#a brutal day for the red devil in me

[leonsliga]

Your two moods when you watch Man United vs. FC Bayern and you support them both

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Softer, Softest ♡

♡ Pairing: mafia!boss!san x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut/angst/fluff

♡ Summary: A fun night of stripping takes a turn when an encounter with a particularly unpleasant customer leaves you in tears, running to your boss seeking comfort and protection. Both things he’s more than willing to give.

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: explores themes of body insecurities, reader has her arm grabbed (nothing violent but brutal violence against the person who grabbed it), mentions of blood/injuries (not yours, babes), kissing, heavy body worship, san’s obsessed with you, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), clit sucking, nipple pinching, a lil manhandling, hair pulling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, low key mirror sex, pet names (baby, pretty).

♡ A/N: Hello my loves, I wrote this little fic for any of my chubby darlings out there who might not know or might need reminding that their bodies are gorgeous, worth loving, and desirable. I also really love myself a hot criminal and who better than San? K, let me shut up now. Just know I love you. Your body’s amazing. Never forget that ❤️

Midnight. Friday. The back alley of a strip club. The best in town. The strip club, not the alley. It’s a dark, starless night. The smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, the aftermath of a sudden downpour that left the ground slick with rain. Music from inside the club bleeds through the cracks of a heavy steel door. A neon red EXIT sign hangs overhead. The door creaks on its hinges as it swings open, sending the music blaring out into the night and with it comes a body. The blur of one at first, flying through the air, and then the weight of it. The heavy thud of bruised flesh and cracked bone colliding with the asphalt. 

The man on the ground is unremarkable, nothing about him worth noting except the mangled nose that gushes blood down his face, leaking into the cavernous gash that is his busted lip. He said the wrong thing to the wrong person and now he can’t speak at all, only mumble. A brushed leather Dolce and Gabbana shoe collides with his cheek. His blood splashes scarlet against the pitch black soles, a horrible crack emitting from his jaw as more pressure’s applied. Now this man? He’s remarkable. He’s muscular, defined in every way so that, even through his black dress shirt, you can read the broadness of his shoulders. His features are sharp and intense. The kind you either fall for or fall victim to. There’s no in between. He’s a handsome devil but a devil all the same. 

“You look like shit” San sighs, effortlessly kicking the man onto his back. He rolls his sleeves up, kneeling beside the man like a hunter inspecting its fallen prey. He stares down at him, emotionless, void of anything close to that thing we call remorse.  

The man heaves in a breath of air before coughing it back out. “Mmm s-s-sorry” he croaks, “I didn’t know she was anyone fucking special.” 

San grips the man’s face, grinning in a way that isn’t the least bit friendly. He squeezes tightly, forcing jagged teeth to press into the soft flesh of the man’s cheeks. “Well now you do.”

This is your boss and you, tucked away safe and warm in his office, are something special. But a part of you knew this already. You downplay it when the other girls point it out. You pretend not to notice the clear signs of favoritism but they’re there in even the smallest interaction between the two of you. Since day one San’s been your protector, your admirer. You’ve denied it a million times, convincing yourself you’re simply making more of things than what’s there. Still, after everything happened you couldn’t fathom running into the arms of anyone else. 

You were dancing like any other night—working your section and getting your tips—when some asshole grabbed you by the arm, demanding your presence in one of the private rooms. Usually you could count on security to drag him out but on weekends the club gets packed and things slip through the cracks. Sadly tonight you were one of them so, like a proper lady, you told him to kiss your ass and sent the tip of your stiletto crashing into his balls. You might be a stripper but that doesn’t mean you’re some thing that men can treat however they wish. It’s a lesson he had to learn the hard way and you were happy to teach it to him. Two shots past drunk and embarrassed by your rejection he snapped, spewing the most vile things you’ve ever heard about yourself—about your body. 

It isn’t news to you that you’re one of the bigger girls here. San says that’s what makes you special, why customers come in to blow a check on you and you alone. He’s right, your bank account says so. The customers love you, they eat up every inch of your plush body. By all means you should feel like the baddest bitch in this building, simply because you are, but in that moment his words had reduced you to nothing. A few seconds ago you were twirling around the pole like a goddess now you found yourself scurrying back to the dressing room with tears in your eyes. 

At least that’s where you intended to go. Somewhere along the way you changed course, riding the velvet lined elevator to the third floor where San’s office sits at the end of a long hallway. At the time you hadn’t considered how much this might escalate the situation because, quite honestly, you didn’t care. More than feeling hurt, you were pissed the fuck off. Your tears were of anger and, whether you felt it at the time or not, you wanted that motherfucker to pay for it. 

This place you work at. There’s more to it than what’s on the surface. It’s easy to get so distracted by the luxury and the lights and the pretty girls dancing that you miss the truth of it all. In fact, that’s the point, but you know a mafia front when you see one. You aren’t oblivious. You know what this is, who San is, and maybe that’s exactly why you were tapping at his door. A damsel in distress in black lace lingerie.

San’s heart dropped when he saw his favorite girl in tears. He stopped everything, sending his men away so he could place all of his focus on you. Resting his jacket over your shoulders, he gently cradled your cheeks, brushing the tears away to ask quite simply, “Who did it?” 

You explained everything, how that asshole grabbed you and the things he said, and San’s anger grew quietly, simmering beneath a surface of calm. He took a seat at his desk, setting you down comfortably in his lap, and pulled up the security cameras. “Tell me when you see him, okay, baby?” he instructed sweetly, his palm massaging the smoothness of your thigh.

You nodded, struggling to focus on the screen with his hand on your thigh and him calling you “baby”. San touching you wasn’t a rare occasion but it was always something light. A hand on the small of your back or fingertips grazing your arm. Never this purposeful—this intimate. You couldn’t help imagining how it might feel if he gripped a little harder, moved a little higher. You felt your heart begin to race, your temperature rising the longer you sat there in his lap.

“That’s him” you sniffled, spotting that familiar face on the screen. San studied the screen a moment before turning back to you. “I’ll take care of it” he promised, his hand riding your thigh and coming to rest at the gentle curve of your hip. “And no more crying, baby. You’re too pretty to cry.” Too pretty to cry? Oh, but you were crying, absolutely weeping, only between your thighs this time. 

San disappeared from the office, leaving you too lost in the lingering haze of his touch to even think about your insecurities, but that only lasted so long. Alone in the quiet of his office, the self doubt began to creep back in. You tried to distract yourself by exploring your surroundings—the impressive collection of vintage whiskey, the gorgeously framed art hanging from the walls—but nothing could distract you from how uncomfortable you’d become in your own skin. It didn’t help that the office was lined with mirrors, reflecting glimpses of your figure with every turn.

At last out of distractions, you turn to face the mirrored image of yourself, letting San’s jacket slip to the floor. You strike a pose, a half hearted copy of something cute you might do on stage, and watch the way the fat of your body squishes together here or there. You strike another then another then another but they’re there in every pose. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs. Your weight shows in all of them. Pinching your lower belly you think of how the other girls have had work done. Maybe if you got some done yourself…

“I left him out back. Clean him up before someone sees” San says, pushing through the door, his phone pressed to his ear. 

You jump a bit at his arrival, scrambling to grab the jacket, but San slips in behind you, closing his arms around your waist before you can retrieve your safety blanket. You tense at first but find yourself settling into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place for you to be. 

“So, what was that?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he inhales your perfume and the sweet scent of honey and jasmine fills his lungs. You smell as beautiful as you are, as beautiful as everything about you is. 

“How’d everything go?” you press, quick to change the subject. Noticing a series of tiny red scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand, you carefully take it into yours, assessing the damage. 

San shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It still stings but it’s far from the worst pain he’s ever felt. “I said I’d take care of it. It’s been taken care of.” 

You giggle at the contrast of something so menacing being spoken by someone so regal. “San, you make it sound like you killed him.” 

He leans into your neck, his lips grazing your skin on their way up to your ear. You shiver at the contact and his hold on you tightens, your bodies pressed flush against each other so that you can feel his bulge pressed into the plush of your ass. 

“Killed him? Almost” he whispers, “I answered your question so it’s only fair you answer mine, isn’t it? What were you doing? I came in and you were…” San pinches your belly, his fingertips planting adoration where there was once doubt. 

“I…uh…I was…” you stutter, searching your brain for a believable lie but you can’t find a single one.“There’s this doctor, a few of the girls have gone to him to get some work done, and I was just thinking, I don’t know, maybe...why am I even telling you this? You don’t care and anyway, it’s silly.”

“It is silly” he agrees, notes of that quiet, controlled anger you witnessed earlier resurfacing, “But you’re wrong to say that I don’t care. I care about how you feel about yourself, I care about you. You must know that.”

“I mean, I know you care about me. You care about all of the girls” you say, hesitant to accept this as a profession of anything in particular. 

San spins you around, pinning you between the warmth of his body and the cool mahogany of the desk. “I don’t care for any other woman the way I do you.” 

There it is, a profession of something very particular. He’d hoped that you’d seen it by now. He wonders if he didn’t do a good enough job of showing you. It’s been so long before you, years even, that he had feelings like this for anyone. The world he operates in doesn’t allow for soft spots. Soft spots are how you make mistakes and when mistakes are life or death you can’t afford to make them but he couldn’t help himself with you. You caught his eye the day you walked in for your audition and you’re all he’s been able to see since. You’re so delicate, so beautiful, a perfect contrast to the toughness of his life. It’s why he protects you—why he always will. 

“Your body…” he says, his palms racing up and down your curves, “It’s perfect. There’s nothing about it that needs fixing. If you let that doctor touch you I’ll break both of his hands.” San’s gaze is heavy with lust, months of longing just begging to be satisfied. It burns him up inside, sets fire to his very being, and being kissed by the flames of that need is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

“Is that the way you romance women? With threats of violence?” you tease, draping your arms across his shoulders.

“Sometimes but usually it’s like this” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue parts your lips, twining around yours to deepen the kiss. His movements are careful and deliberate. The kiss intoxicatingly slow. 

San grabs you by the hips, lifting you onto the desk and you let out a little squeak of surprise as he sets you down. “You’re so fucking cute” he grins, spreading your thighs to fit perfectly between them. 

“You think so?” you say so innocently it only makes him want to ravage you more. 

Tangling his fingers in your hair, he tilts your head to look back at the mirror, “Don’t you?” 

An unexpected wetness soaks the lace of your panties at the sight of your shared reflection. Nothing has changed about your body. It’s the same one you were picking apart, the same one you were doubting, and San loves everything about it. He praises it with his hands, with his fingertips, with whispered confessions of everything your body needs to hear. 

”I watch you sometimes when you’re dancing” he says, effortlessly doing away with your bra, “I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself when you look the way you do. It’s like you’ve put a spell on me. My little witch.”

San captures one of your breasts, kneading the plump flesh in the palm of his hand. He pinches your bud between his fingers, tugging at it just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

“But I don’t have any magic” you whimper, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. They pop open one by one, revealing a body that had to be sculpted by some divine feminine deity. You push the fabric away, your fingertips delighting in the perfection of her creation. 

San’s free hand reaches between you, stroking your clit through your panties. He groans at how soaked you are, your juices leaking through the lace to coat his fingers in your juices. “You do have magic, baby” he whispers, tucking your panties to the side, “It’s right here.”

“Aah, Sannie” you moan, your hands sliding down his abs as his fingers stretch you open. 

Your body falls back, a sharp chill coursing through you as your bare back hits the desk. San sinks his fingers deeper into your core, his cock stiffening at the sight of your body moving as hypnotically as it does on the pole. Only now it’s for him and only him. This is how San likes it, how he’s always wanted it to be. Him with his fingers buried deep into the warmth of your pussy, your walls greedily clenching around them, and you spread out across his desk, your gorgeous body on full display and your lips spilling out moans meant for his ears alone. 

Kneeling between your legs he pulls your panties aside harder this time, nearly tearing the fabric as he knots it in his fist. He brings his thumb to your clit, toying with it just to see how your body twitches with every touch. “How can a girl be this perfect?” he says, nearly salivating, “Even your pussy’s gorgeous.” There’s an audible wet sound, another sweet whimper escaping your throat, as his fingers slip out of your core and his tongue takes its place.

“San, wait…” you beg, grabbing at his hair, but you’re too late. Your attempt at pacing yourself is useless. His tongue’s already filling the space between your walls, wiggling and curling against your sweet spot. His dark hair knots around your fingers, your hips raising to ride every wave his tongue sends washing over you. 

San drags his tongue up through your petal soft folds, swirling it around your clit before diving into you again. He suckles at your clit, gently at first then faster, more ravenous. His gaze flicks up to you, taking in the way your belly jiggles and your breasts bounce. He’s drunk on your juices, already addicted to the way you coat his tongue. You taste like heaven and look like it too. It takes all of the self control he has to pry his mouth free of your pussy, snatching your panties down as he does. 

Standing back up, he grips your thighs, spreading you open to watch the arousal drip from your pussy, leaving pretty little drops on his desk. Your eyes are glued to him as he unzips his pants, letting his cock fall right between your legs. The swollen tip throbs against your lower belly, leaking precum, warm and sticky, on your skin. You rock your hips, clenching around air, craving friction from that deliciously veiny cock of his. 

“You want it, baby?” San teases, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. His length slips between your folds. They’re so smooth, so slick. Toying with your pussy’s like splashing in a lake. You’re wet enough to drown in.

“I want it, Sannie, aah, fuck…” you moan, your eyes widening at the realization that his tip’s pressed to your entrance now, stretching you the faintest bit. 

“Then tell me how perfect your body is. Tell me you love it.” He pushes in an inch more, stopping to leave your hole spread wide around his cock, still needy and deprived. 

The stretch has the room spinning, a single taste of him already making you want more. “My body’s, mmph, beautiful” you manage as he gradually feeds you more of him, “I love it.”

“Don’t stop. Keep telling me. Make me believe you” San demands, thrusting into you so hard that he bottoms out. 

You cry out at the force of the thrust, your lashes fluttering away tears, “I love, aah, my body. I love my body. It’s beautiful. It’s…it’s…”

Tucking his hands behind your knees, San pushes them to your chest, snapping his hips against you hard enough that your thighs jiggle around him. All of you does. Every stroke of his cock makes you tremble and he’s hardly able to keep still himself. You’re so tightly wound around his cock that he can feel all the finer details of your walls. They’re glued to him, sucking him in every time he even thinks about pulling back. 

Through heavy lids you watch the man you’ve only ever known to be a mountain crumble to pieces all because of you. San’s muscles are slick with sweat and a glossy haze dances over his eyes. His fingers are digging into your thighs, completely devouring them. He does what he can to swallow his moans but it’s impossible when you’re making him feel like his entire soul’s being snatched from his body. 

“You feel so fucking good” he grunts, planting breathless kisses up your leg, “Come here.”

San props your ankles up on his shoulders, hooking an arm around you and sitting you up so that you’re close enough to kiss. He grinds against your sweet spot, forcing his tongue down your throat so that every moan you set free echoes between his cheeks. Gripping the back of your neck, he slams into you, harder, faster, forcing your body to give into him. He fucks you until your eyes are rolling back, your mind too blank to recall anything that happened before this moment. There’s no thought of the incident, no thought of your insecurities. High on euphoria, your body feels beautiful, every inch of it. 

“S-San…” you whine, a familiar pressure building behind your belly. Your fingers begin to tingle as they cling to his muscles, searching for any stability they can reach. 

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he coos, not letting up on you, not even for a second.

Pulling his arm away he lets you fall back on the desk. With one hand cupping your breast and the other circling your clit, he watches you fall apart in the palms of his hands. For so long he’s had to watch you from afar, pretending that he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you, but now you’re all his. His pretty, moaning, teary eyed girl pouring your cum down his cock while you repeat his name like it’s the only word you know. He’s so singularly focused on watching you hit your high that his own takes him by surprise. 

Grabbing him by the wrist, you lock eyes, a weak smile forming on your lips. “Fill me up, Sannie” you whisper, your voice sexy even in its brokenness.

San’s body shudders and you feel a new fullness inside of you. The warmth pools deep within you at first, cascading down your walls the more he empties himself into you. “Fuck, baby” he pants, catching himself before his body doubles over. He came so hard his ears are ringing and holding onto you is all he can do not to fall. You sit up to stroke his cheek and he kisses your wrist lovingly. You stare into each other’s eyes for a minute that lasts an eternity, letting yourselves get lost in one another’s gaze. 

San breaks the trance with a kiss, holding you like one would the most precious thing they own. “Tell me, baby, how do you feel now?” 

You contemplate his question, your attention drifting back to the reflection in the mirror. It’s all there. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs, and San looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world. You turn back to him with a smile, “Beautiful.”

[merakiui]

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea. 

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.” 

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

[dearstvckyx]

Praying to whatever is in heaven Please, send me a felon - Matt Rempe

While visiting your brothers Jack and Luke Hughes in Jersey, you attend the Devils vs. Rangers game. You watch Matt Rempe get into a brutal fight with Bastian and can’t help but be drawn to the intimidating Rangers enforcer. After the game, while waiting in the tunnel, Matt spots you and strikes up a flirtatious conversation, charmed by your wit and beauty. Despite your brothers being in the next room, you give him your number. - The Neighbourhood , Female Robbery

Matt Rempe x Hughes!Reader

Warnings: Blood, mentions of violence (hockey fight), flirty tension, forbidden crush/lovers.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The chill in the Prudential Center stung faintly against your skin, but you barely noticed.

You were too focused on the game.

The crowd roared around you, a sea of red and blue clashing as the Rangers took on the Devils.

You were there for family, sitting comfortably in the seats that had been set aside for the Hughes clan. You were visiting Jack and Luke for a few days, making a last-minute trip to Jersey to see your brothers play in person for once.

But someone else had caught your attention.

Your eyes kept flicking toward him.

Matt Rempe.

Six-foot-seven of pure intimidation. Towering over nearly every other player, moving with the kind of raw, unyielding power that made the entire arena hold its breath.

You’d noticed him before—he wasn’t exactly easy to miss.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was impossible to ignore.

The game had been heated from the start—scrappy and fast, neither team giving an inch. But it all unraveled after one of the Devils players, Bastian, kept chirping at Rempe.

It was subtle at first—taunting words thrown between plays. A shove here, a slash there.

And then Bastian threw a cheap shot—catching Rempe on the wrist with his stick, hard and deliberate.

The refs didn’t see it.

But Matt did.

And that was all it took.

Rempe spun around with fire in his eyes, grabbing Bastian by the jersey, fists already flying before anyone could even blink.

The crowd roared as they went at it, gloves on the ice, helmets askew.

Matt didn’t just fight.

He commanded the fight.

Every punch was heavy, sharp, and precise. The Devils player landed a few hard hits too, making Matt’s bottom lip split open, blood streaking faintly down his chin.

But Matt didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Didn’t back down.

It took two refs to finally pull him off.

Both Matt and Bastian were bleeding, scowling, and breathing hard as they were forced off the ice.

And despite yourself, despite the brutal fight you’d just witnessed, you felt the heat crawl up your neck.

Because the sight of him—blood on his face, chest heaving, eyes still dark with adrenaline—made your stomach flip.

You hated how attractive you found it.

And you really hated the fact that you couldn’t look away.

⸻

After the game, you met up with your brothers in the tunnel.

Jack greeted you with a tired smile, tugging you into a loose side hug while Luke ruffled your hair.

“Hey, kid,” Jack muttered. “What’d you think? You get bored or what?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, totally. Snooze fest.”

Luke grinned. “You mean until Rempire turned it into a UFC match?” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. “Eh, I’ve seen worse.”

You could feel the flush rising on your cheeks, but neither of your brothers noticed.

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’re gonna check in on Bastian. He’s probably still getting stitched up. You coming with or want us to drop you off?”

You glanced at them.

You didn’t really care about Bastian.

But they were your ride, and you didn’t exactly feel like Ubering across Jersey.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” you muttered.

And that’s how you ended up sitting on a wooden crate in the hallway, scrolling mindlessly through your phone while your brothers checked in on their teammate.

You weren’t paying attention.

At least, not until you heard his voice.

“You just waiting around or hiding from someone?”

Your head snapped up.

And there he was.

Matt Rempe.

His lip was still split, a faint smear of blood lingering on the corner of his mouth. There was a thin butterfly bandage just above his brow where he’d caught a nasty hit.

But he was smiling.

Soft, crooked, and lazy.

Like the fight hadn’t even fazed him.

You blinked once, caught off guard by the sheer size of him as he towered over you, hands shoved casually into his hoodie pocket.

You scrambled slightly for a response. “Uh… neither?”

His lips quirked, amused. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head slightly, still sitting on the crate, legs lazily swinging as you smirked faintly. “I’m just so popular. Can’t let my adoring fans find me.”

His grin widened slightly. “Right. Of course.”

You felt your stomach flip at the low rasp of his voice—slow and unhurried, laced with that subtle Western Canadian drawl.

But it was his eyes that really got you.

Dark, but not sharp.

Warm, despite the blood still drying on his face.

And they were on you.

Only you.

“So,” he said, glancing toward the locker room door your brothers had disappeared behind, “you here for the Devils or just keeping them company?”

You smiled faintly. “Company. I’m with the Hughes brothers.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“No shit?” He let out a low, amused chuckle. “You’re their sister?”

You smirked. “The one and only.”

His gaze lingered on you, a slow sweep from your eyes to your mouth before meeting your gaze again.

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” he muttered, his voice low and smooth.

You arched a brow. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

He smirked faintly, leaning just a little closer.

“Because you’re way too pretty to be one of them.”

Your breath caught slightly.

But you didn’t break eye contact.

Instead, you held his gaze, the corner of your lips tugging into a playful smirk.

“Smooth,” you teased softly.

His grin widened. “I try.”

There was a brief pause—just long enough for the tension to settle thick between you.

And then he casually pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket, unlocking it with one hand.

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone softer but deliberate, holding it out to you. “You should put your number in.”

You blinked once, briefly surprised by how direct he was.

But then you took his phone without a word, typing in your name and number before handing it back.

He glanced at the screen, smirking faintly. “Hughes, huh?”

You crossed your arms loosely over your chest, flashing him a playful grin.

“Don’t forget it.”

He chuckled lowly, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, I won’t.”

He took a slow step backward, eyes still locked with yours.

But before he turned to leave, he flashed you a crooked grin, his lip still faintly swollen but no less charming.

“Hey,” he muttered softly. “Next time you’re in town… maybe you sit on my side of the ice.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you sitting there—cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly, and stomach flipping as you stared after him.

And for the first time all night, you weren’t in a rush to leave.

[tonycries]

Yakuza!Sukuna is terrifying—unholy, untouchable, an apex predator in designer suits and ancient ink.

People hear his name and flinch. His enemies fold before he touches them. His men follow orders without a word.

He doesn’t bow.

He doesn’t bend.

And he doesn’t love.

Until you.

And suddenly, he’s obsessed. Feral. Whipped in the most dangerous fucking way imaginable.

⸻

You walked into his world like a pretty little accident waiting to happen, all soft smiles and polite charm, too good for the seedy bar you’d been dragged to, dressed like temptation with just enough ink showing to get under his skin.

He watched you from his booth in the back—red eyes narrowed, rings clicking against his glass, the glint of his gold tooth catching the light as he grinned.

He should’ve looked away.

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Then your date touched you—too high, too fast—and said something that made your smile freeze.

Sukuna sat up, ready to intervene.

But you didn’t need help.

You punched him. Hard.

One hit, clean, brutal.

Blood everywhere.

Sukuna’s drink hit the table untouched.

His jaw was clenched.

And his cock? Already fucking hard.

⸻

He was on you in seconds—inked, towering, dangerous, all heat and muscle and that devil’s grin that usually made people piss themselves.

But not you.

You just blinked up at him, unimpressed, bored even.

“You hit like a pro, sweetheart. I’m impressed.”

You smirked. “And you’re nosy. What’s it to you?”

“Everything.”

You scoffed. “Bold. You always hit on women after they break noses?”

“Just the ones I’m gonna marry.”

⸻

Three days later, you’re in his bed, straddling him, his hands bruising your hips, both of you breathless and high on lust and pride.

“Mine,” he growled, biting your jaw, cock buried deep, eyes wild and hungry.

You didn’t flinch. You smiled, leaned in slow, licked into his mouth, and whispered,

“No, you’re mine.”

He froze.

Laughed.

Then snapped.

Flipped you fast, hands everywhere, teeth on your throat, voice wrecked and hoarse.

“Yours? Fuck yeah, angel. Yours. Now say it. Say you’re mine.”

You didn’t. Not at first.

You made him earn it.

Made him work for it, cocky and smug, teasing him with that sweet little mouth and that filthy attitude he was addicted to.

Until you broke—clawed at his shoulders, gasped it, “Yours, Kuna.”

Kuna.

He fucking snapped.

Body shaking, breath gone, head buried in your neck as he lost it inside you, moaning like you’d just ended his entire bloodstained existence.

“Say it again,” he demanded, desperate, ruined.

You smirked.

“Yo-”

“You know that’s not what I mean. Say it again brat, fuckin please”

“Kuna - ‘s all f’ you Kuna” You’d slur in the throes of pleasure. Barely able to think straight as he slams into that sweet spot over and over again.

That’s when he swore he’d kill anyone who dared breathe wrong in your direction.

You were his. Forever.

⸻

He never stopped touching you.

Hand on your ass in public. Arm around your waist. Mouth on your neck. Always.

He didn’t care who watched.

Didn’t care who stared.

“Wear whatever you want, baby. I can fight.”

And he did.

⸻

You, sweet and polite with everyone else, terrified rival bosses with your smile.

Once, some idiot flirted with him in front of you.

You didn’t yell. Didn’t curse.

Just smiled.

“Touch him again and I’ll break your wrist. He’s mine.”

Sukuna? Hard. Immediately.

Dragged you out and proved it against his car, voice low, wrecked, “Yours, angel. But don’t forget—you’re mine too.”

You never forgot.

You just loved making him say it again. And again. And again.

XO

🔖

Knee-deep in the passenger seat and you're writing about yakuza!Sukuna, is it casual now? 😼

OH?? MY?? GOD??? COME BACK N GIVE ME A BIG SMOOCH AND THEN KEEP WRITING ABOUT THIS NEOWWWW 😈 Why can I perfectly imagine him as a big bad yakuza though - like the stereotypical ones from anime ahahah.

[jorblesandco]

Some TSH analysis, uncategorized

julian calling the greek class (minus bunny and richard) "magpies" is so fun to me bc . while they are symbolic of intelligence and resourcefulness they are also symbolic of deceit and opportunism

richard didnt eat his lamb chops at his first dinner with the twins and bunny ate richards chop instead . lamb could be a religious ref to following, how richard is not quite yet in the thick of it with the group, not yet a follower of henry/andor julian . but later in the book he does eat lamb in camillas room at the hotel if i remember correctly , perhaps he is consuming his own innocence, his own morality . finally accepting his role as a follower maybe . also something to do with morality

Henry as death, as Satan/the devil (Richard has described him as Satan, some girl at a party said the greek class were all devil worshippers and Who do they worship except Henry)

Rot and death, particularly rotting fruit -- something about opulence and overindulgence: richard says in his notebook from when he was 18: “There is to me about this place a smell of rot, the smell of rot that ripe fruit makes. Nowhere, ever, have the hideous mechanics of birth and copulation and death-those monstrous upheavals of life that the Greeks call miasma, defilement-been so brutal or been painted up to look so pretty; have so many people put so much faith in lies and mutability and death death death” and then the first few days at hampden (literally 2 pages later) “stunned and drunk with beauty ... Trees creaking with apples fallen apples red on the grass beneath, the heavy sweet smell of apples rotting on the ground”

Richard first name John:  john the apostle . outlived all the other apostles .beloved . follower . etc . interesting the things that could be associated with that; john also means “graced by god”so that could also be looked into; could be that richard abandoning his given name that he has abandoned any grace that could have been given him . could be that he is the apostle to Henry in a way that the others weren't .... could be he has fallen from grace; extremely interesting to me that richard as a name has zero biblical references and means "brave ruler" . something something about the front richard was putting on . the grandiose he wanted so badly to imitate but in the end couldnt and he will always remain but a humble john follower and apostle . perhaps

[aggieharkness]

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Pairing: Joan Ramsey x reader

Summary: love can never be evil. Love should never be cruel or selfish but listen and comfort. Love could never have a form or fit in a mold as it is a feeling so deep that it shapes one's very soul. Love was at Joan's feet and she was cradling it, on her knees.

Warnings: religious trauma, mentions of murder and death, grief, child loss, isolation, buuuuut things get better cause there's fluff

Author's note: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post this, but I wanted it to be good because it's a Joan story and she's a really complex character. I hope you all like it and I do hope that you can all see it as a Valentine's story. Special shout-out to @bravewithacapitalb for being my Beta Reader when she's got her own thing going. I love you girl. Sorry @delusionalforolderwomen but it's not Libby (don't be mad 🥺) . As always, do tell me how it looks, if you all like it or if there are things I need to change. I accept constructive criticism. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Joan Ramsey but curse the writers for not giving us more scenes with her. If she evil why shaped like such a cutie pie?!

Happy Valentine's!

Words: 12 K (No comment)

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset. The radio never ceased its incessant pour of songs, most of them speaking of love and romance and futures that held no pain, only promises. Lies, all lies. Joan couldn’t help but scoff as the words went on, a goodbye to a loved one, someone who had meant something and who still held a special place in the singer’s heart, she thought, a foolish message that would fall on deaf ears. Or dead ears. The house was cold, silence creeping around every corner, making the wood creak and whine under its weight, curtains drawn and windows closed, not even a small breeze breaking into the house. She had no one to remember her by, not a soul left in her meaningless life that would hold her at night or sign with her in the kitchen while she cooked, only bitter memories and regret at her actions. The almighty had forsaken her, abandoned her in a vast land of sins and pain that she couldn’t escape from, and in the centre of all that fire and destruction that had become her life, she stood alone.

She laid in bed each night hoping she would not open her eyes the next day, unable to cope with everything that had happened, with the thoughts that she once had had a husband and son that she had loved more than herself and now only smoke was left, swirling in between her fingers, unable to grasp them, unable to fix what was broken. Joan barely ate, what little appetite she had vanishing every time she stepped into the house hoping to hear Luke, to even hear her late husband speaking on the phone to some client or other, only to be met by silence, that deafening noise that seeped into her bones. And today, was no different. She sat at the head of her oak dining table, a glass and bottle of red wine sitting in front of her as the radio played in the background trying to fill up the room with something that wasn’t the brutal sorrow that had overtaken her body. Her hair was piled on the back of her head, held by a black claw clip that dug onto her scalp, her bangs brushing her eyelids each time she blinked, but she showed no sign that it was bothering her, a few short random strands framing her face.

Months had passed since she had lost Luke, since she had let her own madness take him from her, the Devil’s work she had thought back then, and she was no closer to getting over it than the oceans were to drying up. No matter how much she tried to find an excuse, a reason as to why she had done all she had she could not, and it frightened her how lost she was, how little the scriptures she had once held onto as if they were oxygen to her meant to her now, only words in a worn book that brought no comfort. When had she stopped walking the path of the Lord? She had been His humble servant, and he had only put stones on her path that as the years went by, she had more trouble climbing, winning each trial he set before her with more difficulty each time. Had he been testing her faith all along or had he never cared for her? She was one of his children, and he cared for all of them equally and yet she felt… alone. Even when she had first gotten married she had felt alone, sitting in an empty house waiting for her beloved to walk through the front door to a warm delicious dinner and the sweetest, loving smile she could muster on her face. He had never truly seen her, pushing her aside without her noticing, or perhaps she had been aware, and she had been far too terrified of being left behind that she had let him.

The wine in her glass was sweet, her favourite kind, and it tinted her rosy lips as she took a sip, but as it slid down her throat it became sour, bitter on her tongue. Nothing tasted right anymore, the air around her didn’t smell as fresh as it once had, dusty, perhaps even musky and it clashed with the aroma of her perfume and shampoo, vanilla and sandalwood, in a nauseating manner that didn’t help her empty stomach. The song had ended a while ago, something different playing, raking in her ears like nails on a board, but she had no desire to stand and turn it off. She could not face the silence once more, it was poisoning her, killing her as the minutes passed by, the clock on the wall ticking in a perfect rhythm. So I'll dance with your ghost in the living room and I'll play the piano alone. What ghosts? The ones that she had caused or the ones that haunted her every second of every day? Could your eyes be considered a ghost? She had seen you arrive a few months ago, shortly after the incident with Luke, and as Joan’s big brown eyes had settled on your form, through the living room window, she could not help but admire the agility and grace with which you moved. It was a change from the way the girls in that school flaunted themselves, and in her heart, she felt a pang of sadness imagining how different you would be in only a few weeks. Probably condescending and with an air of superiority taught to you by Fiona, losing everything that made you so unique. She was proven wrong.

You had been warned about Joan, told about what she had done and how you were supposed to steer clear of her, but you didn’t. It had taken you several days to warm up to the idea of knocking on her door, a tray of homemade cookies in your hands, hoping your new housemates and teachers wouldn’t give you detention for breaking their rules, but there was something inside you that was curious, drawn to this unknown woman everyone seemed to hate. There were questions no one had ever bothered to ask to get the whole picture, and you intended to gather your own information and form your own opinions about her before you condemned her, after all she was nothing but a name to you. The instant the doors had opened your mind erased all preconceived ideas. She was beautiful, her perfectly straight hair framing a face of prominent cheeks and plump lips, a most exquisite pink hue tainting her skin, her features unique and utterly breathtaking. She had observed you quietly for a moment or two, curiosity glazing her eyes and she had not expected anyone to come knocking on her door, much less you, the new girl, but she could not say, not even now, that she was displeased by having another human being speak with her.

And it had taken her completely by surprise just how kind you were, how softly you spoke to her, and how unbothered you seemed to be by what she had done. Perhaps you hadn’t known? No, she had seen the hesitation at first in those beautiful eyes of yours, the way you held yourself at a prudent distance as if she could cause you harm, but when she had greeted you, Joan’s voice hoarse from not having spoken a single word in days those doubts had melted into nothing, ice under the sun. Of course, she was aware of what you were, of the power you held within you, and she had been wary of what you might do to her if you changed your mind about how you felt about her in the middle of the conversation, but that never happened, not for an instant did your interest sway from her and only her, no past tainting your ever-growing opinions. After she took the plate of cookies, a quiet thank you slipping from her rosy lips, the aroma of chocolate and sugar making her mouth water, your semblance took on a more sombre aura and with the utmost respect words of sympathy left your mouth, falling of the tip of your tongue like rain on a desert. And for the first time she felt as if someone actually cared about her pain, as if someone who could see her grief and sorrow and not just the actions that had unleashed it all. Tears had gathered in her eyes at that, only managing a nod as a lump formed in her throat preventing her from speaking, barely hanging on by a thread, and thankfully you understood. As you turned around to leave, your hand brushed over Joan’s wilting roses and like magic they blossomed once again, soft pink petals gleaming under the warm sunlight.

That first time she saw you haunted her to this day, the way your hair shone under the golden light of the full sun, how your flowy dress swayed in lazy waves around your legs in the warm breeze, the way your eyes had instantly bewitched her with their honesty and their caring gaze. You had known nothing but horrible things about her and yet you had had the courage of meeting her and treating her with kindness. She hadn’t known such a feeling since she was a young girl, not even her church acquaintances had bothered to show her an ounce of mercy and care when everything had unfolded before her, when hell had broken loose in her life. If God was supposed to love her, why had he closed his eyes at her pleas and let her wander into a dark path that had no exit? Each day became unbearable, long, dragging out until her tired body could not remain awake a moment longer even if all she had done was sit in her living room and let her guilt pushed her to the ground and stomp on her. The only moments of joy she lived were when you made it your own personal mission to get her to walk out onto the porch of the garden, her dressed hugging her frame looser every time you saw her, her skin losing that healthy glow that had adorned her that first time. It broke your heart just how everyone had cast her aside without asking why. Things were so much more complicated that she let on, you could sense it, but you never pushed her into spilling her secrets to you, highly doubting she had faced those terrors since they had happened.

You were indeed the only ghost she ever wanted in her life, floating through the halls of her house and whispering her name in her ear as soon as the sun set on the horizon, her bedroom bathed in the cool like of a full moon. But she had pushed you away, like the coward she was, afraid of what was blossoming in between the cracks of her broken heart, shards of red glass spread inside her chest. She had never thought anyone would be able to pick them up and put them together again, that someone who take an interest in a lost woman like herself, and as you had held her hand for the first time a week ago Joan had crumbled like a house of cards. She had melted into your touch, your smile lighting up the entire city as you pulled her out of her house and down the street, laughing and talking a thousand miles per minute about nothing and everything. She had listened to your every word, the sound of your voice a balm for her wounds as she let you to take her to the ends of the world, but when she had realised what was happening, that she had fallen for you she had pulled her hand from yours, forcing you to halt your steps and turn to her with a confused look on your face. Had you said or done something wrong? Why did she seem so upset all of a sudden? Without a word she had taken a step back from you, horror painting her features before she had run back to her house. She had refused to turn back as you called out her name, each time with a more pained tone, because if she had she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have kissed you right there on the street, and she couldn’t be in love with someone like you.

What a joke it was now to think she had been so terrified of having something with you when the “Good book” was nothing more than a paper weight on her dining table. Verses about love sounded empty, just as hollow as was the void in her chest, the accusatory sermons she had heard over the years about what was supposed to be a happy marriage, how love should feel and look nothing more than poppycock as they echoed in her mind. I'm so scared that the moments we shared won't happen again. I don't want this to end. The radio had changed yet again, and it seemed to Joan as if it was connected to her, expressing what she could not bring herself to voice, terrified that if she opened up her heart all those verses that had been carved into her very being would crush her, punish her for not being who she was taught to be. But how could she carry on lying to herself? The Joan that had been blinded by God’s words had done things that should have made you run away, and yet you stayed, came back to her whenever she needed you without expecting anything but a smile in return. The Joan that now sat all alone in her big empty house, filled with demons brought by her own hand, could feel nothing knowing that the only chance at redeeming herself had been right there, in the palm of her hand and she had run away from it. You could have been the star that made her retrace her steps to the beginning of the road.

Like a leaf that falls from a tree, the cold breeze of winter making it sway from side to side, its broken edges slicing through the air, a single tear fell from her eyes, the crystal drop sliding down her cheek. It fell on her lap, sour and full of regret, and the once delicious wine tasted like a vile concoction the instant it touched her lips, but she forced herself to drink as if it could numb the pain of her past while her soft eyes stared at her bleak future, clouds only getting darker. No, it wasn’t God who punishing her, it was obvious he didn’t care enough about her to even do so, she was flagellating herself as if that could make the blood she had on her hands vanish, refusing to let anyone love her, crushing her own feelings as if she didn’t have the right to find happiness once again. She who is without sin, cast the first stone. The words stung her skin, fingers gripping the glass harder to the point where her knuckles turned white, the thin crystal cup threatening to shatter and splash wine and shards everywhere, but she didn’t stop. She could never pick up said stone, she could never throw it unless it was at herself, because she had done nothing but commit sin after sin thinking that they were justified, that she was being a good Christian woman when in truth she had strayed from the path long ago. Who was she following now? The Church? The Devil? Perhaps there was no one on the other side of those empty words preached every Sunday. Ain't it funny how time shows you, you know nothing.

The song finished, leaving a few seconds of complete silence to fill up the room, the flames of a few candles Joan had lit an hour ago or so the only source of light, casting wavy shadows onto the wood. When had everything gone wrong? With a silly voice the person doing the program on the radio spoke about the playlist they had ready for the next forty-five minutes, every song a message of love for everyone who celebrated this special holiday. Another scoff fell from Joan’s lips; it was Valentine’s Day, of course. She had barely left the house in the last three days, she had not seen the millions of flowers and balloons that filled up the stores, not the way your frame had been glued to your bedroom window hoping to get a glimpse of her, wondering why the sudden reluctance and fear of you. She hated the holiday, it felt frivolous, cold to her, and she hadn��t really had anyone to celebrate it with since Luke had been a child, her husband always busy, always emotionally unavailable, the house waiting for a bouquet that never arrived, a ring that remained at the store, a box of chocolate that went stale on the shelf where it rested. She had been s deep in thought that it took her a couple of minutes to hear the doorbell, the shrill sound almost making her ears bleed. She only wanted to be left alone so she could get drunk in her own sorrow until she could no longer breathe, but whoever was on the other side of her front door was not giving up, and after switching between knocks and that horrid bell for over five minutes Joan stood, the chair scraping angrily over her wooden floors.

She was angry at the interruption, and it showed in the way her heels echoed as she made her way to the door, grabbing the knob and throwing it wide open, the glass rattling as it hit the wall. Whatever she was going to say to whoever was on the other side faded into the ether as her eyes were met with the sight of a sea of flowers at her feet, a rainbow of colours gleaming under the soft light of the full moon that shone high up in the night sky. There were dozens of roses of every shade imaginable sprawled over the white pine wood, tulips, sunflowers, and what seemed a thousand more flowers resting in between. She was no stranger to gifts, small things that didn’t mean much like an old perfume or a silver bracelet in which her name was spelled wrong, but this was a whole new level. On the stairs, kneeling before Joan, you looked up at her, a lovely white dress subtly hugging your figure while a blue box rested on the palms of your hands. You had never looked so perfect before, smiling kindly up at her as your eyes held her gaze, something she couldn’t quite recognise dancing like stars on your irises, sparkling with a life that pulled her towards you like a magnet. Her brown heels took one single step forward, the wood creaking under her weight, her hand falling slowly from the doorknob and coming to rest on her side, her lips parted in surprise, a slight red colour lingering from the wine.  

-Y/N? – her voice sounded so raspy and raw, as if she hadn’t used it since the day she left you, and perhaps she had. No one had come to visit her ever since you had moved in next door, it would be no surprise, but that didn’t mean it was a pleasant thought.

-Hello, Joan.

-What are you doing here? What’s all this?

-121 flowers. One for each day I’ve known you, and all of them as an apology for whatever I did wrong the other day.

-This must have cost a fortune. – her feet brushed the soft petals of a purple tulip as her body moved closer to yours of its own accord, almost as if your skin was calling out to hers, her heart racing against her ribs nearly painfully.

-That doesn’t matter, you are worth this and much more, Joan.

-But why? – she had never felt so conflicted before, wishing you would take her in your arms and never let her go but knowing that whatever this was, if it was ever something and not just a hallucination of her mind, wasn’t right. But then why did she feel like you were her saviour and guide? Part of her would follow you blindly like Mary had followed Christ, sharing your burdens and kneeling at the foot of your cross ready to gather you in her arms. But the other held her back, keeping her in a prison that was her own mind, prejudices that had been taught to her all her life making her feel as if what her heart was saying to her, whispers spoken from in between the cracks, would condemn her to an eternity of pain. But wasn’t she already living like that? You had stood from your spot on the stairs, analysing the sadness that had laced her question as you stepped closer to her, barely a foot separating you, the blue box you had been holding now resting on the floor next to your feet.

-Because you don’t deserve what you are going through. I don’t care how many times Fiona tells me you are dangerous and that I can’t see you. I know you would do me no harm. I have heard your story on a loop from mouths that weren’t yours for months and it doesn’t seem fair. They have no right to tell your story.

-But they do, and people listen to them. Do yourself a favour Y/N and go home.  

Was she really about to give up on the only thing that had made her truly happy in years? Her hand hesitated to touch you, knowing it would be even harder to let you go the moment her touch starved soul caressed yours, but she indulged herself, at least one last time, and took your hand in hers, her thumb rubbing your soft skin. All the way from the dining hall a new song played, and it couldn’t have been a most perfectly cruel choice. Don't you know I'm no good for you? I've learned to lose you. Joan truly fought to keep her composure, to not break down before you had walked away, but you didn’t move and with the way you were looking at her as if she was the sun, the moon and all the stars combined her carefully crafted walls collapsed. Tears fell down her cheeks in quick succession, burning her flesh, and she almost expected you extract your hand from hers and leave her standing there drowning in her own grief the same way everyone else had, but your warmth never left.

You had never known of anyone who deserved love more than Joan, and at the sight of her tears, her very soul conflicted with who she was at this point in her life, unsure of what she wanted and what she felt she had the right to ask for, all translated into the tears that fell like sharp diamonds all the way to the cold hard wood under her feet you threw caution to the wind and gathered her in your arms. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the palms of your hands on her back pressing her against your warm body, a sea of flowers and fallen petals in a circle around your feet, the sweet aroma enfolding her as much as your embrace did. Her thin dress was no obstacle for your heat to seep into her bones, easing all the aches that had settled deeply within her, listening to the way your heart beat slowly, almost in a perfect rhythm. But it was the touch of your lips, soft and tender, on her temple that had her sobbing into the crook of your neck. She could not do it, she could not watch you slip through her fingers after all the pain she had gone through, your presence the only thing she ever wanted in her life. My love, my love, my love, my love. Won't you stay a while? 

You would stay for all eternity if that’s what she wanted, if it meant healing her and seeing her smile as you shared the smallest of things, watching her find her own path, her own light and purpose out of all the teachings that had turned her into a woman she hadn’t recognised when standing in front of the mirror. Your fingers traced lazy patterns in between her shoulder blades as your other hand held her gently against your frame by the back on her neck, her tears leaving wet patches on your dress, though you cared very little about it. A chill drifted under the roofed porch, riding up Joan’s spine and making her shiver but she didn’t move, the grip her hands had on your gown making her knuckles turn white. If loving you, caring about you was such a horrible thing, a temptation from the Devil, why did it feel as if she was walking the heavens now that she was in your arms? Was she willing to risk eternal damnation in exchange for a lifetime with you? You had come back to her even after her fears and doubts had made her run away, and you had brought her a flower for every single day you had known each other; no one had ever done such a thing for her, she could not even recall the last time she had been given a single lilting flower, let alone 121.

-You don’t need to be so strong all the time Joan. Let yourself grief, I will be here to hold you and take what you can’t carry. Don’t believe for an instant that you are undeserving of love or understanding. Those who have not lived it all in your skin cannot see and feel the truths hidden in your mind. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Your voice was calm, soothing as each word fell from your lips like rain after a long draught and it filled every cell in her body with a sense of peace that halted her sobs and made her lift her head from your shoulder, red, puffy eyes locking onto yours. Were you an angel sent to her to return her to the rightful path, to the road built in the truths that were never written and therefor never changed, each stone an action that had no other witness but Him? There could be wrong in the way her heart raced as your words sunk deeply withing the cracks, no evil clouding her mind, making her stray for she was now exactly where she was meant to be, and your touch was nothing but glorious, a rejoicing song against her skin. Her face was only inches away from yours, your eyes counting every freckle that adorned her nose and cheeks, such an intimate position reminding her that that was the closest she had been to another person in years. The traces of a life she didn’t want to go back to lingered in everything she did and everything she said, habits that would take an entire lifetime to erase and yet she was willing to do so, as long as you were right beside her, reassuring her that everything would be alright every time those demons that haunted her came to claw at her free will, tempting her to fall back into the darkness she currently resided in, regret and fear her only companions.

Her chocolate eyes hid thousands of secrets, of untold stories that you wanted to hear, but not because you were a curious person or a gossip, which you supposed you were to a certain extent, but because they were simply hers and everything that belonged to her was, everything that was her, meant the world to you. You did not fight the feeling of your heart jumping a bit as you held her gaze, falling down rivers of sorrow and happiness that run underneath long oak bridges, their path taking you to where Joan’s broken soul laid, cracks running deeply from side to side as the light within her quivered dimly under the weight of everything that had happened. Your gentle hands could not heal the ill nor make the dead rise, but they could hold her steady as the wounds stitched themselves together, no more blood pooling in that void that had formed in her chest. The late-night breeze carried the words of song Joan didn’t know, sweet notes that danced in between specks of dust, floating lazily, twirling in a waltz that no one saw. And even though she was unfamiliar with the music, it somehow made your eyes glint under the silvery beams that bathed the pavement, moonlight casting a spell over the city, away from the yellow lights of the streetlamps. Now, I've thought it through. Crawling back to you.     

Over glass and burning embers, you would crawl on your hands and knees back to her, even if the world turned against you, even if there was nothing else worth living for, she would be the only reason you drew breath every morning as dawn broke through the horizon and as the thick veil of night covered the sky. The petals scattered on the floor glowed under the pearly beams, reflecting on Joan’s sun-kissed skin, translucent rainbows lingering on her cheeks, dripping over her full lips like honey, slow and perfectly sweet. Her hands didn’t want to release your dress, afraid you might vanish before her eyes and her brain realised that all this had been nothing but bitter dream induced by the lack of sleep and the wine, another punishment she was inflicting on herself, but she still did it, her fingers stiff as they released the warm fabric, discomfort building in her hands at the hard grip she had had on you. Your touch lingered for an instant longer, but when her arms fell to her sides you understood the moment had passed, and as much as your words were still echoing inside Joan’s mind, your fingers tenderly brushed the skin of her neck one last time before cold meet the spots where your warmth seeping from your palms had been.

It was a most odd sensation to feel a shiver running down her spine at the lack of your touch on her, wishing your hands were still on her. She could hardly recall when had been the last time her husband had held her hand, let alone kiss her on the cheek or look at her they way your eyes did, no fear or disgust shinning over them. She could not remember if anyone had ever bothered to go to the extents you had to show her they cared, to do something with a meaning, not just to fill up the purpose of the holiday and get her off their backs, and make her feel like perhaps there was hope for her. Standing in separate circles once again, you took the opportunity to kneel at her feet and pick up a single flower, a most perfect pink lily that Joan hadn’t noticed before, a little trick you had had up your sleeve, and in the most gentlemanly manner you could muster bowed and handed it to her. Her lips broke into a giddy smile, unable to stop it even if she had wanted to, her slender fingers taking hold of the stem and bringing it to her nose, the rich floral accents that fell from its petals, bright and deep pink tones painted on the inside with the utmost care as the edges stood out in a pristine white, never overshadowing the other, only blending to perfection as pastel pink dots laid scattered over the soft floral leaf, filling her lungs.

-Its beautiful Y/N. Thank you. – her timid smile was partially hidden by the flower, resting gently over her rosy lips, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t seen it or hadn’t noticed the tint that was spreading over her cheeks, a most enchanting shade of red complimenting her doe eyes.

-I’m glad you like it, but I’m not done yet. I have a few more things planned for us. That is of course, if… you want to be my Valentine.

-Your… your Valentine? Me?

-Yes. There’ no one else in the entire planet that I would rather spend this day with than you, Joan. Not a soul. – you had rendered her speechless for a moment, the thought of you actually asking her such a thing never having crossed her mind, which was foolish really. You had done all this because you wanted to spend this holiday with her. She was aware that her smile was that of a shocked by lovesick teenager now, her heart fluttering like butterflies trapped in a cage begging to be released, using the lily as a shield to hide her ever-growing blush from your piercing by kind eyes.

-I… I think I would like that. Very much.

-Then please, take this as a token of my affections for you.    

She had completely forgotten about the blue box that rested next to your feet, a white ribbon tying it closed so its contents wouldn’t be spilt all over her front porch, Joan’s eyes watching as your body quickly bent over to pick it up. She still held the flower in between her fingers, cool under its touch, as you presented yet another gift to her, curiosity peeking for the second time that night, but she didn’t want to let go of the lily, and so with quick hands she placed it on the side of her head, the smooth petals caressing her temple as the she secured the flower by threading the stem in between a few locks of hair and the claw clip that held the silky strands on the back of her head. She would wear it all night long and put it in a vase with water next to her bed when the day was done and sleep began to creep up on her, wishing to close her eyes to its sight and wake up to it as well, the gesture forever engraved in her mind. With both hands now free her fingers made quick work of the bow and ribbon, the rough material resting over your palms, and with shaky limbs, anticipation building quickly within her, she pushed the top off.

-Oh, Y/N! – wasn’t it a most melodious sound to hear her laugh? Those loud tones, unapologetic as they echoed in the night, sweet as happiness poured out of them in quick succession, her smile only growing bigger as sparks shone in her eyes. One thing was to hear her chuckle, maybe even be granted the honour of hearing a soft laugh pass her plump lips, and another far more magical and sublime was to hear that rumbling sound sliding with easy from her throat, being you and only you the cause and the benefactor of such a sound. There were no gold necklaces or platinum bracelets resting over expensive layers of velvets, no seas of diamonds or rubies that could adorn her collarbones or her fingers, not even a unique bottle of scotch waiting for her inside that box, and yet what was presented to her held a much deeper meaning and an aura of love and care that she appreciated far more than all the jewellery money could buy. Twenty small doughnuts were neatly placed on top of a pink sheet of parchment paper, white melted chocolate displayed on top of the spongy dough as red icing spelled “ Happy Valentine’s Joan”, purple, red, white and pink sprinkles decorating each pastry to perfection, the last doughnut of the batch being the only one shaped as a heart, covered in ruby chocolate and with what looked like some sort of jam spilling from its insides.

-I made them myself. The first batch burned because I didn’t hear the oven go off, but I think these ones turned out pretty good. I hope you like them.

-They are wonderful. And beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me you know?

-It’s no trouble, at all Joan. Anything that I make for you is never a chore or a task. I enjoy it, trust me. – she did, she could not find a single reason not to do so when your intentions shone as pure as snow, no hidden requests or lies masked as innocent compliments. There was no venom in your smile, no evil behind your beautiful eyes, only genuine care for her that made her all warm and fuzzy, a feeling she had forgotten about, a sensation she wondered for a moment if she had ever truly felt. You took one step towards her, the edge of the box barely an inch from her bosom, the chill breeze that had been lazily twirling around the both of you now picking up slightly, goosebumps and shivers making you shake on your spot. -Could I come in? It’s getting colder and I still have one more thing to give you.

-Another present? Greed is not a friend that one should engage with Y/N.

-It is not greed, I assure you. I did not buy it, and in truth it’s more of a necessity. – her narrowed a little but her smile never faltered, not for a minute, the lily in her hair matching the blush that painted her cheeks.

-Alright, come on in. – she took a few steps back until her heels clacked over the wooden floors of her entryway, watching as you made your way to her door carefully as not to crush any of the flowers under your feet. She would figure out tomorrow morning what to do with them all, for now, she liked to think they were simply guarding her home. You picked up quickly on the musty smell that floated in the air, clinging to the drawn curtains, darkness spreading through every room like a wildfire, a pang of sadness slamming you on the chest as you made your way to the dining room. The candles Joan had lit hours ago barely had any wax left, the flames dimming with each passing second, the lonely bottle of wine along with the half-drunk glass resting and glistening under the flickering light. You had no taste for such a drink, but it was obvious that the burgundy liquid was a common guest in Joan’s house, a hint of shame in her eyes as you looked at her over your shoulder. Carefully not to make the glass tumble and ruin both the table and the floor you left the box of doughnuts beside one of the silver candlesticks, white wax embedded in the crevasses of a swan engraved in the metal, checking that the pastries were all still intact before turning to face Joan, a bright smile on your face to overshine the downcast look that had taken her hostage.

-Wait here a moment. I’ll be right back.

Like the perfect summer breeze your perfume caressed her face as you walked past her, your hand brushing hers, fingers timidly kissing each other for an instant that ended too soon, leaving a tingling sensation on her skin that travelled like electricity up her arm to her elbow. Watching you walking back to the front door, your dress flowing around your knees, she stood in the poorly lit room, cursing herself for the way the house betrayed her and screamed silently about her state of mind, long curtains refusing to let the cold breeze of February in. Hoping you didn’t think less of her she rushed towards the closet window, pushing the heavy fabrics to the sides and unlatching the frames, pushing the glass upwards until the cold wind of the night burst in unannounced but not unwelcome. Shivers ran down her spine, but she pushed through, repeating the motion for the other two windows that were left, that stale stench she had mentally complained about not that long ago losing the fresh crisp air that was now filling the room. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cleaned the house in months, she still woke up every morning with a task to fill all those dead hours that lay ahead of her, but she had neglected certain aspects that would have clashed with her mood, the need to keep herself secluded, detained in her own home as much as she was by her mind, preventing her from enjoying the simple sight of the sunlight breaking through her front door, or basking in its warmth by the window with a hot cup of tea cradled in her hands. She had no right to such simple things after everything, she thought.

But now the room was bathed in perfect waves of silver and platinum, strings of pearly dust floating along to the sweet voices that still played on the radio, the wind that now rushed through the house kissing the flickering flames goodbye as one by one they vanished into rivulets of smoke. Standing in the doorway your eyes raked over Joan’s frame as moonlight rained over her, her deep eyes holding your gaze, sparkling under its silvery touch. Never before had a person been more beautiful than her, her blue dress like an ocean enfolding her curves, her hair shining under the glow of the pink petals that caressed her temple, the soft breeze that came from the windows kissing her skin and twirling around her like currents, transparent foam around her feet. It's you, it's you, it's all for you. Everything I do. I tell you all the time. Heaven is a place on earth with you. Words had never spoken bigger truths. All for Joan, so she would grant you entrance to the Heaven that clung to her skin, your lips begging to worship the ground she walked on, the air she breathed, the clothes she wore and hoping that one day you would be able to cross the threshold on her bedroom and lay beside her in that bed that claimed her holy body each night. With slow steps you made your way to the table once more and placed two paper bags gently over the wood, eyes never straying from her form, fighting not to blink should you miss a single thing about her.

She walked towards you, her gentle movements a sight for sore eyes, approaching you as if she hadn’t noticed the way your sight lingered on her and drank her in, and perhaps it had been so. Joan was unused to being the object of people’s affections, it would be no surprise if she had mistaken your actions for nothing more than admiration, but inside the woman’s chest, her heart slammed against her ribs with each beat, a million butterflies fluttering inside her, thanking the darkness of the room that had kept her blush at bay from your beautiful eyes. Without a word each of you worked on a bag, a comfortable silence accompanying your actions as the song carried on softly in the background, a few containers with food lay on the table after a few minutes, the delicious aroma of well-cooked and homemade dishes reaching Joan’s nose, making her mouth water as she turned to look at you, surprise and a hint of gratitude painted on her face. It had been far too long since she had had something that hadn’t been a premade meal, her constant internal battle and continuous self-sabotage leaving her drained and unable to do one of the things she loved the most. Lifting one of the lids, the smell of rosemary filled the room, her eyes as wide as saucers as slices of a rotisserie chicken stood out from under what she was sure was a delicious sauce.

-You made and brought me dinner? That’s the surprise you had for me?

-I know it’s not as grand or greedy as a night in town or a diamond necklace, but I thought this would be much better for you. I’ve made enough so that you’ll be able to eat for at least a week.

-Y/N… I… You don’t know how much this means to me. You really are a blessing. – her hands rested tenderly on your cheeks, her smile as big as the entire universe and so bright that she could light the whole house, but her palms didn’t remain on your skin for too long, and you didn’t stop her when they left a cold spot over your flesh. It was obvious things would have to be done at her pace.

-I’m happy you like it. Why don’t you bring some plates while I open the rest?

Her steps were quick as she made a beeline for the kitchen, leaving you in charge of everything else. A most exquisite sea of aromas overwhelmed the crisp air of the dining room, salty condiments along with tomato and herbs dancing in perfect unison as you placed the main dish of the night, baked parmesan chicken on a bed of angel hair pasta with green beans and roasted potatoes as sides, beside the glass of red wine. You truly hoped to steer her away from the burgundy drink before dinner started, but at the same time you didn’t wish to make her feel self-conscious about it, as if she was doing something wrong when she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. But there was no time to indulge in that train of thought as she came back with two plates and cutlery in one hand while she juggled two glasses and a pitch of water in the other. Of course, you rushed to her aid and were thanked with the sight of that tender smile she seemed to have reserved just for you.

-You really have outdone yourself.

-Thank you. I had the kitchen all to myself today, so I was able to prepare everything with all the care in the world. Where do you keep your candles?

-It’s okay, I’ll get them. – the radio rested on top of a set of drawers, Joan heading its way and pulling the first one open before returning to the table, two long white candles in her hand that she exchanged for the old ones. Just as she was about to head back to the kitchen, to get matches, you thought, your hand shot out to grab her wrist, the sudden touch making her whip her head towards you, a wary veil of confusion covering her features.

-Let me. – without letting her go, the grasp on her skin never too strong, allowing her to pry her hand away should she wish to, the fingers of your right hand touched each wick, observing happily how in less than an instant the warm light of a flame bathed the room, colliding with the cool tones that they moon cast inside the house, orange and silver fighting as they reflected on Joan’s pink cheeks. Her big eyes shone under the orange light, like melted chocolate that called out to you, her gaze glued to the candles as the flames flickered steadily, amazement hiding behind her perfect irises. You could not say that you were not proud to have rendered her speechless once again. She was no stranger to what people called magic, but the way you used it, you seemed to have a relationship, some sort of understanding of your own abilities that she had never seen before, didn’t make her feel fear anymore. She felt curious about what else you were capable of, but was too worried about you taking offense that she didn’t ask and simply basked in the beauty of such a domestic task. – Now we can eat. Are you okay Joan?

-What? Oh, yes, perfectly alright. Before we have what clearly looks like a delicious meal I was wondering if we could have one of those doughnuts you brought.

-Of course. Which letter do you fancy?

-I was thinking we could share the heart. One half for you and the other for me, if you are agreeable.

-Absolutely.       

 The cardboard made a scratching sound as you lifted the top, and with careful fingers you pried it from the parchment paper and placed it on one of the plates she had brought, the knife slicing through the middle as if it were butter, stains of pink chocolate and red jam over the metal. Joan took her half of the pastry, muttering a thank you, and slowly took a bite savouring the fluffiness of the dough and the sweetness of the chocolate, the flavour removing the bitter aftertaste the wine had left on her tongue. But the calm moment didn’t last for too long, the acidity of the jam hitting her as if she had just been run over by a car, not because it was too strong or bad, but because it was raspberry jam. She could recall as if she had done it that same morning, going down to the market with little Luke grasping her hand, holding onto her and looking up at her with his big adoring eyes, asking her if he could have some ice cream, the wicker basket she had in her other hand heavy with all the food she had bought. Every Saturday morning would be the same. She would get up and get ready for the day before heading to her son’s room, opening his teddy bear curtains so the sun could come through the window, drool falling from his mouth onto the pillow as he slept, one of his front teeth missing.

Getting him up and ready was her first task of the day, his groggy form sagging against her chest and shoulder as she picked him up and took him to the kitchen, a bowl of cereal waiting for him as she made herself a cup of coffee. She could hear his rumbling as the radio played, talking a thousand miles a minute about whatever he had done in school the previous day, mentioning his friends and teachers and speaking of how elephants were big and grey and hamster so small, cupping his tiny hands as to make his point clearer to his mom. Those morning watching him be so utterly excited about the most mundane of things lingered in her mind, memories that she had revisited so many times as her boy grew, feeling as if she was losing him, as if those moments had vanished into nothing. She would have done anything to go back to all that, to stumbling up the stairs to help him dress as she told him gently that he needed to pick up his toys, brushing his unruly hair before walking out the door with her basket, Luke trailing behind her sometimes with his fish plushie and sometimes not, her attention having to drift from the pavement to her boy and his friend Nemo. They would walk between each stall and Joan would tenderly answer and explain everything that her beautiful boy asked, not caring how many hours they spent out in the streets as long as Luke remained by her side, the warm sun rising higher and higher in the sky.

The feeling of his little fingers, soft and smooth against her palm, lingered on her skin still, as if she could look down and see him standing there with scraped knees, begging her to kiss his pain away, cheeks pink and fat tears falling from his eyes, after taking a tumble with a rock. She could almost feel him pulling on her arm as his eyes landed on his favourite stall, pounds and pounds of raspberries waiting for him, the boxes a few inches above his head. His excitement was always contagious, his toothy smile matching the one on her lips as they made their way towards the grocer. The first time he had seen them his eyes had been wide as saucers, pointing at the red fruits, amazed at the quantity and hadn’t stopped asking to have one until finally Joan had given in and bought a pound of them, knowing that even if Luke didn’t like them, she could still use them and eat them herself. He had fallen in love almost instantly and when they got home the bag had barely lasted more than a few days, so the next Saturday she had purchased more had told her boy that they would make jam with some of them as a treat for how well he was doing in school. He had been so excited that that night he had woken her up almost every hour to ask her if it was time, his thrilled tone preventing her from scolding him, strands of his hair sticking in different directions and his body dressed in a pair of yellow pyjamas with a big giraffe on his t-shirt.

A onetime thing soon became a habit, a special moment they shared every Saturday once they were done at the market, his steps jolly and bouncy as they walked down the street, Luke pointing at every single thing his curious eyes could see as if Joan wasn’t to used to them already, and she indulged him, because he was her little boy, her everything. And now she only had those, the bittersweet memories of a happy life that had turned into dust all because of her own selfish wants and needs, because she could not heal from a broken heart and let her grief and sorrow lead her in life. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing for Luke, following the scriptures her priest had provided her with, telling her that the only way Luke would grow to be the man she wanted him to be was by making sure temptation never entered her house, keeping him secluded with her and following the Lord’s teachings without question. She had not doubted that man’s words, too distraught to even consider that that was not the way, that God was love, not fear, that he was everyone’s father and loved each of his children without expecting anything in return. And yet she had followed him blindly, losing herself in the process and ruining her boy with each day that she punished him for not doing what she had been taught was right.

She had tried so hard to keep him safe, paranoid that temptation hid in every corner that she had forgotten who God was and what his son had preached, stealing Luke away from Nan as if she was the Devil herself all because she had a gift no one else she had ever met had. She had driven her son away, lost that little boy who used to fall asleep in her arms as she sang lullabies and with whom she used to make raspberry jam. The pain that crawled under her skin was beyond anything she had ever felt, as if millions of daggers were stabbing her, blood pouring out of each wound as tears fell down her cheeks, fire burning her flesh, guilt and disgust poisoning and rotting her blood in her veins. She had killed her boy, her reason for being alive, her very soul, because to her there had been no other truth but that of the “Good book”, her narrowminded thoughts having turned her into the biggest hypocrite and selfish woman she had ever known, refusing to believe her actions had been wrong until now. Her baby was gone because she hadn’t wanted him to be with someone like Nan, a girl she had called a servant of Satan, an abomination that walked the Earth, and who had taken her life now that Luke was no longer there with her. She wished to rip her skin off, to escape this agony that crushed her under its inevitable weight, but there was no way out.

How wrong she had been, her own mind betraying everything she had ever loved and cherished and turning her into a monster. How could you be there with her, speaking of love and bringing her gifts when she had killed her son? Her Luke. The name escaped from her lips as realization fell harshly over her, the fact that she was here with you, a woman, her feelings betraying everything she had ever known and been told about love, a most needed but agonising wake-up call. She had put her son through Hell in the name of a God that had forsaken her, that had abandoned her and left her in the dark when she had needed him the most, bringing forth a side of her that had not hesitated to claim her own son’s life so that the secret of her husband’s death would never be brought to light and to ensure that her perfect boy’s soul remained pure, untainted by the girl he had fallen for. How could pain be so raw, so overwhelming and vast that it caused one to want to rip their own heart from their chest? She had carried him, birthed him and held him to her as she told him that love would find him when the time was right, only to refuse him the gift of a happy life with her own bare hands. There wasn’t enough air in the entire planet for her to breathe, her throat refusing to swallow not even an ounce of oxygen, her lungs begging for it as sobs rocked her body.

A thousand emotions had rushed through her eyes the instant she had taken that first and only bite. One moment there had been the sweetest of the smiles gracing her lips and the next tears had begun to pour as her gaze became lost in a world of her own, the atmosphere clinging onto the regret and sorrow that seeped from her body. And then her son’s name had fallen from her lips and the last piece of the puzzle was finally in its rightful place. You had stood as fast as your body had allowed you and wrapped your arms around her trembling frame, the pastry forgotten on the ground by her feet. These tears were different from the ones she had shed a few moments before, they were harsh and sharp as daggers and they were accompanied by the grieving sound of a mother who no longer had a child, a mother who would never get to see her baby become an adult and have a life of his own.

-It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here.

-I… did it… Y/N… - her voice was muffled by her head hiding on your chest, hands gripping the neckline of your dress in despair.

-I know, Jo, I know.

-I didn’t… I didn’t want to… He was my baby! My only baby… - had the Devil taken reign of her senses and clouded her mind with false verses? She would have never laid a single finger on her little boy, not even to discipline him and yet she had caused him harm far too many times to count. She could not escape this pain, this feeling that she had no right to feel anything but grief, to let it consume her. Undeserving of your love and your kind words. Underserving of having you in her life, your mere existence bringing forth a happiness that she had denied to her own flesh and blood.

-I know, my darling. Let it out. There is nothing you could do that would make me leave you, so grieve. You have lost your son, there is no greater pain than that.

You had never heard a sound so frightening and yet so heartbreaking slip out of someone’s throat like the scream that was ripped from Joan’s chest. It came from so deep within her that it made her entire body shake and tremble, rattling her very soul, the sound vibrating through your skin like a thousand needles. It was blood curling and hellish in execution, so full of anger, regret, and pain that it mixed into the most agonizing sound a human could ever produce and yet should never hear. Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer emptiness that coursed through her veins, for the way she wanted to claw at her own skin to make it all stop hurting, begging in between sobs to turn back time, to return to how things had been once upon a time, when it had been her and Luke against the world. Before her mind had been poisoned by false words and her entire life had lost its meaning. She could have carried on screaming for all eternity, blood filling her lungs as she choked on her own remorse, but she was too broken to even hold the sound for too long, and after a few moments it blended back into sobs. It had been four months since she had lost the most precious thing in her little universe and it was only now that she was feeling all that anguish for the first time, all the grief slamming onto her at full force, knocking her off her feet and making her tumble and crumple to the floor.  There would be no more helping him with his math work, no more cuddling him to sleep when he was sick, no more Saturdays at the market. No more raspberry jams.

Her tired body melted slowly in your arms with each passing second, her tears pooling in the neckline of your dress leaving a cold spot on the skin underneath that the breeze was not gentle with, shivers running down your arms as it sliced through your flesh. You could not imagine what thoughts swirled in her head, what memories were haunting her as her boy’s name fell from her lips over and over, as if that simple action could bring him back, but the house remained quiet, cold, and empty, even the light of the candles seeming to have lost all its warmth as the flames flickered gently. The only sounds echoing against the bare walls, empty frames hanging over the floral wallpaper, were Joan’s sobs, or at least the only sounds you were paying attention to, rubbing comforting circles on her back as your other hand caressed her soft hair, for the radio carried on playing. I wish that Heaven had visiting hours, and I would ask them if I could take you home. The words floated around Joan’s head, begging her to listen, making a lump form in her throat as her heart bled inside her chest, the crimson liquid puddled on the floor under the shard of her completely shattered life. But a glimpse of light shone amongst all the darkness, your voice hushed and tender as you spoke the last verse of the song against her temple, the lily slightly crumpled but nevertheless beautiful.

-And I will close the door, but I will open up my heart. And everyone I love will know exactly who you are. Cause this is not goodbye; it is just 'til we meet again. So much has changed since you've been away. - An entire lifetime had happened since she had lost him, and not once, not even for an instant, had her boy left her thoughts. She almost expected still to see him walking down the hall or stealing a bite before dinner, to find him in his room playing that horrible music she despised so much as he did his homework, but he wasn’t even a ghost haunting her. She would have given her soul, as blasphemous as she knew that was, for one more day with him, to explain, to look at his face and engrave the colour of his eyes in her mind for all eternity. With tears still streaming down her face she lifted her head to gaze upon yours, a question on the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t bring herself to say. Would he forgive her if she could talk to him one last time?

-Y/N…

-What? Talk to me, Joan.

-Luke… I… Would he… - why was it so hard? Why did those words seem to weigh like a thousand rocks? Her grip was even stronger now, her eyes pleading for you to understand, to look deep inside her and pry the question from the very essence of her being so she would not crumble at your feet once again. Your voice did not hesitate to respond.

-He would. He would listen to your every word, and at first, he would be mad, furious even, but it wouldn’t be for the reasons you think. He would be angry because you were so deeply hurt, so broken, that your pain made you ask for help from people you trusted only for them to deceive you. He would not diminish your doings, and he would be upset at the extent of your own actions, but with time he would have understood that you only did it because you thought it was the right way. You are his mother and always will be, and you have repented for what you did.

-But what I did was evil, something so brutal that I fear has no possible salvation. I killed my own son, Y/N.

- “For you became sorrowful as God intended and so were not harmed in any way by us. Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret”. You have walked this path alone Joan, you have grieved and cried in remorse for what you have done, and He, who cares for us all has seen it and has forgiven you. Luke would do the same, because you are his mother and he would not want to see you like this, broken and battered by your own hand.

-But I deserve it. I am no better than all those people who drove me to this point and then abandoned me.

-You are Joan, you are the most wonderful person I have ever met, and one that needs to heal from all the horrible things that have happened to you. You are free from them, from the chains that held you down with false hopes and lies dressed in empty promises, and it is that, and only that, that would make Luke forgive you. You are deserving of love, and you must not think that your little boy would not be thrilled to have the mother he so loved back in his arms. “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy”.

Your words, coupled with the tender, caring tone you used soothed her pain like nothing had ever before, and for the first time in years, she felt as if she could breathe, as if the air filling her lungs wasn’t rotten anymore. She would be forgiven. Her precious baby boy wouldn’t look at her like she was the worst human in history, pointing accusingly at her while telling her that it was all her fault, that she had brought this agony onto herself. There was hope for her to find happiness once again, to let the gentle rays of sunlight burst through her windows and for her to not run away as if her skin would blister at the feeling, the warm light bathing her house, the silence that had settle so deeply in each beam and wall fading as the sound of birds chirping and voices coming from the street filled each room. Her eyes glistened under the flames, orange and yellow tinges caressing her perfect chocolate irises, so full of hope and dreams she had not even dared to think about before, tears no longer falling but leaving wet paths over her cheeks. With a tender touch your thumbs wiped them away, and with that motion, your fingers ripped the weight that had been crushing her from her flesh, guilt and shame fading into acceptance and understanding as her penitence ended. She had taken accountability for her actions and in return she had been granted a second chance. She had been gifted with your presence and your love.

This time she didn’t let go of you, not caring if your face was only inches from hers, if she could breathe your sweet perfume, a blend of berries and vanilla, deep within her, its soft tendrils enfolding her essence the same way your hands were cradling her face. It would have been so easy to kiss her, to brush your lips against hers, but if you were going to do this, if you were going to walk this path with her, hand in hand, you could wait until she was sure, until her body spoke to you and asked in a silent plea for your touch. The radio was silent for a moment, only the sound of Joan’s sniffles filling up the room, her warmth seeping under your skin, and in an instant her hands released your dress, disappointment crossing your eyes, only to be delighted and surprised as she place her palms over the back of your hands, her heat wrapping around you like a blanket, shielding you from the cold that was breaking through the windows. At that moment in time, there was nothing but Joan and the blossoming lily in her hair, no past, no future, just her. Joan, wrap me up in all your, I want you in my arms.

Her hands were in yours, and with a gentleness she could not get used to you lifted her from her seat, pulling her body away from the table and into an empty spot where the carpet covered the wooden floors. Coming to stand next to the windows she let you do whatever you wanted, take her to the ends of the world if you so desired, because under the silvery beams that swayed in the night, she knew she would give you everything you asked from her as long as you never stopped looking at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Your hands guided hers to your shoulders, her fingers feeling the cotton of your dress around your neck, strands of your soft hair teasing her knuckles as your arms snaked around her waist, the gap between you vanishing as each of your bubbles became one, you in her personal space and Joan in yours, no fear or reservations clouding her mind. Oh, let me hold you. I'll never let you go again like I did. Never would you leave her, never would she have to face the world on her own, never would you let her go as long as your body drew breath, and your soul belonged to her. Slowly your feet began to sway from side to side, Joan’s frame molded to yours and following suit, her gaze never straying from your enchanting eyes.

Dancing lazily with her made your little heart leap with joy, a petal suddenly falling all the way from the tall ceiling, oscillating gently as its pristine white colour shone under the moonlight, blending into the same shade of pink Joan’s lily wore as it touched the ground. Then another fell as you pulled her closer, her chest against yours, her fingers twirling your hair in between them as the palms of your hands held onto her waist, a soft touch of sandalwood reaching your nostrils as her hair brushed against your check, her head coming to rest on your right shoulder. Her chin dug gently onto your flesh over the cotton of your white dress, her eyes watching in amazement at the way the room filled with the floral aroma of roses, petal after petal filling the room, a most perfect sight to match a most perfect you. A couple of flower leaves soon turned into a gentle shower of them, dozens swaying in the chilly breeze as the two of you danced, the top of her head resting against your cheek, the moonbeams never faltering in its glow, the flickering flames never ceasing to shower the room with their warmth as a sea of petals laid at your feet. In your arms Joan came to one last conclusion: God had never forsaken her, he had seen her lost in the dark and had sent you to her, to guide her and love her the way she had never been before, to return her to the right path with you by her side, her son’s forgiveness her banner and your love her shield. From now and for all eternity.  I would never fall in love again until I found her. I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into".

[syluslvrgirl]

COLD BLOODED KILLER [ john wick au ]

pairing ─ hitman!sylus x hitman!reader warnings ─ heavy depictions of violence, mentions of torture, immorally depicted killings (i do not condone any of this but it makes sense in the context of this being a john wick au), all strictly fictionally word count ─ 5k about ─ in his line of work sylus never thought he would be worrying about anyone, nonetheless someone like you. someone who had managed to wholeheartedly capture his heart and make him want to burn down the whole world just to ensure your safety. which was exactly what he was doing.

notes: heavily inspired by the john wick series but may not be exactly accurate to the movies. basically it's sylus but without his evol :D it's my first time writing something this lengthy and with fight scenes so it might be a tad bit choppy but it was super fun to write. HAPPY LATE BDAY TO SYLUS!

also please lmk if you think there's anything i need to add a warning for, i will be more than happy to edit the warnings in this intro. hope you all enjoy it!

You and Sylus had coincidentally met on a brooding night at the Continental; a hotel considered neutral ground in the crime underworld. Strictly no shady business was to be conducted there and it was considered a safe haven to those in both your respective fields. You had heard the countless rumours surrounding Sylus and his activities, if you were to put them lightly. A mysterious silver-haired man, who was known for his merciless kills and being able to accomplish all his requests within an adequate time. He was truly a legend, an enigma. Someone you found absolutely enticing. 

And that is exactly how you found yourself seated at the Continental's extravagant bar swirling around your martini glass, the olive bobbing in a mixture of spirits. Not only had you heard that the famous Sylus was at the Continental right when you were, but that he was also a bit of a drinker himself. You didn't take him for a beer guy, nor a whisky guy and he didn't seem like the type to take tequila shots, so you were curious to know this man's drinking habits. With that much blood on his hands, surely he would be downing something interesting to relieve himself from a hard day of brutal work. 

"Cat got your tongue, sweetie?" questioned a deep, soothing voice. You were brought back to reality, your eyes now focusing and fixating on a set of red, glistening eyes right across from you at the bar. Your curious daydreams about the kind of drink a man like Sylus would have had, had bought you right to him. Or at least brought him right to you. 

"Cat? You look more like the devil's right hand man." you scoffed lightheartedly. Sylus looked way better than what you had imagined. This man was nothing like the devil’s right hand man, he looked like the devil himself. The silver hair complimented his eyes and his black suit accentuated his muscular figure just enough. 

"If I wasn't mistaken, you're the one drooling over me. Do I have the pleasure of knowing my admirer’s name?” he chuckled, not taking his eyes off of you. Goddamn was this man’s stare intense. It was like he was reading your mind, prying you open, discovering your thoughts and secrets before you had even voiced them. You were a cold-blooded hitman and here you were crumbling under Sylus’ gaze.

“I’m Y/n.” you replied, hand held out to him. He reached his hand out to yours, enveloping it in a slow shake. Eyes and movements calculated and particular, analysing your every motion as if he had a motive.

"I'm Sylus, but I'm sure you already know that." he smirked.

“So what brings someone like you down to the Continental?” you probed, finally letting go of Sylus’ hand.

“Oh the usual. A quick getaway from being hunted down by my enemies. You?” he answered casually. It was more than often that the Continental served as a means for escape. A night of rest from whoever and whatever was after you.

“I thought I'd treat myself after finishing a job.” you responded, turning your attention back to your martini glass. Your last job had been vicious. You had been hired to take down an Italian mafia head who had acted against the High Table’s wishes. He was overexerting his power, getting greedy and asking for more than what he truly deserved. The High Table had decided that enough was enough, so you were sent to deal with him. He was a slimy bastard, pretending to want to strike a deal, even offering his only son as compensation to save his own skin. He had attempted to leave the country, which told you enough, that man was scared and he wasn't going to survive any longer in this cutthroat industry. He irked you. A man who clearly couldn’t handle being in the business and was just a power-hungry, selfish idiot. So despite that you would normally deal with these matters as quickly as possible, you decided this Italian shithead deserved the most painful and excruciating death ever. 

"That Italian must have been something." Sylus said, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Probably not as bad as that Polish drug kingpin you've been chasing down." you remarked, remembering how you had heard snippets of Sylus' mission in the Continental's reception area. 

"Well people with money and substantial power can do whatever they like it seems." he sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"Tell me about it." you agreed, glancing around the bar. Sylus raised his hand calling the bartender over.

"I'll have a glass of any Cabernet Sauvignon you have, thanks." he murmured coolly. 

“Wine to wind down? How sophisticated of you.” you teasingly quipped. Sophistication was the last thing on a hitman for hire’s mind. Nothing was sophisticated about the blood, gore and mess you two had to deal with.

“Well I'll have you know I'm very sophisticated in what I do. Probably more so than you did on your last job. I never leave a bloody mess." he retorted, causing you to roll your eyes. He was already so annoying yet still so hot. How unfair. 

"If you aren't going to leave a bloody mess, I'm sure the Polish kingpin will instead." you answered matter-of-factly. Sylus knew you had a point. This drug kingpin he was up against was ruthless and his outreach of power was a lot more than Sylus had become accustomed too. He had to up his game or die trying and he wasn't too fond of doing the latter yet.

"Well, why don't you help me out then. I could use a hand against this guy, I won't lie." Sylus said, cocking his head to the side, inching closer to you now. You moved towards his direction, now coming within reach of him. 

"What do I get out of this Sylus? How are you going to compensate me?" you leaned in, looking up at his ruby eyes. 

"Anything and everything you want." Sylus stated, eyes pulling you in, knowing you were closer and closer to saying yes.

"Hmm you’ve got to do better than that. I want something no one else has. Something unique." you replied thoughtfully with your hand underneath your chin as you continued to stare at him.

"How about full access to my armoury and if that isn't enough you can come by to my very exclusive hidden island villa." Sylus offered.

"Now you're talking big boy. You've got yourself a deal. When do I start?" you answered with a slight smile.

"Right away. Meet at my room, we've got some planning to do." Sylus said, pushing a card towards you with the number of his room scribbled onto it. He finished his glass of wine before giving you a smirk, turning around to head towards the elevators. 

Fuck. What had you gotten yourself into. 

And so from that day onwards you two became inseparable. Almost like some sort of hitman duo for hire. Whilst the High Table were a bit iffy about this unexpected alliance, as long as you two got your jobs done, that was all that mattered to them. Not to mention, the original deal you had struck with Sylus had definitely exceeded your expectations. The armoury was stocked, from top to bottom, left to right. This man had any and every weapon at his disposal to a point where it scared you a little. However, nothing topped his hidden island villa. Whatever the High Table or his clients were paying him, it was good, fucking money. Calling the island villa gorgeous was an understatement, it was stunning and absolutely out of this world. Situated basically in the middle of the ocean, it was the perfect place to rest and recuperate. Plus it was an even better place to get to know Sylus more. It wasn’t long until you went from casually dropping in to his villa to spending nights there. Sharing your stories about past jobs, different kill techniques or if wine was really as good as Sylus made it out to be. With a job like yours, it was comforting being able to have someone to confide in. 

“So tell me again, why did you decide to approach me?” you asked with a cheeky grin, leaning onto the beautifully marbled island bench.

“I’ve told you already, you piqued my interest. There was something about your energy in that bar that was, alluring.” he chuckled, tying the apron around his waist. Tonight was another night at Sylus’ and he had insisted on preparing you a delicious meal. Something along the lines of how this dish should be featured in some Michelin star restaurant. Who were you to decline a free meal and the nicest ever guest room you had ever seen. Sylus stole glances over at you as you fiddled around with the many ornaments on the island bench.

“What’s on the menu for tonight then?” you questioned looking over at Sylus who was busy cutting away at some potatoes.

“Just wait and see kitten, impatience gets you nowhere.” Sylus answered, continuing to chop and hum along to the vinyl playing in the background. The nicknames he gave you stirred something in you. Being around him felt like a cat and mouse game. He was obviously the cat and you were the mouse who couldn’t understand exactly what this man was after. He was letting you ransack his armoury, letting you stay over at his villa, not to mention the one too many times he had saved your ass whilst on your jobs. Even more there was his ghosting touches and longing glances, they pulled you in every time, leaving you wanting more. He was so charming with his actions but also nonchalant about them. 

“Should we watch something tonight then?” you proposed, hopping around closer to Sylus to eye what he was doing.

“Sure thing. You can pick the movie so go choose one now.” Sylus said, motioning with his head to the lounge room with the softest cloud-like sofa ever. 

“Yes chef!” you giggled, now moving over to the sofa and scrolling through the endless streaming sites to see if you could find anything. 

It wasn’t long before Sylus had finished up with dinner, which turned out to be a perfectly cooked steak with roasted potatoes and a side of grilled broccolini. 

“My god you know exactly how to make someone happy Sylus.” you exclaimed.

“Well what can I say, I’m only trying to make one person happy.” he replied with a smirk. There it was again. That damned smirk and that damned face. You rolled your eyes in response, turning your attention to the view of the ocean. Sylus had a perfectly situated window that overlooked the ocean. The waves crashing against the sand and the sun slowly dipping into the water was a blissful slight. It almost made you forget how you had another job to prepare for, almost. 

“So, what's the go for the job on that international crime lord?” you asked, pushing around your remaining morsel of steak, your head leaning onto your free hand. 

“Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll figure that out when the time comes. They said they didn’t need us until another week. Just focus on finishing your food so we can get started on that movie.” Sylus mentioned, swirling his wine before taking a long sip. You nodded in agreement, turning your attention back to your food. Soon enough you and Sylus were seated on his comfy sofa watching Creed, getting to the part where the main character began to start his official boxing training. Despite sharing a large blanket between the two of you, there was still a distance there. Although Sylus and you had been going back and forth with more than just friendly remarks, it was like the both of you were waiting for the other person to make the first move.  It wasn't long until the movie ended and the credits began rolling.

“I bet I could beat you in a sparring match.” you confidently said, grinning ever so slightly at him.

“You bet? Sweetie I'll have you on the floor before you can even say my name.” Sylus laughed, a rich deep sound enveloping you.

“Oh? I'd definitely like to see you try.” you scoffed. 

“Well I do have a boxing ring in the house for a reason. I can't just let it go to waste.” Sylus smiled. Despite his taller frame, he knew to not underestimate you. You were a little too dangerous to say the least. Dangerous enough to have gotten under his skin in a good way. You didn’t rattle him, rather you surprised him every time. From your killer focus, pun intended, to your bright energy. God, he hadn’t felt this way in what felt like forever. Being a hitman for hire meant he had cast his old life away, leaving any family and everyone in his previous life behind. But here he was willingly sharing his space with you, inviting you into his life and into his heart. 

“Deal. Meet you at the boxing ring in 5 minutes. No weapons for this one.” you declared, hand outstretched to shake his. Sylus shook yours before the two of you dashed to your respective rooms in order to prepare. Heading down towards the gym area you started stretching and warming up, eyeing the door awaiting Sylus’ arrival. Soon enough he came down in a nicely fitted black singlet and red shorts that would’ve made you drool if it hadn’t been for your competitive spirit that was roaring to win. 

“You ready Sylus?” you questioned, eyebrows raised anticipating a good challenge.

“More than you’ll ever be.” He answered, making his way into the ring area. 

“So how exactly did you want to do this sparring match?” he asked, stretching his arms.

“Hmmm we can do first to hit the ground? If we’re not satisfied with just one match then we can see whoever can win the most out of three matches.” you proposed. 

“Fine by me. Don't get too upset when you lose kitten.” he replied, emphasizing the last word and leaning towards you as he did. 

“Don’t worry I won’t be the one losing.” you retorted moving your arms into a fighting stance as Sylus did the same. 

Before you knew it he had thrown his first punch right for your face, which you blocked and counterattacked with a hook to his side. Unluckily for you Sylus had blocked that one too, now moving back causing you to fall slightly forward before you caught yourself.

“Winning’s not as easy as you thought, right sweetie.” Sylus teased, causing a playful glare to erupt to your face. The both of you began attacking and countering, blocking any moves and attempting to get the other person face flat onto the floor. Sylus swiped at your left side and you ducked in response, trying to take him down by going for his waist. He blocked your attack, countering it with a tackle of his own. You took the opportunity to move sideways, elbowing his upper back to get him down to the ground. Sylus stumbled forward, catching himself from hitting the floor.

“Might want to be careful Sylus, I can’t have you battered before our next job.” you sneered lightheartedly, before quickly grabbing his arms and taking out his legs. This left him face down against the boxing ring floor with you on top of him. 

“I’ve got to admit kitten, that was quicker and better than I expected. You’ve improved a lot.” Sylus tittered, looking as though he was finally admitting defeat.

“What can I say, practice makes perfect.” you smart-mouthed, raising your hands in the air in a victorious cheer. 

“Don’t think about celebrating too soon.” Sylus taunted before he got up, managing to knock you on the floor and flip himself over so that he was now leaning over you. His hands had now found their way to your wrists, pinning you down. 

“Hey! That’s cheating. I won fair and square.” you scowled trying to break free from his grasp.

 “You know what’s not fair? This effect you have on me.” Sylus said, whispering the last words ever so slowly.

“I could say the same for you, Sylus.” you responded with amusement, now laying still against his grip.

“I’m asking you honestly Y/n, do you really want this life with me? If I asked you to leave our lives behind and build a new one, would you?” Sylus pondered, eyes softly gazing into yours.

“Sylus, I’d leave in a heartbeat with you if you wanted me too.” you softly answered, smiling back at him. 

“Well then I am seriously asking you, do you want to get out of this business? Wind down here in our island villa away from the rest of the world, for the rest of our lives?” he boldly asked, leaning closer to you.

“I thought you’d never ask.” you giggled, your eyes moving from his eyes to his lips. 

“God kitten, you’re a dream come true.” Sylus drawled before captivating your lips with his. Both your mouths and hands feverishly moved in unison with one another. Your hands travelled to the nape of his neck and his right hand cupped your face whilst his left tugged your waist closer to him. 

“Uhm Sylus, we should probably move out of here.” you gasped, laughing and breaking free from the kiss with your eyes fluttering as you looked up at him. 

“Anything for you.” he said with a beaming smile as he swooped you up off the boxing ring floor, princess carrying you out of his home gym and to his bedroom.

But things always seemed too good to be true in this dangerous world and that was how Sylus found himself frantically pacing the makeshift base the two of you had been operating in. It was supposed to be a quick job and your last one. The international crime lord you were after had plans to unleash an attack on one of the High Table members and the both of you had been sent in to get rid of this crime lord once and for all. She was very particular and calculated but the two of you had discovered a crack within her plan. A simple flaw that would allow you to slip in to take her down once and for all, whilst Sylus lured her henchmen outside in order to buy you some extra time. Nonetheless it wasn’t supposed to end in you being kidnapped off the face of the earth. Sylus needed to calm down if he wanted to try and find you. Panicking would get him nowhere. He knew you were tough and would be able to withstand any torture techniques but the thought of you getting hurt or suffering pained him, both physically and mentally. Picking up the phone, he dialled the two specialists he knew who would be able to help him track you down.

“Luke, Kieran. I need your help. Please. I’ll send you the location.” he exasperated before ending the call. Sylus was desperate. Desperate enough to plead to anyone and anything for your safety. He sighed, knowing he had more than that to worry about. He needed to worry about just exactly how he would make that crime lord and her remaining henchman pay for taking the one thing that mattered the most to him.

Within a matter of minutes, Luke and Kieran arrived, their intricate masks peaking around the base. The twins were the best tracking and hunting duo that existed within the business and wore these beautiful masks in order to protect their personal lives and identities. Sylus briefed them on the whats, whys and wheres. 

“Okay, we’ll get started right away. ” Luke responded with a nod. 

“Any DNA sample would be helpful.” Kieran piped up rifling through the base to see if he could find anything. Sylus offered him your jacket before looking back at his computer. Your last known location had been tracked to the Arctic desert, before the GPS in your bracelet stopped blinking on his screen and had disappeared completely. 

“Once you find her, let me know immediately.” Sylus stated.

“Will do bossman.” Kieran casually saluted.

“It shouldn’t be too hard for us. I say we’ll find her in an hour.” Luke chimed in, looking up at Sylus from his laptop.

“Psst, Kieran. I’ve never seen him like this before.” Luke whispered, eyeing Sylus as he stared frustratingly at his computer screen. 

“In the many years we’ve known him, no one’s gotten to him like this. It’s kind of heartwarming. A cold blooded killer gone soft. I would never imagine it would be him.” Kieran blurted softly. 

“I can hear you. I may have gone soft but the cold blooded killer part still stands.” Sylus playfully threatened.

Thankfully it wasn’t long until the twins had managed to find the international crime lord’s hideout tucked away in Svalbard, a cluster of islands within the Norwegian region. Grabbing whatever he needed from the base, Sylus attempted to pack as light but as weapon heavy as he could. He was not going to be sophisticated about this one. He was going to make as much of a mess as he pleased. Hopping onto the helicopter that he had acquired for the mission you two had been working on, he bid goodbye to the twins thanking them for their service. 

“If you ever need me for anything, I’ll be more than glad to pay you two back.” Sylus shouted over the sound of the starting helicopter. 

“Sure thing, we’ll let you know.” Kieran yelled back.

“Go get your girl!” Luke cheered. Kieran nudged him, sending him a wide-eyed look.

“What, am I wrong?” he queried. Sylus only chuckled before getting into the cockpit, strapping in and flying off into the sky to brave the cold mountains of Svalbard.

He couldn’t bear knowing you were probably out there trying your best to survive whatever blows or tactics they imposed on you. Were you okay? Were you still alive? He needed to get you back as soon as he could so that the two of you could live the life he had offered you. Sylus couldn’t fathom living without you now that you had enraptured him and given him something in life to look forward to. He wasn’t going to die trying either, he needed to make it back alive and bring you back alive as well. Soon enough he had made his way to Svalbard, landing onto the barren, snowy ground ensuring that he was further away from the hideout in order to not get caught. He debated on whether or not he would take a nap but knowing you, you would have scolded him if he had come to rescue you in an unrested, unprepared state. Sleep would make him sharper and ready for anything. Sleep would bring him just a tad bit closer to getting you right back into his arms. Despite his wishes for a peaceful nap it was plagued by nightmares. Nightmares of you dying as he got there, asking him in endless sobs “Sylus, why didn’t you come get me.” as he held you in your last moments. He woke up in sweat, hands clenched and surrounded by darkness. Good, it was nighttime which meant that it made his rescue mission just a little easier.

Prepping his weapons, he snuck out slowly from the helicopter before heading towards the direction of the hideout. It wasn’t long before the quaint little cottage hideout came into view. There were several guards patrolling around but he could take them, pick them off one by one. He readied his rifle, a sleek CA-415 and attached a suppressor onto it. Tucking several knives within hidden compartments on his clothes, he steadied himself before shooting the guards off one by one. Sylus didn’t care that the suppressor wouldn’t completely mask the sound of his gun shots. He wanted to make his presence known. He wanted that crime lord to know he was coming and in particular he wanted you to know that he was there. He was going to get you out no matter what. Having taken down the guards, he made his way slowly and sleekly out from his hiding spot, scanning his surroundings to make sure there wasn’t more coming. He was met with silence but he waited. Surely she would send more guards out. Within seconds a group of them barged out and Sylus went berserk. Shooting at them until his bullets ran dry, not caring whether he made a mess or not. He just wanted to get to you and ensure your safety. There were a lot of them but he was determined, he would get you out even if he got hurt in the process. 

Finally, after what felt like the longest ongoing battle, Sylus stumbled into the cottage with cuts littered on his body. Bruises would definitely show up tomorrow but it didn’t matter he needed to find you. 

“Well, I have to admit you’ve surprised me.” uttered a voice from the darkness. The crime lord entered, clothed in all black with a crooked smile across her face. “I didn’t think you’d make it this fair. Going all the way here for your partner. How sweet.” she sneered, moving slowly towards Sylus. 

“You’ve underestimated me then.” Sylus huffed, eyes cold and in a ready stance for whatever she would throw at him next.

“Indeed I have. All this for some girl.” she cackled.

“Tell me exactly where she is.” Sylus demanded.

“No, no, no. It doesn’t work that way. You don’t get what you want after dealing with my brother like that.” she said.

“Your brother?” Sylus questioned, unsure of who she was talking about.

“My brother, the Polish kingpin. The two of you did quite a number on him I will admit, but you took the only person alive that meant something to me. So I just had to do the same to you. It hurts doesn’t it.” she shrieked before bellowing over with laughter.

“She better be alive.” Sylus fumed, keeping a tighter grip on his rifle. 

“Oh she is. Barely alive I might add.” the crime lord snickered, finding amusement in Sylus’ rising anger. He tossed away his rifle, lunging at her neck with the knife. She ducked before landing a hard punch to his chest, still laughing at him and his situation. 

“I’m going to make sure you regret every single one of your decisions.” he grunted. To say the fight beforehand hadn’t taken the most out of him would be understatement. He was running off the fumes of adrenaline and the need to find you, nothing more nothing less. This crime lord wasn’t making it any easier. Every punch she threw was landing exactly where she wanted and any counterattack Sylus hurled with his knife was barely even getting to her. She was quick and her moves were calculated, as if she was able to predict every single one of the attacks he was launching at her. He lunged at her to no avail as she dodged and sent a kick towards him, causing Sylus to stumble backwards. 

“You sure you’ll be able to make me regret my decisions? Seems like my henchmen did quite a number on you.” she jeered, taunting him in his weary state.

“Your ploy to take revenge by catching the High Table’s attention, so that they would send us directly to you, may have worked, but not on my watch. Criminals like you deserve hell and I’ll drag you down there with me if I have to.” he snarled, staggering towards the crime lord. 

“I see where your little nickname comes from. The devil’s right hand man doesn’t look like he’ll be dragging me anywhere.” she giggled, eyeing his slow movements.

“Just you wait and see.” Sylus breathed, holding his knife steady. 

Before he could even take a hit at the crime lord, she barreled towards him, taking out a knife from her sleeve before digging and twisting it into his side. Sylus let out a grunt, falling to his knees as the pain surged through his body. 

“Not so dangerous now, are you? You really thought you’d come in here with the power of love and save your girl just like that? Not on my watch, not after what you’ve done.” she seethed.

“You, still, shouldn’t underestimate...” Sylus said through irritated gasps.

“Underestimate you? What are you going to do now with that knife in your side? Charge at me? Come for my throat?” she gloated, laughing away at him.

“Well I mean.” Sylus began motioning his head behind the crime lord with a tight smile. Before she knew it, you had appeared reeling towards her at full speed. Sylus threw you his knife and you caught it leaping towards her.

“Sorry about your brother, but you’re just as bad if not ten times worse than he was.” you huffed, plunging the knife into her. Although the crime lord had ordered her henchmen to roughen you up a little, they had done a poor job of tying you up. The pain you had endured was now replaced with anger and determination to take her down. As you etched the knife further into her, the crime lord’s face was stuck in shock horror, gasps of air leaving her mouth before she flopped to the ground. 

You locked eyes with Sylus who was still alive and wearing a lopsided smile as you ran to him, arms outstretched and pulling him into you.

“I’m so happy to see you, you don’t even understand.” you spoke, choking on your words as tears began to flow out.

“Me too Y/n, me too.” Sylus sighed in relief, his free hand stroking your hair and your back. His other hand was still clutched to his side in attempts to deal with the bleeding.

“Oh shit Sylus, your side, the knife.” you frantically searched for something to wrap around his injury.

“It’s okay kitten, I’ll be okay. You know me, I can withstand anything. I just couldn't stand losing you.” Sylus whispered. You responded with a tighter hug, making sure not to irritate his wound any further.

“I’m here now. I’m not ever leaving I swear. It’s done, we’re out of here. Let’s start anew together.” you breathed, finally feeling like things were going to go your way. 

“It’s you and me together forever sweetie. I want no one else.” he replied with a soft chuckle, peppering soft kisses over your face.

“Let’s go home.”

“Finally, I thought you’d never ask.”

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Thirty Five

The morning sun was muted behind gray clouds, casting a pale light over the Tybur family mansion. The estate, which once stood as a symbol of Marleyan grandeur, bore the scars of war. Broken windows were hastily boarded up, and scorch marks marred the ivory stone walls. The grounds were eerily silent, save for the occasional shuffle of servants and guards working to restore the property after the Liberio raid.

Zeke Yeager walked up the cobblestone path toward the mansion, his footsteps heavy. His Beast Titan powers made him a figure of fear and respect, but today he felt neither. His mind was clouded with questions, doubts, and a flicker of something he rarely allowed himself to feel—hope. He needed answers, and there was only one place he could think of to get them.

When Zeke reached the front door, one of the Tybur guards, a young soldier with a nervous energy, blocked his path. “The lady of the house is not accepting visitors,” the guard said, his voice wavering as he looked up at the towering figure before him.

Zeke’s gaze bore into the man, unblinking and cold. “She’ll see me,” he said simply.

The guard hesitated, then stepped aside, opening the heavy oak door. Zeke entered without a word, his boots echoing against the marble floors of the grand foyer. The air inside was heavy with the scent of dust and grief.

Mrs. Tybur was seated in the parlor, a black shawl draped over her shoulders as she sipped tea from a delicate porcelain cup. Her face was pale and drawn, and her red-rimmed eyes betrayed sleepless nights. Mourning hung over her like a shroud, and the faint chatter of her children in another room did little to lift the somber atmosphere.

When a servant whispered in her ear that Zeke Yeager had come to see her, she almost dropped her cup. Her hands trembled as she set it down, her breath quickening. The Beast Titan? Here?

Moments later, Zeke stepped into the room. His presence was as imposing as ever, his steely eyes scanning the room before settling on her. Mrs. Tybur rose shakily to her feet, clutching the shawl around her as though it could shield her from the weight of his gaze.

“Mr. Jeager,” she began, her voice polite but strained. “To what do I owe this… visit?”

Zeke wasted no time. “I need to know about Aurora Jaeger.”

Mrs. Tybur blinked in surprise, her confusion momentarily overriding her fear. “Aurora… Jaeger?” she repeated. The name hung in the air like a fragile thread.

Zeke nodded, his expression unyielding. “I’ve recently learned that she was once part of your household. A slave.”

Mrs. Tybur hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Yes, that’s true. She and her mother worked here many years ago. But why would you—”

“What do you know about her?” Zeke interrupted, his tone sharp. “Everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

Mrs. Tybur sank back into her chair, her fingers twisting the edge of her shawl. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts, her eyes distant as she spoke. “Aurora… She was a quiet girl. Always polite, always kept her head down. She disappeared one day, and we assumed she had run off. But… she married Eren Jaeger?” Her voice wavered, disbelief coloring her words. “How is that possible?”

Zeke said nothing, letting her continue.

“She was a kind girl,” Mrs. Tybur went on, her voice tinged with sadness. “But I never understood why my husband and his parents treated her and her mother so poorly. Nadia was… frail. She fell ill, and despite everything, Aurora took care of her until the end. When her mother passed, Aurora was left all alone.”

“What was her mother’s name?” Zeke pressed, his voice low.

Mrs. Tybur hesitated, her eyes searching his face. “Her name was… Nadia.”

The name struck Zeke like a thunderbolt. His breath hitched, and he froze in place. Nadia Fritz. It was a name he had heard before, spoken in the hushed, wistful tones of his mother, Dina.

“I had a younger cousin who I loved so much,” Dina had once told Zeke, long ago. “Nadia was like a sister to me. We were inseparable when we were young. But then… we were separated. She was sent away.”

Zeke’s hands curled into fists at his sides as the realization dawned on him. Aurora Jaeger was a Fritz. A direct descendant of the royal bloodline. That was why she had appeared in the Paths. 

Mrs. Tybur noticed the shift in Zeke’s demeanor and tilted her head. “Why… why do you ask about her, Mr. Jeager? What does Aurora have to do with any of this?”

Zeke’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. He couldn’t tell her everything—not yet. “That’s none of your concern,” he said curtly. “Is there anything else you remember about her? Anything at all?”

Mrs. Tybur shook her head slowly, her expression troubled. “Only that… my husband, Willy, was desperate to find her after she disappeared. He used every resource at his disposal. I never understood why he cared so much. She was just a… servant girl.”

No, Zeke thought grimly. She was never just a servant girl. She was a pawn in Willy’s game.

“Thank you,” Zeke said abruptly, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Mrs. Tybur called after him, rising from her chair. “Why are you asking about her? What is going on?”

Zeke paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes were shadowed, his expression unreadable. “That’s for me to know,” he said, his voice cold. And then he was gone, leaving Mrs. Tybur standing alone in the parlor, her tea long forgotten.

As Zeke walked away from the towering Tybur mansion, his expression remained composed, but his mind was ablaze with what he had just learned. Every step echoed with the weight of revelation. Aurora Jaeger was a member of the royal family—his second cousin. There was no room for doubt anymore.

He adjusted his coat against the chill, his breath visible in the crisp air. His thoughts circled back to his younger brother, Eren. Does Eren even know about her bloodline? Zeke’s lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, he knows. He has to.

From the intelligence Marley had gathered, it was painfully clear how much Eren cared for Aurora. That man had always been reckless in his actions but deeply loyal to those he held dear. If Eren knew about Aurora’s royal heritage, he would do everything in his power to keep it hidden. Not even his closest comrades would know.

Zeke frowned. Keeping a secret like that came with immense risk, but Eren had always been willing to gamble with everything. Still, what’s his endgame? What does he plan to do with that knowledge?

But Zeke's thoughts didn’t stop at his brother. His mind shifted back to the Tyburs themselves—Willy, their parents, and the mysterious plans they had crafted. Why did they keep Aurora’s lineage a secret? Why not share it with Marley’s top brass?

The answer clicked into place, and Zeke’s eyes darkened as the pieces of the puzzle fit together. It wasn’t for Marley’s benefit—it was for their own.

The Tyburs were meticulous, always ten steps ahead, maneuvering through the political landscape like master tacticians. They were the only Eldian family in Marley to hold power, and they ensured they retained it by manipulating both sides of the conflict. Aurora’s existence was part of their calculated plan. Zeke could see it clearly now.

They had kept her bloodline hidden even from their closest allies in Marley. Why? Because Aurora wasn’t just an asset; she was a contingency. A backup plan.

They groomed her, Zeke thought grimly, trained her to be the perfect submissive servant, the obedient slave who would never question their commands. Aurora’s role in their grand scheme was clear now: when Marley eventually captured the Founding Titan, Aurora was to be the vessel to consume it.

The Tyburs’ plan had been ingenious. With her royal blood and the Founding Titan’s power, Aurora would become an unparalleled weapon—a slave with the ability to wield the full might of the Founder under their control. It would have solidified the Tyburs’ dominance, not just in Marley but over the entire world.

Zeke let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. But it didn’t work out that way, did it? Instead of becoming the perfect tool for their ambitions, Aurora had slipped through their fingers. She had fallen in love with—and married—the very man she was destined to devour.

The irony is almost poetic, Zeke mused, his expression softening into a faint smirk. The Tyburs’ grand design had crumbled before their eyes, all because of a twist of fate.

The faint sound of distant activity in the streets of Liberio brought Zeke back to the present. He sighed, his breath fogging the air as he resumed walking. His boots crunched against the gravel road, each step steady and deliberate. The weight of this new knowledge pressed on him, but it also sparked something else—a sense of urgency.

Aurora Jaeger, he thought, the Tyburs’ failure, and Eren’s hidden weapon.

He needed to act carefully. This revelation about Aurora’s bloodline could shift the balance of power, but only if wielded correctly. Zeke knew that Eren wouldn’t share his plans easily. His little brother had always been stubborn, and this secret was likely buried deep.

But I’ll find a way to uncover it, Zeke resolved. And when I do, it will change everything.

As the Tybur mansion disappeared behind him, Zeke’s mind remained locked on the road ahead. Each step carried him closer to a confrontation with Eren—a meeting where truths would be laid bare, and the future of their people would be decided.

But the darkened roads and the occasional flicker of a streetlamp did nothing to still his thoughts. The sound of his boots against the cobblestone echoed in the silence, but Zeke barely noticed.

Aurora had accessed the Paths.

That alone was extraordinary. She wasn’t a Titan Shifter, yet she had stood in the heart of the Coordinate—a place only accessible to those tied to the Founding Titan. Zeke himself had been there before, briefly, but only because he bore the Beast Titan and had the bloodline to activate the Founder's power in conjunction with Eren.

But Aurora? She had no Titan power. Her only link to the Paths was her royal lineage and her contact with Eren, the Founding Titan's wielder.

It wasn’t supposed to work like that.

Zeke’s brow furrowed as he approached his home. He remembered the lessons Tom Ksaver had imparted to him all those years ago. Mr. Ksaver, a titan researcher and Zeke’s mentor, had shared everything he’d learned about the mysterious Paths. According to Ksaver, the Paths connected all Eldians to one another. They flowed through time and space, branching out from a single point—the Coordinate.

It was said that the Founder, Ymir Fritz, resided there, at the very center of the Paths. She was the architect of their curse, the one who had bound Eldians to the Titans’ power.

Zeke’s understanding of the Paths was limited, even with Ksaver’s knowledge. He knew that access to the Paths wasn’t casual. It required the Founder’s power, either through the bloodline or the Titan itself. The other option was being brought there by a higher force.

And that’s where Zeke’s unease grew.

Aurora hadn’t wandered into the Paths accidentally. Someone—or something—had brought her there. The most likely explanation sent chills through him: Ymir Fritz herself had sought Aurora out.

Zeke paused mid-step, his breath visible in the cold night air. Why would Ymir Fritz bring Aurora to the Paths?

His mind raced through possibilities. Was Aurora meant to play some role in Ymir’s ancient plan? If so, what was that plan? Zeke clenched his jaw, the unease settling deep in his gut.

The idea that the Founder herself had reached out to Aurora was terrifying. Ymir Fritz was an enigmatic figure, shrouded in legend and myth. Even Ksaver, with all his research, couldn’t piece together the full truth of her existence. What Zeke did know, however, was that Ymir was a being of immense power and sorrow, bound to the Titans for over two millennia. Her will shaped the Paths and the fate of every Eldian.

Zeke resumed walking, his steps heavier now. If Ymir Fritz was reaching out to Aurora, it could mean only one thing: she had a purpose for her.

But what purpose? Zeke rubbed his temples as the theories swirled in his mind. Could Ymir see Aurora as a savior, someone who could undo the curse of the Titans? Or was she being drawn into a far darker role—one that could exacerbate the conflict between Marley and Paradis?

Zeke reached the door to his home and leaned against it for a moment, staring into the darkness of the night. Aurora’s involvement made her a wildcard, a factor he hadn’t accounted for in his grand plan. And if Eren knew about Aurora’s connection to the Paths—or worse, if Eren was deliberately hiding it—then Zeke’s entire strategy could be in jeopardy.

“Why now, Ymir?” Zeke murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible. “What do you want from her?”

He opened the door and stepped into the quiet warmth of his temporary home. For the first time in years, Zeke felt an unease he couldn’t shake. Ymir Fritz’s will had remained dormant for centuries, confined to the Paths. If she was beginning to act now, it could signal a shift—a change in the balance of power.

Zeke poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the small table in the corner of the room. His thoughts were relentless. He had spent his entire life building his plan to save Eldians from their cursed existence, but now, Aurora Jaeger—his second cousin, a woman he had never met—was at the center of a mystery that could upend everything.

He took a slow sip, his mind focused on a single question.

What was Ymir Fritz planning with Aurora Jaeger?

…

The room was quiet, save for Aurora’s frantic breathing as she continued to describe her experience. She clung to Eren’s shirt, her eyes wide and teary, her voice trembling as she recounted every detail.

“I swear, Eren,” Aurora insisted, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. “It wasn’t just a dream! I—I was in this place… it was dark, but the sky wasn’t really a sky. It was like… like it was alive, and there was this huge tree in the center with these glowing lines stretching out everywhere.”

Eren’s breath hitched. The Coordinate.

He didn’t interrupt her, though his jaw tightened. Aurora was describing the very place he had accessed when he made contact with Dina Fritz’s Titan—a place only those with ties to the Founding Titan and royal blood could reach.

Aurora continued, her hands trembling as she spoke. “And then… there was the same little ghost girl. She was staring at me like before, but this time, she was so close. She… she touched my forehead, and suddenly, it was like I wasn’t myself anymore. I was taller, stronger, but I wasn’t… me. There was this woman talking to me, and there was a mirror—”

Her voice broke slightly, and Eren placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“What did you see in the mirror?” he asked, his tone low and controlled, though his mind was racing.

Aurora’s eyes flicked to his, searching for something—validation, understanding, anything. “It wasn’t me. I was… I was a man, Eren. Tall, with long blonde hair and a beard. And he looked… he looked a little like you.”

Eren’s heart stopped.

Zeke.

His expression must have changed, because Aurora’s panic seemed to lessen, replaced by cautious curiosity. “Eren? Do you… do you know what this means?”

He couldn’t respond right away. His mind was spinning, connecting the dots faster than he could process them. Aurora wasn’t hallucinating. Somehow, she had accessed the Paths and—more disturbingly—entered Zeke’s body.

“Eren?” Aurora’s voice cracked, her fingers gripping his shirt tightly. “Please, say something. I’m not going crazy, am I?”

“No,” Eren finally said, though his voice was strained. “You’re not crazy.”

Aurora’s shoulders sagged in relief, though Eren’s grip on her tightened as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

“How did you… How did this happen, Aurora? Did anything—anything unusual happen before this dream?”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands, which rested protectively over her stomach. “The girl. She… she touched me, Eren. On my forehead, like I said. I don’t know who she is or why she keeps appearing, but… she’s not just some ghost, is she?”

Eren shook his head. “No, she’s not. I think…I think you may have made contact with the founder.”

Aurora froze, her breath hitching sharply. “The Founder? The one you told me about? The first Titan?”

Eren nodded slowly, his voice grim. “If she brought you into the Paths, it means she’s trying to tell you something… or show you something.” He hesitated before adding, “But there’s more. The man you saw in the mirror—that was Zeke.”

“Zeke?” Aurora echoed, confused.

“My half-brother,” Eren explained, his voice darkening. “He’s the Beast Titan and the only other person who can help me activate the Founder’s power.”

Aurora’s brow furrowed as she processed his words. “So… why would I end up in his body? And does he know? Could he see me?”

“I don’t know,” Eren admitted, his frustration evident. “But if he did, he might start piecing things together. And if he figures out…” He trailed off, his fists clenching at the thought.

“Figures out what?” Aurora asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Eren’s gaze shifted to her, his expression unreadable. “That you have royal blood.”

The words hit Aurora like a punch to the gut. Her eyes widened, her hands instinctively flying to her stomach as she tried to comprehend the weight of what he’d just said. 

“There’s no other explanation,” Eren interrupted, his voice tight. “Only someone with royal blood could access the Paths like you did. And if Zeke figures that out, he’ll know you’re more than just my wife.”

Aurora’s lips parted in shock, her mind struggling to keep up. “Eren… I don’t understand. Why would he care about me having royal blood?”

Eren stood, pacing the room as his frustration mounted. “Because it makes you a threat, Aurora. Or worse, a tool. If Marley finds out, if Zeke even suspects it, they’ll stop at nothing to use you for their own plans.”

Aurora stood as well, though her knees felt weak. “So what do we do? Eren, I don’t want to be part of their war—I just want to protect our child.”

Eren stopped pacing and turned to her, his green eyes blazing with determination. “Then we keep this between us. No one else can know, not even Levi or Mikasa. If Zeke doesn’t already know, we’ll make sure he never finds out.”

Aurora nodded, though fear still lingered in her eyes. “And if he does know?”

Eren stepped closer, cupping her face in his hands. His touch was firm yet gentle, grounding her in the chaos of their reality. “If he knows, then I’ll deal with him. I’ll protect you, Aurora. No matter what.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his resolve. But deep down, both of them knew that the storm ahead was only growing stronger. And Ymir Fritz, the Founder, had just made their path even more perilous.

~

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[sky-kiss]

My brain is doing its thing again where I imagine Raphael coming back from the grave during the epilogue party after Tav kills him and it’s like the Red Death scene from Phantom of the Opera and he goes “why so silent, good messieurs?” And he’s all smug and shit RAAAA—

The music stops. 

Not out of fear—it's horror. It must be horror. The glass slips from Tav's grip, shattering on the ground below. Wine splatters across their boots, wets the dirt, and makes it mud. 

"Come now, you were so confident before." 

Raphael's voice is not as it was. Now, it is stripped of its richness. The vocal cords are badly burned or severed; it's a rasping whisper, cold as Cania's ice. One eye is milk white. The skin is scarred in some places, still missing in others. A thousand wounds, all weeping. 

And the question lingers on Tav's tongue: what's become of you?

But they know. The answer is so obvious: Tav. Tav and their merry band are why the cambion stands before them, a leper and an outcast. Raphael holds his head high, brutalized and broken, at odds with the fineness of his raiment. 

"Have you no songs to sing? No tales to tell? The hero of Baldur's Gate—slayer of eldritch and devil alike."

"Raphael," they say, calm. "You're bleeding." 

"Am I?" It's a hiss, the words tracking down their spine like a knife. "How kind of you to notice. Perhaps one day, I shall regale you with how this…" he gestures to himself. "Came to pass. Your hand, my dear, has been the least of my concerns. And yet you," he steps forward, broken wings mantling behind him. "Have never been far from my mind."  

Withers takes a step forward. "Thou are known to me, devil—thou who hath set thine coin of fate upon its edge. I shall afford thee a moment—only the one." 

The devil's expression curls back in a sneer. "You think to order me?"

Withers bowed his head. "Yes. Speak, son of Mephistopheles."

Something in the creature's tone leaves him stiffening. Raphael flicks his attention to Tav, dipping into a half bow. "My congratulations: the day is won, little mouse. Your life—your own. Your soul—safe. For now." He smiles, fangs still sharp, still bone white. "But I say to you—no, swear: my memory is long, my vengeance swift. And you…you, little mouse, are so sweetly etched upon the canvas of my mind."

He snaps his fingers, vanishing in a wash of hellfire. 

And Tav feels cold. 

[mars00]

MY STORY.

HELP SUFFERING LGBTQ'S IN EAST AFRICA.

I'm Gilbert Rugumbura Ugandan by nationality, aged 28yrs and currently living in Gorom refugees camp located in south Sudan

I finished senior six which is advanced level in Uganda but did not get the chance to join university due to the challenges and misfortune that came in my life because of my gender and sexaul orientation.

After the president of Uganda passed a mass communication criticizing and cursing homosexuality in our country before signing the anti-gay bill act in 2023.

I came to live my home country due to narrowly escaping fear for my life to get in danger,denial from my family,face life imprisonment,shame and complete failure in my life, persecution, torture and death.

Something that forced me to leave,was,the strong suspicion that I'd got from my family members that I'm a homosexual when I was found with my partner having a good time together, close to each other, hugging and kissing by my cousin brother who watched us from a distance when we were at the golf course in the evening back then in Uganda.I feared to face my parents, brothers and sisters when my cousin reported that incidence to my elder brother who also informed my parents, brothers and sisters and my parents asked to meet me with all my brothers and sisters in a meeting in Kampala.Due to the fact that I had had the same case at school in senior five when they also called my father but we settled the issues, making matters worse, our parents had sat us down before as a family and strongly restricted us from such which my father termed as abnormal and scary practices and promised us as his children,not to favour or lightly handle any of us who is known for the act but rather take away there life so that they could not ashame the whole family,chase them from our clan and family linage or handle us to the security with his helping hand to imprison them for life, briefly he strongly condemned it and we very well knew how rude he is.

After all this happening, when my family asked to meet me, I escaped to Kenya and ended at the red cross in Kenya and after three days was taken to Kakuma refugees camp.

CHALLENGES.

When I entered the camp, I thought my life had been rescued to some extent, little knowing that I had just started facing the hardest part of my life.

While in the camp,the rest of the community in the camp, we as lgbtq's,face discrimination, segregation, torture,rampant attacks, trauma, disrespect,stay most of the times indoors, constant hunger, insecurity, lack of enough medical care,lack of participating and exercising our rights, denial of the right to work and face death.

The straight community in the camp say that we're agents of the devil and the spoilt western culture, we're not allowed to move freely but in groups and short distances and if not, we're attacked at any time, brutalized and get seriously injured but what hurts most is that the very same people who are supposed to be helping us, also torture and discriminate us say of the police when we go to report our cases,they chase them away and instead ask us to go back where we live before they arrest us,the medical doctors of the UNHCR clinics say they don't want to touch on us because we're a curse and a burden hence living us to go to private clinics while we can not afford medical bills ,the UNHCR local officials discriminate us by giving us very little food that can not sustain us for even half a month but counted to sustain us for a full month,the owners of shops refuse to sell us goods saying that our money will bring a curse to there businesses, we're not allowed to access jobs because the owners of the jobs say we're a curse.

GOALS:

Rescue the suffering lgbtqi people who have no voice from hunger and other basic needs.

Living a free and desirable life.

Exercising my rights as a human being like others.

Amplify the voice for the lgbtqi people.

Helping our fellow lgbtqi people live a desirable life.

Alerting the rest of the communities and genders that we're people like anyone else.

Creating room

(This is a campaign organized by me)

@rugumbura999 (his profile)

[dramioneasks]

Halloween Fics (2024):

Dia de los Muertos by RavenclawViking - M, WIP - Three pages of notes, three nights, three rituals. Three chances to say goodbye to her parents. That was all she wanted to do. That was all she had left. The one where Hermione goes into the Forbidden Forest to summon spirits and Draco is the only one how notices [WARNINGS: RAPE/NON-CON, TORTURE, DARK FIC]

Murder As A Love Language by stashandtell - E, one-shot - The brutal end of Nott Sr.'s last day gives way to the blissful beginning of Theo's night. [Draco x Hermione x Theo]

So Hot You’re Bringing Me Back To Life by jiexhua - M, 3 chapters - “Draco is dead, with no memories, no identity, no pulse. Ironically, he has an undying hunger for flesh that he tries not to think about by passing time on his broom, listening to records in a gaudy red and gold room he calls home, or reading books to keep his brain from rotting away. And then a girl sets his world on fire.” -Warm Bodies!Dramione for Halloween [WARNINGS: GORE]

D-R-A-C-O by Wheredoesshego - not rated, one-shot - When Pansy, Ginny and Hermione decide to play around with an Ouija board, they let someone in - someone who has been stuck in the afterlife, trying to get back to the object of his obsession. He has been waiting a long time, stuck in purgatory since his untimely death several years before. The Ouija board has let him in, but this dead Death Eater wants to do more than talk.

Eternal by Black_Phoenix22 - M, one-shot - It's Halloween, bitches!!! Draco Malfoy is a vampire and has set his sights on Hermione Granger. On Halloween night he gets his chance to make her Eternal.

Silent Screams and Stolen Kisses by feistyferret - T, 2 chapters - On Halloween night, the ancient corridors of Hogwarts hold more secrets than even Hermione Granger could have anticipated. Drawn into an eerie challenge by Draco Malfoy, she finds herself swept into a maze of shadowy enchantments, lingering glances, and teasing words, their rivalry giving way to an unexpected connection.

Dancing with the Devil by malfoycurse - E, WIP - An all Hallows eve Ball is presented to all students to attend, while most of the 8th years begrudgingly agree to partake without complaint. There are two who harbor similar obstacles: Hermione Granger, the golden girl saint, decides that she will represent in an Angel. It was fitting for her due to her being viewed by all as, "the girl who could doing no wrong". Inside she feels a burning desire to cut lose and enjoy herself...just wanting to be Hermione Granger...one thing she hadn't counted on was catching the eye of someone who she wishes didn't have the same desires. Draco Malfoy, ex Death Eater/reformed member of society, is dressed to the nines in a Devil costume. Reflecting on how the wizarding world saw him, a menace and deserving to be in hell. His longing to be accepted was something buried deep down inside of him. Something that neither him nor a curly haired book worm would care to admit. Sometimes it's better to be reckless.

Trick or Treat! by coldbrewcalico, virgo_puff - G, one-shot - Draco gets roped into trick-or-treating (aka begging for candy like a commoner) and falls into a trap shaped like matching costumes with Harry-freaking-Potter.

I Don't Have a Choice (but i still choose you) by WritingFicariously - M, one-shot - They've been circling each other for two months. An impromptu Muggle game during a Halloween-themed party forces Hermione and Draco to fess up to their feelings. Or maybe it will just make them snog.

Trick and Treat by des_reads7 - E, 2 chapters - Halloween is the one day of the year when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest. Hermione tries to take advantage of this and attempts to summon her old fling Fred Weasley from the veil, but ends up summoning someone else instead.

Love is the honey by WritingFicariously - T, one-shot - "Life is the flower for which love is the honey." -Victor Hugo

The Wonder of Wilful Witches by magicalsydney - E, one-shot - On a night of trick-or-treating, Lyra Malfoy reveals her father’s appreciation for a certain curly-haired witch's yabbos. Hermione finds a new found confidence in Lyra’s confession and goes after what she wants– Draco Malfoy.

Something to Live For by dramionelover1997 - M, one-shot - More than a decade after the war, a fun night out with friends takes a turn for the worst. But Draco realises his life is so much better than he could have imagined.

what you want. by ravenflorals - E, one-shot - As the party raged on, further did his temper simmer. He’d watched as everyone danced, donning costumes that made them look both ridiculous and endearing (if anyone heard that last part, don't say it out loud.) His eyes focused on Granger though. Dressed in a white gown that touches her knees, he focuses on the slip of skin she shows every time Weasley ( The back-on with Potter variety ) gives her a dip or spin. A little bit further and Draco could swear he’d see the marks he’d left on her thigh. She’s lightning on her feet and effortless as she goes. He feels like a stalker. Standing in a suit, he’s supposed to be Bond, like James Bond. But at the moment his only mission was getting her out of there. Away from the clawing hands of Adrien who haha! He just noticed dressed came as a fucking Devil. He’d heard the other Slytherin say at least ten pickup lines. ranging from “Aww man people will think we’re a couple.” With a sickening sweet glance. To calling her angelic. ៸៸ —- or the before, during, and after of an eighth year houseparty.

le petit mort by Babierhys - not rated, WIP - in which the unresolved tension between draco malfoy and hermione granger is pulled taut- unbearable and undeniable- till it snaps and they both come crashing down in a mess of kisses and other scandalous things right in the middle of the very first halloween ball at hogwarts. or, basically two idiots who are falling in love and completely unaware of it till they're naked and panting into each other at the astronomy tower.

The Game by Slytherinked - E, one-shot - Hermione might have known she would be taken. She couldn't, however, have predicted who her partner would be. The boy she had once loved, now the man who had left her behind. He swears he won't hurt her, but there are secrets behind his silver eyes, and generations of violence in his blood. It's the fourth year of The Game. Who will win? Who will die? [WARNINGS: CHARACTER DEATH, VIOLENCE]

Come Find Me, Hermione by GG500 - not rated, WIP - “Granger, Granger, Aren’t you a danger? Hurry now, there’s knowledge to bind, Wonder to find, Be vast, fast. Be unrefined. Your next clue’s a tale, If you can keep up with my trail. Come find me, Hermione.” A series of terrorist attacks begin on All Hallows’ Eve. The Auror Office suspects a new Dark Witch or Wizard has risen. Curse-Breaker Draco Malfoy prefers hunting down terrorists to socializing, but finds himself rescuing Hermione Granger from carnivorous pumpkins Halloween night. He'd like to keep out of her entangling hair, but Hermione's murderous penpal is his prime suspect. Despite a thriving career, an impetuous internship, and a double life bringing Time-Turners back to the wizarding world, Hermione finds herself terribly lonely. And, horrifyingly, Draco Malfoy keeps showing up in her flat to steal her "illegal" books out from under her bed—worse yet, saving her life in the process. (Teaser Quote) “Be wicked, be sly, and don’t you dare die.”

Draco Malfoy and his first Weasley Family Dinner by Anonymous - G, one-shot - Guess who’s coming to Halloween dinner at the Weasleys? Draco is! Hermione and Draco bake a special pie for the Weasley Family Dinner. Too bad they’ll never be invited back to dinner again…

Silent Screams and Stolen Kisses by feistyferret - T, 2 chapters - On Halloween night, the ancient corridors of Hogwarts hold more secrets than even Hermione Granger could have anticipated. Drawn into an eerie challenge by Draco Malfoy, she finds herself swept into a maze of shadowy enchantments, lingering glances, and teasing words, their rivalry giving way to an unexpected connection.

Trick and Treat by cleotheo - T, one-shot - When Hermione Granger agrees to attend a Halloween party with her best friend, she has no idea what sort of tricks and treats await her. Light-hearted Dramione One Shot.

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2024 Day 7

Furryklok or Demonklok

Today’s entry is a companion piece to @kaanagen’s fanart because I got inspired while we were talking about it. 🔥

Set in an AU where Toki hasn’t left his family yet!

Photo credit

Toki wiped his bloody nose, holding back the tears. It had been years since the last time his parents beat him this badly. The basement? Sure, that was like his second room by this point. But being so brutally assaulted, to the point of blood…

Just because he dared to talk about his one dream, about his aspirations to be a musician…

He choked back a sob, more disappointed in himself than anyone else for ever having thought that the people that raised him would react differently. They didn’t even like having music played in the house. Of course wanting to be a guitarist would be blasphemous to hear for them. He was an idiot. A stupid, naive idiot.

But no more of that. That Toki was done for, soon to be buried.

Determined, he searched under the pile of straw and spotted it. The book about satanic spells and rituals that he had researched when he first acquired an interest in death metal. He knew his parents cleaned his room every now and then so the book would be safer here, amongst the litter and rubble that only Toki was in charge of cleaning.

He already knew what page to go to, he had already marked it. It was page 242, how to summon a devil.

Evidently, Toki thought it would be cool to summon your own guardian and thus protect himself from harm, while also enacting revenge on those who wronged him. The only reason he hesitated was, well…the possibility of hurting his parents.

Despite everything, Toki didn’t want to hurt them. They were the only people Toki really knew, after all. What was he supposed to do without them?

Against his will, he felt his reluctance come back to him, and he was about to close the book when a drop of blood fell on the page. Abruptly reminded of what they had done to him, Toki made up his mind.

With his own blood, he painted a pentagram on the wooden floor and placed his battered guitar at the center. Then, he closed his eyes and began chanting, picturing a future where he was allowed to be who he wanted to be. To do anything he wanted to do. A future where he could be free.

Music would be his freedom and he was willing to pay with his soul for it.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling and a light pierced his eyelids. Alarmed, he opened his eyes and found the ground was splitting in two, red blaze coming from where it had cracked. Terrified, he fell on his knees and began to pray for forgiveness.

When he looked up, he saw scarlet smoke was now emanating from the cracks and invading the basement. And within the smoke, there was a dark figure, approaching him with inhuman movements. He screamed in horror, wanting nothing more but to escape yet his body was frozen from the sight. A noise that could only be defined as an electric guitar riff resonated in the air.

“Nows, nows…” A deep voice spoke as the smoke slowly dissipated. “Who dares awakes me from mines slumber?” Blue eyes materialized, penetrating Toki with his gaze.

And yet, rather than be intimidated, the color eased him. It was a beautiful shade of blue, one of Toki’s favorites in fact. The color of the sky, or, well, heaven.

Heaven…

The silhouette stepped out of the smoke and Toki’s eyes widened upon witnessing its appearance.

What appeared to be a slim, naked man with flowing golden hair, cascading way past his shoulders, presented itself before Toki. It was holding a guitar, like a warrior with an axe, and eyeing him with interest. It was so beautiful that Toki would’ve thought he had summoned an angel instead, until he noticed the horns coming out of his forehead and the pointy ears emerging from his mane.

“So it ams you.” The demon said, leaning down to hold Toki’s chin between its fingers. “You looks like a good meals.”

As tempting as it was to gaze at the demon up close, Toki removed himself from the demon’s grasp. He tried his best to remember the Latin lessons his father had forced upon him during childhood. “M-Mihi nomen est…”

“Nej, nej,” The demon waved its hand. “Is understand everies lanksgage.” Its eyes spotted Toki’s guitar, now miraculously repaired, on the ground. “Ams this yours?”

Toki nodded and the demon proceeded to ditch his own guitar, which disappeared into a scarlet cloud, and picked Toki’s. Its long fingers began playing a monstrous solo on the guitar that, moments ago, was completely destroyed. It was sublime, it was godly, it was unlike anything Toki had ever seen.

“Whats yous name?” The demon asked, still fiddling with his guitar so freely that it almost felt obscene to watch.

“T…Toki.” He answered with cheeks flushed.

“Wells, Toke,” The demon hummed with a smirk. It was so tall, so tall that it was towering over him. “Does you have anythingks for me?”

Completely hypnotized, Toki was unable to answer. Though something in his mind was exceedingly clear.

He had gotten his wish.

[scribblesforgiggles]

a little teaser for upcoming fic >:3

--------------

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. But that never really stopped Jesper from wondering if he ever had one. It was profoundly cold the day that Kaz found him, drunk and weeping in the alleyway next to the gambling house he had just lost a decent portion of his savings account in. He cradled his pearl-handled revolvers - his only remaining fortune, the last thing to tie him to home - and shuddered silently with red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Jesper may not know a lot of things about the Barrel, but he knew that a man found crying was a man soon found bloody or dead. And so his terror was completely understandable when he looked up to see what must have been death himself towering over him. The crying boy jolted up onto his feet, ready to fight whatever debt collector had come for him this time - but as the light shifted, he noticed that this was not death, nor a debt collector. It was the man who had saved him from what would have been the most brutal beating of his life yet. Jesper had thought him an angel at the time, but perhaps he was the devil, and had come to collect his dues.

Just as Jesper was about to open his mouth, the sullen boy before him cut him off.

“I have business.”

--------

can't guarantee how quickly i can get the full thing out as i'm planning for this to be quite a bit longer than my other fic and my motivation seems to have beef with existence. still, i'll do my best! pls let me know if you like this little extract from it :D

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Unrivaled Beauty.

O’ Beautiful Queen, your loveliness is eternal and unchallenged.

Steal center stage, and the hearts of those who gaze upon you.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

War is as much of an art as it is a brazen display of brutality.

For Vil, every performance he gives is war. His weapons: skill, grace, beauty. All of it meant to charm the audience. No substitutions, it no stunt doubles.

Today is no different.

He kneels in the snow atop a corpse. Not a real dead man, but a dummy with an eerie amount of detail. It had been prepared by experts in the prop department, made to resemble his character's sworn enemy in the film.

Crimson blooms upon white robes marked with ancient runes. The collar and neckline are daring, plunging to reveal a generous amount of the bare skin of the chest to the elements. The hair, a tangled mess of glossy raven waves, sticking from the moisture to cold skin. The skin, pale blue with frost, the eyes cloudy orbs.

The mouth, stained red with the blood of countless innocents, no longer moves.

In this scene, the she-devil Snow White is dead, and he, heir to the Witch Queen, has slain her.

Without hesitation, he plunges his bare hand into the dummy’s chest, fishing out a model heart. It is covered in a mixture of corn syrup, food coloring, cocoa powder, and starch to simulate bodily fluids. The thickened liquid dribbles down his own pale hands, staining them.

Lifting his trophy into the air, a joyous, defiant sparkle in his eyes. A throaty cry erupts from him.

“With this, the Eternal Snow will be no more, and peace shall return to my realm!!”

Vil’s explosive laughter fills the mountain. The snow shakes, the land itself shudders in his presence.

He has won.

Finally, finally, finally.

A gruff man’s voice reaches him.

“CUT!!”

In an instant, the scene falls apart and reality sets in.

Cameramen tend to their equipment, prop managers and stylists exchange whispers. Special effects mages tamp down their snow spells. The illusion is stripped away, revealing a balmy day set against a backdrop of mountains.

Staff in scurry in, offering Vil towelettes and lotion to clean and moisturize his hands. He accepts them, then waves the staff off, one ferrying the fake heart.

“Bravo, Vil-kun, bravo!!” the director gushes. “I knew it was the right call to cast you as the hero for this film. There wasn’t a flaw in your acting, m’boy!!”

“Thank you, sir.” Vil bows to the older man, keeping his reply short and simple. “It is an honor to be a part of your masterfully written story."

It is the tale of a beautiful demon locked away in a glass coffin, freed from slumber and set upon the world to shroud it in never-ending winter… The tale of a selfless noble and her huntsmen that stands in opposition to her and her seven sniveling imp minions. A tale of two fates intertwining—the noble whose bloodline sealed the demon away, and the demon who vowed revenge on descendent of the Witch Queen.

Vil's eyes cannot stop themselves from sliding over to his co-star, who waits in the wings. His lifelong rival, Neige LeBlanche.

He is dressed similarly to the dummy that had been swapped in for his corpse. Red ruins his pristine white gown, and his hair is wild—but off-camera, Neige lacks the madness of the villain he plays. Neige smiles sweetly at the staff, giggles like an innocent schoolboy.

Vil fails to look away before Neige meets his eyes. He waves shyly, and, out of courtesy, Vil returns it.

“You've all been working very hard to bring my vision to life," the director happily booms. "Let's take a 30-minute break. Hydrate, grab some food, whatever. Actors, hair and makeup retouches before stepping back on set!"

There is a collective murmur of approval, feet shuffling for the refreshments table. A staff member offers Vil a spot in the donut line, but he politely declines.

"No thank you, I've prepared granola and a light fruit yogurt ahead of time. If you'll excuse me."

He peels away and heads for his trailer. Once Vil is shut away—a well-trained peacock stepping into his gilded cage—he produces his phone and reviews his jam-packed schedule: the film shoot, an interview with a popular variety show, modeling for a magazine cover, practicing for a stage play…

He, cast in the spotlight of hero in every single one.

You are the fairest of them all, Mira would robotically recite. All the social media websites and news outlets were talking nonstop about him, and he knows it.

It's the Age of Vil, his manager would joke. Isn't this great? You're demonstrating your range. This will definitely net you bigger and bigger opportunities in the future!

They’re finally recognizing you for your cuteness and goodness, his father would tell him. That’s my son! I knew everyone would come around eventually.

On any other day, he might have scoffed or dismissed their comments. Today, he simply smirks, silently pocketing his phone.

Vil passes a large vanity on his way to the mini-fridge. A glimpse of his reflection reveals the elaborate jewel-toned ensemble he is fitted for, the makeup that highlights the highest points of his face. Shining, commanding attention—just as any protagonist would.

He stands straighter, holds his chest higher. Proudly flaunting his feathers, his numerous accomplishments.

I've worked myself to the bone to reach this point. I've earned every little bit of this.

Retrieving his snacks, Vil makes to join the crew on their break. Even if Neige will be present as well, he grimaces.

A shadow invades his periphery.

Vil pauses at the doorway and looks back.

There, sitting on his vanity, was a bushel of roses the color of midnight. A black envelope embellished with gold accents is tucked among the petals.

His brows knit together. How odd--he is certain he hadn't seen that a second ago, nor had he heard anyone entering to drop it off while he was briefly at the fridge. How could he have missed such an obvious gift?

"Perhaps it's from the director or producer," he muses, plucking the envelope free and opening it.

Inside, there is, as suspected, a letter.

Same black paper, same gold embellishments.

To Schoenheit,

Please accept this humble offering from myself. It was a joy to watch you perform to your heart's content.

I was very moved by the experience. It is not often that I get to observe Man in all of its peaks and crests in such a short span of time.

I will continue to watch over you and support your dreams from the sidelines.

Sincerely,

M. D.

Initials in the place of a name? Vil turns the paper over, expecting more on the other side. It's unlike his fans to leave out their full identity. (Half of the time, they include a list of their social media handles and beg for a follow back.)

But alas, the back is blank and yields no answers.

He frowns, facing the words scrawled on the front of the square again. The cogs in his head turn, arriving at a single logical conclusion.

I only know of one possible M.D., but... Is he truly the type to send notes of this nature?

Vil toys with the idea in his head, just as he toys with the letter between his fingers. Ego rises and colors his lenses.

"Fufufu, it seems that even great mages such as he are not immune to my beauty and talent." Vil chuckles, exiting the trailer. His adoring fans await.

He's right about everything, and he doesn't realize how wrong he wants to be.

[itjazzbicch]

A Sun is Born

Pairing: Claudio Serafino x Mishima!Devil!Reader 

My first time writing for Claudio, so I hope I did well!

Summary: Their entire life being nothing but pain and fighting to awaken their devil and please their father, the reader finally has enough when the opportunity for their own freedom presents itself, hoping to find purification in Italy from the exorcist, Claudio, who learns that the reader is no devil...

Warnings: The reader is mentioned to have faced death and has a messed up past (but that's about it!)

Word Count: 1.3k 

My father and grandfather had been fighting one another for far too long, but at this point, I didn't care anymore. For the first time in my life, I was disobeying my father and doing what I wanted, doing what I felt was right even though I was scared.

Tonight, my life was going to change forever. I wasn't sure if Father would hunt me down once he noticed I was gone. It was too late to try and theorize every consequence of the actions I was about to perform.

Italy was a beautiful place, finding the Arches of Sirius Exorcists and their leader:

"You're Claudio Serafino, correct?"

"I am..." Looking in the corner of his eye, he could see my figure in the shadows of the cathedral, stepping out and pulling my hood down as I introduced myself:

"I'm Y/N. Y/N Mishima...."

His eyes widened with shock. At first, he was speechless, his mind racing with thoughts and questions, but he asked in a severe but soft tone:

"A Mishima? Are you another one of Heihachi's children?"

"No," I answered, trying to keep my emotions back as I hated to say, "Kazuya Mishima is my father."

"I thought Jin was his only child." Claudio grew more perplexed, looking towards the moonlight shining through the glass and onto my face. Staring intensely into my eyes, his intuition told him I was being truthful, swallowing a breath as he asked one last question, "What brings you here?"

My life with my father was brutal. For as long as I can remember, it was all about fighting, training, and gaining power. Nothing else. I couldn't even dare to mess up, or there would be consequences.

All those thoughts made me tear up, crying to this man who was still but a stranger to me, shaking as my body pulsated, my eyes piercing into his as they turned bright red against the moonlight, begging in my cry:

"Help me. Please, Claudio."

--------

That was six months ago, and almost every day, I wondered about my father. Did he know where I was and didn't care? Either way, this war and the madness he was causing needed to be put to an end.

I was fortunate to create a bond with Claudio. I wanted to purge this devil from within me, and he offered me hope and a future along with it. Although we had so much to learn and needed to communicate as, the brother I had never met, Jin Kazama, had faced off with our father. Then a new King of The Iron Fist Tournament?

As much as I hated it, I may need this devil's power to help achieve our shared goal.

We were getting closer and closer as Claudio and I met Zafina, who had excellent knowledge of the devil gene and its origin.

"So, you have Azazel's power in your arm..." Claudio was fixed on her arm, to see a form of the devil itself was quite the sight for a sorcerer and I could only watch in shock.

I had hoped every day that maybe this was all a bad dream, but it was right before me. Watching Zafina's hand glow, she pulled out a dark orb, placing it in her hand, showing this red star being consumed by a dark force.

"Jin's light is diminishing..." She began to explain. It seemed to be that Jin was the key to finishing off Father, which I had no complaints about, but as I stared into that orb, my eyes gazing on her purple claw, my body pulsated hard, a pound in my head, which made me shut my eyes quickly.

"Y/N..." Claudio immediately sensed my discomfort, so caring as he took my hand softly, stepping closer to whisper, "Are you okay, dear?"

"Yeah," I lied, taking a deep breath and barely opening my eyes to seek his confirmation, beginning to pant softly, "May I be excused?"

"No need to ask," He whispered, concerned as I turned away from him, going to a balcony nearby, hoping the fresh air would help.

It must've been Azazel's power. It was the origin of the power within me, and my devil was responding to Azazel within Zafina.

Groaning out, I began to hold my head, remembering how my father made my entire life hell and pushed me to the brink of death, all to make me 'stronger.' My teeth started to sharpen the more I groaned, feeling the tips of my horns trying to escape my temple.

"No," I gritted out, my body tensing up as I hunched over a little, the memories continuing to flood my mind, but my heart telling me, "I'm not like him!"

Gasping for air, I was able to keep my devil suppressed. Stabilizing with deep breaths, I cleared my head as intense, dark emotions always led to something like this happening. After a few moments, I opened my eyes, looking at the pretty blue sky and clouds, trying to smile and be proud that I was able to handle myself, but I jumped slightly as I heard a soft, caring voice behind me:

"You're so strong, my dear..."

I had a feeling Claudio would come to check on me, a tiny smile on my face as he had seen the little fight I had within myself. His compliment made my cheeks warm. Looking away from him as I tried not to look so flustered, whispering:

"I guess I am."

"Believe in yourself, Y/N," Stepping closer and taking my hand, it was the first time in my life that I had someone's pure and genuine encouragement, "It takes great strength in one's mind and heart to overcome the things that you have."

"T-Thank you, Claudio," Looking at my hand in his, a tear fell from my eyes, a bit embarrassed that I didn't know what care was like, but I was grateful, a few more tears leaking out as he caressed my cheek next, wiping away those tears, a smile growing on his face as our gazes met.

He could easily read the emotions I felt through my eyes, stroking my cheek once more before wrapping his arm around my neck, pulling me to his chest, his other arm wrapping around my waist as he kept me warmly embraced.

Burying my face in his chest, I couldn't help but quiver from fighting off cries. I had never hugged anyone. All my memories were horrible ones, and to know that I could look back on this and be happy made my heart overflow with passionate emotions.

Squeezing me some as he felt my quivers, he placed his head alongside mine, whispering to me softly:

"And as you said, you are not like him. Deep in your heart, I know that you are pure, amor."

His care and sweetness were going to make my heart explode; growing some courage, I picked my head up a little to look at him with a single eye.

The way the sun shined into his heavenly blue eyes only made my heart thump harder, but it felt so good, and it was such a divine sight that I couldn't look away.

With a fingertip, he gently pushed my chin up, showing my face, his little smile against the sunlight making him look even more handsome; my eyes shut when I felt his nose brush past mine, feeling a slight shock when our lips pecked each other softly, then pressing into a deeper, tender kiss, my handful of his jacket and never wanting to let this go.

I pressed my lips for as long as I could before my head fell a little, gasping a little, giggling as his hand rubbed up and down my back, cooing to me:

"Breathe, amor."

"I'm sorry," I giggled, growing quiet as I found his eyes and immediately got lost again, "I just couldn't get enough..."

"Don't apologize or worry," In my dark world, I had finally found a sun that was so bright that there were no shadows. He was my sun, believing his every word as he was now my new and sure hope, his smile so precious and handsome as he put his nose against mine, "You'll get plenty more." 

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