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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months ago

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Tastes of Home and Cake

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!baker!reader

Summary: You own a popular bakery frequented by celebrities, but when the Mid-Wilshire police station hires you for a luncheon, you go out of your way to make cakes, cupcakes, and favourites to make the day special.

Warnings: fluff, Tim bring grumpy toward everyone except his wife who makes him a softie

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

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“The cast of Rings of Power will be here at 10:00 tomorrow instead of 10:15, is that okay?” your assistant, Kasey, asks.

“Of course,” you respond as you spin a tart pan to remove an air bubble from the filling. “Did you hear back from the Scuderia Ferrari people?”

“Oh, yes. I fit Charles and Lewis in for a lunch and tasting five days before the Las Vegas Grand Prix in November of next year.”

“Perfect!”

You pass the tart to one of your bakery sous chefs before you follow Kasey out of the kitchen. The small dining area of your bakery is full, and the door has been closed and locked to give your clients a private meal.

“Good afternoon,” you greet after removing your apron and straightening your outfit. “It’s a pleasure you have you here, and I hope you enjoy everything.”

After several minutes of speaking to your customers and promising to fit them into your booked schedule when they finish filming in several months, you return to Kasey’s side.

“How do you keep your cool talking to celebrities every day?” she inquires. “I talk to their agents on the phone and get a little starstruck.”

“Well, he’s one of the nicest people on the planet,” you point out, referring to Pedro Pascal sitting behind you. “And, at the end of the day, they’re still people. Well-known and sometimes really mean, but they’re customers, just like the small population of Los Angeles that we serve for a few hours every morning.”

“Speaking of that, I need to get back to the people in the LA Times about the feature they want to do on the bakery. Do you want to do it?”

You stop by a tray of cookies and sigh. “I don’t know. Part of me says yes, but then the side that isn’t caught up in the business wonders if it’s worth it to get longer lines and higher wait times.”

“Did you talk to your super-secret boyfriend about it?”

“I did. He wasn’t much help, basically said to do what I thought was right. Just… tell them not right now. If they take that as a no, that’s fine.”

Kasey nods and jots a note in her always-present journal before she notices the whiteboard where you make plans for tastings and events.

“Is all of that for the LAPD luncheon you’re catering?” she inquires, wide-eyed at the quantity and quality of items. “You know they’re paying a flat rate, right?”

“Kasey, I’m going to tell you a secret,” you reply as you slip your apron over your head. “My ‘super-secret boyfriend’ that you constantly ask about… He’s a cop. And my husband.”

“That explains the Madagascan vanilla shortbread cookies,” she mumbles. “Wait, can I meet him?”

“Me first!” one of your regular celebrities yells from the dining area.

You roll your eyes in amusement and then begin working on the croissants for the sandwiches and the dulce de leche cake for Mid-Wilshire’s annual officer appreciation party.

“This is Officer Thorsen,” Kasey introduces as you exit your car at the police station.

“Aaron,” you greet, welcoming his hug.

“Please tell me the department sprung for my favourite,” he replies.

“I might have thrown in a few goodies.”

“You are the best. I was honestly surprised when I heard they’d chosen your bakery.”

You shake your head at Kasey to remind her not to say anything. To her surprise, they didn’t contract with you because your husband works here, just because of your reputation in Los Angeles. The people working in this station don’t even know you have a relationship with one of their own, so your expanded menu should appear to be a nice surprise, showing your appreciation for the brave men and women who keep you and your city safe.

“This is my watch commander, Wade Grey,” Aaron introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” you offer as you shake his hand.

“You, too. My wife has been wanting to visit your bakery, but we never seem to make it in time,” he replies.

“I’ve got some extras packed away in the van if you’d like to take her something. It’s the least I can do.”

“Baker to the stars… how do you like dealing with so many high profile people every day?”

“Most of them are great, just looking for a place to eat some carbs without the paparazzi. There are a few that I try not to have availability for, of course, but it’s the baking that I really love. My assistant handles most of the people side of things.”

“Well, we can’t thank you, and Kasey, of course, enough for fitting us into your schedule. We’ve been looking forward to it for a while.”

“Of course. I hope you don’t mind but I did throw in some free treats, just my way of saying thank you.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you. Let me know if you need any help setting up or finding anything.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Grey.”

After he returns to his duties, you try to let Aaron return to work, but he insists on helping you set up. Thirty minutes later, the bullpen has been turned into a space of food, appreciation, and more cakes and cupcakes than you remember making.

“I thought you said a few freebies?” Aaron murmurs. “Did you leave anything in the bakery?”

“I hope so. Ryan Reynolds will be a little disappointed if I didn’t,” you respond lightly. “I think I’m done here. Thanks for your help, Aaron.”

“Of course- I’m sorry, Ryan Reynolds?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Someone gasps, and a moment later, Officer Chen runs up to Aaron’s side and smiles as she says your name.

“I watched the Food Network special on your bakery,” she exclaims. “I’ve never been more excited to eat in my life.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” you reply. “Thank you for all you do.”

“You might want to get food now, Lucy. It looks like a lot but it won’t last forever,” Aaron suggests.

“Precisely my plan,” Wade agrees as he exits his office. “It looks great.”

Standing back, you watch officers come in, chat with one another, and get plates of food and treats.

“That’s a lot of cake,” someone says behind you.

“It’s like you’re trying to set up the joke, Tim,” you respond without turning.

His fingers dance across your back before he moves to stand beside you.

“Too much?” you ask.

“No. I for one appreciate it. I’m glad my getting shot at equals roughly that much cake.”

You lean sideways to hit Tim with your shoulder, and he smiles as he rights himself. He moves away from you when he sees several officers walking toward you with cake and cookies on their plates.

“This is by far the most delicious cake I’ve ever had,” one says. “My mother-in-law is throwing me and my husband an anniversary party and if I have this cake, I’ll actually go.”

“She’s booked through spring of 2027,” Tim interjects. “So, unless you want to get on the waiting list for a tenth anniversary cake, it’s not gonna happen. Tell Mrs. Evers you can’t make it.”

“2027?” the woman beside her muses. “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” you answer. “You all have much more important jobs than me, though. Maybe my assistant can fit you in, so you don’t have to miss your own party.”

“See, Timothy? That’s what being nice gets you,” Angela taunts.

“Well, he’s actually the reason I even brought that cake,” you point out.

Angela cocks her head slightly, her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth as she looks from Tim back to you. The woman beside her, who you assume is Nyla Harper based on Tim’s detailed stories, watches you with similar interest.

“It’s not even my favourite,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t start with me, Bradford.”

“You made me taste test a bunch of stuff last weekend and I told you it’s good but not Malibu Rum cake good. There is no Malibu Rum cake.”

“Tim, she brought way more than we expected,” Lucy says as she joins your small circle. “Be nice.”

Tim sees your smile and rolls his eyes. Kasey walks by, on the phone with assumably another agent, and passes you three small boxes.

“For you,” you tell Tim. “Though I’m not sure you deserve it now.”

He sees your writing on the corner above the clear plastic top, Malibu Rum <3, and tugs your belt loop to reach a plastic fork on the table behind you.

“Officer Chen, this is for you,” you say, passing her a box. “And this one is for Aaron, who-“

“I’m here. Don’t give it away,” Aaron says, seeming to appear out of nowhere to take the box of his favourite cake with a new cookie.

“Maybe I should get on your waiting list,” Angela muses as she finishes her slice of cake.

“You can jump the line,” you promise.

“What do I do to get Bradford’s taste testing position?” Nyla inquires. “Because if everything you make is a quarter as good as that Pumpkin Maple Biscotti cupcake was, I’ll do anything.”

“I think that privilege is limited to marriage,” you explain with a frown. “But next time I make an entire test batch, I’ll bring some by.”

Sergeant Grey stops behind the three silent women standing before you. They watch you, ignoring Tim as he enjoys his cake.

“So…” Angela begins before shaking her head.

“You bake for celebrities, and you’re married to Tim Bradford?” Lucy inquires.

“You turned down my proposals for him?” Aaron interjects, his brows furrowed together as he returns with a croissant sandwich (after his cake, you notice and make a mental note to tell his mom to watch his reaction).

“One, you proposed just because you like the way a caramel apple souffle tasted, and two, I was already married to Tim,” you reply. “Which seems to be very surprising for some reason.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I said I wanted to hire her for this?” Wade asks Tim.

Tim shrugs and says, “I didn’t think she’d work you in regardless. Kasey and I told her to charge double.”

“Hypothetically,” Nyla begins, “if I invite you over for dinner and ask for your help, would you cook like this?”

“She wouldn’t help,” Tim answers. You elbow him gently and say, “Of course. It’s the only way I can cook, I think. I prefer baking though.”

“I have so many questions,” Angela murmurs.

“Me too,” Lucy agrees. “Like where’s the farthest place someone has come from to eat at your bakery? Are you allowed to say names?”

“Most of the time I can, after they’ve left, of course. And I think Chris Hemsworth coming from Australia was the farthest.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t know Tim was married,” Nyla points out.

“Yeah, yeah, you can ask questions later,” Tim interrupts.

“We can?” Lucy asks excitedly.

“You can ask, didn’t say I’d answer.”

Tim takes your hand and pulls you away from them, but you wave over your shoulder and thank them once more before you’re in the privacy of a hallway.

“I could fit Angela in,” you tell him.

“Don’t really care,” he admits – honest and blunt as ever – before he kisses you.

“You taste like cake,” you whisper as you pull back.

“What time will you be home tonight?”

“Probably before you. I’ve got an appointment at three and then I’m done. You?”

“Around six. I’ll bring dinner?”

“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Bradford.”

“And you want me to give Angela and Lucy your number,” he guesses, squeezing your waist playfully.

“Smart and handsome! Yes, please, oh and Nyla and Wade. I need to make sure his wife gets to come in, apparently she’s been trying.”

“Isn’t this Kasey’s job?”

“Kasey is mad that I didn’t tell her I was married, and you have to see them all the time. Be nice and help me out and I’ll bring more of the rum cake home.”

Tim kisses you once more before you leave the station to prepare for your next celebrity visit. His subsequent interrogation at the station makes him more eager to get home to you. When he finally walks in with your favourite takeout, welcomed by the smell of brown sugar and butter, Tim knows he’s home.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford imagine #the rookie #the rookie x reader #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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theetherealbloom · 1 month ago

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IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.2

Chapter Two: Hold On For Dear Love

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, War, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Chat, I am giving the reader a super vague background, like it won't matter too much, lol. You’re here for the vibes, and so am I ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So this entire fic isn’t gonna be overly complicated, I don’t think this is the fic for that. I mean, they put sharks in the Colosseum, so… we’re going to take some liberties here and there for funsies. It’s fanfiction, it’s supposed to be fun :> ALSO YA’LL I GOT INTO A GROOVE. I wasn’t planning on updating til next week but the words kept coming to me and suddenly I’m done with chapter two hehe. AND YES YES SHUSH NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUT. MAYBE. Ok enjoy girlies heheh.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Hymn To Virgil by Hozier

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

SENATOR THRAEX’S PARTY — DAY

The grand villa was alive with music, laughter, and the heady scent of roasted meats and spilled wine. Senators, high-ranking officials, and Rome's wealthiest citizens mingled among trays of fruit and platters of delicacies, their voices filling the air with a cacophony of conversation and self-indulgent boasts. Courtesans draped in sheer silks wove through the throng, their laughter as light and false as the smiles of their patrons.

You stood to the side, partially hidden in the shadow of a marble column. The position offered a semblance of privacy while giving you a clear view of the room. You made mental notes of the faces present—senators, generals, and merchants, all drunk on wealth and power. Their alliances and rivalries played out in every guarded glance and overly polite toast.

Senator Gracchus approached you with a goblet of wine, his face etched with age but kind. “You look like a soldier observing a battlefield,” he remarked dryly.

You smiled faintly, accepting the drink. “It feels like one. Though I’m not sure which side I belong to.”

Gracchus chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “In Rome, one must always choose a side, my dear. Even if that choice is to appear invisible.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted. “Ah, the daughter of misfortune graces us with her presence.” Senator Thraex’s saccharine tone drew the attention of those nearby. He strode toward you, his beady eyes alight with thinly veiled mockery. “I was just telling Gracchus how tragic your loss must have been. Your poor parents—what a terrible end.”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced a polite smile. “Your concern is appreciated, Senator. They are at peace now.”

Thraex clasped his hands, feigning sympathy. “Still, such a pity. A young woman like you, left all alone in this cruel city. Surely by now, you should have found a husband to protect you from its dangers?”

The words stung, though you refused to let it show. Keeping your tone steady, you replied, “I fear my reputation for independence precedes me. Not all men wish to marry someone who refuses to play the meek lamb.”

Gracchus coughed into his goblet, poorly disguising a laugh, while Thraex’s smile faltered. “How... peculiar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “Though perhaps not surprising. It would be difficult to find a suitor for one so... outspoken.”

The room seemed to hum with energy as Thraex’s face, darkened with irritation from your earlier remark, shifted into a mask of forced hospitality when his gaze landed on a man entering the crowd—a towering figure wrapped in silk and jewels, his presence as commanding as it was enigmatic. You followed Thraex's movement as he moved to greet the man, a name rippling through your thoughts: Macrinus.

You had heard whispers of him before. A former gladiator who had fought for his freedom, now a powerbroker in Rome. He supplied food, wine, and oil for the empire’s armies, manufactured weapons, and even maintained a stable of gladiators. His name carried weight, his connections extending into the darkest corners of Roman politics.

As Thraex approached Macrinus, his false charm returned, his arms spreading wide. “Macrinus!” he greeted, his voice dripping with exaggerated warmth. He clapped the man on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that bordered on theatrical. “I knew the provinces could never contain you.”

Macrinus accepted the embrace with a faint smirk, his dark eyes scanning the room with calculated ease. “I’m just here for the games,” he replied, his tone casual, though there was a hint of something sharper beneath the surface.

Thraex chuckled, his grip lingering on the man’s shoulder. “Ah well, you won't be disappointed. Rome has all the games that men like you like to play.”

“Men like me, cracks men like us.” Macrinus shot back, his grin widening. “I know nothing happens in Rome unless you… tasted it first! ”

Thraex laughed at the jab, the sound too loud to be sincere. Their exchange continued, a dance of veiled threats and mutual amusement. You lingered at the edge of the room, doing your best to blend into the shadows, your ears straining to catch every word.

Thraex handed Macrinus a gilded chalice of wine, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What's this we hear about you being interested in standing for an election to the senate practice?”

Macrinus stiffened, his surprise poorly concealed as he let out a dry chuckle. “Me? You know, I don't even know how to use an abacus,” He sipped his wine before adding with a wry smile, “but I do understand that… it's customary for your guests to make wagers at these affairs.”

Thraex’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn’t falter. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

Macrinus tilted his head thoughtfully, the jewels around his neck catching the light. “A thousand gold aureus?”

Thraex’s lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Two,” he countered smoothly.

Macrinus glanced at the courtesan draped over his arm, as if seeking her approval. The woman gave a slight nod, and Macrinus shrugged, turning back to Thraex. “Denarius,” he said simply, the single word carrying enough weight to silence Thraex for a fleeting moment.

Macrinus walked away with an easy swagger, leaving Thraex standing alone with his forced smile slipping into a scowl. The flash of irritation on his face, so quickly concealed, didn’t escape your notice.

You couldn’t suppress a small smirk of your own as you turned your attention elsewhere. Rome’s elite might dress themselves in finery and smiles, but it was clear that every word exchanged tonight was a thread in the intricate tapestry of power. Threads you were determined to unravel.

The air in the grand hall shifted, thick with anticipation as the crowd clustered toward the edges of the room. The glint of opulence—golden goblets, silk-draped tables, and jewels adorning the guests—clashed against the dark reality of what was about to unfold. Your eyes lingered briefly on a figure across the way: a man, bound in chains, sitting quietly. There was no fear in his expression, only a smoldering anger that made you uneasy.

The sound of clapping drew your attention back to the center of the room. Senator Thraex, ever the showman, raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Stand back! Stand back!” he called, his tone a mix of authority and delight.

You stepped aside, blending into the edges of the gathering, as the spectators parted to form a circle. The twin emperors, Caracalla and Geta, lounged decadently on their perch, surrounded by concubines who laughed and whispered among themselves. Their indifference to the gathering's undertones was maddening.

Thraex turned toward them with an exaggerated bow. “My emperors,” he began with a grin before addressing the audience. “Lords, ladies, senators—tonight, for your entertainment... the art of combat!”

Excited gasps rippled through the room, the revelers’ reactions equal parts anticipation and bloodlust. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Thraex gestured dramatically toward the two men brought forward—one was the same figure you’d seen earlier, still brooding but now standing tall.

“And now,” Thraex continued, “the barbarian, versus from my own stable, the mighty Vijay!”

The crowd erupted into applause as Vijay, a towering figure in a yellow tunic, was escorted forward. His opponent, the gladiator from across the room, now squared his shoulders and met Vijay’s gaze.��

“It is your gladiator?” Emperor Geta asked, his tone laced with mild amusement, as he glanced at Macrinus.

Macrinus inclined his head respectfully. “It is, your Majesty.”

Chains were removed from both men, their freedom feeling more like a death sentence. Thraex began to set the terms. “Three rounds, hand-to-hand—”

But Emperor Caracalla’s voice cut through. “Swords!” he barked, his grin wicked.

The room fell silent.

“We want swords. A fight to the death!” Caracalla continued, his voice rising with glee. “No quarter to be offered, or given!”

Thraex hesitated, his expression faltering for a moment, but the guards stepped forward, placing swords into the gladiators’ hands. You felt your stomach twist as the two men began circling one another.

The gladiator of Macrinus spoke first, his voice calm but edged with pleading. “Brother, come now. Let us not kill each other for their amusement.”

Vijay’s only response was a roar as he lunged, his sword slicing through the air. The next moments were chaos. Blades clanged as they met, sparks flying from each blow. The room seemed to shrink around the violence as tables splintered and decorations toppled.

The climax came when Vijay’s sword slipped from his grasp in the scuffle. The other gladiator seized the opportunity, driving his blade into Vijay’s chest. A sharp gasp escaped you as the larger man crumpled to the marble floor, his blood pooling beneath him.

The victor tossed his sword to the ground with a clatter, breathing heavily, his face and tunic spattered with blood. Around you, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers, their delight in stark contrast to your quiet horror.

“Remarkable!” Emperor Geta exclaimed, standing as he clapped his hands. He approached Macrinus with an approving nod. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Macrinus replied smoothly.

Geta then turned to the gladiator, studying him with newfound interest. “From where do you hail?”

The man said nothing, his jaw set, his silence defiant.

The tension in the room grew thick. Even you found yourself leaning forward, curiosity mingling with unease.

“Speak,” Geta commanded sharply. When no answer came, his impatience boiled over. “I said speak!”

Macrinus stepped in quickly, bowing his head. “Your Majesty, he is from the colonies. His native tongue is all he understands.”

The gladiator finally raised his head, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way: but to come back from hell, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

The poetry stunned you, the eloquence jarring against the brutal spectacle that had just unfolded. Around you, the room fell silent for a beat before Caracalla broke into a laugh.

“Poetry!” the Caracalla declared, grinning as he turned to Macrinus. “Very clever, Macrinus. Very clever indeed.”

Macrinus bowed slightly. “To amuse you is my only wish, your Majesty.”

“We are amused,” Geta said, though his gaze remained fixed on the gladiator. His voice rose as he addressed the room. “And we all look forward to seeing your poet… perform in the arena.”

“As do I your majesty's.” Macrinus gestured to his guard. “Viggo,” he said softly, and the guard stepped forward to escort the gladiator out of the room.

As the crowd began to disperse, murmurs of excitement rippling through the air, you remained rooted in place. Your eyes followed the blood trail left by Vijay’s body as it was dragged away. The victor—dripping in another man’s blood, yet unbowed—disappeared through the doors, his haunting words lingering in your mind like a ghost.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — LATE AFTERNOON

The villa of Domitia Lucilla stood as a serene contrast to the chaos of Rome—a sprawling sanctuary of pale stone walls and gardens heavy with the scent of roses and citrus. The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across the courtyard as you entered, the weariness from Senator Thraex’s debauched gathering weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Lucilla awaited you, standing poised near a column. Her cream stola shifted with the breeze, but her sharp gaze was unwavering, as if she had been expecting this moment.

“You’ve returned,” she said, warmth in her voice tempered by the gravity of her expression.

“I have, my lady—”

She waved off the formalities with a flick of her wrist. “Enough with that. How many times must I tell you?”

“Habit,” you replied with a faint smile, though it lacked its usual brightness.

Her lips twitched with amusement, but concern quickly took its place. “And how was Senator Thraex’s gathering? As intolerable as I feared?”

You sighed, the grotesque excess of the night flashing briefly in your mind. “More wine than wit. And blood, of course. Always blood.”

Lucilla’s mouth tightened, her brow furrowing just enough to betray her displeasure. She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Rome devours itself with spectacle. It leaves nothing but emptiness behind,” she murmured.

You nodded but didn’t speak. The heaviness of her words settled heavily on you because they were true.

“And Thraex himself?” she pressed, tilting her head.

You hesitated. “He made his usual jabs about my… unmarried state. Feigned sympathy for my family. And spent an inordinate amount of time with Macrinus, the arms dealer. It seemed more calculated than casual.”

Lucilla’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already turning. “Macrinus does not waste his time on frivolities. If Thraex is courting him, there’s more at play.”

“Something to do with the games tomorrow, perhaps?” you suggested. “He seemed eager for them.”

Lucilla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s possible. His ambitions are endless, and I fear his alliances will be the ruin of many.”

“Rome always finds a way to drag us into its mire,” you muttered bitterly.

Her hand on your shoulder tightened briefly, reassuring. “Then we tread carefully. But not tonight. Tonight, we focus on what lies ahead. The senators will convene soon, and General Acacius is to join us.”

You huffed a soft laugh, though it carried a trace of exasperation. “A grand gathering in his honor, and he doesn’t bother to attend the festivities.”

Lucilla arched a brow, her expression turning sly. “Were you hoping he would?”

Heat rushed to your face, and you fumbled for a response. “I—no, of course not. I just thought it odd.”

“Mm.” Her tone was noncommittal, but her knowing smile made you glance away.

Before you could dwell on your embarrassment, Lucilla turned down another garden path, leaving you to follow. It was there, amid the soft hum of cicadas and the golden haze of the late afternoon, that you saw him.

Marcus Acacius sat beneath a pergola, his broad shoulders bent slightly over a parchment, a quill poised in his hand. A goblet of wine sat forgotten beside him, the scene unexpectedly tranquil for a man of his reputation.

Lucilla glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “It seems you’ll get your wish after all.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, but before you could form a protest, she disappeared around the corner. Left to your own devices, you took a steadying breath and approached. The crunch of gravel underfoot drew his attention, and he looked up, his dark eyes softening as they met yours.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice low and warm, though a flicker of relief betrayed him.

You tilted your head, folding your arms as you came closer. “And I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the party was meant for you.”

Marcus chuckled, setting down his quill. “Crowded rooms filled with drunken senators and empty promises hold little appeal. I prefer the quiet.” He gestured to the bench across from him. “Join me?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken tension between you filling the air. But then you sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap.

“The games tomorrow will be particularly… extravagant,” you said, glancing at the parchment. “I’m to serve as a healer for the event.”

His brow furrowed. “You’ll be in the arena?”

“Not in it,” you replied quickly. “But close enough.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “It’s barbaric. They celebrate death, and you’re left to mend what’s left behind.”

“It’s Rome,” you said with a shrug, though the bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.

“Does it not anger you?” His voice was steady but insistent, his gaze searching yours.

You hesitated before answering. “Every day,” you admitted quietly. “But anger doesn’t heal. It doesn’t save lives.”

His hand moved, resting near yours on the table—not touching, but close enough that the space between felt charged. “You do more than heal,” he said after a moment. “You remind us of what’s worth saving.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“I only do what I can,” you said finally.

“And it’s enough,” he replied, his voice firm.

Silence settled between you, but it was not empty. It was heavy with questions left unasked, with the unshakable feeling that you knew him from somewhere beyond this life.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

He smiled faintly. “A truth.”

You studied him, the edges of recognition tugging at your mind. “Have we met before?”

His hand stilled, his expression unreadable. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s the way you look at me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you know something I don’t.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “Perhaps I’m just trying to understand you.”

“And do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze lingered on yours, as if he were searching for something—something hidden behind the words you didn’t say. His jaw tightened, and then relaxed, his hesitation drawing out the silence until it felt like the whole garden held its breath.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the courtyard. The scent of citrus blossoms drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of oil from the bronze lamps. You and Marcus sat across from each other, the heavy quiet between you punctuated by the distant hum of the city below.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “that you’re not as much of a mystery as you’d like to believe.”

You said nothing, the truth of his words settling over you. He wasn’t the first to try to understand you, but he was the first whose attempt didn’t feel like an invasion. Still, you kept your silence, hoping it would shield whatever he thought he saw.

Marcus leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering, though his tone softened. “You wear your defiance like armor. It suits you, but…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Even armor cracks under enough weight.”

Your chest tightened. There was no judgment in his voice, just quiet understanding, and that somehow made it worse. You turned your eyes to the horizon, watching as the light bled into dusk.

“And you?” you asked at last, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “What cracks your armor?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he looked away. For a long moment, you thought he might deflect or let the question fall unanswered. But then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, the facade of the unshakable general slipping.

“The things I’ve done,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The wars. The lives I’ve taken. I tell myself it was duty. For Rome. For honor. But when I close my eyes…” His hand curled into a fist on the table, the scarred knuckles white with tension. “I see their faces. The ones I killed. The ones I couldn’t save. Sometimes, I think that’s all there is left of me. Blood and ghosts.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt the sharp sting of his pain as if it were your own, and it stirred something deep within you—a desire not to fix him, but to let him be broken without shame.

“There’s more to you than that,” you said softly, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your voice. “Let the brokenness be felt, Marcus, until you reach the other side. There is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has.”

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those fierce, commanding eyes—betrayed a flicker of something fragile. “And if the edge is all that’s left?”

You shook your head. “Then you find your way back. One step, one breath, one choice at a time. You’ve already come this far.”

A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips. “You sound certain.”

“I am,” you said simply. “Because I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen men lose everything and still find the strength to rebuild. You’ve endured so much, Marcus. And yet, here you are.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt impossibly heavy, as though the weight of both your pasts had settled there. But then, something shifted—just a fraction—and the tension eased.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “How does someone like you—someone who speaks of goodness and second chances—end up in a place like this?”

You let out a soft laugh, though it held no humor. “A long story,” you said, your tone laced with irony.

He smiled faintly. “I’ve got time.”

The simplicity of his statement caught you off guard. You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of mockery, but found none. He was patient, steady, like a man who had weathered every storm and learned to endure the waiting.

You hesitated, then began to speak—not all at once, but in fragments. You told him of the choices that had brought you here, the moments of defiance and loss that had shaped you. He listened without interrupting, his focus unbroken, as though each word mattered.

When the story faltered and the silence crept back in, Marcus spoke again, his voice gentle. “You’ve carried much on your shoulders.”

You shrugged, your gaze fixed on the table. “Haven’t we all?”

He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps. But not everyone carries it as well as you.”

The compliment startled you, and you looked up to find him watching you with something like admiration. It wasn’t romantic, not yet—but it was real, and it unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite name.

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d like to.”

Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity, unadorned by pretense—made you pause. You realized, with a small jolt, that you wanted to know him, too. Not just the general, but the man beneath the armor.

“Maybe,” you said finally, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re patient.”

His smile widened, just a little, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I’ve learned to be patient,” he said. “For the right things.”

And as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, this was one of them.

The room was dark, the faint glow of torchlight from the grilled window casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. Lucilla stood beside you, her sharp eyes trained on the guards below as they exchanged shifts. She watched silently, her body tense but still, until the last of them disappeared around the corner.

With a soft sigh, she turned back into the room and extinguished the candles one by one. The light died away, replaced by the cover of darkness. Outside, a guard’s voice called up, noting that she must be retiring for the evening.

You remained quiet, holding the lamp as Lucilla adjusted her robes and pulled up the hood, the fabric obscuring her features. The air felt heavier now, laden with unspoken tension. She glanced at you, her gaze sharp even in the dim light.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.

You nodded and pulled your own hood over your head. The warmth of the lamp in your hand was a small comfort against the chill of the night.

Lucilla stepped closer, her hands gripping your forearm briefly as she said your name. “You must know,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “if you do this with us, there is a possibility that we may be discovered. And the penalties—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupted gently, meeting her gaze. There was no hesitation in your voice.

She studied you for a moment longer, then nodded, a faint flicker of respect passing over her features. Without another word, she turned toward a small shrine tucked into the corner of the room.

Kneeling, she rolled back a slab of marble with deliberate care, revealing a narrow passage that led downward. The air that seeped out was cool and damp, smelling faintly of earth and stone.

Lucilla motioned for you to follow, and you descended after her, the spiral staircase winding tightly into the depths. Your lamp cast shifting shadows on the walls, and the faint echoes of your footsteps seemed louder than they should have been.

The tunnel at the bottom was carved with care, though the stone showed its age. Lucilla moved through it with practiced ease, her robes brushing against the walls as the passage widened and opened into a massive underground catacomb.

You stopped short, your breath catching at the sight. The vaulted ceilings arched high above you, their grandeur almost otherworldly. This place was built for eternity, every detail a testament to early Roman splendor. Statues of gods and long-dead ancestors stood sentinel, their marble faces solemn in the lamplight.

Lucilla’s steps slowed as she approached a series of crypts. Each one was marked with the bust of a family member, their likenesses carved into the stone. She stopped before the bust of Marcus Aurelius, her father, and laid a hand on its smooth surface.

“Father,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow, “protect us and guide us.” Her fingers lingered for a moment before she turned away, her expression unreadable.

You wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words escaped you. There was a sacredness here that felt unshakable, a weight you couldn’t quite explain.

ANTECHAMBER — MINUTES LATER

The air in the antechamber felt thick, like the weight of centuries pressed down upon you all. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering light casting wavering shadows on faces lined with tension and purpose. The damp chill of the underground space only added to the solemnity of the moment.

Lucilla moved forward with practiced grace, her head held high despite the gravity of the meeting. The first man stepped into the torchlight, his wiry frame and sharp features softened only by the faint trace of a smile.

“Gracchus,” Lucilla said warmly, extending her hands. “Old friend.”

Gracchus clasped her hands briefly, his grip conveying both respect and concern. “My lady. I wish we were meeting in better times.”

Lucilla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The sun shone once—it will shine again.”

Gracchus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking into a sardonic smirk. “And what in heaven’s name does that mean?”

Before Lucilla could answer, a low, resonant voice emerged from the shadows. “It means hope, Gracchus.”

You started slightly, your heart skipping as a figure stepped forward. Marcus Acacius. The flickering light caught the edges of his armor, making it gleam like liquid fire. His presence filled the room effortlessly, his broad frame and steady gaze commanding attention.

Gracchus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh yes. He is shiny.”

Marcus didn’t react to the jest, but his eyes flicked between Lucilla and Gracchus before settling briefly on you. His gaze held for a beat too long, making your pulse quicken.

“Did I startle you?” he asked, his tone smooth but edged with faint amusement.

You straightened, tightening your grip on the lamp you carried. “Not at all,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but he turned his attention back to Gracchus, his expression growing serious. “We want to take back the city. To restore Rome to what it should be.”

Gracchus’s expression darkened, doubt creeping into his voice. “An exciting venture. When?”

“On the final day of the games,” Marcus replied firmly.

Gracchus raised a skeptical brow. “How?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, the tension clear as he measured his words. “My army waits for my command at Ostia. Five thousand soldiers loyal to me will enter Rome. I intend to arrest our emperors in front of the crowds at the Colosseum for their crimes against the Senate and the people.”

A long, heavy silence followed. Gracchus exchanged a wary glance with Thraex, who stood silently in the background. The two senators appeared burdened with years of cynicism, the spark of belief long extinguished.

Lucilla broke the quiet, her voice sharp and resolute. “We cannot continue to see Rome damaged, sliding further into corruption and decay.”

Thraex snorted softly, folding his arms. “Does he want to be Emperor?”

Marcus’s gaze sharpened as he shook his head. “I am a soldier, not a politician. Rome will be yours to administer and—”

Gracchus interrupted him, his tone cutting. “Your father spoke of returning power to the Senate. But that was a generation ago. Much has changed. The people haven’t seen hope for years, and—”

This time, Marcus’s voice rose slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “Rome is not yet ready to be a republic, but with time—and guidance—a vote by the people, for the people, would mean—”

Lucilla placed a steady hand on Marcus’s arm, quieting him. She turned to Gracchus, her voice calmer but no less determined. “Rome can live again. Do we have your support, Gracchus?”

Gracchus hesitated, his gaze shifting to you, then back to Marcus. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Lucilla, you are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius. He had my loyalty, and so do you.”

Lucilla allowed herself a small smile. “A political answer, but good enough. Senator Thraex?”

Thraex hesitated, his eyes flickering to you. He seemed to brace himself before speaking. “Politics follows power, my lady. Take back what is rightfully yours, and the Senate will support you.”

The room seemed to exhale as the senators gave their tentative agreement, but Gracchus’s gaze lingered on you. His voice softened. “I vowed to your parents I would take care of you. To give you a life beyond this... chaos.”

Your grip on the lamp tightened as you met his gaze, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “There is no point in life if the future of Rome is nothing but an abuse of power and position.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marcus’s expression shift. His gaze rested on you, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were seeing you in a new light.

The torches flickered, their flames casting light on faces filled with determination and shadows that hinted at the dangerous road ahead. You glanced at Marcus once more, and his eyes caught yours, a faint, unspoken understanding passing between you.

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY

The air around the Colosseum is alive with a chaotic energy that hums through the sprawling crowd. The great amphitheater towers above, its shadow sprawling across the dusty streets. Vendors shout over one another, selling honeyed dates, roasted nuts, and cheap wine. Children dart between the throngs, their quick fingers snatching at coin purses while wide-eyed newcomers marvel at the spectacle before them.

As you approach the towering Capitoline Arch, your eyes lift to the imposing statue of General Marcus Acacius atop a marble plinth. The sunlight gleams off the bronze plaque beneath, bearing the inscription: ACACIUS, VICTOR AFRICAE.

You pause, a faint sigh escaping your lips as you take it in. The statue is majestic, carved with precision to capture his strength and valor, but there’s something about its stillness, its perfection, that feels wrong. The man you’ve come to know is far more complicated than the warrior immortalized in marble.

Pulling your hood closer to shield yourself from prying eyes, you make your way toward the entrance of the Colosseum.

Outside the massive arena, the crowd is dense, funneling into the arched entrances like water forced through narrow channels. The scent of sweat, baked bread, and dust clings to the air.

A wagon lumbers past, its wheels creaking as it pulls into the rear gates of the Colosseum. The iron gates groan shut behind it with a finality that makes you shiver.

Your eyes catch on one of the gladiators stepping down from the wagon. He is broad-shouldered, with a grim expression and scars that tell stories of survival. Recognition flickers in your mind—he was at Senator Thraex’s gathering, one of Macrinus’ men.

For a moment, his gaze meets yours, sharp and searching. You quickly turn away, the weight of his stare lingering like a brand on your skin.

COLOSSEUM UNDERCROFT — DAY

The undercroft is a world unto itself, hidden beneath the grandeur of the arena above. The air here is damp and stale, filled with the mingled scents of blood, sweat, and the earthy musk of the animals kept for the games. Torches line the stone walls, their flames barely cutting through the heavy gloom.

You step carefully, the hem of your robe brushing against the uneven stones beneath your feet. Around you, the sounds of preparation echo—metallic clangs of swords being sharpened, the low murmur of prayers whispered by gladiators, and the distant roar of the crowd above, a constant reminder of what waits beyond.

A sudden shout breaks through the noise, and you flinch instinctively, your hand tightening around the lamp you carry.

“Keep moving!” A guard barks, shoving a gladiator forward.

You press yourself against the wall to let them pass, your eyes following the line of chained men as they march toward their fate. The air feels heavier here, thick with despair and the metallic tang of blood that never quite fades from the stone.

The main chamber opens ahead, a cavernous space carved from the bedrock, with a stone memorial spanning two centuries etched into one of the walls. The names carved there seem endless, a testament to the lives given—or taken—beneath this roof.

You step into the room, your eyes searching for Ravi, the healer who has been your closest ally in this grim underworld. He is leaning over a battered table, his thick canvas coat bristling with the tools of his trade—scalpels, needles, and small bottles of tinctures.

Ravi glances up as you approach, his dark eyes meeting yours. He nods, his expression weary but kind. “You’re late,” he says, his tone more teasing than reproachful.

“I was delayed,” you reply, setting the lamp down on the edge of the table.

Ravi straightens, his hands covered in the telltale stains of his work. “Delayed by a statue, no doubt,” he says with a smirk, nodding toward the hallway you came from.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Not just the statue. The entire crowd outside could rival an army.”

He chuckles softly, but his humor fades as his gaze shifts to the tools laid out before him. “It’s a mad world out there. And in here. They’ll call it glory, but we know better, don’t we?”

You nod, your fingers brushing against one of the bottles of tincture on the table. “How many today?”

“Too many,” Ravi replies grimly. “It always is. But if we don’t patch them up, they’ll be thrown back into the arena like lambs to the slaughter.”

You glance toward the memorial wall, the endless names a stark reminder of what happens when healing is no longer enough. “And yet they cheer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Ravi follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “They cheer because they’re too far away to hear the screams. From up there, it’s just a show.”

A heavy silence falls between you, the weight of his words settling in the space like a tangible presence.

Finally, Ravi breaks it, his voice quieter now. “You could have been anywhere. A villa in the hills, a proper clinic, somewhere far from all of this. Why here?”

You meet his gaze, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because someone has to be.”

Before Ravi can respond, the distant blare of a cornu horn echoes through the chamber, its mournful call summoning the combatants to the arena.

Ravi exhales, shaking his head. “That’s our cue.”

You nod, grabbing the lamp and turning toward the corridor. “Let’s hope today isn’t worse than the last.”

Ravi follows, his canvas coat swaying as he moves. “Hope’s in short supply here,” he mutters. But then, as if to lighten the mood, he adds, “But if anyone can keep these bastards alive, it’s us.”

A faint smile pulls at your lips as the two of you head toward the chaos waiting above. The sound of the horn grows louder, blending with the roar of the crowd—a noise as relentless as the tide.

The roar of the Colosseum was muffled slightly where you and Ravi stood in the shadow of the lower arches, but the sight above was impossible to ignore. Caracalla and Geta had already taken their places in the royal seats, their expressions imperious yet lacking true command. The crowd’s response to their arrival was lukewarm, tepid applause barely rippling through the masses.

Ravi glanced at you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They can’t even fake enthusiasm for their own Emperors. Telling, isn’t it?”

You nodded grimly, shifting your gaze to the arena floor where the fight’s Master of Ceremonies stood, clearly tense. He gestured sharply to the musicians, prompting them to play a fanfare in a desperate attempt to rouse the audience.

Through the giant copper horn mounted on a stand, his voice bellowed, “Citizens of Rome! These sacred games are held to honor the victory of Rome over the barbarians of Numidia—”

You winced at the crude remark, the words cutting through the air with their arrogance.

“And to honor Rome's legionary commander, General Justus Acacius!”

At the mention of Acacius, your eyes instinctively sought him out. There he was, emerging in white and gold, a gleaming figure against the harsh backdrop of the Colosseum. His presence was magnetic, commanding without effort. He moved with the same purpose he always did, though you could sense a tension in his posture, a reluctance masked by the pageantry.

Lucilla followed close behind him, her chin lifted with practiced grace. When the Master of Ceremonies announced her name—“Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius!”—the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, a stark contrast to their earlier indifference.

Beside you, Ravi let out a low whistle. “They still adore her.”

“They always will,” you murmured, watching as she ascended to the royal seats under the guise of honor, though you knew better. The two Centurions flanking her were not mere escorts but guards, a subtle display of control that would escape the average onlooker.

From this distance, it seemed she embraced the accolades, her every gesture perfectly measured. But you caught the slight flicker in her expression when she glanced toward Acacius.

“You honor us with your presence. Speak to the plebeians, Acacius,” Geta commanded, his tone laced with condescension.

You held your breath, sensing the reluctance in Marcus’s stillness. He exchanged a look with Lucilla, brief but telling, before his gaze swept across the crowd, searching. When his eyes found yours, something in his demeanor shifted—resolve, perhaps, or a need for grounding.

Finally, he rose, stepping to the railing as the crowd quieted, anticipation thick in the air. His voice, deep and steady, carried over the expanse with ease.

“I am not an orator, nor a politician,” he began, the simplicity of his words a sharp contrast to the pomp surrounding him. “I am only a soldier. Real heroism is not the stuff of games.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and intrigue mingling as Acacius’s words sank in.

“It reveals itself to us only in the service of life itself,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I have seen bravery in men during war, and from women, too—bravery that does not falter in the face of fear but rises to meet it. And even, once, in this arena.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Though his gaze never left the crowd, you felt as though those words were for you alone.

“If you pray,” Marcus’s voice deepened, his tone almost pleading, “pray that the gods will deliver us bravery like that. Because Rome needs it now.”

The silence that followed was profound, the kind that held more weight than applause. Then, slowly, the crowd erupted, their cheers cascading through the Colosseum like a wave.

You watched him step back from the railing, his expression inscrutable as he returned to his seat. But as the applause thundered on, his eyes found yours again, and in that brief moment, you saw it—something unspoken yet unmistakable.

Ravi nudged you gently, breaking the spell. “He’s good, I’ll give him that.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “Better than they deserve,” you said softly, though your thoughts were far from the Emperors.

The tension in the Colosseum was recognized as the opening ceremony came to an end. Caracalla and Geta clapped from their royal seats, their applause mechanical and devoid of genuine enthusiasm. Below, the Master of Ceremonies stood nervously, his voice amplified by the great copper horn.

“From the South Gate... fighters from the stable of Macrinus of Thysdrus!”

Your gaze darted to the southern entrance, where the gladiators emerged into the blinding sunlight. You recognized one of them—Hanno of Numidia—whose name Ravi had told you earlier. The crowd greeted them with scattered boos and jeers, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the arena itself.

Hanno walked with measured steps, his expression stoic as he led the small group to the center of the arena. His shoulders bore the weight of more than just the armor; you could see it in his eyes.

“And from the stables of our Emperors Caracalla and Geta themselves: Glyceo the Destroyer!”

The eastern gates creaked open, revealing a towering figure clad in ornate armor, seated atop a great white rhino. The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers, the noise reverberating through the stone walls. The rhino trotted with surprising agility, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as it carried Glyceo with the ease of a seasoned warrior.

From your vantage point, you saw the glint of weapons strapped to the rhino’s side—an axe, a sword, a mace, and a bola. Glyceo reached for the mace, gripping its heavy handle with a confidence born from countless victories.

The first gladiator dared to challenge the beast, stepping forward with his sword raised. He attempted to dodge the rhino’s charge at the last moment, but the creature’s speed and precision were unmatched. The horn struck him with brutal force, sending him flying across the arena before the rhino finished him off with a savage thrust.

Your stomach churned as the body was tossed aside like a ragdoll. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder.

Hanno stood still, his gaze fixed on the carnage. Then, almost imperceptibly, he crouched and scooped a handful of sand from the arena floor, letting it sift through his fingers. The gesture was hauntingly familiar—a ritual Maximus had performed before every fight.

Beside you, Ravi murmured, “Do you see that? He remembers.”

You glanced at Lucilla in the royal box, noting the flicker of something in her expression—recognition, perhaps, or sorrow. But she quickly masked it, her face hardening as she turned back to the arena.

The rhino charged again, this time with Glyceo’s mace raised high. Hanno sidestepped at the last possible moment, but the rhino’s horn clipped him, sending him sprawling. Dust clouded the air as the beast wheeled around, disoriented by the sunlight.

Hanno was quick to act. He flung the remaining sand into the air, creating a bright, blinding curtain that obscured his movements. The rhino charged again, unable to see clearly, and slammed full force into the arena wall. Glyceo was thrown like a ragdoll, his body hitting the stone with a sickening thud.

The rhino staggered, its massive frame reeling as it struggled to regain its footing. Hanno retrieved his sword and advanced on Glyceo, who was already scrambling to his feet. Their blades met in a clash of steel, sparks flying as Glyceo’s superior strength began to overwhelm Hanno.

You leaned forward, gripping the stone railing as Glyceo delivered a brutal series of blows, forcing Hanno to his knees. The crowd chanted, their bloodlust palpable.

Lucilla gasped, turning away, her hand trembling as it gripped the edge of her seat. Even Macrinus, who had been watching with a calculating gaze, shook his head slightly.

Glyceo raised his short sword, poised to deliver the final blow. He paused, turning to the royal box for approval.

“Shall we spare his life, brother?” Geta asked, his tone mockingly casual.

Caracalla shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some blood.”

Geta ignored him, his attention shifting to Lucilla. “Lucilla, shall we show mercy?”

Lucilla hesitated, her voice trembling. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, choked with guilt and something deeper.

Geta stood, raising his fist. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as he slowly extended his thumb upward, granting Hanno his life. The Colosseum erupted in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived.

“No,” Hanno said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The crowd stilled, murmurs of confusion rippling through the stands.

“No mercy,” he repeated, his tone resolute.

Geta’s face twisted in disbelief. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses—”

“I will not accept mercy,” Hanno interrupted, rising to his feet despite the blood dripping from his wounds. He turned to the royal box, his gaze unwavering. “I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy.”

The crowd erupted in chaos—laughter, jeers, and shouts of encouragement mingling in a cacophony of sound.

“Fight on, then, fool, and die,” Geta spat, his face reddening with embarrassment.

Glyceo lunged, his mace swinging in a wide arc. Hanno ducked, his movements fueled by desperation and fury. With a final burst of strength, he seized his fallen short sword and drove it into Glyceo’s abdomen. The mighty gladiator staggered, his expression one of shock before he collapsed, lifeless, into the sand.

The crowd roared its approval, chanting Hanno’s name as he stood victorious. From the royal box, Macrinus smiled, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. You couldn’t help but watch Hanno with a mixture of awe and apprehension, your heart pounding as the weight of the moment settled over the arena.

COLOSSEUM HOSPITAL ROOM — NIGHT

The dim light of flickering oil lamps cast wavering shadows on the rough stone walls of the makeshift infirmary. The smell of blood, sweat, and burnt herbs clung to the air like a heavy shroud. Ravi moved methodically among the injured, tending to other gladiators with a calm, steady hand.

You were left alone with Hanno. He sat on a wooden stool, his posture tense despite the exhaustion etched into his features. A deep, jagged wound marred his upper arm, the torn flesh angry and raw. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, drawn to the scent of blood and sweat.

You crouched beside him, your hands deftly inspecting the wound. “This needs to be cleaned and stitched up,” you murmured, glancing up at him briefly. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable.

He broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

You paused, meeting his gaze again as you answered, giving your name. You nodded toward the other side of the room. “That man over there is Ravi. We’re both doctors—or as close to it as you’ll get here. More men die of infected wounds than in the arena itself.”

Hanno tilted his head slightly, watching you as you prepared the tools of your trade. “This is going to hurt,” you added, your tone both matter-of-fact and soft.

You handed him a small pipe, its carved edges worn smooth from use.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining it with mild suspicion.

“Devil’s breath and opium,” you explained. “For the pain. Breathe it in.”

Hanno hesitated for only a moment before placing the pipe between his lips. He inhaled deeply, his expression neutral as the sharp, bitter taste hit his tongue. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing steadied.

“The effects are different for us all,” you said gently, noting the way his features softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

When his eyes opened again, they were hazy, unfocused. “Your voice…” he muttered, blinking at you as if trying to place something familiar.

“What about it?” you asked with a small smile, distracting him as you began cleaning the wound.

“It’s… nice,” he replied, his words slow and slightly slurred. “Kind.”

You gave a soft chuckle, focusing on the task at hand. “Don’t get used to it. This part isn’t going to feel so kind.”

He took another draw of the pipe just as you began stitching the torn flesh with catgut. The needle pierced his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, coughing as a puff of opium-laden smoke escaped his lips and drifted into the air between you.

“Where’d you learn your trade?” he asked, his voice rough but steady.

You kept your focus on the stitches, your hands moving with practiced precision. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got a light hand,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced up briefly, the corners of your lips quirking. “You don’t strike me as someone who hands out compliments easily.”

The faint flicker of the oil lamp threw warm shadows across the stone walls of the infirmary. The low hum of muffled groans and whispered prayers filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and herbs. His dark eyes, hazy from the drug, remained fixed on you as you worked.

“I don’t,” he murmured, his voice soft and slow. “But I’ve had enough wounds stitched up to know the difference between butchery and care.”

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and a soft chuckle escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, his tone unusually earnest.

Your laugh echoed softly in the quiet room, and his lips curved in response. Hanno was inebriated now—high on the devil’s breath and opium. He looked at you, his gaze almost childlike in its wonder, as if the haze had stripped away some of the weight he carried.

“What we do in life echoes in eternity,” you said suddenly, your voice a mix of reverence and melancholy.

The words hung in the air, timeless and heavy. You paused, your fingers stilling over the bandage.

Hanno blinked, as if chasing a memory. “I feel I know those words…”

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t take credit for them. They’re written on a tomb here, over the bones of a gladiator.”

He let the words sink in, his gaze distant but thoughtful. You returned to your work, your hands moving with practiced precision as you tied off the final stitch and smoothed the bandage over his wound.

“There,” you said, leaning back to admire your handiwork. “I think that should hold.”

Hanno’s eyes drifted to his arm. He reached out, almost absently, and ran his fingers across the crude stitches. His touch was featherlight, as if testing the reality of it.

You stood, gathering your tools and reaching for the pipe still clutched in his hand. But before you could take it, he brought it to his lips again, inhaling deeply. The motion was slow and deliberate, his dark eyes fixed on you through the curling smoke.

You paused, watching him, but said nothing. After a moment, you gave a small nod and turned back to pack away the rest of your supplies.

“Why did you let me take another hit?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now, as if the opium was tugging him toward vulnerability.

You glanced over your shoulder, your expression unreadable. “Because sometimes, we need the pain to go quiet for a while.”

Hanno held your gaze for a long moment, his lips curving into a faint, lopsided smile. “You understand more than most,” he said quietly.

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words lingered. As you turned back to your work, his voice broke the silence again, softer this time.

He said your name a tender echo in the quiet room. “Do you believe it?”

“Believe what?” you asked, not turning around.

“That what we do in life echoes in eternity.”

You stilled, your hands tightening slightly around your tools. Finally, you turned to face him, your expression thoughtful. “I think… the choices we make, the lives we touch—they ripple outward. Whether it’s eternity or just a fleeting moment, I think it matters.”

Hanno’s gaze didn’t waver, even through the haze of the drug. “You matter,” he said, his voice low but steady.

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing. He meant it.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a small smile. “Rest now, Hanno. You’ll need your strength.”

He didn’t protest, but his eyes lingered on you as you turned away, your heart inexplicably heavier and lighter all at once.

LUCILLA’S VILLA – EVENING

The villa shimmered under the moonlight, its alabaster walls soaking in the silver glow. Marble columns cast long shadows across the flagstones, and the air hummed with the gentle chorus of cicadas. Somewhere in the gardens, the delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the faint tang of the sea breeze.

You stood at the edge of the terrace, a delicate glass of spiced wine cradled between your fingers. The cool air kissed your skin, but it couldn’t chase away the heat simmering beneath—an ache born of exhaustion, frustration, and something you dared not name. The day had unraveled like a tragedy, the gods watching with cruel amusement as you struggled to hold it together.

Behind you, the sound of soft footfalls broke the stillness.

“You stand there as though the weight of Rome rests on your shoulders,” a voice drawled, smooth and familiar.

You turned, finding Lucilla leaning against the stone archway, her golden hair catching the light of the lanterns flickering nearby. She regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and knowing—Lucilla had a way of reading people like scrolls, unrolling their secrets with unnerving ease.

“Does it not?” you replied, attempting a wry smile, though it faltered before it could fully form.

Lucilla stepped closer, her movements fluid, regal. “Rome’s weight has crushed stronger people than us,” she said softly, joining you at the balustrade. “The key is learning when to carry it—and when to set it down.”

You scoffed, swirling the wine in your glass. “And how often do you set it down?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Far less than I should.” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “But I’m not the one standing out here, staring at the stars as though they hold the answers.”

The faint humor in her tone was a lifeline, grounding you. “If the stars do have answers, they’re not sharing them with me,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Lucilla’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand lightly on your arm. “The answers aren’t in the stars,” she said. “They’re in here.” She tapped lightly against your chest, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve already carried so much. Don’t forget you’re allowed to put it down—just for a while.”

Her words settled over you like a balm, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of distant laughter interrupted, drawing both your gazes toward the villa’s golden glow.

Lucilla sighed, stepping back. “The night calls,” she said, her tone laced with resignation. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lucilla,” you replied, watching as she disappeared into the shadows of the villa, her presence leaving an unspoken promise of strength in its wake.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the night’s hum. You exhaled, leaning against the wood, letting the day’s exhaustion seep into your bones. But the solace was short-lived.

“Finally,” a low, gravelly voice murmured from the shadows.

You startled, your hand flying to your chest. “Marcus!” you hissed, your heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped forward, his broad frame illuminated by the flickering lantern light. His tunic was slightly disheveled, and his dark curls fell across his brow, softening the hard planes of his face. Yet his eyes—those piercing eyes—held a fire that made it impossible to look away.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Not tonight.”

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to rebuff him. “And you thought sneaking into my quarters was the solution?”

Marcus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been on my mind all evening,” he said simply, the weight of his confession hanging between you. “Do you know how maddening it is? Seeing you, hearing you, but never being close enough?”

Your breath caught, and you shook your head, trying to keep your composure. “Marcus, this—whatever this is—it's dangerous. You know that.”

“Danger is nothing new to me,” he said, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.

“Marcus…” you began, but your voice faltered as his fingers brushed against yours, tentative and fleeting.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will. But if you don’t—”

The unspoken promise in his words sent a shiver racing down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, you found yourself tilting your face toward his touch as his hand cupped your cheek.

“I’ve seen you fight for others, care for them,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “Let me fight for you. Let me care for you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I do,” he countered, his forehead nearly touching yours. “And I’m asking anyway.”

His breath was warm against your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance, your mouth meeting his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender.

The world fell away in that moment, the chaos and the danger replaced by the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.

You pulled back, your chest heaving, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. “This doesn’t make the world any less dangerous,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“No,” he agreed, his gaze locked on yours. “But I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you.”

His words sent a shiver through you, a dangerous mix of devotion and desire. And as he kissed you again, softer this time, you realized that perhaps the fire he promised wasn’t something to fear—but something you’d already been consumed by.

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sodavizz · 2 months ago

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— Christmas Won't Be The Same Without You.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff again :3

Wc: 1.3k+

Author's Note: Tadaa!! It's almost Christmas time baby! I'm super duper excited as it is already half of November!! Are you all ready to celebrate it, cause I sure am!

The snow was falling softly outside, coating the world in a blanket of white. The small town where Daisuke had grown up was quiet, the streets lined with festive lights and decorations. Inside his parents' house, however, there was nothing quiet about it. The living room was alive with the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air, and the soft crackle of a fire burning in the hearth. It was the perfect Christmas setting, and you were sharing it with Daisuke.

“Can you believe it?” Daisuke said, his voice full of excitement as he stood beside you in the entryway. His eyes sparkled with that familiar joy you adored. “Christmas at my parents’ house. I'm sure they're just as excited you are to meeting each other!”

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through you as he took your hand, pulling you into the house. “I’m really happy to be here with you, Daisuke. This place feels so… cozy.”

His grin widened. “It’s definitely cozy. And my mom’s cooking is legendary, so get ready for some serious holiday feasting. You might not even have room for dessert by the end of the night.”

You laughed, feeling your stomach growl at the thought of what awaited. You’d heard a lot about Daisuke’s mom’s cooking, but this would be your first time tasting it. You could already smell the roast turkey and baked goods wafting from the kitchen.

The house was warm, full of life, and adorned with decorations that felt like they had been carefully placed with love. Christmas stockings hung from the mantle above the fireplace, each one bearing a name stitched in gold thread, and a grand tree stood in the corner, its branches weighed down with ornaments, tinsel, and fairy lights. The atmosphere was peaceful but bustling, with Daisuke’s parents—his mother in a festive red apron and his father pulling drinks from the fridge—filling the space with energy and laughter.

Daisuke led you to the living room where his family was already gathered. His parents, always warm and welcoming, greeted you with open arms.

“Ah, there you are, so you're the one my son keeps going on and on about!” His mother beamed as he mumbled something to her, seeming embarrassed she would expose him about that. She then stepped forward to give you a hug. “We’ve been waiting for you both. Everything’s ready for dinner, but we can always add more if you’re hungry before the big meal!”

“You must be starving after the drive!” his father added with a grin, holding out a glass of eggnog. “Don’t be shy, help yourself.”

You chuckled and accepted the drink, glancing over at Daisuke, who was practically glowing in his own way, standing close by with a proud smile.

“You must be excited to have us here,” you teased.

He nodded eagerly. “Are you kidding? I’ve been counting down the days to Christmas here with you and my family. I think I’ve spent almost every Christmas here since I was a kid, and this time it’s even better because you’re with me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. There was something about being here, in the warmth of his family’s home, surrounded by love, that made everything feel like it was falling into place.

“I’m really happy to be here, too,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “It feels so... right.”

Daisuke grinned and reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning to his parents. “I think it’s time for us to get the party started! We still need to do the Secret Santa exchange, and I’m pretty sure everyone’s excited for that.”

His mom laughed. “Oh yes, we can’t forget about that! We all got something special this year, so I hope everyone’s ready for a little holiday fun.”

Dinner was a true feast. The table was piled high with everything you could imagine—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, roasted vegetables, and an assortment of freshly baked rolls. In the center, a large cranberry sauce dish sat alongside platters of sweet potatoes and baked brussels sprouts. Daisuke’s mom had clearly outdone herself, and as you dug into your meal, you could tell that everyone was savoring each bite.

Between mouthfuls, you shared stories with Daisuke’s family, laughing and chatting about everything from your childhood traditions to more recent adventures. Daisuke’s dad was particularly fond of telling embarrassing stories about Daisuke when he was little, which had everyone in stitches. Daisuke, for his part, seemed unbothered by it all, even joining in with some of his own stories about his mischievous younger days.

But it wasn’t just the food or the laughter that made this night feel special—it was the way Daisuke kept glancing at you with that soft, affectionate look in his eyes, the way his hand would subtly brush against yours under the table, or how he’d pull you close during moments when no one was looking, as if to remind you that this was your time together.

After dinner, Daisuke insisted on taking you outside to see the backyard, which, as it turned out, had a stunning view of the town covered in snow. The Christmas lights from nearby houses reflected off the snow, creating a soft, magical glow that made the night feel like something out of a holiday movie.

“Come here,” Daisuke said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and guiding you to the porch. “This is one of my favorite parts of Christmas—just looking out over the snow. My family used to come out here every Christmas Eve when I was younger and just… enjoy the peace.”

You stood with him, watching the snow fall gently, the cool air brushing against your skin. His presence beside you, his warmth, was enough to make everything feel even more magical.

“I never imagined I’d get to spend Christmas like this,” you murmured, leaning into him. “It’s been perfect.”

Daisuke smiled down at you, his fingers threading through yours as he pulled you a little closer. “I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, just to share it all with you. Christmas is better when you’re with the people you love, and that’s all I want for us.”

You leaned up to kiss him, the moment soft, gentle, and full of meaning. When you pulled away, Daisuke’s face was alight with happiness, his eyes sparkling.

“Merry Christmas, the most beautiful person I've ever seen,” he said softly.

You chuckled at his compliment as you stared deeply into his eyes in an, oh such affectionate way.

“Merry Christmas, Handsome,” you whispered back.

Later, as the evening drew on, everyone gathered around the tree for the Secret Santa exchange. You’d gotten Daisuke’s mom, and after some playful teasing, she opened the gift you’d picked out—a beautiful hand-knitted scarf, which she immediately wrapped around her neck with a delighted laugh. Then, Daisuke gave you your gift, a small box wrapped with care. When you opened it, you found a delicate silver bracelet with a charm that read together, a reminder of how far you’d come and how much you meant to each other.

You blinked back tears as you hugged him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I love it, Daisuke. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his voice full of affection as he kissed your forehead. “This is just the beginning of our holiday together. I want to make this Christmas the best one yet.”

As the evening wound down, the two of you snuck off to a quiet corner of the living room, away from the laughter and chatter, to enjoy each other’s company in peace. With the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights surrounding you, Daisuke wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“This is all I ever wanted,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “To be with you, here, now.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his family, the love between you, and the gentle snowfall outside, you knew he was right. It didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together.

“Merry Christmas, Daisuke,” you whispered, kissing him again.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, smiling softly, his heart as full as yours.

#[★—sodavizz]#mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #daisuke mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing daisuke #daisuke mouthwashing #can you guys tell whos my favortie hehe #i love this cutie stop

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acotarxreader · 8 months ago

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Pancake

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Celebrating Feyre's 21st with a large party at the House of Wind proves to be quite triggering for you as you battle with the demons that followed you out of Under the Mountain.

Warnings: Panic attack (claustrophobia) followed by super fluff

A/N: This is really a cute fic, maybe one of my favourites. Reader has a panic attack so proceed with caution or don't at all if you think this may upset you! Let me know what you think!

P.S laughing that after Jilted I said I'd give you a more silly goofy fic and then produce this 👀 next one I promise!👀

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Fifty years. Fifty years you and Rhysand were separated from your family. Days dripping into weeks, into months, into years. Birthdays, Starfalls, and Solstices lost to the mountain. You had both been reunited with your family for a year now, your first Winter Solstice as a family again. You stood on the balcony watching your friends dance and drink and be free, Rhysand having thrown a large party for Feyre's 21st birthday. A genuine smile grew at the sight of such joy, all on their way to becoming whole again. Your eyes found Feyre and Rhysand drifting up the stairs towards a secluded balcony, your smile doubling in size at the mischievous grin plastering your cousin's face.

“Don’t you look radiate YN” You turned to look down at Azriel at the bottom of the grand staircase.

“Don’t I always Az” he nodded in agreement, closing in the distance between you, you had missed him deeply, never thinking you’d have the pleasure of dancing with your best friend again. Azriel had spent your time away from him in utter torment, echoed in his friend's mutual feelings of uselessness at the loss of the two of you.

“Azriel, there you are! Come watch the surprise with me, fireworks I believe” Elains little voice came from behind Azriel, he turned happily towards her, a pang of jealousy beating through you. Before the Mountain took you from your family you and Azriel were quickly developing into more but something cracked in you, you couldn’t find your way back to him when you were freed. He gave you the space you needed to recover and in that time found a new obsession in Elain and you accepted that you may never be fixed but Elain could be.

“Would you like to come too YN?” you sensed the undertone of pity from Elain that Azriel would never see as anything other than her caring. You tried to keep the smile on your face, faltering for a moment before returning to full strength.

“I’m actually going to get a drink from inside, but go ahead” You looked up at the night sky, such beauty you missed so much, Azriel looked at you with the same sentiment before following Elain back down the steps.

You entered the House Of Wind through the gigantic doors, caterers frantically ran from place to place holding various trays and jugs. You ducked and dove avoiding the chaos, no one noticed you as you moved through the mayhem, your speciality. You took a flute of champagne from a passing tray before catching a glimpse of your face in a large silver serving dish. You looked tired, still not yourself a year later.

You headed into the closest bathroom in a service hallway, gently pining up fallen strands of hair. You sighed into the mirror of the small room, feeling the mask slip for a moment before you righted it again, forcing the fake smile so as not to make others uncomfortable.

Your hand moved to the door handle, shaking it gently when you found it did not give under your touch. You pushed the door, it solidly pushing back. You tried to squash the rising panic in your throat, this is fine this is fine this is fine you repeated over and over like a mantra in your mind.

You lowered yourself to look out the keyhole to find solid wood staring back at you. They had blocked you in with a large, solid, service trolley, wider than the door you tried to push through. You banged on the door with your palms, calling out for anyone, the shouts getting lost in the bedlam of the service hallway before it emptied entirely, the staff going to watch the show.

You backed away from the oak, trying to catch your fleeting breath. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. The word roaring in your head, dizzying dread coming to a boiling point in you. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

Suddenly a loud bang was set off, and another and another. You found yourself collapsing to the freezing floor of the forgotten bathroom, screaming to match the pitch of the fireworks outside. You clung your knees into your chest before beginning to frantically paw your ears trying to stop the drumming. Your fingers matting into your hair, making it a knot in the chaos of trying to block the sound. You were hyperventilating as the fireworks came on with more fierceness. You were drowning. You were back Under The Mountain. You were back to being out of control. Back to being being kept deep within the earth, the sound of Fae being tortured mimicked in the booming fireworks.

“YN!” through the thick choking energy of your fear, a familiar voice came like a lifeboat in a storm but you were gone to the sea. Gone to the panic. Drowning. Drowning. Drowning. Steady, scared hands reached for your tangled hands pulling them from clawing your ears, out of blurry vision you saw the opened door, the towering service trolley smashed to the ground as Azriel clung to your hands. You tried to dive for the gap, off balance from the panic, unable to lift yourself from your seat, you fell onto your side on the tile, the thud of your chin echoing in Azriels ears.

“YN! You’re okay you’re okay!” he pulled you upright and rubbed the back of your hands as your tormented eyes found him through the floods of tears. He counted quietly in rhythm, helping you to steady your breathing but the flashbacks of that horrid place and great loss ran through your mind like a runaway train. This was Azriel. Azriel. Azriel. This was home. Home. You were home. Another booming firework was set off, plunging you back to being drowned. Azriel stood, plucking you from the ground like a discarded rag doll before he dissolved you both in shadows.

The two of you landed with control on the bridge that crossed the Sidra. The sound of the fireworks merely bursts in the distance. Your hands lay flat on the cold stone of the bridge and then you were violently ill, vomiting into the rushing river below as Azriel rubbed your back with one hand and held your hair gently in the other. You then sailed to the ground, your back resting against the freezing stone, waves of panic replaced with equal volumes of exhaustion. Silence swaddled you like comfort, shadows softly sweeping away stray tears as they fell. You found a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth at them, Azriel’s muscles relaxing at the sight.

“Thank you Az” you managed to breathe out.

“Please don’t thank me, it's my job to-to protect you” You rolled your head along the stone to look towards the shadowsingers soft gaze. You leaned into his side, gazing up to your beloved Velarian sky, your heart rate returning to softening levels.

“YN ho-how often does that happen you?”

“More than I want to admit Az, I feel like I haven’t slept in 50 years” you admitted, his hand wrapping into yours.

“Go back to the party Az, Elain will be wondering where you ran to”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you, c’mon let's walk home” he smiled, standing and pulling you up to meet him, his hand slotting in around your waist to support your weakened legs. You both began to stroll in the direction of Azriel’s disused apartment, more often than not he opted to stay in The House of Wind or the Town House rather than sleep alone in his house. But tonight, those places were in the thick of the loud celebration, his secluded apartment on the other side of the Sidra a haven from the revelry. You didn’t object to this knowing you hadn’t it in you to go back into the bustling city.

You followed Azriel into his small studio apartment, and he immediately set about cleaning the space you hadn’t been in in 51 years.

“Sorry for the mess” He threw stray clothes into a basket as you looked around the place you didn’t think you’d ever see again, the mess of forgotten projects and clothes a new feature for the normally regimented Illyrian.

“I umm didn’t come here much when you were-when you were gone” he admitted before flicking his wrist and the sheets of the bed changed.

“Why not? You used to love to brood up here” you grinned, sitting on the edge of the soft cotton sheets. Azriel threw his suit jacket over a chair and began rolling his shirt sleeves up, without taking his eyes from you, his own smile matching yours. You suddenly felt conscious of the mess of now matted hair and make-up down your face, your hand wiping the smudges of kohl away from under your eye.

“To be honest YNN, it felt wrong here without you, the whole of Velaris did” he crossed the room to the dresser, reaching into the top drawer to pull out one of your night sets.

“I can’t believe you still have some of my things here”

“I kept them for when you would come back…I never let myself think that you weren’t coming back to me” You took the set from him, smiling softly before moving to change in the bathroom, leaving the door open as Azriel threw a pillow for himself on the couch, snapping his fingers and changing into his own night attire. He tried not to let his eyes linger on you as you moved towards his bed for the first time in forever before you layed down in the buttery sheets.

“Az-Can you-Can you sleep here next to me, I know it might be weir-” You didn’t get to finish as Azriel needed no further invitation, sinking into the bed alongside you. He merely snapped his fingers and the lights dropped only to have one in the corner of the room stayed lit for your comfort.

“Are you feeling okay YNN?”

“Mmm, thanks for leaving the light on” you hummed in response.

"It's for me as much as you, I share you're sentiment about being kept in the dark" you nuzzled gently into his side at his heartbreaking words and for the first time in so long you knew you’d sleep with nothing but ease.

“I missed you so much my love” He whispered into your hair, sleep taking full hold of you as he kissed your forehead and found yourselves sleeping the best he had in 51 years.

For the rest of the night you both stayed in cuddled bliss, the world going on around you but the only place that mattered was the world you had both made in his apartment.

The light came through the slots of the blinds hitting his eyes as he woke and rested his chin on the top of your head as you were deeply cuddled into him, the clock showing 8:30am. He gently pulled from you as you groaned but still unable to open you’re world-weary eyes.

You shot up in the bed to the sound of a crash, for a moment forgetting where you were only to laugh at the recoiling Illyrian holding a frying pan while wincing in the kitchen across from you, his wings coated in a thin layer of flour.

“What the fuck Az?” you found yourself laughing before rubbing your hands down your face and glancing at the clock as it showed 10am.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m trying to be be cute!” You raised an eyebrow, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and standing. Your mouth fell open at the full sight of the destroyed kitchen. Every single surface covered in various baking ingredients. You walked cautiously towards the floury disarray before looking into a bowl of what you presumed started as pancakes. You attempted to move the whisk in the batter, it stuck to the bowl like a stick in cement.

“Az, what possessed you to try to poison me?” you laughed so heartily it made Azriels heart leap.

“I was trying to comfort you” he genuinely seemed embarrassed, your hand going to his cheek, wiping away flour freckles.

“I love that you’re such an adorable dork” You shook your head gently grinning.

“I love you” Your hand slowly dropped from his face in almost shock at his words.

“I love you so fucking much YN, I hated myself every day you were gone for not saying it and for the past year I wanted to but I didn’t want to add to any stress you might be holding on to-”

“-You could never make me stress Az…unless you make me eat this” you laughed and his eyes beamed at the sound he wished to only hear for the rest of his life. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he happily leaned into the kiss. Home. This was home and this was Azriel.

“I love you too” you breathed against his lips, his hands meeting your hips before dropping to the backs of your legs and lifting you from the ground. Your legs wrapped around him as you caught hold of his t-shirt, deepening the kiss further, for the first time in a year you felt the deep crack in your soul begin to stitch together again. The kiss grew hungrier as Azriel angled you to hover you above the counter before gently putting you down.

“ARGH!” you shrieked as the freezing cold pancake batter he put you down on soaked immediately through your shorts. You leapt from the counter with lightning speed, trying to pull the fabric from your skin as Azriel roared with laughter.

“Something funny flour face?” you said through rising laughter as Azriel tried to collect himself.

“If you get a chance do you think you could take some of the batter off your shorts and make breakfast” you lightly scoffed at his words before taking a fist of batter and clapping it right into his chest.

“Oh you’re so dead YN!” he howled at the cold through tears of laughter, grabbing the bowl and proceeding to chase you around his house, your home.

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Hehe, whatcha think!

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moamidzyism · 10 months ago

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[12:30am] (c.yj)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 2074 smut ౨ৎ minors DNI ˚⁺。˚ // repost ୨୧ frat boy!yeonjun x fem!reader, friends with benefits, mentions of alcohol, college!au, unprotected sex [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

“come to my party tonight.” yeonjun was all but on his knees begging you.

“you’re throwing a party?” the rays of sun peeking in from his blinds shone on you as your were digging through the mess on the floor looking for your clothes.

“my frat is,” he confessed, “i promise, it will be fun.” he quickly added when he saw your face turn sour from the side.

“you know that i don’t like these things.” you finally turn to face him as you pull up your pants. the t-shirt you wore to his place last night was still somewhere in the mess.

“i know,” he drags you back down into bed with him. “but i’ll be there with you the entire time.” he pulls you into a kiss, despite your contests about your class that was starting in half an hour.

in the five and a half months that you had been hooking up with him, you’ve come to know yeonjun as many things – the corny, unserious, silly loser that was posing as the super cool, ultra confident frat social chair – but you didn’t know that he was also a liar. because you had been at this party for an hour and you had only seen him a grand total of once, when you walked in and he told you to wait for him in the kitchen.

so you do as he says and wait in the kitchen for twenty minutes while he’s in the backyard playing some drinking game with his frat brothers. for a moment, you think about going outside to meet him, but you ultimately decide that you were not one to beg for attention. instead, you weave through the sweaty bodies that filled the house and find yourself on the living room couch. looking around the room, you start to wonder why you’re still here.

you’re pulled out of your thoughts when you feel a figure beside you. “hey, y/n, right?” you turn to the side to see who called your name and see a tall boy sitting beside you. he looks familiar but you can’t quite place your finger on where you had seen him. “it’s taehyun.” he says after noticing the look of confusion on your face as you try to place where you know him from.

when you still fail to do so, he sighs. “i’m yeonjun’s little. we have advanced comp together.”

“oh, that taehyun. i knew you looked familiar.”

“not familiar enough, if you couldn’t remember me.”

“i’m really bad with faces,” you try to excuse yourself, “and names,” you add, making him chuckle.

“i thought yeonjun would have for sure mentioned me to his girlfriend.” he says to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“oh, i’m not his girlfriend.”

“really? i always see you two together, especially around here.”

“we’re just friends. we are not together.” you made sure to especially emphasize the last sentence.

“so, what are you doing here?”

“i was just wondering the same thing,” you mostly say to yourself.

“well, i was going to go outside to play beer pong, but i saw you sitting by yourself.”

“aren’t you the sweetest?” you tease him, making him blush.

“yeah, and i need a partner.”

“oh, i appreciate you keeping me company, but i’m not really a drinker.”

“well, i don’t plan on losing.” he stands up, reaching his hand out for you to join him. you take it with a shy smile and follow him outside to play.

you soon realize that taehyun was right. he was actually really good at beer pong. you guys had already played against two other pairs and you hadn’t once tasted alcohol.

as you guys celebrate your second win, you feel a familiar presence behind you. “i call next round,” you hear your friend’s voice. you and taehyun turn around to see a glaring yeonjun. even though you’re outside and the air is cool, you can’t help but heat up as your blood rushes up to your face when you meet yeonjun’s gaze. to say that this moment is awkward is a gross understatement.

still, taehyun remains as cool as the night. his hands find solace on the back of his neck, rubbing ever so slightly. “yeah, sure, do you have a partner?”

“i think i can take both of you by myself.” yeonjun responds, ever so confidently. you roll your eyes.

tonight you’ve uncovered two important facts about yeonjun that you were not privy to prior. the first, obviously being that he is a liar, and the second being that he is very good at beer pong. not surprising, given that he is a member of a frat, but now intimidating because before you knew it there was only one cup in front of you and it’s his turn again.

taehyun, who has really been the main player of your team, is now barely standing straight. throughout the game, yeonjun has been egging him to drink all your losses for you because he knows that you can’t handle your alcohol, and taehyun, was really a trooper, not wanting to disobey his big.

a crowd begins to form around the three of you and yeonjun carelessly throws the ping pong ball that effortlessly falls into the red solo cup in front of you. the crowd erupts in cheers, yeonjun, seemingly unfazed by the attention, smirks directly at his frat brother, who picks up the cup with despair in his eyes.

you take the cup from him and pour the content onto the grass below you.

yeonjun, still riding the wave of his victory, seizes your arm and pulls you away from the crowd. you shoot taehyun a regretful look, or at least try to. yeonjun is pulling you away too quickly, and he is still looking down, trying to stabilize himself, before he too is dragged off into the party.

yeonjun leads you upstairs to his room. as the door closes behind you, the jubilant cheers of the crowd are muffled, and it’s just the two of you in the warmth of his bedroom.

“that was so uncalled for,” you tell him, your hands planted firmly on your hips.

“he’ll be fine,” yeonjun reassures you, his voice low and seductive. he inches closer to you, sliding his hands between you, pulling you into an intimate embrace. “he should know better.” his lips trail along your jawline, peppering kisses in a way that makes your heart race.

“he’s a freshman,” you state, trying to maintain a semblance of seriousness amid the growing intensity. yeonjun’s kisses continue, like he’s deliberately trying to distract you from the brewing conversation.

“and you’re mine.” he declares between kisses. “he shouldn’t be touching what’s mine.”

“i’m not yours, one.” you retort, pushing his head away from you. “two, he wasn’t touching me. and three, you left me in the kitchen for twenty minutes.”

“i’m sorry about that. i shouldn’t have left you alone when i invited you.” yeonjun conceded, trying to bridge the gap between the two of you with another kiss. however, you dodge him, demanding an explanation with a straight face.

“y/n, i’m not going to apologize for telling people in my frat that you’re my girlfriend.”

“wait, you’ve been telling people that i’m your girlfriend?” you move his hands that were previously around your waist. he stands opposite you now, with his hands by his side.

“well, you kind of are,” he responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“no i’m not.”

“you should be.”

“you were the one who said that you weren’t looking for a relationship.”

“but i like you. why is that a problem?”

“because this is the first i’m hearing about this.”

“so do you want me to show you how much i like you?” he proposes, a lingering question that hangs in the charged air between you.

“can we at least talk about this first?”

“we can, but i’ve been wanting to kiss you since i saw you playing with taehyun.” he looks at you with his signature pout. “can i just kiss you first, and maybe we can talk?”

“not maybe. we are going to talk.” you concede and he pulls you into a passionate kiss.

you try so hard not to succumb to him, but his arms are wrapping around your waist in the way that he knows drives you crazy. he pulls you closer to his bed, laying you down gently, his lips still attached to your jawline.

“j-jun,” you moan out his name.

“i know, i know. we’ll talk.” he assures you. “i just wanna make you feel good first – show you how much i like you.” he repeats.

and so you let him.

you let him push your skirt up and slide your panties down. you let him trail kisses along your exposed stomach and down your legs. you let him hide his face between your legs, his head moving up and down as he moans against you. the vibrations send chills down your spine.

his tongue laps your pussy eagerly, his sloppy ruts causing his nose to bump against your clit. “pussy always tastes so sweet for me.” you feel him smile against your core.

you tighten your grip on him using your thighs as you inch closer to your orgasm, but before you could cum, you feel him pull away. “no,” you cry out.

yeonjun looks up at you from between your thighs, his pretty plump lips wet from your arousal. “lemme fuck you. I wanna make my girl feel so good.”

“your girl,” you repeat after him.

“yeah, you’re all mine,” he leans down to kiss you. “my girl.”

yeonjun lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in so gently, you can’t help but gasp at the feeling of him filling you up so well. “feels good, baby?”

you hum in response before wrapping your arms around his body pulling him closer to you. with every subsequent thrust, you feel yourself unraveling around him, his hands exploring the contours of your body. your moans echo through the room and for the first time that night you’re so grateful to the universe that the music from the party downstairs is so loud that you can barely hear yourself think.

yeonjun accelerates his thrusts, his movements becoming less steady by the second. as he inches closer to his climax, he hides his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling on your ear occasionally. his eyes cloud over and his hips begin to stutter. your eyes flutter closed as you feel him pumping his load deep inside you.

yeonjun gently retreives and damp cloth and quickly cleans you up. once he finishes, he joins you in bed, the warmth of his presence settling beside you again.

“i’m not opposed to the idea of being your girlfriend,” you begin after a while, breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

“but?”

“but, you have to make up your mind about what you want.”

“i know what i want,” he assures, tracing patterns on your skin with his fingertips.

you take a deep breath before continuing, “if you want me to be your girlfriend, you can’t just say it in the heat of the moment.”

his gaze meets yours, and there’s a sincerity in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “i know, i get it, y/n.” the two of you lie in silence for another moment. “i really do like you, y/n. it’s not just something i say in the heat of the moment,” he admits. “i guess i’ve just been trying to figure out how to say it properly.”

“i do like you too.” you confess to him. “why do you think i came to this stupid party?” the room feels warmer as you admit your feelings, and yeonjun’s eyes light up with joy. he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“but you still have to apologize to taehyun.” you remind him, gently pulling away from his arms.

“oh, he’ll be fine.” he chuckles, his fingers brushing through your hair.

“i’m serious,” you shoot him a playful scowl. his laughter resonates throughout the room, yet he relents. satisfied, you settle back into his embrace, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. the sounds of the distant party below serves as a reminder of a world outside, but in this moment it’s just the two of you.

taglist: @boba-beom @dearlyjun @atinyniki @isabellah29 @wiisoob

fill out this form to join my taglist! author's note :: this was inspired by my txt as ariana grande songs post from way back when!! this is the literal fic version of yeonjun's part

#fay's works #yeonjun x reader #choi yeonjun #yeonjun smut #txt smut #txt x reader #tomorrow x together #yeonjun

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woaza · 3 months ago

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Could you do a Dino Classico x reader, human noble. They went to the study during a party to take a break and secretly to read a book they brought. Theodore snuck out because he wanted to be grown up and saw them in the room. They talk about the book and lent it to Theodore. Dino sees the book with the readers name in the cover after the twin girls tease Theo about his new crush much later in the week.

Dino Classico X (Fem)Human!reader

Contains : Long fic.

Word count : 2.7k words

Warnings : Dino being mean to his son, Dino Being a waving red flag and use of Y/N and L/N.

A/N : Hey I got a tone of requests which I’m super grateful for! I’m working on all of them and super appreciate your patience and i promise to get them done even if it takes a while! Plus some of them are a bit confusing so once I decipher them I’ll be getting to work lol. Also We got to get Theodore to a psychiatrist ASAP. Your toys talking to you is not normal. 🌜

It was the annual Classico Ball event, held at the Classico Estate. The ball room was magnificent with a large porch wrapping around the party room. Large stained glass windows and even bigger glass doors. The garden was well kept but vines grew up the glass and white pillars due to the grand age of the manor. Yet the natural but well kept garden was just charming and magnificent. Which was simply another way the Classico’s parade their power in such a subtle way. It was a humid summer evening, despite the sun setting it was hot. The ladies and lords doing their best to stay inside as to not sweat in their nice evening wear. Of course the head of the Classico house thought of this and kept drinks on display all night, free for the guests of the Ball. Especially as everyone danced it was gravely important for anyone to stay hydrated. It would be frowned upon if the host left his poor guests grow parched.

Yet as each lord and lady danced to the melody of the posh orchestra, all the human bodies in the room heated up the large space. Most people in attendance were simply enjoying the evening far too much to notice or if they did notice the growing heat they shrugged it off.

Thus far you had been brave in the battle against the heat. You grew hot as you stood with your house, doing your best to present your face and your family. The expensive party wear fitted to your body perfectly was doing little to cool you down. Your conversation was growing weak and you knew you needed to excuse yourself. Lucky for yourself you had predicted such an event and brought a book to accompany you on your escape. At least once you made your escape.

You looked to your family who seemed unbothered and in a pleasant conversation with some fellow Nobels. This was a perfect chance for you to politely slip way which you did with ease, your family almost never seemed to notice until much later whenever you did your own personal ‘journeys’. You couldn’t help but smile as you politely excused yourself to the outside patio, thinking of the last chapter in your book. It was finally time for the conclusion of what you would consider one of the best books you’ve ever read. It was a thrilling feeling as you sat on one of the benches illuminated by the lights from within the ballroom. Your fingers moving between the pages as you flip to the last chapter.

Word by word you digested the written art piece. You had read the last word when you felt someone’s eyes fall unpon you. You looked up from your book, not noticing anyone. You quickly turn your head around looking left and right until your eyes fall onto a little boy. He stood a couple feet away, standing by one of the shrubs in a glass pot.

You fixed your posture a bit and smiled at the young boy. “Hello.” Your tone was sweet and somewhat quiet as he shuffled away from his somewhat concealed hiding spot. He nodded respectfully and walked up to your. “My apologies my lady. I am Theodore Classico, Heir to the Classico family.”

He had definitely practiced his introduction, which was a bit surprising to hear such a formal introduction from a little boy. Your composed yourself quickly and looked over to him. “I am lady L/N, a pleasure to meet you.” He nodded before he glanced past you looking at the party that was happening within the ball room.

“Are you not enjoying your self?” He said his tone concerned, he knew the Classico annual party was an important part of his family’s reputation and wanted to uphold that quality. “No, no, I am.” You smiled a bit, what a strange thing for a child to be concerned with? “As a matter of fact, excuse my behavior but you don’t seem to be dressed for an event like this?” You said with your tone coming more as a question rather than a statement.

He frowned at the comment but sighed. “I am not allowed till I reach a certain age, my father forbids it.” As he returned an answer to your question you smiled wider. So that meant he snuck out to see the party. He noticed your smirk. “You won’t report this to my father will you?” Which you couldn’t help but snicker, and shake your head “Worry not young Theodore, I will not tell such things to Master Classico.”

He was grateful before he quickly glanced to the book you had on your lap. You followed his eyes with your own. “The fall of Arkmunster written by William Le Franc, are you familiar?” Theodore paused for a moment before shaking his head no. “I am unfamiliar with the title but have read pieces by the author.” Leaning closer to you to look at the cover. You held the book out to him prompting him to take it. Which he does after some hesitation.

“I’m surprised you have heard of William Le Franc but not the tittle it’s a classic in Philosophy. It’s wonderfully written and it is a challenging read.” You had throughly enjoyed this read and more than happy to discuss the book. Which he seemed to return the sentiment. “I’ll just have to take your word for it, I’m sure we don’t have it in the manors collection I’ve read all the William Le Franc books it has to offer. I’ll have to purchase a copy.” You nodded your head in agreement, before you thought for a brief moment. “Actually I’ve just finished, would you like to barrow the book?”

Theodore didn’t really have any adults who were kind to him, at least in that sense. His father would never have trusted him with a book no matter how hard he tried to prove himself responsible. He smiled a bit and pulled the book closer to himself. “If it wouldn’t be a burden I would be extremely grateful ma’am”

You smiled and watched the boy clutch onto the book. “Of course no matter at all, I’ll have to write in you in a month’s time or so once you’ve finished and we will talk of the contents. If you’d enjoy that of course?” In your head you felt silly, what child wanted to read a book written by William Le Franc? It had rather big ideas in the book. This particular book discusses death. How the human mind grapples it. Something a child surely wouldn’t understand. Yet he had read other pieces, what mature child indeed.

Time passed by and you and Theodore discussed some of the other works of William Le Franc. He was a bright boy and it was possibly the best conversation you had all night! Yet as the night grew later you and the young boy said your goodbyes. With the hopes to write to each other. Theodore the young boy was ecstatic! He had a companion who had looked pasted his age and gave him a respectful conversation. Let alone some proper attention! He was eager to read the book and started almost immediately after the conversation you two held.

Weeks later it was the usual routine, him and his father left so he could be under his supervision. ‘The nursery’ as it was named. Theodore tired to enjoy it but under his father’s supervision he couldn’t. Far too embarrassed to play with the other children, let alone with his father present. So as he usually did sat on the couch and read his books. Today only bringing one book; The fall of Arkmunster written by William Le Franc. It was hard to understand, most certainly the hardest book he’s ever read. The meanings and word play was intense but deeply meaningful. A hard but awarding book. He was stuck on a paragraph that didn’t make any sense when the twins walked up to him. Lucia and Elena walked up tried to get his attention. Elena snapped her fingers but they were always so loud and chaotic. Theodore paid them no mind.

Lucia rolled her eyes and quickly swiped the book out of his hands as Elena laughed. Snapping Theodore out of his focus. “Excuse me? Lucia return that to me!” Theodore said with a scowl, Lucia started to flip through the pages while Elena blocked his way. “What’s so fun about a book anyway? play with us!” Elena stated holding out her arms. Frustrating Theodore to no end.

After a moment Lucia reached the cover page and widened her eyes a bit. “Theodore who is lady Y/N L/N?” Which caught all three of the young children’s attention. Elena quickly came to an unreasonable conclusion that this must be Theodore’s love rather quickly. “Is that your betrothed Theodore!?” She said rather loudly causing everyone in the small room to look at the small commotion. Dino Classico stood up almost immediately and marched over to the commotion. Lucia held the book wide open with your signature on the cover while laughing loudly. Theodore was immediately red in the face. “Elena do not say such things!” He pleaded as he felt pure dread as his father walked to them. Lord Classico quickly grabbed the book and held to examine the pages. “Theodore. Let’s discuss in the hallway. Now.” Classico didn’t wait for a response nor for Theodore and went out into the hallway. Theodore glanced angrily at the girls before following Behind his father Into the hallway.

“Father I can explain.” Yet as his father always seems to do, quickly interrupted. “Theodore I do not know how you received this book but I am not amused by the disturbance it caused. I am annoyed and disappointed. Do not let such things happen again! Understand?” Theodore simply nodded and looked towards the floor. “You children are far to young to discus such things.” Classico said with a grumble before opening the book and examining the name. “Lady Y/N L/N? How did you get this?” A small pause before he looked and Theodore angrily. “Did you steal this? You soil the Classico name!? You owe lady L/N and immediate apology!” Dino seemed to be getting more angry by the second. Theodore tried to compose himself the best he could “father I did not steal the book it was lent to me.” Theodore could barely look his father in the eyes, stumbling his words dispute his best attempts.

Dino scoffed as he held the book, starting at your signature. How did his son ever come into contact with you? Especially after his many attempts to, he had specifically invited your family to all the Classico events and gatherings. Yet you seemed so allusive, he’d see you walk in but he’d never catch a conversation or a dance with you. Much to his annoyance but of course no one else knew of his intentions to speak with you. “Theodore don’t bother me with such nonsense ever again. Understand boy?” Theodore nodded moving his eyes to look at the book his father held far above his head “Yes father.” Was all he could say, and the only answer Dino would accept. “Now we will go back to the room and you will not Cause any more bother.”

Theodore spent the rest of the day sitting in the Conner, that had been the only book he had brought with him. He couldn’t help but stare at the book as it sat on the table next to where his father was. Just out of his grasp. Yes, potentially he could read one of the books that nursery had to offer but that was of no interest to him.

A couple more days passed and Dino found himself with a small break. The investigation meeting had ended a bit earlier than usual and he was left to his alone in his manner. Which was rare, he almost had time off. Your book still was on his desk, he couldn’t help but open the book and let his eyes linger on your signature. He could mail the book back to you with a letter of apology. Yet the Classicos and your house were plenty friendly with each other. What could be wrong with an impromptu visit? Your father being one of the few humans he did business with.

A little later he finally arrived at your family’s estate. The Servents are quick to greet him and lead him to the front parlor to wait. Your father and Classico spoke for a moment before you were called down. A maid knocked on the doors to your private chambers.

“Lady L/N, your presence in the front parlor is requested by your farther immediately.” The fimillar voice at the door snapped you out of the new set novel you were indulging in. You quickly opened the door. “My father? Why, what business could he have to request me?” You weren’t trying to be snarky but more so curious. “The head of Classico is present, other than that I am no more informed than you are my lady.” The maid said as she walked a couple steps behind you. Classico? Your first thought was of Theodore, maybe he had come to discuss the book. But some things didn’t make sense. It had only been a little more than a week, surely not enough time to read a book of the difficulty and size.

You made your way to the front parlor, your father and Dino Classico sat across from each other drinking tea. You walked in confusion to see Dino Classico holding the book you had lent his son.

“Father, Lord Classico.” You did a small curtsy and looked at them both. Formally announcing yourself. “My daughter, Lord Classico came to return your book. You should thank the man.” You nodded with a confused smile as you walked over to Dino Classico as he held the book out for you. “Thank you my lord, but if I may be so bold I lent this to the young Theodore. Has he already finished the novel?” Your father raised a brow and looked at Dino. Making sure you didn’t offend the man.

“I had assumed he had stolen it?” Which made your eyes widen. “Oh my goodness no! He was such a well mannered boy I happily lent it to him.”

“Really now? When did you and my son get the chance to talk?” He said leaning a bit forward in his seat, that he was much too tall for. You immediately thought of how Theodore wasn’t supposed to have snuck out. In an attempt to not throw Theodore into anymore trouble you quickly thought of a reasonable explanation. “At the annual ball I excused myself for the ladies room and had the good fortune to have had bumped into the young boy who recognized the author.” That seemed reasonable enough and Dino seemed to seem fine with that answer while your father sat in silence.

The room grew quiet for a brief moment before Dino set up in his seat. “I see that this has been a misunderstanding now. Unfortunately I have some more duties to attend to. Lord and lady L/N I appreciate your patience with my unannounced visit.” He stood up walking over to you, gently placing a kiss on the back of your hand. His butler quickly got the message and fetched his hat. Within a moment Dino bided you and father a goodbye.

Once Dino had left he immediately wanted to talk to you more. For once he was grateful for one of what he would consider Theodore’s ‘childish outbursts’. Within in own thoughts he planed to speak with Theodore about you. Maybe he would but Theodore a copy of the book. You were such a strange woman, he couldn’t help but be intrigued. He’d have to pursue another conversation with you.

Dino would never tell any one of how he was attracted to you. From your mannerisms to your polite nature. Yet you were so educated. He could simply tell by the way you carried yourself. No longer would be subtly hope to run into at an event, or visit your family. He needed a more direct way to speak to you, and with Theodore maybe he had one.

Another A/N: I kinda escaped the prompt and for that I am sorry. Also I assumed the read was Fem but if they weren’t supposed to be lmk!

#delico's nursery x reader #delicos nursey x reader #delicos nursery #dino classico x reader #dino classico #Someone help Theodore

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mywritersmind · 3 months ago

Text

FOR THE PLOT - KA12

summary : A vacation, perfect timing, and their friends, bring Y/n and Kimi together on a tipsy adrenaline filled night.

listen up : KIMI ANTONELLI X READER! kissing and drinking! my first kimi fic which is super fun to write bc he’s the closest to my age. prob will make more parts!

word count : 1523

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Tan and in a mini dress is all I needed to feel myself again. When my friends said they were spontaneously going to the Maldives, I told them they were crazy and my parents would never go for it. Then they reminded me that I’m an adult and my parents had no choice but to say yes.

I sip on my pina colada, a hand in the air and dancing with my two best friends. Delilah giggles, her braided hair in two thick braids, she looks past me and giggles, “There’s a boy watching you!” A cool breeze blows past us, chilling my skin a bit under the humidity.

I laugh, “Couldn’t have made that less creepy?” Still, I turn around to see a boy indeed watching me. When my eyes meet his, he looks away, talking to his friend before glancing back and smiling softly.

He's cute and I’m surprised I haven’t seen him around the resort until now. He’s got a shorter brunette boy next to him, a tall dark haired boy, and a tall blonde boy dancing up to them with drinks.

I turn back to my friends and laugh, “Dibs on the blonde!” Cara says, pushing her light brown hair over her shoulder while checking the guy out as I laugh and frown down at my drink, empty.

I hop back over to the bar, seeing two of my guy friends, Micha and Jamie both flirting with much older guests. I give them a look to which they both smirk at before ordering another drink.

I hear laughter and what sounds like arguing, turning to see what is happening, I see the two boys pushing the cute curly haired one towards me.

He pushes against them, shaking his head. When he looks up at me and realizes I'm watching, his already burnt cheeks go pinker. “This is Kimi!” The blonde one says, slapping his friend on the shoulder before running off.

“I-” Kimi tugs on the collar of his dark blue button down, “Hi.”

I laugh, finding his awkwardness amusing, “Hi.”

“Sorry about my friends- they act like that a lot… more than you’d think.”

I raise a brow, “Pushing you to go talk to girls?”

He laughs, “Yeah. This is the first time I've actually wanted to, though.” I smile, the bartender handing me another pina colada.

I nod, watching the boy, “I’m Y/n.” He looks relieved when I talk, “I like your accent. Italian?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Y/n. And thanks, I am italian!” He leans against the bar, messing up his order but laughing with the bartender. “How long are you here for?”

“Got in like two days ago… I’m here for another two weeks!” He seems to perk up at this.

“I got in today! I’m here for two weeks as well.” He takes his drink and the bartender shoos us away. As Kimi walks next to me, I realize that he’s a good bit taller than me.

As we walk away from the party, I see my friends meeting Kimis, they all see us but I can tell they’re pretending to not watch. I laugh a bit as we walk down the beach.

I find out Kimi is eighteen and I sigh in relief because so am I. “This is my first real trip without my family.” He laughs shyly, “So far it’s looking up.” He glances at me.

“I think this counts as mine too. I mean- I went to Monza for like two days while my friend went to a race but…” I notice him staring at me and stop talking. “You okay?”

“Monza as in the Italian grand prix?”

I nod, “Yeah! Were you there or something? I’m not really into F1 but my best friend is totally obsessed, she’s the brunette back there eyeing your blonde friend.”

He laughs out loud, shaking his head, “Paul? Yeah well I think she will love him when she finds out he’s an F2 driver.”

“No way!” I drink more, “Funny how things like that happen.”

He nods, running a hand through his curls as we step onto the trail of villas that are perched over the water. He invites me to his deck, I can tell that guys are staying here because there’s board shorts, sunscreen, and cups left.

We sit on the sunken couch, I put my legs under me and turn towards him, his arm around the back. “I really like your necklace.” His hand goes to the chain around my neck, a tiny shell and pearl in the middle.

I bite my lip at his closeness, his hand brushing my chest, “Thanks. I make them.” He looks up quickly as I say it.

“Really? That’s insane!” His hand drops and I smile, my cheeks heating and suddenly I'm very thankful for the lack of light.

“I made this one here actually! I do rings and bracelets as well!” I accidentally start rattling on about what I make and he just sits and listens like I've known him for years. I realize what I'm doing and stop suddenly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for being passionate.” His eyes are beautiful and makes me think this is dangerous. Not being out here with a random guy, but already wanting to kiss him.

His head tilts against his arm, looking up at me with his brown eyes. I have a realization then. It's my last bit of summer, I'm eighteen, I'm alone with my friends, a cute boy is in my grasp.

We sit there for what feels like hours but I'm pretty sure there is only one. He’s so easy to talk to that I don’t know what time it is. I hear the footsteps of people going back to their rooms but after a while, everything is pretty quiet, except for the far away club music at the bar.

I sit up and grin, “Do you wanna go swimming?”

He raises a brow, “Now?”

I glance at the dark water that surrounds us, “Yes!”

That’s how I end up in the private pool that each villa has. It’s lit dimly from above and I'm even more grateful because I'm in my bra and underwear.

For the plot, I remind myself.

Kimi shirtless makes me doing things out of my comfort zone 100% worth it. He’s fucking ripped and I feel my face heating as I eye his abs and arms while he stands outside the water in just boxers. He didn’t change into swimming things because he didn’t want me to feel alone.

He turns around and does a backflip into the water, “Wow!” I laugh, feeling my drinks in me now, “Talented!”

“Ah, love, you have no clue!” He swims towards me, dunking his head and shaking his curls out like a dog. I ignore the nickname and laugh.

“Hey!” I yell, splashing him. He grins at me, his smile is ridiculously attractive.

“You’re cute.” He says quickly, swimming backwards. I laugh and watch him dive under the water.

I feel a hand grasp my ankle and suddenly I'm getting pulled under the water. I kick him and get back to air, laughing so hard that I start to cough.

“Shit are you-” I push him under the water, my hands on his head. We play around, he laughs and splashes me one last time as the back of my head hits the side of the pool.

He floats closer, his hand going to my face scares me at first, but then he softly rubs his thumbs under my eyes, wiping my clearly smudged mascara.

I smile, one hand still on my cheek and the other next to my head, holding himself up. Water is dripping from his curls onto his face but he only seems to notice me.

I bite my lip softly, his eyes going to them. When his eyes meet mine again he starts to speak, “Can I-” I know what he’s going to say.

I kiss him first, my hands on his neck as one of his goes to my waist, holding me up.

He kisses me back immediately, my head hitting the wood behind me and his hand tightening on my waist, slipping down a bit.

The creek of the floors makes us both look up to investigate, the tall brunette from before is like a deer in headlights, “Give a guy some warning!” He says in a British accent.

Kimi just drops his head to my shoulder, shaking it with his eyes squeezed shut, “Ollie!” At the yell, the boy hurries away and Kimi takes a second before looking up at me regretfully, “I’m so sorry.”

I laugh, “Honestly don’t worry.” I pull my hands away from him, “I should go though, need to find my friends.”

His eyes dim a bit but he nods and backs up, “Hey uh- think I can see you tomorrow?”

I step out of the water, stealing a towel and smiling wide with my back facing him. I breathe and turn back to him casually, “If you can find me.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f2 fanfic #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli fic

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peaches2217 · 1 month ago

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Thought of the Evening: Mario eagerly (and maybe a tad excessively) wining and dining Peach. They already spend so much time together, but now they’re dating, and they’re not hiding their feelings for one another anymore! He can take her on dates! Actual dates! Candlelit dinners, solo beach getaways far, far away from Isle Delfino, private ballroom dances with a string quartet playing waltzes just for them — all these grand romantic gestures he’s been dying to shower her with, all these things he’s dreamed of providing for a special someone from the time he was a kid, all finally realized! His inner romantic has never been happier.

You’d think Super Mario of all people would pull all of this off effortlessly, given how celebrated and successful he is. You’d be wrong. His inexperience with romantic relationships coupled with his adoration for his Princess means nerves frequently get the best of him, and that tends to lead to Shenanigans™️. And I’m not talking “Tee-hee, this blue-collar cutie tries dressing up but his tie is crooked and he’s so embarrassed about it! How silly!” I’m talking more like:

He’s so lost in her eyes during their candlelight dinner that he doesn’t realize he’s swooning a little too close to an open flame until his hair catches fire, and Peach empties out the last of their very expensive champagne on his head to spare his locks.

He hastily learned how to surf to impress her, but as luck would have it, surfing is one of the few skills he can’t quite get the hang of. When he inevitably wipes out while showing off, the waves eventually spit him back out onto the shore, where he blindly crawls around in the sand until Peach reaches him because there’s a Blooper stuck to his face and a baby Cheep Chomp gnawing on his ankle.

He trips while they’re dancing together. Mario is notoriously agile and typically recovers quickly, but alas, his coordination goes out the window when he’s flustered, and he’s definitely flustered now. The result: Peach loses balance when she attempts to right him, he overcorrects when trying to save her, and they end up barreling directly into the string quartet. The casualties include three music stands and a viola.

None of these dates ever go exactly the way they’re planned. You’d think that would be a source of frustration for both parties… but you’d be wrong about that, too. Even if their dates go off-course, once the shock and embarrassment wear off, they both find themselves seized with laughter and clinging to each other for support. So what if it’s not all picture perfect? They’re together, and they’re creating shared memories, and that’s worth way more than any notion of perfection.

Besides, they’ve both brought so much excitement into each other’s lives over the years. Why should that stop now?

#GOD it’s been too long since I’ve done one of these #apologies if the quality is lackluster! the cogwheels gotta run a couple times to knock all the rust off of them 😅#super mario bros #smb #peaches has opinions #mareach #mario x peach #princess peach

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nosyp · 17 days ago

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Servant to Obsession

Warning = smut, religious guilt(?), sex before marriage ig

Pairing = Sunday x reader

Summary = As one of Sunday’s many devoted servants, you’re used to assisting him with his every task. But when his quiet obsession with you slowly turns into something far darker, your life begins to unravel. Everything changes when you come to him seeking forgiveness, and Sunday seizes the opportunity to make his desires known.

Word count = 3.8k

A/N = Sunday fic on sunday. MDNI, read at ur own will.

Story down below 👇

“Ugh!”

“Excuse me!”

“Sorry!”

You had been running around all day, pushing through the crowds of people in the event. You could swear the heels of your feet were on fire from the amount of walking you had to do today. This wasn’t a rare occasion at all ever since you were hired by Sunday, you’d often be tasked with serving the guests at the party alongside many of your other co-workers.

“Y/N! Bring out some more lost twilight, rouge era and mung bean soda!” a co-worker called out to you.

“O-oh on it!” you stammered while trying to balance the tray on your hand. Then, you quickly rushed over to the kitchen to grab some more drinks before having to go back out there.

The kitchen inside was a mess, everyone was yelling, food was being spilled everywhere and it was super crowded. On the outside, the masquerade might seem grand or luxurious but behind the scenes, it was chaotic. After grabbing the drinks, you went back out to the party to continue serving the guests.

“Good evening ladies, would you like some lost twilight?�� you ask the group of ladies in the corner, tilting your tray enough to show them the array of drinks on your

“Errr…. No thanks…” one of the ladies say, sending you away.

‘That’s weird…’ you think to yourself as you were about to go on to pass more drinks. But before you even could, you saw your master, Sunday, walk over to you and your body froze as you waited to see where he was going.

Your heart skipped a beat as Sunday approached. The sight of him made you stiffen involuntarily. As always, he wore his usual calm, collected demeanor on him. But it wasn't like he ever paid attention to the servants, especially not ones like you. He had other things to worry about, other people to attend to.

“Could you handle the final preparations for closing?” Sunday asked you, his gaze passing over you briefly. His voice was calm, detached.

Then, you snapped yourself out of your trance. “Yes, Master Sunday, right away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, despite the growing nervous feeling inside you.

Sunday gave you a quick, dismissive glance, before he nodded and turned away to speak to someone else. That fleeting moment sent a jolt through your body, one you quickly dismissed. There was no reason to read into it. He was just a man doing his job, and you were just a servant doing yours.

You quickly made your way to the back to gather the final orders and clear things out, pushing through the chaotic kitchen.

Later, as the evening wound down, you made your way back to the front of the hall, observing the guests as they slowly began to leave. Most of the guests had already filtered out, but there were still a few lingering in groups, chatting or enjoying the last drinks of the night. Then, you suddenly spotted your boyfriend among them, talking to one of the other servants, a look of frustration plastered on his face as he talked to them.

He caught your eye and gave you a quick wave, a small smile forming on his lips. You felt a rush of relief at seeing him. Despite the madness of the event, you knew you’d get to spend a moment of peace with him after everything was over.

Then, when the other servant started to walk away, you slowly made your way to him. “Hey, how you doin’?” you ask him with a playful tone.

He chuckles at your tone and returns it back to you, “I’m doing good, how are you?”

You grin at his response, leaning against the counter as you both take a moment to catch your breath. "Surviving," you reply, rolling your eyes in exaggerated exhaustion. "Just another night in the chaos."

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "You sure you don't need a break? You look like you’re about to pass out hon."

You smirk, the light teasing making the exhaustion a little more bearable. "I'll survive. But hey, when this is all over, you and I are getting out of here, right? A little peace and quiet... maybe some real food instead of whatever this event's calling 'dinner’.”

He grins, his expression softening. "Sounds perfect to me."

The conversation is light, comforting amidst the madness of the night. You both know the routine. Which is once everyone’s gone, you two can finally relax with no interruptions, just the two of you. A small promise to hold onto as the night winds down.

Ding!

You stepped inside the restaurant with your boyfriend, the bell above the door chiming lightly as you entered. The restaurant was quiet now, the loud chatter and clinking glasses replaced by the soft hum of a few patrons finishing up their late-night meals. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the party you’d just come from.

The bell above the restaurant’s entrance chimed softly as you and your boyfriend stepped inside, the noise of the party fading into the background. The atmosphere here was calm and warm, a sharp contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind.

As you both walked further in, you spotted an empty table near the window. Your boyfriend gave you a small grin, pointing toward it. “How about we grab that one?”

You nodded, relieved to finally settle into some peace. “Perfect, that’s exactly what I thought too” you replied.

You both made your way over, and he pulled out the chair for you with a smile before sitting across from you. The hustle of the night seemed far away now, and as you both sat down, it felt like the calmness you’d been craving.

He glanced at the menu, then back at you. “So, what are you thinking? You’re going for the usual?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “I’m feeling adventurous today. I might just try something new. How about you?”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’m sticking with the safe option. Can’t go wrong with the classics.”

You laughed. “You’re such a creature of habit.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, some of us know what we like.”

You leaned back in your chair, teasing him with a grin. “Guess I’ll be the one to break the mold then. You’ll just have to live vicariously through my bold choices.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to watch you dive into the unknown. What if it’s too much?”

“Then I’ll just have to suffer through it,” you said dramatically, putting on an exaggerated pout. “But I’ll survive. I’m tough.”

He laughed again, his eyes twinkling. “Sure you are... Just don’t come crying to me when your ‘adventurous’ pick turns out to be a disaster.”

You grinned. “No promises.”

The meal was quiet and relaxing, just the two of you enjoying each other's company without the chaos of the party or the stress of the night hanging over you. After finishing, you both paid the bill and left the restaurant, stepping back into the cool night air.

Your boyfriend walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours before he casually laced his fingers with yours. "You ready to call it a night?" he asked, his voice soft and comforting.

"Yeah," you replied with a tired smile. "It's been a long day."

The walk back to your apartment was peaceful, the streets quiet and empty. You talked about everything and nothing, the usual light banter filling the space between you. When you reached your door, your boyfriend leaned against the frame, looking at you with a smile that made your heart flutter.

"Well, it’s about to end," he said, his voice low.

You stepped closer, feeling the comfort of being near him after the whirlwind of the evening. "Stay for a bit?" you asked, almost shyly.

He grinned, pushing himself off the door. "I thought you'd never ask."

You both stepped inside, the door closing softly behind you as you kicked off your shoes and relaxed into the comfort of your own space.

“Hey?” your boyfriend suddenly said.

“Hmm?” you hummed in response.

“Do you still have energy… for a little something?”

“Something?”

“You’ll see…”

And the rest of the night was a blur…

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred, stretching lazily, the light coaxing you out of the haze of sleep. Beside you, your boyfriend was still asleep, his tousled hair and half-closed eyes showing that he was still lost in his dreams.

But you... you didn’t feel at peace. Something was wrong.

As you shifted, you felt the dampness between your legs. With a sinking feeling, you lifted the blanket and saw it. The sticky fluid trailing down your thighs.

Oh, shit.

Panic shot through you. You bolted out of bed, rushing to the bathroom, the cold tiles sending a jolt of reality through your body. Your hands shook as you cleaned up, each motion feeling like a reminder of the promise you had made. The promise you had broken.

‘I was going to wait until marriage,’ you thought, a sick knot forming in your stomach. ‘Why did this happen? Why couldn’t I control myself?’

You hurriedly dressed and left, the walk to the church feeling unbearable. Every step echoed in your mind, reminding you of your mistake. You pulled your coat tighter, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled over you.

The streets were still quiet, the world slowly waking up around you. But you felt like an outsider in it. The calm rhythm of the morning seemed to mock you as you walked through the stillness. It felt like the universe knew what you’d done, knew you didn’t deserve this peace.

When the church came into view, its tall spires reaching toward the sky, you felt a small sense of relief. The building always brought you comfort, a place of sanctuary. You climbed the steps and entered, the cool, sacred air washing over you as you took a deep breath.

Inside, it was as you remembered—quiet, serene, filled with the scent of incense and aged wood. You made your way down the aisle, the familiar path a small comfort. Sitting in your usual seat, you closed your eyes, letting the stillness settle around you. The weight of the week began to lift, if only slightly.

But when you opened your eyes, you saw him.

Sunday.

He stood at the altar, but this time, it wasn’t the usual scene. The light streaming through the stained-glass windows cast a soft glow around him, making him look almost otherworldly. But something about it felt... off. His presence was different today.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to disappear. He smiled, a knowing, subtle curve of his lips that made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

“You’ve come,” he said, his voice low, inviting. “To confess, perhaps?”

Your chest tightened. The words caught in your throat. This wasn’t what you had planned. You weren’t here for this, not for him. You just wanted peace, a quiet place to think. But now, something pulled you toward him, something you couldn’t name.

He motioned toward the confessional, his hand elegant, yet commanding. “Go ahead,” he urged softly. “Tell me your sins. Lay them out. Let them go.”

There was an undeniable power in his words. The man you knew outside these walls, the one at the parties, the one who commanded with a smile. But, he wasn’t the same man standing before you now. He was different. This was a side of him you hadn’t seen, and it was impossible to ignore.

Your hands began to sweat as you moved toward the confessional. The wooden door creaked as you entered, the room small and suffocating. The reality of what you were about to do hit you in waves, and suddenly, the weight of everything seemed too much.

Sunday’s voice came through the small opening in front of you, smooth, controlled, but with an edge you hadn’t expected. “Tell me,” he began. “What have you done that burdens your soul?”

His voice wrapped around you like a gentle command, coaxing, inviting. He wasn’t just asking for the sake of absolution. No. There was something deeper in his question. Something that made your chest tighten and your palms clammy.

You sat in the confessional, the silence between you stretching painfully. You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you were ready to say it. But in that moment, all you wanted was to feel... lighter. To let go of the weight pressing on you.

And yet, as his words lingered in the air, you realized that this wasn’t just about forgiveness. It wasn’t about confessing your sins. It was something more. Something much more dangerous.

“I-I’ve… surrendered to the sin of lust… and…” you paused, your heart pounding in your chest as your mind raced. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your body reacting to the vulnerability of the confession, even though you were hidden from view.

There was a long, heavy silence on the other side of the confessional. You could almost feel Sunday’s gaze on you, even though you couldn’t see him. The quiet stretched out, thick with expectation, his presence wrapping around you like a tangible thing.

“I-I... I promised myself I would wait… until marriage,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling with guilt. The words felt like a weight on your tongue, each one dragging you deeper into shame. “But I didn’t… I didn’t keep that promise.”

The confession spilled out, too much for you to bear, but you couldn’t stop it. You felt exposed, like your most intimate thoughts had been laid bare in front of someone who could judge you, someone who would see the sin in you.

“I—" your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "I let it happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I— I should’ve waited, but… but it felt so right at the moment. It was a mistake. A huge mistake.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around you. It wasn’t just about the physical act, it was about the breaking of a vow, the promise you made to yourself, to God. You could feel the shame bubbling up, overwhelming you, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

“I can’t take it back,” you whispered. “And now... I feel like I’ve done something unforgivable.”

Sunday’s silence continued, stretching on and on, as if he were letting your words settle into the heavy air between you. Then, when you thought he might not answer, his voice finally broke the stillness, low and deliberate.

“Do you think you’ve sinned?” His voice wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t condemning. It was soft, almost thoughtful, and yet there was a strange intensity to it. Like he was studying you, gauging every word, every reaction.

You wanted to say something, to explain that you knew it was wrong, that you didn’t want to feel this way. But all you could do was nod, your throat tight with emotion.

Sunday’s next words were like a breath against your skin, unsettling and unnerving.

“Then, let me show you the way,” he said, his voice a smooth caress, full of unspoken promises. “Let me help you cleanse yourself of this burden.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the implication. You weren’t sure if you were ready for what came next. But in this moment, with the weight of your guilt pressing so heavily on you, you weren’t sure you wanted to resist, either.

The line between forgiveness and temptation was becoming blurred, and you could feel yourself losing the battle within. How could you have let this happen? How could you?

“I can sense your turmoil, your desire to be absolved,” Sunday’s voice drifted through the screen. “But redemption isn’t so simple, is it? You’ve surrendered to the temptation, and now, you feel the weight of it, the desire lingering on your skin.”

…

Hearing those words hurt. You felt like you’d just betrayed yourself. And you did. You can’t deny that.

Sunday’s voice was like velvet, smooth but with an undeniable edge. Even with the confessional door between you, it felt like he was there, his presence pressing down on you from every direction.

"I can sense your turmoil, your desire to be absolved,” Sunday’s voice drifted through the screen. “But redemption isn’t so simple, is it? You’ve surrendered to the temptation, and now, you feel the weight of it, the desire lingering on your skin."

His words slithered into your thoughts, each syllable wrapping around your mind, tightening like a chain. You closed your eyes, desperate to push away the heat his voice stirred within you, but it was no use. The memory of last night, of the shame and the fleeting pleasure, was burned into your mind. You could feel it—there, just under the surface of your skin. That awful mix of guilt and longing.

You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your voice steady as you spoke. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

Sunday cut you off with a soft, almost mocking chuckle. “You didn’t mean to? Or perhaps you just didn’t want to be caught. Tell me, do you feel sorry for what you’ve done? Or do you only regret being caught in the act?”

The sting of his words hit harder than you expected. You had come here seeking absolution, but now, you were being forced to confront the deeper truth. The truth that you weren’t just guilty for what you’d done. You were guilty of wanting it. And that… that was what gnawed at you.

"I... I don't know," you whispered, feeling small, exposed in this tiny confessional. The weight of your sin seemed to press against your chest, suffocating. Your breath caught in your throat, the words heavy with shame and unspoken need. "I don't know how to feel."

His tone softened, but there was no kindness in it. "You know, deep down, that you wanted it. You wanted the touch, the feeling of surrender. That's why you can’t shake the desire. You’re still aching for it, aren’t you? The guilt just makes it sweeter, doesn’t it?"

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to speak. The confessional felt like a cage now, the walls closing in. You were trapped in the space between guilt and desire, and it was a place you couldn’t escape from. Not here, not now. Not with him so close, even though he wasn’t physically near at all.

“If you truly want to be forgiven,” he stopped, building up your anticipation. “You need to show me.”

Your eyes widened as soon as you heard it. You could still be forgiven?

“What is it?” you asked eagerly, practically begging. “Please tell me… I’ll do anything.”

Sunday's voice dropped to a whisper, low and commanding, "You want forgiveness, don’t you? You crave it. But there’s no redemption without sacrifice, no absolution without proving your worth."

He let the silence hang in the air, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing, his tone smooth but piercing, like a blade.

"Do this, and show me your commitment," Sunday instructed, his voice almost a purr of dominance. "Confess your desires to me, in detail. Only then will I know you're truly sorry, that you understand the depth of what you’ve done."

His words felt like a command, a challenge, one that pushed the boundaries of what you had anticipated. You were caught between desperation and dread, the fear of what you’d have to do to find absolution warring with the longing you couldn’t shake.

“Confess... to you?” you whispered, heart racing at the thought of speaking those words aloud. Would that really give you the redemption you sought? Could you even bring yourself to say it, to admit how much you wanted this, how much you needed the release he offered?

Sunday’s voice was quiet but unyielding. "Yes. Confess every detail of your sin, and I will decide if you are worthy of forgiveness. And if you are… that’ll be a different story."

And you didn’t hesitate to spill every detail of your story, your voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and desperation, as if each word you spoke was both a confession and a release.

“Hmmm, I see,” he says. Then the silence begins again. It was agonizing. Painful. That was until, “I want you to pleasure yourself. Pleasure yourself just like he did to you.”

“R-right now?” you stammered.

“Yes.”

You grit your teeth as you stared down onto your lap. Hesitating whether you should. You could hear his heavy breathing from the other side. And reluctantly, you did.

You slid your hands down your pants and used your middle finger first. Your wetness was evident as soon as you started. Slowly, you pushed your finger in and out while your other hand was gripping the barrier tightly. Your grip was so tight it felt like you were about to pull it off.

“Mmhh…” you whimpered, the sound soft but enough to reverberate through the confessional. The wooden screen separating you seemed to hum faintly with the vibration, as if it, too, felt the tension building between you.

“Keep going… you’re doing great,” he murmured, his voice smooth and low, seeping through the screen like a whispered temptation.

Slick was coating your finger as you kept on going. You were desperate to earn the confessor’s approval, the need to please him outweighing any lingering shame. The faster you moved, the closer you felt to your peak. Your panting turned ragged, soft whimpers escaping your lips in a desperate rhythm, echoing in the confined space.

Your whole body was trembling from top to bottom, the feeling evoking something inside you… something that you didn’t even know was there. You felt yourself immersed in the lustful feeling. Guilt coursed through your veins but it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was satisfying the confessor in front of you, Sunday.

“A-ahh…” you panted, your voice trembling as the tension within you coiled tighter, drawing you closer to the edge. Each movement sent waves of sensation through you, leaving you breathless and yearning for release.

At last, you surrendered yourself to the lustful feeling, allowing everything to spill onto the chair, watching as it slowly dripped down.

"Hmm... that was good... you're forgiven," came the voice from the other side, followed by the sound of the door clicking open.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #honkai star rail fanfiction #honkai star rail #hsr fanfic

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simplygojo · 2 months ago

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The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 12

author's note ⸺ Alright guys I got a bit carried away with this chapter, that's why i'm posting it so late IMSORRY! But this is my version of the beach episode-except its a pool, lol. I hope you've all been well, I'm super excited for these upcoming chapters...I hope you are too! luv u all <3 Also my bad bc I did not edit this at all

pairing ⸺ Satoru Gojo x reader

chapter summary ⸺ After a very angsty night due to all the events of the day prior, Gojo takes you to a hotel before heading to the Gojo estate for a while to sort things out and go someplace safe. Little do you know—its a nice ass hotel, and he's brought along a surprise.

word count ⸺ 6.3k

warnings ⸺ good times, fluff, pool party! mild angst, reader uses female pronouns

taglist ⸺ @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @nanamisrighthand; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

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The hum of the car blends with the city’s distant sounds as the sleek black vehicle zips through Tokyo’s streets.

You glance at Gojo in the driver’s seat, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel while he taps a rhythm with the other. He's unusually quiet, a sly smile tugging at his lips like he's savouring some inside joke.

You can’t help but give him a curious look. “You’re being suspiciously quiet, Gojo.”

He grins, his eyes hidden behind his trademark sunglasses.

“Suspicious? Me? No, no. I’m just soaking up the atmosphere. You’ll see why soon enough.”

“Atmosphere?” You echo, eyeing the cityscape flashing by the window. “We’re just going to a hotel. Right?”

“Oh, we’re going to the hotel, thank you very much,” he says, giving you a conspiratorial look. “Only the best. You’ll get it when we get there.”

You shake your head, wondering what he’s got planned. With Gojo, there’s always a fifty-fifty chance of something extravagant or completely chaotic.

"Oh, come on. I know you’re excited. You deserve a little luxury, and besides—" he pauses for dramatic effect, "—we’re going all out."

He makes a finger-gun gesture at you like this whole thing is part of some elaborate game he’s running, and you roll your eyes.

Before you can press him for more details, the car takes a sharp turn, and your jaw drops as you take in the hotel in front of you.

It’s towering, sleek, and wrapped in glistening glass panels that reflect the city lights back out in shimmering fragments.

The whole place screams opulence.

As Gojo pulls up to the grand entrance, a flock of impeccably dressed bellhops practically materializes to greet the car. One of them opens your door with a polite bow, while two more appear on Gojo’s side, ready to relieve you both of your bags.

You step out, blinking at the scene. “I thought we were just staying here for the night, not moving in.”

Gojo slides out of the driver’s seat, tossing his sunglasses into the car before he gives you an exaggerated shrug.

“Why would we settle for ‘just a room’?” He grins, then gestures toward the lobby’s gilded doors. “Come on, you’re gonna love this.”

He leads you inside, where a glistening chandelier illuminates the lobby, bathing the space in golden light.

You’re still in awe when he presses the button for the top floor, and you side-eye him with a mix of intrigue and suspicion. “Just what exactly are we walking into?”

“You’ll see,” he says, winking. “Trust me.”

You smile but roll your eyes. His playfulness is a great distraction from the nerves that had been simmering just below the surface all day.

The moment Gojo had suggested a night out before heading to his place, you'd felt a mix of anticipation and unease.

Spending time alone with him, away from the academy, made you wonder what he had planned. Gojo always had that unpredictable edge—one moment, he'd be serious, focused, even a bit mysterious, and the next, he'd be grinning with that mischievous sparkle in his eye, as if he’d just thought of the world’s greatest prank.

The elevator ride up feels endless, the anticipation building as the numbers climb higher and higher.

You glance at Gojo, who’s sporting a smug grin, hands casually in his pockets, looking all too pleased with himself.

Just as you open your mouth to ask what exactly he’s dragged you into, the elevator chimes, and the doors slide open.

A loud “SURPRISE!” nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

Standing in the hallway, dressed in fuzzy robes, are Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi. Yuji’s grinning from ear to ear, holding up a peace sign; Nobara looks smug, clearly revelling in the shock on your face, and Megumi’s leaning against the wall, attempting to act as if he’s above all this, though even he’s stifling a small smile.

Gojo raises his hands as if presenting a grand prize.

“I couldn’t leave them out of the fun! What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t bring the whole team?” He winks at you before throwing an arm around Yuji.

“Besides, I rented out the entire top floor! Each of you gets your own room, fully stocked, premium everything. And don’t worry,” he adds, turning to you with a grin, “I made sure we have a connected suite so I can keep an eye on you.”

Nobara smirked, folding her arms as she gave you and Gojo a knowing look.

“Ohhh, a connected suite, huh? Gotta keep an eye on her, orrrr…?” She raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence but clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

Yuji snickers, nudging Megumi. “Yeah, totally for ‘safety,’ right? Good thing we’re all here to keep you two in line,” he says, barely stifling his laughter.

Gojo just rolls his eyes, though he’s clearly amused by their suggestion.

“Exactly. I wouldn’t trust any of you to keep from causing chaos without proper supervision,” he says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Besides, who says I’m not keeping an eye on all of you?”

You try to brush off the teasing, but Nobara’s grin only widens. “Sure, sure, Gojo-sensei. Whatever you say,” she sings, clearly not buying his excuse.

You feel the heat rising to your face, and Gojo’s only response is a wink in your direction, as if to say, Let them think what they want.

Nobara claps her hands together in delight. “I knew this wasn’t just gonna be a ‘simple night out.’ You’re really spoiling us, sensei!”

Yuji bounces over, nudging you with a conspiratorial grin. “Gojo-sensei said there’s room service and a rooftop pool!”

“Oh, and karaoke,” Nobara adds, her eyes gleaming as she nudges Megumi. “We’ll find out if our ‘Mr. Cool’ here has any hidden talents.”

Megumi sighs, folding his arms and glaring half-heartedly at Gojo. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as the whole scene unfolds. Gojo gives you a smug grin, clearly revelling in his grand reveal.

Gojo gives a dramatic sigh, as if their surprise is the greatest validation he’s ever received.

“You all deserve a night to unwind—just make sure not to destroy anything. I promised management we’d behave,” he says, looking pointedly at Nobara, who immediately rolls her eyes.

Gojo claps his hands together, grinning as if he’s just announced the party of the century.

“Alright, troops! Meet me at the rooftop pool in twenty minutes. Swimsuits are in your rooms—yes, I thought of everything.” He flashes a look that’s somehow both playful and utterly smug.

Yuji pumps a fist in the air, already halfway down the hall. “Race you there!”

Megumi groans, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “As long as you don’t start cannonballing the second you get there.”

Nobara tosses her hair, giving Gojo a cheeky salute.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep everyone in line,” she says with a smirk aimed your way.

Gojo chuckles, then turns to you, offering his arm.

“Shall we, partner?” He tilts his head toward the suite, a glint in his eye that suggests this might be just the beginning of his elaborate surprises for the night.

Looping your arm through his, you walk together down the plush, carpeted hallway. When you reach the end, Gojo swipes the keycard and opens the door to a sprawling suite that practically glows with opulence.

He gestures dramatically, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. “Behold—your palace for the night.”

Stepping inside, you take in the stunning view of Tokyo’s skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room itself is a blend of sleek modern design and luxurious comfort, with plush seating, a massive bed, and a mini-bar that’s practically overflowing. You’re still processing it all when Gojo nudges you toward the far wall.

“Best part’s over here,” he says, sliding open a frosted glass door halfway to reveal a small passage that connects to his suite next door.

Gojo slides the frosted glass door open with a flourish, revealing a narrow passage leading into his suite.

He taps the glass, grinning like he’s showing off a masterpiece. “See? Practically paper-thin. If anything happens, I’ll be right there in an instant.”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “And by ‘anything,’ you mean…?”

He feigns innocence, his eyes wide but gleaming with mischief.

“Oh, you know, emergencies.” He taps his chin as if thinking it over. “Like, if you forget how to work the TV or you need someone to fetch you snacks…or I get bored.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “So, the real reason you set this up is to play hero over a snack shortage?”

He leans in just a bit closer, his voice dropping playfully. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to feel alone. It’s a big, fancy hotel, after all.”

You let out a small laugh, amused. “You really think you’re that charming, huh?”

“Hey, just looking out for you,” he quips back with a wink.

Just then, you hear a loud crash from the hall, followed by Yuji shouting, “Megumi! Nobara! Help! The snack cart’s tipping!”

Gojo sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “And there they go, ten seconds in.”He jokes, already heading toward the door.

“But really—twenty minutes at the pool. Don’t let me be the only one in a ridiculous inflatable.”

With one last smirk, he disappears, leaving you alone in the lavish space.

—

You sit there in the stillness of the room, letting the quiet settle around you. After everything that’s happened today, the silence feels jarring—almost unnatural.

Your mind races back to that morning, the instant shock of recognizing the man in your nightmares: Suguru Geto.

Even now, the thought sends a shiver down your spine. And to think he’d actually been in your room…watching, lingering right there. Just hours ago, you’d been consumed by fear and dread.

And now?

Gojo’s acting as if none of it matters, whisking you and the others off to a luxury hotel like this is just another day.

Maybe he’s just trying to help you escape it all, you reason. Maybe he wants you to relax, to have one night where you don’t have to look over your shoulder. It’d be… surprisingly thoughtful of him.

But as much as his carefree, reassuring presence feels good now, that doesn’t ease the confusion swirling in your mind.

You and Gojo shared a heated moment that felt so vivid, so intensely real, it left you breathless. For a second, it seemed as though something unspoken had finally surfaced.

And then, just like that, he pulled away. He put up that huge wall between you, cold and unreadable—as if he regretted every second.

Yet somehow, over the last two days, that distance seems to be fading again. And then there was that conversation with Nanami–There’s a warmth in his eyes, a kind of ease in his smile that makes it feel like you’re finally seeing the real Gojo.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s going through his own uncertainties. Or maybe he’s as good at hiding his fears as he is at conjuring his charm.

With a sigh, you glance at the sliding door connecting your room to his, the thin glass a reminder of how close he really was.

—

You step onto the rooftop, the night sky sprawling endlessly above, lights from the Tokyo skyline flickering like distant stars.

The pool area is beautiful and sleek, lined with lounge chairs and the faint glow of soft, underwater lights casting a tranquil ambiance over the water.

A cool breeze brushes over your skin, and you clutch the towel draped over your shoulders, pulling it a little tighter as you take in the scene.

Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara are already in the pool, laughing and splashing around.

Yuji hollered something to Megumi, who responded with his usual half-hearted irritation, and Nobara just rolled her eyes, enjoying herself despite her feigned annoyance.

Standing by the edge of the pool, Gojo is stretching in his swim trunks, clearly ready to dive in.

When his gaze lands on you, his grin widens, his expression teasing.

"Thought you'd never make it," he calls over.

"Gonna get in, or are you just here to supervise?" He gestures to the inflatable swans bobbing cheerfully in the water, a little ridiculous against the upscale backdrop of the rooftop pool, yet perfectly fitting his playful style.

As you walk toward him, you can’t help but notice that without his usual layers and long coat, he looks somehow...different—broader, the play of muscles over his arms and chest clearly defined.

You’d always known he was strong, but seeing him like this gives you a fresh appreciation for just how powerful he really is.

His confidence radiates off him, casual and effortless, and when he catches you looking, he smirks in a way that makes your cheeks warm.

Rolling your eyes to cover up your reaction, you nod toward the pool. "Just waiting for the right moment to make an entrance," you say, giving him a smirk of your own.

He chuckles, tossing you a wink before raising his arms to dive. With a graceful, fluid motion, he springs into the pool, slicing through the water smoothly before resurfacing.

His hair, now wet and falling into his face, gleams under the soft pool lights, and there’s a hint of smug satisfaction on his face as he shakes the water out, blinking at you with mischief in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you slip off your towel and drape it over one of the lounge chairs, walking confidently to the edge of the pool before sliding in, the cool water washing over your skin as you wade toward the others.

The water is refreshing, soothing away the last remnants of tension from the day.

Your swimsuit, black and simple, hugs your body perfectly. The fabric conforms to your curves, and as the water slicks your skin, it only highlights the way the suit fits you.

Despite your attempts to focus on the others, you can feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as if nothing else in the world exists except for you at that moment.

The way his gaze moves over your body is undeniable, like he’s studying the way your swimsuit fits, the way your body moves with the water.

His attention lingers, tracing the curve of your waist, the way your hips shift as you move, and the way the wet fabric clings to your chest. His eyes travel the length of your legs as they move beneath the surface, the water shimmering as it follows the lines of your form.

Yuji immediately waves at you and grins once he notices you got in the water.

"Hey! Come over here! I’ve gotta show you something." He hands you a bright blue pool noodle, his eyes sparkling with childlike enthusiasm.

“This is the best way to mess with people.” Demonstrating, he dunks one end of the noodle into the water, then blows into the other end, sending a stream of water splashing directly at Megumi.

You laugh, following his lead and getting a quick splash aimed right at Yuji’s shoulder.

The two of you quickly descend into a playful back-and-forth, aiming noodle streams at each other and dodging around with exaggerated, dramatic dives as if you’re in some kind of slow-motion water fight.

Yuji, laughing so hard he’s nearly choking, gives you a high-five as you successfully splash him.

Meanwhile, on the edge of the pool, Gojo has been watching you, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the way you laugh, splashing water at Yuji with unexpected ease.

He watches how your hair, damp now from your battles with Yuji, falls in wet strands down your back, the water pooling around your shoulders as it drips down your neck.

The delicate shine of your skin catches the light, droplets of water trickling down your arms and over your collarbone.

There’s something almost soft in his gaze, as if he's seeing a side of you that surprises him—or maybe just one he’s glad to witness.

His eyes linger on you, trailing over the graceful curve of your shoulders, the way the water smooths over your skin.

But Nobara, noticing his attention as she floats past on her hot pink floatie, is quick to break him out of his reverie.

She splashes a handful of water his way, hitting him right in the face. "Stop gawking!" she scolds, a playful edge to her tone.

Gojo blinks, taken by surprise. His mouth opens to protest, but he only laughs, flicking some water back in Nobara’s direction.

"Hey, can’t a guy admire his...team?"

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Yeah right," she teases, her gaze flicking from you to Gojo with a knowing grin.

Unaware of the exchange, you continue splashing with Yuji until you’re both out of breath, leaning against the side of the pool to catch your breath.

The cool water, the laughter, the lightheartedness—it’s all a welcome distraction, an unexpected reprieve from the day’s earlier revelations.

Only moments after you had stopped your pool noodle battle, Yuji gets out of the pool and walks over to the deep end, stretching his arms out in front of him before taking a big jump into the deep end.

He swims back over to you and Megumi, Gojo approaching also as he sat goofily on a pool noodle. "Alright, your turn y/n! Think you can dive like me?"

You pause, looking at the water with a hesitant smile. "Well... I don’t know...I don’t really remember if I’ve ever swam before…" you reply, your voice trailing off, unsure of your own abilities.

Yuji smirks, his energy contagious. “Come on, I bet you could! Just try it, you’ve got this!”

With his encouragement ringing in your ears, you take a deep breath and walk up the pool steps towards the deep end.

Once at the end, you crouch slightly, preparing for the dive, but as soon as you push off the edge and your head hits the water, everything changes.

The moment your body submerges, the water feels different—like it's not just water, but a veil lifting.

A flood of memories crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming. You see yourself as a child, your hair slicked back just like it is now, diving into a pool.

Your little sister is beside you, laughing, urging you on as you practice your dives together. You can almost feel the warm sun on your back, hear the splashing of the water, the excitement in her voice.

The sound of your family in the background, their voices calling you to take your time, to perfect your dive.

For a second, it’s like everything else falls away.

It’s just you, in the water, in the past, with your family, laughing, swimming. It’s such a real and intimate memory, you can almost smell the chlorine, taste the fresh air as it mixes with the feeling of the pool beneath your feet.

You break the surface of the water with a gasp, the moment leaving you breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, and as you come up, you can't help but grin widely, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” The words spill out before you even realize you’ve said them, and there’s a moment of shock in your voice as you come to terms with what just happened.

The flood of memories, so vivid, so real, feels like a key turning in your mind. For the first time, pieces of your past—pieces you never thought you'd get back—are falling into place.

As you break through the surface of the water, your heart races, and you let out a breathless laugh, the exhilaration of the moment overwhelming you. Your eyes are wide, sparkling with newfound joy, and your chest swells with the excitement of what you've just discovered.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” you exclaim again, your voice still carrying the shock and wonder of the realization.

Yuji, treading water nearby, blinks in surprise. "Huh? What? You used to swim?"

Megumi lifts his head from the water, his brow furrowed in confusion, trying to process what you’ve just said. “Wait, you… you remember swimming?”

Your grin is bright, the flood of memories still fresh in your mind. “Yeah! I do! I remember my sister... we used to go to the pool together. We practiced diving, and... I remember the sound of her laughing, and... the smell of the chlorine... I had a sister. I—” You pause, the weight of your own words sinking in, as if the mere mention of her name makes her presence feel real again.

The group is quiet for a second, taking in the significance of what you’ve just shared. You’ve gotten a piece of yourself back—something so personal and meaningful. Yuji’s face lights up with enthusiasm, his voice warm and full of excitement.

“That's amazing, y/n!” He calls out, grinning like it’s his own personal victory. “You’re remembering things! That’s huge!”

Nobara, floating past on her hot pink floatie, claps her hands together. “Yeah, that’s a big deal! You’ve got some real memories back. That’s progress, y/n!”

Megumi, though usually a bit more reserved, offers a small but genuine smile, clearly happy for you. “Good to hear. That's a step in the right direction.”

Gojo, standing in the middle of the shallow end with his arms folded, lets out a deep breath, his usual playful demeanour giving way to something more sincere.

“See? I told you you were making progress. You’ve got more memories waiting for you. I knew you had it in you.”

Your heart swells at their reactions, the collective happiness of your friends filling you with warmth.

For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not entirely lost, like there are pieces of your past coming back to you, one fragment at a time.

“I remember my sister,” you repeat, as if saying it again makes it more real. "I can't believe it... I have a sister."

The group looks at each other, nodding and sharing quiet smiles. You can feel their support, their belief in you. It’s not just a small step—it’s a breakthrough.

And as you stand there in the pool, surrounded by people who care, you realize that even though you don’t have all the answers yet, you’re moving forward.

You’ve gained something tonight, something that was yours all along.

Gojo, his playful smile returning, gives a nod of approval. “Alright, y/n, looks like we’ve got a swimmer in the group now. You’re on your way to being a full-fledged diver.”

The others laugh, and the mood shifts back to its usual lightheartedness. But for you, there’s something deeper now—something that’s been restored. Your past, your memories, are slowly coming back, and with them, you’re beginning to understand more about who you are.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so alone in the dark.

—

The soft click of the suite door closing behind you echoed in the quiet space, and you exhaled, letting the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. The room was as extravagant as before, but its opulence felt distant, secondary to the whirl of thoughts in your mind.

You couldn’t help it but your mind drifted back to that conversation you had overheard between Gojo and Nanami just a few days ago.

Their words replayed in your head, his voice low but insistent in that rare serious tone he used only when he meant something deeply.

“She doesn’t know how much I need her to be okay,’ Gojo had said, the tone of desperation evident in his voice.

‘Then let her see it,” Nanami had replied.

Shaking your head, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower might help clear your mind.

The bathroom was a masterpiece of modern luxury, with sleek marble counters, gleaming fixtures, and a rainfall shower that looked more like a spa experience than a simple rinse.

You turned the water on, letting the heat build until steam clouded the glass walls.

Peeling off your swimsuit, you stepped under the cascade of water, the warmth instantly soothing your tense muscles.

For a few moments, the only sound was the steady rhythm of water hitting the tiles, a gentle white noise that filled the space.

You tilted your head back, letting the stream run over your face, down your back, carrying away the salt and chlorine and the weight of the day.

But no matter how soothing the shower was, your thoughts kept circling back.

‘She’s in my head—everywhere I look.’

Why had he said it with such conviction? Such quiet protectiveness? Gojo, for all his teasing and playful arrogance, had always seemed untouchable, always wearing that mask of flippancy. Yet in that moment, he’d sounded so... different.

Did he really feel that way? As someone worth fighting for? Or was it just Gojo being Gojo—throwing himself into situations out of principle, out of defiance against authority?

You sighed, resting your forehead against the cool tiles. The heat of the water contrasted sharply with the strange warmth blooming in your chest, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

And then there was the other side of it—the nagging confusion that came with Gojo himself. He was impossible to figure out, swinging between moments of genuine care and infuriating smugness.

One minute, he was flirting shamelessly, his words laced with a confidence that made your head spin. The next, he was cool and distant, as if pulling back the moment things got too real.

But that moment with Nanami... It had felt real. Too real to ignore.

“Get a grip,” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your wet hair.

You let the water run a little longer, hoping to wash away the lingering mix of confusion and... whatever else it was.

Yet as you finally turned off the shower and stepped onto the heated tiles, wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you couldn’t shake the memory of his voice, or the strange, unspoken something it stirred in you.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t simple. And with Gojo, you doubted it ever would be.

As you walked back into your room, you noticed the folded pair of black silk pyjamas on the bed.

He really did think of everything…

—

After a while of reading one of the books you had brought, you were interrupted by a soft knock at the frosted glass door between your room and Gojos.

The knock at the frosted glass door was soft, but in the quiet of your room, it sounded louder than it should.

You glanced up from the book in your lap, a little startled. Sliding off the bed, you made your way over and slid the door open.

There he was, Gojo, leaning lazily against the doorframe, his damp hair falling in soft tufts around his face. He looked more relaxed than usual, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, but his trademark grin was still firmly in place.

“Can’t sleep,” he said with a casual shrug, stepping inside as if it were his room.

“You never seem to,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

“Should I be worried this is becoming a habit?”

He chuckled, making himself comfortable by sitting at the edge of your bed. “Nah, just thought I’d check in on you. See how you’re holding up after earlier.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the wall. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. But you—” You gestured toward him. “You look like you haven’t even tried to sleep. What gives?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I just don’t sleep much. Don’t really need to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. “Yeah, but why not? You’ve got to get tired like everyone else, right?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, he let out a sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not that I don’t get tired. I just can’t sleep the way normal people do.”

You frowned, moving to sit beside him on the bed. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze to the wide windows, the glittering city lights reflected in his eyes.

“You know my Infinity technique,” he began. “It’s always on. Even when I’m not actively thinking about it, it’s working in the background, keeping me untouchable.”

You nodded, vaguely familiar with the concept from what you’d learned about cursed techniques.

“To keep it running all the time, I can’t let my mind completely shut off,” he continued. “Even when I sleep, part of me is still monitoring it, making sure it stays active. I’ve trained myself to sort of… half-sleep. But it’s not the same as real rest. Three, maybe four hours a night is all I can manage. Anything more, and I risk losing control of the technique.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you’d expected. “That sounds… awful,” you said quietly.

He gave a small, lopsided smile, but there was no humour in it. “It’s not ideal, but it works. And it keeps people safe, so… it’s worth it.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice. For all his teasing and bravado, there was a depth to him you were only just beginning to see.

“Still,” you said softly, “it must be exhausting.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s just… part of who I am now.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you shifted your gaze to the windows, the city lights stretching endlessly into the distance.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked after a moment.

“Miss what?”

“Being able to just… rest. No Infinity, no responsibilities, just being… you.”

He was quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But it’s not like I have much of a choice. If I didn’t keep it on, people would get hurt. I can’t let that happen.”

You nodded, the quiet conviction in his voice striking a chord in you. “It’s a lot to carry,” you said softly.

He glanced at you, his usual smirk returning. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me now? Because I’ve got to warn you, I’m a tough nut to crack.”

You rolled your eyes, relieved to see a hint of his usual self shining through. “No, I just think… maybe you should let someone else help you carry the weight every once in a while.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Are you volunteering?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the warmth in his gaze made it hard to hold onto your feigned annoyance.

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “You’re pretty cute when you’re all serious, you know that?”

“Satoru,” you warned, though your tone lacked any real bite.

The playful edge in his chuckle faded as silence settled between you again.

He leaned back, his hands propping him up on the bed as his gaze shifted back to the cityscape outside. You followed his line of sight, watching the lights twinkle like stars on the horizon.

But your mind wasn’t on the view. It was on him.

You thought back to all the moments you’d spent with Gojo since you met him—the way he carried himself, always carefree and teasing, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch him.

Now, sitting here with him, you realized it wasn’t that the weight didn’t touch him. It was that he refused to let anyone see how much it did.

Your chest tightened again, a mix of sympathy and something else you couldn’t quite name.

He wasn’t just Satoru Gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, the one who could take on anything and walk away unscathed. He was also just… a man. A man who carried more than anyone should ever have to, who never let himself rest because too much was at stake.

It made sense now, why he acted the way he did. The jokes, the cockiness, the endless energy—it was all a shield.

A way to keep people from looking too closely, from seeing how much he gave up to be who he was.

And now, you had seen it.

Finally, you shifted slightly on the bed, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged beside him. “I get it now,” you said softly.

He turned his head slightly, one eyebrow quirking up. “Get what?”

“Why you are the way you are,” you said, your voice low.

“You’re not just… Satoru Gojo. You’re the Satoru Gojo. The strongest. The one everyone relies on. It’s like…” You hesitated, unsure if your words would sound foolish.

“Like what?” He prompted, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“It’s like you’re the sun,” you said finally. “Bright, untouchable. But no one ever thinks about how lonely it must be, burning that brightly all the time.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked at you as if seeing you in a new light. “That’s poetic,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’m being serious,” you said, nudging his arm lightly with your knee. “You carry so much, and you make it look effortless. But it’s not, is it? Effortless.”

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the glowing cityscape. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

The quiet honesty in his voice made your chest tighten.

You wanted to reach out, to tell him he didn’t have to bear it all alone, but you didn’t know how. Instead, you tucked your arms around your knees, leaning against the bedpost as you studied his profile.

“You don’t let people see this side of you often, do you?” you asked.

“Only on special occasions,” he replied with a smirk, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, lucky me. Should I feel honoured or concerned that I’m your VIP audience tonight?”

The faintest chuckle escaped him, and his smirk softened into something gentler. “A little bit of both, probably.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy, like the room was holding its breath.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you asked softly, breaking the quiet.

He didn’t look at you this time. “Tired of what?”

“Being you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “The strongest. The one everyone depends on.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he let out a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t like his usual one. It was softer, more subdued. “I think if I let myself get tired of it, I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore.”

You frowned, the ache in your chest growing. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he replied lightly, but his tone lacked its usual playfulness.

You shifted closer to him, your legs brushing against his.

“You shouldn’t have to do it alone, though. Don’t you want something more out of life?”

His smile lingered, but he didn’t reply.

Instead, he turned his attention back to the window, his eyes distant waiting for a few moments before speaking again.

“It’s not about what I want,” he said finally. “It’s about what I can do. And what I can do… no one else can. It may not be fair, y/n, but its the way it is.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Because he was right—for all the unfairness of it—he was right.

The quiet between you lingered, neither uncomfortable nor easy.

The city lights reflected off the glass, painting faint patterns of gold and silver across the room.

You wanted to say something, to push back against the resignation in his voice, but no words seemed fitting. What could you say to someone who carried the world and made it look effortless, even when it wasn’t?

Gojo leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his hands, his gaze distant but thoughtful. Finally, he exhaled, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You should get some sleep,” he said lightly, standing up and walking backwards towards the frosted glass door.”

“Big day tomorrow. The Gojo estate, bright and early. You’ll get to see the big mansion with no one living in it–well except us for a short while ‘till we get things figured out.”

“Sounds thrilling,” you said, your attempt at levity falling a little flat.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the space he’d just left.

The weight of the conversation lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of just how much more there was to him than his usual carefree demeanour.

Finally, you let out a breath, sliding under the covers and curling up against the mattress.

The faint patterns of light from the city still danced across the walls, but your eyes felt heavy now, your body sinking into the comfort of the bed.

As you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on his words—on the way he carried so much without complaint, on the rare vulnerability he’d let slip.

Tomorrow would come, bright and early, but tonight, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, you could ease even a fraction of the burden he carried.

Sleep found you, though not without the quiet echo of his voice following you into your dreams.

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dreamlandreader · 2 months ago

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Feyre's Grand Gesture

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand Summery: After five years of marriage Feyre is becoming tired of Rhysand's constant grand gestures, and decides it is about time to give him taste of his own medicine. Content Warnings: N/A Author's Note: A fun little idea I came up with months and months ago that I finally got the inspiration to write! I’m actually super nervous to post this and keep going over and over it but I just want it out in the world so I am pressing post and hoping that you all enjoy it ❤️

Feyre Archeron looked out at the sea of powder pink peonies that covered the bottom floor of the River House and knew that she had reached her absolute limit.

Rhysand was getting ridiculously out of hand. He’d always had a flare for the dramatic but his recent spate of grand gestures was driving her up the wall. In the coming days it was their fifth mating anniversary, and whilst Feyre would have been happy with a quiet weekend away at the cabin, Rhys had spent the last few weeks being exceptionally extravagant.

First it had been the five new tiaras he had gifted her, the sparkling silver settings dripping with the finest of jewels. A week later, he had five hundred fireworks set off over Velaris, irritating his brothers who had to wait hours to fly home due to the lingering smoke. Now Feyre had come home, exhausted from the studio with her four year old son wriggling away in her arms, to find her husband standing in the centre of what very much looked like five thousand flowers. Enough was enough. It was about time Feyre played her mate at his own game.

When Feyre had asked Rhys what he would like for his birthday the following month, his wish was simple: a day in bed with his beautiful mate, followed by his favourite meal with their friends and family. Unfortunately for him, Feyre had already chosen to ignore him completely.

Three weeks later, Rhys was swaddled in the warmth of his bed, deep in slumber, when a shrill, piercing noise burst through the River House sending him cascading out of bed in a tangle of leathery wings and cotton bed sheets. Disorientated and highly confused, he sprung from the cold floor ready for a fight, only to be greeted with the smiling face of his wife, her eyes wide and a huge party blower between her lips.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Feyre screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing herself into Rhys’s arms and peppering his flushed face with sloppy kisses.

Once his heart had steadied its pace in his chest, Rhys scooped his mate onto the bed, a sly smile taking over his face as he began to trail gentle kisses down her neck.

“Ah ah ah!” She stopped him, one hand on his chest and the other lifting his chin.

“We have no time for that, Darling, there's far too much to do,” Feyre whispered, with a devious glint in her eye.

“But I thought we were spending the day in bed?” Rhys purred, the air thick with the scent of his arousal.

“Don’t be silly, it’s your birthday! We have to celebrate,” she insisted, jumping off the bed and pulling her groaning husband behind her.

Soft music floated through the house, as a very confused Rhysand and a smirking Feyre padded barefoot down the grand wooden staircase in their matching silk pyjamas. The music was a cacophony of violins, flutes and horns, the various instruments knitting together in beautiful harmony. The instrumental that played as the pair entered the dining room was as familiar to Rhysand as the heart and soul of the beauty beside him.

It’s the song you played me under the mountain Feyre spoke gently into Rhys’s mind. He sent a wave of love down the bond in response, before he finally looked around the room. He had anticipated the presence of the inner circle, laughing and eating and sharing stories over breakfast. He did not expect however, the entire Velaris orchestra to be filling every nook and cranny of the ground floor of his home.

Squeezing past legs and bows and instruments galore, Rhysand joined his wife at the head of the table and settled himself to eat breakfast with an audience. It was rather nice at first, the gentle strings providing a pleasant aura in the room, but then things began to get a bit more intense. Suddenly the music swelled and the close proximity of the performers caused him to wince. Rhysand would have loved to tell these people to politely get the fuck out of his house, but Feyre was beaming and he couldn’t let her know that this surprise was truly unwanted. So Rhys sat, and ate, and smiled. That was until he realised that the clashing symbols were directly seated behind his head and he ended up wearing his morning coffee.

Once Rhysand’s ears had stopped ringing Feyre ushered the inner circle outside, and stopped them directly in the centre of the perfectly manicured front lawn. Next to her stood a dauntingly large object, mysteriously covered in a white sheet.

"Mor, Amren, will you do the honours?" Feyre asked excitedly. Cast in the shadow of the extraordinary gift, Amren and Mor revealed the surprise. Rhysand could do nothing but stare in shock at the 10 foot tall marble statue before him.

"Do you like it? I commissioned the greatest sculptor in Pythian to make a exact replica of you!"

"Feyre it's - I-" he stumbled, trying to think of any response that would not hurt her feelings.

"You love it! I just knew you would!" Feyre cheered, clapping with joy.

Rhysand chose to ignore the sarcastic jibes that came from the rest of the inner circle at Feyre's gift and prayed to the Mother that they'd one day let it go. He could hardly blame them, the thing was horrific, but he loved his wife more than his pride and so for her he sucked it up and took every joke thrown his way.

The morning continued in a chaos. After the reveal of the statue Feyre announced that she had replaced all of Rhysand’s vintage wine and bought him a full case of brand new bottles because "Who wants 400 year old wine!".

As Rhys recovered from that shock, Feyre informed the room that she had written a poem (with the help of Cassian), dedicated to her mate. It was every bit as painful as he feared it might be. Rhys knew his wife was talented beyond belief, and he would always be her biggest supporter, but poetry was clearly not her forte.

As the morning slipped into afternoon the inner circle cleared out and Feyre suggested that they should take a family stroll through Velaris to get some ice cream. Rhys let out a sigh of relief. Finally, a relaxed afternoon with his mate and their precious son, just their little family on a gentle stroll through the city he loved with his entire being.

The walk was exactly what Rhysand needed. With Feyre's hand in his and Nyx's tiny giggles filling the air, he felt nothing but contentment. That was, until they reached their destination.

As they approached the cobbled alley the ice cream parlour sat upon, Feyre revealed that she needed to quickly pop into the dance studio next door to finalise some agreements on a painting she was making for the owner. Happy to make a minor detour Rhys followed his wife and son through a large oak panelled door, into the studio space.

"Why is it so dark in-"

"SUUUUURPRISE!"

The lights flashed on as a symphony of voices melded together and endless amounts of glitter dropped from the ceiling. He'd be finding that for weeks!

Rhysand should have known. Feyre never would have insisted they dress so nicely if her plan truly was a casual stroll for ice cream.

The studio had been decorated within an inch of its life. A disco ball dropped elegantly from the ceiling, shimmering lights cascading around the room in its wake. Balloons and streamers in Night Court colours were everywhere, and a large table sat in the centre of the room, with a ten tiered chocolate cake proudly dominating the space.

The room was filled with friends, but also a lot of people Rhys barely recognised, and every single one of them wanted to speak to the man of the hour.

An hour and a half later, after battling through a crowd of loose acquaintances, Rhys finally made it back to his wife. After a quick peck on the lips, Feyre swiftly directed his attention to a rather intoxicated Helion, who had not only stolen the mic from the lead singer of the band she had hired, but also began to serenade Rhys with a very passionate love song.

The afternoon bled into night and the dance floor began to thin. Nyx had tired himself out chasing balloons with his uncles, and had fallen asleep on his Aunt Nesta's lap. Scooping him into her arms, Feyre began to make the rounds informing everyone that the bar would be free until midnight, but that they had to go home to put their little one to bed. She did tell Rhys to stay out and enjoy himself for a while longer, but he jumped at the opportunity to return home to peace and quiet after hours of socialising.

Once they had settled Nyx snug into his bed and kissed him goodnight, Rhys and Feyre ventured back downstairs and sank into their plush sofa.

“So my love, have you had a nice day?” Feyre asked, glee swimming in her eyes.

“Yes Darling. It was … good,” Rhys replied, double checking his shields were in place, and that his mate couldn’t sense his lie.

“Good?” Feyre quizzed, cocking her head to one side and furrowing her brow.

“Yeah. Very nice!” he responded weakly, trying his very best to smile and not grimace.

“You didn't like it did you Rhys?” Feyre stated plainly.

“I did! You put in so much effort and it can’t have been easy getting everything organised on top of what you already do for us all on a daily basis, it was just maybe, perhaps, a little … much,” Rhys winced, desperately hoping that this revelation would not hurt the love of his life, but needing to get the truth off his chest.

“Oh, really?” Feyre probed. She didn’t look particularly upset about the confession, but Rhys felt he should still tread lightly.

“It’s just, I don’t need all of that stuff. The big party, the giant gifts. I just wanted to spend a day with you but instead I was surrounded by strangers and lavished with many, many surprises,”

“Oh, okay,” Feyre replied thoughtfully. “So in future it would be best to keep it simple? No more grand gestures?”

“Yeah, just us. All that other stuff, it doesn’t-” Rhys stopped himself abruptly as the penny suddenly dropped.

I don’t need all of this stuff Rhys. It doesn’t matter when I have you!

Feyre’s words echoed around the room. How many times had she told him that exact thing? And how many times had he ignored it?

“Oh,” Rhys smirked, seeing the day for the first time , for exactly what it was.

“This was payback,” he laughed, impressed with his mates plotting.

“Yeah, kind of,” Feyre smiled sheepishly.

“I did want you to have a nice day, I promise! I just got slightly carried away with the whole teaching you a lesson thing,”

Rhys pulled Feyre into him then, laughing and holding her close.

“Five years in and you still keep me on my toes. Never change Feyre Archeron,”

“I just wanted you to see that I don’t need fireworks when I’m married to pure starlight,”

Rhysand’s heart swelled. He had done many things throughout his life that he was ashamed of, that he regretted and wished that he could change, but whenever he had his beautiful mate in his arms, he felt like maybe he at least got some things right.

“I get it Feyre. I still don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop fully, but maybe a few thousand less flowers next time,”

“That sounds perfect,” Feyre whispered happily, snuggling further into the warmth of her husbands chest.

“As long as you promise to get rid of that horrific statue first thing in the morning!” Rhys adds, the huge marble effigy looming in his mind.

“It’s a deal,” Feyre said, bursting into a fit of giggles and pulling Rhys in for kiss.

Taglist: @paleidiot @lilah-asteria @babypeapoddd @mybestfriendmademe

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my taglist 💕

Lovely dividers by: @tsunami-of-tears

#acotar #feysand #acotar fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #feyre x rhysand

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yourplayersaidwhat · 1 year ago

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A Butler With a Dream

The villain’s goblin butler, Yorick is polite, witty, loyal, and a brilliant engineer. The party found out that he was on the villain’s side because the villain freed him from the curse of his people to worship their idiot god, and he wants to save the rest of the goblins from the curse, too. With his super-mecha destroyed and no path to escape, he put up his dukes for one glorious last stand.

It lasted two turns, but it was an incredible two turns.

DM: As he falls to the ground, he reaches for his coat to retrieve a cigar, then frowns as he finds no means of lighting it.

Monk: “I’m going to use my last use of control flame from my item to light it for him. He’s earned it. Those are bad for your health, you know.”

Yorick: “Ha ha! Old chap, I do not think long-term health is a concern for me anymore.”

Monk: “You never know. Dreams have an awful hard time dying.”

Yorick fell unconscious halfway through his cigar, and the party left him alive out of sheer respect for the Grand Butler of Goblinkind. Perhaps one day he’ll see his dream come to life.

#shit my players say #submission #shareable #dnd #when the npcs are cool

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gliphyartfan · 3 months ago

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@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

Hey look! New stuff that isn’t a rewrite!

A thanks to Yandy for inspiring me! It was fun adding something super goofy to Mafia Au!

Teeechnically there’s nothing Yandere or mafia in this but, it’s in the Au so it counts! Consider this a filler!

(The named OCs (minus the Dean of course.)that are connected to (y/n) belong to Yandy so if you got questions about them, ask thaaat lovely lass.)

Anywho, enjooooy!

———

————-

———

It’s a warm afternoon, the sun lazily stretching its rays across the bustling college campus. Students crowd the quad, gathered around a hastily assembled stage.

A buzz thrums through the air, fueled by the promise of an announcement that has everyone on edge. (Y/n) stands with her back against one of the quad’s large trees, arms crossed, looking relaxed yet curious.

Beside her, Tess lounges on the grass, her knees pulled up.

Nic leans against the tree trunk beside her, arms folded, eyes scanning the crowd.

“It’s a shame Jack’s still helping out mom and dad,” (Y/n) muses, glancing at the chaotic crowd. “She’d love this, but she won’t be back in time.”

Tess chuckles, “Lucky for us you mean. She’d probably destroy all of us in whatever madness they’re cooking up.”

(Y/n) smiles, nodding. “True. It’s probably for the best.”

The day seemed too calm, almost as if the entire campus was waiting for something to happen. Tess tilts her head towards (Y/n), her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Think it’s going to be good?” she asks, barely containing a grin.

(Y/n) shrugs, trying to stay casual but the tension is starting to crawl into her posture.

“Depends on the prize. If it’s another pizza party, I’m not losing a limb over it.”

Nic, who’d been pretending not to care, finally speaks up.

“If they’re gathering this many people, it’s not gonna be a pizza party. You don’t rally the entire campus for cheap cardboard and cheese.”

The trio falls into a watchful silence as the Dean finally steps up to the microphone, looking far too pleased with himself.

The guy had the aura of someone who believed he’d found the next viral college stunt, like this one genius idea was going to get him written into school legend.

The Dean, in a suit just a little too tight, beams at the students, raising his hands like a conquering hero.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming! Today we have an announcement that will change the next two weeks for ALL of you!” He pauses for effect, and it’s clear he’s basking in the suspense.

Tess, with a casual smirk, mutters, “Hope he’s wearing something waterproof. This crowd’s gonna riot if he says ‘raffle tickets’.”

Dean Farrow clears his throat and grins like a man about to drop a bombshell.

“As you all know, it’s time for our annual campus-wide paintball tournament!”

There’s a faint murmur of excitement, but it’s restrained. Paintball was a yearly thing, fun, but nothing that would send the campus into a frenzy.

(Y/n) raises an eyebrow. “Paintball? Again? That’s it?”

“As you all know, last year’s paintball tournament was canceled due to the campus renovations.”

Disgruntled murmurs were heard throughout the crowd. (Y/n) could relate. No one had been happy last year.

The Dean cleared his throat. “But this year… it’s back!”

The murmurs grew louder, anticipation rising. Nic raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but trying to play it cool. Tess was already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The Dean continued, oblivious to the rising storm in front of him. “Now, let’s talk prizes! For the runner up, an all expenses paid spa weekend!”

A few cheers and claps sounded, but nothing too enthusiastic.

“Better than a pizza party!” Tess chirped.

But the Dean wasn’t finished.

“This year, though, we’ve decided to up the stakes. The grand prize for the last person standing—” He pauses again for dramatic effect. “Will be priority registration for next semester and the option to skip one final exam!”

For a second, the world seems to stop. Everyone in the quad freezes. The trio looks stunned. It’s the kind of silence so intense you could hear a pin drop on grass.

“Now students, the tournament will begin—”

A single scream tears through the air as some random student, no doubt acting on pure instinct, whips out a hidden paintball pistol and shoots his friend square in the chest. Bright yellow paint splatters across his shirt as he stumbles back, but the action sets off a chain reaction.

Hell breaks loose.

Students dive for cover, pull paintball guns from their bags, jackets, and God knows where else. Some bolt for the bushes. Others start forming alliances on the fly. The crowd disperses like wildfire, everyone scrambling to avoid being the first casualty as the Dean attempts to control the sudden chaos he unleashed.

“S-Students wait! The tournament won’t be for another-!!” He ducks as several paintballs were shot at him.

Tess, cackling like a madwoman, is already on her feet, using her bag to knock down a student that tried to sneak up on them.

“Now that is a prize worth fighting for!”

Nic, already frowning but with a glint of anticipation in his eyes, pulls a small paintball gun from his satchel.

(Y/n) blinks. “Why do you—”

“I’m not flunking a final because I have to memorize another 400 pages of economics.”

Just as Nic grabs Tess and (Y/n) by their arms, dragging them toward the nearest set of bushes, Tess glances at (Y/n) and says, “Actually, it’s a good thing Jack’s not here. She’d win this in a heartbeat, and we’d all be toast.”

(Y/n) nods, ducking as a paintball whizzes past them. “Yeah, she’d mop the floor with us.”

Nic, who was now crouched behind the dense greenery, adds with a smirk, “You’re not wrong. We’d all be out before we even got started.”

As the chaos erupts around them, (Y/n) peeks over the top of the bench, watching the pandemonium unfold in the quad. Paintballs fly in every direction, splattering students left and right.

A couple of nerds are already hiding under the admin building’s steps, shouting something about regrouping.

“What the hell is happening right now??” (Y/n) gasps, trying to catch her breath.

“Natural selection,” Nic answers, crouched beside them, his eyes darting around like a man possessed. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

Tess grins. “The plan is: we win.”

Nic, already firing at a group of art students rushing them, gives Tess a look. “That’s not a plan.”

“It’s all I need,” Tess retorts, shooting at two students passing by.

Nic rolls his eyes. “The real plan is: we find a safe place, avoid the jocks, they’ll be in full attack mode, and stay clear of the chess club. Those guys play dirty. Trust me.”

“The chess club?” Tess asks, raising an eyebrow.

Nic nods gravely. “They’re organized, strategic, and ruthless. Don’t underestimate them.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Shut up.”

(Y/n) groaned, leaning back against the bush. "Nic, we don’t even have enough paintball guns!"

Tess grinned, pulling a paintball gun from seemingly nowhere and handing it to (Y/n). "Here, you’re gonna need this."

(Y/n) blinked at her in shock. "Where did you—"

Tess jabbed her thumb in the direction of a guy lying on the ground a few feet away, struggling to get back up. “Borrowed it.”

Nic smirked. "Nice work, Tess."

“Alright,” he continued, his voice lowering as he glanced over the quad. “We need to move. Now.”

Just then, Nic froze, his eyes narrowing. “Crap. Chess club. Twelve o’clock.”

They all whipped their heads in the direction Nic was looking and sure enough, several members of the chess club were efficiently taking people out with precise shots, their strategy impeccable.

“RUN!” Nic shouted, and the three of them bolted from their hiding spot, sprinting across the quad, ducking behind anything they could find.

——

The manor was unusually quiet, save for the idle hum of conversation among the Chain. The air was thick with the smell of wood polish and the faint echo of footsteps across the hardwood floors.

Warriors leaned back in his chair, wiping a stray smear of blood off his gauntlet while Sky whittle away at a small block of wood , the room basked in the rare moments of calm they were afforded between missions.

“Ugh,” Warriors groaned, tossing the rag onto the table. “I swear, grinding bones after severing limbs is such a hassle. I’ve said it a hundred times, it’s way easier to just grind the body as a whole. Saves time.”

Wind, lounging nearby with a playful smirk, chimed in, “Or, you know, you could just feed the whole bodies to pigs. That’d solve your problem in no time. Pigs’ll eat everything.”

Time, who had been writing a report across from Sky, didn’t even look as he calmly spoke to Wind, his voice measured and even. “Wind is not allowed to assist with body disposal for a month.”

“What?!” Wind protested, sitting up straight. “Again?!? Come on! I’m being punished just for making suggestions now? It's a good idea! The pigs back home could-“

Twilight chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re weird about the pigs, Wind. You use them like you use those seagulls, way too much enthusiasm for… clean-up.”

“That’s different!” Wind huffed, crossing his arms. “Pigs are just… practical.”

"Uh-huh," Four muttered sarcastically, raising an eyebrow as he turned the page of his book.

Meanwhile, Hyrule sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a vague smile, half-listening to the chatter around him. Time, however, was only pretending to read the report in front of him. His blank expression hid the mental whirlwind after he decided to check on how (Y/n)’s paintball game was going on his phone.

The screen in front of him showed what could only be described as a literal war zone on campus, students running, screaming, and paintballs flying in every direction like some kind of apocalyptic battle.

Time’s eyebrows rose. How had it devolved into this so quickly? He knew about the prize, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of chaos from a bunch of college students. He forced himself to remain outwardly calm, though his blank expression became more strained with each passing second.

Just then, Hyrule’s phone buzzed. He blinked and frowned slightly at the unknown number, hesitating before answering. “Hello?”

There was a brief moment of silence, then (Y/n)’s frantic, breathless voice exploded through the phone.

“SEND DUDES! AND NOT TIME, CAUSE I DON’T TRUST HIS DEPTH PERCEPTION!”

Time’s eye twitched sharply at her comment, and for a brief second, the other Links swore they saw a vein pop on his forehead. He grunted quietly in annoyance but remained silent, though his expression was growing more strained by the second. He was still distracted by the chaos unfolding on his screen-paintballs flying everywhere, students diving behind cover, and… was that someone wearing a trash can as armor?

“What-” Hyrule started to say, but before he could get a full sentence out, there was another crash on (Y/n)’s end of the line.

“NIC, BEHIND YOU! NO, NOT THAT WAY-“

(Y/n)’s voice came back, still chaotic but trying to sound cheery. “Anyway, gotta go, good luck! See you soon!” And with that, the call abruptly ended.

The room was silent for a beat, everyone waiting for Hyrule to explain. Time didn’t seem to notice the stares, his eyes still glued to his screen, watching the unfolding mayhem with thinly veiled fascination and horror.

“What was that about?” Four asked, leaning forward, his face a mixture of concern and confusion.

Hyrule pocketed his phone and glanced around the room. “Uh… (Y/n) needs help. She said they’re in the middle of something, and-” he paused, glancing awkwardly at Time, “-she, uh… doesn’t want you to come. Something about your depth perception?”

Time’s eye twitched again. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he stayed silent, though the tension radiating off him was palpable.

Warriors snorted. “She’s never gonna let you live that down.”

Time’s expression remained unreadable, but his fingers twitched as though he were imagining the penal he’d perform on her. He forced himself to exhale through his nose slowly, pretending to look calm.

Twilight, chuckling, grabbed his bag. “We should head out. Sounds like she’s in the middle of some chaos.”

Wind slung his bag over his shoulder with a grin. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s just a tournament, right?”

Four rolled his eyes as he followed Wind. “Yeah, because ‘just a tournament’ always ends in a disaster with us.”

Twilight laughed and nodded in agreement.

As the Chain started heading toward the door, Time remained seated, his expression still unreadable. The others gave him a curious glance, but he waved them off. “I’ve got other matters to handle.”

Once the door clicked shut behind them, Time let out a long, slow exhale, his carefully constructed calm mask slipping. His eyebrow twitched one last time before he muttered under his breath, “I’ve got half a mind to go down there myself and put a paintball between her eyes…my depth perception is fine.”

He stared at the screen.

. . .

Chaos continued.

. . .

He sighed.

——

. . . . . . . . . .

——

The group arrived at the college, their boots barely making a sound on the eerily quiet campus.

The air was unusually still, lacking the lively hum of students that Hyrule had described. Warriors narrowed his eyes as they walked further in, his instincts kicking in immediately, scanning the area for any sign of trouble.

“This is… strange,” Four commented, his gaze sweeping across the empty grounds. “Shouldn’t there be more…people around?”

“Yeah,” Hyrule agreed, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting (Y/n) to pop out from behind a tree. “Way too quiet.”

As they ventured further down the pathway, their pace slowed when they began to notice the state of the campus.

Banners hung torn and ragged, some barely fluttering in the faint breeze. Tables and chairs were scattered across the walkways, overturned with legs bent at odd angles. Posters were ripped apart, their remnants littering the ground like confetti after a storm.

“Looks like something went down here,” Wind muttered, eyes narrowing as he nudged aside a crumpled banner with his foot.

Warriors crouched near an overturned chair, his expression unreadable. “Stay on guard.”

They moved toward the heart of the campus, the atmosphere tense. The quad, once vibrant and bustling with students, now resembled a battlefield. Tables and chairs were toppled over, barricades had been hastily thrown together, and the occasional smear of paint marked various surfaces.

“I’ve seen war zones cleaner than this,” Four remarked, both baffled and somewhat impressed as he took in the chaotic scene.

“Where are all the students?” Twilight’s voice was tight, his eyes scanning every corner of the quad.

Warriors’ eyes flicked to the closed doors of the cafeteria on the far side. “We’ll find out.”

The group approached the doors cautiously, the silence growing heavier with each step. Warriors reached out to open the door, his hand mere inches from the handle when-

BAM!

The doors flew open, and a student tumbled out, barely managing to roll to their feet. More students followed, sprinting out after them, eyes wide with panic. They ducked behind cover as a barrage of paintballs zipped through the air from inside the cafeteria.

The heroes barely dodged as a few stray paintballs whizzed past, hitting the walls behind them.

“What the-” Wind exclaimed, jumping aside to avoid being hit.

They all exchanged glances before cautiously peeking into the cafeteria. What they saw inside was chaos in its purest form.

Students were ducking behind upturned tables and hastily constructed barricades, some scrambling for cover while others fired paintball guns from behind makeshift shields.

However, the level of paint on each participant varied, those with more splatters were lingering on the outskirts of the room, making their way to designated “out” zones where they waited with mild frustration. Others, still largely untouched, remained deep in the fray, determined to emerge victorious.

Hyrule, crouching behind the door frame , stared at the scene in disbelief. “Is this… is this what school is like now?”

Four, beside him and inspecting a large splatter of paint on the wall, furrowed his brow. “It’s like a battle… but with paint? Why are they taking it so seriously?”

Warriors squinted, scanning the room for any familiar face. “This has to be the tournament (Y/n) mentioned… and it looks like she’s in the middle of it.”

Wind, eyeing the students who had just bolted outside, grinned. “Well, I guess we’re jumping in.”

“Let’s find (Y/n) and get her out of this,” Four added, already strategizing their next move.

With determined expressions, they pushed into the cafeteria, weaving through the mayhem while dodging the constant splatter of paintballs. Whatever mess (Y/n) had found herself in, the Chain was about to find out.

——

—

Warriors, Twilight, Hyrule, Four, and Wind ducked low as they weaved through the chaos of the college campus. Paintballs whizzed past them, splattering on walls, floors, and the occasional student who didn’t move fast enough.

The paintball guns they had snagged from fallen participants were a welcome relief, helping them fend off incoming attacks and maintain some semblance of control in the ongoing mayhem.

The campus felt like a war zone, desks and chairs overturned, students screaming and shouting as they dove behind cover. Paint splattered walls lined their path, but the group pressed forward, dodging fire and returning shots when necessary.

“How do they even have this much ammo?” Four muttered, pausing to reload his paintball gun as they moved deeper into the school.

“I don’t know, but I’m running low,” Wind grumbled, shaking his gun and checking the chamber. “Why do I always end up in these situations?”

Warriors chuckled, eyes gleaming as he fired a few shots in return. “It’s not so bad. Good practice, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but no one’s actually dying,” Hyrule muttered, sounding a little uneasy as he ducked behind an overturned desk for cover.

Twilight fired off a few quick shots, covering their retreat as they dashed into another hallway. “Stay sharp. We still don’t know who’s controlling this madness, and we haven’t found (Y/n) yet.”

The echoes of paintball guns firing filled the corridor as they navigated through the chaos.

The action was intense, but it wasn’t long before things took a turn. Wind and Four, distracted by the onslaught, suddenly found themselves separated from the others, their backs pressed against a wall as two paint-splattered club members (mountain climbing club by the logo on their shirts) approached with fresh guns at the ready.

“Wind! out of ammo?” Four asked, quickly assessing the situation as the two club members drew closer.

“Yeah, I’m tapped,” Wind muttered, glancing nervously at the pair stalking toward them. “And these two look like they mean business.”

The club members raised their paintball guns, smirking as they prepared to fire.

Just as things looked bleak, a rapid series of shots rang out, and both club members were hit from behind, neon paint splattering across their backs. They yelped in surprise, stumbling forward before dramatically collapsing onto the ground, “defeated.”

Wind and Four blinked in surprise, staring at the paint-covered students for a moment before turning to see Tess standing a few feet away, her own paintball gun held confidently in hand. Her combat getup, though splattered with paint, gave her an air of authority.

“Come with me if you want to live!” Tess shouted dramatically.

One of the downed students groaned weakly from the ground, raising a hand. “No one’s actually dying…”

Tess immediately shot them again, causing the student to flinch and scramble for cover. “Shut it!” she barked, not missing a beat.

Wind and Four exchanged glances before quickly deciding to follow her. They dashed forward, Tess leading them through the chaos with expert precision. Her eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, ever vigilant.

“Good timing!” Wind called out as they caught up.

Tess glanced over her shoulder. “You’re the guys who know those other two! The one with the scars and the other with the pink streak in his hair. What were their names again?”

“That’s Wild and Legend,” Wind replied.

“Weird names,” Tess commented with a grin. “I love it.”

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Four asked, narrowly dodging a stray paintball as they rounded a corner.

“She’s with our friend Nic,” Tess answered, never breaking stride. “I’m Tess, by the way. But listen, this paintball tournament has gone way past fun.” She paused for a moment, “Ok not really, but it’s turned into a full-blown warzone! The clubs are taking this way too seriously. Especially the book and bird-watching clubs. You guys ready for a real fight?”

At that moment, Warriors, Twilight, and Hyrule rejoined the group, their paintball guns still at the ready as they surveyed the situation.

Wind glanced around, assessing the chaos with a smirk. “This is more like it.”

Twilight shook his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Lead the way, Miss. We’re ready.”

And with that, they charged deeper into the fray, ready to rescue (Y/n) and see just what kind of madness she had gotten herself into this time.

———

——

—

Tess led the group through the chaotic halls, her hazel eyes scanning the area with the precision only someone used to leading tactical maneuvers during a paintball battle could have. The sounds of paintball fire echoed off the walls, students darting between cover in a frenzied battle for supremacy. Warriors, Twilight, Hyrule, Four, and Wind followed closely, keeping low and exchanging quick shots with other competitors to keep them at bay.

As they rounded a corner, Tess abruptly stopped and raised her hand, eyes widening. “Get down!” she hissed, diving behind a set of overturned benches. Without hesitation, the Chain followed her lead, crouching down just as a group of paint-covered students sprinted past, panic clear on their faces as they were still being shot at despite their clear disqualification.

One student, a guy with a brightly colored scarf, slowed down just long enough to shake his fist at them. “You think you’re so clever, huh? Wait until we unleash the library cart rampage on you! You won’t stand a chance!”

Another student, lagging behind, called out, “Yeah! And I’ll bring the staplers next time!”

Before Tess could respond, a barrage of paintball grenades was lobbed in their direction. “Move!” she barked, grabbing Wind by the back of his shirt and pulling him aside just before the grenades exploded in bursts of color. The group narrowly dodged the splatter, the paint hitting the ground where they had just been standing.

Once the danger passed, Tess motioned them forward, leading them toward a nearby building. She pulled open a door, and the heroes rushed inside, eager for some semblance of safety.

Tess let out a sharp, and practiced birdcall as they entered.

After a moment, another bird call was heard as Nic popped out from a teacher’s closet, looking alert but mercifully paint-free. “Thought you were goner for a sec,” he said, smirking at Tess.

Then, with a loud thunk, (Y/n) pushed the lid off a trash can and emerged, blinking as a crumpled piece of paper slid off her head. “Tactical hiding,” she said with a grin, though she was trying (and failing) to shake off some lingering bits of trash.

Warriors raised an eyebrow, taking in the scene. “Really?”

(Y/n) shrugged. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

Twilight chuckled as Four shook his head, clearly amused by the unorthodox tactics.

“Nice timing,” Nic said, still standing by the closet door. “You’re the cavalry, right?”

Warriors nodded, already assessing the situation. “Something like that.”

Tess handed out extra ammo, moving with the calm efficiency of someone who had done this many times before. “Alright, listen up. We’ve been holding out here, but things are escalating. Some of the clubs are pulling out their weirder strategies.”

Four, catching his breath, glanced at (Y/n). “You okay?”

(Y/n) nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nic’s been keeping me out of trouble.”

Tess gave Nic a nod. “You can thank him later. But for now, we’ve got a tournament to win.”

Before anyone could respond, (Y/n)’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and froze. “Uh, one second…” She quickly answered, her voice suddenly a bit tense. “Hey, Jack! Hi! What’s up?”

On the other end, Jack’s voice was sharp, cold. “What the hell is going on?”

(Y/n) fumbled for an answer, glancing nervously at Nic and Tess, both of whom had gone pale. “Oh, uh, it’s really nothing- qjust, you know, a paintball tournament! Totally normal college stuff, no big deal!”

There was a long pause. In the background, they could faintly hear Jack speaking to someone. “Tell me exactly what’s happening,” she demanded, her voice firm and commanding. A student’s voice, trembling and intimidated, responded, “It’s the prize, ma’am’ first priority registration and to skip out on one final! That’s why everyone’s going crazy.”

The line went dead. (Y/n) stared at her phone in disbelief, “She hung up on me.” As the others in the room exchanged horrified looks.

Tess groaned, her face paling even further. “Oh no. This is bad. Really, really bad.”

Nic ran a hand through his hair, clearly panicking now. “Jack is on a warpath. We are so dead.”

Warriors furrowed his brow. “Who’s Jack?”

(Y/n) let out a small sigh, trying to hide her amusement at the whole situation. “My baby sister,” she said casually, though there was no missing the tension that had gripped the room.

“You remember she’s a year younger than you right?”

“Still my baby sister.”

Hyrule blinked in confusion. “Why is everyone so scared?”

(Y/n) shook her head with a grin, clearly unaffected by the dread that had spread among the others. “Because Jack’s… well, Jack. She’s a force of nature when she gets involved in something like this. But don’t worry,” she added, her tone light and teasing. “She’s terrifying, but she’s family.”

Tess let out a nervous laugh, clearly still shaken. “Yeah, ‘terrifying’ is an understatement.”

Nic looked between Tess and (Y/n), his expression grim. “We’ve faced some tough competition, but if Jack’s on the move now, we’re in for the fight of our lives.”

Wind, bouncing on his feet, cracked a grin. “Sounds fun! I’m ready for anything!”

Twilight crossed his arms, his lips twitching in amusement. “I think we’ll manage.”

“Yeah,” Warriors said, his voice calm and resolute. “We’ve handled worse. Let’s just make sure we’re ready.”

With Jack now in the mix, the stakes had been raised to an entirely new level.

But despite the panic in Tess and Nic’s eyes, (Y/n) couldn’t help but smile.

Warriors suddenly frowned, glancing around the small hideout. “Wait a second, have any of you seen Legend or Wild? I’ve no doubt they’d be involved.”

At his question, (Y/n), Nic, and Tess exchanged uneasy looks.

Warriors narrowed his eyes. “…What are those looks for?”

“Weeell…” Tess started, scratching the back of her head, “they were helping us for a while.”

“Yeah,” Nic added, “they joined up with us earlier. Legend, Wild, and (Y/n) completely demolished the competition.”

Tess nodded, a grin creeping onto her face. “Took out the cheerleaders too!”

“Absolutely wiped the floor with them,” (Y/n) said, her pride evident. But then she hesitated. “At least… until things got a little complicated?”

Twilight raised a brow. “Complicated? What do you mean?”

Tess sighed, shooting (Y/n) a look who smiled sheepishly before answering. “Let’s just say their, uh… desire for the prize kicked in.”

The heroes stared at her in disbelief. Four folded his arms. “There’s no way they turned on you for something as ridiculous as—”

Suddenly, a paintball whizzed by (Y/n)’s head, splattering bright pink paint across the wall behind her. She quickly ducked behind cover with Nic and Tess, all of them trying to avoid the shots being fired in their direction.

Out the window, Wild crouched a short distance away, peering over the edge of a table as he adjusted his aim. “Sorry, (Y/n)! But I’m not dealing with that physics final!”

(Y/n) peeked out from behind the barricade, glaring at him through the window. “Seriously?!”

Before Wild could shoot again, Legend appeared, leaping down from a nearby shelf with a paintball pistol in each hand. He pointed one at Wild and the other at (Y/n)’s group. “Only person who’s gonna win is ME!”

Wild glanced at him, his eyes narrowed in a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’ve got, like, two classes! You don’t even need priority registration, you damn hoarder!”

“And YOU need to be more dedicated to your studies! Ever heard of ‘testing out’ early?”

Wild rolled his eyes, ducking down as he dodged a few incoming paintballs. “Oh, come on! Skipping any final sounds good to anyone, okay?”

Twilight, still crouched behind a barricade, finally spoke up, unable to believe what he was seeing. “You two need to stand down! This is ridiculous!”

Wild shot back, “You don’t understand how bad exams are!”

One of the non-student heroes chimed in, shaking his head. “It’s just a stupid prize!”

At that, every student in the area turned to him as if he’d just proclaimed the most foolish thing imaginable.

As the standoff continued, chaos erupted. A random student, spotting the madness, shouted out to their teammates. “Hey! Look! They’re at it again!”

With the distraction, everyone began shooting and dodging, paintballs flying everywhere as (Y/n) sprinted out of the room with Nic and Tess hot on her heels, the rest of the group following closely behind.

Warriors, Twilight, Four, Hyrule, and Wind quickly regrouped with them, ducking and weaving between overturned tables and makeshift cover.

The next hour was a whirlwind of action. Every time (Y/n)’s group thought they’d gained the upper hand, Wild and Legend would pop up, guns blazing, trying to take down (Y/n) and each other with relentless determination.

“We’ve got to take them down!” (Y/n) huffed, crouching behind a row of tipped-over chairs. “They’re too good at this!”

Twilight popped his head up to fire off a few paintballs, only to duck again as Legend’s retaliatory shots whizzed past his head. “That’s easier said than done! These two are treating this like a battlefield!”

Warriors snorted from his position behind a tree. “Typical. We’re stuck in a ridiculous tournament, and they’re acting like it’s a warzone.”

Wind, who had joined the fray with glee, shouted, “I can’t believe they’re going all out over this! I love it!”

As they weaved through the chaos, (Y/n) caught a glimpse of the aftermath of the art club’s paintball rampage. Warriors commented on the terrifying efficiency of it all. “Look at the way the paintballs hit those students! They’re making it look like an art installation gone wrong.”

“That’s probably Jackie’s doing, probably took out the art club afterwards” (Y/n) said, with a grin. “Come on guys! Even if we hate it, if we don’t join forces, we won’t stand a chance against her!”

“She’s right and I hate it!” Tess chirped.

“Tess, I love you, but the shut t he FU-“

“I found more enemies!”

“Crap! The photography club! RUN.”

“Avoid the camera flashes!”

——

————

——

The paintball tournament was reaching its intense final showdown, and the field was nothing short of chaos. (Y/n), Wild, and Legend stood at opposite ends of the battlefield, their eyes narrowing as they sized each other up.

“(Y/n), just give it up,” Wild said, holding his paintball gun at the ready. “We’re not backing down, not when we’re this close.”

Legend gave a cocky smirk. “You think you can cute your way out of this?”

Before (Y/n) could even answer, Tess, who was covered head to toe in splattered paint and grinning like a madwoman, shouted from her hiding spot, “Don’t listen to them! Keep pushing! You’ve got this!”

Wind, equally paint-splattered and grinning like it was the best day of his life, chimed in. “Yeah! No standing down! This is war!”

Nic groaned from where he lay on the ground, covered in paint and utterly defeated. “Can someone please just finish this? I’ve been out for ten minutes…”

Meanwhile, Four leaned against a wall, his face twisted in frustration as he wiped paint off his cheek. “I swear, when we get back, I’m throwing an axe at Time for letting us walk into this mess.”

Twilight, looking equally as worn, nodded in agreement as he dusted himself off. “Seconded. And I’m helping you.”

Nearby, Warriors was struggling to free himself from the netting that had somehow been shot at him by the taxidermy club. “A little help here? I’m not going down like this, ugh, this is embarrassing.”

(Y/n), sensing the tension and not wanting to be the one to lose, decided to try one last tactic. She pouted, puffing out her cheeks and widening her eyes as she stepped forward, putting on her most innocent expression. “C’mon, guys… do we really have to do this? I mean, you could just let me win. I promise I won’t rub it in or anything. Pretty please?”

Wild and Legend exchanged a look, completely unconvinced. Wild raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously trying to pull that on us?”

Legend rolled his eyes, loading another paintball into his pistol. “Come on, (Y/n). We know you better than that.”

(Y/n)’s pout quickly turned into a smirk, her eyes glinting mischievously as she dropped the act. “Oh, please. Like I’d waste real charm on the two of you. I just thought you’d appreciate a challenge before I mop the floor with your sorry asses.”

Wild and Legend both aimed their paintball guns at her, ready for the standoff. But before anyone could pull the trigger, a shadow loomed over them.

Suddenly, there was a loud clink as a paint grenade was tossed right into their midst. The entire group barely had time to react before a massive explosion of colorful paint detonated around them, splattering the entire field. (Y/n), Wild, and Legend were instantly covered in a mix of pinks, blues, and greens.

Stunned, they looked up to see none other than (Y/n)’s sister, Jack, standing in front of a window on the second floor with her perpetually deadpan expression. She was still wearing her paintball gear, yet somehow looked spotless compared to the absolute mess everyone else was in.

Nic groaned, wiping paint from his face. “Great. Her.”

(Y/n) shook her head, squinting up at her sister. “Jack! How the hell did you even find us?”

Jack, her face unchanging, pointed her paintball gun at a tall student standing at her side, who was visibly trembling. His wide eyes darted nervously between the group and Jack, whose sharp, unyielding will practically radiated from her as she stared him down.

“He told me,” Jack said flatly.

The poor student, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment, seemed to shrink under the weight of her expression. He looked like he was about to pass out.

(Y/n) sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jack, if I have to pay for someone’s therapy because of you, I’m telling Mom to take your phone.”

Jack’s usual deadpan expression broke for a second, her brows knitting slightly. “What did you want me to do? You weren’t telling me anything. I had no clue where you were!”

(Y/n) threw her arms up. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d show up and cause chaos—like you always do!”

“I had to cause chaos! How else was I supposed to find you?” Jack shot back, still not showing much emotion, but the sibling bickering undertone clear.

The poor student, caught in the middle of this sibling spat, looked like he was about to collapse from stress. Jack’s gaze flickered briefly to him before (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

“Jack, if this kid needs therapy because of you, I’m telling Mom, and I’ll make sure she takes your phone for a month.”

“Wouldn’t stop me,” Jack shrugged again.

Warriors, still trying to free himself from the netting, snorted. “Sounds like sibling love at its finest.”

Jack glanced at him briefly before shooting a few more paintballs at the retreating student, who yelped and darted into a nearby building.

“Yeah, he’s gonna need a lot of therapy,” Tess chirped up, her expression cheerful now that she defeated.

(Y/n) groaned again, glancing at the paint-covered battlefield. “Well, great. Now that she’s here, we’re definitely screwed.”

Jack blinked, her paintball gun lazily resting on her shoulder. “You’re already screwed.”

(Y/n), Wild, and Legend exchanged glances, all three of them covered in paint from the grenades.

She was right.

It was clear as day.

They lost.

…

The trio sighed in defeat.

——

———

——

The paintball tournament had finally reached its conclusion, and the aftermath was nothing short of apocalyptic. The once clean field was now littered with paint splattered walls, overturned barricades, and exhausted students. The Dean stood near the podium, nervously adjusting his tie as he surveyed the carnage with wide, horrified eyes.

In the center of the chaos stood Jack, spotless as ever, calmly accepting her victory. The Dean, still clearly shaken, stepped forward to shake her hand.

“Uh… congratulations,” he said weakly, his voice barely carrying over the nervous murmurs of the audience. He glanced around at the mess, his face pale, clearly unable to hide his dismay. “W-Well played…”

The crowd clapped politely, though the sound was uneven. Many of the students who had been taken down by Jack’s unrelenting assault looked terrified, their eyes wide as they cast anxious glances in her direction, as if half-expecting her to take them out again.

In contrast, those who hadn’t had the misfortune of crossing paths with Jack wore expressions of annoyance or irritation. Legend, Wild, and (Y/n) stood off to the side, sulking with arms crossed, paint still dripping from their clothes.

Tess and Wind, on the other hand, looked like they’d just experienced the best day of their lives. Tess was still beaming, chatting excitedly with Wind about their earlier antics. “I told you! Absolute chaos, just like I said!”

Wind laughed, wiping paint from his hair. “Yeah, that was insane! I wanna come here when I’m of age.”

As the rest of the defeated students began to shuffle out of the arena, the Dean stepped up to the microphone, clearing his throat nervously. “A-And now, before we conclude this… uh… event, I’d like to announce the runner-ups, who will receive the spa weekend prize…”

Just as he was about to continue, he leaned a bit too close to the microphone and muttered under his breath, “This wasn’t even supposed to happen for another two weeks…”

The microphone, unfortunately for him, picked up every word, and the arena went dead silent for a split second before one confused student in the crowd stood up and yelled, “Wait, does that mean the prize is doubled?!”

The Dean froze, his eyes wide with panic as he waved his hands frantically. “No, no! That’s not— I didn’t mean—”

Before he could fully explain, another student shouted from the back, “So there’s still a chance for victory?!”

The tension in the air shifted immediately. Students began to stir, eyes lighting up as they processed what had just been said. In unison, almost like they had rehearsed it, the crowd roared to life, pulling out their paintball guns with renewed energy.

“Wait! No! Stop!” The Dean pleaded desperately, stepping back from the podium as students began to scream and charge across the battlefield once more, paintballs flying in every direction.

Pandemonium erupted. Paint splattered across the field as the chaos reignited, louder and more out of control than ever. The Dean tried to shout orders, but his voice was drowned out by the roars of students launching into the fray.

(Y/n)’s eyes widened in alarm as she ducked behind the nearest barricade. “Everyone, hide!” she screamed, motioning frantically for the others.

“Run!”

Hyrule dove behind a crate as paintballs zipped past his head. “Not again!”

Four, still drenched in paint from earlier, groaned as he took cover beside (Y/n). “I swear, if I get hit one more time…”

Warriors looked panicked as he dodged another net that had been shot in his direction. “I JUST GOT FREED FROM THE FIRST ONE!”

Twilight ducked from a few paint filled water ballon’s.

As paintballs flew through the air and the field descended into complete anarchy, (Y/n) peeked over the barricade just in time to see the Dean running for cover, shouting into his microphone, “Please! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

But no one listened.

She quickly caught sight of Jack, still pristine and untouched by a single drop of paint. That deadpan expression only made (Y/n)’s paint-covered form itch for some petty revenge.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, (Y/n) stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting over the noise, “How about a kiss from your big sister as a second prize?!”

Jack, who had been calmly observing the mayhem with her usual unreadable expression, blinked in surprise. Her gaze locked onto (Y/n) just as her older sister started sprinting toward her, arms outstretched with paint-covered hands, ready for vengeance.

“Come here, Jack!” (Y/n) yelled, grinning wildly. “You can’t escape my love!”

For the first time that day, Jack’s expression faltered ever so slightly. She narrowed her eyes and immediately turned on her heel, sprinting away from (Y/n) at full speed, her paintball gun still bouncing on her shoulder.

“Get back here!” (Y/n) cackled, chasing her sister through the battlefield.

“Welp there she goes.” Tess comments.

“And leaves us here.” Nic adds.

“…”

Hyrule looks at the nervously. “Guuuys..?”

The two pull out their reloaded paintball guns.

“Guuuuuys…!”

Without another word, the two ran off to follow their cackling friend.

Warriors groaned, having had a third shot at him.

“Gods damnit, AFTER THEM!”

And so the chaos continued.

———

Time had been seated at his desk when everyone returned home, he hadn’t so much as looked up from the paperwork in front of him as he greeted them. “Welcome back.”

Time then tilted his head to the side, just as a throwing axe embedded itself into the wall right where his head had been. His only reaction was a faint sigh.

Four stood across the room, hand still raised from the throw, glaring daggers at him. “You knew. You knew about the paintball tournament, didn’t you?”

Hyrule, Twilight, and Warriors joined in with exasperated complaints, all looking equally disheveled and covered in remnants of paint. “Seriously?” Hyrule groaned. “You couldn’t give us a heads-up?”

Warriors crossed his arms, his normally immaculate hair and outfit still splattered with streaks of paint. “Worst prank you’ve ever done to date,” he muttered, shaking his head in frustration.

Twilight, still wiping paint from his hair, grumbled under his breath. “I had to crawl through two miles of paint-covered mud, Time. Two miles.”

Time, still unfazed, leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking up to meet theirs. “You didn’t ask,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Meanwhile, Legend and Wild slunk into the room, sulking miserably. Both of them had clearly taken their defeat in the tournament hard. Legend scowled as he dropped into a chair, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe we lost.”

Wild, equally as sour, nodded in agreement. “It was rigged. I swear, Tess and Jack must’ve had inside information.”

Sky, who had been noticeably absent from the tournament, offered them a sympathetic look as he sat down nearby. “At least you got to spend time with (Y/n),” he said gently, his voice full of good-natured empathy.

For a moment, the room went quiet, the rest of the group collectively turning their attention to Sky with a suspicious squint. They exchanged a glance, each silently wondering why Sky hadn’t joined them in the chaos.

Noticing the stares, Time finally broke the silence. “Sky didn’t know about the tournament. He volunteered to handle everyone’s duties while you were gone,” he explained, his tone entirely matter of fact.

Then, with a slight pause, he added, “And regardless, I would’ve forbidden him from going. We all know he wouldn’t have stayed calm if he saw (Y/n) getting shot at. Paintballs or not.”

The others blinked, as if suddenly imagining the apocalyptic expression Sky would’ve worn had he seen (Y/n) in the line of fire.

The thought alone was enough to make them collectively shudder.

Sky pouted in response, his lips twitching in mild protest, but he remained quiet, clearly knowing that Time had a point.

As the conversation continued, Wild’s Sheikah Slate buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, his eyes scanning the screen for a moment before his lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Oy, Legend,” he muttered, nudging his fellow hero. “You’ve gotta see this.”

Legend, still sulking, glanced over at the screen, and his own pout immediately transformed into a smile. The two exchanged a knowing look, their earlier misery now replaced with something else.

Though no one noticed as they continued to complain to Time.

——

—————

——

The school had been closed all week, the aftermath of the chaotic paintball tournament still lingering like an unspoken legend amongst students and faculty alike. It was now the weekend, and the Chain had enjoyed the peace and quiet, until the sound of shuffling feet broke the serenity.

Legend and Wild were at the door, both looking rather pleased with themselves as they pulled on jackets and shouldered small bags, ready to head out. The rest of the group, scattered around the living room, looked up curiously.

“Where are you two going?” Twilight asked, leaning back in his chair.

“We’re cashing in on that runner up prize from the tournament,” Legend answered smugly, adjusting his bag strap.

Wild grinned. “Yep. Spa weekend, here we come.”

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed the information. Time, sitting at his desk nearby, glanced up with an annoyed but resigned expression. His face wore the look of a man who knew the full details but, for once, was powerless to stop it. He sighed and waved them off. “Just… don’t cause any trouble.”

Legend smirked as he opened the door, Wild close behind. “No promises.”

And with that, they were gone, leaving the rest of the group in a confused silence.

An hour passed in relative peace, until Hyrule, who had been absentmindedly flipping through a book, paused and frowned. “Wait a second,” he muttered, “Wasn’t (Y/n) also a runner up? She got taken out at the same time as Wild and Legend…”

The room froze.

Twilight and Four slowly exchanged glances, Warriors straightened in his seat, and Hyrule’s eyes went wide as realization set in.

The only sound in the room was Time’s heavy sigh as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples, and Sky let out a pitiful, resigned noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sad groan.

Within seconds, chaos erupted.

“Those bastards!” Wind growled, reaching for his phone.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Warriors shouted, already typing furiously.

“They took her with them?!” Four’s voice cracked as he sent out his own frantic text.

Phones buzzed and pinged as the Chain began bombarding Wild and Legend with messages. Some sent text after text, while others left scathing voice messages, each more demanding than the last.

Twilight’s voice was barely coherent as he left his message: “Explain yourselves. Now.”

Warriors was no better, his tone sharp: “You’ve got five minutes to respond, or we’re coming after you.”

Sky, looking utterly heartbroken, didn’t even bother typing, he just stared at his phone screen, looking like someone had kicked a puppy.

Meanwhile, Legend, Wild, and (Y/n) were lounging comfortably on cushioned chairs in an upscale spa.

A warm breeze carried the scent of flowers and fresh water, and the trio were perfectly relaxed. (Y/n) sat between Legend and Wild, the three of them surrounded by refreshments and snacks on a small table between their chairs.

Legend stretched with a contented sigh, taking a sip from his drink. “See? This is exactly what we needed after all that.”

Wild grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Best prize. No distractions, no one nagging us… just peace and quiet.”

(Y/n), her eyes closed as she relaxed, hummed in agreement. “We should do spas more often.”

Legend chuckled softly, his arm casually resting along the back of her chair. “Well, I won’t complain about that idea.”

Wild’s phone buzzed on the table, but he didn’t even glance at it.

The buzzing continued, both of their phones lighting up and vibrating with increasing frequency as message after message poured in.

Still, neither Wild nor Legend made any move to check them. The grin on Wild’s face only grew as the sound became more insistent.

“Think they’ve figured it out by now?” (Y/n) asked with a smirk, eyes still closed.

Legend gave a nonchalant shrug, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh, definitely. But we earned this.”

Wild snorted, popping a snack into his mouth. “Let ’em suffer.”

And with that, they ignored the incessant buzzing, eventually muting it, soaking up every second of their hard won spa weekend, leaving the rest of their companions in a frenzy of unanswered questions.

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