#and of course i had to draw these two. my beloveds. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

einawnimie · 15 days ago

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𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝗸 - sylus qin oneshot

summary — After getting rejected by your college crush back in freshman year, you swore off dating—why bother when it clearly wasn’t meant for you? Years later, thanks to a well-meaning setup by your friends, you find yourself on a blind date… only to come face-to-face with him again. Totally not awkward—until he suggests something that makes it even worse. Or… maybe not?

pairings — excrush!sylus x fem!reader

content/tags— fluff, angst if you squint REALLY hard, blind dates, reader is traumatized, classic 10 dates trope, tara and her bf is their cupid, timeskips, kissing, SFW, second chance romance + more!

words— 10k

—

“One caramel macchiato!”

The barista calls out your name, drawing your attention from the glow of your laptop screen for the first time since you sat down. You rise, stretching slightly as you make your way to the counter. She greets you with a warm smile, and you return it with a quiet one of your own before taking your coffee and slipping back into your seat.

After a few moments, the front door swings open with a soft chime, letting in a brief gust of warm air and the unmistakable voice of your co-worker.

“Hey!” Tara calls out, already grinning as she spots you.

You lift your head from your coffee with the energy of a drained phone battery, offering her a weak wave. She's radiant, as usual—like someone who actually slept last night and didn’t just survive on caffeine and deadlines.

She slides into the seat across from you without waiting for an invitation, eyes practically sparkling. That look. You know that look. You brace yourself.

“So,” she begins, drawing the word out like a plot twist. “You remember Ethan from accounting? Super cute, like ‘bakes-his-own-bread’ cute? Well—”

You groan softly, slumping forward until your forehead nearly kisses the table.

“Tara, I’m running on four hours of sleep and two existential crises. Please don’t set me up with someone who makes sourdough starters for fun.”

She just laughs, undeterred. “That’s exactly why you need someone! Balance, babe.”

You sip your coffee like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the mortal world.

“I’ve been single for almost my whole life, and I’m planning to be until I reach 35,” you reply flatly, sipping your coffee like it’s a shield.

Tara’s smile falters into a small frown, her brows knitting together. “Thirty-five? That’s so… specific. Why 35?”

“Because by then I’ll either have my life together,” you say, waving vaguely at your open laptop, “or I’ll be so far gone into the abyss of burnout that no one will want to date me anyway.”

She gasps like you just said you don’t believe in love or oat milk.

“That is the most depressing thing I’ve heard all week. And I sat through a budget meeting yesterday.”

You lift a brow. “And yet, you’re still trying to play Cupid.”

“Exactly!” She sits up straighter, suddenly energized. “Which is why you need someone before you become a recluse who hisses at the sunlight and lives off instant noodles.”

You squint at her over your mug. “That sounds like a dream, actually.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters, but she’s laughing. “You are impossible.”

“And yet, you keep trying.”

“Because I believe in love. And also because you’re too pretty to be left to your own self-sabotaging devices.”

You groan again and slump further into your seat.

““It’s Evan’s request!” she pouts, her lower lip jutting out like a child denied dessert.

You groan instantly at the mention of her beloved boyfriend. Of course. Of course she’d do anything for him. Ride or die—for his romantic fantasies involving you and some stranger.

“Who is it this time?” you deadpan. “A cousin? Colleague?” You narrow your eyes. “And before you say it—I’ve had enough of his friends. They’re all terrible on their first dates.”

You sigh and rest your cheek in your palm, memories flashing like a highlight reel of awkward handshakes, painfully long silences, and one guy who brought his résumé to dinner “just in case.”

Tara winces a little but pushes on like the soldier of love she is. “It’s his old college coursemate!” she insists, leaning forward dramatically.

“That means nothing to me.”

“He’s actually nice!” she protests. “Evan swears he’s not like the others.”

“You said that about the one who only talked about cryptocurrency.”

“Okay, that was a dark time. But this guy’s different. He reads books! He collects vinyls!”

You arch a tired brow. “So he’s a passionate adult. The bar is so low, Tara.”

She grins, undeterred. “Just one date?”

“I have deadlines.” You look at the report you have to finish before your meeting tomorrow morning before your boss starts to passive-agressively call you out, again.

“It’s coffee.”

“I already have coffee.” You lift your mug in emphasis.

“It’s free coffee, and he might be hot.”

You hesitate.

She sees it.

Victory blooms on her face like sunshine after rain.

“Fine, this is the last time.” You mutter, in which Tara smiles. “Yay! I really think this time it’s gonna be the one for you! I’ve seen his face and Evan told me things about him. He’s also very…” She made the classic money gesture—rubbing her thumb against her fingers—while grinning. “Cha-ching.”

You groaned harder at that. Fine, one last try.

By the time you finally cave and go on the date—mostly out of guilt, slight curiosity, and Tara’s relentless texting—you’re already bracing for disappointment. But nothing could have prepared you for this.

Because sitting across the table, casually sipping his drink like he didn’t just shatter your soul five years ago, is none other than your college crush from freshman year. The same guy you’d nursed a hopeless, head-over-heels attraction for. The same one you’d confessed to in a moment of naive bravery—and the same one who turned you down with that polite, almost apologetic smile that still haunts your occasional 3 a.m. spiral.

You stare at him, and he looks up with a pleasant smile, clearly having no idea who you are.

And that’s the moment it hits you.

Maybe love really isn’t for you. Maybe the universe is playing a long, humiliating game of romantic dodgeball, and you just got hit square in the face—again.

You force a smile, heart sinking into your gut as you stir your drink just to have something to do with your hands.

“So…” he says, leaning in slightly, “have we met before? You look kind of familiar.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Sylus Qin.” He offers you a handshake, his voice calm, smooth—like it hasn't shattered your ego once before.

You blink at him. The name confirms it, not that you needed it. You would’ve recognized that voice anywhere. The same one that used to echo down lecture halls and occasionally star in your daydreams back when love felt like something soft and full of promise.

Your hand hovers for a second too long before you take his. His grip is firm, warm. Too familiar.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just looks at you like you’re a stranger with slightly interesting eyes.

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat and slipping your hand back like it burned. “Nice to meet you… again.”

A small crease forms between his brows. “Mind reminding me where we met, Miss?”

Your smile tightens. “Freshman year. Psych class. I was the idiot who met you at the campus entrance and confessed and gave you a letter?”

His face stills. Then slowly—too slowly—his eyes widen with dawning recognition. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping your drink and praying for the floor to open up beneath you. “That girl.”

He opens his mouth to say something—maybe an apology, maybe nothing—but you cut in before he can gather a sentence.

“But don’t worry,” you add lightly, voice wrapped in practiced indifference. “I’m not here for a second chance. I was tricked into this by a mutual friend. Apparently Evan thinks we’d be great together.”

Sylus leans back, still watching you. “So… this is a blind date?”

“Unfortunately.”

He hums, gaze flicking over you with a hint of something unreadable. “Guess he forgot to mention the history.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Guess he didn’t know anything. It was a one second thing anyway”

The silence stretches—but it’s not exactly awkward. Just loaded.

And part of you already knows: this night is not going to go the way you expected.

And suddenly, you become extra conscious of what you’re wearing.

The blouse you’d thrown on in a rush this morning suddenly feels too casual, too slouchy. Your jeans, just slightly faded at the knees. Your hair—was it frizzy? Was there coffee foam on your lip?

Of all the days to run on autopilot.

You shift in your seat, subtly tugging at your sleeves like that’ll magically sharpen your entire look. But it’s too late. He’s already seen you. Really seen you.

Sylus watches you with a calm expression, but there's something unreadable in his eyes now—like he's reassessing, recalibrating. You don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. And you hate that it matters. But it does.

Because no matter how long it’s been, or how hard you tried to file him away as a “learning experience,” some tiny, ridiculous part of you still wants to be… enough.

Still wants to make him regret saying no back then.

You force yourself to sit up straighter, chin tilted, like you’re fine. Like your heart isn’t doing little nervous pirouettes.

“Anyway,” you say, breaking the silence with a half-laugh, “how ironic is this?”

He quirks a brow. “Ironic?”

“Fate clearly has a sense of humor.”

Sylus’s lips curl into a faint smile. “Maybe. Or maybe fate’s giving me a second chance to get it right.”

Your breath catches—just slightly. You tell yourself not to read into it.

But it’s too late for that, too.

“Uhm, moving on,” you say quickly, trying to shove the tension back into its box. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, eyes fixed on the condensation forming on your glass. “What do you do now?”

Sylus leans back slightly, giving you a moment of reprieve from his steady gaze.

“I’m a software engineer,” he says, casually swirling his drink. “I mostly do freelance contract work. Apps, platforms, tech solutions for startups—you know, the usual keyboard warrior stuff.”

You nod, impressed despite yourself. “So you’re the guy everyone calls when their website crashes at 2 a.m.”

He chuckles softly. “Something like that. Less dramatic, more debugging-induced migraines.”

His laugh still sounds like it did years ago—low, easy, the kind that used to make you turn your head without meaning to.

You resist the urge to sigh.

“And you?” he asks, leaning in a little. “What did you end up doing?”

You shrug. “Marketing. Mostly brand copy and strategy. I sit in a lot of Zoom meetings, say ‘circle back’ more than I’d like, and write things that sound exciting but mean almost nothing.”

He grins. “Ah, professional illusionist. Respect.”

You huff a laugh. “Exactly.”

For a moment, there’s quiet—not awkward, just… contemplative. A shared pause between two people who were once on completely different pages, now reading from the same one without meaning to.

And though you’re still wary, still guarded, there’s a small flicker of something unspoken between you. Maybe.

You push it aside. For now.

You clear your throat, trying to push through the lingering weirdness. “So… you’re still based around here?”

“Mhm,” Sylus nods, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Moved back about a year ago. Needed a change of scenery. Or maybe I was subconsciously following a ghost from freshman year.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you stare at him over the rim of your glass.

“Relax,” he says with a lazy grin. “Joking.”

“Right,” you mutter, cheeks warming. “Obviously.”

He leans forward on his elbows, resting his chin lightly on one hand. “You always get this flustered, or is it just me?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I am not flustered.”

“You’re stirring an empty cup,” he points out, amusement glittering in his eyes.

You glance down—and sure enough, you’re absentmindedly swirling your straw in a drink that’s been gone for five minutes.

You set it down a little too quickly. “It’s a nervous habit.”

“Cute one,” he murmurs.

You glare. “Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Tease people on blind dates?”

“Only the ones I rejected five years ago and then ran into completely by accident,” he says, smile widening. “It’s a rare demographic.”

You groan and drop your face into your hands for a second. “This is so weird.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s not terrible.”

You peek at him between your fingers. “You think this is going well?”

“I mean, you’re adorable when you’re awkward,” he says without missing a beat. “And I don’t not want to be here.”

You blink. That’s… not what you expected.

Sylus shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Honestly? I think it’s kind of poetic. Terrible timing back then. Maybe this time the timing’s just… less terrible.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You’re still mentally stuck on “adorable.”

So instead, you reach for your glass again—forgetting it’s empty.

He laughs.

You roll your eyes. “I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?”

“Nope,” he says, lifting his drink in a small toast. “But I am buying your next one.”

And despite yourself, despite everything—your lips twitch into a smile.

“What about dinner?” he suggests, casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him. “We’re… dragging this date?”

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Dragging? That’s a strong word. I was thinking about extending.”

You squint at him suspiciously. “You sure this isn’t a social experiment? See how long you can tolerate the girl who confessed to you in college?”

He grins. “You keep bringing that up like I’m not flattered.”

You scoff. “You rejected me.”

“Regretfully,” he says, placing a hand over his chest with exaggerated sincerity. “I was young. Emotionally unavailable. Spiritually lost.”

You deadpan. “You were nineteen and dating a girl who made jewelry out of spoons.”

“Ah, Simone,” he says with a nostalgic sigh. “She had a vision.”

“She made you wear a fork necklace for a month.”

He laughs, and you hate that it sounds so nice. Like warm sunlight through a café window. Dangerous. “You know a lot about me, huh?”

“Knew. I literally had a crush on you.”

You glance at your watch. You could go home. Eat leftovers. Watch a true crime doc you’ll forget by morning. Or…

You exhale. “Fine. Dinner.”

He blinks. “That easy?” You didn��t reply when you stood up and he immediately followed you out.

The restaurant Sylus brings you to is tucked away on a quieter street—a cozy, dimly lit place with mismatched chairs and old jazz humming from a record player in the corner. Not fancy, but warm. Intentional.

“This feels… not like a first date spot,” you say as he pulls out a chair for you.

“That’s because it isn’t,” he replies, sliding into the seat across from you. “It’s a make-up-for-my-past-mistakes spot.”

You squint at him as you open the menu. “Do you have a designated restaurant for your emotional failures?”

“Only the meaningful ones.”

You snort. “So you bring a lot of people here.”

He winks. “Just you, actually.”

Your cheeks flush again—great—and you pretend to focus very hard on the pasta section. He watches you, though, openly and without shame, chin resting on his hand like he’s perfectly content just sitting across from you.

The waiter comes, and you place your orders. After he walks off, the silence between you settles again—but this time, it’s quieter. Softer.

“So…” you say, twirling the condensation on your glass, “you really didn’t remember me when you saw me at first?”

Sylus winces. “I remembered your face. Just… didn’t connect it right away.” You gave him a knowing look, in which he sighs.

"Fine, I knew it was you ever since I entered that cafe."

“Hm.”

“But when you brought up the confession and letter?” He taps the table lightly. “It all came back like it was yesterday. I even remember the pen color—dark green ink, right?”

Your eyes widen. “Okay, weird.”

“You wrote in cursive,” he continues, grinning. “All neat and swirly. I thought it was sweet.”

“And you read it after rejecting me?,” you asked him, stabbing a breadstick like it personally offended you.

He chuckles. “Hey, in my defense—I was an idiot. The kind who didn’t know what he wanted until years later.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, biting into the breadstick, “welcome to the club.”

Your food arrives midway through him telling a story about a client who paid him in garden vegetables. You’re genuinely laughing now—soft and a little surprised, like you forgot what it felt like to enjoy someone’s company this way.

Over dinner, the teasing doesn’t stop, but it shifts—less sharp, more playful. He leans in sometimes when you speak, nods like what you're saying matters. And every so often, he looks at you like maybe this was never just a coincidence.

When dessert comes, he casually pushes the plate of tiramisu toward you with a fork already ready.

“I didn’t order dessert,” you protest.

“You did,” he says, “you just didn’t know it yet.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet, here you are.”

You roll your eyes, but you do take a bite.

It’s unfairly good.

“...Damn it.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, slow and warm. “So... what do you say we drag this date a little longer?”

You stare at him, fork paused halfway to your mouth.

Then it hits you.

You can’t.

Not like this. Not with someone who clearly rejected you once, and maybe—just maybe—is only entertaining this out of guilt or curiosity. The warmth in his eyes, the way he leans in, the softness in his smile... it all feels too good, too dangerous.

And you've read some post on tiktok saying if a man rejected you once they shouldn't be in your life ever again. Even though you never really follow social media's advices, you're still unsure.

Because you remember exactly what it felt like to have hope, only to have it shut down with a kind smile and a polite “I’m sorry.”

And no matter how nice dinner is, no matter how different he seems now—you’re still you. And he’s still Sylus Qin.

The boy who took your letter and probably never really read the insides rather than a glance, and threw it out (That is what your dramatic heart convinced you happened)

You put the fork down slowly, like it's suddenly too heavy. “I can’t do this,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

Sylus straightens slightly. “What?”

“This.” You gesture vaguely between you two. “Dinner. The... date. Whatever this is.”

His brows draw together. “Did I say something wrong?”

You shake your head, looking down at the half-eaten tiramisu like it holds answers. “No. You were—you are fine. And that’s the problem.”

He blinks, clearly confused. “You lost me.”

You take a slow breath. “You don’t remember how that felt, do you? Being rejected by someone you genuinely liked—someone who barely noticed you until years later. Someone who now decides, over pasta and charming smiles, that maybe you're worth a shot.”

Sylus is quiet for a moment, no longer smiling.

“You think that’s why I’m here?” he asks, voice low.

You shrug, arms folding tightly across your chest. “I don’t know why you’re here. And that’s the part I don’t think I can handle.”

There’s a pause between you—long and sharp.

“I didn’t come here to mess with you,” he says, tone more serious now. “I didn’t remember right away, but once I did, I chose to stay. I’m not trying to make up for the past. I just... thought this could be something new.”

You look up at him, uncertain.

“I get it,” he adds gently. “If you don’t want to keep going, I won’t push. But I’m not that guy from freshman year anymore. And maybe you’re not that girl either.”

You hesitate, heart torn between a self-defense mechanism you’ve polished to perfection—and the stupid, stubborn flicker of curiosity he somehow reignited.

You glance down again, then quietly push the dessert plate back to him.

“I think I’m still her...and uhm, I need a little space,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

The server returns with the check, and Sylus pays without question waving in dismissal at your attempt to sneak in your card as well. You both rise, the air between you heavier now, but honest.

He walks you to the door, hands in his pockets. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I’m glad I saw you again.”

You manage a small nod, already halfway out the door, already fighting the part of you that wants to turn back.

Maybe later.

Maybe next time.

Maybe.

One month later

The coffee shop’s the same.

Same mellow jazz humming from the speakers. Same barista who still gives you a warm smile and extra whipped cream when she thinks you look tired. Same seat by the window, where your laptop sits untouched, your fingers curled around a lukewarm mug of cappuccino.

But you’re not the same.

Not entirely.

Because ever since that dinner—since him—you haven’t quite been able to return to your emotional baseline. There’s a small ache under your ribs when you let your guard down. A lingering sense of something unfinished.

Tara drops into the seat across from you, smoothie in one hand, far too much energy in the other.

“You’re avoiding the question again,” she says, poking your arm with her straw.

You don’t look up. “What question?”

“The Sylus Question."

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You sigh. “There’s nothing to say.”

Tara leans in, unconvinced. “You were gone for almost three hours. You came back looking like you’d seen a ghost and then refused to talk about it. Something happened.”

You stay quiet, eyes fixed on the steam curling from your drink. And for a while, she just watches you—not pressing, for once.

Then quietly, you say, “I never told you about him, did I?”

She blinks. “Told me what?”

“Sylus wasn’t just some random guy Evan picked out of a lineup. I knew him. From college.”

Her brows lift. “Wait—what?”

You nod slowly, not quite meeting her eyes. “Freshman year. I had the biggest crush on him. We had psych class together. I wrote him this ridiculous handwritten confession letter like I was living in some second-rate teen drama.”

Tara’s jaw drops. “You wrote him a letter?”

“In green ink,” you mutter. “Cursive. I poured my heart out. He was nice about it. Rejected me politely. But still... it stuck with me.”

“Oh my God,” she breathes. “And you, out of all people just proceed with the date?”

You finally look up, your expression tight. “Because the moment he sat down and saw him smile like he didn’t even recognize me, it all came rushing back. I felt stupid. Like I was nineteen again, waiting for a reply that never came.”

Tara leans back slowly, eyes softer now. “You never said any of that.”

“I didn’t want to make it a thing,” you murmur. “You were so excited to help me. And I thought I could handle it. I didn’t know it would be him! But after the date... I don’t know. He was kind. Charming. All the things I used to like about him. And somehow that made it worse.”

She studies you for a long moment. “You didn’t ask Evan for his number?”

You shake your head. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t dare to. Because what if he was only being nice to be nice? What if he was curious? Or worse—what if it meant nothing at all to him and I just end up falling again?”

Tara exhales slowly. “Evan said Sylus asked about you. He didn’t push. Just wondered if you were okay.”

Your heart gives a quiet, reluctant thud.

“I think you’re still thinking about someone you saw once a month ago,” she says gently. “That kinda says everything.”

You fall silent, eyes drifting to the window where the light hits just right, shadowing the table in soft gold. You remember his smile. The way he looked at you—not like he was sorry, but like he wanted to know you again. For real this time.

“Do you think…” you start, then pause, swallowing. “Do you think I messed it up?”

Tara doesn’t even hesitate. She reaches for her phone and gives you a raised eyebrow. “Should I text Evan?”

You stare at the screen.

Maybe you should.

You stare at Tara’s phone like it’s a bomb she’s about to detonate.

“What would you even say?” you ask, cautiously.

Tara shrugs, already typing. “Something neutral. Friendly. Non-dramatic. ‘Hey, can you send Sylus’s number to [Name]? She forgot to get it that night.’”

“I didn’t forget.”

She glances up, grinning. “Exactly. That’s why it’ll sound innocent.”

You hesitate. Your fingers tighten around your cup.

Tara pauses, thumbs hovering. “Do you want me to hit send?”

There’s a pause. A long, uncertain one. But your silence is a maybe, and she knows you well enough to hear it.

Send.

“Done,” she says brightly, locking her phone like she didn’t just possibly alter the trajectory of your emotional well-being.

You groan and sink further into your seat. “You’re evil.”

“I’m efficient,” she corrects. “Also, you’re welcome.”

You don’t respond. Your mind’s already spinning—what you’ll say, how it’ll sound, what he’ll think. If he’ll even reply.

You don’t have to wait long.

Tara’s phone buzzes. She unlocks it, reads the message, then slides the phone across the table to you.

Evan: Yeah, sure. He’s actually been meaning to reach out, but didn’t want to push. Here’s his number. Hope she’s doing okay.

You stare at the number for a few seconds, your heart weirdly loud in your chest.

“He was going to reach out,” Tara says softly. “He was waiting for you.”

You don’t say anything. You just copy the number into your own phone. Your thumb hovers over the message screen for way too long. You delete three different drafts before settling on the simplest version possible.

You: Hey. It’s me. From that very extended blind date. Mind if we talk?

You hit send before you can overthink it.

Then you both wait.

A few agonizing minutes pass. You sip your now-cold coffee. Tara picks at her muffin like she’s trying not to stare too obviously. You check your phone again. Nothing.

And then—finally—your screen lights up.

Sylus: Hey. Wow. Hi.

Sylus: I was hoping you’d text. Where should we start—apologies or second chances?

Your breath catches, somewhere between a laugh and a nervous sigh. You glance up at Tara, eyes wide.

She grins. “Well?”

You look back down at the screen, smile tugging at your lips before you can stop it.

You: Maybe… coffee. One cup. No letters. No expectations.

Sylus: One cup. No letters. Just you. When?

And this time, you don’t hesitate.

You: Tomorrow? Same café, 4pm?

Sent.

You stare at the message, heart tapping against your ribs like it’s trying to make a run for it. Across from you, Tara’s holding her breath with a weirdly intense look.

“I asked him,” you murmur.

Tara’s hands shoot up in silent victory. “Yes. Finally.” Then her voice drops, more sincere. “You okay?”

You nod—small, uncertain. “I don’t know what I want from this.”

“Then start with what you don’t want,” she offers. “You don’t want it to end with silence. Again.”

Your phone buzzes.

Sylus: I’ll be there. And I promise not to pretend we’re strangers this time.

Your lips twitch. You hate how fast your fingers move when you type back.

You: Good. Because I’m done pretending too.

—

You sat at the coffee table, waiting—nervously fiddling with the rim of your cup as your eyes flicked toward the door every few seconds. The café felt louder than usual, or maybe it was just your thoughts making too much noise.

What were you even doing here?

A month had passed. You should’ve let it go. But something about the way he’d looked at you that night—surprised, yes, but not indifferent—kept looping in your head like an unfinished sentence.

Your fingers stilled.

The door chimed.

You didn’t turn right away, but you felt it—the shift. The quiet recognition, the way the barista paused mid-sentence to smile, how a familiar set of footsteps approached the table.

“Hey,” Sylus said.

You looked up.

He hadn’t changed, but something in his posture was different. Softer, maybe. Less guarded.

“Hey,” you replied, quieter than intended.

He glanced at the cup in front of you. “Did you order for me again?”

You smirked. “Habit.”

“Dangerous. I could’ve turned into someone who drinks oat milk lavender lattes.”

“Then we’d have a real problem.”

That made him laugh. And you hated how nice it still sounded.

He slid into the seat across from you, exhaling slowly like even he wasn’t sure what came next.

You both sat there for a moment, letting the silence settle—not awkward, not entirely comfortable either. Just real.

“So,” he started, eyes meeting yours, “are we pretending this is just coffee?”

You paused, then shook your head. “No pretending this time.”

His gaze lingered. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He smiled faintly. “Because maybe I was wrong about a lot of things back then. But mostly... because I don’t want to be wrong about you again.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep your tone even, but you can already feel your chest tightening.

Sylus gives a small, breathy laugh and looks down at his hands. “I mean I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Since that night.”

Your eyebrows lift, skeptical. “We barely talked.”

“That’s the thing,” he says, meeting your gaze. “Even when you weren’t saying much, I could feel it. That weight between us. Like there was more. Like you knew something I didn’t.”

You don’t respond. You’re not sure if you can. Because part of you wants to believe he means this, and another part still remembers the awkwardness of freshman year—of your letter, of his rejection, of everything that made you feel small.

Sylus seems to sense it.

“I know I didn’t handle things well back then,” he says. “And I don’t expect us to magically reset, or rewind. I just… wanted a chance. A real one this time. No setups, no pressure, no expectations.”

A beat.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You know this is kind of insane, right?”

He smiles softly. “The best things usually are.”

You stare at him—at his hopeful expression, at the way he’s sitting there with nothing but his words and his coffee and maybe.

You look away, jaw tightening. “If we hadn’t gone on that blind date, none of this would’ve happened.”

There's a pause. You expect him to deny it, to give some sweet romantic line about fate. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he says quietly, “You’re right.”

You glance back at him, surprised by the honesty.

“If we didn’t go on that blind date,” he continues, “we probably would’ve gone on living like strangers who once shared a college campus and a forgotten letter. But we did go. And I saw you again. And it... shifted something.”

You scoff under your breath. “You’re making it sound like a movie.”

“Yeah, well.” He gives a soft laugh. “I didn’t expect it either. I thought you’d be another awkward coffee and polite goodbye. But then you walked in and looked at me like you already knew who I was—and I couldn’t stop wondering why.”

You stay silent, the edge in your expression softening, but only slightly.

“You’re still mad,” he notes gently.

“I’m still trying to understand what this is,” you reply. “If it’s just guilt. Nostalgia. Or something you’ll forget in a week.”

Sylus leans back, eyes steady on yours.

“I don’t know what it is yet either,” he says honestly. “But I’d like to find out.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes slightly. “And how exactly are you going to find out? Expect me to write you a letter again?”

Sylus smiles—not smug, not overly confident. Just steady.

“While it doesn’t sound so bad to receive one from you again, I have another idea,” he says. “But how about this: ten dates.”

You blink. “What?”

“Ten dates,” he repeats. “Maybe romantic, but not dramatic. Just… ten chances. To talk. To laugh. To see if this—whatever this is—is real.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “That sounds like a really desperate Netflix series.”

“Yeah, well, desperate is fair,” he replies with a half-shrug. “You’re kind of terrifying.”

That almost makes you laugh, but you suppress it. “Why ten?”

“Because I’m stubborn,” he says, leaning forward just a little. “And because if I can’t convince you by the tenth, I’ll back off for good.”

You look down at your cup, pretending to think, though your heart is already pacing.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But so is the fact that I still remember what you wore when you gave me that letter.”

Your head snaps up, and he grins—caught you off guard again.

You sigh, long and tired. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be charming.”

He raises a brow. “So… that’s a yes?”

You pick up your drink and sip slowly. “It’s a maybe. A probationary date system. Conditional.”

Sylus holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ll take it.”

—

The rain drums lightly against the windows as you sit across from Sylus, sipping a warm chai latte in one of your favorite hideaway spots—a quiet bookstore café tucked behind a florist and barely staffed. You picked it on purpose. Familiar. Safe. Low stakes.

He’s dressed in a dark sweater and jeans, damp at the shoulders from the rain, hair slightly tousled like he ran a hand through it too many times on the way in. You hate that he still looks so... annoyingly good.

“You chose the most intimidating first date spot,” he comments, glancing around at the towering bookshelves and soft jazz playing overhead. “Is this a test?”

You raise a brow. “You said you wanted ten dates. I’m making sure you work for them.”

He chuckles. “So... trial by literature.”

“I heard you read a lot.” You reply as you look at him with a smile, in which he echoes.

“Making some research on me, huh?” He grins.

“Evan.”

“Oh, that guy. Was he giving you some biodata check before going on that blind date?”

“Just simple things like what you like, the fact that you collect vinyls amongst other things. Not too much to be considered as a Sylus Genius.” You say while sipping on your drink.

He clicked his tongue, “Then it is my duty to make you one, the only one, perhaps.”

You felt your cheeks grow warmer, what a stupid reason to be blushing, but still, he laughs.

“I like that expression,” He stares at you, eyes soft and bright. Something rare to see from someone like him, yet here you are eliciting it effortlessly.

You're flipping through a poetry book when Sylus suddenly sets his phone down between you both, screen facing up.

It’s a playlist. Titled: “For Date One, if she lets me.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

“I made it last night,” he says, sheepish. “In case conversation got awkward.”

“It already is awkward.”

“Exactly. I planned ahead.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small grin tugging at your lips. You tap the first track. Soft acoustic guitar filters through the speakers—he must’ve connected it to the café’s Bluetooth. You recognize the song. Something nostalgic, early 2000s indie, a little cheesy, a little perfect.

“You’re lucky I like this band,” you murmur.

“I know.” He rests his chin on his hand, watching you a little too closely. “I remembered.”

That makes you pause. You look at him, unsure how he means it—remembered like he Googled your old Spotify profile or remembered as in… back then.

Your stomach knots.

“What else do you remember?” you ask quietly, not fully meaning to say it aloud.

He doesn’t look away. “You always carried two pens to class. A black one for notes. A blue one for thoughts.”

Your breath catches.

He keeps going. “You always tied your hair up during exams, even if you didn’t need to. Said it helped you think.”

You don’t respond.

“And you once cried in the back row after a presentation because someone laughed at your voice when you read your script.” He pauses. “I wanted to punch them.”

You blink hard, your throat suddenly tight.

“I wasn’t brave then,” he adds softly. “I should’ve said something. But I never forgot.”

You look away, blinking at the shelves, pretending to read the book in your hands. His words sit between you now, heavy but warm. Sincere.

After a long pause, you whisper, “Ten dates might not be enough.”

Sylus smiles—just barely. “That wasn’t me winning you over, was it?”

You shake your head, voice barely audible. “That was you... remembering me.”

He changes his seat from across you to beside you, before plugging one earphone in your ear while the other in his. “Decided not to let the whole cafe hear your little playlist?”

“Yeah, it’s special for you.”

—

On date two, you’re still not sure how he roped you into this.

“This is a terrible idea,” you say flatly, standing in the vegetable aisle with a shopping basket in hand while Sylus debates between two kinds of veggies like it’s a life-or-death decision.

He looks at you over his shoulder. “You said you wanted something low-key. What’s lower key than cooking?”

“You didn’t say I’d be cooking with you.”

“Technically, I said we would cook. Together.” He turns back to the mushrooms. “Also, you’re stalling.”

“I just don’t trust you to know the difference between coriander and parsley.”

“That’s fair,” he mutters, tossing the better-looking pack into the basket. “I Googled that this morning.”

You try not to smile, but it slips through anyway. He notices. You pretend not to see that he noticed.

His apartment is neat. Not obsessively clean, but clearly lived in. A jacket draped over a chair. A vinyl player in the corner. A pair of reading glasses on the coffee table you didn’t know he wore.

“You can put your stuff anywhere,” he says, motioning to the couch. “Shoes off if you want. I have house socks.”

You glance at him. “House socks?”

“Yeah, you know. Guest socks. Clean, fluffy, magical.”

“…You’re a menace.”

“You’ll thank me in five minutes.”

You do. They’re ridiculously soft.

Cooking is chaotic. He chops vegetables like he’s in a rush to win a knife skills competition. You end up laughing when he puts the pasta in before the water boils and looks genuinely shocked when you scold him.

At one point, you’re both standing shoulder to shoulder at the stove, close enough to feel the heat of his arm. He smells like citrus and something woodsy. Not cologne—like fabric softener and something more subtle.

You steal glances.

He catches one.

“What?”

You shrug. “Nothing.”

“You were looking.”

“Maybe.”

“You were definitely looking.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re cute when you’re trying to pretend this isn’t fun.”

You look up at him. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“I know.” He says it gently. “But it means you’re here.”

Dinner is good. Surprisingly so. You eat on the couch, plates balanced on your laps, a dumb movie playing in the background that neither of you really watches.

Halfway through, you notice him watching you again.

“What now?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. You just… look comfortable.”

You pause. It feels like a compliment, but it sinks a little deeper than that.

“Do you want dessert?” he asks quickly, maybe sensing the shift.

You nod. “Only if it’s something you didn’t burn.”

He laughs. “Rude. I bought ice cream. Zero effort involved.”

He disappears into the kitchen. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself lean back into the couch, socks on your feet, a full plate on your lap—and a feeling creeping in that maybe, just maybe, letting go of the past isn’t the same as forgetting it.

It might even be… the start of something new.

—

It’s date seven.

The previous dates were all quiet and cozy, except for date five, where the both of you went to the amusement park. You've learnt that he hates rollercoasters due to their "anti-climatic" push when the controller decided to prolong the time at the top.

But for date seven?

You hadn’t expected a literal night market.

When Sylus texted you the location, you assumed it was a café or some quiet restaurant again — something low-key, in line with your still-fragile dynamic.

Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a lively crowd, colorful lanterns strung overhead and the scent of grilled meat, fried snacks, and sugary things thick in the air.

“Too much?” he asks, appearing beside you with two skewers in hand. One of them is unrecognizable and probably a challenge.

You take the safer one.

“I thought you were the introvert.”

“I am,” he says with a smirk. “But I figured if I keep taking you to quiet places, you’ll keep overthinking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And now I’m supposed to... not overthink while holding a fishball skewer?”

“Exactly. It’s very grounding.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t hand it back.

The night air is warm, heavy with humidity and noise, but there’s something oddly comforting about being one small story in a sea of strangers. It makes things easier. Lighter.

Sylus walks beside you, not saying much, just letting the sights and sounds fill in the space between. Sometimes, his hand brushes yours — never on purpose, but never fully accidental either.

You pass a booth with handmade rings, mismatched and colorful.

He pauses. “Pick one.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

“Date seven deserves a souvenir.”

You glance at the table, then back at him. “If I pick one, are you going to analyze what it means?”

“Undoubtedly.”

You sigh, but eventually point to a silver one with a tiny moon charm.

“Cute,” he says, paying for it without asking.

He slides it onto your finger — careful, slow — and it makes you shiver, just a little.

“You good?” he asks, eyes glancing up at you from beneath his lashes.

“I’m not used to this,” you admit, voice barely audible above the crowd.

“To what?”

“To being… wanted. Again. Still.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then says, “You’ve always been wanted. I was just too late to realize it.”

You don’t respond. Just stare at the ring, then at the ground, then at him. Your heart’s too loud again. Too full of things you swore you’d buried.

Later, after sharing a cup of mango ice and pointing out constellations you can’t actually name, you find yourselves leaning against a closed-up stall. The market’s winding down. The crowd’s thinning.

He nudges your shoulder gently. “Date seven complete.”

You glance at him. “Three more, huh?”

He nods. “Unless you cancel the package early.”

You smile, just slightly. “What’s the return policy?”

“No refunds,” he says, voice low. “But… you could renew.”

You look away too quickly.

And he doesn’t press.

Just stands there beside you, hands in his pockets, like someone who’s willing to wait — even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

The night breeze makes you shiver as you’re wearing nothing more than a thin blouse — a poor choice, you realize now, when the heat of the crowd starts to fade and the open air settles in.

Sylus notices immediately. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, then shrugs off his jacket.

“Here,” he says, holding it out.

You hesitate.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, though your arms betray you by hugging yourself tighter.

“You always say that,” he replies gently, stepping closer. “Let me do one nice thing without making it weird.”

You sigh, but don’t fight it when he drapes the jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm. Smells faintly like him — like cologne and comfort and something you wish you didn’t miss.

You clutch it closer anyway.

He doesn’t comment. Just gives you a small smile and walks beside you again, closer this time, like maybe his presence alone could shield you from the rest of the chill.

And for a second, just a second, you stop resisting how easy it is to lean a little closer.

And as if he’s trying to push his luck, he slowly takes your hand, and interlocks your fingers together, before bringing it in his pockets.

You glance at your hands together before looking up at him, while he looks up front, like whatever he did is natural and was clearly bound to happen for him.

“Seriously?”

He looks at you, “helping you warm up.” He smiles.

—

Date nine.

You hadn’t planned on letting Sylus into your apartment yet.

It’s too personal, too you — a space you’ve protected the way you’ve guarded your heart: meticulously. No loose ends, no open doors.

But it’s raining, and he showed up early with two bags of groceries and a sheepish grin.

“You said you missed home-cooked food,” he says, already toeing off his shoes. “I make a decent curry. Or edible. Let’s start there.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That was weeks ago.”

He shrugs. “I remember things.”

You don’t have the energy to argue. Not when he’s already heading toward your kitchen like he’s been here before — like this isn’t some emotional line being crossed.

The apartment smells like garlic and coconut milk within the hour. Rain taps against your windows. Soft music hums from your phone speaker, something low and jazzy that fills the silence without drowning it.

You lean on the counter as he stirs the pot, sleeves rolled up, focused.

He looks… settled here. Like he belongs in your kitchen. Like the space didn’t mind opening up to him.

It makes something ache in your chest.

“You cook often?” you ask.

“Sometimes. It’s... therapeutic. And cheaper than emotional damage.”

You snort. “You’re not wrong.”

There’s a pause. Comfortable.

Then you ask, “Why are you really doing this? The ten dates, I mean.”

He doesn’t look up at first. Just stirs slowly. Thoughtfully.

“Because I wanted to show you I could mean something to you,” he says quietly. “Without rushing. Without trying to fix what I broke before. Just… be there this time.”

You blink.

The honesty, the simplicity of it — it lands heavier than you expect.

“I don’t need fixing,” you murmur.

“I know.” He finally looks at you. “But you deserve someone who knows that.”

Dinner is warm. Slightly too spicy. You both laugh over it. You tease him for almost setting your pan on fire and he teases you for owning only two forks.

When he leaves later — umbrella in hand, jacket still with you — there’s a folded napkin left under your mug.

On it, in scribbled black ink: “You feel like home. Date Ten’s going to be dangerous.”

You stare at the note long after the door closes behind him.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel afraid of what’s next.

—

At least that’s what you thought you felt.

It has been two weeks, 14 days.

You hadn’t meant to pull away.

Work just... got in the way.

One last-minute project turned into two. A client call stretched past midnight. You started checking your phone less, replying slower. Not intentionally — just the kind of slow fade that happens when real life creeps in.

Sylus doesn’t push. He sends a meme here and there, a good morning text you forget to answer until lunch. A voice note one evening — gentle, teasing — asking if you’re still alive and if he should send a search party or just a very persistent delivery driver with bubble tea.

You laugh, but don’t reply right away.

When you finally do, it’s short. Something like, “Just swamped. Talk soon?”

He leaves it at that. No guilt. No pressure. But still — it lingers.

You miss him.

Worse, you realize it on a Tuesday night, forehead pressed against your desk, your laptop glowing 2:47 a.m. back at you, and all you can think about isn’t the project due at 8 a.m.

It’s that you haven’t seen Sylus in almost two weeks.

And you don’t know what Date Ten is supposed to be anymore.

That was until you heard your front doorbell ring.

You blink, groggy. It’s late. Not a normal time for someone to suddenly show up, but close enough that your heart stutters as you push up from your desk.

Padding to the door in mismatched socks and a hoodie you barely remember putting on, you glance through the peephole.

It’s Sylus.

Holding a paper bag, umbrella folded under his arm, hair damp like he walked the last few steps in the rain.

You hesitate for half a second before opening the door.

“Hi,” he says, voice soft. “I come bearing caffeine and snacks.”

You stare at him.

“I... you didn’t text,” you manage, your voice scratchy with fatigue and something that feels suspiciously like guilt.

“You weren’t replying,” he says simply, not accusing. Just... explaining. “And I figured if I waited for a calendar opening, I’d see you in October.”

That earns a weak laugh from you.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you mumble, stepping aside to let him in. “Work’s been—”

“—hell. I know.” He toes off his shoes and heads to your kitchen like it’s routine now. “I figured you wouldn’t feed yourself properly either.”

You blink at the bag he sets down. Soup. Tea. A small pastry you once said you liked.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says again, but there’s no heat in it.

Just the same gentle, unshakeable Sylus from Date One through Nine. The same one who gave you space, and now—unexpectedly—shows up without asking for anything back.

You exhale slowly, walls slowly lowering.

“I forgot what day it was,” you say.

He smiles faintly. “It’s not Date Ten. Yet. This is just... a bonus round.”

You sit down at the counter. He pours you tea without asking. You watch him, warmth curling up beneath your ribs.

“You didn’t give up.”

“Nope,” he says. “I said ten dates. I’m not going anywhere until you get all ten.”

You look at him. Tired, but soft. Edges worn down by the weeks, but still holding space for him.

You reach for the tea. “Okay,” you murmur. “Let’s call this one... nine and a half.”

Sylus grins. “Nine-point-five. I’ll take it.”

You nurse the cup of tea slowly, letting the heat seep into your fingers. The apartment is dim except for your desk lamp, casting a soft glow across the space. Rain continues tapping against the window, steady and hushed.

Sylus sits on the other side of the counter, watching you — not in a way that makes you self-conscious, but like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Your eyes get glassy when you’re running on four hours of sleep,” he says gently.

You raise a brow. “You make that sound factual.”

“Maybe it is,” he says, and he’s not joking.

There’s something weighted in the silence that follows, but not heavy. Just... full. Brimming with all the things neither of you have dared to say out loud since that blind date started everything again.

You look down at your tea. “I didn’t mean to pull away.”

“I know,” he says. “And I didn’t show up to make you feel bad.”

“Then why did you show up?”

He pauses. And then—

“Because I missed you,” he says, quiet but certain. “And I wanted you to remember what it feels like to be taken care of, even when your world’s on fire.”

You stare at him.

It hits in a strange place — the truth of it, the care, the timing. The softness in his voice that reaches you deeper than any grand gesture ever could.

And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s your exhaustion. Or maybe it’s the way he hasn’t stopped looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding onto.

But when you set your cup down, and say, “Come here,” your voice is steady.

He doesn’t question it. Just moves.

You meet him halfway around the counter. The rain hums in the background, steady and soft. He’s close now — warm, still damp at the edges from the walk over.

You look up at him. “This... doesn’t make us even,” you murmur.

“I’m not trying to settle a score.”

You hesitate. Then, finally—finally—you step into him.

And when you kiss him, it’s slow. Not rushed or desperate. Just a quiet press of lips in the middle of a rainy midnight, in an apartment that suddenly doesn’t feel so tired anymore.

His hand finds the side of your face, thumb grazing your cheek. Yours curls into the front of his jacket like you need to hold onto something steady.

It’s not a first kiss full of fireworks or dramatic music.

It’s soft.

Earned.

Real.

And when you pull back, neither of you says anything right away. He just presses his forehead to yours and exhales the smallest, happiest breath.

You smile.

“Ten’s going to be dangerous,” you whisper.

He grins. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got nine and a half reasons to survive it.”

—

You wake up to sunlight sneaking through the curtains and the unmistakable scent of coffee.

For a moment, you think maybe you dreamed it all — the rain, the tea, the kiss.

But then you hear gentle clinking in the kitchen.

You push yourself up from the couch, blanket slipping off your shoulders, and find Sylus standing by your stove like he’s been there a hundred times. One of your mugs in hand. His hair still slightly messy from sleep.

He glances over when he hears you. “Morning.”

His voice is quiet. Familiar. Safe.

“You stayed,” you say, more like a thought than a question.

He tilts his head. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I kissed you and then fell asleep in the middle of your jacket, so I wasn’t really thinking straight.”

Sylus chuckles, crossing the room to hand you a fresh cup of coffee.

You take it with a small, grateful hum and sip. It’s perfect. Just how you like it.

He nods toward the table where he’s already laid out toast and eggs — simple but warm. Intentional.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say.

“I know,” he replies. “But I wanted the first morning after our nine-and-a-halfth date to start right.”

You pause. The phrase makes your chest tighten — not in a painful way. Just full. Softened.

“You’re very good at this, you know,” you murmur.

“What? Being your emergency food delivery guy?”

You give him a look, and he smirks, stepping closer until your hip’s pressed lightly against the counter and he’s standing in front of you.

“No,” you say. “At... making it feel easy.”

He shrugs, but there’s something fond in his eyes. “It is easy. When it’s you.”

That line shouldn’t make your heart skip, but it does. And before you can overthink it — again — he leans down and brushes a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your lips. This one slower, softer than the night before.

“Let me stay a little longer,” he murmurs when you part.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

Because for once, you don’t feel the need to run ahead or fall behind. You just want this moment.

His.

A few hours later, Sylus left, and date ten starts.

You’re already suspicious when Sylus tells you not to wear anything too fancy, and even more so when he insists on picking you up himself.

“I swear, if this is a paintball arena—” “It’s not,” he laughs, hand warm around yours as he leads you down a quiet path.

It isn’t until you recognize the stone archway ahead that your heart stumbles. Your old campus.

You blink. “You didn’t.” He raises a brow. “Didn’t what?” “This is where I met you.” “It’s where I saw you,” he corrects gently. “You met me after tripping over your own feet trying to sit in the last row.”

You gasp in mock outrage. “That’s not—okay, that is accurate.”

He grins, tugging you toward one of the empty benches just outside the old lecture hall. The sun’s low, sky blushing gold and soft blue.

“There’s a picnic,” he says, motioning to the small setup — nothing over the top. A blanket, some pastries, cold brew in glass bottles, and a small stack of your favorite snacks.

You sit beside him, heart full and quiet.

“You remembered this place,” you murmur, looking out over the familiar quad where your lives once barely brushed each other’s.

“I remembered you in this place,” he says. “That matters more.”

You glance at him. His expression is soft, unreadable in the best way — like he’s still amazed you’re here.

“You know,” you say after a while, voice quieter, “if we didn’t go on that blind date... we might not have ever come back to this.”

He hums, thoughtful. “Maybe. But I think something else would’ve pulled us together eventually.”

You raise a brow. “That’s bold.” “That’s fate,” he says simply. “Stubborn. Annoying. Kind of like you, actually.”

You nudge him, trying not to laugh. “You just ruined the moment.”

He shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to fix it.”

And he kisses you.

Not a hesitant first. Not a sudden second. But a tenth-date kind of kiss — full of memory, promise, and quiet affection that doesn’t need to prove itself anymore.

When you pull away, you press your forehead to his.

“This is my favorite date,” you whisper.

“Mine too,” he replies. “But... I want to show you something.”

His voice has shifted — softer now, more careful.

You watch as Sylus reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a timeworn envelope. Cream-colored. Slightly bent at the corners. A familiar messy swirl of ink where your handwriting signed his name.

Your breath leaves you. “Is that—?”

He nods slowly. “Your letter. From freshman year.”

Your world tilts a little. “I—I thought I threw it away after… after you said no.”

He looks at the envelope like it’s fragile. Like it’s sacred. “You gave it to me after that group project, remember? You said I could read it or pretend it never existed. I was too much of a coward to say anything back then.”

“You folded it and put it in your backpack,” you murmur. “Didn’t even open it in front of me.”

“I read it that night,” he admits. “Twice.”

Your eyes sting.

“I was young. Stupid. Scared. You wrote something so sincere, and I didn’t know how to be what you deserved. So I told myself it was easier to say nothing than to mess anything up.”

You’re silent. The weight of years pressing in on you. On both of you.

He carefully opens the envelope, pulling out the folded pages inside. The paper’s softened over time, but your words are still there — full of nerves, and longing, and a kind of bravery you barely recognize anymore.

He starts to read it aloud. Not theatrically. Not to embarrass you. But like it matters. Like it’s still beating.

To. Sylus Qin.

This might be stupid, in fact, this may be the dumbest thing you’ve ever encountered in your life. But if I don’t write this down, I might have even more sleepless nights overthinking all these thoughts in my head.

I like you. I really do. Ever since the first day of psych class. It felt like love at first sight but I don’t want to be dramatic with this, I can’t help it. The way you can answer every question the Prof gave us, or when you seemed to laugh so freely at your friend’s awful jokes (I sometimes overheard you guys, he was being pretty loud), Or maybe when you held the door open for everyone that one rainy morning even though you were soaked.

It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just needed you to know. Because I want to be brave, and this letter is the only way I know how.

You cringe at the words your past self wrote to him, burying your face in your hands with a soft groan. “Why did I have to say all that when I still got upset that you rejected me?”

Sylus chuckles, folding the letter back with surprising care before slipping it into his pocket again. “Because it was honest. And brave. And a little dramatic,” he adds, smirking.

You glare at him through your fingers. “I was nineteen.”

“And very articulate for someone confessing their heart and soul,” he teases. “Honestly, I think that’s when I started falling for you — I just didn’t know what to do with it back then.”

You lower your hands slowly, blinking. “Falling?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” he says, leaning in just a little. “My pride’s already hanging by a thread.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “That’s what you get for carrying emotional artifacts in your coat pocket.”

He grins. “That letter’s my proof that you liked me first.”

You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But I’m here. And if you’re still mad about nineteen-year-old me being a dumbass... I can make it up to you.”

“Oh?” you raise a brow, suddenly wary. “How?”

He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of yours. “Ten more dates. Starting with breakfast tomorrow. I’ll even bring coffee and not screw up the order.”

You hesitate — heart twisting, tugged between the embarrassment of the past and the fragile wonder of now.

But then you smile, small and real.

“Only if I don’t have to write any more letters.”

Sylus leans in, nose nearly brushing yours. “No more letters. Just us.”

—

One Year Later

“You shrunk my sweater!” you shout from the bedroom, holding up the tiny, once-cozy piece of clothing like it's been murdered.

Sylus appears in the doorway, toothbrush in hand. “It said warm wash!”

You point an accusatory finger. “It said hand wash only, you chaos gremlin!”

He squints. “Are you sure?”

You shove the tag in his face. “Does this look unsure to you?”

He pauses, leans in, reads the tag, then slowly backs away like it might bite. “Okay. So I may have misread.”

“You may have committed a war crime.”

He raises a brow. “It’s just a sweater.”

“It was my comfort sweater. My post-long-day, rainy-night, sad-girl-hours sweater!”

Sylus tries not to smile. “Sad-girl-hours?”

You glare. “Don’t mock me in my time of grief.”

He disappears for a moment and returns with a hoodie — his hoodie. He tosses it at you.

You catch it and blink. “What’s this?”

“Official replacement,” he says with a shrug. “It’s softer. Smells better. Probably has my good boyfriend energy woven into the threads.”

You squint at him. “Bribery.”

“Compromise,” he says, smug. “Also, you look cuter in my clothes anyway.”

You roll your eyes and pull the hoodie on. It is soft. And warm. And kind of smells like him and cinnamon.

“…You’re lucky I’m forgiving,” you mumble.

“And you’re lucky I’m good at laundry 87% of the time.”

You shake your head, already smiling. “That 13% is dangerous.”

“I live on the edge,” he smirks, walking away.

You sigh dramatically, flopping onto the bed in your oversized hoodie.

“Next time,” you call out, “I’m making you sort socks for a week.”

“Babe!” he yells and comes back at you making you look up at him. “What now?”

He went to sit beside you on the bed, before suddenly crashing on top of you with all his weight. You let out an exaggerated oof as he smothered you like a human blanket.

“My hourly kiss,” he mumbled against your cheek, already pressing a noisy one there.

You squirm under him, half-laughing, half-annoyed. “You’re so heavy, Sylus—get off before my ribs turn into dust!”

“Nope,” he says, settling in even more like a cat refusing to move. “This is rent. You wore my hoodie. Now you pay in affection.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but your arms are already wrapping around him out of habit.

He lifts his head just enough to look down at you, his grin softening into something gentler. “You love it.”

You wrinkle your nose, but your heart betrays you. “I do.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “Good. Now hurry and give me my kiss.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, lips brushing his in something far sweeter than the bickering that led to it.

And somehow, even after a year and countless ridiculous arguments, it still makes your heart race like it’s the first.

“Mmh..” He smiles into the kiss, like he always does.

You try to pull away, but his grip on you tightens and the kiss turns into something more rougher, more passionate.

“Not done,” Sylus murmurs, his voice low against your lips.

The next kiss catches you off guard—no longer playful, but deeper, rougher. Like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all day. His hand slides to the back of your neck, tilting your face toward him, anchoring you to the moment.

It makes your breath hitch, makes your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid to let go.

It’s still Sylus—still familiar, still home—but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now. Like all the quiet moments, the bickering, the small touches and soft laughs have been building to this. Like he’s telling you something he hasn’t yet found the words for.

When you finally pull back, your lips are tingling and your heart is racing far too fast.

He’s staring at you like you hung the stars.

You swallow. “What was that for?”

He doesn’t smile—just brushes your hair behind your ear and says, “Felt like a good time to remind you.”

You blink. “Remind me of what?”

He leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “That I’m in love with you. And I mean it every hour, not just the one with the kiss.”

Your chest tightens in the best way. You can’t quite speak, but your hand finds his, and that’s enough for now.

“I love you, baby.” He smiles.

And when you reply, he hugs you, wrapping your body in the warmth only he could provide for you. You sigh in his arms in content.

You’re happy, both of you are.

And you couldn't ask for more.

fin.

a/n: hmmm i didn’t expect it to be this long :\ but i hope you guys love this as much as i do! reblogs are very appreciated! do let me know what you guys think? 💭

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seumyo · 3 months ago

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malleus likes your lipstick very much.

NOTE. Fem!Reader a teensy bitsy suggestive <33

Malleus was not a fae easily enchanted by the mundane. But for some bizarre reason, he liked your lip products very much. More so than he’d like to admit.

It was ridiculous; he knew that. A thing so small, so utterly insignificant by the standards of the world he ruled. Lipstick, lip gloss, lip oil—there was a lot he still had to learn about your cosmetics, but he’s doing his best. Such trivial cosmetics. Meant to stain lips, leaving fleeting color and fleeting impressions. But on you? On you? It became something else entirely. It became a brand—a seal of ownership you didn’t even realize you were placing upon him.

And Malleus… Malleus was addicted.

And for all he knew, this encounter had been sudden, unscheduled. He’d come across you in the palace garden at dusk, fireflies beginning to float in slow arcs between the hydrangeas and tall ornamental grasses. You sat on the stone bench under the arching willow tree, humming to yourself, completely unaware of how the fading sunlight gilded you like a painting brought to life.

You were absolutely divine.

He wanted to devour you, lovingly, of course.

And when you turned at his approach, he saw it. That shine. That familiar glimmer on your lips, slick and soft and just a little bit too inviting.

“You’re late,” you teased, rising to your feet. “I waited a whole five minutes.”

“An eternity,” he replied smoothly, though his throat felt tight. “Pardon me for my tardiness, beloved. Allow me to make it up to you.”

You raised a brow, quite curious as to where this was leading. You’ve always known Malleus as someone with a taste for the peculiar. “With a gift? Chocolate? An ancient relic? Perhaps your eternal devotion?”

He took your hands, drawing you close. And Malleus thinks that this is nice, having someone close without them cowering under his mere presence. So this is what it feels like—to love someone so dearly.

“Something sweeter.”

And then he kissed you. No hesitation this time, not like the first kiss you two shared, where you had taken the lead. No gentle testing of the waters. He kissed you with the full weight of all the nights he’d dreamed of your mouth and all the mornings he’d woken wanting it. Your lips were warm and pliant beneath his, tasting delightfully sweet with the kind of joy he hadn’t known existed before you.

You gasped softly against him, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head, feeling the way your hands fisted gently in the front of his coat. And Malleus was right, as always; you tasted divine—the kind that he’ll never grow tired of. If this is how the normal mortals share their passion for one another, then he’ll gladly do it over and over again until you plead for him to stop.

“Mmph! Malleus…”

“Forgive me,” he murmured, already pressing more kisses along the line of your jaw. “I cannot seem to stop.”

You laughed, breathless and golden in the dying light. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

“It might be,” Malleus said solemnly, before licking his lips and tasting your gloss again. “I may be addicted.”

“Oh,” you rolled your eyes, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Let me see—oh my god, Malleus, you’re covered in it.”

He blinked at you, dazed.

“Am I?”

He dares to ask, as if he didn’t have the most smug and contented smile on his face.

“Look,” you said, pulling a small mirror from your pocket and holding it up to his face.

He saw himself: normally regal and composed, and now… now he looked utterly loved. His lips were a mess of smudged gloss, shiny and tinged pink. There was even a faint streak across his jaw where your mouth must’ve dragged in the heat of his embrace and the eager fever to have you this close to him.

“Beautiful,” he said, still breathless.

You sputtered. “Beautiful? You look like someone attacked you with a cosmetics counter.”

He didn’t answer. He was staring at you again, eyes fixed on your lips, still gleaming and slightly panting from the force of your kiss.

“You’re doing it again,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I can’t help it. It’s that lipstick.”

You laughed and took a half-step back, trying to straighten your clothes, only to realize his arms were still around you. “Alright, alright, I’m reapplying it. But if you ruin it again, I will make you carry my bag through the entire academic procession next week.”

“I would carry ten of them,” he said earnestly, “if it meant I could do this again.”

“You helpless sap,” you replied fondly, and kissed him once more—just a soft peck, but enough to freshen the smear of gloss on his mouth.

So, Malleus was absolutely wrecked to let you go. But he had to, for he and you both have responsibilities before getting some sleep.

But he still hadn’t wiped his lips; the glossy, shimmering stain that had a sweeter aftertaste was still evident. He didn’t try to hide the evidence. He simply walked, dreamy and unhurried, and basically floated—because there was no other word for it—floated back to his tower chambers like a man possessed. Everything was a blur to him.

He barely noticed the occasional startled glances from guards or the aghast stare of Sebek, who nearly dropped a scroll upon seeing the normally stoic prince wander by with flushed cheeks and pink-glossed lips.

“Lord Malleus!” Sebek barked, scandalized. “You have… there is… your face is—!”

Malleus didn’t break stride. “She kissed me.”

“I—Yes, but—your appearance—!”

“She kissed me,” Malleus repeated and continued walking, unbothered.

When he finally reached the quiet of his room, he sat on the edge of his vast bed in utter silence for a long moment. The fire in the hearth crackled softly as per his usual request, but he didn’t even notice. His fingers ghosted over his mouth. Still sticky. Still sweet. He leaned back slowly, resting against the pillows like a man struck by lightning and only just realizing it.

“My beloved,” he murmured aloud, reverent. “What have you done to me?”

No courtly intrigue, no diplomatic meeting, and no threat to the kingdom had ever unraveled him like this. Not like the trail of strawberry gloss pressed to his skin. Not like the giggle of his beloved, who kissed him and teased him and unknowingly marked him as yours in every smudged kiss.

He lay there for a while, completely dazed, utterly in love, and positively glowing—still wearing your lipstick like a crown.

So he likes your lipstick and kissing you, so what?

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year ago

Text

♡︎ 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 ♡︎

characters: AFAB!sub!jing yuan, dan heng, blade x gn!dom!reader

warnings: AFAB characters, overstimulation, headcannon+small drabble format, praise, degrading, cock/strap traditions, dacryphilia, usage of bullet vibrator, slight brat taming, nipple stimulation, fingering, oral, cervix fucking, begging, squirting, clit pinching, cock/strap warming, size kink, belly bulge, breeding, creampie, mating press, full nelson, just a personal headcannon of how i think they would act when overstimulated

notes: someone wrote “nobody writes ahegao quite like nobu does” in one of their repost tags and im fucking shitting tears😭😭

the giggler

jing yuan loves to be overstimulated. he loves the feeling of it, the adrenaline rush, the high, the feeling of finally cumming all over your fingers, tongue, strap whatever it may be and the feeling of you continuing to move, drawing out his orgasm while also driving him into an overstimulated mess

has the cutest giggles and laughs when he gets too much pleasure. he doesn’t even try to hide or won’t even try to hide it. why would he when you were making him feel so good over and over again? hell, he even wants other people to hear it, to remind them that you were his lover and only his. and how only he gets to feel the overwhelming amount of pleasure only you can bring to him and no one else

but, it comes with a catch. he needs a lot of foreplay and/or teasing and/or orgasm denial for him to finally cave in and shake his head before starting to blabber incoherent shit about how good your cock feels inside his gushing pussy, how he could feel your tip fucking his cervix, how he wanted you to fuck a baby inside him etc etc

and i mean a LOT of it

as a centuries old war hardened general, it’s safe to say that he had gotten used to some feelings and emotions. pleasure being one of them

so if you want to get him to break and to become absolutely dumb and drunk on lust and pleasure, you have to tease him a lots before getting into it. if not, he will somehow find a way to outsmart you and take the reigns. he’s a bit of a brat and a spoiled prince wrapped up into one after all

will tell you what to do and how to do it if you have failed in getting him needy in your foreplay. he will fist your hair and thrust his hips into your mouth, making you unable to breath for a moment or two with his clit right at your nose. will push you down and flip your positions so he could ride your face, all the while chuckling at your cute attempt to push him back down. a goddamn brat and he will show it to the fullest when you fail at your foreplay

did i mention he was a brat? well now i have. a fucking brat to the max and he isn’t ashamed of it. will definitely question your power in the bedroom, try to overpower you and he will. he literally swings a 7000kg glaive in one hand like its nothing and he will show it by throwing you around. gently and consensually of course, he wouldn’t want to hurt his beloved

but fully expect him to be cocky and devious. “can you say no to my pretty pussy?”, “so sleepy. oh sorry, i didn’t know your cock was inside me hehe”, “was that all?” you get the gist. will shamelessly yawn in the middle of fucking not because he is sleepy or tired, but simply because he is a brat. a goddamn brat

so, how can you get him to be needy and won’t make him go into his bratty side? simple. shove a long distance controlled vibrator inside his cunt and leave it there for the whole day for him to suffer at work. but if you’re going to do that, be sure to mute the ringtone for your phone for the day since he will call you, send you messages, pictures, videos every damn hour. the closer his hour for shift ending comes, the more frequent the buzzing of your phone will become because he will grow much more needier

when finally he’s back home and frantically pawing at your pants when barely through the doors, that’s when you know he had absolutely no intention of being a brat. how can he when his whole pants were slowly getting stained from his multiple orgasms?

when he’s gladly bending himself over, arching his back for you as he wiggles his hips, he will ask you to come inside. jing yuan is great with kids and such a huge family man, he will ask you over and over repeatedly to breed him. cum inside him, fill up his cute dripping cunt, put him in whatever position you want and make sure to breed his pretty cunt, you can finally raise your own family together!

remember the long distance controlled vibrator i mentioned? make sure to keep it on and buzzing inside his cunt at all times when he’s away at work, or else it won’t work. during meetings or report hearings, jing yuan had to leave to the bathroom a lot of times and it genuinely got his subordinates concerned for his health. the red face, the heavy breathing and sometimes, the jolts of his body or the bleeding bruised lips of his made the cloud knights worry and some even suggested for him to leave the seat of divine foresight early to look after his health. if only they knew just how their dearest general was pathetically biting on his hand to muffle his screams in the bathroom as he squirted all over himself

“[naaammeee], ‘m mmgh♡︎! aaaaangh haah mngck♡︎♡︎ i-i’m home!” jing yuan’s voice called out, weak mewls of pleasure slipping through as he collapsed onto the floor the moment the doors of your shared home was closed. desperately humping the floor, trying to push the vibrator deeper into his gushing pussy, your lover didn’t realize that you were leaning against the wall of the kitchen, watching him with a knowing smile. there was a wet patch growing in his usual red pants, growing more and more the further he humped the air in desperation. see? your tough brat was so easy to tame.

“you feeling okay, darling?” you call out, taking out the controlled from your pants pocket and messing with the switch. flipping it up, down, up to the highest level, before going to the lowest level. it was cute to see the ever so tough brat turn into a delirious mess from just a single small toy. all because he was being so stubborn about how you weren’t the boss of him. walking over to where he was kneeling on the floor, you reach your free hand out. tilting his head up, a thumb swiping away at the drool that was beginning to pool on his lower lip, you tilt your head to the side, asking the question again with a firm hold onto his chin.

“n-no…! no no no, not at aamgh♡︎♡︎ h-hhaaaggm not at all♡︎!” he shakes his head viciously, dragging out his words and tripping over them with moans and mewls falling in between. pathetically, he tugs on the hem of your pants, trying to get to his favorite treat, the one thing he’s been missing this whole day.

“n-need you… need you right now, need your—♡︎♡︎! need yo-our..! c-cock right now...♡︎!” jing yuan mutters between whimpers, finally, his shaky hands manage to pull down your pants and undergarments just enough to have your strap out. a needy whine falling as he places slobbering wet kisses on the tip, giving it a few licks as he flutters his lashes at you in an effort to manipulate you to give him what he was non-verbally asking.

knowing full well that he wouldn’t take no for an answer and that yanqing might come home soon, you drag him up to his feet — an action that was heavily protested against as jing yuan cries out after his favorite treat being taken away. once inside the comfort of your shared bedroom, by the time you have locked the door behind you, he was already naked. clothes messily strewn on the floor and on the bed, the many orgasm’s slick dripping down his puffy cunt to his ass and to the bedsheets eventually. you could see the light trembling of his pussy lips, an action caused by the vibrator fucking away inside him still.

turning the vibrator off, you take the toy out of his puffy cunt. jing yuan let out a drawn out mewl at the feeling, clenching around nothing as he tries to replace the empty feeling for something, anything. but seeing you starting to strip, he knew what he wanted. and he knew how he wanted it.

spreading his legs open further, his hand comes down, flicking at his enlarged clit with a jolt before spreading open his labia for you to take in how he was already so needily wet and dripping for you. a drunk giggle escaping him when the tip of your cock is right against his folds, wiggling his hips enticingly.

“[nnaameeee]~ you gotta fuck a baby in me this time, owhkayyy?♡︎♡︎ hehehe♥︎”

the crybaby

the cutest out of all three of them, in my personal opinion

he just gets overstimmed so easily and quickly, it’s adorable in the way that he brokenly begs for a moment of respite. legs shaking, smaller body jolting violently at the smallest of touches like your hand ghosting over his hardened nipples. don’t even get me started on the way he cutely squeals out loud when you pinch his clit augh

maybe it’s due to his nature as a vidyadhara and not a full human but every little touch is received with so much sensitivity and sensuality, it gets so easy to turn him into a blabbering mess in record time. push his smaller body against the wall and finger his gushing pussy while rolling your thumb over his clit. in no time, his legs are shaking as he bites your hand, his orgasm washing over him quickly and violently. but don’t just stop there, keep flicking at his clit, pinch it, tug on it, push a hand on the small bulge on his belly and he’ll be left sobbing by the second or third round

he’s noticeably smaller than the other two and it carries out into his size kink so well. he just wants to be pushed around and put into impossible, near painful positions and man-handled until he’s left a blabbering idiot

make him cockwarm you while asking him to read you a story or a book under the guise that you had a nightmare and can’t fall asleep without his soothing voice and soft cunny wrapped around your cock. at first he’ll huff and puff, saying that you’re a liar and just wants to fuck him. four or five pages in and his voice is already strained, whines coming out as hiccups and sniffles follow soon after

but just because he’s a crybaby doesn’t mean he’s an idiot. he knows how much you love his pretty steel grey eyes unfocused and hazy, brimming with tears and he will use that to his advantage. will make sure to play with his nipples or push down on the bulge in his tummy when cockwarming you so he could get teary eyed quicker. the moment he sniffles and grinds himself down on you, he knows you’re a goner and would give him what he wants

he may be a crybaby, but he’s also a goddamn minx so beware of that

tugs on your sleeve so cutely, looking at you with a flushed face and stuttered words to ask you if you wanna spend time with him in his room. today’s trailblazing expedition was too long and tiring after all, “surely you would enjoy some cuddles…?” or “i just wanted to help you patch up your wounds. i was just worried”

yeah sure, dan heng. just say that you wanna get fucked until you’re squealing out like a slut with fat tears running down your cute red cheeks. thank the aeons the express’ walls are thick and soundproof. if not, who knows the amount of noise complaint you would have gotten from everyone

has slight oral fixation. slightly. but that’s only because he wants to see you crumble and give into his non-verbal demands and just ruin him. he’s a bit too shy to ask directly after all

long serpentine tongue wrapping around your strap, pulling it into his mouth. will gag and choke so loudly with the tip of the fat dildo pushed right down his throat, hitting his uvula and choking his throat. he can complain about sore throats and pained jaws all he wants but you both know that he loves to suckle on your strap with tears filling his eyes

the most messiest cock sucker and that’s saying something bc blade is the one who has the biggest oral fixation out of the three of them. he’ll place wet kisses to the weeping tip of your cock, running the slitted snake like tongue over the weeping slit of your cock teasingly before wrapping it around your dick. loves the scent and the taste of your pre, basically addicted to it as he opens his mouth wider, slipping your cock inside the warm cavern of his mouth inch by inch

but be aware that he will also try to take advantage of this position. he will try to bat his lashes at you so he can continue suckling on your strap like he would be sucking on a lolipop, all under the guise to ‘make you happy’. when in reality, he would try to make you cum over and over to try and get you overstimulated. when in such position, just fist his hair and fuck his throat. gets him crying in no time like the crybaby he is

“… bamboo whispers in the w-wind, a secret pa-aaangh! aah aaah hmgk♡︎ a s-secret pa-act... ♡︎!“ the soothing voice of your lover drawls out into a weak sniffle, hands gripping the book filled with love poetry from his home planet tightly. so tight, you feared that he might just tear the book apart with his claws. you had crawled into his bed yet again to torment him today, the dildo hitting all the sensitive spots in his gushing cunt, dan heng couldn’t help but weakly whine when your hands around his waist tightens to not let him move.

“go on. i’m listening” you coo out, forcing him to stay still on your lap while his voice continue to drawl out. sniffles and broken pleads replacing his ever so stoic mask, a voice that is usually so cold and distant, always scolding other turning into one of mindless blabber about how badly he wanted your strap to fuck his pussy. you couldn’t help but laugh.

“is that what it says on the pages? i may be still learning the strokes but the next line seems to be the stroke for two” you point at the kanji on the book he was holding in his shaking hands, the strokes of the language seeming familiar to you. it was an easy kanji to read after all. yet not to your boyfriend it seems.

“please! p-please please move! i beg you, [n-naamee]♡︎ you gotta fuck meeh♡︎ you gotta fuck me you gotta fuck me— you have to fuck meeegck—♡︎♡︎!!” dan heng squeals, shaking thighs bucking down onto your dick, trying to gain some friction. it was enough, he had read you hundreds of love poetries from his home planet. he had been taking your pronged torture for long enough, please just fuck his cunt already!

“so impatient” you huff, putting the book away with a book marker tucked between the pages before hooking your hands under his knees. pulling him up and over until dan heng was left wailing at the sudden change in position. hooking your arms under his knees, his legs are left dangling in the air with nothing to support himself but for his hands to cling to your biceps. even then, he couldn’t hold for long as he jolts about in your arms like a hopping bunny, painting your dildo in his cum when the tip kissed his cervix.

“guuchk♥︎!! d-deep! aah ah naahmg haah t-too deep♡︎♡︎ [n-name] you’re f-fucckk fuck fuck—♡︎♥︎ fucking my cerviinxx my ceerrvv—♡︎♡︎ mngh unngya♥︎!” punched out sobs comes from his pretty lips, drawling out into whiny cries when you move him up and down. you could see the bulge in his tummy appear and disappear every little moment. every jolt, every gasp, every little whiny cry making the bulge in his tummy to get more detailed. he was so adorably small.

“‘m sorry, darling. i’m sorry, didn’t mean it. didn’t mean to fuck you this deep” you coo out apologies, lifting him just a bit so your strap won’t sink so deep to the point it would kiss his cervix. as much as you loved your crybaby gasping and writhing, you didn’t want the reason for such reaction to be pain.

claws scratching at every inch of skin he could touch, jaw slack open in a silent scream, you could barely make out his shrill yell of what appears to be your name when dan heng squirts over your cock after just a few thrusts. you could see the overflowing amount of cum just dripping down your cock, trailing down to your legs and staining the mattress. with a click of your tongue, you pinched his clit, making the shorter man sniffle with a squeal.

“‘m soowryyy… sorry sorry—♡︎ d-didn’t mean to be bad... s-soowwh uunhg hyaagk ungc gugcck—♥︎♥︎!!”

the hissy bitch

alright, so i know i’m going into territory that has been charted way too many times before by blade lovers standard but he def has piercings. on his nipples, tongue and on his clit. probably got the first three by losing a drunk bet or something or maybe he just wanted it but the last one, the clit one, is definitely his latest piercing. one that he got after his relationship with you began and he had made the sudden rash decision to get one so he could see your reaction and to feel you just messing with it while fucking him

there is a REASON why he always keeps his chest bandaged up. there is a goddamn reason and that reason is his nipple piercings and the fact that his chest is generally very sensitive im being delusional

so what does that bring and why have i specified it? simple. titty fucking. nipple stimulation. seeing his pretty big, round chest jiggle every time your cock sinks back into his dripping cunt. pinch it, roll it, tug on them, suckle on them, do anything to him with his nipple piercing and he’s scratching at your back, mauling it like an animal

the reason i see him as a hissy bitch is because he likes to throw small temper tantrums when he gets too overstimulated. he’s crying, begging, hitting your shoulders, back, scratching at them and leaving deep red scratch marks, perhaps even breaking the skin sometimes. how come blade get overstimulated quickly? because he is very touch deprived. he’s been alone and immortal for too damn long and his ass is fucking touch starved. i just know it in my bones

genuinely, he is indeed very touch starved. since his rebirth as an immortal, he had felt nothing but pain, anguish and suffering and therefore, has basically gotten immune to touches. especially the violent and bloody ones. but gentle, tender, affectionate ones? find him jumping away from your soft hands like a frightened cat, it’s goddamn heartbreaking. so when he finally gets his cunt fucked, blade would be overstimmed too fast due to receiving a sudden abundance of affection and touches

will shake his head ‘no’ when asked if you would wanna stop due to his tears. you were just concerned but blade didn’t wanted this onslaught of pleasure to stop. desperately rides your fingers, mouth, strap — anything. loves the feeling of being on top of you, gives him the slight feeling of being in control. until it all gets thrown out the window when you force him to stop bouncing, hands gripping his hips tightly as a warning. will whine and try to grind down, trying to chase that high again but will only end up with a pout and hissy tears falling down his cheeks

another one who loves the feeling of being stuffed full and overstimulated. it’s almost like he gets high from the feeling. loves having his pussy fucked in any way you please until he can’t stay on his hands or feet without shaking. it’s just so cute to see him shaking like a fawn when fucking him doggy style

prepare to have yourself used as a chew toy as well as a scratcher. blade’s almost like a cat, hissy and whiny but also so greedy and preferring certain things in certain manner. will bite at your shoulders, hands, fingers to muffle himself but also to try and get his shit together. will scratch at your back, thighs, wherever he could reach. such a spoiled brat

when eating him out, be sure to give an extra care and love to his clit piercing. constantly flicking it with your tongue would usually work though, gets his legs all shaky and jolty soon enough. maybe pair it with flicking his pierced nubs and bladie will be squirting into your mouth with an embarrassing high pitched shriek. make sure to clean up all of his mess before diving right back into his gushing cunny. he may not say it but he will expect you to go back to eating him out like he’s your last meal

has the BIGGEST oral fixation out of the three of them. like, down bad, delicious, scrumptious, sloppy oral fixation. and he is happy to give it 90% of the times due to his tongue piercing. knows how good it makes you feel and how you like to see his pretty face between your legs, sucking on the large dildo like his life depends on it. not a single thought or a single moment of choking from him, it’s almost like he doesn’t have a gag reflex

you just came back from mission, from being away from him even for a single day? unacceptable. let him bend over for you, you can get your stress out by fucking his already dripping wet pussy. too tired? that’s fine. take of your pants and get comfortable cuz’ he can stay between your legs for days

not a single minute of respite has greeted you ever since you came back from your latest mission, stepping foot into your shared home with your stoic lover. perhaps the single gentle kiss to your cheek before he started to leave slobbering wet kisses on your lips was the only warning and moment of rest you have gotten. not even shoes off yet and blade was already unbuckling your belt, giving you the puppy eyes and grumbling about how you’ve been away for too damn long. whining about how much he missed you and needed your strap to fuck him dumb. how his pretty pussy had missed you so much.

“n-nnghyaa♡︎♡︎ m-missed you... missed you s’ much, [name]! f-fuck me fuck me fuck me, fuck your favorite cunt gyyuck—♥︎♥︎ a-aaanh! haah ah ah mmngk—♡︎♥︎!!” unusually docile red eyes roll to the back of his skull, jaw going slack wide open as you push his legs up, feeling your strap hit him deeper than he thought was possible. he could feel your weight push him down, keeping it still on the bed and to stop him from wiggling his hips entirely. this new position caused his cat like pupils to widen, turning into heart shapes as you chuckle at the dazed look in his eyes.

“such a needy brat” you coo out in a condescending manner, pushing his legs up in the air with your hands hooked under his knees to keep him in place. pulling out until halfway out, you sink back into blade’s dripping cunt. a squeal tearing from his throat alongside the filthy wet squelch of his cunt tightening around your dildo. it was so easy to get him dumb.

“t-too nngh much! too muchtoomuchtoomuch♡︎! fucking m-my womb—♡︎ [n-name], y-youuwrr crush— crushing my wombgg aangh ah ah! gyyuck eengh aaangh nyaagh♥︎♥︎!!” the familiar feeling of his nails scratching at your arms takes place, tearing at the skin, clawing at any part of your body he can come in contact with. a desperate attempt to ground his already long gone mind, too deep into the throes of pleasure that he didn’t even realize his shaking hands were weakly pulling your hips to fuck deeper into his warm walls.

“don’t be so dramatic, bladie. i won’t be able to crush your womb in this position” you coo out mockingly, wiping away the fat globs of tears that continue to pour of his eyes. red and yellow eyes rolled to the back of his skull, wide open mouth letting out the most salacious squeals and shrieks of your name and how you were fucking his womb falling out. legs weakly dangling in the air, jolting and bristling at every deep thrust you fuck into his velvety walls. the lewd wet squelching noises were alongside your grunts and blade’s whiny sobs were the only noise in the room. you would probably get noise complaints the next morning due to blade’s loudmouthed blabbering self.

letting go of one of his legs, you shove your fingers into his mouth. almost as if it was an instinct, blade’s tongue wet your fingers. suckling on the two digits as it his life depended on it with the most cutest heart shaped pupils staring at you. once you deemed them wet enough, you take your fingers out of his mouth. an action that blade showed his hatred towards as his pierced tongue comes past his lips, trying to chase after your fingers.

“gghcck—♡︎♥︎♥︎♥︎!!” a sharp wail taking place as blade arches his back, his whole body shaking, soft big tits jiggling when you pinched at his pierced clit. rolling, tugging, flicking at the hardened nub as blade sobs about cumming before drenching your cock with his squirting. you had thought of him to be satisfied with it, but turns out you have underestimated your lover’s neediness when his strong scarred thighs comes to wrap around your waist, legs locked behind your back when you tried to pull out.

sigh… it’s times like this that makes you glad for your amount of stamina.

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coffeewasamistake · 1 month ago

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Billie Jean (Eddie's not the father, dude)

(read part two)

For the Mini Pride Bingo hosted by @genderthings.

[AO3]

Prompt: 90s et Eddie Munson | Rating: T | WC: 1239 | Relationships : Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin&Eddie Munson Tags: Rock star Eddie Munson, interview, coming out

Summary:

After five albums and two tours, Corroded Coffin has made it. They're famous, they're beloved, and everyone want to interview the new metal phenomenon. But now a groupie is telling everyone she's pregnant with Eddie's child. You can't blame the guy for losing it on live TV.

The interview had barely started, and Eddie was already losing it. Corroded Coffin had made it; they were releasing album after album and everyone in the metal scene fucking loved their music. They should be talking about songwriting, their inspirations, the difficulties they had with some songs, their last album or if they were planning to go on tour soon. But no. Eddie had been on the cover of so many tabloids these last months, and, of course, that dumb excuse of a reporter had to bypass their manager’s demands and talk about the Rumor.*

“Now, we all heard the story, Eddie.” The interviewer had a smarmy smile plastered on his face, and the way he looked at Eddie was almost predatory. “So tell me, when did you first cross paths with Jessica Marsh? It must have been at a meet-and-greet, no?”

The question brought a wave of anger amongst the members of the band.

“Listen,” Eddie hissed, “for the last time, I don’t know that girl, okay? If we did meet at some point, I have no memory of it, and her whole story is just a bunch of lies.”

“That’s understandable. You must see a lot of different people when you tour, and you’re bound to forget a few faces, even those you got really acquainted with, am I right?”

Gareth intervened. “Dude, you’re pushing it. Can we get back to the album?”

“Of course we’re gonna talk about the album, don’t worry, we are all very excited about the new music Corroded Coffin is going to offer us. With a name like Thou shalt not kill, I can already say it’s going to offend a good number of people!”

“We don’t really care if we offend people or not,” Jeff answered. “Thou shalt not kill is an accusation, a way of fighting back against all the people who had tried to take us down, to silence us. To make us disappear. We open up a lot about our teenage years in a small-minded town in the middle of nowhere, and everything we had to go through growing up. This is not a nice album, because our lives weren’t nice back then, and if people are offended, I’m telling you, they are part of the problem.”

“Well, your new album sounds even more interesting! I think we all agree here that your fans are going to love learning more about your past, and how you ended up where you are.” The interviewer stopped for a second, a predatory glint in his eyes. “But I have to wonder, Eddie, you are the one doing most of the writing, right? Surely the news of your impending fatherhood must have had an influence on your creative mind?”

“Fuck, what do you want me to do?” Eddie stood up, arms flying in the air. “Should I scream it, sing it, sign it? Do you want me to draw a goddamn diagram? What will make you understand? I did not sleep with that Jessica girl, and she’s definitely not pregnant with my child.” He plopped down on his seat, seemingly exhausted by the accusation and his own answer. “I’m not the father, period.”

It was not enough to stop the man in front of him.

“Surely, with all the groupies throwing themselves at you, you could have slept with her and forgotten about it.”

Eddie buried his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths. Then, he hit the table three times with his open palm. “Rob Halford.”

Jeff immediately threw himself backward on his chair. “Fucking finally!” He almost screamed before knocking on the table in response.

Gareth pumped his fist, Freak nodded, and both did the same knock.

The interviewer looked at them with a questioning look.

“What is happening?” he asked. “Are you having a little discussion in code? Do you have secret Corroded Coffin informations the fans should know about? A collaboration with Rob Halford, maybe?”

“Funny how you’re coming back to relevant topics now,” Eddie replied, disdain clear on his face. “No, we don’t have a collaboration planned with him, even if it would be fucking metal to work with the man. But if you want to gossip instead of talking about your music, yeah, I have something to say. Nothing everyone is entitled to know, because that’s my personal life, but clearly no one is going to drop this stupid rumor, and I’m tired of it. Do you want to know why Miss Marsh’s accusations are ridiculous?”

“Oh yeah, please, tell us everything!”

“People keep saying I’m lying about not sleeping with that girl, either because I don’t want to take responsibility for my actions or because I fucked so many groupies I don’t even remember it.” Eddie leaned over the table, his eyes staring holes in the man interviewing them. “But you know what the truth is? I never slept with any of these girls who are throwing themselves at me at the end of every concert.”

“That’s not what I heard!”

“Yeah, well, reputations don’t always portray reality. I don’t sleep with groupies, I don’t sleep with journalists who want to gain information, I don’t sleep with hotel employees, waiters, bartenders, flight attendants or random people I meet on tour or at the grocery store. Do I have a healthy and fulfilling sex life? Yes. Do I have a list of hookups longer than the Lord of the Ring trilogy? No. I’ve been consistently fucking the same person, thank you very much.”

“You mean the famously single Eddie Munson is finally taken? Perish the thought! Your poor fans are gonna be devastated! How long has it been going on? Longer than six months? Which is, for the reminder, dear spectators, when Jessica Marsh says she has slept with our darling Eddie and fell pregnant.”

“It’s been years man. And no, I never cheated. In fact, I’m still dating the person I lost my virginity with, and I’m never planning on seeing anyone else. And last I checked, which was…” Eddie briefly looked at his watch, “Forty-eight minutes ago, my man does not have the necessary equipment to fall pregnant.”

The journalist choked on his spit. “Excuse me? Your man?”

“Yes, my man. Cause I’m a goddam fag.” Eddie’s smile was all teeth. “You don’t like it? Deal with it, I don’t give a shit. Steve and I, we’ve been together since ’86. He gave me the inspiration for a lot of song lyrics, but most of the time I had to change the pronouns so my label would accept them.” His violent smile disappeared, leaving only tiredness behind. “Most of them still only exist on paper because being gay is apparently a crime in the music industry and my producer would not let me make a whole album about Stevie.”

Eddie buried his face in his hand and took a deep breath.

“Well,” the journalist said, “that’s not quite what we were all expecting from this interview.” He cleared his throat. “So, about that new album of yours…”

Freak’s laugh interrupted him.

“Man, you really think we’re gonna answer your questions after all that bullshit. Nah, this interview is over.” He jumped to his feet, followed by two of his bandmates. “We’re leaving.”

Gareth tugged on Eddie’s arm until he stood up with them.

The last image the journalist got of Corroded Coffin was Freak’s raised middle finger as they walked out.

#prompt: 90s #prompt: Eddie Munson #stranger things #eddie munson #corroded coffin #famous eddie munson #rock star eddie munson #stranger things fic #steddie #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #gender things #pride things bingo #pridethingsbingo

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sugarhog05 · 3 months ago

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Sun usually loves parties. He used to not think it was possible for there to be a bad party. And then Eclipse started taking him to political parties. By the stars did he loathe political parties. He’s yet to find another animatronic royal that didn’t bore him to absolute death.

So when Sun made his way to the balcony outside instead of mingling like he usually did, you grew concerned. You desperately followed behind him in the split of the crowd he made as he walked. You ignored the judging stares of the guests, knowing that they disapproved of a human being amongst them. You sighed as you stepped outside, the immediate relief of getting out from the crowded space was immense. Sun was unusually quiet as he leaned onto the marble railing.

“Prince Sun?” You waited, and each passing moment made your chest tighten with worry. “My Prince, is everything alright?”

You jump as Sun lets out a loud groan, “I hate these stupid parties! All everyone talks about is trade routes and territories and, and… arranged marriages! It’s maddening!” You take a deep breath before joining him at the railing. It was almost comical how tall the railing was in comparison to you, as it came up to your shoulders. You opt for leaning your back against it instead of looking out over the castle grounds like Sun currently was. He glances over at you, and does an incredibly poor job of hiding his amusement at this fact.

You give him a glare, “Oh, quit it. It’s not my fault you animatronics are so tall.” He laughs before giving you a blinding grin, “I didn’t say anything!” You side eye him, but say nothing. The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sound to accompany you is the muffled music and chatter from inside. You sigh in contentment at his side, him glancing at you a moment. The midsummer air was slightly humid, and the sky was completely clear. A peaceful night to be sure.

“So… not a fan of politics? Must be difficult considering you’re a Prince and all.” You want to comfort him, but it had never been a strength of yours. You curse yourself, as you’d never felt it necessary to learn social skills. Opting instead for your sword to do most of the talking. After a bit of silence you glance over at him, and you’re surprised to see him staring back. He quickly averts his gaze, going back to looking over the grounds. His cheeks a slightly warmer color.

“N-no, not really. It’s something that’s never really interested me. Trade and relations with other nations have always been more of Eclipse and Moons thing. If I had the choice I probably wouldn’t be here at all.” He sighs before continuing, “But! We must keep up appearances.” He gives you a strained smile, and you wish for nothing more than to bring back that wonderful grin he wore moments prior.

“Well… no one’s around right now. You don’t have to wear a mask right now… if you’re comfortable with that, of course. I don’t mean to overstep, my Prince.” You quickly add on that last part, realizing how unprofessional you had sounded. You look over at him, hoping that you don’t see an offended Prince in front of you. You’re taken off guard however, as his expression is one of complete surprise.

“You… you didn’t overstep. I am just… surprised to see you care so much. I truly appreciate that, my Swordsman.” He leans down, hands folded neatly behind his back. You still have to crane your neck to look at him, and your chest feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest. You hope with how close he is he can’t see your face through your helmet, because you can physically feel your face being scorched by a blush. You gulp, “…Your Swordsman?” He shoots up and his hands start to wave wildly.

“W-well, that is to say- I mean…” You cut him off, “Shh… My Prince, be quiet a moment.” He instantly shuts up, his eyes widening as you draw your beloved sword from its sheath. The air is still, before suddenly erupting into chaos. Metal against metal clangs loudly in your ears, but you are unrelenting in your defense of your Prince. There are three of them you note as the red and blue one, their leader you assumed, barked orders in a language you could not understand. The green animatronic and the pink and blue one form a pincer maneuver, and you curse under your breath. The green one is slightly faster than the pink and blue one, so you side step around Sun and slice at wires that were exposed at the knee joints. It instantly buckles as the connection to its central processor is cut.

You pivot and duck behind Sun just as the pink and blue one reaches him. They put up a bit more of a fight but you quickly disarm them. As they stagger backwards you seize the opportunity and cleave straight through where their head meets their shoulders. You usher Sun back towards the doors, making sure to keep your body between him and the third assassin. This third assassin looks to his fallen comrades and a rage that hadn’t been there before overtakes his face. He comes at you with a strength and vigor only an animatronic could possess, and he begins to over whelm you. He takes the opportunity to make a move for Sun, and you have to make a decision. You raise your sword defensively to protect Sun, knowing you would leave yourself open. The assassin takes the opportunity to slash at your side, but you are able to drive your sword in between where his chest plate and stomach meet. Effectively piercing directly into his fuel line, the equivalent of a heart for animatronics. He staggers back, your sword still in his grasp. You watch him as he falls backwards, dead.

You stalk over to the green animatronic, who falls back and desperately attempts to scoot away from you. You kick him in the chest causing him to lay flat on his back. As you stand over him he pleads for you not to kill him. At least, you’re 90% sure that’s what he was saying. You’d seen it many times before, even if you couldn’t understand exactly what he was saying. You kneel down, one foot on his forearm and your gloved hand roughly grasping his circuitry.

“Do you understand me?” You ask monotonously, and when he doesn’t answer you lean into the foot on his forearm. The plating starts to warp under the pressure and his face twists in pain. “Yes! Yes, I understand.” He breaks disappointingly quickly. “Who sent you?” He looks around frantically before becoming deathly still as your grip tightens on the vital circuitry that runs along his neck. “Who. Sent. You.” He starts to cry oily tears, mumbling pathetically. “Can’t say… can’t. Kill me if I do.” You put your full weight onto his forearm and there’s a sickening crack as it breaks in half. He cries in agony.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” You say coldly as he writhes beneath you. He feels uncomfortably hot as his fans work on overdrive to cool him due to his panic. “Rabbit… rabbit! All I can say!” You narrow your eyes. “Good enough.” There’s a look of hope in his eyes that is quickly replaced by a blank stare as you violently rip out the wires that made him, him. You turn to the red and blue one and kneel before him. You grasp the handle of your sword and rip it from him, a viscous oil spurts out as you do, getting all over the front of your shirt. You curse, and turn your head towards Sun.

“Are you okay my Prince?” …Your Prince does not respond.

#fnaf sun #sundrop #fnaf au #the starlit swordsman au #knight y/n #cw blood #cw dismemberment #sugarhogsart

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cece693 · 6 months ago

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Are You Sure It's Just A Childhood Friend?

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: possessive hannigram, childhood friend, male reader is affectionate, hints of future violence, reader is blind to danger, part two (if it's desired)

This new FBI agent was getting on Hannibal and Will's nerves—a man who had Jack's relentless need to place the Chesapeake ripper behind bars would always be bothersome, but for the man to have some connection, a large one at that, to their beloved was an offense they couldn't overlook.

Childhood friend was the moniker you gave Nathan Carter—inseparable in school, sharing playdates on the weekends—but Hannibal, ever perceptive, noticed just how this pig looked at you. Devotion, hunger, lust. Emotions that drive people to extremes, ones which Hannibal knew all too well.

In the dim light of Hannibal’s office, Will paced, agitation evident in his taut shoulders and the sharp twitch of his jaw. The quiet hush of the room only magnified his irritation.

“He had the audacity to ask him out on a date,” Will growled, finally stopping to look at Hannibal. “You should’ve seen him, his eyes staring at him as if he hung the moon and stars. It was disgusting.”

Hannibal stood behind his desk, hands loosely clasped. He regarded Will with an almost unnerving calm, though a subtle tightening at the corners of his mouth betrayed a hint of displeasure. “And did he agree?” he asked evenly.

“No,” Will replied quickly, “thankfully we already made plans this weekend...but that’s beside the point. The fact that Nathan thought he could just swoop in like that—” His words cut off in a frustrated huff.

Hannibal inclined his head. “He certainly seems ambitious,” he commented drily. “I surmise our beloved does not realize the depth of Nathan’s intentions. He’s too kind, too eager to see the best in others.”

Will scowled. “Worse, he still thinks of Nathan as that same goofy kid from school—the one who’d share his lunch with him just to make him smile. He's oblivious to Nathan's feelings. How easily his infatuation can turn dangerous."

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth curved in the faintest, dangerous smile. “I do recognize obsession when I see it. And our dear friend is quite transparent: thinking a childhood promise can blossom into something more...blatantly ignoring the present reality.”

Will’s expression darkened. “He's trying to rip him away from us. I can’t stand the thought of that creep trailing after him, giving him that look, pressing him to go somewhere alone.”

Hannibal stepped around the desk, approaching Will with deliberate grace. The lamplight caught the angles of his face, lending him an almost predatory air. “Then we shall ensure Nathan respects boundaries,” His hand reached out to settle on Will’s neck, a quiet, grounding gesture.

Will allowed himself to be guided to the leather chair, though his restless energy kept him perched on the edge. “But how? We can't dispose of him like usual. It'll draw attention unto us." Will can't held but close his eyes, Hannibal's touch soothing his nerves and current anger.

“Yes, I suppose you're right," Hannibal mused with a cool glint in his eye, "Perhaps the best course of action is to show Nathan our beloved is unavailable. Maintain our usual routine as to prevent them spending unnecessary time alone. Dinner at my home, quiet weekends at Wolf Trap with you. Or we can always suggest new tasks for Carter—Jack is always eager to shift resources if it means more productivity on the Ripper case.”

Will brows furrowed. “If Nathan gets too close to the Ripper investigation, that might be dangerous for you.”

Hannibal laughed, a rich sound that immediately eased Will’s worries. “Men like Nathan rarely see beyond their own hearts and ambitions. I will handle him if he becomes a threat.”

“Fine,” Will replied, voice still tight. “But no extremes—yet. He wouldn’t forgive us if we did something drastic.”

Hannibal’s long finger played with the hair on Will’s nape, the gentle caress contrasting with the darker undercurrent in his voice. “Of course not,” he answered smoothly. “We shall be prudent.”

Will trusted Hannibal’s judgment, aware the man was planning something—not only to delay his capture by the FBI but also to keep Nathan from stealing their other half. The tension in Will’s jaw refused to dissipate, however, at the way Nathan pushed himself into your life.

You weren’t at fault—your open-hearted warmth was part of your charm—but Nathan believed it meant more. That every casual hug translated into an invitation. That your bright smiles were solemn vows you’d forsake your lovers and marry him on the spot. It was pathetic. Unrealistic. Insulting.

Because what could Nathan give you that he or Hannibal hadn’t already? Who could love you more, revere you like a divine being stepping down to earth, and then devote themselves, body and soul?

"You're doing it again."

Will looked away from his boyfriend to Beverly, who had her arms crossed over her chest and wore a smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.” Beverly rolled her eyes. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re imagining a hundred ways to chase off competition.”

Will shifted on his feet, an old defensive habit. “It’s not that,” he insisted, though his tone lacked conviction. “He’s just irritating.”

Beverly arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You don’t do well with people who orbit too close to your inner circle, especially when that circle includes your boyfriends.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Beverly raised a hand. “It’s so obvious, Will. And I can’t exactly blame you. Nathan’s a nice guy—polite, quick to help out—but there’s something off about him.” Her gaze flicked sideways, ensuring no one was listening.

“He’s infatuated. Not in the ‘oh, cute, a little crush’ way. More like obsessed.” She lowered her voice. “Even Jack’s noticed how he hovers around him.”

Will’s lips pressed into a thin line. Jack, too? So it wasn’t just Will’s own jealousy picking up on the danger. “He should back off,” he muttered. “I’ve tried to warn him, but he’s not getting it.”

Beverly shifted her weight, uncrossing her arms. “Have you told him how you feel? That you’re worried?”

He shrugged. “Not directly. Hannibal and I—we’ve both tried talking to him.” Will’s eyes fell on the tiles, suddenly anxious about revealing too much. “We don’t want to push him away by seeming controlling.”

Beverly gave a gentle snort. “Protective, controlling—sometimes there’s a thin line. I get it, though. You’re just worried. He's got a big heart, and Nathan’s using every ounce of that sympathy.”

Will exhaled, raking a hand through his curls. “You’ve seen how affectionate he is—always has been. Nathan’s reading way too much into it.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Beverly replied. “Look, I thought you should know: Nathan asked me earlier for advice on how he could ‘make a grand gesture’ to prove himself.” She paused, watching the way Will’s eyes darkened. “It sounded…extreme.”

His jaw clenched. “Dammit.”

“Relax, or try to,” Beverly said softly. “If Nathan crosses a line, I’ll have your back. Just…keep an eye on him. The last thing we need is some unhinged agent making trouble.”

Will nodded, gratitude and worry warring on his face. “Thanks, Bev.”

She gave him a warm pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Don’t mention it. Just keep your head, Will. No crazy stunts. You know how Jack hates drama in the workplace.”

Will watched her go, mind whirling. He couldn’t banish the mental image of Nathan taking some drastic action to ‘win’ you over. He swallowed hard, pushing off the wall and heading towards his office to notify Hannibal about the recent revelation. They tried to resolve this peacefully, but it only seems that violence will teach Nathan not to encroach on what's his.

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spicygrilledscorpio · 1 year ago

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Cat got her tongue - LN

Summary: Y/n is in heat and is too shy to ask for Lando’s help. While her lovely boyfriend decided to be a tease.

Warnings: SMUT, horny!shy!reader, teaser!Lando, fingering (f!receiving), pet names, penetrative sex, unprotected (don’t do that), orgasm denial (i think that’s it lemme know if missed any)

Notes: My first fic hit 1k i’m so happy, thank you for you guys support. Also still English is not my first language so sorry if anything sounds weird. Hopes you guys enjoy 💗

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Y/n is probably the shyest person Lando ever met, and that’s also his favorite thing about her. However surprisingly, Y/n and Lando have a very high sex drive. Because of y/n’s shyness, she never says no to Lando, but he always makes sure she’s ok with it of course.

However, today was another case. They were chilling on the sofa in Lando’s apartment. Her boyfriend was sitting on the ground playing Fifa while she was lying on the sofa reading her new book. Everything was going alright, Y/n managed to focus and successfully finish 2 chapters until she reached the “spicy part” of the book.

“With a groan, he pushes into her while she gasps out loud, adjusting to his size…”

Y/n’s face starts burning as she squeezes her thighs together as she looks down at her boyfriend. As much as y/n wants to ask Lando, which she knows he will be willing to help her, she’s too shy. Normally, y/n never has to ask for an orgasm, she’s actually getting too much of it. Lando’s friends tease him saying that they’re like bunnies, always on top of each other. However, in this particular situation, she needs him. Y/n tries to shift her attention back to the book, but the words just fly through her head and she can’t help but imagine Lando on top of her. Y/n’s whole body was on fire and her face practically looked like a tomato and ready to explode at any given moment.

“Lan-” Y/n can’t help but call out for his help

“Hm?” Lando asks, eyes still glued to the screen

Y/n sat up and looked at him but didn’t reply

“What’s wrong baby?” Lando turns around to look at her red face

Y/n still doesn’t reply but looks at him with teary puppy eyes, hoping he’ll get it and help her out. Lando did indeed figure out what’s going on with his girlfriend but instead of helping her out, he decided to be a tease

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, hm?” He questions in a teasing tone, moving up to join her on the couch, face only inches away from hers. His hands were on her hip as he guided her to straddle him. Y/n had her arms wrapped around Lando’s shoulder as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, still struggling to get her words out because of her shyness and the overwhelming feeling of needing to be satisfied. Hip grinding down onto his crotch letting out some quiet whimpers.

“Use your words, princess,” Lando said in a stern voice, whispering in her ears.

“Need you” Y/n can’t help but let out a small whimper, given she’s almost half naked, only wearing panties and Lando’s sweater, sitting on her fully clothed boyfriend.

“At least use your manners, god,” Lando says mockingly. Watching her cute face getting flushed everytime she gets shy, Lando just can’t stop teasing his beloved girlfriend. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please?” She mumbled into his neck

“God, you’re so fucking cute” Lando chuckled. Their hands moved down to take off her panties. His fingers start going up and down her folds, collecting your wetness. “You’re soaked”

Y/n’s face gets even redder, looking like a chili at this point. She hates it when he says things like that, just because it makes her even more embarrassed than before, which is also why he loves dirty talk, he loves seeing her crumble for him. Lando’s fingers start rubbing her clit in a circular motion, drawing soft moans from her.

“I-I’m close” Y/n moans as Lando inserts two fingers inside of of her. Thrusting in and out at a brutal speed, he starts scissoring her, touching her G-spot in every thrust. But just when she was about to cum, he took his fingers out. She finally removed her face from his neck just to look at him in confusion.

“Not yet”

“I want you to ride me” Lando whispers in her ears, sending shivers down her spine. Y/n frowns and pouts looking at him, not happy from being denied her orgasm and being demanded to ride her boyfriend. Well, not that she had a problem with it, just that she is shy, and she’s pretty much a “pillow princess”, and Lando loves her since he prefers being on top anyways. However, since he’s in the mood for teasing her to her breaking point, Lando makes her ride him.

“That’s the only way you’re getting off, princess” Lando states looking at your pouting face, extremely unsatisfied with her boyfriend.

Y/n shuffles to unzip his pants and pull down his boxer, revealing his hard member, now leaking precum. She lowers herself slowly, having a hard time adjusting to his size. After taking in all of him, Y/n starts bouncing on his cock. She tries biting her lips to muffle her moans, throwing a tantrum since she’s still not happy from her orgasm denial earlier. However, her intentions fail miserably, as Lando's hands sneak down to stimulate her clit and she can’t help but let out a loud moan. His mouth covered her nipple and start sucking it, adding to the pleasure.

Y/n’s legs were shaking from the overstimulation and her speed slowed down. She can barely ride him at this point and just grinds on him, but it wasn’t enough. She knows she needs his help, but still finds it hard to speak up.

“All you have to is ask, bunny,” Lando said as he saw her slowing down

“Please,” Y/n says with tears welling in her eyes, on the brink of rolling down.

Lando holds her hips and starts moving her up and down on him, combined with his thrusts upward, he’s hitting all the right spots. The sounds of their skins slapping together with wet sounds of her arousal and his precum filling the room. Y/n’s pretty sure that their sofa is ruined for good but that’s not their focus right now.

“Lan I’m cumming” The overwhelming feeling took over her, pushing her to the edge.

“Cum for me princess”

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut as she’s about to cum “Eyes on me baby” Lando demands, always loving to see her face when she’s falling apart for him. Y/n keeps eye contact with him while she cums, just the way he likes it, and lets out a loud squeal, milking him as he spills inside her. Lando lays her down on the couch as he pulls out of her, parting her legs and staring at his cum leaking out of her hole. Lando takes his phone takes a picture and puts it in his hidden album.

“Do you have to stare?” Y/n asks, squeezing her thighs together to hide it.

Lando just chuckled and went to get a towel to clean her up.

“I love you so much, even though sometimes i think cat got your tongues, you’re so cute”

#lando norris #lando smut #lando x you #lando imagine #lando x reader #ln4 x y/n #ln4 fic #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #smut

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honeybeemelon · 6 days ago

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damian x reader who is secretly doing crime against their will (blackmail, being controlled, literally can't control themselves), but doesn't/can't tell him for obvious reasons.

angst🔪 -> fluff 💕

false god ft. damian wayne

(song request)

“𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃.”

damian trusted you more than anyone, and you knew him better than anyone else on the planet. that was the only easy thing about what you did, and you hated yourself for it. if it were up to you, you'd be a regular person, not a criminal, but it wasn't up to you to defy fate. this was your legacy.

to him you were soft and untouched by the rest of the world. you wondered if he'd still think the same of you if he knew your hands were soiled by the blood of others - if he'd still touch you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

but you weren't - you couldn't afford to be, you were an assassin and in this life that was you'd ever amount to. you wished you were as free as damian was, to put this kind of life behind you but you had no choice. if you had ever refused it would endanger everyone you knew and loved, including him.

the corporation you were born into had already been running for years, slipping right under the bats nose. an insurmountable force, ruling with terror and an iron fist and to them you were a puppet that followed with blind faith.

at this point, you'd already been killing for years. tonight was the same as usual, like routine, you had put on your uniform and were already running around gotham. everything was going smoothly so far, your target was already halfway dead. but that was up until you saw him. damian. he was in his robin gear, probably here to stop you.

you knew how and when to run, it was what you'd been doing your whole life. even so, you found yourself frozen into place like a deer in headlights. that had given him the advantage, of course, and soon iron was hitting iron with his blade barely missing you, just skimming your cheek near enough to draw blood.

“what was that?” you heard from his comms.

only that had snapped you out of it, kicking him in his shoulder with enough force to send him back. he told you how he’d sprained it recently, so maybe that would buy you enough time to escape.

“robin, do you copy?” you heard faintly as his comms went off.

the two of you might've been wearing masks, yet the look you shared told a lot more than you wished it did. you felt sick, abusing what you knew to hurt him. damian didn't fight dirty like you did, he fought with honour and from the looks of it you had none.

“.. copy. it was nothing.” he answered with a hand holding his shoulder, watching as you slipped out of reach.

your heart was thumping in your chest so loudly you could hear it in your ears, and your breath was unsteady. if you weren't running around killing people behind damian's back then none of this was a problem, but he saw you yesterday and now you were at his house acting like nothing was wrong at all.

you still had some time before damian came out of the shower, so you took that to your advantage and made your way downstairs to the cave so you could whether or not that interaction had cost you.

a nauseous feeling swept over you when you looked up at the batcomputer, they were building a file on you. you were so convinced you were being careful- you had done everything in your power to make sure of that.

if your bosses realised you were the one compromising them, they'd have your head on a stick. so you deleted it all, the entire file.

“beloved?” damian called out.

you made your way out of the cave and into the kitchen, attempting to feign cluelessness.

“what are you doing here?” he murmured curious, his hands finding their place on your hips as pressed a kiss to your hairline.

“i think got lost on my way to your room.” you lied, turning around to face him with a tight-lipped smile.

“you never get lost.” damian knew this, you'd never gotten lost before - you knew the manor too well to get lost now.

“i know, i just took a wrong turn.” you hummed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. he hadn’t said a thing, only nodding before the two of you made your way up to his room.

his hand reached up to thumb your cheek, right next to your plaster. “what's this?” where he cut you the other night, but he didn't know that yet.

“it’s nothing, don’t worry.” you reassured him, leaning into his palm. usually, he would’ve pressed on about it like he did whenever you were sick or hurt but today he was oddly quiet.

“just be more careful.” he grunted, cupping your face and kissing over the top your plaster. typical of him to put your own safety above his own, considering his arm was probably burning in pain. as much as you wanted to enjoy his company, you knew it’d be stupid to think this would last.

“i will, i promise dami.” another lie, but that was the most careful thing you could do right now. you brought your head back down to rest on his shoulders, but immediately raised it when you heard him wince.

“are you okay?”

“i'm fine, i just.. last night, on patrol, we were investigating an underground group and i did something irrational.” damian sighed, sitting up slightly. “i saw one of their people and i didn't even say anything.” he admitted, a faraway look in his eyes.

“i couldn't.” he added, raising his head to meet your eyes. he didn't understand it himself, he should've apprehended them the moment he spotted them but he didn't. he lied. in that split second of eye contact he saw himself in them - being a machine, being controlled.

that corporation hired children as young as he had been, so he imagined that person was probably around his age too. “it's only one person, dami,” you comforted, reaching over to his clenched fist, which opened for you to thread your fingers with his.

“it isn't just that, they knew me - they knew me well enough to hurt me in places where i wasn't as efficient.” he grumbled, laying back down on the pillow and letting go of your hand. how could he have let someone like that slip through his fingers? he would know.

“it could've been a coincidence? you shouldn't worry about it that much, besides you're just as capable of making mistakes as anyone else.” you desperately wanted to change the topic to anything else, just something that didn't involve you.

“what about this aren't you understanding? they knew who i was.” damian exclaimed, narrowing his eyes at you. the two of you hadn't ever argued before this, ever. not even once.

“maybe i should go home.” you muttered, as if you had a real one. regret filled his face and he immediately doubled down but you were already gone and slipped away.

you were convinced karma was real because it was coming at you full force in the form of damian wayne. he was right there, standing by your target who was currently bound by rope and looking around frantic and disoriented.

“you should let me put him out of his misery.” you spoke bluntly, making your way towards him. you put on a brave face, but deep down you were terrified.

“i'm not fighting you, just tell me how you know me first.” how you wanted to tell him so badly.

“and spoil the fun? i don't think so,” you taunted, bracing yourself to fight him. he watched as you got into stance, but he wasn't here to hurt you. he didn't want to. “or i could just kill you instead - two birds with one stone.”

he narrowed his eyes, “you're bluffing.” of course you were bluffing. you'd rather yourself die a million times over before even thinking about killing damian but that didn't matter.

“am i?” you tilted your head, before launching your fist towards him. you might've been quick, but damian was skilled - sweeping your feet from right beneath you, sending you towards the ground with a grunt and he made sure to bury the tip of his sword right beside your neck before you could get up. the impact of your fall had broken off piece of your mask, revealing the round of your cheek.

“i'm not going to fight you, no matter how hard you try.” he repeated, shifting his blade closer. he squinted ever so slightly, spying the plaster on your cheek. he recognised it but he couldn't remember how.

“i wish i could say the same to you.” raising your head away from his blade, you tried to figure out a way to get out of here.

your hand wandered to your side, reaching for one of your punch daggers. you wouldn't kill him, but you'd make sure this was the last time your paths crossed like this. before you could strike him in the leg, his foot pressed down on your wrist and you had to bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from screaming.

“what are you doing?” you hissed in pain, your grip on the dagger faltering. “get off of me.” you seethed, glaring right back up at him.

“not until you tell me who you are.” he pressed on, adding more pressure to your wrist - at this rate he was going to shatter it completely. your heart was beating out of your chest, if your wrist broke how would you even lie about that? he'd know.

“damian- robin, please, you're hurting me.” you breathed out, you knew that slip up would cost you. again, that look of recognition flickered in both your eyes and he hesitated, foot lifting from your wrist. that was where he knew the plaster from.

just like that, you had slipped away again - but this time, he knew who you were. what you were.

“i need to see you.”

the words lit up your screen like something spectral, and just like that the doomsday clock started. damian would be here any minute. you'd been warned about times like this, getting lost and ending up too close to the sun. it hadn't even been a day since you and damian's argument, if you could call it that. you wondered if it was over now, maybe you'd spend the rest of your life rotting in arkham paying for your sins.

as expected, he arrived at your window only moments later. in spite of your own judgement, you opened it for him. without hesitance he crept inside, though he didn't quite meet your eyes this time around.

“you tried to kill me.” he muttered bluntly. it was easier to stomach his harsh tone of voice when he was wearing his costume since you could separate the two, but you couldn't do that anymore - not when you were watching the words pour straight out of his mouth.

“you knew i wasn't going to-” you insisted, you considered reaching for his hand but you decided against it. things couldn't go back to the way they were, not after what you had done. it was the truth, if you didn't love him you would've killed him.

“what difference does that make?” muted green eyes met yours, his eyelids heavy with grief.

“beloved, why didn't you just tell me?” he couldn't hate you, not a single bit. he knew that kind of life better than anyone, let alone you - he was hurt because he expected you to trust him, trust him enough to tell him.

“i'm sorry, dami, i know should've told you the truth.” you uttered, your breath shaky.

your whole body was sore, but the only thing that was really hurting was your heart. “i didn't want you to hate me,” you confessed, shame pooling up in your eyes. “not for something out of my control.”

“how could i hate you for it when i've done so much worse?” his voice low, hurt and confused. “i love you, that isn't going to change no matter what you do.” he reaffirmed.

you nearly flinched when his hands reached out towards you, but he only brought you close and held you, lips pressed to your temple. he knew, he still held you like you were delicate, like you were the most fragile thing in the world. “i love you too.”

“𝐖𝐄’𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃.”

try not to mention forehead kisses mission impossible bro </3 IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG BUT I HOPE U LIKED IT YAYAYYAYA🩷🩷🐝 he is aged up like usual

i feel so cool writing my first request ellelele i somehow forgot to mention it but batfam takes down the corporation and you are free obvi

#dc x reader #x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul x reader #fanfic

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kiramarien · 2 years ago

Text

If I got a nickel every time a cartoon I love

based on a book

based on mythology

about a teenage boy

who stumbles upon an ancient artifact that gives him powers

that's being sought by this cocky guy with daddy issues

who's right arm is mechanical some of the time

and his Dad is this massive guy with big horns (and sometimes glowy blue eye(s))

who's being manipulated by a powerful woman

that he freed from her centuries old prison

who may have had noble ambitions in the past, but now has been consumed by power

and the woman possesses a young girl in order to get what she wants

and sacrifices the lives of her minions in order to unleash her ultimate weapon ->

(Dozens of Gum Gums) (Spider Queen, Huntsman, Syntax, Goliath, Not- Mayor) You know what I'm talking about :(

and she's got this indentured servant *cough Slave cough* (with pretty gold eyes 😘)

who she refers to as "Her Champion"

who travels using shadows (I could not find a single picture of Angor Rot using his shadow staff)

who was really sweet and kind in his past but then... well... stuff happened

and has lost his right eye

and he's been killed before

but the big bad restores him back to life so she can use him

and he gets a redemption arc at the end of season three

and the main character doesn't have a bio Dad, but he attracts plenty of father figures throughout the course of the show

and he gains a non-human form that makes him even more powerful

and him and the others gain an armor upgrade at the same time

and the girl of the team has short black hair with dyed stripes

and you know the guy with daddy issues who wanted to steal his artifact in the beginning? He becomes one of the protagonist's closest friends

and there's this gentle giant character

who becomes one of my most beloved characters of all time 💕💕💕

and he has a history of violence and trauma

and has now vowed to be a devote pacifist

but breaks his vow in order to protect the people he loves (with angry glowy eyes to boot)

and has a deep love for cats (yes, I did just do that)

...then I would have two nickels.

Which isn't very much, but it's weird that it happened twice, right?

(That last drawing was made by @jezfez81. Thank you for letting me use it!)

What the heck happened?!?! This was just supposed to be a comparison between Sandy and AAARRRGGHH!!! Where did all these comparisons come from?!?!?!?!?! WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED?!?!?!?!?!?

(this took way too long to make, please give it some love :3 )

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thestrugglewithin · 23 days ago

Text

Vessel x Reader

Idiots very much in love. How an accidental hickey and an argument gets way out of hand. Mdni!

A/N: This has been collecting dust in my drafts and I’ve decided to admit that I lost the motivation to work on it any further. So have this mini angsty fic of our beloved Vessel <3

You’ve always been quite cheeky with your antics, especially when it came to Vessel. One time, you even swore that you just couldn’t help it; he was irresistible, after all.

Oftentimes he’d fix you with a look that said he was unimpressed, but you knew better. Vessel believed that you must’ve hung the moon, so his adoration could never falter. His mind behaved differently whenever you were involved.

This time was different, though. You really hadn’t meant to leave such a distinct mark on him, certainly not one that was so plainly visible. Never in a million years would you have imagined he would be so worked up about it. And really, you hadn’t even noticed it before he so urgently brought it to your attention.

Which was where you found yourself now, sandwiched between him and the wall of the venue he’d perform in tonight. His presence had never been intimidating, not before this moment. But he was acting so unlike himself you couldn’t help but to back up a bit.

“So you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me before we left the room?”

You’d never seen him angry before. Frustrated, maybe. But not angry, and certainly never towards you. “I didn’t notice, Ves. Obviously, or I would’ve-”

“How could you not notice? I seem to be drawing every eye in the room,” he shot back. His attitude begged the question of why a hickey had him so bent out of shape, but you knew him well enough not to bite back at this moment. It couldn’t have anything to do with the ever-present company you two were among whilst on the road– your relationship was no secret. It was hard to keep it completely private given the circumstances, but this was the first time that you felt like that was a problem. He certainly had never bothered to keep his affections to himself where you were concerned. So where on earth was this attitude coming from?

You resisted the urge to bite back at him, knowing it would do very little to ease the tension between the two of you. “You’re drawing eyes right now because you’ve backed me into a corner and are speaking to me rather unkindly.” Sure, you didn’t want to escalate whatever was going on here, but no way were you just going to roll over and take it.

At this, he straightened up his posture, like he became aware that you were still in a hallway full of people. People you’d be seeing on a daily basis for another month, at that. “Maybe consider some self-control from time to time,” he huffed. “No need for us to act like animals.”

Oh, he was lucky you were painfully aware of your surroundings. All thoughts of attempting to be the bigger person went right down the drain. There was a string of endless curses you could have choked on when attempting to swallow them down.

But you knew Vessel. Loved him more than your own heart could fathom. This was not him, and you were no stranger to the idea that there was something else going on inside his head. There was no telling what, though, seeing as he decided to snap at you over a hickey instead of just telling you what was up.

His words took straight to your heart though, and you let them settle. If he didn’t want you leaving your trace on him, of course you would respect that. He meant the world to you, after all– you’d do anything he asked of you. Horrible efforts at communication aside.

You must have let on that you were done with the conversation, because he turned and stalked off towards the dressing room. It was for the best that you let eachother be for a while, you figured. Neither one of you seemed keen to argue back and forth. Maybe after the show he will have blown off enough of the steam that he was simmering in to have an actual conversation with you. Meanwhile you could be left alone to wallow in the sudden embarrassment that this situation had left you in.

You exhaled a shaky breath then. There was plenty of time for a talk back in the privacy of your shared hotel room. Or an argument, whatever it came to. Such matters should be handled in privacy, after all.

Whatever remained of the argument never came, though. And neither did any acknowledgement of the topic. You’d gotten back to the hotel room that night, continuing about as though the earlier part of your day never happened. You opted not to bring it up. There was a much more familiar Vessel sleeping next to you now, and that felt like enough.

Sweeping feelings under the rug is never a good idea, and you knew that. But it felt okay in the moment– and it certainly was the easier option.

It was easy until you had to put thought into how you were to handle your boyfriend going forward. Vessel had expressed a boundary to you, and you ached to be respectful of it. It was new and a little unnatural, but after a few days you fell into habits of giving him space until he initiated contact.

You realized that it had been a full week since your guys’ little hiccup, therefore a week since you’d had sex. It wasn’t intentional, not really. You craved Vessel like he was air, like he was an actual requirement to your survival– but the both of you were adults and perfectly capable of keeping it in your pants. You began to notice an aching in your heart whenever you were longing for him. You’d sat with your own thoughts long enough to convince your mind that the safest bet in your relationship was to just let Vessel take any initiatives.

This didn’t allow for much opportunity, though. He really did pour every part of himself out on stage, he rarely was left with much energy afterwards. He’d argued long ago that he could never be too deprived of energy when it came to you. ‘You light a fire within me, darling’ he’d cooed.

But your mind was not kind to you amidst these new feelings. The thought of trying to express your need to him and being rejected made your stomach churn. Pairing this with the fact that he’d made no effort towards you either was eating away at you.

Just as long as it’s not me who pushes too far again. You told yourself. Over and over and over again.

Vessel was in a particularly good mood tonight following the show. He was always pretty rambunctious with his guys, but the energy was definitely higher amongst the four of them right now.

Seeing him so lively brought a pang to your chest, right where your heart resided. It actually upset you how happy he seemed right now. And for what reason? You could have asked yourself that, if you weren’t already grossly aware of the answer. You’d been festering on hurt feelings for a week now. Whether it was still about the unresolved conflict, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was that you noticed his severe lack of attention towards you since you’d been advised to control yourself around your him.

Maybe it was that you were beginning to feel angry. Upset at him, not just upset. This distance was destroying you, could he seriously not feel it? Did it not eat away at him that the closest you’d gotten to each other all week was a goodnight kiss? It felt like each hotel room you found yourselves in, the less comfortable you felt in his presence. His presence was like home to you, but you were beginning to feel unwelcome.

This newfound insecurity of yours was proving increasingly difficult to ignore when Vessel laid over top of you for the first time in what felt like ages. He curled his back over top of you in his kneeled position between your knees, hands wandering lightly up and down your clothed sides. You were trying to focus on him, how much you missed him, how thankful you were that he was here with you and finally present in the moment, but your thoughts shattered the moment his lips met the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

It felt like an instinct when your head nudged him away.

You felt him falter, but only momentarily. His hands persisted, now moving to take hold of your waist lightly. A hum of satisfaction slipped past your lips just before you felt those lips again, this time sucking lightly just below your ear. That might’ve been your undoing, if you didn’t find yourself pushing his head away again.

He did pause this time. “Darling?”

Your hum of acknowledgement must’ve satiated his curiosity, because he did not speak further. Instead he slipped his hand beneath the fabric of your shirt, hands finding purchase on your soft skin. His head dipped and captured your lips with eager force. Your nails trailing up his arms and moving to thread between the hairs at the nape of his neck must’ve read to him as an invitation, because his head descended once more. You didn’t let him get far though before you were tugging his head back up, and this finally brought him out of the moment.

He sat back on his knees, peering down at you in confusion. “Why aren’t you letting me kiss you?”

It sounded like an innocent question leaving him, but it stirred those unresolved feelings of yours. Evidently allowing a week to pass by did you no favors in deciding to be adults about this situation. You felt your own pettiness clawing to come out.

“You literally just did.” Of course you knew what he meant, but you had to feign confusion. Suddenly you felt ready to play with fire. He only huffed in response. “Is that not what you just did?”

“You keep pulling me away,” he overlooked your attempt to be smart-mouthed. “Since when do you not like me kissing your neck?”

There was a very fleeting moment that you almost felt bad for what you were inevitably about to put him through. Still, you furrowed your brow. A confused pout might do you well, too. “Just didn’t want you to get carried away.. I thought we were trying not to leave marks.”

He made an obvious attempt not to scoff. He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin then. “You’re upset about that? It wasn’t really that big of a deal, was it?”

It was obvious now more than ever that he hadn’t paid your argument any mind since the moment that it had happened. You weren’t entirely sure what to do with that. You’ve been turning yourself in circles for days over it, and he might as well have forgotten about it altogether.

You hoped he would have begun to apologize with how upset you so clearly were, but his silence remained deafening. You fixed a glare on him instead. He sure made it seem like a huge deal in the hallway of that venue, so what changed? “It’s not a big deal,” you offered easily, although it was a lie. “But you seem to be having some self-control issues on your end.”

More silence. His face betrayed no sign of what was turning the gears in his head, but you knew they had to be in overdrive right now.

“That’s different, though,” he said helplessly– pathetically, even. This brought an incredulous laugh from where you still lay on the bed. How he managed to act so small while he was still knelt above you.

“In what way is it different, Vessel? You can do it to me but don’t want me to do it to you?”

You knew he didn’t actually have an argument for this matter. Not a good one, at least. But of course he persisted. “There are thousands of people that I stand in front of every night that would run rampant with conspiracy if they noticed something like that.”

You wanted to laugh again, but you rolled your eyes and moved out from under him instead. “You are covered in black paint on stage, Vessel,” you spit. “Do not try to act like that was the problem, you and I both know that whatever was wrong with you had nothing to do with me.”

You didn’t see him run a hand down his face or the cringe of remembrance of how he had treated you. You continued before he could come up with anything to say.

“But you know what? It doesn’t matter now what was up with you, because you decided to take it out on me. You chose to humiliate me in front of your entire crew.”

You heard him call your name, but you continued to work yourself under the already unmade covers, trying like hell to put space between the two of you. This was already a mess. You really should’ve insisted you talked about it after it happened. Or maybe brought it up some other way. No matter, because now you were even more upset and fighting tears while the man you loved only just now realized how upset you’d been.

You needed to sleep. The can was open, but now you were too upset to talk about it the way you knew you needed to. There was no doubt in your mind that it would only get worse if you continued now.

“Baby..” he crawled over to you, running his knuckles along your back.

“I don’t think it’s going to happen tonight, Vessel. I’m not really in the mood.”

You knew he didn’t like it when you said his name like that. If it wasn’t Ves, it was always a pet name. Normally you’d only do so to tease him, to get him to fake his annoyance and “punish” you in return.

He slithered down now, placing his chest close to your back, his hand coming to lay a featherlight touch against your hip. “Please don’t go to bed upset.”

Vessel usually wasn’t one to just let stuff go, and bless him, sometimes he did need to be told twice. Your silence gave him the nerve to curl his arm around your stomach, moving just a little bit closer. It must have finally clicked just how upset you were, so his lips descended to press against the back of your neck, the way he knew you loved.

“Get off of me,”

He stiffened behind you but made no effort to move. You knew how wrecked your voice must have sounded. Your throat was on fire, and it felt like it was going to close any minute. He was about to crack your resolve without even trying. “Vessel, move.”

“No.”

“No?” you questioned. You didn’t make an attempt to move from his grasp, but you turned just enough to address him. “So you tell me to control myself around you, and I oblige.. But I tell you to get off of me and all I get is ‘no’?” You couldn’t actually meet his stare to give him a proper glare in this position, but you damn well were going to try. “Got it. You’re a hypocrite.”

“I don’t want you to go to bed upset,” he whispered.

“I’ve been going to be upset for a week now, I think I can survive another night.” You felt his sigh against your skin, but he relented and pulled his arm from around you. That was as far as he went, though, and he offered no response. “You can sleep on the other side of the bed so we can talk about this in the morning.”

“Don’t sleep alone,” his voice was soft, pleading. It cracked you a little bit, but not enough for him to notice.

“Move away from me unless you’d prefer that I sleep on the couch.”

It was with obvious reluctance when he finally moved away from you. He didn’t go far enough that his body heat didn’t still radiate over to you. You knew it would be torture for him though. Not that it didn’t tear you apart inside as well, but you really believed that this would do you both well to sleep before sorting this out. His stubbornness to leave you alone was admittedly endearing, and you silently cursed him for it.

It was silent for a moment before you heard his soft call again. “You won’t really sleep on the sofa, will you?”

“As long as you think you can stay over there.”

Well of course he wouldn’t be able to do that. It was natural the way his body longed for you. You were meant to fit together. It felt wrong to have this much space between you.

Oh, how you wanted him to hold you. You’d never be able to sleep like this, not with him right next to you. Your stubbornness persisted, though. You had to talk this through, and you figured caving into your need for him and choosing to ignore it for another night would do no good.

He sighed loud enough that you heard him- felt him, even. It took every fibre of your being not to roll over to face him. Instead you opted to close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. Sleep would find you eventually.

It did find you eventually, but not for very long. There was no way to tell how long you’d been asleep, but the fatigue in your body led you to guess an hour at most. You lifted your head trying to adjust your position, but you caught your boyfriend looking at you.. From the floor.

Immediately, you frowned. “What are you doing?”

His head lowered, like he was guilty. “Couldn’t sleep”

“Did you even try?”

“No.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and sighed. He’s lucky you think he’s cute, “Get in bed and go to sleep,” all he could do was stare back at you. He made no effort to move. “You have to perform tomorrow. You’ll never make it through if you don’t sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispered. His long fingers were absentmindedly tracing the seam of the cushion he had his head on a moment ago. “I can sleep right here. I can be closer without being too close.”

“No, you can’t. You’ll fuck your neck and your back up.” This whole ordeal had brought upon a new level of stubbornness you didn’t even know existed in him. You didn’t want to admit that his persistence made your tummy flutter, even though you felt bad that he’d been sitting on the floor watching you sleep.

“I can lay down,”

“Vessel,” you groaned. God, he made it so hard to be mad at him. You weren’t going to let the entire thing go, not so easily. But you loved him and under no circumstance would you ever fail to take care of him when he needed you to. “I am asking you to get into bed. Please. You cannot stay on the floor.”

“Can I hold you?” He had tears pooling, just waiting to spill over. Oh, your sweet (albeit oblivious) boy.

“Ves, baby,” you called to him so softly. Not unlike the gentle grip you coaxed his head into. You tugged gently until he took the hint to stand and crawl into the bed right beside you. You scooted back to accommodate his form. He’d only just settled down, his face so close to yours when you took the opportunity to kiss away one of the tears that had fallen. Your thumbs caught the ones your lips didn’t.

With much hesitation his hands finally gripped your hips, the way they’d been itching to all night. His eyes closed while he breathed you in, fighting back a sob that choked in his throat.

“Shh, don’t wreck your voice by crying,” he nodded so you knew he heard you. “We’re going to be okay, you know that. We’re just gonna have to work this one out. I promise it’ll take a lot more than one argument to tear me from you.”

He nuzzled his face at the base of your throat and made an effort to settle his breathing. Even after all of this, you're still here looking after him. But he nodded his understanding and gripped you tighter. “I don’t think I deserve you,”

“Ves,” you warned. He knew how you felt when he talked poorly of himself, no matter the anger you held for him not too long ago. “We’ll talk and apologize in the morning. Right now you need to rest.”

You smoothed your hand over the back of his head, waiting until you felt his body loosen a bit. A few kisses were placed on his head, and he finally spoke.

“I love you,” he managed. “I am not one to overlook my blessings– so I need you to know that you are my greatest one.”

“You know that I love you– I’ll love you through everything.”

You lay in silence for a minute or two, your fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair. He’d been so still you figured he had finally fallen asleep. Of course, you really should’ve known better– this was Ves, after all.

“I used to wonder around, trying to wrap my head around the idea that you’d actually allow me to kiss you,” his voice sounded muffled with the way he had his face pressed into your chest. “And that you wanted to kiss me back,” his head shook like he was trying to convey genuine disbelief. “And now I’ve made you think I don’t want your affections. Please know that I do. I don’t think I could ever make it if I had to go on without you to love me.”

You did manage to breathe out the smallest laugh then. “I would take a bite out of you if I could, Ves. Don’t ever think I don’t want to be all over you.” You could feel his smile then. “We’re fine, baby. You just go to sleep and I’ll be here ready to make up with you in the morning.”

He squeezed your waist one last time before he finally relaxed and allowed you to hold him. You might’ve laughed at how this came from him wanting to hold you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#sleep token vessel #vessel #sleep token #vessel x reader #vessel x you #vessel fic #sleep token fic #sleep token x reader #vessel angst

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distuff · 20 days ago

Note

ahhhh thank you for writing such beautiful work...

baby when the reader gets pissed at him for saying something mean during a fight, so she ignores him? AND not only ignores him but chooses to spend an abnormal amount of time with Jinu/any other (Jinu cause the tiger and the bird) saja boy to rant about how obnoxious baby is and stubbornly refuses to interact with baby? and baby just going nuts because what do you mean he's getting ignored? (and maybe abby and romance trying to help him figure out why reader is pissed and get him to swallow his pride and apolgize?)

Answer: Oh my- I actually had fun exploring this dynamic ngl khahaha! You my dear readershi are also gettin' a renewed author (la mOi, obviously) who is more confident in my vers of the boyz. Gotta thank all the support (my beloved anons/ askers, taggers ( I see you @sleepylion ! ), commenters and even those who are silent enjoyers ) who showed support on stories I was unsure of. sO ! Pls, enjoy~ ( = ⩊ = )

Note. Please ! Do not take anything here seriously. These are my versions of the boyz where I'm tryin' to figure out their character through these prompts and make em react as canon as possible. Nothing in here is aimed at anyone just a faceless MC whose traits are created around the prompt. Arigatou ( _ _)人

📍Requests: Please check HERE

📌 POTENTIAL CONTINUATIONS FROM MY DARLINGS + Yuichi-cat

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Baby SAJA: Apology?

Featuring: Baby Saja Reader: female

It was a rainy night. The rain tapped gently against the windows, and dark clouds covered what few stars were ever visible—even on clear nights.

Their studio sat on the highest floor, close to the heavens, yet Jinu could rarely see more than two faint stars, even on a good day.

The only “stars” around were the distant lights from neighbouring buildings, all of them standing a few floors lower than the building their company had chosen for them.

It always reminded Jinu of a story Mystery had once told him—something about humans trying to build a spiralling tower to reach the heavens, only to be cursed by the very god they were climbing toward to.

Babilion? Bubilion? Tower of Bebil? He couldn’t remember the name. Never cared to. It was the idea that stuck with him.

Seems like that desire never left them, he always thought. Whether humans realised it or not, they always craved more.

Speaking of humans and their insatiable wants—

"Can you believe that smug—ugh!"

Jinu turned slowly from his desk to face you. You were pacing his room, eyebrows furrowed, hands flailing like you were about to strangle someone.

He let out a soft sigh and dropped the pen in his hand, casually covering the card he’d been working on. A loud, pink bird with spindly legs danced beneath the text Let’s Get Flocked Up!!—whatever that meant. It looked like a poorly drawn phoenix in his opinion.

He’d ask the phone to identify the bird, but for some reason you decided he was good for whatever conversation you were trying to have with him.

Jinu would shrug your words off and let you talk to yourself in hopes of you having some devine realisation, but he couldn’t risk drawing your attention to what he was writing. That would lead to questions. And Jinu was terrible at dodging questions. Which would only made him more suspicious.

Just thinking about Mystery giving him signs he was beginning to suspect Jinu of something made him wince.

So instead of kicking you out—which would only make things worse—jumping out the window, which wouldn’t solve anything—or trying to change the subject, which your expression made clear you weren’t going to let happen, Jinu gave in.

He dropped his arm over the card and leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking over to you with resigned sigh.

"Alright, I bite. What did you do?" he asked flatly. He didn’t even bother pretending to care.

Where were Romance or Abby when he needed them? What possessed you to bring this kind of thing to him? Not questions he voiced, of course. The carpet was white, and he had no intention of getting blood on it. No, thank you.

That, he quickly realised, was also the wrong question to ask.

You stopped pacing and turned to him slowly, glare sharp enough to make him consider jumping out of the window did actually sounded quiet helpful for this situation.

If human looks could kill demons, Jinu was pretty sure he’d be dead already. Moments like these reminded him why he appreciated your honmoon wave being bright crimson for more than easy snack. At least it didn't tried burning him while you were clearly distress.

And under all that curled one single feeling that most demon's would salivate at.

Hurt.

Funny, he thought dryly, how wrath is just crushed expectation throwing a tantrum.

You pointed at yourself, incredulous. “Me?” you repeated. “Me?! What I did—? I didn’t do anything!” you shouted, and Jinu winced, pressing his hand to his left ear.

You were off again, pacing as your frustration and sadness poured out.

“It’s him who can’t see past himself! He can’t shut up long enough to listen or—or understand that what he says hurts!”

Your voice cracked as your frustration pushed through. “It’s like I don’t even exist to him. Like I’m just… here. I expect something. Anything to show I’m not the only one who cares in this relationship!”

Your eyes were starting to glaze over. The shine of unshed tears formed as your honmoon line pulsed with that bitter sadness Jinu hated to taste but his body craved anyway.

Too bad he already ate tonight. No excuse to feed off you now.

Which meant, unfortunately, he had to listen.

He sighed again, bracing himself, and opened his mouth—fully prepared to be the voice of reason you’d ignore anyway, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d use your last brain cell to hear what he had to say.

"Alright," he said calmly, his voice instantly drawing your attention. You stopped pacing, staring at him with that same look—expecting something. Jinu had to stop himself from shaking his head.

Expectations, were formed around the false believes one had about themself, fueled by the fear of unknown, they only built blueprints for reactions, and always ended in disappointment. Humans never learn, he thought with a quiet sigh. Funny how becoming a demon gave him the clarity to spot flaws he never noticed as a human—flaws now repeating in front of him like clockwork.

It was as if the behaviour had been coded into the human DNA.

No matter. Lifting his head—which he hadn’t realised had dipped—Jinu met your eyes. You’d calmed enough to sit on the edge of his bed, your attention fixed solely on him.

"I mean, this might sound crazy," Jinu began, his tone light as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders. "But did you consider—just maybe—that Baby is a demon?" His hands gestured to you like he was making a groundbreaking point, his face marked by exaggerated innocence.

The sound of Tiger rising from where he’d been lying beside the bed draw both yours and his attention to the spirit—giving you a pause from the conversation as the two of you watched it quietly prowling over to you with steady steps.

Its amber eyes didn’t blink as he stared at you—curious, and clearly reading the cocktail of emotion your body radiated. That, and shielding Jinu from your honmoon wave to give him a moment to breathe.

Magpie, on the other hand, looked wholly unimpressed. It blinked slowly between the two of you, flicking its head toward Jinu as if to say, Want a shovel to dig your grave deeper?

Jinu would have a full blown conversation with that ungrateful chicken if his attention wasn't stolen by your following words.

"Yeah, and?" you replied flatly, starting to pat Tiger without looking at Jinu. The spirit stood still, purring faintly, though it didn’t break his stare.

It was a stupid question. Jinu was going to say that aloud—but thankfully your voice cut through before he could.

"You're also a demon, and you're showing a clear interest in Rumi-nim." You met his eyes with a deadpan stare that made his spine tighten. His gaze flicked, involuntarily, toward the greeting card on the desk. Don’t look at it, don’t look at it, don’t look at it!

"I—I mean, as a fellow idol, it’s natural to be... cordial—"

But again, you cut him off, turning away as you focused on Tiger. Jinu stiffened, eyes falling on Magpie who continued preening its feathers with Tiger’s stolen hat, completely ignoring his discomfort.

"As a 'fellow idol', you owe her polite interactions and the occasional mention on your lives," you said, eyes locking with his again. "You’re doing more than that."

Jinu felt cornered. Accused of something he couldn’t explain to you. His brows knit as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Alright. And if I am—what of it? Doesn’t change how Baby behaves, does it?" His voice was flat.

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

You froze mid-pat, inhaling sharply. Your posture turned rigid—but thankfully, being in contact with Tiger meant you were also being bathed in his calming aura. Instead of shouting or throwing something, you spoke through a strained breath,

"It does. If you can act like Rumi-nim matters, then so can Baby."

Jinu had to resist the urge to groan, roll his eyes, and laugh into his palm. Of course. Of course. That was how you saw it.

You thought he was being “attentive.” You assumed that meant some grand revelation. Maybe you thought his "heart" was changing, that he was maybe starting to think differently about humans.

But no—he was just using Rumi. She was a means to an end: the path to reclaiming his soul from Gwi-ma. If satisfying the Demon King meant playing the role of a human idol—luring in as many souls as possible with the hope that it might make the King more willing to return his one meek, pitiful soul—then so be it.

And yet, just the thought of what Rumi might feel—what her soul line would pulse with if she ever found out—made his hollow chest tighten as he wondered what emotion she'll willingly feed him once she finds out what his real goal was.

It wasn't even a betrayal… it was Rumi's naive nature to trust something with no soul. Just like you with Baby... Rumi had created unrealistic expectations of him too.

Still, none of this was something he could say to you. He couldn’t tell you that he wasn’t any better than Baby.

The fact that you even knew they were demons was already crossing a line. They couldn’t offer you anything more than this simply because it could jeopardize what they have build.

Humans were fickle like that.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Jinu let his hand settle over his mouth, trying to string together a sentence that would sound coherent enough to explain the situation from Baby's point of view.

Jinu's eyes flicked to you as you continued to pat Tiger, who still stood unmoving at your side. Both spirit animals focused on him—Tiger clearly anticipating the greeting card meant for Rumi, while Magpie looked far too smug for Jinu’s liking.

"How to put it..." Jinu muttered, gesturing for Tiger to come closer. The spirit prowled forward with deliberate slowness, unblinking eyes locked on him. Magpie, in contrast, glided down next to you, probably in some noble attempt to keep your nerves from fraying any further.

You trailed your eyes after Tiger, the stress and fatigue bleeding into your gaze, but then you gently started to trace a finger down Magpie’s spine. Jinu noticed that at least the tightness in your shoulders eased slightly.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what he said,” Jinu admitted as he folded the greeting card, keeping his tone even. “But there’s a high possibility that he just… bluntly said what he though at the time.”

He pressed his lips together. Tiger tilted his massive head to the side, bulbous eyes looking through him, clearly thinking: You're a fool

Not like Jinu needed reminding that he was probably making things worse. But sue him—he didn’t know what you expected him to say.

If he lied, you’d just march back to Baby, and that little bastard would crush all the soft hope Jinu managed to build with some sugary words. So all he could really do was try to soften the truth on Baby’s behalf.

Why can’t she go to Romance or Abby~ he whined internally, rolling his eyes as he turned, greeting card in hand.

With a flick of his wrist, he offered it to Tiger, who obligingly opened his mouth and rolled out his tongue. Jinu placed the folded card atop it with a sigh. No point hiding what you were clearly already aware of. Hopefully, you had some sense to keep it to yourself.

He gave you a sidelong, sceptical look, but it fall off when he caught the quiet way your body had curled in on itself. You were gently stroking Magpie’s feathers, your expression unreadable, but distant.

Jinu exhaled, placing a hand under Tiger’s jaw and gently guiding it shut, patting twice to signal the spirit to deliver the card to the purple-haired huntress. Then he turned back to you with a bit more urgency in his voice.

“Alright then. What do you want Baby to do?”

Maybe—maybe—he could actually get the brat to play along for once, just to calm you down. ...Maybe.

“Apology,” you said flatly, your eyes locking with his, hard as steel.

Jinu blinked.

And then— —he lost it.

He toppled sideways with a choked wheeze, clutching his stomach as laughter wracked his frame. Just the image of Baby apologising was absurd. Utterly beyond imagination.

Handing a cat a Bible and asking it to lead Sunday mass had higher success rate than Baby apologising. The young demon would no doubt look at him like he’d grown three heads before confidently diagnosing him as clinically insane.

As Jinu laughed himself breathless, he didn’t even register Tiger and Magpie slinking away. What he did notice was your now-throbbing honmoon wave, no longer behind the barrier, and radiating frustration.

Honestly, he was just impressed you were still this emotionally attached to the SAJA after what Baby had put you through. Wiping an invisible tear from his eye, Jinu sat up and met your glare head-on.

Arms crossed, expression locked down tight—you were not amused.

“Mind explaining what’s so funny about that?” you asked, voice dangerously calm.

He opened his mouth—and an involuntary snort escaped. Seeing your irritation bubble, he straightened quickly and cleared his throat.

“Well... you see,” he began, in the universal tone of a man about to say something you wouldn’t like.

“Uh-huh,” you prompted flatly.

“Apologising means the person believes they did something wrong,” Jinu continued, choosing his words carefully. “And I can very confidently tell you that Baby—”

- - -

“I don’t even know what I did wrong,” Baby groaned, fisting his hair as he stared down at the dark carpet of his room like it held all the answers to this frustrating and frankly uncalled for situation.

The constant pitter-patter of raindrops against the windows wasn’t helping. It only made Baby’s fingers twitch harder, itching to tear into something that would resist—something he could press against until it ripped.

Irritation, mixed with fury? Check. But only because you, for some incomprehensible reason, had to go and get upset over words. Characters.

Honest to Gwi-ma—invisible, untouchable things that just poured out of someone’s mouth. How could anyone get hurt by that? If you wanted pain, Baby could show you exactly what he did to humans who fought back during his feeding.

And yet... there was bitterness too. A hollow ache clinging under his skin. It made his jaw itch to sink into your honmoon and just roll in it.

He didn’t mind emotions—he wasn’t a picky eater—but fury? That tasted stale. Always just a layer for hurt, and hurt was the sweetly bitter flavour he never turned away from.

But when that hurt was tangled with anger, it tasted like a dessert coated in mould.

And now, with you still inside the apartment—your honmoon wave loud and heavy—it was impossible to ignore. He couldn’t take it anymore. So he dragged the closest brother of his with him to his room: Romance.

As they passed Abby, the other had to be grabbed by Romance by the back of his shirt just like Baby did to him as he could hear Abby curiously ask, “Oh? Where we goin’?”

Now, the two of them were seated on the bed in Baby's room, listening as he explained what had happened—though “explaining” was generous.

More like pacing in circles and hissing between clenched teeth as he began mentally debating whether licking bleach would soothe the sting in his mouth or if petting your honmoon would be more effective albeit risky with the state you were in.

Kicking you out would only make things worse. He knew that much.

His eyes finally left the carpet when Romance let out a long sigh—the kind that sounded straight out of one of Mystery’s dramas, complete with the tone of a tired, exasperated mother. He crossed one leg over the other, that dreamy smile curling over his lips.

“Aah, one has to admire humans for their shameless displays of selfishness.”

Baby shot him a sceptical look, hands finally dropping from his tangled hair. Why didn't I gone to Mystery instead?

Before he could voice the thought, Romance continued, voice light and knowing. “But it’s easy to understand what your human wants, my sweet little junior.”

“Call me that again and I’ll put that vanishing ability of yours to the test—”

“Mm, always so charming,” Romance said, waving him off as he leaned back, supporting himself on his arms. He locked eyes with Baby and smirked. “She’s dissatisfied~ You’re not giving her what she wants. Touches. Attention. Acts that make her feel special.”

He fluttered his lashes dramatically. Baby rolled his eyes, straightened, and arched a brow.

“Not everyone can act like you, shitty senior.”

Romance beamed. “Not as good, but they can try!” he chirped, holding up a finger like he was announcing a divine truth.

Baby exhaled hard, shaking his head. Then both he and Romance looked to Abby, once the other spoke, “If it’s so much hassle, why’d you even bother starting something with her?” Abby tilted his head, expression completely genuine.

They stared and he blinked back at them with the slow confusion of a dog not understanding another creatures speech.

Romance bit his bottom lip, visibly entertained, and reached over to pat Abby on the head. Abby blinked, but let him.

Baby, however, just stared at his so called senior like he’d said the most ridiculous thing in all of world's history.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Baby said dryly, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe because Jinu told me to accept her confession?”

Abby raised a brow while Romance, now fussing with his hair, didn’t even look surprised. Of course he knew. He had a habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong—especially the first time Baby had brought you home.

Abby, meanwhile, had just treated you like a living chocolate fountain he could snack on whenever you were around.

“Since when do you listen to anyone?” Abby asked, genuinely baffled.

Romance snorted and sat up proudly with hands on his hips, satisfied with his perfectly fixed hair. “Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “Baby didn’t hit his head. He only agreed because Jinu promised he could skip seven shows of his choice.”

That made Abby let out a long, exaggerated “Aaaaaaah!”—right before freezing and clamping his mouth shut. His eyes flicked back to Baby, confused again.

When is he not confused? Baby thought, already bracing himself as Abby opened his mouth to ask another question.

“But that still doesn’t explain… why you’re tolerating it.”

That gave Baby pause. He blinked, caught off-guard. He hadn't expected that level of insight from Abby of all beings.

Romance, on the other hand, didn’t even look surprised. He simply turned his attention from his hair to Baby, eyes glinting with curiosity, waiting, alongside Abby, for his answer.

They looked like those humans from that movie they watched “Dumb and Dumber.” Fantastic.

Baby sighed. Why does it even matter? But he gave a blunt reply anyway.

“Her soul helps suppress my hunger. I figured if I’m being forced to play pretend, I might as well get something out of it.”

He’d noticed it early on—whenever you were near, the gnawing void in his chest dulled slightly, tricking his instincts into thinking it was getting a full meal.

There was also another benefit to this bravado. As long as you didn’t try comforting him with words when Gwi-ma turned his skull into a private arcade, your touch was... grounding.

Of course, none of that was something he’d ever admit to these two jackals. And yet, even with the bare scraps he’d given them, both Romance and Abby were already grinning like they’d cracked some forbidden code. Jackasses.

The look they exchanged told Baby everything: Silence was the only safe option around these two, truly.

Why can’t they be this creative with the mission? he thought, mildly annoyed as his body instinctively tensed. He leaned back, away from Abby, who now wore a smirk that practically screamed bait.

“Well, that makes sense,” Abby drawled, eyes still on Romance as if Baby wasn’t even there. “Baby needs a pacifier during the day to keep calm.”

Romance nodded sagely, finger pressed under his chin like he was seriously contemplating Abby's words rather than suppressing a grin.

“Pacifiers do have the ability to keep Baby's nasty little temper in check, mm?”

At that, Abby flashed his sharp canines with a pointed look, practically daring Baby to lunge.

Baby knew they could’ve easily been referring to that snivelling pile of human meat that never stopped crying—but the words could also be taken another way. One that he knew was the correct one. He could feel his human glamour fading just slightly. Faint demon markings crept along his cheekbones, his own fangs peeking out as his claws dug into his palms.

His lips, darker now with a lack of oxygen, parted as he exhaled. And then he spoke—voice low, gravelly, and deadly calm.

“If I could… without alerting those three bitches to where we are… I’d slash every inch of your body, bit by bit, scatter the pieces across Korea, and watch your head roll around trying to put yourself back together.”

Yet instead of getting the reaction he wanted, Baby watched with half-lidded eyes and an involuntary twitch in his brow as Romance let out a delighted coo. Hands clasped together, the older demon gazed at him as if Baby hadn’t just threatened someone ranked above him. Worse, Romance even went and stretch out his hand, finger aimed at Baby’s nose for a little boop, and chirped, “Cute.”

Baby’s eye twitched.

And to make matters worse, Abby—arms crossed, muscles bulging in that infuriating way he knew was deliberate—wore the smuggest grin as he added in a teasing tone, “Can’t bring yourself to get fully rid of me? You must truly love me. Oh, I can just feel how much you care for me! ” He let out an exaggerated wail, swiping an invisible tear from under one eye and clutching the wrong side of his chest—the side where a heart wouldn’t be, even if he were human.

“Alright then,” Baby growled lowly.

His glamour frayed further as he rolled up his sweater sleeves, a malicious grin cutting across his face. His small tusks peeked from under his top lip, canines gleaming, and purple flames began licking off his skin. The pressure in his skull surged as Gwi-ma stirred, laughing in pure euphoria, egging him on with a hungry rasp: “C̶̛̩͈̋͑̎̽̈́l̵̲̥̫͚̳̞̗͒̊̽͘͝a̷̯͕̲̰̖̟̦͊͝w̵̛̬̱̦̻̟͗̄̄̋͜s̴̢̞̺̮͖͇̽͋̍͆̈́̔̍͂ ̴͉̯͕̹̞͖͈̈́͐̿̓̍̏̾͒t̷̡̢͉̖̠̺̺̝͗͊̐͛͒͠͠h̴̲̼̞̥̲̖͍͒͗͑̽̕r̸̙̘̟͍̺̟̲̱̋͑͒̿̇̒̚ơ̸̬̿̌̍͋́͗ų̴̘̟̤́̓͌̍̓͗g̶̠̝͍͈̼̦͕͐͋̅̋̀̈́h̵̛͇͗̏͋̄̍̈́̕ ̷̬̯̯̲̞̐̔̿̓̍͘͝͠t̵̺̖̩̦̳͖̯̜̉̈́̅̈́̚h̴̰̬͈͚̠̲̋̈́͗̽́͘͠ͅe̵̢͚̞̦̱̘̅͒̾̒̿͛͐͑͜ ̶̢͍̗̖͇̺͌̅͊̽͛͌̚c̶̳̤̞͈̬̩̬̐̄͜h̷̼̜̳͓̦̳̙̤̿͐̓̋͠e̵͖̰̰̲̼͕̅́̑̓͒̚͜s̷̢̢̱͖̠͓̈́̎̐̿͝t̶̛̤̖̬̟̮͌͂͠͝͝—̵̢̥͕̦̤͇̖̘̀̓̓̍̇̀͛̚s̷̘̱̼̋̈́̏͛̏̔͂͘l̴̞̮̱̞̬̩̏̈́o̵̠͎̤̮̥̫̔̈́̇́͝w̶̛̮̼̺͓͚̄̀̆͋͘͝ͅ ̴͇͎͍̖͓̒̅́͊̔͝͝a̴͖͓̰̳̲̞̍̒̎͗͊̕͘͜n̶̩̯͓͛͝d̸̹̮̟̰̺̼͈̏̏̽̾̏̀̕ ̵̻̯̥̞̺̪̙́́͛̑̽͝p̵̬̘̖̳̥̐̈́͊̚̚ͅa̵̢̨͖͇͈̲͐̈́ͅi̸̘̲͎͓͇͐͗̇͋̔̓̍͝n̷̙̟̙̮͑̍̓̿͆̅́ͅf̴̘̯͔̳̺͓͚̐̈́̇́̾͘ū̵̘̬̠͎̫͇̔̿̚l̵̢̢̺͚̜͇̐̽̐̐̎͘ͅ!”

Visions flickered across Baby’s mind, dizzying flashes of how to use abelites he didn't even knew possible—and for a moment, his vision blurred as he shook his head to fight it off.

He barely registered Abby’s widening grin as the older demon cracked his neck, clearly eager for the brawl. But before either of them could move—

They froze.

The air didn’t grow heavy like it did when Mystery was done tolerating their idiocy. No, it grew light. Too light.

Disorientingly so, like a false calm before something sharp breaks through. Baby almost wanted to laugh and flip Gwi-ma the middle finger as he felt his Lord disappear with furies thrashing before leaving Baby's head empty.

Only Romances aura was capable of submerging the demon King. He may not know the real reason, but he has a theory. Unlike the others, Romance never flooded them with his demonic presence like Mystery.

He let it slither—wrap and squeeze. It wasn’t choking—it was holding, threatening to shatter them from the inside if they so much as twitched. Baby felt it keenly in the way his ribs ached and his core pulled taut. And judging by the way Abby’s eyes widened beside him, he felt it too.

It didn’t help that Romance was older than both of them. Which made the subtle restraint feel effortless—unavoidable.

Baby knew, logically, that Romance didn’t have the kind of power that could cancel their regeneration. But it didn’t matter. The illusion—the intoxication—was enough to press every instinct into submission. He let out a slow breath, reluctantly pulling the frayed edges of his human disguise back into place, a silent show of compliance.

Only then did Romance smile wider, bringing his hands together with a gentle clap before easing off. As the pressure lifted, both Baby and Abby exhaled sharply, shoulders loosening.

Their eyes met.

A silent nod passed between them. Later.

If Romance noticed, he chose to ignore it. After all, what came later wouldn’t be his problem. Instead, he steered the conversation back to its original course, locking his brilliant eyes onto Baby’s with a quiet sort of focus.

“So?” Romance asked, folding his hands over his crossed legs. A lock of hair curled against his cheek as he tilted his head, flawless as always, voice soft with curiosity. “What are you planning to do, then?”

Great question. A slow smirk curved across Baby’s lips as he cracked his knuckles.

Now that the banter cooled him down and the storm of your emotions from your wave was drowned out by Abby’s demonic aura—still pulsing faintly from when he’d nearly launched himself at Baby—his head was clearer than it had been in days.

“Easy. Kill ’em.” He said it flatly.

Sure, he’d lose his easy snack. The occasional grounding effect you gave him when Gwi-ma got especially insufferable. Those moments when you simply enjoyed yourself without demanding anything, letting him exist without expectation. Moments when your happiness spread through him, and he did enjoy himself—those would vanish too.

But in return, he’d get back something far more valuable: the freedom to just be himself.

No more forcing conversation. No more awkward attempts to explain things you could’ve asked about without sounding like a guilt-ridden martyr. And that constant, nagging feeling—like you were trying to make him feel bad for you.

How? Baby always wanted to ask. He didn’t feel anything unless you did first. And when you were caught in that swirling mess of insecurity and longing, it made him want nothing more than to rip your soul out and consume it just to silence the white noise in his head.

So yes—pros outweighed the cons. Any day of the week.

And hey, maybe you'd finally find someone who was your actual match.

His words had barely finished leaving his mouth before Abby choked on his saliva, then cackled hysterically—head thrown back, heels of his feet thudding on the floor. Romance winced, pressing a manicured hand to his chest as if personally wounded, eyes flicking to Baby’s deadpan expression.

“Please don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Your kills are always so... messy.” His nose crinkled as he pulled a face of exaggerated distaste.

Baby crossed his arms and raised a brow at him. “Alright then. What should I do instead?” His tone was bored, but he was listening.

That was all it took. Romance perked up immediately, and just as Abby’s laughter began to taper off, they both blurted out two completely different responses at once:

“Suck ’em dry,” Abby grinned.

“Apologise,” Romance said at the exact same time.

Baby blinked, owlishly at first, then narrowed his eyes with growing scepticism—just as both Romance and Abby snapped their heads towards each other, startled.

For a brief moment, Baby swore the two of them were having a full telepathic conversation. Then, without a word, they nodded in perfect synchrony.

Romance turned back to him, casually, while Baby—still with arms crossed—had leaned down slightly, watching the pair with thinly veiled disbelief, scanning between them for any trace of logic. Naturally, he found none.

Romance shrugged. “Calm her down by apologising. Then devour her. No soul ever tastes good angry.”

Huh. Baby straightened up, expression easing as he nodded slowly. Romance had a point. Even if Baby wasn’t picky, it was common demonic knowledge that rage-flavoured souls only appealed to a rare few with weird palates.

Before he could open his mouth to agree, a soft click broke the moment.

The doorknob to his room twisted, the door creaking open. All three snapped their attention to it, wide-eyed—no doubt looking like startled hares caught in torchlight.

Baby didn’t know who to expect. But it definitely wasn’t Mystery, half-visible behind the slowly opening door.

He blinked. His spine snapped upright as his usually droopy eyes widened into doe-like. Romance, unfazed, lifted a hand in a pleasant wave. Abby grinned like a proud idiot for some reason.

While Baby continued to stare at Mystery as if the man didn’t live under the same roof, it was Romance who broke the silence.

“What are you doing here senior?” he asked, smiling, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Mystery stood motionless, one hand still on the doorknob. They couldn’t see his eyes, but Baby had the creeping suspicion the eldest had blinked once before speaking, voice as soft and chilling as ever.

“I was told to come... by him,” he replied coolly, raising two perfectly shaped fingers to point directly at Abby—who only grinned wider.

That snapped Baby out of his daze. He flinched slightly, turning sharply as Romance—seated next to Abby—did the same.

“Why?” Romance asked with a calm tilt of his brow, voicing what Baby had been about to bark out himself.

Abby looked far too pleased with himself, arms crossed over his chest like a smug lion. “Since Baby was being dramatic, it had to be important. So I figured Mystery would be perfect for solving it! While Baby was yapping and growling, I texted Mystery to come over.”

He said it like it was the most obvious, brilliant solution in the world.

Romance and Baby both gawked at him. Abby didn’t seem to notice. He turned back to Mystery—who remained standing in the doorway like a weathered statue—completely unreadable.

“What took you so long, old man?”

That was usually the kind of thing no one dared to say to Mystery—ranked as he was, not to mention his power—but Abby lacked the instinct for self-preservation. Always had.

Mystery, for his part, didn’t react in the slightest. He merely responded with a quiet, clinical jab, “Saw your name.”

Baby snorted, lips twitching into a grin. Romance chuckled softly behind his hand. Abby, oblivious, beamed.

“Ah! Still learning how to open the magical boxes in the phone?” he asked brightly, already launching into a pointless explanation. “You just gotta—”

Mystery stepped back without a word, shutting the door slowly.

That alone pulled Baby back into focus.

Wait. Abby might’ve actually been on to something.

And Mystery did have the most functioning brain cells out of anyone here. That alone made him worth listening to.

Baby stepped forward slightly, expression softening again, a rare earnestness in his voice. “Would Mystery-nim consider... having a moment still?”

For once, there was no sass or smugness behind it. Just a sincere question—he wanted to hear what his senior had to say.

A silence followed. Romance and Abby glanced between the two, waiting.

Mystery didn’t move right away. He remained still in the hallway, back to them. Baby couldn’t feel nervous, that was taken together with his soul by Gwi-ma. Baby could only stand quietly, watching, waiting for a respond to react to.

Finally, Mystery turned his head just enough to face him. Though his eyes were covered, his aura gave a brief flicker of contemplation. Then, he finally gave a short nod.

With a shift of his shoulders, Mystery stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. He stood inside the room, saying nothing—but making it clear he was waiting for Baby to explain the issue.

Baby didn’t waste a second.

He launched back into the explanation—this time without the growls, or slipping into demonic dialect that made Romance and Abby squint or read his aura like a weathered text. Now, it was just words. Clear, sharp, and finally spoken with some composure.

Once the full story was out, the room fell quiet.

Mystery hadn’t moved from where he first stationed himself, still standing near the door. The only change was the tilt of his head—chin lowered as he absorbed Baby’s words in full silently but most importantly thoroughly.

The three waited, clearly too eager despite trying not to show it.

Finally, Mystery straightened. He turned his head towards Baby. The attention made his fingers twitched slightly, resisting the urge to clap like an overeager child. Instead, he sharpened, silent, listening with his full focus.

“Humans are needy creatures,” Mystery began in his cool, steady tone—echoing Romance’s earlier words—before continuing without pause. “You should have taken that into account before letting Jinu sway you.”

Ah. Baby’s eyes flicked to the side.

It wasn’t a reprimand, exactly—Mystery wasn’t one for scolding—but the truth stung all the same. That was the reminder. Baby had been just as selfish as you, and this? This was the cost of that.

Fair. His eyes dropped to the carpet, shoulders heavy as Mystery’s voice carried on, calm and unbothered.

“However,” he said, “she is not one to leave.”

That snapped Baby’s head up. Mystery continued, head tilting slightly, fringe shifting, though never revealing the sharp briliant eyes hidden behind. “So... even if the two of you had a mindless argument over a foolish disagreement—which, I agree, could’ve been handled more peacefully if she wasn't blinded by her lack of self-worth—she’ll return. Even if you give her space and don’t speak to her.”

Baby grimaced, subtly. That didn’t help.

It wasn’t that he disliked the idea of keeping your cooling wave around... It was the thought of you returning anyway. Coming back while still expecting something from him he visibly couldn’t give.

But Mystery, unfazed, didn’t pause.

He lifted his chin to glance at the ceiling. “Of course, humans are fickle. So if she does surprise us and doesn’t return—worst-case scenario—she may attempt to damage your name. And, by extension, SAJA’s name. On those human gathering zones—”

“Socials, senior,” Romance cut in, smiling as he gently corrected.

Mystery paused only to nod, then continued, barely missing a beat. “...‘Socials’,” he echoed, as if the word were a foreign incantation. “The humans under the company that manage our images and interactions on those... 'Socials', would easily turn the narrative. She’d be painted as overbearing. You, as the wounded victim.”

He turned his face back toward Baby, cool and direct.

“That way, Jinu still gets the attention he wanted from the relationship,” he said plainly. “And you—get your ‘time’ back.”

Mystery finished with the same calm he always carried. He offered no emotional comfort, no praise—only clean-cut logic and resolution, as if he were stating a weather report.

The lack of him commenting on you potentially revealing they were demons spoke volumes too. No one would believe you and even spin it into one of those wild theories that would just give SAJA more attention through the content the humans would spin out of it.

Romance gave an approving clap, fingers snapping in a polished, regal manner. “Brilliant, as always.”

Abby just groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Too many turns and curves. I think I got whiplash.”

Baby sighed heavily. His arms folded again as he rocked back on the heels of his feet, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

“So much fucking unnecessary drama...” he muttered, his voice trailing off, drawn out by the pitter-patter of rain tapping steadily against the windows, ringing in his ears and echoing in his mind.

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #saja boys #request #ficrequest #baby kpdh #baby saja #saja boys x reader #baby saja x reader

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romanteacism · 1 month ago

Text

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Broken

Synopsis: What is one more broken promise and two more broken hearts? Warnings: Angst. PREVIOUS PARTA/N: They're gonna be fine-- keep the faith

“I thought she’d be prettier,” Aemond let out a grievous breath, his hands balled tightly in a fist as his eye rolled at the words his betrothed whispered to him when you entered the great hall with your family. His house’s place was tucked by the farthest corner of the halls, but even if a crowd of attendees hid him away from your view, his lone eye would still succumb to seeking you out. After two years, he felt his heart finally announce its presence again, even if he only caught a small glimpse of you. He felt his knees weaken and his hands grow colder as he saw the clear melancholia in you, even if a pretty smile was on your lips. He always knew what you hid beneath the surface. How could he not?

“It is treason to say such a thing about the princess… they could take your tongue for your words—or even place you in the black cells for a month,” Aemond muttered as your father, the king, signaled for his guests to take their seats. He placed his gaze on the table, resisting looking at you because he was uncertain what he would do if he stared at your face much longer. However, Lady Cassandra looked upon you in curiosity. “Well, it’s the truth,” She whispered. “Everyone in the kingdom speaks of her as if she is the most beautiful princess there ever was… but if you ask me, she looks quite plain.”

Aemond tried to rein in his anger, but he could not do so because even after all these years, he could not stomach anyone speaking badly about you. “Hold your tongue,” He seethed quietly, fire behind his lilac eye, and Lady Cassandra looked quite alarmed at the tone of his voice and the severe expression on his face. “My darling, no need to be so serious… none could hear me. Though I must say, I am touched that you are so concerned about your beloved betrothed,” Lady Cassandra grinned as she took Aemond’s disposition as concern rather than annoyance. Aemond felt his eye twitch at Lady Cassandra’s words. Aemond chewed on his cheek as your father began to speak; everyone in the hall turned upon their king except him.

True to your eldest brother’s words, he did sit before you and hid the view of the guests, but most importantly, Aemond. You fiddled with your fingers in anxiousness and prayed that the feast would pass quickly. “Do not fret, sister; you could retire after the second course,” The prince whispered beside you, and you could only give a small smile of gratitude. However, that smile was quick to wilt as you realized that before the feast could actually commence, those who sought your father’s blessing for their marriage were to approach the long table. As your brother saw the clear alarm in your eyes, he too realized what was to happen next. “I… I shall be fine, brother.” You managed to say, but the validity of your words was debatable.

You tried to keep your mind preoccupied as the lords and ladies who asked for your father’s blessing for marriage began to queue before the long table. Your eldest brother began to speak to you and your brother, offering any anecdote just so you would not let your mind wander towards your past knight, who stood with his betrothed at the end of the line. When he was drawing closer, your fingers nervously traced the embroidery of your dress, bracing yourself as you would once again be faced with the love you had lost.

Luckily, your cousin Eliza suddenly appeared, in her arms was her babe, and she quickly excused you from the long table as she had been privy to the truth. “Come, cousin, my son has been desperate to spend time with his aunt,” Eliza smiled softly as her daughter coed in her arms, ushering you to stand and offering an escape from facing Aemond.

Aemond, who stood at the end of the line, felt his breath fall short as he saw you stand, your gaze planted on the babe in Lady Eliza’s arms. This was the closest he had been to you for two years. He was finally ready to face you, to look into your enchanting eyes once more, but his chances were gone as you had left, just as he did.

“Thank you,” You said quietly as you took Eliza’s son into your arms, the tot quickly settling into your hold. You need not utter why you gave thanks, as Eliza quickly understood and took your hand and gave it a loving squeeze.

“Oh, by the way, cousin, I wish for you to meet Lord Andrew. He’s my dear husband’s cousin,” Eliza smiled, and as the words left her lips, the young lord stood. His stature towered over those who sat at the long table and over you as well. Eliza knowingly smiled as she caught the way your eyes slightly widened when you saw her husband’s cousin. With his tall frame, warm brown eyes, and sand blonde locks, he looked exactly like the man you had envisioned and told her you would marry when you were younger. Eliza would like to believe it was fate. Though she had once wished it was Aemond you would end up with, it would seem that was just a fantasy, as he was now lined up before your father to ask for his blessing with his betrothed on his arm.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, princess.” Lord Andrew smiled and took your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles. For the first time in two years, you feel the familiar heat on your cheeks and the slight flutter in your heart as your eyes meet those of warm brown eyes.

Aemond, who was standing before your father, saw the scene, eye wide and confused. His mind was running with questions that no one could answer. For the past moons, he and the whole of the kingdom believed that their beloved princess was married. But you were still here, in your father’s house. No prince nor lord escorted you through the castle walls, nor did anyone see you with another man who was not related to you. Could it be true that your hand was not taken by another? That you had kept your promise to him that you would never take another that was not him? Aemond could not stew in his thoughts any longer as the king was now before him, and he and his betrothed were asking for his blessing, but all he wanted to do was run to you and leave all his misguided actions behind.

As the feast went on, Aemond could not help as his eye kept glancing in the direction of the princess. She forwent her proper place by the head table and instead occupied the seat next to a lord in a place that seems to be connected to Lady Eliza’s husband’s house. Aemond watched steely-eyed as the lord leaned forward and invaded the princess’s space, a smirk on his lips. Aemond had thought you would back away, put further space between you and the lord as you often did, but you only mirrored his smile, and he dared say he saw you mimic the lord’s movements and lean further as you two engaged in a conversation that was meant for you two alone.

Aemond gripped his chalice tightly. Aemond had always resisted jealousy before, even if he often failed. But now? All he wanted was to stew in his jealousy. Nurse the pit in his heart as you laughed with a lord. And curse the day that he decided to leave you. However, Aemond could do no such thing, as all he felt was his own doing.

You resisted turning towards the direction of your past knight. He was on the other side of the room, yet you could still feel the familiar burn of his lilac, icy stare. Questions infiltrated your mind— the same questions you had years before. Why did he leave? What have you done wrong? Why had he not returned your letters? All of these questions were never given an answer, and you would think that after years of silence, you would have given up and decided to move on. But who could truly move on from their first love? So instead of giving in to your wants to march over to the other side of the hall and demand Aemond’s answers, you preoccupied yourself with Lord Andrew. If Aemond had clearly moved on, so should I. You thought. You breathed in deeply and decided that it was truly better to forget about him because if you dwelled further, the hurt in your chest might never leave, and it only doubled each time as you thought of him and his soon-to-be lady wife.

“Might be too forward of me to ask if we could break fast tomorrow, princess?” Lord Andrew questioned sheepishly, his eyes going downwards in shyness, and you bit your tongue. “But we had not even finished our supper, my lord,” You say, eyes glancing towards the plates before you two that were barely touched as you and the lord had been too preoccupied with speaking and getting to know one another.

“Oh— I… apologies, princess, I did—“ You bit your lip to prevent the amused smile that wanted to come forth as the lord began to ramble on his apologies for being too forward, and his fear of offending and scaring you off was evident in his eyes. You licked your lips and took hold on his hand that reasted atop teh table as a signal for him to cease fretting and voiced out that you would very much like to break your fast with him on the morrow but what you liked most that for the first time in two years, you found someone who could bring your thoughts away from Aemond.

When Aemond witnessed that you bestowed your touch upon another and how his stare could not persuade you to look upon him, he quickly stood and excused himself from the house’s table and left. Desperately wanting to erase the scene he had witnessed in his mind and expel the rage and hurt he had felt because he had to come to the truth of his actions— that his rash and ill-thought-out decision had led him to lose the love of his life.

When morning approached, you woke earlier than you had thought as the incessant barking of your pets broke your slumber. You sat up on your feathered bed and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, all the while Theo used his mouth to pull at the sleeve of your nightgown and urged you to stand. When you did, you looked upon Sapphira in question, and the two of your eldest cats only nudged their furry faces upon your leg, and you stumbled upon them as you tried to dress in your robe. You stayed silent as your cats began to push and lead you outside your chambers. The castle was still fast asleep, and the sun barely broke through the horizon.

Through your tired stupor, you did not question the odd behavior of your beloved pets as you walked barefoot through your home and were led to the gardens. When Theodore and Shapphira’s whinnings finally ceased, you sighed and scooped them up in your arms, “Why must you wake me and lead me to gardens for nothing, my loves?” You asked softly as they rested calmly in your arms Ypu turned to return from whence yyou came from but your steps quickly ceased and you froze in your spot as you were greeted by Aemond who was only dressed in his night clothes and from the sweat on his face, you would wager he came from the tiltyard. He had a triad of cats in his arms, the kittens belonging to the felines in your arms that you quickly placed back on the ground as you feared that at any moment you might just run away, as you had never thought you should be confronted by him.

“They stumbled into the tiltyard… I supposed they were yours because of their jeweled collars.” Those were the first words that Aemond had spoken to you. Even he himself was surprised that he did not stumble or stutter— he was certain that the words on his lips would be caught if he dared to speak to you now. You nodded meekly, watching as Theodore and Sapphira looked upon the man who had been your constant companion before.

When Aemond looked upon the pets that he once helped raise, he felt another pit in his stomach. It was odd; he was never particularly fond of your cats, but deep inside, he still cared for them because he knew how much you adored them. Back in his home, Aemond had the habit of feeding the stray cats he saw on the grounds, a small voice in his head urging him to do such actions because he knew you’d approve of it. To this day, in House Targaryen, there were maids and squires instructed to feed any wandering or stray cat they found.

You dared not look at Aemond, your eyes firmly planted on the ground, and as you saw him dip down and return the kittens to their parents, you took that as your turn to leave. “Good day, lord Aemond,” Was all you managed to say, and you tried to follow your cats, who returned inside the castle walls. When Aemond heard his name from your lips, he felt his knees weaken and his heart burn at the tone of dismissal in your voice.

He watched you try to hastily return inside the castle walls and perhaps hide from him once more, but he could not let it be so. He was brash as he took hold of your arm and pulled you closer to him. “Please,” Was all he could say, his being too consumed with the thought of you near, that you were once again in his grasp and that he was finally breathing in your scent and hearing your voice once more.

“I command you to let go of me,” You ordered, voice harsh as you knew that each second spent near Aemond would undo all the stitches that his leaving had caused. You only felt him hold onto you tighter, trying to pull you closer. “I’m sorry, my heart,” You hear him whisper. He was standing behind you, his hold still upon your arm and his face thrading near your head, his breath fanning your hair. You feel the threat of tears quick to come. You shut your eyes tightly and shook your head. “Do… do not call me that— how dare you call me that?!”

You seethed and forcefully removed his hold upon you so you could meet his eye. “You have no right to call me your heart after you had left mine broken for years!” You practically screamed, the hurt in you bubbling into rage. You watched as Ameond tried to speak— to try and say his peace but you could not let him do so— the questions you had that you desperately wnated the answers for could finally be known but you could not let it be so because you knew that whatever reason he offered, your heart would be too soft and understand him. Now, you felt as if you’d rather hate him and forgo closure rather than hear his side and mourn him for the rest of your life.

“You had left—you left me after… after everything, and not only did you not give me a reason, you had as well ignored me! I do not wish for your apologies nor your explanations— I do not even wish to see you! But here you are, in my home once more… asking for my father’s blessing so you could marry another.” Aemond stood stiffly, he knew you were close to tears and all he wanted to do was take you into his arms and let you cry onto him once more, but he knew that the tears you wished to shed were not of sadness— it was of anger; anger towards him.

“You have it— you have the king’s blessing.” You said. “And would you please do me this kindness?” You asked, Aemond’s lowered gaze finally placed itself upon yours once more. “Leave. You have gotten what you came for— you are free to do as you wish, but I beg of you, leave.” Aemond fisted his hands at your request, at the pleading tone in your voice. Is this truly what you wish? For him gone? Or were you only spurred by your anger? “I… I can’t, not again,”

You scoffed at Aemond’s reply. “You had no trouble doing it the first time… what is the difference now?” You asked bitterly. You watched as the solemn sadness in Aemond’s eye faded, and in turn, fire took its place. “Do you honestly believe I wished to do that? Do you truly think I wanted to leave you?”

You laughed humorlessly. “Aemond, not only did you leave, but you left me without a word! You could have explained your situation to me— you could have sent a letter— anything! And I would have understood! Yet you did not, I had to find out what had happened to you through whispers and gossip! So yes, I do believe you wished to leave— and you were only a coward to leave without telling me why.”

“Do you wish to know why?” Aemond asked, stepping closer to you. “No.” You answered plainly. “I am done questioning why— I have thought of any possible reason as to why you had done what you did. I’ve had enough… So no, I do not wish to know why, Aemond.” You swallowed thickly as you met his eye, you stared into the lilac orb that you had deemed the most beautiful gaze you’ve ever held years before, and quietly mourned the fact that this may be the last time you looked upon them.

You moved to walk away, to finally leave all of this be, but four words from Aemond made you freeze. “I only love you,” He said, staring upon your departing frame that ceased as the words left his lips. He took that as an opportunity to really tell you the words he wished to have said years before. “You are right, I was a coward— I have broken your heart and trust… but do not think for one moment that I have ceased loving you, my heart. I have promised you— laid out my oath that you shall be the only one that I will love and have 'til the end of my days… I still intend to keep my oath,”

You breathed out a heavy breath, turning to him once more. His eye filled with hope by that small action, you dared to step closer and cup his cheek and stroke his scar with your thumb as you had often done before. That only put forth further hope in him, but it was quick to die at the words that left your lips. “You have already broken one of your oaths, Aemond. What is one more?” It placed further dread in your heart as you studied his eye filled with hurt, and at any moment it looked like a tear might fall from the lilac orb, but you could not help but say the following words that engraved in Aemond’s mind that he had truly lost you. “Marry Lady Cassandra, Aemond. You may not have kept your promises to me, but at least keep the word you’ve given her.”

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