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cerisahh · 2 days ago

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summary — love language headcanons for the arcane characters (giving and receiving)

characters included — jinx, ekko, silco, vander, viktor

cerisa speaks — literally started writing this the night of s2 act 3 release and only now finishing it if that doesn't tell you something about how inconsistent i am idk what does. ATTENTION PEOPLE IN MY REQUESTS!! i swear to god i will do your request in the next year for sure! viktor forgive me, amen.

jinx — gift giving. jinx's most loyal companion is her imagination so it isn't hard for her to think of gifts that are personal to you that'd you'd enjoy.

we see many of the little homemade trinkets that she's made for silco throughout the years, my favourite being the ashtray he keeps on the desk in his office. so dependant on what you're into, she'll showcase her love for you in the form of a trinket.

oh, so you like to read? she sees you dog-earing a page of your book whilst you two are in her hangout and drops her current project to fashion you a bookmark. you only notice that her tinkering has stopped when the bookmark has been dropped on your lap and she's made a blasé comment about you destroying your book for too long so she just had to make you this so you'd stop.

hiding behind a mask of indifference when giving out her gifts is kind of her thing, but she's anxious to no end to see if you like it. her mind runs a mile a minute; 'don't they like it? do the colours not match? they hate it they hate it theyhateittheyhateittheyhateme-'

until you're holding it carefully between your fingers and your mouth is making that 'o' shape it does when something unexpected has happened. when you say that it's the most thoughtful gift you've ever received she's insistent on making you a hundred more.

physical touch. stop booing me i'm right! let me explain. as we see before powder becomes jinx, she's quite normal with physical contact, we see vi hugging her, putting a hand on her shoulder, claggor helping her down to the apartment, etc.

it's after vi slaps and abandons her that she becomes uncomfortable with physical touch. silco (most of the time) lets her initiate it on her own terms.

one time he doesn't is where she's playing airplane with his shimmer device and he grabs her wrist. she lets him retain his grip for a moment but when she does move her arm away he doesn't follow her. through my own delusions i've come to the conclusion that jinx wants, maybe even craves physical comfort, but quickly feels smothered by it when it's forced on her.

despite this, with the right person i feel like she would be willing to accept physical affection from them. it would take time to establish and develop a trusting relationship with jinx but when you're there, you're there. she's also a deeply insecure person when it comes to relationships of any kind and retaining them so you'll have to slip in some words of affirmation between touches.

her favourite way to receive physical touch would for sure be you playing with her hair. running your fingers through it and scratching her scalp? congratulations, that's your new job. you mention off the cuff how you'd love to see her hair down? suddenly there's a brush in your hands and an expectant and giddy jinx sitting in front of you.

even though she trusts you, she'll still get startled and tense up if you suffocate her with too much affection. holding your arms out for a hug or patting the seat next to you so she can lean into your arms is a much better way to initiate contact with her.

a little extra headcanon, when she's doing your nails she'll use her own hands to hold your fingers still instead of a wrist rest. she says it keeps them steadier so she doesn't make any mistakes but really she craves that subtle contact.

ekko — acts of service. season two episode seven dictates this as canon i'll be taking no arguments on this day. seeing his huge mural of future vi to show powder after he upsets her really just cements this headcanon. this is a pretty big action so i'll focus on the smaller ones for now.

starting off really strong with him decorating your room for you. close your eyes and imagine him building you a shelf to store your books or keepsakes. not only building it but carving designs into it. ohh you like music? well take a look at those carvings of sheet music! and do you spy some new books in your collection (stolen from a piltover library, naturally)

with so many different types of people living at the tree, at the beginning he was pretty much forced to learn how to cook all different types of meals. it paid off though because no matter where you hail from, he'll be able to prepare you any of your favourite dishes.

the more i type about ekko the more i realise he is the best househusband out of the arcane gang. he can cook, he can clean, he's a provider - he is quite literally the entire package. him being a certified pretty boy also helps because everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

this one is sickeningly sweet but for relationship milestones, and even just randomly, ekko will fully plan out a date night for the two of you. picnics on the top of buildings that overlook the neon lights of the undercity, just the two of you. it's so intimate.

physical touch. now this i truly will be taking no arguments on. receiving physical affection for ekko is huge. we all saw how fast he hugged benzo in the alternate au!!

with so many people from his early life either dying (benzo, vander, claggor, mylo) or leaving (jinx and vi), ekko hasn't really had anyone to offer him any form of closeness. sure, he has the firelights. it just isn't the same though.

so when you come along with all the tender hugs and fond touches that he's been deprived of for so long he knows he's done for. consider him addicted. even just clapping a hand on his shoulder after a fight, hell, LEANING ON HIM?? that man is YOURS to command for now until the end.

knowing you're just physically there and not going anywhere - not abandoning him - he's content to bask in your presence.

quick kisses and brief glances at each other come in abundance. if you're not at the firelights base then you're on the go. it's these times that make you both appreciate the time you have with each other. ekko plans to take full advantage of the downtime you both have between missions. don't expect to stray a few feet from each other.

silco — acts of service. silco's acts of service are usually communicated through orders that he gives his goons. say you offhandedly mention that some shimmer addicts have set up camp in the alley next to your apartment. when you leave the last drop and go home you notice that those shimmer addicts you briefly complained about? gone. without a trace.

i feel like he prefers to give out acts of service to you as a kind of 'i can provide for you, don't leave' kind of thing. you don't need to ask silco to do something, he'll take the initiative. he wants you to view him as a reliable provider. this sounds very 50s but he's an old fashioned kind of guy so it checks out.

not the kind of guy to do chores at the start i'm afraid. he has people for that. maybe you can convince him to wash the dishes after you cook you, him and jinx a meal. but never and i mean NEVER will you catch this man hoovering or mopping the floor. that is just simply not going to fucking happen. you'd have better luck asking him to quit smoking.

not gonna lie he just lightens the load of whatever jobs you need to do so you can spend more time together. the famed eye of zaun is clingy.

physical touch. actually controversial take no way CHILLS! similarly to jinx, silco wouldn't actively look for physical touch in any given situation. he's obviously traumatised by his former best friend choking him out and drowning him underwater. not to mention completely brutalising his eye.

jinx is likely the only person he would willingly let touch him. not even sevika on a good day gets that privilege. you would need to spend a lot of time gaining silco's undying trust. only when you two are emotionally close will you be able to share his touch.

buying you jewellery just so he can feel the warmth of your body heat as he clasps the necklace around you neck. silco is very subtle and sneaky when he wants to be close to you.

his neck is off limits to everyone, even you. placing your hand on his collarbone whilst entangled in bed together is the furthest you'll get.

vander — physical touch. oh i just know this man gives the best bear hugs. physical intimacy with vander is just safety incarnate. when he takes you into his arms it really feels like a breath of topside air after a lifetime underground.

i don't think vander would really like being with a partner that didn't enjoy physical affection. it's not only a bonding experience for the both of you to engage in but also a display of trust that he deeply values.

conveying his love for you with intimacy, non-sexual and sexual is something he cherishes. the level of mutual understanding and relationship building that comes with it is indispensable to vander. basically the keys to a successful partnership with him.

that little symbol of love in the undercity where two people touch their foreheads together? that's the most significant way you can show that you truly care for someone and it's vander's favourite way to connect with you in moments of peace.

words of affirmation. vander is the type of guy to not necessarily need words of affirmation to feel good about himself but will appreciate it all the same. he tries so hard to be a good example to the kids and in general to the populace of the undercity. he wants this life to be better. he wants to be better.

he's the leader, the protector, all the pressure is on him. affirming his efforts through words goes further than you might think.

it's you and him against the world. the brewing political storm that plagues both the undercity and piltover is little more than a distant thought when you're whispering honeyed words to and fro in the dead of night. for a man with such an imposing presence, telling him that you love and need him makes him weak.

with your words of affirmation, he's more certain of his role in the undercity than he's ever been. you renew the passion he had in youth, he wants the best for you and will do whatever he can to obtain it.

viktor — quality time. viktor is all about sharing the same space as his partner. with him being the co-founder of hextech, it's difficult for him to find time alone to dote on you. which is why you''ll often find yourself in the company of viktor (and oftentimes jayce) in their lab, them working on a new use for hextech, and yourself either studying or simply watching the magic (literally) happen.

when jayce is off being the poster child of hextech or following councillor medarda around like a lost puppy, you and viktor will settle into comfortable silences. usually with the only noise being the tinkering of science equipment or the quick scribbles of pen on paper. there's no pressure to fill the room with unnecessary chattering. just you being with him is enough. your presence is akin to a relaxant to him.

sometimes most of the time you'll need to remind him to take breaks when you've been there for hours on end and he's showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. it's a practised routine at this point; he refuses, you leave it alone for five minutes, during this time he is sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking, waiting for you to ask again.

when you do, he feigns reluctance as you grab his hand to get you both some fresh air and a proper meal. he might actually be part cat now that i'm thinking about it. he just can't help but love spending time with you.

words of affirmation. actions speak louder than words? pft, yeah right. communication is deeply valued by viktor. he's exceptional at deducing someone's intentions behind their words so don't even bother trying to get something by him. it won't work. you try to plan surprise birthday party for him? he's one of the first people to find out about it.

so when you earnestly tell him how special he is to you or how appreciative you are of him, he knows it's 100% what you actually think and BOY does that fluster him more than anything.

he isn't very big on compliments, not that he doesn't value the ones you so willingly give him, but he finds it hard to accept the good and beauty you see in him. there will always be a part of viktor, machine herald or mortal man, that refuses to believe he could be good enough for this type of love. when he retracts inside his mind and lets his doubt drown him, it's you who can pull him out of the water and onto land. telling him that you love him just the way he is will silence his uncertainty.

oh you know what would just about finish him off? making him a lunch box and putting a note in there. it doesn't having to be something poetic, even a simple 'i love you ♡' will be at the forefront of his mind until he gets back home to you.

honestly, if you're someone who expresses their love through words of gratitude or proclamations of admiration then a relationship with viktor will be smooth sailing.

#✐ᝰ cerisa’s writing #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane x reader #jinx x reader #ekko x reader #silco x reader #vander x reader #viktor x reader

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kaislvves · 2 days ago

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IN WHICH; you and kaiser get into an argument over a stupid reason which leads into a hard launch after his match.

a/n: do NAWT speak to me about how unrealistic the last scenes are. i KNOWW how crazy fans can be and they’d probably be mauling/trampling you guys to death😭 also say no to telling me to put my ear to your mouth and listen what you have to say (kaz ref…) only to tell me this is ooc leave me alone pls. & not proofread lolz

cw: swearing, arguments -> making up, my writing

“i could stay for tonight.”

it was sickening coming from your tongue because kaiser knew he didn’t want you only for tonight. he’s coming close to crushing you with how hard he’s squeezing your body like he never wants you to leave.

“just for tonight?” is a question he poses. the air around you two remains silent and it angers him—are you thinking about an answer? for there is no other answer than accepting defeat and staying in his arms, forever.

you try squirming around to wiggle your way out of his hold because it was getting warmer than you’d like it to be. “yes, micha. just for tonight.” you start whining at this point but he does not budge no matter how hard you try. he’s only growing more irritated by your response paired up with the nickname you call him to be affectionate.

affectionate his ass—you’re basically admitting you hate him. as much as he loves being seen as an enemy in others’ eyes, he hates when you perceive him in such a manner. “don’t call me micha.” his huffing out and you can feel the vibrations in his chest

“okay mr. football prodigy.” your tease is muffled by his chest. in most situations, he’d take it as a compliment to feed his ego but he knows you’re deliberately trying to egg him on. and though he currently can’t see your face because of the position you guys are in, he swears he can feel your eyes rolling at him.

“i still have a life… and a job.” now it’s your turn to get fed up by his behavior. “am i not your life?” he’s sounding like you genuinely just offended his whole bloodline and hell, maybe even very distant ancestors. you want to say he’s joking but judging by experience, he most certainly isn’t.

one thing you understood when you first started dating him was that he would not give up his career for you and using the same logic, you didn’t have to either. now can some mind reader tell you why this is happening? why is he being so stubborn about this in particular? not like kaiser isn’t dramatic or stubborn most of the time but he’s never been this stubborn over a matter like this.

“michael that’s not… i just—i can’t just give everything up for you.” oh, now you’re calling him by his full first name? perhaps that wasn’t the best way to word it because you feel grip shifting to the back of your head to keep it in place, he does this because he doesn’t want you seeing his face. “why not?” he barks a lot quieter than he normally does.

“what do you mean by ‘why not’? this has been my life, even before i met you.” you try holding in the scoff that you were trying so hard to avoid but it’s obvious now.

as if it wasn’t already tense but it feels like it bloomed into a raging silence. you believe he’s thinking of an answer but in reality, he isn’t. he’s thinking about anything else other than him opening his mouth because only the heavens know what words would spew out of his mouth if he were to—imagine how worse he’d make this petty argument.

you hate this.

you hate silence.

you hate him being silent.

and you make the dumb decision to add salt to the injury—the one thing kaiser didn’t want to do. “do you actually want to argue about this? if so, i’m not staying at all.” there you go, saying things you don’t actually mean. “do you mean that?” oh he actually responded. you did try to choose your words carefully but your mouth moves faster than your thoughts.

“and if i did?” you’re lying through your teeth, but he takes the bait.

that was what unlocked his vile mouth that should be censored on television after losing a match. “you really are annoying, you know that? i hope you didn’t because i didn’t know that either when i started liking you. or were you just leading me on? i don’t care if you aren’t staying anymore. just fucking leave.” he’s lacing his words with cyanide.

he’s second guessing his thoughts of wanting you to stay forever if you were just going to be acting like that. his grip on you is finally loosening and it’s easier to slide right past his arms. you take the chance and peak at his face. it wasn’t the look you want to see on him normally but it is justified in this situation. he has a scowl on his face but he still looks so pretty like this. he’s looking at you too, albeit not with the admiration you’re doing.

it isn’t the best idea to stay silent and so you don’t.

“fine then.” you say while walking away from him to head towards the entrance and like expected, he doesn’t follow you. you take the bag from the front-door rack and slip on the shoes he gifted you.

you spare no time opening the door, not even glancing back when you shut the door as well. kaiser is the one looking, glaring at the back of your head before you disappear behind his door. after he knows you’re off completely, he goes over to lock it shut but also ends up smelling the slight scent of your perfume floating in the air.

looks like you won’t be staying tonight anymore. and now that this happened, will you ever? did he want you to?

this argument could have been so minor if both of you had just sucked it up.

were you still together? it didn’t end in clear closure, just him telling you to leave and you did.

did you still want this? did he still want this?

in all honesty, he just wants you. no matter what form, no matter what, he still wants to say he knows you. it didn’t have to be this way.

safe to say neither of you had good sleep that night.

kaiser has many ways to express his aggression. be it words, physical contact (past), or what he’s doing right now—football. he hasn’t contacted you ever since that day and you haven’t either. makes him question what he still is to you.

why does he care? if you don’t want to talk to him, neither do you. if you hate him, he hates you.

however, whenever he does take his anger out of the field, he dominates it. effectively becoming the king of the field. from the get-go it was obvious bastard munchen would win the match against some other team they were playing against.

you could tell too, setting aside the fact you were sitting pretty far from the game. what made you want to watch the match even if you thought he was probably your ex already? you didn’t know. it’s like you just gravitate towards the stupid rat tails man, he’s an annoying magnet to you now.

and like everyone betted on, bastard munchen did win.

the team immediately celebrates by huddling together, slapping each-others hands, carrying each-other, and what not? you unconsciously smile at the scene, it was small, you could still feel it but you couldn’t help it.

kaiser is celebrating with his team, being somehow lifted on-top of ness’ shoulders (which he is really annoyed at and he’s wondering how the fuck he’s doing that, what is wrong with him?). he ultimately scored the last goal they needed to win. it wasn’t a surprise because when he plays, he wants to—needs to—win.

despite that, his teammates couldn’t help but realize his anger, leading to yoichi asking him a question that makes kaiser want to choke the black-haired man on the spot.

“the hell was that?” he asks (referring the stupidly impossible goal kaiser was able to score, but you know… he doesn’t believe anything is impossible.) “i have a question for you too, yoichi. what the hell is that kind of question?” he’s laughing out, still on ness’ shoulders. but he’s laughing so hard his whole body starts to shake, making ness stumble a little.

still, yoichi was able to tell something was off.

“uh… what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

but before kaiser could answer that with going off on him, he’s being pulled into an interview.

what made that goal possible?

“it was never impossible.”

what do you feel after winning?

“as if we weren’t going to win.”

boring questions he didn’t want to answer but he was obligated to—for he was basically the star of the show, like always. that was until a certain question was asked that made him look around the stadium for the first time.

that was quite an impressive goal.

“of course.”

is there anyone you wanted to watch that shot?

he’s silent. he’s thinking of you as he gazes around the bleachers—embarrassingly thinking everyone has your face and accidentally making eye contact with crazy fans that go berserk when he does. the only reason he never looked before and during the match was because you wouldn’t be there.

what a desperate reason, right? row after row, he’s scanning every seat, even the ones that are empty and imagining you’re the one sitting in it. 3rd to the top row, he scanning and not expecting to see you.

the fuck? is that you?

is he looking at you? kaiser is looking in your direction and in the area you’re seated but you’re so high up you can’t tell and it’s very unlikely he is but he keeps staring. you’re awkwardly looking away and around your section to hide your face.

oh but he’s already gotten a look of the face he so desperately wanted to see and he’s not going to look away, nor will he stand in one place. like a lunatic who just escaped some mental hospital, he’s booking it from the interviewer who stands shocked.

oh ok... he totally saw you which defeats the total point of you sitting so far away, was he lying to you when he said his eyesight wasn’t the best? probably. anyway, that was your sign to also walk away.

screams of fans were deafening and you felt like your eardrums were going to burst anyway.

who cursed you? because it was such a coincidence that kaiser comes out the way you were going to exit. he didn’t count how many fans who were asking all sorts of things he ran past to get to you.

as soon as you saw his face, you tried playing it off cool and spun the other way to walk away but he was by no means dumb and he saw you do that. he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

it felt like when you ask your friends to chase you and they actually do and now you’re screaming your lungs out trying to outrun them. obviously it was futile because he was so much faster than you.

no words could explain how fucking loud the crowd was, first when he ran, second when he entered the spectator area, last (hopefully) when he hugged you tightly from behind, stopping you from running.

like that night, he was warmer than you’d like him to be. arms wrapped around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. “are you running away again?” he’s whispering into your ear and despite the crowd + the booming voices around you… ++ the paparazzi basically stomping on people to get a photo, he’s unbelievably close to your ear, you have no trouble in hearing him.

“kaiser.” you breathe out in the same shock the interviewer was probably in. “don’t call me that. answer my question.” he huffs—he hasn’t heard you call him that in for like… forever! (unless you count other arguments)

“should i want to run away?”

“i don’t want you to.”

the grip is getting tighter and it slightly stops you from breathing for a second. you don’t want to run away, you don’t hate him.

you were thinking the same as him, whether or whether not he still considered you his. but you know his ego is way too high for his own good so you do him a favor and ask him instead.

“are we still something?” you ask and it hurts him that you do—did you not think that anymore? his eye is twitching with uncertain emotions. “…tell me your answer first.” there’s hurt evident in his voice because he doesn’t want to jump into conclusions and hurt his ego even more than he already has fighting for his way to get to you.

“i don’t know, are we?” he’d flick your forehead with full power if he wasn’t trying to make up with you. it’s barely audible but you hear “i still want this.” a frown is on your face and he took it as a bad sign.

“i do too, micha.” you admit, he’s spiraling by how you say his name.

as much as he wants to say that he did want you to stay with him forever, that he didn’t want you to leave him, that he doesn’t actually find you annoying, that he loves you. he decides on doing only the second and last option because he’s kept himself, you, and the fans waiting far too long.

(you also wanted to say you didn’t mean it.)

he’s spinning you around to face him.

“don’t leave me, ever.”

he holds your hands in his, leaning forward to kiss you.

and though you guys still have so much to apologize, discuss, and everything in between… you both would rather leave that for a private matter. just stay in this moment, in his arms for now? if not forever.

oh and now you hoped this was the last time the crowd got as rowdy as it was.

GERMAN FOOTBALL PRODIGY; MICHAEL KAISER AND HIS SUPPOSED PARTNER MAKE IT PUBLIC! WHO IS THE LUCKY PERSON? EVERYTHING WE KNOW RIGHT NOW…

locknessmonster : bro wtf

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kots-kots · 3 days ago

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monster high au ~ vento aureo/golden wind

BUCCIARATI’S TEAM!!!

I imagine the Bucci squad holds a place somewhere around the middle in the popularity ranking but they’re quite admired, holding a decent reputation and at most being a bit intimidating to others but ummm yah :3

Bucciarati - He’s a frankenmonster with zippers instead of stitches!!! He can dismember himself partially or entirely like how he does in canon and use his limbs for long ranged attacks LOL

I was thinking he could be a class representative or the captain of the soccer team, being a year or two older than the rest of his group but being the same age as Abbacchio

Abbacchio - he’s a mix of a wraith and an algea, spirits of sorrow and misery—his kind particularly being born from regret and survivor’s guilt. He has the power of of psychometry so he can replay memories off the things around him. He can also share these ‘visions’ to those around him.

Abba is like. Super emo/gothic even for monsters LOL

He has a naturally pale complexion and just amps up the gauntness by a tenfold LOL

Bruno is his closest friend and they have matching tops >_< he also plays soccer me thinks….

Giorno - he’s a vampire/fairy!!! He’s a pretty boy basically LOL, the youngest in the group and also the most glittery

He has matching eyeshadow with Fugo

The dust from his wings can kinda accelerate life around you??? If that makes sense??? Like how Bruno perceived life at an extremely fast rate but his body didn’t??? His wings have that effect if u inhale it

Sameish powers from canon me thinks

Fugo - He’s a bunny cuz he’s canonically said to look soft and sweet but his temper…. Oooo mama people are getting RUSTIC out here 😭

He has part plant monster in him which can make him release poisonous spores through seed buds—they’re incredibly dangerous and much like Purple Haze in canon >_<

Narancia - he’s a spectre!! Cuz he’s.. a spectator ahahaha.. hahah… get it

His eye can pop out at will and float around to locations farther than his body for reconnaissance and scouting. He is still very much the ‘eye’ of the team. He’s apart of the dance club and is a pole vaulter for the track team 😭😭😭😭

BECAUSE OF HIS EYE ABILITY HE KNOWS TOO MUCH. This makes him and Mista the biggest gossips in school 😭 SPEAKING OF MISTAM

Mista is a harpy!!! He can use his feathers like bullets (kinda like Hawks from MHA in the sense he can control them individually)

I was thinking the Sex Pistols could be pixies or some small creatures Mista befriended LOL

I don’t have a species for Trish yet but she’s there 😿😿

I was also thinking they could high key be a band like. Torture dance… and Abba literally looks like he can play the keytar LOL + Trish is a singer!!! It’d be neat me thinks

also a doodle comic >_< kinda just Terence and vanilla’s dynamic explained

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba monster high #jjba au #monster high au #golden wind #vento aureo #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #giorno giovanna #fugo pannacotta #narancia ghirga #guido mista #trish una #terence d’arby #vanilla ice

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gilbertscurls · 1 day ago

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request::: the triplets each have a significant other and they all film a youtube video but it’s some sort of couples challenge video and it’s just a really cute, full of fluff, little video and all the comments are full of people talking about how cute they all are🥰🥰

hope you like it!! <3

couples challenge — sturniolo triplets

The familiar click of the camera shutter signals that they’re recording. Chris adjusts his beanie, Nick leans closer to the camera with his signature grin, and Matt offers a small, crooked smile while fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. Behind them, the couch is crowded—three couples squished together, a mix of excitement and mild chaos brewing in the air.

"Alright, guys!" Nick starts, his voice full of energy. "Today’s video is a little different because—well, you can see—we’ve got our significant others with us!"

The camera pans slightly as Jake, Olivia, and Y/N wave awkwardly but enthusiastically.

"Introduce yourselves!" Chris urges.

Jake, sitting close to Nick with their hands intertwined, smiles brightly. "Hi, I’m Jake. I’ve been stuck with Nick for two years now, send help."

Everyone laughs, and Nick playfully shoves Jake’s shoulder.

Olivia, sitting beside Chris, rolls her eyes with affection. "I’m Olivia. Chris is lucky to have me, and he knows it."

Chris lets out an exaggerated sigh, clutching his chest dramatically. "So lucky. Beyond words."

Finally, it’s Y/N’s turn. Sitting cross-legged beside Matt, she nudges his knee before speaking. "Hey, I’m Y/N. And Matt is…" She looks over at him, pausing for dramatic effect. "Well, Matt’s here."

The room erupts in laughter as Matt shakes his head, biting back a smile.

"Okay, okay!" Nick claps his hands. "Today, we are doing the Couples Compatibility Challenge! Basically, we’ll answer questions about our relationships, and if our answers don’t match, there’s a consequence."

Chris holds up a spray bottle filled with water. "And guess what? The consequence is getting sprayed in the face. Have fun."

Round One: Who said ‘I love you’ first?

Matt and Y/N glance at each other and hold up their whiteboards. Both say: Matt.

"Aww!" Olivia coos, leaning against Chris.

"Wait, Matt said it first?!" Nick looks genuinely surprised.

Matt shrugs, his ears slightly red. "I had to lock it in, bro."

Chris holds up his board: Olivia. Olivia holds hers up: Chris.

"Nooo!" Olivia groans as Chris grins wickedly and sprays her face lightly with water.

Jake and Nick hold up their boards, both reading: Jake.

Jake smirks. "He was nervous. It was cute."

Nick buries his face in his hands as everyone teases him.

Round Two: What’s your partner’s biggest pet peeve?

Y/N holds up her board: When Matt leaves socks everywhere.

Matt blinks at his board: Loud chewing.

Everyone bursts into laughter as Chris grabs the spray bottle and gives Matt a quick spritz.

"Bro, you really thought it was loud chewing? You literally leave socks everywhere," Y/N says, exasperated but laughing.

Chris and Olivia both answer correctly: When Chris leaves cabinets open.

"I swear I’m trying to be better," Chris says dramatically.

Nick and Jake? Dead wrong.

Nick writes: When I forget important dates.

Jake writes: When Nick hogs the blanket.

A chaotic spray war ensues, with Nick grabbing the water bottle and spraying Jake back in retaliation.

Round Three: Who’s the better cook?

Jake, Olivia, and Y/N all hold up their boards confidently: Me.

The triplets? All write: Them.

"Wow," Matt says flatly. "We are collectively the most useless chefs in history."

Chris shrugs. "But at least we know our strengths."

Eventually, the video ends with everyone crowded back on the couch, cheeks flushed from laughing and hair slightly damp from the water spray.

"Alright, guys, that’s it for today!" Nick announces. "Make sure to like, comment, and subscribe—and let us know if you want to see more videos with the six of us!"

"And who you think the cutest couple is," Chris adds, pointing directly at himself and Olivia.

"Obviously it’s us," Jake jokes, leaning against Nick.

Matt wraps an arm loosely around Y/N’s shoulder. "You guys are both wrong."

The camera cuts out as everyone dissolves into more laughter and playful bickering.

The comments flood in within minutes of the upload:

Top Comment: "Okay but all three couples are literally the cutest. Nick and Jake’s trivia domination, Matt and Y/N’s wholesome vibes, and Chris and Olivia just being chaotic—10/10 content. 🥺✨"

Comment #2: "Y/N and Matt are giving childhood-best-friends-to-lovers energy and I’m eating it UP."

Comment #3: "Nick and Jake are my comfort duo. The way Nick just KNOWS Jake is everything."

Comment #4: "Chris and Olivia are such golden retriever/black cat energy and I refuse to believe otherwise."

Comment #5: "Petition for more couples content because I could watch this for HOURS."

Comment #6: "Lowkey obsessed with how Y/N roasted Matt for five minutes straight but then called him ‘babe’ all soft and sweet. 💀❤️"

Comment #7: "Nick and Jake finishing each other’s sentences is what true love looks like, folks."

Comment #8: "Chris looking at Olivia like she hung the stars even when she was roasting him for not knowing her favorite movie? Yeah. Yeah, I’m emotional."

Final Comment Highlight: "Someone said ‘Sturniolo Couples Cinematic Universe’ in the replies and honestly... yeah. That’s it. That’s the vibe."

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim, @courta13

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monster-disaster · 1 day ago

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[monsters] New Year's resolution

monsters x human!Reader Good to know: no warnings

Summary: Your New Year's resolution leads to a very intense week in the gym.

“She is the one.”

Kiron frowns. His dark eyes scan through the crowd, searching. “Which one?”

“That pretty girl in the black sweatshirt,” Diran replies, nodding subtly in your direction. “She just left the reception desk.”

“Oh,” Decar hums. The deep baritone of his voice barely rises above the monotone drone of the treadmills. “And she has a membership card. She’s serious.”

Kiron snorts, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Yeah, so is half the city. It’s January, after all.”

Decar’s lips curl into a slow, predatory smirk, just enough to show a hint of his canines. “Well, then, let’s make sure she doesn’t quit after a week, shall we?” His vivid green eyes gleam under the bright fluorescent lights as he watches you take a tentative step closer to a row of sleek, whirring machines. Your gaze darts around, clearly lost and unsure and so blissfully unaware of their scrutiny.

“Boys,” Nara speaks up finally. Her voice cuts through the clang of weights like a pleasant melody. “You will scare her away.”

“Well, do you have a plan?” the orc asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge, though, he already knows the answer, of course. Nara always has a plan.

The succubus flashes a sharp, knowing smile that lights up her face with an air of effortless confidence. “Just watch and see.” The promise in her tone is undeniable.

It is the first Monday of the year, and the gym is full of new beginnings. The air hangs heavy with the potent mix of sweat, disinfectant from the freshly cleaned machines, and the weight of resolutions.

The guys watch as Nara strides toward you. Her steps are confident and fluid as she easily waves through the crowd. The blue yoga outfit she likes so much clings to her in all the right places. The light shade looks like the summer sky on her pastel purple skin. Her black hair is piled into a messy bun, with a matching scrunchie holding it all together.

“What do you think she’s saying to her?” Diran asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

The tiger shrugs. The black stripes on his arms flex as he adjusts his stance. “Who knows.”

“I’m surprised they still have their clothes on,” Kiron remarks teasingly. The orc watches you with amusement glinting in his dark gaze. Your wide, timid eyes remain fixed on Nara. You seem caught somewhere between awe and nervousness as your fingers fidget with the sleeve of your oversized sweatshirt.

The minotaur rolls his eyes, though his lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. “We are in public,” he points out, glancing sideways at the orc, whose knowing grin only deepens.

“Exactly,” the male replies. “You know Nara.”

“Look,” Decar interrupts, nodding toward you and Nara when the succubus turns her head ever so slightly to glance back at their group with a sly curl at the corner of her lips. Your gaze follows hers, landing on them for a brief, uncertain moment. “It’s our time, guys.”

Every part of the gym buzzes with life. Seasoned members move around the equipment with familiarity while the newcomers wander around, watching and trying to get through their “newbie” embarrassment.

“Y/N,” Nara says smoothly before any of the guys can get a word in. She gestures toward the trio with a casual wave of her hand. “These are Diran, Kiron, and Decar,” she introduces them in turn. “Guys, this is Y/N. It’s her first time here.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Diran says first in a friendly and inviting tone, and the others only nod in acknowledgment. Their imposing figures are softened by their smiles, though, Decar's is more of a smirk, and Kiron's grin has a sharpness to it, but the gesture is there.

“Y/N just told me she isn’t sure where to start with her workout.”

The orc has to bite his lip to stifle a comment, his gaze flicking from Nara to you with a glimmer of mischief. “Is that true?”

You nod a bit meekly, feeling self-conscious under the weight of their attention. “It all looks a bit overwhelming,” you admit, gesturing vaguely toward the expansive gym filled with unfamiliar equipment and bustling energy.

“It’s understandable,” Diran says with a reassuring nod. He is calm and grounded, a stark contrast to the others. “We all started somewhere.”

“That’s what I told her,” Nara interjects, flashing a grin as she effortlessly reclaims control of the conversation. “So, I offered to help her out.”

Kiron raises a brow, a sly look creeping onto his face as he exchanges a glance with the succubus. “Oh?”

“I thought we could show her some workout routines,” the woman says, her grin widening. “I don’t start my beginner class until next Monday, but if you’d like, Y/N, you can come early tomorrow, and I will give you a private yoga session.”

Decar snickers at the offer, but the low rumble of his chest gets drowned by all the noises around them. Of course Nara would claim the first opportunity to guide the sweet, wide-eyed newcomer. It’s only fair, after all. “That’s a great idea, Nara." The humor in his tone is evident.

The woman smirks at the tiger. “I know, right?”

The male crosses his arms, his tail swishing idly behind him. “I could show you some boxing moves on Wednesday,” he offers. “It’s a great way to build confidence.”

“And I can show you around the machines on Thursday,” the minotaur adds. “They can be tricky if you are new to them.”

The orc’s lips curl into a slow, dark grin. His tusks catch the bright lights from above. “And when you are all stretched and ready, we can end the week with some weightlifting on Friday.”

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #teratophillia #monster fucker #monster girlfriend #terato #monsterfucker #succubus x reader #orc x reader #rakshasa x reader #minotaur x reader

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jellofish-plant · 3 days ago

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Batfamily Relationship & Platonic Headcanons

Pairing: Romantic Bruce Wayne (Batman), Dick Grayson (Nightwing), Jason Todd (Red Hood), and Selina Kyle (Catwoman) x Reader, Batgirl Oracle, Platonic: Red Robin, Spoiler, Batgirl (platonic and romantic interpretations available!)

Master List

Warnings:

Mentions of crime-fighting and Gotham’s usual dangers.

Light angst as characters navigate emotional walls.

Fluff and found-family vibes!

Romantic Headcanons

Selina Kyle (Catwoman)

Selina loves teasing you, but it’s always playful and never crosses a line. She’s the type to call you a ridiculous nickname just to see you blush.

Despite her free-spirited nature, she craves stability with you. She might not admit it outright, but she loves coming home to you after a heist or patrol.

She’s incredibly intuitive about your emotions. If you’re having a bad day, she’ll whisk you away for a night of stargazing on Gotham’s rooftops or a private dinner with candles and wine.

Selina has a soft spot for spoiling you. Expect surprise gifts, from rare collectibles to something shiny she “borrowed” during her escapades.

You’re the only person she trusts enough to see her vulnerable side—her fears, her past, and her dreams for a future she never thought she could have.

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

Bruce might struggle with verbal affection, but his actions speak louder than words. He’ll repair something you mentioned in passing or ensure your favorite tea is always stocked.

He loves seeing you in his world. Whether you’re sparring in the Batcave or offering insight on a mission, your presence grounds him.

Late nights often find the two of you sitting in silence by the fire, Bruce reading while you relax nearby. He treasures the calm you bring to his chaotic life.

Bruce surprises you with heartfelt gestures, like handwritten notes or rare books he remembers you admiring. He’s a hopeless romantic in the most understated way.

His protective nature can sometimes border on overbearing, but he always respects your boundaries when you call him out on it.

Barbara Gordon (Batgirl/Oracle)

Barbara loves sharing her passions with you. She’ll invite you to the clocktower to watch her work or teach you something new, like coding or self-defense.

She’s a planner and loves organizing dates, whether it’s an escape room adventure, a concert, or a quiet movie night at home.

Barbara finds comfort in knowing you’re there to lean on when she’s overwhelmed. You remind her it’s okay to take breaks and prioritize herself.

She’s incredibly thoughtful—remembering every little detail about you, like your favorite snacks or the exact way you take your coffee.

She has a playful, competitive streak, challenging you to games or races just to see you laugh when she inevitably wins.

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Dick’s love language is physical touch. Whether it’s holding your hand, giving you a back hug, or ruffling your hair, he thrives on closeness.

He loves planning adventurous dates, like trapeze lessons, rooftop picnics, or carnival nights where he insists on winning you the biggest prize.

Dick writes you notes and hides them in unexpected places—your bag, your jacket pocket, or even under your pillow.

He’s open about his feelings, often showering you with compliments and affirmations. He wants you to feel loved and appreciated every single day.

Dick adores quiet, domestic moments with you—cooking breakfast together, falling asleep on the couch, or dancing in the kitchen to old songs.

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Jason is initially guarded, but once he opens up, he loves with everything he has. His affection is intense and unwavering.

He’s a sucker for quiet nights, like reading together in comfortable silence or sharing coffee on the balcony while the city wakes up.

Jason loves surprising you with heartfelt gifts, from a book he thinks you’ll love to a jacket that matches his.

He has a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that meshes perfectly with yours, leading to playful banter and inside jokes.

Jason is fiercely protective, sometimes to a fault, but he trusts you enough to let you take care of yourself. He’ll always be there to back you up, no questions asked.

Platonic Headcanons

Tim Drake (Robin/Red Robin)

Tim loves having late-night brainstorming sessions with you. Whether it’s about missions or life in general, he values your input and trusts your perspective.

He’s the friend who’ll text you random facts at 3 a.m. or call to share a new conspiracy theory he’s working on.

Tim is surprisingly thoughtful when it comes to birthdays or celebrations, always getting you the perfect gift.

If you’re feeling down, Tim will sit with you in quiet solidarity, offering support in whatever way you need.

He appreciates your ability to pull him out of his workaholic tendencies, often joking that you’re his "scheduled distraction."

Damian Wayne (Robin)

Damian might act aloof at first, but he quickly grows to respect and admire you, especially if you show competence in your field.

He loves teaching you about his interests, like sword fighting, art, or animal care. You’ll often find him talking passionately about his pets.

Damian is protective in his own way, subtly ensuring you’re safe and warning others to treat you with respect.

He’ll never admit it, but he enjoys your company during quiet moments, like reading side by side or working on individual projects in the same room.

Damian has a sarcastic wit that you can match, leading to playful (and surprisingly affectionate) banter.

Cassandra Cain (Batgirl)

Cassandra is quiet but incredibly perceptive. She knows when you’re upset or stressed and offers comfort through small gestures—a hand on your shoulder, a gentle smile.

She loves training with you, often encouraging you to push your limits. Her silent pride in your progress is evident in her approving nods.

Cass enjoys sharing moments of peace with you, like sitting on a rooftop and watching the city lights or walking through Gotham’s quieter streets.

She doesn’t use words much, but her actions like cooking for you or fixing something of yours speak volumes about her care.

Cassandra appreciates your patience with her and feels safe being herself around you, even on days when she struggles to express her emotions.

Stephanie Brown (Spoiler)

Steph is the ultimate hype friend, always cheering you on and boosting your confidence. She believes in you even when you don’t.

She’s the friend who drags you out for spontaneous adventures, like midnight snacks or goofy photo shoots in Gotham’s less dangerous spots.

Steph is fiercely loyal and will defend you against anyone who tries to mess with you, often with her signature sass.

She loves sharing her favorite memes and jokes with you, often laughing harder at your reaction than the punchline.

Stephanie sees you as an equal partner in crime (figuratively, of course!) and values your input on everything, from missions to life decisions.

Author’s Note: Here’s an expanded set of headcanons for some of Gotham’s best and brightest! Whether you imagine romantic relationships or cherish platonic bonds, there’s something magical about being part of the Batfamily’s world. 💕

Let me know if there’s someone else you’d like added, or if you’d like a specific tone or direction for these headcanons! 😊

#Batfamily Headcanons #Bruce Wayne x Reader #Dick Grayson x Reader #Jason Todd x Reader #Selina Kyle x Reader #Catwoman x Reader #Batman #Nightwing #Red Hood #Fluff with a Dash of Angst #Safe Space #jellofish-plant

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mythelixir · 1 day ago

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Right now, who are you, what do you need to hear from your future self and your inner child? Pile - 1

Pile - 2

Pile - 3

Pile - 1

Knight of Wands - reversed

King of Swords - reversed

2 of cups - reversed

Ace of Swords

Aura colour – orange/purple

What’s your vibe?

Well, to be put simply, you are reckless. You’re someone who is driven by adrenaline, never allowing anything to stop you. To you, the world is a small place, and everything is simple. But all these are carefully crafted façades. You, in reality, are restless and fearful. You fear that the time given to you is too short and you might die tomorrow, you live in that fear. So you do everything now. YOLO right? So, you lack self-discipline in the excuse that it only cripples your adventure. But to a heavy contrast, you feel for the people you love, so deeply that you protect them with the life that you so fear losing. You are an idiotic fool that everyone loves but fears you aren’t in your right mind more than half of their time.

You are someone who is gifted with the power of intellect along with victory. Doesn’t mean you’re favoured that way, it's just that the hardships you face, you always find a way to get out of, with triumph at that. Hence, you give off confidence in your walk and talk. I just saw a lioness. While lions are signs of reign and power, they are also known for laziness. But lionesses? They are the symbol of elegance and royalty. While some things confuse you, you don’t get stuck in it for long. You understand the problem and solve it quickly, you’re very action oriented. So, when people see you, they see someone reliable, someone they know can handle shit on their own. In others' eyes, you are that bitch that they fear.

You give off major Aquarius/Sagittarius vibes.

Messages from your future self:

I know you’re tempted to just use others around you, and step over their efforts to get to your destination, but please, don’t do it. You’re only damaging yourself in the process. Telling yourself, “One last time” before doing it? No, you're going to do it again, trust me. It will be like an addiction, even when you know you should stop, you won’t. You can't. Trust me. I know being this Ice Princess is a tempting imagery right now but that ice that is meant to pierce others? It will only impale you. Power-hungry jackals, you hate them right? Then why are you seeking to become one? Write down your feelings instead, so when you read them back, you’ll understand why you’d stopped yourself. Love yourself a little. Show yourself some peace. You need it.

Message from your inner child:

So you fear touch because you were never hugged, lulled to sleep or comforted when you cried as a child? No open communication, only screaming matches? Always being said, “You’re younger, you don't know the world. Just do as I say”. Unrealistic expectations that you were never able to meet? Well, when you were younger you might’ve, but as you got older, shit just didn’t make any sense. You wanted to rebel all of a sudden, but even when you did, you were brushed off as “immature”?

But now, it’s time to change the narrative. Start small—acknowledge your pain and let yourself grieve the affection and understanding you missed. Surround yourself with people who make you feel safe and loved, and learn to set boundaries with those who don’t. Explore self-soothing practices like journaling, meditation, or holding a soft object when you feel overwhelmed. Teach yourself that touch can feel safe again—start with something gentle, like hugging a pet, or even placing a hand over your heart to remind yourself you’re here. Speak kindly to yourself; replace harsh inner voices with affirmations like, “I am enough,” or “I deserve love.” Engage in therapy or support groups to unlearn the lies you were told and create space for your true self to grow. Healing begins when you nurture the love and care within you that was always waiting to be found.

Pile - 2

The Empress – reversed

Queen of Cups – reversed

The Hierophant

2 of wands

Aura colour – white/red

What’s your vibe?

You are controlling and manipulative, but that stems from lack of self-worth and constantly neglecting your needs. You simply cannot control yourself so you rectify that problem by controlling the people around you, that can either drive them away or to you. You might be the sole earner/breadwinner of your family, this power trip might be the reason for your behaviour. The cards also strongly suggest the presence of a woman/ feminine energy had negatively impacted previously in your life, which now has shaped you to be sceptical to women, this also might result to you being called “pick-me”. But no, you are just comfortable around men. This kind of treatment also makes you incredibly bonded with nature and also, food. You love treating the people you love with food and also, when you are depressed, you need rain/ rain sounds + lots of tasty food.

You also suffer from emotional imbalance/ low EQ. Insecurity, emotional insecurity and self-neglect are themes that you see yourself falling into. This leads to lack of empathy, distrust and animosity towards people that are nice just for the hell of it. You either loathe it because you think they’re being fake or you just hate them for being something you cannot. You also think emotional detachment is the way to go. You give off tsundere vibes.

Major Taurus/ all water sign vibes.

Messages from your future self:

You lack a belief system and you know that ruins you. The nights when you feel no one is there for you, no one can hear your wailing cries, you fail to get back up because of it. Because you have nothing to believe in. That breaks you from the inside. If people fail you and you hate the idea of following a religion, then imagine you future, where you see yourself. Where you succeed, where you are loved by everyone and work towards achieving that, when you do that, you have something to live for. A silver lining in the darkest of clouds. And, there is nothing wrong with being conventional/traditional. People stick with olden ways because they’re proven to work. So you do you!

I kept hearing “Too sad to cry” by Sasha Sloan when I was writing this, give it a listen but keep a box of tissues with you.

Message from your inner child:

I know you probably fear large bodies of water—it’s okay. Something must have happened back then, something that made the water feel less like a friend and more like a threat. You’ve learned to cope, though. You keep a support system nearby, like friends or a lifeguard, or rely on floaties to keep you afloat. But that fear also made you fall in love with the warmth of summer and spring, where the sun feels like a hug and you don’t have to face the uncertainty of deep waters.

You’ve always been the one who plans, the one who maps out their path because people around you (your parents/uncles/aunts) seemed to have glided through life, never planning anything and you’ve seen things go wrong because of it. And that because of that, your anxiety made you an avid planner.

But guess what? That’s your strength. You hold the world in your palm, ready to shape it your way, one thoughtful step at a time. I see you. I’m proud of you. Keep going.

Pile - 3

Ten of wands – reversed

King of Cups – reversed

9 of wands

3 of pentacles – reversed

Aura colour – gold/black/blue

What’s your vibe?

You’re the people that appear in those movies with truck load of books in their hands and fall over, stumbling out of balance. You take on too much, be it work, responsibility. You’re nothing short of a pressure cooker now, ready to burst any second. I got this image from this movie called “The 3 idiots” where they heads swell up like a balloon and burst due to an overload of information. It is supposed to be funny, until its not.

I feel like now, you’re trying to let go of certain things, delegating some tasks, freeing yourself. You’re setting clear boundaries, prioritising tasks and overall, gaining a better understanding of your situation as a whole. Teamwork is a part of your stress and you are starting to realise that/ you’ve already recognised that as your problem.

The cards also point to a lack of maturity and the need to withdraw from emotional situations rather than facing them head on. You may be emotionally detached, avoiding expressing your feelings openly and also create walls when going into a relationship. You may also have a sharp tongue or make decisions hastily/in the heat of the moment. You might have unhealthy coping mechanisms, when I see you I see a person with dark cirles/ eye bags/ bitten nails.

Major water/fire sign vibes.

Messages from your future self:

You are so fucking strong and resilient. Believe in that. You are someone who doesn’t ever give up because you see other people doing shit and think “Well, bitch, I can too”. That is you. But also please, proceed with caution. Stop once in a while to take a breather, because even the strongest I people need rest to succeed in battle. You are someone who has gone through and will go through so much shit but the will to live, never once faded. You have this strength in you to just, go on.

I don’t know why but when I saw this I got remembered of this one meme from arcane, where this dude’s shirt says “I survived act III, but at what cost”.

I heard “Sign of the Times” from Harry Styles just now. Wow. Well, that might be a good or a bad thing, only you will know.

Message from your inner child:

I see your fear of masculine energy, and I understand—it might stem from times when that energy felt overwhelming, controlling, or unsafe. You’ve built walls to protect yourself, and that’s okay; they were necessary once. But now, those walls can come down, slowly and on your terms. Not all masculine energy is harmful—some of it is steady, nurturing, and protective. Let yourself explore it gently, whether in others or within yourself. As for stagnation, it’s not a failure; it’s a pause, a moment to reflect and gather strength. You’re not stuck—you’re resting, preparing to move forward when you’re ready. Give yourself permission to heal, to trust, and to grow at your own pace. There’s no rush, no timeline you must follow. I see your strength, even when you don’t. I’m here, rooting for you, every step of the way. You’re safe now.

#tarot #tarotcommunity #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a picture #pac

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luv-beam · 17 hours ago

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SURPRISEEE!!! i finished some things early and realized i had a lot of time tonight, so here i am!!! really, just a treat for me heh:

• dropping us immediately into everything-has-gone-to-shit oh ur praying on our downfall TT like the distance is palpable... and hao 😭 oh sweet, protective big brother hao 😭

• THE TULIPS??!?@!( STRETCHING TOWARD THE SKY??? my chest hurts .. the way yn looks at the garden now. like ik how it feels when something/someplace u once considered ur safe haven or safety net becomes corrupt,, twists the heart

• YOU WOULD NOT COME HERE AGAIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭 UGLY CRYING its the way "at least not alone" comes right after and i wonder if seokmin feels the same bc he also walked by, but only w minghao (granted, this isnt his house but...) and bc u write that they were BOTH affected (im not delulu am i...)

• vapid fop... what if i chuckled hahah

• also HELLO YOON JEONGHAN (u couldn't resist, could u, tara ;))) "a balm to the bruised parts" oh. im honestly living for jeonghans character and that in some other life, he and yn might actually make the perfect match (also mama xu doing mama matchmaker things w said thinly veiled glee is everything)

• its interesting that seok and hannie have kind of switched tropes? idk if that makes sense, but jeonghan as the warm, comforting presence and seokmin as the teasing, haunting ex-relation. its interesting seeing them both in these contexts and i like the subtle way u point to seokmin still having feelings for her or, yk, CARING ABT HER

• oh so nooow u try to play nice ..... jkjk im sorry i have assumed yns soul at this moment LMFAOOO (we're at the return of hao)

• i have sm pettiness in my bones that i emoathize w yn too well in this section LOL like yn was holding back, she could have snubbed him even more thoroughly imo !!! the dettached politeness and careful dismissal of his attempts at conversing w her makes me cackle lol (sorry dk) loved the dialogue/interactions!!!

• "weaving an intoxicating tapestry of distraction" oooooo welcome back tapestry metaphor 😌 i love imagining all of this like one massive tapestry being weaved in of those big ass looms that u think of from ancient greece

• speaking of intoxicating, the way u described jeonghan previously reminded me of champagne teehee

• the fact that every time seokyn make eye contact w one another the world seems to pause makes me ILL. like u cannot make me think of that slow motion, light fading-esque scene every time like my heart cannot take it

• i feel sick 😭😭😭😭 like damn that hurts... like u hate to see them doing so much better than u and u capture that bittersweet heartache/break so well :')))

• like sure seok's reputation might have been scuffed a little when she ran away, but all of that negative social consequence is given to yn, not seokmin. and the domino effect of all her "mistakes" and all this isolation is so... accurate? truly, her isolation and helplessness/defeat can be felt thru the screen

• i can kind of imagine the scene where yns escaped back home and is just sitting in the dark,, like the muffled sounds of partygoers and then the door closes and it's so quiet... man im so sad for her

• "ah i see my sister's charming everyone tonight" PLS I LOVE U HAO 😭😭😭 he's such a sweet older brother bye skfndjfj the way he's so protective im so

• i am kind of curious if yn has realized/forgiven seokmin in some way? like ik she's bitter and also heartbroken cuz she felt stupid for believing he could love her back, but at this point, she seems to have forgiven hao in some capacity for trying to help her "save her prospects" last chapter. so would it be safe to say that she's forgiven seok for going along w it too? or ig,, its a little more complicated than that huh

• damn someone who can make even jeonghan nervous/uncertain? crazy lol

• all this time passing MAKES. ME. SO. SAD. FOR. HER. 😭😭😭

• i agree w yn, the tulips bring an unwelcoke reminder of seokmin 😌 sorry seokmin

• the gaping hole and taut tension during the brief scene of spring age 22 is so JSNFKDJFJ RAAAAAAAAH ik im on yns side but like i need to strap this girl to an armchair so they can talk shit out 😭 i love longing so much but i also wanna tear my hair out

• i looove that u describe each and every ball/society event in its own way, like they have their own unique personalities!! :'))) like this one as a kaleidoscope... so beautiful, its a pleasure to my mind. on a similar note, the way u described sohee's dress and appearance was MWAH!! like i can picture exactly what she looks like, she's such a vibrant and living character in my mind. though the irony is not lost on me how her appearance/dress is described in such similar detail as when yn was a debutante 💔 like she's now been cast aside and it no longer matters how well she dresses; no one expects her to steal the spotlight

• oh but this one hurts 😭 ^ like it was established in chapter one that she must exhibit restraint and hope often slips through ones fingers like water, and it's heartbreaking and utterly depressing that she kind of lives thru these younger girls' experiences bc she never got her happily ever after. ur not only sidelined, but ur forced to watch someone live the life u were supposed to have (its so cruel 😭)

• "i suspect that there's still magic left in ur own waltz" OH I HAAAATE UUUUUUU YOON JEONGHAN WHY DID U HAVE TO END UP SO GOOD 😭 why r u making me like him tara 😭😭😭😭 not the second male lead 😭 now i want him and yn to end up together

• a reminder of what ive lost... the ache... ugh its so good...

• ONCE AGAIN. the imagery is perfection. like ur painting of the gardens at night in my mind is SUBLIME

• SHE WAS MINE FIRST OH JEONGHAN (´Д⊂ヽ OHHHHH I SO WANT U RN ive always sensed this kindred heartache btwn us, bestie. also just both of them coveting a hand that isnt theirs... goddamn, it's always the pining and forbidden that gets me

• but also totally digging the offer for a loveless marriage. like they can totally just make the best of it :')) its clear that they get along, and who knows.. it could turn into some semblance of love :')) i like to think that he's a little desperate himself while trying to convince yn to take up his offer. although a man won't get as much blow back for being unmarried, he's still a viscount. mutual desperation, mutual heartache... just drawing connections heh

• A GARDEN PARTY IN THE QUEEN'S GARDEN AND YET ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL PANEL TO ADD TO OUR GROWING TAPESTRY WEEEE

• "punctuated by the delicate notes" oo i just had to say that i love that word choice, it scratches an itch in my brain

• oh. thats quite the uh scandalous position their seokie... also just the way that time seemed to slow down again, but this time, yns trying so desperately to put on a strong face that seems so ready to slip off at a moment's notice. like i can feel her trying to pull herself up by her bootstraps and not fall apart

• never mind my question was just answered 😭😭😭 yn baby pls i know ur terribly depressed but U NEED TO HEAR HIM OUT . PLEASE.

• I LOOOOVE THE ENDING, LIKE I LOVE THAT WE'VE ENDED UP HERE OF ALL PLACES LIKE OOOOOOO PETTINESS HAHAHAHAH

if u couldn't discern it, i loved this chapter so much!!!! :'))) like the superstar was definitely the tension and the push and pull of emotions as yn experiences her young life flash before eyes skcnkdnf i love that you've ghrown a wrench into the plot of seokyn via one very handsome and persuasive and lovelorn yoon jeonghan 🫂🫂 i cant WAIT to read seok's reaction, and EVERYONE'S reactions for that matter LMFAO i am so enjoying this series so far tara, tysm for ur hard work !!! 💖

The Somerset Affair Chapter 3: Promises Bathed in Moonlight

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 3 took forever too lol // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys

summary: maybe you really are well and truly alone.

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here! series masterlist

The First Year: Summer Age 19

The first season after that fateful night was like a hazy dream. When you returned to the social scene, the whispers followed: why had Lord Lee disappeared from your side, so abruptly and publicly, leaving you to stand alone in the wake of his departure?

You endured it with a forced smile, accepting dances from any man who offered. Seokmin, when you saw him, was always nearby yet achingly out of reach, just beyond the edge of the crowd, his gaze never straying to you. Minghao, perhaps sensing the fraught silence between you, would draw you into conversation whenever he could, his manner protective, his eyes wary.

The estate gardens were nothing short of stunning in the late spring. Bursts of red and yellow tulips stretched toward the sky, their vibrant hues softened only by the ivy draping from the nearby trellis. The whole scene was picturesque, brimming with life and warmth. Yet, to you, it held only shadows, echoes of laughter from a time that now felt far away.

You’d meant to pass by quickly, perhaps even avoid the gardens altogether, but the pull was magnetic, the memories nestled there too insistent to ignore. This had been your sanctuary, your haven of whispered secrets and boundless dreams. You had spent countless summer afternoons here with Seokmin, lying on the grass, watching clouds drift lazily by as he teased you with nonsense riddles and ridiculous tales. He’d always made you laugh—those moments had seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with the certainty that nothing would ever change.

But change it had.

Now, as you stood among the tulips, their bright faces tilted toward the sun, you felt as if you were the only one left in shadow. Each flower seemed to mock you, as if asking why you had come back when he was no longer here to share it with you. You could almost hear his laughter in the rustling leaves, a phantom sound that made your heart ache.

You allowed yourself one indulgent moment of memory, one small surrender to the warmth of the past. In that instant, you could almost feel his presence beside you, could almost hear him sigh as he lay back against the grass and urged you to do the same. Tulip, he’d called you once, likening you to the flowers here—delicate, bright, full of life. His voice drifted through your mind like a warm breeze, and you closed your eyes, feeling the bittersweet pang of loss settle deeper into your chest.

Then, a sudden sound cut through the quiet, and you froze. It was the low murmur of a familiar voice—Seokmin’s voice—wafting toward you from the entrance of the garden. You barely made out the words, some easy greeting exchanged with Minghao as the two approached. The cadence of his voice was softer now, more mature perhaps, but unmistakably his. In an instant, the fragile calm you’d managed to summon evaporated, replaced by a panicked urgency to flee.

You turned on your heel, lifting your skirts as you hurried toward a narrow, shaded path, heart pounding as if you were a trespasser in your own sanctuary. You slipped behind the thick ivy-covered trellis, your fingers clutching the delicate lace of your gloves as you pressed your back against the rough wood. There, hidden from sight, you held your breath, willing your heart to quiet, afraid he might hear it even from a distance.

He paused at the garden’s entrance, his voice carrying lightly on the breeze, mingling with the chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves. It was a voice you had known too well, one that had once woven a thousand dreams in these very gardens. But now, standing there alone and concealed, all you could feel was the sharp edge of those dreams turned to dust.

You dared not look, dared not even breathe until his voice faded and the crunch of gravel beneath his feet grew distant. Only then did you step out from your hiding place, the scene around you as unchanged and pristine as ever. But it felt different, achingly empty. He was gone, and so, you realized, was something inside you.

Your shoulders slumped as you turned away from the gardens, swallowing against the emotion lodged in your throat. You would not come here again—at least, not alone.

That first year passed slowly, the memory of him shadowing you at every event, every garden, every dance, leaving you both haunted and empty.

The Second Year: Autumn Age 20

As autumn arrived, the weight of that lost season faded slightly, turning to something colder, something sharper. You found yourself no longer seeking him out at every ball. Instead, you steeled yourself, donning an unapproachable mask that suited you better with each passing day. Your brother had chosen to spend the season traveling, claiming that the sea salt of Grecian air was calling him. The absence of his protection meant that you had to sail the rough shores of that season alone – Minghao’s letters were frequent and welcomed, always ready to provide words of assurance from thousands of miles away.

Your second season was to be markedly different—by your design and no one else’s. The naive enthusiasm of your first season had faded, replaced by a wariness that had hardened around you like a shell. Suitors still called upon you, though they were fewer and far between, and the gentlemen of impeccable standing, those your mother deemed suitable, grew distant with each passing event. They would approach with polite intentions, murmuring some pleasantry or another, only to bow and make haste to another part of the room where more receptive young ladies waited.

Yet, for all the polite avoidance and empty conversation, there was Lord Yoon Jeonghan, the Viscount of Hastings. He was different—not at all the cold and detached nobleman that society often produced, nor the vapid fop more concerned with his cufflinks than his conversation. He was witty, charming even, and his remarks would often spark a laugh that you could scarcely suppress. A flicker of intrigue would alight in his eyes every time you spoke, as if you were unraveling a particularly delightful mystery, and for those brief moments, he made you almost forget.

Almost.

You felt his gaze often, lingering in the spaces between words, and sometimes, if you were honest with yourself, it was almost enough to ease the ache that had taken root in your chest. There was a certain warmth to his presence, a lightheartedness that let you slip free from the burdensome weight of the past. Your mother, ever vigilant, noticed his interest immediately. She seized upon his attentions with thinly veiled glee, her gaze often flickering between the two of you at gatherings, assessing, calculating. She would arrange you beside him at dinners, leave you in his company at the slightest opportunity, her encouragement subtle yet unmistakable.

Jeonghan would lean in close, his words laced with humor, often turning some mundane observation into something absurdly funny. And for a fleeting second, the laughter would come easily, a balm to the bruised and hidden parts of yourself. You allowed yourself to think, Maybe this could work.

But the quiet, hollow ache lingered, a constant reminder of the ghost you could not quite shake. And that ghost was Seokmin.

Seokmin, who watched from across the room, his gaze burning, perceptive as ever. He was polite, distant even, but his presence was always there, like the flicker of candlelight that neither dimmed nor died. You could feel it most keenly when you danced with other men, swirling across the floor to the strains of violins and cellos. Once, as you stepped onto the ballroom floor with Jeonghan, you felt Seokmin’s gaze settle on you from across the room. The intensity of it was enough to make your skin prickle, and suddenly you were painfully aware of every step, every turn.

The first misstep was subtle—a slight stumble over the Viscount’s foot. But as you met Seokmin’s eyes, his brow lifted ever so slightly, a smirk hovering just on the edge of his mouth. That subtle, amused expression set your pulse racing in a way you would never confess. And in your distracted state, you stumbled again, this time nearly losing your balance. Jeonghan chuckled, mistaking your lapse for some charming display of nervousness, too oblivious to realize the true reason for your faltering steps.

Seokmin’s gaze, however, saw straight through you. His smirk was knowing, almost taunting, as though he could see past every mask, every effort you’d put into your newfound resolve. It was maddening—the way he could still get under your skin, the way he seemed to enjoy watching you unravel, even if only for a second. The lingering effects of that look stayed with you long after the music ended, clinging to you like perfume.

And so, you spent the season caught between two worlds. Lord Yoon, with his charm and his lightheartedness, who could ease the bitterness that lay thick upon your heart if only for a while. And Seokmin, a relentless presence, haunting you from across every ballroom and garden, his gaze a tether you could never quite sever. It was a delicate dance, one you performed night after night, hoping, in vain, that one day you would not feel his eyes on you at all.

The afternoon sun angled low over the estate, bathing the drawing room in a cool October light that poured through the high windows, softening the sharp edges of the day. Minghao had just returned from his travels and had brought back a novel he thought you would enjoy—Jane Eyre, by a Miss Brontë. The air was thick with the quiet thrill of this gift, the promise of evenings spent lost in its pages, and you had just begun to express your excitement when Minghao, with his usual calm, announced that Seokmin had accompanied him.

You schooled your face to remain pleasant, though your pulse quickened at the mention of his name. And indeed, there he stood by the door, his posture polite yet tense, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. He offered a slight bow, his gaze fixed on you even as you looked firmly at your brother.

"Did you know," Minghao began, oblivious to the tension in the room as he handed you the book, "that the author published it under a man’s name? Some say it’s because she thought her work would be dismissed otherwise."

You managed a small smile, allowing yourself the momentary reprieve of this topic. “Thank you, Minghao,” you replied, fingers grazing the embossed cover. “I’ll cherish it. It sounds wonderful.”

Across the room, Seokmin shifted, clearing his throat. "Do you find time to read often these days?" His voice was tentative, a hint of hope or maybe familiarity clinging to the question, as if reaching for a bridge long burned.

Your reply was smooth and immediate, though you kept your gaze firmly on Minghao, as if Seokmin had merely been a ghost in the room. "I make time, yes. It’s quite necessary, given the, ah… limited options for conversation."

A faint hint of color rose to Seokmin’s cheeks, but he quickly smothered whatever response he had been about to make. Minghao glanced between you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pieced together the simmering tension, the edges of a puzzle he hadn’t been around to see formed.

There was a brief pause, heavy as stones, before Seokmin tried again. "Do you still ride out to the southern fields? I remember…" He hesitated, his words trailing off before he finished. “The views from the hilltops there were always lovely in the fall.”

It was a simple question, a nod to a pastime you had once enjoyed, but the memories it evoked—the two of you racing across the meadows, laughing breathlessly under the open sky, sharing quiet moments on that hilltop he spoke of—all felt too sharp, too close. You tightened your grip on the book, the rough binding grounding you in the present.

"Occasionally," you murmured, as if speaking to no one in particular. Your tone was clipped, devoid of warmth, and you let the silence stretch, long enough for the weight of his words to fade. After a beat, you forced yourself to stand, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you prepared to excuse yourself. “Please, if you’ll excuse me.”

Seokmin’s face barely shifted, yet the flicker of disappointment that crossed his features was unmistakable. "Wait, please—" he began, his hand reaching out as if to stop you. “I… wanted to know if you might—”

You looked over at Minghao, not giving Seokmin the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. “Thank you for the book, brother,” you said softly. “I’ll look forward to discussing it with you when I’ve read it.” And with that, you turned, leaving the drawing room before Seokmin could finish his thought.

You could feel his eyes on your back, a silent, unyielding weight as you retreated, but you pushed down the churning emotions in your chest.

Later, your mother found you in the library, a faintly exasperated look in her eye. "What has possessed you to act so sharply towards Lord Lee? He is a friend of your brother’s, and a gentleman. I hardly think it was necessary to snub him quite so… thoroughly."

"I simply wasn’t inclined to entertain him," you replied, not lifting your gaze from the book you had barely managed to focus on since leaving the drawing room. “It was not my intention to be rude, Mother.”

She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “He asked after you very kindly. And if you cannot manage the simple courtesy of conversation, well…” Her sigh was laden with disappointment, tinged with the faintest trace of resignation. “It does make things rather difficult for you, don’t you think?”

You didn’t respond, clamping your lips shut and focusing on the words of Jane Eyre as if they might hold an escape. What could you say? That politeness was a currency you could not afford to spend on him? That every pleasantry only made the knife in your back twist a little deeper?

There was nothing to be done, and so you said nothing at all. The book lay heavy in your lap, unread, as your mother’s gaze lingered a moment longer, her silence more cutting than words.

The Third Year: Winter Age 21

The winter air nipped at every inch of bare skin as you stepped out of the carriage and into the towering, grand hall where that night’s ball was being held. Snow blanketed the world outside, a thick layer that muffled everything it touched, leaving only the crunch of footsteps and the soft murmur of the wind. The frost bit through your gloves, but it was nothing compared to the cold lodged deep within your chest. You drew yourself up and stepped into the hall, a practiced smile on your face as you greeted the hosts and exchanged pleasantries.

Inside, the ball was already in full swing. Laughter and music filled the air, weaving an intoxicating tapestry of distraction. You navigated through clusters of guests with practiced ease, inclining your head and making idle conversation that barely skimmed the surface. You had come to know the routines well, slipping into this role as though it were armor: a mask of charm, a shield of grace. It kept you safe, even as it kept others at arm’s length.

But then, just as you were making your way toward a friend by the window, you spotted him—Seokmin, across the room. He was surrounded by a small group of gentlemen, his laughter carrying over the din as he shared some amusing story. His cheeks were flushed from the warmth, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you’d once adored. For a moment, a whisper of memory drifted to you unbidden—those nights by the garden, his laughter mingling with the soft hum of summer crickets, a harmony you’d taken for granted. The sight of him now, seemingly unaffected by the hollow ache that had lodged itself so firmly within you, twisted something in your chest.

As though he could feel your gaze, his eyes turned toward you, catching you unprepared. His laughter faded, and for a moment, the room seemed to still. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, regret, perhaps. Or something more resigned, an acceptance of the chasm that had grown between you. He made no move toward you; there was only a slight nod, a silent acknowledgement of… something. You couldn’t name it, and you didn’t want to try.

It was his easy return to conversation that undid you. The way he turned back to his companions, laughing once more, as if nothing had changed, as if the years you’d spent trying to bury the echoes of that ball could be erased so simply. The laughter that once filled you with warmth now rang hollow in your ears, a reminder of all that was lost and all that could never be reclaimed.

The walls of the ballroom began to feel oppressive, the cloying warmth of bodies and perfume suffocating. You pressed a gloved hand to your temple, feigning discomfort as you turned to your nearest acquaintance. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” you murmured, a faint tremor in your voice that you hoped was undetectable.

“Oh, my dear, are you all right? You do look rather pale,” she said with concern, her eyes scanning your face. “Perhaps some fresh air?”

“Yes,” you managed, barely holding together the thin fabric of your composure. “Yes, that may be best.”

With a polite smile and promises to catch up at the next event, you drifted toward the doorway, slipping through the crowd as unobtrusively as you could. The cold air in the entry hall was a shock, but you welcomed it, letting it bite into your cheeks and ground you.

Soon enough, you found yourself in your room, finally alone. The silent darkness enveloped you, and for the first time that night, you let yourself drop the mask. You sank into the nearest armchair, clutching the armrests as if they could anchor you. Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily past the window, catching the moonlight like shards of glass. There was no warmth, no comfort in the scene, only the lingering shadows of a memory that refused to fade.

You had no energy to reach for a book, nor did you bother lighting the fireplace. Instead, you sat, letting the silence swell around you, filling the empty spaces that had been left in Seokmin’s wake. Your gaze lingered on the frost etching delicate patterns across the glass, and for a moment, you wondered if he was still at the ball, still laughing, still untouched by the winter that had settled so deep within you.

It felt almost foolish to mourn something you had lost so long ago, but as the hours slipped by, you couldn’t bring yourself to shake the feeling.

The bitterness reached new heights that year. Your relationship with Minghao, however, began to shift. He sensed your resolve, noticed the way you shrank from any mention of Seokmin, and quietly took up the role of your champion. He became your shield at social gatherings, a polite, steadfast presence whenever your mother hinted at your dwindling prospects or a suitor left you standing alone. Your mother’s eyes, ever watchful, lingered upon you with a barely hidden concern, her gaze darting to the eligible gentlemen nearby and then to you with that familiar, expectant look.

“You know,” she began in a low voice, “if you were only a touch more… approachable, it might encourage the young men here to consider you more seriously.”

You forced a small smile, the words heavy and stale from years of repetition. “I’ll do my best, Mama.”

But before she could respond, a familiar voice joined the conversation.

“Ah, I see my sister is charming everyone tonight,” Minghao remarked smoothly as he appeared beside you, offering a short bow to your mother. “May I borrow her for a moment?”

Your mother’s gaze softened—she had never worried over Minghao as she did with you, and his title afforded him some measure of leniency that you could never claim. She nodded, though her expression remained faintly expectant as she watched you both step away.

Minghao led you toward the edge of the ballroom, his arm steady around yours as you wove through the crowd. Once there, he turned to you with a look that spoke of both amusement and concern.

“You looked ready to flee,” he observed, a trace of a smile in his eyes. “Would you like a few minutes’ reprieve?”

You sighed, grateful for his intervention. “I was beginning to feel like a prized cow at market,” you replied, tone dry. “Thank you for sparing me.”

He chuckled softly, but his expression grew more serious as he studied you. “I noticed Mother watching you rather closely. And I know her remarks can be… persistent.”

“Persistent is a kind way of putting it,” you replied, your voice just above a whisper. “She insists that my chances dwindle each season, that—” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together to hold back the frustration that threatened to spill over.

Minghao’s gaze softened, and he sighed, reaching out to adjust the lace of your cuff in a gentle, brotherly gesture. “You’ve nothing to prove to her or to anyone else here,” he said quietly. “If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll be here to see you through the night.”

Despite the stifling heat of the ballroom, his presence felt like a breath of fresh air—a lifeline against the unrelenting pressure of society and its expectations.

“And if any gentleman dares to turn his back on you tonight,” he added, his voice adopting a playful lilt, “I shall personally see to it that he regrets it.”

The corners of your mouth lifted into a small, appreciative smile. Minghao’s protectiveness was a comfort you rarely admitted to needing, but tonight, you couldn’t help feeling grateful that he saw past your composed exterior to the worry lingering beneath.

The music shifted to a slower waltz, and he extended his hand with a knowing smile. “Shall we dance, sister? A waltz is far more agreeable than enduring Mother’s lectures, I assure you.”

You accepted his hand, letting him lead you to the center of the room. As you twirled together, the swirling silks and laughter around you faded into the background, leaving only the familiar warmth of his presence.

After a moment, he leaned in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “And for what it’s worth,” he murmured, “you have no need of any of these foppish gentlemen. They should consider themselves lucky if they could win even a passing glance from you.”

The sincerity in his words soothed you, and for a brief moment, the ballroom was no longer a daunting place, nor its occupants a source of anxiety. Minghao’s quiet strength steadied you, his steadfast support as dependable as the rhythm of the waltz beneath your feet.

Yet, even with Minghao’s silent support, Seokmin’s laughter ringing through the ballroom haunted you, echoing a reminder of what you once had and what you had lost.

Across the room, your gaze flickered to a familiar figure, the Lord Viscount Yoon, the lightness of his presence breaking through your somber thoughts. He had been different—his clever banter had a way of making even the most mundane topics feel lively and engaging. When he spoke, it was as if he was inviting you into an exclusive circle of shared secrets and laughter, making you momentarily forget the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

Even now, he stood amidst a group of gentlemen, engaging in light banter that sent ripples of laughter through the crowd. A flicker of intrigue would alight in his eyes every time he caught your gaze, but he looked away just as quickly, as if your newfound prickly attitude was enough to scare him away.

Over time, your disinterest had made him less willing to approach you. Though he had shown interest the previous year, the glow in his eyes now held a tinge of uncertainty, as if he had begun to doubt whether your heart remained open to him. Your mother, ever vigilant, noticed his hesitance, her gaze flickering between the two of you at gatherings, assessing, calculating.

“Perhaps if I were a bit more approachable,” you murmured to Minghao, who nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward Jeonghan.

“Sometimes, it takes more than just approachability,” he replied quietly. “He is a good man, but the more you withdraw, the more he may think he should step back.”

You let the thought linger in your mind, but it was soon drowned out by the sight of Seokmin across the room, leaning in to laugh politely with another woman, a vision of laughter and ease that made your heart twist painfully. The vibrant atmosphere of the ball blurred around you, filled with the laughter of others while your own heart sank, caught between the past and the possibility of a future—one you feared might never be yours again.

The Fourth Year: Spring Age 22

Spring came late that year, but the blossoms in the garden were the most vibrant you had ever seen. Tulips, bright and full of life, lined the path outside your drawing room window. Their sight brought an unwelcome reminder of Seokmin, as if they were mocking the pain that had dulled over the years but never truly healed.

One fateful morning, Seokmin arrived at the estate again, waiting for Minghao in the drawing room. You entered the room unaware of his presence, intending to retrieve a letter you had left on the table. The shock of finding him there, standing alone, was enough to root you to the spot.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing. “How have you been?” he asked, breaking the silence, his tone formal but softened by something more vulnerable.

“I try to stay busy,” you replied, refusing to meet his gaze, your own fixed on the tulips outside the window, as if they alone could fortify your resolve. The way they leaned toward the glass, reaching out, seemed a cruel reminder of what you could never reach. You clung to your indifference, fearing that one look at him would undo you.

“Ah,” he replied, his voice barely a murmur. “I see.”

The silence was unbearable, stretching long and wide between you, filled with all the words you had left unsaid. For the first time, you could sense his unease, as though he, too, felt the weight of everything that had come between you. You imagined he might say more, but instead, he fell silent, unwilling or unable to breach the chasm.

When Minghao finally entered the room, his gaze shifted from Seokmin to you, sensing the tension immediately. He offered a warm, lighthearted greeting that brought some relief, yet you felt exposed, as though Seokmin could still see every last flicker of pain beneath your carefully controlled exterior. Minghao’s easy conversation filled the room, and you seized on it as a lifeline, grateful that the moment had passed.

But as you left the drawing room, something inside you felt irrevocably changed. The wound you thought had healed now ached anew, as raw and fresh as ever.

Age 22

The season has turned again, and as you step into the grand ballroom, you are met with a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that fill the air with an electric energy. The chandelier overhead sparkles like a constellation of stars, its crystal droplets refracting the warm glow of candlelight that dances across the room. The polished wooden floors gleam underfoot, reflecting the vivid hues of the gowns that swirl around you like petals caught in a gentle breeze.

After five seasons on the market, the whispers of society have cast you in the role of a spinster. No longer the young debutante brimming with promise, you now find yourself almost a chaperone to the eager, wide-eyed debutantes navigating their first seasons. Your newest charge, Sohee, is a whirlwind of youthful exuberance, her bright pink dress adorned with intricate floral appliqués that seem to bloom against her pale skin. The bodice sparkles with tiny beads, catching the light as she twirls, her laughter ringing like bells. You can see the nervous energy in her movements, the way her hands flutter as she points out various gentlemen across the ballroom.

“Oh, look at Lord Lee—what a fine dancer!” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement as she gazes at Seokmin. His deep navy jacket contrasts sharply with the pristine white of his shirt, and the cravat around his neck is tied with an effortless elegance that only enhances his charm. The way he carries himself, relaxed and confident, seems to draw the attention of everyone around him.

You try to mask the bitterness rising within you as you observe him. Seokmin entertains Sohee’s infatuated chatter with polite smiles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. For a fleeting moment, you are grateful that she has captured his attention, but then the weight of your own feelings crashes over you like a cold wave. The ache in your chest deepens as memories flood your mind—long summers spent chasing fireflies, laughter echoing through the fields as he playfully pursued you with a worm on a stick, or the way he would reward your sharp tongue with that unguarded, carefree laughter.

As if drawn by some invisible thread, Seokmin’s gaze suddenly shifts, catching yours from across the room. Your heart leaps into your throat, a jolt of surprise and embarrassment coursing through you. Mortified that he has noticed your lingering stare, you quickly avert your eyes, but the warmth of your cheeks betrays you. You want to disappear into the vibrant crowd, to escape the intensity of your emotions that seem to swell with every passing second. Yet, even as you force yourself to engage with Sohee’s exuberant chatter, you can feel the weight of Seokmin’s gaze resting on you, a silent reminder of everything you’ve lost and the connection you once shared.

It is a cruel twist of fate, standing on the sidelines while young girls like Sohee chase the dreams you once held so dear. You find yourself in this role, a guide for the naive and hopeful, all the while wishing that you could feel that same thrill of possibility. The grand ballroom, alive with laughter and music, feels both enchanting and suffocating, each dance a reminder of the joys that have slipped through your fingers.

As the music swells and couples begin to sway across the polished floor, you catch glimpses of Sohee and Seokmin amidst the swirling gowns and dapper jackets. They move with an innocent delight that contrasts starkly with the weight of your unspoken feelings. Sohee beams up at him, her laughter bright and infectious, and for a moment, the sight softens the edges of your heartache.

Just then, you feel a presence beside you, and when you turn, you find Viscount Yoon Jeonghan standing there, a knowing smile dancing on his lips. His appearance is as striking as ever; his tailored coat hugs his frame perfectly, and the delicate embroidery along the cuffs catches the light, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His hair falls elegantly around his face, framing those sharp features that always seem to hold a hint of mischief.

“They make quite a pair, do they not?” he murmurs, his voice smooth and warm as he gestures subtly toward the young couple. His eyes sparkle with a mix of humor and curiosity, and for a moment, you’re reminded of the lighthearted conversations you once shared, the way he could lift your spirits without even trying.

You glance back at Sohee and Seokmin, your heart twisting at the sight of them. “It seems so,” you reply, your tone nonchalant, though the bitterness seeps through. “She is quite taken with him.”

Jeonghan’s gaze lingers on the two, but then shifts back to you, an amused glimmer in his eyes. “And yet, I believe it’s Seokmin’s charm that keeps her so enchanted. He has a way of making everyone feel special, does he not?” His words are light, but there’s an underlying sincerity that pulls you in.

“Especially the younger ones,” you add, your voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. You cross your arms, an instinctive barrier against the swell of emotions threatening to break free. Jeonghan tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that makes you self-conscious.

“Ah, but don’t let that dampen your spirits,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “I suspect that there’s still magic left in your own waltz.”

You scoff softly, trying to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I’ve had my dance, my Lord. It’s only right that I help guide the next generation.”

He nods, as if he understands more than you’ve revealed. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a little bit of the spotlight yourself, does it?” His gaze holds yours for a moment longer, an invitation hanging in the air between you.

Taking a deep breath, you accept his invitation with a gentle nod. Jeonghan extends his hand, and with a sense of determination, you place yours in his. The moment you step onto the dance floor, a familiar spark ignites between you. As you move, you find the rhythm of the waltz is an intoxicating escape from the weight of the evening.

His touch is confident yet gentle, guiding you with an ease that sends warmth through your veins. You laugh softly at his playful quips, the way he effortlessly spins you and twirls you beneath the glimmering chandelier. The surrounding laughter and chatter fade into a soft background hum as the two of you lose yourselves in the moment.

But just as you begin to forget the lingering ache in your heart, a commotion draws your attention away. You glance over to find Sohee in an animated conversation with Seokmin, her eyes wide with excitement. She appears to be swooning—her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink as she clutches her fan, fluttering it in the air as if to cool herself.

And then it happens. As the waltz concludes and the music reaches its crescendo, Seokmin leans down to retrieve Sohee's fan, which had slipped from her grasp in her flurry of emotion. The way he effortlessly picks it up and hands it back to her is undeniably charming. She gazes up at him with unrestrained adoration, and in that moment, it’s as if the entire ballroom falls silent, the air thick with their connection.

Your heart sinks, the joyous moment turning into a bitter reminder of your own unfulfilled longing. You feel the weight of your own feelings crashing down, suffocating the lightness of the dance you just shared with Jeonghan. The innocence of Sohee’s crush, her delight at Seokmin’s attention, stabs at something deep within you, twisting the knife of your heartache just a little deeper.

“Lord Lee is such a gentleman,” Sohee breathes, her eyes sparkling with admiration. You try to smile, but the corners of your mouth feel heavy, the happiness you should feel for her overshadowed by the ache in your chest.

“Quite the pair, indeed,” Jeonghan murmurs beside you, his tone shifting slightly. You glance up at him, but the amusement in his eyes has dimmed, replaced with a knowing sympathy that only intensifies your discomfort.

“I should—” you start, desperate to escape the scene unfolding before you, but Jeonghan catches your gaze, his expression serious yet gentle.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, concern lacing his voice.

You swallow hard, nodding even though you can feel the tears threatening to brim. “Yes, of course. It’s just… a reminder of what I’ve lost.”

Jeonghan’s eyes soften, understanding radiating from him. “Then let’s step outside for a moment, shall we? A breath of fresh air might do you good.”

You nod again, grateful for his presence, and together you slip away from the dancing couples, leaving behind the laughter and music, hoping the cool night air will ease the weight on your heart. As you step outside, the crisp night air envelops you like a silken shawl, drawing you away from the swirling gaiety of the ballroom. The coolness is a welcome reprieve from the warmth of bodies and laughter, and you relish the soft caress of the breeze against your skin, bringing with it a gentle rustling of leaves that whispers secrets from the garden. The scent of blooming jasmine and sweet honeysuckle mingles in the air, heady and intoxicating, wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace.

You move to the stone balcony, where the moon hangs low in the sky, its silvery glow spilling over the manicured gardens below, illuminating the delicate petals of the flowers that sway gently in the evening light. The grass is cool beneath your feet, a delightful contrast to the warmth of your silk gown, and you can feel the slight dampness of dew beginning to settle on the earth, a reminder of the approaching night.

Fidgeting with the lace hem of your gown, you feel the fabric whisper against your ankles, the soft silk cool to the touch. Your heart races as you catch sight of Jeonghan stepping out to join you, his tall frame silhouetted against the glow of the moonlight. He regards you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You love him,” he states matter-of-factly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” You turn to him, surprise etched across your features. Your fingers tighten around the delicate lace, twisting it nervously as if it could shield you from his piercing gaze.

“It is nothing to shy away from,” he continues, his tone surprisingly earnest. “I have observed the two of you for years, engaging in this delightful dance around each other. You love him. That is a fact. Do not shy away from it—love is a beautiful thing, even if it is tinged with loss.”

You force a laugh, the sound almost bitter. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“And if I am?” Jeonghan counters, his brow arching slightly, inviting you to delve deeper into the conversation.

“Why, then,” you reply, your heart racing with a mixture of intrigue and dread, “it cannot be that only my secrets are shared tonight.”

“Lady Choi,” he says, the shift in his tone unmistakable, as though he is unearthing a long-buried truth.

“The general’s wife?” you ask, the name escaping your lips with an air of disbelief.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, the lightness of the evening is overshadowed by the weight of his admission. “She was mine first,” he admits, his voice heavy with unspoken emotion. “But her father—he was a cruel man—wished to marry her off before I ever had the chance to court her properly, as adults.”

You draw a sharp breath, the air suddenly feeling thick and heavy around you. “Lord Yoon, it is a sin to desire another man’s wife,” you say softly, your fingers trembling slightly as they continue to play with the delicate fabric of your gown.

“And it is a sin to pine after what cannot be yours,” he replies, a note of melancholy creeping into his voice. “It seems we are both trapped in a most unfortunate dilemma, Miss Xu.”

You hesitate, the truth of his words resonating within you like the toll of a distant bell. You find yourself gazing at the garden below, the moonlight casting long shadows across the path. “I… suppose.”

His expression softens, the tension between you easing slightly as he steps closer, the distance shrinking as if the night conspires to bring you together. “I have an idea, if you are amenable to it,” he proposes, his voice low and conspiratorial.

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piquing despite the tumult of your thoughts. “I suppose I have no choice but to hear it.”

“Let us… have an arrangement of sorts.”

Your mind races, the absurdity of the suggestion both ludicrous and strangely enticing. “An… arrangement?” you repeat, incredulous, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“A loveless marriage is better than none at all,” he declares, his eyes glinting with a mixture of seriousness and mischief.

You laugh, unable to contain yourself. “You jest. Have you indulged in more champagne than you can manage?”

“I assure you, I am as clear-headed as the sky on a summer’s day,” he insists, maintaining eye contact with a steady gaze that makes your heart flutter. “We are friends, are we not?”

“Friends? My lord, we have danced a few times, to my mother’s delight,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your voice, though your heart feels heavier with the weight of his words.

He feigns a look of mock hurt, placing a hand theatrically over his heart. “You wound me! We have enjoyed such spirited conversations! I do consider you a friend. And a marriage with a friend—a viscount at that—is nothing to scoff at. Have you given no thought to your future? What happens when your dear brother finds a wife and you are no longer his primary concern?”

The reality of his words settles over you, sending a shiver down your spine. You search the moonlit path, pondering the path that lies ahead. “Just… think about it,” he presses, his voice earnest, the night seemingly holding its breath.

The silence stretches between you, the world around you fading as you consider the proposal. You raise your gaze to his, a flurry of emotions swirling in your heart.

But as the moment hangs in the air, he steps back, creating a chasm of space between you once more. The hope in his eyes flickers like the stars above, illuminating the path of unspoken possibilities.

With a lingering glance, Jeonghan turns to leave, the quiet night reclaiming its stillness. Alone now, you stand beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, a companion that seems to mock your predicament, its light dancing across your skin like a playful breeze. The weight of the evening settles around you, the possibilities of what could have been lingering like a sweet perfume in the air. The garden around you, fragrant and alive, seems to echo your turmoil, the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of crickets a reminder that you are not as alone as you feel—but still, the loneliness wraps around you like a heavy cloak, suffocating and inescapable.

The Queen’s Garden is even more stunning at twilight, an exquisite tapestry of flora bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun. Lanterns hang from the branches of ancient trees, casting a warm glow that mingles with the fading daylight, creating a magical ambiance that enchants every guest present. Lush greenery and blooming flowers adorn the paths, their fragrant scents—jasmine, roses, and honeysuckle—drifting through the air like a sweet serenade.

As you weave your way through the throngs of elegantly dressed nobles, the cool evening breeze brushes against your skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth radiating from the lively crowd. The sounds of laughter and spirited conversation wrap around you, punctuated by the delicate notes of a string quartet nestled among the trees, their melodies intertwining with the soft rustle of leaves overhead.

Amidst the gaiety, you scan the faces around you, searching for Sohee. Her absence hangs like a whisper, pulling at your awareness.

Just then, your gaze lands on Lord Yoon Jeonghan, standing across the garden. His tall frame commands attention, and as you meet his eyes, he offers you a teasing wink, a smirk dancing on his lips. He raises his glass in a casual salute, a playful reminder of the “arrangement” he proposed only weeks prior.

But as you turn to continue your search, you hear a soft rustle behind the curtains of the powder room. A frown creases your brow, and with a sense of trepidation, you pull the curtains aside.

What you find steals the breath from your lungs: Sohee, her dress slightly askew, caught in an intimate embrace with Seokmin, hidden from view. Time seems to freeze as you process the scene before you, the vibrant colors of the garden fading into a blur.

They don’t notice your entrance, the warmth of their laughter drifting toward you, blissfully unaware of the precariousness of their moment. A wave of urgency washes over you; you step back, the laughter and music of the ball dimming behind you, overwhelmed by the tension in the air.

The cool mask of indifference you wear feels like a fragile façade, barely holding up against the storm of emotions roiling within you. Every heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythmic reminder of the tension crackling in the air. You force yourself to breathe slowly, deliberately, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mingling with the sharp tang of night air filling your lungs.

You clear your throat, breaking the stillness that envelops the hidden corner where Sohee and Seokmin stand. Your posture is straight, your chin lifted, but your palms feel clammy against the lace of your gown.

“Sohee,” you say, your voice steady and cool, as though dipped in ice, “you should return to your Mama. If anyone else had seen you like this, it would ruin you.” The words hang in the air, each syllable heavy with consequence. You hold her gaze, your eyes fierce, willing her to understand the gravity of the situation.

Sohee’s eyes widen, vulnerability flickering across her face like candlelight. The flush staining her cheeks deepens as she processes your words, a mixture of mortification and gratitude washing over her. She nods, biting her lip, and you watch as she slips past you, shoulders squared despite the embarrassment, grateful for your discretion.

Once she disappears back into the sea of guests, the atmosphere shifts. It’s just you and Seokmin now, the weight of the moment pressing down like a thick fog, the sounds of the ballroom fading into a dull roar. For the first time in years, you stand alone with him, the years of silence and distance palpable between you.

You turn to leave, the flutter of your gown trailing behind you, but his voice stops you, soft and tentative, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Please, don’t go.”

You whirl around, disbelief etched across your features. “Why on earth? What are you doing here?” Your heart pounds, and your fists clench at your sides, the intensity of the moment clawing at your composure.

He takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking, but the space feels charged with electricity. The use of that name—“tulip”—falls from his lips like a spark igniting a fire inside you. Anger bubbles to the surface, your fingers curling into fists. “You have no right to call me that anymore.”

His expression shifts, desperation creeping into his tone as he opens his palms, a gesture of vulnerability. “It’s been four years, and you still won’t give me the chance to explain myself.”

Your chest tightens at the memories, sharp and unyielding, a storm of emotions swirling within you. “So was it because Minghao told you to?”

His gaze darkens, the flicker of regret visible in his eyes. “Yes, but you need to—”

“Good evening, Seokmin.” The words slip from your mouth like ice, cold and final. You turn to leave, your back straight but your heart racing, and he reaches for you, fingers brushing against your arm like a whisper.

You jerk away, anger and hurt surging through you, the fabric of your dress catching in the air as you turn. “Please, stay,” he begs, his voice thick with emotion, almost desperate. “Stay and let me explain—”

You shake your head slowly, each word heavy with the weight of unspoken history. “You lost the right to that four years ago.” Your voice softens, but the resolve behind it remains, a quiet storm ready to break. In a flurry of lace and silk, you turn on your heel, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the thick grass as you leave him standing there, a distant silhouette against the vibrant backdrop of the garden.

The night air feels cooler as you weave through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. You seek solace in the bustling ballroom, where laughter and music swirl around you, a cacophony that drowns out the echo of your heartache. The warmth of the candles flickers against your skin, the soft glow momentarily comforting amidst the chaos.

The crowd shifts around you, a blur of color and laughter, but everything feels muted—distant—as you navigate back toward the main hall. Your heart still pounds, each beat a reminder of the encounter that lingers, bitter as smoke. And then, across the room, a familiar pair of eyes finds yours: Jeonghan. His gaze is intent, assessing, and as he raises his glass to you with an amused smirk, his words from weeks before echo in your mind: “It is a sin to pine after what cannot be yours.”

The decision is instant, unbidden, like the snap of a thread pulled too tight. Steeling yourself, you weave through the crowd toward him, your mind clearing with each step. Jeonghan turns slightly as you approach, his attention shifting from the men he’d been conversing with. You stop just a breath away, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you, even as laughter and chatter fill the air.

“My lord,” you say, voice steady as a blade.

He raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, Miss Xu?” His eyes gleam in the low light, the gold of the candle flames reflecting in them. “I must say, you look rather lovely in this garden.”

“Yes.” The word is simple, yet it feels like a vow, a quiet certainty.

His smile falters for just a second, replaced by a glimmer of surprise in his eyes before he quickly recovers. He leans in slightly, his voice softened but no less intent.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice calm but resolute. “I shall marry you.”

Jeonghan’s expression settles into something unreadable, a flicker of surprise replaced by the slightest tilt of a smile. He inclines his head, the elegant motion drawing him closer, as though sealing the moment between you.

“A wise decision, Miss Xu,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. The sounds of the garden around you blur into silence, the perfume of roses and night-blooming jasmine heavy on the air, and though the world presses on with its merriment, this quiet promise, made in the hush of the queen’s garden, feels irrevocable.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne@thestoryofana13@mellowamour@blissedjoon@begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange @uriguyeok @nenojaems @carefully325 @meowmeowminnie @ts19009 @flickhurstyles

#seventeen fic recs #lee seokmin x reader

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speaknow-sw · 1 day ago

Text

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : Deaths, battle, injury, fights, stabbing etc…

A/N : 7.2k of words for the end… last chapter I’m crying guys. I finished a fanfic for once. It has been my honor to introduce you to this AU I had the idea of, a cold winter night. Special thanks to @bimbo-baggins17 and @anisangeldust for helping me with tiny details. Hope you’ll enjoy. 💕

꧁ Chapter 9 : The Thorn in the Rose ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

No dawn could match your gentle grace,

Nor stars outshine your radiant face.

The moon itself would pale and fade,

Before your gaze, where wonders stayed.

Under Anakin’s desperate gaze, you crumbled to the ground, the arrow embedded deep beneath your heart.

“No… No, no, no…” His voice cracked as he dropped his sword and stumbled toward you, falling to his knees as though the weight of the world had struck him too. He took you into his trembling arms, his hands frantic, caressing your face, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Stay with me. Stay,” he whispered, his voice breaking into a plea. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “Please… please…”

Blood soaked through your gown, staining his hands. His lips pressed to your temple, desperate and feverish. “God… help me. No…no…God please, help me, help us. Someone, anyone—help her!” His words turned into a raw roar, echoing through the chaos of the battlefield. His men fought on, unaware that their commander—their lion—had been brought to his knees by something far more devastating than a sword.

You reached up weakly, your fingers brushing his cheek. “Anakin…”

“Don’t speak,” he begged, his voice soft and frantic. “Save your strength. I’ll get you help. I’ll—” He choked on his words, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, muttering prayers between each kiss. “I need you… You’re my heart. You’re everything.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks, mixing with the blood on your gown. His hands pressed against your wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. “Stay with me,” he whispered again, like a mantra, like a lifeline.

You gazed up at him through heavy lids, love in your eyes, despite the pain. “Our baby…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Anakin cradled you closer, his chest heaving with sobs he couldn’t contain. “Our baby will know you. I swear it. They’ll know you—your kindness, your strength, your heart.” He kissed your hand, pressing it against his cheek, holding on like he was afraid you’d slip away.

In the distance, another arrow flew, striking the ground near them, but Anakin didn’t flinch. The world was burning around him, but he saw only you.

The stone halls of Ashmore Castle echoed with the distant roar of battle. Anakin moved swiftly through the narrow corridors, his arms cradling you against his chest as if you were made of glass. Blood seeped through your gown, staining his tunic, but he barely noticed. His mind was consumed by one thought: Save her. Save her.

“You’re going to be fine,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he pushed open a hidden door leading to a secluded chamber at the castle’s heart. His breathing was ragged, his steps faltering as exhaustion began to set in, but he didn’t stop. He laid you gently on the stone floor, his hands immediately pressing against your wound to stem the bleeding.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you gazed at him weakly. “Anakin…”

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head as he knelt beside you. “Don’t speak. You need to save your strength.” He tore a strip from his cloak and pressed it to the wound, his hands clumsy and shaking. His usual calm, precise movements were gone, replaced by frantic desperation.

Your lips curved into a faint smile. “Remember when you said arrows always managed to find your most vital points?”

Anakin’s hands froze, his eyes snapping to yours, wide with anguish. “My rose…” His voice broke. “You are my most vital point.” His shoulders trembled, and his head fell forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “Please… please don’t you die on me. Not here… not like this…”

Tears began to fall, streaking down his bloodstained face as he whispered against your skin. “You can’t… you can’t leave me… For me… for our unborn child… please…” His voice cracked, the words coming out in ragged sobs. “For our little girl…”

You stirred faintly, your hand lifting to brush against his cheek. “H-how do you know it’s a girl?” you whispered.

Anakin’s chest heaved as he struggled to speak through his tears. “Because I know it,” he said softly, his voice trembling with love and sorrow. “The most beautiful little princess… with your eyes and your hair… and my nose and lips. She’s as beautiful as her mother… and as fierce as her father.”

He placed your hand over his heart, pressing it there as if willing you to feel the life beating inside him. “So please, my rose… for our little girl… don’t you die on me.”

You gazed at him, tears welling in your own eyes as you saw the raw, unyielding love in his. His lips trembled as he kissed your hand, then your temple, his breath ragged with grief and hope all at once.

“I won’t let you go,” he whispered fiercely. “Do you hear me? I won’t. You’re everything to me. You’re my home. And I will fight for you. I will always fight for you.”

But even as he spoke, your eyelids fluttered, the exhaustion overtaking you. Your breathing slowed, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips as darkness began to pull you under.

“No…” Anakin sobbed, pulling you closer. “No! Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me, my love. Please… stay with me.”

The battle raged on outside, but for Anakin, the only battle that mattered was here—fighting to keep you alive, fighting against the cruel fate threatening to take you away.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Stay with me… for our little girl…”

Anakin carried you in his arms as he stumbled through the crumbling remains of Ashmore Castle, his breaths heavy with exertion and grief. The night air was thick with smoke, the sky painted in hues of crimson and ash. Behind him, he could still hear the clash of swords, the anguished cries of dying men—his men—who had followed him into this doomed battle.

As Anakin pressed a cloth against your wound to stop the bleeding, you could see the torment in his eyes. His hands trembled, his breaths uneven. You could barely feel the pain anymore — only the ache in your heart, the sorrow of what you were about to leave behind.

Your tears spilled over, voice breaking as you spoke. "I'm sorry."

Anakin’s head snapped up. "No." His voice was sharp, panicked. "No, don't say that."

"I'm so sorry," you whispered again, the words barely audible through your sobs. "I'm sorry we won't be able to meet her."

His whole body tensed as if struck. "Don't. Don't you say that."

Tears blurred your vision, but you forced yourself to go on, needing him to understand. "You always wanted to be a father. You talked about it… dreamed about it. And now—" Your voice cracked. "Now I’ve stolen that from you."

Anakin shook his head fiercely, tears streaming down his face. "No. You haven’t stolen anything. You’ve given me everything."

Your lip trembled. "I wanted to hold her. To see her smile. To hear her laugh."

"You will," Anakin insisted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You will hold her. You will teach her to paint. You will show her everything you are. And if you can't, then I will. I swear to you, she'll grow up knowing you."

"But it's not the same," you whispered. "You deserve more than just memories, Anakin. You deserve to be a father in every way."

Anakin’s tears fell faster as he leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours. His voice broke as he whispered, "You are my family. You and her. You’ve already made me a father the moment we knew about her."

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, your heart breaking with every word.

"Stop apologizing." His voice grew more desperate. "Don’t give up on me. On us. Please… fight. For her. For me. For the life we promised to give her."

Your hand trembled as you placed it over his heart. "I love you, Anakin."

He let out a shaky breath, pressing kisses to your palm, your forehead, your lips. "I love you too. So fight, my rose. Fight to stay with me."

Through your tears, you managed a broken smile. "She’s going to be beautiful, isn’t she?"

Anakin nodded, tears still falling. "With your eyes. Your smile. She’ll be strong, just like her mother." He placed his hand over yours. "And she’ll know how much we both love her."

You closed your eyes, letting his words wrap around you like a lifeline, holding on to him with all you had left.

You stirred faintly in his arms, your head resting against his shoulder, your breath shallow but steady. He clung to that rhythm, drawing strength from the fragile proof that you were still with him.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he whispered, though his voice was hoarse with doubt. “You’ll be safe. I swear it.”

As he descended the slope of the castle’s outer wall, his heart clenched at the sight before him. His army was faltering. The banners of England, once proud and fierce, now hung in tatters. His soldiers were retreating, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the French army.

He wanted to go to them, to rally his men, to turn the tide of this battle. But he knew his priority. Her. The woman in his arms. The future she carried inside her. They were his only reason to keep fighting.

Suddenly, a distant shout echoed from behind, and he turned his head sharply. The enemy was approaching—closing in on them. His time was running out.

A hollow rock caught his eye, nestled within the broken side of the castle wall. Without a second thought, Anakin knelt beside it, carefully lowering you to the ground.

“What… what are you doing?” you murmured weakly, trying to lift your head.

“I need to do this,” Anakin replied, pulling out the leather-bound notebook he had carried with him through every battle, every campaign. It held his thoughts, strategy plans, his hopes, his fears—and most importantly, it held your story. The story of how he loved you beyond reason, beyond duty, beyond anything he had ever known.

With trembling hands, he tucked the notebook into the hollow rock, covering it with stones to shield it from the elements.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice faint.

“Because your story deserves to be told,” he said, his voice breaking. “If we don’t make it… if I fail you… someone will find it. They’ll know what we fought for. They’ll know who you are.”

Tears welled in his eyes as he turned back to you. “They’ll know how much I loved you.”

You reached for him, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “We’ll make it,” you said softly, though your voice was filled with exhaustion. “We have to. For her.”

“For her,” Anakin echoed, his lips trembling as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A distant horn sounded—the enemy was near. Anakin stood, gathering you back into his arms, his resolve hardening like steel.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he vowed. “Not while I breathe.”

With that, he turned toward the path ahead, carrying you into the darkness, the notebook hidden behind—a relic of love and war, waiting for someone, someday, to uncover the truth.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Your eyes, like skies before the rain,

Hold joy, and sorrow, and sweet pain.

Your voice, a song the heavens keep,

A lullaby that stirs my sleep.

The battle raged on, but for Anakin, time slowed to a crawl. His every breath burned in his lungs as he carried you through the rubble-strewn corridors of the castle. The once-grand stone walls now stood as broken witnesses to the chaos. Your hand gripped weakly at his tunic, your fingers trembling. He could feel your strength waning, your life slipping away, and he clung to you with desperate resolve.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “Stay with me, my love. Just a little longer.”

As he stepped out into the courtyard, the harsh light of dawn broke through the smoke, illuminating the scene of devastation. Bodies littered the ground, men cried out in agony, and the banners of both England and France hung tattered in the wind. Anakin’s eyes scanned the field, searching for a way out — a path to salvation.

But instead, he saw him.

At the far end of the courtyard, your father emerged from the shadows, flanked by French soldiers. His armor gleamed, untouched by the battle, as though he had orchestrated the chaos from afar. His expression was cold, detached. And when his gaze met Anakin’s, there was no trace of remorse.

Anakin’s steps faltered as realization struck him like a blow to the chest. “You.”

Your father’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Did you really think this was about honor, boy? About alliances and loyalty? No.” His gaze flickered to you, limp in Anakin’s arms. “This was always about power. And she… she was nothing more than a means to an end.”

Anakin’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. “She’s your daughter.”

“She was supposed to be my son.” The words dripped with venom. “A son would have secured my legacy. A son would have brought glory to France. But instead, I was cursed with a daughter. A daughter who betrayed her country, her family, all for the love of an Englishman.”

You stirred weakly in Anakin’s arms, your voice barely a whisper. “Father… please…”

But your plea fell on deaf ears.

“I raised you to know your place,” your father sneered. “And yet you defied me. You chose love over duty. And now, look where it’s brought you. You’ll die here, just like the foolish child you’ve always been.”

Anakin gently lowered you to the ground, brushing your hair from your face. His hands trembled, not from fear but from the sheer force of the rage building inside him. His gaze lifted to your father, his blue eyes blazing with fury.

“You call yourself a man,” Anakin said, his voice low, dangerous. “But you’re nothing more than a coward.”

Your father laughed coldly. “Coward? I’ve played the game of kings and won. While you, Anakin Skywalker, are nothing but a pawn.”

Anakin rose to his feet, sword in hand. “Then let’s finish this.”

But as he stepped forward, your fingers caught his sleeve. “Anakin…”

He dropped to his knees beside you, cradling your face with both hands. His voice broke. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Your eyes, heavy with tears, searched his face. “I’m sorry… I won’t… I won’t be able to stay…”

“No,” he whispered fiercely, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. You’re going to be fine. You have to be. For me. For our daughter.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks. “Promise me… promise me she’ll know how much I loved her.”

Anakin pressed his forehead against yours, sobbing. “She’ll know. I’ll tell her every day. She’ll know you were brave, and kind, and the most beautiful soul I’ve ever known.”

Anakin’s hands pressed desperately against your wound, his fingers slick with blood. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat growing louder, more frantic, drowning out the battle cries and clashing swords around him. Your breath came in shallow gasps, each one weaker than the last.

“No… no… stay with me.” His voice was trembling, desperate. “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you.” He pressed his hands harder against the wound, as if he could force the life to stay in your body. “I’ve got you, my rose.”

Your eyelids fluttered, your gaze unfocused. “Anakin…”

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He cupped your cheek with his bloodstained hand, the contrast of red against your pale skin like a cruel reminder of how fragile life could be. “I’m right here. Look at me. Just keep your eyes on me.”

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak, but no words came. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, mingling with the blood.

“No, don’t cry,” he begged, brushing the tears away with shaking fingers. “You’re strong. You’ve always been strong. You’ve fought through everything life threw at you. Fight now. Fight for me.”

A soft, broken laugh escaped your lips, more a gasp than a sound. “You always… believed… in me…”

“Because you gave me something to believe in.” His voice cracked with emotion, his eyes wide and wild with panic. “You’re my light… my home… everything good in this godforsaken world. Without you, I—”

Your fingers brushed weakly against his lips, silencing him. “It’s… okay…”

“It’s not okay!” Anakin roared, his voice rising with anguish. The sound tore from his chest, echoing across the courtyard. Soldiers paused in their fight, turning to see the broken man kneeling in the blood-soaked dirt, clutching his love as if he could hold her soul inside her body.

“You’re not leaving me,” he growled, his voice trembling with rage and grief. “You can’t leave me.”

You smiled faintly, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’ll… be okay…”

“I won’t,” he sobbed, shaking his head violently. “I won’t be okay. Not without you.” His voice was hoarse, each word ripped from the depths of his soul. “You’re everything to me. Do you hear me? Everything. There is no life for me without you.”

“Don’t…forget me...” Your hand fell from his face, limp. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breathing slowing to a faint whisper.

“No… no, no, no…” Anakin’s panic mounted, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t catch his breath. He shook you gently, then more forcefully. “Open your eyes. Look at me! Look at me!”

Nothing.

Time seemed to slow as he stared at your still face, waiting for a breath, a sign, anything. But there was only silence.

A guttural scream tore from Anakin’s throat—a sound of pure, unrelenting agony. It was a sound that echoed through the castle, a cry that shook the hearts of everyone who heard it. He threw his head back, his voice raw and broken, as if the world itself should crumble beneath the weight of his grief.

Anakin’s scream echoed through the battlefield, a tortured cry of grief and fury. “NO !” He clutched your lifeless body, rocking you in his arms as if he could will you back to life. “Come back to me! Please, God… bring her back ! Bring her back ! Take me instead ! Take me !”

The battle around him blurred into nothingness. His world had shattered, and all that remained was you, lifeless in his arms.

The enemy soldiers watched in uneasy silence, their weapons lowered. Even your father stood motionless, as though stunned by the raw grief before him.

But when Anakin’s cries turned to silence, something far more terrifying took their place.

Rage.

Slowly, Anakin laid you down, pressing one final kiss to your forehead. He rose to his feet, his sword clenched in his hand, and turned to face your father.

“This ends now.”

Your father sneered. “Do you really think you can defeat me?”

Anakin’s eyes, once full of love, now burned with vengeance. “I don’t think. I know.”

Anakin stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His sword trembled in his grip, the blood of Count Aulbry still dripping from its edge. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough to extinguish the rage that burned inside him like a wildfire.

Ahead, through the swirling chaos of battle and smoke, your father glanced at him with his sword drawn, stepping over the bodies of fallen soldiers with a callous indifference. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto Anakin’s like a predator eyeing wounded prey.

“So it comes to this,” your father said, his voice cutting through the din of war. “The great Anakin Skywalker. The traitor. The fool who let love make him weak.”

Anakin wiped blood from his brow, the sting of his wounds barely registering. His thoughts were consumed by one thing: revenge.

“You killed her,” Anakin growled, his voice low and venomous. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. “You killed my wife.”

“Your wife was a pawn,” your father replied without remorse. “A piece in a grander game. One you’ve already lost.”

Anakin took a step forward, his eyes blazing with fury. “She was worth more than you’ll ever be. You don’t deserve to speak her name.”

Your father smirked, lifting his sword. “And yet here we are. Shall we finish this?”

Without another word, Anakin lunged, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Their blades clashed with a deafening clang, sparks flying as steel met steel.

The duel began with brutal intensity, each strike from Anakin fueled by rage and grief. His movements were swift and relentless, driving your father back with sheer force.

“You took everything from me,” Anakin snarled between strikes. “Her laughter, her touch, her love. You took it all.”

“And I would do it again,” your father sneered, parrying another blow. “Because love is nothing but a weakness. A man who fights for love fights blindly.”

Anakin’s sword cut through the air, nearly grazing your father’s side. His strikes grew more desperate, each swing a testament to his unyielding pain. But with every movement, his body betrayed him. His injury slowed him, his breaths growing ragged, his strength waning.

Still, he pressed on, refusing to falter.

Their swords locked, the two men staring each other down.

“You’ll never win,” Anakin hissed through gritted teeth.

“I already have,” your father replied coldly.

With a sudden surge of strength, Anakin shoved him back, breaking the lock. He swung again, and this time, his blade found its mark—a deep gash across your father’s arm.

Your father stumbled, blood staining his sleeve. For the first time, his composed mask slipped, revealing a flash of anger.

“You’re not invincible,” Anakin said, his voice a growl. “And you’ll never take her from me again.”

But before he could strike again, a shadow moved behind him.

Anakin’s instincts flared, and he turned just in time to see the king himself—King Edward—emerge from the shadows, his sword gleaming.

“Anakin!” one of his men shouted in warning, but it was too late.

The king, with a cruel grin, drove his sword into Anakin’s back. The blade pierced through flesh and muscle, twisting cruelly as Edward yanked it free.

Anakin gasped, stumbling forward, his sword falling from his grasp. He clutched at his wound, his fingers slick with blood.

“A king doesn’t fight fair,” Edward said with a chuckle, wiping his blade clean. “A king survives.”

Anakin fell to his knees, his vision blurring. The world around him spun, but he forced himself to stay upright, his rage keeping him conscious.

“You… coward,” Anakin spat, his voice shaking with pain.

“Coward?” Edward sneered. “No, Skywalker. I’m a king.”

Your father stepped forward, lifting his sword once more. “And you, Anakin, are nothing but a fool.”

Anakin struggled to rise, his hands shaking. Blood dripped from his wound, staining the earth beneath him. But he refused to fall.

“You’ll pay,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but resolute. “Both of you. You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

The king and your father exchanged a glance before turning back to Anakin.

“You’re finished,” Edward said coldly. “No one will remember you.”

But Anakin, even on his knees, glared at them with defiance burning in his eyes. “She will. Her spirit will haunt you both until your dying days. You may kill me, but her love will never die.”

With that, he gripped his sword once more, forcing himself to his feet, staggering but unbroken.

And as he stood, he whispered your name like a vow.

He looked at your corpse, laying on the ground. You looked so tiny in death, it infuriated him.

Anakin swayed on his feet, blood dripping from his wound, his breath ragged but unwavering. His eyes locked on King Edward and your father—the two men who had orchestrated his ruin. His heart thundered in his chest, the searing pain of his injury clawing at his consciousness, but rage kept him standing.

Edward sneered, stepping forward with his sword raised. "Still fighting, Skywalker? You’re a broken man. Admit defeat."

Anakin’s lips curled into a feral grin, blood staining his teeth. "I’ve been broken before, Edward. But broken men don’t kneel to cowards."

Your father circled behind Anakin like a vulture. "End him," he commanded Edward. "Show the world that traitors to the crown meet only one fate."

"After all… How can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods." Anakin panted, his stature frigid.

He turned on his heel, his sword slicing through the air. The movement was slower than before—his wound weakening him—but precise. The blade met your father's with a deafening clash. Sparks flew as they locked swords, both men glaring into each other's eyes.

"You took her from me," Anakin growled, pushing with all his strength. "And for that, you’ll suffer."

Edward lunged from the side, but Anakin spun, parrying the blow with a brutal force that sent Edward stumbling backward.

"You call yourself a king?" Anakin spat, stepping toward him. "A king who stabs men in the back? A king who sends his pawns to die in his name? You’re no king."

Edward’s face twisted with rage. "You think you’re righteous? You’ve betrayed England, and for what? A woman?"

Anakin’s eyes darkened. "She was England to me."

Edward charged again, but this time, Anakin was ready. He sidestepped the blow, driving his sword forward with a roar. The blade pierced Edward’s side, sliding deep into his ribs. The king let out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with shock as he staggered back.

Blood poured from the wound as Edward fell to his knees, clutching at his side.

Anakin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting blood onto the ground before stepping closer to the king. His own strength was fading fast, but he held on to every ounce of his resolve.

Edward glared up at him, wheezing in pain. "You… you’ll never win."

Anakin knelt down, meeting the king’s gaze with a chilling calmness. His voice was low, almost gentle, but it carried the weight of his fury.

"Death comes for us all, Edward. The crown won’t save you. Your throne won’t save you."

Edward coughed, blood trickling from his lips. "And you? What about you, Skywalker?"

Anakin smiled faintly, the pain etched into his face. "I’ve made my peace with death. The difference is—I don’t fear it."

He leaned in closer, his voice a whisper, but sharp as a blade.

"Because I loved. Truly. Deeply. And that love will haunt you for the rest of your days."

With that, Anakin let his sword fall from his hand, the weight of his exhaustion finally crashing down on him. His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground.

Behind him, your father approached cautiously, his sword raised to finish the job. But Anakin didn’t flinch. His head tilted back toward the sky, his gaze distant.

His lips parted, and his final words came like a vow to the heavens.

"I’ll see her again."

And with that, he knelt on the bloodstained ground, his body trembling from his wounds, his spirit unbroken.

The silence after the battle was suffocating. Anakin knelt in the dirt, his blood mixing with the ash beneath him. Every breath was a struggle, every movement agony — but none of it mattered. He crawled toward you, dragging himself through the wreckage with shaking hands.

You lay crumpled ahead, still and lifeless.

“No,” he whispered, voice raw with disbelief. “No, no…”

When he reached you, he collapsed beside you, his trembling fingers brushing against your cheek. Your skin was cold to the touch. His heart clenched, his stomach twisting in knots. He cupped your face, cradling it as if his touch alone could bring you back.

“Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please… open your eyes.”

Silence.

His chest heaved as tears spilled down his cheeks. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut, shaking violently.

“You’re supposed to be here,” he whispered. “With me. You promised…”

His hands slipped to your shoulders, shaking you gently, as if you were merely asleep.

“You promised me.”

But you didn’t move.

A strangled cry tore from his throat, guttural and raw, echoing through the shattered stone walls around him. His sobs came in broken gasps as he clung to you, his body wracked with pain and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I couldn’t protect you. I failed.”

He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in — the scent of you, faint and fading, slipping from him like sand through his fingers. He clung tighter, his hands desperate to keep you tethered to this world.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he whispered into the silence. His voice trembled, cracking under the weight of his grief. “I don’t want to.”

Moments passed in silence, broken only by his shuddering breaths. His hand slipped to your chest, pressing against your heart, willing it to beat again.

Nothing.

“I would’ve given everything,” he whispered. “Everything. Just to see you smile again.”

His gaze lifted to the sky, eyes glassy with tears. The stars, cold and distant, offered no comfort.

“You were my light,” he said softly. “And now I’m lost.”

He placed his hand on your belly — a gesture so gentle it seemed out of place in the ruined battlefield around him. His fingers trembled as he traced the curve of your form.

“I don’t know where to go from here.”

The weight of everything pressed down on him, crushing. He lowered himself slowly, laying his head against your chest, his ear pressed to where your heartbeat should’ve been.

“I’ll follow you,” he whispered, voice hollow. “Wherever you are… I’ll follow.”

The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of smoke and blood. Anakin closed his eyes, his tears mingling with the dust on his face.

With those final words, Anakin’s body stilled, his breathing ceased. He died with you in his arms, his soul bound to yours in an unbreakable bond that not even death could sever.

All around him, the world continued — but for him, it ended there, in the ruins, with you in his arms. With his family.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

No bloom compares, no art comes near,

To match the beauty I hold dear.

And if all fades, if worlds should part,

You’ll still remain within my heart.

The battlefield had fallen silent, save for the distant cries of soldiers retreating into the aftermath of victory. Yet, amid the chaos and carnage, there was one moment that stood out, stark against the ruin of war. They dragged Anakin’s lifeless body from where it had crumpled in the dirt, his once unbreakable vow now shattered in the eyes of all who witnessed it.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he had sworn, his voice burning with a promise that seemed unshakeable, his words laced with an iron will. Those who had heard it believed in it, too, because it had been a vow as fierce as the man himself. A vow that was supposed to endure beyond life and death, beyond the ravages of time.

But now, they took him from the earth with the ease of a flickering flame snuffed out by a gust of wind. The promise that had once held the world at bay, that had echoed through his every battle and every kiss shared in secret, lay in ruins with him. His body — cold, unmoving, a silent testament to a love that had burned too fiercely to survive — was being dragged away like some forgotten relic of a broken past.

It was then that the truth struck like a cruel blow — that vow, that promise he had made, had no power now. There would be no more breath in his lungs to fight, no more strength to stand against the world that sought to tear you apart. The world had won.

His final words, his final vow, had been rendered meaningless in the face of the inevitable. For even the fiercest of men could not battle the hand of fate, nor the finality of death. His body, once so full of life and defiance, was now a trophy to be shown, a piece to be desecrated. And as it was pulled away, like the remnants of a forgotten dream, the truth became undeniable — he could no longer protect you. He could no longer keep his promise.

And for the first time, those who witnessed it saw that the great warrior, the man who had once conquered every challenge in his path, had been beaten by something far more powerful than any foe: the silence of death.

They took him, not with the force of a conqueror, but with the quiet certainty that came with every broken vow. Anakin Skywalker, the man who had promised to never let you go, had lost the fight, and with it, the promise itself.

And though he was gone, his vow — a vow now broken beyond repair — lingered in the wind, a ghost of the love he could not protect.

Anakin’s body, still warm with the echoes of battle, had been dragged through the streets, a symbol of defeat and shame. The once-proud warrior, the man who had stood tall and unyielding in the face of the world’s cruelty, now laid at the mercy of those who sought to break him — to break everything he had fought for.

The French soldiers, victorious and cruel, dragged Anakin’s lifeless form through the mud. They spat on him, jeering and mocking his memory. To them, he was nothing but a pawn, a traitor to their cause. They cut away his armor, leaving him exposed, vulnerable — no longer the man who had once commanded respect. His sword, the one that had carved through the enemy lines with unrelenting precision, was stolen, leaving nothing but the remnants of his life.

It was a cruel humiliation — one that twisted the knife deeper into the hearts of those who still remember him. But for the English, Anakin’s sacrifice was not forgotten. In the silence of their grief, men in shadows whispered his name, remembering him for what he was — a hero, a protector, a man who fought for love, for justice, and for those who could not fight for themselves. His sacrifice was honored, though it was not sung in loud praises, but kept in the quiet reverence of the heart.

Days pass. The battle rages on, and with it, the loss sinks deeper into the bones of those who loved him.

Then, as if by some fate unknown, Anakin’s body had been quietly taken. The hands that came to claim him were hidden in shadow, their identities a mystery. The French who had once paraded him in shame now looked away, as if afraid of the silent vigil that had come. His body was laid to rest, not in the grand tombs of kings or warriors, but in a quiet, forgotten place — a patch of earth where no one would found him, where his name would not be desecrated. His body was placed beside yours, as if even in death, you were meant to rest together. It is the only peace he will ever know — the only peace he will ever get to offer you.

But in the darkness, behind the veil of secrecy, the true hero of this story remained unseen — Obi-Wan Kenobi, the man who had once walked beside Anakin, the one who had shared his dreams and his burdens. The man everyone thought was dead… He stood over their graves, the weight of loss heavier than any battle he had fought. The world had turned against him, his hands tied by the restraints of his own weakness. He was powerless, unable to avenge his fallen friend, unable to exact the revenge he so desperately desired.

Instead, Obi-Wan bowed his head, the tears of a brother falling silently, a soft promise to the wind.

“I cannot undo this,” he whispered to the earth. “I cannot bring you back. But I will tell your story. I will carry it with me, and I will speak your name to every soul I meet. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten, Anakin. The world will know what you did, who you were. You may have fallen, but your spirit will endure.”

With that, Obi-Wan placed his hand on the earth, feeling the weight of both the world and the grave beneath him. It was a silent vow — one that bound him to Anakin’s memory for as long as he lived.

“England will remember.” he whispered again, as the winds stirred, carrying the promise of an everlasting legacy.

He buried a flat rock, where was engraved the words : "Here lies two lovers, who were taken too soon and loved each other even in their last moments. May they rest in paradise.. For they were each other's forever"

And so, Anakin’s story continued, passed on through those who remembered, those who carried his memory like a flame. And though the world may never see him as he truly was — a hero, a father, a warrior, a simple man with a simple love — there will always be those who knew.

700 years later, 1994

The crumbled stones of what once was a magnificent castle lay silent beneath the weight of centuries, a forgotten relic buried in time. The earth had swallowed the remains of battles fought, of lives lost, and of promises broken. Yet, there was always something left behind — a faint trace of the past, lingering in forgotten corners where history had been too eager to fade.

It was on one such dig that archaeologists uncovered a hidden chamber, deep beneath the ruins. Their tools chipped away at the stone, the echoes of their labor carrying through the air, until a small wooden chest was revealed, its edges worn by time but still intact. Inside, beneath layers of dust and age, they found it — Anakin’s notebook, worn but sturdy, its pages yellowed and brittle.

Carefully, the archaeologists opened it, handling the fragile relic as though it might shatter under their touch. The pages revealed a mixture of thoughts, calculations, and fragments of a life long gone. But amid the disjointed words, there were poems — beautifully penned lines filled with love and longing, written in a hand that had once been steady but now appeared frantic, desperate.

One of the first poem was like a breath of air that had been trapped in time:

My rose, my heart, my love, forever bound, Even the winds will carry your name. The stars above may flicker and fade, But your light will never wane.

Each page turned brought more. Some poems spoke of hope, others of loss, of battles fought not for glory, but for the protection of something deeper, something more personal. But never once did he mention your name, at least not clearly. Each word was a veiled reference, a symbol. My rose was all he called you, the single constant in a world turned upside down by war and betrayal.

As the archaeologists continued to read, they uncovered the depth of his devotion. His words were raw, full of anguish, a heart spilled onto the pages, bleeding with every line. They spoke of promises, of unfulfilled dreams, and of a love so fierce that it had become the driving force of his very existence.

In one entry, he wrote:

“No force, no battle, no enemy can take you from me. I will fight for you, even when the heavens fall. My rose, my heart, my eternal love — I would die a thousand deaths for you.”

Another poem was filled with grief, the ink almost smudged from the tear stains that had soaked the paper:

“You are lost to me, yet here I remain, My love for you never to wane. Though time may pass and we may part, You will forever be my heart.”

The archaeologists, unaware of the full significance of these words, marveled at the depth of emotion captured in the ancient notebook. But there was no name, no clear identity. They could only speculate — who had this man loved so fiercely? Who was the rose he spoke of, the woman who had stolen his heart and held it until the end of his days ?

And so, they named it “Lays of General Anakin Skywalker,” a title that would honor his memory and the story that had nearly slipped through the cracks of time.

Legends were slippery little things. For the glory that coated them hides the pain, suffering and death that spun them.

England remembered. England remembered the fallen who had fought on its land, the warriors whose sacrifices had shaped the future. Amid the pride of its triumphs and the sorrow of its losses, the name Anakin Skywalker would remain — not just as a general, not just as a soldier, but as a man whose heart beat with the deepest kind of love. The land, which had borne witness to his final breath, carried his legacy forward in its hills and valleys, in the whispers of the wind, and in the pages of the notebook that spoke of a love that would never be forgotten.

The castle itself, now little more than rubble, seemed to echo the same questions. The ruins offered no answers, only the quiet testament of a love lost to time. But the notebook, its pages fragile yet enduring, was a record of something eternal. Anakin’s love, untouched by the centuries, still lived on in ink and paper, reaching out from the past like a whisper from another world.

And though his name, too, was a shadow of history, his words would forever speak to those who cared to listen — a love that had survived wars, betrayals, and the passage of time. And through it all, the rose he spoke of remained an enigma, a ghost, the embodiment of a love that refused to die.

Yes, England remembered.

The Legend of the Poet and the Rose

In a war-torn land, a poet loved a rose, Her name whispered in every verse he chose. He vowed to her, with sword and blood, To hold her close, through fire and flood. But time stole both, and England remembers their love, forever echoed above.

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #evie writes

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modelbus · 3 days ago

Text

Would you look at that, it's another COD songfic. ⚠️ WARNING: the last bit is a little spicy!! ⚠️

Pairing: John Price X Gn!Reader

Talk

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around

Your Captain was a good man. Everyone said it. He was revered, looked up to, practically worshipped. A man who got his team in and out, often in one piece.

A man who appeared around every corner you turned, a friendly smile on his face and a coffee in hand.

"Thought I'd catch you headin' toward the armory." He'll say, offering the cup to you.

"Did you need me for something?" You ask, although you know his response will always be the same.

"Just wanted to check on ya. Can't hurt to have some company."

John Price is always there. In the hall outside your room in the mornings, in the mess hall when you are, stepping into the range when you're practicing. A constant presence behind you, oftentimes with gifts.

It's as if he has to seek you out, a magnet pulling him to wherever you are. Maybe it should be alarming. Maybe. But your Captain is a good man.

"Old wraps are no good, you know." Price says from behind you, his footsteps quiet in the training room.

You reach out, steadying the punching bag. After a moment, you turn to see him, eyes flitting down to the new wraps he holds in his hands.

"We order new ones?" You ask, already starting to unwind the current ones around your knuckles.

"Aye. Meant to be made of stronger stuff. Someone likes to wear through them."

"Guilty as charged, Cap." He doesn't offer the wraps to you, so you offer your hands instead. You're rewarded with a smile in return.

Carefully, and perhaps taking too much time, he winds the wrap around your hands and knuckles. "Gotta take care of these hands. We need 'em." His hands squeeze yours before he pulls back.

Is it a crime to miss the contact? You'll ask the punching bag. "Yes sir."

I won't deny I've got in my mind now All the things I would do So I try to talk refined, for fear that you find out How I'm imaginin' you

"A man would be lucky to have you." Price tells you from behind his beer, dark eyes slowly tracing down your figure and back up again.

The hair on the back of your neck raises, like it always does when you're in danger. When you're the prey instead of the predator.

"Not all of them are worthy of having you, though." He continues, taking a sip—a swig—from the bottle.

Was it any wonder he'd find you in the rec room tonight, alone? That he'd have alcohol to share?

"Amen to that." You answer, laughing to try and diffuse the heaviness in the air.

"'M serious, love. Poets write sonnets 'bout the likes of you."

The idea is laughable. "It's the muscles." You joke to him, glancing down at your own empty bottle.

"A beautiful body." He hums, his gaze weighing on your skin like a physical touch. "With the mind to match, of course."

Bad ideas upon bad ideas. You didn't feel smart right now, just ensnared. A rabbit who stumbled into a trap, exactly like planned.

Price smiles at you, slow and relaxed. You smile back.

"Help an old man to his room?" He asks you, standing. There's not a hint of a slur in his words, nor does he wobble. You're willing to bet he isn't even buzzed.

"You're hardly an old man." Yet you stand too, waiting by the doorway for him.

"Compared to you?" He pauses next to you, ducking his head to speak the words into your ear. "It'd be a crime in God's eyes for me to touch you."

You're frozen in place, but he doesn't reach for your body. He waits, though it's clear he's anything but patient right now. The look in his eyes is hungry — for you.

"Don't think God watches us anymore." Your voice comes out quiet.

His hands land on your waist, pushing you against the doorframe as he boxes you in. "Let's hope not, yeah?"

I'd be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of Imagine being loved by me

John's arm slides around your waist as he settles on the couch beside you, pressing a brief kiss to your bare shoulder where your sweater has dipped down. You relax into him and his warmth easily, eyes never leaving the intense board game between Soap and Ghost on the floor.

"Having fun?" John asks, dragging his teeth on your shoulder before relenting and stopping. "They still going at it?"

"It's the most entertainment we've had in weeks." You nod. "And I think Ghost will stab him in his sleep."

"I heard that!" Soap shouts, barely even looking up from the board.

"You got bigger problems, lad." John snorts, squeezing your waist. "And I have more important things to focus on." He adds, quieter so only you hear it.

He's the perfect gentleman. A good Captain, a good man, a good lover. Sweet.

But sometimes, when his lips ghost over your skin, soft as a breeze, you get the feeling he's playing a sheep in wolf's clothing. The blue of his eyes can't hide how they linger on you when he thinks you aren't looking, and no amount of gentle affection can mask the way he always grabs for you.

Sweet little soldier, caught in your Captain's webs. Somewhere dangerous that you love to be at.

He laces his fingers with yours, sighing quietly. Probably tired from paperwork that accumulates after every mission, per usual. At least it makes him a great pillow at night.

What an honor it is to be loved by him.

I won't deny I've got in my mind now All the things I would do So I try to talk refined, for fear that you find out How I'm imaginin' you

"Fucking gorgeous."

You tighten your hand in his hair, heading tipping back against the pillows as his lips trace a path down your body. You're peeling apart, splitting open, right along the seam of where his kisses are. Down the center of your chest, down your abdomen, down your stomach.

"So pretty." He murmurs, eyes on you even as he bites into your skin. His tongue lathes over the mark to soothe it, only for him to immediately repeat the motion elsewhere. "And all mine, sweetheart."

"Yours." You agree mindlessly. "Fuck, John. Just stop teasing."

John laughs against your skin, squeezing your thighs just because he can. His grip will leave bruises in the morning you're sure. It's not the first time, and wont be the last.

"I've got you all to myself, sweetheart. You think I ain't gonna enjoy it? Take my time putting you in all the positions I've imagined?" His eyes meet yours, and you swallow.

You're so fucked. Have been since the second you stepped foot on this base.

"Dontcha worry 'bout a thing." He lifts his head a little to grin at you. "I've got you."

As his lips return to your body—and that fucking tongue—you send a silent prayer to God to look away.

John Price may be a great Captain, but he was hungry for something you found out far too late, after you were in far too deep.

#john price cod #john price call of duty #captain john price #john price #cod #captain price #call of duty #hozier #john price x reader #141 #task force 141 #captain price x reader

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naebaetws · 3 days ago

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。＊tws as boyfriends○・

genre. Fluff.

pairing. Tws x fem!reader

warnings. Non

a/n. Hii is my first time writing in here, I hope you enjoy 😉

Shinyu - The supportive type.

He's the boyfriend who'll cheer you on at everything you do, always hyping you up. He loves spending time with you—whether it's a walk, a casual game, or just lying on the couch watching a movie.

He'd text you randomly during the day just to check in or share something funny,. Super reliable, and always down for spontaneous dates.

Dohoon - The protective and dependable type.

He's the kind of boyfriend who'll make sure you're always taken care of, from carrying your bag to making sure you've eaten. He's a great listener and gives practical advice when you're stressed.

While he's calm and shy in public but still love a little PDA holding hands, his arm around your shoulder or when is really clingy kiss you cheeks and lips, as we already know he has a great sense of style so he would helps you to chose your clothes for dates and sometimes suggest matching .Expect late-night walks and quiet, deep talks.

Youngjae - The romantic and thoughtful type.

He's all about the little things— leaving cute notes, remembering tiny details about you, and planning dates that feel straight out of a movie.

He'd love spending time doing creative or meaningful things with you, like just talking about your dreams. He'd randomly grab your hand or surprise you with a sweet compliment, always making you feel special.

Hanjin - The calm and mysterious type.

He's not super expressive, but when he shows his love, it's in small, meaningful ways. He'd doodle something that reminds him of you. He's the boyfriend who quietly holds your hand while walking or rests his head on your shoulder when he's tired.

He's introspective and loves deep conversations, making every moment with him feel intimate.

Jihoon - The playful and easygoing type.

He's all about making you laugh, teasing you in a sweet way, and keeping things lighthearted. He'd plan silly but fun dates, like having picnics or watching bad movies together so you guys can judge it together .

He's super affectionate and doesn't mind PDA-he'd always want to hold your hand or rest his head on your lap. The type to send you memes just because they remind him of you.

Kyungmin - The adventurous and carefree type.

He's spontaneous and loves trying new things with you, from exploring new places to cooking random recipestogether.

He'd send you photos of cool things he saw throughout the day and constantly remind you how much he loves spending time with you. He'd also give you space to grow and encourage you to follow your passions, always cheering you up.

final notes : so I feel like I have to tell you guys my perspective and my opinion about Hanjin, I feel like his not being truly him self because he can’t speak Korean fluently, but still, I see him as someone really calm and “reserved” but funny with the people he loves, let me know if you don’t agree…

#tws #tws kyungmin #tws hanjin #tws youngjae #tws shinyu #tws dohoon #tws scenarios #tws jihoon #kpop x reader #tws x reader #tws headcanons #tws imagines #kyungmin x reader #jihoon x reader #shinyu x reader #youngjae x reader #hanjin x reader #dohoon x reader

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tennistalksisterstyle · 3 days ago

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Honestly can’t even believe this discussion needs to be had.

The discourse around Danielle on various (male-dominated) parts of tennis social media is incredibly misogynistic, and I’m shocked to see that echoed here.

A one second (!!!) clip of Danielle’s facial expression caused so much controversy that she got called “a bitch” by literally thousands of people online. The picture that Danielle posted to her insta story was clearly a reaction to this bizarre outcry, with her even referencing it by saying “didn’t know if you guys noticed this but…”. Danielle is most certainly entitled to respond to the misogynistic vitriol directed at her.

This situation is part of a larger pattern of bigoted narratives and biased fan reactions that have long plagued the sport of tennis. It is clear that certain players, particularly those belonging to certain marginalized groups, are held to far different standards, and subject to absurd levels of scrutinization.

Imagine if Danielle Collins mocked the appearance of an opponent during a match… Daniil Medvedev has done this (see Indian Wells 2024 vs Holger Rune).

Imagine if Danielle Collins imitated an opponent cramping during a final… Daniil Medvedev has also done this (see Vienna 2023 vs Jannik Sinner).

Imagine if Danielle Collins shouted to an opponent during a match that “no one likes you on tour, everyone hates you”… Sir Andy Murray has literally done this!

Those moments were memed and are still considered iconic by fans. And I’m not telling you that you should unstan Daniil or Andy- I certainly won’t be. But the standards that we hold players to should be consistent. We should not let bias, conscious or unconscious, lead to hate for players, who are REAL PEOPLE.

As a fan, it is sad to see the way that different players are judged for similar situations. Who gets called “funny” or “memeable” for ranting at an umpire, and who gets called “pathetic,” “whiny,” “emotional,” or “scary.” Who is confident when they predict their own success, and who is “cocky.” Who is “relatable” when they snub an opponent, and who is “bitchy.” Who is acting under the “heat of battle” when they insult an opponent or their play, and who is “trashy” and “classless.”

As women, our behavior is scrutinized and regulated to the point of complete absurdity, even by other women. We apparently can’t even handshake correctly, hence the stereotype of the “WTA handshake.” This whole situation has arisen out of such scrutinization, which is so harmful and toxic. Tennis has a long history of speaking about and judging women in ways that are sexualizing, infantilizing, misogynistic, and quite frankly disturbing. This type of micro expression analysis is clearly a part of this pattern, as is the narrative that women are more dramatic, emotional, petty, “bitchy,” etc. than their male counterparts.

In looking at responses to Danielle specifically, I am often disheartened to see people making cruel jokes about her retirement (which has been delayed due to fertility issues), or her health conditions, which she has bravely spoken up about. As women, it is crucially important that conditions like endometriosis are destigmatized. It is also sad to see people using words with classist implications, like “trashy,” given what we as fans know about Danielle’s economic background.

Some people have claimed that Danielle’s unpleasant expression is part of a pattern of rude behavior, and that this apparently justifies calling her misogynistic names and harassing her. Danielle is, like us, a human being. If any person was in front of a camera weekly for 10+ years, they would have some bad moments. Daniil Medvedev has literally had hundreds of them.

From what we’ve seen as tennis fans, Danielle is a loud, brash, confident, and out-spoken person. She makes mistakes, like anyone, but her personality- which is not inherently wrong for anyone, including a woman, to have- seems to be the catalyst for the fan fixation with her.

I’m not saying you have to like Danielle, obviously. No one is obligated to like someone. And it is your choice whether or not to push against these biases that are so interwoven in the narratives and the viewing experiences of this sport. All I’m asking is that, before putting more negativity and hatred out towards players, you consider where that hatred is coming from. Whether it is fair, whether it might have origins in systems and beliefs that (I hope) we all abhor.

If someone else rolled their eyes, would you have forgiven them? Because I can pretty much guarantee you’ve already forgiven much worse.

never change, danielle collins, never change

#long post but a very important one!❤️#please take a minute or two to read #coincidentally we talked about Danielle and the media reaction to her on the podcast for this week #which we recorded before this post was made lol #tennis #danielle collins

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ddollfface · 3 days ago

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Just a Little Bit of Affection

Cuddling Headcanons for Baki Men

Warning; I would say that there's none here! Overall, it's just fluffy! Although reader is fem, or was written with a girl in mind, so keep that in mind, sorry :/

Kiyosumi Katou

Don’t let this man fool you because he will act all macho and snarky when you’re around other people, but the moment you guys are alone, it’s like a whole new man appeared. I like to think that he’s a little touch starved, liking to have the touch of his lover when he sleeps. Being a fighter doesn’t leave much room for weakness, or soft things like cuddling, he takes this to the extreme and will act like a little brat whenever in public.

He puts up this facade of this big strong man, which he is, who doesn’t need someone by his side, all he needs is his two fists and a strong opponent. Once you’ve gotten through those thick walls, the trust issues, and the strong ego, you’re met with a man who’s really sweet. I think that he really is a good person, but he’s just misunderstood; aren’t we all?

Now, that we’re past that, what is he like when he’s comfortable with you? Well, well, I’m glad you asked because this boy’s got a tight grip. Even though you’re in a special place in his heart, he still has a certain, borderline toxic, view of masculinity, and he’s avidly against being the little spoon. He’s the man! He should be the one holding onto you! And that he will. He’ll wrap his strong arms around your figure, likely pressing your face into his chest or keeping you from looking at his face, can’t have you seeing his flushed cheeks, can we? Overall, he’s not much of a cuddler, preferring to move around, but he’ll dabble in a cuddle or two when he’s got a beer and some game playing in the background. Katou will drap his arm over the back of the couch, letting you rest your head on his chest, while his other hand cradles a beer bottle. It’s comfortable, and it’s silent. It’s like his self-care kinda, chilling with his hot girlfriend while watching his favorite sport/game/show/etc.

Hanma Jack

Another man who doesn’t cuddle too much, especially at the beginning of your relationship. He’s not a big fan of just sitting around, instead, he wants to be working, improving, just something, anything really (that sounds like ADHD if you ask me lol). He’s not necessarily opposed to it or anything, it’s just he gets restless, but nonetheless, I think he’d like to please you. If you really want him to cuddle, then he’ll oblige for you. He’ll huff and puff, grumbling under his breath as he lies on his back, the only way he can really cuddle. You’ll be lying on his chest, running your fingers across his pec mindlessly as you just soak in his presence.

Although I don’t think that Jack talks much, especially around other people, he does enjoy ranting to you. You’re his special someone, his lover, and likely the first and only person he’ll ever have a real relationship with. Don’t get me wrong, he’s fine with that, but that just makes you all the more special to him. He sees you like his other half in a sense, and that’s why he’s far more comfortable just speaking freely to you. And that is why he’ll rant to you about some recent fight he had, or how this one bugger wouldn’t stop staring at him, or even any future plans he has to get strong, better, to defeat his father.

He trusts you with his heart, so it’s easy to spill this information as he cards his fingers through your hair, calming himself as your hearts follow a matching beat. It feels a little euphoric to Jack, and that’s why he thinks that sometimes, just sometimes, he can get behind an occasional cuddle. He’ll admit… They’re beginning to grow on him.

Hanma Baki

Oh boy, this guy is a cuddler for sure. I follow the narrative that Baki has mommy issues. I mean, how can he not?? Just look at him, mommy issues are just oozing out of him! Anyway, I’m continuing this narrative.

He for sure wants to lay on top of you, his ear pressed to your chest, just wanting to listen to every thump of your heart. In an odd way, it’s calming, and it eases his own mind. He really can’t help it! Baki finds comfort in your warm presence, in the way your fingers brush through his messy hair, or how you softly scratch the back of his neck with your nails. Everything about it is like Heaven to him, and so, whenever he’s back from a fight, he’ll just flop on top of you.

Don’t be fooled by his baby face and cheeky grin, he’s a troublemaker, and will in fact not get off of you until he is pleased. Being clingy, he doesn’t want to part with you once he gets comfortable, and this cuddling session will only end on his terms. What do you mean you have homework to do? Ew, why would you want to do homework rather than cuddle with your cute boyfriend? Do you not love him or something? How can you be sooooo cruel!

Yeah… He can be a little dramatic, but that’s the appeal, I suppose. Although he prefers to be the little spoon, that doesn’t mean that he can’t enjoy being the big spoon. If he so happens to feel like holding you, or if you’re in need of some comfort, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he’ll coo at you, teasingly pressing kisses to your temple as he questions what’s got you so upset… Tell him a name, and he’ll handle it! Don’t worry, babe, you’ve got the best boyfriend in the world! And he’ll handle everything, just give him the word.

Hanayama Kaoru

Likes having you sit on his lap while he does paperwork. Being an oyabun for the yakuza means lots and lots of paperwork, Karou doesn’t mind it, but you sure do; is it crazy that you want to spend time with your lover? No, it’s not, so the only real solution is to spend time while he’s doing paperwork.

You’ll lay your head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck, while one of his large hands rubs soothing circles on your lower back. It’s peaceful. The only sound is the scrapping of his pencil and the sounds of your breathing. I think that quality time would be one of Kaoru's love languages, but being that he doesn’t have much time, cuddling like this is a good alternative. It makes him feel normal, not something he strives for, but nice nonetheless.

Kaoru, like Jack, isn’t much of a talker, not even to you. He’s never been a man of many words, preferring to use his actions to show his thoughts, whether it be his fists or presents left on your bed. Either way, you’ll get the message. The way he’s gentle with you, holding you with the uttermost care he can, acting as if you’re porcelain. In a way, you kinda are, especially in his hands, hands meant for violence and bloodshed.

Although he’d like to spoon you to sleep, this man sleeps like a brick and prefers to sleep on his back. I also don’t think you’d want him to spoon you… The moment he falls asleep, you’re never getting him off you until he’s awake again. This man is heavy, so if you have to go to the restroom or just get up to go to work, then you’re going to have to just wait until he’s awake lol. That doesn’t mean he minds you cuddling up to him. He’ll let you hug his side, lay on top of him, or attempt to spoon him. He doesn’t care too much as it doesn’t disrupt his sleep, so do as you wish.

Matsumoto Kozue

Oh my Lord, she’s such a sweetheart! I love Kozue, even though she can be a little dense sometimes. I think she’d be a little shy to ask for cuddles and such, but embarrassment wouldn’t stop her from asking. I also think that she’d prefer to be the little spoon, wanting to be pressed against your chest as you two talk about your day.

She’d go on and on about her classmates, what they said, any drama, or the cute bakery she saw on the way home from school… Maybe you guys should go there sometime? Kozue would like to face you when cuddling, liking the eye contact that comes with it. Her hand cupped your face as you lean your cheek against her palm, smiling at each other like two teenagers in love. Mindlessly, she’d braid your hair or brush it, all depending on your hair type ofc. I think she’d DIE if you were to start messing with her hair, loving how it feels like a massage as your nails rub her scalp. It’s a nice way to relax after school.

Although she loves to get dolled up and go out on the town, roaming from bakery to bakery and the park, she also doesn’t mind just cozying up at home. I think Kozue would enjoy a small movie marathon, watching different reality shows and romcoms! Your shoulders pressed against each other as you lean against one another, maybe her face in the crook of your neck, just enjoying each other’s warmth. It’s her favorite way to fall asleep, sometimes it feels like she’s in a dream...

Kaiou Retsu

Sigh, he’s such a virgin, and he acts like one. Good God, this guy cannot be romantic with you without feeling his face grow warm, and his cheeks catch on fire. He can be romantic, but that’s only after he’s practiced his script in the mirror around… a hundred times? Possibly more depending on the situation. He really can’t help it, you make Retsu’s heart swell, and his head go fuzzy like you’re Smokin’ Joe for God’s sake!

Nonetheless, Retsu is a natural caretaker. He enjoys making you feel at home, giving you a space where you can be yourself. It’s his love style, after all. While he’s not a natural cuddler himself, as he’s far too tense to be one, he’ll try his best if it means that you’re happy. Retsu’s goal in life is to be a partner you can be proud of, someone you would come to when in need.

That’s how he got here: your head in his lap while you both watch some older action movie that involves martial arts. These are the only movies Retsu will ever watch because he likes to critique them… He finds it pleasant, to feel your chest rise and fall as you smush your cheek against his hardened thigh. Although a little embarrassing, he ignores the clench of his heart in favor of the texture of your hair.

This is a little side thing, but if you have some form of curly hair, that you need to detangle or have some long, strenuous routine, then Retsu is more than happy to do it for you! All you have to do is sit between his legs while he applies whatever butter oils, creams, leave-ins, etc., you use. He enjoys doing these things for you, and it’s even more rewarding when you praise him for the good job he did. If you have 4A, 4B, or 4C type hair, where you usually wear protective styles like braid, twists, etc., then he’ll also learn how to braid your hair, just to take the responsibility off of you.

Although it’ll take him a while to get the hang of it, he’ll try for you. Retsu understands the pain hair can be (have you seen his luscious locks???). Though something that he’d surprisingly enjoy would be you brushing out his own hair, doing whatever type of braids you know for fun. He’d never ask directly, and he’d be farrr too embarrassed to do so, but he’d never refuse if you offered (hint, hint).

Orochi Katsumi

Oh boy, we have another cuddle bug here, and he has twice the confidence and half the self-awareness as Baki. In just day-to-day life, Katsumi is touchy, always wanting to have a hand on you and be by your side, no matter what. Although he’s pretty busy, he does try to make it up when he is around. But unlike Hanayama, you are likely, or may, work with him at the dojo, seeing as it’s not a dangerous line of work like Hanayama’s.

Of course, this gives you guys wayyy more time to see each other, but even then it’s not enough for Katsumi. That means the moment you close the door and settle back into your shared home, he’s all over you, making up all the time he could’ve been lovin’ you up! He’ll run his hands down your sides, pressing his nose to your collar as you sway side-to-side. Katsumi doesn’t want to let you go, but he relents as he swings you over his shoulder, letting out a mischievous cackle when you squeal.

There is where he’ll set you down on your shared bed with a bright grin, his eyes crinkling as you swat his shoulder, making a snide remark. Maybe you guys will watch a movie, or you might just gossip about one of Katsumi’s students, or even play some board/video games if you’re into that! Really, he just wants to spend quality time with you and have you snuggled into his side.

Though I do think that Katsumi gets restless a lot, but he doesn’t want the loving to end, so he’ll just adjust your positioning. Sometimes you’ll be lying on his chest, resting your cheek against his peck as you rambled about your current interests or your friend’s drama with her own boyfriend, to which Katsumi gives the funniest remarks.

This is a side thing, but if you’re anything like me, then you like to talk a lot. And I think that Katsumi would be a really good listener, in the sense that he’s not like Hanayama, who just nods his head or hums, instead, he’s giving you feedback, engaging with what you say. Things like “she said what?!” or “I would’ve punched him then and there!” Small things like that, that really add to the conversation and make it a lot funner (don’t come at me, I know it’s not a real word). And I think that during ya’ll’s quality time, a lot of this back and forth would be happening.

Overall, Katsumi is a real sweetheart who just wants to be around you, even if it’s just lying in silence. However, that silence doesn’t last long because he’s a natural yapper.

Biscuit Olivia

Big boys who like to lay on top of you >>>> Even though he's far bigger than you, Olivia still enjoys cuddling with his head pressed into your chest, and arms wrapped around your waist. And we’ve got another guy who’s very busy, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t give you attention!

For the sake of conversation, we’ll just say that Maria (my love) doesn’t exist, even though I’m interested in writing about that relationship dynamic. Whatever, for most of the day, Olivia is out hunting down criminals, roaming around the prison, or doing whatever Mr. Unchained does during the day, but when he returns to his special place, he doesn’t waste any time getting to you. There’s a set routine the two of you have gotten.

Olivia, exactly at 18:30 PM, will knock on your shared, bedroom door, bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand and dressed in a suit. Of course, knowing your routine, you’ll be dressed in whatever you deem fancy, and greet Olivia by leaning on the door and a pleased smile. He’ll lean down, and you’ll kiss his cheek, standing on your tippy-toes, and he’ll put his arm out. Getting the hint, you’ll intertwine yours with his, taking the flowers in the other. Olivia will take you for dinner, sometimes it’s in the prison, and other times it’s somewhere else. You guys will chat for hours, usually ending at 22:00-ish.

This is where the actual cuddling comes in lol, he’ll swoop you off your feet, carry you back to your shared room, and lie you on the bed, both of you still dressed up. His arms will wrap around you, pressing his face to your chest as he mumbles on about how much he loves you, being classic Olivia. Your hands will massage his shoulders, giggling when he lets out pleased grumbles. Sometimes, it leads to sex, other times you both just slip into slumber, and you follow that pattern more days than not.

Pickle

Cuddling is a foreign concept to Pickle, seeing as during his time, there was no one to cuddle. Back then, he was either hunting or lazing around, maybe causing meaningless trouble. There wasn’t much to do, so he had to entertain himself. But now that you are here, Pickle never gets bored! Thoughts of you fill his head constantly, he just finds you to be so entertaining!

You look so different than him, than the creatures of his time, well, your world looks so different. And Pickle is naturally curious, so he takes any chance he can to observe your body, trying to figure out how you’re so soft. You’re so small compared to him, and he finds it to be oddly funny.

He finds it horribly frustrating that he cannot say what he’s thinking, unable to verbalize it in a way that you’d understand, so he has to be creative with how he communicates. A lot of the time, it comes in the form of physical affection. I’ve touched on this topic before in this post (you should check it out, wink wink). He likes to be close to you because it means security for your safety. He still has the survival instincts that so many of us have lost, due to the advancements of society. Pickle is constantly on alert, so he likes to have you as close as physically possible.

Whatever the arrangement is, Pickle will curl around you, liking to have his nose pressed against your neck. Every once and a while, he’ll nip at your skin, an odd attempt to claim you. Though that’s only if he gets bored enough lol. Pickle will have you in a death hug of sorts, making it so you cannot get away from him and run off. Whatever it is, let’s just say that you’ll be stuck there for a while… At least, until Pickle gets bored.

Jun Guevaru

Baby, this man will serenade himself into your sheets, wooing your pants right off! Now, for Jun, I think that cuddles will lead to sex more times than not, but that doesn't mean all the time. If you're not in the mood, then he's perfectly fine rubbing your back as you guys lay together in bed. And because he's dramatic, he'll coo soft, romantic words into your ear the whole time.

Telling you that you're the love of his life, how you're so beautiful, and that he's oh-so lucky to have a lady such as yourself as his lover. He's very much a romantic at heart. Jun loves just lazing around with you, seeing as he doesn't have many days to do so. I mean, running a country is hard work! He can't be sitting in bed all day, no matter how much he wants to.

Similar to Hanayama, he likes to have you on his lap as close to him as physically possible. This means that you’re dragged to meetings (does he have those???), but if I’m being honest, I have no idea what Jun would be doing in his day-to-day lol. I imagine that it’s a lot of sailing and talking to people, likely stealing shit from the government/s. Although Jun doesn’t want you near any danger, so a lot of the times, you’re in his cabin or in the cafeteria (if ships have those).

Anyway, I’m getting off-track, the point is that he’s not necessarily around you, so those small moments where it’s just you and him (lunchtime, in the early morning, and at night), he’ll make the most of it. During lunch, he’ll pull you into his lap and tease you, begging you to feed him whatever food you’ve made. One hand on your waist, while the other is on your thigh, rubbing down to your knee as he looks at you with the most love and admiration you’ve ever seen a man have.

Of course, you’ll relent and hand feeds him the dish, feeling a little flushed and embarrassed at how he’ll moan at the taste, praising your talent (no matter how bad of a cook you are). At night/in the morning, he’ll pull you close, feeling you up a bit before he has to get ready for the day. I do think that Jun loves getting ready with you in the mornings. Whatever routine you have, no matter how long or short, he wants to be a part of it. It feels oh-so domestic, and it makes his heart all warm and fluffy. Well, being around you in general makes him feel that way, but nonetheless. He enjoys the lazy mornings when he has to roll out of bed, you following after. Sometimes he’ll dance with you, in the kitchen, singing some shanty you’ve grown used to.

Although it’s a little different that you’re life before, and Jun can be a little much sometimes, you can’t help but smile as Jun pulls you into a dip, kissing the corner of your lips with a cheeky grin.

#x reader #baki the grappler #bad writing #baki hanma #baki #jack hanma x reader #kaoru hanayama x reader #katsumi orochi x reader #kiyosumi katou x reader #kaiou retsu x reader #jun guevaru x reader #pickle x reader #biscuit oliva x reader #baki hanma x reader #kozue matsumoto x reader #baki son of ogre #baki headcanons #baki dou #yandere baki the grappler

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