Lili

All I did was bleed as I try to be the bravest soldier

[anthr-dream]

WELCOME TO MY BLOGS

Hello, my name is Lilina, call me Lili/Lina. I'm 19 and a taurus. I'm kinda new in writing stuff so i would love to hear your critics and advice<3

English is not my mother language, sorry for typo/spelling/grammar mistakes

♤What i write for♧

♧Rules, genre and tags♤

♤Anime masterlist♧

♧Games masterlist♤

♤New masterlist♤

Askbox: OPEN/CLOSED

I only write when i'm bored lol so don't expect much. But if you send me request, i'm in :p

Shout out to @imo-chan-imagines for making me inspired to started this blog, thank you so much >-<❤

That's all, thank you and see you <3

[chevxyn]

nagi /w tomodachi life.

nagi that gets frustrated over tomodachi life.

why won’t his mii get married with you? he has been laying in his bed for hours trying to get the two fictional characters to marrying eachother but stuck at “sweethearts” he’s actually not in the mood playing this, but addicted cause the interactions between the two of you keeps him company when you’re not here.

he tried his best, forcing the two to meet eachother every single second they turned away and hoping that they’d eventually wanna marry eachother so that he can do this. but nope, it took him hours, even days to finally get the chance, and when he did, his face turns into a frown when he failed the minigame to get them to get married. “this game is such a hassle.”

he changed positions, even playing while eating to just get this game done with. so imagine his face when he successfully married you; the greatest sigh of his life. the cutscenes played as he got a small smile at how his mii looks at yours. at this time, you were sleeping beside him so he showed the nintendo screen to you, and you chuckled at how cute it was. “aww that’s so cute.”

“i’m gonna give them a baby.” he looked at you as he said that and you nodded, “that’d be sweet, sei.” he nodded, and so he’s gonna spend atleast another day at this game despite almost deleting it when they didn’t wanna get married to one another. “oh yeah, i’m surprised you kept that game for long.” you pointed out and he shrugged. “it’s a hassle, but it’s a good game. i guess.” he mumbled and you smiled as he laid his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through it.

©chevxyn — thank you for your support.

[abyssyby]

“what do you think your mom does for work?”

“my— my mama works good. good job.” kyros breathes into the tiny microphone Mr. Raf handed to him.

big, thoughtful eyes blink at the camera awaiting the next prompt while his teacher tries to clarify. “no, yes. sure. but what is she doing a good job on?”

kyros opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure. after sorting through a few thoughts, he presses his lips to the mic again and says, “good job on… uh, work.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“mama fights.” lucian chews his words, speakers popping at his loud voice. “mama go hurt things.”

“hurt?”

“yes. and do good job.” lucian nods, also staring at the camera. as if to challenge anyone who thinks otherwise.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“hi, i’m lucian and kyros’s mom, and i am a Hunter for The Hunter’s Association.” you say, a little bashful at the answers they provided. “I—I hunt, not hurt. Well, I also hurt, but—but wanderers! Not people. Or— well— Rafayel, stop recording!”

“what do you think your dad does at work?”

“beez-nez.” kyros struggles to wrap his tongue around the word but relays enough to understand.

“like… stocks?”

“ya, he wear socks.”

“like what kind of business, kyros?”

poor kyros looks like his brain blast will injure him. but in a snap of memory he has heard his father sneer at people on the phone, he exclaims. “ah! none!”

“huh?”

“none-your-beez-nez!” he claps happily for remembering. “i do good job!”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“phone— and, and trinkies— and! like, drinks.” lucian lists, twisting his shirt around his hands and swinging side to side.

“does he own a bar?”

he lifts the front of his shirt randomly over his face. “bar? what dat?” Rafayel panics to pull it back down.

when lucian’s face emerges, he says, “papa has a gun.”

“what—“

Mr. Raf has never met the guy, but now he worries what these kids have to witness at home. their father, skye, will be coming to pick them up later, and so he braces for the worst.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“I’m lucian and kyros’s papa.” sylus states, deadpan into the camera in his three piece tailored armani, but radiating with pride at the statement. “and I sell fruits.”

Rafayel falters with the camera and shoots the little ones a look over his shoulder, tired. they blink up at him with identical, thoughtless red orbs that matches their strange father’s and wave.

Thomas lied. Ooh, kindergarten is an easy, fun, break-from-your-routine, might-inspire-you-to-paint kinda gig— not.

He makes that known, later that day. Loud and clear.

“Thomas, what the hell do you think I do for work?”

[higanyuuu]

My type in men is when there's a humongous man who could totally overpower you but still choose to be terrified/in awe of you

Take one good look at Varka and you'll see why

Like his wife right now could be absolutely furious at him for underestimating a fight and had gotten a few scratches here and there. But he isn't sad at all.

No.

He's gleaming at her with the biggest smile (a little sheepish too) on his face that could rival the sun as she's patching him up, not letting up on the scolding. Literally in joy.

Happy wife happy life I guess

[abyssyby]

kyros’s first interactions sylus are as gentle as the wind.

always curling up in his arms and pressing his ear to his heart. sometimes, he looks up and blinks like a kitten saying, i love you. most of the time it is that, but sometimes, it’s because he likes to check if he’s still there.

“yes, kyros?” sylus would hum, pulling back to stare down at the half-lidded, dreamy gaze his son manages to captivate him with.

kyros merely blinks and places his head back down to his chest, heaving a great big sigh. papa caresses his hair fondly. in sylus’s heart, he knows that he is loved.

lucian’s interactions were as explosive as the sun.

always crawling or rolling to the edge of the bed and waiting for sylus to catch him. babbles and coos reaching decibels loud enough to send signals in the sky.

lucian likes being held upside down by the foot as if he were the catch of the day, and then tossed into the soft cushion of blankets and pillows on your bed.

his i love yous come as physical kisses, gums on sylus’s chin, fingers wrapped around his earlobe, and fistfuls of hair as he tries to climb.

“yes, lucian?” sylus would hum at the baby who’d rolled onto his foot. he’d bend, raise lucian up by the armpits off the floor and into the sky, and attack him with kisses and bites all over his little cheeks.

lucian squeals, loud and resonant for anyone who would listen. and in sylus’s heart, he knows that he is loved.

[abyssyby]

sylus x reader | sylus & his family | fluff, cute sylus, messy drunk kieran, amused mama, angst (huh?? what??), comfort (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

tw: vomiting, inebriation, pregnancy, mentions of abandonment

sylus is just a little buzzed.

is what he first told you when he walked in through the front door with the slightest of wobbles. immensely noticeable knowing his usual, confident and unshakable stride.

you don’t hear.

kieran, trailing behind him, is a lot more far gone on his brother’s shoulder. you tend to him first, missing the slower movements of sylus’s arms raising to greet you and sidestepping him completely.

“gotta clean up puke in the car,” luke says. he seems unaffected by the evening’s outcomes, in fact begrudging the night now entirely. “kier’s a pig. worst birthday ever.”

you nod and take kieran’s limp arm and slump it around your shoulders, as if your frame would be enough to support his dead weight. he hiccups, “ma, i frew up…”

“i know, kier, it’s okay.” you pat his cheek and start the shuffle-walk towards a surface he can rest on.

you barely make it a few steps before the weight is lifted off your shoulders and kieran is hoisted up and over sylus’s shoulder.

“sy—“

he grunts, lumbering into the living room and tossing kieran on a couch haphazardly. kieran groans but slumps like dirty laundry over the arm rest.

then sylus returns, a willow hovering over you with limp limbs and a head hung low. you reach up to touch his face, feverish against your palm, and frown. “you didn’t puke too, did yo—!”

his shoulder muffles the rest of what you have to say, smelling fruity and tangy from his choice of alcohol, as he presses his forehead to your neck. “just buzzed.”

his arms circle your frame, larger now with the little heartbeats growing stronger in you, and you’re enveloped in his warmth. slightly off, but just as meaningful.

“papa’s just buzzed.” he whispers to your ear, and it tickles.

“looks like papa doesn’t know how to hold his alcohol.” you tease. you should have warned the twins that sylus is a poor drinking buddy when it comes to the harder fun drinks the youths tend to order.

but you couldn’t crush their drinking with dad dreams, especially now— in this time of sylus’s life—he takes pride in the title more than ever.

sylus was reluctant, not because he didn’t want to indulge, but you’ve just entered your second trimester and he’s been loathe to leave you since… well, since the announcement.

you teased him about being clingy, he whined in the privacy of your bedroom to your baby bump. tattling to your child how mama is keeping him and them apart.

but eventually, he caved and brought the unmasked twins to one of his more private speakeasy’s. which then, maybe escalated into something more neon and bouncy, you aren’t sure. the state of kieran tells you so much and so little all at once.

“i can!” sylus protests.

“f—ck! i gotta fy-ook!” kieran hiccups behind you in distress.

when you start to rush to find something to catch it, sylus holds you in place. you hiss at him. “sy! it’s gonna get on the carpet.”

“luke will clean it.”

you push him away just enough for him to tube-man upright. but kieran has already found a vase and stuck his face into it, now hurling accordingly.

“see?” sylus slurs. “my kids are smart.”

kieran’s dry heaves echo into the hollow artifact and trigger your own reflexes. suddenly, your stomach isn’t feeling so well. you pry away the corded muscles around your waist and sprint to the bathroom.

outside, amidst the chaos, sylus is bellowing. “kieran, look what you’ve done!”

and kieran is wailing, “i’m sorry! i’m s—orry!”

“ohh, i’m going to kill you.” luke returns just in time to witness his twin’s mess into the vase.

sylus is there, standing like a stunned specter when you emerge from the bathroom door. he blinks a few times like he’s rebooting before he places both hands on your cheeks. “are you okay?”

“yes,” you say kindly, stroking his ring fingers with your thumbs. “don’t yell at them.”

“okay.” he nods, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing. “sorry.”

he turns his head and yells into the hallway. “sorry!”

“s’okay, dad.” luke calls back, tired.

“we love you, dad!” kieran cries, voice crackly and strained.

sylus grins, goofy and loopy, chuckling once and slowly turning back to you. “i like being dad.”

you smile at him. it’s been such a time since you’ve seen him drunk, and the last time wasn’t nearly as tame as this. tonight he’s just… happy and cute.

“do you hear me?” he asks, pressing his nose to your bump as he falls to his knees. “i love being your dad.”

“he isn’t even out yet.” you laugh, nails against his scalp that make him melt further onto you.

“doesn’t matter.” he murmurs, peppering kisses over what he believes is the little’s foot. “i’m dad. m’papa.”

he clings to you and snuggles his face into your belly when you sit among your boys in the living room. there, you laugh as luke paints you a picture of their night. how the speakeasy didn’t escalate into a full party, rather a case of your husband’s singing bug.

“boss sang like, seven songs.” luke says, and you laugh when sylus groans into your side. sedated only by your gentle caresses through his hair. “then, a gooey duet with kieran.”

“on the wings of love is a classic and you’re a—hic— pleb for not knowing it.” kieran interjects.

luke ignores him, still upset about cleaning up after his brother twice. “they sang through, like, three bottles of brandy.”

“and sum’beer.” adds kieran. “soo fun.”

“not fun.” grumps about luke.

sylus pouts against you. “you guys said you like it when i’m fun.”

“bossss,” kieran sings. “you were awesome. i will never—hic— ever—hic— ever forget tonight.”

luke watches his brother warily, but then softens when he looks back at sylus. “he’s right. tonight was pretty sick, boss.”

“dad.” sylus corrects, his voice now a grumble teetering towards unconsciousness. “i’m a dad—a’papa.”

“a’papa!” kieran responds enthusiastically, as if sylus had just recited a psalm. he closes his eyes and murmurs it to himself happily over and over.

“i think a’papa needs to go to bed.” you say, brushing back sylus’s hair from his eyes to see them closed. his mouth now slightly ajar too as his breathing steadies.

kieran’s echos fade too shortly after, and soon turn to soft snores.

only you and luke are left awake to witness the crackle of the dying fire in its hearth.

quietly, you ask. “why didn’t you drink?”

luke clicked his tongue and took a while. “i did.”

“but?”

he twists to retrieve a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. its crinkles sounding solemn as it is placed gently into your hands.

you give him a curious look as he sits back and waves for you to open it.

in big, bold, elegant font, it reads:

CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH

秦薛明 — Lucas Qin

luke turns shy when you look back at him. suddenly, his fingernails have turned interesting that it needs all of his attention.

“i hope you don’t mind.” is the first thing he utters and you are appalled at his words. “or he discussed it with you. we don’t expect you to think of us as yours, but we—we’d love to be part of the fa…”

his voice trails away when you plop yourself beside him and wrap him in a tender embrace. “of course you’re mine.”

he sniffles for the first time since you’ve known him. you don’t dare to look. but he leans his head towards you and swallows. “i didn’t want to forget.

“i didn’t want to wake up and maybe think… it was all a dream.”

all their lives— such hard and painful ones— they never had more than the other. never been wanted. never belonged.

at the gift presented to them, once pristine in the folders sylus had meticulously placed the parchment in, luke and kieran felt as if they had been killed, burned and reborn anew.

unmasked. with a face. with a name.

after years of always pausing by the door and waiting by the barrier, never did they think that they would be invited in.

and that will always be there to haunt them, the idea of being impostors in places they aren’t supposed to be in. where they think they fit, but their reality is bathed in delusion they would blame on their nonexistent childhood.

but now written, they will have something to tell them it’s all true.

“happy birthday.” you kiss his temple. he freezes at the affection, at the difference it makes coming from someone other than his brother. from another member of the family.

and as if you knew what he needed to hear, you swear.

you swear as if it is known, written in the stars eons ago. indisputable by fate or anything brutal that makes its demands. a truth you have lived and remembered and etched into your bones. you swear,

“you’ve always been our sons.”

a kick against his elbow that rests just by your belly is all is needed for him to believe it.

thank you for reading! ❀(*´◡`*)❀

秦薛明 (Qin Xuē Míng) - luke’s chinese name + sylus’s last name

[rkkuna]

everyday struggle i fear

[sacratiti]

.ೃ࿔ nanami's raging domesticity kink

after years of back breaking labor, curse fighting and anguish, all the ex-salaryman could wish for was a happy marriage, time off, and maybe a kid or two (or three).

nanami kento can't help but flush when he sees you in your signature apron. it's beyond worn (courtesy of it being an old hand me down) and you often have to ignore the copious amounts of stains adorning the flimsy fabric. the homemade nature of it, the fact that no one else has seen you in it is what turns him on. you think he's a perv.

one of nanami kento's favorite pastimes is washing your hair. something about the strands trailing between his fingers, coiling 'round, his guiding hand tilting your head back to prevent any shampoo from getting in your eyes, watching the suds drift down your naked figure... it's beyond erotic.

nanami kento is horniest on lazy days. days where there's no deadlines, overtime to be worked, not a single opportunity for his alone time with you to be interrupted.

it doesn't mean he takes you like an animal or pounds you into the mattress; he'd rather pick up another shift than do that.

it means he takes his time, savors every drop of your lust like never before. tears spring to your eyes, not from pain or glum, but from tantalizing pleasure; from your lover taking care of you in way no one else has, or could; from tens of lengthy orgasms, each more toe-curling than the last, spanning the entire morning.

"k-kennn," you whimper, voice fraying at the edges. he could cum just from that, your broken voice calling out for him so sweetly.

"mhm?" he mutters it against your skin, head tucked in the crook of your neck while he grinds into you in mating press.

the bed is creaking, shuddering against you and nanami's combined weight. his hair a mess, lean body braced over you, he's so close you could cry.

"feels so good-hic!" you moan, filthy noises flowing freely, not even sure of what you're saying. his strokes, so slow and soft, dragging against your soaked folds, have turned you into a whimpering, shaky mess.

"who's making you feel good, hm?" god, that tone. there's a twinge of mocking yet he's still tender. a dark cloud lowers over his gaze, a mean, lustful energy peering it's head.

"you!" instantly he groans, a lengthy vibration that echoes in your head.

adjusting himself, his arms wrap around yours like vines, entangling your fingers together. he shushes you when you scream into his ear, moving to rest his forehead on yours.

"feels good when i do this"—punctuating his thrust, he moves his hips to be flush against yours, cock head nuzzling your weeping cervix — "doesn't it, darling?"

"mhm mhm, yes!" escaping from his grasp, your hands find purchase in his hair, the sheets, his back, anything you can get a hold of. he thrusts especially hard when you pinch his back; angry red stripes bloom underneath your nails, leaving a white-hot trail of pleasure in their wake.

"shiiit, doll," he groans, booming voice cracking. his domineering energy wilts for a second, a moment of vulnerability. even through your lust, you can see he's about to cum.

together, you release, his earth shattering orgasm sending you over the edge.

it's a miracle the bed doesn't break from beneath you. all of his weight is bearing down on you, pinning you to the sticky sheets. his motions only now falter, hips stuttering as they make you clench harder.

for a long moment, the only sound is heavy breathing. he's the one to break it, getting up to carry your soaking form to the shower.

"was it good for you?" he asks, usual fond tone returning.

"what do you think?" you moan, words a little slurred. the ghost of a smirk tugs against his lips, clearly amused by your antics.

nanami kento who's the king of aftercare. not a single bruise, scratch or tear goes unnoticed. he's geared up with ointment and the safety kit, prepared to tend to your every need. you tease him for being dramatic, but he knows that you secretly love it.

"can a man not care for his wife?" he muses.

nanami kento who loves cooking for you, or the other way around. from the simplest sandwiches to filling beef wellington, anything you desire can be made. crave it and he'll make it.

adoration swells in him when you compliment his food, mouth full of whatever divinity he just cooked up.

nanami kento who's the best partner in the world. other husbands figuratively bow their heads in shame when he walks in. he's a strong believer in never going to bed angry, opening every door and, most importantly, his wife's pleasure.

masterlist | @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred

a/n: guys was this buns

[belovedren]

#𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐔𝐁 🦁

Here are 10 fun facts of lion beastmen not to mention having Leona kingscholar as your husband

Now, hush little baby, don't you cry Everything's gonna be alright Stiffen that upper lip up, little lady, I told ya Daddy's here to hold ya through the night

Leona kingscholar x reader ( Twisted wonderland )

I wanna do other characters fun facts.

FUN FACT 1# : Baby lions are totally dependent on their mothers for food and protection during the first few months.

No matter where you go or what you do, the cub would love to be by your side. Even if Leona wants to take them away so that you can have your alone time, the cub would screech and cry every time they are taken from your embrace. It will clings to you 24/7, the cub simply has a sense of knowing who is holding them–if it's not you then they will cry until it's back into their mothers arm.

FUN FACT 2# : cubs are born blind and without teeth.

You are originally worried when finding about them being blind but Leona says that it's normal for lion cubs to be born blind so at least that gives you reassurance, you often worry about the smallest things–afraid it might affect the child but when they finally open their eyes, you are so to see your baby eyes.

FUN FACT 3# : cubs have spots on their coats that act as camouflage

You would be gushing over how small and cute your cube is, like who wouldn't... Well Leona but he expresses his love in a nonchalant way or simply teasing about the cub being ugly when they cry its all fun and games until he realizes that the cub is his own son. Leona would be overprotective about you and his cub, making sure they are wearing a sound proof headset even though it is quiet–he simply doesn't trust others with his child.

FUN FACT 4# : Lionesses leave the pride and give birth to their lion babies in dense bush

Even though when you are giving birth, Leona was told to wait outside but unfortunately giving birth to a beastmen as powerful as him was a painful experience and throughout the entire time you were calling out his name. Leona almost turned an advisor to sand if it weren't for his brother intervening and letting him go inside, he immediately went towards your side and held your hand through the process.

FUN FACT 5# : Lion cubs spend up to 20 hours of the day sleeping or resting

Your cub and Leona both share the same hobbies, sleeping of course. Leona would often place the cub in his chest while holding in, even though he may be asleep the slightest movement from the cub would immediately get him to open his eyes as well as making sure they don't fall or someone tried to pry them to the cub of his hands. Leona would send a glare towards anybody who would wake them up, the only exception is you.

FUN FACT 6# : mothers keep their cubs hidden away from the pride and predators.

When Leona's family finds out he has met the laugh of his life at NRC, their jaws would drop. Felena is honestly quite excited to meet the human who has shaken his brother's cold heart into a soft lion, Leona doesn't like his brother's enthusiasm. This case becomes in the spotlight because, Leona doesn't want anyone to hold the cub. The only people who are the exception are Cheka supervise or neiji.

FUN FACT 7# : Lion cubs spend most of their day playing

Your cub is energetic as heck, they will not stop moving around. Cheka is so happy to play with the cub because they match their energy, neiji would remark on how identical the cub was with Leona when he was younger. Leona is often the victim of your cub endless pursuit of games, the child is basically glued to his side after they learn to walk and now the cub prefers to be in Leona side over you–which is something Leona would tease about.

FUN FACT 8# : Cubs grow baby teeth while they are very young.

They are bitter for sure, chewing and munching on anything for no apparent reason. The mid wives would say that it's normal for this age to bite as a way to stimulate their bite, the cub would bite on anything even on your hand. Leona seems to not mind though, but... He was obligated to act hurt when the cub decided him as his next prey–saying that it was a good way to practice hunting.

FUN FACT 9# : Lion babies first start to eat meat at about three months old

Originally you didn't get used to it, but I guess it's normal for cubs to eat meat even when they are young. During your pregnancy, Leona would not let anyone approach you–he is overprotective. He would often put his head near the bump and would whisper and talk towards it as if the cub was listening, felena is grateful for how you change his brother as well as excited to finally having a niece/nephew. Cheka mother or Leona sister in law has been nothing but a big help during the pregnancy giving you tips as well as pep talking Leona, meanwhile Cheka would go visit you to hear the bump everyday.

FUN FACT 10# : Lions are the only known cat species where individuals roar together.

The cub arrival was a big celebration for the people at sunset savanna, to be honest when the prince came back from his studies oversees everyone did not expect to bring back a mate. But hey, there is a first for everything. Leona is smug showing his family off to others, as well as enjoying his family members shock. What matters most to him is you and his cub being in good health and are fine, sure he loves the shock expression from others but... What matters is you being there with him, you make him feel completed and now you just make it more.

Leona reaction :

[ruruumin]

a new way out.

₊˚ෆ weapon!lohen x meister!gn!reader.

⤷ soul eater au! headcanons & drabble with lohen.

˚₊‧꒰ა dynamics & history

⤷ your first meeting with lohen was neither great or horrible. as the golden goose of the dwma and next-in-line shinigami, you anticipated being paired with your close friend, barbara. however, in a strange twist of events, the first person to approach you was none other than lohen himself. he grabbed you by the shoulders and proclaimed an undying partnership between you and him, and before you could even protest, your professor agreed (to be fair: no one else wanted to be lohen’s partner). 

⤷ while this wasn’t your plan, you decided to make the best of it. after all, your time at the dwma was going to be spent studying and following your father’s footsteps. if being the next shinigami meant turning lohen to being a death weapon, then so be it.

⤷ you were on another level compared to the other students. this he knew very well. but your strict, rulebook attitude kept him from feeling truly satisfied with your ability. at the beginning of your relationship, he did everything he could to get under your skin. whether it be random spars or burning your morning pancakes—lohen never failed to keep you on your toes.

⤷ for a little, he started to feel bored of your partnership. he worried that he might have made the wrong choice in choosing you. this only changed when the two of you went on a long expedition in the mountains. trying to track down a powerful soul, lohen ran off without a second notice. he figured that if you weren’t happy with him, he might as well finish the job himself. he was used to being alone, especially on missions. having you around only slowed him down.

⤷ that was his last thought before mindlessly falling off the cliff, having missed his shot on a large, shadow-like beast. before he could close his eyes and embrace death, you shouted out to him. he was shocked to see that you had jumped off the cliff, arm outstretched to catch him. when your hands touched, he felt a cold rush run up his spine. he instinctively transformed into his polearm form. using the sharpened edge, you slammed down on the side of the cliff, effectively slowing the two of you down to a fierce halt. 

⤷ from that day on, he realized one thing: you could be crazy sometimes. other people would have hesitated to jump after him, but you? it was a no brainer. even though you had every chance to abandon him, call him a mangy stray dog undeserving of your title, you held onto him like he was your lifeline.

⤷ with time, the two of you fell into a gentle routine. moving into a shared dorm was common amongst partners, and you quickly learned lohen’s habits. despite being an adrenaline junkie, he had enough patience to wait for the laundry to dry. your shared chore chart was an organized sheet that surprised even barbara. 

⤷ one thing you had to get used to was lohen coming into your room more often than not. instead of sleeping in his own bed, he lingers in your bedroom, excusing it as: “just watching your back.” he keeps trying to convince you that as the next shinigami, you needed someone to be on guard. so the responsibility falls on lohen (not that he minded). 

⤷ you don’t say anything when you wake up that next morning, seeing him at the foot of your bed, asleep like a kitten.

“watch out!” barbara shouts for her meister, causing her to immediately pull back the moment they saw a familiar shadow rush by. their eyes widen as they watch you jump into the heat of the battle, piercing through the ironclad horde of zombies with brute force.

you twist the polearm around your fingers, slicing through the crowd and sliding past their lifeless bodies. before a hand could reach for the fabric of your coat, you pull out a dagger—cutting through their wrist as a strangled cry rings out. 

“if i recall: you said we don’t work on our day offs,” lohen laughs, his maniacal grin reflecting off of the surface of your polearm, “and yet here we are—tracking souls.” 

a huff escapes you, “it was an emergency.”

exactly twelve minutes before your arrival, the two of you were about to grab dinner at a nearby restaurant. at first, lohen felt a little annoyed that his painfully difficult reservation would have to be cancelled. however, the moment the call ended and he saw the serious look in your eyes, he knew it was going to be an exciting fight. although his thirst for blood was satisfied, his growling stomach and desire to spend time with you was not. his eagerness to finish the fight was seen quickly in the way he pulls you around, swinging madly.

barbara described the situation as out of control and endless. zombies were rushing through like a flood, and while you were doing your best to contain most of it from slipping—you knew there had to be a better way. 

“in the back!” lohen barks, “i can see the real mastermind!” 

blinking, your eyes quickly scouts the area. true to his words, in the very back of the crowd, you see a much taller figure swaying back and forth. he functions similarly to a maestro, controlling his wave of mindless puppets in your direction. 

striking the concrete ground with the bottom of your polearm, you vault upwards. lohen, ever so eager, shoots back into your open palm, allowing you to throw him with enough force to mimic lightning. the creature wails as you pierce its heart, its hands clawing at its chest as it slowly disappears into black ash, revealing a crimson soul. it emits a soft, buzzing sound.

the battle ends quickly after your arrival.

“(name)!” barbara smiles, comforted by your presence. transforming back into her human form, she and her meister run to your side.

her partner severely underestimated the amount of work and danger put into this one job. originally, they thought it would be over the moment they killed three zombies, but they kept coming, until it was too much for them to handle. when the two of them made the emergency call, they weren’t sure who would tune in first. her meister had hastily written a set of numbers that were then sent out to everyone in their class. she got lucky, as you and lohen were already in the area.

truth be told, barbara was both relieved and scared of you. even though the two of you were supposed to be partners, lohen swept up and carried you away. and while she has heard many stories of lohen, mostly about his enthusiastic and masochistic tendencies, she was surprised to find out how much in common you had with the man. she would have never thought that the golden goose of their class would house such a beastly soul. perhaps it was best that you and him were partners. she doesn’t think she could handle that type of fighting.

lohen materializes beside you, and without much hurry at all, reaches out to the crimson soul. taking it into his mouth, he swallows the entire thing whole, finishing his meal with a satisfying huff. although it might not be the same as the steak he was about to order previously, this was a lot more rewarding.

“barbara,” you say, “i’m glad the two of you are alright. we came as soon as we got your message.”

“we’re so lucky to have you here,” her partner comments, “we were investigating one of the cases in the city. never could we have imagined they had the power to reanimate corpses…” they look off to the side, seeing the abandoned bodies lying dead (for the second time) on the floor. “we thought it might have been a witch at first.”

the blond haired girl laughs, “i’m glad it wasn’t.”

before you could say anything, lohen wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. your eye twitches when you feel his gloved hand pinch at your skin. “at least everything is taken care of. considering we did some extra work on our day off, are we getting some of this commission as well?”

barbara’s meister awkwardly fidgets under his intense gaze, “yeah. of course.”

“great!” his lips curve into a wide grin, “we were getting dinner right before this call. so we will head out now.” 

barbara and her partner say nothing as lohen grabs you by the hand, dragging you away as you hurriedly tilt your head, waving them a proper goodbye as you mouth apologies to them. this act causes the girl to shake her head, lamenting about lohen’s possessiveness.

[sealriousbusiness-deactivated20]

BABY WANTS SQUID ꉂ`𖦹. miya osamu & suna rintarou — SMAU

tags/warnings: fem reader, polyamory, sexual references & humour, pregnancy mention, sunarin is his own warning

a/n: wow the first official formatted post........ glorious day! @kindahandsome your fault btw

© sealriousbusiness ! please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my works to ai ⁠⊰

[lcckedcom]

WICKED GAME !

based on this request: a-class reader ver!

e-class reader ver.

HOW IT STARTED: nobody loves no one

• probably didn’t even know you existed at first.

karma was never a guy of romance, especially not when it came to his school life. during his time in a-class, he kept to himself, but loudly, causing havoc, whispers following in the halls (before he befriended nagisa)

statements, theories and ideas of his presence were spoken of under hushed voices, until a particular one caught his interest.

“i don’t quite care about his reputation, to be frank. a cute guy is a cute guy.” you were leaning lazily against your desk, unbothered by how tense the air turned when you spoke.

from what he could tell, you had no specific friend group. you just voiced your opinion when you were asked. his head turned to you, and you were already staring dead into his soul.

and to his surprise, you waved, grinning. he half-expected you to blush and look away, but you met his gaze straight on, as if you wanted for him to hear it.

HOW IT CONTINUED: it's strange what desire will make foolish people do

when word got to you that his weak subject was japanese, you approached him, notebook in hand. “i took my time making these, so treasure them. knowing you though, you might just burn them.”

“wow, i didn’t have you pawned as such a pleaser. you must really like me.” he responded, the same usual smirk on his face as he didn’t even bother to touch the notes.

your expression mirrored his, something that in the reputation of this school was rarely found. it wasn’t to intimidate him or to give him a taste of his medicine, but simply for your own endearment. “i don’t care what you are, akabane. i care about what you can do.”

• your answer only enhanced his curiosity as to who you actually are, finding familiarity in you.

at first, you simply began to tutor him, hang out in the library for study sessions. and you could keep up with him. not just with his intelligence, but with his quick wits and banter.

“i never did catch your name.” “well, I didn’t exactly throw it at you.” he knew right then and there that you weren’t normal.

• sharing became something casual between you two. at first, it was just notes. you got his maths notes while he got your japanese notes. then you began to share food, drinking from the same straw.

he would always walk you home, no matter in what mood you were, no matter how far away your house is, no matter how long the train took. he was always there.

so much to the point where, one day, he realized you occupied his whole day when you were sick once. for the first time, he felt a little awkward walking into class, holding his head up high either way.

he dismissed it as him growing attached as a friend. since no one had been able to keep up with him like you did, he clung to you.

• when nagisa joined your friend group, he thought nothing of it at first. you became a trio. a small, tight knit group of friends that were stuck in their own bubble. though, at first, he mistook you as a couple.

“wait, so you’re not dating?” “what made you conclude that?” “yeah, y/n wish she could date me— OW”

he didn’t cling to nagisa like he did to you. his eyes looked for you when he stepped into a room. he would wordlessly share his strawberry milk with you. he didn’t just enjoy your presence, but he started to enjoy existing with you.

HOW THE STORY UNFOLDS: the world was on fire, and no one could save me but you

• when he switched to e-class, you spent your days during his suspension with him. his behavior didn’t stop you long before, why would it now?

you would come over, give him a rundown of the day and any new conspiracy gossip that would turn up. and his endless teasing would still make your day, sitting side by side on his couch.

• you filled in the void that he didn’t know he had. the void of continuously coming home to an empty house, no one to greet him, no one to ask him how his days was. you came into his life. effortlessly, fulfilling and bright.

• at first, he unconsciously began to show you physical affection. a hand on your waist, fingers running through your hair, his blazer on your shoulders.

then, he began to do it with purpose. teasing when the light blush bloomed on your cheeks, his face getting a little closer than it should.

• he would ward of guys trying to flirt with you in public, but not in the way you might think. he does it by embarrassing you. “she snores as loud as a horn when she’s sleeping, so she wouldn’t be that great as a partner.” “KARMA—”

• the rest of e-class saw you after school once. with karma’s arm around your shoulders, his unoccupied hand housing both your and his school bag, smiling. they immediately assumed the same as nagisa: karma has a girlfriend.

which wasn’t exactly wrong. as much as he hated to admit it, he found out sooner than later that he liked you. it was while his class was taking care of little kindergarten kids.

it was a stupid question, but one of the boys there asked “how do you like someone?” and karma began to list all his actions and feelings he has for you.

people would think, with what nagisa told him, you would be the one to calm him, but you fueled his fire. you were the spark for his ideas and methods, but also his place of uncomplicated comfort.

you existed so effortlessly yourself, so untouched by the ideologies of the main campus, and he couldn’t help but sink into your poison.

• he didn’t confess under a cherry blossom, he didn’t confess with a bouquet in his hands, but in the simplest way possible. just how he preferred it.

you met up after school, like you always did, sitting on a bench and munching on the dango he paid for. the sun began to set, and the orange hues danced across your skin, wind playing with your hair. then he said it. “i love you.”

you froze for a moment, which had him unsettled, but then you chuckled, holding out the last piece of dango on the stick to him. “took you a while.”

HOW IT ENDS: i never dreamed that i'd love somebody like you

• he shouldn’t have done it, it was against the rules, but he told you about koro-sensei.

the octopus he had as a teacher, how their first interaction went, and what he was like now as a teacher. you smile, setting a short kiss on his cheek. “as long as you’re happy, i won’t tell another soul.”

• word got out on the main campus that you were dating him, and that didn’t surprise you. he was stuck to you, uncharacteristically desperate for constant touch. or maybe not so uncharacteristically, simply because he didn’t do it when you first became friends, only when you got closer later on.

when the day would reach its end, he would be waiting for you, eyes lighting up ever so slightly when you reached his sight, pulling you closer.

• you didn’t let the rumors and words of your schoolmates bother you, instead simply focusing on your studies and each other.

karma introduced you to the rest of e-class, as well as koro-sensei, who wore a disguise and couldn’t resist meeting you after he heard of you.

you made more friends, hanging out with bigger groups, and you felt like your life has found its purpose. unbound by the chains of the system, instead working your way through it, and not alone.

• he didn’t let it show, but he was saddened at the news of his teacher’s death.

you saw it in his face, the way he slouched, the way his smile looked a little to forced. you comforted him, because you knew he was too stubborn to let his emotions get to him.

you helped him the way he always helped you: by simply staying. he slept over at your house for a week, lying on your chest with hollow breaths.

what finally got him back up again were your words. “if he was still here, i think we both know he’d scold you for bringing yourself to such a low state. do what he would’ve wished. graduate and be what you want, because the title scum of the school doesn’t mean you’re unworthy or untalented. you know that.”

• you stayed side by side. through the rest of school, graduation, job applications, sleepless nights and all above and below.

you fought, like any couple would, but you always forgave each other. your need to be with one another outweighed the thought of being alone.

in the end, you both got what you wanted. your dream professions, a cozy home to live in, and each other, both still full of life, banter and teasing.

[kxsagi]

“𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞”

a/n: i can’t stop thinking about dad!toji and mom!reader with clingy baby megumi, it’s a need

ac goes to nandemotokasu

the thing about megumi fushiguro at 18 months is that he already has beef with exactly one person in this world, and unfortunately, it’s his own father. 

toji doesn’t realize it at first. at first, it’s just little things. megumi crawling past him like he’s a piece of furniture. megumi choosing you every single time like it’s muscle memory. megumi looking at him, really looking, and then deciding, actually, nah, i’d cry. 

but then it escalates. 

because now megumi can walk. 

which means he can choose who he runs to. 

and he never chooses toji. ever. 

one random afternoon, toji gets home, tired, mildly irritated, expecting at least a neutral welcome. instead, megumi looks up from the floor, locks eyes with him, and – this is not an exaggeration – gasps like he just saw something he shouldn’t have seen. then he turns and sprints. tiny, unsteady legs moving at max speed straight into you, nearly faceplanting into your knees as he grabs onto you with a desperate little “mamaaahhh.” 

toji stands there, keys still in hand, blinking. “yeah no.” 

you’re already picking megumi up, laughing as you kiss his hair, completely ignoring the man having a spiritual crisis in your doorway. “toji, don’t take it personally–” 

“he ran from me.” 

“he didn’t run–” 

“he EVACUATED.” 

megumi peeks over your shoulder. they make eye contact. toji narrows his eyes. 

megumi immediately buries his face into your neck and starts whining. 

toji points at him like he’s about to file a formal complaint. “you see that? you see that? that’s targeted. intentional. on purpose.” 

from that point on, it becomes a daily humiliation ritual. toji crouches with his arms open – megumi walks past him. toji tries to pick him up – megumi twists like a professional twister player and reaches for you instead. toji literally just exists in the same room – megumi frowns like he pays rent and doesn’t like the roommate. 

“i’m being cold-shouldered by someone who can’t even say full sentences,” toji mutters one night, laying flat on the bed while you’re soothing megumi for the third time in an hour. “this is insane.” 

“he’s a baby,” you whisper back, rocking gently. 

“he’s a hater.” 

megumi sniffles, clutching your shirt tighter. 

toji stares at the ceiling. “i made him.” 

“you also scare him.” 

toji turns his head slowly. “i scare him? he cries when i blink.” 

right on cue, megumi glances over at him, lip wobbling. 

toji freezes. “... i didn’t even do anything.” 

megumi starts crying again. 

“OH MY GOD.” 

the next day, toji leaves the house with the energy of a man plotting something illegal. he eventually comes back with a bag. you already don’t trust it. 

“what did you do?” you ask, watching him kick off his shoes like nothing’s wrong. 

“nothing.” 

“that’s not very reassuring.” 

megumi is sitting on the floor, stacking blocks with the focus of a tiny, emotionally unstable architect, but the second you shift your weight, he’s already preparing to crawl over. 

toji sees it. he panics. 

“wait. hold on.” 

you pause, suspicious. 

toji drops to a crouch and digs into the bag like he’s about to reveal the final boss. “i got him something.” 

he pulls them out. 

two stuffed wolves. 

one black. one white. 

they’re soft, round, matching, clearly a pair. little twin wolves. 

you blink. “toji.” 

he shrugs, defensive already. “what? kids like this kind of stuff.” 

megumi pauses. slowly turns. he stares at the wolves like they just altered his brain chemistry. 

toji doesn’t breathe. 

megumi crawls forward. reaches out. grabs the black one first. then the white. 

and just like that – you are no longer the center of his universe. 

you and toji both freeze as megumi plops down, completely absorbed, squishing the twin wolves together, babbling like he’s hosting a very intense meeting between them. 

“… no way,” toji whispers, eyes wide. 

megumi lifts the black one. “da.” 

toji’s soul leaves his body. 

megumi lifts the white one. “ma.” 

you slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. 

toji turns to you slowly, like he just witnessed a miracle. “did you hear that. did you– he–” 

“i heard.” 

megumi smacks the wolves together again, giggling, absolutely uninterested in either of you now. 

toji doesn’t waste a second. 

he stands up, grabs your wrist, and pulls you into him like a man reclaiming lost territory. “don’t move. don’t say anything. we’re not ruining this.” 

you’re shaking with silent laughter, letting him hold you while he keeps his eyes locked on megumi like he might snap out of it. 

he doesn’t. 

megumi is locked in. 

toji exhales, long and dramatic, pressing his forehead against yours. “i’m buying him eight more.” 

“he only has two hands,” you whisper. 

“i’ll rotate them.” 

later that night, megumi finally knocks out, dead asleep on his back, tiny fists still clutching the twin wolves like they’re his prized possessions. one black, one white, tucked right under his chin like he doesn’t trust the world enough to let them go even in his sleep. 

you’re soft with it, brushing his hair back, adjusting his blanket, the whole gentle mom routine that makes toji stand there like he’s intruding on something sacred. 

he watches for a second. two seconds. then his eyes narrow. 

“stay here,” toji mutters. 

you blink. “what are you–” 

he’s already gone. 

you hear drawers opening. something thuds. a bag rustles. it sounds suspiciously like a man making increasingly questionable decisions in real time. 

he comes back holding more. 

you stare. “toji?” 

he ignores you completely, walking straight to the crib like he’s on a mission. 

“what are you doing?” you whisper, trying not to laugh. 

“expanding,” he mutters. 

and before you can stop him – because you’re not even sure you want to – he starts placing them in the crib, one by one, careful, but fast, like he’s trying to beat a timer. 

first, a soft little winged owl-like creature, tucked near megumi’s shoulder. 

then a toad, set by his side like it’s standing guard. 

a small plush serpent, coiled loosely near his legs. 

an elephant, a rabbit, an ox – lined up like a tiny, chaotic parade. 

a deer, gently placed near his arm. 

and finally, a tiger, sitting right at the edge like the unofficial leader of whatever this is supposed to be. 

you’re covering your mouth at this point, shoulders shaking. 

“toji,” you whisper, barely holding it together, “why does he need all of those?” 

toji steps back, hands on his hips, inspecting his work like an artist. 

megumi stirs slightly. 

you both freeze. 

he settles again, still asleep, now surrounded by what looks like a miniature army of stuffed animals. 

toji exhales. “insurance.” 

you lose it silently, turning your head so you don’t accidentally wake the baby with your laughter. 

toji leans down just a little, gaze flicking over megumi’s face – soft now, peaceful, nothing like the tiny tyrant from earlier. 

and under his breath, low and gruff, he mutters, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

megumi doesn’t hear him. he just hugs the twin wolves tighter. completely unaware that his father just assembled an entire plush lineup like he’s preparing for a battle against the strongest monster to ever exist. 

toji straightens, satisfied. then immediately reaches back for you, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him like now he can finally relax. 

you lean into him, still smiling. 

“you’re crazy,” you whisper. 

“and it worked,” he shoots back quietly. 

you glance at the crib – at megumi, peacefully knocked out, surrounded by wolves, animals, and whatever else toji decided counted as a solution. 

you hum. “we’ll see.” 

toji looks at you, then back at megumi, then at the stuffed army. 

“nah,” he mutters, already confident. “i’ve got this under control.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[bbakpaww]

Barbatos likes to bake when he finally has free time, and he likes your company just as much. The kitchen is filled with the soft smell of sugar and butter as he works on your favorite cookies, with a few small cakes lined up neatly for the others. You offer to help, but he gently stops you before you can even touch a spoon, telling you that you’ve had a long day and that he only wants you here, nothing more. So you sit by the counter, watching him carefully stir the whipped cream.

He notices your stare and turns to you with a soft, fond smile, the kind that makes your chest feel tight for a moment. Every now and then, he scoops a bit of cream or batter and holds it out for you to taste, quietly asking if it’s good enough. You nod every time, and he seems pleased, adjusting things just a little more for you.

When everything is finally done, he doesn’t bother with plates right away. Instead, he feeds you the first cookie himself, watching closely as your eyes light up after one bite. The reaction alone feels worth all the effort.

Barbatos presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, before offering you another piece with the same affection. For a while, it feels like time slows down, just the two of you in the kitchen, and he decides the others can wait a little longer.

[abyssyby]

— the Hunter's Association would like to invite you to attend an honorable conference about the future of hunter-tech, upsetting a nest of dragons missing their mother

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: happy valentine's! here's a beach episode!! i failed posting this on the last day of feb oops but i hope it's the thought that counts 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 hit a lot of walls writing this, but it was still incredibly fun nonetheless! enjoys! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: lucian and kyros are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. 2 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | fluff, hurt/comfort, family angst, suggestive themes, swearing, mc feeling like a bad mama, sylus being a menace, papa!sylus, mama!reader, bigbro!lukenkieran, bird!mephisto

When Sylus holds you, he never takes it for granted. 

His hands will snake around your waist and creep over your back. His touch tender and kind. 

One palm rests at the base of your skull, while the other pulls you impossibly close to his warmth, caged in a vice of power and affection you are happy to be ensnared in.

Just as he dislikes coming home now to a quiet house, he absolutely hates going to bed alone. 

With you out on missions and meetings that warrant a statue of your visage in the heart of Linkon itself, he is left to suffer a cuddle-less, wife-less bed. Waking only when you slip beneath the covers and curl against his back like a cub in the throes of winter. He turns and holds you, of course, always, but when he wakes, you are gone again.

He’s reminded of the fact that you’d once go two weeks without seeing each other and feel nothing but a faint sense of longing and joyful anticipation of when you’d see each other again next. Now he feels as if he can’t take a full breath without a glimpse of you within a single day. 

A favorable development. 

Though when you come home and tell him that you’ll be away for the weekend for a mission, he feels as if the sky might fall from its hinges any moment. 

He really isn’t one for assuming doomsday, especially when he is capable of being its harbinger. So it comes to a shock to him too that he spirals this time as he watches you pack a bag and string out your apologies. 

“…on Valentine’s Day.” Is when he comes to, for you are now before him and winding your arms around his neck. He wastes no time pulling you to his lap and securing you with both hands on your hips. 

“Hm?” 

“You think I’m terrible.” 

He scoffs. “No, of course not.” His fingers are magic against the knots at the top of your spine, pressing meticulously in gentle circles. “We can celebrate another time.” 

His gentle ministrations do wonders for your tense shoulders, but nothing for your already guilt-ridden heart. You can’t help but pepper his face with kisses, light butterfly wings beating against his soft skin. “I’ve been away for too long.” 

He purses his lips. Returns a peck. “No one holds that against you, my love.” 

He’s right, but the realization makes your heart break more. 

Sylus has said no ill word against you ever, not since you started taking overtime, not since you started falling asleep during conversations. Say it be work that beat you down, but even then the choking blame you put on yourself for not being able to balance things seizes your insides and weighs you down in the tar of your misery. 

Even your children are forced to understand— though incapable of asking why, you see it in their eyes when they watch you leave how strange it is for mama to go. How sad it is mama cannot stay. 

Before you know it, your nose is burning, and the pressure behind your eyes pushes hot tears forward. Painful comets racing down your cheeks, colliding with the quick pads of your husband’s thumb. 

“Beloved…” he murmurs. Rarely does he show pity for you, but you hear it in his tone now. “Come now.” 

“I’m just so tired...” the admission is coated in a sob; you are lucky is still intelligible nonetheless. For Sylus, he doesn’t need the clarity; he already understands. 

“I know.” He holds you tighter, buries you deeper into his embrace. A pillar in the sea, bearing of the brunt of your crashing waves. 

“I miss you.” You’re shaking. He hates it, wonders if holding on will keep you from collapsing any further. “I miss you, I miss my babies, I miss my house— I miss you.” 

He has half a mind to destroy the association. For no political or moral gain aside from taking his wife home for the rest of the week. Fully aware of how irrational it may be, but willing— oh, so willing. Just say the word. 

“I miss you too.” He says, whispered like a prayer against your skin. An accumulation of the times he’s said it before, balled up into this one now. Heavy. Aching. Painful. Raw. “I miss you so much.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Your husband is not in bed the next morning. 

But your bags are already in the car, your carryon is arranged, your wallet stuffed and your breakfast is warm on the table. Waiting with two little babies in their high chairs, smushing bananas in their fingers and on their cheeks. 

Their faces light up at the sight of you. Legs wiggling like wild worms in their onesies especially when you engulf them in kisses. You try to push aside the fear that they’ve grown in your absence and try to focus on the few hours you have before you have to leave again. 

“Where’s papa?” You ask your littles, brushing back their hair from their sticky round cheeks. Their eyes shining as they stare at you like you hung each star in the sky by hand. And maybe that’s what you do, they think, when you’re off to work. 

“Papa nana.” Lucian tells you, offering you a piece pureed by his own hand. “Papa nana. Mm nummy!” 

“Papa… went out to get more bananas?” You deduce, taking your thumb and wiping the corners of his familiar upturned smirk. 

“Papa went to chop more bananas.” Corrects said papa from behind, circling around the kitchen island to get to you. The plate of chopped fruit is placed before you and the original owner of the smirk presses his lips to your hair. “Good morning.” 

His voice pleasantly reminds you of the night before, how his comforting words accompanied by his tender actions guided you through the storm of your distress and docked you safely and blissfully to shore. 

Heat crawls up your neck and stains your cheeks before he can even notice. 

He does anyway, of course. He kisses you a few times more before asking you to sit and eat. 

Lucian continues to offer you bananas. Kyros shows you how he can now count to three. You gather that the big twins have taught them a song, which they sing for you in their own glorious key. 

Each bite of your breakfast felt like a march to the end of the road. And to your disappointment, the food is finished and Kyros has to go potty. 

So you change him. You rarely do nowadays, and after breakfast, it’s the least you can do. You don’t mind, you like taking the time to talk to him— his speech quietly emerging at this age in clumsy popcorn imitations and patchwork grammar. He surprises you this time with it, while you’re busy fastening his diaper down, he asks. “Mama go bye?” 

And how your heart breaks. 

“Mama… has to go for a few days,” you admit regretfully. 

“No, mama,” he frowns, bottom lip jutted out and wobbling. Already fearing the ache of your absence, the disappointment of waddling into a room and seeing you aren’t there. That much he understands, that much he abhors. 

He demands. “Mama home.”

“Just a few days, my angel.” you don’t lie, but you feel as though you are. Like it doesn’t matter what you say. To him, it’s happened one time too many that he’s resorted to begging you to stay. “And then— and then I’ll be back.” 

“No!” He squeaks, perching himself up on his knees. The fabric of your shirt twist through his little fingers. “No, pease! Mama!” 

A bitterness coats your tongue and panic rises in your chest. Already you curse what work has whittled you down to, how it has dulled the edges of your solid conviction and diluted the line between recognizing want and need in your children. 

With weakened knees, you cannot find it in yourself to de-escalate your son’s emotions— offer an explanation, an alternative. None of that come to light, except— 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you whimper into his silver hair. Seeming darker and lacking its natural luster now. “Mama’s here.” 

“No! No!” Kyros wails, already too lost in his sadness to hear your placating whispers. So seldomly does he throw his tantrums that you are at a loss with what to do, which makes you feel worse. 

You have little time to panic before Sylus enters and offers his help. With tears in your eyes, you hand him the wailing Kyros and wrap your arms tightly around yourself. Attempting to shrink, to hold fast and keep it together. None of it is easy. 

“Come here.” Says Sylus amidst him shushing the toddler, pulling you to his side too and tucking you under his arm. Adding another layer of bindings around your fracturing self. “It’s okay.” 

In his other arm, Kyros is curled in on his bicep like a koala, Sylus’s hand wrapped securely on the back of his skull. Teeth chattering and chest bubbling with hiccups that make you worry for his breathing. 

Sylus is both your tethers to this world as you threaten to collapse into the cosmos.

Once the tension dies down, Kyros demands to be returned to you, quietly burying himself in your arms. Hoping maybe the weight of him will anchor you down within the walls of the house. You regulate yourself by holding him close and murmuring in his hair. Counting, just as he showed you at the table, each breath together as your frustrations fade in the current. 

“Mama will be back, okay?” it’s a relief when he nods without protest, though the dip in his brow and the sinking corners of his mouth tell you enough of what he truly feels. 

They drive you to the airport. You sit between two carseats in the back, a pillowy fist wrapped around each of your ring fingers. Kyros continues to sniffle at you with watery eyes while Lucian names the different charms on your bracelet, saying “eat?” to ones that look like food. The way you sing no! makes him smile. 

There is little fuss when the car stops and Sylus unloads your bags. Kyros doesn’t cry anymore, but Lucian whines at the loss of your hand on his belly. With a kiss each, you bid them a bitter goodbye before slipping out and into Sylus’s arms for a quick embrace. 

Tara and Simone wait by the entrance, waving at you to hurry. You have half a mind to pretend like you don’t see them. Maybe slink back to the car, to your boys. Maybe even take the wheel and drive away yourself. 

“Onychinus will give you paid time off,” Sylus’s lips press into your temple where you feel him smile. He sees the dimness in your gaze when you look up and he kisses your fluttering lashes. The weight of an object is placed in your grip— a mysterious red paper bag stapled shut at the top. “We value our employees families and personal lives, after all.” 

That pulls a smile out of you, however faint it is, it’s success enough for him. “Consider it?”

“I will.” you say, accepting another kiss before parting ways once more.

You escape the tearful goodbye, or so you think. Tara just had to ask about the bag you received from your husband, curiosity getting the best of her. The bag goes pop! pop! as you pull against the staples.

You’re crying before you even realize it when she helps you take out the circular plushies from the bag— one red, one orange— “Tomatoes?” 

You nod, a melting monster of snot and tears, as you reach for them and cradle them close. 

Tara comforts with gentle understanding as the plane takes off. She wonders why you’re sobbing about Onychinus into your plushies, but chalks it up to the stress of the recent missions. Good on you to be focused despite everything else, she supposes. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Sylus has no trouble cheering up his two sad sons. 

He likes to take pride in the fact that he is now an expert in detecting their current state of emotions and helping them feel what they ought to feel. Right now, the clear answer to their sadness is obviously— 

“Ey-pane!” shrieks Lucian on his arm, pointing at the aircraft they walk towards. “Ey-pane! Big ey-pane!” 

Kyros has his face hidden from the sun in Sylus’s chest and his ears covered with both hands, but he peeks ever so slightly to see what his brother is so excited about. Once he gets it, he moves to more important things. “Papa, hooot!” 

“I know, I know,” chuckles Sylus, ascending the stairs to the jet faster to get his whiny little dragons out of the sunshine. 

Once set down, they are like tiny chicks in search for something to peck at. Pressing buttons on seats, poking screens and searching for in-flight sandwiches, their little giggles filling the cabin. 

Sylus knocks on the captains’ quarters and like a magic trick out pop the big twins. Their usual dark uniforms now replaced with big floral shirts over white tank tops and shorts. 

The littles are reduced to quick, excited wheezy breaths as Luke bends down to scoop them up in his embrace. They start to chatter about in-flight cheese sandwiches so Sylus is able to escape to the helm and take his seat in the pilot’s chair.

“Does boss’ma know you’re doing this?” Kieran asks between preflight check offs. 

Sylus didn’t often smile before his the little ones, even now Kieran is thrown off by the wolfish grin that graces his father’s face—both fearsome and, if even possible, endearing. “Don’t people expect gifts for Valentine’s Day?” 

— 

You’re sure they’ve done more for you than this. 

But you’re inclined to think that after lending your years to the association fighting off monsters and being Linkon’s vigilant protector has only gained you a seat in the most boring and unnecessary conference about new age weaponry your husband probably has surpassed in improvements with his own technology by months. 

Your colleagues are just as bored as you, despite having no same sentiments, so they do little to judge your grumpy disposition and lack of enthusiasm regarding such groundbreaking work. 

Tara yawns on her seat beside you, leaning forward on the table and resting her head on her palm. “Thought we were at least going to test these things out if they wanted us all the way out here.” 

You let out a noncommittal sound from your throat, between a groan and a grunt, that serves as your whole response, which Tara agrees with emitting a sound similar to your own. 

Mercy is rationed in this conference, granted in breaks few and far between they feel accidental.

It is no balm to the irritated ego that it is set within the multipurpose-hall of a luxurious hotel— the inside is a sin of round tables with too-hard chairs doused in dull office white lights to keep the meeting straightforward and formal— pressed up against a golden shoreline and glistening waves that belonged to an entirely different world completely. 

Standing on the balcony of your double suite, the sun thaws away the chill that has crawled onto your skin and into your bones when you sat there motionless listening to protocol synthesis and evol-weapon synchronization. The crick in your neck becomes unbearable the more you think about it. 

The seaside view paints you a scene below of the beach moving in its unhurried pace. Of couples resting beneath the shade of comically large umbrellas, of children running with kites and buckets along the sand and into the water, of people with restful limbs and quiet minds enjoying the weekend with the people they love. 

The sun burns now, actually. Sweat builds on your forehead and temples, sticky and wrong. There is a heat that presses and weighs down in your chest despite the beauty of what you see. You are in desperate need of respite.

Sylus’s number rings thrice before he picks up the phone. 

“Sweetie?” 

“Hi, I just called to check in.” You say, voice pitched uncharacteristically higher. Masquerading a joyful tone. “How are the kids?” 

“They’re alright,” says Sylus. He doesn’t miss a beat when he asks, “Are you?” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that you are practically a picture book to him laid bare no matter how hard you try. “I’m fine.”

“Mm.” 

“Just… tired,” you confess. It hasn’t even been a day and you feel like you’ve spent a week’s worth of energy. 

From this morning to now, finally being able to admit it to someone else, you feel the entire weight of it all crash onto your shoulders— harsh, distant, relentless as the surf. “It’s all so boring.”

Sylus chuckles, the sound crinkles slightly on the line. “What can I do to make you feel better?” 

You hum. “Any suggestions?” 

“An airstrike?” 

You sputter. “No!” 

His laugh is rich and refreshing. “Something smaller then? I can pull the fire alarm.” 

It is you now who laughs, making your way back into the cool air conditioned embrace of your room. Too preoccupied to slide the door closed, the warm breeze follows you in. Cushions and quilts catch your indecision as you lie back on the bed, your two tomatoes roll mindlessly to your side. “Then all my things would be wet.” 

“Then how about a drink?” 

Knock, knock, knock. 

“Sylus…” you hang off the side of the bed like you’ve been swallowed by it, scrambling excitedly to get up. It’s all too timed, too planned to be anything of a coincidence. Knowing your husband, he is very good with set-up, and is the very best with executions. 

His warnings fly over your head in the haze of excitement as you throw your door open. And you almost fall into the arms of your guest. 

But instead, you blink at the Tara holding two yellow drinks in his hand. Glasses sweating, ice dripping over fingers. She tilts her head at you in amusement. “Someone sent drinks up to our room!” 

Your shoulders shake when you chuckle in embarrassment, making way for her to come in and picking up your phone from the ground. It says, “Courtesy of Onychinus.” 

“Bastard.” You murmur back. 

He grins on the other side. Unbeknownst to you, he is just sliding his keycard into the chaos of his own lodging, your four children having thought it fun to play catch the bird indoors. 

He doesn’t give you time to hear before he’s rushing to say, “I love you. I’ll have someone pull the fire alarm soon.” 

You’re thankful for Tara’s presence to lighten up the disappointment you feel in your gut when you sit with her and enjoy your complimentary drinks. He’s made sure to order your favorite, sweet and refreshingly perfect of a summer’s day. 

And at the bottom, embedded in the glass, it reads: Happy Valentine’s Day.

 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You aren’t suffering, per se, but you do want to peel the drapery apart in the function room and jump out the window by day two. 

The way you passed out last night should be studied. You aren’t sure which exhausted you more, the travel over or having to upkeep the sheer will to live in the conference. Waking up to missed calls from your family on your phone only made you feel worse. 

You didn’t expect things to turn around just before lunch. They’d said— the speaker had an urgent call from their research facility. Details can’t be disclosed right now, so we’ll have to postpone the conference. 

Chairs scraped. The hall echoes idle mumbles bursting slowly into subtly relieved chatter. The empty stage suddenly felt so alluring you could get up and dance on it. 

Home. You were going home. 

The doors to your bedroom seemed to morph into the gates of heaven. Inside you’ll be able to pack, book an early flight and get out of he— 

Your heart drops. At the sight of the empty hotel room, you can’t help but cry out. Because where— where are your things?! 

Tara’s are in her corner, untouched, you realize when your scramble around pathetically. Losing all sense. Crawling on all fours on the carpet, checking each crevice and closet they could possibly be in— “Shit! Are you kidding me?” 

Your ears ring, your head is spinning. What do you mean— your passport, your wallet, your shoes, your books and clothes— they’re all missing? That you were robbed in broad daylight? That there is yet another thing keeping you from going home? 

It’s a wonder you do not scream when you reach for the phone. It clatters on its outdated plastic holder and dials up the front desk. 

“S—“ 

“This is room M18, I’d like to report a theft. My bags, my valuables are all missing, and—and my passport, too. I hope this is all just a misunderstanding, I’ll be willing to cooperate in anyway that I can, but can you please, please just get here as soon as you can. I—“ your breath catches in your throat, and you get a grip of your slipping resolve. “Please, I need to go home.” 

The world— oh, it has a vendetta against you. You can’t quite figure just what you’ve done so absolutely horrendous that would warrant such cruelty. 

But there you are, flinching as the loud alarm blares from the hallway, drowning out the sound of the hotel’s response. Screams and thundering footsteps collide in the halls as people try to evacuate as quickly as possible. 

The sprinklers go off. 

Your hair is wet. The bed is now too. 

But you can’t find it in yourself to hang up— let alone run. 

“You should really evacuate, sweetie. Doesn’t the association teach you that much?”

Your eyes search for him before your brain even registers where his voice came from. In your hand, the phone stays on the line, and Sylus speaks to you again. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, and I thought the Hunter’s Association prides itself on urgency?” 

The balcony door slides open. 

Sylus steps into the room before you in all his materialized glory. 

Taking captive each thought and drawing it to himself. 

The water bounces off his clothes like there is an opposing force engulfing him, one that he extends to you when he reaches for your hand. “Beloved.” 

Later. You’ll be mad at him later. You promise yourself that when you run to him and jump into his awaiting embrace. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent. As if what separated you was as great as a war and here he is promising you victory. 

“I hate you.” You murmur into his chest, nuzzling and charging up on his presence. 

He chuckles deeply, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Sylus listens to Tara on the phone with you as you drive away from the hotel, your hand grasped firmly in his as he plays with your wedding band. 

“Jenna says they’re moving the rest of the convention to another time since the function hall is all wet— but between you and me, thank goodness for that.” she whispers. “Apparently, the research issue was resolved and we were supposed to resume in the afternoon only if some kid hadn’t pulled the fire alarm. Honestly? Purr.”

Sylus snickers to your side and you pinch his rib.

“Anyway, I’ll see you back in Linkon! Oh, also— our bedroom was wet but none of my things are, how lucky is that?” 

You laugh and give your husband a sidelong glance. “I’ll see you in Linkon, Tara.” 

When you hang up, Sylus is the skipper receiver of your menacing glare. But it rolls off him like water off a duck. “We’re a little ways away from the beach house, you can take a nap.” 

“You’re impossible.” You deflate, shoulders dropping finally from its perpetual tension as you slide down against the passenger’s seat. 

His hand moves up to cup your jaw, thumb gliding over the plump of your cheek. He massages the joint in your mandible, sore from all the stress it’s gone through from your high-strung clenching. “I don’t take kindly to things that wedge themselves between me and my wife.” 

“Huh,” you lean into his touch. “So you weren’t okay with me being away.” 

“I never said I was.” he says, turning onto a road in the woods. His voice drops to burning wax, dripping off a candle. “If I recall correctly, I said I missed you and showed you exactly how much I—“ 

“Tsst!” you chide, flailing your arms around, hitting him on the shoulder. Your face burns hot and you’d be thankful if the floor swallowed you whole. “I get it.” 

“I don’t think you do—“ 

“I do! I do, I really do.” you bury your face in his palm, kissing its center to placate his mischief. He finds it amusing, recognizing the technique to be an imitation of Lucian’s pacifying signature. 

He’s held captive by your eyes, wide and appeasing in the afternoon light, brows swooping together to soften your giggles. He swallows down the onslaught of affection that lumps in his throat and forces himself to keep his eyes on the road as you tell him, “I love you.” 

He wonders if a detour into the trees can be arranged.

He only realizes that he’s said that out loud when you shriek at him again. “Sylus!” 

He wishes he can bottle up the laughter that bubbles out of you and bounces off the car upholstery and keep it in his glovebox forever. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The beach house is so uncharacteristically elegant you’d think it was plucked straight from the N109 zone and planted in the middle of a private coast.

Its tinted oak walls are swallowed by the darkness as the sun dips into the horizon. The porch lights are little stars between glass windows, curtains drawn in from the inside. Concealing your second surprise within. 

You’d have more time to drink in the details if it weren’t for your husband.

Sylus has abandoned his put-together self. His natural elegance replaced with this stumbling, lovestruck fool. Walking with a stride of a newly birthed giraffe, he bends his body down towards you, chasing kisses on your lips that threaten to run away. 

“Forgive me,” he grounds out, blocking the entrance in his open reverence. His lips capture yours in another deep kiss, as if stopping in the woods wasn’t nearly enough. His hand comes around, ensnaring your waist in a sturdy hold, practically lifting you off the ground towards him. “I just…” 

I’ve missed you. You’ve been gone for too long. I no longer know what it means to breathe without you. 

And you’d have been happy to go inside, spend the entire night with him if that is what it took, but it’s the way he stretched the seconds that concern you. As if you were about to walk into an unchangeable fate. So you hold his face, kiss him back with as much fervor as you piece it together. 

His breath is warm and ragged on your lips as he allows you to speak, “The kids are here, aren’t they?” 

He beams at your cleverness, corners of his mouth stretching into a charming smile that he presses once more onto your own. “There’s always a chance that they’re asl—“

Thud! “Papaa?” 

Through the wood, a little voice calls out, almost loud enough to make the door rattle. “Home, papa?” 

Sylus squeezes his eyes shut as you fall into him, giggling at your son’s inhuman ability to sense when his father is within range. If he were a terrible father, he would not have replied. “Lucian, is that you?”

A moment to process the question.

“Yes, I Woosian!” The thundering on the door increases as the little fist upon it starts knocking. Happy to have confirmed that his intuition was correct and papa is behind the door. “Papa, in! In!” 

The white flag of defeat flies in the air for now to make way for the excited voice awaiting inside the house. He kisses the top of your head, tender as a promise, and gets the door for the both of you. 

And as expected, the shrill delight that lights up your son’s face is compares to nothing else in the world. He hops, surprised, as he screams. “Mama! Mama home!”

You bend down to catch him before he knocks a tooth off into your knees. His hair a cool breath of snow you bury your face in. The sweet smell of him is enough to put your once raging soul at rest as it flows into your lungs in steady streams of breath. “Oh, Lucian!” 

He’s still happily wriggling in your arms when you hear the rapid and heavy thud-thud-thud-thud of feet on the wooden floor. Anticipation electrifies your soul.

Soon, Kyros rounds the corner, huffing and puffing as he pumps his tiny legs fast to get to you, and you almost cry at the sight. 

“Mama,” his voice is rough when he collides with you, burying himself impossibly deep into a hug and clinging to your clothes as if you’d fade with any less force. “Mama home.” 

It dawns on you that despite not being in your own house on the outskirts of Linkon, the children still call it home— more specifically, they are calling you home. 

And it takes everything in you not to break in their small embrace. “Mama home.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Oh! Hot!” Lucian squeaks with each little step. Waddling left and right like a penguin, lifting his knees high and then gently setting them down in the sand. His little fingers wrapped around your one. “Oh! Hot!” 

“Do you need a lift, angel?” You inquire. One of your steps is three for him, and you can see Sylus and the others getting smaller in the distance. 

But your little sand crab insists on walking on his own. “I okay, mama.” 

You offer him a little smile and look towards the rest of your family. Luke’s and Kieran’s now tiny silhouettes work together to spread out the blanket and open the large beach umbrella. Sylus transitions Kyros from his shoulders into his arms, turning to wave at you. 

You mirror their waves, large, swooping arcs in the sky. While Lucian keeps his eyes on his vinyl clog-clad feet, still commentating each unique step in the sand. “Oh! Hot!” 

You tilt your head a little closer to his frame, making sure the shadow of your wide hat covers him entirely, as he so vehemently rejected his own sun hat. To add on to your failed attempts at protecting his sensitive skin from the dangerous sun, he just had to insist on dressing like papa. 

You can’t help but worry. “Is your belly cold, baby?” 

Lucian pauses his waddling and glances down on his exposed tummy through his unbuttoned floral shirt. All pudge and round, he pats it gently. “It okay.” 

You nod again. Taking another two steps. At this rate, you’ll probably get to the blanket by noon. 

“Oh! Hot!” 

“Woo-siii-aan!” Kyros screams from afar, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify the sound. His voice is already small, but his pitch pinches that specific way that tells you he’s just that little bit annoyed. “Fast-ou!” 

Lucian squeaks back, “I comin’!” 

He turns back to you. “Mama, sand in my wippurs?” 

You crouch down now, pushing him to your knee so he can sit, you take one foot and shake it out. “Because there are holes in them.” 

“It broken?” He frowns, taking the shoe from you and looking into it. You giggle, finding him endlessly amusing. 

“No, angel, they’re made like that. They’re easy to clean like this.” You shake the other. He sits fully on your knee. “See? Shake, shake.” 

Once you place the clogs back on his feet, he has the realization that he doesn’t want sand coming into his broken-not-broken shoes anymore, and clings to your neck. “Mama, can carry?”

You breathe out a sigh of relief and wrap him up in your embrace as you take him up with you to a stand. They practically celebrate from afar at the sight— you spot Sylus’s head tilt back in relief too. 

Once you arrive at your picnic blanket, you set Lucian down beside his brother. Kyros sits in the cradle of Sylus’s criss-crossed legs, floating just above the earth. Not a grain of sand on his skin. 

“What a walk.” Sylus says, voice lilting in amusement, pulling you down beside him. He reaches up to swipe your forehead, wiping away sweat and strings of hair that had stuck to your cheeks. 

“You wouldn’t believe.” You huff. 

A sharp chill touches your shoulder makes you flinch. When you turn your head, Kieran is there with a wide grin, sticking an ice cold drink to your skin. You roll your eyes at him but take it anyway. 

The stretch you feel in your muscles begin in the squeeze of your shoulders, radiating down the cords of your back and arms, so tightly woven together than you are briefly concerned if you’ll be able to lean back on your palms. You settle in the position over time. 

Seagulls flit and flutter overhead, squawking a distant melody against the percussion of crashing waves. The air blows fresh, warm wind on your sun-kissed skin. Grains of sand stick to your toes and thighs. And for the first time in a long time, your breath returns to you by the lungfuls. 

There are apologies to be made at the tip of your tongue. Endless strings of sorrow and regret you think your family deserves from you, now blanketing your tired soul, even in the aftermath of the battle won. 

Sylus teases you about being a workaholic, bringing up retirement as a thoughtful alternative to the aching feet he would rub and the heavy shoulders he would kiss. 

You have more than enough to sustain you—but he never pushed. Not with that, not with Onychinus, not with anything at all. And that only fuels the fire that he deserves the most repentance of all.  

You swallow down the anxiety building in your throat because you shouldn’t be feeling this way still having passed through the light at the end of the tunnel. That it is in this betrayal that makes all your sorries null and void— to be here and not all at once. It is an implosion that wreaks havoc, and in its ashes: the harrowing thought of being a bad mother.

Sylus has a knack for that, as he’s made well aware of by your youngest son.

So when he turns to you, eyes blank as you stare at the clouds, he knows exactly where you are and the kind of stars that are imploding in your mind at that moment. He places the pin in the grenade with a single touch. 

Muffled conversations come to focus as you are tethered back, meeting his brief gaze. Soft and forgiving. So moving that now you must do anything else but think. 

You hear Sylus talking to Kyros about getting down, Lucian asking about his plastic sand toys and Kieran shuffling to get up from the blanket to join Luke in the water. 

Like clockwork, instinct leads your attention to movement. “Pause.” 

Kieran freezes midway his squat to get up. You lift your shades over your head and inspect his cheeks. “Sunscreen.”

“I already put—“

“Again,” you make no room for argument. The sunscreen is plucked from the beach bag from its place beside the plastic bucket of shovels and molds, that is handed to Lucian who immediately stops pestering his father with a little “yay!”

Kieran rivals Kyros’s poutiness and yet he slumps before you like a child. Whining with no real weight, “Why do I have to and Luke doesn’t?” 

You click your tongue, smearing the cream under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose. He shifts slightly, but you press a finger to both dips of his cheekbones. “You go tell him to come back here so he can put on another layer too.” 

Kieran huffs again and turns to Sylus for backup. “Boss—“

“You’ll listen if you know what’s good for you.” is all Sylus spares him, barely even turning to look as he continues to appeal to a different toddler. 

“Kier, it’s not that bad.”

“But it gets all streaky,” his voice drops to a murmur. “And I don’t need your help. It’s embarrassing…” 

“To who?” your voice pitches in amusement. You turn his chin to the rest of the beach, emptiness stretching for miles you wonder if the beach house is the only property Sylus bought. Shaking your head in exasperation you swipe the final line of sunscreen over the tips of his ears. “Besides, you have the streaks because you don’t put it on right.” 

Your fingers skim over his scars more gently than the rest of his skin. Smoothening over them with feather-like force, without needing his instruction.

Kieran sits there for a moment, eyes closed and body rigid. Processing the emotions running through his body like a toddler. Feeling… new. He’s never had to put sunscreen on in the N109 zone, let alone having someone else do it for him with the intention of care. Of knowing.  

Secretly, he likes it. Sure, of course he does. 

He doesn’t remember much of his mother, nor has he really tried. Both he and his brother were raised to be weapons with no time to mourn what they do not know of. So when you act this way… kind, concerned, caring, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

But he swallows it all anyway, pushing past the difficult angst that has built up in his throat and makes his voice crack like a teenager’s. “Okay, okay— can I go?” 

You beam at the state of him: head immobilized, eyes straining to the side, watching Luke hoot and holler as he does donuts on the jet ski. 

Blissfully unaware of the turning tides within him as you think, who would have ever thought he had the capacity to match your two and a half year old with his behavior? 

“Call Luke!” is as much as you get out before he’s bolting off to the call of the sea.

Turning to Sylus, you point to Kieran incredulously. “Did you see all of that?”

He hums. Sylus seems to be seeing through more than one person today. He’s terribly intrigued by the fires being lit and put out all in one breath in his family’s minds, transparent on their faces. 

Meanwhile, he’s been catering to a little kitten up a tree who doesn’t seem to want to be saved.

“Mm, he’s stubborn.” Sylus groans, straightening his back. A sigh deep from the cave of his chest deflates him as he pokes on his cranky toddler’s cheek. “Like this one.”

“Not! Not ‘tubon!” Kyros harrumphs, kicking his little legs out to the sides. Careful not to come in contact with the ground. 

“Oh?” Being preoccupied with Kieran, you hadn’t even noticed your husband participating in a silent argument with your son. “What’s the matter here?” 

“He—“ Sylus pinches Kyros’s cheek. His hand is promptly swatted away. “—doesn’t want to get dirty.” 

“What, the sand?” 

“Icky yuck!” Kyros gags, turning his head away from you and crowding himself closer to Sylus’s torso.

“Oh, Kyros, but look at Lucian,” you try, glancing at his twin brother who was having the time of his life digging a shallow hole between his legs. Simultaneously taking away and filling the void up again with a tiny mountain. The joy isn’t in progress, you suppose. “He’s digging a hole!”

“Makin’ cake!” he corrects, muffled.

Chewing.

“He’s making a ca—oh no!”

“Lucian,” Sylus titters, light and charming, leaning forward to dust away the sand on his cheeks, while you ask him to spit the sand he ingested out into your cupped palm. 

“Blegh! Not cake!” Lucian sputters. 

Kyros’s petulant rejection transforms into a boisterous laugh at his brother’s misery, despite reaching forward to mirror Sylus’s gentle caresses. “Ah-no! Woosian!”

You turn to rinse your hand with a bottle of water and zoom out. Seeing your boys through another lens for a moment.

Time slows. Sylus’s laugh gets louder. Lucian doesn’t understand why the sand on his cheeks get worse when he tries to wipe it clean with his sandier fingers, Kyros is giggling too at his brother’s funny misfortune and how his papa’s hiccuping belly seems to jostle him around on his seat. 

Your heart swells, aches with every second. Knowing you can never frame it or recreate it ever again. Sentimentality chokes you with flowers, and you feel your cheeks heat from more than just the sun.

This is what you had been missing out on for weeks on end. This is the seed once planted now in stages of growth. 

And right in the center oof it all is your husband, bright and sturdy and strong. Holding up the fort. Keeping you all afloat. Taking up the load you cannot bear and lifting it himself. 

And for once, you do not see your mistakes or your shortcomings. 

All you see is him. 

“Beloved, we’d like some, please.” Sylus says, pulling you out of your framing thoughts and back into the portrait itself.

You blink a few times. 

He tilts his head. 

You smile.

His fingers brush against yours when he takes the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He pours water onto Lucian’s crusted cheeks. Round and plump treasures reveal themselves beneath the dusted surface.

Kyros helps wipe it away with the short sleeve of his shirt. Unconsciously setting his one foot on the sand to reach; his hands also already sandy themselves. You stifle a giggle. 

“All better,” Sylus announces, presenting to you Lucian’s clean cheeks glistening like butter buns in the sunlight. He can’t help but lean down to bite on them with sheathed teeth. 

Kyros does the same, traveling the short distance over the sand, leaning into the cheek with a dramatic “Om!” to his head.

“Ah!” Lucian giggles, falling over, grabbing the first thing his hands latch onto—Kyros—and bringing it down with him.

Laughter joins the chorus of birds and waves. Sung by all four in your little circle.

Kyros rolls over into the sand laughing so hard his eyes can barely open. Lucian shakes his hair out like a puppy, fueling the fires of amusement.

Your own stomach hurts from the joy.

And from the corner of your eye, you catch Sylus—waves to ripples laughter shaking his shoulders and reverent eyes coming back to you. 

He wonders how you could rival the blinding sun with your light. Wonders how you, beautiful and radiant, allowed him to have this— all of this.

Relishes the beautiful look on your face, the relaxed curve of your posture, the cant of your giggles. Knows deeply how much you needed this, how important it was for you to get away from work, to come home.

You look back. Give him a genuine smile. One that can’t help but scream how you are endlessly grateful for him and swears his heart stops. 

With the littles flopping over each other on the sand, chanting “not cake! not cake!”, rewinding the joke from the start, you take the chance to lean towards your husband and gift him a kiss.

He hums into it, and naturally dips his head to taste more of you. Never getting enough. He asks for a reason through pecks, unwilling to part for you for something so confusing and yet so trivial all at once. 

But you don’t give him one. Not verbally. Instead, you devour him like a stranded sailor would land until he says enough—if he ever will.

A disgruntled “eugh,” interrupts you and you pull away from Sylus to acknowledge the shadow that has descended upon you. Sylus groans and drops his head onto your shoulder. 

A damp Luke falls to his knees before you like a knight. He spares the little ones a loving glance before he addresses you, unable to hide the misery from his voice. 

“Kieran said I had to come here.” he grumbles, flicking his glasses off. Behind him, his twin seems to taunt him with wild roars of the speeding  jet ski as revenge. “Where’s the sunscreen?”

You watch him as he applies it haphazardly, slapping it on like war paint. Globs of white in the edges of his hairline and on his brows. “How’s it look?”

You have the decency to lie. “Fine.”

Sylus does not. “Like a clown.”

Luke scowls at him, and Sylus scowls back. He won’t let go of him interrupting you two so easily.

“Why doesn’t Kieran’s have the… the white streaky stuff?” he pouts, violently rubbing the cream onto his face like a wash rather than a cream. 

You wince, catching his wrists. “Because I put it on for him.”

He pauses. Rolls the thought in his head like a pearl for a little while, and then hands the bottle to you. “Can you?” 

“Of course,” you say and try to salvage his attempt. 

Unlike his brother, Luke talks more than he likes to think. “Did Kieran act weird about this too?” 

“I think so,” you say thoughtfully, remembering the perplexing look on this same-but-different face minutes ago. You tried not to let it get to you. 

“Mm…” Luke hums, otherwise perfectly still. You’re not sure if he thinks when he blurts, “We never had a mother.” 

As one does with the information, your fingers turn frostbitten underneath the heat of the sun. He catches on quickly to your response, eyes widening to a worrying size as he taps your knee. “Wait, sorry—I’m not finished.”

So you give him the opportunity to explain himself as you contain the sob that waits just below your heart to emerge.

“No one’s really done this kind of… thing with us.” he says. Shapes are drawn in the sand, beyond the blanket that currently contained all of you. “If there was, neither of us remember. Wiped or just simply forgotten, I don’t care.”

Lucian wanders over now, quietly, barely a whisper in the heavy tension between you two and sits in the nest of your criss-crossed legs. He doesn’t even react when you squish his face with the excess sunscreen on your hands aside from a yelp. 

Luke watches fondly. “Never thought we’d experience it, so we didn’t need it. But now…” 

“Mama…” Lucian whines now, layers of sunscreen on his cheeks and forehead. Kyros crawls onto your lap as well, squeezing himself beside Lucian as if to tune in and perhaps share the moment as well. He also gets excess sunscreen. 

Luke smiles at you, at them. His eyes shift briefly to Sylus who listens too, and to his brother in the distance.

“It’s nice, you know.” he admits, catching a stray glob of white off of the tip of Lucian’s hair. “Having someone to watch out for us, taking care of us. Having you.”

Your breath catches. 

“So thank you,” he nods, shy suddenly, after it all. He looks down, clears his throat, and throws his shades back on over his eyes. “For taking us in… me and my brother.” 

You don’t have the good graces in you to allow him dignity in the face of embarrassment when you lean over and hug him. Steady, strong. It takes a while for his wet sleeves to wrap around you, but when they do, he is loath to let go. 

And like a tidal wave, you are nearly knocked over by another force crashing into you. Showering you all in droplets and sand, the littles giggle in their little canopy as Kieran joins the hug. To his brother, he grunts, “Move!” 

And it makes you laugh. They make you laugh. Your boys, your sons. Scrambling over one another to secure a space within your bubble that now you do not mind sharing. 

Overturning the lies you have believed. Being antidotes to the poison you have swallowed all those weeks you have been away. Clearing the tunnel, being the light that shines at the end of it after guiding you through. 

Sylus places a hand on your shoulder. He catches your eye and gives you a warm smile. 

With your heart bursting, you start to believe that Onychinus does value family. 

In fact, they have become it.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The sun shines for no one else this day but you. 

Tomorrow, you will worry about sunburns and sandy ears. Maybe a little will start sneezing, or a big will be washing their hair for the third time and still be complaining about sand. Mephisto might even have water damage the way he’s dipping in and out of the waves the way he is.

But, tomorrow will worry of itself.

For now—

“Lucian, watch out!” You yell as a wave comes for him and his papa. He’s screaming, a delightful pitch, and wiggling happily as he dangles by the armpits. 

Sylus raises him up high as the wave breaks against his back. Soon he’s signing more and screaming “Again!” 

You cannot move. Buckets of sand dumped over your legs, the weight of it is enough to immobilize. Luke and Kieran are running back and forth from the water to harden the dust like concrete. Kyros stays by your waist and presses shells into your forming tail. 

“Many, mama?” he asks you. You turn away from your book to his sand covered cheeks and his shade-stained eyes. 

“That’s eleven now, sweetie.”

“Elele.” he pokes more shells into the sand. “Want more?”

“Yes please, baby.”

He huffs, determined, gives you an, “ah-key!” and scuttles away to the bucket Kieran had filled with shells. 

Lucian is shouting, “Kee-ro, come, come!” 

Kyros is an obedient brother, waddle-jogging belly first towards the shoreline where Sylus awaits, sat in the sand. 

“This way, angel.” Kyros is planted to his right. 

His feet are buried in the sand, like Lucian’s are to his left. Sylus’s arms brace on their backs and the water disperses in a loud hiss, knocking into their bellies and chests with enough force to knock them back.

“Kee-ro, hads up!” Lucian models, raising his arms in the air just as another onslaught crashes into them like a gentle flood of foam. Kyros has never been louder, giggling, screaming as if tickled. 

You’re recording from behind when a wave disperses a little too close and eats them up in the impact. They are uprooted and scattered. 

You gasp.

When it recedes, Sylus is rolling back with the sea with two wet little toddlers hanging onto his arms.

You rush to them. Finding two blinking babies absolutely dumbfounded by what just happened. 

Sylus worries if they’re shaken or even afraid now. Kyros puts that all to rest when his tongue curls to a cough that morphs into what you’d imagine to be the laughter of an angelfish. Hiccuping, bubbling. “Again! Again!”

“Papa!” Lucian rejoices too, loud. Needing to be to make sure he is heard. “Again!”

Sylus sighs. Relief cancels out worry. He’s only glad that you accept his apologetic look with a fondness, rolling your eyes and pushing him back to the tide. This time, you sit with them. 

The sun sets on your day. Bidding goodbye with the gentlest parade of golden hues, mixing to a moody purple and then cooling to a speckled blue.

Slow.

Slow enough to usher the cold of the tide, chilling the children’s toes enough that they ask to go home. Slow enough that the moon shines bright only when you stand in the balcony, a warm drink in your hand and a blanket over your shoulders. 

Slow enough to allow this of you. This reflection of what has been and what will be. This respite of having endured and having released. This quiet you do not take for granted.

One you hold like a vice, and yet like a fluttering dove; like the heart of a child, and like how your husband holds you.

He holds you. The weight of him resting on your shoulders—the only weight you will never mind— the warmth of him against the length of your back, the comfort of him settling like wax in your bones.

“… Valentine’s Day.”

“Huh?”

He kisses the crown of your head, your cheek, your neck. “I said, just in time for Valentine’s Day.”

This time you hear him. This time, you turn and smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day, beloved.”

His eyes—glowing like burning coal, a dragon’s breath, a lover’s devotion—twinkle ever so brightly beneath the star-spackled sky. Where he’d say each light is a life he’d live, a life he’d choose with you.

He leans in to kiss you, having missed you so. You kiss him too, having missed him more than he’ll the ever understand.

This time, when lips part, it is not a goodbye.

This time, you have nowhere else to be.

This time, you stay. 

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so much for reading! ( っ´ `)っ

[kuntprodukt]

you posting leon getting sexually harassed has my gears TURNING.

would you ever write fem!reader sexually harassing Leon maybe being a total perv making him uncomfy (my fellow perv girlies RISE) maybe it divulges into full cnc with him as a victim (im not sure of your limits) but you getttt me girl 🖤🩶

ofc i get you!!!!! this made my gears move too because omg, older leon gets harassed is so... yum, i really wanted to write a short drabble because yea.. i hope you enjoy it and i hit the bulls eye with your need!!!

TAKE IT LIKE A MAN

RE9 Leon Kennedy x reader | MDNI!! 18+ | dead dove do not eat, non consensual touching, dub con sex, intoxication, female reader, vaginal sex, unsafe sex, handjob, cowgirl, Leon gets choked, teasing, age gap, reader is unhealthily obsessed and nervous lol, not really proofread sorry for mistakes.

Leon is on the couch, you helped him get back home, tonight roles are swapped; you are the gentleman. You are in his place, a male place, where he sleeps, where he eats and lives, everything was touched by him. There could be something wrong within you, but this only fact sends a jolt through your body, just to make it worse for you, Leon sprawled helplessly on the couch, he looks like a doll. The one you never had as a kid, always two female dolls you probably threw away, but never a male one.

His whole presence here makes you question your sanity; that's a man that could be your dad, when he was in Raccoon city, you were probably born. Listening to his heavy breathing, while you keep eyeing him, his spread thighs with fabric clinging around his groin, a light bulge. His big protruding chest raising up and down like after sex, only fuels more to your spreading excitement and anticipation. Stop being ridiculous, you were the one to spike his drink.

"Thanks…" he grunts, his hand tugs on the collar of his shirt, your eyes following every movement. "I left… my car there," a pause, he exhales. "fuck me."

He tries to stand up, quickly your hands rest on his shoulders, a light push is enough to make him stumble back. "It is okay, Leon, it is okay, don't want you to crash." Through material, you can feel how hot his body is getting.

"How did you…?"

"You said your name to me!" You cut his question, nervously staring back at him as your fingers slowly dig into his covered, for now, body. "Don't you remember it, silly?"

Why would he wear this tight shirt? He has a nice chest, nice tits, would be a shame not to show them off like that. Still, in a bar? Unless Leon looked for a quickie, but he said he is just here for a drink. He is always there, you know it. Still, the shirt obscenely clings to his body worse than a latex suit would sit on you, those things make a lot of noises (at least from what you have seen in porn), Leon will too, but comparing these two, his grunts are symphony to your ears.

"Are you comfortable?? …Uh, I'm sorry, I don't want to disturb you here." You don't even know why you are saying this. Leon nods, you can see his eyes have harder and harder time to concentrate.

The curves of his chest are so well emphasized by the fabric, it clings, following the rounded shapes of his muscle, from his shoulders, slipping lower, your fingers follow the shadow that sculpt his muscles thanks to the weak light coming from the lamp. A shaky inhale, lips are parted as your touch feels like a electricity to his body, even through the fabric, you can notice the Adam's apple bob every time you apply a little bit more pressure on his body, every time you caress his covered abdomen, feeling the sculpted, tensed muscles.

You are affecting him. Oh shit, you of all people.

"Can you… don't touch me.." like that. Leon grunts, just deepening the crease between his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I don't mean it." Oh you do. Your voice is shaky, dry and painful to speak, like a knife stabbing your throat every time you talk. "You like it."

"I don't.." Leon shakes his head, frowning deeper when your fingers squeeze his breast, just close to his nipple. "Fuck…You need to go."

You don't stop. That's not in your to do list, it was never in your plans since your eyes laid on him. You gently twist his stiffened nub through fabric, making him squirm. Sensitive. A short glance to his face, his teeth sink onto his lower lip. So pretty.

"You are so pretty…" you utter breathlessly, your hand slips under his shirt to feel the abs tense even more at the contrasting temperature of your bodies. "You are like a doll, I can dress you up later too, you don't mind right?" Your fingers keep caressing his abs, slowly sliding to his belt. "You know how much I want to play with you?"

You slid lower, now in between his spread legs, with a shaky and impatient movements you tug on his belt, trying to take it off as quickly as possible. Unzip, unbutton and tug on his boxers — easy, simple. His cock is half hard, the effect of the drug and alcohol mixed together doesn't guarantee a hard dick; that's not an issue, it drives you ever crazier, to feel it harden because of you, a literal proof of how you'd affect him, and this makes your clit throb. Your eyes can't linger on one spot, jumping from his conflicted face, helpless as he tries to reach for you, to push you away just for the hand to fall down on the couch, like it is full of stones.

The pubes are trimmed, not too short, you can't see the skin but still it is not a mess of chaotic strands. And you don't seem to mind. A perfect place to nose, to press your face against it while deepthroating him. Your gaze traces his cock, imagining how the tip would fill with the blood, the droplets of precum on his slit would form just to drip down on his abdomen like a morning dew. Your free palm curls around it, just to feel it throb in your grip.

A pump, your hand squeezes it and moves up and down once and it is enough to cause his breath hitch. A little bit pressure on the sensitive string under the slowly hardened dick and his hips buck up, tossing his head back with a groan.

"Fuck." His hand reaches for your wrist, you shush him softly; it is alright, Leon, let me take care of you.

You can feel the blood rush to his dick, making him hard in your grip, the tunnel of your fist tightens around the tip after every pump and you feel it to form a bead of pre-cum, now smearing across pulsing hard flesh.

"So hard and leaky, is it all just my hand?" Your eyes study him, but he doesn't answer you. "Oh my god, you like this so much." You exhale shakily, feeling his dick twitch in your hold.

Your free hand impatiently wiggle down your underwear; thank god you chose to wear skirt today, not losing the hold of his dick; your fist cups it in tighter, slowly pumping and watching his cock drip more, it twitches in your hand, as if begging for you to quicken the pace.

Instead, you stop, your hand lets go of his dick as it bobs up to his hip, glistening along the whole length with the smeared precum. That's a pretty sight, your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, as much as you wish to keep your hands on him; jerk him off and see how his face changes, biting down on the lip, barely holding eye contact accompanied with low groans, but, unfortunately or not, you have other plans. You want to get on him, to feel his dick throb not only in your hands, but inside you. Your legs straddle his hips, so your pussy hovers over his dick, before slotting it between your slick folds; letting out a mewl, Leon's hips jerk up, just enough to let it slide and bump against your swollen clit.

The clinking sound of the belt in your hands doesn't attract his attention, head still tossed back, struggling to keep up with you, Leon finally glances at you when the leather coils around his neck — not too tight, you don't want him to faint. Your hips sit so well against his, creating just the right friction when you rub along his aching length, just soaking it with your slick after every grind and it feels like you are going to die if his dick won’t be buried in your pussy any time soon.

You tug on the belt. "Eyes on me, pretty please, please." You bite your lower lip as with another hand you lead his cock inside you, slowly sinking onto it, until the tip doesn't knock against your womb making you arch into him. "…Fuck, fuck."

You can feel every little curve of his cock inside you, every throb against your walls, how the curve slightly presses onto your g-spot harder, making your hole spasm around him. It feels right too, like he was born to be found by you, to be groped and to be used by you, or like you were born to have him inside your pussy. You prefer the former, because Leon is a pretty thing, pretty things are made to admire, touch and possess.

Your hips roll, his cock sinks deeper into your pussy after every thrust, inch by inch burying deep into your soaked hole, briefly halting your body just to grind into him — that's enough to coax more moans out of you. Every slam with your hips, his dick throbs heavier and heavier, still not enough to be close. You want to drag this pleasure, at the same time having him in your hands; so pliant, so vulnerable makes you gush more, embarrassingly slick clinging to your skin.

Your grip on the belt tightens, cutting more and more the oxygen coming to his lungs, Leon grunts as his hand rests on your wrist, trying to push you off but the effect is still lingering in his body. An useless attempt, but his own body betrays him; his dick throbs harder as his arms slowly become numb, a light dizziness and all he can feel is your rolling hips, riding him in messy pace, the skin slapping noises echoing in the room.

"Too— m— fuck." Leon grunts, his mouth opens uselessly as a dumb fish trying to speak, but the only sound coming out is a muffled one, you barely catch it. That's too much for him, his hips weakly buck up to meet yours, just driving closer to an aching need to cum inside you.

Your walls clamp around him tightly, enough to feel the throbbing pulsation in his dick, Leon lets out a muffled moan as his hips meet up with yours, weakly thrusting into you. The belt slips from your loose grip, releasing the tension around his neck — finally, his moans are accompanied with hungrily catching for air. You shudder, your pussy pulses around his dick tighter, as the crushing orgasm hits you. His hips buck up forcing a whimper out of you, before his dick throbs painfully for the last time before shooting thick ropes of cum inside you. The belt used like a leash on him to suffocate him, all thanks to it his cock spurted more ropes, the pleasure was more intense than he has ever felt, it churns something inside him.

Leon leans back, his chest is still raising heavy with lips parted as if he can't get enough of oxygen and you take advantage of this too. Leaning over him, you lick a stripe up from his jaw to his mouth, holding his head so he wouldn't move away. The saltiness of his sweat, the bitterness of alcohol remains that he drank before, the taste of him, the stubble pressed against your tongue.

"So good to me, so pretty," you whisper with a heavy panting, studying his blissed face. A weak smirk appears on his lips, focusing on your giddy expression now. Your hair sticks to your skin, forming wave-like shapes that give you a much cuter look.

[abeeeken]

RE9!Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader

Grace asking if both of you are a thing..

Abii : Ada wong that Claire this. I jus hope he married a civilian. Idk, but i saw someone comment about that its a promise ring from Ada in re6. (Am I the only one who just hopes he married a civilian? 😭✌️)

You stood in the balcony, staring at the buildings and beauty streets, crowded people walking towards the pedestrian line. It was cold, but Leon’s old brown leather jacket kept your body warm. You can feel Leon's eyes staring at you from the back.

“You sure you're alright?” He asked, walking towards besides you. Close enough that your shoulders touch.

You turned to him. “I am now…” you sighed and replied softly, “I mean…with you, I always am.”

A small smile crept onto his lips. “Good” he murmured.

Just then Grace appeared in the doorway, Leon insisted to go with Grace when she said that she'll take Emily to the clinic. Leon figured to ask you if you want to come, you have met grace before, since Leon mentioned it to you but never met Emily. So maybe it was the time to meet the little girl.

Grace stared at the two of you, in awe. “Leon. (Y/n)” she greeted the both of you. “Mind if I ask something personal?”

You both looked at Grace, and then back to each other and back to Grace. “Depends” Leon replied with a half-smile. “What's on your mind?”

Grace folder her arms. Staring at the ground, “Are you two…a thing?” she then looked up at the two of you.

You frize, blush creeping in to your cheek. Snapping your head towards the horizon Infront of you. Leon exhaled slowly, his gaze fixated om Grace, but flickered towards you.

Grace leaned forward, “I mena no offense- but you two are always together…”

“Grace,” he said in a calm but firm voice “we're close. But a ‘thing’ sounds like its just a rumour”

Grace was uncertain whether to laugh or blush. So you took your gaze off the horizon, and look at Leon. He blinked once and then twice, then removed his gloves.

His hands worned and battle-scarred. There it gleamed, a simple band of silver and polished ring.

Grace just…stared at it. “Oh,” she whispered .

Leon rotated his hand slightly, his eyes admiring the ring in his finger.

“She picked it out” a chuckle left his lips.

Grace's eyes followed the ring, then to your face and then back to Leon. “It suits you…” “Really, its beautiful”

Leon's eyes gaze meet yours , that half smile tugging his lips again.

“Every day I wear it. Keeps telling me that there's something worth fighting for…”

“During a mission, I would make sure to put it to somewhere safe… I don't want to lose something precious while I fight bad guys, right?-” he smirked, looking at you.

You just giggled, “I'm surprised how did the ring survived in your pocked when your on your mission”

Grace let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Soooo, you two are married.”

Leon gave a small shrug, “Yeah.”

There was no dramatic announcement. Just that simple, steady answer.

Grace’s made smile that spread across her face. “Wow.”

Emily’s going to like you,” she said to you.

Your eyes widened slightly. “You think so?”

“She has… good instincts,” Grace replied.

“And if Uncle Leon trusts you…” She trailed off with a playful look toward him.

Leon groaned quietly. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “Pfft- Uncle Leon?”

“Long story,” he muttered.