genuinely why

You woke up when the rain stopped. Head aching just as much as your bones. You groaned and rolled over on the soft bed beneath you, it creaked softly with the sudden movement. You grimaced, a sharp pain in your side drawing your attention. The room you were in was dark, a circular window to your left let in soft moonlight filtering through rain droplets casting shadows across dark hardwood flooring. You blinked a few times, feeling the sharp pain in your side, expecting the wetness of blood or bruising but whatever the pain was it slowly ebbed away to nothing but a dull ache. You sat up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, cold feet meeting even colder flooring. It woke you up a little as you adjusted to the darkness of the room. The room was warm in its decorations, oakwood shelves full of casting spell books and the art of spell books and art of cooking books. Your brow furrowed. There was a viney plant stretching impossibly across the ceiling and pots of ink and paper on the desk a few feet from your bed. You pushed to your feet, the soft blanket around your body falling back on the bed. The flooring creaked softly beneath your feet as you moved across the room. Propped beside the desk was your broken sword and tattered clothes. You suddenly looked down at the clothes you were wearing now, a simple tunic and baggy pants. Someone changed your clothes. You reached for your sword, the damn thing was broken, just a few inches of sword before it chipped off to nothing. 

What the hell happened? Where the hell were you?

You placed the sword back down and ran a hand through your hair, pulling it back out of your face. Your memory was… spotty to say the least. You remembered igniting your blade in the forest, you think maybe you were fighting someone but nothing comes to you. You sigh a little and turn towards the doorway and startle. There's four young girls crowded in the entrance, not walking past the threshold. They’re eyes wide and observing you as though you were some strange animal on display. You sucked in a breath.

“What… uh…” You stuttered and at the sound of your voice the pink haired girl gasped, grasping onto the blondish green haired girl. Her eyes widened in fear when your eyes met hers. Your memory jumpstarts messily in quick flashes. 

You were tracking her, sword in hand. 

“She looks… human.” The blue haired girl whispers tonelessly and the black haired girl’s eyes sharpen. 

“She is. Mostly.”

“Who are you?” You asked, stepping back, head throbbing. The girls all startled and stepped back away from the door.

“Don’t try for sympathy.” The black haired girl called to you. “We are not foolish enough to think you don’t remember us.” She tried to sound brave but you heard the tremor in her voice. You stepped closer and they all fumbled over each other to step away, terrified of you. 

“I’m not acting. My memory is… hazy.” You say, two of the girls soften. One of them stepped closer to the door as the black haired girl grabbed at her. 

“Coco, careful, don’t pass the threshold, Master said-”

“I know.” Coco responds softly and turns to look at you. She clears her throat and sucks in a slightly shaky breath. “Do you remember me?” You look at her for a long moment. You do but you can’t place why. Your head hurts and you make a face, unsteadily grabbing for the desk chair behind you, you sit. 

“I think so.”

“If you did, I think we’d be having a different conversation.” She says softly, you rub your hands over your face and look at her through your fingers. Another flash of memory, rain beating against you as you grabbed her arm in the dark, yanking her back, pressing your sword to her throat.

“I hurt you.” You say after a quiet moment. Coco shakes her head fast, denying.

“No… no… I mean… a little but I’m okay. Actually… you saved me. I think that's why the master brought you back here.” She says, much to the dark haired girl's detriment. 

“That’s enough.” She seethed, grabbing Coco’s wrist and pulling her away from the threshold. Coco ignored her. 

“Are you hungry, miss? You’ve been asleep for days.” Your stomach suddenly twisted at the mention but you were hung up on her words. You’d been asleep for days?

“She doesn’t deserve to eat.” The black haired girl hisses, yanking Coco another step back. Coco whirls on her. 

“Agott! Don’t talk like that.” She pleads kindly. “She's probably starving.”

“Good.” Agott growls. “You think for a second she had good intentions saving you? She probably just wanted to turn you into the Brimmed Cap’s herself.” 

The Brimmed Cap’s. 

Your head slams with memories. You were sent to track down Coco, given a half assed description of her. You were desperate to prove yourself, to gain power for selfish reasons. You’d played by the rules your entire life and that got you nowhere. You were desperate which so happened to be a perfect personality trait for the Brimmed Cap’s to swoop in and entice you into joining their side. You were no good. No good when you entered that rainy forest with murder on your mind. But one of the others found Coco and when you saw her… she was just a child. You hadn’t known she was going to be a child. 

“Miss… are you hungry?” Coco breaks through your thoughts. Now you remembered all but how you got here.

“Where am I?” You ask a tad forcefully. Agott stepped in front of Coco, such sharp angry eyes for a young girl. 

“That’s none of your business. Coco asked if you were hungry.” She says through gritted teeth. You cocked your head. 

“It’s none of my business where I am?” You ask and revel in the anger it brings the young girl. Yeah… you remembered who you were now and exactly why these girls were so fearful. Agott doesn’t step closer, her hands shaking at her sides. You rise from your chair. “Where’s your master?” You ask in an eerily calm voice. The girls were silent. “He’s not home?” You ask and they flinch. That was answer enough for you. But it couldn’t be so easy that you could walk out of this room, they were fretting about the threshold for a reason. There must be some kind of spell cast over this room that made it more of a prison than anything else. 

“What’re you doing?” the pink haired girl asked, voice wavering.

“You know… I am quite peckish.” You say, eyes looking around the room. The bottles of ink on the desk catches your eye. 

“You are?” Coco asks carefully. You nod your head. 

“Yes.” You say and try to soften your voice but it comes out wrong. No matter what you do you’re scaring these girls. The pink haired girl grabs Coco, they’re all practically holding onto one another as though that would ward off your evil. 

“We’ll go make you something then.” Coco says kindly as she starts to walk away and the girls scurry after her. You wait until you can’t hear their footsteps anymore before sweeping off towards the desk. You grab up the first bottle of ink and sigh. Completely dried out. You grab the next and sigh even louder. Also dried. You place the bottle back down. Your pen was conveniently missing and you attributed that to the master of this place. You walked towards the window, it was still dark out but you had no idea what time it could be. Asleep for three days.. The moments leading up to being brought here were foggy still. You remembered seeing someone capture Coco, she was screaming and crying and scared and just a child. You had raised your sword to the other Brimmed Cap before even realizing what you were doing.

“Traitor!” He had yelled as you ran him through. Then your memory stalled. 

What happened after that? You groaned and sat back on the bed, running a stressed hand through your hair. How did your sword break? And how come your clothes were so tattered? And how did you end up a prisoner in the same place as Coco with no master in sight.

“Miss?” Coco’s soft voice called from the doorway, it startled you. You hadn’t even heard her steps. You sat up. “Would you like hot tea?” You look at the young girl, she must’ve slipped away from the others for them to let her come up here alone. 

“How did I get here?” You ask, hoping with her being alone she’d be less wary. 

“Master brought you here… he said you’d die if we left you out there in the forest.” She explained, fiddling with her fingers. Slowly you nodded your head. 

“Because… I got hurt?” You guessed and she nodded her head. 

“Yes you… you got hurt.” She said smally, as if it was her fault. “You were trying to save me.” You looked at the young girl, something like guilt was eating her up. You weren’t bigheaded enough to think it was all directed at you but at least some of it was. 

“You don’t have to seem so sorry. I’m the villain here.” You said and her eyes snapped up to yours, she started to shake her head no but looked down at her hands instead. 

“I think… you’re a good person… deep down. It showed in the forest. Even my master must think so since he brought you here.”

“He trapped me here.” You point out and she sucks in a breath. “Though it’s definitely better than I deserve.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. She looks up quickly at the sound of your laugh, almost like she was surprised you could make that sound. You sigh into your hand. “Who’s your master?”

“Master Qifrey.” The amusement on your face died in an instant. 

You joined the Brimmed Caps when you were only a child. It was the same sob story as most others that joined probably. Your parents wanted perfection but you never had a steady hand. You failed the second test and that was the first time your father hit you. You had run away later that night to go to your grandma’s house near the edge of the village when a man approached you. He looked scary and called himself Iguin. He took one look at you then casted a spell, healing the bruise on your cheek. 

“Are you alright, young lady?” He asked, his voice scared you. Practically everything about him scared you. You couldn't see his face, just this eerie mask with a giant swirling eye staring at you. You felt dissected.

“I’m… alright.” You answered smally, pressing a hand to your cheek, it didn’t hurt any longer. He laughed and you wondered, scared if you had said something funny. 

“If you were alright you wouldn’t be out running scared this late at night.” He did a little movement with his hands and suddenly a sweet bun appeared in his palm. He offered it to you. “For you.” He offers and slowly you reach out and take it, taking a scared step back. “That’s your favorite, right?” You nod your head and shakily take a bite. It’s perfect, light and airy with peach puree in the middle, just like your grandma made them. You smile. 

“Thank you, mister.”

“Tell me… young witch, what would you do with unlimited power?”

“Unlimited?” You echoed and the masked figure nodded his head, procuring a book from his cloak. 

“Magic without restraints. Without pressure. Without fear.” He offered the book to you. You looked at the leatherbound thing in his hand and foolishly reached out and grabbed it. You never saw your family again after that day, nor did you ever make it to your grandma’s house. Over the years leading up to today you had faced a lot of the Pointed Cap witches and the only one that ever stood out was Qifrey. He seemed desperate for information the times you faced and lost to him. The last time you faced him was… muddy to say the least. But he wasn’t someone you felt comfortable trapped within their grasp. 

“Miss?” Coco’s voice snapped you back into this moment. You blinked a few times. 

“Qifrey, white haired witch?” You ask and the girl lights up a little bit. 

“Yes miss.” She answers with a little smile. But you had nothing to smile about. Iguin had warned you about this man and here you were, a prisoner in his home. 

“Do you have something stronger than hot tea, young Coco?” You asked and she furrowed her brows, not understanding, you sighed. “Hot tea will do.” 

“Yes, Coco, go fetch our guest some hot tea.” Both you and Coco startled when Qifrey appeared just behind her, all soft smiles. You looked away in an instant as Coco greeted him and padded down the stairs leaving you two alone. “I trust you aren’t trying to corrupt my apprentices.” He says and when you look back over at him that jovial smile from a moment ago has disappeared completely. It was a chilling sight. You cleared your throat. You were supposed to be the scary one here. You were the Brimmed Cap witch, you needed to act like it. 

“The night’s still young.” You answered with as much composer as you could muster. Qifrey cocked his head a little, one eye surveying you, you wondered why the other was covered up, wondered if there was even one there to begin with. 

“How is your head?” He asks. Surely he was speaking of your memories and not the constant pounding. He stepped past the threshold and it took everything in you not to move away from him. He showed you no fear. He treated and talked to you like an old friend. It was unnerving.

“I’m remembering, slowly.” You offer cautiously. 

“I meant pain. One of your fellow Brimmed Cap’s hit you rather hard. That could be why your memory is spotty.” He says and your brows furrow. So someone knocked you over the head, huh? You felt around your head until you pressed the base of your skull and gasped in pain, white hot pulses shooting through you. He wasn’t lying, someone did clobber you good. “Take it easy,” His voice was soft, you heard one of the girls call for him at the door and the rattle of a tray being passed from one hand to another. You blinked, eyesight blurry as Qifrey pulled the bedside table close to you and placed the food on it. “Eat. Slowly as to not make yourself sick.” He directs. Your head is still pounding but it is better than it was a few seconds ago. 

The wooden tray in front of you consists of some type of creamy stew, fluffy bread and a cup of steaming tea. Shakily you grab for the spoon and slowly stir it around the stew for a moment before spooning out some and bringing it to your lips. You paused. Delicious. Utterly delectable. “Is it alright?” He asked, sitting in the desk chair across from you. You cleared your throat awkwardly, not speaking but just nodding your head. The headache caused by hunger slowly subsided as you finished the stew and dipped your bread in the remainder of your broth. 

“Do you recall your name?” 

You spoke your name to him in between bites. 

“And how you got here?” He asks. To that you shake your head. 

“I remember…” You trail off. You were in the hands of the enemy, the more you spoke the more of a traitor you were becoming. You swallowed dryly and reached for your tea, now lukewarm. “How did I get here, witch?” At the sudden shift in your body language Qifrey responds in kind. 

“Ah.” As if he knows you're slowly shutting him out. “Well… one of your… team members, though I don’t suppose you can call him that now, saw you save my apprentice. Saw you kill to save my apprentice.” He emphasises. You flinch at the accusation in his tone. 

“I did no such thing.”

“I know Brimmed Cap’s lie but this is beneath you and frankly a waste of breath. I saw you save her.” He says and your eyes snap to him. He saw everything. Of course he did. And of course if he didn’t his little apprentice would tell him everything.

“I wanted the bounty for myself.” You lie. He sits back, closes his eyes and crosses his arms, as if tired of this conversation. 

“Then why didn’t you take her to your master then and there? Why did you whirl around and ask about her wellbeing? These are very contradictory actions as you can see.” He explains calmly. You glared, clenching your jaw but his eyes were still closed. Whatever ward he placed on this room kept you from using your magic, even the spells carved on your skin were useless. “You know… maybe you remember me before or maybe you don’t but I remember you. We’ve fought… three times, correct?” At this he opened his eyes to meet yours and smiled a little, as if recalling fond moments. You stared at him, not giving an inch to how rattled you were. “I beat you once, twice and… that last time… I beat you but only because… you hesitated.” 

You swung out your sword of fire, it sparked as it hit the brunt side of Qifrey’s blade, rain pouring like mad. You kicked out your booted foot, hitting Qifrey’s leg from beneath him as he thudded harshly to one knee and you swung your sword hard enough to cleaver him in half, his sword raised to meet yours, the force of your swing sending him sprawling back to the wet dirt. This is what Iguin talked about as you stalked the prey beneath you, that overwhelming taste of power, of beating a foe stronger than you. You stomped on his hand that held the blade hard enough that he gasped and dropped it, his wrist pinned beneath your muddy boot. You pressed your blade to his throat like you had with so many other foes. But instead of finishing the job, you hesitated. Qifrey broke loose and won back the upper hand just in time for the other Brimmed Caps to come to your aid. Outmanned Qifrey retreated but you had lost once again. 

“That’s a very… hopefully deluded outlook.” You said slowly, the memory dancing around your head like a jester taunting royalty.

“How would you describe it then?” He asks.

“Lack of bloodlust.” You say and a small smile grows on Qifrey’s lips, it was a scary sight. You tensed when he stood up. 

“Still hungry?” He asked, gathering up the things on your tray. 

“If you think kindness will get me to sell out my people then you are wrong.” You say sharply, hoping to break through that carefully crafted wall Qifrey hides behind. You sense he isn’t as happy go lucky as he likes to present. But he doesn’t take your bait. It was cheap bait anyways.

“You’re people left you bleeding out in the mud.” Qifrey says without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to him as he turns to walk out of the room. “I’ll make you another serving.” And with that he sweeps out of the room. Unfortunately you weren’t as closed off to bait as he was. You blew out a breath and walked towards the threshold. He walked over it with ease so you reached out your hand to test it, you felt the power emanating from the invisible air, crackling like lightning waiting to strike. You pulled your hand away and stepped back. Just one touch would probably send you flying across the room and you were already not in the best of shape. You walked to the circular window and reached out, feeling that same crackling of power, there wasn’t one inch of wall that he missed. You sighed and sat back on the bed just as you heard stairs creaking and Qifrey walked back into the room.

“What kind of spell is in this room?” You asked as he gently sat another tray in front of you with fresh steaming soup and hot tea, this time with two slices of bread. Your stomach lurched at the sight and you were reaching for the spoon in seconds. 

“A simple protection spell.” He says. You doubt it’s that simple. 

“Protecting me from what?” You asked, mouth full. 

“Protecting them from you.” He corrects and your eyes find him again. You were the villain, something you didn’t feel like getting fed in a prison on your own making. You felt more like a fool in a bear trap. 

“I’m not the trump card you think I am.” You say, getting back to your food. “I know you're desperate for information about the Brimmed Cap’s, my master told me so.”

“You’re master?” He asks and he’s unable to keep the interest out of his voice. You’ve ensnared him. 

“Yes. He taught me all that I know.” You look down at the bowl, you can’t remember having food this good in so long. “He carved my first spell into my arm.” Qifrey flinches, that placid look on his face faltering. You look back up at him, elated at having rattled him. You reach for your sleeve, start to pull it up when Qifrey moves across the room in the blink of an eye, hand grasping your wrist to stop you. The sudden movement upsets the table in front of you as your stew tips over into your lap, hot and stinging. You gasp as Qifrey stares at you, almost fearful for a moment. “You could’ve just closed your eyes, witch!” You growled, yanking your hand out of his grip. 

“Apologies.” He breathes out unsteadily. “Are you hurt?” 

“It’s fine, just stings.” You say and suddenly Qifrey sweeps out of the room as fast as he had moved to stop you from showing your arm. You stare after him, confused, then look down at your lap. It was silly to be upset over spilled stew but you wished that witch would stub his toe wherever he was going. You pushed to your feet and pulled off your trousers, using them to clean up the small bit that made it to the ground. Your thighs were fine, the trousers were pretty thick so it saved you from any last burns. When you pushed back to your feet Qifrey walked back into the room and paused at the sight of you. In one hand he held another bowl of stew, the other a spare pair of trousers. His eyes slammed shut, a furious flush spreading across his face. 

“Here.” He shoves the pants your way. Your hand brushes against his as you take them and he shivers, stepping back. You watch his expressions as you pull them on. He was clearly embarrassed. It was… amusing to see him this way. Then your gut slams. He’s your enemy. You grab the bowl of stew out of his other hand and his eyes peek open. Once he deems it safe he blows out a breath and both of you sit back down. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks and you glare at him and get back to eating your stew.

“What led to me being imprisoned here?” You ask and Qifrey takes a breath, whatever strange state you saw him in a moment ago was smoothed over. 

“You’re not our prisoner.” 

“Oh I’m not?” You ask, almost laughing as you dip bread in the broth and take a bite. “So I can walk right out of that barrier?”

“Yes.” He says and you actually do laugh. 

“Yes… it will send me to my early grave as well?” You finish and Qifrey nods his head. 

“I only had it up while I wasn’t home to protect the girls. I am home now.” He says simply, not threatened by you, he was right not to be. Not only were you weak, your special sword was broken on the table. You shove to your feet, the bowl rattling but not spilling.

“Shall I test it?” You ask and he makes a gesture like be my guest. You walk over to it and pause. This was clearly a trick but if he wanted answers out of you then he’d have to bring you back from the dead. You walk forwards and flinch as you pass right through the threshold and… nothing happens. You turn back and Qifrey is smiling a little.

“Do you believe me now?” He asks, crossing his legs and leaning back nonchalantly. 

“Foolish witch.” You say before darting down the stairs. You were in some… cozy house. You spot the front door and rush to it, throwing it open and running outside into the pouring rain. You made it down the path when finally the moments that led you being taken here slam into your mind. The final piece of the puzzle. 

Qifrey sits calmly in the room and waits. He hears the front door open back up and squelching as you make your way back up the stairs, drenched from the rain. Qifrey stands, pulling out his paper pad, casting a spell that dries you right up. You don’t meet his eye as you shiver and make your way back to the table of food. Qifrey walks over, grabs a blanket and tosses it over your shoulders. You don’t bid him thanks because you have made a proper fool out of yourself. It wasn’t some random Brimmed Cap that busted you over the head. It was your own master. He’d seen you save Coco, he’d seen you betray him and he was the second one that day that called you a traitor. Qifrey didn’t have a protection spell over this room when he got home because he knew once that memory of yours jogged you’d remember that you have nowhere else to go. Iguin would be looking for you. He’d want to finish the job. All the Brimmed Cap would be on the same page. You were just as much a wanted person as Coco was, though for very different reasons. Very different deadly reasons. 

“I’m useless to you, Witch.” You say, absentmindedly stirring your soup. Qifrey furrows his brows. 

“How so?”

“One of the things you give up for unlimited power just so happens to be autonomy.” You explain. “I can’t speak his name. I can’t write his name. I can’t lead you to him. I can’t talk about our cause or where our base is because the moment he saw me as a traitor those facts must’ve been simply… plucked out of my head.” You say with a heavy sigh. “I’m no more use to you than my broken blade over on the desk.” Qifrey’s eyes move to the discarded blade, the very same one you had pressed to his throat months ago. 

“Blade’s can be fixed, reforged. Everything has uses, even broken things.” Qifrey says, reaching out and grabbing the hilt. It was weird seeing him hold it, he turned it around in his hands, traced the blade until it broke off at the end. “You told me a little. You may not be able to speak his name but you recalled that he was your master. That he carved into your arm, that he taught you all as you said.” You nod your head. “He wiped enough but not everything.” You laughed a little and he furrowed a brow at that sound. 

“It’s not really a wiping of memory. It’s a spell… or rather a curse. One that I agreed to when I was too young to know its purpose.” You explain as Qifrey sets your blade down. 

“What do you mean?” He asks as you get back to eating, not wanting the stew to go cold. 

“You never raise a hand to your master, never speak his name to hurt or uncover him lest you face death.”

“You’re saying this curse… if you speak his name you will die?” He pieces out. You nod your head and stuff a piece of bread into your mouth. Three days without food felt more like a week. Qifrey looks frustrated, he was finally seeing just how useless it was to risk his neck bringing you here. He took the biggest gamble. Bringing you to his atelier of all places. You could’ve been pretending to be on his side to reveal Coco’s location, playing double agent. You weren’t of course but still… risky move on his part.

“Sorry witch, it must sting to go through all this trouble for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Qifrey responds absentmindedly, his mind was on something else entirely.

“It was.” You insist but he shakes his head, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“You’re alive, that was the purpose.” He says and pushes to his feet. You make a face, shaking your head. 

“Are you listening?” You ask. “I offer nothing. I can’t help you.”

“Fine.” He says. “That is fine. Although I wouldn’t say you offer nothing. You are an incredibly skilled witch, not only with spells but fighting style.”

“I can’t help you fight them.”

“But you can help me train my apprentices.” You freeze at his words. 

“Are you mad?” You ask incredulously, voice a little high pitched. He looks at you as though what he said was normal.

“I’m not mad.” He answers nonchalantly. 

“I think you might be. Maybe you're the one who was dealt a hefty blow on the head.” You say and when he says your name your heart stutters. 

“Coco likes you. She tended over you as you slept. Agott is enamored with your blade. Richeh… well it’s hard to know what she finds enthralling about you but she was in here just as much as Coco and Tetia. They might be scared of you presently but I think you have a chance to do some good. Witches shouldn’t solely rely on magic, sometimes learning basic combat skills and bladework will do good.” You look at him as though he sprouted another head. 

“I haven’t casted a spell normally in… in-- I don’t even know… over probably ten years at this point.” You stuttered. 

“It’s easy, you're adaptable.”

“And you are a complete fool! This is why the Brimmed Cap’s are outsmarting you regular witches! You’re too-- trusting! Too--- kind!” You huff, running a stressed hand through your hair. Qifrey stands and sits beside you on the bed. You stiffen at his proximity. 

“Yet you relied on my kindness after running away then coming back. Does that make you a fool as well?” He asks and it stings because it’s true. You had nowhere else to go. Walking into the forest to be tracked down and killed wasn’t enticing so you turned back, back to the warmth of this atelier. You didn’t deserve its warmth but still you came back. Living in the cold so long it was hard to pull away from that warmth. You bit your lip. 

“I’m… I’m not good with kids.” You say foolishly and Qifrey laughs. 

“Kids are wonderful, and very forgiving.”

“They know what I am. They’ll just fear me.” 

“Yet they made sure to watch over you as you slept.”

“You just have a counter for everything I say don’t you?” You shoot back and turn to look at him. He’s a lot closer now, he’s smiling a little, his eyes crinkled. You blinked at him. 

“Will you do it?” He asks softly. It wasn’t like you had anywhere else to go. Your eyes looked over his face for a moment and when your cheeks burned you looked back down at your food. “I can offer things to you. Things that your old master could never do.” That draws your attention. 

“What do you mean?”

“Protection. As long as you are in this atelier you’ll be safe from anyone that wishes you harm.”

“And outside these walls?”

“I will protect you myself.” He says and you look at him skeptically. 

“You’re full of it.” You say but some weak part of you trusts his words, or just craves something stable. He saved you once to no advantage and that didn’t sit right with you. It was hard to grasp why someone would stick their neck out for you only knowing you are their enemy. 

“I swear to it.” He lowers his head a little to meet your eyes at level. There was no trickery or deception in that look, none that you can tell at least. 

“You’re asking a viper to train mice.” You say and he nods his head. 

“I know.” He says foolishly. “Would you rather I beg and plead? I can.”

“You really are mad.” You blush, shaking your head unbelieving but he slides to the floor on his knees in front of you. Your eyes widen, cheeks burning. “Qifrey-”

“Ah. So you do know my name.” He smiles. Your stomach twists sickeningly. “Please… help me train my apprentices. I need them to be ready for what’s surely to come. I offer my protection, food and shelter to you in return. Please, I beg you accept my offer.” You could barely speak because your heart was effectively taking up space in your throat. You felt less like the viper and more like the mice. A blushing, foolish mess of a mouse. You had to look away, to cover your mouth. 

“Fine.” You answer and Qifrey breathes out in relief. 

“I was prepared for more pleading but thankfully you had mercy on me.” He smiled up at you. You felt sick. 

“Coco, straighten up a little,” You directed as Coco flushed, the wooden sword in her hand wavering in the wind. She straightens but her stance is still wide open, and her grip on her sword is practically floundering. Agott moves in, that girl took your lessons to heart, she was as flawless with a sword as she was with a wand. You were quite impressed. Coco raises her sword halfheartedly to stop Agott’s blow but the force of it cracks the wooden blade and it splinters in half. Agott smiles to herself, sensing an opening and juts her sword forwards right towards Coco’s stomach. You sigh and move in, catching Agott’s wooden blade in a flash before it can strike young Coco. Agott gasps, both girls impressed by your quick movements. 

“Miss?” Agott’s impressed look grinds into annoyance. “Why’d you stop me?” 

“Because we're just practicing, Agott, no need to go for a killing blow.” You say, letting her sword go. She steps back, huffing. You reach out and ruffle her hair. “I’m impressed with your tenacity. Your footwork has improved quite a bit.” You praise and watch in amusement as Agott flushes, trying to keep that annoyed twist to her face. You turn to Coco, her sword broken useless in her grip, she looks positively disappointed. You had been working with Agott a lot longer than the others and although Coco had only been at this for a little over a week, she sure beat herself up over it. You walked over and grabbed another practice sword. 

“Take this.” You say, keeping a softness to your voice. Qifrey had sat in on one of your first lessons with the girls and one of the only things he told you after you ended up making Tetia and Coco cry was to try talking to them softer, nicer. You hadn’t been around kids very much so it was a bit of an adjustment. It was hard not to lash out and berate them because that’s the way you were taught. But after that disaster of a first lesson you tried Qifrey’s way and was happy to find that you really were able to get through to them easier if you talked to them kinder… who would’ve guessed? 

Coco cautiously takes the intact practice sword from your hand as you toss away the broken one.

“Can you show me your ready stance?” You ask and step back. Coco slowly moves into a shaky stance, immediately your mind works at all the openings in her stance, the loose grip on her sword, her elbow extended a bit too much. You heard snickering behind you, Coco’s face fell a little and she flushed in embarrassment. You turned, eyes glaring. Tetia and Agott straightened as if caught. “You two go spar.” You say and they nod their heads quickly and fumble for their swords. Your eyes find Richeh who was currently inspecting ants in the grass. “Would you like to join us, Richeh?” You ask, she just shakes her head. You leave it be. That one was hard for you to figure out. You focus back on Coco, she looks dejected. “Don’t look so gloomy, Coco, you’ve only been at this for a week.” You say as she deflates even more.

“I know, Miss. But I just can’t seem to get the hang of it.” 

“May I ask what you were doing before studying to be a witch?” You ask as Coco lights up a little, nodding her head. 

“I worked in a fabric shop with my mother.” She says fondly. You nod your head. 

“You have to be rather precise while cutting fabric, am I correct?” You ask and she nods her head. “You have to hold the shears a certain way to keep them steady?” 

“Yes, miss.” 

“Think of the hilt of your sword like shears. Your swings will be messy and predictable the looser your grip. But the better your grip, the truer your strike.” You say and her face lights up, she liked your analogy it seemed. “So, show me your grip again.” 

The girls ate happily later that night, their chatter fluttering all the way up to your room where you poured over one of Qifrey’s spellbooks, your stew sat cold on the side of your desk. It had been years since you casted spells that weren’t used for harming others. Mundane spells, like how to heat up water or to shut a door from across the room. It was just busywork, also an excuse to keep a wall up and keep to yourself. You enjoyed teaching the girls but beyond that you weren’t really sure what your place was beyond these walls. What happens when Qifrey’s kindness ran out and you were turned out onto the streets? If the Brimmed Cap’s didn’t snap you up then surely the Knights Morales would. You needed more spells in your roster. Concealment spells, spells to keep food fresh for years on end, all spells you could use on the run. You were hoping one day you would work up the courage to ask Qifrey what spell he placed on your room the first night he brought you to this Atelier. Now that would be a useful spell. 

“Your food is getting cold.” Qifrey’s voice says from the threshold. It startles you but you don’t show it.

“It’s been cold.” You say, flipping to the next page of the book. 

“May I come in?” He asks, lingering at the door like a vampire. You shrug your shoulders. 

“Be my guest.” You say noncommittally. 

“Such pleasure.” He says and you hear his steps approaching you at your desk. “What’re you lost in now?”

“Nothing particularly gripping.” You say and he reaches over to your food and you don’t see him cast the spell but suddenly your food is steaming again. 

“I was thinking we could eat together, since you always eat up here alone.” He says, you turn to see he had his tray in his hand. You furrow your brow. 

“I don’t need company.” You turn back to your spell book. You weren’t one of his apprentices and you surely had no idea how to act around him. This all was too good to be true and in your experience things that were too good would always come to a swift end. 

“You might not need it but… I would like some.” He says and sets his tray next to yours, pulling up a chair. You feel how close he sits, your hair standing on end. You slam the spellbook shut and clear your throat, turning to glare. He’s so close, smiling so softly. “Ah, done studying? Perfect.” He says, pushing your tray towards you. So he wasn’t going to leave this alone. You sigh, relenting. Today’s meal was a pot roast you assumed, you weren’t much of a connoisseur and you sure weren’t picky either. Food was food. But also Qifrey had a gift for cooking, it was unnerving just how good he was at most things. 

“Is it to your liking?” He asks as you eat a spoonful, nodding your head with a full mouth. He smiles. “I tried some different seasonings.” He says and you give him a strange look. It was weird to be talking so casually like him. Months ago you had been moments from taking his life. Now he’s chatting to you about seasonings. Strange. 

“It’s… good.” You say, filling the air. He turns to you at your words. 

“That’s high praise from you.” He beams, you look away, that smile is too bright. “Oh! Almost forgot!” He says, pushing to his feet. “I need to grab something.” He sweeps out of your room and you watch after him, confused. He peeks his head back in a moment later. “Will you shut your eyes for me?” He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“What're you planning, witch?” You ask as you turn away, covering your eyes.

“Nothing nefarious, you have my word.” You hear him draw closer and your skin ignites. “Alright, you may look.” Slowly you turn around. The first thing that catches your eyes in the glint reflecting the light, it takes a moment for your eyes to understand your looking at your blade that had been hopelessly shattered the night Qifrey brought you here. Shattered no more, the blade was fully intact and beautifully sculpted. You sucked in a breath, slowly pushing to your feet. Your eyes bounced from the blade back to his eyes. Words failed you. “Here, take a closer look.” He offers it to you. Slowly you reach out, your cold fingers brushing the warmth of his hand as you take the blade offered to you. It’s hefty, a little heavier than what it was before but it felt entirely better made. You run your finger across the blade as a small sliver of blood blooms. Qifrey gasps and fumbles to grab a cloth from his tray for your finger. 

“It’s fine.” You dismiss, lost in the beautiful intricacies. The leather on the hilt had been replaced with something thicker and easier to gasp. You turn it over in your hand. Qifrey clears his throat. 

“It’s quite sharp as you can tell.” And you can tell he’s inching to take care of your wound. But really it is nothing. 

“Yes. Very.” You smile, meeting his eyes. He’s utterly awestruck at your expression, his breath catching. His cheeks burn impossibly red as you ignore him and look back at the blade. “Who fixed it?” You ask, looking closer at the small details. 

“It uh-- it was um…” He clears his throat. “A swordsmith in Kalhn.” 

“This blade is magnificent.” You beam, you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen something so beautiful. 

“Ah… so that’s what true praise sounds like.” Qifrey mumbles but your mind was entirely elsewhere. 

“What do I owe?” You ask, eyes darting up to him. His brows furrow. 

“Not a thing. It’s a gift.” He says. You shake your head in an instant, offering the blade back to him. 

“I can’t accept this, it’s too fine a blade.” He reaches out and gently pushes it back to you.

“You can accept it because it’s a gift.” He says. You shake your head as he’s nodding his. 

“Witch-”

“Qifrey.” He corrects with a slight smile, you glare. 

“Qifrey,” You say slowly, appeasing him. “I cannot accept it.”

“Why?”

“Why would you fix it for me?” You ask sharply.

“Does everything I do have to come with such close scrutiny?” He asks back. You don’t know how to answer that, not without sounding like the paranoid mess you were.

“No one does anything without wanting something in return.” You say, eyes just as scrutinizing as he described. “I don’t want your charity.” Qifrey sighs, he nods his head and thinks about your words, as if he’s mapping out how to talk to you without offending you. 

“This isn’t charity.” He says. “That blade means something to you, doesn’t it?”

“And what business do you have looking after my happiness?” You say, shoving the blade back towards him. “Do I walk around this Atelier like a wounded dog? Something you need to fix?” His eyes snap to yours. God… you so wish you could anger him into something truthful. You’ve sensed something simmering in him but he is so awfully careful with every aspect of himself. It's unnerving. You’d much rather anger, that’s real and tangible. More so than his false kind words and empty gestures. His breath catches, he’s measuring himself, thinking before he speaks. You strike before he can tailor a response. “What is your plan, witch? Hmm? Once I whip these girls into fighting shape, what then?”

“What? You think I’ll turn you out like a used good?” He asks, his voice wavering. You were getting to him. Good. You needed the truth.

“Yes.” You say. “Yes I do. Am I wrong?”

“Of course you are wrong.” He denies, shaking his head, his white hair moving then falling back into place as though a spell was keeping it perfect. “I have no secret ambitions hidden from you. I have been rather upfront with you from the start.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“That is fine. I don’t expect blind belief. But have I done anything to warrant disbelief in the slightest?” 

“Yes.” You’ve managed to anger yourself into feeling foolish. Attacking someone not worthy of your ire but something about him irked you to your soul. Maybe it was because you just couldn’t figure him out. Couldn’t read him like all the others. He set you off. He kept you on the edge. Your soul squirmed. He raises his brows as if to tell you to list examples. You annoyingly couldn’t think of anything and managed to annoy yourself enough that this conversation felt pointless. Breath wasted in the endeavor to push him over the edge. You wanted to make him squirm, wanted to irk him as much as he irked you. But it was unfair and frankly rude to attack without warrant. You pulled the blade back close to you. You looked at the glint of the steel. “Forget it.” You relent. “I accept if you still want to give this to me.” You say and Qifrey nods his head. 

“Please.” He says and you bite your lip. 

“Excuse my manners. It appears I haven’t any.” You say, placing the blade on your bed.

“I expected as much. Come, let us eat.” He offers, sitting back down, this time you see him cast the spell to warm up both of your stews. 

In the morning you wake to Coco milling about your door arguing with Agott. Their voices bring you annoyance at being woken. You weren’t an early riser. You pushed up, glaring. 

“Does my threshold look like the best place to argue?” You call out to them. The two jump at the sound of your voice, looking startled. 

“Apologies, miss.” Coco says quickly. You sit up, hair a mess, barely awake. You yawn, blinking slowly. “It’s just that… it’s almost past ten and Master Qifrey is still asleep and we're…”

“Hungry.” Agott finishes. You stare at the two of them. 

“Hungry?” You echo. They both nod their heads. “And you’re incapable of… remedying that yourself?”

“Well… Miss… you see…” Coco stutters. “Master Qifrey does all the cooking so we never really had to… learn I suppose.” You yawn again, bigger this time and it pitters out into an annoyed groan. 

“I’m not a skilled cook either.” You say. 

“You made us breakfast that one morning… the meat and runny eggs?” Agott offers. Bacon and eggs, you meant to cook the eggs fully but they ended up liking them. You groan, pushing the covers from your body. 

“Fine. I’ll be down in a moment.” You say and Coco breaks out into a bright smile. 

“Much thanks! We’ll prepare the ingredients.” She says, zooming out of the room. 

“Agott,” You call out, Agott pauses in the door. “Qifrey is still sleeping?” You ask and she nods her head, she can’t keep the worry out of her eyes. 

“Do you think he’s sick?” Agott asks. You think he might be. You never known a morning where Qifrey slept past six am. Sometimes you would still be awake when he’d stir, whistling as he readied breakfast. That was your cue to sleep when you’d hear his merry tune. It lulled you asleep most mornings.

“I’m sure he’s fine, go help Coco.” You say with a soft smile, Agott smiles back, nodding her head as she turns and leaves your room. You quickly brush out your hair, braiding it back out of your face, changing into something comfortable by not sleeping. You wash your face and clean your teeth. You rush downstairs, put on a jovial face and cook breakfast for the girls. You plate their meat and eggs, fixing each one of them something to drink before slipping back upstairs. You peek towards Qifrey’s door. You had to check on him. You swallowed down your nerves and knocked once and waited. You knocked twice and waited. 

“Qifrey?” You call through the door and wait again. Nothing. Your heart plunges to the depths of your stomach. “I’m coming in. Please god be decent.” You mumble the last part and twist the knob, pushing the door open. The room is dark, slivers of light dancing across the carpet from the cracks in the curtains. The room is warm, stagnant. You pad towards his bed, spotting his shape. The way he’s positioned it looked as though he barely made it to his bed before passing out. “Qifrey?” You say softly, gently reaching across the expanse, your hand is mere inches from his shoulder when his hand suddenly shoots out, grasping your wrist. You gasp in shock and his wild eye shoots to you. There’s a moment, a tense moment where you think he has no idea who you are then his grasp slackens. 

“I apologize, I didn’t harm you did I?” He asks, looking close at the part of your wrist he grabbed you at, his thumb gently sliding down a particularly visible vein on your wrist. You yank your hand away. 

“Are you alright? It’s nearly ten.” You say, rattled. His eyes widen, he shoves the covers from his body and pushes to his feet. He falters dizzily at the quick movement and falls forwards a little. Your hands shoot out instinctively, one hand bracing his shoulder, the other on his hip, fingers accidentally slipping beneath his black compression shirt. His skin is clammy under your touch. “Qifrey,” You admonish, pushing him back towards the bed. “Sit.” You say sharply. He does without argument and blink warily. 

“I don’t feel well.” He says, stating the obvious. 

“Yes, I see that.” You press the back of your hand to his forehead. It’s hot to the touch. He moves close to your touch, capturing your wrist. 

“Your hands are so cold.” He states, relishing in the cold as he presses your hand against his hot cheek. 

“Cold hands, cold heart.” You recite, his eyes shift up to yours. 

“Hm?”

“Something my father used to say.” You say and Qifrey’s expression drops. 

“You are not cold hearted.”

“It was a joke. Mostly.” You say. “Lie back.” You guide him back against his pillows, he still hasn’t let go of your hand. He’s quite clingy.

“What’s the diagnosis?” He asks. You pull your hand away and he pouts. 

“I’ll fix you some medicine and something to eat.” You say. “Can you manage a cold bath? It should help you cool off a bit.” You say as he nods his head. “Do that then. I’ll be back in fifteen.” You turn and he catches your wrist again. 

“Thank you.” He says and the warmth in his voice burns you all over. You were berating him just last night. How kind of you. 

“I’ll be back.” You say, pulling out of his loose grasp. You find your way down stairs, whipping up a recipe your grandma taught you years ago and something plain for him to eat so it wouldn’t upset his stomach. 

“Is Master Qifrey alright?” Richeh asks, startling you. You hadn’t heard her approach. 

“Ah… yes. He’s feeling a bit under the weather but I’ll have him fixed up in no time.” You smile down at her. 

“No doubt.” She says and smiles a little back at you before fixing another plate for herself. When you walk back up stairs you push open his door and falter. He’d just got out of the bath, a towel wrapped precariously around his hips. You startle enough that you just about drop the tray in your hasten to turn around. 

“Christ- my apologies.” You say quickly. 

“It’s alright. Not much to look at.” He tries to be funny. You didn’t see much but it definitely wasn’t ‘not much to look at’. You shake those thoughts out of your head. You can’t help the blush, can’t shake that away. “I’m decent.” You slowly turn back. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, red faced and pale. You walk over to him, feeling his face. He feels even hotter than before. 

“Did you take a cold bath?” You ask and he hums yes. You set the tray down. You grasp the medicinal bottle, handing it to him. “Down the whole thing.” You say, he takes it, doesn’t even question what it is. Just does as told. He makes a face. 

“It’s sweet.” 

“No doubt my grandma made it that way so she could trick me into taking it as a child.” You say as he moves closer to you. 

“Ah… family recipe?” He asks and you nod your head, handing him plain chicken broth, he takes it gratefully and sips at it. You watch him, his movements a little sluggish. 

“What happened? You were just fine last night?” 

“I… I'm unsure. It was quite sudden.” He says, popping a cracker in his mouth, chewing slowly. He got a little color back as he ate but his cheeks were still quite red. When he finished his food you took the bowl from him. 

“Alright, lie back.” He does as told as you turn, dipping a washcloth in cold water, ringing it out and turning to dab it on his cheeks and forehead. He settles, making a contented noise, relaxing entirely under your care. 

“You’re skilled at this.” He says. 

“My grandma got sick a lot.” You divulge. His eye squints open, as if he can’t believe you gave him something about yourself.

“Is she..?”

“Surely.” You say. “I’m… unsure though. I sort of… left in a hurry.” He knows what you meant. You had told him how you ran away and joined the Brimmed Cap’s.

“She could still be alive.” He says and you laugh a little. 

“Sure.” You pull back and redip the cloth, ringing it out again, you roll it up and place it on his forehead. “Rest. I’ll come check on you later.” You push up, yet again he catches your hand. 

“Wait-- the girls-”

“Fed. I’ll exhaust them in training. They’re fine.” You say, his hand slides to your fingers. 

“Thank you.” He says yet again. 

“Get some rest.” You say, pulling away yet again.

When you pop in to check on him later he’s fast sleep, the rag on his forehead has fallen off so you walk softly across the room and gently grab it. You feel his face and sigh in relief. He’s not hot to the touch any longer. You fix the covers over him and place the rag on the side table. Your eyes drift back to his face. Looking at him like this, unguarded, felt incredibly intimate, so much so you felt your face flush. He looked peaceful, wholly unguarded. Without thinking you reached out and brushed his hair off his forehead. His cheeks still had a bit of blush to them. Your thumb traced the curve of his jaw, when he stirred a little you yanked your hand back, heart stuttering. He swallowed dryly and his eyes fluttered open. You were standing away from him at this point, pretending to fix him something to drink when in reality you’d rushed to get away from him. 

“Ah… hello.” He greets, his voice rough with sleep. You fix him with a second dose of medicine and some honeyed tea. 

“Sleep well?” You ask, back to him. You hear him pushing up to a sitting position. 

“Yes… I feel… much better.” He says, you turn back and hand him the medicine. He doesn’t question a thing, just throws it back. Then you hand him the tea.

“I suspect the sudden illness was exhaustion.” You say and watch him slowly bring the cup to his lips, taking a sip. He savors it, breathing in the warmth wafting. 

“Yes, I’d agree with that.” He says.

“Have you not been sleeping?” You ask and he nods his head. 

“Not well enough it seems.” He offers a weak smile. 

“Remedy that.” You say at that fake smile. “You worried the girls.” The smile on his lips dies. 

“Oh… yes. I didn’t think of that.” He says, studying the inside of his half empty cup. “You told them I just needed some rest right?”

“Yes.” You say, gathering up the tray to leave. 

“Wait,” He calls to you, you pause at the door. “Can’t you stay? You don’t need to rush off.”

“I have to cook the girls dinner.”

“They are perfectly capable of cooking, they’ve done it time again.” He says. You furrow your brow slightly.

“But they said…” You trail off and he raises a brow. You sigh, setting the tray by the door. “Your apprentices are some tricksters.”

“Ah… did they tell you differently? It’s possible they just wanted some comfort since I wasn’t awake.” 

“I’m sure.” You say. He beckons you closer. You suddenly remember your thumb tracing his jaw when he slept, you didn’t walk any closer. His hand drops back to his lap, he swallows, clears his throat then speaks. 

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“You have. Three times now.” You say and he smiles at that. 

“You’ve kept count.”

“It wasn’t hard.” You roll your eyes and he smiles again, not that fake weak smile from before. A genuine smile and the way he looked at you that made you squirm in your skin. He looked at you the way your mother used to look at your father before times got hard. That blindly adoring look of love. “Is there anything else you need?” You say in a rush, eager to end this moment. 

“Yes,” He says, sitting up more. 

“What?”

“Come… sit with me for a moment.” He beckons you again. You bite your lip hard and walk across the small expanse of his room, you sit at the edge of his bed, he could reach out his hand and brush you with the tips of his fingers if he wanted. “How is the blade faring? Did you practice with it today?”

“It’s slightly heavier than my last one.” You say and he cocks his head. “The smallest bit of weight difference is easy to tell when you use a weapon your entire life.”

“Does that affect the way you use it?”

“No. Just that my swings have a bit more power than before.” You say. “It isn’t a bad thing.” He smiles at that. 

“We should spar.” He smirks, you roll your eyes. 

“I would wipe the floor with you, Witch.”

“I meant when I was better.” He laughs warmly. 

“I know what you meant.” You say and meet his eyes, his eyes light up at your tease. 

“I believe our scoreboard is two to one at this point.” He says and that makes you laugh. 

“I yearn to tie then break that tie.”

“So that’s what you yearn for? To best me?” His voice is rich. The room felt smaller at this conversation. He leans a little closer. 

“That’s my life's goal.”

“You wouldn’t have to do much to best me.” He says softly. When had he gotten so close? 

“Is that so?” You ask and he slowly nods his head. 

“You're rather distracting.” 

“What do you mean by that?” You ask and he reaches across the short distance between you both and tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. You freeze. You were the distracted one. 

“You muddle my brain.” He says. “It’s hard to think properly.” You felt that. You were aware of your breathing and how much you hoped it sounded normal and not as irregular as your heartbeat. Your legs longed to bolt but your body stayed bolted to the bed.

“Once you feel better the fog will lift.”

“It has nothing to do with sickness.” He says and his eye dips down to your lips, he savors the sight, as though he was never allowed to look at them before in such detail. “Though maybe it’s some kind of other sickness.” You freeze again. You dig your nails into your leg and will yourself to get a damn grip. You felt like the hazy one. You had no quips to give, no sharp words, you had nothing. You watch as his eye raises back up to meet your eyes. He doesn’t look caught out or embarrassed that he took his time studying you.

“And… What sickness would that be?” Luckily your voice didn’t sound as shaken as you felt. This time he’s the one that looks away, almost bashfully. 

“One that’s indescribable." 

“How mysterious.” You note, slowly reeling yourself back together. But then he says your name and you feel yourself unraveling. “Hm?”

“Don’t you feel it too?” He asks. 

“The sickness?” You clarify and he quickly nods his head, there was a kind of foolish hope in his eyes. You weren’t sure what you felt but it wasn’t something you’d let yourself explore. You shake your head. “I don’t feel a thing.” You say, pushing to your feet. “I’ll come check on you in the morning.” He catches your hand.

“Just… stay. Please.” He pleads, pulling you back towards the bed. You sit back down, cursing your traitorous legs for not carrying your wanting heart out of this room. It’s quiet, his hand is still holding yours. He speaks your name again before pushing up the sleeve on your arm, exposing warm, carved up skin. You flinch as his finger traces the spell etched into your skin. He’s not looking at it with fear or disgust, not flinching away from it like before. His touch is reverent and you let his touch you, unable to speak. He brings your arm close to him and presses his lips to the scar. You jolt, yanking your hand out of his grip. You burn all over, the soft press of his lips to your arm felt sickeningly good. You were sick. Likely with the same thing that ailed him. 

He speaks your name again then his hand is sliding on your hot cheek, thumb caressing you like you had done to him. You part your lips to admonish him but the thought dies when those gentle lips press against yours. Your heart topples out of your chest, you grip the blanket on his bed so as to not touch him as his lips slide against yours. You can’t stop him. You didn’t want to stop him. He cracked your lips apart and deepened the kiss, stealing away your breath and the last bit of your sanity. You grip the covers so hard that it was starting to hurt, you held onto your restraint like it was the last thing you owned. But it was all done in vain because you were kissing him back, you were making little embarrassing sounds to match his. His hand slid into your hair and he trailed kisses from your lips, turning your head as he trailed his kisses down to your neck. He breathed unsteadily against your neck as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Shall I stop?” He whispers against your skin.

“No.” Your answer was quick. Too quick to pretend and hurt yourself in the endeavor to keep your hands to yourself. He pulled you to him on the bed, you lost your grip on the covers, your cold hands flying to his face and hair as you pulled his lips back to yours, he laid back on the bed and coaxed you on top of him, his hands sliding to your hips as you straddled him, bodies pressed together as his tongue slid cleverly in your mouth. You pressed him into the comforter as the kiss grew from gentle and exploring into desperate and cloying. Hands touching anything they could as he mapped out your body, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. God everything was warm about him, his touch and the way he made you feel. This was wrong, you should’ve been able to show more restraint. Has he really bested you for the fourth time? Well really you were on top so maybe this was a win for you? You tug at his shirt.

“Raise your arms.” You direct and he does as told. He was always a good listener. You yank the useless thing over his head and toss it aside. His hands are already pushing up your own shirt and you let him pull it up over your head. He showers your exposed skin with kisses and flawlessly kicks off his pants, you hadn’t even noticed him doing it until he started working on your own.

“Lift your hips for me, please.” He pleaded and you were just as good a listener as he was. He pulled them off, likely tossing them in the same place as his. His fingers traced the outline of your underwear, his free hand coming up to pull your lips back to his. Your hips moved against his and he made a strangled sound against your mouth. Most unclothed and feeling foolishly hot just moments ago you said you didn’t feel anything. He called you on your bluff so flawlessly you hadn’t even known you were in a trap until it was too late. His arms wrapped around you, surprisingly strong. 

“This is a horrible idea.” You say against his mouth.

“You think so?” He asks. “How horrible?”

“Astrnomically horrible.” You lie. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” He questions, back to kissing your throat. 

“Yes… yes I do.” You groan, he sits up so your chests are practically pressed together, his bright eyes looking up at you adoringly. He worshiped you with kisses.

“How much?”

“How much… what?”

“How much do you hate me?” He asks breathlessly against your collar bone. You're unable to answer for a moment. “Hm?” He hums as you tug his hair a little and his hum breaks off into a whimper.

“So so much.” You lie again. “Sometimes it's all I think about.” 

“Yeah?” He mewls, hands cloying.

“Don’t you hate me the same?”

“Not one bit.” He answers quickly he’s on top now, burying you into the mattress, showering you with kisses. He’s unable to verbally spar with you anymore and you the same. He speaks your name like a litany and you hate that you don’t hate him at all. No… you like him more than anyone you’ve ever known. Though the word ‘like’ wasn’t nearly a strong enough word but thinking past that made your head hurt and right now it was muddled enough. Neither of you let the other leave the bed the entire night and when you woke in the morning, a soft light casting across the room. Qifrey laid pressed against you, his shirt had ridden up a little in the night and the clothes you had thrown back on to sleep in were rumpled. You were tangled with him beneath the covers, his chin laid against the top of your head. You let him soak up the last of the cold inside you and listened to the soft rhythmic sounds of his breathing. You moved a little and he stirred, his arms tightening around you, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Almost can’t believe you're still here.” He says softly against the top of your head. 

“It’s not like you're giving me much space to leave.” You throw back and feel him smile against you. “You seem moments away from casting that spell to keep me trapped in your room again.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” He speaks warmly, his voice a little deep from sleep, his accent soft on his tongue. 

“I should leave. Before the girls wake up.” You say and his arms tighten around you.

“Don’t go. Not yet.” You remember all those months ago walking up alone and confused in his room, a spell casted to keep you in. There didn’t need to be a spell now, you didn’t want to leave. But you also didn’t want to scar little witches. You push up and he pouts and groans.

“Someone has to be the mature one.” You say, warm feet hitting the cold hardwood flooring. You gather the rest of your clothes and walk towards his door. Qifey follows and gently stops you before you can slip away. 

“This… meant something to you, right?” He asks nervously. You almost laugh. You kissed him back. You pulled his clothes off. You stayed in his bed in his arms until morning. What about any of that made him think you didn’t care? You weren’t the best with words but you felt your actions were pretty clear. 

Yandere Hc's

Wednesday Addams

𝓦What a child full of woe she is indeed. Here Wednesday is the one who has always been judging her parents for their nauseating ways of doting and loving on each other in ways that didn't feel good only to wind up the same way. Perhaps it is just a family curse which has found its way to her at last. Wednesday always thought that she would be the one who would swear all love off yet here her black heart is trying to claw its way out of its cage whenever you are around. She almost feels alive when she is around you and that is deeply disturbing in all the wrong ways. Yet she never utters a single word of it to anyone. No one must find out. This is a weakness she is not fond of and Wednesday Addams very much hates having a weak spot. Anyone else might be able to brush it off as a silly, little school crush but Wednesday knows somehow better. She doesn't just let anyone earn her loyalty and trust but those who do are usually the people she would go to great lengths for. This is so much worse though. She didn't let you in. You have wormed your way in like a parasyte. It's almost admirable how you did it without even trying but that is also where the silent torment lies.

𝓦Her stare is pretty much her signature and you find it a lot on you. Unblinking as always. You might think she is plotting murder. You're not entirely wrong. Wednesday is technically plotting. Just not murder. She's analysing. She's inspecting. She is learning. Her obsessive curiosity whenever a mystery presents itself is not exactly unknown and that principle can be very much applied to this. For someone normally so detached romance is a riddle she is now being forced to solve and understand. And Wednesday? She picks up on a lot. Little ticks and habits you do, often even without you being aware of it. She sends Thing to follow you around whenever you are gone, unwilling to take the risk of doing it herself and be spotted by you. It would be humiliating to say the least if she would let herself be reduced to some lovesick fool who clings to their subject of obsession. She cannot stop the process that has already begun unfolding. Wednesday knows that she is doomed to rot now. However, if she does she will do it as coldly and as calculating as she has always done. Control is the word to use here. She will show restraint where her parents never ever did.

𝓦You'd have better luck convincing her to cut off her own tongue and nail it on the wall than to have Wednesday ever admit that she is jealous. Jealousy is the beginning of emotional decay and she will simply not let that happen. However, it would be one big lie to claim that she is even remotely unbothered whenever you spend your time with other people. There is the death stare of hers again whenever that happens. Yes, this time it is a death stare because what she is scheming now is not nice. Others may simply say that some people are just nice to you but Wednesday doesn't believe that. She doesn't believe that niceness is sincerity. People who are nice usually always have ulterior motives. Normally she sends Thing who will then set up an accident to stop this horrible sight that has her itching to stab her own eyeballs out. In only very few situations where no other options are available will she see herself forced to pop up behind your back and stop this herself. Wednesday isn't nice. She never pretends to be. Well, you know how she is so you can expect that her sharp tongue coupled with her glare will soon scare away anyone who she categorises as an unpleasant variable.

𝓦Wednesday is morally ambiguous, to say the least. She tolerates few and she respects even less. If someone is in her way or if someone keeps important information from her she resorts to rather extreme methods to get what she wants. That is precisely what makes her so terrifying. She doesn't see people. She sees threats and if necessary she will resort to elimination. In terrifying and horrible ways as she is desensitised to violence and gore that would have normal people sick to their core. Now, she isn't a savage of course who just runs around with a gun and shoots anyone in sight. Wednesday is very much like a dagger. She is precise and cuts effectively. Fear is often the first step if there is someone who lands on her list. Warnings written in bleeding ink where she describes in vivid detail what exactly will happen if something should happen to you can do a terrific job in frightening someone and motivate them to never get close to you again. If something should happen to you though an unfortunate accident might just befall the culprit. It is best to not make things personal with Wednesday or otherwise terrible things will follow.

𝓦Wednesday requires her own privacy. She is not like her mother and father who couldn't spend even a day away from each other. Yet protective surveillance is always going to be ensured. Thing is always offering a helping hand. Her visions too provide a good way of keeping danger away from you if she should ever have one where you get in danger. Is this concerning? No, not at all. Wednesday rationalises it. She always does this. This is just to prevent anything from happening to you. Prevention is simply more effective than a cure after all. She doesn't enjoy the thought of harm coming to someone that she has silently claimed in her mind as hers and that is very much why she does the things that she does. The loss of control is always a fear of Wednesday. She would hate if something were to happen to you because deep down she would silently label it as her own failure of not having thought ahead enough. You might not understand. Maybe you will never be able to fully understand why Wednesday does the things that she does. But your own feelings will have to be put aside as Wednesday has clear priorities. Yes, she is a close friend of death. But she prefers you alive and breathing.

𝓦She considers her point of no return when the morbid poems of love begin. Initially she doesn't let anyone see them. It is her only way of expressing what she simply won't be able to express in words to anyone else, not even to you. Eventually she dares to send you a few of them. Never all of them. Only a few chosen ones. Written in elegant handwriting and tugged away in a black envelope with only your name written on it. Always tugged away in hidden spaces in your room or places where you like to spend some time alone by yourself. That is her affection. It is quiet, sometimes cold but very invasive at times. Wednesday will only openly tell you that she loves you very few times but when she does speak it, she means it. When she finds herself brooding with thoughts about you, she sometimes starts playing her cello. Her fingers move on their own and she ends up with her own melody for such times. It's in a way a song composed for you and eventually you learn what it means when the eerie melody echoes through the silence. She doesn't coddle. She never does. Wednesday offers truth far too harshly at times but if there is anything that endangers you, she will have it removed.

Tyler Galpin

☕︎Tyler I simply find fascinating to observe through the lenses of a writer for dark romance. On the outside Tyler is pretty much the perfect boyfriend package. He's sweet, he's soft-spoken, he's caring and he always considers your thoughts and opinions first. Yet there is something or someone else on the inside. A lot of suppressed rage, trauma and something monstrous, figuratively and literally speaking. In this context I simply have to label him as emotionally unstable as he and the Hyde don't speak the same language. Not at first at least. Now, Tyler is aware that with the current situation that he has going on love should really be the last thing on his mind. He has enough on his plate already, desperately trying to balance between a normalcy he craves but can never have and the control that Laurel has established over him via torture, violence and drugs which forces him to follow her commands. Perhaps this is a reminder though that despite everything he is still just a teenager who has just been handed the worst cards possible in life. A monster in the forests when Laurel orders him to be but in town a boy struggling to deal with his first love. And dear lord, does he fall fast.

☕︎It starts out as something very genuine. Tyler knows he shouldn't risk it but unfortunately the heart just wants what it wants. Whilst it looks sweet, it turns into an intense attachment over time. Tyler gets hyper-attuned to all of your emotions. If you're happy then he's floating. If you're depressed or even wind up crying he is spiraling and tries everything to fix whatever it is that is causing you to feel this way. Technically speaking there is nothing wrong with putting your partner's needs before your own. Tyler puts your needs as his first priority instead of his own though and there lies an issue that has never been fully explored even by Dr. Kinbott. The sad truth is that he is far too used to people leaving and abandoning him through no real faults of his own. Even Laurel who he genuinely believed wanted to help him for a certain time turned out to have motives that simply involved using him and now he can't even do anything about it anymore. This is the first situation where he actually has the chance to hold the wheel himself but that is what causes him to clutch it far too tightly. Tyler is controlling too. But he does it with soft words, clinginess and gentle manipulation.

☕︎It feels wrong. He wants to trust you. He does trust you. The horrible feeling is still always there in his gut though. An acidic twist in his stomach, his heart suddenly in his throat. It's overwhelming and difficult to navigate through all of the feelings that always burn within his chest. And he cannot even tell anyone about it. He doesn't want to come over as someone who is horribly jealous. What ends up happening is that Tyler attempts to outshine the rival. He buys you your favorite snacks, he brings you coffee, he compliments you a lot. All with that sweet smile on his face only mildly twinged with nervousness. Sometimes he might also let a passive-aggressive comment slip out but that's all he dares to do. Because Hyde? Hyde doesn't understand jealousy. What he does get is rage and he understands that jealousy is the emotional trigger of it. No further context is needed. It's a terrifying feeling when his heart starts pounding not with fear but with a fury Tyler can't even hold back as it isn't even fully his own. It brings forth one horrifying realisation though. And that is that Hyde starts responding to something that isn't Laurel's command.

☕︎Tyler is already a killer. Not by his own choice. But because he has been brainwashed and enslaved by Laurel who has made her own plans to ressurect Crackstone and for that has decided that Hyde is going to kill people for her. He knows what he has done when he wakes up covered in blood and is completely naked but he can't remember. Perhaps that is the last crumbling wall he has as he doesn't recall how he has done it. Until those dark instincts start to seep into his mind when he observes you. When people get too close his hands start twitching. When someone speaks wrong of you Tyler experiences tunnel vision and he swears that he starts smelling blood even though no one is bleeding. His mind gets hazy and his heart starts drumming violently within his chest, each heartbeat screaming "mine, mine, mine". Most terrifying of all is that he doesn't even realise it when he zones out. There's a pulse behind his eyes and an itching beneath his skin as something else is watching. It is eventually only a question of time until Hyde breaks out and protects and defends his territory the only way he knows how. With claws and teeth. And worst of all? That's the first time Tyler remembers.

☕︎Sometimes that thought does cross his mind though it isn't really his own. The idea to simply take you and keep you somewhere for himself where he can protect you is disturbingly tempting in some moments but simply not possible. It's not something Tyler could justify either even with those other thoughts in his head. So he never acts on it. He can't control if he acts on it in his Hyde form though as feelings and instincts heighten then. Hyde though doesn't act on them either as if begrudgingly acknowledging the not so ideal situation either. Marks of ownership are still made from both sides though. Tyler has an odd tick of keeping you for prolonged times in his rooms until his sheets smell like you. He constantly lets you wear his jackets or shirts, the sight oddly calming for him. Hyde might leave claw marks on trees on the paths you take that take you close or even through it at times. You might even notice dead animals placed deliberately on your path like sacred offerings in a language spoken by predators and monsters. One side claims you through clingy touches and the other through violent protection. The best of both worlds, innit?

So he would follow you, watch you, all intently and judging. He needed to make sure you didn’t have ulterior motives with his sister like most of the students here. Isaac has always been precise in his calculations and research.

You noticed him as well, in other ways. Like when he would check on his sister during lunch or in between classes. You’d notice his unruly, curly hair, his pale skin, thin body, and height along with the expression of madness made him look sickly.

His watching over the years turned from protecting his sister into admiring you from afar. Becoming obsessed. No one truly sees him or his sister, no one gives them the time of day. But you do. Regardless of the fact you’re more his sister’s friend than his — because of his habit of keeping almost everyone at arms length — it caused him to latch on, obsess over you.

He began popping up more. This time you sat in the corner of the library. Your knees were pressed to your chest while you lost yourself in a book on Hyde lore. Another thing Isaac admired, you cared enough to learn about his sister.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor causes you to look up from your book. He had sat down across from you. He doesn’t speak much, simply focusing on his studies. This has been happening since the beginning of your final year at Nevermore. Isaac will show up randomly, sit near you. Just you, silently, until it became a normal thing.

You continue staring over your book, his head is down and buried in his notebook. All you can really see is his messy curls and his slender pale fingers writing away about inventions and discoveries you could hardly imagine.

What you didn’t know? He’s come up with a plan, how to get you to become just as beautifully, sickeningly obsessed with him as he is with you.

It all had to start right. Slow, with you unaware of his ulterior motives. At first, he only showed up when Francoise was also with you. He’d hardly engage in conversation, just sit there and observe you. He would ask his sister about you, personal things. Not out of malice, in an attempt to learn, dissect, figure you out. She quickly realized you were becoming one of his obsessions.

He’d never admit this, though. In fact he hates to face it himself. Despite the amount of times he has been in his lab, mind drifting from his current research onto you. You’ll have to be the one to confess to him, even if he has to bend your feelings to his will.

He keeps a neutral expression, scribbling on pages and taking his time to respond to you. Like you’re something getting in the way of his research, as if he hadn’t chosen to sit here with you. But it’s nothing new to you coming from him.

Oddly enough it’s… quite nice. Maybe it’s the excuse to look at his hauntingly beautiful face while he works. Maybe it’s the comfortable silence, doing your own thing in each other’s presence. Something he wouldn’t do with just anyone. It made you feel special.

For a few minutes you let silence fill the space between you. That is, until curiosity kills the cat and you begin asking questions. What he’s working on, what it means, how close he is to getting the answer he wants. It makes his mechanical heart perhaps tick a bit quicker. Despite realizing you’re a curious, talkative person long ago, he isn’t used to others being truly fascinated, interested by his work.

He’d answer with practiced indifference, though you could see the little smirk fighting to claw its way onto his face. He wasn’t exactly stunned with how intelligent your questions were, but each time you asked him something it caused an even deeper infatuation to dig a hole inside him. He’d happily fall into it.

He can’t help but indiscreetly take in your features as you spoke. He’s known for being thorough in his experiments, so why wouldn’t he be thorough in studying you? You don’t understand what you’re doing to him, how badly he wants to risk all his composure just to grab you right here and kiss you until you forget to breathe.

But that’s when it hits, it always does eventually. While you’re asking him another question he gets hit with a wave of uncertainty. Realization hits, fear sets in. He shows none of it. But his head is swimming, feelings are uncertain. They could lead to weakness, hurt, loss of control.

Isaac Night doesn’t lose control.

He goes stoic, freezing in his seat before gathering his things and leaving without a word. You watch him with furrowed brows, your friend’s brother has always been a weird anomaly, but you thought you were making progress.

Isaac finds himself back in his lab, running a hand over his face. He’s had many interests that have faded, replaced by the next best use for his talents and wonderful mind. You’re going to be just like the rest of those lost obsessions. This infatuation will go away.

He sits down at his desk to busy himself with another project. Perhaps an invention. The thought has his mind traveling to you, what he could create for you.

He lets out a mix of a growl and a yell, slamming his fist down. He doesn’t understand this. He’s an intelligent man, but he can’t wrap his head around how something so simple and trivial as a girl, his sister’s friend, can send him down a spiral.

He doesn’t trust or obsess easily, but when he does, it’s strong. It’s unforgiving, it’s harsh, and it’s beautiful all at once. He’s fully willing to do anything for you. He hasn’t felt this way for anyone but his sister, though for you it’s different.

With you he can’t help but notice what you’re wearing every day. How it fits your body, what it shows off. How you did your hair, your hands when you talk. Your lips when you talk. Your natural kindness towards people, which he quickly realized isn’t a weakness of yours. He’s seen you do a complete turn-around on someone once they start belittling Francoise. Or even him.

He’ll tell you he doesn’t need saving, but the fact you would do it without question intrigued him.

He finds himself having moments like these. Where he’s sitting in his dark tower, candles and dinky lamps and the moon being the only things providing light in the space. And he closes his eyes, just for a moment, trying to push his feelings down.

Instead you keep popping into his head. First it’s just thoughts of you, how you’ve wormed yourself into his and Francoise’s lives. How simplistically kind you were to them. How your bare minimum treatment was so foreign to him he couldn’t help but get unhealthily attached even from afar.

How you smelled when he sat next to you. How you looked at him with so much interest just at him explaining how he adapts when he gets his heart wet, or his newest experiment with reanimating deceased animals. How your lips looked as you spoke.

How it would feel to grab you, feel every inch of you. Hold you impossibly close, pressed against him. And only him.

It’s almost like he can feel your skin against his. He’d rake his hands up and down your body, memorizing it like it’s the only thing he needs to study. The thought of being the one to touch you, to kiss every inch of you causes him to take in a sharp breath.

His breathing picks up just slightly when he feels his pants get tighter. He curses under his breath, at you, for what you do to him. You don’t even know the hold you have over him. It makes him angry, it makes him sick.

But still, he reaches under his waistband. Despite his anger and his desire for control, this isn’t lust. Not purely at least. It’s obsession, infatuation. Every pump of his hand has a meaning behind it. Wanting you, craving you. Wishing he could give you a peek inside his head, so you could see what he could do for you, to you.

He’d let you do what you wanted, he’d let you take control. That angers him even more. The need to be in control has been extremely present since he had to take his life into his own hands. He wants you all to himself, but that’s tonight. By tomorrow he’ll be over it. He refuses to let this obsession take over.

For the next few days you plague his mind. All of a sudden his inventions are centered around you, his eyes drift to you during classes you have together. It seems the world has it out for him, because the two of you always managed to find him. And his brain would short circuit. The way your hair framed your face, the way you looked at him. How your uniform pressed against your body. He didn’t know he could be envious of cloth until now.

He ignores it, buries it deep and focuses on anything but you. Nothing works, you’re not just some silly crush. You’re one of the only people to successfully win over his ticking heart. The only other being his sister, and this feeling he has for you isn’t the same he holds for her.

He wants to ravish you, study you, be at your beck and call. He wants to spend every waking moment with you, because if you’re the only person deemed worthy of his time, why should you ever be out of his sight?

He can’t help himself, he needs to face you, take what’s his. He finds himself writing the words ‘Iago Tower, Midnight” on a piece of paper. Your desk is a bit away from his in your shared class, but with a flick of his wrist it lands right in front of you.

You recognize his handwriting, it’s legible but scratchy. Like he can’t waste time writing but it somehow turns out stunning like everything else about him. You don’t reply, you don’t nod, you just look forward, stuffing the paper in your pocket.

He knew you’d show up, a small smirk finding a way on his face at the sound of the rickety elevator making its way up to his laboratory.

You’ve been here before, existing with him silently while the two of you worked. You, on more trivial things like homework. And him, his never-ending experiments driven by his rock solid god complex.

His head doesn’t lift, but you know he hears the click of your shoes against the rickety flooring.

“I got your note.” You announce, nearing the side of his desk. You lean against it, looking over your shoulder at his work. It’s blueprints drawings. Most likely of the next big Night invention waiting to grace Nevermore.

He doesn’t look up at you, he just simply hums in response. You can’t help but let out a small laugh, ever the mysterious man he was. It almost drove you crazy, in the best way.

You lean down a bit to be more level with his face, “Why did you want me here?”

With a practiced smirk he goes to look at you, freezing a bit at the sight before him. The way you were bent gave him a view right into the top of your shirt. His smirk falls and he takes in a sharp breath.

“Your presence helps me focus.” Your head tilts at his statement. It was stated so matter-of-factly, but it was so oddly intimate for Isaac. You turn your head away from him, nodding to cover up the heat blooming in your chest.

If he could tell his words affected you, which is probably the case, he didn’t show it. He simply went back to his work like you weren’t there. But any time you tried to move away, invisible hands kept you at the edge of his desk.

You looked down, seeing his hand lifted a bit, the one keeping you in place. And a burst of confidence had you placing your hand on top of it. His head tilts at the action, eyes darting to the simple contact.

“I like being here with you. When it’s just the two of us.”

You didn’t need to say anything else, the tone of your voice had his focus moving from your hand to your eyes. He leans back in his chair, looking over you with a stare that told you he was battling with himself internally.

Isaac keeps eye contact, still studying you. Less like a curious scientist and more like a predator to its prey. “You’re the only person I let up here with me.” His voice is softer, but still sharp. In the way it seems like he’s telling you things to get your reaction.

You swallow thickly before shaking your head with a little laugh. “I see you bring Francoise up here.”

“To run tests.” He answers smoothly, watching you turn your head again. His telekinetic grip on your body goes to your chin, moving your gaze back to him. “You’re the one I seek out for my own self-gratification.”

He stands swiftly, stepping in front of you. His hold on your face doesn’t waver, keeping you still in front of him. One of his hands grabs one of yours, holding it and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. He bends slightly, lifting your hand to his lips, eyes remaining on yours. He was pushing you, seeing how far he could go. Testing you even without his fancy equipment.

“And does me being here help you focus on your work? Or something else?” He smirks at that, you playing along. Of course you’re right, he couldn’t focus on a single thing with you around. Everything would just start pointing towards you.

His focus finally falls from your eyes to your nose, to your lips. Taking his time to look over every part of your face. As if he hasn’t studied every bit of you that he could a million times over already.

Then he leans in, still keeping your head in place, and presses his lips against yours. It’s gentle, soft, more of a peck than anything. You didn’t expect such a kiss from him, but it had your heart soaring.

Inside his head he was going crazy. His brain was screaming at him to kiss you like he was claiming you. It took everything in him not to. But then he lets your chin go, and you’re leaning in to kiss him again.

It’s as if all resolve snaps, feeling your lips again ignites a hunger in him. He could have managed with a small, fleeting taste. But you had to break him. All of a sudden one hand is on your waist, the other grabbing your hair. You let out a surprised noise into his mouth that he only swallows greedily.

This obsession, addiction, fuels possession. He leaves dark marks and bites along your neck and collarbone. The sound of his name slipping from your lips, it’s such a sweet sound to him.

That ever-so-present force of his presses your bodies together. You can feel the imprint of him pressing against your thigh, a whimper leaving you in response. His kisses trail down to your chest, hands reaching up your shirt to feel your skin.

He wants to learn every curve of your body, every touch that makes you let out those pretty noises. The ones only he’s allowed to cause and hear. His hands go up until they’re lifting your shirt off, your bra following.

He lays you down onto his desk, the bottom half of your body dangling. He positions himself between your legs, bending down to look over your bare torso. You feel him everywhere, and your mind buzzes with anticipation.

His hand slides up to your neck, admiring the claim he’s put on you. He wraps his fingers around your throat, experimentally squeezing as his eyes stay trained on your face. Your eyes flutter shut and a small whine leaves you, eliciting a satisfied hum from Isaac.

He leans down, lips pressed below your ear, “I want to fucking tear you apart, pretty dove.” You let out a small gasp that he cuts off with a kiss. It’s much harsher this time, less calculated, he’s losing his resolve. It’s all your fault.

You feel his hand squeeze occasionally, his free one going under your skirt. He grips your thigh, nails digging into the skin and ripping more noises out of you. You feel your patience thinning.

Your head falls back, your breathless voice calling out his name. He trails open-mouthed kisses down to your stomach, humming at you. “What is it, dove?” You spread your legs farther apart, hoping he’d get your silent plea. But the smirk on his face and his continuation of kisses tells you he needs you to say it.

You huff, hand going to his hair to force his head up. He looks confused, a bit surprised at the action. But the slight pain of your nails digging into his scalp and the grip you have is delicious. He’s surprised himself that he’s allowing it.

You lead his head between your legs, forcing him onto his knees. He could have stopped you, grabbed your hand, he could have even used his mind. But his need to please you, worship you, watch you lay there and writhe in pleasure he gives you.

It scratches that possessive itch better than anything.

So he indulges you, flipping your skirt up to reveal the pretty sight of you absolutely soaked. All because of him. His lips find your inner thigh, pressing kisses and nipping at the skin. He can’t help but smirk at the sight of your hips rutting into the air, and he’s pushing them down without lifting a finger.

Finally his kisses land where you need them, right against your clit through your panties. It feels gross and lewd and perfect all at the same time. It’s written all over your face, the shameful pleasure. He notices everything.

Teasingly slow, his fingers move your panties to the side. That invisible force pins your hips to the desk as his tongue gives a few little flicks. You whine at the tiniest bit of pleasure, but Isaac wants to take his time with you. Watch you unravel and fall apart beneath him.

The grip you have on his hair tightens and you’re forcing him further into your cunt. He just chuckles against you, the vibrations causing your legs to spasm around his head. He doesn’t speed up, giving the least amount of attention he can to your poor pussy.

As if he’s toying with you, experimenting with your body. Seeing how long you can take it. Hearing the noises he can pull out of you. How many times he can make you chant his name.

He brings one finger to your entrance, circling around it. He’s teasing, drawing it out. You attempt to buck your hips up, but they’re forced down even harder.

Finally he relents, tongue flattening and dragging all the way up before he looks up at you. He sucks on your clit, harsh, his attention zeroing in on the way your face scrunches and your breathing quickens into panting.

Isaac kept your shaky legs apart, gripping them so rough he left crescent-shaped marks. He would remove his mouth from you with an erotic, wet pop sound to kiss the imprints his nails left. His fingers sliding into you to make up for the loss of stimulation.

Your moans and whimpers of his name fill his lab, leading his head into those dark places again. Thinking of drawing those noises from you again, with added begging. Maybe from overstimulation, or maybe from providing you barely enough to keep you pleading for more.

His movements get messier the more lost in thought he gets. He can’t help but bite into the plush of your thigh, relishing in the small cry you let out. His slip of focus causes his unseen grip on you to falter, your hips grinding on his hand in an attempt to ride his fingers.

If he would secure you to his operating table, he wouldn’t need to focus on that at all.

“Isaac-” your voice trembles as you call his name. His eyes snap back to your face, watching it contort with every bit of pleasure he’s providing you.

“It’s fascinating watching you squirm.” His voice sounds crazed. The kind of tone you’d hear when he was dangerously close to succeeding in his scientific endeavors, and was teetering on the edge of obsessed-madness.

His tongue drags from the array of bites on your thigh all the way back to your folds. Voice dipping into something softer, “And how do you taste so good?” Isaac’s practically burying his face in your cunt to get more of your arousal. “You’re fucking addicting.”

It’s as if his words were all you needed to send you over the edge. He continued to lap at you through your orgasm, savoring every bit of you. If anything were to go to waste, what was this even for?

He kisses his way back up your body, head winding up in your neck. You feel his breath hot against your ear and his hips pressing into yours. You felt a wet spot of his pants pressed against you, gasping at the feeling.

Isaac simply chuckles in your ear, shame gone and obsession fully taking over. “Like I said dove, you’re addicting.”

Despite dismissing your doubts with caresses and slight pinches on the cheek, Qifrey still chose to offer a continuous, icy stare.

But you were brave enough not to be affected by such an obstacle.

What was an ocular reprimand from a master who, for the rest of the day, indulged your every whim...?

Perhaps Qifrey had spoiled you too much.

That was what he pondered uninterruptedly while holding your shoulders in place, but his arms faltered, and soon, you leaned forward.

“I'm sorry, Master Qifrey…” you sobbed, with a trembling brow and soaked eyelashes.

There was no reason for Qifrey to scold you; you had learned your lesson and understood why he masked details—from the simplest to the most meticulous ones.

Now, he only needed to melt into your touch, squeezing you back with a calculated intensity.

“But you know, right, Master Qif…?”

“What, dear?”

You held onto your his shoulders, looking at him from a higher angle.

Qifrey seemed shorter than you now that he retreated onto the grass, holding your flank upon his lap.

“I will always be here! When I finish the final test and become a full witch, then we will be on equal footing, right? That'll be when you can feel free to count on me for everything! Absolutely everything!”

“You are a sweetheart… I am sure of that. You're a smart and kind child, my love… come here, I want to show you a spell…”

Qifrey put his hands inside his robes, scribbling something within the darkness of the silk.

“Hey, I want to see you drawing!”

He only chuckled.

“No, No, my love. Close your eyes…”

“Okay, Master Qifrey!”

You had promised to review your studies at six in the evening, but the world outside had adopted sepia tones, worthy of a morning prime.

Moving across your bed, it was a bit strange not to feel the light fabric of your pajamas, but rather the details of your uniform.

Having forgotten to study and going to sleep without even changing was an inexplicable humiliation.

Your eyelashes were stuck together, as if your eyes had welled up with tears in a moment not too long ago.

“Master Qifrey…?”

Upon finding him, your impulse was apologetic.

“I swear I was going to study! I don't know what happened! I didn't study! I slept in my uniform, even though it's super uncomfortable! Master Qif, I'm sorry-”

His chin trembled. Qifrey took you into his arms.

“You had a fever yesterday…”

“Really…?”

“Yes. But it has passed, darling. It has passed. There is no reason to cry anymore.”

“Was it that bad?” Qifrey kept his face hidden against your neck; he was truly worried about your health.

“It's okay, Master Qifrey. There's nothing to worry about!”

He shook his head, hugging you with a strength that wasn’t restrained.

“I like you so much… you are such a sweet child…”

The hills of the prairie added to the regional depressions, for during the pitch-black night, they were all amalgamated by the faint light of tiny stars.

Qifrey took your hands as a form of protection during the taciturn hour.

You walked beside him, carrying a smile, even though your core was distraught by confused resolutions.

This attitude was catalyzed by the comfort of the witch, who had assured you that the recently told story, despite being lugubrious, was gladly shared with you.

“Qifrey, are you sure…?”

“Of what, my love?”

“Well… that you don't feel bad about having told me all of that.”

“I don't like to lie to you.”

“But if necessary then…”

“Shh, let it go. Knowing that you are worrying about me and apt to do any crazy thing for my welfare already generates enough anxiety for the rest of my life.”

He paused, squeezing your hand suddenly.

“But either way… I am tired of walking.”

“The atelier is only a few steps away, Qif!” you comforted him.

“But I want you all to myself for a little longer, come here…”

Your head rested on Qifrey's lap, who removed your hat to caress your hair without obstacles.

“Qif, if… something happens to your vision, I mean… I'm going to help you… I'll help you with everything that becomes hard to do! I'll help you walk around until you memorize every little step!”

“Hmm, so you'll be like a living walking cane.”

“Qifrey, I didn't like that…”

He giggled while massaging your scalp with the tips of his fingers.

“I want to go inside, Qif… it's already cold… wait… hey, what are you doing with my hat?”

“Oh, it's nothing, dear. It was a bit crumpled. Let me put it on you while I can still be the caretaker of my beloved…”

You leaned forward, smiling as the witch put your accessory back on.

But, in a fleeting instant, you discerned that there was something odd, not only about Qifrey, but also in the glyph he had sneakily attached to your clothing.

Nothing was better than waking up in your shared bed, ready to stretch your arm out toward the witch who was still in the world of dreams.

However, upon feeling the space that belonged to Qifrey, you realized that all that remained was the warmth in the space where he had lain.

This meant something even better than waking up next to Qifrey—something that was confirmed by the smell of breakfast wafting through the door.

“You cooked today!”

“I do that more than you…” he raised an eyebrow, placing your plate on the table before kissing your lips.

You grabbed him, forcing him to keep hugging your shoulders.

“I had a strange dream yesterday, Qif!”

He used to ask about your dreams and, sometimes, even invented possible reasons for your subconscious to come up with such mishaps.

But today he ignored you.

“Except I don't remember what it was…” you laughed in discomfort.

“Well… that's good. Maybe it was a nightmare… my heart, why don't you eat up, hmm?”

“Hey, I don't remember the dream… I don't even remember how I got to bed. And these pajamas… I don't even like this pair!”

“But I think they look so beautiful on you, so sweet…”

“But I only wear them when you ask me to, and yesterday you didn't ask. Or was there something else I forgot?”

“No, I didn't ask. Dear, eat up, I have to take care of you.”

[HCS]

Ananas Dragon Cookie is very protective of you, like they are with all the Cookies who inhabit their island, but it's very clear that you are special.

They tend to keep their distance from you so that it's not totally obvious they're interested in you, but they're always watching.

Because of this, Ananas visits your tribe a lot more often to check up on you, but excuses the frequent visits as them wanting to bask in the Cookie's admiration and worship.

However, Ananas Dragon Cookie quickly can't handle the distance between you two even with daily visits. They often spiral when alone in their nest thinking about what you may be doing without them, who may be talking to you, or who may be touching you.

With Ananas being so prideful, these kinds of thoughts drive them insane. They view themselves as the only one worthy of your attention and affection. When they visit the tribe, they will become highly defensive of you when they perceive any Cookie as getting a little too close or friendly with you as a slight towards them.

Ananas Dragon Cookie hasn't confessed their feeling yet, but they already see you as theirs. Their mate.

So expect Ananas to be much more physical with you than anyone else. This is the dragon's way of subtlety marking you with their scent, and telling others that you are taken. (But this is something only other dragons and non-Cookies can pick up on. You are none the wiser.)

Because Ananas Dragon Cookie has picked you as their mate, they will be 10x more protective. Any Cookie who gets too close to you will suddenly be punished by Ananas for messing with what's his.

These punishments will range from a mild slap on the wrist to more harsh punishments. Ananas won't crumble anyone, because they still care for the Cookies on their island, but they will make it clear that no one is to mess with you.

Despite how possessive Ananas is over you, they still don't want to be seen fraternizing with Cookies. So Ananas will often request (aka demand) you, and only you, come to his palace to spend time with them, usually under the guise of giving offerings or doing work for them.

That's when the gifts start to roll in. Ananas will start to shower you with treasures from their hoard. Gold coins, jewelry, relics, trinkets, you name it! Only the best for their mate.

These gifts are another way of them marking you, so anytime you wear something they gifted you, Ananas will puff up their chest and be so smug about it.

The final, and most important gift, comes in the form of a single golden scale. Ananas Dragon Cookie is very prideful, so to give a piece of themself to a Cookie is a big deal and a high honour. You have no idea, but this is essentially a marriage proposal. When you innocently accept the gift, your fate has been sealed.

[ONESHOT]

It was another beautiful day in your paradise of an island home. Things around your village had become more active once the Golden Dragon had begun to visit more often.

It was exciting. Ananas Dragon Cookie was usually pretty solitary and only came down from their nest to check in on the tribe once in a while. So everyone was in a bright mood, Artichoke Cookie played their drums happily, adding to the lively nature of the village.

You were busy gathering fruit for Ananas Dragon Cookie's offering. Sorting through the baskets of produce, you carefully pick out the sweetest and ripest fruits that the tribe had grown and gathered. You added flowers you knew the dragon favoured, and included some pretty shells you had collected from the beach by your home. This offering basket was a special one, as it was a personal thank you from you to Ananas Dragon Cookie for being so generous lately.

Recently, the Golden Dragon had been spending a lot of time with you and gifting you amazing treasures from their hoard. You didn't know what brought on this sudden change in the dragon but your heart fluttered in your chest at each and every gesture. It seemed you had somehow become Ananas Dragon Cookie's favourite, and they had specifically requested that you be the one to handle and bring their offerings to their nest from now on. You couldn't help when your face flushed at the thought of the handsome, strong Ananas Dragon Cookie paying you any kind of attention. They had started becoming affectionate with you when the other tribe's Cookies weren't watching not too long ago. Remembering how the dragon Cookie had pulled you away from the village to embrace you in secret, made your heart skip. The thought of being able to spend extra time with Ananas Dragon Cookie again that day filled your heart with giddiness and you rushed to finish your gift.

The basket was heavy with all the tribute, but you lugged it up the temple steps leading to Ananas Dragon Cookie's palace with determination.

Torches by the entrance flickered and wavered in the wind as you entered the nest. The walls and floor were golden polished stone and the hall in front of you branched off into a maze of different corridors. A long diamond-patterned rug led you to Ananas Dragon Cookie's throne room, where the dragon stalked back and forth seemingly agitated. The Gold Dragon's tail spiky scaled tail lashed back and forth.

"Ananas Dragon Cookie!" You called, announcing your presence. At the sound of your voice, Ananas Dragon Cookie perked up. Their wings opened with a loud swoop and they swiftly flew towards you, gracefully landing in front of you.

"There you are, what made you keep me waiting?" Ananas Dragon Cookie grumbled in displeasure. You peeked up at them bashfully over the basket.

"I wanted to make sure this offering was perfect, " you replied shyly. Ananas Dragon Cookie's grumpy expression slowly melted away. They glanced down at the basket in your arms, filled with fresh flowers and fruits. Oh, they had almost forgotten your visits were mainly to supply offerings.

"I understand. Next time, don't be late." Ananas Dragon Cookie said coolly. You nodded your head eagerly.

You gasped suddenly as the Ananas Dragon Cookie scooped you up in their arms and, using its strong wings, glided to its throne. With a gentle touch, they sat down, crossed their legs, and rested you on their lap, holding you close in the warmth of their embrace. You still clutched onto your tribute basket, trying to hide your flushed face.

Ananas Dragon Cookie noticed the way you were eyeing them and smirked. They gently pulled the basket away from you, and placed it off to the side of their throne.

"Now, why don't we continue where we left off last time, hm?" They suggested, their voice so deep it almost sounded like a purr. Chills went up your back, but you were completely tongue-tied that you couldn't speak. Your face felt so hot that you were sure that you could faint at any moment.

Ananas Dragon Cookie tugged you roughly and made you straddle them. The Gold Dragon grabbed one of your wrists and forced you to wrap your arms around their shoulders. They pressed the tips of their claws against your neck and lifted your chin so they had full access to your vulnerable neck. Ananas Dragon Cookie's warm lips eagerly latched onto your dough, and a rush of excitement ran through you. Your stomach was doing flips. They kissed, sucked and licked your dough greedily. Unable to get enough. Your breath caught in your throat.

Ananas Dragon Cookie drew away from your neck, leaving love bites behind before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Their lips were demanding, demanding for submission. It was desperate and full of desire, but Ananas Dragon Cookie was gentle enough to allow you to enjoy their attention. You could feel Ananas Dragon Cookie's strong, yet gentle hands moving across your body, feeling every inch of you.

You let yourself go. You couldn't help it. Ananas Dragon Cookie's kisses and the feel of their touch were addicting. All too soon, Ananas Dragon Cookie pulled back, leaving a breaking string of saliva between your tongues. Your breath shook as you panted softly.

They took a moment to admire how cute you looked like this, and how even more adorable you would look underneath them.

While you recovered, Ananas Dragon Cookie took that moment to pull out a small trinket. They purred and embraced you tenderly. You sighed happily, enjoying being in the dragon's arms. You parted and Ananas Dragon Cookie offered you a necklace.

"This is for you." They said, almost shyly. It was one of Ananas' scales fixed to a thin gold chain. Your eyes widened in wonder and you carefully brushed the golden scale.

"So that I will always remain close to you." Ananas Dragon Cookie explained, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. You laughed softly and accepted the gift, quickly slipping it over your head.

"Thank you." You murmured, looking up at Ananas Dragon Cookie with adoration. The giddiness in your stomach bubbled up, and you giggled, throwing your arms around your dragon protector's shoulders happily and hugging them tightly. The Gold Dragon chuckled and returned the embrace with a smile.

Ananas Dragon | Silent Salt

And, you, a retired medic of the Kala Namak order felt panicked. Ananas had come, no doubt wishing to retrieve you after you had snuck away to join this fray. You held a sabre and shifted near your previous Lord Commander. He stood you behind him, Soul Jam shining. You watched as he took out Dragon Orb after Dragon Orb. Healing him, you focused on making sure he would survive. Pitifully, your heart almost certainly was drawn forth by him. Yet, the Golden Dragon's spied you at long last. Their true form was shed as they crashed onto the earth.

Instantly, Silent Salt directed his sword toward the dragon. You panicked.

"You dare point such a weapon at me while so close to my mate?" their haughty voice carried forth with a scoff, "You have no pride." Their words angered Silent Salt. You acted quickly, wrapping your arms around him. He paused. Ananas's eyes shot wide. "... What... are you doing!?" They stomped their foot, "First, you sneak from my island to fight in this war when I demanded you stay in my nest!" They rose their staff to shift the earth beneath your feet. "Now I find you clinging to someone else!?"

Before you could be tossed by the land, Silent Salt rushed to retrieve you and held you to his side. The haunting flames of his armour burned brighter. "... I know I long forfeited your heart," he mumbled, "But, I still find myself desperate for you." You felt your cheeks burn. How many centuries had you longed to hear that? Ananas hissed.

"Who are you!?" They demanded, "Hand them over before Longan kills them!"

"... I am a wretched ghost," his voice was low, "But, at one time, I was the husband of them." Ananas tensed. Their slit pupils needle thin. A roar came forth and the earth shifted. In an instant, a crater became reality. You clutched tighter onto him as you both slide along the sides. Desperately, you needed to soothe the tension. "Do you not stand with the being causing this?" Silent Salt let you go, "For all I know, handing them to you may bring their death, too."

Ananas was offended. All four of their wings spread out. You sucked in a breath. Stepping between the dragon and the knight, you yelled out that this was not the time for this. However, Ananas immediately took the opportunity to scoop you into their arms. Clutching you tightly, they flew into the air. They were clearly far more anxious than you had ever seen.

"... We may discuss that later," they glared at the ground where Silent Salt stood shaking, "You must be returned to Pineapple Island at once." You glanced back yourself. A single hand reached up for you. Your heart ached.

There would be a decision you would need to make soon.

Pitaya Dragon | Burning Spice

One of those terrifying Orbs appeared before you. The following second, you froze in spot, unable to move. Was this the end? How long had you lived at this point? Your eyes shifted to a bright shield on the battlefield. If only you could scream for her aid... Your body felt heavier...

Then, before you blurring vision an axe swung. The Orb fell. Red blurred with metallic grey, but vicious grin was ever-present on his lips. As more dared grow closer to you, his axe came down again and again. You debated running. It was hardly the time for you to face that ghost of your past. Though, you were thankful he seemed to still care enough for you to save your life.

A red and green form crashed from the skies, injured and panting, but alive.

"That'sss not that damn clown," the dragon hissed and turned their head to you, "Hollyberry promisssed to keep you sssafe—" Before their rant could continue, an axe swung forth to them. You moved aside. Pitaya was shocked.

"Hahah, this is the lizard I heard you had taken to," Burning Spice directed his gaze towards you, "You have a draw for destruction still!" Pitaya narrowed their eyes, raising their sword. Taking their true form was impossible and with Longan becoming a surprise feature... This needed to be handled quickly. You shouted that you did not. This only made the fire in the Beast's eyes burn hotter. "After all this time, you try to pretend you did not ravage cultures at my side!" He laughed and rushed toward you, axe raised. You moved to reach for your own weapon.

The hit never came. Wings spread out and fire spewed around both. "Leave my mate be!" Pitaya growled and managed to knock him back, "Thisss isss no typical mortal either... The beassstsss again..."

Burning Spice regained his footing quickly and clashed his axe against Pitaya's sword repeatedly. "Mate!? You think you have any claim to my spouse!?" Rage emanated from the fallen Virtue. The battle grew far too intense; both were weakened from previous battles, yet passion burned inside them in a way that would make a certain hero blush. It was hot and fierce.

In the midst of that, you jumped at the appearance of another orb. You were petrified again. No—! Those two were locked in battle to pay attention to you. You tried to scream. Yet, a spear flying through to destroy the orb finally brought their attention back to you. Burning Spice whipped his head to the Golden Goddess. Pitaya took the opportunity to rush and sweep you up. Their wings spread wide as they rushed into the sky.

"I don't even want to know," Pitaya panted as they watched the Beast grow surrounded by orbs, "We need to return my nessst... I need to recover to fight Longan." You just nodded.

Though, you found yourself thinking of your unlikely hero. You should ask Hollyberry about her sometime.

Lotus Dragon | Eternal Sugar

You looked around desperately for the woman who had saved you from that nightmare you had never hoped to see again. There was little time for you to flee this battlefield, having been pulled from that supposed paradise to it. You searched any place to hide, seeing the massive Ivory Dragon in the sky. Yet, your mad dash was interrupted by one of those terrifying orbs. You tensed. There was hardly any time to react before your body was petrified. To die here, so far from your home...

"My poor darling~" a floaty voice spoke. The orb was encased in something sugary. Fluttering wings surrounded you as arms wrapped around your frame. You were lifted from the ground into a sickeningly sweet embrace. "I was worried about you," Eternal Sugar rubbed her cheek against your head, "Now, I should return you to the garden before this gets any more dangerous for you..." You struggled desperately. That was worse than dying here—!

"Ah, might I suggest returning them to my palace instead," a familiar voice called out. Water fluttered up and struck the Beast, who only clung to you tighter. Eternal Sugar's expression went from the gentle facade to something terrifying.

"Return my dear heart to the arms of a monster?" she began to giggle, her hold becoming painfully tight. Her eyes glared down at the being who dared try to claim what was long hers. Oh, how distressed she had been to hear her precious escaped the garden and fled to some vicious creature while she had been sealed! The Beast simply knew she needed to return you to her paradise. No dragon could reach it, after all. Especially one without wings.

"My mate has long abandoned whatever semblance of a relationship they once had with you," Lotus sighed and strummed their liuqin. More water rushed up. "I am not asking," the dragon hardly felt it was safe to leave you anywhere away from the protection. Plus, Lychee had been so kind to help them find you. Eternal Sugar screamed at the influx of water around her, soaking her wings. She fell from the sky, clutching onto you tightly. The position was shifted where she would hit the ground first— unconsciously protecting you.

As soon as you both did, you rushed to your feet and behind Lotus. The dragon sighed at your presence back where it belonged. Eternal Sugar struggled back to her feet. She began to pluck at her lyre. But, this was interrupted by an influx of orbs around her. She screamed once more and focused her attention on them. Lotus lead you away.

"... I do wonder if Lychee might be so kind to fly us to the sea," they sighed and brought their arm around you, "Are you well? I hardly predicted this to occur..." They glanced up at the dragon in the sky. "Were all our mates here? Lychee, too, seemed in quite a rush."

Together, you would both have to find a way back to the Lotus Paradise.

Lychee Dragon | Shadow Milk

Was this the end? You had become separated from the paladins. Your research into life energy had brought you to a certain republic, which then brought you here. It was a bit too much. You ended up aiding healers, but there was a terrifying feeling in your chest when you had first ridden in that airship. To think your Fount had become that. You felt upset just thinking about it. Not that you had time to think about it—not with these orbs. It did not matter how many you brought down; more simply seemed to appear.

“Kyahaha! I knew you'd need me,” a pitchy voice called out. A sudden burst of energy made the orb explode. Arms wrapped around you and lifted you into the air. “Found you,” they pressed you to their body as they looked around, “Didn't think Longan would be doing all this that soon. Why are you here anyways!?” They pouted at you. “You promised that you would be back a month ago! I got worried,” they flew you up from the battlefield. This was the Longan they were always talking about!? You shivered. This… was not good at all.

“Well, we better get back to the island,” they opted to ignore whatever was happening, “Oh?!” They gasped. Your eyes went to where their gaze locked onto. A fuming figure floated directly in the path the dragon had been following.

"What's this?" Shadow Milk looked you both up and down before grumbling, "Another over-sized lizard? Taking my marionette?" You tensed. He had seen you, and he recognised you. "I'm not really in the mood for any games— Especially after what has all happened today," blue strings seemed to descend from nowhere, "So, hand them over." Lychee tensed. They were holding you so going into their true form would be difficult without dropping you.

"Give you my mate?" Lychee was offended, "Nuh-uh! If you don't want to become food for my lovely monsters, then get out of my way!" You felt a bit stricken. If that was the Longan they spoke so happily about, then you felt concerned about what your future might be. Shadow Milk really was not a better option either. Lychee at least claimed they liked you, what with constantly proclaiming you their mate and being impressed you resist their charm magic.

Shadow Milk cackled and let his strings lose. Lychee unconsciously dropped you to dodge them. Strings shot for you, capturing you and bringing you to him. You clung to Shadow Milk. Your heart was pounding in your chest. "Show's over," he announced and opened a portal to his other realm, "Until next time... Not!" He floated in with you. Lychee let out a scream and flew towards the portal as it sealed. They stared in shock.

Arms locked around your waist. Mismatched eyes gazed into your own.

"... For some reason I felt like I was dealing with Candy Apple," he sounded exhausted, "More lizards to handle. Wonderful."

You had no idea what was to follow.

Longan Dragon | Mystic Flour

The very being that had caused this chaos landed before you. The Cacaoian warriors around you had been petrified. The blade in your hands trembled. They gazed at you with their terrifying form before shifting into something more approachable. Still, they were tall and glowered down upon you. Floating far too close, they reached a hand to cup your cheek. You trembled. What... was this? The blade in your hands was easily knocked away.

"Found you," they spoke with a voice that instantly commanded respect, "I foresaw this, yet I wished to be mistaken." You tried to pull away. They grasped your shoulder to hold you still. "What has happened to you?" They asked, "You reek of mortals yet also your own scent." You shook your head and shouted that they were not making sense. A left them. They moved to pull you closer, yet you felt a chill run down your spine.

"Unhand my disciple," a voice that was soft with little emotion, "... I care not of your desires. They must ascend at my side." Her dark sclera were divided by slits of white. She was weakened— hair undone and veil fallen down to her sides. Her expression was oddly determined, betraying her supposed enlightenment. The dragon glared. Those orbs floated towards her. You panicked— as much as you wished to avoid her, you hardly wanted her dead! Struggling against them, you were held tighter.

"... Silence," the dragon spoken plainly, "The only ascension they will obtain is reclamation of their true form." The eyes went to attack. Mystic Flour gazed around before disappearing into her fog.

"... I will return for you," a promise echoed in the void where she once was. Before you could question anything else, a sword swung down, making the dragon release you.

"Foul beast!" A deep voice boomed, "Undo this curse upon my warriors and do not lay another hand upon my spouse!" Dark Cacao had finally arrived. You panicked as the eyes moved towards him. As you knelt to grab a sword, however, ethereal arms claimed you and pulled you into a thick fog.

"Just forget this all," Mystic Flour spoke, "Let your heart grow light and embrace apathy."

You sat down beneath the shade of a palm while holding the dragonling in your arms. Snapdragon slowly fell into a slumber in your embrace and curled into you. Eventually, you even dozed off. The sun was warm, and a breeze came through. It was perfect napping weather.

Though, of course, someone noticed your absence. It was only a bit into your nap when four wings flapped down and the Monarch of the isle stood before you. The sight; their mate curled up with a dragonling, was not unappealing. Yet, it was who clearly was raising the young dragon that was the problem. Snapdragon startled awake at their presence and smiled brightly at the elder dragon. They babbled something incoherent at an attempt at Dragontongue. Ananas scoffed.

“You can hardly speak,” Ananas noted, “Hmph. You're not intimidating at all.” Snapdragon merely tilted their head. You had woken up and suddenly were in the middle of them and the dragonling, mumbling something about being nice to children. The Golden Dragon gasped in offence. They were, in fact, being quite nice! You held Snapdragon again. Ananas blinked a few times. They babbled happily in your arms and held on to you.

Ananas suddenly felt jealous. Here you were, cuddling and doting on Pitaya's adopted hatchling before them. Even if they understood that it was perfectly fine for their mate to care for their kin, they wished for it to be their hatchling in your arms. But, still, they could not ruin such a cute sight. They came to guide you back to the shade of the tree and sat with you in their lap. Snapdragon tilted their head. In your arms. Ananas scoffed.

“You'll understand when you find your mate after you come of age,” they offered and rested their chin on your shoulder. This peace was at risk. They felt it. Clutching you tighter, they continued. “Does Pitaya not have a mate? Hah, of course no one wants the brute,” Ananas could not see anyone living comfortably in Pitaya's nest. You tilted your head.

˗ˏˋ ★ ― EASTHIES ‼

The first thing you could hear is the soft clanks of dishware, the first thing you feel is the jarring absence of a certain someone.

Promptly, a long, loud whine leaves you as you flip your hand around, trying to find your man. You don't stop until someone takes your hand.

"Yes, yes. I'm here, dear," Easthies hums, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He watches you open your eyes, frowning in displeasure.

"Why did you leave me," comes your upset voice on cue. Easthies keeps his eyes on you, bringing your hand closer and kissing your knuckles.

"Please, forgive me. I went to get breakfast, dear. You see, you wanted to go to sleep so early yesterday, I didn't have the time to properly take care of you. So I must rush it now. Just a bit," he whispers against your fingers before kissing your hand again.

"Rush? You... must you really...?" you groan, curling up around the black haired man. Why must he leave you so much?

"Yes, dear. Really," he sighs and squeezes your palm as he sets it down onto his lap, "The order must be kept. The Pact must be upheld. I won't have it any other way."

He anticipated your mood worsening. You didn't even have to voice your dislike of his schedule, he knew. And he understood as well.

"But," a peck comes to your lips, "I am yours, dearest. And I will take care of you until I am to be called away. Let me nurse you this morning. Please."

God. In the end, Easthies could still baffle you. He was dedicated to the Pact. But he never wanted you to feel unloved by him. Thus, sometimes, his affection comes in strong and very intense waves.

Reaching out to his face, you tuck some of his loose hair behind his ear. He was so beautiful. You could feel your heart soften already.

"Please, do not fight my love, dearest. I would hate to think that I am leaving you hurt in my room while I have to work," he whispers, his deep stare pouring into you. You knew he meant it.

"...fine, but... we eat in bed! I am not getting up!" a dramatic huff and turn to the other side makes Easthies sigh.

"I... I will allow it, only if you promise not to run away from me. To hide from me like this."

"You're the one who left me alone this morning!"

"I was getting our breakfast... I-... My dearest one, please. I will allow anything within reason. You can stay in my bed all day, eat every meal in it, but please, I beg... stay looking at me," the bed creaks as Easthies leans over you, taking your hand and squeezing it once again. He was there.

"So then beg! On your knees!" you smirk and look up at him.

"Hm. Aren't you all jolly suddenly?" he deadpans at you. He did love you, very much so, but he didn't feel like entertaining too many of your theatrics.

"Didn't you say you'd allow anything within reason? You being on your knees for me is hardly out of reason," you point out with a poke to his chest.

"...I suppose so, dear. But you will have to keep this desire for longer. Perhaps," his mouth moves to your ear, whispering in low, very tingly, voice, "if you aren't sore any longer by the evening, I will kneel for you all you want."

Damn this witch! You could feel the shiver that ran down, straight to your core.

"For now though, I think some food is in place," the man lifts himself off the bed and walks to his table. He has already laid everything out, he put quite the effort in it. Alas, yesterday, you were so tired and you pulled him down to sleep too. Normally, he would make sure your legs, and anything else that was underneath a lot of pressure during the night, weren't sore the next day by massaging them for you.

He didn't want you getting up right now. So, Easthies decided to brave the possible crumbs of food in his bed. He'd simply change the sheets once he got back.

"Here you are, love," Easthies hands you a plate. It was a very balanced breakfast, naturally. The Knights Moralis were strict about the diet of their people. And, consequently, Easthies was very adamant about you eating healthily as well.

There wasn't much to complain about though. The cooks were very good at their job and you didn't have to get up and cook it. So, all in all, a win is a win.

As you munch on your breakfast, Easthies sits down opposite to you, setting his plate next to him. But he doesn't start eating, he reaches for lavender oil. Gently, he pushes the blankets off your bare legs before he pours a bit of the oil into his hand.

The massage begins. As always, Easthies is methodical about it, and damn, did it feel like heaven. His hand moves in strokes and circles, switching between one or the other, as he moves from your thigh down to your calf.

Your finished plate ends up on the bedside table, Easthies' one still sits untouched next to him on the bed.

Easthies begins to work on your other thigh, but is startled when a piece of sausage on a fork comes his way. His red eyes run to yours and then to the sausage.

A soft smile comes to his lips before he opens them and takes the sausage from you.

Both of the persons in the Deputies room settle into a nice, warm and cozy atmosphere. You keep on feeding him breakfast, and he gladly takes your offerings as he continues to massage you.

Truthfully, Easthies didn't actually mind when you accused him of being a mean, venomous snake for your own entertainment, but he much more preferred this. A time where both of you can just exist in each other's arms.

˗ˏˋ ★ ― QIFREY ‼

Soft lips touch upon yours. Repeatedly. One kiss, two kisses...

"Mmphh-," your startled sounds are deafened by those same sweet lips kissing you over and over again.

"Good morning," Qifrey's sweet, and quite enthusiastic voice comes in between the kisses, "my love!"

Your hands try to desperately push Qifrey away. In your great pursuit to get some air into your lungs, your hand does manage to grab his face and shove him back.

"Awh! My darling! Do you not want my love? You were very eager to receive it yesterday- ACK!" his joyful teasing is stopped by the fierce pull to his white locks, "Ah! I'm sorry- I'm sorry, darling! Let me go, please!"

With a last one pull to Qifrey's hair, you huff and grant him his relief. He promptly pats his head a few times, the very spot you pulled at. "Ahh... darling, that hurt," he turns to you, attempting to pout at least a little.

"Poor thing," you hum as you flick his nose.

"Poor thing indeed! I was just trying to give you a nice morning. I thought you'd love my lips on yours."

"Oh, I love it. I do. But I also love breathing and not having to suffer through your teasing!"

"Is it that bad?" Qifrey frowns, although he couldn't stop the joking smile from coming back.

"Perhaps... Won't you make it better?" you pout, showing him how to really play the sad little darling. Naturally, your pout wins. Qifrey's heart clenches at the sight.

Not even a second later, his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you snuggly into his side. A soft peck is set to your forehead.

"My darling love," he hums quietly, relaxing just a tad bit as you settle into him. Safe in his side, you nuzzle into his chest. Qifrey didn't interrupt you, letting you make him into the perfect nest for yourself.

A rhythmic pressure of his lips settles against your head. Truthfully, Qifrey couldn't imagine himself stopping his kisses. It was a compulsion he couldn't get rid of. You were just the sweetest.

Slowly, the two of you settle into the doughy nest of blankets and pillows laid upon the mattress. The breathing evens out, and weirdly, even syncs up.

His hand trails down to your thigh, his fingertips unintentionally teasing your skin, making your hairs stand up.

"Hey!" you perk up from your relaxed state.

"Sorry, love. I didn't mean to scare you so. But," his thumb delicately caresses your thigh, "how are you feeling, hm?"

His sweet words allow you to loosen up again. You give him a hum as you nuzzle into his chest once more. He was quite like a big pillow whenever you wanted him to be.

"Hm. I suppose so. Just feeling utterly lazy and in need of my dear husband in my bed today!" leaves your mouth as you tighten your hands against him.

The air stills. An intense quiet follows.

"...h-... husband? My... what are you talking about?" Qifrey's quivering voice comes. His nose buries into your hair. Soon, his whole face follows. The grip around your body tightens as well.

You could just imagine his bashful face. Oh my! If only you could see his sheepish, blushing face! He was just so cute.

"Dear... you have a way of... undoing me in a very specific way... I... I can never be too prepared for the things that leave your mouth," he mumbled into your head, his voice still quivering as if he was the school boy from back then.

Even though all he wanted to do, was to cover himself underneath a ton of blankets, he didn't protest when you moved your head. Similarly, he didn't shift his head to face away from you when you leaned into him, kissing his lips to ease his beating heart.

"So what do you say about my desire?" you ask as you settle back into your previous position.

Qifrey's head lays on yours again, keeping your head underneath his chin. It was no longer out of embarrassment, but out of his own need to keep you close.

"Hm. I suppose, I must applaud your mind for such a wonderful idea. I would love nothing more than to spend my day by your side," Qifrey's voice lowers into a comforting rumble that comes from deep within his chest.

As if on cue, you both shift. Qifrey's gentle hands pull you up onto your side, so you face him properly. In turn, you lift your head, staring him face to face, only an inch of air left between you two.

"Is that so, my dear?" your whisper hits his mouth.

"Yes, my love. It is so," Qifrey leans forward, closing the gap.

Unfortunately, reality strikes.

"Master? Are you there? There isn't any breakfast ready and Master Olly is surely asleep still!" a tiny voice comes from behind the wooden door.

Both of you sigh simultaneously. Your head even drops onto his chest.

"Yes, my dear girl, I'm here. I'm sorry I haven't made you all any breakfast yet. Tell me, Tetia, are you four too hungry?" Qifrey made sure to not let his voice have even a hint of disappointment in it. He was a master. The needs of his four apprentices were his responsibility. It was their right to ask for their needs to be fulfilled. And Qifrey never held it against them. Even if it meant an interruption his private time.

"Ah, well... Coco and Agott are still washing up... but me and Richeh...," Tetia's voice trails off.

"No matter, dear! Do you think you could grant your master ten more minutes? If not, that's fine too. I do not want you to starve," once again, Qifrey's voice is full of love. He wanted to reassure Tetia that he'd take care of them.

"Ah... well, I guess ten minutes is fine. We're not starving yet, master!" Tetia calls, her voice still quite cheerful like usually.

"Thank you, my dear," Qifrey lets out a soft sigh of relief and flops back down, bringing you closer.

Silence passes through the room.

"Let's feed your kids, big boy. I feel bad," you say after three minutes, patting Qifrey's chest.

˗ˏˋ ★ ― OLRUGGIO ‼

It was hard to tell if it was night or the morning. The hoards of things piled up before all the windows made sure there was dark even in the morning, safe for the small streaks of light that managed to squeeze through the cracks in between the books and trinkets.

Your eyes flutter open as you wake to the everlasting breathing of the man beside you. One of the select few stripes of light falls onto Olruggio's face. His very beautiful face, adorned in black scruff of his beard and the visible eyebags he always has.

As you continue your observation, Olruggio barely shifts. Hi hands were wrapped around you – actually, his whole body was. His bare chest was pressed against your shoulder.

The memories of last night come to your mind as your eyes travel his body. His juicy and very squishy pectorals, his arm draped over your tummy. The fact you had his shirt on helps to stretch your memory too.

Giving into your desires, you kiss Olruggio's collarbone. What else were you supposed to do? Such a pretty sight, right before your eyes.

But, even such a sweet act doesn't wake Olruggio. He was still fast asleep, no signs of waking up anytime soon.

It didn't really matter, did it? At least you could stay in this cocoon of warmth.

Your hand goes next, tenderly moving to his chest. Caressing his skin with your thumb became the activity you entertained yourself with. Occasionally, you even poke his pecs.

"Mmm... sweets...," Olruggio suddenly grumbles once you press into him a bit too harshly. His lovely accent was deeper, dripping out of his mouth like a sweet treat.

"What'cha doin'...?" the weary man pushes his face into the side of your face, as if there was much light to hide from.

"Just admiring the pretty man who's laying on top of me," you muse.

A hum comes from him, not bothering with a more profound answer as he kisses your cheek. The huff of breath hits your cheek too as he sighs, acting all bothered.

His soft, and very fake, grumbles stop once your hand moves from his chest into his hair. The soft massage makes Olruggio even hum in pleasure and press himself more into you.

You both are staying in bed. He won't have it any other way.

"Not ready to get up at all?" a chuckle leaves you.

"Never..."

"But I can smell Qifrey's delicious breakfast cooking."

"I'll just... heat it up later. I'm the Torch, eh?"

And that was that. But even then, Olruggio made sure to actually grip your waist now, not just lazily lay his hand over it. He's not letting you leave this bed.

"Don't you worry, love. I'm not leaving you," you try to reassure him.

"Certainly hope so...!" another grumble leaves him throat. With a kiss to your temple, he pulls you even closer, if that's possible.

"Ya don't need to leave... just... need to say with me, alright, sweetheart?" Olruggio continues in his sleepy ramblings.

It was a very cute trait of his. Whenever he was too groggy to be fully awake, or too sleep deprived to function properly, he could get very possessive of you. Which in turn set his mouth off into ramblings about how you should stay by his side forever, never step a foot away from him.

"Why are ya so eager to leave anyway, sweetheart?" Olruggio's fussing still goes on. His grip doesn't ease either. You were staying here.

"I don't want to leave you at all. Just a bit hungry," you give him another head scratch, trying to appease him.

The huff was expected to come out of Olruggio. He loved lazing in bed, especially when he had you in his arms. But if you were hungry? Ah, he didn't want you to suffer, not from hunger, not from harm.

"Is that so...? Here then, sweetheart!" Olruggio startles you with a kiss to your lips. Multiple, in fact. The only reason it didn't turn into a makeout session was because Olruggio was still very groggy, and preferred to give you slow, deep kisses.

You manage to steal a lick to his lips before he pulls away, staring down at you. His gaze switches between your eyes and your lips. Clearly, he created a temptation for himself by kissing you. Now he wanted more.

"You know, your pretty lips taste amazing, but I did mean I am hungry for food," you tease the very starved man before you.

"Mhm... right. Uh...," Olruggio reluctantly pulls away from you and leans over his bed, "Hm, let's see..."

"Are you going to feed me scraps like I'm your dog, beging underneath the diner table?"

"What? No! I still have a bag of those dried fruits Qifrey and the girls made!"

"Mhm, sure."

"Yes! Mhm!" a groan echoes from Olruggio as he's forced to bend down and then pull himself up, back onto the bed, "See? A bag of dried fruit. Unopened!"

And lord behold! A bag of dried apples, oranges and other fruits lands onto your chest. You inspect it and cautiously open it, pulling out a piece.

It wasn't as if you didn't have the dried fruit before. The girls didn't mess them up or anything, they tasted very good. But you weren't sure if this was the breakfast you wanted.

Alas, you eat it. It would do for now. And later, Olruggio would uphold his promise.

Speaking of him, he nuzzles back into you, his head going to its rightful place – buried into the side of your own head. A few soft pecks are left on your cheek bone by him.

The man groans loudly as you push his head a bit up to reveal his mouth. But when you put a piece of dried fruit against his lips, a small 'oh' leaves him, before he eats the treat.

As you reach into the bag again, his hand flies to yours and lovingly swats it away.

"Leave it to me, sweetheart. I'll feed ya," his mumbled words reach your ear as he pulls two pieces out of the bag. One goes to your mouth, the second one to his. And so on it goes. Until Olruggio finds the energy to get up and go heat up that breakfast of yours.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hazbin Hotel x f!reader

Characters : Abel, Adam, Husk

Warnings : Adam can be a warning lol. If you guys find anything that should be a warning please point it out to me!

A/n : i love abel so much so i'm happy people are asking me to write for him, my account will be full of abel posts soon enough don't worry lol was listening to Kasane Teto and was able to fire these out so quickly vocaloid has so much power. Do you think abel is a vocaloid listener he gives off the vibes

▢ abel ✧

Abel is noticeably nervous around you, but he does everything in his power to appear as chill as he can. He wants to come off as easygoing and relaxed, even if his heart is racing.

He's got that "I swear I'm laid-back" attitude whilst his hands are shaking like leaves and he's staring at you like you're the sun.

"Abel, you okay?"

"Yeah! Totally! I'm-... chill. Very chill. The chillest."

"... your nose is bleeding."

"Aw man."

He's always been a soft speaker, but his voice is a lot softer around you. He chooses his words more carefully so he doesn't say something embarassing.

Dude tries his hardest not to figet when he's with you and he tends to stand a little straighter. He just likes to put an effort into acting confident.

If you compliment him ONCE he will replay it in his head for at least a week and that will be his dopamine boost for whenever he's stressed out.

He tries to practice flirting in the mirror. And it's the most awkward shit ever :

"Hey y/n... cool shirt."

"Yoooo y/n... wanna like hang out?... that sucked."

".... Y/n, how do you feel about marriage - NO NO TOO FAST-"

Then the second he sees you he forgets everything he practiced. Stumbles over his words, not even a coherent sentence. But you're so patient with him, giving him a friendly smile and an encouraging pat to the back and a warm "chill out man, I'm not gonna bite ya." The casualness brings him back to earth and he's able to form proper sentences now.

He's naturally thoughtful. If you mention liking something once, he remembers it. He's got a whole archive in his brain of just you.

Abel prefers subtle, gentle expressions of affection : walking beside you, offering help, sharing shy eye contact with you from across a room. Loves intamacy 100% but is far too shy to act upon it.

He'd love to hold your hand, hug you, kiss you on the cheek, share a snack - but the idea of asking for something cute makes him malfunction.

He definitely gets nosebleeds a lot when he's around you. It's not a pervy thing it's a literally on the verge of a panic attack thing.

He just doesn't want to mess anything up!! He'll try his best to flirt or compliment you but it'll always end badly.

Abel : "You're cute."

You: "Huh?"

Abel: "No wait i didnt mean - well I did mean it but - uhhhh - just like... forget I said anything."

Y/n: "Dude, I didn't hear what you said."

Abel: "Oh thank God."

Abel remembers small things you say and acts on them quietly. He doesn't announce it or want fanfare for it, he just... does it.

If you mention liking something, he'll keep it in mind and bring it to you later like it was no big deal. And it truly wasn't to him, making you happy is just a casual everyday task for him.

Abel: "I remembered you said you liked this."

Y/n:"That's... so incredibly kind of you what the hell?"

Abel: "I-... I mean it's just a plushie, Y/n no big dea-"

Y/n: "IT'S A BIG DEAL!"

Abel: "oh okay then!"

He's deeply loyal. Your opinion matters a lot to him. If you're upset he'll be so serious and gentle, always reaching out and leaving himself open for when you want to talk.

The thought of confessing to you is terrifying. One day, if he ever does say it, it will be simple and sincere... until he inevitibly gets a nosebleed afterwards.

▢ adam ✦

Adam is immediately drawn to you and immediately annoyed by that fact. He hates that someone can distract him from his own ego.

He tells himself it’s just physical at first. That lie lasts about five minutes.

“I’m not catching feelings. I don’t do feelings.”

The moment you don’t fawn over him like everyone else does, he’s hooked. The lack of instant validation flips a switch in his brain.

He gets louder around you. More dramatic. More obnoxious. He wants your attention and does not know how to ask for it normally.

Adam constantly positions himself in your line of sight. leaning, lounging, spreading out like he owns the room.

He flexes. A lot.

“Y’know, not everyone can pull this off,” he says, gesturing vaguely at himself.

He flirts aggressively and expects you to fold. When you don’t, it confuses him deeply.

“C’mon, you’re telling me you’re not impressed?”

You shrug.

“Wow. Okay. Rude bitch.”

He loves banter but hates losing it. If you get the upper hand, he immediately escalates:

“Watch it, tits. I’m hot and important. I deserve respect.”

If you tease him back too well, he sputters for half a second before doubling down, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You still want me though.”

Adam is catastrophically jealous. He doesn’t hide it, doesn’t process it - he reacts.

someone else talks to you for too long, he inserts himself into the conversation : “Sooo what are we talking about? Bet it’s fuckin' boring.”

He claims he doesn’t care while doing everything in his power to prove he does.

“I’m not jealous you fucker. I'm protecting others from you actually."

Physical closeness is constant and possessive, even before anything is defined.

He drapes an arm over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Touch is his unspoken way of staking a claim. Hand on your lower back, fingers hooked in your sleeve, casual but deliberate.

Your praise hits him harder than he expects. He plays it off, but it lingers.

“You did good today.”

He scoffs, but his posture straightens.

"Pffft fucking duh. Statin' the obvious babe.”

If you defend him when someone criticizes him, he goes strangely quiet afterward. That loyalty sticks with him.

He doesn’t know how to be vulnerable, so when feelings get real, he masks them with humor and bravado.

When he’s tired or frustrated, he seeks you out instinctively, even if he pretends it’s coincidence:

“You busy? No? Awesome. Sit.”

He hates that you see through him. He will rant to you about his day and you give him some freaky psychoanalysis on why he feels like that and then offer him something to make him feel better. The second he feels his heart skip a beat at your care for him, he deflects immediately : "Boooo, you're boring, man. You're suppose to agree with me and be all 'yesss king' not fuckin' psycho-analyse me. Sheesh."

Adam is aggressively protective but frames it as irritation. He positions himself between you and danger without thinking, even when it’s unnecessary.

The moment he realises he's down bad for you is when something bad happens and his first thought is you, not himself. He hates that you matter. Hates that you can affect his mood so easily. “This is bullshit,” he mutters to himself. “I don’t fall for people.”

But when you smile at him like you chose him - even briefly - he’s done for.

▢ husk 🂱

Husk doesn’t realize it’s a crush at first. He tells himself you’re just “good company” and that he “doesn’t mind you hanging around.”

That turns into noticing when you don’t come by the bar.

“…Huh. Haven’t seen her tonight.”

He likes that you’re a Hotel resident because you’re familiar, constant - something stable in a place that isn’t.

He finds comfort in you sitting at the bar, even in silence. He starts pouring your drink without asking. Every time. Perfect ratio. Never wrong.

If someone else tries to serve you, maybe Angel Dust wants to prove a point about making drinks being 'easy', but Husk corrects him without looking up : “Nah. That’s not how she likes it.”

He values the slow moments with you most. Late nights after the chaos dies down, lights dim, radio humming quietly in the background. You perched at the bar, feet swinging. Him wiping the same glass he’s already cleaned twice.

He lets you stay after hours, long after he’s closed the bar to everyone else.

“You don’t gotta go. I ain't busy.”

That’s his version of I want you here.

He listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it matters. You vent? He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t judge. Just nods, ears twitching slightly, eyes soft.

His advice is thoughtful, grounded, and painfully sincere.

“You ain’t wrong for feelin’ that way. But don’t let it eat you alive, either.”

Husk doesn’t hand out compliments easily. So when he does, they land heavy.

"You’re… good. Y’know that?”

Simple. Genuine. No bullshit.

He praises your resilience quietly, “You’ve been through a lot. Still show up every day. That counts for somethin’.”

When you doubt yourself, he’s steady, “You’re not a burden. Don’t say that shit.” Firm. Protective. Certain.

If you compliment him back, he deflects - but it sticks.

You: “You’re good at what you do.”

Husk, raising a brow at you: "…Yeah. Guess I am.”

(He thinks about that interaction for hours.)

His flirting is extremely understated but constant. Lingering eye contact. A quiet chuckle at your jokes. Sliding your drink closer to you with two fingers.

He matches your energy once he’s comfortable. If you tease him, he deadpans back.

You: “You gonna smile or is that illegal?”

Husk, snorting, amusement swimming in his eyes," costs extra.”

If you lean on the bar closer to him, he leans too - never first, always second. Like he doesn’t want to crowd you, but doesn’t want distance either.

When you laugh, he smiles without realizing it.

He keeps an eye on your intake without being controlling. Slows the pours. Slips you water if you want it.

If you get drunk, he switches into caretaker mode immediately. Calm. Focused. Gentle.

He walks you to your room every time. Arm steady at your back, slow steps so you don’t stumble, “Easy… gotcha.”

He won’t leave until you’re safely inside. Makes sure you’ve got water. Shoes off the floor so you don’t trip later. Tucks a blanket around you if you let him.

If you thank him, especially soft and sleepy, he looks away to hide his blush,“ yeah yeah, don't make a habit of this." (This is the third time he's done this for you.)

You’re one of the few people he opens up to. About his past, his regrets, the things he wishes he’d done differently.

He trusts you with his silences. No pressure to fill them. Just existing together.

He remembers the small things. Your favorite drink. The way you like your glass chilled. The nights you need quiet more than conversation.

He wants you—but doesn’t think he deserves you. That’s the core of it.

He’ll sit there, watching you, heart heavy and hopeful all at once. He’s slow to act, not out of disinterest, but fear of ruining something good.

“Don’t wanna screw this up.”

And once he knows you feel the same?

He’s all in.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as a gentle voice whispered from behind you. You turned around to see him standing there. Light hair with eyes that reminded you of the vast blue sky and a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“Qifrey…”, you managed to breathe out. His eyes softened even more, if that were possible, before kissing your head. “Sit down. I’ll feed the girls.”

You wanted to protest. But it was feeling heavy again. What exactly… you still didn’t know.

And so you were sitting nearby on a chair as he bustled about the kitchen, amusing the girls with his antics as he served them lunch. Their laughter echoed through the walls of the atelier, light and airy. It was such a contrast to what you felt that you couldn’t help but think… 

Was there something wrong with you?

You had a loving partner. You had four delightful, intelligent and kind girls who lived with you, brightening up the place. You had friends. You had a good life.

Why weren’t you happy?

Why was it so difficult to get up in the morning even with him beside you?

Why was it so hard to make them a simple lunch?

Why was the coffee so damn bitter!?

“Darling?”

A soft gasp escaped your lips as your eyes focused onto the man in front of you. His brow was knit in worry and he was leaning towards you. “Are you alright?”

You gulped and opened your mouth just as you saw the girls staring from behind him, their spoons half-way to their mouths. Just as they realised you’d caught them looking, their heads whipped back to their plates but it was too late. You schooled your expression back just as quickly.

“I’m fine, love”, you murmured, standing up from the chair. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if you need me…”

Qifrey didn’t say anything as you got up, leaving behind your unfinished coffee as you trudged up to the bedroom. His eyes followed your figure until you closed the door, then set his eyes on the coffee mug. The once warm drink was now a cold undrinkable pool of caffeine. He glanced at the girls and back at the coffee, before taking off his hat and placing it on the table.

“I’m going to the bedroom, girls. Do knock if you need either of us.”

Hearing the chorus of ‘Yes, Master Qifrey’, he walked to the room. He listened outside the door for a minute before stepping in. He saw you lying on the bed with your shoes on and staring at the ceiling. 

“You aren’t napping”, he said, softly. 

“...Can’t…”

He nodded, sitting down next to you. His hand slowly rested atop your head, his fingers running through your hair. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t prod any further. Sighing, he got up from beside you.

As he stood up, you were sure he would leave… he should be hurt at how dismissive and cold you were to him. It was quiet right now. Yes, he should have left by now-

“Ah, there it is. Found your comb.”

Your comb? Why did he need that? You sit up slowly, watching him. He smiled at you fondly before walking back to the bed. Adjusting the pillows, he sat behind you and… started to brush your hair. 

“Qifrey…”

“Shh… I know what you are going to say. And I don’t believe any of it.”

Before you could protest, he pressed a light kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Let me take care of you, my love… please”, he whispered. Your shoulders- which you didn’t even realise were tensed- sagged visibly as he said those words.

“Why?”

Qifrey laughed. That soft, breathy laugh that still sent shivers down your spine and made your heart clench. “Now that’s a silly question. I think, my dear, you know the answer to that yourself.”

A small smile made it’s way to your face. One he caught discretely before smiling to himself. Once he was done with your hair, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back against his warm chest. “You didn’t finish the coffee… it got cold…do you want me to reheat it?”

Tears welled in your eyes. And Qifrey instantly knew it wasn’t because of the coffee. You were hurting. Hurting to the point where you felt numb inside. Hurting because your brain convinced yourself that any feelings you had didn’t matter and had to be hidden from everyone. 

Even from him. 

He pulled out a piece of paper with an incomplete glyph and completed it. Your eyes widened as a flower grew from it and dropped into his hand. Your favorite one… Your eyes rose to meet him as if asking what this meant. His gaze never left yours as he just said,

“Talk to me.”

And surprisingly… that was all it took. Your walls broke down as you held onto him. 

You both spent all afternoon in the bedroom, just holding each other and sharing whispers and soft kisses. By nightfall, he took you and the girls outside to gaze at the stars.

Your eyes followed the young apprentices running around pointing at the constellations and chasing the fireflies that emerged from the grass. Wrapping the shawl around you tighter, you felt a little at ease. Like a small stone had been chipped off a boulder you insisted on carrying without even realising how much it hurt. Not completely alright… but you were getting there. And more importantly, you weren’t alone.

Qifrey’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as he smiled at you. “Enjoying the view?”

You nodded, slowly, a ghost of a smile making it’s way onto your face. “It is an exceptional night…”

He chuckled at that before turning towards you again, his hand, warm and safe, coming up to cup your face.

“I love you. And I promise you… we will get this sorted together. You and me. Always.”

“Always… “, you whispered back, your smile widening by a fraction. “I love you too.”

And his lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss. The night was a beautiful one. And you knew he vowed to make each day just as beautiful for you. That was just how he loved people. And in this moment, you felt luckier than you’d ever before.

For he was yours and you were his. And you knew things would turn out fine. 

The mug of warm coffee in your hand was proof of it.

Thank you so much for reading!