#why does Chirp have teeth

[threesthoughts]

WHY AM I PURPLE?

You are purple!!!

[peachylynnie]

what jewelry they like on you

word count: ~300-400 per lead contains: lads men x non!mc reader, established relationship, they all adore you, jewelry descriptions, fluff, suggestive themes (sylus, rafayel, and caleb), and did i mention fluff? make it toothrotting. a/n: it's midterm season so headcanons it is. again, these are headcanons so i'm not saying i'm right. just my silly little interpretations. inspired by my impulsive buy of a bracelet the other day. no, my wallet hasn't recovered. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! tagged: @vvintqz (a little headcanon for xavier, lmk if u want me to stop tagging) lads masterlist

sylus

necklaces all the way

has a preference for silver chains with red or black charms

it's his signature colors on your pretty neck

loves it even more when the charm rests between your collarbones

if you want his nose to bleed, wear a long necklace

yes, the one that goes all the way down to your chest

but if you really want to get him going

wear a choker

doesn't even have to be a chain type or have charms

if it's a choker, he'll fold, like dogs to a bone

you can't blame him

it enticingly accentuates the rest of your neck and collarbones, the two places he likes to leave marks on

don't worry if you're hypoallergenic (like me)

he only ever gets you the finest of materials, even if you point out the cost

not that you mind or anything

"sylus," you whine.

you're going to be late. again. all because of this silver-haired man who's refusing to leave your neck alone.

"sylus!" you gasp when he tugs down the choker, his dewy lips taking advantage of the newly exposed spot.

you're starting to regret wearing a choker (not really). you thought it went well with your outfit. and it did! it added a little pop to your look, and you were excited to wear it for the first time in a while.

"hey!" you squirm in his embrace when you feel the poke of his teeth. "no marks!"

"does it really matter, sweetie?" he asks nonchalantly before continuing his assault on your neck. he loves how his tongue occasionally meets with the smooth fabric of your choker. "this," he tugs on it some more, eliciting a soft whimper from you. "will cover them."

sighing, you make a mental note to apologize to your friends for being late when you meet them.

xavier

earrings

especially studs or the mini drop ones that come in cute graphic designs.

there's just something about the way the adorable little charms hang from your ears

really, he thinks they complement your face shape

and he loves to cup your face whenever

but when you wear the ones that are star-themed

he's looking at you as if you're the one who hung them up in the night sky

seriously, he's never seen anything more beautiful

it also strokes his jealousy (?) in a way (cuz yk he's all abt the stars)

but that's worth like...less than 1% of the experience

he just really loves seeing you wear them

don't worry if your ears aren't pierced

clip-ons are a thing, and he'll make sure to get that ones that are both high quality and comfortable

he also loves watching you put them on

his cheeks hurt from smiling too much. he tries to cover his rosy face when you lean towards the mirror.

you're adjusting the backing of your new star stud. furrowing your brows, you tilt your head to the side for a better look.

xavier swears he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life. here you are, making something so simple as adjusting an earring look so skillful and charming.

"done!" you secure the backing and spin around to show your boyfriend. "what do you think?"

"yeah," he nods softly. "i think you're glowing."

you giggle and embrace him tightly.

"thanks for surprising me with them," you chirp, peering up at him.

the stars on your ears shine. no different from your eyes.

"anything for you, starlight," he whispers, stroking your cheek with a thumb. "anything for you."

rafayel

bracelets

listen

we all know this man is a FIEND for our hands

i may not have all of his five-star cards

but tell me why it is that in all the ones i have, he's YEARNING for our hands at some point

jumps at every chance to help you put one on

has a thing for cuff bracelets

like the metal swirly ones that hold a jewel in the middle

they exude the sense of royalty in a way (he's a god so)

most definitely has designed some for you too

and by some, i mean numerous

what's really heartwarming about that though is that he collects the materials himself

the amount of seashells he has preserved for you

but back to him being down bad for our hands

there's something about the way cuff accompanies the bare skin of your wrist and gently presses against your pulse

he's in heaven whenever he nuzzles against your wrist and feels the cool metal graze his heated skin.

"wait," you squint at the bracelet rafayel just secured around your wrist. "did you design this?"

"yup," he answers with a puffed chest. "good eye, cutie. how'd you know?"

you roll your eyes lovingly.

"first of all, i'm your partner, raf." turning your wrist, you admire the intricate swirls of the cuff. "second of all, your works normally have a trademark."

"oh?" he grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, his lips already tracing your wrist. "and what would that be?"

you try not to shudder when his siren eyes meet yours.

"isn't this from one of your lemuria collections?" you shakily gesture towards the sapphire seashell crested on top. "you always reference lemuria in your works, right?"

"wrong," his tongue darts out, savoring your quickened pulse as punishment for your incorrect answer. "it's not just lemuria i always reference in my works."

he tightens the cuff.

"it's you, cutie."

zayne

rings

he loves the subtlety of them

especially the ones made out of thinner bands

they bring out the beauty of your fingers

he loves the way they shine whenever you move your hands too

let's say the two of you are at a cafe

sitting across from each other and reading novels

except he gets distracted (in a good way) whenever your flip a page

your ring glimmers in the sunlight that's peeking through the window

oh wow, not only is there a halo over your head, there's a halo around your finger too

he can't help but reach out at some point

and trace your left ring finger

imagining what it would be like to gift you one

a simple one that conveys an impactful message

one he hopes you'll say yes to

and bound not only both his and your left ring fingers

but also your souls to each other

"zayne? are you alright?"

he snaps out of his thoughts, lifting his chin from his palm.

"sorry," he apologizes as smoothly as he can. "could you repeat that?"

you smile endearingly. his heart beats rapidly.

"i asked if you were alright."

"yes," he answers before clearing his throat. "yes, of course. why?"

"oh, it's just," you giggle. "you're still tracing my finger."

zayne immediately retracts his hand.

"sorry," he apologizes again. this time profusely. "did i make you uncomfortable?"

"no, no," you immediately reassure. "i liked it. it's just you were doing it for a while..." you pause before continuing. "i thought you were checking for dead skin or something."

zayne blinks.

"you thought i was checking for dead skin?" he repeats incredulously.

you nod slowly. now it's your turn to be flustered.

at that, he chuckles with a shake of his head and returns to tracing your left finger, ignoring your amusing assurances about how you always wash your hands thoroughly.

yes, he's most definitely going to marry you.

caleb

anklets

this totally wasn't inspired by that one scene in the main story where he pins our leg down with his evol

nope not at all

i don't know what you're talking about

he likes the ones that come with dangly charms

this is because he can hear you whenever you move

interpret that however you want

but really, he loves how the sound gets louder and louder

because that means you're moving TOWARDS him

he wants to gift you a whole bunch of charms

specifically apple and sky themed

it's over for him if you wear it while your legs are exposed

that man is on the floor, his hands haphazardly roaming up and down your bare skin

and when he notices the anklet with the charms that he gifted?

it's over for you

his fingers are slipping underneath the anklet, wrapping around your ankle, and pulling you to him

where's his face at?

uhhhhh

you're trying to control your breathing. you really are. but it's hard to when there's a man, an incredibly gorgeous one with lavender eyes deep enough to engulf you whole, settled in front of you, specifically in between your legs.

thankfully (not really), he hasn't done anything yet. he's just kneeling there with his metal fingers snaked around your ankle and his eyes transfixed on the anklet you decided to wear.

"uhm," you start, nervously shifting on the couch. "is there something wrong with my ankle, caleb?"

he finally looks at you. you can't tell if he's angry. definitely not with your foot resting against his broad shoulder.

"nothing's wrong, pips." he speaks after an eternity.

you sigh in relief. eager to get out of this compromising position, you try to put your foot down. keyword: try.

"caleb, what-"

"when did you put the charm on?"

"oh, uh," you notice him looking at the anklet again, but more at the apple charm. it has a snake coiled around it. "a while ago? i think as soon as you gave it to me."

he breathes in sharply.

you think it's over when he releases you. you're proven wrong when he grabs both of your ankles and drags you to the end of the couch, his chin dangerously close to your core.

"you really don't make it easy for me, pips."

[kashverse]

sukuna does not believe in meditation. he doesn’t need it. why the hell would he? he’s the king of the corporate world, an adult, a man. he doesn’t need to sit around, close his eyes, and breathe. except today. because today? today has been absolute bullshit.

his idiot of a finance director nearly lost a multi-million deal, the company’s stocks dipped because some fucker spread false rumors about them on social media, and—oh, the cherry on top—some guy on his legal team apparently didn’t know what an NDA was. so here he is. standing in the pinkest fucking room on the planet.

the walls are covered in stickers and drawings that he’s been forbidden from taking down. shelves are lined with an army of sonny angels and labubus, their beady little eyes watching his every move like silent judges. and at the center of it all, sitting criss-cross applesauce with the air of a messiah, is his five-year-old daughter. she looks up at him, face blank.

"…you look grumpy."

sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "yeah, yeah. look—" he groans. "—teach me that stupid balloon thing."

his daughter gasps. "papa! it’s not stupid!"

"yeah, okay, whatever, just do it."

"say it’s not stupid first."

sukuna grits his teeth. "it’s not stupid."

"say it nicely."

he closes his eyes for a brief moment before exhaling sharply. "it’s. not. stupid."

"good!" she beams. "okay, papa. sit!"

sukuna lowers himself onto the plush pink carpet, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees. "like this?"

"mhm!" she nods. "now, close your eyes."

he grumbles but does it. "okay," she starts, voice soft and gentle, like she’s leading a spiritual retreat.

"now, papa, you have to imagine your tummy is a balloon."

sukuna cracks one eye open. "my what?"

"your tummy," she repeats firmly. "imagine it’s a balloon, papa. every time you breathe in, the balloon gets bigger. every time you breathe out, the balloon gets smaller."

sukuna’s brow twitches.

"papa," she warns. "do it properly." he exhales through his nose. "fine."

so he inhales—deeply—filling his lungs, trying to visualize his absurdly defined torso turning into a fucking balloon. and then exhales. inhale. balloon gets big. exhale. balloon gets small.

…okay.

…not bad.

"see?" his daughter chirps. "it’s good, right?" sukuna opens one eye.

"…it’s not terrible."

his daughter huffs. "say it’s good, papa."

"it’s good, papa."

"papa!"

he smirks. "what? you said to say it."

his daughter glares at him. "do another balloon breath before i tell mama you’re not listening." sukuna groans but obeys, exhaling deeply. he swears the labubus on the shelf look pleased.

[hemipenal-system]

you know about dragons. you see them in the air sometimes, miles above you. you occasionally even get jealous of them and think about how freeing it must be to be able to circle and roll and dive in the air like that. dragons are a fact of life. you never really think about them, until there’s another news story about some rich asshole you don’t care about being carried off by the greedy beasts. that’s the thing: they only go for people with a lot of wealth they can eat

so why you? why’re you dangling from claws high in the air, trying not to piss yourself as the self-satisfied scarlet beast holding you grunts and snorts as its massive wings beat slowly. you work a minimum wage job and you missed rent last month. what the hell does a creature that feeds on riches want from you?

the dragon lands, shifting its weight onto its wing- and hind-limbs and using its front feet to carry you into a cave carpeted with moss, setting you down on your back surprisingly gently and laying down next to you. you’re not worried about being eaten, dragons only eat rich people, but you are incredibly confused about what it wants from you and you doubt it’ll explain itself any time soon

its mouth is surprisingly deft as it strips you nude and tosses the clothes aside. you blush slightly - you’re not opposed to fucking a dragon, you’ve just never considered it - but then instead of kissing you or climbing on top of you, its mouth opens

the dragon’s tongue, longer than your leg and as wide as your head, scrapes up your torso and you involuntarily gasp from the pain. it feels like having a sheet of hot, sticky sandpaper rubbed against you. the dragon chirps and tilts its head, seemingly making sure you’re alright, before doing it again, and again and again, until your entire chest burns and you’re convinced your flesh is being scraped off

it pulls back and looks at you, before pulling a big strip of skin off with its teeth and nosing at what’s below- and you feel like you’re going to pass out when you follow its gaze

scales. beautiful mottled scales the color of verdigris. the dragon snorts almost proudly

before you can react, it grabs your arm in its mouth and starts chewing. not hard, not enough to snap the bone (which you know it could if it wanted to) but just enough to dig into your flesh and pull at it. it hurts, but not badly, and as its teeth remove your skin and muscles its tongue soothes your new scales

it releases your arm, and you look with curiosity at the clawed, dextrous paw that replaced your hand. you’re so entranced by how it moves, you don’t even feel it take your leg in its mouth and bite down

you have no idea how long you lay there letting the dragon worry over your body like a dog with a bone, its teeth and tongue pulling off and presumably devouring as much human flesh as it can reach to expose the draconic below. at some point, your bones start to shift without its attention on them. you gasp as your skull cracks and reforms in under a minute, and the head rush you got from your wings punching out through your shoulders was comparable to an orgasm as your ribs moved and fused into a keel

eventually, it steps back and you realize it’s done. you roll onto your front, getting onto your new legs and taking a shaky step. you almost collapse, but its wing is suddenly under your belly holding you up. it looks into your eyes, as if to say transformation is hard and expensive. take your time

you lash your tail a couple times. it feels good. you open your wings and snarl, then roar. it feels great

you don’t understand how the dragon knew. perhaps they just have a sense for these things.

but you do understand why it took you

[carnalcrows]

EVER EVER AFTER

summary: You were supposed to marry a prince, not fall into a city full of strangers, skyscrapers, and coffee machines. But getting cursed was never part of the plan—and neither was meeting a little girl whose tired, sharp-eyed father who looked at you like you were something real. Tokyo isn’t a fairytale. But maybe, if you’re lucky, it doesn’t have to be.

pairing: robert! nanami kento x giselle! male reader

content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + p in a), bottom male reader, transdimensional travel, poisoned fruit, found family, light swordplay, reader wears enchanted formalwear, dragon lady attack (brief) unreliable narrator (even the author is confused).

word count: 5.2k (the lack of motivation is CLEARLY visible lmao)

better viewed in dark mode

The sun rose over the hills of Andalasia—or what you had always called home. A forest made of dream-soft pastels and impossible light, where the air smelled faintly of honeysuckle and every morning began with birdsong, where deer peeked from behind trees and squirrels held sewing needles with practised grace. It was perfect. Which, to you, meant it was normal.

You twirled on the cottage balcony, robe fluttering behind you, humming a half-finished melody. Bluebirds circled your head in swooping arcs. A pair of chipmunks tugged ribbons between their teeth, and a badger attempted—unsuccessfully—to thread a button onto a coat with trembling paws.

"Almost done!" you said brightly, kneeling beside the dress form shaped from hollowed bark and stitched leaves. “Prince Gojo is going to love this. Well… maybe. I mean—I hope he loves it. It’s just our wedding, after all.”

You paused, blinking, suddenly dizzy with the thought—your wedding.

The forest rustled its approval.

Of course, you’d only just met yesterday. But he’d heard your song. You’d danced on the edge of a waterfall. And when you’d fallen into Gojo’s arms—gracefully, from a cliff, as one does—it had just felt right. That had to mean something. That had to be love.

“Right?” you asked a passing bird.

It chirped something vaguely affirming.

You sighed dreamily, collapsing onto a bed of moss as the birds fluffed the hem of your suit. “A fairytale beginning. A prince. A kiss. And a happily ever after. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

But the forest didn’t hum back the way it usually did.

There was a pause—a stillness.

Then, from the trees—

A rumble.

The birds scattered. The chipmunks dropped their thread. You sat up just in time to see a troll barrel through the glade, teeth bared, claws glinting, eyes wild.

“Okay—not part of the plan!”

You scrambled upright, tripping over a ribbon, only to be yanked backwards by the collar as vines snared your feet. “Seriously—why is it always vines—?!”

Just before the creature could swipe you in half, something silver flashed through the air. A sword. A scream. A blur of white and gold.

Prince Gojo.

He looked like he’d leapt out of a painting—shirt torn, hair somehow perfect, grinning like the chaos was part of the fun.

“Darling!” he called, catching you one-armed while slashing the troll with the other. “I missed you!”

“I saw you yesterday—”

“Too long!” Gojo laughed.

And just like that, the troll was gone.

Vanquished. Heroic. Timed perfectly to the end of a crescendoing song you didn’t realise had started.

Gojo dropped the sword, cupped your face in both hands, and beamed. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we’re getting married.”

And you—still breathless, still dizzy—could only smile and nod.

Because why wouldn’t you?

You had everything you wanted.

Didn’t you?

The next morning bloomed golden and soft. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass leaves, casting patterns on the forest floor as woodland creatures bustled in preparation. Birds carried garlands of silk, chipmunks stitched last-minute adjustments on the embroidered sash, and even the badger from before had seemingly mastered buttoning techniques overnight.

You stood before the mirror, smoothing down the front of your ceremonial robes. Soft blue and ivory, lined with hand-stitched petals, every seam kissed by your own hands. It looked exactly like something you’d imagined as a child—what your future would look like. A storybook ending written in fabric.

Your reflection smiled back. But there was a weight behind it. No doubt. Just... static. A kind of quiet you hadn’t expected.

You shook it off. Today wasn’t for wondering. Today was for joy.

Outside, trumpets rang through the glade.

“Ready?” Gojo called, already astride a white horse, grinning like he was late to his own coronation. A dove landed on his shoulder. He winked at it.

You barely had time to laugh before someone stepped into your path—a stooped woman in a cloak, half-shadowed beneath a crooked hood. Her voice was like splintered wood wrapped in silk.

“Excuse me, dearie,” she said. “A moment, before your big day.”

You paused. The animals hesitated, feathers ruffling.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” you said politely, taking a half-step back.

She smiled—wide, too wide—and reached into her cloak. “Just a wedding gift.”

You didn’t see the hand until it was on your chest. You didn’t feel the ground until it was gone.

The sky twisted above you. The trees blurred, then bent, then shattered into light.

You were falling.

And falling.

And—

Your body slammed into something wet and hard. Your ears rang. Lights flashed—unnatural ones, bright and red and harsh. There were no birds. No singing. No flowers. Just the sting of pavement and a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

You groaned, rolling onto your side.

Towering buildings loomed above, steel and glass swallowing the sky.

And around you, a dozen strangers in suits and jackets walked past without even blinking.

You sat up, wide-eyed, soaked and shivering.

You weren’t in Andalasia anymore.

—

You stumbled to your feet, blinking hard against the lights. They came from everywhere—flashing boxes in the sky, windows that moved, towers made of cold silver and too much glass. The air stank of smoke and iron. The ground beneath you was not grass but something hard and grey, painted with stripes and humming faintly beneath your boots like it was alive.

A giant, glowing sign buzzed somewhere overhead in a language you couldn’t read. Another flashed to life with a jingle that made no musical sense. And still, not a single soul stopped.

People brushed past you without looking. Men in black coats talking into small glowing boxes. Girls with skirts that barely covered their knees, chewing gum and laughing too loudly. A man walked by holding a bag of something fried and orange, and no one said hello. Not even the dog he dragged behind him.

You blinked up at a traffic light.

A robot voice said something you didn’t understand.

“W-what is this place?” you breathed.

No one answered.

A car honked—an angry, blaring sound that made you spin around too fast and nearly fall again. It wasn’t a carriage. There were no horses. Just metal beasts that screamed without mouths, hurtling past in streaks of black and chrome.

“This isn’t right,” you murmured. “This isn’t real.”

You looked around wildly, hoping—praying—for a patch of trees, a trail of birdsong, anything that might lead you back. But there was only noise. Towers. People moving like they couldn’t see you.

Your throat tightened. You spun in place, chest heaving.

“Hello?” you called. “Can anyone hear me? I think—I think I’m lost!”

A businessman glanced at you briefly, eyes skimming your embroidered robes and curling shoes. He shook his head and kept walking.

You swallowed. Hard.

Your hands trembled.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to sing.

Then—

“Papa, look!” a voice cried. High-pitched. Excited.

You turned.

A little girl was tugging at a man’s sleeve, pointing directly at you. She looked about six or seven, dressed in a tiny school uniform and pink sneakers. Her pigtails bobbed as she dragged her father toward you.

Her father—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark coat and tie—stopped just short of you. His expression was… tired. Mistrustful. And unreadable.

“Please,” you said, stepping forward. “I don’t know where I am. Or how I got here. But I think I’ve been cursed.”

The girl beamed. “I told you, Papa, he’s a prince!”

The man blinked.

Then sighed.

And said, flatly, “Oh, hell no.”

The man turned as if to walk away—already fishing in his coat for what looked like a phone, his jaw tight, his whole posture radiating not my problem. You scrambled after him, nearly tripping over your own hem.

“Wait—please!” you said, voice cracking. “I don’t know where this is. I was on my way to my wedding and then a hag—well, a woman, but you know—she pushed me down a well, and now everything smells like metal and why is the sky flickering—?”

“Okay.” He stopped, hands raised. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” you said, not calm at all. “This is just my very composed panic voice!”

The little girl looked up at him. “Can we keep him?”

“We’re not keeping anyone,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. He looked at you again—really looked this time. The dishevelled hair. The mud-spattered sash. The way you stood with your hands wringing in front of you, like you didn’t know what to do without a song to fill the air.

“You’re not from here,” he said slowly.

“No,” you breathed. “I’m from—” You paused. “Actually, I don’t think it exists here.”

“That makes two of us,” he muttered.

There was a long pause.

“Fine,” he said, and ran a hand down his face. “You can come with us. Just for now. Until we figure out who you are, or where you escaped from.”

You blinked. “I didn’t escape from anywhere.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

The little girl took your hand. Her fingers were warm. Grounding.

“I’m Nobara,” she said. “You’re gonna love our apartment. It has a couch. And juice.”

“That sounds…” You swallowed, trying to think of the right word. “...Comforting.”

The man sighed again, as if regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

“Kento Nanami,” he said.

You blinked up at him. “That’s a lovely name.”

“Don’t make it weird,” he replied flatly. Then turned, gesturing for you to follow.

So you did.

Because what else was there to do?

You were lost in a kingdom that didn’t believe in magic. Your prince was in another world. Your clothes were soaked. And nothing smelled like flowers anymore.

But for the first time since the fall, you felt just a little less alone.

The next morning, you tried your best to be helpful.

You folded the couch blanket into a perfect swan. You brewed tea using what you thought was a teapot—it was actually a rice cooker. You gave Nobara an elaborate forest-style braid, complete with twigs and a flower you found in the stairwell. She looked thrilled. Nanami looked... tired.

You were in the middle of sweeping the floor with a curtain rod when the doorbell rang.

Nanami opened the door and immediately tensed. The man on the other side stood tall, dressed in a tailored black coat, hair tied back with the kind of precision that said he’d never forgotten a single appointment in his life.

Suguru Geto.

He didn’t smile. “She ready?”

“She’s finishing her breakfast,” Nanami said, jaw tight.

Geto’s eyes slid past him—and landed on you.

He took in your embroidered cuffs. Your flower-pinned sash. The fact that you were still barefoot, holding a curtain rod like a staff.

There was a long pause.

“New roommate?” he asked.

“No.”

“Dating?”

“No.”

You stepped forward, cheerful. “Hello! I’m staying here until I figure out how to undo a terrible spell that may or may not have involved a cursed well and a power-hungry sorceress. Also, your daughter is delightful.”

Geto blinked.

“...Right.”

Nobara skipped into view, backpack in hand. “Dad, this is the guy who sings at the furniture.”

“Of course he is.”

Nanami handed her a lunchbox. “Back by six.”

“Don’t give me rules in front of the furniture guy,” she muttered.

Geto’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “Say goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, magic prince,” she chirped. “Don’t turn into a tree.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

Nanami stared at it for a long beat.

“Your co-parenting seems… tense,” you offered.

“I’m going to lie down on the floor.”

“That’s fair.”

⋆｡°✩

Down in the subway, Toji checked the note pinned to the inside of his jacket. A crude drawing of your face. A Tokyo address, scrawled in angry cursive.

He pulled out a polished apple, turning it slowly in his hand.

“Should’ve poisoned the horse,” he muttered.

But he took a bite instead—just to test—and promptly spat it out.

“Ugh,” he grimaced. “Too early for this.”

Then he tucked the apple away.

And followed the scent of magic through the city.

The next few days blurred.

You tried to adjust. Truly, you did.

But Tokyo wasn’t a fairytale kingdom—it was loud and messy and fast in ways you couldn’t quite understand. The birds didn’t sing back. The mice refused to sew. And your songs, no matter how sweetly sung, only earned you startled stares and someone in a bear costume handing you a flyer for a karaoke bar.

Nobara took it all in stride. She made you a “Do Not Pet the Pigeons” sign after you got pecked in Ueno Park. She showed you how to use a vending machine. She explained what an elevator was only after you had screamed.

Nanami… tolerated you.

Most of the time.

He scowled when you rearranged the bookshelf into colour-coded rainbow order. He gave you a deadpan look when you introduced him to your “talking shirt” (it wasn’t talking, you just liked it). But he never made you feel stupid. Or small. Or wrong.

And sometimes—only sometimes—you caught him watching you. Like he was trying to solve something he’d forgotten how to understand.

Those were your favourite moments.

⋆｡°✩

Toji arrived on day four.

You were at the apartment alone, dancing with a mop (named Gregory) to a tune you were humming. You twirled toward the door just as the bell rang and flung it open with a smile.

The man on the other side was all shadows and scar tissue.

“Oh!” you said. “Are you a delivery—”

The world tilted.

You hit the floor hard, dazed, a sharp smell filling your nose as something was shoved under it.

“Breathe deep,” the man said, crouching beside you, voice low. “Apple extract. You’ll be out in thirty seconds.”

You blinked. “Is that supposed to be threatening?”

“I mean…” He hesitated. “Yeah?”

“Oh.” You frowned. “It just smells like cinnamon.”

He blinked back at you.

You both stared.

“…Are you immune to poison?” he asked.

“No, just—very good at holding my breath.”

Toji groaned. “Of course you are.”

You scrambled backwards across the tatami mat, brandishing Gregory like a sword. “Are you a bandit? An assassin? A disgruntled pastry chef?”

“I’m your fate.”

“That’s very dramatic.”

Toji lunged—and was immediately tackled to the ground by an eleven-year-old with a bag full of textbooks.

“GET AWAY FROM MY GUEST!” Nobara screamed, absolutely feral.

Toji wheezed. “What the hell—”

Nanami arrived thirty seconds later, briefcase in one hand, tie askew.

He took one look at the scene—Toji pinned to the floor, Nobara biting his sleeve, you holding Gregory like a knight in training—and sighed so hard you could feel it in your bones.

“I don’t even want to know,” he muttered.

Then calmly tasered Toji.

You never loved anyone more.

Toji hit the floor with a grunt, the taser still humming in Nanami’s hand like the ending chord of a very satisfying song. Nobara stood over him triumphantly, arms crossed, one knee planted on his back like a gladiator claiming her kill.

“That’s what you get for sneaking up on a magical prince,” she said, breathless but proud.

“I’m not sneaking,” Toji groaned, dazed. “I rang the doorbell. I had manners.”

Nanami sighed and stepped over the fallen assassin, loosening his tie. “I told you,” he said, eyes on you, “don’t open the door for anyone.”

“I thought he was delivering something!” you said, indignant. “He looked vaguely gift-shaped!”

“He had a knife.”

“It was sheathed!”

Toji coughed. “You guys are the weirdest hostage situation I’ve ever seen.”

Nanami turned to him. “You’re going to explain everything. In detail. And if the words ‘poisoned apple’ come up again, I swear to god—”

Toji lifted his hands weakly. “Alright, alright. Let me sit up first. Your daughter’s kneecap is in my kidney.”

“She’s not my daughter,” Nanami muttered.

“Rude,” Nobara said.

⋆｡°✩

After Toji was zip-tied to a dining chair (you were very proud of that knot, by the way), he admitted to working for “a certain powerful woman”—which, with a little pressing, turned into “Queen Meimei,” which then quickly turned into “look, I just do what I’m paid for, alright?”

“She sent you to kill me,” you said, arms folded, standing like judgment incarnate in your mismatched pyjamas.

“I mean, she said gently assassinate, but yeah.”

Nanami looked at him, stone-faced. “That’s not a real phrase.”

Toji gave him a lopsided grin. “It is in my line of work.”

“And where did you even get these apples?” Nobara asked, sniffing one suspiciously. “They look like they’ve been dipped in nail polish.”

Toji groaned and leaned back in the chair. “Look, I just need the guy to go back through the magic well, and everything’s fine. No more apples. No more death. No more me being choked out by an eleven-year-old.”

“Ten and a half,” Nobara corrected.

“I stand corrected.”

You tilted your head. “So... you’re not evil. You’re just... working retail for witches?”

Toji blinked. “Honestly? Yeah.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is insane.”

You smiled widely. “But at least now we know I am cursed! Which means if we find the well again, I can return to Andalasia and marry Saturo—Gojo. Prince Gojo.”

And just like that, the room went silent.

You didn’t notice. You were already dreaming aloud again, pacing slowly, hands gesturing at nothing. “He must be worried sick. I hope he’s okay. He’s probably searching every corner of this strange kingdom for me as we speak—”

⋆｡°✩

Gojo sneezed into a Tokyo metro map, upside-down, perched on top of a garbage truck.

“Megumi,” he muttered, “I think we’re lost again.”

The chipmunk on his shoulder did not answer.

Nanami didn’t say anything.

He just turned, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge with slightly more force than necessary. The door creaked like it was used to this. Like it had seen one too many magical princes show up in silk pants, talking about true love.

You stood frozen in the centre of the room, suddenly aware of how quiet it had gotten.

Toji raised a brow from the dining chair. “So. That’s awkward.”

Nobara leaned against the wall, chewing her rice cracker. “He’s jealous.”

“What?” you blinked. “Jealous of Gojo?”

She nodded sagely. “Mmhmm.”

Toji chuckled. “Yeah, buddy. He is so in love with you.”

“I—he’s not—” You faltered. “He barely even likes me.”

“He let you reorganise his bookshelf,” Nobara said.

“He cooked for you,” Toji added.

“He let you stay on the good couch.”

You blinked. “There’s a bad couch?”

Toji pointed. “You’re sitting on it.”

“Oh.”

You turned slowly, looking toward the kitchen. Nanami was still there, still pretending not to listen, still staring into the fridge like he expected it to give him emotional clarity.

You bit your lip.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you said quietly.

Toji rolled his eyes. “You’re a singing forest prince. Things have been weird since you showed up.”

Nobara nodded solemnly. “He needs a push.”

“A gentle push,” you emphasised. “Not—”

She was already gone.

You heard her in the kitchen.

“Hey, Nanamin,” she said sweetly. “You still into emotionally repressed denial, or should I start calling him Dad?”

Nanami choked on his water.

You sank into the couch. “I’m going to die here.”

⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, across the city, Gojo had decided that the best way to find you was to sing louder.

He stood on top of a moving float in a parade he was not invited to, throwing roses and belting ballads while Megumi tried to chew through his robe in protest.

“Where is my prince, so noble and kind—”

A child threw a soda at him.

“Rude,” he muttered. Somewhere above, a crow perched on a lamppost and cawed once, low and warning.

Back in her suite, Meimei tapped a finger to her wineglass and smiled slowly.

It was time for her to take matters into her own hands.

You stood by the window after dinner, watching the lights of the city flicker like stars fallen to earth. There was a moment, quiet and small, where it hit you all at once. The strangeness. The softness. The fact that you hadn’t sung in days and didn’t miss it like you thought you would.

Behind you, Nanami moved through the kitchen like a man on autopilot. Cleaning a plate. Drying a cup. Never looking directly at you.

“I didn’t mean to make things difficult,” you said, breaking the silence. “With Gojo. With everything.”

Nanami paused. His reflection met yours in the window, faint and ghostlike.

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just reminded me that... I used to believe in love, once.”

You turned. “You still do. You just don’t want to.”

He leaned against the counter. “Maybe.”

There was a beat.

Then—

“Are you going back to him?”

The question caught you off guard.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was so sure, before. But now… there’s something about this world. It’s messy and loud and everything hurts more, but it’s also real. And honest. And—”

You looked at him.

He was already looking at you.

“I think I’d miss this,” you whispered. “You.”

The air thickened between you. You took a step forward. So did he.

And then—

“Formal invitation,” Nobara announced from the hallway, holding a sparkly gold envelope. “From Geto’s weird rich cousin. You’re all invited to a ball tomorrow night.”

You stared at her.

Nanami groaned.

“I already picked your outfits,” she added.

Of course she did.

⋆｡°✩

The next evening arrived faster than you expected.

The ballroom shimmered in warm gold and marble. The floor was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the chandeliers like upside-down constellations. You stepped inside in a suit that Nobara had helped tailor herself, complete with lace cuffs and a soft lavender ribbon at your collar. You hadn’t seen Kento yet, and your chest ached with how badly you wanted to.

Then he appeared.

Dark vest, gold trim, hair swept just slightly off his brow. He looked uncomfortable and perfectly composed. But when he saw you, really saw you, something softened around his eyes.

“Wow,” you breathed.

He stepped closer. “Likewise.”

There was music, low and elegant.

He offered you his hand.

And when you took it, the world fell away.

You danced like you’d known each other forever. Quiet steps. A shared rhythm. A warmth you didn’t know how to carry in words. His hand on your back. Yours at his shoulder. Eyes never leaving one another’s.

When the final note faded, he didn’t let go.

And when he walked you home through the quiet streets—through alleys lit by vending machines and the distant hum of traffic—you didn’t want to say goodbye.

So you didn’t.

You took his hand.

Led him upstairs.

And kissed him like it was the only magic you still believed in.

⋆｡°✩

He led you to the bedroom like he was afraid the spell might break. The city lights spilled in through the blinds in fractured gold, brushing along your skin when he pushed your jacket from your shoulders, slow and careful. When you reached for him, it was with both hands and everything you hadn’t said all evening.

He was warm beneath your touch. Real. No prince. No fantasy. Just him.

And you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted a fairy tale.

He kissed you as if he meant to remember every sound you made. His mouth moved slowly along your jaw, your collarbone, down the centre of your chest—each touch deliberate, tender. His hands never rushed. He made room for you to gasp, to pause, to smile between breaths. He only moved closer when you pulled him in.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered.

He touched your face like he wanted to say something back, but just couldn’t.

⋆｡°✩

Clothes slipped away quietly. The warmth between you built in slow waves—hands gliding over skin, mouths tracing every curve, breath curling soft and shaky in the quiet.

It was not hurried. It was not practised.

It just was.

Every sigh from you drew one from him. Every time you reached for him, he was already there. When he finally pressed against you fully, it wasn’t about lust—it was something deeper. A need to feel known. To be held in a way that felt like truth.

You trembled. He kissed you through it. Moved slowly. Anchored you.

The rhythm you found was soft. Gentle. Like music made without notes. It built in heat, not force. In need, not hunger. Until the world narrowed to just breath and skin and the steady echo of your name on his lips.

You let go with your head tilted back and your heart aching with how much you felt. He followed, arms wrapped around you like he didn’t want to let go. As if he were terrified you’d vanish if he blinked.

⋆｡°✩

Later, the two of you lay tangled in quiet.

His fingers trailed absent-minded patterns against your spine. You watched the light move across the ceiling and listened to the city outside. For the first time in your life, you didn’t wonder if this was a dream.

You knew it was real.

And that, somehow, was even better.

The morning came softly.

You woke with Nanami’s arm still draped across your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck. The light through the curtains was a pale gold, gentle, hesitant. The kind of morning that didn’t rush you.

You didn’t move at first.

Not because you were afraid—but because you didn’t want to disturb what felt, impossibly, like peace.

When you did shift, just slightly, his grip tightened. A subtle, instinctive pull that made your chest ache in the best way.

You turned to face him.

He blinked once, slowly, then smiled the smallest, softest smile you’d ever seen on him. No walls. No filters. Just… him.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

He answered with a kiss, quiet and unhurried, like a secret passed between you.

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the rustle of sheets, the hush of breath, and the way his hand never left yours.

Until the doorbell rang. You both froze.

Nanami groaned. “Tell me that’s not your enchanted raccoon again.”

You laughed. “Megumi is a chipmunk.”

“Not better.”

You pulled on your robe as Nanami padded to the door. He opened it—

And found Toji standing on the other side, holding out a glinting red apple in the palm of his hand.

“I come bearing brunch,” Toji said. “Very specific brunch.”

Nanami frowned. “You’re supposed to be in jail.”

“I was bored.”

You stepped into the hall, hair tousled, smile still warm from sleep. “Oh! Good morning—”

“Don’t eat that,” Nanami cut in, pointing at the apple. “That’s definitely cursed.”

Toji looked wounded. “What, just because it’s glossy and red and I’m a former assassin working for a magic sociopath? Wow. Judgmental.”

You squinted at it. “Is it poisoned?”

Toji hesitated. “Maybe just a little.”

Nanami reached for the taser.

Toji backed up. “I didn’t give it to him yet! Geez. No appreciation for dramatic timing.”

⋆｡°✩

But later that evening, after laughter, after tea, after something that felt dangerously close to happiness, you stepped into the kitchen alone.

The apartment was quiet. Nanami was brushing his teeth. Nobara had passed out face-first on the couch.

And there, sitting in the fruit bowl like it belonged, was the apple.

Red. Shiny. Smelling faintly of roses and honey.

You stared at it. A whisper trailed through your thoughts.

Forget him.

Forget all of this.

One bite—and it all goes back to the way it was. The ball. The prince. The perfect fairytale ending.

You reached out. Touched the apple’s skin.

And just as your fingertips curled around it, A voice behind you said, silk-smooth and evil:

“I knew you’d choose the story over the ending.”

You turned.

Meimei stood in the doorway, all dark velvet and cold eyes.

And in that moment, you knew.

This wasn’t over.

You stepped back instinctively.

The apple clattered to the floor, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop, glinting under the overhead light like something out of a dream you no longer trusted.

Meimei smiled, slow and catlike. She looked impossibly at ease, standing in Nanami’s kitchen like she owned it. Not a wrinkle in her dress, not a hair out of place. Like she hadn’t crossed dimensions to murder you.

“Not quite the fairy tale you imagined, is it?” she said. “Too loud. Too grey. Too human.”

Your hand hovered behind you, searching for the counter. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her eyes gleamed. “Neither should you.”

Nanami’s voice rang from down the hall. “Everything okay?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Meimei was already moving.

Her hand struck with blinding speed, a push like wind and stone. The world lurched. You slammed back into the cabinet with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

“You should’ve stayed in the story,” she said. “Married your prince. Let me keep my crown.”

Your vision blurred. You tried to speak—call out, cry for Nanami—but the words got lost between your heartbeat and the copper taste in your mouth.

Meimei knelt beside you, lifted the fallen apple with two fingers.

“Don’t worry,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s painless. Mostly. And after midnight, no one will remember you anyway.”

You reached for her wrist.

She offered the apple.

You hesitated.

And that was all she needed.

She pressed it to your lips—gentle, deceptively so—and the moment your teeth sank in, the world tipped sideways.

The floor vanished.

Your limbs went cold.

And then everything went black.

⋆｡°✩

Nanami found you less than a minute later.

The apple was split open on the tile. Your body lay crumpled against the cabinets, motionless. Too still.

For a second—just one—he couldn’t move.

Then he was at your side. Kneeling. Shaking your shoulders. Repeating your name over and over like it was a prayer he was too late to make.

Your eyes didn’t open.

Your chest didn’t rise.

Nobara screamed from the living room. Toji cursed. Someone called Geto. But all Nanami could do was hold you—arms wrapped tight around your limp frame—while the clock on the wall ticked closer to midnight.

And nothing happened.

⋆｡°✩

They gathered at the ball.

Meimei, radiant and smug, stood on the highest balcony like a queen crowned by cruelty. Gojo arrived too late. Nobara cried so hard her nose bled.

And Nanami—quiet, steady, breaking in the worst way—pressed one final kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, broken.

And just as the clock struck twelve—

You breathed.

Your fingers curled in his lapel.

And your eyes opened.

⋆｡°✩

Meimei screamed.

She transformed—claws, wings, teeth. A dragon in heels. She lunged for Nanami. For you.

And you, in your borrowed suit and bare feet and messy hair, picked up the nearest decorative sword and ran.

You climbed, ducked, and dodged. She followed. Fire at your heels. Wind at your back.

On the rooftop, it ended.

One wrong step. One well-timed slip.

She fell.

And you watched as the last petal of the old story turned to ash on the breeze.

⋆｡°✩

The next morning was warm.

Gojo returned to Andalasia. Geto stayed behind, promising to stop being dramatic about joint custody. Toji left Tokyo with a train ticket and a new appreciation for tasers.

You opened a small fashion studio.

And Nanami?

He stood beside you, hand in yours, watching Nobara chase pigeons down the street.

“Are you really staying?” he asked.

You looked at him.

Smiled.

“I already am.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq @gaozorous-rex-blog @idkmissgurl @sooniebby @seomn

[gay-dorito-dust]

Do Dante and Nero do any demon courting stuff? They may not be as demon brained as Vergil, but do their instincts take over occassionally?

my awnser to this question is; yes.

While Dante and Nero aren't as well versed or knowlegeable of demon courting stuff, nor participating in it nearly as perfectly as Vergil, they still have demon heritiage and no matter how little it is they still feel the same need to find a mate and demonstraight their strength.

Dante will use missions as an excuse to show you just how strong he is, show off his prowess as he cuts down hie enemies in hopes of winning your favour as he makes sure none of them ever dare came near you. However he's quite reckless when he does this and almost end up in dire situations on countless of occasions, that he's left with you scolding him rather then praising and thanking him.

leaving him a very pouty demon with droopy wings, almost like a sad and wet puppy.

Another demon related thing that Dante would do is bring you some stuff he'd think would impress you...if you were a demon to be exact but it's fun to indulge him and accept his gifts, even if it was just to see his eyes widen and make his happiness well known by holding you close against him and purring deeply into your chest; happy that you had accepted his weirdly shiny pebble that he had found and thought of you immedietely.

Dante would do this uniuqe thing where he would playfully hunt you, pin you to the floor and just let out a low gutteral growl as sharp teeth were pressed to your forhead, this was their verison of a forehead kiss, something used to calm one mate when their emotions were out of wack and needed a grounding moment. so whenever dante could sense that your emotions were worsening then expect to be pinned by this demon and having him purr against your forhead until you've calmed down, ironically it works.

Nero on the other hand will have similar courting traits as his dad but to a lesser extent. For his demon instincts feel more of an ich he couldn't scratch, a tickle in the back of his mind that demanded that he did something impressive in your presence, something to show you that he was perfect mate material.

So thing such as grooming you, scenting you and making a unique chirping noise that is reserved for you to hear and you alone. so if you were to mimic his chirping noise back at him, he's a happy demon because you were reciprocated his call with one of your own, accepting your situation that will lead to you two being mates.

Another thing that he'd do is have you wear his stuff, it didn't matter what it was just as long as it was his then it didn't matter, his coat or hoodies were more then fair game and the most utelised article of clothes he encourages you to wear constantly.

Yet if you were to ever ask him why, his tiny demon brain assumes that you hate him and didn't want to be his mate after all, so have fun consoling a pouty quater demon who just wanted you to wear his coat, so wear the coat and don't say anything for his sake.

Something unique to Nero is that he his horns can shed, a really unique thing even amongst demons themsleves as most can't shed at all, but Nero will make something out of his old horns for you. sheding his horns don't hurt him at all and can grow back, so it's best to accept the gift he makes out of them as he trusts that they'd be loved within your possesion even if their usage was gone.

He's content in knowing that even when they stop serving their purpose for him, now laying in rest with you in another form, whether he crafted a flower from them or something else as long as it was in your posession it was in the safest pair of hands of hands Nero has ever known.

[pipsqueaks89934]

Yandere Mershark x Mermaid reader

Warnings: the reader is kinda dumb, non-con, dub-con, marking, kidnapping, and biting.

You were swimming in the ocean, looking for a new shipwreck to explore so you could find cool new human things to add to your collection. Once you found a shipwreck you immediately began to swim over to it so you could find human stuff. As you checked out the sunken ship you hadn't noticed that you wandered a little too far and accidentally and unintentionally went into the Mershark territory without realizing it. You were too distracted in the human stuff to realize that a Mershark had snuck into the shipwreck and found you digging through a giant container while you threw things that you didn't like out and putting the stuff you did like in a bag you made of seaweed and other ocean plants. As you dug through the container you still were not aware of the Mershark silently sneaking up on you until you felt a large pair of arms wrap around your chubby waist, making a scream erupt from your throat.

“Hey, little one you're a long way from home aren't you?” the Mershark said as he turned you around so you two could be face to face.

“Who are you?” you squeal as you try to get away from the Mershark.

“I’m Alon,” he said as he played with a small chunk of your hair while keeping you in a strong grip. “And you're in my territory.”

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble as you give up trying to get out of his grip. “I’ll leave and never come back, I promise!”

“But then who will be my mate?” he asked with a smirk.

“I don't know!” you said as you started trying to get out of his grasp.

“Don't worry I'm not going to hurt you,” he said with a smirk that showed off his sharp teeth. “Too much!”

“No, please, I'm sorry!” you cry as he starts to swim out of the shipwreck with you in his arms.

He swam deeper and deeper into the ocean until you two reached a cove.

“Where are we?” you ask as you look around the small cove.

“Our new home!” he said while holding you from the back.

“Home?” you ask while looking at him with a scared look in your eyes.

“Yes,” he said while putting his head in the nook of your neck before kissing it gently. “Should I mark you now or while we mate?”

“What?” you ask as you try to push his head away.

“You're right,” he said before pinning you to the sea floor. “Why wait?”

The next thing you know you are being held down while the shark above you thrusts into your warmth at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned while he kept the pace he set earlier. “I’m gonna mark you in a minute, I know you mermaids like to have a mark to show off!”

All you could do was squeak, chirp, and whimper as the shark man thrust into you as hard as he could.

“Does it feel good my little fishy?” he asked as he looked down at you with a smirk on his handsome and chiseled face.

You tried not to think about how hot the Mershark on top of you was as he continued to fuck you.

“Answer!” he said angrily while grabbing your face so you could look back at him.

I don't remember looking away.

“N…no…” you whimper out as you try not to cry.

“Aww why didn't you say anything baby?” he cooed with fake pity before going slower.

“Ah!” you moan as he started to go slower.

“Does it feel good now?” he smirked as he hit all the good spots inside you at just the right pace.

You nodded your head as you felt something build up in your stomach. As the feeling grew you put your webbed claws on Alon’s shoulders so you could hold on to him as he thrusted into you. As you came you dug your sharp claws into his shoulders (accidentally making him bleed) before slumping down to the ocean floor. After a few more powerful thrusts he bottomed out and stayed there for a few seconds before you felt something fill you up.

“It's okay little fish,” he said soothingly as he rubbed your face. “It's just my eggs you will be okay.”

All you did was nod your head as you felt your eyelids getting heavy.

“I will never let you leave my side little fish,” he said with a smirk as he cuddled up beside you, making sure to hold you tight in his big arms. “Especially when you are the mother of our kids.”

[rafeysbambii]

hypnosis : bambi!reader who caught s2!rafes eye the moment he met her planting roses in the middle of summer.

warnings : cursing

word count : 456

authors note : hi angels! this is my first little drabble, and i really hope you’ll enjoy! if you have any requests for new characters, drabble, fics, etc. my requests are pretty much always open! i’m willing to write about most things so go for it! i’d also like to thank @cameronsprincess for reading this through, you’re amazing! enjoy <3333

“the fuck are you doin’?” rafe had wandered to far from home after a particular bad fight with his father, and in his red hot angry rage - he found himself in a small meadow somewhere behind tanneyhills huge forest. “hm?” the brown haired girl had turned to the voice, her hands muddy and earthy from planting the beautiful flower she adored so much.

“i said what the fuck are you doing?” the second time around he’s growing more annoyed that the stupidly cute and deer like girl ignored his question the first time. “oh! m’ planting some roses! they’re beautiful aren’t they?” she chirps, her pink and glossy lips curving into a huge smile.

rafe scoffs, crossing his stupidly large arms over his perfectly fitted polo - “why the fuck are you planting flowers in the middle of fuckin’ summer.” his comment makes the girl frown, why so mean? “you don’t… you don’t like my roses?” her once bright smile, and peppy eyes slowly melt into a soft, adorable pout.

“hey - hey stop that, i never fuckin said i didn’t —“ before he can even explain himself the tears have already started to flow down the girl’s beautiful rosy red cheeks - making rafe feel… bad?

no, that can’t be it. rafe cameron doesn’t feel bad, that’s for… that’s for pussies, well that’s what ward tells him.

“a’right stop cryin’ s’ not that serious.” he leans down and grabs the small girl by her shoulders, pulling her in for an awkward yet warm hug, one that he isn’t used to. “you’re fine kid.”

she sniffles once, then twice - then a few times more before he’s grown tired of the hug, pushing her body back gently to stand back up on his expensive shoes. “what’s your name.”

“it’s y/n” there it is, that smile that made his heart skip a beat at the first sight of her - “bambi.” she cocks an eyebrow at him, a giggle escaping past her glossy pink and plump lips, “bambi?”

“yeah, bambi. you look like a deer, and you’re lurkin’ in the middle of the fuckin woods like one of em’ so you’re bambi.” the explanation falls to short ears, she doesn’t care about why - she likes it, bambi.

bambi, bambi, bambi.

“do you want to… plant a flower? it’s very relaxing!” he wants to say no — he really does, but with the flutter of her lashes, and the way she pulls her lips in between her perfectly white teeth, it’s hard to resist it.

“sure — whatever, don’t make this shit take forever.” with a blinding smile she pats the spot next to her, beckoning that boy next to her, in which he sits carefully.

“so first you…”

‘well bambi, you’re my deer now.’

another a/n: i really hope you enjoyed reading this, and if you ever have any problems with what i write im more than welcome to critique and for you to request anything! i’m still trying to figure out this tumblr thing with how to put together a masterlist but ill get there eventually! <3

[pochaccoups]

cw — a fluffy dad!cheol moment with his baby girl (ft. mom!reader)

“Appa, your hair is so long.”

Seungcheol’s daughter’s tiny fingers curl into the strands of his dark brown hair as he carries her from her bedroom to the bathroom. She’s right—it sweeps down the back of his neck, his bangs falling over his cheekbones. It’s the longest it’s been in years.

He sits her upon the counter facing the mirror and asks, “Yeah? Do you like it?” while batting his lashes. You’ve always told him he’s a princess raising a princess.

“I like it because it looks like mine!” she says, grabbing at her own hair. It doesn’t really, except maybe the colour, but she’s three and wants to look like her dad, so who is anyone to correct her?

He smiles fondly, his heart brimming with warmth as he grabs her toothbrush and hands it to her, squeezes a dot of toothpaste on it and watches her little hand make clumsy circles over her teeth. When she’s done, he rinses the sleep from her eyes and pats her delicate skin dry, and then it’s time to do her hair.

By now, Seungcheol has become an expert in hairstyling, probably more than even you are, having taken it on as one of his parental duties. He brushes it out, gathers half of it into one pigtail and secures it, then gathers the other half into another pigtail and secures it.

“What clips would you like, my love?” he asks, shaking the little box of her colourful hair clips.

“Uhhh, these!” she chirps, picking out a pair of pink ones with bunny faces on them.

His heart is doing spins and tumbles over his baby girl, and three years on he still can’t believe that something this cute is his creation. Although, he too can believe it because she’s also your creation. Still, every day he finds himself in awe that you had given him such a perfect little human. And she’s just sitting there, blinking at her reflection in the mirror as he slides the clips into the front of her hair and kisses the top of her head when he’s all done.

“So pretty,” he says, and he’s about to pick her up again until she makes a polite request.

“Appa, can I do your hair now?”

If she asked for the world, he would give it to her.

“Yes, baby, of course,” he says, and scoops her up into his arms. He grabs some of the storage boxes filled with hair bands and elastics, too. “Come on, we’ll go to the sitting room.”

Seungcheol places his daughter on the couch and settles himself on the floor in front of her so that she can reach his head. He’s not sure why he sits facing her, though it might be a subconscious inability to take his eyes off her, but she’s only three and she doesn’t question things too much, so she gets right to work.

Dainty fingers pull his fringe into one bunch at the top of his head and Seungcheol finds himself laughing already. He hands her an elastic and all she can really do is loosely loop his hair through it with intense concentration on her soft features that makes Seungcheol grin.

“Want me to tie it, my love?” he offers, reaching up when she nods to wrap it around his hair a few times. As he does that, she picks out a clip with a pink bow on it and slides it onto the front.

Her laughter bubbles through the room immediately, and Seungcheol’s chest flutters with affection.

“Appa, you look like Kkuma!” she exclaims, and he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket to open his camera, only to find that he, indeed, is a mirror image of his beloved Coton de Tulear. He snaps some selfies, makes sure to get his baby girl’s timid smile in them too.

“Should we go show mama?” he asks. She nods vigorously, so he plucks her into his arms, shuffling to the home office where you’ve been cooped up since 8 a.m. Bothering you is not an issue; you’d given him explicit permission to bother you unless you’re in a meeting, because otherwise your ‘job’ is you sitting there and playing mouse and keyboard.

Seungcheol lets his daughter be the one to knock on the door. In response, they hear a “yes?” in the form of your anticipatory voice. Seungcheol nudges the door open, heart warming at the sight of you in your comfiest attire, your hair pulled out of your face carelessly so that he can see every pretty feature that you graced your daughter with.

“Little princess did my hair,” he announces, pouting, winking, raising his eyebrows like he’s in a shoot. “What do you think?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into laughter immediately, nor can you stop yourself from leaving your chair and moving towards them so you can grab your husband’s cheeks.

“Oh, honey, you look so pretty,” you cry through giggles, watching as pink spreads over his cheeks. Affection boils inside you and you don’t resist the urge to kiss him, giving his lips a soft peck. “It suits you, appa.”

“I did it!” your baby squeals. She wants her credit, of course.

“Yes, you’re amazing, my love,” you gush, playing with the pigtails her father did. “Are you gonna do his hair like yours next?”

She gazes up at him with her big bug eyes, and you can only guess that she’s deciding that his current style is old news. “Yeah!”

“Alright then, go and do that and come back and show me, yeah?” you offer, smiling softly as she nods.

Seungcheol turns to leave, but before he can, you grab him by his shirt and bring your lips to his ear. “Don’t even think about cutting it, you hear me?”

He doesn’t have to say it for you to know when your husband has been contemplating a haircut. It’s a little longer, a little harder to manage, and you wonder how, after all the years you’ve spent gushing over his longer styles, he still hasn’t gotten it in his head to let it grow.

You free him, satisfied with image of (feigned) fear on his face. You catch him winking right before he closes the door.

[urno1luv]

ningselle x reader having ig live them being touchy ang being flirty with each other !!

i love this idea omo🫣

as always men and minors dni tank yeww

tags: cunnilingus (r receiving, ning giving), one mild hair pull (giselle), tit sucking (r receiving, gigi giving), fingering (ning giving), soft dom ningselle, fluffy kinda

reader speech: italic + bold

ningselle: just bold

the live starts normal. cute, sweet. you’re sandwiched between ningning and giselle on the dorm couch, hair a little messy, oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, scrolling through comments like you’re not about to be publicly devoured by your own members.

"say hi!" you chirp at the camera, smile wide and warm, totally unaware of the danger you’re in.

but then giselle shifts closer. like closer closer. her thigh pressing into yours, arm thrown around your shoulders all casual-like, except her fingers are brushing up and down your arm very much not casually, and her perfume is fogging up your brain.

"she’s been ignoring me all day," giselle says, voice syrupy sweet, eyes on the chat.

"i think y/n needs to be reminded of who she belongs to."

you choke. literally choke.

the comments explode. CAPS LOCK. screaming emojis. people begging for subtitles, and asking if this is fanservice or a cry for help.

you try to laugh it off, batting at her arm. "giselle, you’re being weird-"

"am i?" her voice is low. dangerous. smug.

and then she leans in closer, her lips barely brushing your ear. "baby, if i wanted to be weird, i’d do it off camera."

ningning silently watches the two of you, making a disgusted face, but decides to join the fun!! her arm snakes around your waist from the other side like it’s nothing, like she owns you too, resting her chin on your shoulder while her hand starts absently playing with the hem of your hoodie.

"don’t be mean, unnie," she pouts, and it’s fake. she’s so fake. she knows exactly what she’s doing. "she’s just shy. aren’t you, baby?"

your mouth opens. no words come out.

because now you’ve got giselle trailing her fingers along your collarbone, and ningning playing with the inside of your sleeve, and the comments are absolutely UNHINGED.

“IS THIS A THROUPLE???”

“DOES SM KNOW?????”

“WHY IS GISELLE LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT”

“NINGNING’S HAND. HER HAND. HER-”

you try to salvage the live. key word try. "guys," you stammer, and your voice is not steady, "let’s answer some questions-"

"i have a question," giselle interrupts, smile all teeth and sin.

"how long are you gonna pretend you don’t love this?"

your brain bluescreens. "w-what-"

"oh c’mon," ningning giggles against your neck, lips brushing your skin.

"you always melt when we touch you like this. don't make that face now, it’s cute."

her hand is sliding up under your hoodie now, off-camera, fingertips just barely grazing your waist, and your breath catches, just for a second, but it’s enough. they both notice.

"there she is," giselle purrs, and you want the floor to swallow you.

your cheeks are burning, your voice is gone, and you can feel their hands on you, warm and teasing and too much but not enough at the same time, and it’s all happening in front of thousands of people watching through a screen that’s showing everything and nothing at once.

the live ends with you barely keeping it together, eyes wide, hair a mess, hoodie halfway off your shoulder, and giselle whispering,

"you’re in so much trouble when this ends."

ningning winks at the camera. "thanks for watching MYs!! we love you as always," she says sweetly.

"and don't worry, we’ll take good care of her."

and then the screen goes black. and the room goes silent. you look at both of them, and they’re looking back at you, which is when you realize that the live was the warm-up.

the suffocating tension that’s been building since the second giselle slid her hand down your arm and ningning started tracing lazy little circles on your thigh.

you try to stand up, play it off, maybe make a joke, but giselle grabs your wrist, gentle but firm, like she’s barely trying and still completely in control.

"don’t run now," she says, voice soft but sharp. "you didn’t run when they were watching."

"unnie, look at y/n," ningning hums, and there’s that tone again-that mocking sweetness that makes your knees weak. "she was squirming the whole time. acting like she didn’t love every second." she leans in, lips brushing your cheek.

"but your eyes? you were begging."

"i wasn’t-" you try, but it’s pathetic. you can hear your own submission in your voice, and that’s it. that’s all giselle needs.

she pulls you back down, right between them again, her hand sliding into your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp in pain.

"don’t lie to us," she whispers. her lips are right at your ear now, breath hot, making your heart stutter. "you like when we touch you. when we tease you. when we make you ours in front of everyone."

you should say something. you should.

but then ningning sliding her hand under your hoodie again, cool fingers against your warm skin, nails dragging lightly over your stomach and up your ribs felt too good.

"that’s what i thought," giselle murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. "you’re such a good girl when you’re flustered."

"she doesn’t deserve to be let off easy," ningning says, all fake innocence, curling up beside you with a grin that’s dangerous.

"i think we should remind her how it feels to really be the center of attention."

"mm," giselle nods, fingers slipping under your chin, tilting your head back until you’re forced to look into her eyes. "make her beg a little. for real this time."

you don’t know where to look-everywhere burns. their hands, their voices, their eyes watching your every twitch and breath and tiny whimper like you’re something fragile they can twist up and remake into something theirs.

"please," you whisper, you don’t even know what you’re asking for, you just need, and the way their expressions darken? yeah. they’ve got you exactly where they want you.

"good girl," giselle breathes. "now sit still. we’re not done showing you off yet." just not for the fans this time. just for them.

"keep up this behaviour and we'll be nice. take off your clothes., y/n."

"please."

that’s the only word you’ve managed in the past two minutes, and it’s already been too much. giselle's lips wrapped around you swollen nipples, with ningyi kissing and biting at your thighs, and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second.

giselle stopped her assualt on you, satisfied with her lipstick smeared all over your chest, her hickies prominent. she moved behind you now, legs bracketing yours, arms looped tight around your waist like a vice. you’re basically in her lap, hoodie pushed up, skin burning where her fingers keep brushing, so slow. so careful. like she’s savoring you. like she owns you.

and ningning? she’s still in front of you, all sweetness and cruelty, laying on her stomach as she leaned in close, close enough that you can feel her breath on your burning core, but not enough that her lips touched.

"you’re being so quiet now, baby," she says, voice all silk and sugar and something darker.

"she’s shy again," giselle hums into your neck, nosing at your jawline like she’s tasting how far she can push.

"so cute. so helpless. she likes being in the middle. doesn’t know where to look, who to listen to, what to do with her hands-"

your breath stutters, your lashes flutter, and that’s when giselle grips your waist. tight. "focus," she hisses, but not angry. hungry. "eyes on ning. she’s waiting."

you try. god, you try. you lock eyes with ningning, and she just smiles. that dangerous, pretty smile she only wears when she’s got you wrapped around her finger.

"good girl," she murmurs. "that’s it."

her hand rises, slow, measured, fingers massaging your slit, and her tongue caressing your folds, moving her tongue in motions that left you shivering in giselle's arms.

"do you like this?" you nod, giselle's mouth close to your ear as she spoke. "say it." you open your mouth. nothing but a whimper comes out.

"she can’t even talk," giselle laughs into your ear, one hand sliding down your stomach, slow enough to make your spine arch.

"and y/nnie was trying to act normal on live. normal. can you believe that?"

"just wanted to look cute for the fans, huh?" ningning pulls back, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to your pussy, her fingers thrusting in and out, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching around her making you burn red with embarrassment.

"should we give them a private performance next time? let them see what a whore for your unnies you are?"

"she’d cry," giselle purrs. "she’s already so close."

you can’t answer, an orgasm ripping through your body, a high pitched moan leaving your mouth. you’re not even sure you remember how to answer. your head’s tipped back, body trembling, held between them like something holy and ruined at the same time.

and then they switch into a softer, gentler version of themselves, satisfied with what they've received from you.

ningning leans forward and kisses your cheek, her plump lips resting there for a few seconds, slowly easing her fingers out.

giselle loosens her grip just a little, arms still locked around you, but her lips at your ear now, whispering: "breathe. we’ve got you."

"you did so well," ningning whispers, brushing your hair back from your face. "so perfect. we’re proud of you."

and just like that, you melt, but not from their touches, not from the teasing, but from the softness underneath all that dominance. the way they’re still holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, like you’re theirs.

and maybe you are. maybe you always were🙂‍↕️

[lululocomo]

The new past AU: The attack

CW: blood (not very visible)

Finally sharing this art✨ the shiny stuffs are magical/celestial spearheads, don't question too much how this work or how this could cause fire, it just did-

Writing of the scene under the cut! Enjoy!! (angst with a happy ending ofc)

It was a peaceful and calm day on Flower Fruit Mountain, and today, MK was with his dad and the pilgrims.

Macaque was taking his usual stroll in the peach orchard, appreciating this beautiful corner of his home.  when this uneasy feeling slowly crawled under his skin. He could feel it, something was about to happen.Wanting to know the source of this feeling, he used his enhanced hearing. But even with it, he wasn’t able to pinpoint the exact origin of the disturbance; only that it was coming from the celestial realm.

The next moments all happened so fast: focusing all his attention toward the sky high above, Macaque never expected the sound of commotion coming from his very home. 

How was this possible?? He was convinced the problem is with the celestials, there is no way the mountain was the target- oh - oh no- now everything made sense.”Heaven is attacking”.

How could this happen?? How could the Six Eared Macaque not hear an incoming attack?! He’s supposed to protect this place! This couldn’t be real, this was a nightmare, and he can’t wake up. 

He rushed to the source of commotion, hearing only screams and noises that will forever haunt him, forgetting his shadow power in his panic.

Finally leaving the forest and at the border of the clearing, his heart sank with the scene his eye lay upon:

The mountain is covered in flames, the village is destroyed, and monkeys are escaping the chaos the best they could.

With a shaky breath, Macaque looks around, he needs to find the author of this monstrosity, and make them regret their actions.That’s when he looked up: there he was “Erlang Shen”, attacking his beloved home. 

Macaque was ready to jump at his throat, but Erlang summoned another round of his celestial spears, aiming what was left of the village. Rage clouded his mind, but before he could unleash his wrath, he got distracted by a noise: a small chirp ; barely audible even with his hearing.Then he saw: in the middle of the celestial aims, a cub, curled up in a ball, so small that Erlang mustn't have seen her. And if Macaque doesn’t do something, the spear will kill her. So, without thinking twice, Macaque jumps to protect the cub, not caring about getting hurt. Ignoring the throbbing pain coming from his shoulder, he look down at the cub, relieved to see they are unharmed.He turns his head toward the attacker, baring his teeth and glaring at him with eyes filled with rage.

Erlang high in the sky, stopped his attack upon noticing Macaque.He open his mouth and start talking to him:

 “Consider this a warning, do not even try to go against heaven ever again”.

 “What’s the meaning of this- this unjustified violence Erlang?!EXPLAIN YOURSELF!” 

Erlang, look down, no visible emotion on his face “ I have nothing against you, Six eared Macaque, I was only doing what I was ordered to do.”

“Ordered?? What, are we seen as a threat to receive this kind of destruction?? Does the stupid Journey mean nothing to you Celestials?!”

Erlang paused, then answered with a more serious look : “The heaven knows of your child. From what was seen when he’s in company of the pilgrims, he’s not a threat for Heaven” 

macaque: “... then why this horrible warning?”

 Erlang sighted; “ Li Jing was the one who ordered me to do it. Your kid may behave well now, but to ensure any of you don’t do anything against the celestial realm in the futur, he saw deems that a warning had to take place”

Macaque, whispering between his teeth “ what a load of crap..”

Erlang: “If this cub still behaves until the end of the journey, Heaven will officially leave him alone and not do anything to your little family. Now if you excuse me, I need to report back. Goodbye Six ears Macaque, and sorry.”

The celestials left as fast as he arrived. 

Macaque, still shocked by what happened, looked around him, still holding close the cub in his arm. So much was lost, not all monkeys managed to escape in time. The small cub, after being paralyzed by fear this whole time, starts to cry and sob uncontrollably, chirping for her parents. 

The shadow monkey, wanting to help this lost kid, asks her where the last place she saw them: with her small shaky paw, she points to the right. But when he looked in this direction, the only thing he could see was what used to be a house, devoured by flame. Using his enhanced hearing all around,his ears only met the sound of fire and things burning. There was no sign of life, everyone who’s alive was already far from here, and there is no way parents would leave without their cub.

 It could only mean one thing, and Macaque hates everything about it: the poor kid lost both her parents in this stupid attack from Heaven.

Macaque’s mind started to become hazy from the blood loss, but he had to check the house for the cub's parents, he wanted to believe they were somehow still alive. But it was too late, the house completely collapsed and it was only an inferno of flames now. 

His legs gave in, all hopes for possible survivors are now gone; the cub and his heartbeat are the only things he can hear right now. 

He doesn't know what to do, he is here, alone with the cub, doing his best to calm her down, surrounded by flames. Using his shadow power was not an option, he’s too unstable right now and it might put the kid in danger. 

His vision is slowly fading, and the only things he can see in the distance is… Xiaotian? What's he doing here? And is that… Wukong? Why are they both on the Mountain..? Shouldn’t they be on the journey..?

They both rush to his side in a panic:

 “BABA! OH GOD WHAT HAPPEN HERE–” MK shouted in panic, “YOU’RE HURT! AND VERY BADLY TOO!! Dad what do we do??”

 “Xiaotian.. don’t worry it’s okay-”

 “ MOON!” Wukong immediately crouches down to look at his face and injuries “WHO DARE DO THAT!? TELL ME AND I WILL KILL THEM-” he said with a voice filled with venom, ready to unleash his power to whoever did that.

“Sun.. please don’t.. it will only cause more problems… “Macaque said while caressing his lover face, “just please can you check if this cub’s parents are alive? she told me they were over there-” 

Wukong calms down and looks in said direction, using his golden vision to find who they are looking for. But as expected, no lifeforce could be detected. Macaque looked at Wukong, waiting for an answer, which Wukong gave by simply shaking his head.

 “...I see.” Macaque takes a deep breath, wincing from the pain “.. Why.. are you both here?”

MK answered with a shaky voice: “I- I felt that something happened to you. It was as if my shadow power was screaming to me to get to you. So that’s what I did” 

“What’s important is that we are here! But no more talking!” Wukong interrupts, lifting Macaque and laying him down on his nimbus, “We need to treat your injuries first! Let’s get to our house, it should be fine being behind the waterfall-” 

“Wait, what about the kid?! we can’t just leave her here!”MK ask.

“Of course we bring her too! Come on MK, I thought you were smarter than this” Wukong lightly chuckles “also she is firmly gripping Mihou, I doubt she will easily let go”

Macaque let out a weak laugh, relieved to have his family around him.

__________

Oof okay so I ended up writing more than I anticipated (also if there is any error please ignore them lmao) sdfdsf

BUT FINALLY!! THE MEIHUA LORE!!

Don’t worry Macaque recovered pretty quickly and Wukong and MK take good care of him during his recovery✨ I have brain more stuff for what happen next, but it will be in another post✨

Masterpost

[riddlesrizzler]

How to Keep a Dragon

summary: Don't take raw meat, unless you want people to ask questions. characters: mattheo riddle. theo nott. enzo berkshire. draco malfoy. blaise zabini. hufflepuff! reader warnings: none, other than hufflepuff! reader buying from the wizard black market. word count: 1.3k

Something was definitely going on with you.

Mattheo had noticed it first. The way you had been acting… odd lately. You were sneaking around more than usual, disappearing at random times, whispering hurried excuses when he asked where you were going.

But the strangest thing?

The raw meat.

At first, he thought he was imagining it. But then he saw it with his own eyes-you, stuffing a bundle of what was definitely raw chicken into your bag at dinner.

And the other day? He caught you swiping a few sausages off Theo’s plate and tucking them into your robes when you thought no one was looking.

The hell was that about?

And it wasn’t just him noticing anymore.

“Alright,” Blaise drawled, lounging on the Slytherin common room couch. “I’m saying it now-your girlfriend is hiding something.”

Theo nodded in agreement. “She’s been acting shady as hell.”

“She literally took my steak at dinner last night,” Draco grumbled. “Just snatched it up and said she’d ‘make good use of it.’ What does that even mean?”

Mattheo ran a hand through his curls, sighing. “I know, alright? I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

“Well,” Enzo smirked. “Why don’t we just ask her?”

So they did.

-

You barely had time to get through the Hufflepuff common room entrance before Mattheo and the Slytherin boys cornered you.

“Alright, sunshine,” Mattheo drawled, arms crossed. “Talk.”

You blinked up at them, trying to look innocent. “Talk about what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Theo said, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve been sneaking around, stealing food, whispering weird excuses-”

“And hoarding raw meat,” Draco added. “Like some kind of deranged goblin.”

Your eyes widened. “I-what?! I have not-”

“Oh, you absolutely have,” Mattheo cut in, stepping closer. “So what’s going on, angel?”

You hesitated, glancing between them, before sighing dramatically. “You guys can’t be mad.”

“Oh, that is not a good start,” Enzo muttered.

“I mean it!” you insisted. “Promise me you won’t get mad!”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see.”

With a sigh, you grabbed Mattheo’s hand. “Fine. But you have to swear not to freak out.”

The boys exchanged glances but nodded.

And then you led them upstairs.

-

Sneaking the Slytherin boys into the Hufflepuff dorms was a feat, but you managed. And once inside your room, you turned to them and whispered, “Okay, um… don’t scream.”

That was not reassuring.

But before they could ask questions, you tiptoed over to your wardrobe and slowly opened the doors.

And inside, curled up in a nest of blankets, was a baby dragon.

The boys stared.

The tiny creature was adorable-scales shimmering between gold and green, tiny wings tucked against its sides, its snout buried into a pillow. But as soon as it smelled the food in your bag, it lifted its head, blinked sleepy eyes, and let out a tiny, high-pitched chirp.

“…What the fuck,” Draco breathed.

Mattheo ran a hand down his face. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

Theo looked thrilled. “IS THAT A DRAGON?!”

Blaise, was speechless.

You gave them all a sheepish smile. “Uh… surprise?”

Mattheo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sunshine. You’ve been raising a dragon in your dorm?”

You nodded. “His name is Snaggle!”

Draco choked. “You named it Snaggle?”

“Well, yeah,” you huffed. “Look at his little baby snaggle teeth!”

Mattheo groaned. “That’s what you’ve been sneaking raw meat for?”

You nodded, kneeling to scratch under Snaggle’s chin. The dragon made a happy little chirp, flapping his wings.

Theo was still in awe. “This is so cool.”

“This is insane,” Draco corrected.

Enzo finally spoke. “Okay, hold on-how the hell did you even get him?”

You winced. “Um… so, funny story… I may have… found him?”

“Found him?” Mattheo echoed.

You nodded. “There was this really sketchy-looking guy outside Hogsmeade, and he was selling dragon eggs, which is obviously illegal, but I couldn’t just let them be sold to, like, terrible people, so I bought one, and then it hatched, and now he imprinted on me, and I couldn’t just abandon him, and now he lives here.”

The boys just stared.

“You bought a dragon egg off a black market dealer?” Blaise said flatly.

“…Yes?”

Mattheo exhaled very slowly. “Sunshine.”

You gave him your best innocent smile. “Are you mad?”

He stared at you, looked at the dragon, then back at you.

Then he sighed. “Mad? No. Amazed at your sheer ability to get yourself into the most insane situations? Yes.”

Theo clapped his hands together. “Alright, well. No going back now. Guess we all have a pet dragon.”

Blaise snorted. “Oh yeah, because that won’t get us expelled.”

Mattheo shook his head, pulling you into his arms. “You are too much, angel.”

You giggled, leaning into his chest. “But you still love me?”

He sighed dramatically. “Yeah. I still love you.”

Snaggle let out a happy little chirp, and Theo immediately flopped down beside him. “This is the best thing ever.”

Draco groaned. “We’re all going to die.”

But, as Mattheo kissed the top of your head and watched you happily cuddle your forbidden pet dragon, he knew one thing for sure.

Life with you was never boring.

[urprettylildoe]

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 ♡︎

Introducing our lovely and definitely not dangerous trio: Red bull, Monster and Boom Boom!

One little taste of them and your fate is sealed, even if you may not know it yet.

They may be different, but if there's one thing they all share, is that they want to break you and make you crave them, like a drug.

So keep on having little tastes of them, because soon, that's all you're gonna think about.

(tw: yandere behaviour, dependency, isolation poisoning)

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋

sleek and tall, with bright eyes buzzing with excitement and hair wild like he just rolled out of bed — he's always near you. His love doesn't just burn like a mundane, sweet lover's. No, it takes over and consumes everything around you.

he's convinced that you need to spend every waking moment with him and him only. He's your saviour — he's been there with you during the darkest times of your relationship. You need him, and so does he.

no one, absolutely, no one will ever come close to him or you. That's how much you're meant for each other.

...

his chin plants itself onto your shoulder blade, eyes drawn to the screen like a moth to a flame. The jacket with red and blue accents that he always wears is long forgotten on the floor.

"Who're you texting, baby?" there comes the million dollar question after a beat of silence.

your thumbs don't stray from the keyboard, but you crane your head to give him some of your attention. you don't want to relive that type of situation again. "My friends"

his head spins, edges of his vision blurring. Those pests. They're trying to take you away from him, from his love and try to make you need them instead. No way.

however, it seems like the worst thing has yet to come, as you say next: "they're suggesting we go out." your words are seemingly an attempt at gaining a semblance of independency, presenting it as a fait accompli. cute, but futile, he thinks.

fingers trailing lower to your waist, he condescendingly mutters out a: "you're not thinking of going out, are you?" a dark chuckle follows, "seriously, sweetie?"

the way he speaks to you makes you feel small, inferior even. like you need him, and oh, you do — you really do.

"I-I-"

"y/n, darling," his words carry a disarming charm with a hint of menace, an illusion of amiableness, "why don't we just stay in, hm? promise i'll make it worth your while."

the phone is tugged out of your hands and cast aside, because in his books, you've learnt it's a crime to focus on something else when your dear boyfriend is right there in front of you, doting on you.

while he leans over you and showers your face in distracting kisses, do you decide to protest once more, with more firmness in your tone, "but they've been planning this outing for ages now, i just can't cancel on them again."

to your dismay, he just dips his head back down and directs his attention to his previous onslaught of affection, while chirping: "of course you can. If they're your friends, they'll understand."

yes, but for how much longer, you think.

"And if they don't —" hands greedily grab what they can as they roam freely, squeezing, fondling. "— then that's okay too, because m'the only one truly does, hm?"

and as much as you hate those words, you realise he's right. it's you who's responsible for coming to him so willingly, so you just don't have the right to walk away from what you've built.

"gorgeous thing," his hands tug up your top, teeth scraping your jaw as he peppers kisses there. A beast, one that kept you in the dragon's tower, plucking each and every knight out of your life and proclaiming himself as one. "All this for me and me only, right? No one else"

the only thing you could do was nod, close your eyes and take it.

he gifted you wings that you weren't allowed to spread.

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

not a soft, gentle emerald colour, instead, he has sharp, lime green for eyes that stare into your very soul. with black, short hair, a ripped build, leather boots and torn jeans, he's practically a hazard sign at this point.

he wants you to feel alive with him, not just cooped up in your room wasting away. Now, that's boring. His sweetheart deserves to see everything and anything, and he won't afford any distractions.

from the start, you were pulled into his chaotic world, where rules don't exist and no one is ever safe. you're on your toes the entire time and normalcy is a foreign concept here.

...

The car roars down the road, engines screaming in protest and tires screeching loudly. Unfazed, he leans back in his seat and continues this little game o his, narrowly missing other vehicles. The air vibrates with impending disaster awaiting at any second now.

Your fingers dig into the seats harshly. Earlier's lunch rises up your throat, its contents threatening to escape your mouth. The pit in your stomach grows deeper when he shows nothing but disregard for the risks that he was taking.

He laughs hysterically like an evil madman, eyes watering either from utter amusement or the wind whipping against his eyes. "Isn't this so fun?" you manage to miraculously hear his words over the sound of your heart beating loudly in your ears and the car. "Way better than staying in your room all day, huh?"

You're able understand that he wants you to throw all your responsibilities away for the sake of 'living your lives to the fullest' or some nonsense he spouted in your room earlier. But this? No, this was too much, even for him.

His hand cunningly sneaks up on your thigh but you refuse, wrenching it out of his grasp and pressing yourself against the car door. You could feel him frown. Maybe he'll slow down?

Yeah, right.

He pushes the speedometer up into high territory with more purpose than just meaningless fun now. Then, a threatening growl: "say you love me."

"W-what?" you're not sure you heard him correctly.

"I said—" his words are more impatient now, which is starting to bleed out into the way he drives as well, " — say. you. love. me."

your eyes probably look like they're about to pop out of your skull, jaw going slack. "are you crazy?! have you lost your mind? slow down, this is dangerous."

that only motivates him to go faster. the surroundings outside blur into hazy shapes. one wrong move, and you'd be six feet under. based on the situation, that didn't seem like such a far-fetched outcome anymore.

"I've lost my mind a long time ago, baby. you should know that by now," he calls out, a cold grin on his face, eye twitching.

"slow down, goddamnit. we're gonna crash!" arms wrapped around your knees, you clenched your eyes shut, letting out an involuntary sniffle.

what you should've expected is the smile that grows wider before he sighed blissfully, "how lovely would that be? to die together? the epitome of true love," each word slipping past his lips doesn't fail to surprise or scare you. "and i'm not above making that dream a reality, unless you say it."

"okay, okay, I love you!" you spit out the words before you could even blink, because you'd rather die alone than let him come with you even after death.

he hums, a frown marring his lips like a disappointed mother. Mockingly, he taps his chin, letting his other guide the wheel and your interwined fates both.

"That doesn't quite convincing, sweetheart," he coos with a pout, eyes narrowing. "do you want to die? 'cause it seems like you want to for someone who isn't trying hard enou-"

"I love you!" you cry out, hands cupping your face in your hands, "I want you, no, I need you. I love you more than anything, more than everything. Just, please, slow down."

silence hangs in the air, followed by the sound of the engine calming, before the seat unbuckles on his part. rough, calloused thumbs rub away tears you didn't know were falling down your face.

"Shhh, shh, you did good. i knew those pretty words were hidin' somewhere," he sounds so triumphant, like a golden medal should be placed around his neck. despite the urge to claw his eyes out, you turn your head and cry in his chest, because who else will you turn to if not him?

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐌

one would think he was born in a tight business suit, with his hair slicked back and his neutral face expression at all times. He's got everything meticulously organised and controlled down to the last bit. And you're no exception.

you're more of a puppet than anything, honestly — dancing to his tune, rendered silent and obedient to his each and every command.

there isn't anything in your life that you could control or calls yours anymore, and you don't think there will be anytime soon.

...

the dining table is lively, with the guests having their fill of the salivating dishes and laughing at jokes for their precious reputations that they needed to uphold.

he sits at the head of the table, leaning back comfortably and legs spread. And then there's you, straddling one of them and clad in a pretty blue outfit (his favourite colour). you don't really have to sit somewhere else, when you have your sweet man here.

Fingers toying with the necklace, which is one of the other things bought by him, he tilts the glass of wine up to your lips and allows you small sips before bringing it back down to give you an illusion that you're drinking more than just one glass. you do get drunk very easily, he says. you don't.

the rule is especially important this evening. he needs you sober for this.

he presses a kiss to your temple and watches the longing shining in your big eyes as everyone chats with one another, mouth parting as you nearly chime in. you're to speak only when spoken to by others, his words remind you.

"what're you thinking about?" a whisper against your skin startles you out of your daydreaming. ah, he noticed, he always does.

"nothing," you suck in a harsh breath. eyes dropping to the floor as if a puppy reprimanded by its owner. this is the life you're used to, but it doesn't hurt any less with each event where you're reminded that you're not normal anymore.

his knee bounces underneath you out of habit rather than a deliberate action this time, "you sure? do you not like my gift?" his eyes drop down to said gift hanging from your wrists and neck, "or is it something else?"

you know that he knows what's really going on; he likes to play the long game and not outright say anything. a smile grows on your lips, even if it's a weak one. there's no use in hurting your cheeks when it's obviously forced, instead you'll stall. "no, I really love them. and m'telling you, nothing's going on."

and just when he's about to prod further, sharp coughing interrupts a moment. not just someone clearing their throat, but full-on wheezing.

the man from earlier. you freeze at the realisation. the one who touched your arm while greeting you. you thought he'd let it go. you're clearly wrong about that.

while the guests scurry around his now slumped form and frantically cry out, a large familiar hand cups your jaw and forces you to stare ahead at the terrible sight.

he speaks calmly, like this was a daily deed, "you see that, pretty? yeah, keep lookin'. that's what happens to people who dare to touch what's mine." crooning, he hugs you tighter against him, "and you, dear, belong to me."

tilting your head towards him now, he relishes in the look in your eyes. fear, dawning horror, but never surprise. how he loves your expressions.

you'd never run. you know better than to from a man who's got everything planned out for him, and tonight's a testament to what he'd do to get rid of a fault in his world. a devil in a suit and a blue tie.

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | 15

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

Rafe always struggled with noise.

It was always too much or too little. But silence at Tannyhill was something he had grown accustomed to: the steady hum of the air conditioner wavering between seasons, the chirps of cicadas outside his balcony, and the soft waves crashing on his beachfront estate. These noises are familiar to him, setting his routine for the day.

Not Sarah.

It's unfair to say Sarah is an anomaly. He grown up with her his entire life, and her being in the house wasn't an uncommon sound. However, after she ditched the family to go slumming it with the Pogues, there was a lightness in the air from her absence. With Wheezie being off at academy, Rose and Ward often traveling for work, Rafe gotten used to being alone.

Now, the droning silence is met with a muffled pop music blasting from Sarah's bedroom. Given that her room sits adjacent to his, it forces Rafe to hear every screeching lyric, every grating beat, and every obnoxious sound, reminding him of his sister's existence.

Solitude is something he wishes he could return to.

"Can you turn it down over there?" Rafe pounds on the shared wall, but the volume doesn't lower. In fact, if he's imagining it or the anger bubbling beneath the surface is giving him more clarifying senses, it gets louder. With gritted teeth, Rafe shakes off the nuisance and returns to his task.

Her presence agitated him. It's one thing for her to come home and disrupt his routine, it's another when her return jeopardize his future. As much as he likes to pretend it doesn't—and not think about it—he knows it does.

For the longest time, they fought for their father's affection, especially after their mother left. Sarah had always received it, and Rafe had to always fight to stay in the limelight. But it isn't true to say he hates her. There were times where Rafe considered himself closest to Sarah. She was the one who shared his childhood, separated by a measly three-year age gap, and she was the one who remembered their mother. They have sibling spats, but it never pushed to the level it is now.

Now, it's as if they can't seem to stand each other's existence. To Rafe, she's a reminder of all the bitter favoritism their father offered her. To Sarah, Rafe is the [reminder] of someone who can't seem to move on.

Once Rafe packed, he steps out of his bedroom—only to collide with Sarah.

"Watch it, Rafe," she snaps, holding a ceramic bowl in one hand, while collecting her wet hair in the other. Her eyes narrowed with disdain, before she turns her heel and head to the stairwell.

His jaw ticks.

Rafe hates how easy it was for her to come home. To be accepted. When Rafe was kicked out of the house, he had to beg his father to grant his return. And that was just for an addiction. Imagine how much worse it could've been had Rafe skipped off and abandoned his family for a fleeting puppy romance.

It just wasn't fair.

Finally, he snaps. "What are you doing here, Sarah?"

She halts at the top of the stairs, twisting her head at the accusation. Rafe uses this opportunity to approach her. "Why are you back home?"

Ever since she returned, he hadn't had a proper conversation with Sarah. Not that he wanted to. He's been so preoccupied with you and everything going on with Aaron, he hadn't bothered interrogating the origin of his sister's sudden homecoming. Now, it's as if he can't stop.

Sarah twists her delicate features. "Last I'd checked, this was my house too."

"It was your house," Rafe corrects. "Before you abandoned it for that little Pogue boyfriend of yours. What happened? Couldn't cut roughing it?"

She huffs, tightening her jaw and glances away. "Dad said I can move back in,"

"Dad says anything to give his little princess what she wants,"

"What's your deal, Rafe?" She demands, nostrils flaring at his abrupt attack. "Are you that mad I'm coming home?"

She made him sound unreasonable. He wasn't. "Was it home when you ran away to fuck your little boyfriend? Was it home when Dad and Rose tried to contact you, only to receive radio silence? Was it home when you left our little sister?"

"It's as if you give two shits about Wheezie,"

"Of course I give a shit about her," he growls, unable to keep the emotions from his voice, "She's my family. And frankly, she was the only family I had when you left."

At the end of the day, it wasn't just the rivalry that got to him. It was the fact that he was abandoned. It was the fact that he found satisfaction in his placement of their Kildare society, and he had his sisters with him—only for one to skip off and choose to live on the rough side of town. That being with them was easier than being with him.

All he asks is loyalty.

His chest heaves by the end of his sentence, but there's a lightness to his heart. He hadn't realize how much he needed to get that off. He needed to say his piece. Hands bundled into fists by his side, a sudden draw of blood tastes on his tongue.

Silence eclipses their argument, saved for the choking sputters of the air conditioner, before Sarah answers calmly. "John B and I broke up."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Sarah says solemnly, all lost of her previous energy, and she looks down. "Guess that makes you feel better, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

"You might as well have," Sarah declares, as if she could read his heart. "Me failing. Me losing my relationship. Everything in my life going to shit—I bet you're satisfied."

That isn't true. There's not even any resemblance of satisfaction curling in his chest, but a bleeding ache of hurt. Did Sarah really, truly, thinks so lowly of him?

It makes him defensive. "If this was the attitude you had with John B, it's no wonder he dumped you."

Sarah scoffs, "here it is."

"Am I wrong?" Rafe snaps, charged with misplaced hurt. "And now you get to come back like nothing has changed, and sneak your way into the family business as if you had any fucking right to it."

Sarah stares at him, jaw slackens, before realization dawns on her. "Is that what this is about?" She begins. "You're pissed because Dad asked me for help?"

"You never wanted it," he says lowly, but he can't seem to say the other part. That if his dad could pick between them to run his legacy, it would be her. But he is the one who wants it.

"Dad asked me," Sarah emphasizes, trying to get Rafe to understand.

"You could've said no."

"How could I?" She demands. "I have no place—I left for God's sake, and now I'm crawling back with my tail between my legs and Dad asked me to help with one case. How could I say no to that?"

It's so easy for her. Rafe took time, energy and effort to get enough approval from their father to give consultations. Sarah got it as a placement test to prove herself. She's going to ruin it, he thought bitterly, and he knows he should feel sympathy for all the shit she's been through, but all of it dissipates in the waste of his anger.

It's his birthright; he deserves it.

Rafe suddenly says. "You should go."

"Go where, Rafe?" She orders, "and for what? So you can live here with that little girlfriend of yours? It's not like you're going to last anyways."

Rafe is struck by Sarah bringing you into the conversation.

"You don't know what you're talking about,"

"She's a Pogue," Sarah emphasizes mockingly, in the same tone that Rafe used. He hates that too. "Why do you think John B and I broke up?"

"Because he couldn't stand your attitude of yours?"

Sarah scoffs, shoulders unwinding. "No, because he had other things he cared about more than me."

"She's not like that."

"You can't honestly believe that," Sarah says with a demeaning scoff, "They're all like that. It's in their blood. John B wanted something more and he put me behind. She's going to do the same to you."

He doesn't believe that. He refuses to. "Maybe you got the wrong end of the stick."

"Maybe you're blinded by love," she retorts easily, without missing a beat. "Do you honestly believe she had no ulterior motives with you? What did she even see in you in the first place?"

Rafe wanted to argue in your defense that you didn't see him as some cash cow. But he realizes he can't. Because there was an another motive for the beginning of your relationship—your bar. Albeit fake, it's all the same.

He doesn't know if it still stands.

"She's not like that," he repeats, but his voice is weaker in conviction. Sarah merely shrugs.

"Whatever you say," she says, taking a step down the stairwell. "You'll see."

—

After his fight with Sarah—which Rafe isn't even sure he won—he heads over to your bar. He knows he should be able to process his feelings without seeking an emotional clutch, but there's an unbeatable calamity that comes from being in your presence.

Upon entry, the little bell chimes, and you lift your head to greet the customer, only for a wide smile to spread across your face. He steps in to meet you halfway at the counter.

"Hi," you greet softly, reaching out to stroke his shoulder, and all tension in his muscles unwinds.

"Hey," he leans down to kiss your lips, his hand finding the small of your back. "Ready to go?"

You shake your head. "Can't. I have to stay until the last customer leaves."

Rafe glances around the bar. While mostly vacant, it hosts a couple of lingering patrons who are drinking and watching the channel on the television—no sense of urgency behind their necessary leave.

He turns back to you, "You're the boss."

"Yes, and the boss says no," you say with a playful grin.

Rafe's mind is whirling with thoughts. He just wants to have you alone, and contemplating a solution, his mouth lowers to the shell of your ear to ask, "How would you react if I kicked everyone out?"

"Mad?" You offer.

He groans. "Thought so."

You laugh, and the sweet sound grounds him. It's the same laugh as before; the melodic, light, and airy sound, filled with spirit and soul. It's the same sound he heard in your bar that day; now, in the same place, at a different time. He hadn't realized then how much he was going to love it.

"What's wrong?" You question. "Do you want to go home that bad?"

He shakes his head. "It's not that," he murmurs, his hand sliding up your low-cut work shirt, grabbing the hems to pull it down. "I just want to be alone with you."

"You always want to be alone with me,"

"I want you." He declares definitively, so full of totality that it sends a buzz of warmth straight to your heart. You grin, steeping on your tiptoes to give him another kiss.

This time, he savors it—grabbing the back of your neck to hold you in place as he laps over your bottom lip, tasting you on his tongue until it's swollen. When you reluctantly pull away, needing to get back to work, your hand trails down to grab his. "Wanna help me serve?"

"I only know how to be served," he answers.

"Kinky?"

Rafe smirks. "Let's go to the backroom and find out."

You laugh again, pulling him behind the counter. You hand him the first glass and instruct him to behave because he had a tendency to grab your ass, pull you in posessively between serving customers, and surprise you with kisses.

Despite this, Rafe follows your orders. While he pretends not to care, he secretly loves the enthusiasm behind each demand. The sharp wit you show while bossing him around reminds him why he's attracted to you in the first place.

After recruiting Rafe as your second-in-command, the job becomes much easier. You don't know if it's the second set of hands, or because every customer who asks for a refill is met with a piercing glare that silently warns them to leave, but you end up going home earlier than expected.

By the time you arrive at the house, your sisters lift their sleepy gazes off the television, jump off their seats, and come running—tackling you and Rafe into a hug.

He didn't even have the time to set his duffel bag down before Amara nearly knocked him off his feet, clutching his legs like lifelines while she recounted her day at hourly intervals. However, he merely chuckles at the sight, running his hand through the mess of her hair, while giving his utmost attention. He even asked for follow-up questions about her day, which led to a minute-by-minute breakdown.

You watch with tenderness, recognizing Rafe's presence in your home. He has changed the very fabric of your family. Usually, getting your sisters ready for bed takes ages, filled with bemoaned complaints about wanting to stay up past bedtime, but now, they're nearly obedient.

Sitting on the couch, while your sisters are crisscrossed on the floor, you brush your sister's hair and braid them; Rafe does the same. He's steadily detangling Amara's hair, afraid to hurt her sensitive head, while she rattles on about nonsensical things. Despite struggling for the first couple of times with braiding, and reducing them to a magic happenstance that appears out of thin air, Rafe slowly learns the tool of the trade, perfecting it to Amara's liking.

When you finally send them off to bed, you and Rafe return to the couch. Your head leaned against the backseat, releasing a slow sigh, before turning to face Rafe. Both of you made the same move, at the same time, and it caused a smile to light your expression.

"Tired?" He proposes gently.

You shake your head. Truthfully, you are. It's been a long shift, on top of a long week, but being in the presence of your boyfriend melts away all the exhaustion. You just want a few more moments, alone, with him.

Making the bold choice, you climb onto his lap. With your knees on either side of his hips, your arms looped around his neck, and your chin tilted slightly downward to meet his gaze.

Rafe tilts his head slightly to the side, amusement fliting his features. "Hi, pretty girl."

"Hi," you say timidly, heart lunging out of your chest, and desire pools in your stomach. Rafe watches you for a few seconds as your mind fills with choices, but all of them are silenced when you lower yourself to kiss him.

At first, it surprises Rafe. He assumed you didn't have the energy to start anything, after the long hours, but with you deliciously placed on his lap like his own personal meal, he couldn't help the pang of need stirring within. His hands find your waist, drawing you close, while his fingers splayed across your rode-up top, grazing your bra.

Pulling away, just slightly for air, his mouth hovers over yours to ask, "What's this for?"

"I miss you," you mumble a breathy answer, before recapturing his lips. This time, he has no objective. His hands slide under your bra, gliding across your heated skin and raising goosebumps in its wake.

For the next few minutes, it was just a lazy makeout with quiet groans and moans. Your core rocks gently over his lap, coming into contact with his growing erection, until it becomes impossible to ignore. Your lips pull to a teasing smile, and Rafe catches it, "Know how I feel about you now?" He asks hotly against your swollen lips.

"You're so obsessed with me," you declare.

"I am."

You grind against him, finding the right spot that allows your panties to graze his hardened cock underneath his jeans. Rafe groans into your mouth, the low sound sending a shiver down your spine, while timid flutters of pleasure curl in your stomach.

"I need you," you murmur against his lips, kissing down his jaw to the column of his neck. When your hands find the button of his jeans, you lift your innocent gaze to ask, "Can I blow you?"

This fucking girl.

Wordlessly lifting his hips, you remove his pants and briefs until his cock springs free. Half of you want to push your panties to the side and sink on his length, but the other half wants to edge yourself. Sliding to the floor, with your knees scraping the carpet, your hands timidly wrap around his girth.

"Fuck," he groans lowly, tipping his head back when you dribble spit on his tip and rub his cock, the grip of your soft hands feels good, but not enough. "Baby, put your mouth on it."

"Say please," you tease.

"Please," he begs, and satisfaction reverberates through you as a hand drops, and his cock enters your mouth, your tongue lapping over the crown. With the other hand wrapped around the base, pumping him, you slide down his length until he touches the back of your throat.

Rafe lets out a guttural groan.

His hands slide through your hair as he pushes you deeper, and you gag, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure up his spine.

His words come out choked and unsteady as you quicken up the pace; pumping and sucking him off. You hollow your cheeks to produce suction and rub him with your spit until his cock twitches in your mouth.

"Fuck," he moans again, hips lifting off the seat as your free hand presses down his thigh. You go faster, and faster until spurts of hot cum hits the base of your throat and Rafe finishes inside your mouth.

He grabs your arm and hauls you to his lap, greeting you with a well-deserved kiss. When he pulls away, forehead resting against yours, breathing heavily, he whispers, "I wanna be inside of you."

You trailing your thumb down his jaw. "Will you beg for it?"

"Sweetheart," he warns.

"That's not a very nice tone," you tease, pulling away as punishment, but Rafe grips your arm tighter. Quickly standing, Rafe lifts you up and off his lap, your legs wrap around his torso as he carries you off.

Rafe enters your bedroom and locks the newly-fixed door. Everything else moves within a blur—Rafe pulling off the remainder of his clothes before removing yours. Your giggles echo the chambers as you run away from him, only for Rafe to easily snatch you by the waist and throw you onto the bed.

Your back hits the sheets as you land with a thump, and laughter escapes. Rafe's warm body covers yours as his hot mouth attacks you with kisses, nibbling on your bottom lip, pulling the plush between his teeth as a sensual penalty.

His hands slowly descend between your parted thighs, finding your slick core waiting for him.

"You're so wet for me," he murmurs against your swollen lips. "Does sucking me off turn you on?"

You nod eagerly, putting his mouth back on yours before his fingers spread your wet folds. You whimper, clenching around nothing, as he skillfully strokes your pussy, teasing your swollen nub, but not quite satisfying you. "Rafe."

"Yes, baby?"

"Inside," you command, but your voice wavers from the sparks of pleasure he's eliciting.

"Inside," he mocks, "inside where?"

Your core clenches around nothingness. His cockiness mixed with his strokes causes your mind to short-circuit. "Rafe, please," you beg because that's all you seem to be able to say.

"Say it again," he orders, rolling your clit between his thumb and pointer finger. Your hips lift to chase the feeling, only for him to push it down firmly. "Ask me politely."

"Baby," you whimper, capturing the nape of his neck and dragging his mouth back to yours, "please fuck me."

Rafe grins, before removing his hand. The emptiness of his touch leaves much to be desired before you feel the tip of his cock grazing your slick, and he sinks into you, inch by inch.

You gasp at the intrusion before the familiar buzz of pleasure warms your stomach and Rafe begins to rock his hips.

"You feel so fucking perfect," Rafe says through gritted teeth. Stealing your breath away with each thrust, the way his cock presses right against your cervix, the way your walls flutter around him as he quickens his pace. Rafe pushes your legs onto his shoulders and kisses one of your ankles as he fucks you.

"Go faster," you order, nails digging into your sheets. Rafe grins, fastening his thrusts as he watches the way his cock enters and leaves your pussy—over and over again, the way you swallow him whole. Slowly, the build of your release coils inside.

Moans and whimpers leave your lips, each sound becoming more desperate, and incessant, and needy until you're tipped over the edge and come crashing down.

Rafe hasn't come, and plowing into your overstimulation, he fucks you until he releases himself, finishing inside of you.

When Rafe pulls out, he collapses into the space beside you, breathing heavily. In the clarity of post-sex, his mind returns to the one place he wishes it doesn't.

Despite everything, despite being with you, Rafe still has Sarah's words in the back of his mind. He doesn't want to, and he has faith in you, but something about his sister's words is everlasting and terrifying. It has him locked in thought, and it appears on his face, because when you turn your head to look at him, you ask, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answers quickly.

"Rafe..."

"It's fine," he declares. "Nothing important, I swear."

By the look on his face, you know that's not true, but Rafe has always been the type of person who doesn't talk unless they're ready, and you don't want to push further onto the subject.

"Okay," you agree, switching gears. "Then, I have some news."

Rafe tilts his head, especially after hearing the bubbling of excitement contained in your voice. "Yeah?" He asks, turning his body towards you, and pulling you into his arms. "What is it?"

Grinning, you announce, "I got a catering gig."

Your joy is contagious, and he mirrors it with a soft smile. "Really? For who?"

"Sarah."

All of the air in Rafe's lungs goes stale. His shoulders become rigid, and the daze from the sex disappears. Sobriety covers his features, but you're too excited about the announcement to catch the subtle shift.

"What?" Rafe's astonishment is light, almost undetectable, and it works. You don't catch it—neither his tone nor the fall of his expression. Your happiness bleeds into ignorance, and you gloss over the details.

"Yeah. Your dad asked me to cater for her birthday coming up," you explain. "I was contemplating saying no, but the gig pays really well, and since a lot of Kooks attend these parties, I had to agree."

The thing about Camerons' birthday extravaganzas is that they're not an exclusive event; it's a parade. Especially with the return of Ward Cameron's golden child, Rafe isn't surprised that his father pushed for a big celebration. However, dread suddenly fills his veins at the thought that this could mean something more.

Not just the fact that it was Ward soliciting your service, but the fact that Sarah had agreed to it. This has to be some kind of power move; a play for her to demonstrate that she holds more control over Rafe than he wants her to.

You continue to talk about your plans, specifically what drinks you'll be serving and what menu you'll have. But Rafe stopped listening. His mind is elsewhere, his thoughts eluding him, and amid a rambling that he isn't registering, he suddenly interrupts you to say, "Don't take it."

You blink in surprise. Your brows pull together in confusion, and when you finally turn to Rafe, all sense of amusement is gone. "Why?"

He couldn't tell you. He couldn't explain that the reason was because of him. It's selfish, but he needs it. If you take it, it means you're proving her right, and him wrong. It means that if she's right about this thing, she must be right about the others too.

He doesn't want to put you in this position, but he needs to know your loyalty.

"Just don't take it."

Now, you're more confused. You pull away slightly from his grip to evaluate his face, trying to figure out if this is some sort of joke. But Rafe doesn't deliver a gotcha! His expression is stern, and his request is absolute. Is he really asking you to forgo one of the biggest gigs of your life?

"Why?"

He shakes his head. "I'll pay you."

Flabbergasted, you say. "What?"

"I'll pay you double what they're paying you—just don't take it."

Your mouth drops to an unsteady frown. "That's not the point."

He doesn't know how to argue. He wants to be happy for you, but he can't. It's Sarah. It's his sister. He believes this is some ulterior motive to break you two apart. "Just... Just don't take it. Please."

"Why?" You ask again, pressingly, and agitation ticks at his jaw.

"Can't you just listen to me?" He snaps. "Don't take it."

This time, you withdraw. It isn't the aggression that frightens you, you've seen those sides of Rafe before. But this time, it's different. This time, it feels more tormented and frantic. Off.

You don't answer, recognizing this atmosphere as too tense. You don't want to get into a fight, and you don't know what to say that'll satisfy him. "I'm..." You begin, unsure of where the sentence is heading. You glance at the door. "I'm going to take a shower."

You get up from bed and grab some clothes before heading into your ensuite bathroom, locking the door with a soft click. Rafe remains in your room, unmoved. When the sound of water runs, he sighs heavily, glancing around the space, at the door, but nothing helps.

Fear creeps over him like a second skin. Daunting, present, and perpetual. You didn't give him an answer, and honestly, he doesn't know if you will.

But he knows one thing.

Sarah's right.

And if Sarah's right, then that can only lead to one conclusion.

He's going to lose you.

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Navigation — Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

[luvether]

CAMPFIRES & UNBLED WOUNDS, the exiled prince never understood why he was curious about your touch, about you. mydei x gn!reader. 2.3k wc

“So you were here, my prince.”

The chirping of crickets subdue at the interruption, and he sees a familiar shadow settle onto the moss and mildew and dirt beside his feet, stretching longer with the puddles of moonlight grinning down at him.

Mydeimos—sitting on the rheumy rocks with his goblet in hand—does not have to tip his chin up to know the owner of the one who called out to him, it was the tone that’s as gentle as the warm wind gossiping a glee on a dewy morning, a voice that’s all too soft and careful to belong to his battle companions, instead it was from you.

“The campfire’s long been extinguished and everyone’s turned in for the night. You should be doing the same, you know.”

“I have a lot on my mind.” Mydei had answered you. “Too restless to sleep.”

For a moment, his response was met with silence. Mydeimos had the urge to glance over his shoulder to check if you were still there—but before he does, you speak.

“Well, that makes the two of us then.”

“You should not…” The rebuttal clumsily slips down his tongue when you’d finally come closer, your shadow giving way to your familiar figure as you appeared at the corner of his vision, settling soundlessly on the empty spot beside him.

Your eyes rest on him, “Should not what, my lord?”

Mydeimos lets out a huff. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone since the afternoon healing our warriors, it is you that needs the rest.”

“And leave our gracious prince out here by himself?”

There was mirth in the way you speak, your gaze settled on the distant stretch of ocean before you both. “Hephaestion was the last to turn in, but he had asked for you when he did not see you in your tent. What am I to do when I face him in the morn had I left you here and slept cozily in my mattresses?”

It was the first tonight when a smile stumbled onto his lips, the corners tipping up in a half-dimpled smile. He shakes his head, an exhale thick with the contents of a laugh. “You jest, surely?”

“He’s your most trusted, of course he worries for you.” You tell him. “Though, you’re gonna steel yourself and tell me—there is no such thing as concern within the Kremnoan language? I can hear such words already.”

You were too focused conjuring up silly teasings that you’d never noticed how the prince’s gaze was on you, no longer had the distant protrusions of rocks from beneath the unruly waves in the distance selfishly caged his attention—his honey-hued eyes beneath the silver moonlight had made the golden in his gaze more sharper and brighter than before, it’s like opening up an oyster to find a dainty pearl on the heart of its mollusk.

The way Mydeimos smiled at you with his dimples made your heart stir and you turned away, clearing the clog of words in your throat.

Jovial playfulness smooths back to comforting silence.

The air tasted of sea-salt—the perks of being near a body of water, and Mydeimos breathed out a thick exhale. Usually, the exiled Kremnoan prince would voice out his gripe at every minor display of disturbance when his mind is sullied with burdening concerns and it’s not like he’s a man who’d brood in isolation—no, Mydeimos would sit around his fellow countrymen usually, sharing a drink by the crackling bonfire after a successful battlefront won over by their Kremoan vigor.

It’s just that they’ve experienced quite a harsh fight with one of their foes of the sea-city states a week ago, many Kremnoans came back severely injured so company was the least assurance the prince wanted.

But for some reason, he cannot utter a single thing when you sit by him, gazing out at the same ocean that’s all violent waves with teeth of white foam and tongue of sea-salt.

Maybe it was the fact that you were their medic—Mydeimos never had the luxury to be patched up by you—his immortality ridding any wounds and injuries before they can be fussed over. But his keen honey eyes would look on unmovingly at times where he catches you bandaging up his men in the distance, particularly with how utterly gentle you seem.

It was a foreign thing in his eyes, then again you were not from Castrum Kremnos, they had just picked you up during their expedition across Amphoreus when you had claimed to be someone who knew a thing or two about being a medical practitioner. Mydeimos was practically untouchable so taking someone like you would’ve been more of a hindrance, they already had Perdikkas for such a situation.

But his soldiers weren’t like him, he had already seen some of them fall in battle or succumb to illnesses he wasn’t familiar with. Even the medic himself had vouched for you—saying that having another pair of hands to help the wounded wouldn’t hurt.

So with great reluctance, Mydeimos beckoned you to join. It has already been a few months since then and you have proven to be a valued asset to his party, not only as a medic but rather, a close companion of his.

He resurfaces from his thoughts when he feels a thumb run across his cheek, he’d flinch and the feeling fades just as quick as it came. You have completely caught his attention now and you seem to stumble on rolls of apologies for touching him so carelessly, expecting an ire from him.

“I apologize,” you said. “there was red on your cheek so I thought you were injured…”

Unconsciously, he lifts his ungloved hand and pushes it at the spot on his cheek in which your touch lingered like an aftertaste.

Soft.

Your touch was so sophisticatedly soft and…

“Cold.”

Mydei’s rasp stirs you. “Pardon?”

“Your fingers.” He reiterates with an unreadable baritone. “They’re really cold.”

He did not expect your eyes to waver, nor did he expect the look of shame to flush your cheeks.

Mydeimos frowns at that. “Tell me, what did you do?”

“I…doused them in the river just south of camp when I was washing the bloodied clothes of the soldiers.” You answer simply. “The water’s frigid, it was almost bone-chilling despite the early rise of moonlight—”

“Why do such a thing?”

He does not mean to pry so frankly, you seem reluctant to reply but you needn’t explain further. Mydei had already pieced together the reason.

Being a medic is just as difficult as being a warrior. The prince has seen it all, time and time again, the state of his folks when they’re dragged back from battle—almost torn and severely injured, bloodied and mutilated and ribboned—just how much have you nursed them all back to health? To stitch up capillaries to muscle and skin? for your tender fingers to be caked with hot blood and cold grime that felt like a stain on your flesh even after washing them away numerous times?

He cannot help but bring his attention back to your fingers, and to both of your surprise, he was the one that reached out first.

His calloused hand touches your cold ones, running a rough thumb across your open palm to start. To him, he felt a notable hint of tremor in your fingertips, something he tried to cradle softly.

And to you, there's a mild prickle at the aftermath of the prince’s rough-hewn hands against your own.

“How are you feeling?” Mydei asks and it’s such a simple question, it’s so simple and yet you find yourself at a loss of what to say. You didn’t need to, he clasped your hand then, drawing it closer until both your fingers interlaced together.

“My lord, such a thing—“

Your cheeks surrender to the flushed heat, Mydeimos’ hands are calloused yet very tender. You don’t know what the prince wanted you to acknowledge, you’re just surprised he was the first who was willing to touch you so daringly.

“Refrain from doing that again.” His baritone reverberates through his chest, a gentle lecture slipping between his teeth. “Cold therapy may help you now but I've seen my comrades develop trench foot before. It’s in our best interest if you, the medic, is healthy at all costs. Just come find me whenever you have troubles with anything, okay?”

His honey eyes are on you. “Stay for as long as you wish, until your hands stop trembling from the cold.” Until you’re okay, you can hear the aftermath of concern brushing your ears.

You let out a finicky chuckle. “It was supposed to be me comforting you, not the other way around.”

“I’m fine.” Mydeimos answered. “I cannot die—“

“Cannot die in physical essence but your heart can still hurt from grief.” You squeeze back on his own. “And who knows, Mydeimos? You may be stabbed and injured numerous times but what if one day, when an enemy stabs you and you die, what would your people think? What do you think I would feel?”

It was merely a hypothesis for you, but the gravity of your theory tosses weight onto his shoulders, his chest caving in and his spine tingling, especially at the thoracic region. But instead of worrying about your words, Mydeimos observes you from the corner of his eye once again—he finds himself doing that as of late, and a ghost of a smile is on his lips, a teasing of his own at the tip of his tongue.

“Maybe it’s you who worries a lot about me, not Hephaestion.” He pokes at you, his playfulness catches you off guard and you find yourself sputtering.

“You could drown—“

“Then, I can simply swim.”

“What about a fatal stab? If you die from—“

Mydeimos tries his hardest from rolling his eyes. “And you think one measly stab would cut me down completely? Sometimes you wound me with your lack of faith—“

“I’m being serious, Mydeimos.”

And this time, the prince brings your hand close to him and lays it flat above his heart.

That renders your worries short, feeling the heavy beat of his heart on his chest, the evident embrace of warmth that dances along your open palm.

“Does it feel like I’d drop dead somewhere anytime soon?”

Your fear soon withers away from your chest, but Mydeimos does not let go of your hand, tracing his thumb up and down the pulse of your wrist.

“Does it?” He asks you, barely a whisper.

You shake your head but the tension is already thick in the air, electrifying. You find yourself reaching for every inch of vitality within him, any sign of life that you can feel beneath your palm. At first it was the apical pulse on his chest, then you started to draw patterns on his denuded skin—fingers tracing down the carmine tattoos that splay across his body as you searched.

It wasn’t sensual, per say, but your hands grasped him in desperation to feel life, a breath and a sharp pulse and he’s right,

Unlike the injured soldiers that were cold and trembling beneath your fingers before they died and dried—the prince is warm, blood pumping and heart erratic. Touching him brings you some sort of selfish solace and the trembling coldness of your fingertips are quickly blanketed by Mydeimos’ body heat as you curiously trace the red that marks up his body—up his carotid arteries on his neck until it reaches the edge of his tendrils.

“Your hair is tangled, your highness.” It was your soft murmur as you leaned close to him, then your fingers reached out to comb through his thick peach-puddled blond hair.

“Is that so?” He voices, eyes trained on you. The gaps between the two of you are quick to eat up, especially with the way Mydeimos is leaning onto your hand. He’s been trying since the first few months, to not be too overly concerned with your touch every time he sees you tending to his men, but even he cannot deny that he had always been curious since the moment you first join,

He was curious about your touch on him, or simply, how gentle you would touch him like you do the rest.

And just as he suspected, your touch is rather feather-like when you start to fiddle tiny braids onto his hair. Remnants of your fingers seem to linger at every mark in his body—

A rustle shatters the atmosphere and you both are quick to pull away. Mydeimos hides the sneer on his expression when Hephaestion emerges from the bushes,

“Oh, so you both were here—”

“What is it—” when Hephaestion stares at him in shock, especially with how snappy he sounded, Mydeimos falters, clearing his throat, “—I mean, what seems to be the matter, Hephaestion?”

You snicker beside him, but when Mydeimos points a glare your way, you yourself clear your own throat.

“Nothing, I was simply wondering where the two of you have gone. Sightseeing without us?”

“Sightseeing is an understatement, we were simply sharing a conversation or two is all.”

“Well, judging by the moon high in the sky, it’s best to wrap up those conversations soon. You both need ample rest after the events that happened for the past few days, have you forgotten that we would march west in the morning?”

At your lack of responses, Hephaestion sighs.

“I’m sure the crickets and herbs are honored at your company, but the detachment move for the west awaits us all, now make haste.”

“Alright, alright we got it.” Mydeimos sighs. Hephaestion had left first as the two of you stood at your feet, brushing crumbs of grime from your attire.

“My lord?”

Mydeimos turns at your call, he sees the slightest hint of twinkle in your eyes against the foam-salted air. “Thank you, for tonight.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes.” You answer, rubbing your warm fingertips. “Much better, I hope your concerns have eased as well.”

“You know, I was serious when I said that if you have any troubles, just come find me, maybe we can speak our minds again like tonight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You chuckle. “Promise me you won’t go dying somewhere else.”

“Without your permission?” His dimpled-smile returns. “I wouldn’t even dream of it.”

[thinemoonshine]

𝖋𝖆����𝖆𝖑 𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖊; 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖑𝖊𝖘

immortal!enhypen x mortal!female reader content(s): college setting, vampire enhypen, human reader, enhypen has an unhealthy fixation towards reader, mature and dark themes, warnings will be specified at each chapter type: mini series (6 parts)

red strings tangled beyond repair, the solution being to return to the hand they are tethered to. but things prove to be more painful—more excruciating than any they’ve ever felt. even for immortals who deem pain as merely a child’s game.

𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

ℌeeseung rushes through the woods, undead heart pounding rapidly, vehement and erratic—much more than it ever has when he was alive. Prickly thorns and branches graze and cut through his porcelain skin, leaving bleeding wounds that seal themselves almost as instant as they were made.

“She’s here. She’s back,” his whispery voice is carried by the wind as he continues his relentless pursuit to find her. The one they have been waiting for so long—decades, centuries and millennials. Eternity.

𝔍ongseong huffs, breaths heavy as he tails close behind—not of exhaustion, but of fierce desperation—and his chest heaves while he wears a pained countenance. The everlasting yearn that burgeoned throughout his years of living whilst dead pouring from his very being—showing through the reddening rims of his eyes and the whites of his curled knuckles.

A grunt rips through 𝔖unghoon’s throat as the bottom of his trouser gets caught by a thick branch. He clicks his tongue, irritated, and haphazardly retracts his leg—the fabric tearing with a loud, clear sound. But he’s mindless of it, much too occupied with seeing her. Finally. The mere idea of it brings a clarity to his mind, quietening his incessant, intrusive thoughts and a hopeful smile makes its way to his face.

His surroundings that typically appeared bleak and grey slowly regain their significance and colours and he inhales the earthy essence—the moist, healthy soils, fragrant blooming flora and even the faint scent of sweet nectar and honey.

The world feels beautiful once more.

“I can’t believe it! After all this time!” 𝔍aeyun exclaims, excitement buzzing through his veins and raising goosebumps on his skin as the adrenaline builds. His pearly whites are displayed from his unrestrained ear-to-ear grin despite his feverish stunts.

Hopping from one tree to another and landing with a spin onto his feet—continuing his sprint briefly before retuning to his jumpy behaviour. He’s overflowing with pure delight, eyes sparkling incandescently as he seizes his lip between his teeth.

𝔖unoo giggles joyously, eyes upturned into crescents as he plays a game of chase with 𝔍ungwon. The moment they felt her presence, an indescribable sense of merriment flooded them, washing away their never ending misery. Their withered hearts that were once weighty with doubt regarding her return now beating with anticipation and conviction.

“Catch me if you can~” Sunoo challenges and Won’s grin broadens, dimples deepening and eyes glaring with determination as he hastens his steps—eliciting a shriek from the older.

Their laughter resound within the woods and as if celebrating alongside them, the birds chirp and sing in an optimistic tune while warm sunlight shines against wet leaves and puddles. Small, faint streaks of colours emerging around them and casting a beautiful glow.

A picturesque scene right out of a film.

Lagging behind is ℜiki who’s still astonished and yet, skeptical. Why now? After all this time, why now? Could they be wrong? Maybe they had all mistakenly think it was her. It’s not an impossible thought considering how it’s been…forever since their last moment with her. Their instincts might be rusty.

But he knows. Truthfully, he knows that they can never be mistaken. No one sets their souls alive like she does.

And admittedly, he too knows that his denial stems from fear. The fear that she may arrive and fleet away just as abruptly. And once again, he will be abandoned, left to wallow in his own self-pity and desolation for years and centuries to come. The gap in his chest widening more and more with her absence.

His teeth grit and jaw tightens at the already torturous thought. He swallows dryly, dreading the possibility but a sudden tug within his ribs, the sudden lightness he feels and the lack of emptiness inside—

A gasp escapes as he snaps his head up, facing the front to see his brothers all decelerating as they approach the exit of the forest they’ve caged themselves in where across is a human town. Wasting days, months, years away inside their sumptuous mansion with their plentiful riches just to be overcome by the sense of vanity.

Their attentions are transfixed by the bright light that awaits them—the end to their painful yet, wilful confinement and they glow. They are radiant, spirits flourishing and… alive.

“She’s here,” Riki mutters under his breath, voice cracking as eyes brim with tears.

The seven figures emerge between the tall trees like creatures of myth—dangerously enthralling and breathtakingly beautiful—with their steps slow yet determined.

But they are forced to a halt as great, extravagant forms of red and orange greet them obtrusively—dancing flamboyantly on their faces and frozen frames as their senses that were previously dulled by her overpowering being begin to sharpen.

While the feeling of her begins to blur.

They can finally hear the deafening wails and shrieks as the choking scent of thick smoke infiltrates their noses and fogs their vision with layer after layer of soot. Sirens of ambulance and firefighters are blaring while crowds of people are frantically running from the burning resident, screaming for help.

And amidst all this chaos lies one girl quietly at the side of the street, tranquil, with her head against the plush green grass, a hand beside her head and the other resting on her stomach as if taking a siesta—if only her dress wasn’t dyed crimson by her own blood, face isn’t dusted with gray from the remains of debris and the torment that reveals itself from the marks of drying tears.

The seven appear beside her. Heeseung and Jay dropping to their knees as Sunghoon stands paralyzed yet shoulders tremble violently at his shaky breaths. Jake’s teeth sink deep into his lower lip, drawing blood as he tries and fails to muffle his wails—heavy tears brimming his eyes and flowing down his reddened cheeks like a storm.

Jungwon gulps, a sharp pain stabbing through his throat at his pitiful attempt to swallow his grief but the burn in his eyes betray him as he too ends up sobbing and shivering as he struggles to stand. Hands and sleeves wiping his face repetitively as his cries heighten.

Sunoo’s emotions are unvarnished, bare and loud as he screams in agony and wrath. Everything is unfair. He doesn’t want this— no, he CAN’T. His palms grate against the scattered debris and they stab and dig through his skin mercilessly yet, he’s unfeeling.

Even as his blood drips and paints the vibrant green with red, he remains… drowned in his anguish. Ears once again muffled as he can only hear his previous doubts taunting him, ridiculing him and shattering him more than he already is.

And Riki… he kneels beside her inert body, staring with clouded eyes as he slowly lifts his large hand onto hers and it quivers slightly as it nears. The moment they touch, her foreign, cold temperature makes his eyes well up and thick salty globules seep into her dress—his body bending lower and lower until his forehead rests against her still stomach.

Whimpers and silents gasps of her name escape past his lips like a spell, as if it will resurrect her and this continues until Sunghoon approaches to cautiously, slowly lift her limp body into his taut arms.

Although wordless, the others understand perfectly—feebly rising to their feet as they trail behind him who makes his way back into the woods. The panic instilled in others make for perfect distraction and they disappear from the public once more.

Sunghoon strides grimly through the tall, mighty trees—breaking whatever branch that obstructs his path with his inhuman strength, trampling every vivid flora that burdens his track and disregarding anything and everything else.

He sees only vanity. Nothing worth his attention.

He lays her on a slightly raised white stone dais with beautiful intricate engravings on each of its four sides—fresh flowers, spirals and crystals adorning its plainness.

The seven figures encircle her, silent and deeply scarred by the abrupt tempestuous of emotions that they experienced that are powerful enough to make them feel nauseated—wanting to vomit their insides and ruin whatever remnants of their humanity, all there are that enable them to still feel and hurt.

But simultaneously, they wish to remember it all, to keep themselves sentient so they can once again relish in the joy and miracle that is her. The one who they’ve sworn to guard and have surrendered themselves to. This singular wish manages to keep them sane albeit hanging by a thread and they watch with heavy eyes as Jake nears the dais.

His hand lifts, palm to the sky as a gentle flame appears—movements irregular as it grows larger and larger before it stills into a steady fire.

With a deep exhale, he says, “Until we meet again.”

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