aenemix

[aenemix]

「In The Wake Of Ruins」 Zayne

       ↳ Zayne grapples with the heavy weight of loss and the relentless demands of fatherhood. Through years of quiet endurance and fierce protection, he learns to find new purpose in the life left behind, carrying the memory of love amidst the ruins of grief.

The snow didn't stop.

It fell endlessly over the northern duchy, blanketing the world in white silence. And inside the Grand Duke's estate, the fires burned low, the halls stayed quiet and every room seemed to echo with the absence of you.

Zayne barely spoke anymore. He spent most of his hours in his study or in your bedchamber, unmoving, sitting in the chair beside the cradle.

The child lay there, small, fragile, born a month too soon.

Mira and the staff tended to her at first. They fed her, kept her warm, and soothed her cries while Zayne stood nearby like a shadow. He looked at her… But he didn't touch her. Not once.

One night, Mira's patience finally broke. "She needs you, Your Grace." She said, her voice low but sharp as a blade. Zayne didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the cradle. "She's cared for."

"She doesn't just need to be cared for." Mira bit back. "She needs her father. You can't keep looking at her like she's a ghost." That word ghost cut through the room like a crack of thunder.

Zayne's head turned, his stare cold enough to silence most men. For a moment, Mira almost regretted saying it. Almost.

But then… Zayne didn't speak. Didn’t snarl. Didn't drive her out of the room like she expected. Because, deep down he knew she was right.

Later, when the castle was quiet again, he stood over the cradle alone.

He didn't know what he was expecting. Maybe for her to cry. Maybe for her to look at him and hate him for what he had taken from her the second she came into this world. But she didn't. She slept. Peaceful.

And gods, she looked like him. The sharp line of her nose. The pale color of her skin from the northern cold. Even her dark hair.

It was unbearable.

If she had looked like you, maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much. Maybe he could have looked at her and believed just for a moment that you weren't gone, that there was still some piece of you left that he could hold.

But no. She looked like him. And he had always been cursed.

He almost turned away. Almost left the room the way he always did, retreating to the silence of his study where grief couldn't claw at him so viciously.

And then she stirred. Her tiny eyelids fluttered open. And for the first time, Zayne saw them.

Your eyes. Exactly yours. The same shade, the same quiet, impossible warmth.

It hit him like a blade to the chest. His knees nearly buckled, one hand gripping the edge of the cradle as if he would drown if he let go.

Your eyes, staring at him from a face too small to understand what it had already lost.

Zayne's throat closed. He didn't touch her. Not yet. But he stayed. And for the first time since you died… He whispered. "I'm sorry." The words were too soft for her to hear. Maybe they weren't even for her. Maybe they were for you.

But still, he stayed until dawn, his shadow unmoving beside the cradle, haunted by a pair of eyes that weren't supposed to be there and yet, were the only reason he didn't fall apart completely.

-

The council chamber had long since emptied but Zayne remained seated at the table, hands folded, staring at nothing. He might've stayed there until dawn if not for the sound of boots against the stone floor.

"Zayne." The voice was familiar, low, even threaded with something that could almost be mistaken for amusement if it weren't so sharp around the edges. Zayne didn't look up. "Caleb." He muttered.

The Duke of the East stepped into the light, shedding the shadows of the corridor like he belonged here. His coat was still dusted with snow from the ride in, dark hair damp from melting frost. He looked the same as he always did, composed, infuriatingly steady but his sharp eyes cut straight through Zayne's silence.

"You look like shit." Caleb said plainly, dragging out a chair and sitting across from him without waiting for permission. Zayne's head finally lifted. His glare was flat, dangerous. Caleb only laughed.

"Good. Still got enough bite to look at me like that. I was worried they'd carved it out of you along with your sleep." "Leave." Zayne muttered. "No." Caleb said easily. He leaned back in his chair like he was settling in for a long night. "Not until I ask what I came to ask."

Zayne didn't respond. Caleb didn't push, yet. Instead, he looked him over for a long, silent moment. There was no mistaking it. The man sitting before him wasn't the Grand Duke of the North, the cold, calculating figure feared in every war council. He looked… Hollow.

"How have you been?" Caleb finally asked, the question quiet but deliberate. Zayne huffed out a laugh without humor. "You already know."

Caleb didn't deny it. He'd heard. Everyone had. You gone in childbirth. A premature child. A silent, snowbound duke who hadn't left his estate except for duty.

Caleb rested his forearms against the table. "She's healthy?" Zayne's eyes flickered. "They say so." "They?" Zayne looked away, jaw tight. "… Mira sees to her. I… haven't-" He didn't finish. Caleb didn't need him to. The eastern duke exhaled slowly, the sound almost bitter. "I didn't get to hold my son when he was born." Zayne's head snapped toward him.

Caleb's mouth twitched. Not in a smile, but in something sharp edged, self mocking. "Eight years. I missed eight years of his life. I didn't get the first words, the first steps. I didn't even know he existed until it was too late to change the fact that his mother died waiting for me."

The words landed heavy between them.

"This isn't about me." Caleb continued, voice like gravel. "But I'll say this. Don't make her live in that cradle thinking she's a mistake you can't bear to touch."

Zayne's hands curled into fists on the table. Caleb didn't look away. "She's not a ghost, Zayne." Caleb said softly, almost viciously. "She's your daughter. And she is all that is left of her." Zayne's throat worked but no words came.

Caleb pushed his chair back and stood, clapping a hand against his friend's shoulder, a sharp, grounding weight. "You don't have to love her perfectly. Gods know I didn't. But you stay. You fight for her the way you fought in the war. You survive for her. Because if you don't-" Caleb's voice dropped lower. "-Then she loses both of you."

The words cut deeper than any blade. And for a long time, Zayne didn't move. The silence stretched between them, heavy and raw, until finally, finally, he nodded, the smallest, sharpest dip of his head.

Caleb gave his shoulder one last, firm squeeze before turning for the door. And as the eastern duke left, Zayne sat in the quiet chamber, staring at his hands.

Hours later, for the first time since your death, he rose from his chair, went to the nursery and stood over the cradle. The child stirred, tiny fingers curling in sleep.

Zayne's hands shook as he reached down. And then hesitantly, trembling, he lifted her into his arms. She was warm. Small. Terrifyingly fragile. Just like the first time he held her the day that you died.

And when she opened her eyes, your eyes, he felt something splinter and settle in his chest all at once.

-

The snowstorm came without warning.

The wind howled against the high windows of the northern keep, rattling the glass like the world outside was trying to claw its way in. The halls were quiet save for the muffled crackle of the hearths, the scent of burning pine curling faintly through the air.

Mira had stepped out only for a moment just to fetch fresh linens. And that was when she started crying. The sound that tore through the nursery like a knife. Sharp. Piercing. Desperate.

Zayne stood frozen for a long moment, staring down at the door. His hand twitched. "Stop." He muttered under his breath, as if she could understand him. "Please." She didn't stop. And Zayne stood in the doorway, rigid. His hands flexed at his sides. He didn't move.

The baby, his daughter, wailed louder, her tiny fists flailing in the cradle, face red and crumpled. He told himself Mira would be back any second. She always came back. She knew what to do. He didn't.

But then. "... (Your Name)." The name left him like a breath, unthinking. Your name.

And for one brief, shattering instant, he almost saw you sitting in the chair by the cradle, bundled in furs, humming softly as the snow fell outside. He almost believed you would turn to him with that look you always had, the one that said 'Don't just stand there, Zayne.'

But you weren't there. Only her. The child. Crying for someone who would never come. Zayne's jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His feet moved before his mind caught up. One step. Then another. He stopped at the cradle.

The baby's eyes were screwed shut, her small face scrunched in frustration. She was so small it terrified him. More fragile than any soldier he had ever dragged from the battlefield. He stared at her like a man staring down an enemy he didn't know how to fight.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached down. His hands, scarred from war and calloused from sword hilts, trembled. He was certain he would hurt her. Certain he would drop her. Certain this was another mistake he couldn't undo.

But he lifted her anyway. Awkward. Clumsy. Too careful. And then. She quieted. Just like that. Her fists loosened. Her cries faded into tiny, hiccuping whimpers. Her head, impossibly small, nestled against his chest like it belonged there. Zayne froze. He didn't breathe.

The snow howled against the window. The fire popped in the hearth. And for the first time since you died, the silence in the room wasn't empty, it was full.

He looked down at her. Her eyes opened, only halfway. They were hazy, unfocused, but gods help him, they were yours.

Something broke in him then. Something old. Something buried. Something that had been locked in iron since the night he held your lifeless hand and swore he would never feel anything again.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. His voice was low, rough like gravel dragged over stone. "You're all I have left of her." He whispered. His arms tightened around her, just slightly. "So I can't-"

The words caught in his throat. "I won't-" He didn't finish. He didn't need to. Because for the first time, he was holding her. Not because Mira told him to. Not because duty demanded it. Because she was his. And he couldn't- wouldn't- let her go.

When Mira returned, she froze in the doorway.

Zayne didn't notice her. He was still standing there, his daughter cradled in his arms, rocking her slowly by the window as the snow fell heavy and quiet around them both.

For the first time, he didn't look like a man haunted by a ghost. He looked like a father.

-

It didn't happen all at once. He learned, piece by painful piece.

The first time he tried to feed her, the milk spilled everywhere. Down her chin, over her blanket, across his hands. He cursed, sharp and low, and nearly hurled the bottle into the fire. But then. A sound.

A tiny, breathy noise. Almost like a laugh. He froze. When he looked down, she was staring at him with your eyes. Mocking him.

"You think this is funny." He muttered and his voice wasn't as sharp as he wanted it to be.

The next time, he was more careful. He adjusted his grip. He tilted the bottle the way Mira had shown him. This time, she drank. Not a single drop spilled. Zayne exhaled like he'd won a war.

At night, he carried her to the chair by the fire. He sat there, his broad shoulders hunched, one arm cradling her small frame while the other rested against his knee.

At first, he said nothing. But the silence was too loud. And so, slowly, quietly, he spoke. "You'd have liked her." He murmured, his voice low enough that even if someone had been listening, they might not have heard it. "Stubborn. Won't sleep unless I hold her. I think she knows I'm hopeless at this."

She blinked up at him with your eyes, and his chest ached so sharply it almost hurt to breathe. "Your mother." He said quietly. "Was terrifying. Do you know that? She never backed down. Drove me insane."

A sound that wasn't quite a laugh but wasn't far from it, escaped him. "I loved her for it."

Sometimes, he forgot himself.

"You'd laugh at me if you saw this." He muttered one night, adjusting her blanket. "Me. Rocking a child by the fire." He glanced toward the empty chair beside him. "…I wish you could see her." He said, softer now. "Gods, you'd be unbearable about it."

And though his lips twisted, almost bitter, he didn't stop talking.

Little by little, he learned.

How to hum to her until her tiny hands went slack. How to rock her in the steady rhythm Mira swore by. How to let her clutch his gloved fingers. First hesitant then longer, until he stopped pulling away.

The first time she grabbed his finger, he almost flinched. But then he looked down at that impossibly small hand holding his like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And for a moment, he remembered. You, placing his hand against your belly. Your laugh, low and warm. "See? She's kicking. She's impatient already, just like you."

Now, that same hand, your child's hand was wrapped around his finger. This time even though his hand shakes, he didn't let go.

-

He was still bitter.

When the snow howled outside and the fire burned low. Anger would come for him. Anger at you. For leaving him. For making him love you so much that now, even breathing hurt.

Sometimes he would look at your daughter and think she looked nothing like you and the thought would turn sharp and ugly. Maybe it was him. Maybe he was the curse all along.

But then she'd open her eyes. And he would see you there. And it would ruin him. And save him. Every single time.

-

The study was too quiet.

Zayne sat slumped in the chair by the fire, one hand braced over his mouth, the other resting on the bottle beside him. His knuckles were pale against the glass, his grip unyielding but he hadn't lifted it in a while.

The flames hissed low, spitting embers that burned themselves out before they could reach the hearth. The shadows swayed with every shift of the firelight. And on the desk, folded neatly where no one dared move it, was your scarf.

He stared at it for a long time. There were nights he swore it still smelled faintly of you. Nights like this one, when the keep felt hollow and the world too sharp and his thoughts curled inward until they cut.

And tonight, for the first time in years, he had poured himself a drink.

He hated drinking. His tolerance was pitiful and you used to laugh about it. About how a single glass was enough to make him scowl and swear he was fine, even while you tucked him into bed with that knowing look that used to undo him completely.

He could almost hear it now. That laugh. The memory that was worse than silence.

Zayne's jaw clenched. He tipped the bottle and swallowed down another mouthful. It burned, bitter and punishing, but not nearly enough to quiet the thought that had been circling him for days.

The thought that had teeth. If not for her… You'd still be here.

His hand stilled around the glass. The fire cracked sharply in the silence, and he let out a long, slow breath that shook halfway out of him.

He hated himself for it. For even thinking it. For letting that poisonous, ugly thing coil around his ribs and make him look, if only for a moment, at the child you left him with and think. Because of you.

He shut his eyes. Pressed his hand against them until sparks flared in the dark.

Gods, he was so tired.

And then. A sound. Thin. Piercing. Fragile. The baby.

Zayne froze.

Her cry sliced through the quiet like a blade, sharp enough to tear through every ragged thought in his head. He sat there for a long moment, staring at the fire, jaw tight, chest hollow. Then, slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.

The nursery was dim when he entered.

Snow tapped faintly against the windows. The hearth was low, its glow barely enough to keep the room from feeling cold. And in the cradle, her cradle, she wailed, fists balled tight, face scrunched in a red, furious cry that didn't belong in this too quiet world.

He stood there. For a heartbeat, maybe two, he couldn't move.

He thought of you. The last time he had seen you, the way your hand had gone slack in his, the way the world had fallen out from beneath him and left only this...

The thought came back. That same bitter, broken thing. If not for her… But then she opened her eyes.

And he saw them. Not his. Yours. Innocent, clear, impossibly bright in the low firelight. The air left his chest in a single, ragged breath. And just like that. The thought shattered.

He moved without realizing it. One step. Then another. His hands, the same ones that had once held steel without hesitation, shook as he reached for her.

He was terrified he would be too rough, terrified she would break under the weight of his grief. But he lifted her anyway. She was so small. Warm. Alive.

Her cries softened almost immediately, hiccuping quiet as she tucked against his chest. Zayne stood there, holding her like something holy, and for the first time in weeks, the silence wasn't empty.

He looked down at her, at those eyes, your eyes, and everything in him broke.

The chair by the window creaked as he sat. The storm outside pressed against the keep, a dull, constant hush. Inside, it was only him, the baby, and the sound of his own uneven breathing.

He cradled her closer, his lips brushing the top of her soft, downy head. "I'm sorry." He whispered. The words cracked like ice.

He tightened his hold on her, as if he could keep her, keep you, from slipping through his fingers a second time. "I don't mean it." He rasped, voice breaking on the edges. "Gods, I don't mean it. Please don't take her away from me."

His throat closed. He pressed his face against her tiny shoulder, his breath trembling against her skin. "You didn't take her." He whispered again, his words quieter this time, almost reverent. "You're all I have left."

His chest hurt. His eyes burned. And still, she looked up at him with those impossible eyes. Your eyes.

He wept silently into her blanket, careful not to wake her again, careful not to let the sound be anything but a rough exhale against the storm.

He kissed her hair. Once. Then again. And again. And for the first time since the world ended, Zayne didn't drink. He didn't move.

He just held her, his grief spilling out in the quiet, and whispered into her tiny ear as if you could still hear him, too. "She's all I have left of you." And this time, it wasn't an admission.

-

The months bled into one another, marked not by seasons, but by the small, stubborn rhythm of her life.

Zayne stopped counting days by the council meetings or the endless correspondence from the capital. Instead, he measured time in quieter ways. The first time her fists unclenched while she slept. The soft, broken sounds she made before dawn. The way her head fit more neatly against his shoulder as she grew.

The grief didn't vanish. It never would.

It was still there in the way he reached out for you in his sleep and found only cold sheets. In the hollow echo of the halls where your laughter no longer lingered. In the raw, silence of nights where he sat by the fire and thought for one unguarded second, that he could almost hear you humming under your breath.

But something had changed. Because when the child cried, he moved. Not because it was duty. Not because Mira reminded him. But because he wanted to.

The staff noticed it first.

Zayne had always been a man of distance, of controlled words and colder silences but now they saw him differently.

The Grand Duke of the North feeding his daughter himself, clumsy hands steadying bottle after bottle. The Duke carrying her down the long halls, wrapped against his chest beneath layers of fur lined wool, her tiny hands gripping the fabric like an anchor. The Duke glaring sharp enough to cut stone at any servant who dared raise their voice within earshot of her.

When a maid once dropped a tray in the corridor, the crash rang like a blade striking iron. The child startled and wailed and Zayne turned. That look, razor edged, sharp as the winter air was enough to send the poor girl stumbling backward, mumbling apologies.

But Zayne didn't shout. He only gathered his daughter closer, tucking her beneath his chin as he brushed her blanket into place, and walked on without another word. He didn't need to speak. No one dared make the mistake twice.

-

The first thaw came quietly.

The snow pulled back from the hills, gray stone breaking through white drifts. The gates of the keep, long sealed against winter, creaked open for the first time in months.

And that was when Caleb came. He rode in on a black warhorse, his son just behind him. Zayne had not expected him.

The two men clasped arms in the courtyard, a gesture born in blood and battlefields. Caleb looked older than he remembered, grief had cut its lines deep into him, the kind that don't fade, but settle like carved stone.

"You look better." Caleb said, studying him with a soldier's frankness. Zayne huffed. "You lie poorly." Caleb smirked, faint but real. "Fair enough. You still look like hell. But… Less haunted."

Zayne didn't answer. He didn't need to. Caleb's sharp eyes softened for only a fraction of a second before shifting past him, toward the small figure in Zayne's arms. The baby blinked at Caleb with open, guileless curiosity.

Behind him, Ash dismounted with all the gracelessness of youth, his boots sinking into the half melted snow. He was quieter than most boys his age, but steady, watchful. His gaze locked on the baby, and something in his expression softened, the same way Zayne imagined Caleb's must have, once.

The child, his daughter, your daughter, looked at Ash then reached one small, clumsy hand toward him. Caleb chuckled. "Seems she has good instincts."

Zayne grunted. He shifted her slightly higher, his gloved hand cupping the back of her head, protective without thinking. Caleb didn't miss it. He didn't comment, either.

Inside, they sat near the fire, steam curling from mugs of dark northern tea. The warmth barely cut the chill of the stone walls but neither man complained.

For a long time, they didn't speak. Caleb's son wandered toward the cradle, quiet and careful, his small hands folded behind his back like he was afraid of breaking something sacred.

Finally, Caleb spoke. "You're holding on." It wasn't a question. Zayne stared into the flames, his jaw tight. The child stirred in his arms, then settled again, her head nestled against him.

"I have to." He said at last. His voice was low, but steady. "She's all I have left." Caleb didn't argue. He reached out instead, setting one weathered hand on Zayne's shoulder, solid and unshakable. "Then hold on tighter." He said.

Zayne glanced down. His daughter's fingers had curled into his coat. For the first time in a long while, he did not feel like he was drowning.

That night, after Caleb left, Zayne stood by the window with his daughter in his arms, the keep silent except for the crackle of the fire and her small, steady breaths.

Snow drifted outside, but he didn't look at it. He looked at her. And for the first time in months, he realized his hands weren't trembling.

-

The world was quiet in that way only winter could make it. Where every sound was softened, where even the wind seemed to move with caution, as though unwilling to disturb the stillness.

The snow stretched in unbroken white toward the horizon, the keep a distant shadow behind him. Zayne walked with careful steps, the crunch of his boots the only sound, each breath billowing pale in the frigid air.

He carried her close. She was swaddled in wool and fur, a small, warm heartbeat pressed to his chest. His coat was wrapped around them both, his arm shielding her from the bite of the wind. She shifted occasionally, her small hand curling and uncurling against him, but she made no protest.

This was her first time here.

The grave lay ahead. A simple stone marker, its dark surface stark against the snow. He had chosen the spot himself, beneath the lone pine on the ridge, because you had loved this view. The valley stretching out like a painting, the mountains rising jagged and strong beyond it.

Now, a dusting of frost clung to the carved letters of your name, the rest of the stone half buried under snow he had brushed away earlier that morning.

When he stopped in front of it, he did not speak at once. He simply stood there, staring down at the marker as the cold settled into his bones. The grief was still there, sharp and solid like a stone he had swallowed and never passed. It had dulled in some ways, yes, but never loosened.

It lived inside him now, quiet and patient, waiting for moments like this to rise up and crush the air from his lungs.

Finally, he sank to one knee. The snow gave under his weight, his coat pooling in the frost. "She looks just like me." He said, his voice low, strained. His eyes didn't leave the stone. "But she has your eyes."

The words were steady, but his chest felt tight. Because those eyes, the same shade, the same light. They caught him off guard every time she looked at him. A part of him hated it. A bigger part clung to it like a starving man to bread.

"I didn't want this." He murmured. He wasn't sure if he meant the grief, the loneliness or the impossible task of raising a child without you. Maybe all of it. "I didn't know how to… How to be this."

For months after you were gone, he had thought only of surviving the next hour, then the next day. He had not thought of the future, not his and certainly not hers. There had been nights he resented her for being the reason you weren't here, nights where the silence of the keep pressed so heavy he thought it would break him.

And yet… She had survived. She was here. She was warm in his arms.

His hold shifted, his gloved palm cradling the back of her head with instinctive care. The snow swirled faintly around them, the air so still it was as though the world itself was listening.

"But I'll protect her." He said, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of a promise that felt older than the both of them. "I swear it."

She stirred, her tiny face lifting toward his as if she understood. Her hand reached up, fingers brushing the coarse fabric of his collar, and then, unexpectedly, she laughed. A bright, bubbling sound, so soft and pure it pierced right through the heaviness in his chest.

For a heartbeat, his breath caught. Then something inside him cracked. Small but real. His mouth twitched, almost a smile, though it was still touched with the ache of loss.

He stayed there for a long time, the snow slowly gathering on his shoulders, before he finally pushed himself back to his feet.

The grief didn't ease. It never would. He carried it with him the way he carried his sword, the way he now carried her. Always there, always heavy. But the difference was that now, when the weight threatened to drag him under, he had something to hold on to.

Turning toward the castle, he adjusted his coat to better shield her from the wind. The vow was still warm on his tongue, the memory of her laugh lingering in his ears.

He walked back through the snow, the grave fading from view behind him but the promise staying exactly where it had been made. Rooted deep in his chest, next to the grief, where it would remain for the rest of his life.

-

The fire burned low, its glow spilling across the stone floor in long, swaying shadows. Outside, the North lay in its eternal cold, snow drifting in silent layers against the keep's walls. The world beyond the windows was white and still.

Zayne sat unmoving in the highbbacked chair, his daughter asleep against his chest. She was warm and small, her breaths steady against him, her head tucked beneath his jaw as though she belonged there.

Since the day you died, there had been no space for him to grieve. He had gone from holding your hand to holding her without a moment in between, the weight of fatherhood pressing over the hollow where mourning should have been.

Every hour was for her, feedings, lullabies, pacing the halls at night until grief became something distant yet constant, like a wound stitched closed but still bleeding inside.

He bent his head, pressing his lips to her soft hair. Her scent was faint and clean, untouched by the cold or the weight of the world.

"You were the warmest thing I ever held." He murmured to the memory of you. The words tasted of longing but they did not break him. Then, to the small bundle in his arms. "And now… It's my turn."

A promise. To protect her. To raise her into someone you would have been proud of. To hold the grief himself until she was old enough to carry the truth and the love of the woman who had given her life. He would be the fortress until she no longer needed one.

The snow fell heavier beyond the window, but inside, the fire's glow made the air feel almost gentle.

He looked down at her sleeping face, the faintest hint of your eyes visible even in dreams. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of both a vow and a blessing.

"Happy birthday, little one."

And for the first time in a long time, the words didn't feel like an ending. They felt like the start.

-

Five winters had come and gone since the night the North lost its Duchess.

The seasons had cycled. Snow to thaw, thaw to green, green to white again. Yet for Zayne, the years had not truly moved forward so much as folded in on themselves.

Grief had not lessened, not really. It had simply become part of the air he breathed. He had learned to live with it the way northerners learned to live with the cold. Not because they stopped feeling it but because they had no other choice.

His daughter, your daughter, was now five. The same wide, searching eyes that had first stopped him from falling apart still watched the world with sharp curiosity. Her laughter rang down the stone halls, familiar now, yet every time he heard it Zayne's chest still pulled tight with the knowledge that you would never hear it yourself.

The gates of the keep creaked open in the pale morning light, letting in the smell of cold earth and horses. Caleb arrived on horseback, his son Ash riding beside him. The boy was taller now, leaner, still a little awkward in the saddle but brimming with the same quiet steadiness as his father.

By the time they were inside, the two of them had already darted off toward the snowy courtyard, their voices bouncing against the stone walls, Ash's low and warm, your daughter's high and bright, spilling like water over rock.

Zayne and Caleb settled in the great hall, the fire snapping in the hearth. Caleb was already grinning. "She's a force." He said, nodding toward the door where their laughter still echoed. "Just like her mother."

Zayne didn't answer, though his mouth twitched slightly. The closest thing to a smile Caleb had seen in months. He reached for his mug, letting the heat seep into his hands.

It was Caleb who broke the easy silence, leaning back in his chair.

"So." He drawled. "How's it going, dodging every eligible woman in the realm?" Zayne didn't look up from his drink. "As well as you'd expect." Caleb laughed. "You'd think by now they'd have gotten the hint." "They haven't." Zayne said flatly.

"They never will." Caleb countered. "Not as long as there's a Duke without a Duchess. The king's already hinting again. Says the North and East needs stability, a mother for the girl, a mother for the boy, some political tie or other." He smirked. "The same pressure he's been putting on me."

Zayne didn't answer. His gaze flicked to the window. Snowflakes clung to the glass, softening the world outside where the children were now crouched over what appeared to be the beginnings of a snow fort.

Caleb took another sip, letting the pause stretch before continuing. "I told him no." That earned a glance from Zayne. "And?" "And he'll keep asking." Caleb said with a shrug. "But I'm not marrying a woman I don't love just to tick a box for the crown. Especially not for appearances... You?"

Zayne went silent again, his eyes fixed on the snow fort. The truth was simple, and when he spoke, it came out like a stone dropped into still water. "I'm not marrying anyone."

Caleb leaned forward, smirking again. "Even after all the effort they put in? I've lost track of the number of women who've 'accidentally' been in your path in the capital. One nearly froze herself on the front steps last winter waiting for you to come back from the training yard. Another tried to follow you into council just to drop a handkerchief in front of you like some kind of courtly play."

Zayne's jaw tightened. Caleb caught the change in his expression but didn't stop. "And the latest one?" Caleb’s smirk faltered into a laugh. "I heard she's quite seriously, that she'd make the perfect mother for your girl. As if that's something you could just… Declare into existence."

The air between them shifted. Zayne's eyes darkened, his voice low. "She has a mother." The words landed like an axe splitting wood.

Caleb nodded slowly, his earlier humor fading. "You ever going to tell them that to their faces?" "I don't need to." Zayne said. "They'll either figure it out or get tired of chasing what they'll never have." Caleb's gaze softened. "You're still holding on."

Zayne didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched as your daughter darted across the courtyard, Ash chasing close behind, their laughter sharp and bright in the cold.

When he did speak, his voice was quiet. "I'm raising my daughter. That's enough." There was no performative finality in the words. Just truth, plain and immovable.

Caleb studied him for a moment, then leaned back, letting the firelight flicker between them. "The rest of them might think your heart's up for a trade." He said. "But I know better."

Zayne didn't respond not with words. Because a heartbeat later, the door banged open and she came rushing in, scarf crooked, cheeks flushed from the cold. She scrambled into his lap without hesitation, talking all at once about the fort they had built, her mittens still dusted with snow.

Zayne wrapped one arm around her, steadying her small back with unconscious care. He didn't glance toward Caleb, didn't acknowledge the knowing look on his friend's face. Because right here, with her pressed against his chest, with her laughter breaking through the quiet was everything.

Outside, the North stayed cold.

But inside, in the circle of his arms, there was warmth enough for both of them. And none for anyone else.

-

The keep was hushed in the deep hours of the night. Snow pressed against the windows like frost bitten lace, the moonlight casting faint silver lines over the floorboards. The fire in the hearth burned low, its soft crackle the only sound in Zayne’s chamber.

He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the wool blanket pulled up to his daughter's chin. She looked small there, her dark hair fanned over the pillow, the faintest pink on her cheeks from the heat of the fire. For a moment, he simply watched her. How her breathing rose and fell, how the shadows caught the familiar curve of her face.

She was becoming more like you with every passing year. Not just in her eyes. Though those were your eyes exactly but in the tilt of her head when she was thinking, in the quiet, observing way she listened before speaking. Zayne felt that ache again, the one that never truly dulled.

"You're so much like her." He murmured, his voice almost breaking in the quiet. "It's… Frightening, sometimes." Her eyes fluttered open, hazy from the edge of sleep. "Mama?" She asked, the word soft but cutting through him all the same. "Yes." He whispered. "Your mother."

There was a pause, and then, with the unfiltered curiosity only a child could have, she asked. "What was she like?" Zayne's throat tightened. Still, he smiled faintly. The kind of smile that was as much grief as it was fondness.

"She was… The warmest thing I ever held." He said, the words slow, deliberate. "She could walk into a room and silence it without a single word. She was fierce, but gentle. Strong, but kind. And her laugh…"

He gave a small, almost soundless laugh himself. "Her laugh could make the world feel lighter. Even for me." Her gaze stayed on him, quiet and unblinking. Then she tilted her head. "Is that why you're always sad?"

The question stopped him cold.

He didn't answer. Couldn't, not right away. His heart gave a slow, heavy beat. But before he could form a reply, she spoke again. "I heard someone say…" Her voice faltered. "…That it's my fault she’s gone. That I killed her. That I took away your happiness."

The air between them went still.

Zayne's expression hardened instantly. Confusion first, then a cold, sharp rage that ran bone deep.

He could almost see the source of those words before she said another syllable. One of them. One of the painted vipers who lingered in his halls in the name of courtly duty, all smiles and simpering offers to be the Duchess of his house, the mother to his child.

They whispered their poison in hopes of worming into his life, his bed, his title. And now, one of them had dared to slip it into her ear.

His jaw clenched. His hands flexed against the blanket and for a brief, dangerous moment, he imagined exactly how he would deal with such venom.

Then came the silence. Heavier, deeper. Because as much as he hated them for saying it, he hated himself more for the truth beneath it. There had been a time, in the first hollow days after losing you, when he had looked at the crying newborn in his arms and thought those same dark thoughts.

He had blamed her, if only for a heartbeat. And he had despised himself for it ever since.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but laced with something fierce. "Look at me." She did, eyes wide. "That is not true." He said, each word deliberate, unshakable. "Not then. Not now. Not ever." "But-"

"No." The sharpness was not anger at her but at the idea itself. "You didn't take her from me. She gave me you. Do you understand?" Her brow furrowed, uncertain. "…She gave me to you?"

"Yes." His voice softened, his hand lifting to cradle the side of her face. "She loved you before she ever saw you. You were her joy, her hope. And when she couldn't be here… She left you with me. You are not the shadow of her death. You are the light she left behind." Her lips trembled, and she whispered. "Are you glad I'm here?"

The question broke something in him. His throat tightened painfully, and for a moment he could only look at her, really look, before he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I am so glad." He said, the words almost cracking.

"Every single day. Even when I'm quiet. Even when I look sad. You are the reason I'm still here. The reason I can keep going." She let out a little breath, settling back under the blanket, her eyes softening as sleep began to take her again.

Zayne stayed there long after she drifted off, one hand still on her hair. His gaze didn't move from her face. The grief was still there. It would never leave. Neither would the guilt. But neither would she.

And as long as she was his, no whisper, no venom, no scheming noblewoman would ever be allowed to make her doubt that she was anything less than the best thing you had ever given him.

-

The fire in Zayne's study burned low, but the room was far from warm. The heat could not touch the chill that settled in the air when the Archduke worked in silence.

He sat at his desk, posture straight, one gloved hand idly tracing the rim of his cooling tea. Across from him, Richard stood with the careful stillness of a man who had seen what happened to those who displeased Zayne.

The events of last night replayed in his mind. Not the innocent bedtime questions of his daughter but the poison beneath them. A child should never carry such words. A child should never learn cruelty from those in her own home.

When Zayne finally spoke, it was in a voice as smooth as polished stone, but with an undertone that promised ruin. "Lady Linley." Just the name. A blade laid on the table without yet being drawn.

"She's been pressing her ambition for years, circling like a vulture. And now she dares to reach for my daughter's mind. She dares to take you from her." He said, though the you was not for Richard. Richard shifted. "You wish her sent away?"

Zayne's gaze flicked up. Cold steel. "Sent away? No. I want her removed. Not just from these walls. From my reach. She is never to stand in my presence again. Her name will not pass the lips of any servant under this roof. Her letters will not cross my desk. Her invitations will be returned unopened, until she learns her place is beneath the notice of this house."

"And her family?" Richard asked. "They will feel it too." Zayne replied, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile but something sharper. "Pull the trade agreements we extended last winter. Delay their shipments at every border checkpoint. Triple their tariffs. Make certain their allies hear whispers that they've offended me, but never tell them why. Let them squirm under the weight of questions they cannot answer."

The fire popped in the hearth. "Do not touch her openly." Zayne continued. "I want her to suffocate in silence. No scandal. No confrontation. Just the quiet understanding that the air she breathes is mine to give or take." Richard bowed slightly, the hint of unease in his eyes. "Yes, my lord."

When the orders were given, Zayne left the study.

The moment he opened the nursery door, the world shifted. The air smelled of sunlight on wood and the faint lavender soap the maids used. His daughter sat cross legged on the rug, her little snowman plush tucked under her arm. She looked up, face brightening instantly.

"Papa!" She squealed. And the mask fell away. He crouched, lifting her into his arms with an ease that came from five years of practice. He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in.

"Good morning, little one."

She would never know what had happened downstairs. She would never know that by sundown, the woman who tried to plant venom in her heart would be gone, her name already being erased from the corridors of the estate.

She would only know that her father was here and that nothing and no one would ever come between them. Because he was the grand duke. And the grand duke did not forgive.

-

The great hall of the House of Li had seen coronations, feasts, and funerals but to Zayne, it had never felt heavier than it did that morning.

The banners hung tall and still, their blue and silver threads catching the pale winter light that streamed through the tall, arched windows. Every noble and vassal of importance stood in attendance, their whispers dying as the grand duke entered.

But the eyes of the room weren't on him. They were on her.

His daughter, your daughter, stood at the center, wearing a gown of deep velvet blue that brought out the glint of your eyes in hers. She held herself with quiet poise, her chin lifted, the corners of her mouth relaxed but not meek. The way she stood, the way she scanned the room before speaking to anyone, it was you.

Not perfectly, not exactly but enough to twist the knife in his chest. Sometimes, the resemblance was a balm. Other times, like now, it was a wound that refused to close.

She was speaking to an attendant when he caught it, the sentence. The exact words you had said to him all those years ago, on a snowy night, when he'd resisted attending some feast you insisted on.

"If we're going to do this, we might as well do it properly."

He had mocked you then, in that dry way of his and you would only smirked, kissed him and told him he was impossible. And now… Here she was, unknowingly echoing you word for word. The sound of it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

Caleb stood beside him, older, the silver in his hair more prominent, his stance a touch less rigid. Ash, now a fully grown man, lingered near a pillar with his wife, letting your daughter chatter with them the way an affectionate younger sister might. She adored him and Ash tolerated it with a resigned fondness that made Caleb shake his head.

"Time flies." Caleb murmured under his breath, the words almost lost under the low hum of the gathered court. "Feels like yesterday she was hiding behind your leg, refusing to greet me. Now…" He let out a short, quiet laugh. "Sooner or later, Zayne, you'll have to let go."

Zayne's jaw flexed. Caleb might as well have suggested he cut out his own heart. Let go? He had already let go of you. He would never willingly loosen his hold on the only thing you'd left him.

And yet… His eyes moved to her again and he knew the truth Caleb wasn't wrong to imply. The day would come when she would walk into the world without looking back to see if he was following. But not yet.

When the hall finally fell silent, Zayne stepped forward, his black cloak trailing behind him. His presence alone commanded attention. He had ruled for too long, too absolutely for anyone to dare speak over him.

"This day." His voice carried through the vaulted space, low and deliberate. "Is not simply my daughter's coming of age. It is the moment I entrust her with what was once entrusted to me."

She turned toward him, her brow furrowing in confusion. This was not something he had discussed with her.

"I name her." Zayne continued, his gaze sweeping the crowd like a drawn blade. "As the heir to the House of Li. She will inherit its name, its power, and its burdens. She will be the one to guard it when my time has passed."

The reaction was immediate. Some nobles murmured in approval. Others, those who had plotted for their own bloodlines to marry into the title shifted uncomfortably, their faces composed but their eyes dark with calculation. Zayne's stare lingered just long enough on those faces to remind them who they were dealing with.

No one dared speak.

When he looked back at her, she was staring at him with widened eyes, shock and pride warring in her expression. The applause that followed felt distant to him, meaningless noise compared to the sight of her standing there, shouldering a future she did not yet understand.

In her face, he saw you. In her voice, he sometimes heard you. And in moments like this, the ache of your absence was so sharp he could almost believe it might kill him.

But it didn't. Instead, it reminded him of the vow he had made when you were gone. That he would raise her, protect her, and give her every weapon she would need to stand against a world that had taken so much from them both.

And now, he had given her the ultimate one, power. Because while Zayne would one day have to let go of her hand… He would never let the world take her down.

-

The corridors of the duchy had grown quiet by the time she came to him. Outside, the night stretched deep and still, and the last embers of the celebration were dying in the banquet hall.

Zayne sat alone in his study, the weight of the evening still lingering on his shoulders. The announcement had been made, the hall had roared with reaction and though he had remained impassive, his chest had been tight all night.

A soft knock broke the silence.

She stepped in without waiting for an answer, candlelight trailing shadows behind her. Her gown from the evening was still on, though her hair had been let down, loose waves falling over her shoulders.

She looked older tonight, no longer the child he had carried in one arm, but not yet the woman the world would one day know.

"You didn't tell me." She said quietly. Zayne set down the half filled glass of wine in his hand. "No. I didn't." Her gaze flicked to it, then back to him. "Why?" "I didn't want you to think it was a possibility." He said, his voice calm but certain. "I wanted you to know it was always inevitable. You were never an option, you were always the heir. From the moment you drew breath."

She stared at him. "From the moment I was born?" "Before that." He corrected. "From the moment she…" He hesitated, the pronoun heavy on his tongue. "…From the moment your mother told me about you."

Her eyes flickered at the mention of you. "I've spent my whole life hearing about her." She said, voice softening. "From Mira. From the knights. The maids. But from you… Only once. That night, years ago."

Zayne's gaze darkened, remembering the conversation by her bedside when she had still been so small, so curious, and so heartbreakingly unaware of the cruel things the world could say.

"I want to hear more." She went on. "Not the way others tell it. I want to know the other side of her. The way you saw her." He leaned back, studying her. "Why now?"

"Because…" She faltered, then pressed on. "…Sometimes I wonder if she would have loved me. Or if she resented me for taking away her life that had given birth to me" The stillness in the room grew heavy. "I never got to meet her, while I did see her portrait." She said in a rush. "Not even once did they told me how mother felt about me. And people talk. They say I killed her. That I took away your happiness. That's why you always seemed… Sad."

Zayne's jaw tightened. He stood, slow and deliberate and crossed the space between them. "Listen to me." He said, voice low but edged with steel. "Your mother loved you. More than anything. More than her own life." Her eyes were wet, uncertain. "Even though-" "Even though it was dangerous. Even though the healers told her there were complications. Even though she knew what it might cost her."

His tone didn't waver. "She was excited. She was happy. I had never seen her so certain about anything. And even in the final hours, when the pain was unbearable, she still smiled. She told me she wanted you to live. That she couldn't wait to see you, even if it was just for a moment. She wanted to hold you. You were her joy, not her sorrow. Her gift, not her burden."

Her tears broke free, and she looked down. "Then why did you always look at me like I wasn't me? Like I was…" "…A ghost." He finished for her. She nodded.

"I did." He admitted. "For a long time. Because you reminded me of her so much, it hurt. But I don't see that anymore." His voice softened, the steel melting into something warmer. "Now I see you. I see the way you laugh like her, yes, but the way you think like me. The way you have her fire and my patience. You're not her shadow. You're the two of us, together, in a way I never thought possible."

Her breath hitched and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. He held her close, his chin resting against her hair. "You're hers." He murmured. "And you're mine. And there is nothing. No lie, no voice, no force in this world that will ever make me think otherwise."

When she pulled back, she glanced again at the glass he'd abandoned. "You've been drinking." Zayne didn't answer. Her brow arched. "Is it that bad?" "Sometimes." He admitted.

Without waiting for permission, she took the glass, sipped, and made a face. "Bitter." "That's because it's strong." He said, reclaiming it. "Or maybe." She teased. "It's because you're a lightweight and it's gone to your head already."

He gave her a sharp look, the kind he gave political opponents, but it didn’t have its usual bite. "Careful, girl. I'm still your father." "And I’m still the heir now." She countered with a smirk, lifting the glass again before he could stop her. "Which means I can drink with you."

They finished the glass together, an unspoken truce settling between them. Half grief, half warmth.

When she finally left, candlelight flickering in the hall beyond, Zayne remained where he was, the taste of the wine still on his tongue and the ghost of your laughter in his ears. But it wasn't a ghost that haunted him anymore.

It was her. And she was very much alive.

-

Zayne was no longer the grand duke. That heavy crown had passed to your daughter some time ago, and the castle, once a fortress of duty and endless vigilance had softened into a quieter, emptier place.

The halls stretched long and hollow, the echoes of past laughter and footsteps fading like distant stars.

Retirement came slowly, unbidden. He wandered now through the stone corridors, tracing memories as if they were a map to a place he wasn’t sure he wanted to find.

The weight of years pressed down on him, but with none of the urgency that had once driven him. The duchy was no longer his burden. It belonged to her now, to the daughter you had left behind.

It was a late afternoon, the light pale and cold through the tall windows. Zayne found himself aimless, drifting from room to room, the air thick with ghosts.

Then he heard it. A soft laugh, fragile as the wind.

Not the clear, bright laughter of your daughter, but a deeper, more distant sound, like a whisper from the past, a thread of you woven into the silence.

The sound pulled at him, aching and irresistible.

He moved toward it, his steps slow and unsteady, until he found himself before a door he hadn't dared open in years.

Your door. The room he had sealed shut on the day your daughter turned one. The day he decided to bury his grief and pour himself into raising her. He had locked away every memory here, every fragment of the life you had shared, fearing that if he faced it, he might shatter.

But now, drawn by that impossible laughter, he reached for the handle.

The metal was cold beneath his fingers. He paused, a shiver crawling up his spine, then pushed the door open.

The room was exactly as he had left it, frozen in time and memory.

Dust danced in the slanting light, the scent of your perfume hanging like a fragile promise. Your books lay open on the desk, as if you had only just stepped away. The bed still held the faint impression of your form.

And there, resting on the desk, lay a letter. Folded carefully, yellowed at the edges, your handwriting delicate but sure across the front.

He sat slowly, his hands trembling as he unfolded the fragile paper.

You had written it months before your death, knowing the risks you carried, knowing you might never see your child grow. Your words poured out across the page. Words of love, hope, and fierce faith.

You spoke of your daughter, the bright, stubborn spark you already loved fiercely. You spoke of him, the man who had been your anchor in a world of storms, the man you trusted to raise her when you could not.

You asked for a promise. That she would never believe she had taken you away. That she was the living proof of a love that endured, not the price of it.

Zayne's breath caught. The tears came slowly at first, then in a torrent he could no longer hold back.

Decades of grief. Silent, locked away beneath steel and duty spilled free. The ache that had hollowed him out for so long softened into something new, something like peace.

He pressed the letter to his chest, feeling the weight of your words, the warmth of your love.

And then through the quiet, the laughter returned softer now, a gentle echo that wrapped around him like a balm. He closed his eyes.

For the first time in years, he felt ready. Ready to let go. To leave the ruins behind. To answer your call. To finally come home.

And in that quiet room, filled with light and shadow and memory, Zayne wept not in despair, but in release.

Because for the first time, the ache in his chest did not feel like an open wound. It felt like a heartbeat.

And as the last light slipped beyond the horizon, the quiet heartbeat within him slowed. No longer a wound but the steady rhythm of love carried through time, until the day he would meet you again.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

[aenemix]

Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other.

Imagine, Caleb had weathered countless storms in the line of duty.

Imagine the ways and odds that goes within deepspace. The fleets pressing against impossible odds, decisions that decided who lived and who didn't. Those he could manage. Those had rules, strategies, something to fight back with.

but Imagine this? This silence? It was unbearable.

Imagine he sat in his quarters, papers stacked neatly in front of him, reports waiting for his approval. Some he had already signed half without reading them properly, his mind split elsewhere. Stuck on the small, glowing screen on the corner of his desk.

Imagine, your name sat there. No new messages. The last one you'd sent was almost cruel in its simplicity.

You: I'm fine. Don't worry about it.

and Imagine, he almost laughed. Don't worry. As if that was possible.

Imagine the way Caleb leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair with a sharp exhale. He had seen the shift in you, gradual but undeniable.

Imagine there was the time you used to tease him for replying late, now you don't even seemed to bother. There were times where you used to demand he call, even for five minutes, now you did not even ask.

Imagine, at first, he thought it was kindness. You understood his workload, the burden of command. You weren't pushing, weren't making demands you knew he could not fulfill. That should have been a relief.

but Imagine, the longer it went on, the more that understanding began to feel like distance. Like resignation. Like you weren't waiting anymore. As if you were slowly training yourself to live without him.

Imagine that thought sat like a stone in his chest, dragging him down.

Imagine the way he close his eyes, remembering the early days. The way you would d light up the second his voice came through the call. The way you would laugh when he apologized for missing dinner again. The way you would still send him long, winding messages about your day even if he couldn't reply right away.

Imagine and now? Now your words were clipped. Empty. Careful, almost. Like you were building walls he hadn't noticed going up.

Imagine the way Caleb's fingers curled into fists. He wasn't a man who asked for much. He had always known his life was duty first, everything else second.

but Imagine, you… You were the one thing he thought he could hold onto outside the uniform. The one softness in a world built of steel and command.

and Imagine, now he was terrified he was losing it. Losing you.

Imagine he opened his messages again. Typed something. Deleted it. Typed again. How was your day? Deleted. I miss you. Deleted. Please don't leave me. Deleted, deleted, deleted.

Imagine the way he cursed under his breath. Everything he wanted to say felt either too much or not enough. And beneath it all, a sharper thought cut through. If he kept pushing, would you pull away faster? If he admitted how much he feared losing you, would you see it as weakness? Would it drive you further?

Imagine the way his chest ached. The way the colonel who could stare down an enemy fleet found himself staring at a blank screen, unable to press send.

Imagine Caleb had never been a man prone to panic. But tonight, he felt it rising in his throat. A desperate, clawing fear that maybe, without even realizing it, you were already slipping away. That while he was drowning in paperwork and strategy, you had quietly decided you couldn't do this anymore.

Imagine the worst part come when he couldn't even blame you if you had. Who in their right mind would want to love someone like him? Someone who came home late, who answered calls halfway through, who could barely give you the fragments of his time?

Imagine the uniform had always demanded sacrifices. He just never thought it would demand you.

Imagine the way Caleb pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, forcing himself to breathe.

Imagine he loved you. God, he loved you. More than the stars, more than the air he commanded his fleet through. And the thought of you walking away, worse, of you already starting to left him cold.

Imagine the way he whispered it into the empty room, words he couldn't send across the phone. "Don't leave me. Please." And when no one answered, Caleb sat alone. More afraid of silence than of any battlefield he had ever faced.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: back in my directioner era

[aenemix]

.-*Patience*-.

Summary: After you had helped Lycaon babysitt his clients toddler, he started having Baby fever, and before he realized it he was up to his neck in his rut.

Tag: Red Letter (Nsfw)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x Fem!Reader

Minors DNI!

Warnings: Pregnancy kink, creampie, rut, size kink, biting, mentions of blood, masturbation, Oral recieving, Established relationship.

(Please remind me if I have forgotten any warnings)

My friend came up with the idea when we were on call, and its been stuck in my head for a while now. So I decieded to write it, and finally get it out of my head.

Also because I've watched Smile 2 and desperately need to get my mind off this movie as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated. (Also enjoy me trying out animation for the first time)

Lycaon was a patient man, its something he prided himself with. No matter how tedious the task at hand may appear, it was never something he couldn't handle.

But it seems even his patience had its limits. He had come to that realization when he took on the task of watching after one of his clients toddlers, a task that normally would fall into Rina's forte but unfortunately she was already occupied with another job.

A sigh escaped Lycaon as he whiped the remnants of Baby food out of his face, the toddlers weapon of choice to fend off the wolfish butler.

Once again, Lycaon was a patient man. But when his client reached out to him, asking to extend the time of his services, he found himself in a spot where he couldn't refuse. And the deeper the circles under his eye got, the more regularely he found himself counting the days until the week was finally over and he could go back to doing his regular paper work which, miraculously, he found preferable at the moment.

Then there was you, his beautiful, headstrong and reliable partner, admittedly even more patient than himself. You had noticed your significant other's trouble, graciously offering your help which he declined at first. But not short after he found himself giving into your request and assistance after the toddler had started throwing tantrum after tantrum, and he worried it might sully his, and his clients reputation.

So the very next day you stood in the door, equipped with a bag that contained everything you might need, ready to support him where it was possible. Another sigh escaped Lycaon, this time one of relieve as he watched you easily get the toddler under control, carefully holding it and humming a soothing lullaby while it slept in your arms.

It was a sight that captivated him in a way he couldn't explain. You looked so beautiful, so loving and so maternal. He couldn't help but wonder how your children would look like if you had any, and it stirred something deep within him. A feeling that he had ignored for a long time, and the longer he dwelled on the thought another more familiar feeling slowly clawed its way into his body and mind, much to Lycaon's dissmay.

Lycaon had no idea if he'd make a good father, the concept of fathering children seeming a bit intimidating to him despite how badly he wanted a family of his own. But the fantasy of you holding his child in your arms gave him hope. You'd be a great mother, with you by his side everything would work out perfectly, he was sure of it. And in that moment a thought invaded him which would haunt his every waking moment for the entire next week to come, not even his dreams were spared.

He wanted to get you pregnant.

So he found himself awakened in the middle of the night once again, lying in the bed of his clients guest room, his hard member throbbing uncomfortably in his trousers.

He sighed, realizing that it was that time of the year again before he reached for his bag, fishing in it for his suppressants to hopefully stop the heat bubbling in his stomache.

But much to his horror, all he finds is an empty blister.

The week comes to and end, his client having thanked him for his hard work, completely unaware of your assistance with the little one. While you are unaware of the trouble he, and to an extend you as well, were in now.

•°•°•°•°•°•

The clock hits 9pm, Lycaon himself once again sitting in his office as he worked himself through the stack of papers on his desk that had accumilated over the past week. He glanced at the clock, pinching the bridge of his snout and sighing tiredly before he dedicated himself to the document in front of him once again.

Admittedly, he had stared at the same document for almost one and a half hours now, his progress had been slow and painful, almost as painful as the hard erection throbbing in his trousers that effectively robbed him of any shred of concentration.

With his rut now having taken a full grasp on him, he cursed himself for forgetting to fill out his suppressants perscription in time as he glances at the piece of paper still lying on his desk, just as abandoned as a week prior. He had been too mentally occupied with his commission, and now he was left hot, bothered, and suffering the consequences as he internally fought not to palm himself through his pants.

'Life waits for no one, and these Documents need to be finished'

he told himself, which he had done so for the last one and a half hours without making any progress whatsoever.

He wanted to ask you for help, you are his partner after all, and besides, you two have had Sex before.

But not like this.

In all the time you two where together, he never had to deal with his rut, luckily always quick enough to fill out his perscription, all to spare you of having to put up with him while he was nothing more than a hormone controlled animal.

Well, so much for that...

He grabed his crotch, having lost the inner battle with his needs as he lets his mind wander to you. Surely you wouldn't mind fucking with him while he was like this right?

He slowly moved to unbuckle his belt, freeing his cock from its confines.

Would you let him cum in you if he asked? He rubbed over his weeping tip, your name falling from his lips which he didn't even seem to realize.

As of now he had never came inside you, always pulling out or using a condom instead.

But god he wanted to breed you so badly, to feel you clench down on him while he pumped load after load into you.

There was a knock at the door which he didn't register in his lust drunken haze.

He'd take such good care of you throughout these 9 strenous months, he'd give you everything you needed and more. Only the mere fantasy of you bearing his child made him even harder than he already was.

"I'm coming in now" your voice rang out from the other side of the door as it ripped him out of his fantasy.

He cringed as he tried to slide his trousers over his still aching cock, opting to pushed himself towards his desk as a way to hide his terribly obvious bulge from sight. He took the pen he had abandoned earlier, and shifted his gaze to the document again while you quietly stepped into the room.

"Is something the matter my love?" He asked you, scribbling away at the paper "I heared you calling for me" you told him, leaning on his desk.

He looked up at you, noting that you wore one of his shirts. He loved it when you wore his clothes, and the way your scent intermingled with his. He found it difficult to focus, much less say something as the intoxicating smell wafted around his nose "have I? I don't recall having called you?" He says, an air of nervousness around him that only seems to grow thicker as you move around to his side of the desk.

His heart was pounding in his chest, dispite the intense need clawing at his guts like a starving beast. It seems he was still capable of feeling embarrassed as you took the spot next to him, and he hoped you wouldn't notice his awkwardness, surely you'd think he's a pervert for basically sitting dick out at his desk.

You reach for his forehead, checking his temperatur "are you feeling unwell? You're burning up" you exclaim while he sneaks a glance at your cleavage "I'm fine don't worry, it's just a long day" he half lies.

Sighing, you lean his head against your chest, slowly rubbing soothing circles behind his ear "I know last week had been awfully stressful for you, even though you had been phenomenal in my opinion. But maybe its best if you take a break for now" you boop his nose "especially if you are feeling unwell, and don't tell me you don't because I know you better than anyone else" for some time he just looks at you, the spot behind his ear still tingling a bit from your touch. Secretly aching for you to touch him somewhere else. "You thought I did well with the little one?" He asks jokingly, even though a part of him ached for you to reassure him. "Yes you have! You have a hand with children" you look over your shoulder and meet his gaze for a moment

"you'd be a great father"

Your words reached straight into his heart, and he's sure that in this very moment, he had just fallen even deeper in love with you. "I'll be getting ready for bed, please don't stay up for too long ok?" You raised your eyebrows in an assertive manner, and he chuckles "Understood" he replies.

'You were the one'

If it hadn't been obvious to him before, then it definetly was now. He knew you two could manage a family together.

So as he watched you turn around to leave, he calls out to you again. Wanting to ask you the question that's been on his mind for the entire last week

"say y/n..." he starts and you once again turn your head to look at him before he continues "...have you ever considered... wanting Kids?" A short silence settled inbetween both of you.

Lycaon's heartbeat echoed so loud in his ears, he fears he won't understand your answer if you should give him one. But instead you beamed at him with a smile so bright it almost made him dizzy "of course love! An entire litter full" your words made his heart stumble with pure excitement, as his rationality was slowly being devoured by the growing fire in his gut.

He stood up in a flash, his mechanical feet making quiet thuds against the carpet, and before you can step through the door he snakes an arm around your waist pulling you against his chest while his other hand closes the door shut.

"Is everything alright?" You ask him, his sudden change of attitude spooking you a bit. His hold on you tightens a bit, not in a constraining- but rather in a gentle, and needing manner.

"I want to get you pregnant"

...he admitts and you blush violently as you feel him grinding against you. "Huh? What brought this on?" You asked him with a little nervousness in your tone "Apologies. It's just that every since last week, when I saw you with the little in your arms, I couldn't seem to think about nothing else" he burries his head in the crook of your neck, giving you a small peck before he continues

"I'm going insane with the thought of your belly all swollen with my child, with our child. Please tell me you want the same"

he confesses to you, his hand softly perching on your stomach. To say that you were speechless was an understatement. Your wolfish lover had never acted this way, and the more you thought about it, the more you began to connect the dots in your mind.

Right, Lycaon was a Wolf thiren. Does that mean he also...

"Lycaon, are you in rut?" You ask him carefully, taking the way his movement halted for a moment as confirmation.

Bull's eye.

"Yes, I'am" he admits, seeming embarassed by the fact "I failed to fill out my suppressant perscription last week and ran out of medication" you turn around to look him in the eye, returning his hug.

"So that's why you were unwell? Why didn't you tell me?" You ask him "I can help you" you reach your hand under his shirt, slowly caressing his soft back. "Mating with a thiren during their rut is... different. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable" he spoke, his words stumbled a bit due to the sensation of your hand on his back.

He sighs heavily, both in reliefe of having told you the truth, and in a strange sense of frustration "but I can barely take it anymore" he leans down, ghosting his lips over yours "please help me out" he asks before closing the distance, capturing your lips in a passionate, and hungry kiss. You reach a hand down, giving his bulge a squeeze which makes him groan into the kiss.

He gently moves you towards his desk, breaking the kiss to sit you ontop of it before finding your lips once again. You unbutton his shirt, running your hands over his muscled torso while he kissed down your neck.

He always loved that you only ever wore one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, but today he loved it even more so. Quickly he discarded the few items of clothing you were wearing before he got on his knees and spread your legs, his mouth watering at the sight of your drenched pussy.

Before you could brace yourself, Lycaon had already began his assault, licking long striped over your cunt before plunging his tongue inside. Normally he took his time when he went to town on you, but tonight his actions held a certain sense of ferocity as he sloppily ate you out. Still seeming to greatly enjoy it judging by the groans coming from him, the vibrations of which sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Lycaon was a patient man, but right in this moment he was everything else but patient as he whined against your cunt, feeling desperate to finally ram his hard length into you.

And you, ever the beautiful, reliable and patient partner that you were, understood immediately. So after he discarded his last pieces of clothing, now standing fully bare infront of you, you pulled him into a kiss while you grabbed his cock and lined him up with your entrance. Slowly he pushed his cock into you, the familiar stretch of his sheer size never failing to make you see stars.

Lycaon released a satisfied groan as he finally bottomed out inside of you, loving the way how you were still so tight dispite all the times he's already fucked you. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in with unfamiliar force, making your titts bounce, and the desk creak in response.

But dispite that his pace remained moderate, and you couldn't help but notice the almost pained expression on his face "stop holding back" you spoke out to him, and he met your gaze, pondering if he should give into your request, clearly out of worry for you "I can take it, I promise" you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. You felt the way his heart was pounding against his rib cage, like a beast knawing at the bars of its enclosure.

"Fuck me like you need it big guy."

As soon as your words left your mouth, he felt his restrain snap cleanly in two as he grabbed your legs and brought them up to your chest before starting to pound into you with such vigor and ferocity, the desk creaked painfully in response.

You tried to muffle your screams as his cock hit your cervix with every powerfull thrust, but he grabbed your hand and laced your fingers with his "I want to hear you" he told you, his pace never faltering once "what about t-the neighbors" you manage to say before he picked up his pace even more "to hell with the neighbors."

The sound of your screams together with the squelching sounds of your cunt filled the room, and it sounded like a symphony to Lycaon.

Every Single thought in his mind had been replaced with you.

You, you and only you.

He bent down, his canines ghosting over your shoulder as a silent way of asking for permission. You cooked your head to the side in response to give him more access before he dug his teeth into your shoulder. Immense satisfaction washed over him as he did so, like a primal need that was finally being satiated as he tasted the tinge of iron on his tongue.

Lycaon's thrusts grew sloppier, his teeth bared in a silent snarl "I'm close" he panted "where do you want it?" He asked, internally begging you to let him fill your pretty pussy with his cum.

And it was as if you had read his mind before you snake your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you

"Inside! Please fuck a Baby into me!"

You said inbetween moans and screams as he ecstatically picked up his pace, ready to give you that child both of you wanted.

A few strong thrusts later, he pressed his cock as deep inside you as he could before drowining your womb with his seed, your own orgasm following short as you clamped down on his throbbing cock, milking him for all he's worth.

Lycaons eyes rolled back into his skull at the mind blowing orgasm he was experiencing, easily the most pleassurable experience he has ever had. Stars danced across his Vision as his hand slit down to your stomache, feeling the bulge his cock created there. It captivated him not only by how erotic it was, but also because it excited him.

But, It wasn't enough.

One load surely wasn't enough to knock you up, he needed to empty his balls in your pussy over and over again to make sure you were pregnant by tomorrow.

He once again started moving as you clung to him for dear life "Ly- caon.." you hickuped his name, but he shushed you with a tender and loving kiss "shhh, we have to make sure it takes" he tells you before picking up the pace, his still hard cock squelching through the load already inside you, which surely wouldn't be the last.

His hand never left your stomach, still feeling the bulge that formed with every thrust of his big cock all the while praising you how well you were taking what he gave you.

The more he fucked you, the more the hours melted away as you slowly drifted off into unconciousness, exhaustion from the sheer amount of orgasms he gave you having taken quite the toll on you.

The next day you awake when Lycaon carried you to the bathroom to wash you. Secretly admiring the bite mark on your shoulder, as well as the few purple marks on your body after last nights escapade.

It excited him all over again, but not as much as the pregnancy test that came out positive a day later. He held you close, his hand rubbing gentle cricles on your belly while his tail wagged at a speed you have never seen it wag before.

Now all he had to do was stay patient.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Thank you for reading. I hope it was to your liking.

To my bestie who had the idea... *sips Holy water out of whine glass* ...I hope I did your vision justice.

Also, I booked therapy for us next week ♡♡♡

-Elio

[aenemix]

"lycaon?"

"yes, master."

"come here."

the thiren strides over to you, bowing as he approaches your sofa. ever since he sustained a serious injury in the hollows, lycaon was forced to take a backseat amongst the housekeepers. his daily routine no longer involve fighting ethereals or shaking down rebel soldiers.

you offered him a position as your personal butler. as the next in line to take over the victoria housekeeper's faction, lycaon could hardly say no, although it was less of an obligation, and more of a personal wish to do so.

you beckon for the wolf to sit next to you. you often have this... strange request. you'd call lycaon over and have him lay his head in your lap. he doesn't know why - he doesn't ask why. you're his master, after all, and if this provides some sort of emotional service to you, he's more than glad to follow through.

the plush seat sinks under his weight. according to your instructions, lycaon carefully lies down. his head rests against your soft thighs, ears flicking back and forth as he awaits your touch.

your fingers thread through his soft hair. tufts of it stick through the gaps in your fingers as you brush it back, combing the fluffy strands. you gently scratch at the base of his ears. a low, throaty growl barely escapes lycaon. he swallows it back, telling himself that this isn't for his personal pleasure. it's for you. everything, for you.

his tail doesn't lie. it swishes back and forth, sweeping the sofa when you hit that spot that feels so good. his ears flatten, and his snout tilts upwards.

"you're rather enjoying this, lycaon," you muse.

he doesn't reply.

[aenemix]

medieval!rofan!au forbidden love with your thiren butler lycaon, whom you picked up from the streets, bloodied and battered and distrustful of everything and everyone.

you used to dab ointments on his wounded skin and brush his matted fur while he growled threateningly behind his muzzle, sharp teeth bared and red eyes sharp. now, he brushes your hair with the utmost gentleness and styles it into an elegant braid every single morning without fail, ruby eyes soft as he smiles at you through the mirror.

you used to try and coax him to eat, tried to convince him that the feast of food you laid for him was free of toxins or poisons, patiently peeking through the door as he sniffed the dishes cautiously. now, he doesn't let you touch any sorts of food or drinks without him testing for dangerous substances first, his handkerchief always ready to be offered to clean the crumbs around your lips and your delicate hands.

you used to call his name ever-so carefully, visited him every day, asked him to take a stroll with you throughout the beautiful garden so he could stretch his legs. now, his tail wags whenever you call his name, he's always two steps behind you, and he's the one who suggests for you to take a break and go for a walk...... or perhaps, you'd prefer your dearest butler to use his special method to destress?

whatever it is; your will is his command.

[aenemix]

Saja Boys - Jinu, Abby, Romance, Baby ,Mystery

[aenemix]

circle of anti-love

synopsis: you trap yourself in a ring of salt because you’re mad at your bf 

characters: jinu, abby, romance, mystery, baby

warning/s: none, 

note/s: mystery’s takes a different approach! and i’m so baby biased i’m unapologetic about it lmfao 

jinu: 

the argument you and jinu had was in no way detrimental to your relationship but it would be a lie to say that it didn’t piss you off. 

you saw him corner the huntrix member with a smirk on his face and lean down, you know that jinu would never do anything to put your relationship at risk but the sight definitely had you seeing red. 

“(y/n), talk to me.” jinu says as he follows you around the living room, you say nothing as you stand on the side of the living room, a jar full of salt in your hand as you draw a reasonably sized circle around yourself.

“sweetheart, you can’t be serious.” he crosses his arms as he looks at you. you spared him a glance, still not saying anything as you sat down, opening the book and paying him no mind. 

“don’t you think you’re being petty?” he asks. you say nothing, flipping a page louder than necessary to get the point across. i’m ignoring you. 

jinu sighs. “you know, you’re gonna have to come out of there eventually. i won’t bother you.” 

another page flipped.  

jinu throws his hands up in surrender. “fine! be that way.” 

you scoff at his lack of effort as he walks away, but you didn’t bother replying to him as you continued to read your book. 

hours passed and there was no sign of jinu, a part of you couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the fact that jinu kept his word and didn’t bother you. 

you swallowed, cringing at how dry your throat feels, looking around the living room, you see no sign of your demon boyfriend. surely, you can grab a glass of water and get back in your circle to finish your book.

you step carefully over the circle, making sure that your step makes no sound and that the salt stays in place. 

you let out a sigh in relief, only to scream in shock once a dark mist appears and a hand pulls you into a warm body. 

“hi there, sweetheart.” jinu whispers sweetly into your ear. you thrash against his hold, trying to pull away but you were no match for his inhumane strength as he had the audacity to laugh at your attempts. 

when you calmed down, jinu turned you around to face him, smirking at the pout on your face. 

“are you ready to talk now?” he asks. you shake your head slightly. “there’s nothing to talk about, jinu.”

“that can’t be right.” he clicks his tongue. “my sweetheart is mad at me. i want to fix things.”

jinu places a finger under your chin and tilts it up to face him. “let’s fix this, please?” 

you relent, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. 

“i really… didn’t appreciate you leaning close to rumi like that.” you say quietly, almost as if you dreaded what he would say. you expected him to call you overdramatic, that it didn’t mean anything or that you were blowing things out of proportion. 

“i see.” jinu replies, pulling you closer to his chest. “i’m sorry. i’ll do better. i should’ve thought how you would feel.” huh?

you pull away to see jinu looking at you with a serious expression. 

“i won’t do it again, promise.” you couldn’t find the words to say as you let him whisk you onto the couch. 

“can you promise me something too?” 

“what?”

“let me know when you need assurance. there’s only ever you for me.” 

abby: 

you and abby were in a standstill. you expressed displeasure about how his fans were too touchy and that he should establish a boundary between them because his body was yours to touch, not theirs. abby only patted your head and called you cute but did nothing to address your concerns and that irked you off. 

“baby, you aren’t serious right?” 

“yes i am.” you say as you cross your arms, sitting in your circle of salt, glaring at your boyfriend who looked like he wanted to cry. 

“all because a few randoms flirted with me? baby you know you’re the only one for me.” the way he brushes off your reason for being pissed off only serves to piss you off even more. 

you rolled your eyes, even going as far as to turn your back on him, huffing. 

a groan escapes abby’s lips. “babe, come on you can’t be serious.” you say nothing. 

“fine! be that way, let’s see who cracks first.” he says, sitting down on the couch and crossing his arms, staring straight at you as if he were challenging you. 

it was on. 

you spent the next hour on your phone, quickly liking then scrolling away angrily whenever a fanedit of your boyfriend appears on your feed. 

you didn’t spare him a glance but you were aware that he was still sitting on the couch behind you. your ass was starting to hurt from sitting on the ground. why couldn’t you have drawn your ring of salt around the couch instead? you think to yourself, almost wanting to get out of your circle just to stretch your legs. 

a sound almost resembling a whine interrupts your thoughts, you pivot slightly to see abby looking at you with a frown on his face. 

“are you seriously still mad?” the sad lilt in his voice made your body turn back around to completely face him. 

“you’re already cracking?” you couldn’t help but challenge him, a brow raised as your lover downright pouts. 

“babe, do you know how hard it is to have you so close to me but i can’t hold you?” 

“and whose fault is that?” you countered, crossing your arms. abby stands up and rounds the circle. 

“mine, sure. whatever, but please, let me hold you? we can talk about it more but i really need to hold you right now.” abby puts out his hand, a sad expression on his face as he waits for your response. 

“i’ll do better.” 

with a sigh, you reach out, your hand pushing through the salt ring’s barrier. abby immediately pulls you away from the damned circle, causing a yelp to escape your lips.

you were immediately greeted by a hard chest and abby’s face nuzzling into your neck. 

“‘m sorry babe! i know it’s hard to have a boyfriend who’s so hot that people just wanna touch his abs all the time–” you cut him off with you trying to pull his arms away from your form.

“let me go!” but there was no real bite behind your words.

“no, but in all seriousness. i’ll put a boundary between me and my fans.” he says, staring right into your eyes with an expression of sincerity. 

“i’d even put a boundary between me and the other saja boys if that’d mean you’d never put a boundary between us again.” 

you soften slightly, your hands patting his arms, which only causes him to hold you tighter. 

“you mean it?” you asked, pulling away from him to cup his face in your hands. abby nods, determined. 

“even jinu?” 

“well…”

“abby!”

“i’m kidding!”

the two of you shared a laugh over it, and your boyfriend kept his word. he put a boundary with his fans immediately when he had an event. 

he’d rather not touch anyone ever again than have you put space between the two of you again. 

romance: 

“oh?” the pink haired man asked, a smirk on his face as he crossed his arm and looks at the circle that was drawn around the couch. 

“and what have i done to warrant such a violent response from my lover?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, a frown on his face. 

“oh, are you talking to me? or the throw pillow beside me?” you answer sarcastically. romance sighs as he walks over to you, his hand reaching out only for him to hiss as the salt barrier burns him. 

“it hurts.” 

you roll your eyes. “good. i need space.” 

romance bites back a smirk, you were so adorable in his eyes that he couldn’t take the frown that was on your face seriously. 

“my love are you not aware? distance is only but a means to test how far our love can travel” he places a hand to his chest. “and it hurts me to see you intentionally test our unconditional love.” he sighs dramatically, but you weren’t in the mood.

“do you say this to all the people in your life or am i just lucky?” romance’s brows furrowed in confusion as you don’t play along with him. . 

you say nothing as you swiped on your phone and threw it in his direction, your phone hitting him square on the chest. romance takes a look on the screen and sees a gossip blog about him and a huntrix member, the focal point was the fancam of him smirking at her and placing his chin on his hand that was propped on the table. 

‘saja boys’ romance… romancing with huntrix’s mira?!’ the article read. 

romance takes another look at you who refused to meet his eyes, a small pout on your face as you hugged a throw pillow to your chest. 

“lover…” romance trails off. you flick your head to the side. “i really don’t wanna talk to you right now, romance.”

he didn’t think about how his actions would reflect the media, his intentions were only to piss the huntrix member off but it seemed like oblivious fans took it out of context. 

“i know that you’re flirty but i thought it was only for me.” you say quietly, still not looking at him. romance frowns, feeling his heart drop to his stomach as you remain saddened by his actions. “it sucks i have other people to share with when it comes to your affection.”

“my love—” romance kneels in front of the couch, a frown on his face as he reaches for you, baring his teeth as the circle burns his skin. 

“rome, what are you doing?!” 

“trying to reach you, my love.” he says, hissing out his words as you can see the layers of his skin peel, against better judgment, you swipe away at the salt, your lover almost falling face first into the sofa. 

“let me see that.” you say, grabbing his hand, clicking your tongue as you examined the burns. 

almost in a flash, romance’s skin goes back to normal in front of your very eyes and before you could react, you feel romance intertwine his hand with yours, his other one coming to sandwich your hand between his. 

“my lover…” romance trails off, “i apologize for making you feel that way. it was never my intention.” you still wouldn’t look at him. romance, still kneeling, places a kiss on your hand. 

“you are the only one to receive the highest severity of my affections. i’m sorry for making you doubt that. thank you for letting me know.” he says as he places another tender kiss on your knuckles, his lips staying on your skin for longer. 

“let me make it up to you?” 

before you could even respond, he whisks you in his arms, carrying you to your shared bedroom, wrapping you in your fluffy blankets and playing your comfort show as he cuddles you on the bed. 

he’d spend his entire lifetime just to show you that only you mattered to him.

mystery: 

something about your boyfriend is that he is feral. almost like a rabid dog if you’re being honest. but all rabid dogs eventually soften up and become affectionate to their owners, and it was no doubt that mystery fell into that category, he hated other people but he loved being around you. 

however, he shows his love in the form of biting. and (un)fortunately for you, your skin became his favorite chew toy. 

your skin became a canvas showcasing different shades of red, blue and purple, teeth indents scattered around from your arm, to your thighs even on your cheeks. 

you can barely move without any soreness, and you can’t even be mad. you loved mystery and you loved that he loved you just as equally. 

but your body needs a break. you fear that your skin might actually not recover. and it wasn’t as if you haven’t asked your boyfriend nicely. in fact, the fact that they’re just bruises instead of teeth indents was already an improvement. 

you just needed a break.  

the saja boys arrived back home after a fansigning event, mystery headed straight to his room, where you were in so that he could recharge, only for him to literally fall on his knees as he sees you sleeping on the couch, a ring of salt drawn around it. 

you were awoken to a whimper. your bleary eyes blinked to see your boyfriend with a pout on his face as his eyes were trained to you. 

“why are you doing this?” you unconsciously pout at the sad tone mystery uses. 

“myst, come on. my skin needs a break! there’s more bruises than skin.” you say as you gestured to your arms. 

“you know, people would think you’re hurting me.” you say in passing and you can see mystery tense up. 

“i would never hurt y—” “i know!” you cut him off, “but walking around with these marks would make people think otherwise.” 

“but… that’s my way to show you affection. i love seeing my marks on you.” if mystery were to hypothetically have dog ears, it would be flat against his head right now as he looks at you with a sad expression. 

you bit your lip, feeling your resolve chip away as you can see the distance between the two of you affect him. 

before you could even think of an appropriate response, mystery hisses as he forces his way in the ring of salt. 

“mystery!” you say, moving to break it but mystery snarls at you. “no, i need to know the pain my bites bring you.” 

“mystery, your bite only stays for a few days, i don’t need you burning yourself alive for me!” you say as you swiped away the salt, taking mystery in your arms as you tried soothing the burn on his skin. 

mystery’s lips tremble. “so… i’m not allowed to bite you anymore?” 

you part his bangs, placing a kiss on his forehead, thinking of a compromise. 

“how about… whenever you bite me, i bite back? that way, you can feel ” mystery’s head perks up, a small smile forming on his face as he gives you a curt nod. 

you moved first, placing a gentle bite on his arm, mystery purrs happily before he chomps down on yours. 

“myst, too hard!” 

“..sorry.”

needless to say, there was work that needed to be done but the marks on your skin noticeably lessened. 

 baby: 

you knew that baby rarely showed his affection and that the fact that you were his lover should’ve been enough. but lately, it felt like you were the only one exerting effort in your relationship and it was beginning to take a toll on you. 

you decided on giving him the same treatment back. 

you barely brushed a kiss on his cheek, you don't hug him back when he hugs you goodbye and you even resorted to sleeping in the guest room. 

baby thought nothing of it, in fact, when you fall asleep, he sneaks in the guest room to drape an arm on your waist and hold you. but you don’t realize it as he wakes up and leaves before you. 

you weren’t getting the point across. actually, baby thought your avoidant ways were adorable.

you needed to change your ways and do something even more drastic. 

the saja boys just finished a grueling dance practice and baby wanted nothing to do but rest in your arms, maybe even ask how your day has been. 

he was well aware that he was putting strain on your relationship by not giving the effort you deserved. he knows that his upcoming comeback was no excuse. but today marked the last day before the comeback’s release, the group was given a week to recuperate before promotions, and baby knew that he’d spend all ten thousand and eighty minutes glued to you, but who was counting? 

he clicks his tongue as he enters the room, seeing a ring of salt around the bed where you lay, scrolling through your phone. 

“this is how we’re playing now?” baby asked, you looked up, staring straight at him, voice monotone as you responded. 

“go away, baby.” 

the blue haired demon only smirks as he rounds the bed, toeing slightly at the salt ring, chuckling as his boot sizzles against it. 

“really? where’d you get this technique, the dark web?” he says sarcastically. “are you planning to exorcise me in my sleep too?”

you huff, crossing your arms. 

“it’s keeping you away, so it’s working even if you make fun of me!” 

“what brought this on, sweetheart?”

“dunno.” you answered, lying down and turning away from him. “go away.”

baby stays quiet, too quiet that you didn’t even know if he was still in the room, but you didn’t wanna turn and check if he’s still inside the room. 

you sigh sadly to yourself, you didn’t even know where this back and forth was going because it was obvious to you that baby didn’t see what was wrong and why you were acting that way. 

“hey.” you let out a screech as arms wrap around your waist, turning you around and pulling you flush against your boyfriend’s chest. 

“w-wh— how? what?” you sputtered out your words as baby smiles mischievously. 

“the thing about salt rings is that… there’s always gonna be a portion that’s drawn thinly.” he says as he gestures towards the foot of the bed. 

“seems like you overlooked that, babe.” you clicked your tongue but went limp in his hold nonetheless. 

“now,“ baby starts. “do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing on your skin. you don’t face him as you answer. 

“i felt like i was being neglected by you.” you say, voice  barely above a whisper. “and i didn’t know how to bring it up because you were always so busy and–” baby cuts you off with a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“‘m sorry.” he says, voice matching yours. “it was unfair to you, i know. i’ll do better.” you couldn’t shake the sincerity from his voice as he forces you to look at his golden eyes. 

“you’re always welcome to talk to me, i’ll make time for you, always, okay?” he presses a kiss on your chin, “i’m sorry.” a kiss on your cheek. 

“i’ll do better.” another kiss on your forehead. 

“i don’t deserve you.” finally, a kiss on your lips. you reciprocate, not knowing that tears were slowly slipping from your closed eyes. 

you didn’t realize that you were overthinking for nothing and that you didn’t need to go to such lengths, but baby understands. baby made an oath to himself to never make you feel this way again.

he promises to never be the cause of your tears ever again. 

note/s: can you tell i lost the plot somewhere around baby's part... i'm sorry i'll do better in other fics ik this isn't my best one lol BUT if you have any saja boys requests feel free to drop them in my inbox! i wanna write more but no prompt is coming to mind </3

[aenemix]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Komano Manato x Reader

Contents: Komano Manato x gn reader. Not proof read, we die like men out here. Just pure horny ramble. I don't even play the game bro but that doesn't matter and I need this man rn. Enjoy y'alls smut.

18+, MDNI, NSFW under the cut

Komano Manato was a tower of a man, sturdy with a chest comparable to a barrel and strong arms to match. One big hand fanned itself on your lower back, keeping you on your knees while the other held your head down into the soft pillows.

Ass up and proper, the slapping sound of skin against skin was a distant rhythm to your buzzing ears as you were made to see stars behind your eyelids.

“That’s it.. you love me taking you like this, hm?” his voice filled with gravel as he leaned toward your ear, only receiving a cry in response that made the edges of his lips twitch in a smirk. He hummed in satisfaction when your walls twitched, squeezing him, fluttering so prettily around him he couldn’t resist the urge to push harder, deeper into you.

“Sing for me, pretty bird” he coos, pressing his hips flush against your ass and lingering like that for a moment too long, letting you feel how deep he was inside you, twitching and eager. “Let me hear you beg for it” His thrust only resumed after hearing your desperate pleas for a release, feeling his own climax nearing. It was too much, you thought through the fog in your mind, feeling the ends of your fingertips and toes go numb with pleasure, your knees about to give out and your lungs begging for that sweet air, but pleasure was more important than a swallow of air as Manato finally pushed you over the edge, fucking you through your orgasm that had you seeing sparks and white all at once. His own orgasm crashed over him quickly after, and he released deep within you, fucking you into the matres till you lay flat on your belly and he was flush against you, his big body caging you underneath him.

He remained still, still sensitive and twitching but not pulling out. His hot breath fanned down your nape in quick successions, his fluffy tail brushing against your calves as it slowly wagged in lazy drags. You felt so full and boneless.

Who knew pulling on his tail could crash the dominos that led to this.

Ⓒ starrydragoness. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[aenemix]

The man he is. Geto-sama 🧎‍♀️

(Nsfw uncensored on my patreon link in bio!)

[aenemix]

Imagine being Sylus' non-mc significant other. part 2

Imagine Sylus had always been good at slipping into roles. A lover, a liar, a partner, a predator. Not because it was his nature but because that is how he survived. How he navigated a world full of ghosts and guns where names changed with the wind and loyalties died in the dark.

so Imagine when the mission called for him to play the doting boyfriend to MC, he did it without hesitation. Business was business. And nothing more. But you, you were never part of the plan.

Imagine you were something he never expected to find in the wreckage of his life. The softness he did not think he deserved. The quiet safety in a world too loud. With you, he wasn't a weapon, he wasn't a monster. He was just Sylus. Your Sylus. And that terrified him.

Imagine the way he knew what it looked like. The missed calls, the half truths, the bruises he wore like secrets. He watched you swallow your suspicion with grace, letting trust carry the weight of all the things he could not say. And you, you never asked too much. You never demanded more than what he could give and that made him want to give you everything. But then the mission came.

Imagine, the fake relationship with MC was meant to be a temporary cover. A strategic alliance masked in flirtation and staged intimacy. And he hated every second of it. He hated how close he had to stand. He hated the way MC would linger when the cameras weren't rolling. And what he hated most is the way he saw your silence begin to turn into sorrow.

Imagine he noticed everything. The way you started to flinch at the word "work." The way your smile faltered when he came home smelling like someone else's perfume. He noticed and it broke him because he couldn't tell you. Not yet. Not when the stakes were this high.

Imagine he never touched her like he touched you. He never whispered her name like a prayer. Never let her see the parts of him that he bled out in your hands. The vulnerable pieces you pieced back together night after night. MC was the mission. You were the reason he came back.

Imagine the night you asked about her and the way your voice cracked. That sound, that single, fractured breath did more damage than any bullet ever had. He looked at you and saw everything he stood to lose. Not because you doubted him but because he knew you had every right to.

Imagine he let it happen. He let it happen because he thought he was protecting you by keeping the truth buried beneath duty. But secrets rot. Even the ones told with good intentions. And you were starting to wither away from him.

"It's not what you think." He said but you already heard the guilt even before he felt it. Not guilt for what he did. But the guilt for the pain his silence caused you.

Imagine the way your silence answered. You did not scream. You didn't even cry. You just looked at him. You looked at him like you'd been bracing for this all along. And that killed something inside him.

Imagine in that moment, he realized something that made him feel like a sword pierced through his chest. You thought he loved her. You thought you were being replaced. You thought you were disposable. He made you feel that way.

Imagine that night, He stayed the night because he couldn't stand the idea of you being alone with that lie. Yet you did not touch him. You didn’t speak. You just curled into yourself like a wound trying to heal without being treated. And he lay down beside you. Not as a lover, not as a man but as the ghost of everything he ruined. Listening to the way your heartbeat refused to sync with his.

Imagine as dawn bleed into the room like a slow confession. He when and left with your back was still to him.You were quiet. The kind of quiet that used to mean peace, now it meant distance. The kind of quiet that he already knew he had lost you and you were just too kind to say it.

Imagine you were the kind of wound that he wanted to keep. The one that proved him that he could still feel something. And he would give anything to unlearn how it felt to wake up beside you knowing he didn’t deserve it.

Imagine he would give everything to go back to the moment you said his name like it was still a prayer and not a question. Because Sylus never loved her. He only loves you. And now he destroyed the only truth he ever had.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

[aenemix]

🌶️SPICY WARLORD SCENARIO🌶️

The warlord predator deciding to use you.

Like that.

It’s after a battle and he’s still covered in sweat with his enemies’ blood on his hands.

And he wants to know what a human would feel like wrapped around cock.

He takes no hesitation in grabbing you, stripping you, putting you down on a surface. But you notice, that despite his violent nature, he doesn’t hurt you. He could rip you apart, split you in two but his curiosity keeps you intact and whole.

But his lust keeps you pinned. Keeps him rutting against you until the heat between your legs forces a moan from your lips. He laughs, tusks clacking and he knows he has you. Pathetic and wanting your captor to do as he pleases.

Sweat or slick isn’t near enough to accommodate his size and he has to use lube. It’s everywhere and wet and suddenly he’s everywhere and wet; arms on either side of you, sweat pooling off his chest. His cock pushes into you, barely an inch, then two. He’ll split you in two, one way or another.

But he doesn’t thrust in, not out of kindness or even size. You realize when you hear him sigh in a way you’ve never heard him before. Soft, strained with want and desire, but succumbing to your heat, your tightness that’s too much for him. He’s never been inside a human’s tight hole and you’re his first.

It does something to you, stirs in your stomach. It hurts when you arch your hips back, to force him to slide deeper, to take just one more inch.

You’re the one to make the warlord unravel before he can truly complete his conquest.

He comes hard, inside, on you, your hair, the bed.

He pulls back and leaves you gaping, filled and spilling his cum. Breathless. You’re both breathless.

But he grabs you.l and roars. There are guards by the door who heard, maybe saw, their leader last no more than 5 minutes with a wretched human.

“Ooman sorcery.” He grows to you and your collar translates for you. “I have mounted many before you and you are no acception.”

Except you are. He pins you again, forces you to look at him, your face in his claws. He could crush your skull but he leans in close. He can smell him; the earth, sweat, blood, iron. He overwhelms you, stirring the unsatisfied heat in your stomach.

“You will fit me.” He threatens, promises. “I will not be undone by a human. I will train you. And I will have you.”

[aenemix]

So I may have written a little something 😗👉👈....

ℝ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕥 (short drabble)

Fic: Predator Killer of Killers

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Warlord Predator x Human Female Reader, Grendel King x Human Female Reader

Synopsis/Excerpt: You were not aware of the physiological changes in your body, so you were oblivious to their sudden interest.

WARNINGS/TAGS: NSFW, explicit content, dark themes, alien/human, teratophilia, size difference, ovulating, pheromones, choking.

A/N: I did very little to no research regarding the culture/mannerisms of yautja so I kinda just winged this one, you guys. I needed to get this idea out of my head, even if it was done poorly. It was haunting me for days! 😭 Enjoy! ✌️

As a human, you lacked the ability to smell any change in pheromones. This made it hard to distinguish moods and social cues amongst the yautja, a race of alien warriors that kidnapped you from earth and forced you into servitude weeks ago.

This developed sense of smell they possessed would soon be your damnation.

You were going about your duties when you spotted him. Flanked by his entourage of warriors, The Warlord Predator was a marvel to behold, his massive and scarred frame depicting a being with monstrous strength and power. You've seen him battle at the arena and witnessed his physical prowess amongst his clan. He was truly a force to be reckoned with. You moved out of the way, providing them a wide berth, sticking as close to the wall of the cave as you waited for them to pass. You swore you felt the ground tremble with each of the yautja's languid steps, the audible scrape of his jagged cape trailing behind him.

Unbeknownst to you, you had started ovulating that morning, your female pheromones running rampant in the air and causing the nearest males of the group to glance your way. You were not aware of the physiological changes in your body, so you were oblivious to their sudden interest.

Then the Warlord Predator caught a whiff of your scent and nearly snapped his neck to look back at you. His intense stare unnerved you, your body on edge as his eyes trailed over your feminine curves in a seemingly hungry manner. Thinking you must have done something wrong, you quickly lowered your head and tried to make yourself appear as small as possible.

Your heart kicked into overdrive the second he stepped towards you. Trying to calm your breathing was difficult, your eyes widening with terror when his sharpened feet came into view and you felt the heat emitting from his body. He was like a burning furnace, your body sweating from the close proximity of the menacing male. You could hear inquisitive clicks and low rumbles from him, his curiosity evident as he tilted his head to observe you carefully.

A sudden, musky scent attacked your senses. It was a scent unlike any other, earthy and... intoxicating. Before you could question it, you felt your mind turn heady as your senses grew lax with the powerful smell. It was like a drug, your mind losing any rational thought as the scent nearly suffocated you. No longer were you tense, waiting with baited breath if he would kill you. Instead, you lay back against the jagged wall and mewled when the male pressed himself eagerly against your smaller frame. Everything felt sensitive, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. You nearly choked on your saliva when you felt the hardened bulge on his loincloth dig below your chest. Inhaling deeply, you let out a weak gasp at the deliciousness of his scent and felt your body react strongly in turn. The small nub between your legs pulsated so fiercely you had to clench your thighs together to alleviate the unbearable sensation.

"W-what are... you...doing to m-me..?" You breathed out the words. You shook your head to clear your mind, only to let out a groan when he forced a knee between your legs and had you straddle his thigh. It placed your naked vulva in direct contact with his reptilian-skin, your feminine juices soaking him in your scent and making him purr with satisfaction.

The yautja glances down at your half lidded eyes and panting mouth, eyeing the strings of saliva with rapt attention before grabbing you by the neck and lifting you close to his face. He was not gentle, nearly choking you to death and causing you to squirm in discomfort. You let out a pained whine, hoping to receive some mercy as he dangled you feet above the ground. His mandibles clicked with the movements of his growling mouth, his language undecipherable to your ears. In a chilling tone, the translator around your neck lit up with his response.

"What am I not going to do with you?"

[aenemix]

Imagine being a human warrior on Yautja Prime... this is one long ahh drabble...

Taken in by an elder female warrior, she vouched for you in order for yourself to be taken seriously. To not be chased out and killed or put in the arena for entertainment. She practically raised you, she's your mentor, someone you always felt you can rely on.

For the rest of the clan, you're kept at a distance. You still need to prove your worth.

There's this one male in particular that seems to utterly despise you. He's the most celebrated male in the clan, an attractive Big Game Hunter who hunts monsters far beyond human comprehension. He doesn't even waste his time hunting humans. To him, and most yautja, humans are ugly little creatures who can get creative and unfair out of nowhere. We're basically the equivalent of goblins to them.

You're no different to him. Your face is weird and just wrong, and you're far too small and soft to be a worthy adversary. Constantly trailing behind your master like a lost whelp. He'd rather keep his distance.

A prideful traditional yautja. Arrogant as the rest.

Yet, when a giant scorpion like beast strikes him with its poison tipped tail, he has no choice but to seek out your master for an antidote. After taking his trophy, of course. Yet your master is nowhere to be found. Only you reside in the cave.

He's half tempted to turn around and muscle out the poison. However, he decides this is an opportune moment to test your prowess. To see if you're worth being your master's pupil.

He'd rather that you weren't touching him. He's a vain creature, you see. A "you can look but don't touch" type of yautja. Why wouldn't he be? He's incredibly attractive by yautja standards. Honestly, attractive by human standards too, but it's best if you don't tell him that. Don't want to inflate his ego any further.

The softness of your skin... it's not the worst thing. He's certainly been in close contact with more disgusting things.

You cure him of his ailment. Quite quickly, too. It seems like you're improving your master's recipes...

...

Humans certainly are crafty.

Half a day passes, you're sitting by the fire inside your master's cave, stitching up a tapestry for her. You feel something heavy dumped on top of you in a heap. Soft, warm fur enveloping you. It's a pelt on some kind of great wolf-like creature. You certainly like pelts, having started your own small collection of prey you skinned yourself. You remember seeing this kind of pelt on someone before. You certainly remember eyeing a yautja who was wearing one, thinking about how you'd get your own like that.

Just who wore that cloak again? Wasn't it—

"A gratitude gift. Think nothing of it." He grumbled as he stalked away, you only caught a glimpse of his back when he turned around to return to camp.

Your master stares at the scene, a look in her eyes that seems to be a mix of endeared and amused. In a way that only older people can look at young couples people.

Several days pass, and yet he hasn't seen you in his "gratitude gift" yet. Which ticked him off. He spent all that time hunting down that creature, just to create a fur cloak with smaller proportions than he's used to. It was tedious. Troublesome. You didn't deserve the effort. He doesn't even know why he felt the need to make that for you. You don't even bother to wear it.

But on this particular day, it rains. A torrential downpour fitting for the harsh climates of Yautja Prime. He sees a flash of silvery white running around the camp as he prepares to hunt for rations for the clan. You're wearing his gratitude gift.

...

He's only admiring his handiwork. He did a fine job in creating a fur cloak to fit someone with smaller proportions.

Yes. That's it.

He's only admiring his handiwork.

[aenemix]

‘i just hope ieiri-san figures out how to change you back soon,,,’ 🐈 (part who knows based on this fic)

[aenemix]

gahd 😩

[aenemix]

Nanami Kento, the one who entwines his fingers with yours as his cock fucks you at a punishing pace.

The man who’s cock is so large it feels like it’s crushing your womb, and each time you whimper his hand gives yours a reassuring squeeze before kissing away the tears that escape your eyes.

Nanami Kento, a gentleman through and through- even during the throes of passion.

Who is so handsome with his tousled blond hair and the most alluring eyes you have ever seen. The one with the strong jaw that clenches with every thrust.

Nanami Kento, whose breath hitches as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and bites his lip when your walls clench around him so nicely. Your ever loving, attentive, Nanami, who tries desperately to hold back so many noises because he wants to hear yours. 

The man who when he can't hold back, whispers your name against your lips, moans it in your ear and makes you see stars, calling to you over and over as if you're his only anchor to this world.

Nanami Kento, whose hips are unyielding, driving his cock into you over and over and over again. He is relentless, his stamina god like, and the only thing that keeps you grounded is the feeling of his sweaty skin against  yours- his lips ghosting over yours and his cock stretching your pussy so wide you can’t help but wonder if it’ll ever return to normal.

Who pulls out seconds before cumming so he can paint your pretty tummy with his cum- stroking himself through his orgasm, watching as he paints you like a canvas, admiring the masterpiece that is you with his lips slightly parted. 

Nanami Kento, the man who leans over you afterwards- his cum dripping down your stomach and onto the bed as he presses a tender kiss to your lips and tells you how beautiful you are. The same man who always pulls you to his chest- his strong arm wrapping around you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear, never caring if his own spunk ends up on him too. 

Who cradles you in his arms- his embrace a sanctuary where you always sleep safely… where you always feel cherished and time seems to stand still. His breath tickling the nape of your neck as he inhales your scent, committing to memory before drifting off to sleep. His lips curved with a beautiful smile, his features softened by pure contentment.

You can see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch- an undeniable warmth, and taste it from his lips… This is a man who has never truly known love until now.

Nanami Kento, who doesn’t just fuck you, but instead makes love to you as if each moment were a precious farewell- as if each night would be his last. Pouring his heart into every fleeting second.

[aenemix]

more geto with piercings