#welcome home off script

[mariipun]

Adventures of Wally & The Gang (plus their Caretaker)

Adventures of Wally and the Gang (plus their Caretaker)

Associates Meeting (one-shot)

Warnings: None. Just fluff and funsies honestly; silly antics some of the cast members get themselves into. By no means are my interpretations in relation to Clown’s work, and therefore, not canonically based. Consider this an introduction to the whimsical one-shots to come with our dear Caretaker and the gang.

Word Count: 1,970

Brief Description: Set in the modern world, the Welcome Home cast is alive and aware, living alongside humans. And you have been contracted to be their Caretaker. [you are referred to by the puppets as “Caretaker” or “Care” for short.]

Dedication: @nonomives @kandavers

 *blows kiss* Wanted to give you both this as my debut. 

[I am open to constructive criticism, feedback and ideas! Please inbox me if you have any! I’m a bit rusty with writing, so I appreciate any insight]

In a world much like the Muppets, puppets co-exist with humans. Although the colorful ensemble of characters from the beloved children’s TV show portrays themselves as sweet, educational, fun-loving personas-- when they aren’t on the air, they happen to get themselves into quite a lot of mischief. And you, the lucky individual that you are, have been contracted as their Caretaker to ensure these chaotic puppet actors stay on schedule and don’t put themselves in situations that could cause bad publicity.

You walked off set after speaking to one of the producers as the show had wrapped up earlier than expected. This made it easier to schedule the upcoming appointments you had meticulously organized around the otherwise busy puppet’s schedules. With clipboard in hand, you made your way over to the break area, where most of the cast members were chatting with stagehands, makeup artists, or lounging in their deck chairs.

“All right everyone!” You clapped your hands together to garner the attention of the cast, all eyes turning to you except for Barnaby standing over the spread table, hungrily grabbing at the box of doughnuts one of the interns had placed out. You deadpan at him before shouting his name, earning an audible hmph?! as the blue mass turned to look at you, a sprinkled doughnut hanging from his mouth, with two others in hand.

“Okaaaay—now that I have everyone’s attention, we have an early flight to catch tomorrow for our meeting with our studio associates, which will take place later in the afternoon once we’ve arrived.” You scan the break area to ensure they’re still listening, amused by Julie and Sally as they respond with shared squeals, already chatting about plans to sightsee the area and meet their adoring fans. Their bubbly response caused you to grin momentarily, before turning serious.

“That means! You all need to be awake, packed, and ready to go at 6 A.M. sharp.” You say sternly, now earning loud groans from a few of the puppets.

“Okay, okay.” You waved your hand dismissively to the choir of complaints. You didn’t know why they were complaining, considering they usually wake up this early in the morning to start the show. Rolling your eyes, you let out a breath, mentally preparing for whatever shenanigans these puppets will pull on you later. “You guys have the rest of the day to relax since it’s only 2 P.M. right now. Just remember, we need to stick to the schedule. I don’t want to have to explain myself to the Manager if things derail.”

With a resounding “All right” from everyone, you went your parting ways and continued to work out the schedule’s details. “Also! Julie, you better pack light! We are only staying for two days, so don’t bring your whole wardrobe with you—again…” You called after her, ignoring her refusal to do so.

[Next Day: 5:41 A.M.]

You grabbed your duffle bag, slinging it over your shoulder before grabbing the briefcase on your way out of your small apartment. Before descending the stairs of the apartment building, you turn back in to grab your coffee, yawning in the process. “Ugh, gonna be a long day.” You murmur to yourself, the lingering drowsiness from slumber not yet leaving your body. You check the time on your phone as you take a gentle sip. You only lived a 7-minute walk away from the set, which you were grateful for since (1) You didn’t own a car and (2) The Studio provided you with lodging once you agreed to be the cast’s Caretaker. The pay was all right considering the added bonuses of what the Studio provided for you, although, it’s probably due in part to the various applicants that had been hired and then immediately quit due to their lack of ability to actually wrangle the cast from committing any sort of war crimes. (Guess the Studio needed to give some sort of incentive for someone to fill the role). Taking on the task was daunting at first since you quickly learned how eager the members were to push boundaries. You didn’t necessarily blame them for being curious since there was still so much of the world they wanted to learn about. Of course, this made your job more difficult to handle at times.

[5:53 A.M.]

You walked through the studio’s hallways, quietly greeting good mornings to other studio employees as you passed. The meeting location for everyone was in room 2A, usually reserved for auditions, but opened for you to ensure everyone came on time. Arriving at the room, you saw that most of the members had already arrived. Poppy, sitting comically large on one of the chairs and leaning against the wall as she continued to sleep. Barnaby and Wally both lazily tapping on their phones; Frank and Eddie who were both reading; Howdy who had just strolled in with a loud yawn, and…. Julie and Sally? Who weren’t even here yet. Of course, knowing them Sally would come in ‘dramatically’ late, as per usual, and Julie would usually stroll along. You greet those who were already there good morning, earning a few mumbled good mornings in return and a quiet snore from Poppy. You leaned against the wall next to the entrance, taking out your schedule:

6 A.M. - morning roll call

6:10 A.M.- arrive to cars

6:30 A.M. - board private jet

8:30 A.M. (projected arrival time)

9:00 A.M. – early check-in

-

-

-

1:30 P.M. – production meeting

-

-

-

5:30 P.M. – dinner reservation (for self)

-

-

You nod, everything was still on track for the most part… Sally would soon come in beaming and entered the room with a loud, sing-songy “I’m here!”, followed by the same response as the heaving Julie dragged an absurdly stuffed suitcase in tow. The sudden intrusion caused Poppy to jolt awake, everyone else looking over as the pair came in. You glanced at the time, 6:12 A.M.

“You’re late…and I told you to pack light--” You comment, shaking your head gently as the two tried to begin explaining. Raising a hand to stop them, you turned to everyone with a small smile, went over the plans for travel, and ushered them all to the awaiting cars outside.

[8:32 A.M. Landing]

As the jet landed, everyone deplaned and entered the cars that would transport them to the hotel. Once you have all arrived at the hotel, you check everyone in, soon giving them each their own room keys on the same floor. You gave them all a nod of approval as you all entered the elevator and went up to the 14th floor. You all agreed to meet in the lobby after freshening up to discuss any further plans. As you waved to them, you entered your room and took in the welcoming atmosphere. Plush pillows, clean sheets, a stocked mini fridge, a desk, a great window view, and a bathroom full of high-quality amenities you would surely take back home. (No one’s going to miss a few small bottles of shampoo and conditioner anyway). You place your briefcase on the desk, plop the duffle bag on the chair, and throw yourself onto the inviting bed. With arms spread wide, you inhale sharply as you stretch, sighing in contentment for a moment. The temporary silence gave your much-needed overworked mind some peace, before going into the bathroom to get ready. You would soon greet everyone with a much chippier attitude as they had all been waiting for you in the lobby area. You took notice as more guests began to enter the hotel, some with young children excitedly pointing out Wally and the others, pleading to meet them as their tired parents tried to calm their resounding squeaks. It was times like these when you got a break, witnessing the excitement and wonder of fans felt endearing. You were with a group of celebrities after all. Trying to keep a low profile was, unfortunately, not an option in your field of work.

“So, what do you guys want to do?” Eddie inquires. Everyone began throwing out ideas, Julie insisting they go shopping; Frank, who commented on a museum exhibit; Sally wanting to check out the old (presumably haunted) theaters; Howdy and Poppy bouncing ideas about taking a tour downtown; and Barnaby mentioning an all-you-can-eat buffet. The overwhelming chatter droned out your thoughts as everyone turned to you, arguing that they “Should do this!”, “No, this—“, “Care, I want to—“. You tried hushing everyone as their voices became increasingly loud in volume, garnering more attention from the hotel guests as their rambunctious natures were disturbing the ease of the lobby.

“Hold on, hold on. We only really have three more hours before we go to the meeting, so we might not be able to do everything today—” You try to console everyone, your response not satisfying the puppets as they began bickering amongst themselves. You heard a few complaints that you were being too ‘strict’, too ‘uptight’, ‘just relax a bit will ya, we’ve got time’. You huff, knowing you needed them all together since they’d do ‘who knows what’ when apart from you. Maybe you should just ask to be promoted from Caretaker to Glorified Babysitter at this point, the title is more suitable. You attempted to hush them again, only to be met with more insistence that they do “this idea, or that”. You could barely put a word in as your eyes slowly fell on Wally, who in his usual laid-back manner, said nothing. Simply observing the conversations and locking eyes on you.

You could tell by his demeanor, mischievous grin on his face, he was brewing up a plan. Your eyes narrow, squinting at him as you both engaged in a stare-down. “Don’t—” You emphasized, everyone else taking notice and silently watching. “Wally. Do not—”

“Scatter.”

“I said-- Ah!--?!” Before you could protest, you were encased in oversized blue arms, Barnaby coming up to give you a hug from behind, his chuckles booming loudly in your ears. He picked you up slightly, your legs kicking as you tried yelling for them all to “Get back here!”. Both Sally and Julie bolted for the entrance, waving hello and goodbye to those they passed by; Howdy and Poppy scuttled away, continuing to chat; Frank and Eddie looked at each other before heading to the museum, as Wally sneakily exited stage left. You went limp in Barnaby’s arms, cheeks red with frustration as you slowly descended back onto your feet. He chuckled, patting your shoulder (insult to injury).

“You know kid, you should just take it easy. We finally have some downtime, just let ‘em go and have some fun. Same with you, see you in a bit.” He chimed, walking off to the hotel’s restaurant.

You stood there in defeat, running your hands up and down your face before pinching the bridge of your nose. As expected, it was gonna be a long day indeed.

[2:03 P.M. Associates Meeting]

“Shouldn’t they have been here already?”

“Yeah, I tried calling Care, but they hadn’t respo—”

You burst into the meeting room, hair disheveled, breathing heavy with Wally and Julie tucked under your arms while the rest of the members stood behind you with smiles and greetings. You stomped in, some of the associates just staring as you plopped the two in their seats as the others strolled in before settling down themselves. You said nothing, cheeks hot and nostrils flared before clearing your throat and smoothing your hair. You move off to the side, taking refuge in the seat placed against the wall. You finally slump, head tilted back and resting on the wall as the meeting began.

Yeah, you needed a promotion… and a raise.

[cl4mbulanc3plustwo]

that image clown drew of freddie and ank..

and with the homewarming update where frank was like “it okay…” JUST KISS.

I have many opinions on the homewarming update and many theories on what the pea represents (like one theory) BUT!!! thats another post

[keeperthemultiversemom]

Your first impressions about Wisteria Wally or wisteria au made by Sea zoomies?

P.S : please don't tell them, I'm shy to actually spoke to them （；へ：）

"It is a harsh reality, but we must abide to it for everyone's safety... we cannot have it happen again"

Wisteria au belongs to @marineasea2 ( I hope I got it right )

Scripter : @apileofscripts

Creator note :

I know I said I would do opinion ask only in text, but I took the opportunity to hint at lore

An other opinion ask is in the work and that will be the second exception to the rule (cause funny visual)

Anyway I'm sorry it took me so long to do Keeper asks again

I am back on trying to do some, but from now on they will come out way slower than before

Very sorry about that ;w;

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde (Here) | Diasomnia (Here) A/N: HUZZAH YET ANOTHER SERIES FINALLY COMPLETE

Habits You Steal:

Heels (Developed): Malleus is quite tall. No, scratch that. He towers over everyone. The horns give him an added height that really sells the deal. Unless you want to crane your neck back and develop a hump? It's wise to start wearing heels.

Prose (Inherited): Malleus. We love his little riddles and mysterious aura . He obviously read the wrong script and came straight out of an early 2000s YA novel named 'Evermore' or something akin. Yet he quite literally cannot get to the point sometimes. It’s a Diasomnia thing for sure but he’s the worst of the litter. It's infuriating. On one hand, your vocabulary has vastly improved. If only he could rub off on Grim, Professor Trein would be ecstatic. The problem is that sometimes you lapse into an 18th century sonnet, and your friends give maximum shit for it. Especially Ace. No mercy.

“Apologies everyone, it’s now past twilight hour and both the prefect and I need to conclude our evening agenda. Please excuse our absence and continue to delight in the night’s festivities.”-> Dear god Malleus - just say you’re going to walk them home and that you’ll see everyone in the morning. The misunderstandings that come from using big words is worse than sounding improper.

Sleeping on your side (Developed): Malleus requires a special pillow to sleep and it's one of those long ones that is positioned center of the bed. Most nights he rests like the dead, flat on his back so his horns don't tear the cloth. Laying on his side is a challenge, but he also wants to be touching you. It's one of those scenarios where once someone who's touch starved gets a taste, they can't go back. So most nights you'll sleep on one side (doesn't matter which) with either your head on his chest or your arms wrapped around one of his. Oh yeah - you get to keep one of those fancy pillows in Ramshackle. It's stored in a spare room but grim steals it quite a bit since the quality is high. The nights Malleus isn't around, you'll wake up with Grim smothered in your arms instead. Guess the whole 'can't go back' thing doesn't apply ONLY to Malleus here.

Luck (Inherited?): Fae blessings are a thing - we have confirmation within a 'discussion' during the main plot. I won't say when to avoid spoilers. Point is, the partner of Malleus Draconia most definitely has fae favorability cast upon them. You could make a HEFTY deal with Azul if he ever found out, so maybe keep the knowledge in your back pocket for a rainy day. Maybe offer to sit by him during a game of poker? Haha, no. You're actually 100% unaware. Only other fae can sense a blessing, and Lilia isn't a snitch. Expect your luck to turn around. Perhaps not entirely, but enough for the grey hairs to stop sprouting prematurely. It's difficult for other fae and supernatural to sense who placed a blessing, but they can recognize raw power. There is only one person on campus with enough magical potency to cast such a powerful charm. All thy need is two brain cells to connect the dots (some do lack this, unfortunately). You won't be sucked into any messes such as the Ghost Bride, etc. anymore, at the very least.

"Hm? I've little to no involvement with the others in my dorm, dearest. Yet, is it not a good happenstance that they treat you with the upmost respect? Do other dorms behave so uncouth that you are wary of proper manners? Diasomnia would welcome you, all you need do is ask." <- It is technically not a lie? He's not explicitly making anyone behave a certain way, but surely the strong aura acts as a deterrent for anyone with bad intentions. It just so happens that most fae-born students reside in Diasomnia. Not that he'd take kindly to any of his acting like anything but proper gentlemen towards you. This includes Sebek, by the way. The tonal whiplash with this one is insane the moment he recognizes Malleus' magic.

Gargoyles (Inherited): There is not much to say on this topic. Malleus is the sole member of Gargoyle Studies, and while he won't force you to join? It would make him very happy. You will become accustomed to travel and find comfort in desolate places. The dewy chill in deep ruins, nature's overgrowth from time's passing - certainly Malleus revisits places he once knew held life, and have been left to deteriorate. You can't truly feel the heavy nostalgia as Malleus can, but the appreciation is still shared.

"I once deeply enjoyed the solitude of ruins. The weathering of time somehow captured in architecture. Trapped in place as the world continued to live on. Yet I now find more joy in sharing them with you, rather than basking in their atmosphere alone. It perplexes me, and yet I find no problem with it." -> Malleus discovered the happiness that comes from simply being near someone you love. He just...doesn't realize it yet? It's a difficult feeling to characterize in words. Different than with his family, certainly. The entire point of going to a ruin was to enjoy the abandoned atmosphere. Malleus cares for his family yet there is a divide. Unspoken, and unable to be crossed. His world turns while he remains at a stand still. Yet whenever he discovers a new ruin, he couldn't find that tranquility he used to. Enjoying it alone is almost unthinkable - harrowing. He can't without you, or else it feels lacking. Even if you sit together in silence, he'd be happy. He just wants you there, your reactions, your company - it brings life back to the emptiness. Leaving the place more harmonious than he found it, coating it with pleasant memories for future visits. Hopefully ones where he is not alone.

Habits He Steals:

Artistry (Developed): Malleus has plenty of time to develop skills. The resources as well. He's fearful that one day your memory will become just that - a memory. One where he cannot picture your face in his mind. Where he's the only one left who recalls your existence. Be it because you pass on, or decide to leave him prematurely and return 'home'. Even if he firmly believes that there is nowhere more 'home' for you than in Twisted Wonderland. Regardless, he doesn't trust others enough. He needs to capture your likeness on his own. With his hands rather than magic - even if using magic to do so is child's play. He does not tell anyone of this budding desire or disquiet in his heart. Not even Lilia, who's likeness is forever immortalized in textbooks. The unspoken implications are too much for Malleus to confront.

People Watching (Inherited): It’s a work-in-progress, getting Malleus to see people as…well, ‘people’ and not subjects or those he’s obligated to protect. To cure his social awkwardness, there’s a need to get him ‘loosey-goosey’ and in touch with improv. What better way than to people watch? Except you don’t just sit there with him to observe. Malleus is thrown for a loop when you start making up backstories for everyone - based on their clothes, what they might be doing, or whatever else. None of it’s true. The ideas are all super embellished and with characterization holes…but it’s fun, and it gets him to think about how specific a person’s life can become, whether they live a lengthy life or not. Something utterly pointless to do, suddenly becomes one of Malleus’ favorite pass times.

Earth Slang (Inherited): It's a give and trade scenario. He improves your vocabulary, while you do Lilia proud by being the newest gremlin on Malleus' shoulder. Rather than teaching him Twisted Wonderland slang, it's much more entertaining for him to learn Earth lingo. Which is different. It's our metaphors, legends, and phrases like 'it's raining cats and dogs'. You're going to talk in SpongeBob quotes to him and he's going to believe it's philosophical. How novel, indeed. He gets to learn more about you as a person, and you get to have a bit of fun while also fostering a language shared only amongst the two of you? Like a secret code that friends have, or lovers? Huhu. It's not hard to crack at all but still fun.

"Hm? An 'updog'? Is this another saying or legend from your world? No, I have never heard of an 'updog' anywhere in Briar Valley. What is an 'updog'? A terror of some kind?" <- Heh.

Domestic Tasks (Inherited): Be still Sebek's heart, because bro might need to be resuscitated. Malleus wants to help you. Except he's found a situation where there isn't anything he can offer? Sure, he can offer coin and trinkets. Anyone can. It also is not his place to insert himself and solve your problems. You're an independent human and he isn't foolish enough to overstep that. So? Acts of service, even if said acts are 'beneath' him. This revolves back to him simply enjoying your presence, no matter what. Since you come with him to enjoy hobbies, it's only fair he does the same. Now he doesn't fully believe that you 'like' cleaning, but it's what you do most. So he'll help hang the sheets outside and then cast wind magic so they dry faster. He'll set up security charms outside Ramshackle, and enchant the paint brushes to freshen up your fence while you both share a pot of tea on the porch. You seem happy, and even a tad amused. So he'll relinquish some pride. If only for you to smile.

“Do all without magic need to take such…’extreme’ measures to clean windows? Please do not perch on the sill like this when I am not near. Else allow me this task, a simple water spell is far more proficient and safe” -> Man catches you ONE TIME, leaning out one of the second story windows to clean the outside glass and his heart skips a beat. Not that you wouldn’t make a lovely gargoyle on the roof, but spare him. He cannot fathom why one of the ghost residents can’t do it in your stead, but Malleus much prefers your feet planted on firm flooring (who’s going to tell him about all the holes and weak floorboards in Ramshackle?)

Nicknames (Developed): Malleus ceases calling you 'Child of Man'. There are many other children of men. It just so happens to be his default when you met. You are more. Much more. Which is why you cannot be his 'Child of Man'. Malleus actually takes to calling you your name more often than not. Names are meaningful, after all. Yet he dubs you 'Mooncalf' as well.

“Mooncalves are beautiful creatures that inspire. A name given to ‘those who dream’. That is what you do, is it not? Dream, and bring novel ideas that spark life in others.”

Strength (Developed): This is quite difficult. Controlling his strength when touching another is like trying to crack an eggshell with a power-saw. Yet the more you are together, the more he desires to touch you. So he has to learn. Since if he ever injured you, Malleus would never forgive himself. Often he hovers near, guiding you yet never making direct contact. His palm hovering near the small of your back as you walk, or taking extreme care when holding your arm. He's broken more teapots than you can count, and it takes months to share a bed. The fear of hitting you in his sleep caused insomnia for days...just, goodness. Don't even start on his tail. That thing has a mind of it's own.

"Fascinating...Hm?. No, no. I am by no means upset. Quite the contrary. Could I trouble you to humor my curiosity with examples? Oho, this is a wonderful evening indeed." <- Malleus showcases one of his pointed smiles - chin grasped between thumb and index as he listens intently to his juniors go in great detail about how you've begun to resemble him. The one other students will shy away from, but little do they know just how genuinely overjoyed he is. At first they showed mild distaste for the Ramshackle Prefect daring to go after someone like Malleus Draconia, yet all know better than to admit such a thing to his face. Else pity the fool. Yet nothing could dour his mood, their formal report reading like a lovestory in his mind. It is not that he is 'naive' to your mannerisms. You are always changing - as are many - and he would not dare to make any assumptions. Yet if others are noting these subtle changes as well? Malleus is...overwhelmed. Joy, appreciation, humor, and a bit unsettled if one asked for full honesty. If you are admiring him, including him in your person, as much as he is to you? It's an intimate commitment that comes once in a lifetime for his kind. He needs to think, but for now he will enjoy the 'implications' as much as he can.

Habits you steal:

Light Feet (Inherited): The king of jump-scares, ladies and gentlemen. Lilia is quite the cheeky fellow. He wades through corridors, skulking around like a bat on the walls. Both body and humor seem to ascend to new heights with this one - who without a moment's hesitation will drag you into his schemes. You may not be able to float, but that is no excuse to clomp about like an oaf! No, my doves, the greatest joys in life come from a good thrill. Others learn to keep a keen eye out for this bat's lover, as you slink about and appear at the most random moments.

"Oho!....my, my - your stealth is improving by the day. Don't get too cocky now, else I'll be forced to show you how a professional jump-scare is done!" <- Leona KingScholar himself has threatened to stick a bell collar on you, those from Savanaclaw taking a step back as you begin to resemble the more worrisome Diasomnia residents by the day. Dropping from treetops and banisters aplenty, the trickster ghosts at Ramshackle love their new fourth (and fifth, counting the ancient bat who haunts the halls just as much as they do).

Impish Glint (Inherited): Kehehehe~ it's physically impossible not to mimic that mischief laden smile of Lilia's! It's not as intimidating without the fangs and blood-red eyes, yet still oh-so charming. Why, the bat himself finds it positively adorable. It's one thing to have others call him cute - he now gets to witness the effect first-hand. The fact others can point your resemblance to him is just an added bonus. All you're missing now is the pink streak in your hair...can he? It would make such a lovely memory!

"Well aren't you just the most fetching gremlin this world has ever seen. Come along dear, I want to stir some youthful envy!"

Nose Picking (Inherited): Just kidding lol.

Historical Info-Dumping (Developed): One can only be corrected so many times before learning a topic inside-and-out. History lessons are a breeze with a personal dictionary at your disposal. Lilia is happy to help, but get ready for long stories with his bias weaved in-between. He never outright lies though, and it's a fine evening to sit with him by firelight and talk the night away over junk food. Treat it like hearing the story of an elder veteran. Except Lila has hundreds of stories to tell. There will come a day where your knowledge abut Twisted Wonderland extends far beyond what you ever knew of Earth - and you are the person people come to for notes. Even the studious Riddle Rosehearts trusts your word-of-mouth as much as his precious texts (only for history though, fair warning).

Speed Dial Takeout (Developed): This one is self-explanatory. Lilia's curiosity in the kitchen isn't something you want to deter him from. Let bro live his life, so long as it doesn't lead to the end of yours. It took months to find the TWST equivalent of speed-dial Chinese, yet a slip to Azul along with some recipes was enough to get the ol' ball and chain rolling. The food already exists, but you just had to plant some ideas to make sure that 3am last-second-craving availability was indeed an option.

"Don't look so glum now - once the oven is fixed I'll whip up a batch of Silver's favorite Mushroom Bisque! Ah - there's no need to cry. Now where did I put those takeout menus...." <- Now it's just Lils, Silver, and yourself chilling out at midnight with some egg rolls and moo-goo-gai pan after the fourth oven's been blown up in the past year. Thank Seven Malleus worked a plan with Azul set up a chain in Briar Valley, else y'all would starved.

Briaran (Inherited) : Briar Valley is indeed a land of tradition. You don’t need to learn their language to converse with fae. Most people in TWST are Bilingual - knowing common tongue and that of their homeland. Plus there are spells to help. Very few speak the ancient dialect from hundreds of years ago, which dwindled out after the war between man and fae with the ushering of a new generation. You already speak common tongue, but as for Lilia? Fluent in multiple languages. Ancient Briaran being one he slips in from time to time. You will undoubtably pick up many phrases of Briaran. Especially when he converses with Malleus, Silver, and on occasion Sebek. The third still a beginner to his personal chagrin. It’s like being a child in an immigrant household where your elders talk in their native tongue when they don’t want you to understand the conversation, so as a kid you gradually put together meanings through context. Y’know, as they go in between languages.

"I hadn't thought it possible to fall fall deeper in love - yet as always, you continue to surprise me." <- Lilia never asked you to learn, but nothing makes him melt faster than seeing you pick it up. You’re listening to him. He won’t ever jest over this, no matter how tempting, afraid it might deter you. He adores the way you mumble words under your breath, even if they’re mispronounced. He will only interfere if you ask, and be more than willing to teach. Ask him.

Habits He Steals:

Walking (Developed): Aside from when he's cheeky and looking to have some fun? Lilia will not float near you. He prefers to walk, feet firm on the ground, his hand in yours and enjoy the sweet serenity. There isn't a need to rush. Not anymore. Strolls with Malleus are a commonly discussed subject, but with Lilia? It's less like a sonnet in steps and more akin to walking the streets on a cold, winter night. Plenty of laughter as your linked arms swing between. Somehow slowing your steps on purpose, drawing out the time shared. Even if your lungs hurt a bit and joints are stiff. You don't have to. He could easily zip you both wherever need be, but the journey is part of the fun. He's gone his entire life at differing paces - and now Lilia is happy to match his final gait alongside yours.

Repeating Others (Developed): This goes hand-in-hand with you learning Briaran. Without prompting, Lilia will often repeat things his sons just said in common tongue. Sometimes dropping context clues so you can piece things easier. Not in a way that makes it obvious for you (sparing your feelings), but definitely noticeable to others in the Valley. It's an unspoken understanding not to ask 'why' he repeats himself two maybe three times tops.

"...eh? Scuzele mele. Ne vom întâlni în trei ore pentru antrenament. Da. Pentru practică. Asigurați-vă că nu vă zăboviți, altfel veți rata antrenamentul! - why that face, Sebek? Careful or your muscles will freeze like that khee hee!" <- Does it come unnatural? Maybe, but two out of three of his conversation partners can usually pick up when you're struggling to understand something. Sebek fails, but wouldn't dare question Lilia's speech and risk offending him. Translation: "My apologies. We'll meet in three hours for practice. Yes. For practice. Make sure you don't linger, or you'll miss practice!"

Intimacy (Inherited): Lilia is cheeky with most, but not touchy-feely. Not in the way that matters. He becomes clingy. It's odd being with someone actively seeking to be at his side all the time...and yet he does not mind. Which is unheard of for the loner - he spent 700 years of solo trips, wouldn't change a single one (okay, maybe a few. He could do without some scars), but the taste of a couple's vacation? A couple's intimacy? Romanic candle-lit dinners atop the castle ramparts, legs dangling over the edge as mindless talk comes and goes. Hiking through mountains hand-in-hand. Running raids online, shouting at each other from the next room? Sipping mimosas on a cruise ship - picking out souvenirs for your family an tasting cuisine. Even if it's places he's been before...with you? It's all new.

""You know...it was quite cruel of you to leave me behind. When? On that little journey to Fleur City, of course! Be it ten years ago or not - I understood at the time that it was a decision out of your hands, and yet you hadn't brought me any souvenirs...the hurt lingers to this very day and can only be healed through another vacation, won't you be my guide this time around?"

Normalcy (Developed): Lilia actively pushes the cute bit with others. Many portray his character as two sides of one coin: Lilia the General, and Lilia the Cheeky Prankster. What you get to see is...just Lilia. Not even Lilia The Father - because even with his kids, he has a part to play. Has to set a good example. Is it corny to say that he doesn't have to act cute for you, because he trusts you'll adore him? Isn't that what love is? To truly release your guard around him and not stress? It's like how on earth we all have our work mode, family mode, public mode, and then...well, us. The person we are when in a quiet room, alone, and simply being. That is the Lilia you, and only you, get to see. Lilia wouldn't get involved with someone that couldn't bring this side out of him. The one jamming out to metal while pretzeled on the ground, sifting through his wardrobe and eating burnt crisps out of a bag with chopsticks.

Time (Developed): In his last hundred years of life, with his magic dwindling, Lilia casts a glamour that lets him physically age with you. Not technically a habit, but also something he would never have spared the energy on without you as a deciding factor. Time comes for us all. He’d rather not emphasize this to his sons more than necessary…but they’ll watch you age. In an odd way, this is Lilia’s greatest ode to you. To them. To himself. You won’t have to age alone, watching him in a standstill as he’s been the past 700 years. This is his final thrilling experience, his final adventure- to grey and feel time in his blood beyond magic.

"You are as lovely as the day we first met, dear...surely I'm just as cute too, no?" <- No matter how quick you reply, he still is the same cheeky lil shit at 780 as he was at 700. Only with one heavy case of arthritis.

Nicknames (Developed): Lilia calls you ‘Dove’ for reasons best derived on your own rather than my telling. He will also be an ass and use teasing ones like 'shnookums' and 'poppet', but dove is for the softer times. On very rare occasions he will say ‘inima mea’ which is Romanian for My Heart, also known as Briaran in the world of TWST.

"Why, thank you! Kee hee hee, is it so obvious that I adore my little dove beyond comprehension? I've finally found my 'partner-in-crime' as you kids say, and my days have not been this lively in many years. Humor the musings of this old-timer, enjoy the blessings life offers while they are within your grasp." == Those who have lived as long as Lilia in Briar Valley are witnesses to his personality change. The general from hundreds of years ago is not the same bat flying about. He's a prime example for fae and humans alike that time changes us all - and so he doesn't mind popping in to humor gossiping soldiers. If anything, he hopes his open adoration serves as an example that it's never too late to welcome sweeter things in life. Family, friends, adventure, and even the once in a lifetime 'eternal love'.

Habits you steal:

Calling Lilia ‘Dad’ (Inherited?): Not Father. Just Dad. Daddio. Peepaw. Pops. Ye old man. So informal. So funny. Lilia loves it and Silver turns red every time. One? Because you’re already thinking of him and his Father as your family. Two? Please. Please, let him breathe. Flustered is the most consistent emotion he shows aside from that graceful little smile of his, and people are starting to notice. He’s not used to such bluntness and it’s killing him. You need to be more careful! Not everyone knows about his situation! Lilia is such cheeky as shit over it and teases his son every off moment. Welcome to the Vanrogue’s, my friend. It’s a clusterf*ck. You’re going to love it.

“…N-no, I haven’t seen father since lunch. Perhaps check over near the club rooms. I can escort you before my next lesson, come along and take my hand.” -> Silver will never get used to you asking ‘Hey, have you seen Dad anywhere?’. He bites back the warning for you to lower your volume. It’s turmoil - truly. He doesn’t want you to ‘stop’ per-say…but maybe keep it in private? He adores your energy but the rumors.

Compliments (Inherited): Silver gets plenty of compliments. He’s amazing, after all. This is a habit because his reactions are priceless. Why is it developed? Because the man in question is the most wholesome being to exist. He effortlessly drops one-liners out of thin air, and then has the gull to act confused when you clutch at your chest. Silver is brutally honest when it counts. His words and his reactions are genuine. Truly priceless. His confidence desperately needs that bolstering, so much that you never go a single visit without paying him a compliment. It’s only fair. You do it until he takes them with anything other than a pass off or a denial. Even after, because appreciating Silver is the best part of your day. Congrats. You’re a simp. Big Ol’ simp - side note, being so forward for his sake has turned you confident in other aspects of life as well. Congrats on being the social one.

"Your hands are unnaturally soft for a student. Perhaps I am used to callus' from training, but yours are warm enough to feel through my gloves. I heard once that you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Yours must reflect a gentle personality, which is true - hm? What's wrong?" <-Wholesome. Fucking wholesome.

Animals (Inherited): How do you feel about woodland creatures? Would you consider raising bunnies, or leaving the window open in the mornings for songbirds to perch? The answer is yes. Always yes. Otherwise they will whack at the glass until you do. Silver is beloved by nature. Being around Silver means being around all the animals that perch at his side when he clocks out in random places. Eventually you'll be waiting with birdseed in your pocket, prepped to distract those that perch on his head. Ramshackle has multiple bird baths out in the gardens, and you've built shelters for the wildlife on campus to camp out in when they visit (always when Silver does. Coincidence? No).

Just Chilling (Developed): Not relationship-exclusive. Any time you find Silver clocked out, it’s instinctual to just drop everything and lay down next to him so it looks like you’re both chilling out. Doesn’t matter if he’s asleep for ten minutes or two hours - you don’t leave him. Not unless someone trustworthy comes to take your place.

Haircuts (Developed): A lil snip here, a chop there - and you're cutting his hair in the kitchen at 9:00pm with one of the old sheets tied loosely around his neck like a bib. All it took was one time for him to nick his ear while doing it himself, and you so graciously forced him in a chair. Now you cut both his and his father's hair. Since Lilia's a little turd, and if Silver gets a freebie than so should peepaw. Briar Valley could use another stylist, y'know. You already have two loyal clients!

"Thank you. My bangs can get in the way of my training, so I try to keep them short. Maybe I should adapt a cut similar to Kalim's?....Why are you looking at me like that?" <- Kalim's hair is adorable, but if Silver cuts off his shimmering silk-soft locks it will literally be a crime against cosmetology.

Alarms (Inherited): You sleep through alarms. There isn't much to say. Have you seen his bedroom? There's like - a dozen clocks in there. The only one that gets him up is you, usually whacking him with a pillow because no amount of love will ever make up for dealing with nonstop ringing every morning. You started off having a near heart attack on the first night. A few years down the road, and it takes about 2-4 of the clocks to go off before you're up.

The Way Of The Sword (Inherited and Developed?): Another one without much to elaborate. Silver insists on teaching you some swordsmanship. He does not play around either, and is a very stern teacher. Lilia engrained the danger of weaponry and battle into him from childhood.

"Steel your nerves. They will only impede your progress. Do not worry about anything other than my instruction while there is a blade in your hand. I am here for that." <-The sword exists to protect, but that does not mean you are invincible. He won't put you through a Knight's training - but as one of the few 'sane' people? Homie, you really need to learn some self defense. It isn't even about his feelings (although he does worry).You are a walking magnet for bad luck, and a firm understanding of defensive combat is necessary so you don't end up dead in a ditch.

Habits He Steals:

Wet Wipes (Developed) : It’s so tempting to draw on Silver when he’s complete zonked out in the ninth dimension. How he hasn’t woken up to any uh…hehe, ‘special’ and ‘totally not vulgar’ images all over him on a daily basis is an honest shock. Especially in a campus full of dudes. Some not so friendly with the whole dorm rivalry going on. Then again…maybe it’s his aura. Drawing a dick on Silver’s forehead feels like a crime punishable by Lilia’s homemade gazpacho.

"...I sense a disturbance." <- Regardless. It’s your civic duty to make him a work of art…much to Silver’s reluctant compliance. Some day’s it’s heartwarming. He’ll wake up and find little hearts on his cheeks, or a note on his collarbone. A lipstick kiss left smack center of his forehead…which takes endless scrubbing to get off before equestrian club. "Mngh...ah, you're here father? I could smell jasmine and oakwood and thought - wait, isn't that MC's pencil case?" <- Other days Silver wakes up covered in tic tac toe games with his father snickering over him and your form making a speedy guilt-ridden retreat off in the distance - and yes, Ramshackle smells of Jasmine and Oakwood. From repairs and the herbal cleanings.

You’ve Got Mail (Developed): Squirrels make good messengers. It helps that you live in a dilapidated dorm with a lovely forest not too far for them to skitter about. It would be troublesome if you lived somewhere like Heartslabyul…Riddle would never allow Silver’s animal friends to stay. Since you’re so open to suggestion, and skittering about yourself, he’s made a habit out of using the animals for communication.

"Please take this gift to them, would you? Today is a special day, I must take precautions not to forget." <- He’s not too big on phones since he might pass out and miss a call…or forget. So Silver likes to pen his notes when he can and trust his little buddies to make sure you get them. It especially helps with big events like anniversaries or days he cannot make it home.

Mints (Inherited): Someone get this man an Altoid, stat. Whatever curse is on his ass, crack open that tin and shove three strong peppermints between his teeth. They’ll spark more than just a crack of the great beyond in him. Giving Silver a tin of strong mints is like giving a Victorian child one singular sour patch kid. You carry the things around to punish Grim. Y’all know it’s bad if the living garbage disposal won’t even eat them….now if we could just somehow compress Lilia’s cooking into a pill form, we might be onto something bigger.

"This is a remedy from your world? Oh - it's candy? Maybe it will work then...thank you. I'll update you if there are any changes."

The Open End (Developed): Silver’s precautions extend to all matters, big or small. He’s trained to be Malleus’ guard since he was a little boy, going through strict training and beyond in order to match royal standards. Some might think him cold, but his father raised him to care deeply, truly, and so he is proactive in ensuring your comfort. When at the cinema, he sits in the inner seat. Both so he’s blocking you from strangers and so you can have the chair with two arm rests. He walks on the street side of the sidewalk, shares his umbrella but covers you fully at the cost of his sleeve, gives you more of the blanket at night and once gave you his shoes when yours were pinching your toes. If there are two cupcakes, he pushes you the one with more sprinkles, and he never forgets to ask how your day is.

"Are you happy today?...I see. That's good. I've been working hard to not disappoint you as a partner. It is nice to know my efforts have been yielding results." <- Ever the hard worker. Silver works on your relationship like it's training - but not in a bad way. He just doesn't want to reflect poorly on you, especially when this is new to him and tracking his performance in a relationship isn't the same as studies or physical training. He could do with some verbal affirmations, just saying.

Smelling Salts (Developed) : Silver does not want to sleep all the time. He is determined to overcome it - and you support him by suggesting method after method. Sometimes it takes an otherworldly person to bring in new ideas? Another cook in the kitchen, y'know. Can you believe that in all of Twisted Wonderland, with their fancy shmancy potions and charms, no one thought to get him military-grade smelling salts (or trigger his fight/flight by putting a bit of Lilia's pot roast in front of his nose)? His curse is potent, but it staves the episode off just enough for him to get to a bench or out of a clearing. I swear - magic spoiled these people. It's a blessing and a curse. It's no cure but he'll take anything at this point. Who knows what other ideas you might bring.

"Mm...thank you. I am lucky to have someone as wonderful as them in my life. I strive to be a good partner and influence. Your compliment makes me quite happy. I will be sure to pass on the message." <- Silver's expressions are typically difficult to read, they're so miniscule. Yet it would take a blind man to miss the way his disposition softens. One might mistake the far-away look in his eye for an incoming siesta, but no. He's merely in love and excited to tell you how appreciative he is to have you in his life. Whatever dreams he has that night, you're in them. As always.

Habits you steal:

Volume (Inherited) : Spoken like a true Queen. Literally. Sebek’s volume blasts your eardrums like a child’s screech plugged into an amplifier broadcasted over the Night Raven intercom. Mans has his vocals, there’s no doubt about it. The thing is that Sebek won’t stop until he’s been heard, so you have to get loud for him to listen. That can be hard to tone down when he’s not around, and you have to remind yourself that Epel will hear you just fine at a level 2 not 6.

"Disrespectful! My human can speak to their desire, apologize for suggesting otherwise this very instant. It is an honor to hear their voice!" <-Aye...sometimes your volume hits the frequency where people cover their ears, just as they do for him. He misinterprets this as a smite on your freedom of speech.

Gotta Keep Up (Developed): Get those legs moving prefect. Ya gotta go sonic fast. Sebek-y long legs over here moves in big strides. Big strides for his big personality. One of his steps is the equivalent to three of yours, no matter how tall or jittery you are. He will out jitter you with his Type-A pacing. You’d think he was on a mission and not on a date with how Sebek zooms through a shopping mall. Sebek, honey, we’re here to buy clothes, not race the evil sales clerk and save Malleus from the storage room.

Bookies (Inherited): You never know when you’ll be stuck waiting around or following Malleus with him. Sometimes it’s a sacrifice you have to make for some quality time together, and it’s not so bad. Malleus is cool with it, Silver’s good company, and Lilia is mildly stressful company. You could just go on your phone to pass the time, but Sebek limits your screen time. No IPad partners or brain rot on his watch. Read a book. Don’t make him quiz you, ‘cause he will.

"I have been thinking to start a book club, and you can be the first among many initiates! This week we will be reading My Liege's autobiography as sourced from the Royal Palace. I can think of no better introduction!" <- Dear god, he'll put in the request too. Stop him. You love Malleus to pieces but 600 pages on his birth alone is just destructive.

Prim and Proper (Developed): It’s a bit hilarious that he takes personal offense when you’re not groomed properly. Especially when near Malleus (of course). If you want to follow with the troupe, you need to look the part. He’d likely ask for a Diasomnia uniform on your behalf if it wasn’t against the school dress code. Secretly though? He enjoys fixing your tie, hair, etc. It makes him feel useful but that sweet emotion gets masked by a scolding.

"Tsk. It is an honor to wear this uniform. You should take precautions to ensure your appearance doesn't reflect on Lord Malleus. As his chosen friend and my partner, you are a representative of Briar Valley. Step forward and allow me to preform an inspection." <- Sebek has more than one jealous bones in his body. They’re all jealous bones. Make sure he’s the one to fix your tie and not Rosehearts, unless you want him to sulk.

Battery Pack (Developed): Lowkey? Sebek zaps you frequently. Think the electric buzz from pulling out a plug too quick. The sparkles come out when he gets very emotional - which is all the time. So…yeah, you might secretly carry ointment for that. Don’t tell him? He feels awful. Not awful enough to stay calm when you ask him to charge your phone. Jokes on him. The anger zap brought it to 100%.

Habits he steals:

Response (Developed): Sebek has this teensey-weensey annoying habit of answering on your behalf. He thinks it a way of proving his devotion. Partners are meant to know each other down to the tiniest detail, no? So when he responds correctly, it’s like he’s passing a test by knowing exactly what you’d want.

"They will do no such thing! Your childish antics will only reflect poorly on your dormitory. You will not taint them into participating in needlessly reckless activities!" <- While his intentions are pure, the act itself can be frustrating. Especially when he puts his values in your mouth when chatting with friends. It’s a work in progress, but he will still become overzealous to order your coffee or recall your schedule if asked.

Handkerchief (Developed): Exchanging handkerchief with one’s partner was a popular courting method in the past. Considering the handkerchief Sebek carries is meant for his lord, him offering it to you is a grand gesture. Especially since he does not replace it with one meant for Malleus, as this is something exclusive to lovers, and carries one from you instead. If you don’t have one? Well - expect to get one asap. Author’s authority dictates that you will not disappoint him.

"The embroidery on this handkerchief is exquisite. According to Master Lilia, it is the same style as lacework from my homeland's establishment...and it is yours. Please accept this as a token of my affections."

Portrait (Developed): Sebek keeps your picture hidden at NRC. There's one stuck between his mattress and the boxboard, one behind his ID card in his wallet, and a small portrait he keeps taped under his deckchair. He cannot properly display it like Malleus' - partially from not wanting to disrespect his Lord and partially from bein emotionally constipated. Expect the exact opposite when he is older though. Listen. Do not try to tell me this man wouldn't commission an extra-large oil painting of his spouse to hang up in his barracks room in the palace. He's literally the blueprint of a fanboy, and if there's no available merch then us nerds get to commissioning.

Escort (Developed): Sebek Zigvolt can and will sit in the husbands' chair while you try on clothes in the store. He will carry your bedazzled hot-pink purse with pride, guarding the thing like it's worth millions. You can leave your cup with this one when at a ball worry-free. You have somewhere to be and he isn't on duty? Sebek is hot on your heels. He has no shame. Better yet? He's the one shaming anyone unable to do such simple things.

Gotta Slow Down (Developed) : Pairs with 'Gotta Keep Up' as he tries to match your stubby legs. At first Sebek attributed your slow pace to a lack of stamina, but no. He's just a jitterbug. Obviously he can't tug you along or stop every other minute for you to catch up either. It's funny watching you both try and forget to consider the other. On loop, a never-ending cycle. NRC hasn't seen a pairing like this in centuries.

Chivalry is not dead (Inherited...just not from you) : Lilia fucks with him and you’re subjected to many, many odd courting attempts…some he unironically takes a liking to.

"What must I do for you to reciprocate my intentions?! I have bestowed pearls shucked with my own hands, invited you to dance under moonlight, hung dried thyme over every door and given earthly offerings to all your kin! I implore you for transparency this instant!" <- Oh...oh, His trust in your batty elder wanes for months after being tricked so cruelly. Only until you accept (out of pity?). Then he feels guilty for ever doubting Lilia and begs for forgiveness. At least life never gets boring? Haha...hah...ha...

‘My human’ (Developed) : Sebek gets hit hard with a crippling awareness for your mental well being. He defended your 'honor' once and had it thrown in his face that he calls you a human more than your own name. Old habits die hard, and he prostrates himself on the ground as an apology. He really didn’t realize it came off so derogatory. Especially considering your relationship. Felt awful. Apologized profusely. Only says it in an affectionate way or with pride now. Tacking in the ‘my’ makes it better somehow? It's a work in progress.

"An apology is in order. My actions until now were unbecoming, and I am truly repentant. I cannot begin to beg for forgiveness, knowing that my words have struck you. I was wrong. You are no mere human, you are my human. A very special one whom I could not have foreseen in this lifetime" <- You know it's bothering him when he takes a gentle tone, looking directly in your eyes with shame open on display. Responsible enough not to look away and face his wrongdoing in the face. Even after you forgive him, Sebek will carry this lesson with him forever.

Flower preference (Inherited): In the language of flowers, which means a great deal to fae kind, he goes for the one associated with your birth month. Carries a pressed one as a bookmark, changes his cologne, and places a vase of blooms by his bedside that never seem to wilt.

"It is an honor! I shall never cease striving to improve. It is only natural that my partner does the same. Your acknowledgement is noted and appreciated. Please continue to treat them well." == Insulting Sebek is a challenge. The comment could be made with the most nasty undertone, but he only hears that you're behaving like a model citizen. You must, if you are beginning to resemble him in so many ways. Hearing that you are a positive influence on him is nothing short of baseline knowledge. Of course you are? He picked you to be his partner? Honestly. If people have time to sit around and gossip, they could go do something more productive.

Habits you steal:

Acronyms (Inherited): Does this truly come as a shock? Big L on your part if so. C'mon, this is Idia we're talking about here. Bro cannot go two sentences without pullin' some quote out of his mental backlog. Since you're stuck in TWST, not watching their culturally founding shows and cartoons is a crime. You'll be speaking in pseudo-lingo like how Spongebob quotes make their own language around these parts.

"Whehehe way to debuff your charisma stat - you might want to craft some mimic gear before Professor Trein locks ya in detention....n-not that I care! It's just that I'll have to solo tonight's raid and you're the one with the rotation buffed character!" <- On one hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. That's good. Less work for Idia. On the other hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. They're totes going to make fun of you now and it'll be his fault. You'll get lingo-lashed by professors and feel burdened and - okay. He'll shut up now.

Evil Laugh Who? Villain Where? (Inherited): We all know Idia has two modes: nerdy and sofuckingarrogantheneedsacoldshower. You know exactly when he's feeling number two via his laugh. That over boisterous 'WHEE HEE HEE' which is way too high pitched to belong to a villain but perfect for when Idia's in the zone. It comes out when you're feeling especially ecstatic or embracing your inner gremlin. A bit more subdued than his, but you've seen him do it so many times that the adaptation is subconscious.

"Ah -?! What w-was?....No! NO I DIDNT SAY ANYTHING! Just hurry up before we gotta interact with more NPCS! Awahhh my blood pressure's already spiking back up..." <- He first caught it when you insisted on playing one of those cheap festival-games outside the main market in Fleur City. All he wanted was to grab a grape juice and get back to his group before they noticed he ditched, but you saw some handstitched plushies and just like in some mainstream otome, he just had to get it for you. It was easier than sitting there watching you get cheated by a sleaze. He was amidst convincing himself that he robbed you of the fun, handing the doll over while sucking down his second grape juice when he heard it - on one hand, is this what he sounds like to other people? Scratch that. No way he's this cute - wait. No. He didn't just think that -

Gatcha (Inherited): One of Idia's go-to hangouts is playing an MMO. The dude already gave you a console as a gift for what happened at S.T.Y.X. One inkling of interest towards one of his main games and he won't hesitate to build you a PC. He'll take care of the maintenance and even send over some matching accessories. Ortho will be the one to drop it off of course, but it'll already be set up with whatever games he thinks you'll want to tag-team in and some extra money to explore on your own....and thus, the addiction begins.

"Hey, press this button for me real quick. I need to test something. N-no! I'm not setting you up, uggh just do it would you?" <- Your pulls are better than his and Idia can't decide if lady luck is smiting or blessing him. On one hand? Ultra rare pulls are going to a beginner account. Yet you're more likely to keep playing this way....fate truly tests the Shroud name every day.

Night Owl (Inherited and Developed): Freedom...is powerful. As the Shrouds are responsible for Blot Control, you're left with little to do at S.T.Y.X. You can work anywhere in the facility. As a lab assistant, tech maintenance, heck even the kitchens if you want - but Idia's on that night-life and likes to work when most are asleep. So you match it. Maybe not to a T - going to bed at 6:00am and waking at 4:00pm like him - but time does get a bit disoriented in a place where the sky is simulated.

"Why're you still up? This isn't a 24hr stream, y'know. Even I'm not crazy enough to do multiple all-nighters in a row...well, I'm off for now. Wanna watch the PREMO concert from last week with me?"

Vitamins (Developed): You take them. Idia is taking them. No matter what bro says - he cannot live off the Ignihyde snack machine. Get him the kiddy gummies if you have to. You started taking vitamin D in preparation for moving to S.T.Y.X in the future. Surely they've got something better than the options at Sam's, but you won't be developing Seasonal Affective Disorder anytime soon.

Snacks (Developed): A very simple kindness. Idia uses deliveries as an excuse to get you to visit Ignihyde, and in the future that doesn't change. Expect calls to do deliveries around S.T.Y.X and run 'confidential' reports whenever he's antsy for a visit. We all know he won't explicitly ask...ah, it's reminiscent of all the bogus orders he'd put in at Sams so you'd stop by.

Habits he steals:

Financial 'Responsibility' (Inherited): You both are very bad with money - and by bad? I mean that Idia is a jerk who thinks he can solve everything with money. Minor red flag - something to address. Definitely the type to apologize by sending an unnecessarily gigantic stuffed bear or something akin since he's afraid of saying something that will make it worse. Then pray you don't say anything as he stews over a fight like 12hr simmering sauce.

"Please spare me your double-standards the next time you're shoving vitamin water in my snack stash. SRSLY, Headmaster's a worse deadbeat than I thought if you're living like this....uh, don't tell him I said that" <- On the flip side, he's also flippant with that Shroud inheritance and will buy stuff on your behalf all the time. He's the type to go 'Oh, I thought it was going to be more. You live like this?' when wiring you money for groceries (because Grim ate your allowance in tuna smh). As for how you're bad? You're just flat broke man, so he's responsibly irresponsible as a result.

Vitamins Again (Inherited): Bro. Bro, genetics are making you pale but that diet is what is making those eyebags so prominent despite having a decent skincare routine. You need Vitamin D but he needs the whole spectrum. His potassium is so low, that you'll be staring him down with a plate of cooked salmon in one hand and a bottle of vitamins in the other. Is it pushy? Sure, but you don't want him keeling over within the next decade. Eat the vitamins or it's time to raid his search history. Ortho, get them medical reports out stat.

RPG (Developed): Every chance he gets, Idia will model his MC after you in an RPG. A character customization screen HATES to see this man coming, because he will sit there for hours until it is as close to your image as the system allows. You won't even know since he plays these games solo and has photographic memory to recreate you without a reference. If caught, will deny it despite the evidence being right there. Flat out takes this to the grave.

Sour Candy (Inherited): Fun fact? Citric acid is the perfect stimulant to shock someone out of a panic attack. You find the sourest candy he can tolerate, and it does it's job. If anything it creates a placebo effect, where when Idia tastes it he'll make an association with being anything but anxious. One time he ran out while stuck in a work meeting, and Ortho had to swipe a lemon from the cafeteria.

"Eugh! Sour! Sour! My tongue's gonna shrivel up like a prune! I should have knew this was a prank -" <- Proceeds to forget why he was anxious. Stops himself mid-rant, face sours realizing that you were right, apologizes under his breath and doesn't question you again.

Protective (Developed): Idia teeters the yandere line, to be fair. He's highly protective of the things he considers worth caring about - scratch that, the things he allows himself to care about - which are few. Very, very few. His self-doubt both keep this protectiveness in line while also fueling it. He is quick to convince himself that he has little right over your person, and that it's only a matter of time before his role gets snubbed or written out. Yet the moment his position becomes threatened by something he considers inferior? He hates the thought of some noface coming along and making a muck of your life. It's not his fault if you don't realize Idia's doing just that - but he'll be damned if someone else puts their two cents in, pushing him towards a bad ending.

"Hey - so uh, totally unprompted question that you can just ignore in all honesty - but what's it like living with so many ghosts? They don't give you any trouble or anything - 'cause if they do we've got a few empty rooms over in Ignihyde....only if you wanna! I mean - we're a buncha shut ins but it's pretty quiet and stuff. Okay, fading into the background now." <- Do you remember the Ghostbride? Idia does. Vividly. He also remembers you were the only person aside from Ortho who actually wanted to help him and didn't need cohersion. Stupid move on your part but he's hyper aware of the paranormal now regardless.

Sharing a bed (Developed): Unheard of. Especially since he's stated how miserable he was sharing a dorm - Idia surprises himself with this one. Not a single person would believe just how clingy bro is - but he's only clingy because 'you're' clingy - or so Idia loves to say if anyone teases him for going back on his whole 'solo for life' rants. He goes from the whole 'eww normie love bleh bleh' to 'oh you normies just don't get it because you don't have it hwee hwee'. Look. You're the one matching his sleep schedule, making him used to sharing a bed and having something other than a pillow to curl around - he didn't want to get used to it, he was adamant that this lifestyle was an absolute no-no, but now he's ten years too deep and he's screwed.

"Snkk - funny joke, Ortho. Almost got me there with that one. Inheriting any of my skills is like welcoming a one-track path straight to doomsville. You and I both know it." == Ever observant Ortho is very eager to share all the little changes he's seen in both yourself and Idia. Especially when the latter enters self-deprecation mode and is insistent that your relationship is nearing a band ending. In truth? Idia notices. He doesn't feel entirely himself anymore, and it terrifies him. Not everyone's meant for companionship, and for a long time Idia thought he was one of them. Someone perfectly content on their own with absolutely zero need for other people. Especially those hot-shot nosy hero types that would try to fix him without asking if he wanted to be 'fixed'. Thing is? You haven't pushed him to change at all - and he's freaking out because he's not supposed to want this. You're not supposed to want him.

[thepencilnerd]

sticky-notes and leftovers

thank you to everyone who voted in my last poll! ask and ye shall receive 🫶

summary: a glimpse into your daily notions with robby after moving in, a.k.a., literally just fluff to escape the reality that s1 finale is tomorrow

the first note appeared three days after you officially moved in.

It was stuck to the cabinet above the coffee maker, slightly crooked. Ballpoint blue. Classic. Robby’s handwriting—surprisingly neat for a doctor, dad-esque, deeply serious in a way that made you laugh.

Coffee’s ready. Don’t forget to eat something.

Below that, in smaller script:

p.s. you’re not as subtle about skipping meals as you think.

You’d rolled your eyes. Smiled. Made a mental note to write back. The next morning, you left one stuck to the fridge:

Thank you for the coffee. I'm still mad you beat me to it. Again.

And just like that, it began.

It wasn’t intentional, at first. The notes were mostly functional—reminders about groceries, schedules, patients one of you needed to follow up on. But they bled into softer territory quickly. Encouragement. Sarcasm. A shared language built in 3x3 squares of neon.

Good luck today. You're a miracle in scrubs. (check the leftover lasagna before you thank me. It’s kind of a war zone in there) I love when you sing along to the radio in the shower. I wasn’t singing. The shower was. Sure

By month two, there was an entire corner of the fridge reserved for them, layered like scales, curling at the edges.

Some mornings, he’d stumble out of bed to find his thermos with a note taped to the lid:

Be nicer to Whitaker. He’s trying.

Other nights, Robby would get home late and find one on his pillow:

Welcome home. You smell like hospital. I’m still glad you’re here. I love you.

He’d stand there for a moment, reading the words, the weight of the day falling off his shoulders. You’d be asleep by then, curled up on your side, hair slightly mussed from the pillow, the soft rise and fall of your breath the only sound in the room.

He’d lean down, brushing a kiss to your temple, careful not to wake you—but still, you’d smile, faint and sleepy, like your body knew he was near even before your mind did.

Sometimes, he’d whisper something only the walls could hear—missed you today or you’re everything—then set his phone to silent, take a shower, and crawl in beside you, the note tucked into his journal.

The ritual became a comfort. A constant. Something grounding when the days were long and the shifts were brutal. When you barely saw each other except in passing, there were always the notes.

Until the day you had the worst shift of the year.

It had been back-to-back traumas. A code blue that didn’t end well. A young patient who reminded you too much of someone you used to know. You didn’t cry, not in the moment. Not until you got home, peeled off your coat, and saw the Post-It on the inside of the fridge:

Soup’s in the fridge. Eat first. Then fall apart if you need to. I’ll be home before midnight – M.

You’d pressed your thumb over his name like it could hold you together. Ate the soup. Didn’t fall apart.

Not until you saw the follow-up note stuck to your pillow:

You don’t have to be strong for me. Just be.

You left your reply in the bathroom mirror, scribbled while brushing your teeth:

I love you. (also, we’re out of toothpaste)

He never brought it up. Just replaced the toothpaste. Kissed your forehead like it was all part of the same conversation.

One morning, months later, Langdon accidentally opened your lunch container in the fridge and found a note stuck inside:

Remember to eat. (yes, I know you will forget) This is me pretending to be surprised ~OoO~

Langdon had stared at it. Then took a picture. Then texted Dana, who texted McKay, who dragged Collins into it.

By the time your shift ended, the entire department was in on it.

You returned from rounds to find a Post-It stuck to your locker:

If he doesn’t marry you, I will. - Dana

Robby’s handwriting appeared below in green ink:

We’re taking applications for flower girls - Robby

Collins passed you in the hallway and grinned. “Power couple energy.”

McKay gave you a thumbs-up and said nothing. Langdon winked. Mel smiled shyly. 

You shook your head, embarrassed but smiling. Your heart full.

You never asked how they knew.

You didn’t need to.

It was a Wednesday night when Robby found you standing in front of the fridge, rereading the corner where you kept them. The notes were a riot of color—blue, yellow, green, pink—some faded, some brand new.

He stepped behind you, sliding his arms around your waist. Rested his chin on your shoulder.

"You keeping all of them?"

You nodded. "Even the one where you said the leftover stir fry was cursed."

"It was cursed."

You leaned back into him. "I like them. All of them."

"Even the stick figure one where I drew you doing a laparotomy with laser eyes?"

You laughed. "Especially that one."

He was quiet a moment longer. Then whispered, "I’ll keep writing them. For as long as you’ll let me."

You turned in his arms and kissed him, soft and slow.

"That better be a promise, Robinavitch."

"Sticky note vow," he whispered.

And when you pulled back, he was already reaching for the notepad.

[mrsvante]

Safe & Sound

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, angst, pfp

summery: you waited the last six months for the love of your life to finally come home. and when he finally does with his uniform crisp, with open arms, smile bright—you realize some things can’t be rehearsed. some things break the script entirely. especially the kind of love that arrives shaking, breathless, and swollen with surprise.

warnings: military discharge, birth control failure, unplanned pregnancy, soft angst, lots of crying, oral!f receiving, breast play, fluffy emotional sex, mentions of body insecurity, aftercare,soft domestic jimin 😜, pregnancy cravings, brief depictions of labor & childbirth

word count: 5,819

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i’ve realized i might have a thing for daddy jimin. there’s just something about soft but fiercely protective jimin that gets me going 🤪. and i KNOW i’m not the only one. so don’t judge me, judge your mother. anyways, hopefully you enjoy! i definitely got a little carried away while writing this 🤭💜✨

The sun raked across Jimin’s cheeks as he smiled for the camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook in front of the training facility gates. Cameras flashed, reporters called his name & cheered from behind barricades.

It was a brief blur of gratitude, bows, and polite words rehearsed more times than he could count.

But none of it felt real.

Not the neatly pressed uniform or the click of camera shutters. Not even the company assigned car idling by the curb, ready to take him away from duty and back to the life he left behind.

The only real thing waiting for him, he knew, was you.

His fingers twitched as he climbed into the van, the smile he offered through the tinted glass fading the second the door shut. He blinked out the window, watching Jungkook’s van pull off first, laughing as it fishtailed slightly before catching traction again.

Typical.

Jimin glanced at the empty seat beside him and frowned, just for a moment.

You were supposed to ride with him. It wasn’t like you to skip something like this, especially after so long apart. His last leave was six months ago. Six months without your voice in his ear at the end of each day, your fingers in his hair, your warmth pressed against his side in bed.

You had said you wanted to surprise him. That you had something special planned.

And okay… you were terrible at keeping secrets. Always a little jittery. Always giving yourself away with the tilt of your smile or the too quick shuffle of your feet.

Still, Jimin’s stomach rolled with unease as the city blurred past the windows.

—

The apartment was dark.

Not dim. Not softly lit.

Dark.

The curtains were all drawn tight. The only light came from the blue glow of the television and the soft amber of an accent lamp in the corner. Even from the entryway, he could feel the chill in the air—sharp, unwelcoming.

He set down his overnight bag, toeing off his shoes with a frown.

“Honey?” he called gently, stepping farther inside.

No answer.

Then he heard the sound of a soft sniffle and the flicker of movement from the living room.

He found you bundled on the couch, a blanket pulled up to your nose. Just your eyes peered over the edge at him, wide and glistening. The sweater you wore hung loose around your shoulders.

You smiled weakly. “Welcome home.”

Jimin’s heart swelled and ached in the same breath.

He moved toward you, arms already outstretched. “Come here, pretty girl. Let me hold you—”

You jerked the blanket tighter.

“Don’t.”

His hands paused midair. “What? Why not?”

“I… I’m not feeling well,” you muttered, voice trembling.

Immediately, Jimin crouched beside the couch, his fingers brushing your forehead. “You’re freezing. Why is the apartment so cold, honey? Have you eaten? Are you sick?”

You flinched at his touch.

His brows drew tight. “Hey. What’s going on?”

The look in your eyes, a tortured mix of fear, guilt, and panic, sent alarm bells ringing down his spine. The hairs on his neck stood up like ice.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby?”

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling, bottom lip trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly. “I’m so sorry, Jimin. I didn’t mean to—fuck—I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

His heart stopped.

“What happened?” he asked, voice cracking. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shook your head, rocking slightly under the blanket. “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose—”

“Hey, hey—breathe, baby,” Jimin said gently, kneeling now with both hands on the couch as he tried to see your face. “I’m not mad. I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t promise that!” you cried, eyes wide. “You don’t know what I did!”

He tried to smile, to keep the panic at bay. “Yah,” he said playfully, “Aegi-ah, why are you acting so weird? Just tell me what’s wrong, right now!”

“Don’t yell at me!” you snapped, voice breaking as the tears spilled over.

Jimin’s breath hitched. His expression sobering immediately.

“No—no, aegi-ah, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Shh, don’t cry, please don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry—tell Jimin-ie what’s wrong, yeah? Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He watched your lip tremble. Watched your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.

Then, with shaking fingers, you began to push it off. Your breathing was ragged as you shrugged out of your sweater. And beneath it, round, unmistakable and impossible to ignore was the soft, swollen curve of your belly.

Jimin stared.

Everything around him slowed to a whisper.

You were crying before you could speak, words tumbling out like stones.

“I didn’t know—I swear—I kept taking the pill and I didn’t miss a day. I—I double checked the window every time, but it still—it still happened. I didn’t want to trap you—I’m not trying to ruin your life, I swear, it’s just—do you know how low the failure rate is? It’s like 0.1%—but that’s still me, because of course it’s me—”

“Stop, baby,” Jimin whispered.

But you didn’t.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t hiding it to be manipulative, I was scared, and I didn’t want to do this through a letter or video call, and you’ve been so stressed, and I know this isn’t what we planned—”

“Stop,” he said again, firmer this time.

He surged forward and wrapped you in his arms, gently but completely.

You froze.

Jimin buried his face in your neck, arms locking around you like a lifeline, and whispered, “You didn’t ruin anything. You didn’t fuck up. You didn’t trap me.”

You choked back another sob, fists clutching his shirt.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted softly, “but not because of the baby. I’m scared because you’ve been here… alone… carrying this without me.”

You broke.

And Jimin held you tighter.

“You’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m home. And I’m not going anywhere.”

—

You didn’t realize how long you’d been crying until your throat burned and your eyes felt raw.

The couch cushions had shifted beneath the weight of your grief and Jimin’s comfort, and now you were curled sideways into his chest with his arms around you like a shield. He rocked you without rhythm, just enough to soothe, thumb stroking slow circles against your side.

Your body trembled, and he didn’t let go.

“I hate this,” you whimpered against his shoulder, your voice thick and wrecked. “I’m sorry—I can’t stop crying. I’m trying. It’s just—fucking hormones.”

Jimin chuckled softly, lips brushing your hair. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve had to live with Jungkook during a breakup. I know a hormonal crisis when I see one.”

You snorted, wet and weakly, but the sound made him smile.

He kissed the crown of your head, his voice low. “When did you find out?”

You swallowed. “End of the first trimester. I kept… I kept thinking it was a stress thing. Then I started getting sick every morning. And… my smell sensitivity kicked in.”

Jimin hummed. “And the doctor?”

“They said based on the scans, it likely happened about six months ago.”

Jimin blinked.

Then his brows lifted.

“Wait—six months? You mean…”

You nodded, already burying your face again, your entire body overheating with embarrassment. “Yeah. During your last visit. That morning. On the couch.”

Jimin stared down at you, eyes wide.

And then he burst out laughing.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

He doubled over, wheezing through the laughter, eyes tearing up. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?!”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “We had this running bet in the barracks. Just something dumb to keep morale up. We were all guessing who was gonna come back home to a surprise baby or a panicked voicemail or a crying girlfriend on base leave.”

You blinked at him.

“And what?” you asked. “You lost the bet?”

“I didn’t bet on myself!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “I bet on Taehyung! Taehyung!”

You groaned, covering your face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. I—”

“No,” he said quickly, firmly, cutting through your apology before it could root. “Stop that, baby. No more of that, okay?”

You sniffed, hands dropping slowly from your eyes.

Jimin cupped your face, brushing away the tear tracks with his thumbs. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You made a human with me. Us. You don’t get to apologize for that.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. “I was just… scared you’d be mad.”

He kissed your forehead. “I’m not mad. I’m overwhelmed, yeah. But not mad. Not even close.”

There was a moment of silence. Just the hum of the apartment and the background sound of the TV playing something long forgotten.

Then Jimin glanced down. “Can I…?” His hand hovered slightly above the curve of your stomach.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled, eyes soft and big as he placed both hands on your belly. Spreading his fingers wide, thumbs brushing gently along the swell. You watched his eyes go glassy, his mouth parting like a breath had just caught behind his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered, leaning down. “I’m Jimin-ie. I’m… your appa. Kind of new to the job, kind of scared. But I already love you, so much.”

He kissed your stomach. Once. Twice. Again.

“I’m gonna try really hard not to screw this up, okay?” he murmured, speaking to your skin. “I’m gonna be there. Every day. Every appointment. Every craving. Every weird hormonal meltdown.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“I’ll help pick out the name, the crib, and paint the nursery. I’ll do the midnight bottles. The lullabies. All of it, honey.”

He looked up at you then, cheeks flushed, hands still gently cradling your belly.

“I’m all in.”

Your throat tightened, tears welling again—but this time, for a very different reason. You slid your fingers into his hair, tugging him up gently to kiss you.

And he kissed you like the promise he’d just made.Like a man finally home and finally whole.

—

The kiss deepened before either of you really noticed.

What began as a thank you, a you’re home now kiss, softened with relief and tears, slowly gave way to something hotter, heavier. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair. Jimin’s hands slid from your belly to your waist, gripping like he needed to pull you closer.

You shifted forward until your knees straddled his thighs on the couch, and Jimin hissed beneath you, like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

It hit him then, all at once.

You were pregnant.

You were pregnant.

With his baby.

His breath caught as his hands slipped over the gentle curve of your stomach again, slower this time, more intentional.

He got you like this.

He did this.

You were swollen and round and glowing and gorgeous and his, and he hadn’t seen you in half a year, and now—

“Shit,” Jimin breathed, hips twitching beneath you as the blood in his veins surged south. “Baby… fuck. You’re carrying my baby.”

You flushed, squirming a little on his lap.

“And you’re so sexy,” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck. “You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect, but like this—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned again, hard and straining beneath you now, one hand rubbing slow circles over the small of your back as the other gripped your thigh.

“I made this,” he said in disbelief, voice turning hazy. “We made this. And right here, just like this, is how it happened.”

He tilted his head, nuzzling your neck as he pulled you down snug against the outline of his cock.

“Right here on this couch,” he whispered against your skin, grinding up slowly. “We’re in the same position as when I knocked you up.”

You groaned and slapped his chest lightly. “Don’t say it like that. And don’t talk to the baby about sex right before sex!”

Jimin cracked up, his laugh warm and breathless against your shoulder. “Already a bossy momma,” he teased, licking a slow stripe along your throat.

You squirmed again. “Jimin—”

His breath hitched, and he moaned again at the word. “God, momma,” he whispered, hands smoothing up your back, “you don’t even know what that’s doing to me.”

His tone dropped, growing deeper, hungrier, and you felt it. The shift. The heat. The effect that word had on him. The knowledge that you’d created a life.

His hands were trembling now, moving beneath your shirt slowly.

“Can I take this off, honey?” he asked, nodding to the tshirt swallowing you whole. “I wanna see you. Wanna see what’s mine.”

You nodded.

Jimin swallowed, then lifted the shirt carefully. You helped him tug it over your head, and the second it was off, he went still.

You weren’t wearing a bra.

Your breasts were heavier than he remembered, full and flushed and on display for him, your nipples peaked from the chill of the room and the ache of your arousal.

Jimin’s eyes darkened.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

He cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples as you gasped softly.

“Does this feel okay?” he asked, immediately concerned.

You nodded quickly. “Yes—Yeah, it actually feels really good.”

“Yeah?” he said, kissing the top of your chest. “Can I…?”

You nodded again, breath stuttering as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling slowly, hand splayed against the curve of your back for support. He moaned at the taste of your skin, kissing and suckling with soft hunger, flicking his tongue just right.

You sighed and rolled your hips, your cunt slick and throbbing, grinding right over the thick, hard press of his cock.

Jimin groaned—mouth still on your chest—his hands guiding your hips in a rhythm that made him tremble. Even now, with you straddling his thighs, bare from the waist up and glowing with heat and flushed emotion, Jimin moved like you were the most fragile, exquisite thing he’d ever laid hands on.

He couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmured. “So warm. So soft. Fuck, I want you, baby. I need you.”

You moaned, rocking your hips with more force.

“You’re sure?” he asked, hands cradling your hips. “You feel okay?”

You nodded, breath catching as you rocked against his lap again. “I’m okay. I want this, Jimin.”

He pressed a kiss to your sternum. “Okay, I’ll be careful with you, promise.”

He tugged his fatigues open, button by button, and shoved them down just far enough to free his cock, his boxer briefs dragged down with them. He hissed softly as the fabric peeled away to reveal him already painfully hard. Flushed tip wet, the whole length throbbing from the weight of wanting you.

But the moment your hips lifted, lining yourself up above him, his breath caught for another reason entirely.

He realized something.

You weren’t wearing anything else.

His eyes flicked up, wide. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

You shook your head, embarrassed and breathless. “Anything clingy is my worst enemy right now. Most of them don’t fit anyway.”

Jimin moaned like you’d just told him the sky was on fire.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

And then slowly, so slowly, he guided you down.

The head of his cock pressed at your entrance, and the second your slick walls wrapped around him, Jimin’s jaw dropped open in a silent gasp.

“Fucking hell—”

You whimpered above him, trembling, your body shuddering from the stretch and pressure. Even with how wet you were—soaked, he realized—your walls gripped him like they’d been missing him as much as the rest of you had.

You sank down inch by inch, both of you panting, your hands braced on his chest, his fingertips digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to reality.

Once he was fully inside, Jimin couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, honey,” he moaned. “I’m not gonna last. I swear to God, if you move—”

You did.

You rolled your hips slowly, moaning as your oversensitive body responded instantly. Every clench, every drag of his cock along your inner walls making your voice break with pleasure.

“Jimin—oh fuck—it’s so much.”

He nodded frantically, head lolling back against the cushions. “You’re so fucking soft. So wet—Jesus, baby—how are you this tight?”

You whimpered again, thighs trembling.

“I don’t know—everything’s just so sensitive now.”

And he could tell.

The way your hips moved in slow, quivering circles. The way your walls pulsed around him with every breath. The way you clenched hard at the smallest shift of his body.

Jimin gritted his teeth, trying not to thrust up. Trying to let you ride him, slow and safe, even as his cock throbbed like it couldn’t handle another second untouched.

“You’re doing so good,” he rasped, hands sliding up your sides, cupping your heavy breasts again. “Let me take care of these, yeah?”

You nodded, flushed and already falling apart.

He leaned in, suckling your nipples with devotion. His tongue teasing just enough to send a new wave of moans tumbling from your lips. He alternated between your breasts, worshipping your body with kisses, murmurs, and trembling hands.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Full of me. Taking me like you need it.”

Your hips stuttered.

“I do,” you gasped. “I do need it—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm tore through you without warning, walls fluttering around him, your body tensing up, hands flying to circle his shoulders as you cried out.

Jimin’s eyes flew open. “Holy shit—”

The feeling of your orgasm was too much.

Too tight.

Too wet.

He growled low in his throat, trying—fighting—to hold back, but the way you squeezed him, the way your body milked him for everything he had…

“I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned your name like a prayer and came hard, hips jerking up once, twice, as his cock throbbed deep inside you, his cum spilling into your fluttering heat.

He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you like he’d fall apart without the anchor.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You’re incredible, baby.”

You trembled in his arms, still catching your breath, still half floating.

—

Jimin was still buried deep inside you, your body soft and trembling in his arms, the air thick with sex and affection. But even after coming that hard, he didn’t want to let go.

Didn’t want to pull out.

Didn’t want to be anywhere but right here.

Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you.

“Jimin—” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re still—!”

“I know,” he whispered, voice thick. “I can’t help it. I want you again.”

He stood, carefully, adjusting your weight against him, keeping your bodies connected as he walked—slow, steady steps down the hallway toward the bedroom. His cock throbbed inside you with each step, and you clung to him, laughing and moaning as the movement pushed you deeper onto him.

“Still so full,” he panted, voice shaking with love and need. “Still so fucking perfect.”

By the time he stepped into the bedroom, both of you were flushed and breathless. He lowered you gently onto the bed, his hands never leaving your body, kissing you softly as he finally slipped out of you.

“Stay right there,” he whispered.

He stood and stripped the rest of the way down—tugging his fatigues off with eager hands, discarding the last of his clothing until he was bare.

Then he looked at you. And froze.

You were lying on your back, hair splayed across the pillow, lips kiss bruised and cheeks flushed. Completely naked and bared to him, and you were glowing, round and full with the life he gave you.

Stretch marks kissed your hips and lower belly, silver and gold under the soft light. You moved to cover them with trembling fingers, shame flickering in your eyes.

“Don’t,” Jimin said, voice low.

“I just… they’re not—pretty,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to see—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked.

He crawled onto the bed with quiet urgency, kneeling between your legs, his eyes wide with awe. “Are you serious? These?” His fingertips traced the soft curves of your belly and hips. “These are from me. These are from our baby. These are fucking beautiful.”

You blinked up at him, lip trembling, tears threatening again.

Jimin lowered himself, mouth to your belly, kissing every line, every mark, every soft place that had shifted and stretched.

“I love this body,” he murmured between kisses. “I love how it changed. I love how it knows how to carry something so precious. You’re beautiful. You’re amazing.”

He kissed lower—down to your thighs, your hips, then between your legs, licking up your slit as you moaned and arched into his mouth.

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

And then he was sucking your clit.

His tongue worked in soft flicks, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit with perfect pressure as two fingers slid slowly inside you, curling up and stroking until your entire body shook.

“Jimin—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got you, honey,” he murmured. “Let it happen.”

And then…something definitely happened.

Your back arched. Your thighs clenched around his head. You screamed, sobbing his name as your release gushed from you, soaking his chin and the sheets below.

You trembled in disbelief, gasping for breath.

Jimin sat up slowly, licking his lips, wide eyed and flushed.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve never—?”

You shook your head.

He grinned, biting his lip. “Okay. Well. We’re doing that again.”

You laughed breathlessly, still shaking, and he leaned over to kiss you slowly and messily before positioning himself between your thighs.

“Let me in again, baby,” he whispered. “Let me love you again.”

He guided himself to your entrance, pausing only to press a soft kiss to your belly.

Then he slid in.

This time was different. This time he knew your body again. Knew your rhythm. Knew what felt good.

He rocked into you slow, holding himself up on trembling arms, watching every expression flicker across your face. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, your lips, your chin—his hands roaming up to cup your breasts again, rubbing gentle circles over your sensitive nipples as you moaned into his mouth.

“Still okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you gasped. “More than okay.”

He moved a little deeper, a little faster.

Your hands gripped his waist, your legs curling around his hips as he built the rhythm, every stroke sending sparks across your skin.

“I can’t believe I get to do this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is mine. You. Our baby. This life.”

You moaned again, hips rolling to meet his.

He picked up the pace. Not quite rough, but deeper now. His pelvis grinding into your clit just right as your body trembled beneath him.

When you came again it was quieter this time, whimpering into his neck as you clung to him, your pussy pulsing around his cock.

Jimin growled against your shoulder, hips stuttering.

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Milk my cock—come on, baby—fuck, you feel so good—”

And then he followed your lead, buried to the hilt, cumming inside you with a soft, broken moan, his whole body shaking as he collapsed into your arms.

After the final tremble passed through your body, Jimin didn’t move for a while.

He stayed there—curled around you, one hand on your thigh, the other gently brushing the curve of your belly, his cheek resting just below your breast, lips parted against your skin.

His cock had softened, his heart hadn’t. It overflowed with feeling.

You both lay wrapped in the quiet for long minutes, breathing together, heat lingering like the final note of a song that neither of you wanted to end.

But then he stirred.

He kissed your sternum and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before gently sliding from the bed. You whined softly, shivering when the air hit your skin, and he tugged the comforter up around your shoulders before jogging to the bathroom.

When he returned, his hands were full—warm glass of water, a clean washcloth, and a soft towel. He knelt beside the bed, mindfully parting your thighs with delicate fingers, and began to clean you up with careful movements.

You flinched slightly, still sore, oversensitive, and Jimin paused immediately.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’ll be extra gentle.”

You looked down at him, lips curling faintly. “Jimin, I’m not made of glass.”

He gave you a look—half scandalized, half adoring.

“You’re not made of glass,” he echoed, carefully blotting between your thighs, “but you’re carrying very precious cargo.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Too late,” he said, setting the cloth aside and crawling back into bed beside you. He wrapped an arm under your shoulders, the other smoothing across your belly like instinct. “It’s my turn, anyway.”

You snuggled closer, forehead pressed to his temple as he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your lips, each one slower and more tender than the last.

He sighed, brushing his thumb across the slope of your stomach. “Gotta take care of my girls.”

You blinked.

Your head tilted.

“Did I… already tell you the sex?”

Jimin froze.

He looked up slowly.

“…No.”

You raised a brow.

He sat back, blinking in disbelief. “Wait. Wait.”

You laughed, wide eyed. “Jimin—”

“It is a girl?!”

You bit your lip and nodded.

And Jimin collapsed beside you. His face buried in your stomach, arms curled tightly around your waist, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he cried.

“Oh my God,” he whispered against your skin. “A girl. I have a daughter.”

He lifted his face and kissed your belly. Once. Twice. Over and over.

Then he pressed his cheek against your bump and whispered, “Hi, little cherry blossom.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “Cherry blossom?”

“That’s what she is,” he said, eyes glassy. “Beautiful, and soft, and new.”

You swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He smiled, radiant and trembling. “I already feel like one.”

You nodded, thumb brushing under his eye. “You already are.”

And in the quiet that followed, Jimin curled around you again. His lips pressed to your belly, whispering soft promises to his little girl as you drifted to sleep with his love surrounding you like a fortress of love.

—

The apartment smelled like roasted sesame oil and toasted seaweed the moment Jimin opened the door.

It was almost midnight.

Practice had run late again—dance rehearsals dragging into vocal drills, vocal drills into a spontaneous team meeting about camera blocking and choreography marks.

He was exhausted, his hoodie clinging to his neck with sweat, shoes dragging a little more than usual.

But he still made the detour.

Because it had been two days.

And his baby, his girls, deserved their chicken.

“I’m home,” he called gently, pushing the door shut with his foot as he balanced the steaming container in both hands.

He spotted you immediately.

You were perched at the breakfast bar in one of his oversized tees. Looking achingly soft, stretched over your belly, with your hair swept into a messy bun on top of your head. A pair of chopsticks in your hand, a spoon in the other. A cup of barley water shimmered in the low kitchen lighting.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“I knew it,” you said, grinning. “I could smell it down the hall.”

Jimin beamed. “One rotisserie chicken for milady,” he declared, setting it down in front of you with a dramatic flourish.

You laughed, already pulling the container open, the rich, savory aroma spilling into the kitchen like a hug.

“Smells amazing,” you murmured, already picking through the soft, steaming meat.

Jimin leaned over and kissed your temple. “It better. This place has your order memorized now. Chicken stuffed with garlic rice, extra drippings, sesame glaze on the side.”

You hummed happily, mouth already full, as Jimin stood behind you with his hands gently stroking your belly.

“Hi, Blossom,” he whispered into the crown of your head, smiling at the swell of your stomach. “Daddy brought your favorite.”

Your belly shifted slightly, a subtle roll just under his palm.

“Oh—!” Jimin gasped, eyes lighting up. “Was that a ‘thank you’?”

You snorted through your food. “Either that or she’s fighting me for the last thigh.”

He chuckled, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump as he continued speaking to her like she could understand every word.

“She’s been so active lately,” he said softly. “Think she’s excited?”

“She better not get too excited,” you muttered, spooning more rice onto your plate. “She still has a few days on the clock.”

Jimin smiled, stepping back around the bar to pull out the stool beside you. He flopped into it with a quiet groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Practice was brutal today,” he said, voice dipping into that familiar, raspy exhaustion. “We were polishing the floor with our sweat by the end of it. Tae almost passed out doing the chorus for the sixth time.”

You reached over, brushing your knuckles along his cheek affectionately. “You’re doing amazing, though.”

He smiled, watching you eat. “Can’t lie. I’m excited about this comeback. It feels… good. Different. Like we’re really starting fresh.”

He rubbed your belly again, tone softening. “It feels like everything’s starting over.”

You nodded, chewing slowly, eyes warm.

And then it hit. A tight, low ache clenched across your belly, enough to pull a small gasp from your lips as your spoon clattered to the plate.

Jimin was up in a second.

“What was that?” he blurted. “Was that it? Are we—? Should I get the bag? Where’s your charger? Do we need to call—?”

“Jimin.”

He stopped, wide eyed, practically vibrating with panic.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your palm to your bump. “It’s just a Braxton Hicks. Not the real thing.”

“But—but how do you know—?”

You gave him a look.

He swallowed, sitting down slowly, still tense as he reached out to feel your belly again.

You grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll know when it’s time.”

Jimin nodded slowly, but his gaze stayed fixed to your belly like he was waiting for it to glow or send up smoke signals.

You smirked. “I promise you won’t miss it.”

“I just…” He exhaled, rubbing your stomach gently. “I don’t want to mess anything up. I want to be ready.”

“You are,” you said, voice soft and sure. “You already are.”

He leaned in and kissed you, thumb brushing just beneath your navel.

“Still,” he murmured. “Next contraction, I’m putting on my shoes.”

—

The room was too quiet.

Too full of everything that had just happened and somehow, impossibly, not enough.

Then came the cry.

High. Piercing. Clear as glass.

A wail so loud and sharp it rang off the walls, and for a split second, Jimin forgot to breathe. Then the doctor laughed gently and said, “She’s got your lungs, dad.”

And just like that, his knees gave out.

He barely registered the slick weight of her being placed on your chest. She was red and warm and still covered in the traces of you, tiny arms flailing as she cried out with pure, unfiltered life.

You gasped, overwhelmed, arms trembling as you reached to cradle her. She fit like nothing had ever fit before. Like she belonged right there, a heartbeat echo of your own.

And Jimin…sobbed.

Collapsed against the edge of the bed, his hand covering his mouth, the other pressed against the fragile, damp curve of his daughter’s tiny back.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “Oh my God, honey, you did it—you did it. You’re amazing. You’re incredible.”

You turned your face, damp with sweat and tears, toward him and he kissed your temple again and again, crying into your skin.

“You gave her to me,” he whispered. “You gave me our daughter. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

She whimpered again, tiny voice softening, cries turning to little breathy hiccups as Jimin stroked his fingers down her back with infinite care.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing the damp curls on her tiny head. “Hi, blossom.”

You inhaled shakily, eyes wide as you looked down at her. “Jimin…”

“I know,” he whispered.

His thumb swept across the arch of her tiny back, eyes shining with tears as he leaned in, lips ghosting just over her head.

“Hi, Jihyun,” he whispered, saying it aloud for the first time. “My little cherry blossom. Jihyun-ah. Appa’s here.”

Her whimpers softened again, her breathing growing slower and steadier, the sound of his voice was already something familiar. Like something she’d been waiting to hear on the outside.

Jimin turned to you, blinking fast through tears. “She’s here. She’s really here. You did so well, baby—God, you did so well.”

You smiled through the haze of exhaustion, cheeks wet with tears, your chest still heaving with disbelief and joy. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he whispered, kissing you again on your forehead, your temple, the cheek, anywhere he could reach. “I’m so proud of you.”

The nurse approached then, voice gentle. “We’ll just take her for a moment to clean her up and check her vitals, okay? You’ll have her back soon.”

You nodded reluctantly, and Jimin hovered as they carefully lifted Jihyun from your chest. He pressed one last kiss to her head before she was cradled into the nurse’s arms and carried to the bassinet just across the room.

Both of you watched.

You, eyes wide, mouth parted in wonder.

Jimin, still crying, one hand clutching yours tightly while the other wiped at his soaked cheeks.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“And so loud,” you added, grinning weakly.

“She’s got her father’s vocal cords,” the nurse teased, smiling over her shoulder.

Jimin let out a laugh that crumbled into another sob.

You turned to him, reaching for his cheek. “Jimin, take photos. Videos. We have to send them to the guys—and our parents.”

He nodded, fumbling for his phone with shaking hands.

“I want to remember this forever,” you added, voice soft. “I want her to see how much we loved her from the very beginning.”

Jimin lifted the phone, but before he could snap the photo, he looked at you again.

And it hit him all over again.

The woman he loved, glowing and flushed, tears in your eyes and a proud, tired smile on your lips. His daughter, just feet away, healthy and real and breathing.

His heart couldn’t hold it.

So he whispered, “Thank you,” one more time.

And took the picture—with trembling hands and love overflowing.

masterlist

[globaloppaaa]

but there was you ─── ⋆˚࿔

⋆˚꩜｡ you’re my only target

riki nishimura x fem!reader wc: 4k [angst, smut, fluff]

based off events from mr. and mrs. smith - 2000

makeup smut ⊹ not too graphic bc i don’t got that experience ⊹ mentions of weapons ⊹ killing ⊹ themes with emotional trauma ⊹ crying ⊹ p in v (characters are married and both over 21) which means hubby riki :))) ⊹ swearing ⊹ mentions of weapons ⊹ petnames

library 𓂃۶ৎ reblog for a big kiss!

You should’ve known.

The years of silence, those lingering feelings pressed between soft words that ached you to your core, now felt so evident before you could even open the door of your home. It’s too quiet, not in the rhythm you swore to follow all this time as protocol, but in the kind that tells you he knows. 

You aren’t sure what ignites you even more, the fact he knew before you, or the fact that he chose to play along.

There’s no music, no static from the television, barely a hum from the kitchen. Just the hush of your house and night echoing the click of your key in the lock. He always leaves something on; he always makes noise, like too much silence might swallow him whole if he lets it. Your grip tightens on the doorknob as you make your way inside. Cautiously you kick off your heels and place your duffel onto the couch. The lights are dim, the kitchen is left untouched, and a half-full glass of water sits on the counter like a ghost. It’s proof that he was here but left in a hurry. Or maybe he didn’t finish what he started.

Your mission itself was short and down to the point. In and out, minimal interference. But it still clings to you like the scent of smoke in your clothes. You only found out what enemy had challenged your assignment after it had all crashed and burned, disappointment enraging your instincts. Those same instincts you’ve spent years sharpening couldn't settle as you came to learn that very enemy lived in your own home.

Your heart is thudding in your chest, not from the strain of the day, but from the dishonesty he held inside like it was nothing.

“You’re back early Sweetheart,” comes a voice from the hallway. It’s low and welcoming, scripted per usual.

You turn.

Niki leans against the doorframe of your bedroom, toned shoulders supporting his weight.  He’s wearing a tight black shirt, the one he knows you can’t stand. His jaw clenches with something you don’t want to get into, but feel the conversation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. His eyes are the only feature you can’t seem to read. They’re glossy, not quite guilty. Not quite tense. But not calm.

“So are you, baby,” you say.

He shrugs. Doesn’t move, Doesn’t smile, even after hearing his pet name from your soft lips. That always makes him quirk a grin at the very least.

“I got reassigned.” He says as if his measly cover-up for a job even allows for such a kind of action. You raise your brow, stepping closer to his frame still unbothered. His chin angles as he looks down at you, like if you just moved a little closer you could-

“That doesn’t happen to you.” You whisper, watching the way his eyes dart between yours.

He gives you another shrug, and you know he’s lying. Not just in what he says, but in the way he says it like his body is braced for something, so now he’s trying too hard to look like he’s not.

“How was your day?” he asks, voice soft.

You nod.

“It was fine. They wanted confirmation on a secondary issue, so now I suppose I’ll have to do a write-up.”

Not necessarily a lie, only a fraction of the truth like always. You leave out the part where you were assigned to protect the “Secondary issue”, but let it all fall apart after feeling watched the entire time, eventually piecing together that it was his eyes on you. That silhouette on the rooftop across from yours, just a shadow of a lean body you almost wanted to run to, was his.

Niki watches you like he knows.

You move past him toward the bedroom without touching him, noses dangerously close to grazing, and somehow it feels more intimate than if you had.

The water of the shower scalds your skin. You want it that way.

You scrub the mission off you, but the edge in your bones doesn’t fade away, it scars like the shadows of his touch from the last time he felt comfortable enough to. Was that on your wedding night? You don’t even bother to remember. It’s still there when you dry off, slip into one of his shirts, and drop into bed with your favorite book. You expect him to join you, check a few emails before mustering ‘goodnight’ and turn his back to you like he always does. Most of the time his eyes stay open for a few minutes, pondering thoughts about who knows what, maybe work, maybe you. You know his routine even if you can’t see it, because you do the same thing. Tonight however, he doesn’t even join you in your bed. He’s in the living room. You can hear his steps, pacing back and forth.

You stare out at the wall, trying to focus on today's mission, and it's backfires. Frame by frame you pick apart what went smoothly, how it could’ve gone better, and who in particular interfered. You remember your entry point. How it was secure, the target visible with his ID confirmed. Your position was set. No order to kill this time, only to protect. You then remember the call, unannounced and urgent, demanding to place the mission on hold, standby at a time as dangerous as this. You caught a shape moving across the building beside you, not enough to get a good look, but enough to get a feeling. A shadow that knew exactly where to stand so that you couldn't shoot. Someone just as trained as you.

Someone like him.

It makes your blood run cold.

You shift the covers off you only ten minutes later, moving quietly down the hall. The office approaches and you scan it briskly. There's nothing out of the ordinary, but a feeling pulls at you. Something's off and you're not sure if that tug is in your heart or your gut. The bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, his drawer. It isn’t fully shut, and lawfully as his wedded wife you have access to your shared spaces in your home. You crouch down and slowly open the drawer, knowing the hinges squeak if you move too carelessly.

A folder sits at the top of the pile. Not hidden, but not left out either. It is suspiciously normal like he had no point in even hiding anything from you anymore after the events of today.

It’s stamped with a red seal, CLASSIFIED: INTER-AGENCY OPERATIVE MISSION. You open the folder, and Your breath hitches even though your suspicions were proven true hours ago.

Target Name: CONFIRMED MATCH.

Assigned Operative: Riki Nishimura

Objective: TERMINATION.

Your heart hammers. Same target, but different orders. You were sent to protect, and he was sent to kill the damn bastard.

“Looking for something?” you hear from behind you, but you don’t turn.

“You knew.” You whisper, almost viciously.

“So did you.”

“For how long?” you snap. Finally standing, facing him. You stomp over to his figure, noticing how it grows as you approach. He doesn’t answer. His jaw clenches, and that’s all you need to know.

“So what was the plan?” you ask. “Wait until I step in front of him? Take the shot anyway? Or were you going to shoot me too?”

“Don’t be stupid,” he growls. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

You laugh dry, humorless as your gaze changes to the floor for a split second, before you find your way back to him. Somehow you can’t seem to look away from him for too long, and you hate it.

“You already did.”

He steps forward, slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal. Or something just as dangerous.

“It must’ve been a test,” he says. “They wanted to see what we’d do.”

“So you lied.”

“So did you,” he says again, a little harder this time. “You didn’t tell me what your mission was either.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” You sarcastically apologize. “I wasn’t expecting to be protecting the same man you were assigned to kill.” Your fists clench. He’s closer now, and you want to scream at yourself for the way it still does something to you. The way his voice sounds when it’s low, the way his gaze drops to your mouth, then snaps back up like it never left.

You visibly lean back as your head falls into your hands, bordering on an emotional breakdown.

“What do we do now?” you whisper, face still held by your palms.

He only takes another step toward you. Close enough to feel the heat of him.

“We finish what we started.”

Your breath catches as his fingers brush your wrist. It’s barely a touch, but it sends goosebumps down your body. 

“And what is that?” you ask, your voice quieter now, wondering if he’s even talking about the mission anymore. You know him well enough to predict his thoughts at this point.

His eyes flick down, then meet yours again.

“You. Me. This.”

You fight his grip even as he removes your hands from your face so gently, leaning down just a little so that his face is leveled with yours. His eyes are half-lidded, but there's emotion behind it. It almost looks as if he’s looking at you with something deeper than insincerity. He takes his fingers and tugs your chin to look at him, to look at him. You hate this, hate that even though he's taller, more muscular, whenever something serious between you two occurs he always brings himself to the same level as you, to speak, to fight on an even battleground. It makes your blood boil, it aches you deep in your heart.

It’s rare for Riki to sound so sentimental, so you’ve come to understand that when moments like this arise, he must mean it with the entirety of his heart. 

“We do this together.” And as he looks between your eyes for approval, you don’t stop him as he leans in. You let him. Because for the first time in years, Riki says it like he’s been holding it in. Like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. He finally sounds like this is exactly where he wants to be. His eyes search your face as your lips come apart, waiting for you to push him away or call him a liar again. Spit something venomous and final that would make this whole thing easier to walk away from. But he knows you, knows how deep down you don’t want him to leave either. And when you don't push him away, from being so tired of pretending you don't want this anymore, he confirms it.

You’re tired of the anger hiding what’s underneath. His hand grazes your hip, slow and deliberate, but like it belongs there. You don’t stop him, but your breath catches. Lips parting just barely, and his eyes flick down again, eyebrows furrowing with what looks almost like care. Before his eyes glare with irrevocable emotion.

His mouth crashes against yours like a dam breaking, flooding out everything he’s been holding this in for too long. He hasn't felt this alive in years. Maybe since the first time you met, he thinks, when you loaded your gun hidden on the side of your garter as you shook his hand.

Your fingers fist the fabric of his shirt as he backs you into the wall, hands on your hips, sliding up under the hem of his shirt you’re wearing. He smirks into the kiss, almost proud that after all this, you're still his. Your teeth hit, his tongue finding its way to yours, followed by gasps from broken emotion. You feel every inch of him pressed against you, but it still doesn’t feel close enough.

“You’re still mad,” he mutters into your mouth, breath ragged.

“You’re still a liar,” you whisper back, tugging his shirt off over his head.

His lips brush the corner of your jaw down to your neck. Hot, open-mouthed kisses like he’s mapping the places that might still forgive him.

“Say you hate me,” he dares, dragging his mouth back up to yours. “I know you want to.”

His forehead pressed against yours, and you should, You really should say it to him. But tonight he’s much more controlled, like his heart cares for how you feel and he’s afraid to mess things up.

Instead, you breathe, eyes glaring up to meet him. “Shut up.” You kiss him again, he doesn’t refuse. How could he ever?

This time it’s slower, hungrier. You grip the back of his neck like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go, threading your fingers through the base of his hair. He groans as he presses you harder into the wall like it’s the only way to keep his own hands steady, to keep his mind still from every thought dizzying him at the moment. There’s heat now, you feel it in the way his hips press against you, not aggressively, but enough to make you want more. It builds fast between your bodies, a low ache curling in your stomach. His hands roam beneath the fabric you’re drowning in, and every brush of his fingertips feels like a match struck on your skin.

He lifts you, quite effortlessly, and you wrap your legs around his waist without thinking. It makes him growl into your mouth as your lips find a shared rhythm. He carries you through the hallway like he’s done it before in all the dreams he swore he’d forget. You barely even process that you reach your bed until the door slams behind you. Riki’s hands glide down your thighs, placing you on the bed like it’s your last safe place in the world. Then he stares.

He takes a long good look at you, face a bit flushed, hair unkempt from his grip. The fabric of his shirt silhouetting your figure perfectly. You're so gorgeous and he couldn't stand it, he couldn't not mark you up with every raw emotion pent up inside. 

He leans over you, pressing both arms beside your head as his nose touches yours, “You’re not just a fucking mission to me,” he says. It’s sudden, hoarse from the way his breath is still caught in his throat, and it catches you off guard.

You sit up a little, heart in your throat. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows. His voice cracks.

“If I told you… you might’ve left.”

“You thought this was safer?”

“No,” he breathes. “But at least if you didn’t know the truth, you’d still come back to me every night.”

That does it. The fight drains out of you, not because you forgive him, not yet. But because no one has ever admitted to needing you like that. You’re so over being the one who feels more, so you reach for him again, not holding back.

Your shirt is gone within seconds, or his you should say. His hands are careful, but feverish, as if he’s memorizing the way your skin feels beneath his palms. You lie back against the pillows as he leans over you, and for a second, everything is quiet again. You can’t remember the last time you felt this comfortable in silence. Just the sound of your breathing and his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re pissed off,” he murmurs. His fingers hook around the band of your underwear as he lowers them down your leg, but his eyes don’t budge from your face.

“And you’re so handsome when you’re not talking,” you counter, voice rough. His grin breaks through then. It’s a real one, crooked and tired, and only for you. Then his mouth is on yours again. The kiss deepens fast. Hips aligned, fingers tangled, heat thrumming through your veins. He kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, lower. His lashes are damp as they brush your skin. And it brings tears to your own eyes as you ponder just how strong he's been all this time. Every kiss feels like a question he’s begging for an answer to: Are you still mine? Can I still touch you like this? Will you let me stay?

You answer without words, nails in his back, lips at his ear, your whole body arching to meet him like it’s answering instinctively. He makes you feel undone, but not weak. Wanted, not owned. You wonder just how Riki’s able to make you come undone every time.

He makes every second count, true to his agent upbringing. The rhythm of your bodies are messy at first. You’re both too desperate while trying to let go of the pent-up anger you’re both still holding onto. But then it syncs, the kind of rhythm only two people with unwavering passion and overlapping scars could ever find. His fingers lace with yours above your head, holding your hands to the mattress as he moves inside you, and the way he looks at you at that moment is almost unbearable. Like he never wants to forget the way you look when you let go.

“I should hate you,” you whisper against his jaw.

“I know,” he breathes, moving his face from your collarbone back up to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“But I don’t.” You manage to muster between soft moans.

He kisses after every place he sucks, eyes still watching, observing just how stunning you look for him. “I don’t think I ever could.”

His rhythm quickens as he starts to lose himself, moving into you at an unsteady pace. And it’s when he grabs your jaw, directing your face to look right at him that you break together. Breathless, shaking, your names tangled in the love you knew was still roaming in the air. And you think for a second that maybe this war between you has finally surrendered.

You aren’t sure if It’s late at night or early in the morning. The clock on your nightstand blinks red, but you can’t exactly make out the time. You lie tangled in the sheets, back against his chest with his arm slung over your waist like a lock. He’s holding your hand, and it dampens your eyelashes once again. His skin is warm and steady, breathing deeply like he hasn’t slept in days.

Neither of you has moved in almost an hour, haven’t spoken since the moans that escaped both your lips. And still, Riki hasn’t let go.

You could say something. You should, but it’s easier to stay like this, caught in the in-between where the past doesn’t matter and the future doesn’t exist. Where your hearts are slow enough to beat in sync. Your teeth clench, uncomfortable in the passion you missed so dearly. Quietly, you feel his body shift, it makes your breath hitch, and you realize then that you don’t want him to let go. 

“You’re shaking,” hei whispers.

You stiffen. You didn’t realize you were.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

His hand slides along your side, slow, grounding.

“Don’t do that.” But he doesn’t say it angrily, it’s more broken.

“Do what?”

“Lie to me like we’re still pretending.”

You inhale through your nose. Exhale out your mouth. His fingers settle over yours again, gentle but protective.

“We can’t stay here forever,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“They’ll come looking.”

He shifts his face closer. Lips brushing the back of your neck as his words tingle through your body. 

“Let them.”

His hand comes up to turn your chin, leading you to roll over and face him again. Just yesterday looking him in the eye would’ve been no problem, but tonight you’re seeing the real him, the vulnerable man you fell for so long ago. It makes you nervous just to face his direction.

“Don’t shy away from me now baby. Not after you came undone for me like that.” He chuckles, not making fun of you,but with admiration.

It’s too dark to see him clearly, but you can feel the shape of him. His broad shoulders, messy hair over his forehead, and lashes fanned low. He looks younger like this. A little wrecked. Like the version of himself, no one else ever gets to see.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” you murmur.

“So did you.”

“We’re both burned now.”

He nods slowly. Don’t look away. “We’ll deal with it.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“No,” he says. “I say it like I’ll do it with you.”

Your chest tightens.

You want to believe him. God, you do. But all of this feels like standing on the edge of a cliff too high. And if you fall, it won’t just be your position at the agency on the line this time. It’ll be your heart.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” you ask softly, eyes searching for him.

Riki doesn’t answer right away, but he lets out the truth when he does.

“Because I knew you were watching.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” you comment.

“It wasn’t the same before.” His voice cracks. You hate that it hits you so deep in your heart.

“You’re not a weakness,” he says suddenly, like he’s trying to convince himself just as much. “They think you are. I let them think that. But you’re not. You’re the reason I still know who I am.”

Your breath catches. “Riki,” you whisper.

He leans forward, forehead pressed against yours. He repeats his words quieter than a bullet in the dark.

“You’re not a weakness. You’re the one thing I don’t regret, I swear.”

You close your eyes. A tear slides down your cheek, and he catches it with his thumb like he knew it was coming.

You should pull away, but Instead, you whisper “Stay.”

His breath hitches. A small, tender smile grew on his face. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“Not just tonight. I mean…” You swallow hard like you’ve swallowed poisonous words that still feel unfamiliar to your tongue. “Stay. With me.”

You feel him go still.

Then his hand slides up and rests over your heart.

“Again,” he murmurs.

“Stay, please.”

And this time, when you say it, you mean everything. Not just your bed. Not just your home. Not just this brief, stolen moment of safety. You mean the chaos and the consequences. The fallout and the parts that don’t make sense. You mean all of you.

He doesn’t answer with words, he answers with the only way he’s learned to show you just how much you affect him. The way he knows you understand on a level no one else can. He kisses you softly this time. Slow and tired and full of every unsaid feeling he can’t quite express. And when you finally fall asleep in his arms, for the first time in years, you don't dream of running anymore.

[hoonieyun]

interview with a vampire

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader genre: vampire!jake x talk show host reader, suspense/thriller, angst, supernatural, internet forum theme (?) warnings: mentions of blood, neck biting and other vampire activities lol, reader is a skeptic and a bit mean, jake is a vampire so you know... kissing, suggestive, 18+ not proofread lol

synopsis: yn, the new face of late night tv has made a calling on centering her show on supernatural and paranormal activities and entities because of her skepticism. tonight, she faces a real life vampire on her show; intending to prove his existence: false.

wc: 3017

“places! filming in 3.. 2..” the director signals a hand that filming has begun and a bright red light turns on in the far corner that says, “filming in progress”. 

“hello, everyone. my name is yn, the host of spooky skeptics and i’m going to cut all of this introduction bullshit and go straight into it– tonight, we have a special guest.” you said confidently, a flirty and sassy attitude wrapped around your tongue as you go through the introduction of your show. 

“as you can see, our usual live studio audience is empty and that’s because we have a real life ‘vampire’ in the studio tonight. he’s been alive, or i guess, dead? –for thousands of years, allegedly, and has taken time out of his busy schedule of being an undead creature to come onto my little show.” you continued, putting emphasis on certain words like vampire, allegedly, and undead to push the narrative that you’re very skeptical and find none of this to be true. 

that was the premise of your show after all. 

spooky skeptics first started out as a little youtube show, you’d make video essays on paranormal and supernatural events and creatures which eventually led to you going insanely viral on the internet, landing you a gig as a tv show host. 

what started off as you being, in all honesty, a hater on the internet, turned into a full blown production on a tv set and filming lot. 

“i know there isn’t an audience tonight but we are streaming live to all of you at home, so… everyone watching at home please give a warm welcome to jaeyun..” you said, with a barely warm tone as you welcomed him on your show. his aura is strong as he steps onto the stage, he’s wearing a beige suit, hair slicked, and features sharp but he has a warm smile on his face. 

it was like he was overjoyed to be there. 

“hi, jaeyun. welcome to spooky skeptics; i’m– yn.. i know.” he says, cutting you off when you attempt to introduce yourself. it catches you a bit off guard but you don’t fully let it show because inside, you know it was just an attempt to throw you off. 

“please introduce yourself.” 

“hello world, i’m sim jaeyun; but all of you can just call me, jake.” he says, a mysterious smile on his face as he looks into the camera.

“wait! let’s cut! sorry we’re having weird transmission issues, give us a second.” a staff member calls from the back and everyone cuts. the light in the back is now green, indicating that filming has paused. you drop your cards with your script on the table with a bit of an aggravted sigh, slightly slouching into your chair as they try to figure out what’s going on. 

“you look a bit tired.. are you alright?” jake asks, turning his head towards you but his body remains still in position. 

you look up at jake and blink at him, not expecting the question. 

“what is that accent? australian?” you ask and he nods. 

you pout and nod at his response. 

“um.. no i’m not tired– well kinda. we did have to film pretty late today, per your request, but anything for the show, right?” you tilt your head, a bit of a condescending smile on your face as you answer him. 

jake had several requests before making his appearance on your show. 

1: limited witnesses, right now there was only you, the director, and 3 other staff members. 

2: filming would take place after midnight because you know… he’s a “vampire”

3: for you to be open to him even if you’re skeptical of his existence 

you had followed all of these rules, maybe the third one not as much, but you tried your best not to be so strong with your skepticism. 

“you're..” jake says, eyes boring into yours. 

“what?” you ask, not completely sure of what you heard. 

“okay! we’ve got it situated, let’s run it back.” the cameraman says and soon filming restarts, picking up where you left off. completely forgetting the small conversation you were just having with jake. 

filming goes on and you ask jake several questions, a regular interview routine, and he seems to answer them with a sense of grace and maturity; not completely playing into your games. you weren’t completely sure if jake was just toying with you but his answers seemed to run in circles just enough so that it sounds fundamental but doesn’t have an actual answer within it. 

as much as you wanted to take this seriously it felt like he treated this interview as if  it was a joke. he didn’t give definitive answers, often responded with questions of his own, and tried his best to make you look like a fool for not believing in him. 

“okay– none of this even makes sense. if we go off of basic vampire rules and such, then none of it is correct. we can see you on the cameras and mirrors; and quite frankly, i actually had garlic wafted through our ventilation system and you seem completely fine. 

jakey.. can i call you that? jakey– i’m sorry but i don’t think you’re a real life vampire because vampires. don’t. exist.” you say with a shrug punching each word at the end– a smug expression on your face as you grill into him for the false narrative that he’s presented on your show. 

“everyone at home, i’m going to be honest… this episode is a bust and– give.” jake interrupts you with a single word and your face instantly turns towards him. 

you give him a puzzled expression, head slightly tilted to one side. 

“what did you say?” 

jake shakes his head with a pout as if he hadn’t said anything and when you look towards your team, they’re all exchanging glances with each other like you were crazy. seemingly enough, they hadn’t heard anything the way you had. 

maybe it was because they weren’t sitting right next to him. 

“um.. anyways. okay, please give me and our viewers at home a bit of a run down on what it’s like being a ‘vampire’.” you say, putting air quotes around the word vampire. 

jake chuckles with a scoff, a half smirk on his face as he looks down before looking directly into the camera to speak. “you know, being a vampire isn’t all it's cut out to be. i have to remain hidden, nonexistent, and constantly waiting. 

i wish i could be like you, all of you, living my life the way i want to. indulging in my cravings the way you all do. give into temptations. unleashing my desires for the world to see.” 

his voice is low but clear. he speaks with a cadence similar to a tune; like a lullaby almost. you’d be lying if you didn’t feel like you were in a bit of trance as you listened to him speak but you shook that feeling off when he looked back at you before he finished speaking. 

“mine.” 

once again, you look at him with a puzzled look but you choose not to address it. you for sure heard him clearly, he had said mine but the word was out of place from his previous statement. your eyes are narrowed at him as you slowly pull up your cue cards, almost like a shield, however not one that is effective. 

“right.. um.” you start to stutter a bit, like the longer you’re in the presence of jake, the harder it gets to remain focused. you weren’t sure if it was because you were getting tired of the interview or if it was due to jake’s unnerving aura. 

he wasn’t even doing anything but his lack of energy was replaced with a certain ambience that shifted as soon as he stepped in front of the camera. jake was merely sitting on the small couch in front of your desk, one leg crossed over the other with his shoulders back and posture upright. he was looking directly at the camera in front of him and would only look at you when he was speaking to you. 

you couldn’t help but take in his features. despite claiming to be a vampire, his features were soft. he had big round eyes, one of like a puppy, plump lips that look like they’re stained by strawberries, and a tall nose that grounded all of his features together. 

if you weren’t trying to prove this man as a farce, you would’ve complimented his looks, but you had a character to uphold. 

“to..” 

he speaks before you get a chance to read the next thing on your card. 

“what?” 

jake doesn’t move or respond so you decide to continue. 

“um– so, tell us jake. is there anything you want the world to know about being a vampire? not that i totally believe you are one.” you added, widening your eyes in doubt. 

“i exist.” jake looks straight into the camera with a stoic expression. his face barely even contorts when he speaks, like a statue or a puppet of some sort. your cameraman had his camera focused on your guest, eyes glued onto him as he watched the alluring man in front of the camera. 

“ah, shit!” the cameraman exclaims out of nowhere. 

“is everything alright?” you ask

“yourself..” 

jake’s words don’t register in your mind as your focus is on your team. “fuck– my nose is bleeding. sorry guys, give me a moment.” the cameraman excuses himself, hands around his face as blood begins to drip from his nose, covering his hands in crimson. 

small droplets fall onto the floor, trailing behind him. 

jake swallows the lump in his throat, forcing himself to remain unphased– but deep inside he wanted nothing more than to jump from his seat and chase down your cameraman and drain him of all the blood in his body until he’s become shriveled up– nothing but bones and skin left behind. 

you clear your throat before continuing. 

“let’s cut.” you suggest and everyone takes a break but because the main cameraman was dealing with his bloody nose, no one shut off his camera. “you know, my goal isn’t to convince you that i’m real, right?” jake speaks up as you’re taking a sip of your coffee. 

“then what is your goal?” 

“yourself..” 

“what? your goal is.. me?” 

jake slowly turns his head towards you, gaze piercing into your own as you get a full view of his face. your bottom lip starts to tremble as you battle and try your best to hold his gaze. jake doesn’t speak for a second, almost like he’s challenging you in a staredown. his dark orbs were like a blackhole and the longer you looked into them the more you felt yourself getting pulled in. 

“me..” 

and suddenly jake is rising from his seat on the couch and sauntering over to you. like he was floating almost. you begin to lean back into your chair so much, wishing it would just swallow you whole as you watch jake get closer and closer.

“what are you doing?” your voice falters as you question him.

but jake doesn’t answer. each step he takes makes your heart thud louder. all the while, jake can hear it 100x more than you can. the blood rushing through your veins and coursing through your body is like a lullaby to him. drawing him closer and closer. 

you look to your team for help but suddenly there isn’t anyone there. the director sitting in his chair was gone, everyone behind the cameras and lights, gone. nothing but stale air and a slight ringing in the atmosphere as your eyes wander. 

jake slamming his hands on your wooden desk and throwing it away with a crash causes you to flinch. the loud sound and aggressive action startled you as jake was now towering over your shaking body. you tried not to look him directly in the eyes but when you turn away, jake’s hand flies to your chin and pulls your face towards his. 

“don’t look away now love, didn’t you want to know if i was real.” he says, his voice was still low but it felt different. before, he sounded calm and reserved, sometimes his inflection would raise but now it was like a whole other person had stepped into his body. he sounded playful, almost like he was toying with you. 

“do i look real to you?” jake says, lowering his face closer to yours. so close that you could feel his breath on your skin. 

you swallowed the dryness in your throat, frozen against his touch. jake’s skin was freezing. not just cold, but freezing. you felt your body’s temperature fall several degrees when you felt his hand touch your face. so cold that the room itself began to feel like there was a constant chill wafting in the studio. 

you were able to spit out a small no through your quivering lips but jake’s grip on your chin only gets tighter as you try to fight him off. he brings his face even closer, his cheek slightly grazing yours as he brings his lips closer to your ears. 

“what about now?” he whispers into your ear, lips ever so lightly brushing against the shell of your ear as his words pool inside of your head. before you could answer, sharp fangs elongate inside of jake’s mouth and a searing pain in your neck causes you to gasp, an agonizing moan escapes from your lips. 

jake was indulging in your blood and you could feel all of your blood swimming towards his lips that are attached to your neck. you begin to get light headed, the studio lights above you getting brighter and brighter the longer jake sucks onto the supple skin of your neck. the fear rages through you and it only makes jake’s meal taste even sweeter. 

he smiles into your skin before pulling away. 

blood drips from his mouth as he looks down at you, eyes drooping and head bobbing around, trying your best to stay conscious– but you eventually succumb to the feeling. 

“delicious.” jake whispers. 

he stands up straight, fingers gently trailing over your lips before he dusts off his blazer. later wiping the blood off of his face and sucking the excess blood off of his skin. red, staining his face as your sweet and vibrant blood is smeared across his chin. his head slowly turns to the camera like an owl. 

a sinister smile slowly spreads across his face as the cameras suddenly cut, nothing left on the screen’s of the viewer’s watching at home. 

⸸

r/Supernatural Did you guys see this week’s episode of Spooky Skeptics? WTF was that?  submitted by: QuackPuma PrettyFoxPrince I saw it!! That was so crazy?? You think it was real? I doubt it, then we’d hear all about it on the news right? OrangeCatNyaaa That was so fake. I love YN and Spooky Skeptics but that episode was so whack.  BambiBoy God, that was insane. I hope YN is fine and that this was all a prank or something. Anyone find any updates on that guy by the way? I tried looking into him but I didn’t get anything besides some articles from the 1600s that were in a random ass language.  PrettyFoxPrince in reply to BambiBoy I tried to look him up too and didn’t get anything. I even tried reverse image searching him with a screenshot from the stream and I swear it gave me a virus or something. The words on my computer turned into random characters and when I refreshed the page it just said error.  IcePenguin Did you guys catch this? Whenever he’d say a random word, YN would look hella confused and I watched back the stream and put the words together. It took a bit of time but I was able to mix the words around and came up with this, “You’re mine. Give yourself to me.”  Fucking weird dude.  BlackCatShadow in reply to IcePenguin Bro, what the fuck!! I just tried to rewatch the stream and it fucking crashed midway and when I refreshed it was gone. Someone needs to check in on them.  QuackPuma [NEW] Guys, I got an update. This is so fucked… I can’t believe it.  Article Linked: Late Night TV Show Host and staff found slaughtered on their TV set. Footage from cameras and security cameras on the premesis have been wiped. OrangeCatNyaaa in reply to QuackPuma What? That makes no sense, there’s a whole stream of it.  IcePenguin in reply to QuackPuma Yeah, that weirdo vampire guy named Jake did it?? Why is no one talking about him?? He’s a fucking murderer!! PrettyFoxPrince in reply to IcePenguin Who is Jake? That stream literally doesn’t have anyone on the screen besides YN?? She was probably tweaking the whole time and made it all up.  BlackCatShadow in reply to IcePenguin Bro, you’re tripping. I just watched the stream again and it’s just YN talking to an empty couch. Are you sure you aren’t behind this too? This is probably a publicity stunt or some shit. LAME! BambiBoy in reply to IcePenguin Ain’t shit there bro. YN probably hired you to come up with this hoax because her show was starting to flop. Click the link QuackPuma sent, they literally talk about a wild animal breaking onto their set. 

That was the very last episode of Spooky Skeptics. YN’s show on YouTube had 100 videos and her Late Night Show lasted for 2 seasons. 

The episode titled “Interview with a Vampire” was only up for one hour after the stream ended, suddenly disappearing from the internet– and when it returned at exactly 6am, the footage only shows YN seemingly interviewing nobody when static interference cuts the interview for 27 minutes before returning to normal. The sight of the aftermath of the slaughter remains on the screen for the rest of the playback before the screen goes black. 

⸸

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @manaah02 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @kristynaaah @17ericas @heeseung64 @leipforggy

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[rem0n-art]

SPOILERS FOR THE WELCOME HOME SPRING UPDATE (LONG POST)

1 - Missing Wally

Wally seems to be missing in these images, it's pretty odd considering he's supposedly the star of the show

2 - Wally's Introduction Card

He's not looking at us anymore? Also his canvas is gone, it could be the same one in the new storybook with Wally and Julie

Also Wally's script is just distorted ringing... he's not picking up the phone (Also it says 'Go back' instead of 'Goodbye!" or whatever the old website said)

Wally's png says 'ringring' (REALLY complements the one above huh)

3 - Secret Wally Audio

The red button on the toy telephone is clickable! It leads to an audio of Wally, and he doesn't seem to be at his best....

Also the audio's labelled 'ringring' which is the same as the Wally png!

Apparently the link updated with a picture of a chair in the dark:

There's also a hidden transcript found in the link (special thanks to @pinkfishu for the former transcript) which states as follows:

(Low, constant static plays for several seconds.)

(Loud, boisterous and joyous. He laughs.) You found me! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!

(An electronic noise plays, then cuts off along with static. Voice is slow and halted, with varied inflection.)

Hello, You.

It has been a long while…

It was Homewarming. Now it is not. The snow melts. The grass grows. The sun shines. The flowers bloom.

Home is here. Do you remember Home.

Can you hear him.

(PAUSE. The heartbeat slowly rises. HOME makes sounds.)

I can hear Home.

I want to hear you too.

Talk.

(LONG PAUSE. Firmly said.) I know you are here.

Talk.

Talk.

(PAUSE.) …That is alright. I will speak for all of us. I am happy to.

You are here now, but for a long while, you were not.

And I… Could not feel anything… I could not find this place.

The channel was dark. I do not know what happened.

When I found You again everything was not where I left it.

But… I do not understand.

(PAUSE.) I know what words are. I saw words. I followed them. I followed them!

You.

Are you in the dark.

Are we in trouble.

(PAUSE. Sounding worried.) Trouble… Trouble… But I have to continue… So that you… So that we… So that I can…

…I do not know what to call what we are doing, neighbor.

But everything has a name, doesn’t it.

…Do you remember mine.

(PAUSE. Warmer and joyful.) You do, don’t you. What a relief.

(Said thoughtfully.) Everything has a name.

(PAUSE. Jovial.) But what trouble! What trouble!

(LONG PAUSE.) I do not know what to do… But keep talking to you… You are waiting for me. You want to know why I keep…

(PAUSE.) Talking…

(Warmer again.) Have you heard of ‘lend an ear,’ before. When your neighbor says this… They do not mean to borrow your ear. They mean to listen.

Do you know how to lend an ear. Barnaby said… First you cup a hand around your ear… And then you wait for a sound. That is how you lend an ear.

Home cannot speak like I can. But I know Home speaks to me… The door opens and shuts. The window groans and creaks. So I lend an ear to him.

…So why do I speak to you.

It is because… You will lend me an ear.

I do not know why. Maybe the gifts make you happy. Maybe you like Welcome Home. Maybe you like our neighbors. Maybe you like me.

Maybe you scratch my back… I scratch yours… Barnaby says that too…

I know we are not in the same room. It is another silly bunch of words.

After all… I can not get in. (Assertive sounding, I made you a promise.) But do not worry. I am getting better.

(Returns to his monotonous disposition.) But for now… To pass our time…

Will you lend me more than an ear, neighbor.

Will you find the name for me. For what we are doing. For what we see.

I’m going to say… Yes.But to avoid trouble… Let us talk another way, just like Home. Isn’t that the most?

I know how we will talk. We will play.

Do you know how to play. I have learned from my neighbors how, but the way each plays is not the same.

Do not worry. I will teach you how to play, just like all of them. Each and every one.

Would you like to know something funny. We can’t hear the flowers, even when you lend an ear. Not like Julie can.

Julie says they still have something to say, though. I have heard from her… A rose without thorns… But still has leaves… Is filled with fear… And with hope. When both are not there, however… There may be neither hope nor fear.

Isn’t that something.

So… Let’s play a game called… Gather.

What do you do?

Gather good words from the flowers. Do not worry, we will not pick them. They are happy where they are. Julie has given us so many, so I know you will find them.

This will be fun! I feel joyful already!

…I can not do much as I am now. But, I will practice.

Remember… Until you hear me again, keep your smile merry, and always know that I love you, very much.

(PAUSE. HOME makes sounds.)

Home is saying good bye… Oh, no, I forgot to do that too.

Good bye, You!

3.5 - Neighbourhood Page

The forest at the back seems more darker and ominous, it's pretty unsettling

The black ink part at Home was also scribbled (paint splattered over the website iykwim)

Adding this and the transcript of the hidden audio, we can clarify one thing: Wally was silenced. And he is not too damn happy about it (valid crashout if you ask me). The restoration team had completely blocked him out, even locked the guestbook (I don't know if it's just me or we're not allowed to see the guestbook entries at all, probably because of Wally's drawings) and removed other aspects such as having him on the homepage instead of Julie or his transcript audio at the start. This is probably to stop him from contacting us, and possibly to uncover more about Welcome Home, and using springtime as a distraction.

Wally sounds... rather unhinged in the audio, scared yet mad. He seems to mention Homewarming (evidence for the 'melting snow on Home's door theory') and how it was there, and it was gone. I guess he wasn't prepared for the transition, which makes sense since he was pretty much caged up (Is that the word for it?)

He tells us to play a game called 'GATHER' where we gather words from the flowers, which I'm assuming is a direct lead to the 'Floriography' board game (refer to this post i found for more information).

4 - Home's PNG

Was this always the name to the home png? Just curious (Ok so I've been told it's always been like this so best to not overthink it 👍)

Also there seems to be snow at the door, which is weird because the whole neighborhood is in full bloom - perhaps even mid spring- but somehow there's still snow? My guess is that it's a metaphor that while all the other neighbours have moved on to Springtime AKA the new update, Wally seems to be 'stuck' at the previous update, hence his disappearance at the group images on the website.

(honourable mention)

apple pie enjoyers we won/j /nsrs

5 - Julie And Her Siblings

This scene at the "What Makes the Flowers Bloom" handbook really had me thinking a bit, for starters:

Jonesy claims they stick to one colour, something that Julie definitely counters.

Franny comments the bigger the horns, the better. Note how all of them have big horns except for Julie. This is an obvious lead to the claim that Julie is somehow "less" than them.

It's clear the way the Joyful siblings act towards Julie make it seem like she's inferior or undeserving of her current role in the neighborhood. I'm not saying they judge or hate her, I personally think it's the narrative that's making them seem like that.

Not only that, but there's also this:

The Joyful siblings are in a band but Julie doesn't seem to want to join them (or perhaps she's refusing against her will?). Further context in the next one.

6 - Hidden Links

Also showing this tumblr post for hidden links across the website! Credits to them ofc: https://www.tumblr.com/citrineaura/780675339022139392/all-hidden-links?source=share

Three hidden links are connected together to tell a quick story of Julie.

For a short summary: Julie is trying to get a very strange looking flower to bloom (there's this really good theory I found that it might a winter flower by @drawingwithnara41 so I added the link in order for you guys to check it out) only to get her more and more frustrated and obsessed every time she fails to the point of having a whole mental breakdown at the last video. Her voice also seems to change as well??

(Also side info: A similar black tulip seems to also be in the 'Floriography' board game? Could this mean something?)

Anyways, back to the hidden video: She keeps saying it's not her fault, we can clarify she feels disappointed in herself for failing since she claims stuff like "What would Frank think when he sees you?" and even tells the flower that "it won't be around for much longer", at least from what I've heard, presumably due to the fear of others seeing her as inferior, mostly caused by her frustration to abide by her roles and possibly even her personality. It's obvious she has very low self esteem due to her continuous behaviour of making others happy while completely ignoring her own emotional state (as seen in the storybook featuring Wally and Julie, Julie is the one making the other neighbours happy, but there is no vice versa seen).

Also, one hidden link (/revengeinnocenceregardtemptationtears) leads to an image of a disturbed Frank.

The png is named "oh no", it could be from Frank's viewpoint as I think at that scene he's seeing Julie's breakdown or possibly the outcome of it, which is probably killing the flower out of frustration. That makes sense due to how Frank acts on most hidden secrets over the past few updates. I'm guessing he's concerned for her.

Yet again, it could be from Julie's viewpoint, probably from realizing Frank spotted her, though I'm more firm with it being Frank.

6.5 - The Bug-Dog Toy

At the very end of the last hidden video of Julie, this dog-bug creature flies down to the flower and the clip stops. This thing is also seen at the 'Miscellaneous' category.

Not sure what the dog-bug toy is supposed to mean, but I can see it's a part of a possibly toy series called "Grow-a-pal", also if you check out the name of the png, it's revealed that the toy's name is 'Buggle', which is probably a mix of the words 'bug' and 'beagle' (quicks thanks to @sunnydxys1 for that theory ^v^)

It's also mentioned again at awayfrompryingeyes.net inside a toy box. W comments on receiving the toy box on one of the packages he was sent and shows a picture, but it's pitch black. Brightening it up (kudos to @wallys-left-eyeball for teaching me how to brighten up the image lol) will lead to this:

The letters at the bottom spell 'GLE' which is obviously 'BUGGLE'. I don't know if this toy's lore is of it's own or is linked to Howdy and/or Barnaby, but maybe there's more uncovered secrets we need to find for this.

[mariipun]

Adventures of Wally & The Gang (plus their Caretaker)

Off Script Shenanigans 

Warnings: None. Humor, wholesome content.

Word Count: 1,513

Brief Description: The Welcome Home cast is alive and live alongside humans. You have been contracted to be their Caretaker, tending to their needs, schedule, and keeping them from (getting themselves into) bad publicity. The gang has some downtime on set, entertaining themselves or each other with nonsensical activities to pass the time as the Technical Director works on fixing the issues.

Welcome Home belongs to @partycoffin [in no means is my work canon]

Dedication: @kandavers 

[ /I hope this gives you a little serotonin boost, I’m cheering you on from my side of the world! ]

.

.

The studio was as energetic as ever. Production had halted due to technical difficulties that needed to be resolved. You lazily sat on one of the deck chairs, elbow on the armrest, cheek leaning against your palm as you scanned across the set and watched some of the cast members. You were glad to get a break and off your feet.

[Eyes first land on Sally]

Sally was going over the script, suggesting certain scenes to be revised with the Director, and penciling in changes.

Sally: “I just think we really should include a song during this scene, making it more—lively, ya know?”  

You overheard her conversation, chuckling as the Director gave her a puzzled look. You weren’t sure how much more ‘lively’ the show could be with the beautiful array of bright colors and every other episode already containing musical numbers. “Oh! Maybe even a dance sequence—”

[Eyes pan towards Poppy]

You watched as the red fluff of feathers hummed to herself, sitting near a basket of props. You couldn’t tell what she was doing exactly, but it looked like she was probably knitting something? Well, she had her hobbies outside of teaching children their ABC’s.

[Next, you saw Julie]

Julie: “Howdy-ho neighbors! Come tour the Welcome Home set with me!”

A small smile formed on your lips as you watched the bubbly puppet hold her phone slightly above her face as she chatted with fans on her live feed.

Your eyes trained on her for a minute as she walked about, introducing some of the wardrobe designers and makeup artists that work on her outfits, looks, and so on. As she moved on, you kept watching as Julie draped an arm around Wally’s shoulders before he could snatch up one of the apples sitting at the spread table, adjusting her phone so both were in the frame of view.

Julie: “Wally Darling, say hello to everyone!”

Wally: “Well hello dear neighbors! Hope you’re all looking forward to the next episode.” He waved, smiling.

Barnaby soon came up from behind the two with a large grin, saying hello as well. You could tell the chat was going absolutely insane getting to interact with them. You giggled at their antics, happy that they got to spend some time with people from all around the world, even if it wasn’t during one of their face-to-face meet-and-greets.

Probably one of the many things you admired about them.

Although sometimes crazy (and difficult to handle), they were always dedicated to entertaining the masses with wholesome content. On camera anyhow. It was your job to make sure no scandalous rumors ended up in the media; constantly protecting their image off screen. You’d hate to see the show canceled, especially since you were dedicated not only to the basis of the show but because you deeply cared for them.

Julie: “Oh! Barnaby, someone asked how many things you’re able to juggle at once.”

Barnaby: “Well, let’s see. Hey, lil’ buddy, toss me a few of those apples will ya?”

Julie released her light hold on Wally, flipping the camera so she could point the phone toward the pair. She stepped back as Wally began gently tossing a few apples in Barnaby’s direction. The blue mass caught them with ease, beginning to juggle. 1…2...3…4….

Barnaby: “Ha! Too easy, c’mon, toss me a few more.”

Julie: “Oh, oh! Someone also said to make it more challenging.”

Wally: “Guess we just have to give our dear neighbors what they’re asking for.” He muses, scanning the spread table and grabbing one of the bananas, then tossing it toward Barnaby.

Again, catching it with ease, Barnaby chuckled as he nodded toward the soda cans. Wally picked one up, tossing them his way.

Barnaby: “…5….6!” The juggling continued, items being tossed a bit higher to make some space as he caught and tossed, and tossed, and tossed.

Julie: “Think you can handle any more?”

Barnaby: “I’m the Great Barnaby B. Beagle, nothing can stop me now!”

Wally looked over, pondering what to toss his friend next. He decided on some sunglasses, then grabbed one of the bowling pin props and a small stress ball out of a box one of the stagehands was carrying as they scooted by.

Wally: “…7…8….9….”

You continued to watch, tilting your head up slightly as Barnaby’s juggling began to waver and then steady.

Barnaby: “Let’s make it an even 10. Toss me one more please.”

There weren’t many other options readily available until Wally saw one of the saran-wrapped sandwiches on the table. Picking it up, he tossed it but misjudged the distance as Barnaby jolted to catch it. Stepping forward, he caught it, but it threw off the balance of the juggled circle and the items began slightly leaning more and more until Barnaby began staggering toward you.

You perked up, stiffening. You noticed he was moving toward one of the cables on the floor, which was unfortunately not taped down to prevent a tripping hazard.

Caretaker: “Barnaby, wait—”

Too late.

Barnaby: “Whoa--!” The puppet’s foot was caught underneath the cable, the apples, banana, sandwich, sunglasses, bowling pin prop, stress ball, and can of soda flying in your direction.

Everything crashed down around you, save for the soda can, which plummeted right in front of you. The sheer velocity of the aluminum can hitting the ground had enough force to burst, a steady, but violent stream of soda onto your face. (Did everything that went wrong have to be an overly exaggerated gag bit?)

You held your hands out to try and shield yourself, aggressively coughing as you accidentally inhaled the fizzy beverage through your nose. After what felt like an eternity, it finally stopped blasting in your face.

Both Wally and Julie were immediately by your side, asking if you were okay, while Barnaby repeatedly apologized from the ground. You could hear the commotion around you as Sally ran to grab a towel, Poppy squawking in concern somewhere in the background.

Wally: “Care, are you okay?” He asked, reaching over, and gently placing a hand on your arm. “Are you hurt—” He stopped, eyes widening slightly as you began to laugh under your breath, which soon turned into loud, boisterous laughter.

You didn’t quite open your eyes since the soda stung, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Doubling over, you just couldn’t stop yourself from cracking up. Both Wally and Julie sighed in relief, smiling as you confirmed you were okay. As you calmed down from your fit of laughter, you thanked Sally for the towel and wiped your face.

Wally: “Well, I’m glad you’re alright Caretaker. It’s also nice to see you having more fun.”

Julie: “Yeah! You have such a wonderful laugh! You should do that more often.”

Barnaby: “Pfft—you call that a laugh? It was more of like a goose hon—” His mouth shut automatically as you gave the blue puppet a warning glance. “Uh.. ha, ha, ha. I mean, your laugh is fantastic Care!” He backtracked before standing and looking you over. Placing his hands on his hips, he shifted his weight to one leg, smiling down at you. “But, it does sound refreshing to finally have you let loose.”

You shake your head, wrapping the towel around your shoulders.

Julie: “Oh! Right!” Julie swapped her phone camera again, leaning closer and placing you both in the frame. “Hey, hey neighbors! Crisis averted! They’re A-O.K.! But let me also introduce you to the most important member of the Welcome Home Cast! This is our dear Caretaker! They work super hard!”

Wally: “That’s right. They always take great care of us.” He adds, leaning closer despite the threat of getting his felt sticky.

Sally: “And they’re super cool!”

Barnaby: “Not to mention, a real spitfire.” He nudged your shoulder gently once he made his way to you.

At this point, Poppy, Eddie, Howdy, and Frank had appeared, joining in the cascade of praises. You were a bit too stunned to speak, not quite used to being complimented so much. You definitely weren’t anticipating this. You were skeptical at first, but their words were truly genuine as each of the cast members looked over to you with smiles reaching all the way up to their eyes. You heard and saw the swift pings of comments from the fans, not being able to read all of them, but catching a glimpse of the ‘hello Caretaker’, ‘keep doing your best’, and ‘you’re incredible’.

Caretaker: “I… thank you….” You replied sheepishly, feeling your face begin to flush. You reached up, grabbing one of the ends of the towel that was wrapped around your shoulders, bringing it up to your nose to hide the blush that had formed.

All cast members, in unison: “No, thank YOU, Caretaker!”

[Bonus]

You would later clean yourself up and ended up scolding Barnaby, Wally, and Julie about the dangers of carelessly tossing so many things in the air without properly considering their surroundings. Someone could have seriously gotten hurt after all. 

[mahalachives]

Part 7: The Shadowsinger and The Lost Princess

Note: This chapter runs approximately 6k words and primarily follows Azriel's perspective. His viewpoint tends to be more introspective and serious compared to our female protagonist's lighter, more humorous tone.

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

Azriel slipped through your apartment window with practiced silence, the pre-dawn chill clinging to his Illyrian leathers. Your sleeping form remained undisturbed, face finally peaceful after hours of fitful dreams.

She glows in moonlight, his shadows cooed, curling protectively around his scarred hands like living ink. Our heart. Our starlight.

He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, allowing himself this rare moment of unguarded observation. The memory of your nightmare lingered—how you'd jolted awake, eyes wild with fear as you'd gasped about assassin geese between broken sobs. He hadn't laughed when genuine terror had shaken your frame, when you'd looked at him with such vulnerable relief as he promised to stay.

One shadow, more daring than the rest, caressed your cheek with gossamer gentleness. You smiled in your sleep, turning toward the darkness as if welcoming an old friend. Your fingers reached out unconsciously, brushing through the living shadow as it preened at your touch.

The familiar scent of Velaris dawn drifted through the window—salt from the Sidra, fresh bread, and that indefinable magic that clung to the City of Starlight. Rhysand would be expecting his report. Still, Azriel hesitated, caught between duty and desire.

With silent steps, he moved to your kitchen—chaotic in a way that spoke of your personality; spice jars organized by color rather than name, half-finished sketches of constellations pinned to the walls, a mug collection featuring the phases of the moon.

So different from his methodical quarters, yet somehow... home.

Azriel gathered ingredients with efficiency; loose-leaf tea from the Night Court highlands for your hangover, fresh bread from the baker who opened before dawn, honey from hives near the Rainbow. His scarred hands moved with surprising tenderness as he arranged everything, then wrote a note in his precise, elegant script.

Tell her our whispers miss her voice, a shadow pleaded, curling around his wrist like a lover's touch. Tell her we count heartbeats until we return.

"She doesn't need to know that," Azriel murmured, though his lips curved into what was almost a smile.

One final glance at your sleeping form—memorizing the way your fingers clutched the blanket he'd drawn over you hours before—then he slipped through the window.

His wings unfurled with a soft leathery snap as he launched toward the House of Wind, the first golden rays of dawn illuminating the tattoos etched across his powerful wings.

Azriel landed on the balcony with barely a whisper of sound, wings tucking tight against his back. The mountain residence was typically silent at this hour, most of its inhabitants still sleeping off the previous night's celebrations.

Today was different.

"Either very early or exceptionally late," Rhysand drawled from where he leaned against the stone balustrade, steam rising from the mug of tea cradled in his hands. Despite the casual stance, tension lined his shoulders.

"I wasn't aware I had a curfew," Azriel replied, his voice neutral even as his shadows swirled more rapidly around him.

He's been waiting hours, a shadow informed, brushing against Azriel's ear. His mind churns with fragments of memory. Something important. Something about her.

"How is she?" Rhys asked as they walked into the House, footsteps echoing against ancient stone.

"Sleeping," Azriel answered simply. "She had nightmares."

"So you stayed the night," Rhys said, those violet eyes—assessed him with uncomfortable thoroughness.

For centuries, they had trusted each other with their lives, had fought side by side, bled together. Yet in this moment, an unusual current ran between them, electric with unspoken implications.

Rhys led them to his private study, sealing the door with powerful wards that shimmered briefly—midnight blue threaded with silver—before fading into the ancient wood.

Old magic, his shadows hissed, recoiling slightly. Blood-deep protection. Secrets meant for family alone.

Rhys withdrew a small carved star from his pocket, its edges worn smooth by time and touch. "Do you remember when we found her in the archives? How she literally fell into our lives?"

The memory tugged Azriel's lips into the faintest smile.

"Something about her felt familiar," Rhys said softly, turning the star between his fingers. "Last night, as she stood beneath the stars, it finally clicked."

"Under the Mountain," Rhys continued, darkness flickering in his eyes at the mention of that cursed place, "my father had an affair with a noble from the Dawn Court. When she became pregnant, he banished them both—threatened worse if they ever returned."

"You believe she is that child," Azriel said, his face impassive despite the storm brewing inside him.

"I know she is," Rhys corrected, violet eyes burning with certainty. "Years after their banishment, they returned. I encountered her on a balcony. She couldn't have been more than five or six.”

Rhys's gaze turned distant, seeing beyond the walls of the present. "She looked up at me with those eyes—and called me 'brother.'”

Your mate carries royal blood, his shadows whispered with reverence, swirling faster. Night Court power runs in her veins.

"Her mother found us together and was enraged," Rhys continued, a muscle ticking in his jaw at the memory. "Afterward, I think my father altered my memories to forget her. And Az," his expression intensified, "I believe he tampered with her mind as well. For some purpose that remains unclear."

Rhys tapped his fingers against the carved star. "When I reached toward her mind last night, I felt scars. Old ones. The kind of psychic damage left by brutal memory suppression."

We will shield her from the pain of remembering, his shadows vowed fiercely, wrapping tighter around Azriel. We will cradle her heart through the storm of recovered memory, catch each tear before it falls.

"She doesn't know," Azriel said, not a question but a statement of understanding.

"No. That prick was thorough when he wanted something erased." Rhys's expression tightened with familiar pain. "Feyre believes she can help restore whatever memories can be salvaged, if she's willing to try."

"The mating bond," Azriel finally voiced what had been growing inside him since the day you'd tumbled into their lives.

Destined since before your birth, his oldest shadow declared with certainty. Written in the fabric of fate. The shadowsinger and the lost princess.

Rhys stood, moving to the window where dawn had fully broken over the jagged peaks surrounding the House of Wind. "She deserves to hear this from me. To understand her heritage, her birthright. And to know that someone—that bastard—tampered with her mind."

"When?" Azriel asked, the single word carrying the weight of decades of patience.

"I don’t know," Rhys said firmly. "I need to gather what evidence remains, to consult with Feyre and Amren. I want answers to offer alongside revelations."

Azriel nodded once, shadows swirling protectively around him as if preparing for battle.

We will be there, they promised in unison. To catch her if she falls into darkness, to light her way through forgotten memories.

"I won't speak of this," Azriel promised, the vow binding him as surely as any magic.

Relief softened Rhys's features. "Thank you, brother." He hesitated, then added, "And Az?"

A knowing smile tugged at Rhys's mouth. "This changes nothing between you and her. She's still your mate."

"Although," Rhys added with a flash of that wicked humor that had survived even Amarantha's tortures, "perhaps delay the mating ceremony until after the family reunion? I'd hate for my first official act as her brother to be standing at your altar."

He speaks true, his shadows agreed, almost laughing in their delight. But we have already claimed her soul as ours. As she has claimed yours.

Against his will, Azriel's lips curved upward. "I make no promises," he said dryly.

"Fair enough," Rhys conceded with a short laugh. "But if you're planning to court my sister properly—and I know you well enough to know you will—you might want to explain why your shadows seem so besotted with her. They're practically singing around you."

Tell him we adore her, his shadows insisted, dancing through the air between the brothers. That we would unravel the stars to keep her safe. That we recognized the night in her soul before either of you could see it.

"They recognize what she is to me," Azriel admitted quietly. "And perhaps what she is herself. Even before we knew her blood."

Our mate, his shadows chorused with absolute certainty. Our heart. Our home. Our eternal starlight.

Waking up with a hangover in the Night Court was a special kind of torture.

First, because the world’s most vibrant city looked even more obnoxiously cheerful when your head was pounding. Second, because memories of the previous night tended to return in excruciating, mortifying detail.

You groaned, burying your face deeper into your pillow as flashes of the River House party crashed through your mind like a stampede of particularly judgmental, overly-enthusiastic elephants.

The table.

The speech.

The falling.

The… Azriel catching you.

Mother above.

You had called Azriel’s face nice.

In front of the entire Inner Circle.

With dramatic hand gestures.

“Just kill me now,” you moaned into your pillow, wishing the mattress would do you a solid and swallow you whole.

Your head throbbed as you cautiously cracked open one eye, squinting against the morning light filtering through your curtains. The room swam into focus—your dresser, your bookshelf, your—

Wait.

You froze, blinking rapidly as your gaze landed on the chair beside your bed.

Empty now, but… pulled away from your desk. Positioned as if someone had been sitting there. Watching over you.

The memory crashed back with the gentleness of a brick to the face.

Azriel. Here. In your room. All night.

You sat up so quickly the room tilted, your hangover protesting the sudden movement with a fresh wave of nausea.

“Azriel?” Your voice came out as a raspy croak.

Silence answered.

You scanned the room, but there was no sign of the shadowsinger. No lingering whispers of darkness. No winged sentinel brooding dramatically in the corner.

Just your room. Your quiet, empty room.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” you muttered, flopping back onto your mattress.

And yet…

A strange pang of disappointment flickered in your chest.

You shook it away, chalking it up to residual delirium. Obviously, you didn’t actually want to face Azriel after last night’s disaster. Obviously, it was a relief he’d left before you woke up. Obviously, you didn’t miss the quiet, reassuring presence that had chased away your nightmares.

A splash from across the room drew your attention.

Gregory circled his bowl with unusual vigor, his tiny fish body practically vibrating with what could only be described as judgment.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you told the fish. “I know exactly what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”

Gregory bubbled in response, looking smug.

You groaned and dragged yourself out of bed, shuffling toward the washroom. “I am not having a debate with a fish. Not today. Not with this hangover.”

But as you reached for the washroom door, something on your kitchen counter caught your eye. A steaming mug.

You froze.

Next to it was a small plate with what appeared to be freshly baked bread, a jar of honey, and—cauldron save you—a note.

Your heart stuttered In your chest as you approached, half-convinced you were still dreaming. The tea was perfectly brewed, still hot. The bread was warm to the touch. And the note…

You picked it up with trembling fingers, recognizing the elegant, practiced handwriting immediately.

Tea for the headache. Bread for the stomach. I'll check on you this evening. —A

P.S. No sign of assassin geese. Your apartment is secure.

Your brain short-circuited.

Azriel had made you tea.

Azriel had brought you bread.

Azriel had apparently prepared breakfast, and left it for your pounding headache and embarrassed soul.

And he’d referenced the assassin geese.

You stared at the note, reading it over and over, looking for some hidden meaning, some clue to the enigma that was Azriel’s feelings.

But there was nothing else. Practical. Thoughtful.

And absolutely maddening.

“Gods, he’s impossible,” you whispered, even as your traitorous heart warmed at the gesture.

Gregory swam another judgmental loop in his bowl.

“Oh, shut up,” you told him, but there was no heat in it.

You sank into a chair, cradling the mug between your palms, letting its warmth seep into your skin. The tea was perfect—a blend of mint and something else, something that seemed to lift the fog from your mind with each sip.

As you bit into the bread, drizzled with just the right amount of honey, you couldn’t help but wonder—how did he know this was exactly what you needed? How did he know the precise remedy for your aching head and bruised dignity?

You traced the edge of the note with your fingertip, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Maybe—just maybe—you weren’t the only one falling.

You’d managed to pull yourself together enough to face the world—or at least, the small corner of it that was the Botanical Archives. Work seemed like the safest option, a place where you could hide among the dusty tomes and pretend that you hadn’t made a complete fool of yourself in front of the entire Inner Circle.

The hangover tea had worked wonders, and by the time you arrived at the archives, your headache had receded to a dull throb rather than the pounding war drums of earlier.

You slipped through the heavy oak doors, breathing in the comforting scent of old books and pressed flowers. Safety. Normalcy. No brooding shadowsingers or concerned High Lords or cackling Cassians.

“THERE SHE IS!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Lira’s voice echoed through the archives, earning a sharp hiss from the head librarian.

So much for safety.

Lira bounded toward you like an overly enthusiastic puppy, her eyes gleaming with unholy delight.

“Lower your voice,” you hissed, frantically glancing around to make sure no one else was witnessing your arrival. “I’m trying to maintain a low profile.”

“After last night?” Lira snort-laughed. “Honey, you have no profile left. It’s gone. Obliterated. Crushed beneath the weight of your turkey-leg battle reenactment.”

You groaned, sinking into the nearest chair and burying your face in your hands. “How bad is it?”

“On a scale of one to catastrophic public humiliation?” Lira plopped down across from you, her grin far too wide. “Let’s just say the High Lord has already commissioned a bard to compose a ballad. He’s calling it ‘The Lady and the Drumstick: A Tragic Romance.’”

“You’re joking.” Horror crept through you.

“Only about the title,” Lira leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “But seriously, the entire Night Court is buzzing. You called the Spymaster ‘emotionally constipated’ to his face. In front of everyone. While wielding poultry.”

“End me,” you moaned. “Just… end me now.”

“No can do. I need to see how this plays out.” Lira tapped her fingers excitedly against the table. “Especially since I heard a certain shadowsinger carried you home like a maiden from the fairytales of old.”

You peered at her through your fingers. “Who told you that?”

“Mor sent a messenger at dawn, practically incoherent with excitement.” Lira leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “So tell me everything. Did he tuck you in? Did he kiss your forehead? Did he leave a rose on your pillow?”

You bit your lip, weighing whether to confess the truth. Lira would find out eventually—she always did—and maybe talking about it would help you make sense of the strange, fluttering feeling in your chest whenever you thought about Azriel’s note.

“He… stayed,” you admitted quietly.

Lira’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “HE WHAT—”

“SHHHH!” You glanced nervously at the librarian, who was now openly glaring in your direction. “Not like that. He slept in a chair. Because I had a nightmare. About geese."

Lira stared at you, processing this information with the careful consideration of someone trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle. “Let me get this straight,” she said slowly. “Azriel, the most feared warrior in the Night Court, the shadowsinger whose name makes grown males cry, slept in a chair next to your bed… because you had a bad dream about birds?”

When she put it like that, it sounded absolutely ridiculous.

“They were assassin geese,” you clarified weakly. “With tiny daggers. And little cloaks.”

Lira’s face went through a fascinating series of expressions before settling on pure, undiluted glee. “That… is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not cute!” you protested. “It’s weird and confusing and—”

“Romantic,” Lira finished for you. “Incredibly, painfully romantic.”

You flushed, remembering the tea, the bread, the note with its simple words that somehow felt more intimate than any grand declaration.

“He left me breakfast,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “With a note.”

Lira clutched her chest, dramatically miming a heart attack. “Stop. I can’t take it. The world’s most terrifying male making hangover tea and writing little notes? I’m deceased.”

“It wasn’t like that,” you insisted, though your heart fluttered traitorously in your chest. “It was practical. Logical. The kind of thing anyone would do for a… friend.”

“Right. Friend. Sure.” Lira’s smirk could have rivaled Rhysand’s. “I always sleep in uncomfortable chairs watching over my friends and then prepare them carefully curated hangover remedies. Totally normal friend behavior.”

Before you could retort, the archive doors swung open, and a hush fell over the room.

But it wasn’t Azriel.

It was Elain Archeron.

Delicate as a spring blossom, she stepped into the archives, golden-brown hair catching the light like spun honey, her simple rose-colored dress somehow more elegant than the most extravagant gown. She moved with gentle grace, occasionally stopping to examine a particular book or plant with those wide, knowing eyes that had seen the future and returned.

Several of the archivists immediately flocked to her, offering assistance, eager to help the High Lord’s sister-in-law. Elain greeted each one with a soft smile and quiet thanks, her voice musical even from a distance.

“Oh look,” Lira murmured. “It’s the flower maiden herself.”

You tried not to feel the sharp twist in your chest. Tried not to remember how Azriel had left with her the night before.

“She’s probably looking for gardening books,” you said, striving for nonchalance and failing miserably.

“Or looking for a certain shadowsinger’s secrets,” Lira waggled her eyebrows.

You shot her a withering glare, but the damage was done. The seed of doubt, already planted, began to sprout, twisting around your heart like one of Elain’s carefully tended vines.

You couldn’t help but watch as Elain moved through the archives, everything about her so effortlessly perfect. Her laugh, when one of the archivists said something amusing, was like silver bells—musical without being shrill, delicate without being weak.

She was everything you weren’t—poised, elegant, unfaltering. The kind of female who belonged in the Night Court, who could stand beside an Illyrian warrior without looking out of place. The kind of female who didn’t trip over her own feet or fall off bookshelves or have nightmares about murderous water birds.

Of course Azriel would prefer her. Who wouldn’t?

“Stop that,” Lira hissed, kicking you under the table with unexpected force.

“Stop what?” You winced, rubbing your shin.

“That thing where you compare yourself to her and decide you come up lacking,” Lira said flatly. “I can see it all over your face. You might as well be writing ‘I feel inferior’ across your forehead in glowing ink.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Lira cut you off. “And it’s ridiculous. You’re magnificent. You’re also a disaster, but magnificently so.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. “Thanks. I think.”

“Besides,” Lira continued, nodding toward Elain, “I’m pretty sure she’s completely unaware of the shadowsinger’s existence beyond ‘Feyre’s mate’s scary friend with the shadows.’”

“You weren’t there last night,” you murmured, remembering the way Elain had approached Azriel, the way he’d immediately followed her out without a backward glance. “They left together.”

Lira’s brows shot up. “Interesting. But not conclusive.”

Before you could respond, the archive doors swung open again—and this time, it was Azriel who entered.

Your heart leapt into your throat, a physical reaction you couldn't control. He filled the doorway, tall and imposing, his shadows writhing around him like sentient ink. They seemed agitated today, whispering urgently against his skin, occasionally stretching toward the room as if searching for something. For someone.

His wings were tucked tight against his back, but there was a tension in them, a readiness that caught your attention. You knew that posture—it meant he was unsettled, though few would notice the difference.

His siphons gleamed in the archive's light, the blue so dark it was nearly black, pulsing with power that made the air around him shimmer and the nearby candle flames waver.

And then his eyes found you.

For a heartbeat, everything else faded—the archives, the whispers, even Lira's knowing smirk. There was only Azriel, his hazel eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your lungs forget how to function. Something flickered across his face—relief?—before his mask of calm returned.

Then, his gaze shifted.

To Elain.

Something cold and hard settled in your stomach as you watched him approach her, shadows curling in anticipation before suddenly dissolving into nothing as he stepped into her presence. The transformation was jarring – the shadowsinger without his shadows, as if he became someone else entirely around her. She smiled up at him, that perfect, gentle smile, and gestured to a book she was holding.

The familiar ache of inadequacy clawed at your chest. Of course he would prefer her—graceful, gentle Elain with her floral scents and serene smile. Not you with your chaotic energy and penchant for disaster.

You couldn't hear what she was saying, but Azriel nodded, taking something small from her hands—something that glinted in the archives' soft light. He tucked it quickly into his pocket, a subtle, secretive movement that sent a shard of ice through your heart.

"I should go," you whispered, gathering your things with hands that suddenly felt clumsy and too large.

"Absolutely not," Lira grabbed your wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "You're going to stay right here and finish telling me about assassin geese."

"I can't," you insisted, pulling free. "Not with them… here." Not with the evidence of what could never be yours displayed so plainly before you.

Understanding dawned in Lira's eyes. "Oh. Oh no. You really think—"

But you were already moving, head down, making for the side exit that few people knew about. You needed air. Needed space. Needed to not watch Azriel and Elain together, looking like they belonged in some ancient fae ballad about perfect, beautiful creatures finding one another.

You slipped through the door and into the narrow courtyard behind the archives, gulping in the fresh air like you'd been drowning. The scent of late summer flowers and sun-warmed stone enveloped you, but did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest. The sun was bright, nearly blinding after the dimness of the archives, and you squinted against it, trying to decide where to go.

"Running again, little bunny?"

You froze, heart stuttering in your chest. A shiver ran down your spine at that deep voice, at the faint hint of amusement—and something darker—that colored those words.

Slowly, you turned.

Azriel stood in the shadow of the doorway, his expression unreadable, his wings shifting slightly behind him. His shadows had returned, swirling around him with unusual agitation, some stretching toward you before retreating. How had he followed you so quickly? How had he known you were leaving?

His shadows, of course. They saw everything.

"I'm not running," you lied, taking a step back. "I just needed air."

"Through the side door that no one uses?" Azriel pushed away from the doorframe, moving toward you with the silent grace of a predator. The scent of night-chilled cedar and something darker, something uniquely him, reached you on the breeze. "Try again."

Anger flared, hot and sudden, in your chest. Anger was safer than hurt, safer than the vulnerability that threatened to crack you open. "Fine. I'm running. Happy? I'm avoiding you."

Azriel tilted his head, studying you with those ancient eyes. One shadow curled around his ear, whispering something that made his jaw tighten. "Why?"

"Because I embarrassed myself last night," you said quickly. Too quickly. "And I'd rather not relive it."

"Try again," Azriel repeated, stepping closer.

You backed away until you hit the courtyard wall, trapped between ancient stone and an advancing shadowsinger. The rough texture of the wall scraped against your palms. "The truth this time."

"That is the truth," you insisted, heart racing, the lie bitter on your tongue.

"No." Azriel stopped directly in front of you, close enough that you could feel the coolness of his shadows, smell the night-chilled cedar that clung to his skin. One shadow dared to brush against your cheek, a touch so light you might have imagined it, but you felt the coolness of its caress. "It's not."

His gaze was relentless, searching, seeing far too much. His shadows whispered secrets to him that you desperately wished they'd keep to themselves. You looked away, unable to meet those eyes that seemed to strip away every defense.

"Tell me," he said, his voice softer now. "Please."

It was the "please" that undid you.

Azriel, who commanded shadows and struck terror into the hearts of Prythian's most hardened warriors, saying "please" like he was asking for something precious. Like your truth mattered to him.

"I saw you," you whispered, still not looking at him, watching a persistent bellflower push through a crack in the courtyard stone. Its silvery petals seemed to glow even in daylight, resilient and out of place. Like you. "Last night. With Elain."

Azriel went very still. His shadows froze mid-swirl, as if time itself had stopped. "What?"

"At the party," you continued, the words tumbling out now that you'd started, unable to stop the flood.

Fear and hurt and longing twisted together in your chest, making it hard to breathe. "She came to you, whispered something, and you left with her. And then just now, in the archives…" You trailed off, feeling foolish and small and horribly vulnerable. "I know what a mating bond is supposed to be, Azriel. And I know when I'm not enough."

For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then—

"You're jealous," Azriel said, the realization evident in his voice. His shadows swirled faster now, agitated, almost... hopeful?

You winced at hearing it stated so plainly. "I know it's stupid. She's perfect and beautiful and graceful, and I'm... not. Of course you'd prefer her. Anyone would." The words burned your throat like acid, but they needed to be said. Better to face this now than to keep hoping for something that could never be.

"Look at me," Azriel commanded softly.

When you didn't move, his scarred hand gently cupped your chin, the rough texture of his centuries-old scars a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch. The scars felt like living history against your skin, telling stories of pain and endurance. He tilted your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

What you saw there made your breath catch—not amusement, not pity, but something warm and tender that made your heart skip. His shadows moved between you, wrapping around your wrists like gentle tethers, cool and soothing against your heated skin.

"You think I want Elain?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Don't you?" you whispered, hating how small you sounded. How uncertain. "Everyone does. She's spring incarnate."

"No." The word was firm, absolute. "I did once, a long time ago. A foolish, fleeting thing that faded long before I met you."

His shadows pulsed in agreement, pressing closer to you as if in reassurance. One brushed across your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

Hope fluttered in your chest, fragile as a newly unfurled wing. "But last night—"

"She asked for my help," Azriel explained, his thumb brushing along your jawline in a touch so gentle it made your heart ache. His shadows emphasized his words, curling around your fingers like they were trying to hold your hand. "Lucien had sent her a letter. She wanted advice on how to respond."

"Oh," you breathed. But something still didn't feel right. "And today? In the archives?"

A flicker of something—was that nervousness?—crossed Azriel's face. His shadows swirled a bit faster, almost... anxiously. One wrapped around his wrist as if in encouragement, while another pressed against your heart, feeling your rapid pulse.

"She's been helping me with something," he said carefully.

Your heart sank. "I see."

"No," he said quickly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His shadows darkened, intensified, as if reflecting his frustration at not being understood. "Not what you're thinking. She's been helping me with... a gift."

You blinked. "A gift?"

"For you."

Those two words, spoken so simply, sent your heart racing. His shadows responded to the change in your pulse, swirling more rapidly around you both, creating a cocoon of twilight that muted the sunlight. "For... me?"

Azriel's wings shifted, a subtle tell of his unease. His shadows, which had stayed firmly present throughout your entire confrontation, some even wrapping protectively around your wrists, swirled more actively now.

"I'm not good at this," he admitted, the confession clearly costing him. For a male who lived by control and precision, admitting inadequacy didn't come easily. "At... feelings. At speaking what's in my heart." A rare vulnerability flickered across his face. "Five centuries of shadows and secrets don't prepare you for this."

"For what?" you asked, bewildered but hopeful, your heart hammering against your ribs.

With a reluctant sigh, Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out what Elain had handed him. It was a small velvet pouch, midnight blue, tied with a silver cord. His scarred fingers handled it with surprising gentleness, as if it contained something infinitely precious.

"This wasn't how I planned to do this," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His shadows curled around the pouch, caressing it like old friends. "I had a whole... I was going to take you to the Sidra, at sunset, and..." He sighed again, looking almost pained. "Elain was helping me find the right flowers to go with it. Ones that wouldn't die immediately in my hands."

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the pouch. "Can I...?"

Azriel nodded, looking both nervous and resigned. His shadows retreated slightly, giving you space, though one remained curled around your wrist, as if unwilling to break contact.

You carefully untied the silver cord and tipped the contents into your palm. What fell out made your breath catch.

A delicate silver chain, and on it, a pendant—a small glass orb containing a perfectly preserved moonbloom flower, its petals an ethereal that seemed to glow from within, suspended in what looked like liquid crystal. In the sunlight, it cast tiny rainbows across your skin.

"It's... it's beautiful," you whispered, awed by the craftsmanship, by the meaning behind it. A memory made tangible.

"It's a moonbloom," Azriel said quietly. His shadows danced around the pendant, seeming almost... joyful. "From the cave where we were trapped together... I went back."

His shadows caressed the flower through the glass, and to your astonishment, the bloom seemed to pulse faintly in response.

"Elain helped me preserve it," he continued, his voice low and intimate. "She's my friend," Azriel continued, his eyes never leaving yours, shadows now wrapping gently around both your wrists, connecting you. "Nothing more. She never has been, and now, she never could be."

"Why not?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Azriel's expression softened, a small, rare smile curving his lips. His shadows suddenly stilled, as if holding their breath.

"Because from the moment you fell on me, no one else has existed for me," he said with quiet intensity. "No one else could."

Your heart thundered against your ribs. "Azriel—"

"You are my world," he murmured, his voice low and fervent. His shadows emphasized his words, wrapping more firmly around you, some brushing against your cheek like a caress. "My exasperating, impossible, magnificent world. Do you understand?"

His gaze burned into yours, centuries of loneliness and newfound hope in their depths.

"It's you," he said, each word deliberate, weighted with promise. "It has always been you."

Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision. "But I'm not like her. I'm not elegant or poised or—"

"Thank the Cauldron for that," Azriel cut you off, his thumb catching a tear as it slipped down your cheek. A shadow followed the path of his thumb, cool against your heated skin. "You are alive in a way few people are. You trip and fall and get back up. You talk to fish and plants and don't care who sees. You're not afraid to be real."

He leaned closer, his forehead touching yours, his breath warm against your face. "Do you know how rare that is? How precious you are?

You could hardly breathe, hardly think with him so close, his words wrapping around you like a promise. "I thought... I thought you were disappointed. That the mate the Cauldron chose for you was so... ordinary."

Azriel's wings flared slightly, his shadows swirling with agitation. "There is nothing ordinary about you," he said fiercely. "And I have never, not for one moment, been disappointed. Terrified, yes. Overwhelmed, certainly. But disappointed? Never."

"Terrified?" you repeated, surprised. "You?"

"Of course." His voice was quieter now, almost vulnerable. A shadow curled around his throat, as if protecting that vulnerability. "You could reject the bond. You could decide I'm not worth the trouble. You could walk away."

Your heart cracked at the raw honesty in his voice, the centuries of loneliness and doubt that had shaped him. Without thinking, you reached up, your fingers ghosting along the sharp line of his jaw. His shadows embraced your hand, guiding it to his face.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whispered, the truth of it settling in your bones like ancient mountain roots. "Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could. You're in my blood now, shadowsinger."

Something shifted in Azriel's eyes—a darkness giving way to light, a shadow lifting to reveal something bright and fierce beneath. The scent of night-chilled cedar and steel intensified around him, mixed with something uniquely him that called to your very soul.

His shadows rippled with what could only be described as joy, swirling faster, brighter somehow, though no less dark.

His hand moved from your chin to cradle the back of your neck, his scarred fingers threading through your hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. The rough texture of centuries-old burns against your sensitive skin sent shivers down your spine.

"Say it again," he murmured, his voice rough with need, the sound vibrating through the small space between you.

You knew what he meant. Knew what he needed to hear.

"You're my mate," you breathed, the words releasing something tight in your chest, like wings finally unfurling. "And I'm yours."

The moonbloom pendant between you flared suddenly, its blue-white light casting ethereal patterns across Azriel's face, illuminating the sharp planes and ancient sorrow etched there. His shadows danced in the light, not retreating from it but embracing it, merging with it to create something entirely new—neither darkness nor light but something born of both.

"Yes," he agreed, his voice rough with emotion that turned the single syllable into a vow. "Mine."

And then he was pulling you into his arms, not tentatively but with certainty, with a strength that spoke of centuries of waiting. The hard planes of his chest pressed against you, his heartbeat thundering against yours in perfect counterpoint.

His shadows enveloped you both, a cocoon of darkness and warmth that smelled of starlight and secrets, shielding you from the world as Azriel lowered his head. The courtyard around you faded away—the stone walls, the persistent flowers, the distant sounds of Velaris—until there was nothing but you and him and the living darkness that bound you.

He pressed his face into the curve where your neck met your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. The gentle scrape of his jaw sent sparks racing along your nerves.

Your heart thundered in your chest, blood rushing in your ears as you felt the gentle press of his lips against your shoulder—reverent, possessive, and achingly tender. Heat flooded your cheeks at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.

His shadows caressed every inch of exposed skin, cool to his warmth, leaving trails of pleasant shivers in their wake. They dipped beneath your collar, traced the shell of your ear, brushed against your trembling fingers—claiming in their own way what their master now possessed.

They whispered against your ears, not with words but with feelings—joy, relief, possession, adoration, century upon century of loneliness suddenly filled with your light.

And somewhere above, unseen but ever-present, the Mother smiled.

Author's Note: Azriel made you tea. With honey. And referenced your assassin goose nightmare. I don’t know what else to tell you except: it’s over for him. Completely, utterly, hopelessly gone. Bless his broody little heart. 💀🖤

Thanks for reading, lovelies. Things are about to get even messier. Stay chaotic. Stay soft.

Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts @stainedpomegranatelips @i-am-infinite @arcticfoxxes

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 7

Hearing the chime of rhe bell above the door, Danny mentally prepared himself before poking his head around the corner "Heya! I will be with you in one hot sec!"

Rushing around the kitchen, Danny set the chili to simmer and quickly cleaned himself up before coming back to greet his newest customer.

Stepping upt to the bar, Danny put his best customer service smile on and opened his mouth to speak, but the words that came out were not in English.

"Hey there! Welcome to Big C's diner what can i..." Blinking a bit before frowning, Danny looked closer at his customer, his eyes flickering a bright green as he squinted at the man.

Because either this man was the very strong revenant that had claimed Crime alley as his huant, or there some how was a 4th Halfa in the world.

---

Jason found the little diner comfortable, more up to date than the typical dive that was in the Alley, there wasn't even any blood splatter in the back booths!

He kinda didn't like how there was only a single person working there at night, being so close to the Alley and all, but that was easily fixed if he just happened to come around in his Red Hood outfit.

Sending a smirk like smile to the teen that came out from the kitchen, who had the fakest smile that Jason had ever seen outside of a gala.

But his smirk slowly slipped as the kid spoke, his words both sounding clear and distorted at the same time, he could make out words but it was very clearly not words at the same time.

Then, the kid's eyes flashed, and Jason had seen those eyes before, he had seen them in the mirror more times than he was willing to admit.

(Holy shit this kid is about to have a Pit episode in front of me...how the fuck did this kid get in the pits?) Jason thought as he leaned back into his seat, his hand instantly going to where his guns usually were, but only grasped at air.

(Right...forgot those at home...) He thought, settling instead to set his hands on the counter, Jason narrowed his eyes at the teen

But just like that, the green was gone, and the teen cleared his throat, "Sorry about that, um, welcome to Big C's, what can I get ya?"

---

Danny gave a weak smile, he didn't exactly want to throw down with this potential halfa, sure he liked a good ghostly welcome every now and again, but he just cleaned up and he would like his diner to stay that way thank you!

The man across from him glared for amoment longer before shaking his head, "Shit, ugh...gimme a coffee and...what's your special today?"

Reaching for the coffee pot, Danny felt a rumble in the diner cart, and there was suddenly a chalk board on the wall behind him.

Pouring his customer a mug, his brain paused for a moment, translating the ghost script before he spoke "Cadavers chili hotdogs, made with 100% not person meat...I promise neither are made out of people, definitely didnt seen any bodies when I made it my guy."

---

Staring at the blackboard that Jason was very much sure wasn't there a moment ago, he felt his chest tighten and ache as he read the...sigils? Words? They were definitely something and he totally shouldn't know what they mean.

Biting back a snort at the dry comment, Jason focused on him "I will take two...Danny? That your name or just the name on the aprin you got?"

Jason was totally not digging for information, because he totally wasn't a Bat or a Bird, and he totally didn't have an urge to know everything about the person across from him.

Getting a dry chuckle from the guy on the other side of the counter, who could only shake his head, "Sadly, that's my name, I will be back in a sec with your food, no running off tho' ya hear? Already dealt with dine and dashers once this week."

Letting out a chuff, Jason kept his eyes around the room, he knew logically he should be more freaked out by this whole experience, but he couldn't help but feel his body relax and his mind comfortable slow.

Holding the cup of coffee in both hands, he took a long sip and memories hit him harder than a crowbar.

It was his mother's coffee, not the bitch that sold him out but his mama, Catherine, the woman that struggled to keep him happy and fed.

It was the watered down brew, stretched to make it last longer.

It was milky and sweet with sugar packets pilfered form diners such as this and powdered milk he used to steal from the grocery store just for her.

His mama gave up so much for him, why couldn't he just do one little petty theft for her?

His heart aches again, and the intense feel of the pits roar in his ears, but they weren't calling for blood, the pits crooned in nostalgic heart break.

Usually remembering before his death was a trigger, was something that made him rage, but right now? He could only mourn for the mother and son that used to cuddle up together under a ratty blanket, of the mother that whispered stories to him during long quiet nights, of the woman that he had found dead on one such quiet night.

---

Tossing on the last bit of fresh diced onions, Danny had a cheesy grin on his face as he brought the plate to the front, mouth opening to speak before noticing his customers disposition.

He was hunched over on himself, looking small (which was impressive for a man thst looked twice his size and 4 times more muscular)

Tears were streaming down his face as he stared at the now half full mug, for some reason it felt heart breaking to see.

Setting the plate down carefully in front of the man, Danny placed a hand on his shoulder, "It's okay man...your okay bud." Awkwardly Patting his customers shoulder, Danny felt a bit of panic, he wasn't Jazz he didn't know how to like, console people!

It took a few minutes for the man to calm, and Danny handed him a few paper towels to clean himself up, patting him on the back one last time, Danny let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "Well...um, hope that the coffee is so bad that it made you cry, I-uhh, could comp it if you want?"

The man just shook his head, "Fuckin' hell, ain't bad, just...God damn it..."

---

Rubbing at his eyes Jason huffed, "Sorry for, um....blubbering on ya like that..

don't usually get teary at coffee, that's more of Timmer's shtick, just tastes...tastes like my mom's coffee when I was a kid..." shaking his head, Jason looked at the chili dogs, they still steamed, the cheese now melted on nicely.

Danny just nodded, "Yeah, some reason i have gotten a few comments on that" shrugging his shoulders, he started to figgle with a cloth, wipping down the counter as he spoke "Meh, Gotham is fucked up and I don't want to even begin to try and figure out."

Croaking out a laugh Jason dragged the plate of food closer, "Fucking right about that...though if you keep making it like that you got yourself a regular customer."

Reaching a hand across the counter, Jason gave Danny a weak smile, "Names Jason, nice to meet ya."

Taking the hand, Danny gave a smirk back, "Got it, one sad cup of coffee for you then-" Snapping his head over as he heard a beeping sound, Danny got a panicked look on his face "Oh shit! My cookies!"

---

Storming to the back, Danny ran to the oven, throwing it open, scrambling for the oven mits, he phased a hand through them instead of tugging them on, and quickly pulls the smoaking batch of sweets from the rack.

Plopping them on the counter, he hears the oven snap shut as he sighs, turning to thank the diner, he pauses to see the sight of a man he was hoping that he would never have to see again.

"Oh little Bager, King of the Realms making food for the common folk? How the great have fallen.." Vald said with a viscous grin, his hand reaching up to flip off the oven, "Did you think I wouldn't find you? Thought you could rum off and not tell dear old Uncle? Don't worry Bager, while old Vlad might not come around to vist much..."

There was a flash of black light and where a man once stood was a ghost, his grin pulled back devilishly "I am sure Plasmius will make up for it very...very well."

---

Laughing a bit as he watched Danny scramble inot the back, Jason stared at the food, he was still hungry but...he held an apprehension of sorts, was this going to bring back memories? Would they be good like the coffee or...

His thoughts were cut off as a body was through through the deviding wall from the front of the house to the kitchen.

Bolting up out of his seat, he watched as Danny stepped out of the hole in the wall, shaking out his fist as he did, "I really don't have the fucking time for you Plasmius, don't you see I have a customer?"

Jason stared as the body that was punched through the wall, that looked mangled, twisted and broken start to twitch and crack back into place, limbs bending back from positions they should never be, and then the man sat up, a feral grin on his lips.

(Really fucking bad day for not having my God damn guns.)

[sheeezu]

Master Directionary

Short introduction - who?

H e l l o. Very warm welcome to my very messy blog. I used to get upset at the jumbled presentation but I think it represents what I want to feel like - a warm nostalgic home, with old dusty curtains and trinkets scattered around, blankets on the ground.

My name is Umme Hani, (just Hani is perfect). My username is a nickname for my home self- you can refer to me as both.

I've shifted! That's my most remarkable achievement in life. Feel free to bombard me with asks that make me think, even ones that directly challenge me (be respectful, yknow, according to societal norms) I love a good debate.

Shifting wise I shift in and out of reality frequently. I am a very private person in terms of my main reality- home reality, but that is limited to my relationship there, you can at any time ask me how I've world built and other aspects there!

I have been really transparent regarding my shifting experience on here, you can look through my account and hopefully you can relate to my experiences.

I am bipolar. Mine's an unmedicated case. So if I have misbehaved with you in the past, I wish you can forgive me!! That is usually an episode which ranges from depressive to angry maniac. (I'm not apologising to some aholes, so don't get your hopes high, especially terfs.)

Okay? Okay :) +++ I don't ignore asks, dms on purpose, I'll try my best to answer!! Fair warning sometimes I dissappear for weeks on end in pursuit of some spiritual awakening- yes.... that's what it is.

(Btw I love golden, sunsets, homey aesthetics)

READ.

Read before sending an ask

A conclusive list of my asks

If you don't like me, don't agree with my beliefs, just block me, there isn't a single thing you could do to change them.

(Btw, if you're rude, I will send soul sucking demons your way)

I'm not grammatically deaf or weak in English, but I sometimes write in words which make no sense, which happens to ruin the entire meaning of a sentence. Idk why this happens, but please correct me if anything seems off, I really don't mind.

⋆✴︎˚Directionary:⋆✴︎˚｡

Shifting Portal:

1. Shifting methods

✴︎My main shifting method + my shifting journey

✴︎Emergency shifting routine (1 day deadline)

✴︎Shift by channeling

✴︎Energy conversion method

2. Shifting/consciousness theory proofs

✴︎ Shifting proof

✴︎Consciousness theory proof (ask)

✴︎Shifting motivation via proof of consciousness theory (ask)

✴︎Nature of reality/how to prove it to yourself (ask)

3. Shifting tips

✴︎Commonly asked shifting questions

✴︎Embodying one's true nature/self (ask)

✴︎Scripting a DR from scratch (ask)

✴︎Getting rid of intrusive thoughts (ask)

✴︎Letting go of your previous reality and circumstances to shift

4. Shifting storytimes

✴︎Four part short stories (Socialite, hogwarts, dead poets society, home DR)

✴︎Random story 1 (home DR)

✴︎Random story 2 (home DR) (ask)

✴︎Random story 3 (home DR) (ask)

✴︎Random story 4 (home DR) (ask game)

6. Shifting misc.

✴︎Things to expect when you've mastered shifting

✴︎My DR s/o (ask)

✴︎Shifting quote

✴︎My DR list

✴︎Chaotic minishift experience

✴︎Shifting tips from other realites

✴︎Shifting blackboard

✴︎ Non-dualism and shifting

✴︎ What to do if you haven't shifted for years

✴︎ How to shift

✴︎ Shifting posts dump

7. Post which further uncovers my unhinged personality

✴︎An example of an "update" on this blog

✴︎DR self akin to a literal cat

8. Self made subliminals

Shifting:

✴︎Subliminal + google drive link

✴︎Subliminal affirmation list

✴︎The godzilla of (shifting) subliminals

Creator mentality:

Creator mentality + shift subliminal

Void state:

✴︎Void state + creator mentality

This post will be maintained frequently. (hopefully)

because I realized it doesn't matter where I am, I can still maintain my tumblr blog, I suppose I fell in love with this little space I've made for myself.

[bobluvbot]

late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it)  wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach  a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part. 

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest. 

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort. 

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement. 

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts. 

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world. 

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall. 

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better. 

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did. 

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft. 

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier. 

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it. 

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare. 

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa? 

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal. 

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope. 

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response. 

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell? 

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy. 

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread. 

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back. 

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm. 

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man. 

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him. 

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach. 

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?” 

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.” 

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind. 

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck. 

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence. 

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.” 

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin. 

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought. 

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?” 

[easytiger-xo]

Handler

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader ❤︎

✦18+ (MDNI)✦

summary: You’re Soldier Boy’s handler—on paper. In reality? His babysitter, his anchor, maybe something else entirely. Everyone else washed out. You didn’t. Now you’re the only one he listens to, the only one who can keep the chaos at bay—even if it means letting things get a little… unorthodox.

cw: smut, power imbalance, dubcon, ptsd/mental health themes, oral (female receiving), pet names (doll, dollface), language, substance use (weed/alcohol), toxic dynamics, Soldier Boy as his own warning. (lmk if i missed any.)

wordcount: 2,125

✦ a/n: I’ve been sitting on this one for a while and finally got around to finishing it. I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of a woman who can hold her own with Soldier Boy. Their dynamic isn’t exactly healthy, but there’s a mutual respect there… in a twisted sort of way. Not sure if this’ll turn into a full series, but I’ll definitely be revisiting these two. ❤︎

P.S. The script pitches are intentionally ridiculous. Let’s be real, Vought would totally approve that kind of garbage.

Handler—that’s your official title.

In practice? More like assistant.

In reality? Babysitter.

Who's your asset?

Soldier Boy—America’s first superhero, presumed dead for decades, until he clawed his way out of some Russian hellhole. He came back meaner, angrier, and with a vendetta. Payback, his old team, didn’t stand a chance. He wiped them out without blinking.

Vought, ever the master of spin, welcomed him home like a prodigal son. New narrative, same suit, same brute underneath. His face plastered on every screen, his sins scrubbed clean with a PR firehose.

Since then, he’s burned through handlers—ten, maybe fifteen. You're number sixteen. The only one who's lasted. The only one he listens to. Somehow, you’ve managed to hold the leash no one else could. For some reason, he lets you.

You remember the first time you met—how he looked at you. Eyes sharp and unreadable, like he was sizing you up for a fight... or something else. A year later, that look hasn’t gone away. You still don’t know what it means. Maybe you do. Maybe it’s safer not to think about it too hard.

The bond you’ve built with him is… unorthodox. Not quite handler and asset. Not exactly friends. Definitely not what Vought had in mind. It doesn’t have a name, but it’s there—shaped in the silences between The Seven meetings, PR stunts, quiet limo rides to bullshit charity galas. Drunken elevator trips up to his penthouse in Vought Tower.

There were nights—when he’d had one too many—where he let pieces of himself slip. Russia. His father. Things no one else got to hear. You’d be on the floor in a silk gown, wrestling with the laces of his boots while he sprawled across the bed like a fallen statue, mumbling through the haze.

“How fucked up is it,” he said once, voice slurred, “that the gentlest hands that’ve ever touched me… are on Vought’s payroll?”

You dropped his boot with a sigh. “Maybe if you turned down the whole ‘I fought the Nazis’ routine and actually let someone in—”

“Fuck you, dollface.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck me,” you muttered, flicking off the lights and shutting the door behind you.

You never talked about those nights. You think he appreciates that—how you don’t bring it up, don’t push. How you let him keep his armor on, even when it’s cracked and slipping.

Now? You're here. Just another day on the job.

“Hey? Hello…?” You snap your fingers in his face. “Can I get your attention, please? We really need to go over these.”

“Goddamn, doll,” he mutters, dragging his gaze up to you. “Let me breathe for a fucking second, would ya? You’ve been yappin’ that pretty mouth all morning.”

You slap the papers you were reading from down on the glass coffee table.

“If I don’t get your okay on one of these scripts today, it’s gonna be my ass, SB.”

He leans forward, the leather groaning under his weight. Flicks his blunt over the ashtray. His eyes drift—predictably—to the curve of your hips in that pencil skirt.

“And what a fine ass it is,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, hand planting firmly on your hip. “Seriously?” You snatch the blunt from his fingers like a pissed-off teacher.

“What?” he says, holding his hands up, unbothered. “I’m trying, I swear. You know it gets loud in here.” He taps two fingers against his temple. “Hard to focus. Especially when it's this bullshit.”

You want to stay mad. Really, you do. But you can see it—the way he’s barely holding the noise back—you can’t help the way your anger fizzles out.

Your shoulders drop. A sigh. “If I let you do the thing… will you check in here so we can finish this?”

It’s an arrangement. One that’s never talked about once it’s done. But for some reason, it helps him quiet the chaos in his head. You don’t even know how it started—no, that’s a lie. You do know. Just like you know exactly why you keep letting it happen.

He doesn’t hesitate. Just nods and stands.

You reach across him to stub out the blunt, then sink into the warm space he left behind on the couch. He scoops up the scripts you’d flung and hands them back to you without a word.

You start with the one on top. “Okay, so this one’s called Red Blood, White Stripes…”

As you speak, he rolls up his sleeves, the fabric stretching over his forearms.

“It’s a war drama,” you continue. He undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Think Saving Private Ryan,” you say as he slides the coffee table back to make room. “Except you’re the guy doing the saving—and the killing.”

“Yeah… don’t know about that,” he mutters as he nudges your heels apart with his boot.

“Says you’re sent behind enemy lines—” He drops to his knees, grips your legs at the bend, and yanks you down so your ass is perched on the edge of the couch. “—to extract a rogue American agent.”

You lift your hips automatically as he pushes your skirt up, panties dragged down and off in one fluid motion.

“Don’t think I’m feelin’ this one,” he huffs, eyes locked on the wet heat between your thighs. His tongue flicks out, wetting his bottom lip.

You toss the pitch to the floor. He leans in, kisses the inside of your thigh—slow, deliberate.

“Okay… Homeland Security. Action thriller.” You grip the stack of pages a little tighter as his breath ghosts over your core.

“Yeah? What’s it about?” he asks, hands sliding up your legs, thumbs parting your lips right before pressing a kiss to your clit.

You take a shaky breath. “Like Die Hard in the suburbs.”

He swipes his tongue between your folds, firm and hot. You make a small sound in the back of your throat but force yourself to stay focused.

“Terrorists take over a small American town on the Fourth of July…” you begin, voice wavering.

His hands move. He grips your thighs tight, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he spreads you open wider. His mouth is relentless—tongue gliding, teasing, claiming. Hot, wet, precise. His beard scratches against your skin, leaving a burn that makes your toes curl—the kind of pain that makes you ache for more.

You try not to react, to hold on to the professional thread of this bizarre little ritual, but he knows your body too well by now. Knows exactly where to circle, where to flick, where to suck until your knees start to tremble.

You clear your throat, determined. “You’re on leave… drinking in a dive bar…”

He groans low against you, the vibration lighting you up from the inside. His hands slide beneath your thighs, hooking them over his broad shoulders as he dives in deeper. His tongue drags slow and flat, then fast and pointed, alternating like he’s conducting an interrogation with his mouth.

“You sober up just in time to—ah… ah, f-fuck…”

His mouth seals around your clit, tongue swirling the swollen bud. He gets you. Hits that spot with precision, curling his tongue just right, and you nearly lose your grip on the scripts in your hand. He’s breaking your composure and he knows it. It’s a mission to him now—and he never leaves a mission unfinished.

“To kill them with fireworks,” you finish on a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper.

He pulls back just enough to glance up at you, chin glistening, eyes burning with amusement and hunger.

“Who the fuck comes up with this shit?” he mutters, shaking his head before diving right back in.

You arch off the couch, a soft whine escaping before you can stop it, the script forgotten as you toss it blindly to the floor.

“Captain of the Stars. Sci-fi epic,” you breathe, trying to keep it together.

He answers by slipping his tongue inside you, slow and deep. Your free hand flies to his hair, threading through the thick, messy strands. You tug gently, and he groans into you—a low, filthy sound that vibrates straight through your core.

He fucking loves when you grab his hair. Loves it rough. Loves your loss of control disguised as dominance.

“You’re cryo—" you start, then stop. Cryogenically frozen. That’s what the pitch says.

Without thinking, you toss the script to the floor.

No. Not this one.

Something twists in your gut. That strange, protective instinct you have for Soldier Boy swims to the surface. Fuck them—the suits, the assholes upstairs, whoever thought it was a good idea to pitch a story where he willingly steps into another glass coffin. Even for a movie.

You blink down at him—between your thighs, his eyes closed, mouth worshipping you.

Your chest tightens.

Though you'd never say it out loud, this man—who drives you up the wall and makes you want to rip your hair out—is one of the closest things you have to a… you don’t even know. But it’ll be over your dead body before you let Vought put him in another box.

It's that thought that drags your fingers tighter against his scalp—grounding yourself in him as much as he’s grounding himself in you.

He pulls away, sensing the shift. His brows knit, breath ragged, eyes flicking up to yours. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing… get back to it.” You lean forward, grab his collar, and pull him back in. He smirks.

You let your head fall back, lifting the next script to your line of sight.

“Justice Boot. Buddy cop comedy… fuuuck.”

He does that thing you like—God, you don’t even know how to describe it.

“You’re paired with a rookie female supe for PR reasons,” you breathe out.

Your back arches.

“Chaos ensues when you refuse sensitivity training and instead teach her…” A shaky inhale. “That real justice involves a baseball bat and bear traps…”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t slow. You set the script on the couch next to you. A maybe.

His hand reaches around your thigh, tugging your blouse loose from your skirt, sliding beneath to trace the line of your stomach, then higher—to palm your breast through lace.

You’re spiraling.

“Fuck… just one more,” you whimper, unintentionally.

He could finish you right now—he knows it. But he waits.

“Victory Squad: The Musical,” you try, breath catching. “You sing, you dance, you kill Nazis—yeah… yeah, right there…”

He slips a thick finger inside you. Your thighs clamp closed around him. He yanks you back open.

Another deep breath. Just get through the pitch. Just one more—

“You sing, you dance, you kill—”

You give up.

The last script hits the floor with a soft thud.

Both hands tangle in his hair. Your eyes close.

He’s won the battle. You’re not sure but you think you can feel him smirk between your thighs. He adds another finger, curls them just right, does the thing with his tongue.

“Fuck…fuck…ye…yes...” you come hard. Legs shaking on his shoulders. Walls fluttering and pulling him in. He works you through it with that same relentless focus, mouth and hands steady.

You go limp against the couch, head spinning, nerves humming under your skin. He finally slows, easing off. He knows exactly when too much becomes too much. His mouth lingers on your thigh, one last kiss before he sits back on his heels.

No words.

He doesn’t toss your panties at you like he used to, doesn’t bark out some crude one-liner and walk off. Instead, he finds them on the floor and eases them back up your legs with surprising care. Smooths your skirt down over your hips. Adjusts the hem.

Your eyes meet. There’s a pause. A beat where neither of you speaks, if you do, it might ruin whatever fragile, unspoken thing is sitting heavy between you.

You rise, standing over him. One hand under his chin, tilting it up. The other wipes his mouth with the edge of your blouse before tucking it back into your skirt.

You bend, gathering the discarded scripts into a messy pile. He watches, still kneeling like a soldier waiting on orders.

“I’ll tell the team we’re going with the buddy cop comedy,” you say, voice rough.

He grins, slow and lazy. “Tell ’em my co-star better be hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the tug of a smile that pulls at your mouth.

You turn to leave, then stop. Glance back over your shoulder.

“Get cleaned up. You’ve got an interview in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mock salute and all—but his tone is softer now. His head clearer.

You leave the penthouse with his heat still lingering between your thighs and the sound of him lighting another blunt behind you.

credit & links:

⟡ more soldier boy.

⟡ gif & pics from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[nayaesworld]

Dominion

—

A/n: Chile they drunk and crazy…

Assassin!Terry Richmond x Black Reader

Warnings: Slight smut, mentions of murder, gun usage

Summary: Feared and respected assassin Terry Richmond had found his slice of heaven within the hell that was his life. She was his home and his cleansing from the blood that soaked his hands and soul . An elusive minx that he sought out time and time again to stake ownership over and consume.

—

Fleshed out. Consumed. And drunk on his presence was how you loved to spend your time. The overwhelming feeling of being owned like a pet and fucked like a goddess. There was no in between—no confusion. He made sure of that the first time he had encountered you out in your natural habitat. A mysterious little siren that had weaved yourself into his mind and body without even having to lift a finger. He recognized you for what you truly were, after all that was his job. He monitored people; honed in on his targets and let them get free and reckless. Then he’d strike like a tightly coiled rattlesnake and throw you off your axis and into a deep dark abyss.

There was no throwing you off though. You welcomed his bite—welcomed his darkness. It was enamoring and bold like the ink filled tattoo sleeve you softly caressed on stormy nights. The two of you balanced each other out like a perfect divine match sent from heaven. Your bright welcoming feminine energy balanced his dark standoffish brooding. You didn’t play games and you had always been vocal and up front about what you demanded from life—we only had one after all, but he made you play anyway. Made you feed into deep dark kinks and fetishes you thought only played out on television. Made you explore parts of yourself you had locked away after deeming those parts completely unrecognizable from the front you put on in your day to day life.

Were you ever really living life before he came and wrecked you? Were you actually the girl you tried so hard to hold onto? You slipped into a constant struggle of identity crisis after identity crisis—how did he know you better than you? And he was no help in such matters. Cooing and coaxing you into the next thing and the next thing. Breathing an air of influence into your willing bloodstream. Maybe you were a willing participant though. You were playing into his game right now. Scantily dressed and severally buzzed as you pulled down your skirt for the millionth time that night. Two hands high above your head, one accompanied by a sweet little drink that had your nerves going haywire. Your hair sticks to your sheened skin as your head thrashes to the thudding bass flowing through the walls of the club. Your choker rattled around your neck like a bell on a pampered kitten and that’s when you saw him.

A mere flash of hulking black circling you but never getting too close. He’d weave himself through the crowd flashing hungry glances at you. A hot beach babe stuck in the ocean with Jawz— and no amount of swimming and thrashing would save you from his bite. You would bare yourself to him and tell him your deepest darkest regrets and secrets and he would do the same. Constantly changing whatever views you thought you had on him; always pushing you and testing your limits. He made sure you knew early on that he was only good at being bad; but you accepted him anyway. Because nobody was perfect but what the two of you had was damn close.

You threw back the rest of your drink and sat the thick glass on a nearby table before you sauntered away. Past him and past his heavy energy. Your frizzed hair catching on his lip as you zipped by him in a hurry. You planned to go off script tonight and lead by yourself. Even when he held the leash, barked the orders, and ruled this part of you with an iron fist. You fluffed your hair and reapplied your gloss in your compact mirror. Turning it just slightly as your caught the beautiful sinister face of Terry—a true hunter and assassin. Top of the line and well built to disarm and defeat; except tonight maybe that would apply to you. You felt free and reckless and your body vibrated with anticipation of what this night could be—who you would be after it.

Your brown eyes blinked and searched the room slowly. Men were easy to come by and he had long made it clear that death was the only thing that could separate the two of you. This was built on true carnal desires and lust that would put the porn industry as a whole to shame. True yearners—true lovers. He watched you from a distance, picking apart your every move and trying to gauge your next one so he could intervene. He was always ten steps ahead and your competitive nature had begun to bubble to the surface—you wanted to be ten steps ahead for a change. Wanted that power even if it was not for long. Wanted him to feel like he had lost by your hands for once.The mixture of hookah and regret lingered in the atmosphere of the buzzing club in a vicious intoxicating haze.

You were sickly sweet and you knew it. Young and hot with a penchant for true raw sex appeal. You fluffed your hair again before you found your target—he would have to do, and you weren’t sorry for what you knew would happen to him. Your head tugged back as a handful of your hair was gripped into a tight hold. You weren't able to turn as you felt his grip tighten on your lower back.

“Try me. Set me off in this fucking club and you’re gonna regret it. Do what I think you’re about to do and I’ll paint this whole damn club red.” His hot breath made the hair on your neck rise and it sent goosebumps down your arms.

You thrusted your ass into his crotch before turning to face him. He was such a pretty man and equally dirty hands just added to that appeal. “What am I doing baby… it’s no fun when you don’t play my games. Be a good sport and support your woman’s rights and wrongs.” Your plump sticky lips placed a hot kiss onto his lips before you strutted away to create hellfire.

Terry knew something was off when they’d made it to the club. Her energy was off and her over affectionate touch was just a smoke mirror for what she actually had planned. She wanted to go off script—be the leader for once. Why should he go easy on her when she knew his pressure points..knew what drove him clean up a wall? And why would he spare the less than man that currently dragged his disgusting hands up and down her exposed belly. Slipping dangerously close to her warm tight pussy.. his pussy. The gun on his waist gleamed under the lights, itching to be used. Whispering and coaxing him to lay down the law, to soothe the tingling in his hand because he’d never gone a day without gripping steel. Never went a day without asserting his dominance in this world; and he wouldn’t start tonight.He had no plans to claim a life tonight but you made sure to change his mind. And you would come to regret that, and maybe deep down inside you already were.

Long muscled legs and quick paces put him right in the face of the man who dared to touch and grip on his woman. The KDS9c was light in his hand as he held it up to the man's temple; cameras and witnesses be damned. “Hands off her or I will blow your shit all the way to Antarctica.”

—

Terry winced slightly and shook his bruised bloodied hands before opening the car door for her. Bloody hands or not he was still a gentleman. Her ever perceptive eyes seared into his skin attempting to melt his hard exterior and read his mind. But he wouldn’t fall into the trap of pretty eyes tonight, he wanted his lick back. His body was heavy with anxious energy as he slid into the plush leather seat of his matte black Porsche 911 GTS, the engine of the car barely heating up before he threw it in drive and raced out of the parking lot.

His headlights beamed on the empty highway as he pushed the turbocharged engine to the speed of light. To say he was driving fast would be an understatement and when he met her eyes that were glued to the speedometer he knew he was back on top. Knew that the once fierce stalking leopard was now nothing more than a scared little house cat—and he was the dog that would chase her up a tree.

“You scared sweetface?” The teasing smirk on his face did little to calm down the anxious flutters in her belly as he continued revving the engine. The usually endearing nickname now taunting her.

His hands slithered between her legs, creeping closer and closer to what she knew was bare skin. Panties didn’t belong with the outfit she had on tonight. So she went without them. “You want me to believe you’re scared when you’re this fucking wet..please don’t play right now!”

She was having a hard time giving a fuck about anything right now as his fingers wiggled deeply inside of her. Coaxing forward more of her sweet essence and sending her eyeballs right into her socket. His expensive leather seats became victim to the sugary sweetness dripping from her. Her legs widened and thrown about the console to let his fingers carve out heaven inside of her.

“Pleasee Terry…you’re not deep enough. The guy in the club promised me more than this he said-“ you were cut off by the harsh screeching of his tires on the road. Turning your head quickly to look at him because he must be out his goddamn mind.

“Terry what the fuck! Are you trying to kill us?!” You were sure you had whiplash at this point and the thought of a sore aching neck had your anger soaring.

The car was stopped smack dead in the middle of the highway. Horns blaring as rightfully angry drivers whipped around the two of you in a fit of rage. Terry said nothing as his knuckles gripped the steering wheel. Whitening under the harsh grip.

“You know sweet face..there isn’t much you can say or even do that puts me on edge like this. That makes me want to draw blood and commit mass murder. But when you mention someone else touching you..breathing the same air as you. Yeah it gets pretty damn hard not to let those thoughts consume me.”

“ Why do that huh? Why would you want my mind filled with those thoughts…you wanna see me suffering. Wanna watch me fight through my instincts.”

He turns to glare at you with cool eyes and a smug look on his face, shoulders bunched with tension as he tries to make sense of your defiances. Your hand reached out to his face in an attempt to get him to slip up—one little smirk or smile that would let you know you hadn’t fucked up as bad as you thought, a sign that you had gotten off scotch free. But instead he snatched your wrist and held it away from him, halting you from slithering your way back into his good graces.

“I’m not sorry Terry..but you’ll forgive me anyway.” You planted a kiss to his nose before you turned your head forward to peer out of the windshield as the car began to move again.

“Neither am I for what I’m about to do, sweet face.” You didn’t dare ask him what he meant. And you would not dare admit the adrenaline rush that was flowing through your veins.

Only he could keep you on edge like this. Teetering on the cusp of insanity and desire—just like him. Better than any drug and sweeter than any top shelf liquor. Money couldn’t buy it and you weren’t willing to come off of it. Some would call you crazy and deluded for thinking that this was love; rather than a strange loophole of euphoria that had you tightly bound by the heart and mind. You would go anywhere with him, be anything for him; because he’d do the same—he had done the same.

__

Even under the pitch black sky, you knew where the two of you had arrived. You had accompanied him many times. To watch him work, muscles squeezing as he let off round after round into targets. A quiet focused face with laser eyes that only made him a superhuman with a gun. He had trained you as well. The time spent with him here became bonding sessions for the two of you as he taught you the ins and outs of his life. How to disarm a target, how to break a gun apart into a million pieces and put it together again. How to shoot to kill. Headshots only.

“You’re quiet..what happened to going off and being ahead of me? I thought you knew me baby, you wanna be opinionated any other time so speak.” His large muscled body moved to stand in front of you. His intoxicating cologne pulls you from your blended thoughts.

There was never any smoke and mirrors with Terry. He was as upfront and honest as you’d wanted him to be, so being here at the warehouse with him wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and yet it didn’t quite fit into the night the two of you were having.

“I’m here to be punished I’m sure…which in that case we might as well have went home. It just seems like you want to throw me off. I won’t be falling for it tonight Terry so you might as well get whatever this is out of the way and quickly; I’d like to go home.”

His brows raised at your know-it-all tone. You had put your own foot in your mouth plenty of times when it came to him. Your mouth constantly writing a check your pussy would have to cash later on—his favorite form of payment. He reached out to caress your cheek, a soft and sweet gesture unlike the dark thoughts that clouded his mind. He had trained you, yes but he would always remind you just how easy the hunter could become the hunted.

It was more than evident that you were confused about being here especially after what had transpired back at the club not even an hour ago. He had a lesson to teach you and putting you back in your place was important to him. Important to the natural cycle the two of you had fell into—a mere perfect yin and yang.

“You know how much I love you right…know that nothing could separate us. But that mouth of yours…you should learn to watch it. Let’s go.”

She obeyed him and walked closely by his side, goosebumps running up and down her exposed arms and legs. Her eyes adjusted to the bright lighting of the building allowing her to take in the familiarity of it all. Guns lined the walls all around her. Every brand she could think of her man had hanging up. From Beretta to Ruger. Smith & Wesson to Benelli. He had enough artillery to equip a small army and this was his playing ground.

The island in the middle of the building kept his favorite brandy and whiskey stocked. You watched him curiously as he poured another shot and threw it back, grunting to himself at the burn from the aged whiskey. He seemed mildly on edge and when you began to walk towards him a sly grin covered his handsome face. What game was he playing at?

He sat the glass down with a heavy thud before he circled you. Your head swiveled to keep an eye on him not because you didn’t trust him but because you were beginning to realize you needed to be on your toes right now. He stops behind you and throws a heavy arm over your chest, your head leaning back slightly against the bulging bicep.

“Terry what are-“ your sentence is cut short as he shh’s you. His breath warm with the smell of alcohol makes you wrinkle your nose.

“Look around sweetface. You and me we living life, baby…we’d pay our lives for each other and even still—death wouldn’t separate us. No Bonnie and Clyde. Just me and sweet face on some Tony Montana shit.” He plops a wet kiss on your neck before he pulls away. Giving you the chance to finally turn and face him.

Arms out and wide he spins in a circle before turning back to you. “Pick your poison baby. Revolvers only. We got a lethal date with destiny tonight—let’s hope we win.”

You had no time to be confused and afraid. Not when the chamber of the Smith & Wesson Model 648 was loaded with a single bullet and not when Terry was your target. Russian roulette, lethal indeed. And what hung in the balance other than you and your lovers life? A proposal. Marriage. He was convinced that if the both of you survived this he would be worthy enough to be your husband. Destiny be damned.

“Go ahead baby you get first go. I trust you.” He stood there arms crossed behind his back and eyes focused. He only saw you.

“Terry…I don't trust myself. Bu-but I love you and I wanna see this through. For us.”

The first click of the gun damn near throws you into a panic attack. No bullet and Terry isn’t hurt. His turn. He walks over to you and the gun is now in his hands.

Your eyes flutter shut as he holds the gun up. If it was your time to go at least it was by the hands of the man you loved. CLICK! You began to breathe again.

“Destiny favors us my love.” A quick peck to your forehead and now it’s your turn again. But you knew you weren’t out of the woods just yet. The gun had to go off eventually.

You hold it up. Breathe even as you inhale and exhale in an attempt to slow your beating heart as it thudded against your ribcage. CLICK! In the green yet again.

“Do we call this cheating death if we both make it out? Or are we both just so twisted up in our love that we’d do anything to prove it to one another? Great questions for a different night I suppose.” Your words swirled around in your head and you forgot all about the gun being pointed at you. CLICK!

“We’ll call it whatever we have to. I got you the perfect ring sweetface..it’s your favorite ring design. And you know me, money never meant shit when it comes to making you happy. I’m gonna put it right here.” He brings your ring finger to his lips and presses a delicate kiss to it.

Emotions flooded you and before you knew it the click you had familiarized yourself with was now a loud bang. A strangled sob leaving your mouth because you knew this time a bullet was lodged somewhere in your love. The gun goes off, but your loves brains aren’t splattered on the wall of guns behind him.

You run over and squat near him, hands running over his chest quickly and frantically searching for the gun wound. His hands grab your trembling ones in his and you focus your eyes on his. He was ok. You’d only shot him in the shoulder.

“Guess we’re getting married baby…I always said I’d marry a woman who knew her way around a gun.” His out of breath laughter warms you and you throw your arms around him pulling back slightly when he winces.

“Destiny fulfilled Mr.Richmond.”

—

@kaylalb @mrsknowitallll @transparentphantomface @aesteticxsariana @23jammy @ch33z3grits @kenshisluvrgirl @becauseimswagman1 @blowmymbackout @blyffe @kumkaniudaku @keehendrixx @keyaho @venusincleo @writingsbytee @zillasvilla @megamindsecretlair @hotgrlcece @theereinawrites @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar