#Seraphine/reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonyowonyo · 2 months ago

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Pixel Hearts (K. Gaeul X M! Reader))

when college gamer Y/N is pulled into the mysterious RPG Aetherion, he teams up with IVE’s Gaeul, trapped as Princess Seraphine, to escape the game. through perilous quests and heartfelt moments, their bond grows, forging a real-world connection that promises new adventures beyond.

genre: fluff

w.c 6.7k a/n: slowly finishing up the remaining pendings i've stockpiled heh. also for those who don't know, i'm starting a new njz book on my wattpad page, so if ya'll are interested u can check it out! anyways, hope you all enjoyed this one.

The thrift shop smelled of old books and forgotten summers, its shelves crammed with relics of yesteryear—faded board games, chipped teacups, a rotary phone that probably hadn’t rung since the ’80s. Y/N’s sneakers squeaked against the worn wooden floor as he wandered the aisles, his eyes scanning for something to spice up his Saturday night. A college sophomore with a penchant for gaming, he was always on the hunt for retro consoles or obscure titles to fuel his late-night sessions. Today, though, nothing had caught his eye. Until he saw it.

Tucked in a corner, half-hidden behind a pile of dusty VHS tapes, was a sleek, unmarked gaming console. Its design was a paradox—retro curves like an old Nintendo, but its surface gleamed with a futuristic sheen, catching the dim shop light in a way that felt… alive. A small screen on the front glowed faintly, gold letters spelling out Aetherion. No brand logo, no manual, just a single controller with buttons that shimmered like opals. Y/N’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a console. This was a mystery.

“Yo, how much for this?” he called to the shopkeeper, a grizzled man who barely looked up from his crossword.

“Twenty bucks,” the man grunted. “No returns. Thing’s probably busted.”

Y/N didn’t care. His gamer instincts screamed treasure, and twenty bucks was pocket change for a potential gem. He handed over the cash, cradled the console like a newborn, and hustled back to his dorm, the autumn air crisp against his cheeks. His room was a chaotic shrine to gaming—posters of Zelda and Final Fantasy plastered on the walls, a tangle of controller cords spilling from his desk, and a mini fridge humming softly in the corner. He set the console on his desk beside his digital clock that displayed 5:55 P.M, plugged it into his ancient TV, and held his breath as he pressed the power button.

The screen flared to life, not with the usual static flicker of old tech, but with a burst of color and sound that made Y/N’s heart skip. A cinematic unfolded: a sweeping vista of a fantasy world—lush forests, jagged mountains, a castle gleaming under a sky with two moons. A deep, resonant voice narrated, “In the realm of Aetherion, the tyrannical Sorcerer Valthor has imprisoned Princess Seraphine, plunging the land into shadow. Only a true-hearted warrior can restore light to the realm.” The words Start Game pulsed on the screen, and Y/N’s fingers itched to dive in. But something felt off. The console hummed, a low vibration that seemed to pulse through his bones, and the air in the room grew heavy, like a storm was brewing.

He gripped the controller, its buttons warm under his thumbs, and selected Start. The screen flashed blinding white, and a jolt—like static electricity, but sharper—shot through him. His vision blurred, the dorm spinning away, and then… nothing.

Y/N blinked, his head throbbing like he’d just face-planted off his bed. But he wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t even in his dorm. He was sprawled on a carpet of moss, surrounded by towering trees that swayed in a gentle breeze. The air smelled of pine and earth, so vivid it made his nose tingle. Above, a sky stretched endlessly, twin moons casting a silvery glow over a landscape that looked like a painting—except it was real. Too real. His hands brushed against his clothes, no longer his hoodie and jeans but a rough-spun tunic and leather boots. A rusty sword hung at his hip, its weight unfamiliar but grounding.

“What the hell?” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. His voice echoed slightly, swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. This wasn’t a dream. Dreams didn’t feel this… tangible. He pinched his arm—ow—and then noticed a faint shimmer in the air. A holographic panel materialized, like something out of a sci-fi movie, displaying:

ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ʏ/ɴ, ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ 1 ᴡᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ. ʜᴘ: 100/100.

Qᴜᴇꜱᴛ: ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ.

The words blinked insistently, and Y/N’s stomach did a flip. He wasn’t just playing Aetherion. He was in it.

His gamer brain kicked into gear, pushing past the panic. Okay, RPG rules: explore, level up, follow the quest. He took a tentative step, the forest floor crunching under his boots, and marveled at the details—the way sunlight dappled through the canopy, the faint buzz of insects, the glint of a treasure chest half-hidden behind a tree. He pried it open, finding a measly

Health Potion (Restores 20 HP), but the thrill of discovery made him grin. This was next-level immersion, like VR on steroids. But the question gnawed at him: How am I here?

He didn’t have time to dwell. A rustle in the bushes made him freeze, his hand fumbling for the sword. A slime—classic RPG fodder—oozed into view, its gelatinous body pulsing with faint green light. Y/N’s first swing was pathetic, the blade bouncing off like he’d hit a rubber ball, but he dodged its sluggish lunge and hacked again, adrenaline pumping. The slime burst into pixels, dropping a single Aether Shard that glittered like a tiny star. “Nice,” he panted, pocketing the shard. If this was the game, he could handle it.

The quest marker on his HUD pointed north, toward a clearing where stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth. As he approached, the air grew heavy again, charged with something ancient and electric. At the center of the clearing stood a ruined shrine, its altar overgrown with vines that pulsed with faint runes. And there, chained to the altar by shimmering magical bonds, was a girl.

Y/N’s breath caught. She was stunning, her short, dark hair framing a face that was both fierce and delicate, her eyes sparkling with defiance despite her predicament. Her gown was regal, all flowing silk and embroidered stars, but it was her presence that hit him like a critical hit. He knew that face. He’d seen it on posters, on his phone screen during IVE’s latest comeback. Gaeul.

She noticed him, her head snapping up, and for a moment, they just stared—him frozen, her assessing. Then she spoke, her voice clear and sharp, cutting through the silence. “You’re not one of Valthor’s goons. Are you… a player?”

Y/N’s mouth went dry. He nodded, then cleared his throat, trying to sound less like a starstruck fanboy. “Uh, yeah. I’m Y/N. I… got sucked into this game, I think. You’re—wait, you’re Gaeul?”

Her lips twitched, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Bingo. Though here, I’m Princess Seraphine, or whatever this stupid game calls me.” She tugged at the magical chains, which sparked but didn’t budge. “Long story short, I was messing around with some sketchy game file on my laptop, and next thing I know, I’m trapped in this pixelated nightmare. You gonna help me out, or just stand there gawking?”

Y/N flushed, his inner IVE fan screaming, but he forced himself to focus. She was real—well, as real as he was in this bizarre world—and she needed him. He stepped closer, inspecting the runes. They glowed brighter, almost mocking him, and his sword did nothing but clang uselessly against them. “These are magical,” he said, more to himself than her. “I don’t have any spells or—”

“Great, a noob,” Gaeul teased, but her tone was playful, not cruel. She leaned forward as much as the chains allowed, her eyes scanning him. “Check your inventory. Games like this always give you something to start with. Hurry up, hero, my arms are killing me.”

Y/N fumbled with the HUD, his fingers clumsy in the air, and found the Aether Shard from the slime. On a hunch, he held it near the runes. The shard pulsed, and the chains flickered, then dissolved in a burst of light. Gaeul stumbled forward, rubbing her wrists, and flashed him a grin that made his heart do a backflip. “Not bad for a level one warrior,” she said, brushing dirt off her gown. “Stick with me, Y/N. We’re getting out of this game, and I’m not leaving without a fight.”

The shrine’s vines seemed to shiver, as if the game itself was watching. Y/N gripped his sword, his nerves buzzing with a mix of fear and excitement. Gaeul stood beside him, her presence electric, her smile a spark in the dim clearing. He was just a guy, a gamer with no clue how he’d ended up here. But with Gaeul—Princess Seraphine, or whatever she was—by his side, he felt like he could take on anything. Even a sorcerer. Even a world that felt too real to be just a game.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” he said, half-joking, and her laugh—bright, genuine—echoed through the forest, a sound that promised adventure, danger, and maybe something more.

The forest of Aetherion stretched endlessly before Y/N and Gaeul, its canopy a mosaic of emerald leaves that filtered the twin moons’ silvery light. The air was cool, laced with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and every step crunched against twigs or rustled through grass that felt too real for a game. Y/N’s rusty sword bounced against his hip, its weight a constant reminder of his new reality. Beside him, Gaeul moved with a grace that belied her princess gown, the hem catching on roots but never slowing her down. Her eyes, sharp and curious, darted to every shadow, as if she expected the game to throw a curveball at any moment.

“So, level one warrior,” she said, her voice teasing as she glanced at him, “got a plan, or are we just wandering until Valthor sends his welcome committee?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her playful tone. “Plan’s simple: follow the quest marker, bash some monsters, save the princess. Classic RPG stuff.” He tapped the air, summoning the holographic HUD. The quest log glowed:

ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ.

ɴᴇxᴛ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ꜱᴇᴇᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀʏꜱᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀᴠᴇʀɴꜱ.

A golden arrow pointed west, through a misty ravine up ahead.

Gaeul snorted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Save the princess, huh? Newsflash, Y/N, this princess can handle herself. You’re just here for moral support.” But her smile was warm, and the way she bumped his shoulder—light, almost accidental—sent a flutter through his chest. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that Gaeul, IVE’s Gaeul, was here, bantering with him like they were old friends. Or maybe more, his traitor brain whispered, before he shoved the thought away.

The ravine loomed closer, its walls jagged and shrouded in fog that swirled like liquid silver. The path narrowed, forcing them to walk single file, Y/N taking the lead with his sword drawn. The HUD pinged a warning—Enemy Detected—and his grip tightened. “Heads up,” he whispered, just as a low growl echoed from the mist.

Three shadow wolves emerged, their fur black as ink, eyes glowing like embers. They were bigger than the slime, faster, and definitely not beginner-friendly. Y/N’s gamer instincts kicked in, but his first swing was a disaster, the sword glancing off a wolf’s flank as it lunged. He stumbled back, heart pounding, and barely dodged its snapping jaws. “Okay, not cool!” he yelped.

“Focus, noob!” Gaeul called, her voice steady but urgent. She raised her hands, the runes on her gown flaring with light, and a burst of blue energy—a Frost Bolt, Y/N’s brain supplied—slammed into the wolf, slowing it. “Hit it now!”

Y/N swung again, this time connecting, and the wolf dissolved into pixels with a satisfying ding. Gaeul’s magic danced around them, freezing one wolf while Y/N tackled another, their movements chaotic but syncing up. He tanked a claw swipe—his HP dropped to 80/100, the HUD flashing red—and gritted his teeth, slashing until the last wolf burst into loot: three Aether Shards and a Wolf Pelt.

They collapsed against a boulder, panting, their laughter bubbling up like a shared secret.

“Holy crap, we’re not half bad,” Y/N said, wiping sweat from his brow. The ravine’s mist clung to his tunic, damp and chilly, but the adrenaline high made it worth it.

Gaeul nudged him, her grin mischievous. “You’re welcome for the assist, hero. Next time, maybe don’t swing like you’re chopping firewood.” She picked up a shard, its glow reflecting in her eyes. “These are the key. Valthor’s curse runs on Aether energy. Enough shards, and we can break his hold on me—and maybe get out of here.”

Y/N nodded, pocketing the loot. The ravine’s walls were etched with faded carvings—knights, dragons, a crowned figure that looked eerily like Gaeul. The game’s lore was everywhere, woven into the world like a story begging to be unraveled. But as they pressed on, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Aetherion was watching them, its rules bending just enough to keep them on edge.

The village of Elderglow appeared like a mirage, its thatched roofs and cobblestone streets glowing under lanterns that bobbed like fireflies. The ravine had spit them out into a bustling hub, alive with NPCs bartering at market stalls, bards strumming lutes, and children chasing a pixelated cat through the square. Y/N’s HUD updated—Objective: Gather Information—and he marveled at the details: the smell of fresh bread from a bakery, the clink of coins, the way Gaeul’s gown caught the light as she spun to take it all in.

“This place is unreal,” she said, her voice soft with wonder. “If I wasn’t trapped, I’d almost enjoy it.” She caught Y/N staring and raised an eyebrow. “What? Got something on my face?”

“N-no, just… you look like you belong here,” he stammered, then cringed at how cheesy it sounded. “I mean, like, you’re rocking the princess vibe.”

Gaeul laughed, a bright, musical sound that made his cheeks burn. “Smooth, Y/N. Come on, let’s upgrade that trash sword of yours.” She grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward a blacksmith’s forge where a burly NPC hammered glowing metal. Her touch was warm, fleeting, but it left his heart racing.

At the forge, Gaeul worked her charm, her smile disarming the blacksmith as she bartered for a Steel Longsword (+10 Attack). Y/N traded the Wolf Pelt and a few shards, and the new blade felt solid, balanced, like an extension of himself. They hit the market next, stocking up on Health Potions and a Mana Crystal for Gaeul’s spells. Every interaction felt like a mini-quest, the village pulsing with life—vendors haggling, a leaderboard in the square showing “player” names (all NPCs, Y/N noted with a shiver), and a fountain where water sparkled like liquid starlight.

They ended up at a tavern, its wooden beams creaking under the weight of raucous laughter. Y/N ordered virtual cider—sweet, fizzy, and surprisingly refreshing—and they claimed a corner table, the glow of a hearth warming their faces. Gaeul sipped her drink, her expression softening. “This is the first time I’ve felt… normal since I got stuck here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Back in the real world, I’m always ‘Gaeul from IVE,’ you know? Schedules, stages, smiling for cameras. But here…” She trailed off, tracing the rim of her glass.

Y/N leaned forward, his curiosity outweighing his shyness. “Here, you’re a badass princess who shoots ice bolts and saves my butt from wolves.”

She chuckled, but her eyes were distant. “Maybe. But I’m scared, Y/N. What if we can’t get out? What if I’m just… code now?” Her fingers tightened around the glass, and the vulnerability in her voice hit him like a critical hit.

“You’re not code,” he said firmly, surprising himself with his conviction. “You’re Gaeul. And I’m not leaving you here. We’re beating this game together, okay?” He held her gaze, hoping she saw the promise in his eyes.

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You’re not as noob as you look, Y/N.” She clinked her glass against his, the sound a quiet vow in the noisy tavern.

The seer’s hut sat at the village’s edge, a ramshackle structure draped in vines and glowing with an eerie light. The NPC inside was ancient, her eyes milky but piercing, her voice like wind through dry leaves. “The prophecy speaks of a true-hearted warrior and the princess,” she intoned, her gnarled hands tracing a star chart that shimmered in the air. “Together, you may defeat Valthor, but only by combining your strengths. Seek the Heart of Aether in the Crystal Caverns. The path is perilous, but the stars guide you.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. True-hearted warrior? He was just a guy who liked Pokémon and instant ramen. But Gaeul’s expression was fierce, her jaw set. “Prophecy or not, we’re doing this our way,” she said, her voice cutting through the hut’s heavy air. “No offense, lady, but I’m not some damsel waiting for a hero. We’re a team.”

The seer’s lips curled, almost amused. She handed them a Map of the Caverns, its parchment pulsing with golden lines. “Then prove the stars wrong, child. Your hearts will light the way.”

Outside, the village hummed with evening life, lanterns casting long shadows. Y/N clutched the map, its weight grounding him. Gaeul stood close, her shoulder brushing his as they studied the path ahead. “Crystal Caverns, huh?” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Sounds like a dungeon crawl. You ready, warrior?”

He met her gaze, his nerves buzzing but his resolve solid. “Born ready. Let’s kick Valthor’s butt and get you home.” He held out his fist, and she bumped it with hers, her grin infectious. The twin moons hung above, their light a silent cheer for the journey ahead.

But as they left Elderglow, the map glowing in Y/N’s hands, he couldn’t shake the seer’s words. Your hearts will light the way. His heart was racing, sure, but not just from the quest. Gaeul’s laugh, her trust, the way she made this crazy world feel like an adventure worth fighting for—it was all starting to feel like more than a game. And that, he realized, was the most dangerous quest of all.

The Crystal Caverns shimmered like a galaxy trapped in stone, their walls a dazzling array of prismatic shards that refracted the twin moons’ light into a cascade of colors. Y/N’s boots crunched against the translucent floor, each step sending faint ripples of light outward, as if the cave itself were alive. The air was sharp, laced with a metallic tang that prickled his lungs, and the faint hum of the caverns pulsed like a distant heartbeat. His Steel Longsword caught the glow, its edge a silver promise, but it was Gaeul’s steady presence—her gown trailing like starlight, her eyes scanning every shadow—that kept his heart from racing out of his chest.

The Map of the Caverns, tucked in his inventory, glowed faintly, its golden lines urging them deeper into the maze. “Feels like we’re walking into a trap montage,” Gaeul said, her voice low but laced with her usual spark. She brushed a crystal stalactite, its chime echoing softly. “Bet you’re regretting that ‘born ready’ line from the village, huh, warrior?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her teasing. “Nah, I’m good. Just don’t cry when I outscore you in loot.” He tapped the air, the HUD flickering to life with their quest: Claim the Heart of Aether. The golden arrow pointed down a narrow path, where mist swirled like ghosts. Their banter was a shield against the caverns’ eerie weight, but Y/N couldn’t ignore the runes etched into the walls—faint, glowing symbols of knights and dragons, hinting at a history older than Aetherion’s code.

Trouble found them fast. A pressure plate clicked under Y/N’s boot, and he barely registered the whir of gears before spikes shot from the floor, their tips glinting like daggers. Instinct took over—he dove, grabbing Gaeul’s waist and pulling her down with him. They hit the ground in a tangle, her breath warm against his cheek, her eyes wide but glinting with adrenaline. “Okay, hero,” she gasped, shoving him off with a playful scowl, “watch where you step, or I’m billing you for this gown.”

“S-sorry!” Y/N stammered, his face hotter than a Fire Spell. He scrambled up, offering her a hand, and her fingers lingered in his, soft but firm, sending a jolt through him. The caverns didn’t let them linger—a crystal golem lumbered from an alcove, its faceless head glowing with inner light. Y/N swung, his sword sparking against its hide, while Gaeul’s Frost Bolt froze its arm, giving him an opening. His HP dipped to 80/100 from a glancing blow, but her Healing Touch—a warm pulse of light—mended the ache, her hand brushing his arm. “Stay alive, noob,” she muttered, but her smile was softer than her words.

The path twisted deeper, bridges of crystal arching over chasms that swallowed light. Every trap, every golem, drew them closer—Gaeul’s magic lighting the way, Y/N’s blade clearing the path. The caverns’ pulse grew louder, the runes brighter, as if Aetherion was testing their resolve, daring them to reach its heart.

The cavern’s heart was a cathedral of light, a vast chamber where crystals soared like spires, their reflections dancing in a haze of color. At its center, a pedestal held the Heart of Aether, a glowing orb that pulsed with a rhythm that matched the cave’s hum, its light both inviting and ominous. Coiled around it was a crystal dragon, its scales like molten glass, its eyes twin flames that seemed to see through them. Y/N’s HUD flashed—Boss: Crystal Guardian—and his throat tightened. This wasn’t just a fight. This was judgment.

The dragon didn’t strike. Its voice echoed in their minds, deep and resonant, like a storm trapped in stone. Only those bound by trust may claim the Heart. Answer, or perish. Its first riddle hit Y/N like a blade. What do you fear most, warrior? The air grew heavy, the chamber’s light dimming as if the game itself demanded truth.

Y/N’s grip on his sword faltered, his heart pounding. He glanced at Gaeul, her eyes steady but searching, and the words spilled out, raw and unguarded. “Failing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not being enough to get you out of here.” The confession hung between them, heavy and real, and the dragon’s form flickered, its scales losing their sheen, as if his honesty had chipped away at its power.

Gaeul’s turn came next. And you, princess? The question seemed to pierce her, her confidence wavering as she twisted the hem of her gown. She looked at Y/N, her eyes glistening, and her voice trembled. “Losing myself,” she said. “Becoming just… Seraphine. Not Gaeul anymore.” The vulnerability in her words made Y/N’s chest ache, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, a silent promise that she was still her. The dragon flickered again, its eyes dimming, but it wasn’t done.

What binds you? The final riddle demanded they speak as one. Their eyes locked, and without hesitation, they answered together: “Trust.” The word was a spark, igniting the chamber’s light, and the dragon roared, its form solidifying as it lunged. The fight was brutal—Y/N darted in, his sword sparking against crystal scales, his HP dropping to 60/100 from a tail swipe that sent him sprawling. Gaeul’s Frost Bolts slowed the beast, her voice fierce as she shouted, “Get up, Y/N! We’re not done!” Her magic wove through the crystals, amplifying into a dazzling Aether Surge that stunned the dragon, giving Y/N the chance to climb its back and strike a glowing weak point. The beast shattered, its fragments dissolving into light, and the Heart of Aether floated toward them, warm and alive in Y/N’s hands.

The victory was fleeting. The Heart pulsed in Y/N’s grip, its light flooding the chamber, but the caverns trembled, a low groan echoing as cracks splintered the crystal walls. The HUD glitched—text flickering into gibberish, colors bleeding like a corrupted file. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. “Y/N, it’s breaking!” she cried, her voice sharp with panic as the ground bucked beneath them. Pixels sparked in the air, and for a horrifying moment, her form flickered—her gown dissolving into static, her hand in his turning translucent before snapping back.

“No!” Y/N grabbed her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as the chamber shook. “You’re not disappearing, Gaeul. I’ve got you.” His voice was fierce, cutting through the chaos, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his tunic, her breath shaky against his chest. The Heart’s warmth steadied the glitches, its pulse a lifeline, but the caverns were collapsing, shards raining like glass.

The HUD flickered, barely legible:

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ.

The Heart was their key—Valthor’s weakness, and maybe their way out. But the glitches revealed something darker. Runes on the walls flared, showing glimpses of Aetherion’s truth: a sentient program, designed to trap players, feeding on their will. The dragon’s defeat had destabilized it, but at a cost. Gaeul’s eyes met Y/N’s, her fear tempered by the same fire that had carried them this far. “We’re ending this,” she said, her voice steady despite the trembling ground. “Together.”

Y/N nodded, his hand still in hers, the Heart’s glow a beacon in the chaos. “Together,” he echoed, his grin shaky but real. The chamber’s light flared, the caverns’ pulse fading as debris fell around them. Whatever lay ahead—Valthor, the game’s final trap—he knew one thing: Gaeul’s trust, her warmth, was worth fighting for. And he wasn’t letting go.

The wasteland stretched before Valthor’s Tower like a scar on Aetherion’s vibrant heart, its cracked earth dusted with ash and lit by a sky roiling with storm clouds. The tower itself loomed, a gothic spire of black stone that clawed at the heavens, its spires wreathed in lightning that crackled with menace. Y/N’s boots sank into the grit, the Heart of Aether pulsing warmly in his inventory, its glow a faint counterpoint to the storm’s fury. His Steel Longsword felt heavier now, as if it sensed the battle ahead, but Gaeul’s presence beside him—her gown tattered but her stride fierce—made the impossible feel within reach.

The HUD’s quest log burned bright:

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴅᴇꜰᴇᴀᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ.

“Last chance to back out, warrior,” Gaeul said, her voice light but her eyes sharp, scanning the tower’s arched entrance. A gust tugged at her hair, and she tucked a strand behind her ear, the gesture so ordinary it grounded Y/N in the chaos. “This place looks like it eats noobs for breakfast.”

Y/N smirked, his nerves buzzing but his resolve ironclad. “Good thing I’ve got the best co-op partner in the game.” He bumped her shoulder, a playful echo of their village days, and her laugh—bright, defiant—cut through the storm’s howl. The warmth of that sound lingered as they stepped into the tower, the air shifting to a damp chill, heavy with the scent of old stone and magic.

The ascent was a gauntlet. Spiral stairs wound upward, their edges worn smooth by unseen centuries, lit by torches that flickered with unnatural blue flame. Minions—shadowy wraiths with glowing eyes—swarmed from alcoves, and Y/N’s sword sang as he slashed through them, his HP holding steady at 80/100 thanks to Gaeul’s Frost Bolts and quick Healing Touches. A magical barrier blocked a landing, its runes pulsing red, and they pressed against it, their shoulders brushing in the cramped space. Gaeul’s fingers traced the runes, her brow furrowed, and Y/N shielded her from a wraith’s claw, his grunt of effort drowned by her triumphant shout as the barrier shattered.

“Nice one, princess,” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow. Her grin was all mischief, but the way her hand lingered on his arm—steadying, grateful—sent a flutter through him. The tower’s stained-glass windows cast eerie patterns, depicting a crowned figure falling to darkness, and Y/N’s HUD pinged with lore: Valthor, once a hero, succumbed to greed, binding Aetherion to his will. The game was telling its story, but the real one was unfolding between them—every shared glance, every brush of hands, a thread tying their fates tighter.

The throne room was a void, its walls swallowed by shadows that pulsed like a living thing. At its heart stood Valthor, a towering figure cloaked in darkness, his eyes twin voids that seemed to drink the light. The Heart of Aether flared in Y/N’s inventory, its pulse syncing with his racing heart, and Gaeul’s hand brushed his, a silent signal to stay sharp. The HUD flashed—Boss: Sorcerer Valthor—and the air grew thick, charged with power that made Y/N’s skin prickle.

“You dare challenge me?” Valthor’s voice was a hiss, slithering through the void. “A boy and a puppet princess, bound by fleeting trust. You are nothing.” His words targeted their doubts, and Y/N felt them—fear that he wasn’t enough, that Gaeul would be trapped forever. But her eyes met his, fierce and unwavering, and the doubts crumbled.

“Shut up, creepy,” Gaeul snapped, her Aether Surge flaring, a dazzling arc of light that lit the room. “We’re taking you down.” She squeezed Y/N’s hand, her warmth grounding him, and they charged.

The battle was chaos. Valthor’s spells—shadow bolts, chains of dark energy—tore through the air, and Y/N dove to shield Gaeul, his HP dropping to 50/100 as a bolt grazed him. Pain flared, but her Healing Touch soothed it, her voice fierce: “Stay with me, Y/N!” He struck back, his sword sparking against Valthor’s barriers, while Gaeul wove magic, her Frost Bolts slowing the sorcerer’s movements. Valthor’s taunts grew desperate, targeting their bond—“She’ll forget you, boy, in the real world”—but Y/N roared, “She’s not your puppet!” and Gaeul’s laugh, sharp and defiant, echoed his resolve.

The Heart of Aether was their edge. Y/N tossed it to Gaeul, who caught it mid-air, its light amplifying her magic into a blinding Aether Nova. The room shook, Valthor’s form flickering, and Y/N saw his chance—a weak point in the sorcerer’s chest, pulsing with stolen light. He sprinted, dodging chains, and drove his sword deep, the Heart’s energy surging through the blade. Valthor screamed, his body dissolving into pixels, and the throne room pulsed, the shadows retreating to reveal a broken man—Valthor’s true form, frail and defeated, before he vanished entirely.

Y/N collapsed to his knees, panting, his HP at a shaky 30/100. Gaeul dropped beside him, her breath ragged but her grin triumphant. “We did it,” she whispered, and before he could think, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tight around him, her warmth chasing away the void’s chill. He hugged her back, his heart pounding not from the fight but from her—her laugh, her strength, her trust. For a moment, the world was just them, and it was enough.

The tower trembled, its stones cracking as the Heart of Aether pulsed wildly in Gaeul’s hands. The HUD glitched, text dissolving into static, and the throne room warped—walls bending, floor rippling like water. Valthor’s defeat had broken Aetherion’s core, and the game was unraveling. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her grip on the Heart tightening. “Y/N, it’s now or never,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos.

A portal tore open at the room’s center, a vortex of light that hummed with promise and peril. Beyond it, Y/N glimpsed his dorm—messy desk, flickering PC, the real world—but the portal flickered, unstable, as debris fell around them. Gaeul’s hand found his, her fingers lacing through his, and he felt her tremble, her fear mirroring his own. “What if it doesn’t work?” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “What if we’re stuck?”

Y/N squeezed her hand, his voice firm. “We’re not. You’re Gaeul, I’m Y/N, and we’re going home.” He pulled her close, their foreheads nearly touching, and her nod was small but fierce. The Heart flared, its light stabilizing the portal, and they ran, hand in hand, as the tower crumbled behind them. The vortex’s pull was dizzying, light blinding, and Gaeul’s grip tightened, her voice a soft, “Don’t let go.”

They leaped, the world dissolving into white. Y/N’s senses spun—weightless, then heavy, the air shifting from Aetherion’s storm to the stale warmth of his dorm/ He landed hard on his carpet, Gaeul beside him, her gown gone, replaced by jeans and a hoodie, her short hair framing a face that was unmistakably her. The console sat on his desk, dark and silent, its screen blank. The Heart was gone, Aetherion with it. He looked at the clock at his desk:

6:02 P.M

What was eternity for them, was merely a minute in the real word. Gaeul’s laugh broke the silence, shaky but real, and she punched his arm lightly. “We made it, you dork.” Her eyes sparkled, relief and something softer—something that made Y/N’s heart skip. He grinned, rubbing his arm, and for a moment, the dorm felt as vibrant as Aetherion—because she was here, real, and they’d won.

The dorm smelled of instant ramen and faintly of burnt popcorn, a stark contrast to Aetherion’s pine-scented forests and metallic caverns. Y/N’s desk was a mess—empty soda cans, a tangled mess of controller cords, and the now-silent console, its screen dark as if it had never pulled them into a world of magic and danger. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, casting golden stripes across the carpet where Y/N and Gaeul sat cross-legged, a steaming pot of ramen between them. Gaeul, no longer in her princess gown but in a borrowed hoodie and jeans, twirled chopsticks with the same grace she’d wielded Frost Bolts. Her short hair framed her face, and her smile—bright, unguarded—made the dorm feel like the coziest place in the world.

“Never thought I’d miss instant noodles,” she said, slurping a mouthful with a contented hum. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned closer, nudging Y/N’s knee with hers. “You’re a terrible cook, you know. This is, like, 80% water.”

Y/N laughed, his cheeks flushing as he poked at his own bowl. “Hey, I’m a warrior, not a chef. Besides, you’re eating it, so I’m calling it a win.” Her nudge lingered, her knee still pressed against his, and the warmth of it sent his heart into a familiar flutter—one he’d felt in Aetherion, dodging spikes or hugging her after Valthor’s fall. But here, in the real world, it felt bigger, realer, like a spark that refused to fade.

They traded stories over the ramen, their voices overlapping in a giddy recount of their adventure. Y/N mimicked his clumsy first swing at the slime, earning a giggle that made Gaeul’s nose crinkle. She reenacted the dragon’s riddles, her voice dropping dramatically, and Y/N couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how her hands danced as she talked, how her laughter filled the room like music. “You were so serious back there,” she teased, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing his. “All, ‘I’m not leaving you, Gaeul.’ Total hero vibes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his blush deepening. “I meant it, you know. Couldn’t let my favorite princess stay trapped.” The words slipped out, bolder than he’d planned, and Gaeul’s eyes softened, her teasing grin shifting to something warmer, something that made his breath catch.

“You’re sweet, Y/N,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere. She reached out, her fingers brushing his, and didn’t pull away, letting their hands rest together on the carpet. The touch was simple but electric, and Y/N’s heart raced as he laced his fingers with hers, tentative but sure. Her smile widened, and she squeezed his hand, a silent acknowledgment that this—whatever it was—was real. The dorm, with its cluttered chaos, felt like their own little world, a new adventure just beginning.

The sun dipped lower, painting the room in hues of orange and pink, and Gaeul’s phone buzzed on the desk, a reminder of the real world waiting outside. She sighed, checking the screen—messages from her IVE members, a schedule packed with rehearsals and interviews. “Duty calls,” she said, but her tone was reluctant, her hand still in Y/N’s as she leaned against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The weight of her was warm, grounding, and Y/N’s heart thudded, torn between the thrill of her closeness and the ache of knowing she’d leave soon.

“You’re gonna be okay, right?” he asked, his voice soft, almost afraid to break the moment. “Back to being Gaeul from IVE, dazzling the world?”

She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes glinting with mischief but softened by something deeper. “Only if you’re there to cheer me on, warrior.” She poked his chest, her finger lingering, and Y/N caught her hand, holding it against his heart. Her teasing faded, replaced by a quiet intensity, and for a moment, the dorm was silent, the world narrowing to just them.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, sitting up but keeping her hand in his. “We game together again—something less… life-threatening. Co-op, you and me, maybe some Mario Kart to see if you’re as good with a kart as you are with a sword.” Her grin was playful, but her eyes held a promise, a future beyond this moment.

Y/N’s smile mirrored hers, his nerves replaced by a quiet confidence. “Deal. But only if you let me take you out for real food first. No more watery ramen.” His boldness surprised him, but her laugh—bright, delighted—made it worth it. She leaned in, her forehead brushing his, and the closeness stole his breath, her warmth a reminder of every moment they’d shared in Aetherion.

“You’re on, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice a mix of challenge and affection. She pulled back, grabbing her phone and typing quickly, then handed it to him. “Put your number in. No escaping me now.” He did, his fingers shaky but sure, and when she saved it with a heart emoji next to his name, his grin was unstoppable. The dorm’s glow felt like Aetherion’s twin moons, a light that promised new quests—together.

Night had fallen, the dorm now lit by the soft blue glow of Y/N’s PC. Gaeul had left an hour ago, her IVE van whisking her back to her world of stages and spotlights, but her presence lingered—in the hoodie she’d “borrowed” from his closet, in the warmth of her hand still tingling in his. Y/N sat at his desk, the console still silent, a relic of their adventure. He powered on his PC, half-expecting it to be as ordinary as ever, but a new notification popped up—a game invite from “SeraGaeul.” The screen flashed, and a pixelated heart appeared, its glow a nod to the Heart of Aether, to everything they’d fought for.

Y/N’s heart skipped, a laugh bubbling up as he grabbed his headset. He accepted the invite, and Gaeul’s voice crackled through, bright and teasing. “Took you long enough, noob. Ready to lose at Among Us?” Her giggle was infectious, and Y/N leaned back, his dorm transforming into a portal of its own—a bridge between their worlds.

“Only if you’re ready to admit I’m the better gamer,” he shot back, his grin wide as he joined her lobby. The game loaded, but it was her voice, her laugh, that filled the room, making the ordinary extraordinary. The pixel heart lingered on his screen, a reminder of Aetherion—of wolves and dragons, of trust forged in chaos, of a bond that had crossed worlds.

As they played, bantering and scheming, Y/N’s eyes drifted to his phone, where a new message from Gaeul glowed:

See you soon, hero. Don’t forget our deal ❤

His heart soared, the promise of coffee dates, game nights, and maybe more stretching before him like a new quest. Aetherion was gone, but this—this spark, this connection—was their true victory. “Here’s to new adventures, Gaeul,” he murmured, his voice soft but sure, and her laugh through the headset felt like a vow, a pixel heart beating forever.

#kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop imagines #fluff #kpop girls #idol x male reader #kpop x male reader #ive x reader #ive gaeul #gaeul x reader #kim gaeul #gaeul x male reader #ive x male reader

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reticent-writer · 1 year ago

Note

Would I be able to ask for [platonic] Adam x reader, with reader being his child. [Bio or adopted]

And if possible some reactions to others finding out the connection?

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

This man can't keep a secret for shit

He talks about the things he likes and even if he tried to keep it a secret he would slip up eventually

but when you came into the picture, you were always around him

it was rumored that you were him and lutes love child

soon the rumor got to Sera who tried to shut it down but it was out of her control

But then she heard that Adam took you to hell for an extermination

"Adam." Sera said sternly.

"Whaaaat, they're fine, See." Adam picked you up like he was presenting you to Sera, "Tell her what you learned, lil bud."

"Sinners are bad and don't deserve redemption." The both of you had a stupidly wide on grin your faces that could only make the Seraphin sigh.

"That's not the point, Adam. They're just a child, they shouldn't have to see that." She was so clearly disappointed as she took you from him and checked over him yourself.

"Papa says that bitches and whores live down there." You say with the widest smile. Sera looks at Adam in disgust.

"What? Am I wrong?"

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

#hazbin hotel x reader #Adam x reader #child reader #x child reader #male reader #female reader #gn reader #reticent writes #reticent writer #platonic #hazbin hotel

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moonsaver · 6 months ago

Text

Almost a kiss, Always a breath

How close life is unto death. Almost a kiss, but always a breath.

With only about a month left to live – your previous guardian angel, Robin, has been replaced, as The Family decide to assign you one that's more "suitable" to your need. Guardian Angel!Sunday x gn!reader CW/TW: reader is chronically ill, and there's descriptions of how painful it is (a little gruesome) but the actual illness is left vague for self insert purposes. Mentions + implications of childhood abuse, death (reader), lesbians because i just wanted it A/n: As much as I'd have loved to make it Seraphin x reader, Sunday is just a guardian angel who has a more biblically accurate appearance. also it's about just a bit over 11k words. sorry for the delays! ______

"You can stay out here."

You turn halfway to face Sunday, the pair of wings over his eyes firmly shut, the other two pairs slightly bristling at your words.

“I have been assigned to you for a reason.”

You glance at the bright entryway of the boutique in front of you. People would definitely notice something was off. No one can ignore someone like him. At least, they’d sense something would be off.

You turn back to face him. Your hesitant silence seems to spur him to continue,

“I shan't interfere.”

He smiles. You don't think it's genuine. You look up at the various eyes embedded across his halo and wings like jewels. They stare back.

Have they ever blinked?

You shake your head,

“No. Stay out here. You'll scare people.”

You stand your ground firmly, your body facing him entirely now. He hums, his smile vanishing from his face.

“Is that so?”

“It is so.”

You reply, and it's followed by silence.

The corners of his mouth perk up slightly, before it's met with lesser and lesser resistance, eventually letting out a wholehearted chuckle.

“I can promise, truly, I won't interfere, nor draw attention. Nothing like the scene at the hospital.”

You sigh.

—

“Sweet mother of..”

You keep Xipe's name out of your mouth, sitting up on your hospital bed as fast as you can, ignoring the jolt of pain in your body from the sudden movement, as your eyes train on the figure in front of you.

The man is clad in white – a suit, to be specific – and seems to have started his day much earlier than you.

“I thought Robin was..”

“The Family has decided otherwise.”

You stare at his covered eyes, only to glance over at the plethora of his.. other eyes blink at you; wide and all-seeing, surrounded by clusters of feathers. A pair of them bristle as you continue to stare, and he clears his throat, drawing your attention back to his (wing-covered) eyes. His halo is golden - just like Robin’s, except.. Bigger. And sharper.

“I'm– I think my intentions were very specific, so why on Earth do I have a Seraphim looking after me?”

“The Family decided the timely course of your fate required an assistance of much.. higher capability.”

You scoff, the covers crumpled under your hands as they clench.

“Robin was adequate– no, more than adequate.”

“I would be aware. I expect nothing less of my sister.”

“Your–?!”

This day couldn't get any more confusing in the mere 15 minutes of it's starting, really. A Seraphim. Sent to be your guardian angel. And he has a sister by some biological miracle.

As if he senses the question you are about to ask, he says,

“Let's focus on a more dire topic.”

He neatly sets down his cup of finished tea on a surface – you don't care enough to check; too busy glaring daggers at the man – a few of his other eyes peeking over at the cup in your stead.

“ugh, great.”

You groan and plop onto the bed on your back with an ‘umpf', then cringe as the pain shoots up from a plethora of nerve endings on your back.

Sunday continues, regardless of your pained expression, an artificial smile plastered on his too human-like features,

“Roughly 2 weeks. That is all.”

He gets up, and walks with measured steps to the side of your hospital bed, his eyes (in multitudes) staring down at your not-so intimidating glare.

You click your tongue, your eyes zoning out for a moment before they settle back on the teacup he'd just placed down.

“Since when did Seraphims like..?”

“Coffee. It helps, I've found.”

“Found?”

He opens his hand towards you. You awkwardly look at his gloved palm before he speaks to clear your hesitance again,

“Let us continue to whichever place you wish to visit.”

You look at his hand again, now with a dull glaze over your eyes, a plethora of thoughts glooming over your mind before another one of his (unsettling, you may add) eyes catch your attention, breaking you out of your saddened trance.

You breathe out, taking his hand,

“Fine.”

—–

And so, that led you here.

You pick out a dress, then shuffle through the stacked hangers to find your size, as Sunday patiently stands beside you, his obnoxiously white suit out of your vision by your request as to “not blind you.” But you can't necessarily explain about that to someone who covers their eyes for.. 90% of the time, you assume. Regardless, he obliges.

You turn to hand him a few of your clothes to hold, but watch as he stares at a distant baby. Their face is red and swollen, presumably from having cried for a while. The tears in their eyes confirm the suspicion. You look back at him, curious as to what he could possibly find fascinating about a red-faced baby.

..what the fuck?

You observed his eyes – the conglomerate of them making a weird sensation bubble under your skin as you watch all of them blink in succession.

You sigh, for the umpteenth time, making him turn to you. You look at Sunday with a strangely confused expression, as Sunday’s cautious hands pry the clothes from yours. You shift your eyes to see the baby look at you two once again with a face as confused and perturbed as yours.

“You’re lucky not many can see you.”

“Yes, it is fortunate.”

You continue browsing through the selection of clothes, politely waving off any staff member that seem to force themselves to help you regardless of the strange aura they felt around you.

“I’m trying these on. You stay right..”

You reposition him, hands on the sides of his arms as he complies.

“Here.”

He stands, in all his glory, in front of a kids’ indoor playground.

“The changing room is too far from here.” Inquisitively, that seems to be the only trouble Sunday faces, and not the curious glances from a few children making weird faces at his eyes on his back.

“It isn’t. It’s just a few picks, I’ll be back soon.”

He seems to stay silent, although his (unsettling) smile is no longer on his face, which reads him as more intimidating instead.

You shake your head, and then turn to walk over to the changing room.

——

A scream.

It rips through the chill, calm atmosphere of the store, warranting concern from a few employees situated around the changing room,

“I-Is everything okay-?”

“Yes-! Sorry, sorry, Im just–”

You hurry, and shuffle the floating eye into your bag, your hands fumbling with the buckles and buttons.

Why was there an eye in your bag in the first place?

Turns out Sunday sent one to stand right dab in front of your stall to ensure your safety in, probably only his opinion – a minimal way. You screamed the moment you opened your door and found a floating eyeball in front of your stall, before realising only that Seraphim was capable of doing such a thing.

You internally let out a beautiful, colourful string of curses, presumably to beat some sense into him, as you wrestle with the bag that's flailing in your bag like an animal caught in a potato sack.

“Stop, stop, Xipe damn it-!”

You bring the bag up to your face, glaring down as the singular eye looks up at you with an unreadable glint from the soft fabrics of your bag,

“If we get caught I swear I will–”

“Uh.. is everything okay?”

You jolt watching the door slightly move ajar as one of the employees gently signal their presence,

Shit, you forgot to lock it!

It wasn't your fault - you were about to step out when you were delightfully greeted by an eyeball, and in your hurry you must have forgotten to lock it.

You throw a sheepish smile towards the door, hiding your bag behind you. You're aware it looks like you've stolen something, so you take a deep breath and pat your bag, careful around the bulge of the eye inside.

“I'm okay, I- I just uh.. saw a cockroach.”

“A cockroach-?!”

The employee gasps, immediate words of apology on the tip of their tongue, but you stop them before they can continue. You swing open the door, having only grabbed a single item as you rush past the employee sputtering on their words, politely dismissing yourself as you beeline to Sunday.

––

You did, thankfully, find Sunday where you left him.

You stood a bit of distance away as he came into your vision, making sure to count the number of his eyes, blinking a few times and recounting to really make sure – who knew staring at his eyes for so long would make you dizzy?

By then, the eye in your bag only nudged a few times, but nothing more than that. On the way you realised there might have been no need for the commotion, considering people can barely see Sunday as is, let alone (one of) his eyes. You sigh tiredly at the thought, but brush it off.

You walked over to the small barricade surrounding the children's indoor playground and observed.

Sunday is crouched down, watching intently as two young girls clack their (very distressed) barbies together, making up drama on a whim. Sunday seems deep in thought, occasionally piping up to add his own additions.

Ookay. You need to stop this.

You sigh, running your hand over your face before calling out,

“Sunday!”

His head turns to look at you, then gets up, unassumingly as though he'd not been getting in on local gossip from girls.

—–

You sigh, pushing off the shoes from your feet as you sit back down on your familiar hospital bed, the door of your room clicking as Sunday ensures your privacy.

“Do you plan on going somewhere?”

“Tomorrow, actually. Since we have enough time, I'll take it easy.”

He hums, merely in acceptance, as he sets down the small bag your recent purchase was in.

“Oh, also, c'mere.”

You motion him to come closer.

“Closer.”

He steps closer, your knee almost grazing against his thigh,

“Closer.”

“Any closer and I-”

You grab his tie and yank him down eye level,

“Do you know what happened in the dressing room-?!”

You sputter out, the embarrassment returning to you as you recall the flustered employee's voice,

“I.. cannot say I do.”

You grab your bag, and out comes bursting an eye.

Ah. He felt something was amiss.

“I was fine on my own! Seriously, if you wanted to check in you could have just walked over! Which guardian angel just casually sends an eyeball of theirs-?!”

“Ah, but I did not want to overbear—”

“I would have preferred that, instead of your eye hanging in front of my stall like a Christmas tree decor!”

…

“Noted.”

You sigh, watching the eye float and join the conglomerate of his, wink at you, making you blink, unimpressed.

——

“I wanna be buried…”

You hum, looking over the green, slightly bumpy landscape, and point to under a tree.

“There. That's perfect.”

Mei seems to take your words in stride, despite the depravity of your humor. She chuckles softly, and turns to you,

“I'm sure it's possible.”

“D'you think I can get one of those colored, glass tombstones?”

“Hm, slightly difficult..”

“Oh please.”

You nudge her shoulder, making her softly chuckle again. Both of you gaze over to the distance, the plot of land sparsely filled with tombstones of other strangers you've yet to know about from Mei.

If the purple haired woman knew anything about you – it was that you adored stories. She never considered herself the best storyteller, but you'd convinced her enough to tell you anyway. Occasionally her companion would join in, greatly elevating the storytelling atmosphere, but for the most part, it was just you two.

Mei, who would tell you of each person she'd buried. Carol, 98, a lovely grandmother. She'd always smell of pie and something herbal – always sure to drop off tea wherever she went, the dull packets that rattled whenever she'd placed them down with her shaky fingers. Only her daughter's side of the family visited.

Nico, 17. His father comes every weekend to clean his tombstone. He had a green thumb. His gravestone had the most beautiful flowers around him.

Razalina, a mysterious woman who you'd been waiting to hear about from Mei, before Robin was shortly replaced. Your health got worse and Mei urged you to take a break. You miss the flavour of the tea Mei would serve for you two. You wonder how it would feel to drink it for the rest of your life until you'd grow to be 98.

There was a morbid comfort in having a friend as Mei. Acheron – the term suited her. A gentle, sorrowful, but greatly respectful and polite woman who took care of the dead. A mortician you'd gotten familiar with on a whim when you'd bumped into her somewhere. She was going to bury you, and you'd let her with delight. You imagine there was a sort of trust and intimacy in that. She would clean your organs, and lay you to sleep on the naked Earth. There was certainly intimacy in that.

“A wardrobe change, hm?”

She quirks an eyebrow, her words still slightly hushed in caution to not even possibly offend you.

“Thought I'd try something new.”

You kicked a stray rock, looking down at your newly bought clothes, then back up at Mei.

“Went shopping with someone yesterday.”

“Finally let you out of your enclosure?”

“Ugh, for once, thankfully.”

She hums, walking alongside you with a leisurely pace, her gaze drifting over the cloudy sky,

“I'd expected Robin to come with you. I don't think I was able to continue onto the next story with her.”

“Yeah, I did too..”

You look back at Sunday – still following you two a few ways behind, waving as you and Mei observe him for a second.

“quite a character.”

You nod, simply, continuing to look at him as Mei's steady eyes train on you for a moment.

“Scared?”

“No. Never have been.”

…

“Good.”

Mei's assurance was quiet, almost relieved. She turned ahead and continued, and you followed her.

——

The cloudy weather only seemed to thicken with humidity and the threat of rain as the sky dimmed with time, and Mei was kind enough to end the story on a reasonable cliffhanger, making you giggle in your seat.

“There's never enough time, really..”

You say, between your soft chuckling. It always felt like time passed by unfairly fast when you sat with Mei as you used to.

She hums, smiling, her finger circling the rim of her cup,

“Tomorrow will come, so have faith.”

Have faith in a tomorrow. It would have left you breathless had you not heard it from Robin before. You glance back at the Seraphim behind you as if to confirm Robin really wasn't looking after you anymore.

You bit your lip for a moment at the agitation as the thought bubbled in you, before looking back up at Mei and returning her gentle smile.

“Alright. I'll get going. Take care, Mei.”

She nods, getting up with you, as you gather your items and walk up ahead a bit.

Mei turns to Sunday, and mutters something out of earshot.

——

You're tired of this.

You get up once again, in pain. It shoots through you, and pulses in your body. It continues to ebb and intensify with passing moments.

You stifle a groan, biting down on your chapped lips and swallow thickly, a bead of sweat forming over your eyebrow as you clutch yourself in pain.

No one else is awake.

You zone out in pain, the only sound in your ears of the heart rate monitor beside you picking up slightly. The pain renders you almost still.

This pain. This all too familiar ache. You despise it, and yet you don't. How many events have you had to skip or leave because of it? How many times have you turned down hanging out with your friends over it? It angers you. It's as though inhabiting a scrawny animal who claws at your insides for nothing. How many hobbies, pastimes, hell even careers, have you missed out on because of this? The all to familiar sight of your friends’ slightly pitiful gazes burns your mind, almost making the pain in your body worse as you squeeze your eyes shut–

A hand.

Your eyes open, suddenly aware of the cold sweat forming on your back as you turn your head to look at the hand on your shoulder.

Sunday. He doesn't seem to be donning any gloves this time.

His hands are pretty. The thought floats through the top of your mind like oil on water, the pain pulsing in you barely letting you cling to the present.

“Are you in pain?”

You lick your lips, shallow breathing carrying the response you wish to say. He hums, the noise almost soothing.

His hand moves and rests on your back, the warmth of his palm more comforting than the sweat making your skin shiver. He doesn't seem to mind the fluid sticking to his own skin.

For a moment, you feel the warmth increase, before it dims. Everything dims. The pain ebbs away, making you breathe out shakily, your tense muscles eventually relaxing. His hand slides to your wrist as you lay back down, fatigued from the midnight bout of pain.

“Better?”

You blink a few times, a futile attempt to appear more alert and less affected from the episode. There's a bit of water in your eyes – you didn't notice, but it's nothing you're concerned about.

You turn your head slightly to him, your eyes looking up at him as you ask with a hoarse voice

“How did you do that?”

Sunday hums, his fingers moving from your wrist to your palm, drawing soothing circles in the middle of it as a comforting gesture.

“We are equipped to absolve a bit of your pain. This is our duty. This is how we become pure.”

“Pure?”

His head isn't turned to you, instead a bit low, as he leans back in his seat. He breathes out.

“Purification happens through only a few means. Absolving you of your pain is a major way to do it.”

“But it hurts.”

“It hurts.”

His hand gently squeezes your hand.

“But you are feeling better.”

“It's not fair.”

His head turns slightly to see you. Your watery eyes only become more teary. Frustration, hurt, sadness, anger. There's a scripture in your face as he scans the furrow of your brows, the tears in your eyes and the chapped, dry blood on your lips.

And the silence settles between you two. A tender sort of hurt in the night air as he folds his fingers around your hand. Your eyes trail to his plethora of wings. Pairs of 3. They're beautiful. You watch the conglomerate of his eyes closing and gently blinking, almost lulled to sleep. His golden halo hangs a little lower than usual – sharp, yet elegantly prudent. The ones on his wings covering his actual eyes stare back at you.

You're beautiful. The words stay choked on your tongue like a regretful prayer. Your eyebrows relax, and your jaw unclenches.

Sunday smiles, watching your tear filled eyes close with sleep.

–—

Your shoes click as you circle around the fountain, watching the carved figure in the middle pour out water from various sources.

Your padded shoes come to a slow halt, followed by Sunday's polished shoes right behind.

“Do you believe in wishes?’

“Hm..”

You shuffle through your bag, picking out something silvery. A coin.

“Yeah. Like.. a wishbone. A shooting star. An eyelash.”

You hold up the delicate coin, but Sunday's attention is trained on your face.

“We find wishes and stories everywhere. If you could.. what would you wish for?”

You gently grab one of his hands, and press a coin in the middle of his palm. He seems to have forgone his gloves once again.

“I am incapable of–”

“It's hypothetical. Come on.”

He hums, glancing at the coin, and then at the fountain.

“I'd like more coffee. One that is flavorful, deep and complex.”

You chuckle and shake your head,

“Be a little more creative. Just coffee?”

You pick out your own coin.

You suppose you were a bit unfair to him. What would you explain about walking to a whale in it's depths? About flying to a mammal accustomed to it's faithful footing? About crawling to feathery or scaled wings?

You throw your coin.

I wish for freedom.

Sunday hums again, pondering deeply.

“Ah, but if I say it out loud, it won't come true.”

“Aww..”

He chuckles, pocketing the coin.

“Let us proceed.”

He holds out his hand to you, and you eagerly accept, intertwining your fingers around his as you walk alongside and make small talk

“They've been struggling to walk and do basic tasks. Look after them.”

Mei's voice rung out in his head for a while, like a record playing over and over in an empty ballroom.

“You can see me.” He says matter-of-factly, instead of a question, after a moment of contemplative silence.

“I'm intimately familiar with death.”

He stares at her distant look for a moment.

“..I have my duties.”

“Sure. Take care of them. Please.”

–—

“Sunday, it's okay–”

A small gasp escapes you as he yanks you a bit closer,

“Watch out for the pothole.”

“The cover?” You look up at him almost in disbelief.

What on Earth has gotten into him?

“Careful.”

He pulls you aside again, ‘assisting’ you to dodge a very obvious, very blaringly red fire hydrant.

“Ugh, okay, wait.”

You halt, Sunday stopping in his tracks ahead of you as your limp hand refuses to move with his in grasp.

“you don't have to babysit me. I'm not going to keel over if I step on a rock or something.”

“Nonsense, I'm simply fulfilling my duty.”

He turns to you completely, your hand still firmly grasped in his, as he looks down at your troubled face.

“You weren't this.. protective.”

“Hm, something must have messed with your memories. Here, let me–”

You gently swat away his hand that reaches out to you,

“Sunday, relax.”

You both stay silent for a moment. You breathe out,

“Okay, here,”

You step closer, and shake your hand out of his firm grasp, but loop your arm around his, and gently pat his bicep with your other hand.

“Better?”

He stays silent for a moment,possibly surprised for a moment.

“Better.”

He smiles at you, and you return it, both of you continuing forward.

——

“I want a garden. As big as possible.”

“Is that so?”

You kick around a small pebble, stepping on a slightly raised stone platform before looking up to gawk once again at the priceless view – the field of tulips making you stop for a moment.

“Mhm. I want to grow as big of a garden as I can. I've always wanted to.”

He chuckles softly, following your gaze out into the vast tulip field, before returning back to you.

You almost belonged here.

The entire gorgeous tapestry of you. Blending into the delicate backdrop like a painting. He's seen a few portraits in museums that could at least come close to the vision.

“I want to paint.”

You turn and look at him, Inquisitively, as he says so, almost surprising you.

“Really?”

He fully turns to you, and holds out a flower for you to see.

A carnation.

“What do you want to paint?”

You glance back up at his covered face. He steps a bit closer, and places the flower in your hair, moving a few stray strands from your face as he does so.

“A garden.”

You giggle, and the sound blooms in his heart.

“What kind?”

“A big one. With as many flowers as there can be.”

“Sounds pretty.”

He hums. You are, He thinks.

——

Sunday hates the rain.

There are many things he hates.

Overrun schedules, late appointments, rushed deaths, overbearing contracts, unruly protectees, a bad cup of coffee, bright lights.

And the rain.

Both of you pant and huff – you especially – running to hunt for any cover, the pattering of your feet almost matching the rain's rhythm.

Sunday's hand is tightly grasped around yours as he leads you to a small cover; a small awning, the grip so firm you notice the middle of your palm is still dry when he lets go to check you over.

“Are you alright?”

Sunday scans you over, stepping to the side to examine you more, a supportive hand on your back as you continue to catch your breath. You can predict the next bout of pain is gonna be worse. But you shove that thought aside as you nod, turning to face him, wiping away some of the rainwater dripping from his chin.

“You're soaked.”

He hums, disregarding the obvious nature of your remark, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he counters,

“You'll get sick.”

He raises his head slightly to glance over you, gauging something.

“We're closeby, let's just run–”

“No.”

Sunday shuts you down firmly. His tone doesn't allow more room for argument.

He sighs, running a hand through his own wet hair as he contemplates on what to do. You try to scrunch up a bit of your clothing to squeeze out the water, and do the same with your hair as you wait for him to continue.

“I'll be fine–”

You try to softly negotiate, but Sunday takes off his blazer, swiftly putting it over your shivering shoulders, before wrapping his arms around you and–

“Ah- Sunday-?”

You breathed out, almost a gasp, as he pulls you in. His shirt is thinner from the water still soaking it, but the warmth of his body (of which you become too aware about) relaxes you almost immediately. You hesitate for a moment, until Sunday quietly sighs into your shoulder. Your arms hesitantly wrap around his waist, tucking your face into his neck as well. Your bodies exchange warmth, and the water seems to help hold the heat better than before.

“I despise the rain.”

Sunday's muffled voice resounds into your clothes and skin, and you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his lips.

“Really?”

He nods

“Why?”

“Alters too many things in the schedule.”

“Ah. I see..”

He sighs again; a puff of breath warming– almost burning your shoulder.

You stay that way for a few moments longer, before you speak again;

“Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“I want to do something.”

He stays silent, as though waiting for your initiative. You loosen your grip, and he pulls away at the indication. You take a moment as you scan his appearance – nothing resembling the once pristine, well kept man you'd seen the first day in your hospital room. Bits of his blue hair stuck to his skin like waves latching onto the shore, the feathers of his wings adorned with raindrops, the blurred effect of his halo under the rain. Your eyes travel a bit lower; his tie is slightly crooked, and his shirt is see through and..

You clear your throat, blinking and turning your gaze away to the pattering rain.

“I've wanted to.. um..”

Sunday's fingers brush against the side of your face, turning your attention back to him.

He brushes away a few strands sticking to your wet skin. His fingers are cold.

Your hands gently grasp his, encasing it, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

You slowly turn, and walk backwards, his hand still encased in yours as you step into the rain, watching his hesitant steps follow you.

You both stand under the rain, the water cradling your skin and washing away your previous efforts to dry off. Your hand intertwines with his, and your other hand rests on his shoulder. He places his other hand on your waist.

You smile, but he still seems hesitant. For a moment, you both stand, simply looking at each other.

As if to reassure himself, Sunday leans down, and gently presses his forehead to yours.

Your smile falters for a moment, your expression replaced by that of surprise, but when Sunday grins, your confusion floats away. His hand squeezes yours as both of you sway and dance in the rain.

–––

“Is everything okay?”

Or at least – that's what the curious look on your face might say.

Sunday retracts his hand from the water of the fountain, gently flicks it, before wiping it with a handkerchief, drying it off. He sits half turned to you on the fountain's edge.

You stand with an umbrella and a (familiar) floating eye in tow, changed into warmer clothes and dried hair, washed of the rain's scent.

Sunday had temporarily stepped away while you were showering to visit a smaller fountain closer to where you stayed. He was acutely aware the coin you'd tossed wouldn't be here.

Always standing. Never approaching. That was how he'd describe Gopher Wood.

Right where you are.

Dressed in black like a curse that followed him – ravens in corners of buildings and lurking from above muddied puddles. Always in the distance, fog following him like a haunting widow, the backdrop of the mist etching him further into Sunday's mind. A hollow that spasms like a missing organ.

“These are necessary measures” he'd say. “Are you afraid?” He took delight.

He took delight in it.

“Sunday?”

Your voice, soft and grounding, snapped him out of the small trance he was in.

“My apologies.”

He says, picking up his folded blazer as he stands and walks to you,

“I have to check your temperature and–”

“Stop, stop, stop. Hold on.”

You hand over the umbrella to him, and shuffled through your bag to pull out a warm and fuzzy towel.

Sunday simply observes you for a moment as you hold the towel in your hand. He tries to reach out to take it with his other, but you pull away. He looks at you hesitant and confused, as you motion for him to lean down.

Carefully, your hands bring the towel to his head, and cautious of his wings, you gently dry his damp, blue hair. He hums, his wings shifting and bristling from the contact at first, before relaxing.

“You could have told me.”

“You wouldn't let me.”

“I wouldn't?”

You huff,

“You talk too much.”

“You're the one who cuts me off quite often.”

“Touchè.”

Your hands stop for a moment, looking over at his ruffled hair half dried by the towel. One of your hands brushes away some of the hair that sticks up onto his face.

You wish he'd let you see his eyes.

“What colour are your eyes?”

His throat tightened a bit. He'd hate to deny you if you asked to see them.

“..gold.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

You stayed quiet, simply looking at the soft feathers of his wings, your hand moving from his face to hover around the pairs behind his ear, you look at him, and he nods, giving you silent permission.

Your hand gently cards through one of the wings’ feathers, careful to not poke any of the eyes, wiping away any wet edges of his feathers.

“..You're pretty.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.”

You back away, your hand retracting and pulling away the towel but Sunday is a bit faster, his hand grabbing your wrist and immediately stilling you. You both stand for a moment, breathless, and silent.

…

“I.. I'll wash the towel.”

“Ah, it's okay..”

He insists, silently, although his originally urgent grip on your wrist loosens a bit.

You end up obliging, letting him take the towel.

He could feel your pulse. Do humans have normally quick heartbeats?

–—

“Brother!”

Robin grins, ear to ear, proud of her handiwork as she holds up her fingers, sticky from the dampness of the water and the sweat of her small, clammy hands. The water dips into the chubby curve of her elbow, threatening to go up further but dripping down into the water instead, rejoining the gentle flow.

“Robin, that could be dangerous! We don't know what those plants are..”

Sunday cautions his sister, voice untethered but soft with naivety and youth. His feet remain hesitantly restless on the muddy edge of the small river bank.

She only offers him a closed eye grin, before trudging her short, stubby legs in the water, walking back to the soil where she descended from, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she was cautious not to slip.

“It's for you!”

“M-Me?”

Robin's wet hand reaches out to Sunday's, gently prying his soft palm open and placing a soaked flower, making the water drip from his rounded knuckles. Some of the water seeps into the edges of his sleeves, but not more than a few centimetres.

“It's the flower! From the book!”

“But it's not real..”

“It is! That's why it's white!”

Sunday looks down at the flower again. It looked dreadful, in a way. Like a drowned rat – if he knew he could describe it that way. But from the rambunctious effort of Robin's chubby little fingers having wrestled it out of the water, it looked..

perfect.

It was beautiful in a sense. The white petals were (almost) unmarred, the stamens gently swayed with the soft draft that carried with cloudy weather, and the stem was still slightly rigid.

Robin's handiwork was pretty.

“You mustn't run off like that.”

Robin flinches, and clings to Sunday's back, as he turns to the source of the voice.

His eyes first see shoes. Black, polished, unmarred. Never touched by filth. Then crisply ironed pant legs. Then up, up, and up, until his little neck strained.

Father.

Or what was left of him.

Gold rimmed glasses. A rosemary always adorning his neck.

Sunday's original thoughts, back then, had been none of these incriminating feelings. They'd been quiet. So silent and afraid, as though his father would hear if he thought too loudly.

“What do we have here?”

The man leans down, but it does less to make him non-imposing. He might prefer it, that way. Sunday notices the gentle tinker of his rosemary as it moves forward with his father.

Robin's clammy hands now clenched the soft fabrics draped over Sunday's small back, cowering behind him. His loud, messy sister. His determined, bright sister. Dimmed by the clouds and fear his father brought.

If only he reached out to choke his father with his rosemary right then and there.

—–

“I wish u could have made it ://”

You stare at an old text – probably even forgotten by the sender. The tears make the digital screen a bit hard to read momentarily as it fills up your vision, but it gets easier after they settle on your waterline.

It's these quiet nights you realise how much company you're missing. Like an artist painting the negative spaces in blotches to carve out the image – texts and hidden whispers like these carved out the loneliness you'd fester in yourself.

Something stirred you awake. Maybe it was the constant lingering pain that threatened to push it's usual threshold. Maybe the constant beeping of the heartbeat monitor.

Or that Sunday wasn't here.

Not even his eye. As unsettling as it was – you missed it a little. You sigh, pushing yourself up and sitting on the edge of your familiar hospital bed, careful to not agitate the pain more by accident. You push off the bed, and walk a bit hunched, pulling a shawl over yourself and deciding to go out and search for him for whatever reason.

At least, it's a better way to pass your restlessness than going through old texts. Walking at night didn't seem as bad of an idea – at least within hospital grounds.

––

Sunday remembers the world.

Or what he wishes to remember it as.

Cold, stony alleyways. Unforgiving nights. Merciless fog. A sun that never shines.

Not upon those like him anyway.

His Father – always standing. Never approaching. The fog surrounding him was the same. Always at a standstill.

Until something broke that.

There it was. Blood, seeping through cracks in the broken pavement of the ground. Almost inky from the murkiness and filt that seeped into it.

That was the first time he saw his Father's shoes marred.

“This is necessary, child.”

The Raven perched on his shoulder would bristle a bit, but not more.

No, it wasn't.

“This is our duty.”

It isn't.

“You will have to do what it takes.”

Sunday felt impossibly small that day. Like a fawn's leg caught in a bear trap. As if his surroundings grew a size too big and left him behind like a borrowed sweater. He was always more frailer than the other kids.

He wonders if that's why his father broke him so easily.

His little, golden eyes peered down, lost in thought and terror. He learnt how to ground himself at a tender age.

There was grime under his shoes.

Grime in the cracks of the pavement.

Grime in his father's affections.

He was never pure.

——

You couldn't find Sunday.

Forget that – you couldn't even walk.

Pain shot through you the moment you stood up, making you gasp and breathlessly sit back down onto your bed. Your throat constricted – you couldn't tell if it was from the pain or the frustration.

The frustration that had been ebbing and chipping away at you; second by second, hour by hour.

“I can't make it”, “I'm not feeling well”, “The doctor said..”, “I probably won't.”,..

“It hurts.”

Your lungs tremble, before sucking in a breath. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you hunch forward, glaring through the blur of your festering emotions at the sterile tiles of your hospital room.

The tapered off conversations, friendships fizzled out, disappointed looks.

You weren't blessed. By some being, or some cruel fate, or so on and so forth; it felt like if anything, you were created to be tortured. Like flimsy, rotting meat on a metal rod. Pain was more familiar to you than the crevices of your hand, weak with the trembling in your bones from all the feelings you couldn't even name.

“I wish you could have made it.”

That pulls a sob out of you like a hooked wire piercing and pulling through a fish's throat, making you double over as more continue to bubble past.

You were meant to be tortured; you choke on your spit, and sob past the coughing.

Why? God, just why? Fall to your side and curl up,

Why couldn't you be blessed? What did everyone else have that you didn't? Why weren't you blessed? Why couldn't you be free? What godforsaken sin had your soul committed? What did your fate have in store? What did you do?

Why you?

Burying your screams into the pillow, the ugliness of your reality was softened by it like an interrupted fall from a height.

You cry until your vessel is empty.

Until you feel you've carved a hole out of yourself from the middle.

What it would take to be blessed, you wonder. Your hands clench to your chest, and your heart throbs to live despite.

–

Sunday returns late.

And he returns quietly.

You look up, puffy and tired eyes meeting the wings where his are supposed to be.

He stands idly at the opened door. Blood stains his visage.

You breathe out, your face warm from your previous bout of sobbing, and don't utter a word. Sunday walks– limps to your side, almost paddling his way, before slumping down into the chair beside you. Some of the eyes besotted on his halo look tiredly at you.

You sniffle. He stays still. You presume he's looking down at the tiled floor.

Your hand comes up to rub away at your sticky face, and soon Sunday's own hand comes up to cup your face when yours retracts.

You lean into his gloved hand, disregarding the grime and the strong, metallic scent. He leans forward, and presses his forehead against yours.

His hair are soft against your forehead. You peer into the deft feathers of the wings that firmly shut over his eyes. Your own hands gently cup his face, closing your eyes. After a moment, he shifts, his face moving to bury itself into your neck, his arms moving to wrap around you, a bit too tightly. He stays tense for a minute, then relaxes into your hold.

You both stay like that for a while.

—–

You woke up feeling under the weather the next day. Which was ironic, because the Dawn has never looked as beautiful as it did that morning.

In fact, you don’t even remember how you managed to sleep.

You look down emptily at your hand – as though you awoke from a coma induced dream, reminiscent of the warmth that was under it just a night ago.

Just then, your door creaks open. Sunday enters with a small box, and stills for a moment before his face breaks into a gentle smile.

“Ah, you're already awake.”

He says, softly, careful to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere the morning sunlight had casted in your room with you two. He walks over and sets the box on your bedside table.

“What is that..?”

“Paint.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

He leaves, and a few moments later, you hear a soft grunt in the distance, followed by some wood creaking. Finally, Sunday seems to be able to maneuver whatever he'd been handling and it comes into view as he brings it in;

An easel, and a canvas already set on it.

You smile, at his struggled and awkward movements as he carefully handles the easel inside.

“You wanted to paint.” You recall, propping up your pillows and lazily leaning back onto them.

“I did.” He says, his smile returning to his face after the slightly troubling task. He pulls a chair and sits in front of the canvas, adjusting and pondering over the position of it until he was satisfied.

“What are you going to paint?”

“You.”

“Something more original please.”

“With lots of care.”

“Hm? What?”

You chuckle a bit, Sunday puffing a smile at your seemingly lightened mood.

“You should rest for today. We have a few necessary tasks to look into, aswell.”

You yawn, turning your head to look at the morning sunlight brightening up your room.

“Sure. What are they?”

You hear a clack – the lid of the box having been pried open with a bit of difficulty, as Sunday rustles with the paintbrushes and paints.

“A few things regarding your previous experiences with The Family, reviews, feedback and complaints..”

Ugh. They wanted you to drop a review?

You sigh, stifling a groan as a hand runs down your face. Sunday chuckles, softly,

“I'll take care of the writing part, just answer the questions.”

——

“Hm, how curious.”

The lavender-haired woman stirs her tea with dainty, carefree rhythm, the spoon clicking against the ceramic of the cup as she peers down at the cards on the table.

Mei sighs, her hands folded on her lap as she stares at the golden liquid, occasional vibrations making it ebb the slightest bit.

“He doesn't seem.. angelic, does he?”

Black Swan ponders out loud, her hand picking up and flicking a few tarot cards,

“There's something about him. It feels off.”

“Relative to his sister, even I'd think so.”

The woman smiles lazily, her dawn colored eyes looking up at the purple haired woman in front of her.

“You're quite worried.”

“..I suppose, it's obvious.”

Mei's eyes flit up as she hears movement, followed by a lazy sigh from the woman across her.

Thin, manicured nails faintly brush against her skin as Black Swan holds her hand, her lithe fingers feeling the ridges of her engagement ring,

“And here I’d have thought you’d been more excited to see me back.”

Mei puffs out a prudent chuckle, her hands manoeuvring to hold her lover’s.

“Alright. Care to give me a reading?”

The dawn-eyed woman flicks up a card.

The Hanged Man.

Acheron’s eyes follow the swift movement.

“Let’s see what’s in store.”

——

Sunday thinks he's cursed.

Dirtied, marred. Absolution is in store for the sinners, and exorcism for the cursed like him.

Who dirties the divine? Who damns the dirtied? Whose hands marr purity?

Gopher Wood was not a man of purity. Grime-stricken hands that crawled up from the depths of hell to pull fragile minds into an abyss.

He inlaid a curse upon Sunday – that must have been it.

Why else would he not be able to look at him?

Head down, child.

Sunday's little feet would shuffle together, sweat would stick to the small flicks of his short hair on the back of his neck, eyes fixated on the grimy, cobblestone path under his polished shoes.

Follow my lead. Do not go astray.

His hand would tightly grasp onto a few fingers, barely gripping onto the firmness of the man's hand with his little, clammy ones.

Do not look.

Sunday stops. His heart beats a bit too fast for his tiny body.

Do not ask.

A bead of sweat tickles his skin as it rushes down the side of his temple.

Do not speak.

Tears would bubble at the corners of his eyes, hands red and swollen from being hit for every verse he got wrong. For every word he could not muster out from his throat that was raw from childish blubbering through cries.

He would not speak of him.

“Sunday?”

He holds his breath.

You scrutinize at the pamphlet in your hands, before aiming it towards him and pointing at a word on it.

His hand remains stiffly held in the air, the tip of the brush barely grazing against the painted canvas.

“What does this mean?”

His chair creaks as he leans aside the canvas to take a look at the word you pointed at.

“Ah. Exorbitant. Something unreasonably pricey.”

You make a small ‘o’ shape with your mouth, looking over the sentence again in better understanding.

“How's the painting coming along?”

“It's..”

Sunday takes a moment to glance over the painting.

The sky is barely painted in – it’s embarrassing how much detail he's put into your figure standing among the flowery field, however. The looser ends of your outfit billow among the sunlit garden, a wide smile etched upon your face, flowers adorning your arms in bunches as you try to hold the huge bundle.

“It'll take some more time.”

“Can I see?”

He hesitates. You smile.

“You.. can, however.. I'd like to keep it a surprise.”

You nod, softly,

“Okay. I'll see it when it's done.”

Sunday returns your smile. You continue reading the pamphlet. Sunday takes the time to admire the curve of your lips against the backdrop of sunlight through the window.

–——

You suppose you should have seen this fever coming.

You curl up further on your side, tapping away at a laptop on your hospital bed, putting on a show and huddling further into your additional blankets provided by the hospital. It helps provide background noise in case you want to zone out.

“Hm.. fever of.. 38°C.”

Sunday plucks out the thermometer from your mouth, before placing it on your bedside. His methodical hands mess with various sachets of medicine before neatly presenting a few of them on his open palm.

“You'll need these.”

He hands them over to you, along with a bottle of water. You eat your pills and settle back into your bed with a forlorn, disappointed sigh. Sunday only fixes your covers and tucks you more into bed.

Your eyes trail over to the canvas behind him, covered by a cloth, as Sunday dabs your sweaty forehead with his handkerchief.

“When can I see it?”

He hums, a bit in thought, as his hands continue to gently dab away the sweat on your skin.

“In a bit. I have to add a few details.”

“Okay.”

You close your eyes, your weakened body pulling you into sleep as you feel the sensation of Sunday's lips press on the corner of your brow.

And that was the last you'd seen from Sunday.

Not that you're upset – of course not. He's a Seraphim. He surely has much better things to be doing, really. You can't imagine it must have been easy gaining such a status in the first place. And then having to look after a sickly human in the last days of their life? Work must be drab to him.

That being said, you do wish he'd at least tell you where he is.

Your eyes drift over to the overcast weather outside your window.

You hope he took an umbrella with him.

——

“Sunday.”

“Mr. Wood.”

Sunday's voice is sharp – he doesn't bother coveting the offensive edge.

“You've been astray for too long.”

…

Silence.

His gloves creak in protest as his fingers dig into his palm, curled fists at his side.

His smile remains stiffly on his face as one of his gloved hands pushes up his glasses.

“Surely, do you think such blasphemy is tolerable within the Family?”

“I–”

“Im asking, child.”

Sunday breathes out, strained.

“I didn't mean to–”

“Such excuses do not work–”

“Stop cutting me off.”

Sunday's voice wavers at the end. He feels his heart pushing into his throat. The raven on the man's shoulder only bristles, the smile on his face unwavering under the shadow of his black umbrella.

“..You haven't changed, little sparrow.”

Sunday's jaw clenches more. But before he can speak, thunder cracks in the background. His head snaps to look at the distant skies covered by heavy clouds.

It smells like rain.

––

“Take responsibility. Take responsibility for all you have done!”

Sunday's voice cracks through the strain on it.

To respond is to acknowledge. He knows that filth won't respond. But he tries anyway.

He and his sister – they weren't sinful. They were children. They weren't filthy, they were confused. They weren't sinners, they were hurt.

They were children.

Through countless tortures and rotting, had Sunday realised his training was nothing but an escapist projection of his Father's own fears.

The fears his Father could not absolve in himself – he would, through the raw, blistered hands of a child that did not know better.

Or perhaps it was enjoyment. Or to fulfill his ego. To bolster his position as the shoe that grinded on dirt like him.

Perhaps all of those reasons.

Children with clammy hands, who plucked flowers and grabbed too tightly onto the swing, with scraped knees and a face that basked in the innocence of an eternal Sun.

Children, who were perfect to hurt, for monsters like him. Monsters like him who revelled in the pain of the innocent in lieu of unproven salvation.

By the time Sunday yells his throat raw, thunder bellows in the background in equal magnitude, the rushing rain doing little to calm his heated face and drowning out the pattering of your feet as you rush to find him in front of the fountain where you both had made a wish.

“Sunday!”

Your voice calls out in the distance, his head snapping to you.

You shouldn't be out here.

He turns to embrace your approaching figure in the distance, his feet thrumming and moving to meet you in the middle, but before he takes a step–

“Do not move.”

The words still his bones. He breathes out, watching your slowing figure, swaying from the fever. Water sloshes lazily along his polished shoes that leaks out from the overfilled fountain. You'd wished for freedom here.

“Do not defy.”

He bites his lip, his teeth gnawing the flesh and drawing blood. He kept his wish in his pocket.

“I have commanded you, child.”

He will always be a sinner.

A sinner who is undeserving of a salvation as beautiful as yours.

“Your thrall is fizzling out.”

He smiles, and Sunday wishes he could rip his teeth out.

You sway, stopping to catch your breath, feeling yourself almost lose balance before steady arms wrap around your body.

“You're soaked!”

You whisper, feeling the dampness of his suit as he pulls you into a hug.

“We need to leave.”

Sunday leads you back, ignoring the weakening tether of his divinity.

Sunday looks back for the final time – a lonely, black umbrella in front of the fountain, it's owner seemingly vanished.

——

You heave, as Sunday helps you back onto the bed. Somewhere along the way, your body only grew weaker. You feared something worse when you could barely feel your pulse, but the way your legs seemed to almost stop working by the time you reached your room, it was already true.

Your figures shuffle as Sunday paces around the room, trying to find extra blankets and covers provided by the hospital, cursing under his breath as he knocks over a few items, some getting caught in his leg. You try not to pay attention to your failing body, but its hard to ignore how much deja vu you're getting right about now. Only this time – the pain is worse. The chill running up your spine at your spike in fever is nothing compared to the cold that's slowly chipping away at your fingers, and the pain in your body is reaching an all time high, making your breaths come out in labored gasps. It feels like a scrawny animal trying to rip out of your body.

He hurries over to you, swaddling you in blankets and sheets in layers, furiously rubbing your arms as he tries to warm up your body from the biting cold of the rain. Thunder strikes through outside your window, and in your fever haze, you catch a glimpse of the painting Sunday had meticulously made. He must have accidentally pulled the cover while pacing around.

Sunday calls out to you, snapping you momentarily out of your haze, but not completely. You were losing consciousness, and fast. His voice is shaking, despite how much he tries to appear calm.

He knows.

But you can't bring yourself to pay attention. Things float over your mind like an ephemeral dream, your eyes only focused on the golden sunlight of the painting.

There's Sunday. And you. The garden is beautiful, and the sun illuminates your hands, reaching out to each other.

The gold is beautiful.

“Hey..”

You call out, making his panicked actions stop abruptly. His hand cups the side of your face, so gently, as if you're porcelain under his hand.

“What is it?”

“Sunday..”

Your hands tremble, moving up to hold his face, your fingers brushing away stray droplets from the edges of the wings over his face. The pain ebbs in you, and you recognize the familiar action as you sense it dimming, coupled with the sweat forming above Sunday's scrunched up eyebrows. He's trying to salvage this pain.

“Can I see your eyes?”

Sunday breathes out, leaning more into your hands. His hands move from supporting your back to your shoulders, gently pushing you back onto the bed, but his forehead presses against yours.

You can feel his trembling, cool breath fan the lower half of your face, his own hands clasping over yours. The pain starts decreasing terrifyingly fast, making you afraid of just how much Sunday is trying to take it from you and into himself.

“Sun..”

Your voice whispers out,

“You don't have to–”

“I love you.”

The words hang between you two. You hear the faint sound of him swallow. There's dried blood on his lips.

“I love you too. The painting is beautiful.”

Sunday sucks in a breath, his wings bristling at your words. You feel your hands slowly lose strength.

His wings move. You see his eyes.

And they hold the most beautiful, striking golden Sun.

You're caught breathless for a moment.

Sunday's hands are still clasped over yours as they loosen and threaten to fall away from his face. You sense the trembling in them as he fosters your pain.

“I'm scared.”

His eyes close, eyebrows scrunched in worry and uncertainty.

“I'm here. I always have been.”

“I don't want to die.”

Sunday shifts, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead,

“Wherever you go, I'll follow you. There is nowhere you will go that I won't reach you.”

You close your eyes, tears roll down the sides, and Sunday kisses them away, continuing to whisper against your skin,

“I promise. I'll find you. In every universe you are painted into.”

You smile, laughing bitterly through your tears, your voice cracking a bit,

“You didn't make a wish, you know..”

Sunday presses his forehead to yours, his hand fishing out the coin he'd kept from his pocket in a hasty manner. He holds your hand, and gently places the coin in the centre of your palm.

“Because this will be a promise. I will follow you unto the borders of fate. Wherever you will lead I shall look to.”

You smile, through your tears,

“It's not fair. It's not your wish.”

“It's mine. And I am yours.”

He kisses you. His lips are soft against yours. You can taste his blood.

“I will always be yours. In death, if not in life.”

His hands encase yours. You feel the ridges of the coin press against the inside of your closed hands.

You die in love.

He is a curse; a man rotten by the grime of his humanity, and thus he turns to you for the salvation of his divinity. But how insignificant such a thing is to him – He cannot bless you, so he curses you. You who were never blessed now face the miracle of an angel like him. A miracle crafted by the defiling hands of a sinner that cursed you for love.

And he shall follow you unto death like one.

——

Acheron thrums her fingers against the cool counter of her desk, her eyes trained on the register in front of her.

She doesn't know how to tell a story.

Not yours, anyway.

Black Swan hums in the background, fixing the frame over the wall,

“You doubt yourself too much.”

Mei stays silent for a moment, then sighs. Her office chair creaks as she leans back in it. A few moments of silence, followed by a soft peck on the bridge of her nose. She opens her eyes to see her wife's, the woman slightly leaned over her.

“I'll be home late. I promise I'll spend more time with you soon. I just..”

Black Swan hushes her, her fingers lazily tangling themselves in the woman's violet hair.

“I know. You have a long day ahead, isn't it?”

Acheron sighs again, closing her eyes, remembering your body in the morgue. Just about a few hours ago, when the rain was hitting it's hardest, she and her wife had taken a relaxed break. Black Swan had drawn some predictions for her, and the sounds of thunder had soothed her troubled mind back to a still pond.

She opens her eyes again, and watches the precipitation on the window, the gentle sunlight peeking through the breaking clouds, the sound of rain coming to a slow halt. She watched a raindrop sliding off of the leaf of a plant right outside her window. Black Swan has already returned to her own devices behind her.

In just a few hours, you'd been alive. By the time the clouds broke apart and the rain stopped, so had your heart.

And here you were – back with a story of your own, instead. Acheron wishes she was better at storytelling. She hopes her wife can do it justice.

She turns halfway in her seat, looking back at her wife.

“..do you mind.. lending me a hand?”

The lavender haired woman only hums in response, the clicking of her heels as she approaches her again. She places three cards on Mei's desk.

“Which one calls to you?”

Mei takes a minute, analysing the duplicate designs of each card's back. She taps on the one on the left. Black swan picks it up.

“that's good.” She hums, closing her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking back at Mei,

“But I mean, you. Which one really calls to you?”

Acheron hesitates once again, before tapping the middle one.

“Perfect.”

——

“You were right.”

Mei says, before gently blowing on the hot liquid in her teacup,

Black swan hums, lighter at the end, questioning what Mei was mentioning.

“That painting looks better in the centre.”

At this, the lavender-haired woman's mouth makes an ‘o’ shape, before curling into a smile. She flicks a few cards before gathering and tapping the bundle on the table to even them out.

“It does. Aren't you pleased I'm looking after your office decor?”

Mei only hums in response, looking over to the said painting hanging above her office chair, her face hidden by the sunlight of early morning.

“Someone ought to have helped with such a..”

Black Swan trails off, perturbed by the sterile, clean look of Acheron's office where she has yet to make changes.

Mei only laughs under her breath at her words.

“You're right.”

Black Swan's gaze joins her lover's, as she looks to the painting aswell.

The golden sunlight peers through the tender reach of your hands with a certain, blue-haired angel. The same angel who was buried beside you.

“Ah, look.”

Mei looks down at the table, following her wife's fingers, as they tapped on the table.

“What do these cards mean?”

“Take a guess. Tell me what you feel from these.”

Her hand lands on Mei's – slightly coarse from her line of work. Her lithe fingers trace the band of her engagement ring.

“Something.. new. A fresh start.”

She smiles. Her dawn-colored eyes trail to the sidewalk just outside, watching a pair of lovers walk hand in hand under the newly uncovered Sun after the night's rain.

——

“Morning.”

You whisper, leaning down and gently kissing the corner of your husband's brow. He sighs, and shifts, burying his face further into the pillows. It's soon followed by arms that move under the covers to wrap around your waist, forcing you to stay seated beside him. You simply chuckle.

“Goodmorning.”

He replies, his voice soft with sleep. You ruffle the soft tufts of his blue hair.

“Sleep well?”

“Mm. I..”

He opens his eyes, half lidded and blurry with sleep, looking up at you. You both stay silent for a moment.

“I had a long dream.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

He sighs, before slowly sitting up, and burying his face into your neck, and then leaning his body weight onto yours, making you lay down on the bed.

Hm. So this is how it's going to be.

You know your husband too well to know this is going to turn into a drawn out cuddling session. Your hand raises and brushes through the soft, blue locks. You're giving in anyway, because who are you to deny your lover?

He only holds you impossibly closer at that.

“I made coffee. It'll get cold.”

He hums at that.

“It's 10 in the morning, you dork.”

“Ah, didn't notice.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the top of his head. He presses a kiss to your neck in return.

“You haven't shown me your painting yet.”

He stays silent. But then, he shifts, his arms hesitantly letting go of you.

That seems to have gotten him going.

He gets up, and shuffles out of the room. A few moments later, he returns with a small canvas wrapped in a cloth. He hands it to you, then returns to sit beside you, burying his face into your neck once again.

“Wrapped too, hm?”

“It's your birthday.”

You smile. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your brow.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You haven't even seen it yet.”

You unwrap the cloth from the canvas. Your smile only widens at the painting.

There you two are. Your house is behind you two, and there's your garden that you've painstakingly taken care of.

You chuckle, pointing to a few, scattered reds across the greenery,

“You included my carnations.”

His hand comes up to wrap around yours, before bringing it up to his lips, and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course I did.”

You set the painting aside, before getting up and stretching, popping a few joints.

“Come on, I'll make you some fresh coffee.”

You reach your hand out, and he takes it, getting up on his feet as he lets you lead to the kitchen.

———

There's a strange shop that you've recently discovered.

It pops up just about whenever, wherever. A strangely elusive personality culminated by the repeated disappearance and the mysterious purpose of the shop tends to pull you in.

You had visited the shop before – but the memory is fuzzy. You don't remember having anything you'd like to buy. Photo Albums, mirrors, tarot cards, polaroid cameras, antique equipment and trinkets, and strange candles. It was when you were on your way home from work that you decided to take such a detour. Perhaps.. that must've been what it was. Regardless, you decided you'd want to visit the shop again with your husband.

The opportunity was pretty perfect; your schedules aligned, the weather was considerably not so miserable, and you managed to find the shop in time.

It's a bit of a chance opportunity, considering how your husband has taken a liking to a bird that recently ended up in your backyard – the poor thing was scuffled. It's wings were broken and it barely survived through the night you two found him.

Ever since, he'd been collecting photos and capturing the little thing's recovery, bit by bit.

You smiled to yourself, humming in contentment as your arm was looped around his snugly, basking in the warm glow of the early Sun, walking in a leisurely pace as your husband continued to flick through photos on his phone.

The weather was especially nice today – the rains had stopped a while ago and the time window was perfectly in between cold breezes and a warm atmosphere. You eyed the gentle swaying of newly sprouted weeds and grasses, a thicket of flowers and so on, at the edge of the sidewalk connecting to the wall of a barrier.

The wall would end a few ways ahead, replaced by (slightly worn) fences, as the rest of the land came into view the more you two walked ahead. Your husband would occasionally fill in the silence with little facts he would remember of, while you scanned the vast scenery of the green land behind the fence.

It was a cemetery. The tombstones were warmed by the Sun – or you at least think so, the way a cat seems to be lazily draped over one. There's a hugely amassed tree a few ways up the tombstones, and there lay two solitary ones, just enough distance from the tree for the light to reach under and illuminate them.

You wonder if they're warm. You wonder if the grass is soft, and the dirt is coldly comforting. You wonder who they were – lovers, spouses, friends. Perhaps they were holding hands through their graves. Another cat sprung from behind one of the tombstones, gracefully approaching the one asleep sunbathing, stomping around the little flowers growing beside the specific tombstone.

You see them greet each other. You see the cat lovingly bathe the sun-kissed one. It's tail lazily draped over the tombstone flicks, drawing your attention to the name. Nico. Below it, reads, Have faith in a tomorrow.

The fence cut the sight a little short as you two walked ahead.

You think for a moment, almost disregarding the smallness of the thought amongst other things in your head.

“Ah, I don't think I've shown you this one.”

Your husband speaks, leaning over to show you a spontaneous photo of you on one of your dates. You both had taken a detour and rested near the fountain. That must have been when, as you smiled, looking at the photo.

But the thought still lingered quietly in your head.

To be woven so delicately and strongly into someone else's tapestry, until the strings frayed long after your deaths.

What it would take, you wonder.

———

Akin to your habits of detours, and keenly aware of your likings, your husband politely guides you to a cafe you two had visited once (he, thankfully, does not mention the audible growling of your stomach. Coffee is not a good, neither a fulling breakfast.)

You two spend a handful of hours there, simply relishing the downtime you two have together. Hushed, soft conversations, hands held over the wooden table that stayed linked as you two finally made your ways to the strange shop.

It was small, but the arrangement of the trinkets (and perhaps the placement of the lighting) made it look more spacious inside. You two talked at the front where, you presume, the owner of the shop was. A lavender haired woman who spoke in a hushed, sweet tone. Nothing else was off about her except her hypnotizing gaze and the knowing look in her eyes. You two would take your time sorting through the shop, and eventually your husband would pick a photo album.

The woman offered to print a few select photos, and you hesitantly agreed. Although technically this was a strange shop in itself, something about it prickled your skin the wrong way.

So, you waited outside for him as he discussed the details, choosing to admire the carefree and relaxed atmosphere of the day outside.

After a moment, your phone buzzed, and that was your signal. You headed inside, and found your husband listening carefully to the lavender-haired woman instructing on how to take care of the album. As soon as you catch her eye, she smiles at you, and waves. You wave back.

“Good to go?” You ask, looking at your lover in blue.

“Sure is. Feel free to drop by anytime you need some more help.” The woman chimes in, smiling lazily at you, her chin cradled on her hands, her elbows propped up on the counter as your husband fiddles around with the album a bit more.

“Alright.” He says, after a moment, satisfied with his inspection. “We can leave.”

You smile at the woman again as a thanks, she simply waves you two off as you leave. The chiming of the little bell over the door resounds for only a moment as she watches you two with a fixed gaze leave and walk away.

“Hm..”

She hums, her fingers grazing over the plethora of cards sprawled in the pop up desk below. Her finger lands on a card.

The Hanged Man.

“Mei was right.” She smiles.

———

341 notes · View notes

belit0 · 4 months ago

Note

Hallo :D

can you do Indra, madara, shisui, itachi and kakashi with a reader/darling who has the same ability as Uta from One piece?

Some clarifications!

First, in this blog, I write exclusively about Uchihas, ranging from Indra (Ōtsutsuki) to Sasuke (only if someone explicitly requests him to be added). I do not work with any other character as a main focus, so Kakashi is left out.

Secondly, I have never watched One Piece, but my brother is a hardcore fan of that anime, so I turned to him for information, in addition to conducting my own research online. I hope this is at least somewhat close to what you expected, hehe.

(As a fun fact, that character’s ability and aesthetics remind me of Seraphine from League of Legends).

Indra

Indra does not take kindly to illusions, nor does he tolerate power that dares to tamper with control—his control.

The first time he hears (Y/N)’s voice, he feels it settle over him like silk and steel all at once. A spell, subtle yet inescapable, threading through his mind with an artistry he cannot deny. His instincts bristle; his body stills.

For a fraction of a second, he almost falls.

Indra rips himself free with sheer force of will, eyes narrowing. A slow exhale, sharp as the edge of a blade. -You dare?- His voice is quiet, unreadable, but the weight behind it is crushing.

He steps forward, deliberate, his presence eclipsing the space between them.

-You believe yourself a goddess, weaving false worlds with nothing but a song?- His fingers brush against her jaw—soft, deceptive. -How fascinating.-

Yet despite his words, Indra is not immune. He remembers the sensation, the pull of her voice. It lingers in his mind like a curse.

And it is infuriating.

Madara

Madara has seen genjutsu, crafted illusions so intricate they blur the line between reality and dream. But this? This is different. This is not chakra. This is her.

And that makes it infinitely more dangerous.

The first time (Y/N) sings, he feels it immediately—his body resisting, his mind aware, yet something inside him is compelled. It is not forced. It is not invasive. It is natural. As though he was meant to follow.

His Sharingan activates on instinct, attempting to dissect the trickery. His lips press into a thin line as he watches her, expression unreadable.

-Hn.- A slow chuckle follows, dark, amused. -A power like that could overthrow empires, little one.-

Then, after a pause—low, considering—

-Or make gods kneel.

His gaze sharpens. It is not often that Madara feels genuine intrigue. But she? She is dangerous in a way he does not yet fully understand.

And that makes her irresistible.

Shisui

Shisui is used to control. To bending perception, guiding sight, influencing will. But (Y/N)? She doesn’t just alter perception—she owns it.

The first time she sings, he doesn’t even realize what’s happening at first. His body relaxes; his thoughts slow. It is not the forceful pull of a genjutsu, not a twist in his vision. It is pleasant.

Too pleasant.

The moment he catches himself, his eyes widen, a startled breath escaping his lips.

-Whoa—wait, hold on— His laughter is immediate, half in shock, half in admiration.

He stares at her, eyes glinting, utterly fascinated. -You didn’t even try, did you?-

A grin spreads across his face, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it—something keen, almost hungry.

-Damn, (Y/N).- His voice drops slightly, just enough to be dangerous. -What am I supposed to do with a woman who can control me without even lifting a finger?-

And the worst part?

He likes it.

Itachi

Itachi recognizes power in all its forms. And (Y/N)’s? It is both beautiful and terrifying.

The first time he hears her voice, he does not react outwardly. No sharp intake of breath, no visible falter. But internally—

It is disarming.

The Sharingan activates immediately, analyzing, dissecting. But there is nothing to see. No chakra signatures, no threads of illusion. It is simply her.

His throat tightens. Dangerous.

-Your ability is… unique.- His voice is even, but his fingers twitch ever so slightly at his side. He does not meet her eyes immediately. -Do you use it often?-

When she smirks, his stomach knots.

It is not often that Itachi finds himself at a disadvantage. And yet, (Y/N) is proof that power does not always come from violence, from steel or fire. Sometimes, it is soft. Sometimes, it is a song.

And that—that unsettles him more than anything else.

74 notes · View notes

midnightdraftsblog · 25 days ago

Text

.・。.・゜✭・ᴋɪʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋʟᴇ・✫・゜・。.

summary: what if it was flipped?

pairing: cato x fem! reader

warnings: it’s the hunger games

words: 4.5k

part two

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

You wake up slowly but early, feeling anxiety slowly crawling through your body at the thought of the Interviews coming up. You knew you had to sparkle, but you also knew that the outfits Seraphine had put you and Cato in for the parade had gained you attention. There was one issue, Katniss and Peeta also had made an impression.

Shaking off some thoughts you crawl out of bed and brush your hair, wanting to look at least acceptable before you go off to see Seraphine and her team.

Lux, you had learned was in charge of your hair. When it was the parade you hadn’t paid much attention to the other members, but seeing as you were stuck with them until Seraphine was ready, you had to learn their names.

He slicks back your hair into another bun- this time with little red gems added into your hair. You had the same “dagger-crown” adorn on your head. Satia, who worked on your makeup, kept it relatively simple- a silver shimmering eyeshadow on your lids, with a blood-red lipstick on your lips.

Then finally there was Trella, she had been painting your finger and toe nails with a similar shimmering silver polish that matched the eyeshadow.

You look into the mirror, recognizing yourself but yet not at the same time. You looked fierce, **like you were meant to be a Career in District 2**. You didn't feel like an outsider.

After a few moments Seraphine comes in with your dress, she has it covered but you could see the shining red and shimmering silver peeking through. “Oh darling, you look lovely! Would you close your eyes? I absolutely need this to be a surprise!”

With a smile you close your eyes and feel velvet drape onto your body, Trella and Lux help you step into a pair of heels. “Open your eyes, dear! You look absolutely sparkling!”

You open your eyes, staring right back at you in the mirror was a floor-length body hugging gown made of a holographic black velvet that shifts between obsidian and silver under the lights. The fabric is embroidered with the same little red gems but this time arranged to take on an armor pattern.

It was beautiful, slightly more out there than you would have preferred, but absolutely beautiful. “Looking like this you will do fantastic with your interview, darling!” Seraphine says with a smile, hands grasping your shoulders and squeezing you. You smiled back at her- you admired her words, she had this flair that was easy to draw anyone in.

Soon its time for you to go, the interview takes place on a stage constructed in front of the Training Center. You walk with Seraphine and the others to the elevator, meeting the other team in charge of Cato.

Cato looked really good. He wore a black button down shirt- the same material as your dress, and his pants black to match. What stood out was the silver jacket he wore, it was the same silver that littered your body, and along the collar was a few of the little red gems.

Once the elevator opens, all of the tributes are lined up ready to take the stage. You all waited sitting in a big ar throughout the interviews. You wish you could replace Katniss’s place and go last.

You spot Caesar, it was shocking how similar he has looked throughout the years- of course that was due to surgeries and procedures. Your eyes linger on his blue hair, you thought it was better than previous colors he had chosen.

Snapped out of your daze your hear the buzzer ring, signaling that Marvel’s three minutes were up and now it was your turn. Taking a deep breath, you feel Catos hand leave a lingering touch on your arm as you walk off and onto center stage, smiling over at Caesar you shake his hand then sit down- waiting for him to start his own game.

His eyes rove over you, you think you might feel them linger on the skin the dress didn’t cover. His hand, however, held yours gently and he grinned at you- flashing his pearly white teeth and dimples. “Well, well, well. Hello Y/n!” He starts, shifting so he’s facing you. He leans back, crossing his legs over one another. “You sure dazzle like no other! How are you feeling tonight?” He asks with that same smile still plastered on his face.

“I’m feeling great, Caesar!” You say with a smile, waving out towards the audience. “That’s fantastic! Now tell us, how does it feel to be absolutely shining!”

You give another smile, this time followed by a laugh, “Oh it’s quite amazing, my stylist and her team truly did an incredible job”

“They outdo themselves more and more every year.” He says with a smile, leaning forward a bit. He hums, pretending to think for a moment. “Tell me Y/n, how does it feel knowing that the games are so soon? Do you think you’re prepared well?”

“Yes! I’m incredibly proud to be given the chance to represent my District in the games” You say with another fake smile- the words feeling like poison coming from your mouth.

“Ah..that’s very interesting..” Caesar mumbles, head placed in his hand- so he knew your past. The entire government does, and their puppets as well.

“Interesting indeed…”

Caesar knew about your past, of course he did. He hums once again, “Can I ask you a bit of a personal question, dear?” He asks, keeping that smile plastered across his face as he watches you- almost like a snake watching a mouse.

“Well as long as it isn’t too personal! A girl needs to have some secrets!” You say with a laugh, hearing the audience laugh along with you.

He laughs, “Of course! Can’t have all the secrets exposed.” He says jokingly, leaning back a bit and crossing his legs back over. “Now, I want the truth,” He begins, his eyes roaming over you again. “Do you have anyone special back home?”

You give a smile, “Now Caesar, a girl should never talk about a relationship..not with so many people around!” You say with a laugh, knowing your time is almost up.

He lets out a laugh and smile, “You are a cheeky one, aren’t you!”

“Now, just tell us one last thing…do you think you can win it?”

You feel your heart racing in your chest, doubts and thoughts swirling through your head. “Of course I can! With a get-up like this I have to!” You say with a fake smile.

Caesar lets out a smile and laugh, “Just wonderful! That Ladies and Gentlemen was Y/n L/n tribute from District 2! Isn’t she just magnificent!”

You wave as you off center stage and back to the arc. Watching as Cato takes the stage. As soon as Caesar starts introducing him the crowd goes wild, loving his confidence and attitude.

“So Cato, you’re a fighter?” Caesar asks,

Cato responds almost instantly, “I’m prepared, vicious and I’m ready to go.” Everyone roars after that, absolutely eating it up.

“Now Cato, just one more question before you go was your outfit planned to match your fellow tribute?” Caesar asks with a smile- awaiting Catos answer.

“That it was, she looks beautiful and it’s only right my outfit matches hers.” Cato replies with a smirk.

The crowd starts going absolutely mad over the interaction, they found it beyond sweet the two of you had purposely dressed with each other in mind.

“So, does that mean there’s more to it than meets the eye?” Caesar asks, shifting in his seat in anticipation. Cato smirks, and looks over at the audience.

Cato leans a little closer, “Between you and I?” He asks, as the crowd leans forward- eager to know what hes going to reveal.

Caesar nods, eager to hear. “Of course.”

The room falls silent, waiting to hear Catos answer.

“I guess you could say there is.” Cato finally says, his smirk growing as the audience lets out another round of cheers.

“Wow! Ladies and Gentlemen, Cato!” Caesar says, getting up from his seat with Cato, raising his hand.

What.

You fight the urge to look up at the screen showing you, but you could feel your face flushing up.

Cato walks back over and takes his place by you, strategically slipping his hand into yours- you fought the urge to pull your own away, but whatever he did, whether you liked it or not, gained a lot of attention.

You watch as Katniss comes back up from her interview- everyone absolutely loved her. Then it was Peeta, and the same shock fills your body as he reveals his very own crush on Katniss.

You all stand for the anthem, but once its over you and the other tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. You get stuck with Marvel and Glimmer, eyes averting from theirs the entire time- although you could feel Marvel’s eyes on you for much longer than they needed to be.

As soon as the doors open to your floor you rush to your room- but already find Cato sitting on the bed. “What the hell was that?” You ask, unsure if they anger was from Caesar, the stunt Cato pulled after the constant back and forth, or if it was from knowing what was going to happen in a few hours.

He smirks as you barge into your room, standing up with his hands in his pockets as you storm over to him.

"What do you mean 'what was that'? I was just answering a question." He says with a shrug, taking a few steps closer to you.

You cross your arms over your chest, frustration and anger bubbling up inside you. "Don't play dumb! You know exactly what I'm talking about."

“I said we would get a long and work together, I just did something that’ll help you considering your background” Cato barks out, the word background coming out of his mouth like it was infected.

Now you remember why you found him insufferable. He thought he was better than everyone else.

“I was doing perfectly fine on my own!” You say, face flushing up in anger.He scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he took another step closer.

"Yeah, your little show was really convincing." He said sarcastically. You could feel his annoyance radiating off of him, his face only a few inches from yours.

"Oh, and what do you mean 'considering my background'?" You asked, now feeling your own irritation growing. “Please enlighten me Cato, because apparently that’s all everyone can focus on!”

He rolled his eyes, frustration etched across his face.

"You really need me to spell it out for you? Fine.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes bore into yours, the words he says next like a dagger stabbing at your already sore and tired heart. “Everyone knows what your mother did, and everyone knows the consequences of her actions.”

“Oh so I’m the consequence of her actions? I’m the disappointment?” You seethe out, eyes glaring straight into his. He lets go of your chin, a scoff escaping from his mouth. "No one said that-" he starts but is cut off as soon as you speak again.

"Then what did you mean by that?" You say, your voice rising slightly. “Because clearly that’s what you were getting at, right?”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I was just trying to help, alright?" He said, the intensity in his voice was still there. He didn’t like being attacked. He definitely did not like being put into a corner.

“What’s wrong?” You hear Brutus ask from your doorway, apparently your two mentors, Pex, Seraphine and her team had just gotten back and heard the ending to your argument.

“He just made me look bad!” You say, growing more annoyed as the seconds went by. “Y/n he’s helping you out- most people in the Capitol know about your parents, he wants to put a good light on you and our District” Enobaria says, coming into your room and placing a hand on your shoulder.

Bullshit. He was doing it to make himself look good- to look like the golden boy of the Capitol.

Brutus rolled his eyes at your outburst. "Look, the kid is just trying to help-“

"Oh yeah, real helpful.” You interrupted with a scoff.

Brutus just shook his head, he knew you were stubborn, but this was getting ridiculous. “That’s enough.” He said sternly, giving you a warning look.

Your mouth clamps shut, you knew you couldn’t go against anything that Brutus said. “Mrs. Y/n..he was simply just trying to help the favor in yours and his odds, we had talked about this strategy before and it seemed to be an ideal one” Pex breaks in, his Capitol accent on clear display.

You take a breath, calming down. Okay maybe he was trying to help, you still wouldn’t and didn’t believe it.

There’s a small amount of silence that follows after Pexs’s words, “Did my reaction make it seem believable?” You ask, eyes going up towards the others.

“It certainly did, darling! The blush, and then the holding hands! Absolutely perfect!” Seraphine says with a smile- clearly showing she’s on for romantics.

“Okay...good” You say, taking a step back from Cato. You feel Seraphine's hands on your arms as her and Enobaria start talking to you as you all make your way to the dining room for dinner.

After everyone is done eating, you all watch the replay of the interviews. You look confident, like you were meant to be in District 2. Cato looked confident- arrogant and that he was ready for the games to start. Then you were blushing with Cato at your side, hands intertwined- it looked like he was blushing as well?

Once it finishes, you could only hear the chattering between Pex and Seraphine. You knew at dawn you and Cato would be waking up, it could be the last time you wake up in a bed.

You knew Seraphine and her team will be going with you and Cato- but Pex, Enobaria and Brutus will be at the Games Headquarters.

Enobaria pulls you into a hug and gives Cato a smile, “Remember to bring honor and pride to our District..”

You give a hesitant smile at her words, while Cato just smirks, “I will don’t worry”

Of course he will, he was practically raised to do this. Like it was his entire purpose in life. You look towards the silent Brutus, “Any advice?”

His lips were pressed into a thin line, but he still looked at you with that sternness in his eyes, always the mentor. “Don’t die,” He replied.

That was all you were going to get from him, and deep down you knew it was true.

You nodded at his words, knowing that was the only advice needed. “Stay away from the Cornucopia Y/n, it’s not meant for you” Brutus adds on, eyes straight on you. He looks towards Cato and gives him a firm head nod, whatever words he needed to say were simply turned into a movement.

You look towards Cato, who was having a hushed conversation with Seraphine, now that was shocking to you. You would think Cato would hate her guts. You didn’t have much to say to him, or rather you didn’t want to say anything to him.

You assumed your last words would be said to Cato when he drives a spear through you. Glancing away from him and the others you go back to your room without a sound.

Taking a quick shower you scrub off the makeup and the gems in your hair. You slip into one of the nightgowns the Capitol provided, laying in bed you let out a sigh as you toss and turn. Ten minutes go by, fifteen, twenty then thirty-five.

With a sigh, you turn in bed and toss the covers off of your body. You silently slip out of your room and wander off to the usual window you would sit by- but you're surprised to see Cato already there.

You don’t say anything as you approach him- he doesn’t move at all eyes focused on the dancing Capitol people along the streets.

He doesn’t look over at you, even though he knew you were sitting down next to him. He just remains silent, continuing to look out the window.

After a few minutes of silence pass, he finally speaks up. “You should be asleep.” He says bluntly. You don’t say anything, glancing over at him, “Why aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer your question, still looking out the window. “No answer?" You ask again, tilting your head to get a better look at him.

He just lets out a sigh and leans back, finally looking over at you. “I don’t sleep much before the Games.” You knew he was probably looking forward to the Games, he had to be excited to get his hands on something real.

"You on the other hand should definitely be sleeping." He said, looking back out the window.

He was probably correct, but you had no intention of even attempting to go back to sleep, you wouldn’t manage even if you tried.

“I know..” You mumble out, “I know I won’t make it very far into the Games..so once you get back to District 2 will you tell my Mom I love her?” You say, eyes on him as you move to go back to your room.

You knew your Mom wouldn’t make it far without you, losing your Dad already hit her hard.

He turns quickly, reaching his hand out and grabbing your arm, keeping you from leaving.

It was a swift, quick action, you almost didn’t even realize it until you looked down at your arm to see his hand holding you in place.

“Goodnight, Cato..” You whisper before slipping away from his grip- he didn’t put up much of a fight.

Once back in bed you slip in and out of sleep, the only thing in your head was the question of “What would Cato look like once he finds you in that arena? How will he end your experience as a tribute.”

Seraphine comes to your room at dawn offering you a simple outfit to wear, “I don’t get to see Cato?” You ask, not even sure why you asked or why it bothered you.

“Unfortunately not, darling”

Before you know it the tracker was inserted into your forearm and you’re slipping on the clothes give to you. Simple tawny pants, a red shirt, sturdy brown belt and a thin hooded black jacket. There were soft leather boots as well.

Seraphine pulled your hair back into another bun, adding those little red gems too. “I wasn’t sure if I would be allowed to add them, but they let me..it suits you, darling” She says with a bittersweet smile.

You take a breath, silently looking at Seraphine- she quickly pulls you into a hug then guides you to the circular metal plate. “Remember to kill with a sparkle, dear” She says, you could see the tears forming in her eyes.

The cylinder begins to rise, surrounded in darkness for what felt like ages. The metal plate pushes you out of the cylinder into the open space. You blink as your eyes adjust to the sunlight- feeling the wind blow against your frame, barely making out the trees surrounding the area.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”

Sixty seconds. You had to wait sixty seconds. Looking around you spotted Katniss- she looked just as confused as you, like she was trying to come up with a plan. Then a few tributes away from you, you see Cato. His eyes were set on you. You could see his fingers twitching, he wanted to bash someone’s head in badly.

You took another shaky breath in, maybe he wanted it to be you.

The gong rings out, you immediately sprint towards whatever shiny piece of metal was laying in the field- it was a knife! You could see the boy from District 9 fight with Katniss for a bag she grabbed.

Here’s to hoping that Katniss liked you

Throwing the knife it pierces through the boy's body- you could see the blood splatter onto Katniss’s shocked face, his body slumps to the ground. “Run!” You shout out to Katniss, running towards her and yanking the knife from the boy. She just stands there unsure what to do, “I said run!” You shout again, grabbing her hand and forcing her to go with you.

Your adrenaline was so heightened that you didn’t realize what you had done.

You and Katniss continued to run until the woods had hidden you from most of the other tributes, without exchanging any words the both of you switched between a run and a jog for a while.

“I’m surprised you haven’t killed me yet” Katniss says, walking side by side with you. You wait to reply, unsure of what to say.

The only sound around you was your own ragged breathing, a bead of sweat was steadily making it’s way down the side of your face. Your fingers were wrapped around the handle of the knife tightly, trying to think of a sentence and respond to her.

“I don’t think you’re my biggest threat right now.” You say in response, eyes glued to the surrounding trees around you.

“Oh yeah? Then who is?” She says with a scoff, her own hands tightly holding onto the orange pack she got.

“Cato” You reply almost instantly. This startles her, “Aren’t you two in love?”

You forgot. The lovers, that was Catos act.

“I love him..but I know he has a lot of love for our District, one love has to be stronger than the other, right?” You reply, the words coming out of your mouth being partially true.

She stays quiet for a few moments, eyes focused on you as she thinks things over.

“I guess…” She replies, her gaze now on the forest around her.

There’s another bout of awkward silence, neither one of you knew what to say to each other, or how to even be around each other.

Soon the cannons go off. That meant most of the fighting had died down for now. You could hear Katniss count the number under her breath. Eleven. Eleven dead in all, meaning there were thirteen left to play.

Cato had to be alive, there was no way he wasn’t. He was probably with all of the other Careers, Marvel, Glimmer and maybe the two from District 4.

Glimmer. She probably had herself wrapped around him. You could feel an emotion swirl around your body, it was crawling through you. No- that doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any feelings for Cato.

Katniss stops walking and slumps down next to her pack, sifting through the contents inside of it. She mumbles something about there being no water, gets back up and continues to walk along. You silently follow alongside her.

An hour has passed, “We should sleep soon..” You mumble out quietly, looking towards her. “Yeah” You hear her whisper out. Before you two decide to settle down she starts to place wire and set two twitch-up snares in the brush. You didn’t ask any questions.

Just a few minutes of walking you both stumble upon a willow tree, you watch her start to climb it and you follow along and do the same. You both loop your belt around the tree and to your waist.

Night falls then you hear the anthem that shows the death recap. Soon the anthem fades out and the sky goes dark for a moment. The faces of the eleven dead tributes begin to show in the sky. You could see Katniss tick them one by one on her fingers. The Capitol seal is back with a final musical flourish- then darkness and the surrounding sounds of the forest follow suit.

“Rue and Peeta made it..” You whisper quietly, the silence had been killing you.

She lets out a sigh, “Yeah..they did”. She says, looking over at you. The silence between you was still there, it was an awkward feeling.

She leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree- “You should probably try and get some sleep”

“Probably” You mumble out, but all you could think of was Cato. Your thoughts mixing with your imminent death by his hands and the feeling of his hands on you. When he did get to you, you hoped he would try to make it quick.

You slowly fall asleep, only a few hours pass until you jolt awake to the sound of a snap. Your eyes fly around the area, glancing over at Katniss she’s nodding her head to the direction of someone trying to start a fire. You knew better than to do that.

You silently sit there as dawn approaches, at this point you and Katniss were simply waiting for this tribute's death. Suddenly you could hear several feet running, then there was screaming and pleading from the person, it was a girl. There was laughter that followed her death.

It had to have been the other Careers, you knew it was. You could recognize Catos laugh. “Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking.”

So it was Cato.

You could hear them heading towards you and Katniss- you tense. What would Cato do once he found you?

They stop suddenly, talking about the lack of the cannon and who should go check to see if she’s actually dead. “We’re wasting time! I’ll go finish her and let’s move on!” You look towards Katniss, she looked like she was going to fall out of the tree. It clicks in your mind- it was Peeta.

What was Cato doing with Peeta? He despised you for talking to them during training.

“Go on, then, Lover Boy,” You could make it out to be Cato, “See for yourself.” You could hear someone scoff, maybe the boy from District 1? Marvel was his name. “You aren't one to talk, you're still on the hunt for your girl.” In an instant you joined Katniss on falling off the tree, but thankfully you both were held in place by your belts. You could see her eyes tracking the glimpses of Peeta she got through the trees.

You could make out them talking about killing off Peeta, but someone, you think it was Cato, interjected. “Besides, he’s our best chance of finding Y/n and that other girl.”

So they were on the lookout for you and Katniss, it didn't necessarily shock you, you and Katniss both received high scores. As Peeta had approached them again they quieted down, “Was she dead?” Cato asked, “No. But she is now” Peeta replied, right after his response the cannon fired. “Ready to move on?”

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

notes✨: The fourth part will be in the works but I am devoting some attention to my Formula One Carlos Sainz fic! Once more, leave any comments, suggestions or requests!

part four

#the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #cato hadley #cato hadley x reader #cato x reader #hunger games x reader #hunger games x you #katniss x reader #thg x reader #katniss everdeen #thg x you #thg cato #thg series #thg fanfiction #cato x you #cato hadley hunger games #cato hunger games #the hunger games katniss #the hunger games peeta

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555aturn · 4 months ago

Text

Whispers of Zaun⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

chapter three

chapter two if you haven’t read it

summary- Two days pass since Sevika was at the shop. Apothecary receives interesting intel and she spends some time at the local brothel and gets an unexpected visit.

warnings- SMUT THIS CHAPTER!! sesbian lex, fingering+oral (oc!recieving), reader is gettin the job done (she’s a giver) Sevika is her own warning:)

words- 3.5k

a/n- yes smut witchy!reader is finally gettin some and sevika tension omggg i was biting my lip while writing their scene and ofc readers brothel scene🫦👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 this is my first time writing smut so bare with me annnd I recommend listening to "slow like honey" by Fiona Apple while reading

minors don’t enter for real this time!!

It has been two days since Sevika’s last visit. I tidied up the shop a bit to distract myself; I bought Hex a little lilac collar; I got tons of new herbs and flowers, and Seraphine came by before opening to have tea and breakfast with me. Now I’m alone, alone with my thoughts again.

I shake away the uneasy feeling that swarms around me and go to light my candles instead. I have candles that line almost every flat surface in the shop. Not just for the aroma and decor but for Janna. Janna is the ancient wind spirit that has kept me and many citizens of Zaun strong and holding their heads high.

In the depths of Zaun, where smog chokes the sky and the wind fights to weave through rusted metal and crumbling stone, the lighting of a candle is more than a mere act of illumination—it is an offering. A whisper of flame against the dark, a plea carried on the smoke to something unseen, something ancient.

Janna does not ask for worship, nor does she demand tribute, but those who still believe in her—those who feel the faint kiss of a breeze when all should be still—light candles in her name. They are sacrifices of warmth to the wind, gifts of fleeting light in a place where daylight is scarce. The flame flickers, wavers, and dances, feeding the unseen currents that coil through the city’s veins. Some say she listens to the prayers carried in the curling wisps of smoke, that she breathes them in like a promise, like a memory of the world before Zaun sank into shadow.

And when the wind howls through the alleys, tearing through the smog and carrying away the heavy air just long enough for the desperate to take a full breath—those who know Janna’s name whisper their gratitude and light another candle.

At least that’s what my father told me before his end.

As I am lighting the last candle, my bell rings. “Hey,” I hear from behind me. It was Ran.

“Well, hello dear, long time no see. What does the boss want?” I ask while crossing my arms over my chest.

“Oh, I'm here to actually chat this time.” They chuckled. “So what’s up withcy? I got some free time before I have to pick something up for Silco.” I chuckled. Ran came up with that nickname after their first visit to the shop. “Oh, are you now? Well, what would you like to talk about, Ran?” I asked them. Ran took a seat on my sofa with a huff and pretended to ponder in thought at my question. “Hmmmm. Oh! Actually, I heard that Sevika came by a couple of days ago… She was hurt pretty bad, and she came to the shop, right?” I swallowed but kept my cool and nodded. “Yes, that is right, she did. Let her sleep on the sofa, and she left at dawn before I could check her wounds.”

Ran nodded while stretching out their limbs. “Wow, I am shocked, honestly. She’s usually pretty stubborn when Singe tries to help her out, but it’s rare that she gets really hurt, you know.” Ran kept talking, but I wasn’t really listening. I just stared into the pillow that’s placed next to them on the sofa. I tuned back in when Ran let out a little yelp. I looked at them, and it was just Hex terrorizing them.

“Aw honey, that’s my new cat, sorry. Hex! Stop that.” I scolded the feline. Ran laughed and petted the cat on her small head. I could have sworn I saw Hex glare at them.

“So, uh, did Sevika say something, or did Silco mention it?...” I asked Ran. Ran leaned back and put an arm behind the top of the sofa. “A bit of both? I was in Silco’s office when she walked in, and she said she went to you, but then I got kicked out, so I don’t know what they talked about. Sorry.”

All I did was nod. “Don’t be sorry, hun, I was just… curious.” I said with a small smile.

Time to run some errands.

The streets of Zaun hum with life as I weave through the crowds, my satchel bouncing against my hip. The scent of damp metal and distant oil fires mingles with the sharper tang of herbs hanging from vendor stalls. I pluck a bundle of dried lavender from a familiar cart, the old woman behind it nodding in silent recognition as I drop a few coins into her wrinkled palm.

Further down, I stop at a rusted-out pharmacy, ducking under a low-hanging pipe to step inside. The air is thick with incense, sharp and medicinal. I run my fingers over rows of glass jars, selecting a fine white powder I know will mix well with my own remedies. The shopkeeper doesn’t ask questions—he never does. I hand him his payment and leave without a word.

My last stop is a small, tucked-away stall near the Sump. The vendor, a man with ink-stained fingers, hands me a wrapped bundle of thick parchment. Good paper is hard to find here, and I’ve learned to take it when I can.

With my errands complete, I make my way back, the familiar hum of the Lanes settling into the background. It’s only when I push open the door to my shop that the bell jingles softly and then I pause.

Sevika is here.

She’s sitting on my couch like she never left, one arm draped over the backrest, her mechanical fingers tapping idly against the fabric. Her boots are kicked up on my table—on the same spot where her lipstick-stained mug sat days ago.

She glances up, unimpressed. “Took you long enough.”

I blink at her, then sigh, closing the door behind me. So much for a quiet afternoon.

I set my things down onto the counter and then go back to flip the sign in my window to ‘closed.’

“What are you doing here?” I asked calmly but sternly—or attempted to, at least. I was still in shock. She stood up from the couch, her red cloak hanging on her shoulders as she did so. “Silco wants a few things.” Sevika replied bluntly. “Well, why didn’t he send Ran?” I asked back, genuinely asking since they were in the area earlier.

She shrugged. “Why? Not happy to see me?” She walked closer to me. I stepped back slowly and hit my counter, successfully pinning me against the wood. Sevika now loomed right over me, just looking into my soul. Without looking away from me, she reached into her pocket, unfolded a piece of paper, and gave it to me. At first I just stared blankly at it, but then I shook it off and read that it was a supply list. Sevika stood still, almost caging me in, leaving me against the counter, but I squeezed out and pretty much ran to the back.

I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. What in Zaun just happened? What was that about? What is this feeling? I just stood there for a long minute trying to recollect myself and snap out of whatever daze I was in.

After what felt like hours, I emerged from the beaded curtain with a basket of everything Silco wanted. Sevika was leaning against the counter, the counter she practically pinned me against. I walked behind it and set the basket down loudly.

“20 coins, please.” She smirked and reached into her pocket and pulled out a little chain purse and set it down next to the basket. “Thanks, doll, I’ll be sure to tell Silco of your cooperation.” And with that, she grabbed the basket and walked out. I stood there dumbfounded. Was this some sort of test? A test of my patience? Janna, she is infuriating.

After that, the shop remained empty and quiet. It was just Hex and I doing nothing on a Friday night. Until I got an idea. Was it a good idea? Probably not. I wanted to take a visit to the Gardens. The Gardens is the most popular brothel in Zaun and another place that fell to Silco’s advances, which is why I have not been there for… pleasure. Sometimes I will go because one of the girls fell ill and needed a remedy for small things like that only in business.

But tonight I wanted a distraction; no, I needed a distraction. My encounter with Sevika would not leave my head, and I don’t know why. It made me livid.

So I went to my room to rummage through my drawers and my closet for something sexier to wear. My eyes landed on this velvet burgundy dress I stole from a boutique up in Piltover. I was doing business and conducting research there two years ago. I never had an event to wear this little number to. Until now.

I locked up the shop and put my coat on, then made my walk over to the Gardens. I always keep a pocket knife on me when I walk out at night. Even though most people avoid me since I am known to be the ‘weird lady who still worships Janna’ or because I sell poisons so abused women can murder evil men.

When I arrived at the double doors, two burly men walked out, clearly high out of their minds, and cackled loudly. Gross. Men literally irk me to my core. I walk in the building, and it’s just like I remembered. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, the soft magenta lighting all throughout the place, and the women talking in sultry tones. Exactly what I needed. I see Babette at the front desk. She recognized me immediately.

“Wow, darling, is it really you? Come, come, let me get a good look atcha.” She said with her low, raspy voice. It made me smile; it’s good to see an old friend. “Why yes, Babette, it is me in the flesh.” She smiles with her signature crooked grin. “None of the girls are ill, so what can I do for you?” I bit my bottom lip for a moment, mentally preparing myself for what I am about to ask. “Well, I was hoping I could spend an hour with one of your beautiful girls.” I said, low but loud enough for her to hear me. This made Babette smirk. She surveyed the room to see if anyone was free or roaming around alone, and while she was doing so, I felt someone’s presence behind me, taking my coat off. I turned around; it was a beautiful tan woman with this deep red hair that almost looked like blood. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you, taking my coat.” This made the woman blush. She bit her lip. “Hmm? Can I at least get a name, sweetheart?” It was like I was back in my element. This made me realize how long it has been since I have been with a woman. It felt good.

“Cherry, my name is Cherry, but you can call me whatever you want.” She said with a pretty smile. She had such plump lips. “Oh, Cherry, very pretty; that explains your hair too.” I said to her, and I took her free hand that wasn't holding my coat. “Would you lead the way to your room, sweet thing?” She nodded rather enthusiastically. I chuckled under my breath as she dragged me away. Babette winked at me.

She brought me to a small, cozy room with a mini bar and a bed flush against the wall. Cherry hung my coat on a hook near the curtain. “Would you like a drink?” I nodded. “Sure hun, what do you have for me?” I said in a sultry tone. She squatted in front of the bar, examining the bottles on the last level of the cart. “Bourbon, vodka, tequila, and rum.” I walked over to lean against the wall so I was standing in front of her crouching form. “Hm, I will have a glass of bourbon, please, dear.” She nodded with a grin and stood up to pour it for me. “Thank you, darling.” She nodded and blushed. She stood in front of me closely. I took this as an opportunity to admire her little outfit as I sipped the strong liquor. She had on black lingerie and a black sheer babydoll dress over it. Cute.

“You look very pretty, Cherry.” She blushes a deep shade. “Thank you, miss.” I chuckle mid-sip. “No, honey, you can call me by my name.” I tell her my name, and she repeats it, testing it on her tongue. It sounded like a melody coming from her lips. Cherry came closer towards me; now I can feel her warm breath against my lips. With the heeled boots I am wearing, I’m a little over two inches taller than her.

“What would you like tonight?” She practically purred. I set my drink down onto one of the coasters on the bar top. “Oh sweetheart, I just want to explore you, take care of you, and feel your gorgeous body under mine. If that’s alright with you, of course.” I said flirtatiously. She was back to blushing. Not surprised since I’m sure she didn’t get this treatment a lot. Always having to please others, and the poor girl doesn’t get taken care of the proper way she should. “Really, baby? Is that what you want?” She was closer to me now, her body almost completely flush against mine. Caressing my velvet-clad shoulders. I nodded slowly. “Mhm, sweetheart. Just wanna make you feel good.” I said simply. And with that she reached behind me to untie the strings that kept the top half of my dress up. When it fell, I felt her trace her dainty fingers across all the intricate patterns and lines of my back tattoo. I got a hold of her waist and brought her back to standing in front of me.

“Can you strip for me, darling?” I asked in a soft, sensual tone. She nodded and slipped her sheer dress over her head and got to work on unclipping her bra. Holy Janna, her breasts were beautiful. It has truly been too long. When she was completely nude, I gently guided her to the bed and pushed her onto it. She caged me in between her smooth legs. I leaned down and started to softly kiss her jaw and her throat. She was so soft against me. She let out a soft moan of my name as I bit the spot behind her ear.

“What do you want?” I asked, muffled into her neck. She whined. “I need words, baby, just tell me it’s okay.” I said, moving away from her neck and looking into her brown eyes. Cherry took one of my hands that held her waist and interlaced our fingers. “Want you to touch me, p-please with your fingers.” She stuttered and blushed. How cute. “Yeah, that’s what you want? All you had to do was ask for it, my love.” I cooed. And with that I stood on my feet to shuck off my dress fully this time. Revealing my bare body to her. She unashamedly licked her plump pink lips. Almost made me blush. No one has looked at me like she was right now in years. I crawled back on top of her and roughly kissed and bit at her neck. Not too hard, though, because I knew the rules around here. No marks.

I eventually kissed my way down to her tummy and gave her soft kisses and licks around there and towards her hips. I nibbled there too. I couldn’t resist. While I gave small, almost feather-light kisses to her thighs, I trailed my fingers to her core. But not touching, almost taunting her to ask for it again. She whined, and I smirked. “What is it, baby? I told you to use your words if ya wanted something.” She squirmed under me. “Your fingers, please; I want them so bad, baby.” She said in a desperate tone. Exactly what I wanted. With that I spread her pussy with two of my fingers. Gosh, she was so damn wet. Getting my fingers all sticky and slicked up.

“Hmm, so wet, honey, is this all for me?” I teased her. She nodded rapidly and bucked her hips into my hand. Urging me. That’s all it took. I gently eased my middle finger into her warmth. I pumped it for a few seconds, then curled it on her sweet spot and held it there. She moaned and bucked her hips more. I chuckled, then kissed and sucked at her thighs. I eased my pointer finger into her pussy, then curled it to meet the other one. She arched her back and howled my name.

I kissed her inner thighs and then kissed her clit, gently teasing her. Then sucked hard. She grabbed at my hair and moaned louder than the last time. I smirked against her bud and pumped my fingers harder and faster into her. I can feel her clenching around my digits, so I licked at her clit before taking it into my warm mouth again and curled my two fingers into her g-spot until she evidently came all over my face and coated my hand. I let her ride her high, and I gently eased my fingers out of her. I placed one last kiss on her clit and leaned back onto my haunches.

I licked and sucked my fingers that were covered in her sweet essence and moaned louder than I wanted to. I swear she tasted like a cherry pastry. She was panting softly and very flushed in her face and chest. But she locked her eyes onto mine as I sucked on my fingers like it was a lollipop. I let go of my fingers with an audible pop and smirked down at her.

“How was that, darling?” I asked. She laid her head back against the comforter and had a dopey smile on her face. “Mmm, very good.” I smiled and leaned down to leave a soft kiss on her lips.

I got off the bed and found our discarded clothes. I folded up her outfit and placed it next to her on the bed. I redressed myself and put my boots back on. Cherry watched me hazily. I walked over to the side of the bed she was lying on and kissed her cheek. “Take care of yourself, baby. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” And with that I opened the curtains and walked back to the counter and found Babette. She had a knowing grin on her wrinkled face.

“So how was your time with Cherry?” She asked as she was organizing papers. “Wonderful, do I pay with coins or papers?” I asked. “Oh, coins please, dear; let me go fetch her bin.” I nodded. I leaned against the counter and observed all the little trinkets that adorned her space. I was so in my head that I didn’t notice the presence looming over me. Until I heard her voice. “Oh well, look at what we have here.” Sevika. Fuck me. I slowly looked up at her. She had her usual red cloak covering half of her body, and she had a smug grin on her face. She raised an eyebrow when I wasn’t responding and just looking at her. “Piss off.” That’s all I could come up with.

“Oh? That’s how you greet me? I thought we were friends, sweetheart.” She kept that smug grin on her face. “I’m shocked you came to a place like this, doll; didn’t know you could get down and have fun.” She kept going. “Who did ya, see, huh? Bet it was Miguel, or do you like a big man? Was it Ezra?” She wouldn’t shut up. Luckily, Babette came to the rescue. “Alright dear, how much are you givin' Cherry?” That shut Sevika up really quick. Guess she wasn't expecting me to sleep with a woman.

“25.” I answered simply. I was desperate to leave as quickly as possible. “Have a good night, dear.” And with that I adjusted my coat and started to make my way towards the exit. But Sevika got a hold of my arm. “What the hell?” I said to her in a gruff tone. “You have a smudge there.” Before I could figure out where and what she was talking about, she used her flesh hand to wipe at my lip. Then let me go and walked to the desk. Like she didn’t just touch my lips. What the fuck.

The walk home was cold and long. I unlocked the door to my shop and lay on the couch with a defeated sigh. No matter what I did or who I did, Sevika just won’t leave me alone.

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prythianpages · 2 years ago

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Stuck on You | Part Two

cassian x reader | Cassian can't seem to forget about you since the night you met seven years ago. he thought he would never see you again but when he does, he's determined to make you his. this time for good.

“Don’t worry. She likes your butt and fancy hair. I know, I read her diary.”

[series masterlist]

A/N: you finally get to see the line above in this part! I also used writing prompts from @dumplingsjinson to help me with some of the dialogue. you can find the original post here.

Warnings: fluff, some angst, mentions of death

“Y/N?”

You spun around, eyes widening in surprise and recognition. “Cassian,” you whispered, your heart dancing erratically within your chest as you took in the sight of him.

“You remembered my name.” A warm grin spread across his face at the sound of his name coming from your pretty lips.

"How could I ever forget?" you remarked with a gleam in your eye and your words left him blushing, the memory of the night you two spent together surfacing vividly, even after all these years.

His presence was powerful and imposing, just as you remembered. Towering over you, his tall and muscular frame overwhelmed your senses, accompanied by the intoxicating scent of cedar and balsam that clung to him. His warm amber eyes lingered on you, a silent exploration that seemed to trace every inch of your figure as if he were undressing you with his eyes before lifting to meet your gaze once more.

You couldn’t shake the disbelief that gripped you. You thought you’d never see him again.

“Cassian?” A small voice interrupted, pulling your gazes away from each other and back to the young girl. “I’ve never met you before.”

Cassian studied her. She could only be a couple of years old, no older than a decade. A fact that set the gears in his mind into motion. Could she be–

“Cassian is–is an old friend of mine.” You swiftly explained to the young girl. “Cassian, this is Seraphine. My sister.”

The blood returned to Cassian’s face as a small wave of relief washed over him. Sister. This little girl was your sister, not his long-lost secret child. There was a hint of amusement on your face when you caught the look on his.

“Can you be my friend too?” Seraphine pleaded with her eyes. Her tiny hands grasped onto Cassian’s larger hand and she urged him to take the seat next to her. He looked at you and you could only send him an apologetic look, gesturing with your hands to take a seat as well, mouthing at him that your little sister didn’t have many friends. He felt a tug in his heart at your revelation so with a kind smile, he took the seat next to Seraphine.

“Of course.” Cassian replied. “What is it that you were drawing earlier?”

Seraphine squealed in excitement as she pulled out her notebook, showing him the pegasus she had been drawing. Cassian bit back his laugh as he took in the drawing that had a delightful charm, one only kids can bring to their creations.

You heard your name being called out again and when you turned your head, you saw that one of your tables was in need of more ale. You shifted your weight from one foot to another as you contemplated. The tavern was small enough that even when your sister would sit alone, you could still keep a watchful eye on her. You knew your sister would be in safe company with Cassian, but you could sense that he wanted to talk. Over what you had no clue but you were itching to know too.

“Are you hungry?” You asked and before he could respond, you simply nodded your head as you decided for him. “Let me bring you something to eat as well. I’ll be right back.”

Cassian watched as you disappeared behind a worn counter. You returned to the table but only for a brief moment as you placed a plate of warm food in front of him and then you were running off to attend to other tables, pouring out drinks and smiles with ease.

A smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about you. He only knew you for one night but that had been enough to know the spark you carried. Yet, the spark that had drawn him in seemed dimmed now and you carried yourself as if burdened by a weight he couldn’t quite discern.

“You’re staring.”

Cassian startled. He had forgotten all about the young girl beside him. “Sorry.”

Seraphine giggled and she grinned as she looked up at her new friend. “You like my sister.”

His own lips curled up into a shameless grin. “Yes, I do.”

“Will you marry her?”

“Maybe,” Cassian replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

He did like you.

One of his biggest regrets was not asking you to stay with him. After your bodies were spent from the immense amount of pleasure you drew out from one another, he had cuddled you against him with the pretense of keeping you warm but in reality, he just wanted to hold you longer. You had laughed as you plucked a leaf from his hair. The two of you had spent the rest of the night talking and he had already planned to take you out for a nice breakfast in Velaris once the restaurants would open. However, at the break of dawn, you had insisted you had to leave and you were running off before he could ask where to find you again.

He did look for you, though. He begged Azriel to help him find you but he had only been able to track down the friend you had arrived at the bonfire with. She was the one who had given him the unfortunate news that you had left Windhaven with your mother, not knowing where you had gone to.

“Papa liked my mama so he married her.” Seraphine said, her voice growing quiet. He failed to notice the quiver of her lip. “He liked her a lot, said it’s why they had me…but mama got attacked and then he died…y/n won’t get hurt will she? You won’t die, will you?”

Seraphine’s eyes lined with silver and she began to cry.

Cassian frowned and turned to her, his hand wiping away at her tears with an ache in his chest at what her words insinuated. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. No one is going to hurt y/n, not under my watch. And don’t worry about me, munchkin. I plan to live for a long time.”

Your head whipped at the sound of your sister crying. In an instant, you were at the table, dropping to your knees as you brought Seraphine into your embrace. Her tears dampened your shirt but you did not care. Your hand ran through her hair while the other rubbed against her back in a soothing manner, your own eyes brimming with tears and realization dawned on Cassian as to why your spark had dimmed.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me.” Cassian repeated, following after you and helping you pick up the dirty plates scattered along the now empty tables as you prepared to close the tavern.

After Seraphine had settled with the help of some hot cocoa, Cassian had pulled you aside to talk, ignoring the wary look Azriel kept sending his way. They had stayed much longer than they had planned. Rhysand had already worriedly called into their minds, demanding to know why and for them to return. But Cassian refused to leave without knowing more about you and what had happened over the past seven years.

It was then when you explained everything, starting with the night you two spent together and why you had to leave so quickly after. You hadn’t planned to attend the bonfire celebration that night but it was your last night in Windhaven and you gave in to your friend’s request, deciding that you would finally let go and be free, have fun for once. No one would remember you, anyway, or so you had thought.

The very next morning you and your mother moved back to her home camp, Ironcrest, where she married an old friend of hers who promised to take care of not only her but you as well. Your mother had been treated poorly, shunned by Ironcrest, after falling victim to a high fae that had been visiting. She found out she was pregnant shortly after. It was already hard being a female in an Illyrian war camp and even more so being a single mother. The two of you moved from camp to camp, wherever your mother could find a job to sustain the both of you until you were old enough to help. You had only lived in Windhaven during the years of the war, which explained why Cassian had never seen you before the bonfire.

The man your mother had married was nice and kind, a stark contrast among the many Illyrian males at the camps. He was able to take care of her and you well with the help of his tavern and he was elated when he found out your mother was pregnant. He had hoped for a son, as most men do, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when he finally got to meet sweet little Seraphine.

Your family had lived a quiet and peaceful life, doting over Seraphine who had brought you all such joy. That is, until, a drunken Illyrian male, who had remembered your mother from years before you were born, decided to attack her out of spite. Of course, your step-father had intervened. He had not been trained as a warrior like the drunk Illyrian male had but that didn’t deter him from fighting back until his very last breath.

You had been the one to find your murdered mother and step-father. You’d never forget the gruesome sight of their lifeless bodies or the immense anger that had cursed through your veins when the murderer was let go and freed, having convinced the council that he had acted upon honor. You were utterly and completely helpless as your mother’s body was not granted the same respected burial as your step father was.

It had been a couple of months since their deaths and in those months, you focused on taking care of Seraphine. You were grateful your step father had taken you under his wing and taught you about business here and there. It was what helped you run the tavern on your own. That and the false pretense that your step-father’s brother, the only living relative Seraphine had that neither of you have met, was overseeing the business.

You settled the last of the dirty dashes into the bin, deciding that you would take care of them the next morning. You leaned against the counter to face the persistent Illyrian male before you. He took this as his opportunity to approach you, bridging the distance between you.

“I can take care of you and Seraphine.” He was so close and when he leant down, your eyes fluttered shut momentarily at the warmth radiating from him, your body aching for more.

“Was I really that good? To have the Lord of Bloodshed remember me after all this time and offer to take care of me?”

There was humor in your tone and Cassian was smirking at you. So you had also done a little digging at him after your night with him... He caged you in with both his arms and wings. “I think about you and that pretty cunt of yours so often. Sometimes even when I’m with other females.”

“You do?” You breathed in pleasant surprise, you had only meant to tease him. His words went straight to your core and you wanted nothing more than to give in to him, to feel him all over you.

Cassian felt a familiar cool caress–one of Azriel’s shadows–at the back of his neck and then it was yanking on his hair in warning. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, catching the way you composed yourself. He would’ve loved to tease you about it and if he had time, he would’ve loved to show you the effect you had on him. Even after all these years.

“I’m being serious though. My offer is not driven by lust or any ulterior motive but as a friend.”

“Friend?”

“It’s what you called me earlier.” He replied, a note of gentle reproach in his tone. A wistful smile played on his lips. “And while I would like to be more than a friend, that sounds like a promising starting point.”

“I’m sorry, Cassian, but I don’t think I can.” You frowned, crossing your arms against your chest, as you fought the urge to say yes. “I just–I don’t know.”

While he promised to take care of your little sister too, it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, you could tell he meant well and his offer was genuine. Your reservation was heavily based on the variability of it all. This life, as miserable as it was, is all you knew and for the moment, it was keeping both you and your sister safe.

Seraphine squinted up at the towering Illyrian male, who you had left her with while you talked with Cassian. He claimed to be Cassian’s friend. “Azriel,” he had introduced himself and when her curious gaze followed his shadows, he added: “Shadowsinger.”

“You don’t look like a Shadowsinger.”

“I’m a special kind.” Azriel’s lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “What does a Shadowsinger look like to you?”

“I dunno know. A performer maybe?” Seraphine replied with a shrug of her shoulders, giggling when a shadow brushed across her shoulders in a playful manner. She then studied Azriel again, taking in the numerous weapons strapped to his body and the strength he carried.

“Did you ever kill anyone?”

The hint of the smile dropped from Azriel’s face and he cleared his throat. “We’re getting out of subject here.”

“Alright Sera,” you nervously chided as you reappeared, Cassian trailing behind you. You rested one hand on your little sister’s shoulder while the other brushed against her cheek in a soft warning. You had heard snippets from their conversation and you were worried your sister’s curiosity had offended the Shadowsinger. “That’s enough questions.”

“It’s alright.” Azriel said, politely brushing off your concern. He then turned to his friend. “But we do have to go.”

Seraphine followed Azriel’s gaze and her lips curved into a pout. Slipping from your grasp, she ran to Cassian, tapping his leg to capture his attention. Cassian’s attention drifted back to the young girl and he crouched to be eye level with her, a fond smile gracing his lips.

“You’ll come visit us again, right?” Seraphine asked and with a sudden seriousness, she added: “Friends visit friends often. It’s a rule.”

“Sera–” You started.

“Of course I will.”

Cassian’s gaze locked with yours as he rose to his feet. He gave Seraphine a light pat to her head that had her giggling and then he was standing in front of you. You raised your brows in surprise at him. You thought declining his offer would’ve put him off, so you were surprised he still wanted to see you.

His hand reached for yours and without breaking eye contact, he brought it up to his lips. A small gesture that sent warmth flooding through you--a promise that he would visit again.

“Don’t miss me too much, sweetheart.”

You were at a loss for words, your thoughts a tangled mess. A feeble nod was all you could manage before awkwardly clearing your throat, realizing the weight of what you had agreed to. Cassian must’ve sensed your inner turmoil because he was grinning down at you in response.

He would’ve stayed longer, lost in the moment, if it weren’t for Azriel. The Shadowsinger’s gaze bore into Cassian’s back, prompting him to hesitantly release your hand. He must’ve not been moving fast enough because Azriel was pulling him by the cuff of his leathers, sending a nod in farewell to you.

Even as Azriel guided Cassian out the door and you returned your attention to your little sister, Cassian’s gaze was stuck on you.

Cassian, true to his word, returned a couple of days later, bearing gifts. Flowers adorned with vibrant hues for you and a plush pegasus that resembled the strange but endearing drawing Seraphine had shown him the night they first met. Of course, your little sister was over the moon with him, beaming with delight as she ran around the tavern and clutched the pegasus to her chest.

He returned almost every other night, the two of you falling into a weekly routine with ease. There were times where his visits would be delayed but he always told you ahead of time.

On bustling evenings, he would keep Seraphine company at her table, often coloring and drawing with her. During the quieter tavern nights, the three of you would have dinner together. He would flirt with you shamelessly every time he could, keeping it age appropriate whenever Seraphine was within hearing range but on the moments he had you alone, the teasing words slipping from his lips were sinful. Flirting was new territory to him and he loved trying it with you, rejoicing in every reaction he drew from you.

As the nights would wind down and you closed up the tavern, he would walk the both of you home. If Seraphine was sleepy, Cassian would scoop her up in his arms with a gentleness that melted your heart. On more spirited nights, she would ride atop his shoulders, giggles echoing through the dimly lit streets as her tiny wings spread and she pretended she was flying. Always, his free hand sought yours, and sometimes, you would let him intertwine his fingers with yours.

He was patient with you and you knew that if you had told him to stop, he would. Yet, deep down, you found that you didn’t want him to. You found a quiet pleasure in his presence, a sentiment that bloomed into something more just as the flowers he gifted you did with each shared moment.

The tavern was alive with the lively hum of laughter and clinking glasses as Cassian entered. His eyes quickly sought you out. You moved through the crowd effortlessly, your stubborn demeanor evident in the way you navigated the bustling tavern. His fists clenched when one of the males got handsy with you, his hand trailing too low on your back as you tended to his table and he fought the urge to teach the male a lesson when he saw your reaction. But then you were forcing a small smile on your face that didn't reach your eyes and laughing at what the male said with such practiced ease, it tore at his heart a little.

Cassian turned his head, unable to bear the sight any longer. If he did, he worried it’d lead his simmering temper take over and disrupt the atmosphere of the tavern.

He spotted Seraphine at her usual table. She was too engrossed in coloring one of the drawings before her, her small tongue peeking out and eyebrows furrowed to notice Cassian. Her pegasus plush, which she had named Scrump, was resting beside her coloring book.

When Cassian spotted you behind the bar, he decided to finally approach you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he rested his elbows on the counter and leant in toward you.

“Hello, Sweetheart.”

Your hand trembled slightly, flustered by his presence as you poured him a drink and you were grateful that there was a physical barrier between the two of you. “Why is your face so close?”

Cassian didn’t miss a beat, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that had heat pooling in your stomach and heart fluttering. “Well, do you like it this close?”

When you didn’t respond, Cassian continued. “You know what I just realized?”

“What?” You asked, deciding to entertain him while you handed him his drink.

His fingers brushed against yours, lingering for longer than needed as he took the drink from you. “How utterly adorable it is when you get flustered.”

You shot him a skeptical glance. “You did not just realize it.”

“No,” he grinned, bringing his drink to his lips. “But I wanted an excuse to point it out.”

“Cas Cas!”

Cassian pulled away at the joyous shout of his name and he turned around just in time to catch a beaming Seraphine into his arms. He spun her around playfully, a chuckle escaping him, and your heart felt a twist. As endearing as the gesture was, there was a lingering ache within you. It struck you that your little sister was forming an attachment to the Illyrian male, much like you were, and the uncertainty of it all left you feeling a sense of fear and vulnerability. The two of you had already lost so much.

As the night unfolded, Cassian engaged you in lively banter, sharing stories that drew genuine laughter from you. He learned more about you. Your dreams, your favorite songs and the tales you held close to your heart. The stubborn walls you had built seemed to soften with every visit.

He walked you both home that night. Seraphine had chosen to skip ahead of you two, singing an Illyrian nursery rhyme but his hand like always, was wrapped around yours. When you had reached your doorstep, you unlocked the door for your sister, instructing her to prepare for bed and that you’d be there shortly.

The door was left slightly ajar, in case she needed you, as you leaned against the wooden wall beside it. You opened your mouth to bid Cassian farewell but found yourself at a loss for words as he leaned in. His hand released yours only to cage you into the wall behind you with hands splayed on either side of you. He leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “You know, I’m starting to think, maybe, just maybe, you’re falling for me too.”

A blush tinted your cheeks and you met his gaze. Your playful scoff couldn’t mask the truth in your eyes. There was a softness there that hadn’t been there before. “Maybe you’re not as insufferable as I thought.”

Cassian grinned, the realization of progress sweetening the air. He leant down further, his breath mingling with yours as his gaze flickered to your lips and then back to your eyes. Your eyelids fluttered shut in anticipation but then the warmth grew farther and upon opening your eyes, you found him staring at you.

“What?”

“I just think it’s funny that even on your tiptoes, you still can’t reach me.”

You glared, not realizing that you had, in fact, been standing on your toes to reach his lips. In that moment, something sparked within you. Swiftly, you elbowed directly into his gut with ease and on instinct he leaned down with a groan, meeting your level once more. Seizing the opportunity, you captured his lips into a kiss and smiled when you felt him move his mouth against yours.

His tongue swept along your bottom lip and you pulled away, a smug look on your face. “Who’s laughing now?”

“Come here, you,” he said, his voice a breathless whisper as he leant down once more. With the help of his hand on the back of your neck, he guided you close, his lips pressing against yours. This time, when he slid his tongue along your bottom lip, you didn’t pull away, choosing to allow him in instead, tentatively opening your heart to the possibility of love.

Cassian didn’t visit the following day or the day after that. It had been two whole weeks since his last visit, the night you two kissed. You wondered if you had scared him away. Maybe, he realized he didn’t like you after all, reducing all you two shared to nothing but physical attraction.

These thoughts did nothing to soothe you and you couldn’t help it when the pain that had been lingering deep within your chest resurfaced as you noticed Seraphine’s head lift in anticipation every time the door to the tavern was opening only to be met with disappointment.

Finally, almost a whole month later, Cassian appeared. His cheeks were flushed from the cold winter air. Seraphine did a double take, her eyes widening in a mixture of joy and disbelief as she recognized her friend. She ran up to him, the question she had been asking you every night tumbling from her lips. “Cassian, where have you been? I missed you! Scrumps missed you too!”

“I’m sorry, little one.” Cassian frowned, patting the back of her hair as she clung onto his leg. “I missed you, too.”

You approached the two, arms folded across your chest. There was a look in your eyes he couldn’t quite discern–apprehension, perhaps– and it filled him with unease. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads up, Sweetheart. Rhysand sent me on a mission and–”

“It’s okay. You don’t owe us an explanation,” you were interrupting, motioning for him to follow you to the table Seraphine sat at every night. Your voice was quiet, a low murmur, as your next words slipped out of your mouth. “You don’t owe us anything.”

But Cassian heard it–the weight in your words. That unspoken ache. The unease in his chest grew. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The walls Cassian had once broken down were now back up and he hated the distance that had settled between you.

Since the tavern was quiet and idle, the three of you had dinner together and he dedicated it all to you and your sister, wanting to know what he had missed. He discovered that Seraphine had lost a tooth, chuckling when she eagerly showed him the gap where her front tooth once resided and the amusing whistling sound she could now produce. Relief washed over him when, finally, you smiled at him again over something he had said. It led you back to your usual banter, offering a fleeting but welcomed respite from the awkward tension that had momentarily taken hold.

You gradually allowed him back in, though this time, with a more guarded embrace.

“And what about you, my sweets?” Cassian’s attention was on you, wanting to know what you had been up to the past couple of weeks.

“It’s been quiet here without you.” You admitted, oblivious to the fact you hadn’t quite answered his question.

Cassian’s eyes brightened. “You missed me.”

You choked on your ale, bringing your hand to your chest. “I didn’t say that.”

Cassian turned to Seraphine with a grin. “She just said she missed me, right?”

“Definitely.” Seraphine replied almost instantly, mirroring the curve of his lips with a toothy grin of her own.

“Traitor,” you playfully accused your sister with a roll of your eyes. She stuck her tongue out at you and you chuckled. Not wanting to dwell on your small confession for too long, you shifted to rise from your seat, deciding now was the perfect time to return to your duties.

Cassian’s hand sought out yours, gently halting you. “Hey, since you missed me so much, why don’t you go out with–”

“Cassian, I told you. I can’t. I–” Your voice hushed, gaze flickering to your little sister, who finished her dinner. Grateful that she was engrossed in conversation with Scrumps, her pegasus plush, you added, "I have a lot to deal with right now."

Before you could say anything more, or he could respond, the call from one of your tables beckoned you away. An apology reflected in your eyes as you left, and Cassian watched with a hint of longing as you attended to your duties.

"Don't worry," Seraphine's voice drew his attention away. He turned to the young girl, who munched on her food with an air of amusement in her eyes. "She likes your butt and fancy hair. I know. I read her diary."

“She thinks it's fancy?”

Cassian's hand instinctively reached up toward his hair, currently tied up in a loose bun. Her innocent words stirred a spark of hope within him. Although you were stubborn, he could sense that you wanted--you longed--for him too.

He would not give up on you, refusing to surrender the love that continued to bloom within his heart.

[series masterlist]

tag: @kemillyfreitas

a/n: i watched lilo & stitch while writing this part and Cobra bubbles lowkey gave me Azriel vibes so I couldn't help but incorporate that small scene of Lilo asking him if he ever killed anyone lol. the next part might be posted tomorrow, depending on how far I get along with my studies for the day. i plan to finish this series soon <3

#cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian fluff #cassian smut #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian acotar #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #cassian acotar imagine #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #acotar smut #soy

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