a gentleman. But oh god! It is hard to not love him! He's everything I always wanted, and the little girl... I seriously consider her as my own daughter! God... I'm so in love with Vlad...

Suddenly a gasp interrupts your words, you turn around and see a small figure on the doorframe, your kid has been listening every word you say.

Both are speechless.

«Y/n? Are you still there?»

-I'll call you later, bye.

You put the phone on the bed and walked quickly to the girl who is still surprised about what she heard a few seconds ago. You try to act silly, pretending nothing of that happened and kneel down in front of her.

- Honey, what are you doing awake? It's almost midnight.

- I had a nightmare... Y/n... Is it true? Do you love my daddy?

You shiver, unsure of what to say because there's no sign on the girl's face that can tell you what she's thinking or feeling.

- I... Ummm...

There's an evil smirk on her chubby face and a bright in her eyes that makes you feel afraid and at the same time happy.

- Can we keep it as a secret? I don't want your father to feel uncomfortable with this...

- SO... YOU, INDEED, LOVE MY DADDY!!!!

The princess started to run and jump around the room while you hid your face with your hands, you felt embarrassed and nervous, excited but afraid.

After a few minutes convincing her to keep the secret and taking her back to her bed, Makarov's daughter finally went back to sleep.

The next morning the smell of butter, pancakes and honey woke you up, you looked at the clock on the wall, 9 o'clock, you put on a hoodie and went downstairs as fast as you could to the kitchen and saw Makarov and his daughter cooking pancakes.

There's some fruit and juice on the kitchen's table, also a small bouquet of flowers decorating the table. You're observing everything cautiously when Makarov's voice brings you back to earth.

- Morning, sleepy beauty... Did you sleep well?

He smiled and wink at you, you once again felt your cheeks getting red.

- I'm so sorry, we had a tremendous night full of dreams and nightmares. Sorry, I can finish the pancakes if you wish.

- No, it's ok love, come on, take a seat, do you want some coffee or tea?

- Ahhhh...

Your little kid interrupted you.

- Y/n, look! Daddy made heart shaped pancakes!!!! He loves us a lot!

She smiled mischievously at you, you gasped and pretended to be surprised.

- Oh it's beautiful!! he certainly loves you a lot my sweet girl!

You kissed her forehead and went to the table, the girl followed you and took her seat in the middle, Makarov joined both of you minutes later with two cups of coffee and a glass of chocolate milk for his daughter.

The girl was strangely happy, more than usual, observing you and her father's interaction, Makarov is also acting more sweet and kind than normal, he's talking a little about how his week went, he's more focused on you, there's a different vibe that you can't describe in words, you only know it feels good, so good.

There were a lot of laughs, jokes, compliments and delicious food but by the end of the breakfast Makarov asks his daughter to go upstairs because he needs to talk with you in private.

She doesn't look at you, nods in silence and disappears. Automatically you started to take the dirty dishes and glasses to wash them when Vladimir caught your hand and softly directed you to go back to your chair.

Why do you feel so guilty? Are you in trouble? What kind of game is this? He treats you nicely and then needs to talk to you in private? What is going to happen?

All those questions were running through your mind when he, squeezed your hand, you looked at him and... He was smiling, there's a different vibe in the way he's looking at you, in the way he's holding your hand.

- Are you ok, love?

- Yeah, just... I feel like I'm in trouble. Am I?

He laughed softly and neglected with the head.

- No, you're not, you're fine y/n, but... There's something I recently found out, I was expecting you could help me to confirm this information...

You felt like you were going to pass out at any moment, you weren't sure about what was happening.

- I found out, this morning that... You've been hiding something from me.

- Wh...

- My daughter, has informed me about certain feelings you have for this little family and about your fears about me knowing about this.... And I think it's time to...

You didn't let the poor man finish to talk, you started to explain yourself, you let it all out.

- V... Vladimir I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, I thought she was already asleep but she woke up and listened to me on a phone call and... Please don't fire me, you and that precious girl are too important to me, I love you guys, so much and I wouldn't know what to do without you at this point of my life...

You didn't know when you stopped talking, you only felt your mouth crushing against another one, a warm kiss intoxicating your system, while a hand is rubbing your back slowly, without thinking too much about what was happening you let your hands go and take place to the neck and shoulder of Vladimir, the way he kissed you was electric, you felt your body on fire, fireworks in your chest and a strong desire to not end the kiss.

After a while, both separate to take air, you were already missing his lips on yours, he smiled and sighed with some relief.

- I wanted to do that so bad. Y/n, for the moment we met, I started to think about you all the time, you and my daughter became the main reason to stay at home as much as possible, when I'm working I just want to finish and drive home, because I know my daughter is here, because I want to hear her laugh and see your smile, for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm on my knees ready to please someone else's desires.

You feel tears filling your eyes and a big smile on your face, you don't have words to express the happiness you're experimenting but luckily Makarov's daughter appears again yelling and running everywhere.

- Daddy loves Y/n, Y/n loves him too! Daddy and y/n are in love, daddy and y/n are in love!

Makarov catches her and hugs her, then he approaches you and kisses your forehead, you return the kiss but on his cheek and kiss his kid's forehead.

More than obvious that all that time she wasn't upstairs, she was all that time listening to her two favorite persons confessing their feelings for each other.

[imsandra]

Red to Gold

Pairing: Eris x female reader

Summary: From the fire of the past are born the flames of a new beginning.

Warning: Mentions of torture, whipping, violence, death (nothing in too much detail), Beron. Let me know if anything happens. Word count: 1183

Notes:The idea came out of nowhere, I hope you like it. Leave your comments on what you think, suggestions, everything is welcome as long as it is with the motivation to teach and with respect.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar problems.

Original story, I wrote it myself. Please do not copy or plagiarize my story.

I appreciate the comments, reblogs and likes I receive.

Happy reading!

Master list

The sun would rise again over them.

That was what his mother always said whenever his father did atrocious things to her. His father wasn’t known for being the best; his tyranny was his strength and worth at that time, but it never led him to victory. So when Eris became the new High Lord after killing his own father, his dreams were plagued with nightmares of his past, but he always remembered his mother's words.

“The sun will rise again over us,” the Lady of Autumn would whisper to her children.

“How do you know?” Eris would always ask.

“Because one day, you'll feel that all the bad will go away, and the good will settle deep in your soul, healing the broken parts,” she said as she kissed his forehead.

“Mama, do you feel it?” he whispered. He had always been curious with her, only with her.

His mother took longer than usual to respond. She clung to her little son and answered:

“Yes, I feel it every day,” she finally said.

The little redhead, deep down, knew it was a lie. He knew his father tortured her. She thought that at 8 years old, he wouldn’t be aware of the atrocious things his own father could do. But Eris was always aware, and although he sometimes tried to defend her, which cost him several whippings, he knew his father would never show mercy to a child. So, Eris would have no mercy for him. Never.

When his brothers came into the world, he tried to protect them from Beron's torture, especially his younger brother, Lucien. The only one of his brothers with whom he formed a close bond. The only one he could save from his father's poison.

Lucien and Eris were united by their shared love for their mother. Eris tried to give him a peaceful childhood: he tried to play with him, teach him to read and write, teach him to defend himself. He didn’t care about the consequences that followed. He would do that and more for him and for his mother.

He promised himself: the sun would rise again over them.

A couple of years after becoming the High Lord of the Autumn Court, he found his mate; he found his sun. Y/N was his sun during his dark nights when the storm raged through his body. It was she, with her light, who made him shine like a diamond. His life improved with her, and his mother couldn’t be happier for him, and he couldn’t be happier with her, because he could finally live a free life.

He could never blame her for wanting freedom. Everyone deserved that. Freedom.

Now, while lying on the couch in his home with his little redhead asleep on his chest, he knew his mother was never wrong.

All the bad was going away, and the good was binding to his soul, mending his broken parts.

His little girl stirred on his chest. He gently stroked her back, with tenderness, with love, with the affection that only his mother had taught him, what it meant to be both father and mother at the same time. He swore that the moment his daughter, Emberlyn, was born, he would do whatever it took to give her a childhood full of joy and peace, everything he didn’t have. He would give it to his children.

Emberlyn was his little sun, his passionate little warrior, and even though she was now 5 years old, she was still his little baby. The little redhead claimed to be a little adult, but the fact that she was now lying on her father, her head buried in his neck, showed she was still a baby.

If those thoughts came to light, Emby would get a bit upset and tell her father to have a small sword battle until one of them won. That's why she was his little warrior.

Who would’ve thought his girl was such a fan of swords?

The scent of his mate filled the room; she had entered through the door that connected to the garden. Emby had been helping her mother in the garden they had built together before ending up in her father's arms, fast asleep.

“I love you,” Eris told his wife.

His wife only smiled radiantly before approaching him. When she reached him, she leaned in to kiss him; their lips met gently. A kiss full of so much love, soft as a feather. Both parted, breathless; if it were up to them, they would stay like that for eternity. But they had to breathe at some point.

“I love you more, dear husband,” Y/N whispered near his lips.

Eris made space for her so she could lie down with them. His wife slid onto the couch and nestled into the arm her beloved husband offered her. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder and buried her face in his neck, inhaling his rich scent.

“Maybe we should have another,” Eris said quickly.

“Another what?” the woman responded.

“Another baby,” he said with a smile.

Y/N only laughed and pulled her face out from Eris' neck. She looked at him with a smile; she would never tire of seeing his face, the shape of his nose, his kissable lips, his beautiful freckles adorning his cheeks. Eris locked his gaze with hers, and countless moments flashed through his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was building such a wonderful life as a husband, father, and High Lord of his court.

“I’ll give you all the children you want, my love,” she said with a giggle. She kissed his jaw and buried her face back in her beloved's neck.

The redhead just chuckled, causing his daughter to stir. Emby just wriggled around; she seemed to be a heavy sleeper, just like her mother.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court was more than happy. And though sometimes that happiness was clouded by horrible moments from his past, it was his present that brought him back. His doubts about not being a good father were answered in the moments he shared with his baby. She loved him and reminded him that he was raising her in the best way possible.

He would build that legacy worthy of being told in future generations.

The sun would rise again over them.

*divider by @tsunami-of-tears , thank you.

I red you!

[imagine-silk]

May I request something with Nick? Like, Sole was a detective who worked with the Nick who Nick was based off of? So Nick would definitely be surprised to see Sole. I could kinda see that perhaps this could cause a bit of inner conflict with Nick too. Thank you for considering my request, hun!

》I need to learn how to make dividers. If any of you know how to make them let me know. (oh my god I never knew I liked to be called 'hun' (⸝⸝⸝╸▵╺⸝⸝⸝))

Nick back then was different for obvious reasons. The war was still going on but it was still not a lost cause, and he didn't encounter it day to day by force but by choice. He was married to Jenny, the girl of his dreams that he always thought was out of his league. His identity was unquestioned and never in doubt and he never had a problem with his body. He was happy with his life.

You had a huge influence on him. When he met you he was just barely out of his cop uniform and getting used to wearing what he wanted. You were the one he was assigned to to learn the ropes. Something you weren't very happy about in the beginning but you were never mad at him, he wasn't the one to make the call. So you showed him what you did and taught him what you knew at the time.

From the start he wanted to make a good impression and was very eager to please. It took a second for him to calm it down. He still admired you. After his tutelage was done neither of you asked for a change. It was silently agreed you were partners, no talk needed.

You were there when he scanned his brain. It was for college students and their studies. You told him it was strange and to think twice about it but he laughed and said it was for science. That's the last memory he had when he woke up in the trash.

While he was adjusting he stumbled a lot. Then when he was welcomed into Diamond city and given his agency he tried to take hold of his life. The way he did was to pretend like he was you, to do what you would do, to take authority and be the one in charge. Over the years he changed. After a lot of reflection he realized you wouldn't have wanted that, you didn't want him to be you. You would want him to be the best version of himself. So he strive to be the person you saw in him.

Time stopped for him when you saved him in the vault. He felt so many different things. And he saw your confusion. You were under the impression he survived like you did, because no one told you he was a synth. Neither of you remember who said you should get moving but one of you did.

At the agency you asked your companion to wait outside for this reunion. "Nicki." A nickname you always called him by fondly. "You do remember me, right?"

What was he supposed to do, lie to you? But that was the problem. How much of him was a lie? He tried to explain but that made him think in circle. He did remember you but he wasn't yours, he wasn't who you remembered. He wasn't Nick. But he did know you. He still wanted to please you. He wanted you to see what he made of himself and tell him he did good. But you weren't his to claim because he wasn't Nick. But he was. He was Nick and there was no running away from that.

You hushed him, "It's okay. If you want to go back to us we'll do that. If you want me to be a stranger we can do that. I'll go at your pace. No matter if you're my Nick or your own. And if you never want to see or speak to me again I'll leave after we find Shaun." Again you put the ball in his court, just like he remembered. And he knew whatever he said you would pick the ball up and play the game with his rules.

"I'm not him. I'm not. But I want to be with you again." It was all so much. He knew you but you didn't know him. Somehow you knew exactly what he meant; I want you to know the me now.

He never really thought about how much he missed you in the last couple of years but now that you were here it was kind of embarrassing. You hired him to help you but he still looked up to you. It felt like he was hired help instead of a private eye. Every step of the way you smiled and told him he was doing a good job.

Throughout your time together you bond. It's different but familiar, it's built on what you had and became what was new.

He actually held Shaun once. He actually held him several times but he only remembered the first. This was personal for him too. The child of his best friend.

He was so confused when you came back through the telepad without Shaun. He followed you when you stormed away to your house and saw your break down. "I lost everything. Every fucking thing! My world, my wife, my partner, and now my son. What am I here for? Who do I need to kill-" You stopped when you saw his face and realized what you said. "That's not what I meant. Nicki. Nick!" You called out but he was out the door.

There he was hiding in his office like he did after your first fight on the job. But that was the problem wasn't it, he wasn't the one you upset at the time. Of course you knew he was hiding there and showed up. He didn't stop you when you sat down next to him. "Do you remember-"

"I probably do." It was bitter and pointed but you continued.

"Not like that. Yesterday I said 'tomorrow this will all be over'. And you said?"

"'It's not over until the fat lady sings'."

You chuckled, smiled, like nothing was wrong. You were so good at that. "That was the first time I'd ever heard that. You, Nick, never said that. It surprised me. What a weird saying. You're not Nick, I know that. I lost him. But I have you."

You'd just found out you lost everything from before the war and here he was being selfish, having the gall to need reassurance from you. The sweet thing was he knew you would tell him that was a stupid thought and you'd always have time for him no matter how silly. "You do have me." Like that he tilted and put his head on your shoulder.