Violet 💌🔮

25+ | Anime, gaming, and divination. I post anything astrology and tarot related | I write fanfics as well

[kyojuuros]

#mybackhurts

[minthy]

⚠️Possibly spoilers?⚠️

Post war is my fav thing ever,

like,

wtf are they doing now?

like yes, they hang out now,

but fuck is they talking about,

what a bunch of traumatised Neurodivergent young Men who doesn't have to worry about finances or people anymore in the era between WW1 and WW2 could be possibly talking about?

[mypinkshoelaces]

[legallybrunettedotcom]

[inbabylontheywept]

Until death, all defeat is psychological.

[legallybrunettedotcom]

[inbabylontheywept]

Until death, all defeat is psychological.

[faemorrigan]

im realizing very fast that people do not in fact know that sometimes things in stories suck on purpose and it sucking is the point

[faemorrigan]

"this story is misogynistic!!"

>looks inside

>about the pressures of societal misogyny and how its bad

[messsssmer]

"Whimsy" is truly a wretched term. What maketh thee so carefree?

[fireknightqueelign]

thy mother

[messsssmer]

Art thou for fucking real

[hazyhopepunk]

[n1ghtflowering]

my favorite ao3 writers be like this

[kirschteinsbitch]

A Bun In the Oven

Characters Featured: Kyojuro Rengoku, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Tengen Uzui, Giyuu Tomioka Summary: You find a cute and funny way to tell your husband you're expecting. Warnings: a few innuendos but honestly just fluff! Author Note: Saw this trend on IG and thought it was too cute not to write. Apologies if this has been done before!

Kyojuro Rengoku

"Sweetheart, were you baking something?" Kyojuro’s bright voice carried through the house, nose twitching at the smoky, acrid stench drifting from the kitchen.

"Is it done?"

"I believe it’s more than done, my love," he said with a low chuckle.

He bent forward and opened the oven. A single blackened dinner roll sat sadly in the center of the tray. Kyojuro paused, then carefully pulled it out with tongs.

"One roll?" He raised a thick brow, turning to you in genuine confusion.

You walked deeper into the kitchen, grin widening. "It’s a bun."

"Okay..." He turned the "bun" with the tongs. "Why did you only bake one?"

"Because we have one bun in the oven."

He blinked, golden eyes blank. "I’m… not following."

"Oh, Kyojuro," you sighed fondly, taking his free hand and guiding it until his palm rested on your stomach. "A bun in my oven."

For one perfect second, the world stopped. Then his eyes went huge, face lighting up in shock and delight all at once.

"Oh my god—" His voice cracked. The tongs (and bun) clattered to the floor as he swept you into his arms, crushing you gently against his chest. "You’re pregnant."

"We're having a baby," he whispered into your hair, voice trembling with joy.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, shining like he’d never been happier in his life. “Took you a minute, but yes. We are."

"God," he breathed, gazing down at you as if you’d hung the moon. "You’re going to be the most perfect mother."

Warmth flooded your cheeks at his comment. "And you'll be the perfect father."

His grin broke wide again before he dipped his head and kissed you, slow and deep, hands sliding to cradle you closer as you melted into him.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi wrinkled his nose the second he walked in. "Mind telling me why it smells like a campfire in here?"

You muted the TV and sat up. Game time. “I was testing the oven! Can you grab what’s inside?”

"Whatever's left of it," he muttered under his breath, yanking the oven open. One scorched hamburger bun sat alone on the rack.

"Y/n. Why the hell is there a burnt bun in here."

You padded into the kitchen, biting back a grin. “It’s a sign.”

"Yeah," he snorted. "A sign you're banned from the kitchen for life."

"Come on, Sanemi," you rolled your eyes despite the smirk on your lips. "Think deeper."

He stared at you, deadpan. "You made one bun. Burnt it to a crisp. Seems pretty damn clear to me." He knocked the rock-hard clump against the countertop for emphasis.

"One bun in the oven..” you said slowly, stressing every word.

"Yeah, babe, I can see that." He raised an eyebrow. "We rationing now or what?"

You rolled your eyes, annoyed. "You're such an idiot sometimes."

"Really?" he smirked. "I'm the idiot, and not my wife who cremated a singular hamburger bun."

You frowned, watching him move to toss it in the trash. “Yeah. Because your wife is pregnant.”

"What?" He paused mid-motion and turned toward you. Confusion painted his face, lilac eyes narrowing. "Are you messing with me?"

"No, Sanemi," you sighed exasperatedly. "There's a bun in the fucking oven."

He stared blankly at you before glancing down at the blackened piece of bread in his palm. He glanced at the oven, then back to you, eyes widening in realization. "Oh God.."

"God, Y-you, you're pregnant?" he stammered, stepping toward you, eyes blown wide.

“Yes,” you hummed, leaning closer as his hands instinctively found your waist. “If you weren’t so dense, you would’ve caught on five minutes ago.”

"You little shit," he breathed, voice rough with awe. A crooked, stunned grin broke across his scarred face. "You could’ve just said it."

"And where's the fun in that?" you smiled, arms looping around his neck.

He stared down at you, love swirling in his irises before leaning down to press his lips to yours. You kissed him back, lips parting to welcome his tongue as he deepened it, palms sliding under your shirt to cradle your sides.

He pulled away slowly, eyes lidded and locked on yours. "I told you I was gonna put a baby in you, didn't I?"

"Only after I begged," you murmured back, smirking.

He huffed a laugh, then kissed you again, soft and lingering.

"I love you," he murmured as he pulled away, rough hands settling gently over your stomach.

"I love you too, Nemi."

Tengen Uzui

"Babe, can you check the oven for me?"

His cackle echoed down the hallway. “Is that a joke?”

You raised a brow as he sauntered past. “Why would it be?”

“Sweetheart, you haven’t touched that thing since we moved in."

You scoffed, following after him. "That is so not true."

He chuckled as he opened the oven, revealing a single charred biscuit on the tray. He stared at it for a moment before shutting it and straightening again. "You're fucking with me, right?"

"What do you mean?" you played dumb, leaning against the wall.

He deadpanned. "That's a pitch-black biscuit."

"It's a bun, actually."

He sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Why on earth is there a burnt bun in the oven?"

You smiled. "Let's ignore the burnt part for a second."

"Okay. " He ran a hand through his hair. "Why is there a bun in the oven?"

“A what?” you prodded, eyebrows high.

"A bun in the oven," he repeated, eyebrow raised. The second his words caught up with him, his eyes went wide. "Wait.."

His gaze lifted to yours, eyes narrowing. "Are you..?"

"Pregnant," you finished, grin stretching ear to ear.

The silence lasted exactly half a second before the entire house shook.

"Oh my God." He grabbed you by the waist, you yelped as he lifted you clear off the ground like you weighed nothing. "We’re having a goddamn baby!"

He spun you once and set you down on the counter, standing between your thighs. He cupped your face in both massive hands, eyes sparkling with adoration and joy. "You damn minx."

"Like I'd ever pass up a chance to mess with you," you smiled.

He kissed you deep and slow, tongue sliding against yours, one hand anchoring the back of your neck while the other settled possessively over your stomach. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re gonna be so fucking cute with a belly,” he whispered, grinning against your mouth.

You scoffed, nipped his bottom lip in retaliation, then dragged him back in for another kiss.

Giyuu Tomioka

"Honey, something's burning." Giyuu's soft voice drifted in from the hallway.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. "Can you grab it for me?"

He nodded and walked over, opening the oven with that careful, deliberate way he did everything. A single, over-cooked dinner roll sat alone on the rack.

Giyuu glanced at you, then back at the roll. He reached in with a mitt, lifted the tray out, and set it on the counter. "Just one?"

"It’s a special one," you said, stepping closer.

He tilted his head, studying it. "Special.. how?"

"There's a meaning behind it," you explained, barely containing your grin.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're trying to tell me.. there's meaning behind this roll."

"It's a bun," you corrected. "But yes."

Giyuu rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “If this is another one of your weird jokes, I don't get it."

"Listen,” you said, voice soft but teasing. “There's a bun in the oven."

He blinked. "I literally just pulled it out."

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You definitely did not pull out.”

His ears went pink, brows furrowing in the most adorably lost expression you’d ever seen on him. "I love you, Y/n. But what the hell are you talking about?"

You took pity on him. “Giyuu. I’m pregnant.”

His lips parted. No sound came out. You watched the cogs turn in his head. "You are?"

"Yes," you grinned. "We have a bun in the oven."

His eyes widened, the oven mitt slipping from his hand and hitting the floor.

Then his arms were around you, pulling you in so tight the air nearly left your lungs. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, one trembling hand sliding to rest just below your navel.

“A baby,” he whispered, like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

You laughed. “Yeah, Giyuu. A baby.”

He drew back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy in a way you’d never seen before. You reached out to brush hair out of his face, his deep blue eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“I thought pregnancy reveals were supposed to be cute,” he murmured, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

You smirked. "You know I love a good prank."

He huffed a quiet laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”

Then he kissed you—slow, deep, and so tender it felt like another vow, palm resting over the place where your future was already growing.

like & reblog if you enjoyed!

[bellissima-lanee]

Heavy with Love: Hashiras Comforting Their Very Pregnant Wife

Note: - I'm trying with these headers, so sorry if they look big af on mobile kind of proofread, so lets ignore any mistakes mkay

"Aneue" is a polite way to say "older sister"

You lowered the oil lamp just before padding across the tatami, stopping at Giyuu's side before bed. You leaned into him, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder, craving the closeness even though your belly pushed awkwardly against him.

"I love you," you murmured, voice soft but weighted. And before he could respond, you shifted and pulled back, walking toward the futon with your hand brushing at your eyes.

Giyuu blinked, confused. He wasnt used to you turning away after affection, and the sight of your hunched shoulders made his chest tightened. “What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, following after you.

You shook your head, your throat tight. “It’s stupid. I don’t even know how to explain it.” Your words tumbled out in broken fragments, lowering yourself on the futon, pressing both palms over the swell of your belly as the the weight may anchor you. The tears welled up again before you could stop them. “I just… miss you. Even when you’re right here, I feel far away. I can’t hold you properly anymore. I can’t press close, or hug you tightly, or-” Your voice broke, and you hid your face in your hands. “It feels like my belly’s in the way. Like there’s a wall between us.”

Your words tumbled over each other, uneven and raw, more emotion than explanation. It made no sense, even to you, but the ache in your chest was real and unbearable.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your uneven breathing. Then the futon dipped as Giyuu knelt beside you. His hands found your wrists, gentle but insistent, lowering your hands away from your face. His expression was calm, always, but his eyes held you firmly.

“You haven’t lost me,” he said simply. “You’re not far. You’re right here.”

You sniffled, trying to explain more, but your words became jumbled. All that came out was, “it just feels like I’m missing out on you, even though I’m not.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t tell you to calm down. Instead, he adjusted the blankets and shifted down onto the futon with you. With deliberate care, he maneuvered his body so yours could rest diagonally across him- your side angled, upper body pressed close against his chest, while your belly and lower body extended outward with space for the twins. One arm slid beneath your head as a pillow, the other wrapped securely across your shoulders, pulling you against him.

“Like this,” he murmured against your hair. “Is this close enough?”

You breathed out slowly, the tension unraveling in your chest taps you melted into him. His scent surrounded you. “Mhm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering shut. For the first time in a while, you felt close to him.

He rested his chin gently against your crown, his breathing slow. His thumb stroked along your upper arm in small patterns to remind you he was there even in silence. Minutes passed in peace.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked after a while, voice low, as to not break the calm.

A drowsy smile tugged at your lips. “Yes.”

You snuggled deeper against him, savoring the warmth of his chest, the weight of his arm, the calmness your mind became.

But then a sharp, familiar pressure made your eyes fly open. You groaned breaking the stillness. “…I have to pee.”

He exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Amusement flickered in his eyes as he tightened his hold on you for a heartbeat longer, before he shifted, helping you up with steady hands. He would walk with you through every trip, every tear, every moment of discomfort.

The mountain air was cool, crisp in your breaths as you trekked up the path home. You should have found it refreshing, but every step on the narrow path sent a sharp pain running down your lower back and through your leg. Sciatica- that cursed electric pain- made even walking a punishment.

You paused, once again, gripping the wooden railing, your breath catching as you tried to mask a wince. But Gyomei, even without sight, tilted his head toward you immediately, his prayer beads clicked softly in his massive hands.

“You’re hurting again,” he said, his voice gentle. “Let me carry you.”

You shook your head stubbornly, “No, I’ll feel like a child if you do that.”

He fell silent for a moment, then shifted, thinking. “Then perhaps an herbal pack. I can prepare one now. Willow bark eases nerve pain-”

“It won’t last,” you muttered, trying to keep walking.

“Then a warm compress,” he tried again, his deep voice thoughtful. “I’ll press it to your back as you sit. It might loosen the ache.”

Your hand tightened on the railing. “It doesn’t work.”

“Then rest,” he said quietly, worry lacing the calm of his tone. “Sit with me a while. You should not be straining.”

Your temper snapped, the words spilling before you could catch them. “I’ve been resting all day!” Your voice rang out across the vacant mountainside, cracking with frustration. You froze at the sound, breath shallow, but Gyomei remained still, his expression untroubled. The restraint in him made your irritation spill over further.

“All of it- it doesn’t matter,” you choked out, your words unraveling. “the herbs, the heat, the resting. They only work for a little while, if at all. And then I’m right back to this.” Your voice cracked, sciatica burning down your leg again as if to prove the point. “I’m always uncomfortable. Always irritable. And I hate it!”

Tears blurred your vision and you bit your lip hard, shoulders shaking, humiliated by the outburst.

Gyomei bowed his head, his beads sliding steadily through his palms before he stepped forward, no doubt saying a prayer in his head. His voice was low, warm, unshaken. “You are right. I cannot fix this. I cannot take the pain from you.” His massive hand came to rest on your shoulder as tears streamed down his cheeks. “But I can share it. I can stand in it with you.”

His words made your throat close tight. You looked up and the sight in front of you was enough to make you crumble forward, burying yourself into his broad torso. The sobs broke free, sounding frustrated, raw, and heavy. “I’m sorry!” you cried into him, gripping at him with desperate fingers. “I feel everything tenfold and I can’t contain it! I feel crazy, and it- it just keeps spilling out...”

You clutched harder, looking up at him through your wet lashes. “Do you… do you still love me?”

Gyomei lowered his head, his forehead brushing against the crown of yours, his voice reverberating. “Of course.”

You hiccuped, shame growing in your gut. “Will you forgive me?”

“Of course.” He said again, without hesitation. His embrace tightened, arms encircling you letting his warmth calm your trembling frame.

A beat passes before you finally pulled back, a sharp hiss escaped as another stab of pain shot down your leg. You grabbed his forearms for balance, grimacing. “Ow. Damn it-“

Gyomei’s hand steadied you immediately. You let out a shaky laugh, half embarrassed, half weary. “…I’ll take you up on those offers. The herbal pack, the warm compress… all of it.”

He tilted his head, the faintest smile curving his lips.

“And… if you could carry me too,” you whispered sheepishly, avoiding his face.

Without hesitation, his arms slid beneath you, lifting you as though you weighed nothing at all. The ache in your back eased the moment your weight left your legs, and you slumped against his chest, relief almost dizzying.

“You are never a burden,” he murmured, voice low. “Not to me.”

Dinner was quiet but comfortable at first. The three of you knelt at the low table, bowls of rice steaming in front of you, the fragrance of the soup curling in the air, and grilled fish still sizzling from the pan. Your hunger was sharper than you realized. You ate quickly, savoring each bite, then reached for another serving, and another, until your bowl sat empty before you.

Kyojuro’s amber eyes lit with pride. “You’re eating more than I do! Splendid!” He declared, grinning wide and unfiltered.

Across from you, Senjuro stiffened. His chopsticks froze halfway to his lips, eyes darting nervously between you and his brother. Even at this age, he could see how words that were meant to praise might wound instead.

Meanwhile, your own body froze. Slowly, you glanced down at your thighs spreading under the folds of your yukata, the way the fabric stretched across your hips, the roundness of your belly pressing against the sash, the puffiness of your cheeks. All at once, the food in your mouth turned heavy. You chewed slowly, mechanically, and set your chopsticks down.

Senjuro panicked. “A-anue!” He blurted, “I-I think you eat just enough! Not too much! Only what’s healthy!” He waved his hands, cheeks pink with desperation. “You don’t look big at all!”

His attempt shattered you. Your throat closed tight, tears welling until you couldn’t swallow. A sob broke free as you whispered, “I-I do look big!” and covered your face with both hands.

Kyojuro’s heart lurched. In an instant, he was at your side kneeling close. His hands cupped your tear-streaked cheeks, thumbs brushing the wetness away with more tenderness than his normal voice.

“My love,” he murmured, gaze burning steady into yours, “I am sorry. My words were careless. Forgive me.”

You hiccupped through your tears, shoulders trembling. “You don’t understand- I feel heavier every day. Clumsier. Ugly. And now even you two-

“No.” Kyojuro’s cut in firmly, shaking his head, his eyes never wavering. “Do you remember when you first became pregnant? How you could barely eat? How pale you became? How weak and thin? Every day I feared for you.” His hand pressed gently to your cheek, grounding you. “To see you eat now, heartily and without fear, is a blessing. Because it means you’re strong and healthy. Our child is strong, it fills me with joy.”

Your tears slow down. “Do you still find me pretty?” You asked in a small, fragile voice.

Kyojuro’s face softened, and he leaned closer, the conviction in his voice leaving no room for doubt. “More beautiful than ever. Every curve and every change is proof of your strength. I adore you.”

You let out a shaky laugh through your tears, shoulders slumping as the weight in your chest eased. Senjuro, cheeks red with guilt, ducked his head. “Forgive me too, aneue. I only wished to help.”

You sniffed and reached a hand towards him, brushing his hair back gently. “You did nothing wrong.”

Kyojuro smiled at the sight the reached for your bowl, breaking a piece of fish and holding it up to your lips. “Come,” he said with a grin. “Let me feed you. Let me serve the most radiant woman I know.”

You cracked into a smile as you leaned forward, letting him feed you, his eyes glowed brighter than any lantern. “Tasty?”

You hummed happily as you chewed. "Mhm!"

(Kyojuro come homeeeee 😭)

The futon ruffled beneath you as you shifted again, trying to find relief. No matter how you turned, your belly dragged heavy, the baby inside rolling, kicking, pressing against your ribs which were already sore. Sleep dangled just out of reach, and when your eyes finally stung with frustrated tears, you curled a fist into the blanket.

“Why won’t you stop moving?” You whispered hoarsely into the dark. “Please just let me rest.” Your voice cracked, and the tears spilled hot down your cheeks. you muffled the sound into your sleeve, ashamed and exhausted.

The rustle beside you told you Obanai was awake. He turned toward you, pale in the moonlight, his mismatched eyes catching on the wet streaks down your face. His own chest tightened, and though he rarely showed softness, he sat up and pressed a hand carefully over the swell of your stomach. The baby kicked in answer, sharp and insistent.

“Enough,” Obanai said flatly as if scolding a young slayer. His thumb brushed along your skin in warning. “Stop tormenting your mother.”

The baby didn’t listen of course. Another roll, another kick, and more tears welled in your eyes. You gave a broken laugh. “he won’t stop… he doesn’t care.”

Obanai’s gaze flicked to your trembling mouth, to the bags under your eyes, then back down to where his palm spread protectively across your belly. He leaned closer, lowering his voice into a softer tone you often hear when he shows tenderness. “Then I’ll stay awake with you. If he won’t let you rest, he won’t let me rest either.”

You blinked at him, startled. “You’d do that?”

“I already am.” His lips curved into the faintest smile as he settled behind you against the wall, tugging you carefully so your back pressed against his chest. "We'll be uncomfortable together. If you cry, I'll threaten him. He moves and I'll scold him. That's fair enough, right?" He offers with a kiss to the crown of your head.

You chuckled, leaning into him as you wiped your cheek. "No..." you whined softly, "I won't let you be mean to him." you teased but meant it to an extent.

He smiled into your hair, murmuring small stories, bits of nonsense, really. His hand stayed firm on your stomach, a silent scold for your son.

The baby's kicks slowed, and though true rest never came, you felt steadier lying there with Obanai's warmth at your back with his voice in your ear. Safe enough to close your eyes, if only for a little while.

You sat slumped on the futon, tears streaming down your cheeks as you clutched your belly. The weight of it, the lateness of it, pressed like lead on your chest.

"He's late," you sobbed, voice raw. "He should have been born last week..."

Tengen knelt in front of you, hair loose around his shoulders, the jeweled band glinting faintly over his eye in the dim glow. His grin was softer than his usual flash, though his voice still carried that confident flow.

"Hey," he said, lifting your chin with two fingers. "Do you really think my flamboyant son would arrive quietly on schedule?"

A broken laugh slipped through your sob. "That's not funny."

"It is," he countered easily, though his grin softened as his thumb brushed the wetness from your cheeks. "He's just making an entrance. Like his father."

Your breath hitched, another sob catching in your throat. "I feel heavier every day. I can't breathe. I -I strain my back just to walk or I'll topple over. It hurts so much..." Your voice cracked as your covered your face. "And it's all your fault!"

For a heartbeat, the room stilled. It pained him to see you breaking down, and though he could joke- he didn't. Not this time. Instead, he gently pulled your hands from your face, leaning down until his gaze filled your blurry vision.

"You've carried him this far," he said, voice quieter that you'd ever heard it. "He knows how strong his mother is. He knows how loved he is. And I..." he pressed his forehead briefly to yours. "I am so proud of you."

Your tears fell harder, hot against your cheeks.

"When the time comes," he whispered, arms wrapping fully around you, broad hand rubbing your back in steady circles, "I'll be right here. We all will. You'll never be alone in this."

You trembled against him, finally letting yourself fall into his chest. For once, there was not teasing, no flourish, no dramatic flair. Just Tengen's warmth and the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Until his hand traveled lower.

"You know what else can help get the baby out?"

You sat on the engawa, clutching a sandal that refused to slide over your swollen foot. Your hair stuck damply to your temples, sweat beginning to form, and the harder you pulled at the straps, the deeper they pinched into the puffy skin of your ankle. The sandal slipped from your hands and clattered to the wooden floor.

"Damn it! I can't even put on my own sandals!" you burst out, shoving it aside with a choked sob.

Sanemi froze in the doorway, watching the sandal bounce in front of him. He faces demons with their dirty blood dripping from his hair, but the sight of your tears made his chest lock. For a moment, he only stood there. Then, without a word, he crossed the floor and knelt in front of you.

His scarred hands cradled your swollen foot with a gentleness you didn't expect. His thumb brushed across the plush tender skin, pausing over the angry dents left behind from your socks.

"They hurt?" he asked gruffly, voice low, as if speaking louder might break you.

You sniffled and nodded, trying to cover your feet. "They hurt to stand on. My socks don't fit- look, they leave marks. My feet look like... like sausages!" The words cracked apart as your throat burned, and you pressed your hands over your ankles as though hiding them might erase the shame.

Sanemi's jaw flexed. He didn't argue, didn't scoff. Instead, he lifted your foot into his palm as if it were glass and began to rub the arch with his thumb. At first the pressure was clumsy and rough, but slowly it softened into steady, soothing circles. Warmth spread up your leg, the ache easing just enough that your shoulders relaxed.

"You don't need to wear those sandals," he muttered, sliding his own pair across the wood to you. "Use mine."

You blinked down at them- his worm leather, much too big, much too masculine. He lifted your foot to slide them on.

"They won't fit!" Your feet are much too bigger than-"

They fit.

Not by length, but by width, slipping over your swollen skin with ease. The sight of them on your feet made your chest tighten all over again, tears rushing back as your voice cracked. "Great. I look like a man."

Sanemi deadpanned. He looked at your swollen belly, then up at your voluminous hair, and down to your glowing skin. He shook his head, his voice steady and low. "You look like my woman." His hand remained wrapped around your ankle, firm and grounding. He lifted his gaze to yours, purple eyes serious but soft. "And if you don't want to walk, I'll carry you. Wherever you need to go."

The words hit deeper than you expected- probably from the seriousness in tone. Your breath shuddered out, tears softening into something else. Relief. And when his thumb brushed over the arch of your other foot, you let yourself lean back, letting him bear the weight.

---

these may have been my own experiences from last year lolol

[venusiandiviner]

Ovulation phase is over. I'm at my luteal phase now. Which means that I want to burn the world down

[swagophile]

important reminder that most people you follow online are significantly lamer than you think they are including me. and if you feel insecure comparing yourself to someone online: DON'T. theyre probably also lame and weird. most people on the internet are

[bosc-pear-enjoyer]

EXTRATERRESTRIAL

⃝␥⋆ Headcanons for Alien! Giyuu

⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡🪐ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡🪐ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡🪐ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡

The Lumerians are a reclusive, ancient species from the ocean‑moon Nerai, a world of bioluminescent seas, crystalline forests, and sky‑rivers of drifting mineral clouds. Their bodies evolved to absorb and refract light, allowing them to communicate emotion, intention, and even memory through subtle shifts in glow patterns.

For thousands of cycles, the Lumerians lived in quiet harmony, guided by a cultural philosophy called The Still Current, a belief that emotional restraint preserves clarity, and clarity preserves survival. Their world is beautiful but dangerous; predators hunt by sensing emotional “heat,” so the Lumerians learned to dim themselves, to stay calm, to move like shadows in the water.

But as their planet’s magnetic field weakened, storms began to tear through Nerai. Many Lumerians left to seek refuge among the stars. Giyuu is one of the few who remained until the very end, until the storms took his family, his home, and the quiet life he once knew. Now he wanders worlds with the same stillness his people revered, carrying the last remnants of Nerai’s glow within him.

The Lumerians chose Earth not because it was perfect, but because it was the closest thing to mercy the universe had left for them. When Nerai’s magnetic field collapsed and its once‑gentle oceans turned violent and unstable, they searched the stars for a world with water that felt familiar, a world whose emotional frequency wasn’t deafening.

Earth’s seas carried the same mineral signature as Nerai’s glow‑reefs, and its magnetic field was strong enough to shelter their fragile bioluminescent bodies. More importantly, Earth was quiet in ways other inhabited planets weren’t; beneath the noise of human civilization were pockets of stillness, deep lakes, silent forests, calm shorelines, where a Lumerian could breathe without feeling overwhelmed.

They observed humans from afar and saw a species capable of fear, yes, but also curiosity, empathy, and a strange, stubborn gentleness that made coexistence possible. So they hid in plain sight, surfacing only at night, dimming their glow to blend with moonlit waves, and forming unspoken agreements with coastal communities who sensed their presence but never demanded explanations.

Over time, humans and Lumerians learned to share space through quiet gestures rather than treaties: fishermen leaving offerings on rocks, Lumerians calming storms or guiding lost swimmers home, both sides pretending the other was myth to keep the peace intact. And while Earth was meant to be only a temporary refuge, some, like Giyuu, found themselves anchored by the rare humans whose emotional rhythm felt safe, choosing connection over wandering, and allowing a new kind of coexistence to take root in the spaces where water meets light.

⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡🪐ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡🪐ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡🪐ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡

๛ Giyuu's glow is involuntary. His bioluminescence reacts to emotion before he can stop it.

Calm -> soft blue Stress -> sharp white flickers Embarrassment -> violet at the tips of his hair and fingers Deep affection -> a warm, steady teal he can't hide

๛ He's extremely sensitive to sound. Lumerians evolved underwater, so he hears vibrations more than words. Loud noises overwhelm him; he instinctively flinches or dims his glow to near black.

๛ He moves silently. His species learned to avoid predators by eliminating sound. Giyuu can cross a room without disturbing a single particle of dust. People often don't notice he's there unless he speaks.

๛ His skin is cool to the touch. Not cold, just soothing, like moonlit water. His temperature shifts slightly depending on his glow.

๛ He struggles greatly with human expressions, he thinks they are stupid. Smiling is foreign to him. He expresses his approval by:

tilting his head softening his glow lowering his shoulders gently brushing his fingers against yours

๛ He's protective in a quiet, instinctive way. He positions himself between you and danger without thinking. His glow sharpens when he senses a threat.

๛ He has a ritual of "light weaving." Lumerians create temporary shapes or patterns in the air using their glow. Giyuu does this when he's thinking. Small spirals, waves, or drifting particles.

๛ He rarely ever sleeps. His species enters a meditative trance instead. His glow dims to a faint pulse, almost like a heartbeat.

๛ His glow loves to betray him around you. He tries to stay composed, but whenever you're near, the glow along his collarbones brightens. He'll immediately turn away, pretending he doesn't know it's happening.

๛ Touch is super sacred to him. Lumerians don't touch so casually like humans do. When he lets you touch his hands, his jaw, his gills, or the glowing markings along his back, it means he trusts you deeply.

๛ He "sings" to you without realizing it. Not with sound, but with light. When he's realxed around you, his glow forms slow, rhythmic patterns that match your breathing. It's the Lumerian equivalent of humming.

๛ Giyuu shields you from sensory overload because he knows what it's like to be overwhelmed. If a place is too loud or chaotic, he'll guide you somewhere quieter, placing a gentle hand on your back. His glow softens to calm you.

๛ He memorizes your emotional patterns. He can sense micro-changes in your heartbeat and breathing. He knows when you're anxious before you say a word. He'll sit beside you, dim his glow, and let you match your breathing to his.

๛ He gives gifts made of light. Giyuu will weave small, temporary sculptures: a flower from his home, a wave, a constellation, and places them into your hands. They dissolve after a few minutes, but he watches your face the entire time.

๛ Giyuu is easily flustered by affection. A kiss to his cold, lightly scaled cheek? His glow spikes bright blue and he freezes like his system just crashed.

๛ He guards your sleep. Giyuu isn't stupid. He knows that humans love to sleep, and he takes notice of how often you take naps throughout the day. While you rest, he sits nearby in a meditative state, glow dimmed, senses extended. Nothing gets close without him noticing.

๛ He struggles to verbalize love. Words feel too heavy for him. Instead, he:

rests his forehead against yours wraps you in his cool, gentle arms lets his glow pulse in slow, steady waves that match the rhythm of his heart

๛ He considers you his "Anchor." In Lumerian culture, an Anchor is someone who stabilizes your glow, someone whose presence brings clarity. He never says it outright, but his actions make it obvious.

๛ Giyuu's eyes aren't just eyes; they're sensors. They shift slightly depending on what he's perceiving:

tracking movement -> pupils narrow into vertical slits analyzing emotions -> pupils widen and glow faintly overwhelmed -> they dim to a deep navy

Humans think he's just "staring," but he's actually processing dozens of micro-signals.

๛ He absolutely does not understand lying. Lumerians communicate through light patterns that can't be faked. So when someone lies to him, he's immediately confused. He'll tilt his head, glow flickering in a puzzled rhythm, trying to understand why your words don't match your heartbeat.

๛ He's drawn to water like how children are drawn to sticking forks in outlets. Even on Earth, he gravitates towards lakes, aquariums, fountains. Anything that reminds him of Nerai's oceans. When he's stressed, he'll submerge himself in water and gently flicker his glow to regulate himself because it takes him back to memories of his home. Happy Healthy Coping Mechanism!

๛ He has a "stillness response." When startled, he doesn't jump. Giyuu will freeze completely, glow dimming to black, body going motionless like a deep-sea creature avoiding detection.

๛ Giyuu can see electromagnetic fields. Power lines, phone signals, even the faint hum of a refrigerator; he sees them as drifting ribbons of light. It's beautiful to him but overstimulating in cities.

๛ He mimics human behavior slowly. He watches people carefully and copies gestures he finds meaningful:

nodding tilting his head placing a hand over his chest when grateful softening his eyes when he wants to reassure you

He doesn't always get it right, but with his small antennas, he tries.

๛ Giyuu had a "protective radius." If someone enters your personal space too aggressively, his glow sharpens and claws extending automatically and he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

๛ He deplores being touched unexpectedly. His species evolved to avoid sudden contact. If someone grabs him without warning, his glow spikes white and he steps back instantly, hissing. However, with you? He softens almost immediately.

๛ Giyuu studies your face like it's a star map. Humans express emotion through micro-movements he finds fascinating. He'll quietly observe:

the way your eyes move when your thinking. Up, down. Left, right. how your mouth curves when you're amuzed. the tiny tension in your jaw when you're worried.

He memorizes all of it.

๛ He adapts his glow to comfort you. If you're anxious, he dims to a soft steady blue. If you're sad, he shifts to a warm teal; Lumerian reassurance. If you're overwhelmed, he dims completely and sits close, letting you exist in quiet.

๛ Giyuu gives you "light names." Lumerians name loved ones based on the glow pattern they evoke. He never says it aloud, but he has one for you. A private sequence of light he only uses when thinking about you.

๛ He's extremely gentle with physical affection once he's used to it. He touches you like you're fragile China, even if you're not. His hands hover before they land, giving you time to full away from his slightly webbed fingers. When you don't, his glow warms in relief.

๛ He leans into you without realizing it. When he trusts someone, he drifts closer; shoulder brushing yours, knee touching yours, glow syncing with your breathing. It's instinctual, not conscious.

๛ Giyuu is fiercely protective when you're hurt. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just laser sharp focus. His glow sharpens into a thin, bright line along his spine; Lumerian warning signal, and he positions himself between you and whatever caused the harm.

๛ He shares memories through light. Lumerians can project faint impressions of their memories. When he feels safe with you, he'll let you see:

the shimmering oceans of Nerai the drifting crystal forests the sky-rivers glowing above his childhood home

It's the most intimate thing he can offer.

๛ He doesn't understand flirting. Compliments confuse him. Teasing flusters him, but when you show genuine affection, he freezes for a moment, then glows a soft, trembling violet.

๛ He listens to your heartbeat like it's music. Your heartbeat is grounding to him. He'll rest his forehead against your shoulder or chest, glow pulsing in time with your rhythm.

lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub

๛ Giyuu chooses you quietly. No grand confession. No dramatic moment. Just a slow, steady shift in his behavior:

he stands closer he lets his glow brighten around you he shares more of his memories he relaxes in your presence

Until one day, he simply says in his soft, careful voice, "You bring clarity." Which in Lumerian culture, is the closest thing to "I love you."

Bonus

๛ When you pet his hair, he purrs/grinds his teeth. His species doesn't purr the way Earth animals do. It's more like a low, resonant vibration deep in his chest, but when he's really relaxed, he does this soft, rhythmic teeth-grinding that sounds like two pieces of smooth crystal rubbing together.

๛ It's involuntary. Embarrassing for him.

๛ The glow along his spine brightens in slow pulses, like a heartbeat syncing to your touch.

๛ If you scratch behind the base of his neck? His eyes half-lidded, glow warming to s soft teal, and he leans into your hand with a quiet, breathy exhale. He tries to stop the grinding because he thinks it's "strange," but the moment your fingers slide into his hair again, it starts right back up.

๛ Fish are drawn to him because his glow looks like drifting plankton. He doesn't "play" in a human sense, but he interacts with them in a way that's instinctual and gentle.

๛ He'll hover still, letting schools of tiny fish weave through his fingers. Sometimes he mimics their movements, swimming in slow spirals or drifting with them like he's part of the shoal.

๛ Larger curious fish will bump their noses against his hands or shoulders, and he'll respond with a soft pulse of light; a Lumerian greeting.

๛ If a fish is injured, he becomes incredibly focused, guiding it to calmer water or shielding it with his body.

๛ He's at his most peaceful underwater. His glow diffuses around him like a nebula, and the fish treat him like a living reef.

๛When you're not around him, he's functional, but muted. Like someone turned his brightness down. His glow stays dim, barely visible unless he's startled or in deep thought.

๛ He keeps himself busy: observing human behavior, studying Earth’s ecosystems, meditating in water, or practicing light‑weaving patterns.

๛ He thinks about you more than he realizes. When he does, his glow flickers in the exact pattern he associates with you; your “light name.”

๛ He’s not lonely in a dramatic way, but there’s a subtle ache in him. Lumerians evolved to bond deeply, and once he’s attached, your absence feels like a missing rhythm, a tempo gone wrong.

๛ Sometimes he sits in water and lets his glow drift upward in soft spirals, a subconscious signal of longing.

๛ He doesn’t understand the feeling at first. He only knows that the world feels clearer, warmer, brighter when you’re near.

๛ He hates it when you're cold. Your shivers trigger a protective response. Giyuu will wrap his arms around you, glow warming slightly, and hold you until your temperature stabilizes.

๛ When people litter, his glow snaps white instantly. It's the Lumerian equivalent of a flinch; sharp, distressed, instinctive. He'll retrieve the trash immediately. Not angrily, not dramatically, just with this quiet, focused urgency, like he's removing something dangerous.

๛ His body language goes more rigid than usual. Shoulders tight, jaw set, and pupils thinner than ever. He looks like he's holding back a very old instinct to defend his territory.

๛ He doesn't confront people verbally, but he will stare. A long, unblinking, ocean-cold stare that makes humans uncomfortable without knowing why.

๛ This poor baby's glow dims afterward. It's deep grief. Lumerians see water as sacred, a living memory. To see it being polluted feels like a gaping wound.

๛ So, he cleans it, but more than what was littered. He'll stay behind, gathering debris, restoring the water until his glow softens again while you stand on the shore with the bag of trash.

๛ He stares at human food like it's a science experiment and the wet burrito is the guinea pig of it. He's not exactly...disgusted by it, just deeply confused and concerned for your health.

fried foods neon-colored snacks anything that smells aggressively artificial...red40 ahem...

๛ He taps the food lighting with a webbed finger. A Lumerian test for toxicity. His glow flickers a deep green if he's unsure.

๛ Giyuu is baffled by spices. Back home, food was:

raw clean mineral-rich bioluminescent eaten underwater

So when he eats something spicy, his eyes widen, glow flares, and he makes a tiny, involuntary hiss.

๛ Giyuu absolutely, deeply loves fruit. It's the closest thing to Nerai's sweet, water dense flora he'll eat as a treat. Giyuu will eat raspberries with this soft, surprised delight.

๛ He's highly suspicious of processed foods. He'll sniff is, tilt his head and hold it up to you while quietly asking, "...is this safe for human consumption?"

๛ Giyuu misses the food from home. Not the taste, but the ritual. Meals on Nerai were eaten in silence, in water, with shared glow patterns drifting between family members. Human meals feel loud and chaotic to him.

๛ However, he tries everything you offer. Even if he doesn't understand it, even if it overwhelms him. That's because it's you sharing with him. His Anchor. His person. His.

a/n: i think alien giyuu is so cute, the bonus was longer than expected but thats okay. i love him so cuteness

[imnasamu]

My Pen Pal Keeps Critiquing My Poisons!

Lohen X Reader

Summary : In which, you find a poisoned meal at your doorstep every morning. And so, you make it your life's motto to savor it and provide your thoughts.

Much to Lohen's dismay, you never seemed particularly impressed by any of his carefully crafted poisons.

While most love stories begin with flowers, yours began with poison.

Most people reacted poorly to poison. They cried, screamed, and maybe even succumbed to death.

You, apparently smiled.

Lohen had first heard the rumor by accident.

"Apparently the new medic (Y/N) has a strange fascination with toxins," a knight muttered over drinks.

He hadn’t meant to care. He really hadn’t. But something about the word 'fascination' lodged itself under his skin like a splinter that refused to be ignored.

So, naturally, he did what any reasonable man with too much curiosity and too little restraint would do—he investigated.

Two alchemists confirmed it later, whispering that you had once voluntarily tasted diluted snake venom just to observe its effects.

That further piqued his curiosity.

And what better way to find out the truth than test the rumor himself?

After a day of locking himself in his house, he had come up with his very own poison. Made from the remains of a dendro slime, mixed with a few crushed petals of Dendrobium, and a generous splash of expired alcohol stolen from the Cat’s Tail.

He didn't know if it was truly toxic. In fact, he just mixed random ingredients he found revolting.

He wasn't planning on truly poisoning you after all. In its current concentration, it would merely cause temporary numbness (maybe).

And so he placed a cute little package in front of your house (he stole the documents that held information of those working under the Grand Master to find your address). Inside the package was a plate of Hash Brown he had cooked himself.

Of course, the poison was sprinkled on top as well.

He knocked on the door to your house and hid in a bush nearby.

He watched the door open, a shiver of excitement going down his spine.

But when you stepped out, his eyes widened. You weren’t what he had imagined. Not old, not bitter, not hunched over with tired eyes and stained robes.

You looked... young and composed. Normal in fact.

You glanced at the package, shrugged, and brought it inside.

The next day, he had half hoped there would be some commotion. Instead, nothing happened.

Lohen found that significantly more unsettling than if you had screamed.

Did you not open it?

Did you die?

Worse, did you throw it away?

By the second day, irritation curdled into curiosity again, and curiosity dragged him back to your house.

He hadn’t even reached the door when something stopped him.

A box.

His box.

He stared at it, then at the note pinned neatly on top.

It read-

---

Observation Log

Possible dendro slime derivative.

Taste profile:

Slight bitterness.

Floral aftertaste.

Perhaps traces of alcohol.

Symptoms:

Tingling lips.

Mild numbness in fingers.

Onset approximately twenty-five seconds.

Conclusion:

Sloppily made poison.

---

He stared at the handwriting. The faint smell of alcohol lingering on the hastily ripped paper.

'..... Sloppy?' he scoffed, annoyance creeping up into his face. He crumbled the paper, staring at the door with a sadistic smile.

"Fine then. I'll show you real poison."

The next morning, another box appeared at your doorstep.

Like last time, you took it into your home. You had no idea who was delivering these, but the last package being drenched in a mild toxin made it interesting enough for you to open.

You tore open the box.

This time, it was a plate of mushroom pizza.

"Oh, that looks delicious." you muttered to yourself, noticing the unusual purple coloring on the crust.

You reached and held a piece of the pizza near your mouth. And without a care, you took a huge bite from the area where the coloring was the brightest.

The following day, Lohen returned to find another note on your doorstep. This time it was more detailed than the last.

---

Observation Log

Low concentration of Aconitum.

Taste profile:

Initial sweet-bitter note.

Followed by burning sensation.

Symptoms:

Numbness.

Dizziness.

Loss of strength.

Conclusion:

Good posion. Easily countered.

Although, I liked the taste of the pizza.

(attached are my other observations)

---

There were six pages attached.

Six.

Lohen stared, flipping through the pages with a smile. "God. She's insane."

This started the exchange of poisons and paper notes.

The next package that Lohen put on your doorstep had a small note of his own.

---

To the Medic

Firstly, fuck you.

Secondly, you missed a secondary ingredient. (Hint : It was Naku weed)

Thirdly, thank you for complimenting the pizza.

I made it myself.

---

Your response appeared the next morning.

---

To the Poisoner

1. Rude.

2. I did not miss the ingredient. Naku weed has no toxic properties. Just color.

3. The posion on the crust was obvious. Are you perhaps new to this poisoning thing?

---

Your responses pissed the Vice captain even more. Because how dare a lowly medic like you have the audacity to critic his cooking?!

He tried even harder after that.

More precise blends. Better masking. Controlled dosages. Carefully calibrated ingredients. Tried perfecting the recipe so you couldn't find any faults.

Everything.

After making sure everything was perfect, he delivered the next package. A plate of Northern Apple Stew.

The reply next day was written in a crumbled paper with messy handwriting.

---

Rules for Future Poisoning

1. No explosive diarrhea.

2. No permanent injury.

3. No organ damage.

4. No blindness.

5. No poisoning children.

6. Food should remain edible

---

Lohen rolled his eyes at the rules. "Killjoy." To him these rules just were unnecessary boundaries that ruined his fun.

But he never wanted to stop this exchange between the two of you. It was much too entertaining for him.

Unknown to him, that night ended with you locking yourself in your room. Having non stop diarrhea for hours.

Soon the notes became longer than the poisons themselves.

One morning, the package you opened had a plate of Cream Stew.

And this time the note attached had a list of ingredients used.

---

Current Theory

The toxin should produce localized muscle weakness.

Estimated duration:

Two hours.

Possible side effects:

Dizziness.

Drowsiness.

Complaining.

Will you be able to guess what I used (Y/N)? °^°?

---

Three days later Lohen received something he could only call a report.

A dossier.

Twenty-two pages which included diagrams, charts, annotated symptom timelines.

And corrections.

So many corrections.

---

Page 14: dosage error.

Page 17: please stop using kitchen spoons as lab tools.

Page 19: “Did you eyeball the concentration?”

---

Unfortunately Lohen had. And he hated that you noticed.

Months passed and somehow it became a routine.

Your medic colleagues grew increasingly worried seeing you drowsy every other day.

"Do you know who keeps sending you poison?" one asked.

You shook your head. "No, not really."

"Shouldn't that concern you?"

You looked confused. "Why?"

"Because they're poisoning you...?"

You blinked. Honestly, if the person wanted to kill you, they could have used other deadly toxins. Yet, they always made sure to use small doses and non lethal ingredients.

You smiled to yourself. "They are very considerate actually."

"... Oh." the medic froze.

You tapped a finger on your cheek. "They also have lovely handwriting."

"..."

The medic walked away. Unable to continue the conversation.

Lohen, meanwhile, was also not doing well.

Varka had his suspicions when he first saw the crazed man laughing while tasting the exotic plants he had ordered.

One day, while Lohen was away on a mission, he broke the lock of his drawer and read through all the papers in there.

Papers about toxic plants. Possible ingredients. And of course, all the notes you had written to him.

He ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell is happening in Mondstadt?"

Varka immediately dragged Lohen by the collar and pushed him into the store you worked in to apologize.

You looked up from your desk and instantly recognized him as your mysterious poisoner.

Not by his face. But by his hands.

The stained fingertips. The chemical burns. The ink marks. The quiet proof of obsession.

"Oh," you smiled softly. "It's you."

Lohen blinked.

Varka shoved him forward. "Apologise to the lady Lohen."

Oh. So his name was Lohen.

The boy looked deeply offended. "I don't want to."

"Apologize." The Grand Master repeated, his gaze cold.

Lohen sighed dramatically. Then glanced toward you. "...Sorry for poisoning you."

You immediately shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. "There is so need for apologies. I should be thanking you actually."

Silence.

Even Varka froze.

You continued, brighter now. "The poisons were genuinely fascinating."

Varka looked horrified.

"I learned to make dozens of new antidotes!"

Lohen stared. Mesmerized.

"Also the toxins were quite creative! Honestly, every morning became something to look forward to."

Varka took a breath, and turned his gaze to the ceiling, perhaps praying to Barbatos why they allowed these two people to exist.

"Also the notes were fun!" you added, opening your drawer and placing a the stack of notes you had carefully stapled.

Lohen wasn't even listening anymore.

Because you were smiling.

At him.

Because of him.

Because he had poisoned you.

It was a stupid conversation. The girl in front of him was grateful for poisoning her. It was reckless, idiotic and yet...

At that moment his heart made some several terrible decisions.

He realised.

With a lot of hesitation...

That-

'Oh.'

'Oh no.'

'You were kinda cute.'

He had known your name for months. Known where you worked. Known your habits. Your favorite medicinal herbs. The way your handwriting became messier when excited.

But seeing you in person? Actually talking to you?

He was finished.

Absolutely in love.

That night he didn't sleep. Instead he sat at his desk surrounded by herbs, powders, vials, and failed formulas, staring at his next experiment like it might hold divine answers.

Most men wrote poetry.

Most men gifted flowers.

Most men confessed.

But Lohen was not most men.

He lifted a vial of deep red liquid, watching it swirl under lamplight with a manic smile. "If she barely liked the last one... I'll just make one that is even better."

And thus began the greatest romantic pursuit in history.

Not through gifts or heartfelt letters.

But through an escalating series of increasingly sophisticated poisons.

Lohen's new life goal was simple.

Create a poison so fascinating, so beautiful so perfect....

That when you tasted it—

You'd fall hopelessly in love with its creator.

Unfortunately for him, the only thing you fell in love with was the chemical composition.

Fin

😭 😭 😭 I CANT WITH THIS GUY. I FEEL LIKE HE'S SOMEONE WHO'D GIFT YOU A BOMB CUZ HE LOVES YOU.

Some of the ingredients used r actually toxic while others r just bs. I tried making it as Canon as possible but I'm sure there r some mistakes. Sorry abt tht.

Anyway! Hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts.

[mewnbuns]

A MORE INTIMATE INITIATION | DAN HENG + SUNDAY

⸺ ⟢ synopsis. despite his past mistakes, sunday is trying his best to blend in as a new member of the astral express. so when a particularly surprising opportunity arises for him to get even closer to you and your boyfriend dan heng, well…. who is sunday to refuse your generosity.

dan heng x fem! reader x sunday ( wc. 8.1k words. ) genres. smut. minors do not interact. | warnings. threesome. reader is dan heng’s gf + sunday is an outsider. inexperienced! sunday. reader is an empath. wing play + oral receiving + alternate position spit roast. a tasty sprinkle of possessive dan heng. astral express! sunday and reader is also a part. switching povs; going between reader + sunday | return to masterlist.

⸺ ⟢ notes. giving my thanks to kai again for making the line divider for me ilu! i actually ended up changing the position last minute but i was so pleased to finally write my sunheng x reader fantasy! ⚡️

You've always considered yourself to be a particularly empathetic person, acutely aware of other people’s emotions and always wondering whether or not they’re as happy as they make themselves out to be.

Perhaps that’s why you’d taken a special interest in the new member of the express as soon as he arrived. Sunday, was a peculiarly special case— an abnormality considering the circumstances in which he was joining your little group, but you found the man to be especially… intriguing.

Immediately, you had noticed the way that Sunday would spend time alone around the ship rather than allowing himself to mingle with the rest of the group. But in that same breath— he would help out where he could aswell, even to the point where Pom-Pom had run out of things to keep him busy. It had made you think at first, whether or not it stems from his guilt or perhaps it's his way of repayment, but then maybe there's an even deeper part of him that's doing it in the hopes it'll make him feel as if he belongs. 

Dan Heng had filled you in on the background of everything that had went down while the group was on Penacony, but even then— you could never really find it in yourself to hate Sunday. Even after all of the trouble that he put your friends through, you couldn't help but somewhat pity him. 

Especially when you would often times roam around the Express at night to find him curled up in one of the arm chairs instead of snuggled up in a bed. Sure, new members never really got the luxury of their own bedroom right away but… surely the guy must find it difficult sleeping in some of positions you stumble across him in.

Maybe that's how this all came about to begin with. After a particularly late night in the Party Car, spending one of your rare moments with all of your friends letting off some steam with a few drinks before the next jump. 

You had been curled up in Dan Heng's side, enjoying the quiet conversation going on around you while March 7th went back and forth with your boyfriend. You had been speaking to Sunday at that point, asking the questions that you often did— if he was having a good time, if he was settling in, if he believes that Mr Yang is handsome for an older man.

He hadn't answered the latter question but you feel like the answer is obvious. 

"Where are you sleeping tonight then?" Had come out of your mouth without you even realising it, and Sunday seemed almost embarrassed to answer. It was really quite cute. 

"I'm sure I will be able to find space around the Express somewhere. I tend to favour places that allow me to admire the cosmos at any given moment, and there is quite a particularly comfortable arm chair in the Parlor Car."

"So… not in a bed then?"

Sunday's ears had turned pink. 

"Well, I do not expect you all to offer me considerable luxuries when I have hardly proven myself worthy of such just yet." Sunday explains, "Nevertheless, I am grateful for the opportunity to travel with you as is." 

You think for a second, then shrug. 

"Well, there's space in me and Dan Heng's room, why don't you bunk with us?" Dan Heng turns around at the sound of his name and you continue. "Sleeping on the arm chairs must be terrible for your neck, surely you're cramping by now?" 

"Ah… there is no need to go out of your way for me." Sunday shakes his head, then appears to hiss at something. "Though, I admit the arm chairs around the Express have been… unforgiving as of late." 

That was enough for you, you clap your hands together and try not to look too happy about helping Sunday out. "It's decided then!" You turn to Dan Heng. "It's fine with you, right?" 

Your boyfriend shrugs, "Its no trouble with me either, I do not mind it." 

Then back to Sunday, who's staring at you both— looking wide eyed and albeit a little flustered, but he appears to take in the excited expression you're wearing before seeming to revert his own to something much more polite. 

"Very well then, it would be impolite for me to turn down your generous invitation, I'm sure…" 

"Yey!" 

But now, circumstances have unfortunately… changed. And by that you mean that Dan Heng has been looking particularly handsome ever since all three of you returned back to your bedroom for the night and now you feel like you just cannot keep your hands to yourself. 

You had atleast waited until the conversation between you three had died down, leaving Sunday in a little makeshift bed thrown together with extra blankets and pillows before retreating to your own with Dan Heng. You waited until his breathing had settled and lights were out, and then you had all but pounced on your boyfriend after that. 

You're trying your best to hold it together, but when you're straddling Dan Heng as you are now and having him kiss you deep and slow— you're hardly to blame for not being able to hold back. Your hands reach for any and every part of him you can feel, from his hair to across his shoulders to down his abdomen, brushing intimate touches over his skin until you're pulling at his shirt and only then does he say something. 

"We should not do this." Dan Heng murmurs against your lips, "We might wake him."

But neither of you stop, your bodies all but grinding against one another. His hand is tight around your wrist and the other wraps around your hips, pressing them close to his. 

"We can be quiet, I promise I will." 

Dan Heng stops for a moment, but then he shifts beneath you, deliberately— until he's able to press his thigh up between your spread legs and without even thinking about it, a soft whine slips from between your lips. It's louder than you wished it was and he swallows it eagerly, but still pulls back to give you a straight look after the fact. 

"That was not entirely convincing." 

"That was hardly fair, you caught me off guard." You click your tongue. "If I'm actually trying to be quiet then I'll be able to." 

"I'm having a hard time believing you." 

You roll your eyes, but in reality you're trying not to laugh at the blank expression Dan Heng's giving you right now. Even with his flushed cheeks and messy hair. 

"Please?" You decide to beg, in a tone that's deliberately soft and airy and as much as Dan Heng knows exactly what you're trying to do; both of his hands rest flat on your hips, and he breathes out a sigh that tells you he's going to do exactly what you're asking anyway. 

"I suggest you try harder this time around then." 

You would've cheered had you not been reminded of your company. So instead, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean into give him a peck that doesn't last nearly as long as you wished it to. 

But you know you have to check something beforehand. So from your place still on top of Dan Heng, you angle yourself back— peering over the side of the bed in hopes of catching a glance of Sunday in his makeshift nest. 

You have to squint into the dark to see. 

You nudge Dan Heng. "Do you think he's asleep?" 

"It is doubtful." 

"Really? But he's been so quiet." You try to focus your eyes a bit more in the darkness until you're finally able to catch a glimpse of him. Sunday looks asleep— nuzzled up against one of the thicker blankets with his ear feathers resting softly around his cheeks. His eyes are closed, his breathing is soft. 

You frown. "He looks so serene. Seems pretty asleep to me." 

"I believe he just looks like that." He shrugs. 

"Well that's hardly fair."

You both turn to look at eachother for a beat. Then for a second. 

Until by the third, your lips are slamming against Dan Heng's once more and your hands are back in his hair; he welcomes you eagerly, his hands squeezing into your hips until you're pressing flushed and tight against him. You already feel so incredibly flustered, twisting yourself up in your boyfriend's lap despite the way your friend is sleeping only centimetres away. It's risky— but you can't help it, you need him. 

You atleast do as you said you would, trying to muffle every blissful sound your body wishes to cry out by pushing them behind Dan Heng's teeth. 

It almost works, almost— but a few break through against your will, driven by his insatiable kisses and it's enough to make your boyfriend's hands squish into your thighs as if to try and get your attention. 

"Perhaps we should—" Dan Heng starts but you cut him off. 

"He's definitely asleep."

"You would be mistaken actually." Sunday chooses that moment to respond from his place on the floor, and his voice is sudden enough to almost scare you off of Dan Heng's lap entirely had he not been holding you so tight. 

Your boyfriend looks at you. Face falling flat, but still flushed. 

"I told you."

You think you would've launched yourself into the cosmos out of embarrassment had Sunday not shifted in his sheets and distracted you, drawing both of your attentions as you timidly crawl off of Dan Heng's lap and sit by his side instead. 

"Apologies, I did not mean to startle you. And it was not my intention to easedrop either." Sunday starts, fidgeting with his hands. 

"You could've said something sooner, Sunday." You begin to do the same. "This is so embarrassing." 

But it seems Sunday isn't doing too well himself. When you look up to glance at him, you can just about make out the flush of his face— half obscured by the feathers of his wings curling around his cheeks. But even in the dim lighting of your room it's obvious he's red, which says enough about just how deep of a shade it must be for you to be able to notice. 

"We apologise if we woke you." Dan Heng eventually speaks up, ever the calm one. "It was not our intention to make you uncomfortable." 

But one look in his direction shows off the impression of his half-hard cock in his pants, and even that is too much for you to deal with. You bury your head in your hands and grumble, not only incredibly humiliated but now even hornier having been interrupted. 

Before you can say anything more, Sunday clears his throat— barely able to look at you. 

"I do not wish to intrude, I will easily excuse myself to elsewhere around the Express should you prefer. After all, you were already generous enough to offer me the opportunity to sleep here but you owe me no such kindness should.... circumstances change...."

You stare at him then. Really stare at him. And maybe that's when it clicks— the circumstances of Sunday resting on the floor while you made out with your boyfriend in bed. You don't know how long he's been listening but considering the expression he's wearing, you assume it wasn't all of a sudden. 

You blink and Sunday seems to grow uncomfortable beneath your gaze. A slight enough movement to bring your attention to something much more condemning— because now that you're suddenly aware of the bulge he's obviously trying to hide, you can't find it in yourself to ignore it. 

"Have you ever kissed a girl before, Sunday?" You blurt out, the question sudden enough for even Dan Heng to whip around and look at you. 

"I- I think that is hardly appropriate to share, I mean..." Sunday stammers. "I have had certain relations in the past, nevertheless I believe that—" 

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" You cut him off again. 

Sunday's cheeks appear to flush even pinker. 

"Perhaps." 

Dan Heng's palm rests down on your thigh after that, a wordless plea for you to take it easy and when it makes you notice the way Sunday's burying his face behind his wings, you think maybe he's got a point. 

"What? You don't have to be ashamed about it, I think it's cute," You try to comfort instead. "There's no way you didn't have offers, look at you— halovians are well known for being handsome, aren't they? Then what's the problem?"

"It... simply was not my priority, that is all." 

"So you admit it then? You're a virgin?" 

You gape, because you just can't help yourself. But when you turn to Dan Heng— half expecting him to be just as taken back, he only offers you a shrug. 

"I thought it was quite obvious, was it not?" 

Your attention is drawn back by the sound of shuffling blankets, and then in a moment Sunday is pushing himself to stand and brushing down his clothes. 

"Perhaps I should take my leave."

"You've never been curious?" You call after him. 

You have no idea what you're doing. You can even feel Dan Heng staring at the side of your face as if he's asking you the same thing, and perhaps it's to do with how horny you are right now, or maybe it's because you do feel a bit of pity for Sunday not having felt intimacy before. 

But now you can't stop. You're not sure you even want to. 

You admit he's handsome, sure he's no Dan Heng, but you had meant it when you said it earlier. From the way that he carries himself to his features— his wings, his eyes, his halo. Even now that he's staring at you with such an…. unreadable expression you can't help but want to kick your feet. 

"What?" Sunday looks almost perplexed. 

"Curious?" You repeat, because you're in too deep now. "You've never thought about what it would be like to touch a girl?" 

Sunday doesn't answer right away, he fidgets a bit more. He scratches a hand through his hair, fluttering the feathers of his wings at the same time and then a sudden realisation dawns on you. 

"Wait— You didn't take a vow, right?"

You swear you hear Dan Heng huff out a laugh at your panicked voice. Sunday's palm rests over his face. 

"I really shouldn't overstay my welcome, I- I am sure Pom-Pom will have somewhere in mind for me to-" 

"You staying here isn't an issue." Dan Heng is the one to cut him off this time, earning a look from you aswell. You had thought yourself to be digging your own grave with your insistent questions knowing your boyfriend was right there with no intervention. 

But when Dan Heng turns to meet your eyes after a moment, he seems to be thinking the same thing as you are. 

And it looks like he's on board. 

You turn yourself back towards Sunday, who's frozen in his spot. "But you're not trapped here either, you can leave right now if you want. I'll pretend this conversation never happened and then we'll go back to normal, there's always an armchair waiting for you somewhere, right?" 

Sunday appears to think on that for a moment, and you wonder what sort of things are going on in his mind. You're sure it seems as ridiculous to him as is sounds to you— the night has went from an innocent sleepover between friends to well…. an implication of something to come that holds much more weight… should he decide to stay that is.

You watch as Sunday shifts from one foot to the other, and then with a delicate flutter of his wings he's looking away from you again. 

"If… if it is truly no trouble…" 

You don't respond to that, but you clasp your hands together as if pleased with his answer. It's quiet for a moment then, aside from the shift of the comforter beneath you as you push yourself onto your knees and you catch Dan Heng's gaze in the movement. 

He looks at you— in that grounding, beautiful way that he always does. And then he nods, as if giving you silent permission. 

"Do you two do this often then?" Sunday asks as he watches you get comfortable. 

"No." You say, "Maybe you're just special."

He flushes at that, and you're surprised that the same man who was once so powerful within Penacony would be so easily undone by a few compliments. Pleasantly. 

You can tell that he's out of his element, most likely due to his own inexperience but you're not above taking the lead in this moment— deciding to start with something soft first to test the waters. 

Your hand outstretches towards the man opposite you, and at the same time you feel Dan Heng's arm loop around your waist. 

"Come here." You beckon Sunday closer, a command that he obeys with ease. He moves with a strange grace, his shoulders pulled back, his steps steady and confident. But you notice the furrow of his brows, the curiosity in his gaze. 

When he comes to stand just off the side of the bed you're kneeling on, you look up at him through your lashes. 

"Can I touch them?" You ask, motioning to the wings that elegantly extend from his throat. "I'll be gentle." 

The grey feathers appear to shudder out at the question before Sunday nods. 

"If you would like." 

Dan Heng remains silent behind you, but you can feel his eyes on your features from where he's tethered at your side. His thumb is stroking at the points in your waist where his hand rests, and when you reach out to brush your fingers through Sunday's ear feathers for the first time— you feel him squeeze. 

"They're so soft, you must take great care of them." You say, combing your hand through the nerves of Sunday's wings as his lips part wordlessly. You don't point out the way his whole body seems to clench. "Are they sensitive?" 

"At certain times." Sunday whispers, "Halovians do not often allow others to touch them without reason. Lest it stir an unwelcome reaction." 

"Is this one unwelcome?" 

Your question deliberately accompanies an experimental squeeze of your fingers against the base of Sunday's wings, making them flutter.

"N-not at all." Sunday's next breath shudders out of him. "Quite the opposite."

"That's good." 

The flush on the tips of his cheeks deepens slightly as his wings appear to bend into your touch. 

Sunday looks at you then, and Dan Heng gives your waist another stroke in response. Then you hear his body shift behind you— until you feel him come to kneel at your back and he steadies you against his chest with a touch that's grounding and safe. 

You continue to massage your hands through Sunday's wings, squeezing and applying pressure to certain spots that he seems to favour. With every brush of your fingertips, he appears to get more confident— his lips parting as sounds of lithe and quiet pleasure appear to threaten to spill from behind his teeth. 

He's rocking slightly where he stands, and perhaps you'd be doing the same were Dan Heng not holding you upright— allowing you to use his chest to lean against as Sunday's body tries to sway closer into your touch. 

But Dan Heng’s hands on your waist tether you to reality, despite the way anticipation makes you feel lightheaded and giddy. You press yourself back a bit further, curling into his chest and you feel him lean forward to smear his lips against your neck— pressing a few delicate kisses up the column of your throat as you bare more of your weight back into him.

It's incredibly erotic, having Dan Heng kiss his way up your neck while you're massaging Sunday's wings. You feel pinpricks of pleasure begin to gather beneath your skin as your boyfriend's lips press against the sensitive places he knows you like, and Sunday watches you as you dig your hips back into Dan Heng's crotch— humming when you feel his bulge greet you in return. 

As for Sunday himself, well it’s safe to say he’s pretty overwhelmed right now.

He’s always thought you to be kind, and he’s acutely aware of the possibility of you always appearing during his quieter moments because you feel sorry for him. 

It’s not that he deliberately isolates himself from the Express in the moments you happen to come find him. But it’s more so, Sunday just feels like he’s finally able to exercise his freedom to take a moment of repose whenever he requires it. Back when he was the head of the Oak family, he often found himself chained to the grandeur banquets— forcing himself to socialise even when he felt like he was due to collapse due to his own exhaustion, forcing a smile and a laugh just to keep up appearances. 

But now, as he’s come to find himself a member of the Express— it’s much the opposite. In fact, Mr Yang actually encourages him to get more rest than he ever would’ve considered to take himself. Always insisting that a proper night of sleep would do him good. 

Though it seems tonight, especially now, will be another sleepless one. 

"Are you certain you want this?" Dan Heng interrupts Sunday's train of thought with his question. When he snaps back out of it, he realises you're both staring. "You can stop this at any time." Dan Heng assures him. 

"Apologies, it seems I… lost my train of thought is all." Sunday shakes his head. "I'm fine." 

"Don't overthink it." Dan Heng says again, lips still pressing against your throat and Sunday appreciates the advice as he's drawn back to the pressure of your fingers on his wings. 

He wonders if you can both see how hard he is— how damp the inside of his slacks have become since this all started. If he were to be honest, he's been hard since way before you even touched him; turned on by the simple sounds of your desperation when you believed him to be asleep. 

But he's never been one to feel so… out of control. And as much as Sunday would usually crave the feeling of taking charge in most moments— he can't help but feel particularly out of his depth right now. 

You stroke your fingertips across the top of Sunday's wings and it's so sensitive and good that he feels his body almost crumble; it's concerning actually, he believes he could cum with just this. He moans at that, the pleasure outweighing his embarrassment as he watches Dan Heng continue to kiss at your neck— his hands roaming your body, palming at your breasts and waist at the same time as you curl and back yourself up into his touch. 

It's a spur of the moment thing, the way Sunday reaches out to do the same; to perhaps try his hand at spurring that same reaction from you himself. But when his fingers lift and tilt within even an inch of your direction, Dan Heng's eyes rise again to meet him.

"That would not be wise." Dan Heng says, his voice so absolute it almost chills Sunday as he hesitates. 

"I—" 

"Are you ready for more now, Sunday?" You cut him off, looking at him through long lashes as Dan Heng stays watching from his place behind you. Your dreamy tone is a stark contrast to the almost uncharacteristically rougher tone that just came from your boyfriend, but he doesn't think too much into it. 

"Yes." Sunday responds anyway, "It appears I am at your mercy."

Dan Heng moves from behind you first, resting himself down on the mattress and then he looks at Sunday again. "I suggest you do not get carried away then." 

And he feels vaguely like he's being scolded. 

You follow after him, sitting between your boyfriend's legs with your back to his chest. You angle your hips up a little higher before quickly kicking off the bottoms of your pyjamas and your underwear and getting yourself comfortable. It catches him off guard, the sudden glimpse of your pussy so unfiltered and already so… slick. Your folds are glistening even in the dim lighting of your room on the Express and Sunday wants nothing more than to reach forward and swipe his fingers through it. 

He feels the angle spur a response in him, one that's deep in his lower abdomen as his cock strains against the fabric of his slacks once more and his mouth feels suddenly dry. 

But despite your faux confidence you're feeling just as overwhelmed as you can imagine Sunday is. From your position in Dan Heng's lap you can feel how hard he is, bulge pressing up against your lower back as his breathing makes goosebumps burst across the flesh of your shoulders and neck. 

Not to mention the way Sunday's looking at you, the gold of his eyes appears to shine as he takes you in— admiring your intimate skin is his entirety and it takes everything in you to not close your legs and shy away from it. 

Maybe it's because you know Dan Heng's got you, and it seems he's enjoying this just as much as you are— despite his cool exterior, the warmth of his palm as it rests on the inside of your thigh feels incredible and that alone drives you to keep up whatever game you're playing. You press your back further into his chest before looking up at your new partner from beneath your lashes. 

But Sunday doesn't seem to notice you bringing your foot up until it's pressing beneath the hem of his shirt and you use it to drag the fabric upwards before pressing the sole against his chest. He can't help himself from wrapping his hand around your ankle and squeezing it tight, suddenly feeling like he can't breath at the action. 

"Your turn." You say, acting innocent like you're not showing him your pussy and teasing him with your touch. "Or do you want me to help you?" 

You giggle, so sinfully cute that Sunday feels lightheaded again at the idea of you undressing him. He could lose himself in the image of it, your hands tucking beneath his waistband before pulling it down, blinking up at him as his cock springs free; he feels almost bewildered by his own want. 

It's only when Dan Heng's arm wraps around your shoulders from behind does he find himself on solid ground again and your foot falls back onto the mattress with a soft thud. 

"I am sure he can handle it." Dan Heng assures you, his lips pressing against your ear as your tugged closer to his chest. 

"Yes." Sunday says the same. "You needn't worry about me." 

Sunday's a bit clumsy in the moments after— quickly discarding himself of his slacks and shirt before folding them up neatly and placing them aside. Even in these moments, he cannot skip on his habits but when he feels that first sting of sexual freedom that comes with pulling off his boxers he can't help the way he sucks in through his teeth. 

It leaves him bare in a way he's never felt before, standing infront of you and Dan Heng as you lie back against your boyfriend's chest on the mattress. Your eyes on Sunday's cock. 

"It's so beautiful, Sunday." You say, authentically sweet. "It suits you."

The praise still makes Sunday feel suddenly self-conscious. 

"My apologies if my inexperience hinders this for either of you." 

But it is Dan Heng that responds to him first. His hand comes over to rest on your inner thigh as he spreads your legs wide enough to hook them over his own, and it almost seems like an offering. 

"You need not apologise, though perhaps it's best if you follow my lead." 

"Yeah, Dan Heng's right." You agree. "It's supposed to be fun anyway, so don't worry about it, okay?" 

That does a little for Sunday's anxieties but still he finds himself feeling rather awkward. He swallows heavily for a moment, and then with another glance at your glistening folds his wings shudder again. 

"What's wrong?" You smile, beckoning him closer with a simple blink rather than an outstretched hand this time. "I think you're past being shy now, come closer."

"Let me guide you, okay?" You watch as Sunday does, spreading wide so he has enough space to settle between your legs. "It's really easy once you get the hang of it." 

Your eyes lock on the space below his hips, and he feels his wings instinctively curl around his cheeks in that way they often did whenever he was flustered. 

Sunday watches Dan Heng loop an arm around your waist as he holds you steady, allowing you to rely on him as you turn all of your focus onto Sunday's cock. The first time he feels your fingers reach up to graze along his shaft, he almost cums right there and then, already finding the sensation to feel miles better than his own hand. 

You suck your lower lip between your teeth as you reward Sunday with a few more strokes of your fist, and he feels his expression break into something much less controlled than he's used to as his legs threaten to buckle beneath him. But he can feel Dan Heng staring at him from over your shoulder and his gaze is enough to keep him in check. 

You appear to find a pace quite quickly, though it remains slow and steady, as if you can already tell what he likes. You leave soft touches up the sensitive veins on the side of Sunday's cock and brush your thumb along the sensitive tip, allowing your hand to wrap all the way around him as you easily pinpoint and squeeze at the spots that make him shake. 

"Does it feel good?" You ask, continuing that rhythm along his cock as you send him a heated look from beneath your lashes. 

He feels like he can barely think, but somehow he manages to find words as he readjusts himself between your spread thighs. 

"Astoundingly so." Sunday responds, though he doesn't think that even comes close to just how incredible you're making him feel. "Nevertheless— it is not only my own enjoyment I desire, but that of yours too." 

"You're so thoughtful." 

You seem to giggle again at that, a sound he's growing quite fond of, though it's not mean-spirited and sounds more as if you're pleased. Your free arm blindly reaches back to anchor yourself against Dan Heng and as if the action was a wordless request, your boyfriends hands begin to move against you. 

Sunday can't take his eyes off the way Dan Heng's fingers pull back the folds of your pussy at first— bathing you in tenative, soft touches that despite their litheness seem to spur such a reaction from you it makes your hold on him almost waver. 

But at the same time, it makes Sunday's mouth water and his cock twitch, watching the way two fingers being pressed against your clit is enough to make your back arch— your lips parting to moan as your pussy is spread wide again on Dan Heng's next touch and he takes in the delicate softness and warmth that he wishes to feel for himself. 

His wings flutter at his neck and he looks at you again, a depth to his gaze that you could surely swim in. "Is there something more you require of me, such as…." To have him inside of you, that's what he's implying. His eyes glance down between your legs as if to signify it. 

But with another particularly drool-worthy twitch of your thighs and another few pumps of your hand along Sunday's cock, you lean back into Dan Heng's chest and smile, twisting into your boyfriend's arms as you shake your head and he continues to massage at you with two fingers. 

"This is fine for now." Your lashes flutter as you take a moment to gather the precum from Sunday's tip and smear it along him; making everything feel much more soft and wet. But he doesn't know where to look— trying to decide whether he should admire your beautiful expressions, or watch the way Dan Heng's fingers are drawing another sticky circle through the delicate petals of your pussy and noting how your body twitches in response. 

Your neck turns to look over your shoulder as Dan Heng's eyes finds yours. "And you?" 

The look he gives you in response is so intense, Sunday almost feels it. His fingers come forward to tilt up your chin, “I can handle that part.” 

“Are you sure, I—“ Sunday interjects but Dan Heng's looks at him again, with that same sharp gaze that he had met him with earlier.

“Quite certain.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. 

“Ofcourse.” Sunday says, though his words are wound tight. "It is not my intention to overstep nor take your generosity for granted.”

Dan Heng helps you to your knees easily as he shoves his pants down from beneath you, leaving you hovering above his lap as you face Sunday, allowing him to take in the way your pupils are blown wide and your lips are swollen. He wishes he could kiss you, just to feel what it's like; but there's a part of him that tells him not to take advantage of your kindness; as if your hand is not wrapped around his cock. 

But perhaps that opportunity will come eventually. 

Though for you, you feel like you're already in heaven. 

It only takes seconds, before Dan Heng's cock is springing free and resting against the inside of your thigh; smearing precum along your skin and only moments before he's got it wrapped in his own fist— angling you in a way that has it pressing up against your entrance. You watch as Sunday bites on his lower lip as he watches, and you're not sure if it's all of the attention you feel like is on you right now, or the way Dan Heng lets his cock swipe through your folds; but you're utterly soaked. 

“It’s okay, Sunday. You feel good so far— this is only the first time." You say with such kindness it makes Sunday shudder, but your voice breaks off when you begin to lower yourself down on Dan Heng as he all but splits you apart. 

You don't think you'll ever get used to the stretch, even in this form— it never seems to subside, splitting you apart as your head rolls back but you still manage to push more of Sunday's cock into your tightly wound fist until your hand is squeezing at the base. 

"Do… ah— you want me to put my mouth on it?" You say through fluttered lashes. 

You're certain you hear Sunday gulp. 

"If…. if you're sure and— it is not too much trouble." 

"I want to." 

You lean forward quickly following his permission, forcing Dan Heng to have to hold you steady as he sinks another few inches inside of you— particularly deep this time as your toes curl from where they're folded up beneath you, making your head swirl. You exhale across the sensitive glands in Sunday's cock at first— half to tease him and half to keep yourself coherent, but then comes the first, gentle little kiss that you smear against the tip and he helps you with your reach by taking a step closer. 

And it does help. It helps so much, because by your next sharp inhale you're able to wrap your lips around the tip and suck— and that pressure alone is enough to make Sunday's wings shiver out as he rests his hand on your shoulder. 

You try to keep your focus on him, but as you continue to sink down on him and Dan Heng at the same time— feeding yourself another inch of Sunday's shaft while your boyfriend presses more into your pussy, you feel so incredibly full it's overwhelming. It feels like you're out of body, pleasure making your head feel thick and heavy as your tongue begins to tease the underside of Sunday's cock and your hand is continuing to pump what you can't fit in just yet. 

You gag around him, taking a little too much at once as your throat tightens up all of a sudden and then you begin your withdrawal; leaving spit coating along the flushed veins of his cock as Sunday's hips lean forward to follow your movements. It's as if he's beckoning you not to leave. But when Dan Heng chooses that very opportunity to sink all the way inside of you, you can't help but whine from where your lips are still wrapping around him and Sunday almost breaks. 

You feel like you might pass out. So full and stuffed as your mouth and pussy are both kept busy, thankfully— Dan Heng gives you a moment, letting you get used to the stretch and when you try to blink the stars from your eyes, you notice the way Sunday's staring down at you. Its beautiful really, the way he's watching you twist your hips on top of your boyfriend; his halo just visible over the top of his head as his messy hair frames his flushed cheeks— he looks like he's absolutely enamoured by you. 

But Sunday's cock remains tight against your palm, and despite your current state you still find it in yourself to press a few sensitive kisses up the sides of him, blinking at him as you do so. 

"How does it feel?" You steel yourself enough to ask, breathing hard. Despite how full you feel, despite your eagerness to be stuffed from both sides— your need. 

"Your technique is sure enough …. q-quite impressive."

"So you don't want me to stop?" 

You feel the way Sunday's cock throbs against your palm at your question; as if answering for him, and part of you wonders if he's going to begin to beg. But it appears he's able to keep some semblance of himself at least when he responds. 

"Without a doubt, I do not wish for this to end so soon."

"That's good." 

Dan Heng's voice sounds after that, a soft "Are you ready? Let me know if it gets too much." as his hands stroke up and down your back. 

And as if answering for you; your body begins to shake in anticipation as Dan Heng offers you a few gentle, test thrusts— making sure you're ready before he leans over to smear some soothing kisses along the back of your shoulder. You watch Sunday's lips move with a fluttering blink, and you assume he might be cursing beneath his breath were it not drowned out by the way you're back to suckling at the head of his cock. 

You feel like your ears are ringing and Sunday's hips stutter as he tries so hard not to thrust into your throat. But that same moment, is when Dan Heng begins to find a his pace, and nothing could've ever prepared you for how good it feels to be fucked from one side while taking cock from the other. 

You've never quite felt anything like it. You readjust your knees on the mattress before Dan Heng's hands come to squeeze at your hips and he finds a rhythm to rock up into you. Its slow at first, each thrust long and deep, pushing up against the spongy, sensitive spots inside of you with such an ease that you don't even notice that you're suddenly bouncing on his lap to chase more of it. 

But you use that same momentum to stuff even more of Sunday's length even deeper into your mouth, feeling him hit the back of your throat before he lunges forward and your walls shudder tight around Dan Heng at just how desperate the man above you seems to be. It spurs you on, so you continue to suckle and kiss all over his cock until Dan Heng's voice appears to draw both of your attention. 

"How are you holding up?" He asks, part breathless as he continues to fuck up into your pussy, but still sounding far more composed than you feel.

Sunday thinks he's talking to him but he's not, he's speaking to you. With your mouth stuffed full of cock and your dazed expression— you hardly manage a Mhm. So you pull off for a moment to answer him, replacing your mouth with your fist in the meantime, but Dan Heng tilts your head back to face him and then he hums, murmurs something beneath his breath and kisses you instead. 

You don't see it, but Dan Heng looks at Sunday then, locks his gaze as his mouth moves with yours and the look he gives him almost feels predatory— like the way an animal would guard their resources. Sunday's never seen Dan Heng in such a way; used to his more friendly, but relaxed personality. 

But this, how he is now as he bounces you on his lap and at the same time; watches you stroke at Sunday's cock, makes Dan Heng appear much more dangerous. Possessive even, when his tongue presses its way between your lips and his sharp eyes narrow at the halovian opposite him. 

Sunday makes a mental note of that behaviour, but he doesn't cease his slow, back and forth movements either, thrusting into your fist with an eagerness he would normally be ashamed of. His hips stutter as he rolls the head of his cock through your closely gripped fingers again and this time his lips part, his voice hitching with the exhale that you breath into Dan Heng's mouth. 

You gasp as you break the kiss, and as if Dan Heng can feel something Sunday can't he begins to reach around your hips to rub at your pussy again. It makes your head drop back to moan for a second— so incredibly broken and lost in mindless pleasure but still you find it in yourself to lean forward, allowing Sunday between your lips again as you go back to suckling on the tip of his cock. 

Its like something from one of his most sinful fantasies; to have Dan Heng fucking you while you suck Sunday off and he almost feels guilty for having you in such a position. But there's a part of him, a past part of him that wishes it were he that was getting to feel the sweet hug of your pussy right now— and as he watches your body clench and stutter with every wet slap against Dan Heng's hips, he can't help himself from touching you. 

He ignores the look it earns him from behind you, but he's still respectable enough to not take it too far. Sunday brushes the hair back from your face and watches as you take more of his cock, your eyes fluttering closed at your obscene pleasure as your throat relaxes and you swallow around him. It earns you a moan, then another trembling pump of his hips before you glance up at him through your lashes and that seems to send him hurtling towards his orgasm with a speed he was not expecting. 

Though it appears he's not alone, from where your lips wrap around him— Sunday can feel the way you're moaning around his cock, drooling all over his shaft as Dan Heng continues to rub at your pussy with two fingers while he fucks you. Even your boyfriend has began to moan himself, groans that appear more controlled but rougher in comparison to Sunday's more desperate sounds. 

Sunday feels tension begin to pinch at his shoulders, his thighs shaking as you begin another wet withdrawal and then all of a sudden— with a particularly deep thrust of Dan Heng's cock it sends you forward. Your nose presses against the base of Sunday's cock so suddenly it knocks the air out of him, sending him curling forward as he feels those first tendrils of pleasure begin to take root in his body as his orgasm suddenly blooms. 

It floods into your mouth until you choke, forcing you to draw back so you can really taste his load— though it only takes a few more seconds before you're following him off that edge and having to break away. Dan Heng continues to fuck you through your own organs as he holds you steady, one arm looping around your waist while the other stays between your folds. 

You pump Sunday's cock to draw out his pleasure at the same time, causing a few of the remaining drops of his cum to fall and splatter over your bottom lip and chest and Sunday feels like he might actually pass out at the way his load appears to pearl on top of your skin. 

As your body begins to seize and twitch on top of Dan Heng, Sunday notices the way his pace also does the same— soon followed by a clipped grunt of his own before he can see the sticky ring that appears to form at the base of Dan Heng's cock. 

Everything feels so wet and warm in the aftermath. The long strokes of your fist along Sunday's cock have turned to slow pets, fingers dancing along the now flushed skin until he's shuddering and taking half of a step back. You finish it with a kiss against his tip, as if bidding his pretty cock farewell and then you all but collapse back into Dan Heng's chest as he catches you. 

"How do you feel?" You ask as you take in Sunday's completely roused state. He's much different now compared to how you're used to seeing him; with his incredibly flushed expression and his messy hair, his slacks around his ankles and his wings curling around his cheeks. 

It's quite cute you think, miles from the man you're sure everyone once thought him to be. 

"You held up quite well." Dan Heng offers to Sunday first. 

Followed by your voice as you find yourself comfortable on his softening cock. "Soooo…. how was it?" You murmur, drawing Sunday's gaze to you this time and there appears to be a dull glow to it that wasn't there before. 

"Yes, it was… quite remarkable." 

"I like that compliment." You smile back, watching Sunday's wings spasm in the aftermath of his orgasm as he fumbles to pull back on his underwear and clothes. "But one more thing, come here one more time!" 

It takes considerable effort to push yourself up, still plugged up by Dan Heng's cock but you manage to grab at the chest of Sunday's shirt before all but pulling him into you. Its quick and catches him off guard, the way your lips are soft against his— as if rewarding him with a kiss that is so utterly sweet that he almost melts into you. 

You think he actually might when you feel his body relax, and when you tease along his lips with a press of your tongue— you take pride in the dazed expression it leaves him with when you suddenly pull away. You sink back into Dan Heng's chest with a little kick of your feet, and try not to smile too hard at the way Sunday seems so utterly perplexed and…. blissfully dazed. 

"Maybe you'll have a much better sleep tonight compared to when you first got here." 

You joke, shattering the tension in a lighthearted way that seems to bring Sunday back. He clears his throat. 

"Heh, perhaps that may be the case." He says, but fidgets. "Though I should most likely clean myself up first, I dislike making a mess at the best of times." 

There's a lull of silence after that, and you can tell by the look on Sunday's face that he appears to be thinking. He gathers up the rest of his things, albeit not much, before turning to leave the room before you can stop him. 

"You know, you can still sleep in this room." You say before he can go, causing Sunday to still in his step out of the door before he turns. 

"She is right." Dan Heng agrees, hugging you tight. "Our offer still stands despite what has just taken place." 

You don't know for certain, but you think Sunday seems to relax at that. He exhales a breath, then sighs— as if suddenly remembering how to breath. 

"Then I will see to it that I shan't wake you both on my return." 

You laugh, knowing that no matter how loud he is you're definitely too spent to wake up for anything tonight. "We'll consider it your revenge for earlier." 

"Heh. Perhaps I am owed that much." 

[sillyquzes]

you always die before i can say it

cw- Alternate universe!!, hurt/comfort, arranged marriage, some spoilers, tension and angst (?), unprotected sex, manhandling, fingering, cunnilungus, missionary, tummy bulge, aftercare and not proof-read Nd this the first time I'm writing smut 😭

The wedding veil is woven from the highest quality silk, threads harvested from the holy hands of the demigod of romance herself. The gown, ceremonial and stiff, is stitched with prayers in golden ink, the same shade of the chrysos blood.

They say marriage in Amphoreus is sacred, but rarely because of love though. most marriages in Amphoreus are about contracts and mutual gain.

You were chosen to be wed to Phainon, the world-bearing chrysos heir. Your name is etched onto some marble slab right after your birth.

Phainon.

Of course, you have heard of him. Everyone has. Charming, Strong, , Gold-blooded or Cold-blooded, who knows?

And now that man is your damn husband

The word tastes foreign. You’re not afraid. But you are… unsettled. Not because you’re marrying a stranger. That much was always expected. You trained for this, studied noble etiquette, practiced how to kneel without wrinkling your gown. You recited the vows until they bled from your mouth like scripture.

What unsettles you is the way he looked at you when you entered the chamber, like he knew you too well.

Not in the vague, political way nobles know each other through connections and rumors.

But intimately, like he’s seen you smile in private. Heard you whisper. Heard your soft pleas.

You try not to shudder as the officiant begins speaking in the tongue of the sacred titans, and you force yourself to look at Phainon again.

He stands unnaturally still, hands folded behind his back, clad in the suit which complements him a little all too well—obsidian and silver. His eyes, a dull ocean blue lacking the shine of the moonlit waters which you adored, do not move from yours. One can not deny that he is certainly fine asf

You wonder if he’s even listening

Then his gaze lowers to your hands.

You immediately freeze up, feeling the hair on your body stand up and your ears heaten up.

There’s heat there. Brief, scorching. Something in his eyes breaks for a fraction of a second, like a tidal wave threatening to breach a dam.

You remind yourself that this is routine. This marriage is simply contractual. You’re not meant to feel anything.

“Do you accept the terms of this union?” the officiant asks.

You swallow your saliva before finally speaking, “I do.”

Phainon doesn't respond right away. He just stared at you. someone give him brown contact lenses im shivering my timbers

And then, in a voice too soft to belong in a room like this: “I do.”

The officiant nods. Seals it. The pricked golden blood of your now beloved on the contract complements the deep red of yours

(One week after the ceremony)

You hadn’t expected much of him.

No one had told you that outright, of course, but the message had been clear enough in the way your tutors glossed over his personality and emphasized your posture instead. Your instructors spoke of duty, of expectation, of Chrysos' legacy. But never of warmth. Never of affection. And from the few conversations you’d had with Phainon in the first three days of your shared existence when you were teenagers, it had seemed like he was perfectly happy to uphold that cold, crystalline distance.

So you had made peace with it. You’d built the polite mask. The one that bowed and smiled and listened, and never expected him to ask you how your day had been

And for a while, he didn’t.

In those first days, he was distant. Not unkind, but cold in that chillingly efficient way Amphorean nobility mastered before they could walk. He would speak to you only when it was required. Your attempts at conversation—small things, really, like “Do you always rise before the second sun?” or “Do you like this blend of tea?” were often met with vague nods, faint grunts, or complete silence. He wasn’t cruel in those terms. But he wasn’t there. That was even more cruel.

And then suddenly one day, he was.

It began subtly. You nearly missed it, actually.

At breakfast, you reached for the honey spoon and noticed his gaze flick toward your wrist with concern. You thought you imagined it—until he spoke, in the awfully high tone of his

“You’re favoring your left hand. What happened??” You blinked at him, caught off guard. “…I burned my right last night. Just a little. I didn’t think you noticed.”

Well, you accidentally injured your hand by punching the wall in anger, but not that you would ever admit it. The second came later that evening. You were walking through the golden-lit halls toward the library when he appeared beside you—not from the opposite corridor, but from the shadows of a stone pillar. Like he had been waiting, sort of like a puppy waiting for their owner to return.

“I thought you were in the training grounds,” you said, voice kept carefully neutral.

“I was,” he replied. “But then what's the point if I can't flex to my dear wife :(”

You didn’t know what to say to that other than to just stare wide-eyed, feeling the tip of your ears burn and redden up.

But it only got stranger from there.

By the fourth day, you’d stopped being able to move freely through the palace without eventually encountering him. Not in an overt way. He never imposed himself or forced himself on you. But he was there. When you turned down a hall. When you stepped into the balcony garden. When you brushed your hair back and thought about the sun, it was as if the thought itself summoned him. When you briefly mentioned the fact that you like sun, a sun tattoo which you never knew of had been exposed on the crook of his neck with his shirt exposing his well-built collarbones.

You try to rationalize it.

Maybe this was just… politeness. Maybe you had been misled by his initial coldness, and this was the true Phainon. Perhaps, now that the marriage was finalized, he was merely making the effort to play the part of a proper husband.

Maybe. But then you’d wake in the morning to find the curtains already drawn—not by the servants, no, they would never touch your private quarters. It was him. You knew it was him. You could smell his cologne lingering too faintly in the air, like crushed vanilla and sweet tea leaves.

Another time, you mentioned missing the old garden that your childhood estate once had. The next morning, you looked out your chamber window and the entire palace greenhouse had been refitted with the exact same floral arrangements. The blue hydrangeas. The delicate roses. Even the silverleaf vines braided around the arch.

Next morning he greeted you at breakfast now, every morning, with a radiant sort of cheer that felt jarringly out of place in a palace built from marble and duty.

“Did you sleep well?” he’d ask, eyes crinkling as he leaned forward across the table, like you were a childhood friend he hadn’t seen in ages. His tone was lilting, almost teasing. “I heard the second moon stayed full all night. Maybe it blessed your dreams? Or was it the sun that blessed you? :D ”

You nodded, tentatively, unsure how to respond.

He didn’t stop smiling.

Sometimes you caught him just… looking.

You’d be walking through the hall, pacing out your next speech for the council, when you’d glance sideways and see him leaning against a stone column, arms crossed, hair tied back messily like he hadn’t bothered fixing it since sparring with Lord Mydeimos.

He didn’t say a word.

Just watched you. Head tilted. Like you were art worth billions

And then, when you paused, when you opened your mouth to say something, anything—he’d flash that infuriatingly lovely smile and say something stupid like, “Your left shoe’s a bit loose.”

You would blink. Look down. See that, indeed, it was. No wonder you were walking clumsily today. You bend down to remove the unfit shoes from your feet, and then suddenly, he had scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all—like a prince from some ridiculous, overly saccharine romance novel that your childhood handmaid used to smuggle under your pillows in hopes for you to try those tactics with the child Phainon.

“What are you—?! Phainon!”

“Can’t have my wife tripping and faceplanting before council,” he grinned, his voice a mockingly exaggerated whisper as he cradled you in his arms. “That’d be bad for image. What would the old geezers think?” “That I’ve married a lunatic,” you snapped, flustered beyond comprehension. “Put me down.”

“Sure,” he chirped cheerfully, “right after I carry you to the sitting room and get you a new pair of shoes.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“You’re pretty light,” he countered, and you swore to the titans that if he wasn’t your legally-bound husband with an entire planet at his back, you would’ve smacked the smug grin off his face.

well... who says you can't? Your hand pitifully punches his chest, but the only reaction you got was a huge grin from your husband and a sudden reddening of embarrassment from yourself. Your traitorous hands gripped the front of his training shirt, trying to stabilize yourself as you felt the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. One was wrapped firmly around your back and the other curled under your knees. His skin was sun-warmed, faintly smelling of steel and faint vanilla now.

His muscles flexed with each step. He was so warm, but not in an overwhelming way like the spring sunshine, and strong. Filthy thoughts clouding your mind on what he could do to you with that strength and-

You bit down on your cheek hard. Just to focus on the sting, to stop the swirl of confusion and butterflies and every other damn thing his nearness ignited in you.

“Where did you even come from?” you mumbled, unable to help yourself as your eyes flicked toward the corridor behind you. “You weren’t at my side five minutes ago.”

Phainon just laughed, his stupidly lovely ocean eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m the world-bearer, wife. I show up wherever I’m needed.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your husband.”

That word again.

It didn’t taste so foreign this time.

When he finally set you down gently, like you were carved from glass, he knelt in front of you and began adjusting the fit of your shoes. His fingers were sure, calloused, and surprisingly gentle. He didn’t meet your eyes this time, just focused on the buckle, humming softly to himself. Something old. A lullaby, maybe. One that prickled at the edges of your memory, it felt very similar.

When he was done, he looked up at you, still crouched low.

“There,” he said. “Fit for council now.”

You stared down at him. This strange, strange man. Phainon the golden heir. Phainon the storm-fisted warrior. Phainon your absurd, ridiculous, soft-handed husband.

“…Why are you doing this?” you whispered, voice more fragile than you meant it to be.

“Doing what?”

“This. All of it.” You gestured vaguely at the air between you, secretly hoping that his response would explain and calm the heat pooling down your body. “You never acted like this before. Not when we were younger. Not when we first met.”

His expression changed. Just slightly. The edges of his smile curled inward, softened.

"People change."

He definitely had an ulterior motive.

No one becomes this devoted in a week. Not when, for years, he looked at you like one more duty to be managed. Not when, as a boy, he’d barely spared you more than a nod. People change, yes—but not like this. Not overnight. Not with this intensity. Not with this… unspoken ache.

You narrow your eyes.

He stood slowly, and for once, he didn’t flash that mocking grin. He didn’t deflect. He didn’t tease. He simply looked at you and flashed you a smile again. That same smile that he uses to escape something, how do you know? He would always attempt to use that infamous smile of his on Professor Anaxagoras, but it never worked.

Your throat felt tight. Not from sadness—no, you’d learned long ago how to school that away. But from the quiet, dull ache of inevitability. Of disappointment. Of waking up from a dream you didn’t realize you were having.

“…Right,” you said after a beat. You smiled, small, polite. The kind of smile you’d give a visiting noble who asked too many questions, or a war general trying to barter peace with veiled threats from the other side. A smile that meant nothing but silence. “Of course.”

Phainon tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for more. As if he hadn’t quite expected you to drop it so quickly.

But you did. You had to.

Because asking again would mean hoping. And hope, for you, had always been a mistake.

He didn’t move right away. Just stood there, watching. The shadows of the hall fell soft against his cheekbones, painting him in that same eerie glow the temple’s moons always cast. He looked like a statue. The one whom you wanted to worship.

And still, he tried to soften it. That stupid, lovely smile.

“Sleep early tonight,” he said eventually, stepping back into the corridor. “Council starts at dawn, and you need the energy to deal with that Wench Caenis.”

You only nodded. You didn’t watch him leave. You didn’t have to. You knew the sound of his footsteps now. The way his boots pressed against the marble. The shift of his weight when he turned. The subtle creak of the door as it closed behind him.

Only after he was gone did you let out a long, shaky breath.

You had hoped for more. That was the truth of it. You sank into the stone bench by the window, watching the wind ripple the garden leaves outside. You stayed there long after the moons had fully risen. Long after the last torch had been extinguished in the main halls.

Not crying. Not thinking. Just waiting for the ache in your chest to pass.

It didn’t.

Because what was more painful than hatred, more confusing than love… was being wanted for the wrong reasons. Being kissed with an agenda.

He knew he shouldn’t touch you. Not yet. Not like that.

Not until the world turned once more, not until he was sure this time would be different.

But Phainon had always been selfish.

That was the truth of it. For all the people who called him the golden heir, the world-bearer, the man of law and legacy, none of them had ever seen the core of him—dark and clawing and desperate. Desperate in a way that didn’t match the cold angles of his public mask, in a way he had buried lifetimes ago.

And yet, there he was again. Standing just beyond the threshold of the corridor, hidden by shadow, watching you sit by the window, arms curled around yourself as if your own skin couldn’t be trusted to hold you. Moonlight wove silver threads through your hair. Your expression was unreadable. You didn’t cry.

You never cried.

Even in death, you never made a sound. Phainon’s jaw clenched. In one life, you had died in an assassination by that wench Caenis. In another, it was that damn black-cloaked moon bastard. And once—once, it had been him. Not directly. But with silence. With neglect. With the hope of avoiding, you would keep you safe. You had died in that life not with blood, but with resignation. With your back turned to him, staring out a window just like this one.

You had always loved windows.

In every life, no matter what, you always stare at the sky.

And he always ended up watching you.

Phainon pressed his back to the wall and exhaled, slow and quiet. His hand drifted to the sun-shaped tattoo at the crook of his neck, hidden once more beneath his collar. He hadn’t intended for you to see it so early. But the moment you smiled faintly at that flower arrangement in the garden, the same ones you used to plant in the old timeline when your hands were still callused and he was too much of a coward to say your name

He showed the sun tattoo to you, for you, it seemed like he showed it to the world. In a way, he is right, though, after all. You are his world

"This time, I’ll keep her alive."

Even if he had to fake the marriage. Even if he had to pretend to fall slowly, like a fool playing at affection.

But it wasn’t pretend, was it?

He was already too far gone.

Even now, he wanted to go back into the chamber. To kneel beside you, brush your hair back, tell you everything—that he had loved you in every cycle, that this life, this union, was the only one he had dared to interfere with directly. That every part of this palace had been reshaped to your tastes because he knew them.

He only wanted to kiss those sweet lips of yours; he wanted to kneel and kiss the inside of your thighs, he wanted to suckle on your clit, he wanted his saliva and your essence mixed all over his face and your thighs, he wanted your thighs to shake, he wanted to suck up all your sounds, all your sweet whimpers and moans and to feel your fingers in his scalp screaming his name.

He wanted to say, "I love you so much, my dear beloved."

But you had always died before he could say it.

But this time, you wouldn’t lift a finger.

This time, he would bear the world so you could rest.

He liked seeing you tired. Not from fear or grief or survival. But from things like reading too long, or laughing too hard. He liked how you tucked your feet under you on the garden bench, how your hair always curled slightly at the temple when you were exhausted, how you never finished your second cup of tea no matter how much you insisted you could.

He liked watching your shadow move through the halls. His hand would twitch toward you when you passed—wanting to reach, to hold, to kiss, and how he wished that those hands would cup the tainted face of his.

You’d been burned before. By versions of him and by his incompotency.

But this him… this one would be perfect for you.

A husband worthy of your trust. A man so attentive, so devoted, that your heart would melt without realizing it. He’d make it seem effortless, so that when you fell in love with him, you’d think it was your choice. Your will. Not something he carved into fate with the blood of a titan. He was patient now.

He collected your empty teacups, examined the pattern of your lipstick against the porcelain, and chose your favorite blend before you could even think of it. When you spoke, he listened. Not just to the words, but the way you breathed between them. The way your fingers fidgeted, the curve of your lips when you were holding back a lie.

He even learned to do that darn puppy plead, just the way you liked. He practiced in front of the mirror.

Because gods, he wanted you happy.

Happy. His happy little wife.

He wanted to see you glow. In this life, he would give you everything that every other life denied you. A garden full of your favorite flowers. Silk bedsheets in your favorite hue. A husband who memorized every line of your face and made you laugh at breakfast and stayed awake through the night just to make sure no bad dream ever reached you.

Phainon had once been a soldier, a role-model, a god-kissed heir of the Chrysos. But all of that meant nothing. Because in every timeline, the only title he ever wanted, the only one that mattered—was yours.

Yours to call. Yours to curse. Yours to kiss. Yours to fuck.

He had lived lifetimes without your love. This one, he would not.

This time, he would coax it gently, sweetly. He would cradle your heart like glass in his hands.

Tomorrow, he’d surprise you with pastries from your childhood province. He knew the exact ones you liked. The honey lemon-soaked marble cake your late aunt used to bake.

Tomorrow, he’d smile again. Tease you. Maybe carry you down another hallway, just to hear you swear at him with fire in your voice and a blush on your face.

You skipped breakfast.

You told yourself it wasn’t deliberate—that you were just tired, that the meetings had run late, that you hadn’t been hungry. But when you passed the dining hall and saw him already seated, waiting and fidgeting with his fingers with a lovesick smile on his face, your heart curled into itself like a fist. And instead of entering, you turned away with your head down, pretending you hadn’t seen.

You still smiled. Of course you smiled. It wasn’t like you wanted a war in the house—gods knew how fragile everything was already—but that smile never reached your eyes anymore. Not the way it did on the wedding day, when everything was still so bright and confusing and painfully hopeful.

No, now it was just… easier. Easier to pretend, easier to nod and say “thank you” when he pulled out your chair or handed you your favorite tea, easier to swallow the sudden knot in your throat when he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

Because that couldn’t be true. It shouldn’t be true.

Phainon didn’t look at you that way before the wedding. You remembered. You knew. Back then, every conversation was clipped and careful, formal even in private. He rarely asked about your day. Never touched you if he didn’t have to. He was dutiful, at best. Indifferent, most days. Cold, sometimes. A contract, after all, didn’t require affection. Just presence. Just heirs.

So what changed?

That question haunted you more than you cared to admit.

Because no one changed this quickly. No one woke up one morning and decided to act like they were in love. Especially not him.

You could see it in the way he lingered near doorways, hesitating like a man too afraid to knock. You could hear it in his voice, softer than silk when he asked if you needed anything. You could feel it when his fingers brushed yours and lingered—just a moment too long to be innocent.

It terrified you.

You’d never been loved like that before. Not truly. And certainly not by someone who had once treated you like another duty, another requirement.

So you did what you always did when something became too fragile. You retreated.

Your walks in the garden changed hours. He’d arrive with that little hopeful gleam in his eye, only to find empty benches and untouched tea. You took to eating dinner in your study under the excuse of paperwork. You made sure your warded doors were properly sealed before bed, a ritual you hadn’t kept up since the first week of marriage.

You didn’t hate him. That was the worst part. If you hated him, it would be simple.

No, it was the not knowing that broke you.

You didn’t want to be a fool who reached out, only to find out later that the warmth was just a tool. That it was manipulation dressed up in affection. That maybe, just maybe, this too was part of the contract—something he was fulfilling for the sake of reputation, or power, or something even worse.

It had to be something like that.

So you started saying less. Moving quieter. Laughing less.

And Phainon… he noticed.

He didn’t push, not at first. He remained gentle. Almost painfully so. Still pulled your chair out. Still offered your favorite cloak when it rained. Still watched you from across the hallway with that same haunted look, like he was holding something in his chest that was too heavy for words.

But he didn’t say anything.

Until one morning, as you passed him in the hallway and offered your usual strained, polite smile, he caught your wrist. Gently. Carefully.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked, voice low and far too sincere.

You blinked, startled. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

You swallowed. Your throat felt tight. “I’m not.”

“Don’t lie.” His fingers didn’t tighten, but his gaze sharpened. “You haven’t looked at me in a week.”

You pulled your hand free, stepping back a little too fast. “I’ve just been busy. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong,” he echoed, voice flat now. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes..they looked like something was splintering beneath the surface.

You couldn’t do this.

You weren’t strong enough to ask what he wanted. Weren’t brave enough to hear him confirm that yes, he was just doing his part. That all of this. this closeness, this softness was just another act to maintain the illusion of a happy union.

So instead, you did the cowardly thing, which Phainon would always do.

You smiled again. And said, “Don’t worry about me.”

Then turned and walked away before he could say anything else.

Phainon didn’t move from the corridor for a long time.

He stood still, hand limp at his side where your wrist had just been. The emptiness there felt sharper than it should have. His shoulders were too tense, chest hollow like a bell that had never been rung. He should’ve expected this..gods, why didn’t he expect this? People don’t forget how they were treated. And he hadn’t exactly been kind, hadn’t been present, hadn’t even been human to you during those earlier years.

And now?

Now he was trying too late. Giving too much, too fast. Like pouring water into a cracked cup, hoping it’d hold.

Of course you were pulling away. Of course you didn’t trust him.

And he didn’t blame you.

But knowing that didn’t make the ache stop gnawing at the edges of his chest, didn’t make the silence at dinner any less crushing, didn’t make the distant smile on your lips feel any less like a dagger stuck under his ribs.

He ended up at the training grounds of Castrum Kremnos. It was empty. Saved for the half-curled figure already there, manspreading in a chair like he’d been expecting him all along. Mydeimos didn’t even glance up from the book he was pretending to read.

"You can read?"

“…You look like a kicked puppy,” Mydeimos grunted, before shutting the book and keeping it on the chair beside him.

Phainon didn’t answer. Just dragged a chair back with a hollow scrape and dropped into it.

The silence stretched between them like a storm cloud. It was ridiculous—Mydeimos wasn’t exactly the ideal confidant. He didn’t provide emotional support. But he was a good advisor.

“She’s avoiding me,” Phainon murmured finally, staring up at the arc of the stars through the skylight.

Mydeimos gave a long sigh through his nose. “Gee. I wonder why.”

“…I don’t know what I did wrong.”

This time, Mydeimos did look over. His eyes narrowed. “You mean besides the years of emotional negligence and emotional distance ?”

Phainon flinched.

“…I didn’t mean to treat her like that. Back then.” He rubbed his face with both hands, voice thick. “I thought… if I kept things distant, it would be easier. For her. For both of us.”

“Easier to keep her from hurting you, you mean.”

Phainon went silent.

“Easier to keep you from feeling anything real,” Mydeimos muttered. “Until you woke up one morning after the wedding and realized you loved her. Congratulations, by the way. That realization only took, what, ten years?”

“I do love her,” Phainon snapped, softer than anger but too raw to be anything else. “I—I love her, I do. It’s not just the contract. Not anymore. I just… I don’t know how to show her. I’m trying. Titans, I’m trying.”

His voice cracked.

And then, quietly, Mydeimos barely caught it—

“…Why won’t she look at me?”

It was pathetic. He knew it was. The great and noble Phainon, reduced to trembling fingertips and broken breath because the woman he loved wouldn’t meet his gaze. Because the only person who had ever made him feel tethered to this world now drifted further away with each day, and he was too late to stop it.

He buried his face in his hands.

“Why did I wait so long?” His shoulders shook. “Why didn’t I say something sooner—before the wedding..before all this, why did I wait until she already stopped believing me?”

For once, Mydeimos didn’t make an immediate retort.

He let Phainon’s sobs and breath escape without mockery.

Then, slowly, gruffly, he reached over and gave Phainon’s arm a small, awkward pat.

“…She probably thinks it’s not real,” Mydeimos muttered, voice lower. “That you’re only acting sweet because it’s convenient. Because the contract’s signed now.”

“I don’t want convenience,” Phainon whispered. “I want her.”

“Then stop treating her like someone you’re trying to win back and start treating her like someone who already matters.”

Phainon wiped his eyes.

“…Do you think she’ll ever believe me?”

Mydeimos sighed again and leaned back in the chair. “You’re gonna have to earn that. Every damn day.”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Well, Phainon was now drunk.

Very drunk.

The type of drunk that made his usually elegant speech slur into incomprehensible, soggy babbles. The kind that replaced his usual gliding footsteps with staggering shuffles and dramatic floor collapses. He was lying in the middle of the training grounds now—shirt half untucked, hair a wind-blown disaster, one shoe missing—and loudly reciting what Mydeimos could only assume was meant to be a love poem.

“…And I said—hic—my wife—my beautiful, ghosting wife—she smells like spring and vanillaa!—she—she gives me so mcuh pain :(”

He attempted to sit up dramatically to emphasize the word pain, but gravity had different ideas. His arm flailed out in a sweeping arc and he toppled back onto the ground like a fallen tree. A very sad, very loud, very dumb tree.

Mydeimos stood nearby with his arms crossed, a twitch in his jaw, looking one step away from calling pest control.

“You’re lucky I don’t just bury you in this training pit and call it fertilizer, HKS.” he muttered.

Phainon sniffled. “I tried to write her a letter. A letter, Mydeimos. With calligraphy and metaphors. I rhymed ‘love’ with ‘dove.’ I’m not okay.”

“Clearly.”

“I think—hic—I think she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Mydeimos muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s just smarter than you and has a memory longer than a week.”

Phainon lay still for a beat. Then, with the solemn dignity of a man who’d had six glasses of wine and no sense of shame, he whispered, “What if I duel the sun for her affection?”

“You duel the sun, and I’m going to marry her,” Mydeimos snapped.

Phainon gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

“I absolutely would. Out of spite.”

Phainon dramatically flopped again and groaned into the dirt. “She won’t even look at me…” “Because you’re in the dirt. And drunk.” “She’s my moon!” Mydeimos kicked some dust toward him. “And you’re a dumbass.” There was a long silence. Then a quiet, pitiful whimper. “…Do you think she’d at least come to my funeral?” Mydeimos turned, fully done. “I’m going to get a bucket of water and a shovel. If you’re still like this in ten minutes, I’m planting you next to the cabbages.”Phainon wept. Louder.

Dragging Phainon was like hauling a wet velvet curtain that wouldn’t shut up. He clung to Mydeimos’s shoulder like a damsel in distress, rambling into his ear the entire way about how your voice made flowers bloom, how he should’ve memorized every word you ever said like sacred scripture.

“Mydeimos, wait—wait—I forgot her favorite tea,” Phainon whimpered mid-step, only to be yanked forward with zero grace.

“She doesn’t want your goddamn tea. She wants space,” Mydeimos snapped, gripping him by the back of the collar like an unruly pup.

“But I made her a poem, should I recite it again? You didn’t let me finish earlier. ‘Her silence is a blade that cuts my soul—’”

“I will literally hurl you into a lake,” Mydeimos growled, kicking open the gate to your residence.

Phainon gasped. “You wouldn’t. This outfit is imported silk.”

“You’re covered in dirt, Phainon. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

Despite his weight and whining, Mydeimos manhandled him up the steps, muttering curses in three dead languages including Kremnoan, occasionally giving Phainon a little jostle when he tried to slump dramatically against every column, sighing like a tragic widow.

At one point, Phainon tried to claw at the ivy near your window and whisper, “Do you think she’s watching me suffer? Maybe she likes it. Maybe she’s a sadist—”

Mydeimos didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a broom resting near the door and whacked him with it.

“OW—WHY—”

By the time they reached your door, Phainon had managed to tangle himself in Mydeimos’s cape, sob three more times, and threaten to write you another letter “in blood, if necessary.” Mydeimos dropped him on your doorstep like a sack of emotional garbage and knocked, hard.

You opened it a moment later, blinking at the sight—Phainon half-collapsed on your doormat, cheeks flushed from wine and crying, mumbling your name like it was both an oath and a prayer. You sighed tiredly but you were shocked aswell.

“…What happened!?” you asked in shock, gaze flicking from your drunk husband to the thoroughly unamused man beside him.

Mydeimos adjusted his gloves, tone the picture of politeness despite the vein twitching near his temple. “Your husband drank an entire bottle of Okheman wine, and tried to fight..dromas."

“…Right.”

You crouched and started dragging Phainon in by his wrists, ignoring his dramatic attempts to cling to the doorframe like he was being separated from his soulmate.

“I said I was sorry!” he sniffled. “Don’t avoid me again, wife—please, I’ll give you my sword, my titles, my soul—”

You would be lying if you said you weren't amused and flustered but you could only mutter, “You tripped over your own feet and cried on a marble bust, calm down"

Phainon whimpered and rolled over onto your hallway rug like a wilted flower.

Mydeimos raised an eyebrow. “You’re…surprisingly good at handling him without violence.”

“I’ve dealt with an unreasonable grandmother,” you replied, brushing hair from your face. “This is marginally worse.”

He huffed—something nearly like a laugh. “He’s been miserable,” Mydeimos said after a beat, voice quieter. “Hasn’t trained properly in a week. Barely eats. Keeps talking about how you won’t look him in the eye.”

You glanced in your room where Phainon had successfully face-planted into a pile of your clothes. “…I see.”

He looked at you, arms crossed, expression softer than you’d expected. “But for what it’s worth—he’s not faking this. He’s a pathetic actor.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned against the doorframe, rubbing your temple.

“Thank you,” you said eventually. “For bringing him back. For not throwing him into the sea.”

“Wasn’t for his sake,” Mydeimos muttered, before turning away with a wave. “Get some rest. Both of you.”

"Thank you..Lord?"

"Mydei."

"Thank you, Mydei"

“I was going to leave you a letter,” he mumbled, voice thick, slurred. “But Mydeimos said that’s what cowards do.”

“I would’ve preferred the letter,” you muttered under your breath.

You grabbed a blanket. Not out of compassion—at least that’s what you told yourself—but because the idiot was shivering.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Phainon slurred suddenly. You froze. One hand still caught in the blanket.

He blinked at you, eyes glassy and half-lidded, but there was something underneath—something old and heavy and hurting. Something that cut too deep for alcohol to dull out.

“…You don’t need to pretend like you care,” you said quietly. “I know what this marriage is.”

Phainon didn’t laugh. Not this time. He looked at you like you’d struck him.

“You think I’m pretending?”

You said nothing. Pulled the blanket over him and moved to stand, but his hand caught your wrist—clumsy, but desperate.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered.

“Let go—”

“No.” His grip tightened. “You don’t understand. I—I've watched you die.”

You went still, your breath stopped and you swear your hair stood up.

“…You should sleep,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

"Please...(Y/N) p-please... don't leave, you're the reason I'm here, you're the reason I can keep hope in these painful fucking cycles...please.."

And though your heart ached and your throat burned with all the words you didn’t know how to say—you simply pat his back as he falls asleep and walk away to the couch to fall asleep.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

When you opened your eyes, it was morning.

And your first thought was: Why does my pillow feel like it breathes?

Your eyes fluttered open fully, lashes brushing the softness of something warm. The light was gentle, soft gold through half-drawn curtains. There was a weight wrapped around your waist. Another draped over your thigh. And something..no, someone was pressed against your chest, face buried there like you were the safest thing in the world.

“…Phainon?” you croaked.

He didn’t respond. Only burrowed in deeper.

His silver hair tickled your collarbone, messy and unstyled, a far cry from his usual immaculate self. Just the soft, rhythmic puff of breath against your skin and the occasional, sleepy twitch of his fingers curled into your shirt.

You blinked at the ceiling, completely and utterly paralyzed. Not because he was heavy. Not because you didn’t want to move.

But because you didn’t know why he was here. How you ended up in bed with him when you’d fallen asleep on the couch.

You shifted slowly in attempt to leave.

He made a sound. A low, almost pitiful whine

You swallowed hard.

Your fingers twitched where they hovered over his shoulder. You didn’t touch him. Not yet. You didn’t know what this meant.But gods, how easy it would be to give in. To sink back into the warmth. To pretend, just for a moment, that everything he said last night was real. That he wasn't drunk. That this wasn’t something born out of fear of losing you again.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as he breathed in deeper, chest rising against yours, arms tightening.

And all you could do was lie there, trapped in his arms and your own racing thoughts.

Phainon stirred with a soft groan, brow twitching as sunlight nudged at his eyelids. His mouth tasted like regret and cheap wine. His head ached like a bitch because of the Hangover.

But none of that mattered.Because the warmth he’d clung to—the softness pressed against him all night—was gone.

His eyes shot open.

The bed was half-empty. Sheets still creased where your body had been. Still warm.

His heart dropped. His hands clenched the blanket for a breath too long before he sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. He scanned the room like you might be hiding in the drapes or behind the fireplace, and when you weren’t, something ugly and raw twisted in his chest.

Of course. Avoiding him again.

You always leave.

It took him barely a minute to find you.

You were in the study, curled on the couch again with a half-read report in your lap, eyes stubbornly refusing to look his way.

“Why,” he said sharply, standing in the doorway, “are you doing this again?”

You stiffened. Didn't answer. Just kept reading, even though your hands trembled slightly at the edges.

His gaze darkened and something finally snapped.

“I am trying for you..” he said sternly in anger, striding across the room, “and you keep running like I’m some kind of curse.”

“Phainon—” you started, already standing, but too late.

He reached you in three steps and lifted you clean off the floor.

“Put me down,” you snapped, swatting at his shoulder—but it was like hitting a wall of sculpted granite. Infuriatingly warm, shirt slightly wrinkled from sleep, and entirely unmoved by your struggle.

“No,” he said flatly, voice low and tense. “We’re not doing this anymore.”

When he kicked open the door to his room, he didn’t drop you.

Just strode inside, closed the door behind him with a deliberate click, and finally, finally set you down on the edge of his bed like you were the most delicate thing in the world.

But his eyes? They weren’t gentle at all

They were hurt and bloodshot

“You don’t get to vanish on me,” he said, softer now, as if the rage had drained into something heavier. “Not after last night. Not after what I said. You don’t get to pretend you didn’t hear it.”

Your throat tightened.

“I watched you die,” he spat, voice cracking, “burning, bleeding, crushed, cursed—every fucking version of you, I buried. Again and again. And this time—this time I thought if I could just—just be better—you’d stay.”

He turned, finally meeting your gaze.

“I love you.”

That broke something in you.

You stood, shaky, hands clenched by your sides. “And what am I supposed to do with that, Phainon?”

“Do you even see how insane this sounds?” your voice wavered, rising, trembling with something you’d buried so long it came out all at once. “You never gave a damn about me before. I was just your responsibility. another name on your list. You barely even looked at me.”

Phainon’s mouth parted, eyes widening. “That’s not—”

“—And now you love me?” you laughed, wet and sharp. “Now you start smiling and acting gentle and calling it love? You expect me to believe that after years of treating me like a ghost in your house?”

Tears burned your eyes before you could stop them.

“I thought—I thought maybe I was just unlikable. Maybe I was the problem. And then you come back from the dead or the past or whatever the hell this is and suddenly you’re devoted and soft and… obsessed. Like you’re playing a part.”

You choked on your breath, finally breaking.

“What do you want from me, Phainon?” you whispered. “Is that it? Is that why you’re acting like this now? Because you want something?”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

Phainon just stood there.Frozen. Pale.

His eyes were wide. His hands had fallen limp at his sides. And for once—once—that storm of intensity in him didn’t crackle with rage or passion or conviction.It shattered.And all that was left was guilt. Just Hollow guilt.

“…I didn’t know,” he breathed. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. You just sank back down to sit on the edge of the bed, trembling, your tears hot and silent.

You didn’t mean to hit him.

But your fists were balled up and shaking and they found their way to his chest anyway, weak and desperate. Not hard enough to hurt, not really—but enough to demand he feel something.

Anything.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t flinch, didn’t raise a hand to block, didn’t try to calm you down.

He just let you. And you broke apart there, sobbing into his chest, fists pounding once twice, before they faltered and gripped the fabric of his shirt, clutching it like it was the only solid thing left in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.

“I hate you,” you cried into him, voice wrecked. “I hate you, I hate that you ignored me for so long and now—now—you’re just this, like it means nothing. I hate that I want to believe you but I can’t.”

His arms wrapped around you so gently it nearly shattered you all over again.

“I know,” Phainon whispered. “I know. Titans, I know.”

You felt his chin rest lightly on the crown of your head, his breath shaky.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he murmured, words quiet and thick with guilt. “But I need you to know. You deserve that much.”

You just shook your head into his chest, clinging to him harder. You didn’t know if it was to hear the truth or to stop yourself from slipping away again.

“I’ve regressed over a million times,” he said. “Some lives, I remembered everything. Some I didn’t. But the constant. The only constant—was you.”

You stiffened.

"...And you kept dying."

He pulled back, cupping your face in his trembling hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were shining—deep, cerulean blue and glassy with unshed tears.

“I didn’t talk to you after the wedding because I was scared,” he admitted, voice raw.

“Scared I’d fuck it up again. Scared if I said the wrong thing, you’d leave. Or die. Or disappear before I got the chance to… to love you right.”

Your lip quivered, a sob caught in your throat.

“I didn’t ignore you because I didn’t care,” he said, firmer now. “I ignored you because I cared too much. And I thought I could wait. Thought I had more time to… ease into it. To prove myself slowly. But then I saw you giving up on me. And I panicked. I panicked.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaking, close enough for your tears to fall onto his cheek.

"I don’t want anything from you,” he whispered. “I don’t want your power, your title, your kingdom—nothing. Just you. I want to learn your favorite songs. I want to know how you take your tea. I want to be the one you go to when your hands are cold or when you can’t sleep.”

You choked on a sound. Something between a sob and a laugh.

"I’m sorry,” Phainon said again, softer now. “For all the times I failed you. For all the lives I was too late. For this life, where I was too scared to look you in the eyes.”

Your breath caught. His eyes searched yours, desperate—like he was trying to memorize this exact moment, like he was afraid you’d vanish between one blink and the next.

And then—Then you surged forward and kissed him

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t chaste—it was years of grief and longing and anger and guilt, poured into the press of mouths and the clash of teeth. His breath hitched sharply, like he couldn’t believe it was happening. And then Phainon melted.

He groaned low in his throat like a man starved, and his hands slid from your cheeks to your waist, tugging you closer like he physically couldn’t handle the distance anymore. Like he needed you now, in his arms, against his chest, lips bruising his in the best possible way.

"Titans, finally,” he breathed, breaking just for a second before diving back in, hungrier this time. His mouth was hot and urgent and desperate, like he was trying to make up for every stolen second he’d ever lost with you. His tongue slid against yours and you swore you felt him shudder.

He kissed like he was drowning. Like you were air. Like he was the damned luckiest man to ever live because you were here, still here, kissing him back.

You tugged his hair—he gasped into your mouth.

And he just whined.

Don’t leave,” he murmured between kisses, voice cracked open and boyish. “Don’t..don’t ever—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, breathless.

And now you seriously aren't going anywhere

Now you're on your back, thighs trembling and chest heaving up and down trying to breathe when you can as he suckles on your clit, sucking sounds making you whine in embarassment as you feel your cunt getting wetter and wetter.

He pulls away from your sweet cunt to look at you up, and god he looked filthy, your essence mixed with his saliva all over his mouth as he dives in again-

Your fingers pull at his soft silver hair resulting in him whining into your you, the vibrations of his voice making you squeal and shake even more

"Ph-Phai-!" before you could even cry out to him to slow down, he licks a broad stripe up your slit and slides it right back inside where it belongs.

"C'mon baby you can squeal louder than that cant cha?" He says looking up at you from between your thighs maintaining eye contact as his eyebrows as furrowed, god that fuckign tease.

"P-Phainon-?! O-oh Fuc-"

His tongue flexes a little before licking a straight line up your clit and then a Curve similar to that of an opposite c.

P

And then his rough, calloused thumb meets your pretty little bud before rubbing on it and licking your pussy at the same time. Making you shriek out and both hands fly to your mouth in order to muffle your cries.

H

You babble out incomprehensible nonsense begging for him to stop being a tease but then this poor guy was too busy between your legs spelling out his name on your swollen little clit :(

Then followed by he spells more letters but you are too drunk on pleasure to even differentiate and identify the letters, and then he ends it with a harsh suck on your clit and leaves it with a pop sound! Causing your gummy walls to clench at the emptiness begging for more stimulation from your husband.

"Good little girl, Tell me baby who's name did i spell out on his pretty cunt?" phainon whispers huskily, voice thick with lust before lightly slapping your abused pussy, looking at you with a nasty smirk.

"Y-yours!..P-Phai!~" Before you could even complete your incomprehensible sentence, he pulls your hips closer to his face and starts sucking on your clit harshly and one finger into your gummy walls

"phai- oh~!! i-i'm sho sensitive!!"

he hushes you and pecks the inside of your thighs before another finger enters inside you and then starts to move in a scissoring motion, making your already shaking thighs to shake even more and clamp shut around his face. Whining and crying out in pleasure

"Such a sweet voice you have beloved" phainon mutters into your cunt, pussydrunk on your slick and scent then reluctantly leaves before kissing your clit goodbye

You cry out at the sudden loss of contact and especially when your were so close, but phainon crashes his lips onto yours and starts to undress himself, first the shirt and then the pants.

He leans in peppering kisses all over your thigh to your belly and then leading upwards as his large calloused hands find the swell of your breasts before starting to play with them, rolling the hard buds of your nipples and then a soft wet muscle wraps around one of them.

Making you arch your back in sudden contact and then feeling the tip of his wet cock slobbering all over your swollen clit.

"C'mon baby you gotta stop moving around, gotta taste you and worship you"

Too bad you can't even protest to that because you're mewling at the nipple assault and your clit getting stimulated at the same time! :( and plus this meanie held your hands up your body, he's too strong.

He watches with dark and heavy-lidded eyes, sucking on your breasts, oh god your belly felt weird- and then right before the climax he pulled away with a cocky fucking grin on his face

"Aw I'm sorry baby were you close?"

You whine out by shaking your legs only to feel a thick sticky head at the entrance of your cunt

"So responsive baby, ahh.. you're dripping all over my cock too?" He pulled away his cock from your entrance and pressed two of his thick fingers back inside, stretching you open as he moved with a devastatingly slow rhythm inside you

"Come for me pretty,, fuckkk" he murmured against your skin before popping a nipple inside his mouth sucking with greed as you finally squeal and cum around his fingers, tears forming at the corner of your eyes with your tongue lolled out and chest breathing raggedy.

"Look at you my pretty little wife...all mine aintcha?~"

He kisses you fiercely without a warning and finally you felt his cock enter you slowly, it felt so good in a painful way

"N-no-!! Phaii..t-too b-BiG~!!"

You mewl out weakly clawing at his chest but he only chuckles before whispering soft nothing's in your ear talkin your through it.

And then he thrusts inside you, making you bounce up and both your legs rest on your husbands shoulder,

"Y-You're too deep in..." You mewl out completely senseless as your breasts and body shake with every thrust this man does. His hips slapping against yours as he lazily smiles at you.

"yeah baby?"

You weakly eagerly nod and then his mouth meets yours, kissing you with need and then

"N-ngh~?!!"

You scream out feeling a hand on your belly, a bulge going in and out of your tummy, your soppy wet cunt making sounds which make you squeal in embarassment but titans... he's huge..

You yelped, as you suddenly were being lifted into his strong muscular arms with ease, his fingers digging into your thighs as you babble and cry whole your back is against his chest.

He pushes you up and down at such a speed that it surprises you and you pathetically clas onto his biceps in a failed attempt to make him to slower. This man is rearranging your insides as you are completely helpless to do anything but to whine, cry and moan out his name. That's your job as his pretty little wife <3 just to feel good for him and let the husband do all the work.

"My pretty wife enjoying herself" you nod instantly ad your eyes were stuck at the back of your eyes and tongue lolled out with a bulge popping up your tummy with each thrust. You look so delirious and hazed being bent in half with your huge, strong husband seems like you didn't mind at all !!

With a loud groan, Phainon let's put of your cunt and releases all over stomach and guides you through your orgasm and lies you down. Kissing your temple, your vision was blank white completely empty before feeling two arms wrap around your waist and a glass of water next to your lips.

You sip the cold water and catch your breath after god knows how long, and look to your left to see a cocky in love phainon staring at you...and the marks which you clawed on him everywhere.

You flush up and hide your face in the crook of his neck before he giggles and carries you to the tub

"You did wonderful baby <3"