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cup1drul3z · 2 days ago

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★ — Love at first bite

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 : ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 10.9ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : vampires, age gap, chubby!reader, arranged marriage, 1600s, dub con, parental abuse, slut shaming, depression, taboo, DARK ROMANCE, blood mentioned, a little bit of gruesome detail

A/N : i dont know if this fic will land well

Summary : You wake somewhere unfamiliar, safe in Sevika’s arms—but the bond has begun to bloom, and it’s changing you. As her world unfolds—full of danger, blood, and watchful eyes—you begin to understand what it means to be promised. Desire sharpens into something darker, and you're no longer sure where you end and she begins.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

You didn’t even remember closing your eyes.

It happened somewhere between the chamber and the hall—your head tucked against Sevika’s collarbone, your fingers tangled in the folds of her coat. Your body was weightless now, breath slowing, limbs no longer shaking. The thud of her heart beneath you pulsed like a lullaby.

Warmth bled out from your wrist where the bracelet touched her skin.

Her voice was low, steady.

“You’re alright, I’ve got you… just keep breathing. Just a little longer.”

But your vision was already starting to blur.

The world smeared at the edges like wet paint—light and shadow bleeding together, gold melting into red.

And then…

Red.

Blood. Thick and black in the candlelight, pooled across the white marble of the great hall like spilled ink.

Your fingers twitched.

You blinked. Hard.

Your mother’s body lay slumped across the base of the staircase, her hand still curled around her rosary. Her eyes open. Empty. A slice of red drawn across her throat like ribbon.

Your father was sprawled a few feet away—his chest carved open. One leg bent wrong. His crown cracked in half beside him.

You blinked again, heart stuttering in your chest, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

Sevika didn’t stop walking.

Past them.

Over them.

Like stepping through old leaves.

And they were waiting.

Six figures in total—standing in the center of the hall like a pack of wolves just done with the kill.

Eyes glowing. Blood splattered on velvet and lace. One of them—tall, wiry, and grinning—held a bloodied scepter like a toy. Another leaned against a broken candelabra, licking her fingertips.

You recognized her instantly.

Bright blue hair.

Eyes like frostbite.

She looked at Sevika and laughed.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, voice sharp with delight. “This place reeks, and they both tasted like rats.”

The others chuckled. One let out a low whistle. Another dragged a heavy ring from your father’s finger.

Sevika didn’t look at them.

She just held you tighter.

And walked through the front doors of the palace like she owned the night.

You didn’t say a word.

You couldn’t.

Your eyes fluttered closed again, your last thought a broken whisper in your chest:

Im scared of you.

But you didn’t let go of her coat.

Not once.

You woke to the sound of rain.

Soft and rhythmic, tapping gently against tall windows somewhere above your head. The air was cooler here, heavy with petrichor and the scent of old wood and dried herbs. You blinked slowly, breath catching before you even fully opened your eyes.

The ceiling above you was dark oak, carved with curling shapes—vines, maybe. Roses.

You weren’t in your room.

You weren’t anywhere you recognized.

The sheets beneath you were thick and clean, linen-soft, but your nightgown clung to you with dried sweat. The pillow beneath your head was still warm.

You sat up slowly, arms shaking, muscles sore in strange places.

Your heart began to race.

You looked around.

The bed was canopied in gauzy dark curtains. A fireplace crackled low across the room. A tray sat untouched on the table near the window—bread, fruit, tea, a folded cloth.

Someone had changed you.

Someone had bathed you.

You pressed a hand to your chest. The bracelet was still there.

The room was silent save for the fire and rain.

But you weren’t alone.

She sat in the corner.

Slouched in a heavy chair, one leg draped over the other, her coat open, arms crossed. Her short hair was mussed and still damp from the rain, eyes half-lidded but alert. Watching.

Sevika.

Her gaze found you instantly the moment you stirred.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry.

“You’re awake,” she said softly. No smile. Just the fact of it. “Good.”

You wanted to speak. To ask where you were. What happened. Who those people were.

But all that came out was—

“…you came.”

She exhaled once through her nose. Almost a laugh, but not quite.

“Took me too long,” she muttered. “I should’ve gotten you out sooner.”

You shook your head, vision blurring again, tears welling hot before you could stop them.

“You killed them.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I saw their bodies,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I thought I was dreaming.”

Sevika stood slowly, moving to the edge of the bed. She didn’t touch you. Just crouched, one arm braced on her knee, her voice low and even.

“You weren’t.”

You looked at her—really looked at her.

Her knuckles were bruised. There was blood still crusted along one side of her collar. She hadn’t changed.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“Are you going to hurt me too?”

Her jaw tightened.

“No.”

“You said I was promised.”

“You were.”

She leaned forward now, finally placing a hand—carefully—at your ankle beneath the blanket.

“But no one gets to own you.”

Your breath caught.

The room was so quiet you could hear the crackle of the fire and the rain sliding down the glass.

Your fingers twisted in the blanket.

You weren’t sure if you believed her.

But for the first time in days, maybe weeks—

You weren’t afraid.

You were just tired.

And warm.

And still alive.

You didn’t mean to cry.

It wasn’t like the sobs from the chamber, or the screams against the locked door. It wasn’t even about your parents, not really. It came slowly—quietly—as you sat there on the edge of the bed, the blanket bunched in your fists, your bare feet touching the rug.

The fire cracked softly in the distance.

Sevika hadn't moved.

But when your chest hitched, when your breath came sharp and uneven—she noticed.

She stood, slowly, and before you could say anything, she was there.

She didn’t ask.

She didn’t speak.

She just sat beside you on the bed, reached out, and pulled you in.

Her arms wrapped around you with no hesitation. No caution.

One broad hand cradled the back of your head as your cheek pressed to her chest. The other curled around your ribs, anchoring you there—tight, steady, warm.

And that was all it took.

The tears slipped loose, silent at first, then all at once.

Your fingers twisted in her shirt.

Your shoulders began to shake.

You didn’t know what you were crying for. Not exactly.

Not for your mother. Not for your father. Not even just for Sevika.

It was the chamber.

The blood.

The screaming—real or imagined.

The suffocating silence.

The days of not being touched.

The aching confusion of being wanted and warned about, of being locked up and then carried out like you mattered.

It was everything.

Too much.

And Sevika said nothing.

She just held you.

Her chin rested lightly on your head, her fingers carding slowly through your hair. You heard her heart—slow, steady, real—and her chest rising against yours with every quiet breath.

You cried until you couldn’t anymore.

Until the sobs turned into shudders.

Until the tears dried on your cheeks.

And still—she didn’t let go.

Not until you did.

You didn’t let go of her hand.

Not even when the silence stretched long again, curling thick in the warm space between you.

Your thumb traced the edge of the bracelet absently, the weight of it suddenly unbearable. You stared down at it, lips parted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why me?”

Sevika didn’t flinch.

She knew the question was coming.

She shifted beside you, the chair creaking slightly under her weight, her broad shoulders sinking a little with the breath she dragged in.

“Because you were promised,” she said quietly. “At birth.”

Your heart jumped.

You looked up.

She was watching the fire now, the orange light flickering across the sharp angles of her face, the cut on her brow still crusted and raw.

“You were a newborn,” she went on. “Still pink and quiet and wrapped in silk when your father signed the pact. They’d been bleeding soldiers for five winters. The humans were losing. So he called on House Vaedren. He promised his daughter—unmarred, untouched, bound—to our line. As long as she stayed pure, the alliance held.”

“And you…” Your voice shook. “You were the heir?”

Her jaw clenched.

“I was supposed to be.”

You blinked, sitting up slightly.

“What happened?”

Her eyes finally met yours.

And you saw it there. Buried behind the red glow. Regret.

“I ran.”

You sucked in a breath.

“I was seventeen. I didn’t want to be tethered to a cradle, to some helpless human child. I was angry. Arrogant. Thought the vow was beneath me.”

You said nothing.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, fingers laced together—tight, like she was holding herself together.

“But I came back,” she murmured. “Not for the court. Not for the crown.”

Her voice dropped lower.

“I came back for you.”

The words hit something deep in your chest. It didn’t make sense—it shouldn’t make sense—but the ache that bloomed in your ribs was real. You remembered the figure in the snow. The voice in your dreams. The way her arms wrapped around you like a shelter you didn’t know you’d been promised.

“But they said the heir died,” you whispered.

“They let them believe that. Gave the name to my cousin. Paraded him around in silks while I rotted in exile for breaking the vow.”

“And now?”

Her lips curled into something dark and unreadable.

“I took it back.”

Your mouth went dry.

“The court?” you asked. “The blood… the others… were they—”

“They followed me.”

“And my parents?”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

You swallowed hard.

Then: “So what happens now?”

Sevika leaned back again. One hand drifted up, brushing your hair behind your ear.

She studied your face for a long moment. Her voice, when it came, was low and sure.

“Now, princess…” she murmured, “you’re mine.”

She didn’t blink when she said it.

“You’re mine.”

It hung in the air like smoke—thick, undeniable, curling around your ribs and settling behind your eyes.

You couldn’t look away from her.

Not even when your heart stumbled.

Not even when your breath caught in your throat like a prayer too dangerous to say.

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t pull away, either.

Sevika watched you carefully, her thumb brushing just beneath your jaw, tilting your face toward her just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“I shouldn’t say that,” she said quietly, her voice like flint striking. “Not yet. Not while you’re still fragile. Still bleeding inside.”

Her eyes dropped to your lips.

“But I’ve waited eighteen years, and I’m done pretending I don’t feel it.”

You swallowed.

The heat from the fire flickered across your bare legs under the blanket, but it was nothing compared to the heat crawling up your spine from the weight of her stare.

“Feel what?” you whispered.

Her fingers trailed down your neck, slow, reverent.

“The bond.”

Her voice was low, almost reverent.

“It’s not just in the promise. It’s in you. I can feel your heartbeat through the bracelet. I feel your fear before you know you’re scared. Your thoughts echo when I get too close. And when you dream—”

She broke off, her jaw flexing.

Your lips parted slightly, your breath shaky.

“When I dream what?”

Her eyes were on you again.

“You call for me.”

The words hit low in your stomach.

Sevika leaned in, slow, deliberate, until her forehead nearly touched yours. You could smell her again—earth, blood, firelight. Her voice was barely a breath now, spoken against your lips without touching them.

“So when I say you’re mine,” she murmured, “I don’t mean it like a soldier means a flag. I mean it like a beast means a kill. Like blood means belonging.”

You whimpered without meaning to.

And that was all it took.

Her mouth brushed yours—not quite a kiss. Just a taste. A warning. A claim.

But when you didn’t flinch—when your hand gripped her coat again, pulling her closer—she growled softly.

The next kiss wasn’t a question.

It was possession made flesh.

Hot, slow, and deep, her mouth on yours like she was sealing something ancient, her hand cupping the back of your neck as her thumb dragged over your jaw. You gasped into her, and she didn’t stop—just kissed you harder, lips sliding, teeth grazing. Her other hand anchored you by the waist, pulling you flush against her chest, the nightgown thin and utterly useless between your skin and hers.

You moaned softly, your fingers curling into her shirt like lifelines.

When she finally pulled back—barely—your lips were kiss-bruised and parted, eyes wide.

Sevika’s breath hit your cheek as she looked at you—hungry and knowing.

“You feel it now, don’t you?”

You nodded.

You didn’t trust your voice.

Her thumb traced your lower lip, slow and heavy with promise.

“I won’t take you until you ask me to,” she murmured. “But the bond’s awake now.”

Your heart thudded.

“What does that mean?”

Her eyes burned red, dark and shining.

“It means you’ll crave me. Ache when I’m gone. Dream in blood and silk. And when you finally beg—”

She smiled.

“It’ll be too late to run.”

You didn’t realize how close you’d drifted.

Your head was cradled against Sevika’s chest again, your breath slowing despite the ache still coiled low in your stomach, your lips still tingling from the kiss she left on them like a seal. She hadn’t spoken in minutes.

Neither had you.

You were just... held.

You felt her press a kiss into your hair.

Soft. Final.

And your fingers twitched, clutching at her coat again.

“No,” you mumbled, the word small, cracked with sleep. “Don’t go…”

Her arms tightened around you. Not for long. Just long enough for you to feel it—how much she didn’t want to leave, either.

“I have to,” she murmured. “Only for a while.”

Your brows pinched faintly.

“Where?”

“There’s unrest. The court wasn’t built to follow me—and the ones that did…” she trailed off. “Not all of them were loyal. Not really.”

You didn’t understand all of it. You were too tired. Your head was spinning again, the firelight blurring into soft golden streaks across her shoulder.

“Stay…” you whispered, barely audible.

Her fingers slid into your hair.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice a low rasp now, rich with regret. “But I’ll leave something with you.”

You blinked slowly, trying to sit up, but your limbs felt heavier now.

She pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you. Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your mouth like she was memorizing it.

“Close your eyes, princess.”

You shook your head weakly. “Don’t wanna.”

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes glowing faintly now, casting a warm red shimmer across your skin. “But I can’t have you missing me like this. It’ll make you sick. You’re already starting to feel it, aren’t you?”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t answer.

“Shh,” she breathed. “Let me take care of you.”

And then she hummed.

A low, velvet note. Not a song—not really—but something older. Something that vibrated in your chest and behind your eyes, curling around your breath and weaving into your blood like a slow tide pulling you under.

Your limbs relaxed before you even realized it.

Your grip on her coat slipped. Your lashes fluttered.

“That's it,” she whispered, lips brushing your temple. “Sleep for me. You’ll wake up warm. You’ll wake up safe.”

You tried to speak.

You couldn’t.

Your head lolled softly to the side, cheek pressed to the crook of her neck.

And the last thing you felt was her fingers brushing the bracelet again, like she was reminding it—reminding you—who you belonged to.

Then darkness.

But not the chamber kind.

Not the cold kind.

This one was warm.

Soft.

And filled with her scent.

You woke with a sharp breath, your body already tense before your eyes even opened.

It was too quiet.

The fire had burned down to embers, and the pale morning light was leaking through the tall windows—blue-grey and cold. You shifted slightly under the heavy quilt, the silk of your nightgown cool against your skin, the air smelling faintly of rain and dried rose.

You turned your head toward the sound.

A floorboard creaked.

And two figures stood near the hearth.

You froze.

One leaned lazily against the mantel—tall and narrow in the waist, with short pink hair and rings on every knuckle. She was chewing on something, eyes fixed on you with bored amusement, like you were a curiosity she couldn’t quite decide whether to break or keep.

The other stood straighter. Sharper. Dark hair pulled back in a tidy twist, her velvet coat buttoned high to her throat. Her blue eyes were piercing, intelligent, and far too focused on you.

Your breath caught in your chest.

You bolted upright with a gasp, dragging the blanket to your chest, backing up so fast you nearly hit the headboard.

“Easy,” the blue-haired girl said, lifting one hand casually. “Don’t go fainting or screaming, it’s too early.”

You said nothing.

You didn’t breathe.

Your eyes flicked between them—trying to place them, trying to understand why they felt wrong. Familiar in the worst way. Like dreams you couldn’t remember.

"Violet," the girl with the blue coat warned softly, "you’re scaring her."

The pink-haired one—Violet—just smirked. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

You didn’t speak.

Your fingers were clenched in the sheets, your chest rising and falling in short, shallow bursts.

“She’s not here,” Caitlyn said after a beat, her voice low and calm. “Sevika. She left before dawn. You’re safe.”

You blinked.

Your lips parted—but still, no sound came.

You felt her absence like a phantom limb.

“You probably don’t remember us,” Caitlyn continued gently. “But we’ve been around longer than you think. We came with her. We're not here to hurt you.”

Still—nothing.

But your head was starting to pound.

A slow, blooming ache behind your eyes. Like heat pressing into the bone.

“I know this is overwhelming,” Caitlyn said, taking a small step closer. “But what you’re feeling—it’s the bond. It's waking up. Your body wasn’t meant to carry that kind of power without breaking a little. But you’re strong. You—”

Pain.

It hit like a lightning strike. You sucked in a breath and slapped a hand to your temple, vision going white at the edges.

Both girls tensed.

“Shit—” Violet pushed off the mantel.

“Don’t touch her,” Caitlyn snapped.

“I wasn’t going to—!”

You pressed yourself against the headboard, fingers gripping your skull as the pressure built. Heat flooded your chest, and your heart thundered like it was trying to escape. A noise tore out of your throat—a half-sob, half-snarl.

Your vision blurred again.

Your skin felt wrong.

“I need—” you gasped, “I need her—!”

Caitlyn moved closer but stayed low, crouching a few feet away like you were something cornered and dangerous.

“She’s coming back,” she said gently. “But until then… we need to keep you from burning out.”

“Get her some of that bloodwine,” Violet muttered.

“She’s not ready—”

“She’s already breaking,” Violet snapped. “Do you want Sevika coming home to a corpse?”

You didn’t hear the rest.

You were already curling forward, forehead to your knees, sweat slick on your spine, the smell of smoke curling faint at the edges of your mind.

You needed her.

Now.

You were shaking.

The pain didn’t feel like pain anymore—it felt like splitting. Like something ancient was trying to crawl out of your chest and peel your ribs open with its teeth.

Your heart was racing so fast it blurred into a buzz, your mouth dry, your skin hot to the touch. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even see anymore.

“She’s gonna pass out,” Violet muttered, her voice sharp now, not teasing anymore. “Or tear the whole fucking manor apart.”

“I told Sevika this was too soon,” Caitlyn hissed under her breath, already moving. “Keep her steady.”

Violet stepped forward and grabbed the blanket before you could recoil. She threw it off with one hand and planted the other against your shoulder, forcing you upright against the headboard. Her grip was firm. Cold.

You flinched.

“I said hold still,” Violet snapped, and her strength wasn’t human—your writhing did nothing.

Caitlyn knelt beside the bed with a small dark vial she’d pulled from her coat. The glass was frosted and humming faintly, like something inside it was alive.

“What is that—” you tried to speak, but it came out slurred. Your tongue was heavy. Your vision rippled like oil.

“Bloodwine,” Caitlyn said calmly, uncorking the vial. “It’s not hers. Don’t panic. It’s mine. You just need enough to keep the bond from consuming you.”

“I—I can’t—”

“You can.” She grabbed your jaw—not harshly, but firmly—and tipped your face toward her. Her other hand brought the vial to your lips.

“Open.”

You clenched your teeth.

Violet leaned down closer, voice brushing your ear with a dry laugh.

“If you don’t drink it, little bride,” she murmured, “you’ll burn out before Sevika even gets to say goodbye.”

That did it.

Your lips parted.

Caitlyn poured the thick, warm liquid into your mouth. It tasted like metal and flowers and fire. Your throat spasmed, instinct screaming to spit it out—but your body drank. Like it knew.

It slid down your throat like silk. Sweet and dark and wrong.

Your back arched.

Your vision went black.

For a second, you felt everything—Sevika’s name pounding through your skull like a storm, her hunger under your skin, her heat curled in your stomach like a sleeping beast. Her lips on your neck. Her voice in your blood.

Then—

Silence.

You collapsed back against the pillows.

Panting.

Soaked in sweat.

Your eyes fluttered open. The world was quiet again. Real.

You stared up at the ceiling.

Caitlyn wiped your mouth with a cloth.

Violet sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, watching you like she was waiting for you to start glowing or combust.

“She’s stabilizing,” Caitlyn said softly.

“For now,” Violet muttered.

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

You just stared at the ceiling and thought about how wrong your own heartbeat felt now. Like it wasn’t yours.

Like it never had been.

The house shifted before she even opened the door.

Caitlyn stood from the chair beside your bed, spine stiffening.

Violet rolled her eyes but moved off the mattress.

The scent of rain came first—wet leather, crushed earth, smoke. Then the cold.

And then Sevika stepped into the room.

Her coat was still dripping, the collar pulled up around her neck. Her hair was damp, pushed back from her face, and her eyes—her eyes—burned a deep molten red the second they landed on you.

Her expression didn’t change.

Not at first.

Just a slow, tight sweep of her gaze over your body—pale, sweating, the sheet pulled halfway to your waist, your lips stained faintly pink.

Then her eyes landed on Caitlyn.

“You fed her.”

Caitlyn straightened. “She was dying.”

Sevika’s jaw ticked.

“She’s mine.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

“I saved her life.”

Sevika crossed the room in two long strides.

Violet didn’t flinch. Caitlyn didn’t move.

You did.

You were already pushing up on your elbows, your head swimming. “Sevika—”

Her eyes cut to you, sharp and unreadable.

And then—without a word—she was at your side.

One hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head toward her. Her thumb swept over your lower lip, pressing hard enough to part it. She sniffed—slow, deliberate—and the scent of Caitlyn’s blood still clung faintly to your breath.

Sevika growled.

It was low. Animal.

You gasped.

“Open your mouth,” she said.

“Sevika—”

Her voice dropped an octave.

“Now.”

You obeyed.

Her other hand came up, palm pressing against your sternum—fingers spread, cold and heavy. And then you felt it: a twist. A pull. Something inside your stomach turned over like it was being gripped by invisible hands.

You choked.

You gagged.

And then you were coughing, gasping—and vomiting a dark, glittering stream onto the floor beside the bed. It burned coming up, thick and unnatural, the scent of iron flooding your nose.

You collapsed back against the pillows, shaking.

Sevika didn’t blink.

She just reached into her coat, pulling a vial from her inside pocket—silver-capped, black-glass, humming low.

Her bloodwine.

Yours.

The bond’s.

She uncorked it with one hand.

Slipped an arm behind your neck, raising you carefully—more gently now.

“Open,” she murmured.

You did.

She poured the blood into your mouth, slower than Caitlyn had, her thumb brushing your throat as you swallowed. It was hotter. Richer. And when it hit your gut, it stuck.

You gasped, arching slightly—eyes wide as the bond flared to life again, not in pain this time, but in relief. Like every nerve in your body exhaled.

Sevika watched you the whole time.

When the last drop was gone, she wiped your mouth with her thumb.

And leaned close.

“This,” she whispered, brushing your damp hair off your cheek, “is mine to give.”

You nodded shakily, breath catching.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.”

She kissed your forehead. Not tender. Claiming.

And then her eyes flicked to the other two in the room.

“Out.”

Caitlyn didn’t argue. She left first, silent.

Violet lingered, smirking faintly. “She might need us again.”

“She won’t,” Sevika said without looking.

“She might want us.”

Sevika turned her head.

Her smile was teeth.

“She only wants me.”

And Violet—laughing softly under her breath—finally slipped out, shutting the door behind her.

Leaving you alone.

In a room that suddenly felt like it belonged to Sevika, not you.

And you didn’t mind at all.

The room had gone still again.

The scent of bloodwine lingered faintly, but your stomach had stopped churning. You were warm. Tired, but… no longer empty.

Just shaky.

Sevika stayed near the bed, her hand resting lightly on your ankle through the blanket, eyes scanning your face like she was memorizing each fragile detail.

You shifted beneath the covers.

She noticed.

“You want to stand,” she said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated. Then nodded.

She rose slowly, towering and solid in the firelight, her soaked coat still heavy with rain. With one arm, she peeled it off and tossed it aside, leaving only the soft black shirt beneath—tight at the arms, loose at the collar. Her boots thudded as she moved to your side.

“I won’t let you fall,” she murmured.

You swallowed.

“I haven’t walked since—”

“I know.”

She crouched at your side, her gloved hands sliding beneath your knees and your back, lifting you effortlessly.

You gasped, arms hooking around her neck on instinct.

“Sevika—”

“I’ve got you.”

Her voice was rough velvet, her breath brushing your ear as she carried you across the room. She moved slowly, deliberately, like you were something precious she didn’t want to jostle. When she stopped near a long upholstered bench near the fire, she set you down on your feet—gently.

Your knees buckled immediately.

But she was ready.

Her arms wrapped around your waist before you could drop, pulling you into her chest, one broad hand flattening against your back.

“Don’t rush it,” she murmured.

You clenched your jaw.

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” Her voice sharpened just slightly. “You haven’t eaten real food. You haven’t stood in days. You were locked in the dark, half-bonded and half-dead. You’re allowed to lean.”

Your throat tightened.

So you leaned.

She shifted to support your weight better—one hand sliding lower, firm against your hip, the other staying pressed between your shoulder blades. You felt how easily she held you, like gravity didn’t apply when she was the one carrying you.

You were trembling.

“I hate how weak I feel,” you muttered against her shoulder.

Sevika’s voice dropped lower, like a growl wrapped in silk.

“You’re not weak. You’re alive. And they did everything they could to change that.”

You gripped her tighter.

Her nose brushed your temple.

“Just a few steps,” she said. “Just to remember what it feels like.”

You nodded.

Together, you took one.

Then another.

She walked backward, letting you guide the pace, her eyes never leaving your face. You were trembling with every step, sweat beading again at your temple—but she never loosened her hold.

After the fifth step, you faltered.

She caught you.

Scooped you back into her arms like it was nothing.

You buried your face in her neck, panting softly, ashamed.

But all she said was, “You did good, princess.”

You let her carry you back to the bed.

And this time, when she laid you down, you reached for her hand first.

You woke slowly, your body still heavy, but not with pain this time.

Just warmth.

The fire had burned down to glowing coals, and soft light was creeping through the curtains. The scent of lavender and iron lingered in the air—familiar now, somehow. Comforting. Claimed.

You shifted beneath the covers and immediately felt it.

Presence.

Someone was there.

You sat up with a gasp, your hand flying to the bracelet on your wrist—instinctive, like it might save you.

A figure stood at the foot of the bed.

A young woman.

Dressed in layered grey silk, her hair pinned back in neat coils, her hands holding something carefully folded over one arm.

Clothes.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Just smiled.

And that’s when you saw them.

Fangs.

Small and delicate, barely peeking from behind her lips.

You went still.

Frozen.

“I’m not going to hurt you, my lady,” she said softly. Her voice was smooth and quiet, like a song sung from far away. “Sevika sent me. She thought you might like to wear something of your choosing. Something more fitting.”

You swallowed.

Your voice was hoarse. “You’re—one of them.”

Her smile didn’t fade.

“I’m in her service. Which means I’m in yours, now.”

You stared at her, lips parted, unsure whether to move or scream.

She stepped forward slowly, her tone light and calm.

“You needn’t be afraid. We don’t touch Sevika’s claim.”

Your breath hitched.

She knelt at the edge of the bed and unfolded the dress in her arms. Deep black velvet. Gothic embroidery along the bodice. Silver buttons, long trailing sleeves, a corseted waist. Regal. Dark. Absolutely forbidden.

“I had to guess your size,” she said, looking up at you with soft amusement.

You flushed.

Still silent.

“I can help you dress, if you like.”

You hesitated.

Then—slowly—you nodded.

The servant moved carefully, delicately—like a handler coaxing a half-wild animal. She slipped the nightgown off your shoulders with no hesitation, but no cruelty either. Just quiet efficiency.

“Arms up,” she murmured, helping guide the heavy dress over your head, adjusting the sleeves, tightening the laces. Her hands were cold. You didn’t flinch.

Once it was on, she took a step back, surveying her work with satisfaction.

The velvet hugged your waist. The long skirt brushed the floor. The neckline dipped slightly, enough to feel daring. The sleeves draped over your hands. The whole thing was ancient and decadent and wrong for someone like you.

The servant gave a final gentle tug at the waist before stepping back, hands smoothing the fabric down the curve of your skirt.

“There,” she said softly, her eyes catching the firelight as they roamed over you with quiet approval. “You wear it well.”

You glanced at her, unsure how to respond.

She tilted her head.

“You’re a little shorter than I expected.”

You flushed, eyes dropping to the hem of the gown as it pooled just slightly too long over your feet.

“I can adjust it next time,” she added quickly. “But the fit is perfect.”

You murmured something like a thank you, even though it came out smaller than you meant. You were still sore. Still stiff. But somehow… being wrapped in velvet made it easier to stand.

She stepped toward the door and opened it with a quiet click.

“This way.”

You followed.

The hallway outside was long and dim, lit only by wall sconces burning with cold, bluish flames. The stone beneath your bare feet was warm, not chilled like you expected. The walls were hung with tapestries you couldn’t quite focus on—too many eyes, too much motion woven into the fabric.

You trailed the servant slowly, your hand brushing the wall now and then for balance. Every step echoed, but not loudly—more like the manor welcomed it. Like it recognized you now.

As you passed a tall window, you caught your reflection in the glass.

The black dress clung to your curves in ways no royal gown ever had permission to. The bodice hugged your chest, the corset pulling in just enough to shape you without erasing you. The sleeves framed your arms in lace. You looked… different. Older. Wilder.

You looked like you belonged here.

Down one hallway, you heard whispers.

“…don’t like that she’s awake already…”

“…told you the bond would change her…”

“…Sevika won’t let anyone else touch her now…”

The servant didn’t pause.

Neither did you.

But your heart beat harder.

At the base of the grand stairs, two more figures appeared—one leaning against the banister, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with amused recognition. Pink hair. Violet. The other standing near a velvet-curtained arch, regal and stiff as ever. Caitlyn.

Violet gave a low whistle when she saw you.

“Well, don’t you look like a walking sin.”

You froze.

Caitlyn didn’t smile. But she gave you a small nod.

“She’s waiting,” she said. “Upstairs.”

Your voice caught.

“Who?”

But you already knew.

The servant reached out and gently touched your hand.

“I’ll take you the rest of the way.”

You climbed the stairs, your skirts brushing the stone, your pulse racing louder with each step. Every corner of the manor seemed to breathe as you passed, like the walls were watching. Whispering.

And when you reached the landing, at the end of the hall—

A door was open.

Sevika stood just inside.

Her back was to you. One hand braced against the window frame, her shoulders tense beneath a linen shirt unlaced at the collar, the light pouring in around her making her look like something carved from dusk.

She turned at the sound of your footsteps.

And when her eyes landed on you—

They flared.

Red and molten and hungry.

“Come here,” she said.

Her voice was low. Commanding.

You stepped inside.

And the door swung shut behind you.

Her eyes devoured you.

The moment the door closed, she moved—slow, deliberate steps that felt more like a tide pulling you in than footsteps. You stood still, breath catching in your throat as she reached you, as her hands slid around your waist like she’d been thinking about it since the second she left.

The velvet of your dress creaked softly under her grip.

“Gods,” she murmured. “Look at you.”

Her nose brushed your temple. One hand slid from your waist to your lower back, pulling you flush to her body. The other dragged up your spine, her gloved thumb teasing along the edge of your corset laces, as if she wanted to undo everything just to touch your skin.

You gasped as her lips grazed your cheek, then lower, her mouth catching just beneath your jaw.

“I missed you,” she breathed.

You barely heard her. Your head was spinning, heart caught between heat and panic.

“Sevika—”

Her mouth moved to your throat, pressing a slow, open kiss over your pulse.

“Sevika.”

She growled softly—frustrated, needy.

Your hands came up, pressing against her chest to create space, though your fingers trembled from the weight of her heat.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice smaller than you intended. “Everyone keeps looking at me like I’m… like I’m something else. Like I don’t belong to me anymore.”

She sighed against your skin.

Reluctantly, she pulled back—just enough to see your face.

“You don’t belong to them,” she muttered.

“That’s not an answer.”

Her jaw tensed. She dragged a hand down her face, stepping back fully now, pacing once toward the window before turning to look at you again.

“There’s going to be another gathering tonight,” she said. “A ball. One of ours. Vampires only.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

“They want to see you.”

Your chest tightened.

“You mean judge me.”

Sevika didn’t deny it.

She crossed her arms, gaze flicking over your body again—lingering at the dip of your waist, the fullness of your hips beneath velvet and lace. Her mouth twitched like she was trying to smother a smile. Or maybe something darker.

“They want to see if I’ve changed.” She said it low, bitter. “If I’ve gone soft. If my heir is worth anything at all.”

You blinked.

“Heir?”

Sevika’s expression twitched. Like she hadn’t meant to say that.

But she didn’t take it back.

There was a long silence. You shifted slightly, your fingers curling in your skirt.

“I’m not ready,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what I am.”

Sevika stepped forward again. Slower this time. Her hand found your chin, tilting your face up toward hers.

“I know you’re scared,” she murmured. “And they’ll look. They’ll whisper. They’ll wonder what I see in you.”

Your eyes burned.

“Then why take me?”

She brushed her thumb along your cheek, her voice lower now. Hungrier.

“Because I want them to see.”

You stared at her.

“I want them to see who I chose. Who was promised. Who wears my blood better than any of them ever could.”

Her hand slid down, palm resting over your stomach, her fingers splaying wide across your waist.

“I want them to envy me.”

You exhaled, shaky and flushed and aching.

And for a moment… you forgot you were scared at all.

“y/n!”

Jinx’s voice rang down the stone corridor like a bell cracked in half—sharp, exasperated, almost sing-song in its panic.

“You’re gonna get us killed!”

Ekko came skidding after her, breathless, hand braced on the wall. “I told you not to let her turn that corner!”

“You told me?” Jinx spun on him, wild pink braids flying. “You were the one who said ‘she’s probably just in the library!’ Guess what, nerd? She was not.”

Ekko groaned, bending forward, hands on his knees. “I need… like… three minutes. Or a resurrection.”

“She was right behind me one second ago! Where the hell did she—”

And then Jinx turned.

And stopped.

Because there, in the middle of the grand antechamber just outside the council meeting room—dressed once again in trailing velvet and lace, eyes wide and cheeks flushed—stood you.

Clinging to Sevika’s side.

Like you’d always belonged there.

Sevika stood tall and tense in the middle of the room, surrounded by other vampires cloaked in shadow and silk. They’d all gone silent the moment you burst in—half in fascination, half in amusement. One of them even laughed softly, low and cruel.

But Sevika wasn’t amused.

She had one arm half-around you, steadying you with a hand on your waist, her other clenched tight at her side.

Your cheek was pressed to her arm. You weren’t even looking at anyone else. Not Jinx. Not Ekko. Not the sharp-eyed nobles circling her like wolves.

Only her.

Only Sevika.

She exhaled slowly through her nose.

“Explain,” she said without looking at either of them.

Jinx cleared her throat, stepping forward like a child called to the headmistress.

“So. Funny story—”

“Now.”

Ekko groaned again, finally catching up.

“She’s fast, alright?” he huffed. “We blinked and she was gone. Bond’s screwing with her senses. She probably felt you in here and—”

“She can’t be here.”

Your eyes flinched at her tone.

You leaned in tighter.

Sevika closed her eyes for a second.

A vampire across the table chuckled. “Looks like someone’s little pet’s already housebroken.”

Sevika’s head snapped up. Her glare was sharp enough to bleed.

The laughter stopped instantly.

You didn’t move from her side.

Her hand tightened around your waist.

“She’s not a pet,” she said coldly. “She’s mine.”

Another silence.

Jinx shifted awkwardly by the door.

Ekko mouthed we’re dead behind her back.

Finally, Sevika turned her eyes down to you, her jaw tight.

“Little thing,” she murmured, voice barely audible beneath the tension. “You can’t just run off. This place isn’t safe. Not for you.”

“I felt you,” you whispered, your voice childlike with need. “It hurt. I just—I had to—”

Sevika’s expression twitched.

Something in her chest cracked open for a second.

And she sighed.

“Jinx,” she said, still looking at you, brushing your cheek with her knuckles. “If she gets out of your sight again—”

“I know,” Jinx muttered. “Chain her to the fireplace. Got it.”

“I was going to say ‘call for me,’” Sevika said, dry, “but sure. Try the fireplace. Let’s see how long you stay alive.”

You blinked up at her, tugging gently on her sleeve.

“Are you done yet?”

She almost smiled.

Almost.

Her hand slid up to cup the back of your head, her voice lowering.

“Not yet, princess. But soon.”

You nodded.

And let her go, even though it felt wrong.

Even though the pull in your chest said stay.

Sevika watched you the whole way back down the hall, until the heavy doors shut between you.

And the moment they did—

She turned to the others like death itself had walked in behind her.

Let them whisper.

Let them mock.

You were hers now.

And they’d see soon enough what that meant.

comment to be added to the taglist! @h2pinky @lanternfeather @ofalcaodacolinablue @mommyissuesismypersonality @wistfulrainstorm @sevikas-whore @dut1fuldyk3 @redroomgraduate @kittyk-14

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #lesbian #sevika x reader #wlw #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers

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kxsagi · 3 days ago

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HEYYYY im back, kunigami annon here once again and i got an idea (i thinks idk)

so, post-wc kunigami with fem!reader (preferably as a player in bllk) who is basically like the mirror version of himself prior to wc. hero complex & all. i think it'd be interesting.

if u can, can u PLZZZ do it with platonic undertones? i yearn for platonic reader and bllk characters

“𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨�� 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐮𝐡?”

a/n: oh this was a challenge to write

you’re everything he used to be. and that’s exactly the problem.

post wild card! kunigami leans against the wall of the training room, towel draped over his shoulders, sweat still clinging to him like ghosts. the lighting above buzzes faintly, and somewhere in the distance, someone curses at a missed goal. but in front of him, you, blue lock player! reader, stand upright. not slouched, not tired, not bitter.

still smiling.

you beam like someone who thinks being a “hero” on the field still means something. and kunigami? he’s too tired to even pretend he doesn’t find that irritating.

“you dove in front of the ball for him,” he says, arms crossed. “again.”

you nod proudly, like you’ve just saved a child from a burning building. “yep! it was gonna smack him in the face. i had to.”

“it’s blue lock,” kunigami deadpans. “you don’t have to do anything. he would've learned to block better next time.”

you huff, dropping your hands to your hips. “oh, come on, ren. what, i’m supposed to let him get a concussion? we’re still human beings, you know.”

he doesn’t answer right away. he just looks at you. your cheeks are red from training. your knees are scraped. there’s grass stuck in your socks and your grin is stupidly, infuriatingly bright. it hurts a little to look at you for too long.

you remind him of someone he buried months ago. someone with big dreams and bigger ideals. someone who believed that strength was something you gained to protect others, not to overpower them. someone who thought being good at soccer was the same thing as being a good person.

someone who didn’t survive the wild card. who didn't need to.

“you keep pulling crap like that,” he mutters, “and you won’t make it far.”

you blink at him. “you mean in blue lock?”

“i mean at all.” his voice sharpens, almost too fast. “this place chews up people like you. and when it spits you out, no one comes to save you. you get that, right?”

you pause. kunigami watches the smile fade from your face – just a flicker. just a second.

then you speak, quieter this time.

“i get it. but that doesn’t mean i’m gonna stop.”

of course not, he thinks. you’re still too stubborn, too kind, too you.

“i don’t know what happened to you in the wild card,” you continue, stepping closer. “but if no one was there to save you… i’m sorry. really. but if i ever get thrown in like that… i’d want someone to remember me as the kind of person who tried.”

that stings more than he expects. it leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

you pat his shoulder as you pass, already turning back toward the field. “and anyway,” you add lightly, “someone’s gotta play the hero, right?”

he doesn’t move. just watches you jog away, hair bouncing, righteous and reckless and stupidly full of heart.

you’re going to get hurt. maybe not today, maybe not even this year. but blue lock doesn’t care about people like you. it kills people like you.

and kunigami? kunigami isn’t a hero anymore. he doesn’t save anyone. not even himself.

but somehow, he still finds himself watching over you anyway.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #kunigami rensuke #rensuke kunigami #kunigami rensuke x reader #rensuke kunigami x reader #still got a cape on huh?

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cogneartive · 2 days ago

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my baskerville docs ^_^ ive seen alot of other people make their own lady baskerville and i wanted to try and have my own take on her yay. somehow i have settled on calling her liz, but i change my mind quite often so we'll see

more notes and further rambles below (LONG)

unfortunately i seem to be under a curse where i may only give out information through vague references and riddles + also thoughts jumping from one to another. have fun 👍take out a notebook it gets quite long. ive put down some section titles

naming ideas

for her name: i like how its has some phonetic similarities to iris. and i dont believe at all that yujin didnt know her; in japanese, 'l' and 'r' sounds are not distinguished in the same was as english thus: "liz, risu, airisu, iris... (ayame... ayame.) airisu... risu. liz."

but also her fanon - as in the common elements people have in their designs of lady b - designs look just like alot of the fanon designs for minecraft youtuber ldshadowlady. im having a lot of fun thinking about putting them in the life series.... boogieman curse.... the dogs.

this influences me quite a bit i think. primarily, how i characterise klint and liz is influenced by alot of gothic texts (and castlevania...........) as well as other people's interpretations of her. however they are are also lizzie and joel. and you are required to know this

talking about shapes (character design stuffs)

im kinda also working out klint and barok in context of my headcanons/takes. i think, with the design philosophy im carrying rn, i would draw them a little differently to emphasise the certain themes in my head lol. i gotta figure out some kinda shape motif for lady b tbh i dont really have too clear of an idea yet. at first, i thought a heart would be nice (connection with iris - i think a few other people have done so as well) but then The Spiral

ive been thinking of labyrinths quite often lately (house of leaves.) i like the symbolism of her spiraling down into some kind of madness / depravity as is the van zieks way. klint's sword points down to show the same thing. kid barok's hair goes upward. he look up to them. cute. this whole family is literally cursed

writing and truth

ive said this in some earlier posts somewheres but basically my main ideas for her are that

she and klint are trying not to become the sins of their parents. they succeed. but also fail.

barok is motivated by his sense of justice in the pursuit of truth. klint is the sense of justice. thus liz is the pursuit of truth

and ive landed on her being quite into writing. nothing ever published i think, but many volumes of poetry, short fiction and maybe even novels, with her favourite red ink pen. the same color ink that she used to write love letters with.

these works were probably things that she only shows to people close to her. and id think the subject matter would be something close to jane austen's work (critical of the landed gentry; she also published anonymously under the name 'a lady' -> i thought there was something in there about how lady b remains nameless and only a lady)

i think her writing would be a way to channel her frustration, anger, misery, and other such unladylike thoughts. perhaps, in childhood, she would have liked being a newswriter - until she finds out how sensationalized they are (and how would she feel when the news would start calling barok the reaper?)

i havent found a good way to incorporate this into her design yet. i was thinking something about the cape - hiding secret pockets and a notebook and pen? something about gender roles can play in there as well - but it looked too much like stronghart's silhouette imo. replacing barok's father figure while dressing like his mother would be crazy... and there is the swirls. im not too completely against that idea yet. think i gotta keep experimenting

resemblances

but anyways, i really do like the idea that she and klint look like they could be barok's parents. i think its fucked up (good). the gothic is all about how ur repressing somethings and it keeps coming out, and i kind of like themes of finding out the parent that you idolised isnt actually as good as you once thought they were.

you know about klint. and liz hates lying. but she is also just as great as a liar. she despises the social structures of upper class england, but she is just as wiling to maintain a facade, and has so much hatred that she hides. despite hating to hear it, she's really nosey - does she LIKE hearing about all those reprehensible things she claims to abhor? why else would they all appear in those stories she writes? and why else are all her protagonists such unreliable liars?

i think barok would grow up trying to model all the good that liz and klint try to project. hed probably thinks they would hate him after all that. maybe its comforting to know they also fell too. perhaps they would forgive him too.

i think thats all that i wanted to say. you will be hearing from me again, however. yay

#gosh how many words was that #hope you guys who read that enjoyed #i wonder if i even covered everything that i wanted to say. i know i did want to draw more but i realised it was far beyond the scope #lady baskerville #klint van zieks #barok van zieks #ace attorney #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #dgs spoilers #my art

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m0r1bund · 3 days ago

Text

Things have been quiet lately on account of my house burning down. Nobody was hurt, and I haven't lost my physical / digital art pieces, but I have no way of working on them right now... which means I'm going a little stir crazy! haha! ha !!!

I had the foresight to draft a post with some of my favorite panels from my twine game, Threadbare. I was originally just gonna use them to promote the game, but this is all I can to work on right now, so you're getting the director's commentary reel I guess. but first

Play Threadbare!

Or don't, I can't control you.

I started making Threadbare so that I could weasel my way out of drawing comics. it was supposed to be a low-effort way of telling Frey and Kairos' story, which is, in the grand scheme of things, ancillary to everything happening on wasteland Earth.

(honks clown nose)

the art is also made to be low-effort, even if it doesn't stay that way. unremitting red/white/blue/black takes the guesswork out of painting in color, and also feels like propaganda art. mapping characters to certain colors makes simplifying them easier. Frey can be reduced to an angry blue smudge and Kairos can be a stupid red hat on a triangle.

I had already written out most of the Frey-Kairos scenes back in 2023. The holding cell scene is actually one of the first things I drew LOL. Everything else sprang up from the twine game format. I knew I wanted some buffer between Frey breaking out of the Abattoir and Frey confronting the Oracle, so that we could learn more about the two of them, and also the Archive, without rushing into prophecide. This ended up changing the structure of the story more than I thought it would... and created a lot of self-inflicted scope creep... which is for me to unpack at a later date (when I'm done) (girl help im not even done)

but probably the biggest addition is

her

and ES I guess.

ES and Rhodes were originally funnie little nature spirits, but I long suspected that Rhodes would make a kickass ex-secutor, and I needed some NPCs to explore the Archive with, so. here ya go. I promise I'm going somewhere with them. Rhodes is filling the shoes for another old character concept I had (which was partly cannibalized by the Oracle of Caeres, funny enough.)

The other characters like Petrei and the Undertaker were designed on the spot, which is to say I just opened a canvas and started painting and hoped for the best. because this was supposed to be low-effort. haha.

I want to go back and figure out Petrei's anatomy because the idea of doing horrible manweevil origami is fun.

The other big surprise in all of this was having sound and music figure so strongly into things. My last twine game, Killswitch, had maybe three little songs to set the mood, and no SFX. I guess something broke in me and I decided I wanted to make an ace attorney game this time. You're all getting bespoke vox files now. my gift to you. and part of why this took like 9 months

I feel lucky that I found the musician ROZKOL, whose work is featured prominently in the twine, just as I was dipping my toes into audio editing and really scripting the meat of things. I was not expecting to find a musician in the Creative Commons scene who had totally figured out what a ceaselessly grinding imperial death machine sounds like. I have a hard time thinking in music, even though it motivates so much of my work... sometimes I feel like I have aphantasia but for compositions LOL. So I really enjoyed this kind of post-hoc surprise collaboration, it was cool to watch the scenes start to mold themselves around ROZKOL's music.

The slideshow-quicktime-event-fight-scene is especially molded to ROZKOL's song "Good Soldier." A fun return to the fine tradition of warrior cats AMVs that I was raised on. bringing in player participation is something that I would like to explore in a more elegant way in the future, I really like the idea of a music video being an active, participatory experience and not a passive one. and honestly I just want other people to feel the same unhinged rush that I feel when I put a song on repeat 70 times while painting.

There's I think four different routes in the first part of that encounter, leading to some variant panels like these.

depending on your choices, Frey gets roughed up a little more or a little less, ES may or may not stick their neck out for you, and the Oracle has choice words for you if you're a good soldier dancing partner.

(fun fact: if you don't choose to act during this scene, Frey picks a route and acts at random.)

I'm still learning what does and doesn't make a meaningful player choice. is there a branch because the possibility of choosing to / choosing not to see it is compelling, or is there a branch just to be a branch? I don't really think that you need to fundamentally alter the narrative to have fun with it. little things like ES and Rhodes remembering your name still feel meaningful to me, even if they don't change the outcome of anything. but I'm also bending to certain limitations that I cannot fully discuss until I finish this damn thing.

Speaking of finishing, I made the denouement in a deranged fever haze. I got sick twice in the span of, like, a month. It was pretty miserable. but hey, at least I had time to finish my twine.

^^^ how it feels to finish your twine (she doesn't know her house is about to burn down)

further in the vein of things burning down, I'm glad I found the song "In Your Mind" and didn't get cold feet about keeping it in the tracklist. I was struggling to nail down the tone of the ending scene, until I gave it a few listens and things clicked. but at the last minute, I nearly swapped it for "Burn it All Down." It's a really good song, too, but it's probably for the best I briefly possessed Kairos' gift of prophecy and didn't pick the one about uhhhhh. burning.

I think that's all I got for now. thanks for playing and/or flirting with the idea of playing by reading this post. kill petrei for me. and try not to be on fire.

#my therapist says i need to make time to celebrate my accomplishments and not just barrel into the next task #she doesnt know about the house yet #sincerely i feel well-supported and it will all work out. but by god im ready for events and situations to stop happening to me #chief and the r.a. tag #content warning: blood #content warning: gore #content warning: injury

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itoshiierae · 1 day ago

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HII OMG im so glad to find an active tokyorev writer, can i request a like headcannons of mitsuya and their cosplayer gf?? like dress up darling inspired but the girl is more self conscious and shy about their hobby 😭😭😭 Thank youuu!!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: mitsuya takashi x f!reader

ᡣ𐭩 notes: okay waittt… tbh i haven’t actually watched dress up darling yet but i just KNOW mitsuya would be the blueprint for supportive cosplay bfs 🥹

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ HE’S OBSESSED WITH YOUR CRAFT EVEN WHEN YOU’RE SHY ABOUT IT ♡

𖥔 the first time you show mitsuya your cosplay photos, you’re visibly nervous and he’s just been staring at your phone for the past five minutes like it’s a literal masterpiece.“…babe, you’re insane!! these photos are amazing!!” he finally says, and your cheeks heat up so fast it almost startles you, overwhelmed not just by the compliment but by the fact that he actually means it.

𖥔 after that, he immediately wants to help with everything — especially the sewing. this man will literally hand-draft your outfits if it means making you feel confident in them.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ HE HYPES YOU UP EVERY SINGLE TIME ♡

𖥔 you’re self-conscious at first, especially about dressing up around him. but mitsuya??? he never once laughs or judges you. he just says, “you look so beautiful, seriously… can i take a photo?? not to post — it’s just for me.”

𖥔 sometimes you even try to downplay your craft by saying, “it’s not that good…” and he’ll deadass stop everything he’s doing and go, “don’t do that… don’t talk about your craft like that. you’re amazing!!”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ HE DESIGNS OUTFITS JUST FOR YOU ♡

𖥔 mitsuya makes custom sketches of cosplay-modified versions tailored to your comfort zones. maybe longer sleeves??? hidden zippers??? better fabrics in case you get too hot??? just little details no one else would probably think about except for him.

𖥔 he even keeps a small notebook filled with design ideas he’ll never admit he drew at 3am while thinking about you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ HE WANTS TO BE THERE WITH YOU DURING YOUR FIRST CON ♡

𖥔 he insists on going with you the first time you cosplay in public. not just to watch, but to help — he carries your extra shoes, fixes loose threads, and adjusts your wig with the delicacy of a man touching glass.

𖥔 and when someone compliments you, he looks so so proud & he’ll say “see??? i told you so..”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ HE’S ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU WHENEVER YOU GET OVERWHELMED ♡

𖥔 maybe someone makes a rude comment or maybe it’s just one of those days where you start doubting yourself.

𖥔 mitsuya quietly leads you away, finds somewhere calm to sit, and gently takes your hand in his. “remember that you do this because you love this,” he says, gazing straight into your eyes.

𖥔 “don’t let one shitty moment take that from you...” then, a little more serious — “...and if anyone ever makes you feel small again, they’ll have to answer straight to me.”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #takashi mitsuya #tokyo revengers mitsuya #tokyo revengers toman

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threegoldfish · 2 days ago

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Everything feels so utterly distant that some part of Steven actually begins to wonder once more if this is even real to begin with; Granted, he had wondered about it before, thought of it being another dream of sorts... but then the pain is quite real, so is the feeling of something soft and squishy against his hand still, warm and plush.

This whole sensation is just... different, again. The world surrounding him seems gone, blurred out, a fog around something that doesn't quite reach him anymore while Steven listens to Harrow speak, hears those words but can only somewhat process them; Is the other truly going to be here soon, or is this just some wishful thinking of him, his brain trying to cope and make him feel better as everything unfolds the way it does?

---Perhaps he already has been sedated, is currently being strapped to his bed and kept there, in some kind of delirious state? Perhaps he's making this up. That blue something by his side does feel real though, as said before, and... it's nice. It's soft and warm and gentle against his trembling palm, and Steven gives it a bit of a knead as he breathes through his opened mouth... in and out, in and out, eyes falling closed after a while.

"I-Im sorry for... h-having... woken you up..." In case this is real, Steven wants the doctor to know this - it's very early, after all, that's what that nurse had said to him a little while ago, right? "T-That I a-asked for you a-and... didn't... d-didn't---" Didn't deal with it himself, he wants to say, but Steven's words fail him again as another hiccup comes.

If he's already been sedated, floating somewhere between the real world and a made-up scenario within his head, he just... god, he hopes he's able to tell them that he never wanted to cause any trouble to begin with. Hopes he'll wake up again, won't be kept somewhere like some kind of---

It's gonna be okay, Steven.

---Eyes blinking open wide, Steven's breath gets stuck inside his throat - did he... did he just hear this? Did someone talk to him? That wasn't Harrow, right? No, no, it sounded strangely familiar---

This sucks, I know. Try to keep breathing; Harrow will be here soon, alright? You'll be okay. You won't die.

"I...I... w-what? What's going on?" A whisper, gaze now trailing along his surroundings - the fog making it somewhat impossible to really see anything, the tears only adding to it all, but Steven tries anyways. "Who..."

You'll be fine, I promise. Keep breathing. In and out, in and out, slow and steady. You got this.

---And Steven... closes his eyes, after a second passes. Inhales through his mouth, then exhales. Inhales again, exhales. Swallows. Perhaps his own brain is trying to calm him down here, maybe.. maybe that's a thing? Could be. Hell, he has no idea how everything works! Perhaps, under any other circumstances, he would've questioned things a bit more, but... he's so exhausted, he's so shaken, he's so scared and he does not want to die, he wants to keep living, he wants to be awake and not sedated...

There weren’t very many cars on the road, only the occasional cab. All of them had a passenger already, likely called rather than picked up off of the road; there were a few postal vans, too, off to deliver their packages to facilities so they could be distributed. Arthur’s limp was pronounced, each step pulling a wince through the lines of his jaw, but it did nothing to slow him.

Steven’s voice, barely even audible, shook through the phone, and Arthur could hear how far away he sounded from himself. He was upset, obviously so - anyone would be, to wake up in such a situation. To constantly wake up in situations like this, in seemingly worse places than the last; panic made the mind brittle, and Steven had already been pushed too far.

“I know,” Arthur agreed as he turned down the block, breath just slightly tight in his chest. “But you’re not going to be sedated, Steven. Not tonight, not while I’m here.”

He didn’t promise, never doing so when he couldn’t personally enforce it; but he could handle it. He could take Steven away from Donna for a bit, could hopefully keep him safe from anything Donna might try to do.

He hated the way that Steven said sedated, hated how it felt like he was holding back sobs. He needed to cry, maybe - Arthur would let him, when he was there to hold him through it. When there wasn’t the risk of Donna finding it frustrating, when he could handle things - right now, he needed to just keep Steven calm. Just for a bit longer, just until he could get there.

“Just stay right there, okay? Don’t move, you can just stay right there, and you’ll be okay. Just hold onto that blanket for me. Someone punched you, that’s what happened to your nose - it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re only in there because I wanted to make sure you got taken care of.”

It was a careful line to walk, both being honest and keeping Steven safe from the truth; he just wanted to keep the man safe. Wanted to help him calm down - and eliminating confusion seemed important enough to try.

“I’m going to be there in just a few minutes, okay? I see the building, I’m almost there.”

#preemptivejustice #threads & interactions; steven grant #( kinda like the scene in MK where Marc says 'steven. steven. don't look' eheheh)#(without steven knowing what the hell is going on)#(probably wont realize for a while and think his own brain is just handling him here)#(but marc knows. ;; sigh)

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loxoels · 2 days ago

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♡ binondo date with paige

a/n: hi guys! sorry for being inactive. here's a little fic for reaching a hundred followers <3 <3 thank you guys so much. all of you motivated me to write more. im really jealous of those who are having dates in binondo, so I just daydream about it instead. this is a filo au!!

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

ever since summer started, you've been stuck in your condo, doing nothing but lying in bed. you’ve been craving something fun for a change.

now you’re back in bed again, glued to your phone, doomscrolling through random posts—until a TikTok catches your eye.

it’s a video of a couple on a date in Binondo, a place that’s been trending lately thanks to the newly restored Jones Bridge.

you pause and think, “It’d be nice to go there with someone…” but then the question hits you—with who?

you sit with that thought for a bit, and that’s when your best friend Paige walks in. you both wanted to go out somewhere, but neither of you ever found the time—so this felt like the perfect chance to finally ask. even though you’ve been close for a long time, you still get nervous about asking her out. why? because you’ve liked her ever since the day you met.

psst

binondo

you nervously wait for a respond.

after a few minutes that felt like forever, you finally see the three little dots appear on the screen—she’s typing.

when?

she simply replied.

tomorrow?

you replied.

see you.

naka punta ka na ba dun?

'di pa, tol

ge ako na bahala pre

you didn’t bother replying anymore—instead, you buried your face into your pillow, screaming and kicking your feet, suddenly overwhelmed with giddy excitement for reasons you couldn’t quite explain.

you decided to put your phone down to calm your nerves. taking a deep breath, you got up and headed to the kitchen to make yourself some lunch. but just as you were about to open the fridge, you heard your phone start ringing from the other room.

you hurriedly go to the bedroom and answer it.

"hoy"

“ano? binondo? ano meron?”

“what about it?”

“porket wala kang ka-date, ako niyayaya mo”

“bakit? couples lang ba pwede pumunta dun?”

“I’ve been wanting to go too, actually.”

“oh tapos?”

“pero hindi ikaw yung kasama.”

“wow okay edi wag na tayo pumunta”

“eto joke lang eh”

you kept the phone pressed to your ear, her voice in the background as you made your way back to the kitchen. one hand grabbing ingredients, the other holding the phone, you smiled quietly to yourself.

eventually, you both got quieter—your voices softer, words slower. Until at some point, without saying goodbye, you both fell asleep. Still on the call. Still connected.

the next morning, you suddenly wake up and glance at the time. you see that Paige ended the call, probably to get ready for today’s… date? Friendly date? Whatever you both want to call it.

after finishing your morning routine, you’re now rummaging through your room, trying to find an outfit that makes you look a little better than usual.

after hours of finding, you finally found an outfit you love. you immediately do your make up when paige messages you.

on the way na baby

paige always flirts like this—not just with you, but with everyone. that’s why loving her in secret is so painful. you never know when she’s being serious or just playing around, but maybe it’s your own fault for believing her, even though deep down you know it’s all just for fun.

you quickly spritz on your perfume and slip on your shoes.

now, all that’s left is to wait for her.

After a few minutes, you finally hear a knock at your door. You rush to open it and there she is—wearing a short-sleeved polo over a white top, baggy jeans, and a cap turned backwards on her head.

she gives you a once-over, her eyes lingering just a second longer before a small grin forms on her lips. "looking good, baby," she says, casually.

you roll your eyes with a playful scoff—but inside, a swarm of butterflies flutters in your stomach.

“you look fine yourself…” you mumble, avoiding her gaze as you look away, a slight frown tugging at your lips.

she notices and lets out a soft giggle. “muntanga tara na, let’s go,” she says, nudging you gently as she leads you down to the lobby.

outside, you glance around, scanning the area—but there’s no car in sight.

“nasan kotse mo?” you ask, brows furrowed.

she shrugs casually. “baby, sa binondo tayo pupunta. sa tingin mo may parking dun?"

you’d had enough of her flirting, so you just started walking ahead.

“san ka pupunta? alam mo ba kung paano mag-commute dun?” she calls out, half-laughing.

you stop in your tracks and glance back at her. “of course. ano tingin mo sa’kin? tanga?” you say, rolling your eyes.

"sungit naman neto." she mutters with a chuckle as she walks up to join you.

the two of you start heading toward the corner of the street, side by side, to wait for the jeepney that’ll take you to binondo.

as soon as Paige spots a signage on a jeepney’s front window that says it’s headed to Quiapo, she quickly raises her hand to signal the driver to stop.

when the jeep halts, she hops in first, then offers you her hand to help you climb aboard. she guides you to sit at the far end of the jeep, making sure it’s just the two of you with no strangers nearby.

“libre mo muna pamasahe ko, pre,” she says casually, flashing you a grin. You roll your eyes but sigh, knowing you don’t really have a choice.

you dig through your purse, fingers scrambling for coins, then hand them over to her without a word.

“bayad po, pasuyo,” paige says as she passes the payment to the other passengers so it can reach the driver.

“san ‘to?” the driver asks.

“Quiapo lang, boss,” she replies smoothly.

then she turns to you with a playful wink. you raise a brow at her, giving her a confused and irritated look, unsure of what she’s up to this time.

while waiting for your stop, she glances at you with a soft smile. you meet her gaze with a blank expression, unamused.

she chuckles, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “wag ka na masyadong masungit, baka i-kiss kita diyan,” she teases out of nowhere.

you shoot her a disgusted look. “as if!” you snap, immediately turning to face the other way, hoping she doesn’t see the heat rising on your cheeks.

“para po!” paige calls out to the driver.

the jeep slows to a stop. she hops down first, then reaches up to offer her hand to help you down—just like before.

the first thing the two of you do? food trip. you walk side by side through the busy streets, stopping at every stall that catches your eye, buying and trying everything you can—one bite after another, laughter and crumbs shared between you.

"oh wait lang wait lang" she suddenly says, stopping in her tracks.

you glance at her with a curious hum. before you can ask, she pulls out her film camera and starts recording—pointed straight at you.

caught off guard, you quickly cover your face, flustered. “stoppp,” you whine, turning away, but she keeps filming with a grin.

“tell them where we’re going, baby,” she says in a playful, almost sultry tone.

you stay quiet, refusing to entertain her antics, which only makes her laugh.

“may topak siya, guys,” she says to the camera, still giggling.

“I know what could cheer her up,” she says to the film camera with a smirk, walking over to a local tusok-tusok stand.

“pick whatever you want. ko na magbabayad,” she adds, already pulling out her wallet.

You give her a small frown. “you don’t have to. I have money,” you tell her honestly.

but she scoffs, waving you off. “binayaran mo na yung pamasahe ko, so let me treat you,” she insists.

you sigh but smile a little, letting her win this one.

she hands you a cup of your favorite street food, kwek-kwek. she finally earns your smile as you eat. she buys herself a cup as well, eating while filming you. you notice this and you look at the camera with the food in your hands with a big smile.

she hands you a cup of your favorite street food—kwek-kwek. the moment you take a bite, a genuine smile finally escapes your lips, and she catches it.

pleased, she buys a cup for herself too, munching on hers while still holding the camera up, filming you again.

you notice her this time, and instead of hiding, you look straight into the camera, holding your food with both hands and flashing her a big, playful smile.

after a few more minutes of happily eating, the two of you continue your adventure—still centered around, of course, eating even more street food.

stall after stall, you try different snacks, and with each one comes a photo—sometimes of the food, sometimes of each other, and sometimes just blurry candids full of laughter.

before you know it, the sky has turned dark, and the streetlights now glow above you. It’s officially nighttime, but neither of you seems ready to stop.

you’ve been walking around all day, your hands full of snacks and your phones full of memories. Eventually, your steps lead you both to the glowing stretch of Jones Bridge. the lights reflected on the water, the breeze cool on your skin—and right by the bridge’s edge, there it was: the photobooth stand that’s been all over social media.

without saying much, you and Paige decide to go for it.

as you make your way toward the booth, she starts snapping candid photos of you again—your side profile, your little smiles, the way your eyes light up when you look around. you offer to take a picture of her too. She hands you her phone without hesitation, and for once, she stands still and lets you capture her.

then comes a quiet moment. no cameras. no teasing. just the two of you walking side by side on the bridge, voices low, conversations soft and unhurried.

she looks at you then—really looks. it’s not the playful look she gives when she’s joking, or the usual flirty glances you’ve seen her throw at others. this one is different. her gaze is warm, steady, full of something that makes your chest feel tight.

but you don’t let yourself read too much into it. because Paige is like this with everyone… right? right.

you turn your focus to the path ahead. your hands brush against hers. It’s subtle, barely there, but you feel it. you think she doesn’t notice—but she does.

before anything could happen, you both arrive at the photobooth. While waiting in line, you spot a diverging mirror just beside the entrance and pull out your phone.

“mirror pic,” you say, raising your phone.

she leans in beside you, then suddenly presses her finger against the mirror right where your mouth reflects—making your lips look ridiculously wide. You burst into laughter, swatting her hand.

you return the favor, poking the spot on the mirror where her mouth is, making her grin stretch in the reflection. She giggles, but after the laughter fades, there’s this pause.

just the two of you, looking at each other.

like there’s something unsaid, lingering in the silence.

but again—you brush it off. It’s probably just you.

your turn finally comes.

inside the booth, you sit close. ten shots in total, and you get to pick four.

the first five go smoothly—smiles, peace signs, cheek-to-cheek poses, goofy faces.

but as the camera counts down for the sixth shot, you both run out of poses. Paige uses the opportunity to lean in, pressing her cheek against yours, smiling softly just as the shutter clicks.

seventh shot—your faces are close now. every time you glance at her, she’s looking at the camera. when she glances at you, you’re looking at the camera. it’s like a dance neither of you planned, faces inching closer without fully realizing it.

eighth shot, ninth shot—your knees touch, your pinkies graze.

then, the tenth.

it happens fast, like it wasn’t even a decision.

she turns to you at the same time you turn to her.

and just before the flash goes off—

she kisses you.

a quick, soft press of her lips to yours, just enough to make your heart skip.

click.

the last shot captures it perfectly.

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makixroll · 1 day ago

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hey! if you requests are open, can i ask an &team ot9 fluff of when reader is a college athlete and they get injured and &team takes care of them??? 🥹🥰💕

INJURY PT. 1 — &team hyung line ꣑ৎ

pairing . . . &team hyung line x reader

contents . . . fluff , established relationship , minor/major injuries mentioned , comfort , non-idol , college au , use of they/them pronouns + k will be referred as kei , not proofread .

message . . . omg !! tysm , this is my first req ever 💕 hope youll like it, anon! + im not an athlete and havent experienced any injuries so pls bare w me if i wrote smth wrong !! Thank u <3 also the maknaez + joyuma will be on pt. 2!

ᝰ KOGA YUDAI

as an athlete himself, kei's glad to have you as his significant other. Not only are you the best lover in the whole world, you're also a great athlete, and he can confidently say that you're in par with him. of course, that meant he wouldn't miss all of your competitions. even practices, he wouldn't miss watching you.

but maybe he should've listened to his gut telling him that he shouldn't let you practice for today. cause kei found himself running from the bleachers, his body thinking before his mind could, as he approached your form, clutching the foot that got hurt.

kei craddled your head in his arms as you cried because of the pain. he knew you couldn't handle any sort of pain, you'd even tear up when you get even a tiny scratch, let alone this, an injury. kei's mind was blanked, he didn't know what to do as he listens to your cries, the way you'd bury your head so deep into his chest like you wanted to hide there.

the others were already calling the medic that was by the sideline. kei never left your side even though the medics told him to move, and even if he wanted to, your hands were clutching so hard onto his shirt that it'll hurt his heart if he ever forced you to let him go.

instead, he held your head and gave you sweet kisses to places he can reach, whispering soft comforts as you cry, the medics already treating your foot before letting you go to the hospital to have it checked.

"it hurts, kei! it hurts so much, make it stop!" you wailed, your tears staining his white shirt. but he didn't care, all he cared about was you.

"i know baby, i know. don't worry, okay? they're treating it already. it'll all be okay." kei whispered softly, kissing your cheek, and then your forehead.

ᝰ MURATA FUMA

it was your soccer practice match against another university. sadly, despite wanting to, fuma couldn't attend the said practice match due to his conflicted schedule. (screw thesis for ruining his life.) so when he found out from your teammate that you got injured during the match, he felt guilty. guilty for not being there with you, guilty for not being able to help you when you needed him most. that's why you haven't attending your classes, why you kept declining his dates with an "i"m sick:(" excuse, and while he did offer to take care of you, you once again excused, "i don't wanna get you sick, mom's here so don't worry." now everything makes sense, cause you never, ever declined any of his offers.

And so, after finding out, fuma went straight to your dorm, skipping his last subject for the day since he couldn't focus at all even if he wanted to. along the way, he bought the necessities needed, as well as your favorite food and drink. he knocked on your door and was greeted by your roommate— the one who told him about your injury, she gladly lets fuma in, and gestured to the door of your room. Your roommate bid her good bye to your boyfriend and left, having somewhere else to be. fuma went to the kitchen first and started preparing the food that he bought for both you and him, after that, he entered your room quietly with food in his hand.

"na, i said i'm alright. stop worrying." you said, a chuckle leaving your lips as you didn't look up to see who it was, assuming that it was just your dormmate.

"It's me." fuma said, softly, which made you sit up from your bed, a quiet groan left your lips as you felt the ache of your foot.

"careful, love." your boyfriend said, rushing towards you as he placed down the food on your bedside table, his hand now placed on top of your head as he caressed your hair, the other one holding your hand in a soft manner.

"fuma—love, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to—" fuma shook his head and gave you a smile, stopping you from explaining yourself. he then helped you leaned against the bedframe, his hand holding your waist as he gave you a kiss on your forehead.

"it's okay, no need to explain. let me take care of you, okay love?"

ᝰ WANG YIXIANG

nicholas has been staying at your apartment ever since he found out you got injured—and how you tried to keep it a secret from him. he was sulky for the whole day, not talking to you, but still taking good care of you with an adorable pout present on his lips, quietly showing you that he's still upset, but loves you too much to resist taking care of you. you even had to kiss nicholas for more than ten times before he became smiley again.

so now here he was, a bowl of porridge in his hand as nicholas spoonfed you, a loving smile on his pretty face that you adore so much. it was evident that he loves taking care of you.

"nicho, baby, i'm only injured. my hands are still working perfectly." you said, rolling your eyes playfully at your boyfriend who could only give you a cheeky smile as he fed you another spoonful of porridge.

"i know, baby. i just like taking care of you." nicholas answered, taking the glass of water on the table as he brought the glass closer to your lips, his other hand placed just below your chin.

"now shut up and let me do this." nicholas said in a teasing way, which you rolled your eyes and gave him a kiss on the lips.

"okay, fine. i kinda do love it when your attention's all on me." you told him, admitting how you enjoyed the attention he's been giving you the past few days.

"are you feeling any better, baby?" nicholas asked, his tone so soft as if he's scared to break you.

nodding your head, you answered. "mhm, it doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"that's good to know, pretty baby. just tell me if something hurts, okay? or if you're not feeling well." he said, caressing your head as he leaned closer, his forehead now touching yours. a soft giggle escaped your lips as you nodded, closing your eyes to cherish this lovely moment.

ᝰ BYUN EUIJOO

euijoo didn't waste time as he immediately brought you to the infirmary after you fainted from the harsh impact on your head, he carried you in his arms, not caring the shouts or instructions given to him, he ran towards the infirmary instead. luck on his side as he saw the nurse wasn't busy.

the nurse immediately rushed towards you and euijoo, euijoo placed you down as the nurse started checking up on you. she told your boyfriend that it is better to bring you to the hospital to have your head examined, since an impact on the head is no joke, and could lead to something serious. that's when euijoo snapped out of his head, and finally started thinking straight.

which brought you two now, inside the hospital. you were immediately checked and examined by a doctor, which euijoo was glad. he never left your side, even when you were getting your head examined, he never left, he waited. euijoo waited until the results were back, and the doctor told him that you were lucky your head injury wasn't serious, and you'll be awake in a couple of hours.

even then, euijoo didn't leave you. he wanted to be there when you wake up. his hand holding yours, kissing it softly as his other hand caressed your hair. soon enough, your eyes fluttered open, the hospital lights blinding you, you slowly adjusted your eyes as you looked at your side.

you saw euijoo, head leaning on the small space of the hospital bed as you watched him breathe slowly, his eyes were shut, his bangs slowly falling on his face. you moved slowly, trying to sit up when your head started hurting a bit, a groan escaped your lips since you weren't prepared for it.

euijoo stirred awake, his eyes growing wide as he saw you were now awake. a sigh of relief escaped his lips as he brought his arms to your waist, wrapping it around them as he pulled you into a soft hug, his head buried on the sides of your hair.

"you're finally awake!" he exclaimed in relief.

"hi there, pretty boy. how's your sleep?" you asked in a teasing way.

"seriously, you fainted for half a day and that's the first thing you're gonna say?" euijoo said in disbelief, before chuckling to himself. at least he knows you're well enough to joke around.

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