#thread: once upon a dream

[morgansmornings]

“It means the hobby of exploring caves. Or as I used it, to try and go running off the edge of the rooftop without any ropes or tethers to keep you from an unfortunate sudden stop after a long drop. And if ‘witch’ is too negative for you, you can just call me by my name.” Was it a bit petty and snide in tone, maybe. But that was more so for the comment about black magic and witchcraft. 

“There are many things that have changed since your time. 250 years has altered society to a point that you would not recognise it as such. And that I understand. But in order for me to do what I must, you have to be complicit and willing to accept these things as they are.” She meant no offence. But given his station she thought that Ben would rather have the brutal facts and truth over more lies and deceit. A Spy Master he may have been, but it was clear to her that she was far more in depth a student in things pertaining to the supernatural. Besides, when all was said and done, he wasn’t going to remember his time here as it was. Not if she had a say about it. She knew better than to go tampering with alterations to time and reality. Sneaky and unforgiving as they were. 

“Look, I know that this is a lot. I know you have very little reason to trust me. But I have to ask you to give me that trust and the faith that I can take you back to where you belong. To the time you belong to. But I first have to finish translating that scroll in hopes to find that solution.” She folded her hand on the arm rest of the couch, leaning back and taking a calming breath herself. While she could hold his hand and walk him through every little step that has had a dramatic change, there was no telling how long it would be nor how resistant to her attempts would be. 

“Things can always get worse when it comes to those who mess or make light of dealing with Temporal Magicks.” Jayden said, glazing to his left to gaze out over the golden glow of the surrounding city. “Some believe in Chaos Theories such as what they call “The Butterfly Effect.” How that one small change in events can lead to catastrophic events hundreds of miles away.” 

This was quickly coming back to her own worries and fear of when she had first encountered the Major standing in her loft. The nagging fear that things would change so drastically and that no one would remember it because history would have been fundamentally changed. 

“I will be happy to explain anything you want me to if I can. But understand the position that we are both in. You are out of place and I am the reason why. I can’t have anything happening to you here because then everything I know will change and there is no way of telling how bad and dangerous that could be.” Jayden looked to him, both in worry and with a kindness in her features that would hopefully tell him she was just as scared as he was. 

“I am trying to help you, but you have to be willing to listen to me and help me in exchange. My life depends on your survival and I am going to do everything I can to make sure that you are safe and returned.”

"You mean, things could actually be worse?" Benjamin asked, unable to keep from making a face. "With all due respect, madam, this land no longer feels like the colonies...it is far too coarse and ill-refined."

And that didn't even account for all the bloody inventions that he had yet to fully understand.

When Jayden started signing at her dog -- because why not? Of bloody course animals and people could talk in this century -- Benjamin forced himself to remain calm before he followed after her, his pulse still drumming erratically as he kept in step with her tread.

As she spoke, he winced. "Must you be called a witch?" he wearily asked. "The implications there aren't exactly flattering, and I would prefer to believe that you do not, in fact, intend to eat my intestines, nor perform some sort of black magic upon my soul."

Jayden ignored the remark -- perhaps it had been rather uncouth -- and showed him outside.

All at once, Benjamin's mouth dropped and he took in the scenery, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he struggled to process the greenery. They were not in a forest, and yet it felt as though he were surrounded by lush wildlife.

“We are three stories up from the ground," Jayden explained. "As long as you don’t plan on going spelunking over the side of the building you will be safe up here.”

Benjamin's brow furrowed. "Speh...lunking?" he echoed, testing the sound with a scrunched nose. "I'm afraid that even my studies in Latin are failing me on the etymology here... What could that possibly even mean? It sounds like sheer nonsense."

As did everything else in this situation.

With a frustrated sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then slowly counted to ten before exhaling, long and slow. "Although the architecture here is quite impressive," he treaded, "I'm uncertain of how enjoyable it would be to live so far removed from the rest of the world." Here, he turned back toward the horrifying sights of the street below. "Where are your neighbors? Do your people not believe in daily visits, nor meeting for a drink?"

[nxttheendxfthestxry]

Closed Starter: Once Upon a Dream (Jess/Waylon)

Jess sighs, tapping her pencil lightly on the page of her journal she’d opened to. Hasty scribbles, half messages, some nonsense even to her. Fragments of dreams she wasn’t given a full enough picture on. All drawn in an almost trance-like state, disconnected from her mind, unaware of anything around her when she’d first wake. But there were more fleshed out drawings, or those that had started vague and grown over time.

Like this one. What had started as simply a piercing gaze she couldn’t place on the same page as a small drawing of a squirrel had grown form, until it belonged to the mysterious stranger who’d seemed to know about the squirrels in advance just as she had.

Waylon was drawn on the page, Waylon had been a part of her dreams, and Jess had no idea why. But she couldn’t help but want to follow up on him, not just for this, but for what little she’d learned of him in their meeting.

She sighs, tapping idly against the page, glancing up when she notices a shadow over her and snapping the journal shut. “Waylon!”

@storystartsanew​

[sleeplessrose]

who: aurora & @dreamyphillip where: echo island hospital

Perhaps this had been why her fairies had kept her inside for so long. For how long she wanted to believe that people were good, that the dangers they'd warned her of were simply falsities to keep her content with what had already been decided of her, it had unfortunately been all along true. It was how she'd wound up in the hospital, alone, after being nearly trampled while people had begun to flee from the boardwalk and to safety. With her limbs scraped, and a cut on her head that had thankfully been stitched, Aurora quietly slipped out of her bed, hoping that the nurses wouldn't notice her absence while she simply wanted to take a stroll down the hall, just to get out of the room she'd been cooped up in for hours.

If anyone were to find her, she would be in trouble, but Aurora could hardly care. There were far too many people in the hospital for anyone to be worried about one missing patient with minor wounds when there were bigger problems to take care of. She'd nearly made it to the desk near the elevator when she saw him--Phillip, speaking to the nurse behind it. Her socks suddenly glued to the floor, she could hardly believe the sight of him: he was clearly fine, thankfully, but she couldn't imagine what he'd be doing here, now, if he didn't need to be. She met his eyes for what felt like an eternity, but could only hope was a split second, not long enough for him to recognize her. Perhaps this was all a dream, and that was all Aurora could hope as she spun on her heel, deciding that leaving her room was a terrible idea after all.

[pearlywritings]

New day - same you

synopsis: morning routine with them and other sweet moments

pairing and characters: Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gallagher, Gepard Landau, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sunday, Veritas Ratio (separately) x reader

tw: established relationship (marriage/dating), fluff, halovian!reader in Sunday's, halovians have back wings here, foxian!reader in Jiaoqiu's (and his part is written before 2.5)

word count: ~4k words

Argenti

With Argenti it almost feels like competition - who's going to be the first to awake and marvel in the morning beauty of their sleeping lover. He, with his flashy but sincere words and loving kisses all over your wrists, and you, with your soft touches and quiet murmurs of the declarations of love.

The fog of the dream is hard to fight through this particular morning - Argenti stayed up way past midnight to fix the “One and Only’s” engine and practically fell into your embrace after the shower, worming his way under your lax arms. His body clock, however, is sending alarms to his brain, pushing him to wake up, stimulating the thought of opening his eyes and having a blessing of witnessing your angelic face.

Which is gone as soon as it appears. You, awake, and still holding your lover in your arms, tug him a bit closer and let his face nestle into the crook of your neck. As a fellow Knight of Beauty there is no hate in your heart for the broken engine that kept Argenti busy tonight, but it doesn't mean you can't dislike it and let him sleep a bit more. It's not like you two are rushing anywhere.

When your tender hand is laid upon his head, lovingly patting and threading fingers through the heavy locks of crimson hair, the knight feels bliss. His mind is sedated and willingly enters the gates of another dream, just as sweet as your presence.

This morning you may not have your share of compliments, breaking the little ritual, but it's more than alright. After all, the beauty of the proper rest is a nice alternative.

Aventurine

No matter what day it is - Aventurine is always the first one to wake up. An occupational hazard, if you could name working for the IPC this way. However, the one of the Stonehearts despises leaving the bed without you, and even more despises waking you up before your alarm clock goes off.

Aventurine is a busy man, who is used to starting his days with calls and messages, managing to have at least three little ‘meetings’ throughout his morning routine. And he can’t have you waking up from his voice taking a sharper edge in the conversation with one of the partners. So you reached a compromise - you sleep with earplugs and he gets to hold you in the morning while on the phone, waking you up with some nudges and kisses once the time comes.

He loves to see your sleepy but absolutely lovesick eyes after he pulls you out of the dream and lets you rest onto his chest with his arm around your body a bit longer, until this exact call is over.

Then you’d take your sweet time in the bathroom and then, as you are cooking breakfast and he is on the phone again, the man would cling to your back with his chin on your shoulder and one arm wrapped around your waist. Then he’d keep talking with you on his lap, keep talking with his hands busy with the dishes, keep talking as you pack his and your lunches. He’d be having the fourth or the fifth call by the time you are all dressed up and smoothing some invisible creases on his clothes, but he’ll always put the caller on hold to get his ‘good morning’ with a kiss and ‘have a wonderful day’ with another kiss.

But don’t be fooled - he does all that only because you explicitly expressed that you don’t mind. Just one word of yours - and he’ll swiftly finish the call, turning off his phone and giving you so much attention that by the time you both leave for work, you're gonna be affectionately sick of him.

Blade

It’s ten more minutes, the swordsman reminds himself after a quick glance at the wall clock and back to your sleeping figure. Nowadays, the Stellaron Hunter doesn’t deny you the request of staying in bed with you even if he can’t sleep normally and stays awake many hours through the night. After some nagging from you he even stopped getting in bed with his clothes on, opting for the sleeping pants and shirts you’ve bought for him to match most of yours.

Blade is leaning back on the headboard with a pillow squeezed in between as one hand, wrapped in bandages, resting on his thigh, while the other is carefully caressing the side of your head. It’s hard to believe that someone is able to snooze so peacefully next to a man like him, let alone, pressing their face into his thigh with arms wrapped around his leg.

And ‘peace’ is what Blade cherishes the most during the mornings spent with you. He makes you feel safe. You make him feel relaxed. His body next to yours is the fruit of your successful worming into his heart, your body next to his is his sanctuary. The man’s mind is at ease and he more often than not falls into the light slumber, dreamless, yet lacking nightmares too.

You crinkle your nose under the more prominent touch of his fingers across your face, and Blade stiffens. It’s still three minutes more, he doesn’t want to wake you up earlier than that. Yet at the same time, something inside him is burning with the strongest yearning of seeing your eyelids sliding up and the prettiest drowsy eyes looking up at him with so much adoration, that his heart starts bleeding like pierced.

The Stellaron Hunter looks at the clock again. One more minute. Maybe tomorrow morning he’ll let you both sleep in. Maybe it’s because you are not in any of the upcoming scripts. Or maybe it’s because he’d like to try cuddling once more.

Boothill

When in his travels, the cyborg doesn't sleep in the usual sense of this word. The correct way to describe it would be ‘recharge’, hiding somewhere in the secure corner, not even lying down, just sitting comfortably enough and letting his systems cool off and eyes plus brain rest.

When he is back home to you however… He literally starts whining and complaining if you take too long to join him in your shared bed.

Boothill always asks you to sleep in panties/shorts only. Not because he is a pervert (though he indeed can touch or lick or suck a time or two), but because in his absence he missed the heat and softness of your skin so much, that he immediately takes the little spoon position, burying his face into your chest and keening on the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp and playing with his hair.

He loves falling asleep to the tender thumping in your chest, and even more so he loves waking up to the very same sound. It reminds him that he isn't alone in this world, that even with all the losses he experienced he still has someone to adore and treasure. He always hugs your waist a little tighter upon awakening and presses a long kiss to the valley in the middle of your chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the deep breaths you release. It feels like heaven. It is home.

Plus, he loves your confident morning behavior, when you don't bother putting on a shirt after getting out of the bed and walking around the house still mostly bare, playfully swatting his hands away when he reaches to you with grabby motions. Well, given he sometimes walks around completely naked, he has nothing to accuse you of.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng isn’t particularly fond of you sleeping in his room. Not because he guards its contents akin to a dragon that fusses over its treasures or because he doesn’t want your body pressed close to his, no. Simply because his ‘bed’ is hard. And, admittedly, the mattress is not big enough to fit two people comfortably.

But you, oh you, are always so sweet about it and reassure him that you love the close proximity it brings, and that you are ready to deal with the slight body ache in the morning, understanding that Dan Heng himself is more at ease while staying in his own ‘den’ (he is working on it).

Mornings usually start with you on top of him - even in his unconscious state the man still worries about you, so he’d rather have you use him as a pillow (and, as you once teased him, he’d use you as a weighted blanket). Next, you’ll be swift to leave his side, throwing his coat on and quietly tiptoeing to the kitchen.

Usually, by the time you return, your boyfriend is already awake, but still staying under the blanket, waiting for you. He gratefully accepts a steaming mug with a calming herbal tea and you peck his cheek, flopping next to him with your own mug in a hand. You are sitting quietly, shoulders touching and knees bumping, while you are sipping on your drinks and chasing away the remnants of sleep.

Dan Heng smiles when you wiggle your feet under the blanket and put your head onto his shoulder, and as he turns his head to kiss the top of yours, securing a tender end to your special morning ritual, the man thinks he is indeed healing. And that’s what he cherishes about mornings with you most.

Gallagher

Gallagher takes extra long showers in the evenings after his shifts, because he doesn’t want to bring the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and anything else of the bar’s patrons to your bed. He doesn’t want you to grimace first thing in the morning and push him away, complaining about the stink. He’d much rather have your body tightly pressed against his, maybe face squished into his chest, arm thrown over his waist and legs stuck between his.

Gallagher loves just lazing in bed with you, as you are both awake. Loves rubbing his cheek against yours and hearing you reprimand him lightheartedly for the stubble. And yet, you never move away, welcoming his big palm resting on your hip, fingers lightly digging into fat and dragging you even closer to him.

Today you, however, throw a leg over his body and swiftly climb on top, immediately settling onto his chest like many times before. It’s because you know he has a night shift and you don’t plan to let him go until at least lunch. And your lover is strong, he can throw you off using just one arm or by simply turning his body under yours, but he does none of this, all because he absolutely adores your little sparks of possessiveness.

His heavy hand lowers onto your head, gently ruffling your hair, to which you grumble, poking his side with a single finger, only to scratch him lightly with all five a second later. Oh how deliciously he shivers and even a following pinch to your ass is unable to wipe a pleased smile off your face.

He’ll tell you stupid stories from the night before at the bar, share the worst jokes his patrons slurred and admit the teasing Sioban put him through once again, because ‘the old dog was glancing at the clock, counting the minutes till running home to you’. And you’ll be laughing. And he’ll be laughing too.

Gepard Landau

The Captain of the Silverman Guards is obviously the man of schedule. He wakes up at the same time, he wraps up his morning routine in the same period of time, and he leaves the house at the same time.

Every morning the man is trying his hardest to get out of the bed as sneakily as he can, because otherwise there are chances of waking you up and his heart cries when you follow him around wrapped in the blanket while whining that it’s so cold to be out of the bed and his warmest embrace (yes, you’re sometimes faking it, but come on, your golden retriever of a boyfriend is warm and comfy to cuddle with).

Can never deny you, when you squeeze yourself past him in the hot shower, explaining that yes, you are cold, and yes, it’s saving water (obviously not to admire your handsome lover and steal a couple of morning kisses from him).

You are still sleepy as the water is gushing on your body, which is held in place by two strong hands on your hips. Gepard can’t take his eyes from your cute droopy expression and smiles softly when you lift your head to let the water splash against your face. He doesn’t like it when you sacrifice your sleep in the mornings, but he can’t lie to himself that he loves spending these moments with you either. He gently brushes your wet locks away from your cheeks and forehead, leaning down to plant a small peck on your chin.

A cheerful ‘hooray’ is coming out in bubbles due to the water getting into your mouth, but you don’t care, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his chest instead. Oh Qlipoth, let this poor man be not that obvious with the raging blush from the new mark blooming under his uniform while leaving the house

Jiaoqiu

Waking up with the rays of rising sun to throw on an embroidered robe and get to the kitchen to cook another delicious breakfast for you and him is indeed a pleasurable and relaxing part of the healer’s morning. However, much more than that he enjoys wondering in his head who’s going to wake up hugging whose tail the evening before, just to arise the next morning and see if his guess is right.

Opening his fanged mouth in a big yawn and squeezing still shut honey golden eyes even more, Jiaoqiu starts his day with a nice full body stretch. Something soft gets into his mouth and immediately jerks, provoking an abrupt puff of air released from the male’s lungs. There is a dissatisfied mumble somewhere close to his collarbones, and when heavy eyelids slide open, the foxian catches just the swift motion of your ears pressing back against your head.

He can't help but smile softly, leaning down and kissing the top of it (his own pink ear slightly twitching as you quietly murmur in delight), then moving back and looking down to assess your sleeping positions.

Face to face and legs tangled together, your bodies lay closely to each other. With your nose buried into his neck and arms wrapped around his frame, Jiaoqiu, to his greatest disappointment, notices both your tails peacefully resting on the mattress behind your backs.

What a pity… Now it means you won't be helping him comb through his fur to make it look presentable and he won't be doing the same to you… Unless…

As the clawed hand carefully reaches behind you with a clear intention to mess up your tail and sly eyes crinkle in mischief, Jiaoqiu is truly ready to start his morning routine even to the extent of your complaints.

Jing Yuan 

Jing Yuan is a true connoisseur of soft things. He has the fluffiest carpets back at home, silkiest fabrics for clothes, his bed is like one big white cloud, and his pet is a lion with a huge mane. Not to mention his beloved, who has the softest thighs to nap onto in the whole universe (he has never compared to others, but he is a firm believer).

The General has been having trouble waking up in the morning for a while now. Alarm clock? Ignored. Mimi’s nudges and complaining groans? Ignored too. Your loving voice and tender kisses all over his face? Careful, he is the Dozing General, not the Weak one - you are very much at risk every time to be dragged back in bed in your husband's embrace.

And that little fight you put up every morning to get him from under the blanket and send him off to the bathroom is his favorite part. Just like today.

If anyone was to walk into your bedroom, they'd see a strange image of your strained form being hunched and jerking backwards, trying to rip your arm from an iron grasp, and just a single hand visible in the mess of pillows and blankets, holding onto your wrist and trying to pull you back onto the bed.

You swear, the man hasn't even opened his eyes, relying solely on his other sharp senses to effortlessly catch you when you tried to flee after kissing him good morning.

It's pointless to remind him of the meeting today - he'll get there in time either way, but you still try to hold your ground and win this fight of stubbornness.

Jing Yuan laughs, when with a loud gasp you fall onto his swiftly sitting up figure and are immediately thrown back onto the bed with his sturdy body pinning yours underneath. He loves the heat of your face he feels when his cheek is pressed to yours. He adores when you wiggle under him, refusing to admit that this display of his strength didn't leave you hot and bothered. And he is absolutely smitten when eventually you let out a long exasperated sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders, admitting your defeat, agreeing to sleep for a little bit more.

Loucha

The merchant is too used to the feeling of loneliness in his travels. Getting out of a hardly couple-of-days-familiar bed, grabbing a pin from a nightstand table to fix a quick messy bun and, swiftly stopping by the bathroom to freshen up his sleepy face, the man drags his feet to the kitchen.

Oil is sizzling in a pan, as the man throws the cut vegetables in it, grabbing a spatula. He is barefoot, still in his sleep wear and long locks of golden hair hanging in messy waves to his shoulder length. It’s the sight that is hard to resist, and as much as you’d love to keep watching your lover, so uncharacteristically unkept and cozy, the need to get closer to him gets too strong. As your arms encircle his waist and lips press to wherever you can reach, Loucha doesn’t fight a soft smile. Yes, on some of his trades he’s on his own, but your presence is such a sedative to his soul and mind.

You ask him what he is cooking and he answers, letting you duck your head under his arm, so you could see for yourself, and then offers you to choose something extra if you so desire. Giving him your response, you immediately suggest helping, but he declines, carefully prying one of your hands from his stomach and lifting it to his lips, murmuring how he doesn’t want your pretty fingers to get all tired and dirty in the very morning.

But you are a little stubborn, so when he lets you go, you stay behind his back and reach for a simple jade pin, heroically holding the whole mass of his hair, and take it out, letting the heavy waves cascade down his back. The fingers he’s just been so worried about, bury into the locks, brushing out the knots, dividing in parts and then twisting them one around another, collecting his hair into a nice, but simple braid.

The merchant is used to spending his mornings alone. But admittedly he loves you being by his side and your adorable little gestures much more.

Sunday

It is a well-known fact that the halovian has OCD and his prior commitment to the Order only proves it more strongly. Admittedly, ever since he’s been released from Gopher Wood’s clutches and left Penacony, he’s been getting better: less paranoid, less twitchy, more forgiving to not only ones around him, but himself. He’s been working on abandoning some of his habits, going as far as styling his clothes in a kind of mismatched yet still smart manner. And still he’s having a hard time not to fuss over his appearance.

While sleeping, Sunday is restless. Having been sharing a bed with him for a long time, you’ve been a witness to all - thrashing from side to side, kicking off and then dragging back the blanket, both head and back wings flapping in sleep, messing equally his feathers and hair (sometimes yours too).

And sometimes, Sunday wants to cry. It’s so intimate, it’s so sweet, it’s something he was used to doing on his own, but here you are - doing it for him, cooing lovingly and pressing tender kisses to the smaller wings protruding from the back of his head, making them tremble slightly and the milky skin of his cheeks - flash with crimson.

But you are understanding. You are gentle, when you offer the miserably looking man your hands and tug him out of the bed, walking him to the huge mirror and asking him to sit down in front of it. Your hands are soft and careful, as they are grooming his wings, rearranging the feathers correctly, removing broken ones, fluffing up the beautiful plumage that reminds of the night sky.

And you trust him to do the same for you! His hands are shaking, his breath is hitching while you keep encouraging him to clean up your wings after sleep, being nothing but patient as the morning sun arises.

The ex-head of the Oak Family used to say that patience is a virtue, but in the dawn glow of your bedroom it turns into his paradise.

Veritas Ratio

No matter what your sleep schedule is, Veritas is always the first one to wake up. Sitting up he reaches for his nightstand drawer, tapping the phone’s screen to stop the alarm clock’s ringing. His other hand automatically reaches for the black-furred critter, nestled onto his lap, to gently pat its soft ‘shell’, receiving a quiet content chirp. Once done with the phone, the man turns to the other side of the bed, reddish-pink eyes lowering to your still sleeping form, with another critter snoozing under your arm. One more is spotted at the end of the bed.

Every single morning Veritas witnesses the same view - well, maybe your sleeping pose is different, or the placement of your ‘cats’ on the bed, or how much of the blanket you've either stolen from him or on the contrary thrown at him… still it's always you, him and your recently adopted pets.

And every single morning your lover can't help but take some minutes from his work out session and dedicate them to simply sitting in bed next to you, observing, doing his own little research. Today he notes how you've moved slightly onto his part of the bed, head occupying both yours and a small part of his pillow. Then his gaze moves downwards, noticing the covers being pulled down your waist and feet peeking from under the blanket. That's so you - feeling stuffy and hot yet still moving closer to his body.

Carefully, not to disturb you and give a couple of more minutes to rest, Veritas bends down and kisses your cheek, testing another hypothesis of his - would you smile in your sleep, upon feeling the touch of his lips on your skin?

He is surprised, when you open your eyes, staring back at him in a haze. Sensing your awakening, the orange critter practically zooms from under your arm, then onto the man’s pillow and off the bed, disappearing somewhere in the hallway. But he hardly pays attention to it. No, his eyes are glued to yours and that sweet smile that tugs on the corners of your mouth as you reach forward to circle his neck with your arms.

Yes, his thinks contented, closing his eyes, another hypothesis of his has been proven right.

[sleeplessrose]

Aurora had heard of the people who'd hunted those who were magical before, though she hadn't been aware of just how that would translate into action. This had been brutal--it must've been one of their more deadly attacks, from what the older woman had said. Of course, she knew her fairies were on the list of those who could be hunted, though Aurora couldn't quite tell herself what had been wrong with her for years, the hyper-realistic nightmares that had plagued her. "I've heard of them," she commented, though Aurora guessed she would probably know more if it hadn't been for her life of confinement. "You think the borders will open?" The blonde sat up a bit, suddenly more interested in their conversation than ever. It had been off the Isle that Aurora had been able to sleep, to feel like she could wander without being forced to stay within her four walls. She'd never thought of herself as the kind of person to run away, but it certainly wasn't out of the question, depending on who her parents were going to make her marry. "I used to live off the island, with my aunts," she explained, "I'd enjoyed it, but when we'd heard about the borders closing, I'd wanted to come back. I don't see my parents a lot, but it was the option of having them close --not being able to even be near them had been unimaginable, so I'd asked to come back, but ... as they say, the grass is always greener elsewhere."

༝༝༝ ⚰ ༝༝༝

Her positivity was something Mal admired in her, wondering how long she could have that outlook on life until the harsh realities of the world soured it. The fae herself had once experienced a life where she saw the world as her oyster and that everything had a reasonable purpose. That mindset was ripped from her as was her mother's wings. While it was Aurora's father that Maleficent had to thank for that, this wasn't the time to start revealing her own tragic backstory. "Doesn't mean they shouldn't also be making sure you're alright." It was a job she'd taken on herself, plotting herself beside the bed with her eggroll still in hand. "Of course, my treat." There was a lot more coming but she reserved her thoughts for after the blonde had eaten something. Instead, the conversation shifted to the very thing that had brought Aurora into harm's way which the raven-haired woman knew more about than she let on at first. It was time she knew the truth or at least, that part of it and the reality many of the Isle residences faced. "Not the individuals but the group behind it is that of hunters," she began, finishing the snack she'd snagged. "This isn't the first time and it won't be the last. They usually only want those who are different, who are... magically inclined, if you will." That was one way of putting it but from the very same curse she'd placed, she knew Aurora would understand. "This is the first time I've seen them take so many risks by opening fire with so many humans around but it shows promise for the borders opening. Something good to come of this unnecessary slaughter, I suppose." Though Mal didn't see it as quite an even trade, they needed the breakthrough.

[mide404]

One day, we were growing and maturing, dreaming and aspiring. We lived moments of joy and endured pain. We chased our desires and ventured into the fields of work. But now… our dreams have stopped, our aspirations have faded. Our world, once vast and open, has shrunk to a small, narrow space. From boundless skies to an unknown realm… This is what happened to my family after the devastating war uprooted their dreams, buried their ambitions, and obliterated their memories.

Today, my family endures the harsh experience of displacement, living in a tent for months on end. My younger sister describes the struggles of life in the tent: how it burns like an oven under the sun, suffocating and airless, with no means of cooling. The tent feels like a greenhouse during the day, leaving its residents to suffer from the extreme heat of summer without protection, and offering no shelter from the bitter cold of winter.

She mentions that our family’s tent is set up on a small plot of farmland, forcing us to live amid reptiles, rodents, insects, and venomous snakes, with no basic standards of cleanliness. She adds that life in the tent is especially harsh for women. It’s a place where even in the sweltering heat, they must stay fully dressed in outdoor clothes, with no freedom of movement. Everything happens inside the tent: lighting fires, cooking food, washing dishes, storing large containers of drinking water, and keeping water for bathing and daily cleaning. In essence, the tent means the loss of privacy—speaking in whispers inside your tent, only to hear a response from your neighbor in the next one.

She goes on to say, “Every time I moved with my family, I lost a thread of the privacy I hold dear as a woman. Displacement and homelessness became defining features of my life.”

I am Mahmoud Saleh, a young man appealing to you to look upon my torn and displaced family with mercy. Please grant them the chance to rebuild their lives in peace. I stand before your compassionate hearts, full of hope that you can help what remains of my family to secure a better life and to live in safety and security.

[aspid-of-roses]

Arcane 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

First post 🖤

Yandere!Viktor who is intoxicated by the scent of your skin, a warmth that seeps into his soul like the sun breaking through the fog at dawn.

Yandere!Viktor who buries his face in the crook of your neck on his worst days, eyes shut tight, seeking refuge in the steady pulse of your heartbeat. It’s not just comfort—it’s proof. Proof that he’s here, that you’re here. And you’re not leaving.

Yandere!Viktor who doesn’t hide his ambitions with the Hexcore from you. He doesn’t need to. Not from you. You would understand, wouldn’t you? You must understand. Who, if not you, could see the importance in his vision?

Yandere!Viktor who yearns for you to look at him the way he has always looked at you—with awe. It’s foolish, yes. Selfish, absolutely. But why should that matter? Why should anything matter? His world has boiled down to two essential truths: his hexcore dream and you. And in his mind, they are one—inseparable, unable to exist without each other.

Yandere!Viktor who breaks when he realizes he might never accomplish his goal. Guilt festers, corroding his resolve. Torn between the morality he once clung to and the all-consuming, scorching need to be worthy of you. You deserve more, he tells himself. But who is he if not the man who will, who should, become more—for you?

Yandere!Viktor who hears your voice in the depths of the Arcane’s thrall. No hallucination could be so clear. It’s you. It has always been you. Your voice is a beacon, threading through the labyrinth of his mind like a guiding star. You’re calling him, pulling him back, pleading for him to stay. How could he deny you?

Yandere!Viktor whose first instinct upon breaking free is to seize your wrist. His fingers press against your pulse, feeling the blood move beneath your skin. Every beat. Every shift of bone and tendon beneath his touch. It’s real. It’s all real. You’re real. You’re his.

Yandere!Viktor who exhales with a shudder, his voice trembling as if every breath could shatter him. “I came back,” he says, his eyes searching yours. Not for validation—he doesn’t need it anymore—but for the simple reassurance that you see him. Him. Not the machine. Not the Hexcore’s vessel. Him.

Yandere!Viktor whose mismatched, rainbow-tinted eyes never leave you as you lean in. Tears cling to your lashes, filling your already bloodshed eyes. You’re beautiful—so unbearably beautiful—even in pain. Especially in pain.

Yandere!Viktor who traces the curve of your lips with his long, deft fingers. The contrast of cold metal and arcane flesh against your warmth stings on your skin. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. He sees no fear there. No rejection. Only you.

“You called for me,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent, and unyielding.

“And I came back to you.”

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 5

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Ah, here we are! The last chapter in the Hocus Pocus AU by @jackofallrabbits and me! Once more, I'm honored and thrilled to have @deliasmilkshake's cover art for the finale! I can't say how grateful I am for everyone's support and lovely comments on this little series! There's a wedding to attend, so let's get to it <3

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

The coolness of the woody air, cut away from the hot and claustrophobic space of the crowded gymnasium overflowing with celebration, brushes over your skin. Half-bare in your ruined sweater, you shiver. Eclipse eases you with a soft sound. His fingertips slip under your sweater and trace over your back to soothe the goosebumps prickling your flesh. Leaning deeper into him, you clutch him tightly in your arms.

You’ve never held someone so close before.

If you don’t open your eyes now, you’ll never believe this is real. The witches. The curses. The ceremony. All of it will be a dream on one cold October night while you lie in bed alone.

So you do. Little by little, you lift your cheek from his chest and tilt your head back, and behold the unnatural man, come back from the dead, who awaits your vows. His eyes glimmer gently in rich golden hues. The sharp cuts of his sun rays remind you of the encroaching sunrise, and you realize the sky is losing its stars as the black dillutes into a dawn of dark gray.

“We will have the ceremony here.” Eclipse inclines his head around you. “It may be simple, but it is only for the time being. When there is no urgency, we will celebrate properly with food and wine and the most beautiful altar. It will be to your heart’s desire, little comet.”

You look around to find what he describes as simple, and balk softly. You are not in the high school gym set in town but a clearing filled with half-dead vines twisting around the bare ground set amid shadowy trees with whispering boughs and the last of autumn’s leaves. The starlight barely reaches you. Dozens of round, orange pumpkins litter the ground around your feet. In the center of the pumpkin patch is a beautiful black wood tree with thick, bark-cracked limbs reaching high with a canopy of bright red and yellow leaves to serve as your altar. 

Behind you, smoke not unlike from the party Eclipse just whisked you away from swirls and recedes further back into the cold night, unveiling Sun and Moon. They stand tall and expectant, their hands filled with silvery threads like spider gossamer and the veil of a bride. Sun’s yellow sun rays catch your eyes like a peacock fanning its tail. Moon’s hood lays quietly over his head and casts a calm shadow over the scarlet of his eyes. The weight of their gazes fall over you.

They are here for you too. The twitch in your limbs answers to the anticipation overflowing from your core.

You breathe in deeply. There are two people missing. Turning back to Eclipse, your lips poised to ask about your friends and how the brothers might intend to shuck their curses from them, when the smoke behind Sun and Moon continues to dissolve before it reveals just the ones heavy on your mind. 

Michael and Vanessa. 

Confusion crosses Michael’s undead face. Purple flesh upon his brow shoots up in alarm before his gaze finds you in the arms of the eldest witch. At his feet, the white rabbit raises her ears high. Vanessa’s green eyes pierce you with alarm and fright most unspeakable. 

Your heart aches at the sight of them so drenched in dark magic. Reaching out a hand in a placating motion, you start to call out to them.

“Don’t!” Michael shouts overrules yours, as fierce and protective as he has been all through the night. He charges forward. “Get away from—”

Magic spills from Sun’s and Moon’s lips in a twining harmony. Their gazes are steel while their voices lift and multiply, filling the air with gales of hot and cold air before the old leaves on the pumpkin vines shudder. Creaking and crawling across the dirt, the dark green tendrils come to life and snatch Michael’s ankles, stopping him short as he struggles to remain balanced. 

Vanessa bounds towards you. Her small body leaps over pumpkins and scurries around snares of pumpkin tendrils. She dodges a snaring vine before a second, hidden one snatches her, twisting her small little form into its clutches and holding her a few inches above the ground. Her feet kick out. Her entire body struggles as she tries violently to free herself but to no avail.

“Don’t hurt them.” You clutch Eclipse’s cloak until your knuckles turn white. Pleading with your entire being, you find his gaze. “Please. They’re my friends.”

A dryness infiltrates your mouth. Will they be better than what the villagers and witch hunters feared them to be? Can you ask them to be good for you? Your core burns with yearning, the hope of a brighter day filled with peace and joy, not more darkness. Not more pain and fear.

You don’t want to lose them.

Eclipse gently covers your fists and soothes them out until your palms relax against his chest.

“They won’t be harmed,” Eclipse nods towards his brothers. His sonorous voice lowers. “Sun and Moon understand your conditions. We have brought your friends here to give you our gifts, and to ensure there are no more interruptions.”

You nod shakily. A feeble tremble lingers throughout you, raking through your fingers and along your jawline. Your witch suitors have proven again and again their capabilities for wickedness and they continue to chase it through the midnight hours, but not here. They stand still, at your service. How they terrify you. How they enchant you.

Every single night you dreamt of someone to love, someone who would keep you warm and chase away the loneliness. 

Have you found them or are you a love-sick fool still reaching for something that is not yours? 

“Run, get away from here!” Michael struggles against the vines rooting him in place. Leaves twine tighter around his corpse-like body, forcing him to his knees and leaving him bound from his ankles all the way to his shoulders, wrapped up like a cruel gift.

One glower from Sun sends one last pumpkin vine around Michael’s flesh-rotten mouth and gags him.

Vanessa twists and writhes. Her small rabbit body struggles in the grasp of the vine snare and she sinks her teeth into it, attempting to chew through the restraint while her wide, desperate eyes flash to you.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Stop struggling. It’s going to be okay. Please, trust me.”

Michael stops fighting. A fear and anger so raw fills his gaze as Sun and Moon step after you. His fists clench as his jawbone wiggles, but his muffle words die behind the vine covering his teeth.

A strong sound jumps from Vanessa, caught between an animalistic cry and a human sob. She looks at you. Her wide eyes shine with dread.

Eclipse takes you by the shoulders, his eyes burning low as he turns you away from the fear of your friends. You keep your eyes on both of them.

“It’s okay,” you whisper again.

“Come, come, little comet.” Eclipse recaptures your attention with a finger hooking under your chin. “The hour is nigh. Sunrise is too near for us to wait any longer.”

“I know.” Your pulse swells in your ears, beating within you like a drum to a dance that’s too fast-paced for your feet to keep up with.

Your eyes stray from his somber expression to the black tree. Between the red and yellow leaves are dozens of spiderwebs, glimmering softly like silk streamers just for the ceremony. Gently, Eclipse releases you to stand back as Sun and Moon slip around you from both sides. 

“My poppet,” Sun’s voice is sensual and warm. “Allow me to dress you in spider gossamer for this fine occasion.”

You slowly dip your head, all too confused but too uncertain to stop him as he draws out threads of silvery silk. He gently lays them upon your shoulders. His pale eyes swim with passion. A gentle murmur of magic flows from his lips, and you become enveloped in a light and cool cascade of fabric softer than rain and lighter than feathers. You look down at yourself. 

Catching the fading shimmer of magic, you are now draped in an elegant but simple silver gown. A high neck collars you with big, flowing sleeves which cinch at your wrists with thick embroidery. The skirt falls in an A-shape and flows softly in the gentle wind of the night around your feet, almost brushing the dirt.

Your wedding attire. You touch the skirt with a delicate hand as if it may fall apart like a cobweb brushed away, but instead, you watch in silent marvel at the rippling, silk-like glimmer of the cloth.

Strangely, Sun possesses your clothes in his arms now. Your mind spins with questions but you are learning all too well that the answer is magic. With a smirk, he tosses aside the holey sweater and your dirt-stained jeans. The clothes land on the shell of a large, orange pumpkin.

“Beautiful,” Sun lowers his head in pleasure, his hand at his chest and his other arm held out in a formal bow to you. “Never was there a more lovely bride for three brothers.”

You blush fiercely. 

“It is beautiful,” you admit, clutching a fistful of the skirt. You lift it and wave it back and forth once to watch it glimmer again.

“I’m not speaking of the dress, sunshine.” Sun straightens with a grin so devious, you must wonder again if you’re giving up your soul in such a ceremony.

A cool touch falls upon your hand. Claws curl carefully over your wrist. Dropping the skirt, you twist upon your feet to face Moon.

“A veil for you.” He holds it in his other hand. The delicate and sheer gossamer flows like silver water. “Lower your head. I will crown you in it.”

You bow slightly. Moon sweeps your hair back with his cool, careful fingertips and pins the veil upon your skull like a tiara. The soft, celestial fabric falls down around you. Blinking, you stare in awe at yourself, shrouded in majestic silver. 

Moon gazes at you softly. His eyes fall from your hair and he reclaims your palm for a moment to behold you entirely.

“Exquisite.” He bows his head over your hand. “I dreamt of you since Eclipse first told us what he found in his bone scrying. I have waited for you all this time, my snowflower.”

A tremble falls over your bottom lip—not of fear, though there is still an anxious sparking within your nerves. You are washed away in his sincerity. The true intentions of a lover.

You have no words, and instead, gently squeeze his hand.

“May I add one last touch,” Eclipse says. He steps forward.

You lift your head to him as his gaze glows gently in the darkness like twin stars which circle you as his brothers step back. Eclipse sets his hand on your shoulder. Your breath slows as his touch traces your collarbone and falls down your side. You almost sway under his hand holding your hip before he sinks onto one knee to trail his palm along your thigh and all the way to your calf, touching your gown all the way down.

He speaks a gentle spell. You dare not move an inch as a gentle pulse, milky and starlight-like, falls over the cloth. You burn in the darkness like a candle. The gown stands out against the darkness like a comet streaking through the night sky.

“Oh,” is all you can say as you look down at yourself. There are no words which can contain the magnitude of what you feel towards the beauty and thought of their wedding attire for you. Though Sun, Moon, and Eclipse spark and snap like flames with their wide eyes and tall statures, you twinkle bright.

Emotion cakes your throat. Thickly, you swallow it back. 

“A little starlight.” Eclipse smiles, his eyes burning sweetly. “For you are our equal, our partner, our bride.”

You don’t feel powerful. You don’t feel important enough to be involved in magic and ceremonies and love, yet here you stand, swathed in their adoration and gifts. You take hold of your skirt once more.

“Let us begin the ceremony,” Eclipse says softly. He takes your elbow and arm in arm, he walks you through a footpath worn through the pumpkin patch to the black tree, gnarled but beautiful. A most befitting altar. 

Taking your other arm is Sun, sliding close to you with a simmering smile so close to you, you wonder if the slight heat brushing against your cheek is from his presence or the blood rush in your face. Behind you, like a pale shadow, Moon tenderly takes your skirt and follows close behind, keeping the beautiful fabric from gathering dust and pumpkin fronds.

And so you go to your wedding altar.

In times before, marriage served to form alliances between families. Parents arranged such contracts for children to benefit both parties. Most couples didn’t and couldn’t marry for love, rather they were bound for purely economic liaisons.

How beautiful is it that you could arrange yourself into a marriage most lovely?

Your grooms stop at the black tree. Eclipse slips away from your hand, and you look to him in confusion, fearing where he might wander away to. The elder witch grins as he simply looks at his brother. Sun’s hand lingers on your arm, trailing down to your wrist before he steps back, still beaming, still eager, but patient.

You turn slowly under the dusting of moonlight to face Moon. A swell rises in your heart, crashing through you until you’re sticky with emotion. His expression is soft and sweet like milk and honey. He gathers your hands between his own. Looking down, Moon draws the pads of his thumbs softly over your knuckles as if wishing to memorize the bone structure of your much smaller hands.

There is no time at all, but you keep the quiet with him, studying his mild countenance. His breaths are deep and even. A gentle scent of something late and herbal laces him, and you’re taken back to the mausoleum where he tasted you.

His eyes lift. The scarlet gleam holds you tender.

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is gentle in its rasp. His eyes never leave you, drinking you in like wine. “My love is yours, for time and all eternity. I will honor you dearly, little mouse.”

A soft sound catches in your throat, somewhere between a chuckle and a weeping sound. You thought joy would be without tears, but you stand, clutching his claws tightly in your fists to steady yourself.

“I do.” The moonlight brightens as the words leave your lips. You watch in silent awe as the silver glow of the night dances over you both, and you taste midnight upon your tongue as Moon smiles.

He carefully takes your veil and lifts it over your head, allowing the silver threads to fall down your back. He leans in gently. In the way the tide is tugged by the lunar celestial body, you meet him in the small space between your bodies. The witch’s kiss presses to your mouth in a gentle yearning, pushing and pulling so long as you follow in time. You fall into him. Deepening the kiss, Moon cradles your lips against the white curve of his fangs. You sigh contently as you lose your breath in his presence, starstruck.

He releases you, though only your mouth. His hands clasp yours tightly and he softly caresses the back of your hands. Tied along his wrists are deep blue ribbons. Bells jangle softly underneath.

“I will keep you unto me forevermore.” Moon traces your digits with his claw. The soft glow of his gaze fills you with his sincerity.

You sink into his words like a pool of silver. You nod deeply.

“I will cherish you,” you promise in a trembling, choked voice. The power of the engagement drapes over you, pressing upon you the great importance of this entanglement.

“Breathe, little mouse.” He smiles. “I will keep you safe.”

You laugh quietly, too overwhelmed for words but your happiness seeps through all the same.

He kisses you once more before he lifts his head high. Following his gaze, you find Vanessa has stopped fighting. Her little rabbit nose twitches fast, afraid.

Moon offers a spell, deep and cool but releasing. His voice overlaps. A scent of sharp, pungent herbs swirls on the night breeze before he nods his head once more. Your old clothes fly off of the pumpkin they were resting on, and fall onto Vanessa still tangled in the pumpkin vines. 

A moment later, in a shrouded flash of light, vines snap and clothes stretch, and there is a woman where there was once a rabbit.

Vanessa, thankfully, wears your sweater and jeans. Her green eyes fit much better in her human face as she kneels upon the ground and lifts her hands. Long blonde hair falls down around her shoulders. Slowly, she turns over her palm and clenches her fingers. No longer trapped, she gazes up at you.

Shock shines in her eyes, but her lips form soft awe.

“Vanessa,” you smile breathlessly. Whirling back, you kiss Moon once to his slight shock. “Thank you.”

“I will answer to your every desire,” he murmurs, then releases you. 

Moon slips back from you. Before you can think of reaching for him, Sun takes you into his arms. You gasp softly at the warmth of his embrace surrounding you like you were basking near an open fire.

“Sunshine, I was beginning to fear you’ve forgotten about me.” He takes you carefully, slipping your feet onto his as he begins to spin you slowly, like a star tailspinning through the atmosphere. “You could never, could you? Not when I still vye for your kiss—and now, your vows returned.”

You hold onto his shoulders. Carefully underneath the gnarled limbs of the black tree, Sun waltzes you to an unsung song. He hums slowly with a gentle rumble in his chest. His eyes upon you are hungry in the way a candle flame clings to a wick, desperate to devour but unable to spread like a wildfire. 

“No, I couldn’t forget you, Sun,” you whisper. He has left you dizzy and stunned, racing with you upon his broom and then pinning you underneath him upon a bed. There is too much you marvel about him to forget.

He twirls you gently, the moonlight blurring around you between earth and sky before he recaptures you. The threat of dawn seems so close and yet so far away from this wild pumpkin patch.

“That is all I can ask, though you must know, I want more of you.” His grin is wide but honest. How could you expect anything less from the one who has coveted you so zealously? 

His hand rests on the small of your back. Pulling you flush against him, he holds you for one breathless moment, caught like two figurines in the apex of a lovers’ dance. 

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is steady, without flirtations or sultry suggestions. An honest question from a witch. “You have simply enchanted me, dove. I am at your mercy. I am at your service. And if you will, your bedside, your mornings, and your sunsets.”

Your eyelids flutter. A gentle push of tears make their way past your eyes, and you hold his wide, pale gaze. He searches your face with held breath. He clutches your hand and presses it to his chest, bared open to you. The bells tied to the dark red ribbons on his wrists jingle softly. 

“I do.” You speak with the gentleness of certainty. The leaves overhead ruffle with a breeze that is far more fitting for summer than an incoming winter. Pressed so close, you fear he must know how your heart trembles in the wonder of knowing that he loves you, and you love him. 

His expression erupts in sheer, unadulterated joy. He spins you once more, dancing as if he were walking on air before he dips you low. You intake a deep breath as he holds you above the pumpkin patch. His grin fills your entire vision as his fingers press softly into your dress. He wastes not a moment to crush your mouth in a kiss. 

His hunger and eagerness leaves you breathless as he takes and takes before he gives just as much in return. You are captured within his affection. He is smooth and practiced, and you almost feel self conscious, but gently, he leads you. He guides your lips and teases you with his teeth. Even his tongue brushes the inside of your mouth before he softens it to a trickle after the flood of his expression. You taste a sweetness that slips down your throat like honey.

Gently, he brings you back up on your feet, though he does not release you. He kisses you again, greedily taking more. You are putty in his hands, molded by his mouth as if you were a honeycomb caught between teeth. 

“Sunny,” Eclipse murmurs once in gentle warning.

Sun draws back reluctantly as if being torn from water after days in the desert. You gasp softly, your shoulders rising and falling after the rush of his love. 

“I have devoted myself to you, my poppet,” he whispers into your ear as you rest against his chest. “My love is yours and yours alone.”

“Oh, Sun,” you clutch his shoulders tighter. “I will adore you for the rest of my days.”

“I know, sunshine.” He grins but softly kisses your cheek once in a strangely rare but precious, chaste gesture. “But I must share you or else I will keep you all night.”

He straightens, his arms still encircling you. Pale eyes sweep back and you eagerly look at Michael. He’s stopped fighting as well, no longer thrashing but watching with a strange, conflicted crinkle of his brow. Vanessa kneels close by, unmoving, still staring at her legs and arms and touching her hair. 

Your entire body aches for Michael. The curse stains his flesh and twists him into a silver-screen monster. 

Sun breathes a spell. His voice fills the air in unearthly chants that sweep over the ground and whirl the leaves on the pumpkin vines. They slowly crawl back, releasing Michael just as the same bright flash of energy and power takes hold of your dear friend.

The purple corpse recedes back and unveils the man underneath. Michael’s hair returns to its warmer shade of brown. His eyes blink and his corenas return white while his irises take hold with light and life. Rotten flesh returns to a rich tan color. His torn clothes refill with his healthy size and strength. 

He clenches and unclenches his fists. Slowly, he stumbles forward. Vanessa helps catch him before he folds entirely after being freed from the witches’ curse. 

You startle—is his leg still broken? Vanessa, however, stabilizes Michael, coaxing him to sit beside her. He folds his legs with natural ease—healed and whole.

“Michael, you’re alright,” you breathe, clutching Sun together.

He gives you a nod though in a slight daze. He opens his mouth but then decides against whatever he was going to say.

“Thank you.” You turn to Sun. “Thank you for sparing him.”

“Anything for our bride,” he simpers. With a great sigh, however, he lets go of you, his fingertips trailing over your sides before falling back beside Moon.

Under the black tree, Eclipse stands, patient but enduring.

You face him. He lifts his head but remains humble and composed before gently approaching. The light of a new day is beginning to change from deep gray to a burning orange leaking rosy pink at the edges. The sunrise is as terrifying as it is promising.

Eclipse opens his arms to you. Without hesitation, you enter his embrace as his hand finds your cheek. Tied tight around his wrist is a black ribbon with golden bells. His claws rest delicately on your hip over the silky soft fabric of your gown. Lightly, his thumb caresses your cheek. The gold of his gaze falls over you, gentle as the night. 

“Little comet,” he says, steady despite the impending light threatening to take away all. Yet, he takes his time, tasting his words before giving them to you. “Do you take me to be your husband? I have waited—”

In a heart rush, you utter, “I do.”

Eclipse stares, eyes wide. His red sun rays catch the first glance of daylight, brightening his vision as if a spotlight fell upon him. He looks towards the horizon as you do. You squint slightly against the brightness.

Lifting his hand from your face, he watches the black ribbon and bells dissolve into dark smoke, then nothing. Sun and Moon turn their wrists as the respectful dark red and deep blue ribbons fall away from them as if burned and leave not a wisp behind. 

You take Eclipse’s hand and draw it closer to you, gently kissing his knuckles before smiling.

“You’re free. You’re all free.” You flush deeply as you look to Sun and Moon and their gazes of content awe. “My husbands.”

A soft, strange sound leaves Eclipse. A breath caught between wonder and something deeper, something roiling with adoration. His gaze falls back to you, and again, he touches your cheek. 

“I did not finish my vows to you.” He cradles your face close in his palms, leaning closer as your eyes lock. “I swear to you happiness, protection, and my unending love. From this day on, you will always be warm. You will always have my hand to hold. You will never fear the darkness for I will be with you.”

He pauses, his grin spreading wide. He looks at you as if you were a dream. A living, breathing vision. 

“We are eternally bound to you, our spouse.” Eclipse leans in close. “Say my name, once more.”

Your eyelids slip close for one precious moment, warmed by the brilliant light, and the touch of Eclipse’s hands cradling you as if you were delicate. 

“Eclipse,” you whisper.

His grin is beautiful and lovely. You start as you feel a second pair of arms surround you. Sweeping you off your feet, Eclipse lifts you into his embrace. This close, he smells of gentle spice and musk. 

He strokes your cheek once before closing the distance between your lips. You feel his hunger in the echo of your own—the want to devour but gently, he tastes you. A soft whine catches in the back of your throat. Melting under his warmth, he invades you gently and his tongue brushes against your own. His kiss takes you under, and you drop breathlessly into his grasp.

He pulls and takes in soft, sweet motions. Rhythmic and powerful, he tastes you until you fear you might fall once more. But he will catch you. This much you are certain.

He pulls back gently, kissing you one last time as if in need of the strength it gives him, before his honeyed gaze settles on you.

“Your freckles are beautiful, like the stars upon the night sky,” he says. He kisses the right side of your face, then glides to the left and lingers there a moment. “You are truly staying with us, my little comet.”

You blush, and cling to him. Your hands, however, are gently tugged. You look away from Eclipse to find Moon curling his claws under your digits and lifting your hand sweetly to his mouth. Eclipse shifts you gently in his arms to rest you against his back while keeping you cradled like a bride on her wedding night—you suppose you are such a bride, Sun’s hand traces from your shoulder down your arm until he captures your hand. There, he kisses your knuckles slowly. You close your eyes, bubbling in the blissful sunlight as your husbands adore you.

A kiss like the brush of a moth wing touches your head. Eclipse hums gently against you. You make a soft, sweet sound at their tender affection.

“My husbands,” you say, then laugh a little, beaming at their gentle looks. “I’m going to have to get used to saying that.”

“You will,” Sun purrs, “And there’s so much time for us to grow used to our lovely spouse.”

“So much time,” Moon rasps gently, “You must be exhausted.” He kisses your fingertips until you shiver and blush.

“Perhaps we should take our bride home,” Eclipse suggests gently. “You can sleep in our bed and rest, and when you wake, we’ll celebrate more.”

You stir at the thought. You won’t drive back to your tiny apartment. No, instead you will stay here with your husbands, and the bed you will sleep in will be warm and filled with their bodies. 

You won’t wake up alone.

“I’d like that.” You squeeze Sun’s and Moon’s hands and turn your head back to gaze at Eclipse with a fond smile.

A quiet voice says your name. You turn your head, stunned to find Michael and Vanessa stepping towards you. Vanessa supports Michael’s arm around her shoulders as his strength seems to wane. Their eyes are mirrors of witch hunters from long ago as they behold the brothers holding their virgin bride.

Claws tighten around you. Moon flashes his sharp teeth as Sun lifts his chin high, looking down at the pair with disdain. The arms holding you off the ground squeeze in the slightest until you wriggle. Eclipse nearly keeps you away, but gingerly, he sets you back on your feet.

Michael holds your gaze, his brow crinkled in concern but restored to his natural health. 

“Are you really staying with them?” he asks quietly, his gaze darting sharply to the witches.

You smile at the slight shifting around you. The drape of Moon’s cloak almost falls over your shoulder as he takes your hand close and caresses your arm. A murmur of wishing to return them both to rabbits falls from Sun’s lips, but he merely interlocks his digits between your own. Behind you, Eclipse draws a tender hand down your back, feeling the ridges of your spine through the delicate fabric of your gown. 

“I love them.” You look at your husbands. Their faces brighten, their touches softening upon you. “I’m staying.”

“What do we do now?” Vanessa asks. Her face looks lost, and you imagined after a few centuries of only guarding the starry candle, she must be. 

You muse for a moment, and survey your husbands with a careful air. “Is your home now my home?”

“Of course,” Eclipse answers without hesitation. “Everything that is ours is yours.”

“Then I may invite my friends inside?”

Sun and Moon exchange a glance, Sun more annoyed than Moon’s mild surprise, but they both incline their heads.

“If that is your wish,” Moon gives gently.

“It is.” You squeeze their palms. “We can start a proper home, and we can learn how to forgive.”

“Forgive?” Vanessa balks. 

“Yes.” You look at her as the bright light of day touches her face. Her eyes are truly green and sharp like cut emeralds. “Let’s get out of this pumpkin patch and go home and rest. Then we can make peace.”

Michael looks down at Vanessa. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, unlike my ancestor.” His brow is set firm. To your awe, Michael does not tremble with rage or the need to fight again. Perhaps the witches are beginning to prove themselves, and Michael will give them a chance. Just one chance.

“Very well then, my poppet.” Sun turns to you and kisses you in a sudden burst of heat and passion before he releases you. Stunned, you almost sway but Eclipse wraps an arm around your waist. Sun gestures with his free arm in an open invitation. “Enter our humble abode. You are our spouse’s guests, which means you are ours.”

Vanessa glares at him. Her foot falls down on a withered vine and it cracks. 

“Charming as ever, Vanessa.” Sun flashes his teeth in a grin.

“Sun,” you chastise. 

He rubs your wrist, half apologetic. 

“I will make soup.” Moon muses. “My cauldron pot is where I left it, I hope.”

The heaviness in the air reminds you that the night has been long, and you are dreadfully exhausted. Vanessa and Michael barely hold themselves upright, but they lean on each other.

“Excellent.” Eclipse waves his hand. Smoke seeps up from the ground, swirling around your feet before you close your eyes, and lean into the pillars of your husbands for support. 

The air changes. A slight breeze, warm for October, encircles you. You inhale a gentle scent of rich earth and dust. When you open your eyes again, the brothers’ home is standing before you, same as it ever was, but entirely changed. 

Perhaps it’s only you who has changed, now hanging on to the witches. 

Michael and Vanessa are just behind you and the witches, standing on the gravel outside of the home, disgruntled about the change of scenery or perhaps the use of magic, but you hope they’ll see the possibility of goodness within the brothers as you have.

Eclipse’s hand slips under your chin to lift your head back. His expression warms with the bright new day. Sun kisses your fingertips until you shiver in delight. Moon turns your palm over to reach the delicate lines of veins along your wrist, and presses his lips to your pulse.

“We are home,” Eclipse says. He kisses the top of your head.

You are home with your husbands.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. "yes sir." : 

﹙ top admiral boss x bttm male rookie reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

﹙ kinktober : authority kink ﹚admiral ˖ boss ˖ spy ˖ assassin character . . . rishen 1311 x male reader !! 🍒 : 

you had the nerve to speak up during a meeting with your admiral and boss. typically he would have appreciated the guts - if what you had said wasn't 1. the most dumbest thing he's heard and 2. you didn't have audacity to challenge him. 

﹙ cws ﹚: authority kink ˖ office sex ˖ lots of degradation ˖ use of vibration ˖ spitting ˖ severe edging ˖ implied oral | wc : 1.2k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: this man is soooo

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

The low buzz of the vibrator around your dick has your head looping already. Eyes wide while desperate gasps and pants proceed past your lips.

“Well,” Rishen sighs, leaned back against the table, with his cheek resting against whitened knuckles, that clench together each time he watches your dick twitch from the vibrator. All before a button is pressed and it slows down once again, leaving you high and dry. Crying out in frustration.

“By now, you should have learnt your lesson. But you still want to be a fucking patético, tonto idiota.” ( pathetic, dumb idiot ). With a small eye roll and an adjustment in stature, he moves over to you.

His gaze is full of faux pity and clear disappointment. The pleasure it is to be able to make the Admiral of Aegis so angry. Who knew you had such capabilities huh?

Smartmouth words had always brought trouble, it was no different this time. If only he’d touch you, or make you touch him in any way. And yet, all you could do was buck your hips helplessly to find friction in the painfully slow vibrator, and puck your lips at him.

As if that would do much.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. Leaning over your kneeling form on his pristine, black office flooring. Soon to be stained white - if he’d let you.

His tall figure casts a shadow over you. A reminder of who is above you right now. Who is always above you; in every way. His face swarms your vision, yet never leans down enough for you to reach up and kiss those deep red lips as you wish. Instead you can only run your tongue over yours. Dream of the sweetness of his tongue.

A violent buzz rips you out of your little daydream. Your head tosses back and your dick throbs around the tip. The whimper that you let out is most desperate, most depraved, as your hips chase the pleasure by bucking up rapidly. A rise from below. In your tummy - a knot —

And then nothing.

Nothing but a low chuckle. As the vibrations slowly wear off and an elegant, strong hand threads over your head. Before curling into whatever it can and yanking your head back. So that your spine arches and your teary eyes are set on him.

“To think. A mere rookie - challenging me in my meeting.” The click of his tongue emulates the look in his eyes. Indeed, you had actually managed to anger the Admiral.

“Questioning my decisions. You barely have a year behind your name.”

The front of his red high heel presses up against your clothed, vibrating crotch. He remains ever as rigid. Even when his thumb pokes past your lips and pushes at your mouth.

“Open.”

And you readily comply. Like you should have done during earlier’s mission. Instead you simply had to give your two-cents-worth. Now here you are. Bound, throbbing and humiliated by your superior. Who takes his well-deserved apology by keeping you on edge.

Your open mouth receives a well-aimed spit. The whining noise from the back of your throat only earns his shoe to grind up further into your crotch. All while he forces your gaze upon him.

Sharp, narrowed eyes and deep maroon irises that glare down at your pathetic form. Jaw tight, brows narrowed. Backlit by his large office window that faces the night city. Even in this state of control. . . he is beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.

“Now. Who are you?”

“J-Just a rook - ah,”

The sudden surge in vibrations makes your mouth fall open. The just as quick drop in-turn has you crying out in desperation as you needily buck into his shoe. Tears pricking at your eyes from frustration and need.

“Just - just your pathetic r-rookie. . . Sir.” Your sob seems to sate his irritation. His thumb strokes along your cheekbone.

“There we go. Good boy.”

Groans bounce on and off the walls of the office. He hadn’t put the silencers off, to humiliate you more in that case. You knew nothing of that, yet. It would ruin the fun.

His shoe grinds down against your crotch a little harder than before and when a choked moan rips through your lungs, his index and middle fingers glide into your mouth for you to suck on them.

It took everything in him to deny his own desire to fuck you straight into the floor. Force your legs open and give you what he wanted. But, he is a master at his own stubbornness. You best crumble before the action passes the thought.

“Look at you, messy.” The condescending chuckle shoots straight down to your throbbing cock, while you gag on his fingers. Trying your hardest and everything to stay composed and hold yourself together for just a bit longer.

Everything within is like a mush of arousal, desperation, frustration. Mixes and hues of your own irritation, something that burns in the same kind of passion as what lies beneath your superior’s heart.

You never get what you want unless you act good, but you get this when you act bad. Time with him is time with him, isn’t it?

The anger you feel when he dominates you is so very oddly addicting. Frustration handled by rough touch and manhandling, there is no hesitance nor pity. You see the sadistic glimmer in his eyes.

It’s arousing—

Another pang of pleasure rushes through you. And suddenly, the knot begins to form within your stomach once more. The need to let it recoil and let yourself go.

“What’s my name.” The Admiral sneers above you, pulling the pair of digits out of your mouth, departing it with a string of saliva clinging onto them.

“M-Mr. H-nhgh Mister Herrera.” You moan out. Shivering as you watch satisfaction cover his features. While his foot presses against your sensitive cock once more and the vibrator speeds up further. Your poor dick leaking and spurting with cum in your pants.

“Louder.”

“M-Mister H-Herera! Mister Herrera!”

Your sob bleeds through the room. You can feel it. Your release right on the edge. Tummy twisting and knotting. Knees trembling as you throw your head back and roll your hips forward.

Alas, everything is ripped away when the vibrations stop altogether. Mind buzzing like the toy previously was as your tip leaks. Crying for stimulation. To be pushed right there.

Your teary eyes meet his glare and you choke a sob. Shoulders shaking as you messily attempt to grind into the floor. A slew of ‘no’s’ and ‘pleases’ leaving your drooling lips.

His hand slips to the back of your collar and gives it a harsh yank. Timing it with his graceful perch upon his chair. Your face is shoved to his pants-covered crotch. Your lips so perfectly opening right over his bulge as you pant and cry.

The groan that leaves him has your nerves on fire. His fingers stroke along your head before gripping at the back of your neck. Those deep eyes seem scarlet this time as they peer down at you with a certain menacing stature. The shadows of his office only make the imagery of his face so much more domineering.

“Go on, pretty boy.” Rishen grunts. A finger lightly tapping on your lower lip.

“Do what you’re worth. Suck.”

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[heohl-art]

I DREAMT THIS (and I HAD TO draw it and share it with the world😭✨)! Get ready to C-R-Y!

• Sleep Dearie Sleep, 1916 •

I'm ✨SO PROUD✨ of this one!😭🩷

Attention: ANGST!

World War I.

Anthony J. Crowley leaves to fight in France. After a year, he is wounded and ends up in the infirmary. There he meets the field doctor Aziraphale Fell, who heals his wounds and somehow manages to warm his heart. He falls in love with him, but he's unable to tell him anything. So, every night in the trenches - when it rains water, fire or mud - he writes letters. Letters and letters that will never arrive.

The war becomes more and more violent, as do his feelings. He steals Aziraphale's fountain pen, then his photograph from the infirmary tent. He puts it in his wallet, to keep it close to his heart.

Each day he advances on the battlefield, he vows to deliver those letters to Aziraphale's caring and gentle hands, but each time he returns, he fails to keep his oath.

One day, the last time he sees the sun touch the ground, he loses his life. In his last moments, the only thing he cares about is not letting blood stain Aziraphale's photograph.

The last thing he sees, just before drifting off to eternal sleep, is Aziraphale's smile.

Two days later, a corporal reaches the medical tent and hands Aziraphale Crowley's last item.

Crowley always thought his love was unrequited, but Aziraphale fell in love with him too, a year earlier, the first time he saw Crowley, playing with a stray kitten and a tender smile.

🩷

That's what happens when I rewatch 1917, War Horse and All Quiet on the Western Front all in one day.

(I had this dream, it was so vivid, I HAD TO put into an artwork. I have no regrets✨)

Bonus: ✨details✨

1. Crowley stole Aziraphale's fountain pen (it has his surname engraved) to write him letters.

2. He keep those letters into his wallet, close to his heart.

3.He also stole Aziraphale's photograph (it's the last thing he saw).

4. Once it's returned to him (together with the letters) Aziraphale sees behind his photo, Crowley's last promise. The one he couldn't keep.

5. Crowley always thought his love was one-sided.

6. But Aziraphale actually fell for him first, after seeing him playing with a cat, a long time before.

✨

HERE THE FULL LETTER💌✨:

Nov 2, 1916

My dear Angel,

As I sit here in the cold embrace of this ditch, the distant echoes of battle remind me of how fleeting moments are. Each day feels like a cruel gift, and yet your sight warms me against the chill. I find solace in thoughts of your gentle hards, the way they skillfully mend wounds while my heart aches for a different kind of healing.

You may never know the depth of my devotion admiration, how your laughter dances through my mind like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

In this world torn apart by war, you are a fragile thread connecting me to something beautiful.

Should fate be unkind and silence fall upon me, remember that affect friendshi love can bloom even in the darkest fields.

If I do not return today, carry with you the knowledge that you were my light amidst shadows, a truth I cherished silently but deeply.

Yours always,

Anthony

[snowballseal]

Guard Dog AU - Zayne

Summary: AU where you are the Foreseer, and Zayne is a human you've given your blessing to who has devoted his life to staying by your side, protecting you, and worshipping you. He would do anything for you. Anything.

Word County: 2744

Note: Sooooo, I went a bit feral with this one... Could be interpreted as very sub-like behavior for Zayne, but I feel like we all know this man just wants to worship his partner. So yah. I'll be writing similar au's for the other guys too, but this one might be my magnum opus.

Coming soon: Sylus / Xavier / Rafayel

Warning: Gets a little, spicy at the end, but mostly by implication. Reader likes to touch Zayne's face a lot. Someone calls Zayne a concubine and you get pissed.

Enjoy!

---

“Kneel.”

You stare, features a mask of icy indifference, at the human envoy wavering at the foot of your throne. They shiver in their thick coats, no material warm enough to keep out the biting cold of the Tower of Thorns. The biting cold of your glare.

Yet, still, they don’t kneel. You can see the hesitation on their faces, the pride flashing behind their irises. Humans. They always come, high and mighty, thinking themselves better than you, a demigod.

Your lips part, a scathing reproach ready on your tongue, but you don’t get the chance to correct their insolence.

“I said. Kneel.”

Zayne slams his staff into the polished, white granite. The sound of it echoes all the way to the far halls of the tower. The thinly veiled threat behind his words is unmistakable. Kneel before I make you.

The humans all crumble under the weight of his command. They drop to their knees, one by one, trembling at the pure contempt burning behind his gaze. Contempt for them and their human greed. They don’t even deserve to gaze upon the threads of your robes, let alone kneel in your presence, yet they think themselves above it? You may have mercy on their kind, but Zayne would rather cut them to their knees than allow them to show you such disrespect.

A faint smile ghosts across your lips. With the barest flick of your fingers, Zayne returns obediently to your side. He drops gracefully to one knee, head bowed, eyes locked on the unblemished edge of your robes.

It’s almost amusing, watching him turn so docile, so small for you. A man who conquers you in height and strength, who holds himself with the regal poise of royalty, who you’ve blessed with powers no man can dream of - a submissive guard dog at your feet. Ready to kill if you desire him to. Willing to die for you.

“Foreseer-”

Your smile falls away. Right, the humans. Eyes icing over once more, you turn your gaze to the envoy, regarding them with disinterest.

“What do you want, that you’ve come all this way and disturbed my peace?” Your voice rings like a delicate chime, but carries the bite of a frigid river. 

The one who spoke - a man dressed in expensive looking furs, his skin covered in a layer of sweat - flinches at the sharpness of your tone. He seems to steel himself for a moment, collecting whatever pathetic bravery he has gained from his comfortable life, and looks up at you with a determined glare.

“We’ve come here for a prophecy, Foreseer,” he starts again, voice muggish and demanding, “Our kingdom has experienced prosperity in the passing years and our king would like to be certain that it will continue.”

Zayne tenses beside you, his fingers tightening around his staff. You can see him fighting the urge to put this man in his place, his jaw drawing so taut it almost looks painful. Letting out a low hum, you reach out and brush your fingers through the dark strands of hair. A silent request. Zayne wavers, his breath faltering as all his attention falls back on you. 

Always on you. 

Your touch is gentle but insistent, your delicate fingertips tracing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. It leaves his skin tingling, pleasant and cold. It’s an addictive feeling and he can’t help but yearn for more. Zayne nuzzles into your palm, pressing his lips to your skin in reverent gratitude when you give him exactly what he wants, your fingers brushing more firmly against his face.

An uncomfortable cough breaks the silence, “Foreseer-”

“I heard your explanation,” you interrupt him sharply, a wave of frustration washing over you. Zayne can feel it, feels his own frustration at having your attention drawn away from him. But he doesn’t dare make that known, instead watching your face attentively as you speak. “And I will remind you that my prophecies will not be bound to your expectations. They are bound to nothing but fate, so I advise you to deliberate on what you are asking of me.”

“Our King simply wants to ensure that our prosperity will continue,” the man insists, as if you’re the fool who is missing the point. He levels you with a look of disdain, his eyes not so subtly darting to the hand you now have resting in Zayne’s hair. “Though I am certain now that our Highness would not care for the words of a mere oracle who keeps a concubine as her guard.”

The air in the chamber goes deathly still once the words leave his mouth.

Your eyes narrow at the man, glacier and even, but he keeps his chin held high. The rest of the envoy all shift, sharing uneasy glances between themselves. It seems even they know that what he said was a foolish mistake.

One should not anger a god so carelessly.

Slowly, deliberately, you stand from your throne. A flick of your hand and your own scepter appears from the air, the Creatio Protocore glinting dangerously from its tangle of wood. All eyes fall on it, a mix of fear and greed, all eyes except for Zayne’s, which remain glued to you.

Every step you take, every subtle movement, is controlled, the utter definition of grace. Even the air bows to you, shivering around your form, any remaining warmth fleeing from your presence. Tendrils of ice spread along the granite, creeping up the walls, covering the windows, turning the room into a prison of your anger.

And Zayne can’t help but watch, transfixed, adoration curling in the depths of his being. Because this is you, his goddess, his queen. He may be your guardian, but he is well aware that his title is by grace alone, and not necessity. You’ve never needed him. Not like this.

“You seem unaware of whom you speak to,” you murmur, patience tested and gone, “So let me remind you.”

The man lets out a yelp as ice suddenly grips his boots. You feel a flicker of satisfaction at the panic in his eyes, his confidence disappearing like a leaf carried away by the wind. His companions scatter back, looking on in terror as the ice travels up his legs, encasing the entire lower half of his body.

“I am the Foreseer,” you say, stopping a mere foot away from him. “The demigod of the Tower of Thorns. This is my domain, my home, and you are a pest. I owe you nothing. I owe your king nothing. As far as I am concerned, he is beneath me.”

“You insolent- He is our king!” The man spirts, turning a drastic shade of red. “I demand you show him respect, you despicable wi-”

A dagger presses deftly to the man’s neck and he goes silent, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

“Be silent,” Zayne snarls, “How dare you speak to the Foreseer in such a way.”

You glance at him over the man’s shoulder, brow flicking up. Any other time, it would warm your heart to see Zayne stand up for you, and you would gladly let him cross the boundaries of his position, to act as he sees fit. To act freely. But in this moment, all you can feel is the rage boiling in the depths of your soul. It’s your turn to show them their mistakes.

So you click your tongue, eyes narrowing, “I did not ask for you to intervene, my dearest.”

Zayne doesn’t miss the sharp disapproval in your voice, his breath catching somewhere in his chest. How thoughtless of him. Dagger slipping back into the sleeve of his robes, he forces himself to step back, head bowed like a wolf bearing its neck submissively.

“I apologize, my lady.”

You don’t offer your forgiveness, only giving him a stiff nod, and Zayne can feel his skin prickle with unease. Every fiber of his being aches, desperate to earn your affection, to please you, to offer an apology you deem sufficient.

If you want him to grovel, he will. If you want him to beg, he’ll do so until his voice gives out. Even if you want to punish him, he’d take it with such deep affection, because anything from you is more than he deserves.

But until you ask anything of him, all he can do is wait.

And currently, you must deal with the nuisance in front of you, even if you can feel Zayne’s laden eyes locked on you so intently.

“Now let’s talk about your king, shall we?” You muse, turning your attention back to the man. He swallows, regret showing in the way his hands tremble so viciously. “You humans have such a twisted view of power. Whether it’s money or prosperity or health. You are all subject to fate and that is why you hate my prophecy. Your king is no different, and I presume he’s looking for someone to blame when your land inevitably falls into poverty. In fact, I feel confident in saying he already sees it coming, and I would wager that he is the sole cause of it. Am I wrong?”

A low murmur spreads among the envoy. The man goes nearly purple in front of you, face tight with indignation, but he doesn’t dare utter a word, not with the looming threat of Zayne’s blade still nearby. 

You don’t need him to confirm what you already know, though. And you’ve had enough of this messing around. The day has been too long, and you desire nothing more than to rest.

“Tell your king that this mere oracle wishes him well in his remaining time on the throne,” you chime and turn to walk away. Your voice carries on over the clicking of your heels, “However short that time might be.”

“You can’t-! Foreseer!”

“See them out, my dearest, and then meet me in my quarters.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Foreseer-!” The man calls again, but Zayne doesn’t even allow him another glimpse at your figure. He’s lost that honor.

“I believe it’s time for you to leave,” he snaps, and breaks the spell of your ice.

The man immediately tries to make a run for you, desperation carved into every line of his face, but Zayne catches him by the collar of his coat and throws him back towards the rest of his party. His eyes set on them, harsh and cold, a sneer pulling at his lips.

“She has dismissed you. I suggest you leave quietly before you test my patience.”

“I will not listen to the orders of a-”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a sigil carve into the air before a blinding light fills the space. The humans flee from the sudden ice clawing at their feet, voices tight with panic, boots slipping against the granite in their desperation.

A faint smile pulls at your lips as you dip into a hallway. Zayne always has been good at scaring people away.

It’s a quiet venture to your room at the top of the tower after that. The howling gale outside is all you can hear, muffled by the thick stone of the tower’s walls. It’s a somehow comforting sound, soothing some your prickled nerves.

Still, you feel tense as you settle on the edge of your bed. Dealing with the humans always does this to you. That’s why you ended up here, in the desolate, snowy mountains, far from any village or kingdom. Dealing with them is too exhausting.

How many humans have come to you, begging for an audience, only to throw themselves into a rage after you share one of your prophecies? A prophecy you can’t control, you can’t change. Yet they always blame you. 

You can hardly be blamed for resenting their kind.

All of them except Zayne.

Your dearest. Your steadfast peace. The comfort of your isolation was no match when he came to your tower.

And your frustration melts like snow in the springtime when he appears at your door, wavering at threshold. Hesitation furrows his brow, his fingers twitching against the frame. Features softening, you gesture for him to enter.

“Come here, my dearest,” you murmur, tone impossibly gentle.

He hesitates for only a moment before sweeping across the room, reaching you with only a few long strides. You watch as he kneels at your feet, the thick fur of his robes gathering on the stone floor around him. And of course you notice the way his lips press together so vehemently, like he’s biting back something.

“Please speak, darling.”

Zayne’s eyes flutter shut, a shuddering breath passing his lips. You always say the term with such sweetness, such tenderness. It makes him feel dizzy and near breathless, loved in a way that makes his chest ache.

“May I touch you?” He asks, voice a low rasp.

You don’t even have to think to answer, “Of course you may, my dearest.”

With all the care in the world, Zayne gathers the edge of your robes in his gloved hand, drawing the silken material to his lips. His touch is reverent, like even the clothes on your body are deserving of worship. He takes his time, showering each fiber with devout affection, eyes slowly trailing up the material to gaze at you through ebony eyelashes. And you can’t help the way your breath falters so easily for him, always taken aback by the desperation, the hunger you find there.

Something dark glints behind those mottled depths at the sound. Slowly, experimentally he presses closer. When you don’t correct him, his fingers brush questioningly against your ankle, the warmth of his skin seeping through the leather of his gloves. And you’ve never been one to deny him.

Parting your legs, you let Zayne settle between them, your knees bracketing his wide shoulders. His fingers trace adoringly up and down your leg as he nuzzles into your clothed thigh, like a pup starved for affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath, even through the thick material of your cloak, and it makes your usually sharp mind spin.

“Please forgive my earlier thoughtlessness, my love,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing insistently against your inner thigh. “I will accept any punishment to atone for my actions.”

Gods, you never thought you would be so weak for one man. But how could you not be? How can you not crumble under such earnest devotion?

You’d freeze the world over if it meant having him forever at your side.

“You have quite the tactic for coaxing me to forgive you,” you breathe, reaching a hand down to trace through his hair. Zayne immediately leans into your touch, molten eyes soft with feigned innocence.

“I am simply a humble servant, unworthy of your favor, my lady,” he hums, eyelashes fluttering when your grip tightens momentarily in his hair. It’s only then a mischievous smile reveals itself on his lips. “How can I coax a goddess such as yourself to do something against your will?”

“You know full well what you’re doing, dearest.” You lean down, until your cool breath ghosts over his skin, sending a shiver through Zayne’s body. His bravado slips away, replaced by an uneven breath, his lips parting ever so slightly. “And there’s no need for it. Everything I have, everything I am, is yours, and that includes my forgiveness. All you ever have to do is ask.”

“You shouldn’t offer such things so lightly, my lady,” Zayne rasps, fingers pressing tightly into the softness of your leg as he forces himself to glance away. “You underestimate how selfish my desire for you is. I would take everything if you allowed it.”

Suddenly, your touch is on his chin, drawing his face back to yours, until he can feel the brush of your lips against his, taunting and delicate.

“If you want everything,” you challenge softly, gaze unwavering, “then take it.”

Zayne inhales sharply. And then his lips are on yours, kissing you so deeply, so tenderly, like he wants to draw the very breath from your lungs, like you’re the only one who can sate his hunger burning inside of him.

And you let him. You let him take everything he desires, because he always gives you everything you could ever desire.

That is how it has always been between the two of you. And that’s how it will always be.

---

This felt pretty different from what I usually write. I was inspired by an Xavier fic I read sometime back, and I just loooove the concept of truly feral levels of loyalty. And I love the idea of reader being just a feral for him.

Can't wait to write Sylus' 😉

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Remade (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

Warnings: I somehow managed to write fluff with goo!Sauron, I guess? You hold and kiss goo!Sauron. You suffer a minor injury by goo!Sauron. You get animals and one person killed to feed goo!Sauron. Heavy make out and implied smut (with non-goo!Sauron). Can you tell I love writing the words ‘goo!Sauron’?

Note: Yet another Sauron x evil!reader fic cause I can’t stop apparently. Can be read as a prequel to the others or as a stand alone.

“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, “what have they done to you?”

What have they done indeed. For you are speaking with the one that is your love, your husband, your very soul—but if he hears, or even understands, he cannot show it. What’s left of him has no mouth no speak, no arms to wrap around you at long last, after an eternity of separation. What your tearful eyes are looking at is a black, amorphous mass, no larger than the heart hammering within your chest, writhing helplessly on the ground.

But it is him. Of that, you are certain.

When you felt his presence again, it was so faint you thought you were dreaming it. Nothing but a glimmer of darkness in the back of your mind, weakly calling out in agony. But as you searched your feelings, reaching out with every sliver of power you could muster, you found that it was real.

You found him.

Long had you travelled since, guided by the unseen thread connecting you to him. Until at last, it had led you into the heart of a mountain where his presence was so strong, it felt as though his skin was beneath your fingertips.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen. Not until a sharp squeal had caught your ear, and you had found the source of it to be a rat being devoured into the blackness of a small, but lethal predator. At once, you had understood, and nearly fallen into despair. But in the end, you reminded yourself—he has endured. You have been reunited. That is all that matters.

Slowly, you kneel at his side. The mass ripples like the surface of water under a light breeze, and it gives you hope that, somehow, your presence is known to him. A sole rivulet of him begins to slip towards you, painfully slow. No wonder he has been in this state for so long, helpless to nourish himself lest some unfortunate creature stumbles upon him in the dark.

“I am here,” you whisper as you reach out. “I am—”

The moment your fingertips touch his cold, viscous form, black tendrils of him latch onto your hand, greedily clawing at your wrist. You gasp at the unexpected force of it, the searing sting where the liquid-like matter solidifies to dig sharp needles into your skin. Beads of your blood emerge, and he swallows them into himself with hunger.

You stare in awe as he grows ever so slightly larger. A twisted part of you is elated to be the object of his craving once more, even if he is trying to devour you whole. Especially then.

Unfortunately, that would not do in the long-term.

You shush him gently, caressing him with your free hand as though he were a purring kitten. Instantly, a tendril of him latches to one of your fingers, but you give him a firm squeeze.

“Shh!” you say sharply, fingers sinking into the soft surface of him as you reach out with your mind as well, nudging at his. “Easy, love,” you coo. “Easy. You know this hand. You know me.”

His mind is a mess—mad with hunger, alight with rage, lost to despair. But you keep caressing it with yours, tenderly bringing to the surface his memories of you. His love. His wife.

His grip on you weakens then. He deflates, withdrawing himself from your wounds, and you are left with a soft, pliant mass, which you delicately scoop into the palm of your hands. He rocks slightly against your skin, almost as if caressing it—and through your bond, the ghost of his regret reaches out to you.

“Do not fret, my love,” you murmur, smiling gently. “All will be well now.”

And so you go to dwell in the forest. At first, you bring him small things, no larger than he is himself—insects and rats, the occasional snake. The venomous ones seem to be quite nourishing, aiding in his growth more visibly than the other animals you feed him. Still, the progress is slow, and could not be endured without a great deal of patience and love. Fortunately, you lack neither.

Days turn to weeks, perhaps months. You don’t keep count, nor do you miss the comforts of the Elven realm where you had dwelt for years, waiting on the day your husband might return. A tent and your skills are more than enough when you finally have your love by your side, even if he is... temporarily different. You always keep him close, cradling him protectively at night and speaking loving words to him throughout the day. And in his own way, with ripples of his form and distant echoes of his slowly recovering mind, he holds onto you.

Eventually, he grows large enough for you to embrace at night, and develops a certain manner of breathing that feels as though you’re resting your head upon his chest. Its rise and fall is odd, ragged and irregular, but it brings you great joy nonetheless. With time, you bring him larger game, watching with grim amazement as deers and wild boars are slowly devoured into the beloved black mass that still is your husband. After a time, he grows nearly limb-like extensions, allowing him to more easily crawl around or reach out, and you often wake to find yourself in the closest thing to an embrace he can manage in this state. It never fails to make your heart soar, and he shudders as you press loving kisses to the parts of his surface closest to you.

So the days pass, until it’s time. Between your own instinct and the shape of his thoughts, not quite spoken but slightly more focused through your bond, you know he’s strong enough to finally regain himself completely.

But for that, he will need something more than an animal.

It’s easy enough to stop the first wagon you see passing by, acting confused and lost and asking for direction. The woman at the reins, though half-drunk, is even gracious enough to offer that she give you a ride to the closest village. You decline, of course. Your purpose was never to climb into the wagon yourself.

It was to halt it long enough for your husband to slither inside from the back.

It’s barely a few seconds after the woman has bid you a good journey and gone on her way that the wagon halts yet again—this time, with a piercing scream from its occupant. The wagon shakes, its horse breaking loose and galloping away.

Then, silence settles. From your angle, you can’t see inside. Your feet are glued in place, your breath barely there as you watch and wait. You’ve been waiting so long that now, so close to the end of your suffering, each moment feels neverending.

Finally—finally—a man emerges from the back of the wagon. He takes his time putting one bare foot, then the other, down onto the snow-covered ground. He takes in his surroundings, as though opening his eyes to the world for the first time. Then his gaze lands on you, and his lips curl into a smile filled with relief.

And you know, you’ve always known, but it feels as though you only then realize that this is not a man. Or an Elf, or a Dwarf, or any other being of less than godly nature. It is him. Remade into a form with eyes, and hands, and flesh, same as your own.

Your feet carry you towards him blindly as you stare and stare, almost unable to believe that you are finally standing close enough to touch once more.

“I would not blame you,” he says, his unfamiliar voice rough from lack of use, “if it was you who failed to recognize me now.”

But you know it’s absurd. His appearance may not be as it used to—his hair is shorter, darker, his cheeks covered in stubble, his features nothing like the ones you knew—but there is no form he could take you would not recognize, not as long as your mind still served you. His had been broken, unamde, when he had begun to feed on you as he would any other stranger. None of that matters now.

“This is... different,” you murmur, greedily taking in every inch of him that isn’t covered by the rags he’s wearing. His chest is partially bared to your eyes, and both of your breaths shudder as you lay your hand over his new heart, the smattering of hair there delightfully rough beneath your fingertips. You gaze there for a moment, mesmerized by the sight, then lift your eyes to meet his. The curls that fall in his face are so endearing your chest aches as you brush one aside.

“I love it,” you breathe out. “I love you.”

A dam that had been built over years of longing shatters at your words, and your lips meet his furiously in a long-awaited kiss. His looks may have changed, but his taste is the same, and so is the desire that overwhelms you to the point of insanity. You’re falling into each other, clawing at each other, crumbling to the ground in an unceremonious tangle of limbs. The snow is cold against your back, but your husband is warm and solid above you, and your world becomes reduced to him and him alone.

You whimper when he suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gazes down at you with raw yearning.

“You came for me,” he says, breathless with elation.

“Of course I did,” you retort, nearly indignated. As if you would do anything but. He goes to kiss you again, but you wrap a hand around his throat and hold him back. Mischief dances in your eyes as he glares and you scold, “And in return, you nearly ate me.”

His eyes darken, and you almost moan at the sight alone.

“I still wish to,” he growls, prying your hand away from his neck and diving in to devour yours instead. “All those years I hungered...” he speaks between ravenous licks and bites of your skin, making you writhe and whimper beneath him, “to feel you once more... even when I could no longer remember... what it was I hungered for...” He lifts his head, wild eyes boring into yours as he lays his hand upon your chest, relishing your heartbeat as you had done his before. “My love,” he pleads, voice trembling with need, “join me in flesh. Let me feast upon yours. Devour mine. Remind me what it is... to feel.”

The last time you felt such unbridled joy was so long ago, you can’t even remember it. And either way, you doubt it held a candle to the bliss bursting within your soul in this moment. This is all you ever wanted. This makes every single moment of torment, past or future, worth it.

“Feel me, love,” you offer most sweetly, your lips brushing his with the last words you speak before you consume each other whole, “Feel everything.”

Next fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

[sleeplessrose]

who: aurora & @princefinnick where: finnick's gallery

There weren't many places that she was allowed to go while she was back on the island, out of fear of running into her parents, but Aurora had convinced her fairies that a local art gallery was safe enough. Though she didn't know her parents very well, she hadn't ever picked up on an interest in the arts. It was nice to be out and about without having to keep her eyes on who was around her at all times. Aurora wasn't a very talented artist herself, but she could appreciate looking at the portraits and landscapes that lined the walls. She'd been to this particular gallery before, but it seemed that they'd changed out some of the pieces since she'd last visited. "Excuse me," she said carefully, approaching a man who held a clipboard in his hand. He looked rather official, and Aurora thought she'd seen him around the gallery before; perhaps he worked there. "Would you mind directing me toward the sculpture garden? I've been here before, but I memorized my way by the old pieces that used to be here," Aurora explained with an embarrassed laugh.

[leqonsluv3r]

just thinking about…

masterlist taglist

leon kennedy being a good boyfriend despite all his trauma. despite all the horrors he’s faced that he has found something in you. that he actually trusts you more then anyone, probably one of the hardest things he’s ever done. that he loves you unconditionally. sure, it takes time, more time then it probably should but you don’t mind giving him that. you can see how much he’s been through just by the look in his blue eyes.

so you give him all the time he needs, you just be yourself and trust that its enough for him to open up to you and keep you close. you slowly and carefully see a change in leon that you didn’t before. you start to see his emotions peek out a bit. when he wakes up in the morning next to you in your shared bed, pulling you close to him instead of him rolling over. he buries his face in your neck, starting to instantly let the scent of your shampoo lull him into a state of relaxation.

like his body and mind even though in a heavy state of sleep, know its you.

he starts taking you out more when he’s not out on missions, taking you out on small dates. getting coffee down the street from your apartment. he even drives you around, letting you pick the music.

he’s finally understanding what everyone around him is talking about when they told him to find someone he could be around and be comfortable with.

he knew he wasn’t an easy guy to love but you…you were different. you were very persistent in a way he’s never experienced.

you latched onto him when he needed it the most, you probably could tell that without you he would be hanging on by a thread. the small shred of you had infected him and made him fall in love with you.

he started trusting you more, having figured out that by now you weren’t going to abandon him and leave. you were going to stick around and be a part of his life.

and he owed you his for simply being alive.

for continuing to date him when he came home with too many injuries from his last mission or when he woke you up from another nightmare. you didn’t judge him or ridicule him, you were there to clean his injuries and coddle him back to sleep.

something he would never admit out loud — but what his actions would show is — he needed your love and affection more then anything else.

and he knew he wasn’t a perfect boyfriend, he had his flaws as did everyone. but he was a good boyfriend and he did his best.

he took you out, bought you things you didn’t need and showered you with as much affection as man like him could muster. he brought you your favorite coffee every morning from a cafe on the days he was out running, he always heated up a bath for you.

he did things that made him a good boyfriend, things that you had never experienced before.

you both worked for each other in separate ways, but you fit. you worked. like fucked up puzzle pieces that somehow seemed to fit together.

he was damaged and broken, but when you found him, you gave him love and took care of him. you gave him something he had never experienced before and he did the same for you.

even if both of you subconsciously knew it, you didn’t say it out loud. you just lived and he continued to treat you as you deserved to be treated.

you would give him the world if you could and he would do the same in return for you. for all the times you’ve helped him and proven to him that he is worthy of love. something that seemed like a dream once upon a time.

but you made it a reality, you let him prove his love. you let him show you that he could love someone and do the same in return. he didn’t know if he could ever repay you for something like that.

he probably couldn’t.

so he would just love you instead.

and that was good enough for him.

an: this isn’t what you guys probably wanted this week but it’s what your getting bc i’m tired and i just worked 40 hours HASHSH. i love you all so much, pls reblog and like. kisses, xx.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 205 }

midnights spent with you.

sylus x (non mc)fem.reader

you could feel the exhaustion seeping into your very bones the moment you came home late at night. running a hand across your hair, you take quick strides toward onychinus’s headquarters and saw some movement from your periphery. turning to the side, you saw a familiar, mechanical crow tailing your every movement and smile, knowing just who he belonged to.

as you hum one of your favorite songs, you take the elevators all the way to the top floor, already knowing that mephisto would return to his master at the penthouse, alerting him of your arrival home. with you settled in front of your door, you unlock it and announce your arrival, only to be met with silence.

“i’m home.” you speak out once more, this time a bit louder, yet the results were the same-

an almost unnatural quiet.

anxiety was felt coursing through your veins as you dropped your bag and made a beeline toward the stairs, taking them two steps at a time as you hurriedly reached the master bedroom. seeing the heavy oak doors within your sights, you grasp at the handles and push them wide open.

as you step inside your shared bedroom, you visibly relax upon seeing sylus sleeping (which was already a rare sight in and of itself.) trailing your gaze across the room, you saw mephisto was already perched on top of his usual spot, sifting through his feathers with his beak as soft cawing noises were heard from him. giving the crow a wistful smile, you return your attention back to the sleeping man settled in bed.

with his silver hair splayed on top of the plush pillows, you saw the way his eyelids trembled, alerting you of his sleeping state and how he was currently caught up in a dream. your hands ached with the need to thread your fingertips into his hair, brushing back those soft strands while littering his face with butterfly kisses (kisses that were no heavier than dew.)

a smile paints your eager expression when you slowly took off your work clothes, tossing the clothes inside of the hamper before donning one of sylus’s shirts over your form, heading towards the bed with the intention of spoiling him with your affections.

your movements remain careful, with the luxurious bed dipping ever so slightly with your added weight settled on top of it. wishing to take advantage of his sleeping form, you gently lean closer to him, not stopping until the entirety of your weight was settled across his chest. letting out a soft coo of his name, you lean forward and began pressing gentle kisses all across his features.

from the sharp shape of his brow to his chiseled jawline, you bask in the warmth of his skin felt beneath your lips. you truly adored every inch of him, and felt saddened at the fact that you couldn’t show him just how much he meant to you every single second of the day. while continuing your kisses against his skin, you smile and finally aim for his lips, pressing what you assumed would be a simple and chaste kiss against them.

however, upon feeling the sensation of your kiss, sylus begins to stir in his sleep, as if becoming awakened by your kiss. he ends up responding beautifully to you, slotting his lips against yours, expertly deepening it when you let out a sudden moan in response. you feel the way his large hands delve into your hair, pulling you so close to him that your chest was felt pressing against his in response.

several seconds later, you let out a sigh when sylus pulls away from you, eyes shining with amusement when he sees the way your lips had become swollen after his kiss. he teases you, lifting up your chin so that he could get a better look at your lovesick expression.

“what’s this? i didn’t peg you as the type to attack me in my sleep, darling.” you giggle and shake your head, leaning down to press a series of lingering kisses against his jawline.

“forgive me… i just couldn’t help but bask in your beauty and spoil you with kisses while you slept…”

you listen to his rich chuckles, allowing his powerful arms to wrap around your back as he brings you back to his chest. feeling his lips trailing across the expanse of your neck makes you shiver in response, giggling in delight the more he spoiled you with such affectionate caresses.

after spending quite some time basking in each other’s arms, sylus lays in bed and takes your body with him, becoming the big spoon as he held you tightly within his embrace. you smile in response and push your back further against his chest, earning a grumpy grunt from him.

“careful, sweetie, you may end up playing with fire if you come any closer to me.”

“hehe… well… let’s just say i don’t mind getting burned.”

sylus lets out a scoff before leaning closer to you, whispering “brat,” against your ear before biting down against the shell of it, earning a series of giggles from you. after being subjected to sylus’s lovebites against your skin, the exhaustion finally hits as you let out a yawn, making sylus run the back of his hand across your cheek.

“is my princess finally getting sleepy?”

you could only manage a nod in response, your body going slack while taking a hold of sylus’s arms, wrapping them around your front as your eyelids grew heavier.

sylus presses a kiss against your hair while letting out a gentle command, “sleep now, and i’ll treat you to something nice in the morning. perhaps you’d like to pay that café a visit and indulge on some chocolate croissants?”

you let out a soft hum in agreement, already falling asleep as a smile was seen gracing your features. with amusement shining in his gaze, sylus takes a moment to admire your features now painted in a deep slumber, brushing back your hair while quietly cursing to himself.

“how dare you keep me wrapped around your fingers so easily?” sylus asks you in an incredulous manner, unable to believe that his love for you turned him almost too soft for his liking-

and although he would never admit this to you, sylus found himself not caring about how only you alone could bring out such a side of him.

a.n. - i got so many amazing content from sylus today after unlocking his workouts on quality time, obtaining his nightplumes pull, and unlocking his midnight warmth audio all in the span of one night 😭 i am filled with such love and adoration for sylus that i had to write something soft and sweet for him 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[back2bluesidex]

BTS Scenario: Seeing Them Out With Someone Else - Hyung Line

Pairing: BTS Hyung line x Reader (Individual storyline)

Word count: 1.4k+ total

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak

Masterlist | Patreon

A/N: Tried something different. I always wanted to write angsty scenarios. Guess it's a good time to give it a try since basically nothing else is working out. haha.

Kim Namjoon

You are an expert in random trivia. You take pride in adhering to a little more than average general knowledge. But the moment someone asks you “what’s the deepest spot on earth?” you would fumble all over the floor with your answer because you don’t know if it’s Mariana trench or if it’s Kim Namjoon’s dimples. 

Kim Namjoon is not a simple name - it’s the person who holds your years of interest, the catelogue of your first kiss, the awkward skinship that were forbidden for any high schooler back then. Kim Namjoon is your first love, your first heartbreak, your first and last “will always remember him with a smile on my face.” so when you spot the depth of the same dimple, through the mass of black, brown and other coloured heads - you reel for a minute. 

You reel and reel and reel back to the time when he threaded his fingers with yours right under a cherry tree that was yet to bloom into beauty and whispered that he liked you. Your stomach feels light, butterflies uncaging in a moment to fly around all over your insides. 

You take a step towards him, ready to rekindle whatever the spark is left off after ten years of radio silence. As you make your way through the annoyed crowd, whispering ‘sorry’s but meaning none, you pray. You pray for him to remember you the way you remember him. But as you trudge close, you see another human being, attached to his side, fingers interlaced just the way he had yours once upon a time. 

Fool. A fool is what you  are. A fool in memory of a love that was lost long ago. 

Obviously. Obviously Namjoon has someone. Not everyone is an emotional fool like you. Not everyone cherishes memories more than living beings. 

Not everyone searches the crowed for a familiar pair of dimples for ten fucking years. 

You try to move forward, move on in cue. But it’s too late because Namjoon is looking straight at you. 

“Y/N…” He calls your name with a lingering familiarity. 

“Hey” you smile, trying to recall the time when you weren’t in love with him. 

Kim Seokjin 

From the beginning you knew it was a bad idea - both sleeping with your senior manager and falling in love with him. 

But when it’s Kim Seokjin on the other side, do you really have a say?  

He walked into your stuffy, damp life like a breeze of spring air, swept you off your feet and you gave in. you took whatever he offered you. 

It was a mistake to accept the ‘no-strings-attached’ condition he attached to your relationship even while being fully aware of how you feel for him. And now you are paying the price. 

Your corset dress threatens to choke your chest to death when you witness him walking in with an otherworldly beautiful woman in tow. 

They look beautifully perfect together. Now you understand what Seokjin meant when he said he needs to stop seeing you, that he found someone perfect for him. 

While you still think the conception of perfection is overrated - you would agree to the fact that you wouldn’t look as graceful as the woman he is carrying tonight to the party. 

“Yuri, this is Y/N. My best subordinate. And Y/N, this is Yuri, my girlfriend.” Seokjin introduces his woman, not meeting your eyes at all. 

You put on your best smile, “Hey Yuri. Nice to meet you finally.” 

Your eyes meet with Seokjin’s over her shoulders and he has a thousand different emotions playing in his iris. 

Min Yoongi 

Min Yoongi has always been a fraction of your dream. A faraway star residing in a different galaxy - light years away. 

So it doesn’t bother you at all when he walks into the cafeteria and doesn’t spare a single glance at your way. 

Your teammate rises on her feet and greets him with a bow to gain his attention, so you are left with no choice but to follow her suit. 

When his eyes find yours, he stops in his tracks, “oh. You are Y/N, right?” he asks in his rough yet soothing voice. 

“Yes, sunbae” you duck your head in respect. 

“I heard the demo you prepared for Jimin’s album. Must say, you have potential. Keep working hard and one day we will produce music together.” he smiles at you, full and gummy. You melt. All of the unsolicited feelings that you nurtured in the cage of your heart spread long vines around your rib cage. 

You find your ears and cheek heating up with the impact. 

“Sure, sunbae. I will work ha-” 

“Oppa! You are here? I have been looking for you!” one of the raising solo idols, that you forgot the name of, runs towards Yoongi and holds his arm in her grip. 

He, as much as you know, despite being someone who hardly encourages physical touches pulls her even closer. 

Your heart breaks as fast as it expanded earlier. 

He smiles at her brighter than he just smiled at you and you know… you know dreams hardly ever come true. 

“Have a good lunch, sunbae.” you greet again, before sitting down and focusing on your lunch. 

“You okay?” your co-worker asks once the couple is out of earshot. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you shove the bitter feeling down. 

Jung Hoseok 

It’s not everyday when you get to see a celebrity on the sidewalk. That too, the one that was in a relationship with you just six months prior. 

It would have been okay seeing Hoseok after he blocked you with a single explanation if there was not another human being with him currently. Her face is covered with a mask, head is bragging a black simple cap with a LV logo and somehow you know she is the reason behind Hoseok’s treason. 

A pang of fresh, sharp pain courses through the entirety of your body. 

If he told you once, you would have let him go without a fight. He didn’t… didn’t have to close the door on your face like that. 

Now as you walk behind them, while he has no idea of your presence - you find irony in the universe. You are witnessing the very thing that he didn’t want you to know, that too, on a random sidewalk. 

Funny. 

Suddenly your eyes fall on a car parked on the otherside of the road. A camera is pointed directly at the couple through the narrow slit of the glass window trying to capture them discreetly while they roam freely. 

You suck in a deep breath. 

It’s none of your business. You tell yourself again and again. 

But something about waking up to Hoseok’s dating rumour playing on the national television bothers you to the core. 

You take your phone out. Place it on your ear pretending as if you are calling someone. Then you walk close to the couple. 

When you are right behind Hoseok and you are positive he can hear you, you speak, “Hey Hoseok, it’s Y/N.” 

Hoseok visibly stiffens. 

“Don’t worry. I am not stalking you or anything. It’s a pure coincidence.” you continue. 

Hoseok is about to turn and face you but you stop him, “Don’t. Don’t turn around. I have my phone attached to my ear pretending to be in a call. I just wanna tell you that there’s a car on the other side of the road and they are clicking your pictures. 7337, the license plate number. If you have your managers somewhere nearby, you should inform them.” 

You finish with a huff and then proceed to walk away without a look back. 

Next day your phone buzzes with a call from a restricted number. You know what it can be. When you receive it, you hear him address you by your name after six long months. Your lungs fill with so much pain that it’s even tough to breathe. 

“Y/N..” Hoseok calls. 

“Hmm” 

“Thanks for yesterday. Manager hyung caught the papps in time. My face would have been all over the place today if not for you.” 

“Yeah. glad that I was of help.” 

“Yes. and I… I am so sorry for what I did-”

“Hoseok, if you are done then I think we should keep it till here. I am short on time. Gotta go. Take care.” 

You cut the call without waiting for a response. Tears spill through the corners of your eyes and you let yourself cry. 

If this is the end, your tears should be the best mode of farewell. 

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