#but i tried to keep them all in character

[meloyellow236]

The TWST boys write letters to Yuu/The Prefect!

All of them except for Ortho+Checka are meant to be interpreted as romantic, but many can be interpreted as platonic as well. The reader is gender-neutral, but more feminine adjectives will be used when referring to them. Rollo's part is fairly suggestive. Characters will probably be a bit OOC.

Minor spoilers for their respective books in each section, but I try to keep it as spoiler-free as I can, except for who overbloted. If anyone has any questions or comments, please leave an ask or comment :)

NRC:

Heartslabyul:  

Riddle Rosehearts - 

My dearest rose, 

You are the loveliest person I have ever known. It is a miracle that you chose to get to know me, and even more so after I hurt you and your friends so deeply. I have made many mistakes, but you, my rose, look past them. I understand that you may choose to go home one day, but even so... 

Please just give me a moment of your time, a fraction of your thoughts, and I’ll be satisfied. Any inch of you that I can get, I want, even if you still believe me a tyrant. If it pleased you- No, if it only made you look my way, I would gladly break any rule of the queen’s or my mother’s. Understand that, my rose, and I am sure you’ll know what remains unsaid in this letter. 

Yours Truly, 

Riddle Rosehearts 

Trey Clover - 

Prefect, 

Hello. I wanted to thank you, first and foremost, for helping out Heartslabyul so much. You’ve been a very good influence on Ace and Duece, and it’s nice to see Cater open up to someone. Not to mention, Riddle’s been improving every day. I can’t even describe how much you’ve helped me... I just hope you know that I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done. You’re welcome at Heartsabyul at any time. I have some donuts waiting for you if you want. 

From, 

Trey. 

Cater Diamond - 

Prefect, 

Heyyy! Whatcha doing right now? I’m sooooo happy that you came to NRC even if, like, all of the housewarden’s tried to ratio you. I do not subscribe to that, BTW. #NotCool, #Yikes-A-Tron. But,  like... On a more serious note, I am happy that I got to know you. It’s nice to have someone I can just be myself around. No drama, no expectations, just... Yeah. I know that you’re gonna leave at some point, and it’s almost a relief. You’re honest about it, which is something that many can’t say. 

Ugh, that was probs TMI! I’m not trying to trauma dump here, oops. There’s this cute cafe that opened up downtown, totally Magicam-worthy. You wanna meet up there sometime? 

- Cay-cay ♦️  

Ace Trapolla - 

Prefect!! 

I need your help! So, Trein’s got this super hard test coming up on Friday- Like, Riddle-got-a-99-last-year level of hard. Yeah, that’s without the extra credit, but STILL! That’s failure to the tyrant! So, you’ve got to come over to Heartslabyul right now and help me study. Pleaseeeee!!!! I’ll owe you one! 

Oh, and don’t bring Grim. Deuce’s also got plans, there’s no need to ask him. You know, in case that matters to you. 

See ya, 

Ace 

Deuce Spade - 

Dear Prefect, 

Hello, how are you doing? Can you believe that it’s already been so long since we became friends? When we broke that chandelier, I was ready to never talk to you again... But now look at us! I’m on my way to becoming an honor student, and you’re working on finding your way home! I’m happy that you’re going to be able to go soon, I know how bad it feels not to be able to see your family (and probably friends in your case) after so long away, but also sad that you’ll be leaving us. 

I’ve got it! Let’s get your ghost camera, and we’ll take lots of photos of us all over campus! Two of each, so that way no matter what, both of us will always remember what we went through together. That sounds like a good idea, right? 

From, 

Duece 

Savanaclaw: 

Leona Kingscholar - 

Herbivore, 

Hey. You’re an idiot, you know that? You’re stupid and impulsive and don’t know when to quit or give up. That’s why you keep looking for me in the botanical gardens, right? You just don’t know when to stop. I’m sure that you’ll realize I’m not worth your effort soon enough. But until then, you have to come to see me more often. You’re my pillow, I don’t get good enough sleep if you’re not there. 

I’m in the usual place. Get over here as soon as possible. 

- Leona 

Ruggie Bucchi - 

Hiya, Prefect... 

I’ve been thinking, and you should let me come over to Ramshackle and fix the place up for you. No upfront cost, of course, but... I want the right to use the kitchen as I please, whenever I please. 

Why, you’re asking? Shishishi... Not telling. You’ve just got to trust me on this, I’ll make it worth your while. Then again, maybe I’ll just blow the kitchen up and you’ll have to live at Savanclaw again! That’d be fun, huh? 

If you don’t want me to, ya better give up your kitchen for a little while! I’ll get that microwave up and running again in no time.

- Ruggie 

Jack Howl - 

Dear Prefect, 

Hello, have you been feeling alright? I’ve noticed that Crowley isn’t the best provider of food. While on my morning runs, I’ve noticed Grim loudly talking about how he doesn’t have enough tuna. He does it pretty often. So, I’ve thought of a solution; You could try eating breakfast with me. I always get big portions, so you could have some. If you want, I could even try lifting you and carrying you places. I need to get better strength training anyway, and then you’ll have a buddy to get stronger with. It’s always better to have a friend with you. 

From, 

Jack 

Octavinelle: 

Azul Ashengrotto - 

My Pearl, 

Allow me to start this letter by saying that you are truly the crown jewel of my riches and that none can replace your beauty. You are the loveliest, most perfect little pearl, and I adore you with my whole heart. And yet, I cannot seem to convince myself that you feel the same. You say you do, and even if it is a crime to believe your lips hold lies, I cannot believe that to be true. If it was, why? Not just why you would tell me- A scheming man who has hurt you and your friends- that I hold the keys to your heart, but why you would choose what I hold underneath. I’m no good for you in terms of personality or how I look, and yet... You still hold me dear. And for that alone, I want to take you to the Coral Sea where my home lies, but not for a deal this time. Just... Because I want you and my mother in the same place. The two most important people to me meeting... That’s the best thing I can think of, to be honest. 

With Love, 

Azul Ashengrotto 

Jade Leech - 

Dearest Prefect, 

It has come to my attention that you haven’t had a chance to enjoy a proper mushroom dish since arriving in Twisted Wonderland. Now, that will not do for much longer. This letter should contain a box with three containers worth of mushroom dishes. You are to eat them and write back to me with what you thought of each of them. In return, I shall continue to provide you with free food. 

Do be warned, however, that they should all be eaten as fast as possible once you get them in case my brother chooses to throw them out. Also, so that way Grim cannot eat them. I would not recommend it for a cat.

Kind Regards, 

Jade Leech 

Floyd Leech - 

Shrimpy!!!!!! 

You and me. In the courtyard. Now. 

I’m going to squeeze you. 

🐬°˖𓍢✨໋ 🐋✧°.🐟⋆ 

🦐🥢🥢🥢🥢🧨 

I’ll see you later if you want me to or not. 

- Floyd <3333333 

Scarabia: 

Kalim Al-Asim - 

Hello!!!!

I love you!!! I love you, I love you, I love you! You’re the most wonderful person in this school, and you’ve done so much for both me and Jamil! It would be silly for me not to love you. I love how your hair looked in the wind when we went on that carpet ride, I love how you looked in the school’s uniform and how you looked when you tried on my dorms, and I love how you look no matter how you dress because you’re a beautiful person inside and out! I love you, and nothing can change that! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ 

Hugs and kisses, 

Kalim Al-Asim 

P.S. Let’s go on another magic carpet ride soon, okay? I want to show you how pretty the moon looks when it’s full and you’re flying!

Jamil Viper - 

Dear Prefect,

Thank you for saving me when I overblotted. I am aware that what I did was wrong, and I apologize. I hope you can understand where I’m coming from. Either way, I feel as though I must do something more for you to show you that. Please come to Scarabia tonight. I will make you a special dinner if you do. Please, don’t tell Kalim. I want... something special, for the two of us this time. 

See you later, 

Jamil Viper

Pomefiore: 

Vil Schoenheit - 

My Dearest Potato, 

I regret to inform you that you have bewitched me. So much so that I willingly took on a role as a villain in this next movie. The villain falls in love with the hero’s love interest, and then, in a “shocking” turn of events, she chooses the villain to stand by. Of course, they’re both defeated, the hero gets with his childhood friend in some lesson of how love will always be waiting for you, whatever. But I still chose it, even if Neige plays the hero. 

I finally have a love interest, and they remind me of you. You could have stood by his side, you know. You should have. I poisoned him; That action speaks for itself. And yet, you decided to stay with me. Just like how that villain in this story gets the girl the hero originally wanted. 

I’ve won your heart as well, haven’t I? 

Sincerely, 

Vil Schoenheit 

Rook Hunt - 

Trickster, 

Bonjour, mon amour! I could not resist sending you another letter. You see my darling, I long for you like I long for the sunset on a hot day, for an oasis in a desert, for a hint of rain during the dry season, for the sun during the days when it pours. I'd imagine you'd taste like the rain as well, Trickster, and if given the chance, I'd taste again and again, in an attempt to satiate more than just my curiosity. 

Oh, Trickster, have you any idea how you’ve bewitched me? Why, just the sight of you is enough to send me spiraling, wishing for the smallest fraction of a chance that my affections are shared. How cruel is fate, to deny me the right to live and die within your arms? La petite mort would be heaven if it was with you, but death would truly come for me if it wasn’t. 

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur, 

Le Chasseur D'Armour 

Epel Felmeir - 

Prefect, 

I need some help. I found out that milk can make ya grow stronger, and also help you get taller. However, Vil has banned me from drinking it because I drank a carton in two days. Something about it raising my cholesterol or making me break out, I don’t care. So, I need to keep it at Ramshackle. That’s okay with you, right? Well, I sure hope it is, cause it’s getting in there if ya want it to or not! I’ll see ya soon, just make sure it’s in the fridge. I’ll get ya some of my family’s apple juice in return, it’ll be good. I reckon ya liked it last time. 

Epel 

Ignihyde: 

Idia Shroud - 

Prefect, 

Get to my room, and fast. There’s an event taking place, and I need a player two. This one requires another person to be in the same room, so I can’t ask any of my mutuals, and you’re the only one I trust with this. I can’t ask Ortho either, don’t ask why. 

Also I recently got pink lights in my room like those normies. That’s why everything looks kind of pink, it’s not my hair. Just in case you were wondering if I was embarrassed or whatever, you’re wrong. Just get over here ASAP, no time to waste. 

- Gloomurai 

Ortho Shroud - 

Hello, how are you? ( ˵ •̀ ᴗ •́˵) I am very happy to get a chance to talk with you. I have recently learned how to type out these little faces called ‘kaomoji’ that my big brother loves. Here are some of my favorites: 

♡✧( •⌄• ) 

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ 

•ω• 

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ - This one is a cat! 

I would like to share more with you. Please come to Ignihyde so I can teach you how to get them on your phone as well. I can provide free updates while you’re here if needed. (✿˶◕‿◕˶人◕ᴗ◕✿) 

Sent To: PerfectPrefect@email.com 

Date: XX/XX/XXXX 

Return Email: orthoshroud2@email.com 

Diasomnia: 

Malleus Dracona - 

My Dearest Child Of Man, 

If Longing was painful, how much farther would I have to fall to crash and burn at your feet? The only answer I can give is that I already would have. I would build monuments in your name and would offer you the world and more if only you would say you loved me back. 

Could this be considered love? Could these feelings I hold deep within my heart, only to divulge in the darkest hours of the night with none but the stars and you to bear witness to my passion, be a form of love? Or is this simply my yearning, a longing for your heart, and wanting to have someone to call my own? 

The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were the one I wanted next. How I wish I could scream your name from the rooftop, and raise my voice in song only to sing your praises. You have the face of an angel, and I am sure that you must have the mind of one as well, for even if the voices in your head remind you of nothing more than pain and suffering, they have still been able to mold you into the perfection you are today. But maybe you have devils as well, trying to smite you as you sleep, but just as I do all of your angels, I will pick them up and kiss their heads if they are a part of someone I care for so much. You are perfection, Child of Man, and this dragon wishes only to live with the crumbs of affection as my treasures. 

Yours Until The End Of Eternity, 

Prince Malleus Dracona Of Briar Valley Hornton 

Lilia Vanrouge - (Okay so for Lilia I could have SWORN that he calls the prefect ‘Beastie,’ but I can find that nowhere. Literally at all, no one seems to have used it for him, but I know that I’ve seen at least one person do it. I now think that it’s a headcanon thing but I’m not sure, if anyone knows who did this or if it’s canon, please tell me. I’ve been searching for far too long and I am in too deep.)

Beastie, 

Hello, my darling~! I have an easy-peasy little request for you, m’kay? You just need to travel over to Diasomnia, and then... I’ll make you a meal! Malleus has been out trying to find this one gargoyle on campus all day since I brought up wanting to learn a new recipe, and Sebek and Silver both ran off earlier to go help him. I don’t know how to tell them that the gargoyle they’re looking for definitely isn’t at Night Raven College. Raising kids is quite hard, especially when things like this come up... 

But you’ll be there for me, won’t you, Beastie? Pretty please? I’ll see you tonight if you want to, a little date if you feel up to it. Mwah! 

xoxo, 

Lilia 

Silver “Vanrouge” - 

Dear Prefect, 

I had the most wonderful dream. I think I did, at least. I can’t remember it, but I remember how familiar these eyes were, and I knew it was you as soon as I awoke. And I know it's true, that dreams are seldom what they seem... But if I know how you are, then I know what you'll do; You'll look at me the same way you did once upon inside my dreams. And tell me all about the animals that you found with me when I awoke. What I wouldn’t give to hear you tell me about every birdie that comes to me; I’d be willing to fall asleep in the forest every day if only to hear you cooing to the birds when I come to. I wonder if each little bird has someone to sing sweet things to, a little love melody like what I long to play for you one day. Well, either way, I’m growing sleepy now. The effects of my curse will soon be on me once more. I’ll see you either later today or tomorrow, depending on how long I’m asleep. If you need me or simply wish to keep me company, I’m currently resting in the woods. 

Best Wishes, 

Silver 

Sebek Zigvolt - 

HUMAN! 

I have something to show you; A new notebook to be filled, gifted to me by Master Lilia. He said that it is a ‘scrapbook’, which humans fill up with pictures and drawings of themselves and their friends. To fulfill the purpose of this illustrious gift, you must come to Diasomnia at once! You shall be the first of the first years to be added, along with Silver. Prepare enough of those photographs you have to fill half of the book. The other shall be dedicated to Wakasama! 

Sincerely, 

Sebek Zigvolt  

RSA+NBC: 

Che’nya - 

Prefect... 

When are you going to visit RSA, huh? It would be purrr-fect to get a chance to see you again. You’re quite the pretty purr-son, dontcha think? Or maybe I’ll just drop by at the next unbirthday party... Riddle and Trey would like that, but I wonder what you’d think. Hum-hum-hummm... 

Kitty Kisses, 

Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker <3 

Neige Leblanche - (The Reader is called NRC’s ‘princess’ in this one, but not called a woman or anything)

My Dearest, 

Hello! How are you fairing? Have you been doing okay since the VDC? I know that you looked pretty shaken up back then, so I wanted to make sure that you’ve been okay. After all, you’re NRC’s princess! As far as I can tell, anyway. I’m happy that there’s someone around Vil like you, he always looked like he needed a good cheering up. And you’re like a fairytale! Such pretty hair and eyes and skin; Oh, I’d ride away with you on a white horse if I could! 

Ah, that’s odd to say to someone I don’t know very well, isn’t it? I’m sorry, that’s my fault. You still want to be friends, right? If you do, please come visit me at some point. Or, just send me a letter back. I’ll make sure that you get priority over any fan letter. 

Love, 

Neige Leblanche 

Rollo Flamme - (Kinda sugesstive) 

Mon Amour, 

There are times I wish I could tear you down and take you apart only to sew you back together. Rip you to shreds only to tenderly put each piece back where it should be. Drink from you until there's nothing left and then fill you up with all of the love I could offer, make you mine and mine alone. Those greedy thoughts shouldn't even make their way onto this paper, shouldn’t even be in my head, and yet here I am, penning them in a letter never to be sent. 

I truly wish you never see these letters, for I'd hate to be the reason your face turns to disgust, even if for a moment. Of course, I don't regret writing them. You will never read them, after all, but I believe I should get my thoughts out like this rather than bottle them up, lest I do something stupid and let you see them. I pray that you will never have to see me in a state like how I write to you, over my bedside table in the dead of night, eyes barely open and breath still recovering from dreams of a sweeter pleasure than I should sully your name with. 

I mention those dreams I have of you a lot, it seems, although I mean it in the most innocent way possible. Ever since I met you, you've infested my dreams and wormed your way into my heart like a parasite I can't rid myself of. My dreams are all of the sweet moments I have longed for and never gotten. I only have eyes for you, after all, and a saint may never lie with a sinner, lest they become one as well. 

Bonus: 

Checka Kingscholar - 

To Perfect, 

Hello! I am Checka Kingscholar. I am fiv years old. I like my unca. I like my dad and I love my mom. I love you! Goodbye! •ᴗ•

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Believe in Me — jh86

summary: in which the summer following Jack’s rookie year is coming to an end. Not only did his rookie year come with being shafted by the league as the biggest bust, but he managed to get painted as the biggest (and newest) playboy of the league. His personal management team, the team’s management, and PR step in to clear this all up, but it takes work from Jack.

warnings/points of importance: use of y/n, fem!reader x jack, use of nicknames for female character and for Jack, fake dating trope, oblivious pining trope(?), childhood friends, minor usage of foul language, creation of side original characters for plot, time jumps, memories inserted - tumblr’s intention and italics used to notate, inner thoughts marked with ‘..’ and italicized if they occur

word count: 4.32

notes: any names used for original characters that relate to someone’s name or closely relate to a person’s name is purely by happenstance. The names were rolled by random from a generator where I inserted random first and last names.

© property of quinnylouhughesx43 ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the worn wooden planks of the back porch swing, her eyes following the lazy dance of the sunset as it descended behind the distant tree line. Her childhood home had changed so little over the years, the same comforting embrace of familiarity wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a chilly evening. The porch swing squeaked in a soothing rhythm as both her and Jack slowly swung, a nostalgic tune that had serenaded countless summer nights spent sharing secrets and laughter with Jack. The only other kid who had been in her grade when she moved in, well really one of the only other neighborhood children. The other two children in the neighborhood were his brothers. All three of which had become as much a part of her life as the very foundation of the house she grew up in.

She had spent all day out with his family by the pool, her mother insisted he come to their house for dinner though. Nothing to offer course for their life, well a year ago it wouldn’t have been.

"Do you want to talk about your new headline?" Y/n tried to hold back the hint of amusement in her tone but failed miserably. Jack's rookie season had just come to an end before the beginning of summer. In just a few months he had gone from the talk of the league as the number one draft pick to talk of the league as a "bust."

He was nothing close to a bust. It was just how the year fell.

Jack leaned back in the swing, the sun's final strokes of light for the day painting his cheekbones. He sighed; a heavy exhale filled with the weight of the rumors that had been following him like a dark shadow. "It's just how it's going to be now. You know how it is with the media. They're desperate to find a new angle to keep me going." There were a few moments of silence shared between them before he found the words to continue. "First, it's all about my game, how I'm not scoring enough or I'm not this hotshot star that every analyst built me up to be. Season ends and it's about my supposed love life." His voice was a mix of annoyance and defeat. He was used to being the center of attention, truthfully he strived to be in the center of attention. He just wasn't used to it always being negative attention.

"To be it all, I have this video chat meeting with public relations, franchise management, and my management team about some idea they have come up with to help bring attention away from everything." Jack groaned. "We have three days left of the summer before we drive back to Jersey, I don't want to spend one of them in meetings."

Y/n nodded sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on his forearm and leaning herself over on him. "It's okay, bubs. Maybe it's nothing too serious." But she could tell from the furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched and the tension in his voice that he was already aware of what they had come up with. Or at least he had an idea. She didn't dare pry, they may be best friends, but Jack was clearly not ready to share his thoughts. "And... If it is serious I will be in Jersey this season to help you through it."

Jack gave her a grateful smile before standing up from the porch swing, stretching his arms out wide. "Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't worry about it tonight." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, a gesture that was as commonplace as breathing between the two of them. "Thanks for the pep talk, toots." He said, using the childhood nickname that never failed to make her smile despite the circumstances. "I should head back down the street to my parent's place. It's getting late."

As he turned to leave, the rising moon cast a cool glow over the yard, highlighting the tall blades of grass that danced with the intermittent breeze. Y/n watched him go, her mind racing with the implications of what might happen at that during his meeting tomorrow. Would they really suggest something so ridiculous? And if they did, how would Jack handle it?

Jack's footsteps grew fainter until they were swallowed by the night. The house, once alive with the echoes of their laughter, now felt eerily quiet. Y/n remained seated out on the swing, her thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of doubt and concern. She knew Jack was strong, capable of taking on any challenge thrown his way, but the thought of him being manipulated into some scheme to save the face of the Devils franchise made her sick. Then she thought, what if they didn't call a meeting to manipulate him into anything? What if it's simply to offer suggestions on what he can do differently going forward?

Y/n eventually shut that portion of her brain off and headed inside herself. A long hot shower and her bed was calling her name.

The next day Jack sat in his father's home office, the room smelling faintly of cologne and leather, waiting for the others to join the video call. The space was a testament to his father's success, filled with trophies and framed newspaper articles from his own days as a star player and coach. It was both inspiring and daunting, a constant reminder of the legacy he and his brothers were trying to live up to. The computer screen flickered to life, displaying a Zoom call with a row of faces, some familiar, some not. His management team, PR reps, and a couple of team officials stared back at him, all expectant and poised.

Jack leaned back in the chair, his casual attire feeling woefully inadequate among the suits and professional backgrounds of his callers. He had taken his mother's advice and dressed comfortably, but now he wished he had at least put on a button-up shirt. He glanced down at his New Jersey Devils t-shirt, the logo stretched slightly across his chest. It was a fan favorite, one that had been thrown at him in excitement by a young fan at a game. It felt like a piece of armor, a symbol of his pride and commitment to the team, but today it just made him feel like he was the kid, and he was playing dress-up in his dad's old gear.

The meeting began with a round of forced smiles and awkward greetings. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/n's words from the night before echoed in his mind, a comforting whisper amidst the storm of uncertainty. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for whoever their absurd suggestion be his girlfriend when they had conjured up the fake relationship idea to "fix" his image.

"Jack, before we start, do you remember the guidelines I told you for this relationship or should we go over them again with everyone here?" The voice was cold and calculated, belonging to one of the stern-faced PR reps. Her eyes bore into him through the screen, demanding his full attention.

Jack's stomach lurched. He had hoped they would just come right out with what was new, news. "I think everyone is aware of what we're trying to achieve here, but please go ahead," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm at bay.

The stern-faced public relations rep, Ms. Castellanos, nodded curtly. "Good. So, the first guideline is that you two must be seen together at least three times a week. This includes public appearances such as dates, her being seen attending your games, and even casual outings like grocery shopping or walking the dog. That is if you or her have one."

Jack's eyes widened slightly, glancing down at his half empty coffee mug. He didn't have a dog, but he still didn't know who this girl they paired him up with was. Plus, he didn't know if Y/n had picked up any new hobbies involving pets in her last year of college. It was never mentioned during their weekly calls or on visits. It would be important to know that since she’s going to be living with him.

"Jack, are you listening?" The voice brought him back to the present, the sternness of Ms. Castellanos' tone was unmistakable.

Jack swallowed down the anxiety that was bubbling up inside him and nodded in acknowledgement.

Ms. Castellanos continued, "Guideline two, and perhaps the most important one, is that the relationship must appear genuine. You must exhibit believable public affection and body language. This means holding hands, occasional kisses on the cheek, maybe a few on the lips if the situation calls for it. As for body language," the stone-cold lady stopped speaking, watching Jack carefully once more. "You're both young, attractive, and in the public eye. If you lean into each other, have your arms around each other's waist, or even occasionally rest your head on her shoulder, it'll look natural and convincing. The media will eat it up, and your image will be transformed from a lonely heartthrob to a lovestruck boyfriend in no time."

Jack felt his cheeks flush slightly, the thought of faking intimacy with someone he'd never met before was nerve-wracking, to say the least. He took another sip of his now lukewarm coffee, trying to imagine how awkward the first kiss would be. He had never been one for faking emotions, especially something as intimate as love.

Ms. Castellanos continued, her voice unforgiving. "Guideline four is critical. The relationship must end with your girlfriend, and I stress this, must be the one to initiate the breakup. It should be done publicly and dramatically enough to make headlines, but not so much that it causes a scandal." She paused, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. "You cannot under any circumstances leave her. If it looks like you're the one who ended things, it'll only add fuel to the fire of your reputation. You need to be seen as the heartbroken party, the victim of a fickle heart. It'll humanize you, make you more relatable to the fans."

Jack felt his jaw clench at the coldness of the plan. He had agreed to a fake relationship to get the media off his back, but this was starting to feel like a script for a reality TV show gone wrong. "And what happens if we... I mean, if she gets tired of the whole thing?" He stumbled over his words, trying to maintain some semblance of respect for the stranger he was about to be romantically linked with.

"Ah, that's where guideline five comes into play," said Ms. Castellanos, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of her own cleverness. "We've prepared a non-disclosure agreement that she will be signing before the relationship begins. It's quite comprehensive and includes clauses for breaking it off in a controlled manner. She'll understand her role in this, Jack."

Jack's grip tightened around his coffee mug, the cheap porcelain feeling fragile under his thumb. "But who is she?" he repeated, his voice a little louder, a hint of frustration creeping in.

Ms. Castellanos' smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Her name is Elena Petrov," she said smoothly. "A local influencer with a clean reputation. She's been briefed on the situation and has agreed to help. She's a fan of the team and understands the importance of this for your career."

"No." Jack huffed out. gaining the attention of everyone on the call. Just the same as Jack, everyone else barely stayed tuned into her annoying voice. "She is the reason I am in this shit hole. Her friend is the last girl I was with. Elena took all the pictures. Maggie? A little help here." Jack pleaded with the IT media girl that for some miraculous reason was sitting in on the call.

"Oh. Uhm, yes. It took me days to get the pictures she put up taken down. And Mr. Hughes, we were able to prove they were edited after looking closer at them," Maggie spoke up, her voice shaky, probably from fear of interrupting the woman that could potentially ruin their lives with a tweet.

Ms. Castellanos' eyes darted from Jack to Maggie and back again, her displeasure clear. "Jack, this is non-negotiable. This is what's best for your career right now. You need to be seen as more than just a party boy. The sooner you start this relationship with Elena, the sooner we can start repairing your image," she said, her voice like a whip cracking through the tension in the room.

Jack's manager, Mr. Taylor, cleared his throat before speaking up, his tone measured and calm. "Perhaps there's another option we haven't considered. What about Y/n?" he suggested, glancing at Jack, who looked up at him, hope flickering in his eyes.

Ms. Castellanos raised an eyebrow. "Your childhood friend?" She sounded skeptical, but the video stream grew quiet, all eyes on Jack.

Jack nodded, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. "Yeah, Y/n. We've been best friends since middle school. Everyone already thinks we're together. It'll be believable, and she's... she's not in the spotlight like Elena is. It'll keep things more low-key." He swallowed, hoping he wasn't about to ruin their friendship.

Ms. Castellanos leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "Very well, Jack. We'll consider it. But you need to talk to her and make sure she's on board with this. The last thing we need is for her to spill the beans and ruin the whole charade."

Jack nodded, his heart racing. He knew Y/n would do anything for him but asking her to be his fake girlfriend was a big ask. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he was about to have. After the call ended, he let out a guttural groan due to frustration. He needed to go shoot some basketball or pucks before he talked Y/n, but he didn't have that time to waste. Instead of blowing off some of his stress he slipped on some shoes, kissed his momma goodbye, and headed out to the house he has visited time and time again.

The warm afternoon air was a major contrast to the coldness of the conversation he had just had. The streetlights flickered to life as Jack approached Y/n's house, the familiar path to her door as comforting as ever. He stopped in front of the door, the color of her door had changed since last summer, but the memories that lie behind it remained the same.

Jack took a deep breath before raising his hand to knock, the sound echoing through his head. Only thing on his mind was the conversation they were about to have. Jack flinched as he realized how hard and urgent he had beat on her mother’s front door. His heart thudded against his chest, partially with the anticipation of her reaction to the proposal and because of how quickly he had walked down the block. Jack took a deep breath in an urgent need to calm himself and appear as normal as possible before he was face to face with her.

Before he could finish his internal mantra of calming himself, the front door swung open in a rush. He was slightly hoping it would somehow be one of her relatives, but there she was, looking up at him with her soft, hopeful eyes. Her hair messily tossed into a messy bun atop her head and a sprinkle of fresh freckles danced across her nose from spending the day in the sun with his family yesterday. She was wearing the momentous hoodie that he had gifted her before leaving last summer. A hoodie that held a lot in its threads for the two of them. For her, it now held a lot of silent screams and wiped away tears from the last year, but it still held their joint memories.

‘It originally had become Jack’s superstitious hoodie for a while. The lucky hoodie he would wear all the way up to when he would change for warm ups, then she would wear it. This superstition developed during the years of world juniors. The year he brought home the Gold, the superstition shifted. Jack had a “girlfriend” that entire season and she wasn’t fond of the idea of Jack and Y/n swapping clothes like they did. The games with the development program were when she noticed this happening. She confronted Y/n about having a useless crush on her boyfriend and she would be taking over wearing his hoodie from then on. Jack didn’t take lightly to it, that was his best friend, his biggest non-family supporter. So, he decided y/n would wear the hoodie the entire time, from the time they all got dressed for the day to after the game. Now, it’s hers entirely, his decision since he couldn’t be here for her and live out his dream. He wanted her to have a piece of him, but if be a piece of them. Once again, it has become her comfort item as it has been back then.’

She fiddled with the stretched out sleeves hanging over left hand anxiously as her right hand was still grasping the door knob.

"How was your meeting?" The words fell from her lips so fast she hadn't taken a moment to invite him inside. Y/n had sat out on the porch swing all morning waiting to hear from him. Seeing him now ignited her anxiety and her need to know.

Jack let out a simple laugh at her eagerness to know. He softly touched her side, giving a slight nudge as if to signal her to walk backwards into the house.

The coolness of the air conditioning kissing his skin. "It was... interesting," he said, his voice a mix of relief and dread.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. She walked a few steps backwards with his guidance to allow him in, the old floorboards creaking under their weight. "Interesting as in good or interesting bad?"

Jack shrugged, his smile wavering as he let go of her and made his way into the living room. The same room where they had spent hours playing video games, watching movies, doing homework.

—Could he ask her to do this? What if it blows up in their faces and ruins everything. What if he ruins her? He’d never be able to live with himself for hurting her.

The couch looked inviting, but he knew better than to sit down without spilling his guts. "Well, it’s one of those ‘depends on how you take it’ interesting type situations..." he trailed off, his eyes wandering around the room.

Y/n looked at him, her eyebrows rising in a questioning manner. Her eyes were filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. She could read the hesitancy written all across him. Starting with wanting to open up about his meeting. Which is something he's never had an issue with, at least with her, to not wanting to sit down. Almost as if, if he got too comfortable he would tell too much.

Taking a hold of his hand, rubbing her thumb over his palm she leaned her head on his upper arm. A common gesture between them. “Jackers?” She whispered so softly, he nearly missed it. He hummed in response coming out from where he drifted off too. She took a hold of his hand and softly pulled him down to take a seat on the couch with her.

“Jackers, just tell me. Did they come up with something ridiculous?"

Jack let out a small laugh , the sound hollow and forced. "Ridiculous doesn't even begin to cover it," he whined, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "They want me to start a fake relationship with someone who I know is not going to help me. Then my manager suggested someone who would be great and I was for it because we already know each other but.." He took a deep breath, bracing himself for her reaction.

Y/n let go of his hand, in an unnatural reaction as they have been platonically physical since high school, "A fake relationship?" she echoed that one snippet. “With.. With who? Since I’ll be living with you I should be prepared for a new girl even if she is a fake girlfriend.”

Jack took a deep breath and looked up at her, his eyes filled with a desperation she had never seen before. "Toots, I really don't know what to do about this. PR decided on Elena Petrov. B—”

“You mean the friend of the bitch who started this mess? No I’m sorry the two who started this mess? You’re going to pounce around all lovey with the girl who put you here?!” Y/n’s chest heaved up and down heavily. She watched Jack’s face twist in annoyance then soften.

“If you had let me finish… I flat out said no. I will not and am not going to do this plan with her. When I told everyone on the call right then that I wouldn’t, my manager suggested someone else. But I don’t know if they’ll do it. They seem pretty disappointed in me…” Jack kept his voice even and didn’t raise it. He knew how you felt about being yelled at and he couldn’t be the one to cause a panic attack because he got a little upset.

“Well, who did they suggest? Maybe I can help. As long as it’s not Elena..”

“They suggested you. They asked me if I thought you would do it or if I would like you to do it with me. But if you're upset or disappointed, I'll tell them no right now," Jack explained, his voice a low rumble of uncertainty. He started fishing his phone out of his pocket in case he had to call his manager.

Y/n felt her throat tighten as a knot formed, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She had always been there for Jack, and he for her, but this was something entirely different. This was a line they hadn’t truly crossed, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to pretend to cross it again. "Jack, I..." she murmured looking down at her hands in her lap, her voice trembling slightly. "Yes, I'll do it."

Jack's head snapped to look at her, his eyes failing to meet hers as she’s staring down, though a spark of hope igniting within him still. "You will?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and relief.

Y/n nodded, her throat tight with unspoken emotions. "Yeah, I'll do it," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "For you, I'll do it."

Jack's shoulders slumped with relief. He reached out to lift her head hesitantly so that he could meet her eyes with his. His eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, management can figure it out.”

Y/n forced a smile and nodding her head yes, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and dread. The thrill of being able to go and do things with Jack was nice, but the dread of being scrutinized by females she didn’t know was already gnawing at her. "Besides, it's only for a couple of months, right?"

Jack's smile didn't part to show his teeth, it stayed tight lipped, evident he wasn't as enthused as his tone of voice was letting on. "Yup! Just for a couple of months."

"Okay, we can totally pull this off. It will be like playing pretend, remember?" She nudged him with her elbow, trying to lighten the mood with a memory from their childhood. More so for herself than him.

"You mean like when we got married under that old oak tree at my grandparents' house in the summer between sixth and seventh grade?" Jack nudged her back.

"Yup when you only agreed to get pretend married so you could get your first kiss."

She let a little giggle slip out as she reminisced on the memory of her and Jack as kids under the oak tree.

A young Jack with his signature smirk standing at the ‘altar’ with the “preacher Luke”. Jack didn’t wait for Luke to do his part of the pretend wedding he skipped straight to the kiss. ‘Couldn’t wait tootsie I was just wanting my 1st’

"If I remember correctly that was your first kiss too, and you asked for another one because of the ‘belly flies’." Jack teased her enjoying seeing her cheeky smile and blush creeping up on to her cheeks.

Y/n’s laughter echoed loudly through the room. "Jack Hughes, you are such a jerk!" She said playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jack laughed echoing her laughter. "So, do we have an agreement? You'll be okay with fake dating me, even though we never got fake divorced?"

Y/n shook her head yes once again, while rolling her eyes at the boy next to her. “Yes, Jackers. Even though you never fake divorced me, I will fake date you.”

If she only knew that Jack was silently and brutally beating himself up for this. They were in for a roller coaster of chaos and changes.

Now that he had secured one portion of the agreement, he has footwork left in figuring out how to get out of the hoops and twists. Like how to get out of that very public break up after a few months into dating. He wasn’t going to make her out to be some bitch she’s not.

And if Jack has it his way, they won’t be breaking up and it won’t be a “fake” relationship for long either.

Because Jack Hughes is hopelessly in love with his best friend. If he has any luck, besides puck luck, she loves him too.

notes 2.0: hello! welcome to my newest mini series, believe in me i hope you enjoyed the first part of the series. i am always open to kindly put creative criticism. i truly appreciate all of the continued support by reading, liking, & reblogging! thank you thank you!

[jobean12-blog]

Falling All Over Again

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 760

Summary: It might be the end of the world but pumpkin flavored everything lives on and you want some!

Author's Note: Just something cozy and cute for the changing season. This is what I hope Joel's post apocolyptic days could be filled with. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft fluffy fun

PS I'm shit at moodboards but I tried haha

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“I want pumpkin everything,” you whine as you roll over and drape yourself on top of Joel.

He mumbles something sleepily and tugs you closer.

“Joel,” you say and poke his side.

He makes a sound similar to a disturbed bear.

Another poke.

“JOEL!”

One of his eyes pops open and he lets out a playful but warning growl.

“Darlin.”

“Yes?” you say sweetly with a bat of your lashes.

You dance your fingers over his chest, and he grabs your wrist, pulling your fingers to his lips and kissing the tip of each one.

“What are you goin’ on about? Pumpkins?”

“YES!”

He’s silent for a moment, clearly thinking, so you start to comb your fingers through his soft curls. His eyes begin to close, dark lashes fluttering against his scruffy cheeks, and you give his hair a sharp tug.

“OW!”

You giggle. “Soooo pumpkins?”

“You know…” he starts and tightens his hold on you, “if you weren’t so beautiful…”

He starts to trail off and your eyes narrow before you add, “AND…? That’s it? Just beautiful?”

He chuckles before kissing you.

“And smart and kind and sweet…and kissable.”

The words are whispered against your lips.

“Joel…you’re forgetting about my pumpkins.”

His lips trail across your jaw, stopping under your ear before he whispers, “no I’m not. We’re goin’ to take Callus and go for a ride. There must be a farm somewhere nearby. Maybe we can find some pumpkins growin’.”

The warmth of Joel’s body and the gentle clop of Callus’ hooves slowly lull you into a state of drowsiness.

“You fallin’ asleep on me back there gorgeous?”

“Hm?” you ask with a yawn, snuggling your cheek into his back.

“You’re supposed to be scoutin’ for pumpkins!”

Your hands slip under his flannel, and you rub along his stomach, then slide them to his thighs and do the same.

“I’m so comfy though,” you sigh, “you’re so comfy. And so warm.”

“Well, alright then. You enjoy the ride darlin,’ and I’ll keep lookin’.”

“Kay,” you mumble, sneaking your fingers under his tee shirt so you can feel his skin.

“Hey gorgeous,” he says with a soft tap on your arm that’s around his waist.

When he hears nothing he starts to laugh but it jostles you awake.

“Did you find a farm?” you ask as you stretch behind him.

He loosens your grip and gently slides from the horse, keeping you steady until he’s on his feet and can reach up to help you off.

You slide down and into his arms.

“Take a look darlin’.”

You peek around his shoulder and see the wild growth of large green leaves and vines strewn along dilapidated rows of soil.

“Joel…” you whisper shout in excitement. “You found some!”

“Let’s just hope they aren’t all rotten.”

The ride back to town is cooler under the setting sun and you shimmy your body as close to Joel as possible. He rests his arm over yours and takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

The bag of pumpkins you picked sits nestled between his legs and the smell of fresh earth hangs in the air.

“So, what are you gonna make me darlin’?”

You squeeze his sides as you think then start to rattle off a list.

“Muffins for sure. A pumpkin pie. Maybe even pumpkin bread, depending on what I can find to add to it. I can try cookies.”

He pats his stomach with a satisfied hum. “Can’t wait.”

“Will you help me bake?” you ask.

“Sure, gorgeous but only if I can lick the spoons.”

You giggle and slide your hands from his chest to his back, gently scratching as you go.

“You’re allowed since you got me my pumpkins.”

The next evening, on the porch of your small house, you sit nestled under a blanket on the swinging bench Joel built you with your feet tucked into his lap while he strums his guitar, and you sip some tea and munch on a pumpkin muffin.

He stops playing and catches your eye.

“Gimme some sugar darlin’.”

You sit up and hold the muffin out, but he dodges it and takes your chin between his fingers, gently pulling your lips to his for a soft taste.

After the kiss he takes a big bite, laughing when you finish the rest off by popping it in your mouth.

“These really came good,” you mumble through the mouth full.

“They did darlin.’ But nothin’s as sweet as you,” he murmurs, before kissing you again.

[cool-island-songs]

Analysis of ALNST Character Relationship Metrics

My art book won't be here for a minute, but I ran some screenshots I saw on twt through an image translator and have a lot of thoughts:

TILL: Despite claiming to hate everyone in the world, Till ranks Ivan at 70% intimacy even as he identifies perturbing behaviors of Ivan's going back years and refers to him as "a bother". He also ranks Sua at 10% in spite of having little to say about her and finding it uncomfortable to be around her.

Though he postures at being misanthropic and has all the manners you'd expect of a boy who was half off at the human child pound, he's actually quite gentle and sensitive. This is reflected in one of the graduation messages he's left by a classmate as well:

The person he feels closest to is an unattainable crush, and someone who doesn't feel that close with him in return, likely because he's too shy to really approach her or carry on a conversation.

MIZI: That's Mizi, of course, who's rather childlike and naive initially. She likes everyone, but since Till chokes when he tries to speak to her and often keeps his distance, she wonders if he's avoiding her because he dislikes her.

Mizi gravitates towards people who she sees as "perfect", which is how she describes Ivan and Sua in her graduation message to Ivan:

She doesn't see the darker side of Ivan's personality (which has been described on several occasions, even by himself, as "twisted") because he's attractive, successful, and helpful to her.

Though she likes everyone, Sua is her "God", and the only thing that can keep them apart is the tragedy of their situation, which forces Mizi to grow up in a brutally painful way.

SUA: Sua is far less idealistic and naive than Mizi, and has clearly thought about sacrificing herself to save Mizi, since Ivan picks on her for thinking of doing so in an official comic. Accordingly, her feelings about Mizi are far more tinged by the knowledge that they will one day be torn apart by external circumstances. She laments that reciprocating her feelings will one day cause Mizi great pain.

She's always been more somber, and despite her surface similarities to Ivan (which he notes in a follow-up comic wherein he realizes he was wrong about Sua's feelings for Mizi being unrequited), she's quite different on the inside. Sua's more sensitive and thus her colder exterior serves to protect her, whereas Ivan's outward persona creates an illusion of normalcy that doesn't reflect his reality.

Sua views Ivan and Till as a threat and a nuisance, respectively. Like Till, she senses something strange about Ivan, and when it comes to Till, it's just one person too many around for her. This is fascinating to me, because I thought she might pity Till! Her feelings about Ivan were already pretty clear from this panel of the 'piggyback' comic, and she seems deeply hurt in the first comic linked by his prodding.

IVAN: For his part, Ivan is fascinated by Till even though he's content to sit back and observe, pestering him to get a reaction or his attention for a brief time. He doesn't expect anything in return but wants more than anything to be on Till's mind (hence behaviors like stealing Till's belongings and returning them to him, pretending he had found them).

He prefers Sua to Mizi despite his awareness that Sua doesn't particularly like him, seeing her as a sister and even telling her she's "twisted" like he is. He likes Mizi well enough, especially her sincerity, but seems to find her optimism a bit much at times.

The fact that Mizi and the others would likely consider Ivan and Mizi quite close while Ivan does not reflects how much he postures even in his closest relationships. He struggles to connect with those he's most compelled by and it's not clear if he really wants to.

Some Ivantill thoughts before I go:

There seems to be a common sentiment that it's tragic Till was unable to see how much Ivan loved him, and I think we'll likely get more of Till's perspective on Ivan and their relationship in round 7. But it may not be the case that Ivan even wanted his true feelings to be seen, or would have known what to do if Till had reciprocated them.

There's something almost voyeuristic and self-negating in his feelings for Till (see: "I can’t reach you, so I imagine alone/You who shines, I stand next to you" from 'Black Sorrow'). He has far more self-awareness and willingness to accept things as they are than Till, who doesn't see that Mizi only has eyes for Sua and who would likely struggle to accept that reality.

Ivan, on the other hand, is well aware that his feelings for Till are "shallow", a bright fantasy to get him through his dark reality, and he seems to sincerely believe that his death won't scar Till because he's never really broken through to him. He's a schemer, and comments he makes in his graduation message to Till and the interview he gives in advance of round 6 suggest that he may have been planning to sacrifice himself for some time.

Part of me wonders if he hoped it would leave a mark on Till. Choking, kissing, and violently sacrificing oneself are all aggressive, forward acts, especially from someone who used to toy with people to get his kicks but was otherwise quite passive and unfeeling.

There are a lot of parallels in the one-sided loves, like Till acting out of his usual character for Mizi, and Ivan doing the same because of Till, putting all hopes of being saved in something just out of reach, staying in chains for that one special person. But Ivan's psychology is quite different from Till's, and in fact closest to Luka's re: low or no empathy. Both Ivan and Till are significantly traumatized by their upbringings but Ivan's difficult early life in the slums and his experience being dangled off that rooftop seem to have damaged his ability to connect to others or feel much of anything.

Till is the first person for whom he feels anything while for Till, Mizi is an early crush he puts on a pedestal in a much more commonplace way. I think the shared trauma of competing on that stage makes it much more difficult for either of them to imagine moving on, but Ivan is not wrong in identifying that he won't find that feeling again.

The thing that intrigues me most about this series is the way the contestants' differences play out, particularly with regard to how they view love and how they respond to their individual and shared challenges. I'd love to get into it further another time but this is quite long already so thanks for sticking with it if any have (haha)

[c-digital-being]

Randomly had the idea of, in the far, far flung future, Atlus releases like, Persona 17 or something, and I keep coming up with random absurd things about the game (and other things for this bizarre world where new Persona games never stop coming out)

P17's main color is light beige, they used up all the colorful colors by Persona 15

The main concept for P17's "other world" is based on some obscure, loose metaphor a psychologist used for the human subconscious one time, they had ran out of smart, semi-sensical metaphors by like, Persona 10

^ A friend of mine suggested that the "other world" be sandwich themed because a totally real psychologist compared the layers of mental instability to the layers of a sandwich (and to make the excuse that the main color represents the bread)

^^ The Velvet Room is a Subway

There are like 17 Social Stats to increase, they can only be ranked up like once or twice each, but doing it for all of them is tough, especially since you don't know which you'll need to unlock what

They've made so many Personas based on mythology and fictional creatures and the like, that Altus started coming up with their own mythologies just so they could base more Personas off them

There are Social Links / Confidants for every tarot card arcana ever made, but they still needed more Social Links / Confidants, so Atlus had to start making up their own arcanas

P17 actually takes place over the course of 2-3 years, otherwise you wouldn't have enough time to complete all the content even at max efficiency

There are like 32 magic affinities / elements, and like 14 physical ones, each party member commonly specializes in 2-3 magic affinities / elements, as well as a different physical affinity / element

The mascot character is like, an aardvark or something, it has no relation to anything in the game and it's kinda obvious that Atlus is just running out of popular animals to make into mascots

By popular demand, the P17 protag is finally bisexual, have fun trying to date all 50+ romance-able characters in the game, you asked for this

A deluxe version with even more content somehow is in development, get ready for Persona 17 Toasted a couple years after P17 releases

Speaking of rereleases, "Reload"s of previous Persona games have become somewhat of a standard, Altus has said Persona 13 Regrown (P13 is plant-themed) is nearing completion

There are rumors that P17 will have a spin-off that plays like a 3D Collect-a-Thon Platformer, mostly because it's one of the few genres of games the Persona series hasn't tried out in a spin-off yet

On the topic of spin-offs, the Persona Q games have lost their goddamn mind, each game still includes the groups from all of the previous Persona games as well as the group from the most recent Persona game at the time, Q14 literally has like over a hundred party members you can use, it's insanity

Thank you for joining me on this delve into complete Persona-themed stupidity, and I hope you're as hyped for Persona 17 as I am

[liridus]

Thinking about how Madoka's magical girl outfit seems to have some ballet inspiration (the style of the shirt, the poofiness of the skirt, the shoes). Which made me realize that you can kind of see her as a musical box ballerina, from multiple different perspectives.

For one, with all those bits in the anime that have Madoka being watched by what seems to be an audience of chairs that appear randomly in her room. I find it interesting that I can only really think of instances where that's happened where Kyubey was talking to her, observing, waiting for her to make a (favorable) decision. She has a audience, waiting for her to take on the role of a principle dancer, waiting for her to take all her power (and in turn, give it to them).

Another perspective is Homura's. We know that in Rebellion, she takes on the role of the nutcracker (specifically after it breaks). Since nutcrackers symbolize protection from potential harm/evil, I think you can expand that to all of Homura's character. She tries her best to protect her, scaring people away when needed to keep Madoka safe. But in the end, she fails. And in Rebellion she punishes herself for it, by leading herself to her own death (Homulilly's march to her guillotine). It seems that in the end, she ends up taking Madoka, and putting her back in an environment where she has more control, because she knows what the circumstances are. She puts her in a music box where she controls the music. Because Madoka is safe. And Homura will do whatever she needs to do to keep Madoka safe.

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: HOTD

Characters: Aemond Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen

Pairing: Rivalry (romantic for both)

Type of fic: Concept

Extra info: Both Aemond and Aegon start to take notice of maid!Darling. I was thinking Darling being / becoming a handmaid of,, Helaena for example, could be a way for both Aegon and Aemond to have a way to constantly see Darling, thus letting their obsession grow even more

-🥝 anon 🤎🤎

Poor girl just trying to do her job only to have two princes after her....

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen vs Aegon II Targaryen with Maid! Darling

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Violence, Mature themes, Harassment/Unwanted affection, Murder, Targcest (Aegon and Helaena due to canon), Forced relationship(s)

Being Helaena's handmaid is usually a quiet job.

The woman often keeps to herself, muttering to herself as she plays with her insects.

You clean, speak to her, and act as a companion to the Targaryen princess.

You're around the same age and are always at her side.

However, this naturally gets you in contact with her siblings.

Both princes are bad in their own ways.

Aegon is bad because he's... touchy.

Aegon is infamous for bedding any woman he has access to.

Maids, brothels, any woman.

Which means you are constantly hit on, courted, and cornered when around Aegon.

Aemond is much better in this regard.

While he is similar to Daemon, his uncle, in many ways...

Aemond does not have the hedonism his uncle and brother have.

No... But he does have the very same bloodlust Daemon does.

Meaning he tends to duel (or straight up murder) those he thinks are too close.

So... both brothers are bad in their own right towards their obsession.

Them in a rivalry? Well, based on what I've seen and written...

Sibling rivalries within the Targaryen dynasty are quite dangerous.

Or any family at all in ASOIAF.

Would the two murder one another? Aemond might.

However, he knows better than just doing it.

He'd want to frame it as an accident or frame it on someone else.

An example of this in canon is during Season 2 of the show with Aegon vs Rhaenys.

He felt he could get away with burning Aegon with Vhagar during the battle.

And if Criston Cole didn't catch him?

He probably would've finished the job.

Now, would Aegon?

He seems to be the one more likely to tease or threaten, but not entirely follow through.

However, both princes are still dangerous and possessive.

It just appears Aemond, ironically the one who isn't trying to bed you every five seconds, happens to be the biggest threat.

I want to add spice to this request and say Helaena would try to support and protect you from her brothers.

Although... Her character isn't very... assertive.

She would probably try to keep you away from her brothers.

Yet Aegon would ignore her, trying to pull you away, saying you'd serve him better as his servant.

While Aemond may compromise, allowing Helaena to stay beside you while Aemond has your company.

Aegon's yandere behavior is both dominant and submissive I feel.

He can be intimidating, yet alone with his obsession and if you play your cards right?

Putty.

Aemond, however, is just dominant...

He's more attentive to your needs but is controlling.

Naturally, though, both princes like the idea of controlling a maid darling.

All while Helaena pities and worries for you... as when the rivalry occurs, you're barely attending to her.

Both brothers are affectionate in their own ways.

Aegon likes to corrupt you, offering pleasure and gifts to make you like him more.

While Aemond tries to be more of a chaste gentleman, still giving you gifts but often offering dances or walks.

Occasionally you're around to watch their sword practices... and the two destroy one another when they notice you're there.

Ser Criston Cole has to pull the maway from one another, both men bleeding and fighting like moody teens.

Alicent grows increasingly concerned that her two eldest sons are fighting over a handmaid.

She's been trying to work on betrothals for them in order to help them stay on track.

Yet both princes keep clinging around you while Helaena begs her mother to help her.

Helaena considers you a friend since youth, she just wants you happy.

She can tell you're overwhelmed by her brothers' infatuation over you.

You may be a simple maid, a woman made to serve...

But the princes don't care.

They want your hand regardless.

This is strange for both of them, especially Aegon who never even considered marriage for a long time.

The only reason Aegon begins to accept Alicent betrothing him to Helaena is because he has better access to you.

Which just makes Aemond more determined to marry you, begging Alicent to betroth you both so Aegon can be kept away.

You begin to wonder if you'd make better money somewhere else... serving some lord far from King's Landing.

Alas... fate isn't merciful to you.

As war eventually comes to be, more attempts at kinslaying come up.

During The Dance... Aegon is crowned king and Aemond is meant to serve him with his dragon Vhagar.

However, the two are still planning on keeping you to themselves.

Aegon may have more opportunities to keep you to himself, much to Helaena's dismay...

But the two brothers still have each other to deal with.

As more battles begin, the two siblings start plotting betrayal.

In fact, if we want to follow canon, Aemond may get Aegon back by burning him.

With Aegon bedridden or dead... and Aemond in power...

You'd belong to Aemond.

Although... maybe you want an alternate timeline, where Aemond is assassinated either by Aegon's order or Daemon's...

Allowing Aegon to keep you as his beloved maid.

Either way... it looks like you'll be stuck with one of them in the end.

Hopefully The Blacks will win against The Greens...

Maybe then you'll be freed from the twisted princes... maybe then you can go back to your old life with both of them dead.

[yolli-es]

Please, I'm really sorry

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, sadness, rude treatment, mentions of death

I doubt this is in character, so treat it as a silly sketch. Writing text is harder than headcanons..

MY ENGLISH IS BAD AND THERE MAY BE MEANING ERRORS

You adore Jinx; you love and tolerate her. Your acquaintance was unexpected, and your subsequent friendship was spontaneous. You were choking with tears after losing your mother when she found you. This girl saved you so easily, as if it were so easy. Jinx never told you about the past, but when the voices in her head became too loud, you didn't need an explanation. You saw how bad she becomes and what consequences it can bring. Afterwards, you promise yourself to always be there so that you can prevent the irreparable. This was not always successful.

After Silko died, things got really bad. Jinx tried to continue his work, to be strong and collected. But this is Jinx. Your Jinx. And she never was and never will be like this. Maybe that's why she's been so rude to you, taking it out on you because she's under so much stress. Sooner or later it will all end, and she will be able to look at you again without irritation.

You forgive Jinx for everything: the harsh words, the insults, the hits. Because she always apologizes after. And you don't care that it's not sincere at all. You love her; she is the only thing you have.

The day started out quite normally. You and Jinx were sitting in Silko's office, which is still called that way to this day, on the initiative of Jinx herself. It was all quite nice: she decided to share with you many thoughts about the future, which happened quite rarely. But then Sevika came in. And with her came terrible news. Shimmer production had been disrupted again. The enforcers blew up the plant, dealing with the guards there without any particular problems. And she just walked out after saying that. Just one look from Jinx made it clear how bad she was feeling right now,

"It's not your fault, and..." — you're interrupted by a rude "shut up." Jinx, who had been sitting on the table quite relaxed, now clutched her head, her eyes closed, and her breathing quickened. Just a few moments ago she was vulnerable, and now she's rude to you again. "You don't understand me at all," Jinx said in a breaking voice, hiding her face in her knees. It was painful to hear. We have been through a lot together. But she's worse off, and you step over yourself again: "I love you, Jinx. What do you want me to do?". You tell her this so often, so sincerely and naively. Her reaction to your words is always different; you can never guess, and now she again hits you: "I want you to stop being so useless and just help me." Jinx whispered, still struggling with her emotions. She hadn't let herself get angry, panicked, or sad that easily since Silko died. No tears. She kept herself under control. And is that what she thought all along? It's your fault; you're just doing a shitty job. Obviously, sitting here with her is not what she wanted. It looks so painful for you. The girl you love is suffering so much; why don't you just make it easier? That day you stayed, having endured many insults and a couple of blows.

Usually you stayed by Jinx's side, always supporting her and helping her with many tasks. For example, maintaining her authority in the city, keeping an eye out for possible rats nearby, and always saving your love from nervous breakdowns. But now you're by Sevika's side, at a shimmer production plant. You didn't tell Jinx anything; you didn't even think she would ask and worry. You need to act more decisively, as she wanted it. The task was simple: wait until the enforcers come here and destroy them. You were never a good fighter, just a decent shot. Your skills were enough to protect yourself on the streets of Zaun, but they were nothing against well-trained law enforcement officers. That's why you stayed on the sidelines, watching from above and covering Sevika.

You realized how much you screwed up with this shit when you found yourself in the middle of a shootout. Things didn't go according to plan when Sevika was shot, and now you had to save her. Letting the woman lean on you, you ran upstairs. The sounds of gunshots, explosions, and screams confirmed your fears: this plant is finished. Neither the shimmer nor the people were saved. Adrenaline was pumping through you, and you didn't notice anything except the cherished goal.

You reached a safe place and fell. The rest was like a dream. Sevika sat next to you, trying to close the open wound. She tied it with a rag, shouting something about the presence of shimmer nearby. The wound seems to be on your legs, chest, and head. It was painful and cold. Severe weakness. How the hell did enforcers get you? You couldn't think, let alone remember. This woman was shaking you, trying to make you think, but you had already given up. You had lost, and you had screwed up so badly, Jinx would never forgive you. Sevika shouted something, and you didn't really listen; you just couldn't. And then your gaze focused on a blue spot... Jinx? You wanted to look at her one last time. She may be disappointed in you, angry, or simply empty towards you, but all this will not matter as long as she is here. Your eyes closed for just a moment.

" ...orr..."—You can't see, only distantly hear. Such a nice sound; you've heard it before. The noise makes you open your eyes again. A flash of light disorientated you. Straining your eyes, you managed to make out a silhouette in front of you. It was Jinx, and... she was crying. She was in complete disarray, desperately holding your face. She bit her lips every time she wanted to swallow the lump in her throat and continue talking. She was talking to you. What was she saying? Your damn body is so weak. "Hold on, just breathe. Please, I'm really sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you...",-She repeated it over and over while you felt the shimmer being injected into your body. You wanted to calm her down, to say "I love you" back. And all you did was watch silently. Your eyelids were so heavy, and your body suddenly seemed too weightless. You were being yelled at, shaken, and pricked with a shimmer stabbed over and over. And you were too weak to respond to it, closing your eyes one last time.

Jinx sincerely apologizes this time. It's a pity that your mind was too weak to realize this.

it was short, unclear and stupid 🥴 Wrote this in a hurry while I'm taking a break from studying and writing other things.

[lady-phasma]

I felt compelled to cite my sources for Armand and Lestat being an item off and on over the years. I’ve been in this fandom too long to get involved in ship wars or to really have an OTP for these crazy-ass vampires. I happen to love Armand and Lestat from the books and think that Assad and Sam make it work so well on screen. I hope we get loads more of them for season 3.

Anne wrote all of her characters as deeply flawed, we can all agree on that, but the nearly fanfiction level of “let’s see what happens when two of my most flawed characters get together” writing she did in TVA is brilliant. Book spoilers below.

Here's a link to a post I made about Lestat's perspective of Armand from TVL. (I have included one quote from TVL below because it's too precious to exclude.)

Lestat spends almost a full page describing how he sees Armand at a ball at the Palais Royal:

Yet never had Nicolas, mortal or immortal, been so alluring. Never had Gabrielle held me so in thrall. Dear God, this is love. This is desire. And all my past amours have been but the shadow of this. - The Vampire Lestat, p. 275

They literally feel the same about each other: instant attraction, love, desire, and so on. And it is powerful.

So powerful that hundreds of years later (in one of my favorite passages from any of her books) Armand is the only person allowed to approach an unconscious Lestat. Not only approach him, but allowed to lay down next to him and cuddle, caress, and console Lestat, to cry onto him.

I looked down on Lestat, who was unchanged, his hair fallen as before, a little over his left eye. His right arm was out, and his fingers curling upwards, and there came from him not the slightest movement, not even a breath from his lungs or a sigh from his pores. I knelt down beside him again. I reached out, and without flinching or hesitating, I brushed his hair back from his face. I could feel the shock in the room. I heard the sighs, the gasps from the others. But Lestat himself didn't stir. Slowly, I brushed his hair more tenderly, and I saw to my own mute shock one of my tears fall right onto his face. It was red yet watery and transparent and it appeared to vanish as it moved down the curve of his cheekbone and into the natural hollow below. I slipped down closer, turning on my side, facing him, my hand still on his hair. I stretched my legs out behind me, and alongside of him, and I lay there, letting my face rest right on his outstretched arm. Again there came the shocked gasps and sighs, and I tried to keep my heart absolutely pure of pride and pure of anything but love. It was not differentiated or defined, this love, but only love, the love I could feel perhaps for one I killed or one I succored, or one whom I passed in the street, or for one whom I knew and valued as much as him. - The Vampire Armand, pp. 368-369 (emphasis is mine)

But the contrasting absolute annoyance Armand has for Lestat is hilarious! He loves him but can barely stand him sometimes (that isn't unusual for Lestat's admirers).

Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist. The Vampire Armand, p. 276

But it's the way he describes things that happen to him that maddens me, the way that he connects one incident to another as though all these random and grisly occurrences were in fact links in some significant chain. They are not. They are capers. And he knows it. But he must make a gutter theatrical out of stubbing his toe. The James Bond of the Vampires, the Sam Spade of his own pages. - The Vampire Armand, p. 288 (emphasis mine)

Though Armand's head on Lestat's arm might be the most beautiful image of the two of them from any of the books, this line gives me chills every time:

"Lestat, my Lestat - for he was never theirs, was he? - my Lestat was crazed and railing as the result of his awful saga […]" - The Vampire Armand, p. 320 (emphasis mine)

Yes, your Lestat.

[skyahri]

Unplanned |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, and Kakashi Hatake

Summary: Pregnancy scenarios 'cause I can.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy. Bad words. All fluff.

- - - - -

Sasuke Uchiha

He isn't the kind of guy to outwardly dote on you.

He's never been good with words or physical touch, more so preferring quality time together. You sleep in the same bed, eat meals together when it's convenient, and lounge around together when time allows.

When you come home from a last minute doctor's appointment with some big news, none of that really changes.

He assures you that he's happy, that he loves you, and this is all wonderful, but that's about all you're going to get out the emotionally constipated man.

However, while words may not be his strong suit, actions certainly are.

It's become painfully obvious that you are never allowed to go anywhere alone ever again.

He's like a shadow, following you everywhere and anywhere you decide to go. It doesn't matter that you're just running to the market- he's coming with. Ino invited the girls over for a dinner party? Cool, he'll walk you there, hang around in the shadows outside, then walk you home.

When questioned, Sasuke only says that he doesn't trust other people. Already knowing how he is, you don't push him any further. (Not that he'd entertain you if you did.)

People notice pretty quickly. He's not subtle and it's not exactly common for the Uchiha to be so openly clingy.

You wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret for a little while longer. You knew that his status would make the whole thing bigger than you'd like and it was still so early, only about eight weeks in. But people were becoming more and more insistent with their questions.

"Seriously, did something happen? He's been watching you like a Hawk for the past month."

"It was cute at first, but now it's straight up creepy."

Sakura and Ino dramatically shiver at the notion. You laugh, imagining how unsettling this all must look from the outside.

"It's fine, I promise. He's just been a little overprotective since he found out I was pregnant."

They don't register it at first. They just nod in understanding and move to sip their tea. You can almost see it click in their heads before they slam down their cups and start freaking out.

"Wait, WHAT?"

Naruto Uzumaki

"Congratulations! Based on the ultrasound, I'd say you're about five weeks along. It's still early, but you can see a tiny sac right here-"

Your mind is going a thousand miles a minute, thinking of everything and nothing as the doctor points out the tiny, centimeter-long blob in the picture.

Naruto had been bugging you for the past three weeks about a smell. He swears it's nothing bad, just that Kurama is insisting that your scent has changed and- blah, blah, blah. You never could get any more information out of him, which just left you to eventually cave and visit the doctor. Animals have instincts for a reason and who were you to ignore them?

Turns out, that damn fox was right.

After a half-hour lecture on what you can and can't do anymore, you were handed a goodie bag of essentials and sent on your way.

You barely remember the walk home. Your mind was completely blank as it tried to process the news. It wasn't until Naruto was standing in front of you in the doorway to your home that you finally snapped out of the trance.

You stared up at him. His eyebrows were knit together and he was asking if everything was alright. He pulled everything out of your hands and not-so-gently set them on the floor.

"I'm pregnant."

His eyes blew wide and not even a second later he was smiling, pulling you into him and spinning you around. It's over just as quickly as it started. He's setting you back down on your feet and looking you over, mumbling a few hollow apologies for manhandling you. He takes a deep breath, that lopsided grin on his face never leaving.

"You're pregnant."

Just those two words have all the fog clearing from your head. Reality is forced onto you in an instant. In any other situation, it might have made you dizzy, but right now you couldn't be happier.

"I'm pregnant."

Shikamaru Nara

He really should've seen this coming.

Honestly, with how careless he is with protection, it's a wonder how you hadn't gotten pregnant sooner. A year and some change of not bothering with condoms and lazy, half-assed pullouts had finally come to bite him in the ass.

Although he knows this is all going to be horrifically bothersome, he can't find it in himself to be all that bothered. No, not when you're standing in front of him so nervously, little tears gathering on your waterline as you hold out a slip of paper for him to take.

He pulls you into a hug- a very tight, very intimate hug. One of his hands is on your lower back, pressing you into him, and the other is in your hair to cup the back of your head. He can feel the stress start to melt from your body as you relax into him, your arms moving to loosely hold him back.

"I'm sorry. I know this wasn't exactly planned..."

It definitely wasn't planned. He didn't like to think about things too hard. The only talk about the future he'd engaged in was a brief confirmation that you were both interested in pursuing each other exclusively and that neither were against marriage and kids.

But even though this was sudden and unprompted and definitely not what he was expecting when you asked to talk with him privately, he just couldn't find it in himself to be anything other than pleased. Sure, he would've liked to wait a few years and it preferably be after he'd properly proposed and married you, but none of that is deterring him.

He loved you. He didn't say it as often as he probably should, but that didn't make it any less true. You were easygoing and passive and fit into his life with no resistance. His friends liked you, possibly more than they did him. You liked to cook and he never had to worry about you causing trouble.

This was fine.

Not troublesome in the least.

"No, this is... good."

Kakashi Hatake

He was positive he was sterile. He'd have to be after all the injuries and trauma he's sustained, right? Four years and not a single scare, yet here you were, apparently three months pregnant, handing him a report from the OB's office.

He couldn't even form a sentence. He just sighed and sat back onto the couch with his eyes closed. It's only eight in the morning, it's too early for this, not that there'd ever be a great time.

"I knew you weren't going to be thrilled, but now I'm starting to get nervous. Can you please say something?"

He held his arm up and gestured for you to come towards him. When he could feel you brush against him, he grabbed your wrist and carefully yanked you onto his lap. You let out a relieved, albeit hesitant, chuckle as he slowly wrapped himself around you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a little while until he let out the loudest, most dramatic groan you'd ever heard leave his mouth, followed by a mumbled 'are you sure?', to which you rolled your eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure. Here, you can see for yourself."

You unfold the paper and pulled out a few pictures. He shifts you around so you're at a better angle before he takes them into his hands. It's obvious that he has no idea what he's looking at- just that the blob is already baby-shaped and very, very intimidating.

You point out some of the obvious things, the head and feet and such, before moving down to the very last photo at the bottom.

"And that little spot right there means that we're having a boy."

"I thought they couldn't tell the gender until later."

"It is later, Kashi. Fourteen weeks."

He lets you take the pictures from him so he can set his hand on your stomach. You'd mentioned gaining a little weight recently, which he honestly hadn't noticed, but now he's wondering how he could've missed it as he brushes his fingers over the slightest most obvious bump in your usually flat stomach.

He must've been zoned out for too long, because you're calling his name and setting your hand over his. He hums, a slight acknowledgment that he's heard you, but you know he's not actually listening.

He's too busy thinking about diapers and bottles and late nights and early mornings. How his son is going to be in the same class as his student's kids. How Gai is going to be a hundred times more annoying in the coming years.

But then a single thought completely derails his spiraling. He wonders what your baby will look like. If he'll be a morning person like you or like to take naps like him. If they'll accel in genjutsu or not, because while he certainly does, you most certainly don't.

He's spent time with Kurenai and Mirai. While raising a person definitely seemed difficult, he couldn't deny that Kurenai was happy. Actually, despite Asuma's untimely death, she's the happiest he'd ever seen her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just... thinking about how annoying it'll be to tell everyone we're expecting."

"Seemed more like panicking to me."

"... shut up."

[sister-lucifer]

Taken To Another World 

⊹₊⟡⋆A Multifandom Fantasy AU Themed 5K Celebration Writing Challenge⊹₊⟡⋆

Special thanks to @ghostboneswrites2 for inspiring this! 

Interested? Keep reading! 

There will be two prompts for each genre; a pair for fluff, a pair for smut, a pair for angst, and a pair for horror. Each prompt comes with its own criteria, so read carefully! 

How To Participate: 

Reblog this post (for reach! thanks!) 

Pick a prompt (or multiple) 

Write your fic 

Post it and tag me (feel free to send it to me directly if I don’t see it!) 

Use the tag #lucifer’s 5k fantasy challenge 

The fandoms this challenge is open to are as follows: 

Obey Me!, Creepypasta, Marble Hornets, Batman (and all related media), Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure (all parts), and any original characters/universes.

Don’t see your fandom? You’re still free to use these prompts (and please tag me if you do so I can see it,) but it unfortunately will not count as an entry for this challenge!

Rules: 

Feel free to pick multiple prompts, but you cannot enter more than one fic per prompt! 

The fics can be part of your own ongoing series, but they must be able to stand alone as their own piece without the additional context of the series 

Please state which prompt you chose somewhere on your post 

Feel free to cross post your work to another site such as Ao3, but please, do mention that it was part of my challenge 

Anyone can participate in this challenge, however I ask that minors stay away from the NSFW prompts 

You are free to bend the prompts as you wish, there is no mandatory time period or setting 

My inbox and messages are always open if you need to ask questions, consult me, or just want to discuss ideas!

The fics can be Character x Reader, Character x OC, or Character x Character; relationships can be platonic or romantic as you wish

Some prompts are written with pairs in mind; feel free to modify this to fit in as many characters as you’d like. Poly relationships included!

Absolutely NO incest OR pedophilia under any circumstances 

NO AI, NO using other people’s writing, and NO using a piece you’ve already written

Pay attention to the criteria! Prompt 1 will have a required quote, and Prompt 2 will have a required plot point/action

The Deadline is currently undecided. This will be updated soon 

Winners: 

I will choose up to 3 finalists for each prompt.  The finalists will be presented in a poll, and the readers will choose the winner. 

The winner of each prompt will get their own shoutout/promo post including an analysis of what I liked about their fic, & at least 3 fics I recommend from them and why. 

Does all that sound like fun? Good! Here’s your prompts:

Over The River, Through The Woods…

Fluff + Faeries

Prompt 1:  In a fit of rebellion, a naive royal flees from the castle and into the woods. They stumble upon a faerie who, against all they’ve ever been taught, seems rather…kind. 

Necessary Criteria: “Anyone can do a good thing if they try.” / “Well…how often do you try?”

Prompt 2: Fae don’t often leave their villages, except to gather. Unfortunately, one foolish faerie has found themself entangled in a trap left behind by a human hunter. Even worse, the human has returned to see what they’ve caught; although, they seem far more curious than hostile. 

Necessary Criteria: One of the characters teaches the other a new word in their native tongue. 

Magic Begins In Superstition, And Ends In Science…

Angst + Alchemy 

Prompt 1: The job of an alchemist’s apprentice is rarely an easy one. Magic is a fickle mistress, after all. When the apprentice’s companion tries to pull them away from their work, the argument gets heated, until the pressure becomes too much and causes an intense explosion…literally. 

Necessary Criteria: “You’re not even smart enough to understand what I do, and you think you get to tell me when to stop working?!”

Prompt 2: The alchemist’s work is starting to consume them. Blinded by their pursuit of knowledge, they recklessly decide to slip a bit of their newest experimental concoction into their companion’s meal without their knowledge. The alchemist convinces themselves this is all for the greater good, and surely nothing all that bad could happen, but soon comes to regret it. 

Necessary Criteria: A horrible transformation. 

The Tongue May Be Twice As Sharp And Thrice As Lethal As The Blade…

Smut + Swords 

Prompt 1: A rivalry between two swordsman gets a bit out of hand when the pair decide to make a salacious bet over a duel: whoever loses must play submissive to the other, starting from the moment they drop their sword. 

Necessary Criteria: “Don’t think I’ll surrender that easily.” / “Mm, I didn’t think you would…I like it so much more when you’re fiery.”

Prompt 2: A courageous knight rescues a royal from the clutches of peril, and their majesty simply can’t let their hero leave without thoroughly rewarding them for such bravery. 

Necessary Criteria: The pair narrowly avoid being caught in the act. 

Cursed Is The Man Who Dies, But The Evil Done By Him Survives…

Horror + Hexes

Prompt 1: Foolish explorers accidentally wander into a witch’s garden. One of them can’t resist plucking a berry from a bush, not giving it a second thought as they swallow it down, only for the horrific consequences of a curse to start taking form the next day. 

Necessary Criteria: “Please…you have to tell me you know how to make this stop.” 

Prompt 2: While treasure hoarding is generally frowned upon among honorable bounty hunters, some simply can’t kick the habit. This quickly proves to be a terrible mistake, though, as a cursed trinket starts to warp its owner’s mind and plunge them into a darkness that turns them on the one they love most. 

Necessary Criteria: Creative use of an everyday object as a weapon. 

Final Reminders:

Most importantly: Have Fun! 

Make sure to read the rules carefully! 

You’re always free to ask questions! 

Tag me in your entry + use the tag #lucifer’s 5k fantasy challenge! 

Happy Writing, everyone!

(even if you don’t plan to participate, please reblog and share this post so others will see it!)

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[danwhobrowses]

You know, as much as I would've loved a massive catharsis-led triumph over Athion Zathuda in battle, possibly left at the mercy of the vibrant flames of Fearne's Titan form reiterating herself with aplomb as Fearne Calloway, I actually kinda love how the narrative chose to defeat him. In many ways it is just hilarious, but also ironically in-character. Man talked all about wanting to prove himself, had a grandiose title of 'Sorrowlord' and was looking to be both a physical and mental adversary after threatening to torment Fearne into becoming Exaltant by targeting her loved ones. But then when he is pit against Bells Hells he barely does a thing; he tries to talk his way into turning Fearne again, gets jumpscared by Ira, the 'farm girl' he mocked to Fearne commandeers his dragon, he loses a leg and is thrown off his dragon, and the Hells even opt to keep him alive for some reason in 107 before kinda accidentally offing him in 108.

He thought he was the shit, but enemies of true threat like Ludinus, Otohan and Liliana (a threat before she was turned) looked down on him, and thus his attempts to prove them wrong - while also falling into the same trap as Ashton's father in seeking out a personal destiny and being willing to see their child as a tool to do it - bore no fruit at all, he was practically an afterthought through and through, his dragon really being his entire threat level. In the end, he got killed running (well, hobbling) away, and while Gloamglut's keening was a little sad in a way that a pet cannot fathom the moral complexity of having to kill their owner he still had it coming, plus following his eternal torture in the Tiki Bar of Ligament Manor, the last sorrow he wrought was his own; he achieved nothing, everything he hints he did to get to his position was for naught, and for all the fear and danger he tried to make himself possess he truly had no power over anyone, especially not Fearne - who can only pity him and, as further proof of being better than he ever was, hope that he takes the time to reflect on his sorrows.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

I really loved the angsty fic I was supposed to protect you do you think you could do it but with the datables? If that’s too many characters then just Diavolo and Simeon and Luke.

(I know asking for Luke is 👿 because he’s just a child but I wanna sob and having him see MC die I think will do it)

Heyy I'm glad you liked the first part and sure. Part 2 is coming right up! I gotcha! Enjoy!

Author's note: This is part 2 of the story I was supposed to protect you which includes the demon brothers. You can find part 1 here.

Summary: During a fight MC(you) sees that the dateables + Luke won't be able to dodge the next attack so you take it instead of them, causing your death.

Contains: Angst

GN!MC x Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, Simeon, Luke

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

I was supposed to protect you

Part 2

Diavolo

Diavolo, the future King of the Devildom, was a force to be reckoned with. His power was overwhelming, and his presence commanded respect. But even he, with all his strength and authority, was struggling. The battle had taken a toll on him, and for the first time, you saw doubt flicker across his face.

The enemy launched a devastating attack aimed directly at him, and for a moment, Diavolo didn’t have enough time to counter it. His eyes widened, realizing the danger too late.

Without a second thought, you threw yourself in front of the blast.

“MC!” Diavolo’s voice was filled with shock and horror, something you’d never heard from him before. He rushed to your side as you collapsed, his powerful hands catching you just before you hit the ground.

“Why would you...?” His voice trembled as he cradled you in his arms, his usual regal composure completely shattered. He was the Prince of the Devildom, yet he couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t stop you from slipping away.

You tried to smile, to show him you didn’t regret it, but it hurt too much to form words. Diavolo’s expression crumpled, tears gathering in his eyes as he held you tighter, as if he could somehow keep you with him.

“MC, please... I need you,” he whispered, his voice desperate and broken. But it was too late. You had saved him, and that was enough.

Barbatos

Barbatos was always composed, always several steps ahead of everyone else. His calm demeanor never wavered, even in the most dangerous situations. But this time, the enemy had caught him off guard. A powerful strike was coming his way, and for once, Barbatos didn’t see it coming in time.

You saw it before he did, though, and in an instant, you made your choice.

You stepped between Barbatos and the attack, taking the full brunt of the blow.

“MC...” Barbatos’s voice was softer than you had ever heard it, full of disbelief as you collapsed into his arms.

He knelt beside you, his normally composed face etched with something you had never seen before—genuine fear. “Why?” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “You didn’t need to do that.”

You tried to respond, but your body was growing heavier, the pain too overwhelming. Barbatos tightened his grip on you, his eyes dark with regret. For once, he hadn’t been able to predict what was going to happen. He hadn’t been able to save you.

“I... I should have protected you,” he murmured, his voice breaking in a way that was foreign to him. The timekeeper who was always in control, always calm, had lost something he couldn’t get back.

Solomon

Solomon, the ever-cunning sorcerer, was locked in a fierce battle with the enemy, casting spell after spell with a determined look on his face. But even the most powerful human had limits, and Solomon was nearing his.

The enemy’s next strike was aimed directly at Solomon, and for a moment, you saw the panic flash in his eyes. He couldn’t deflect it in time.

Without hesitation, you threw yourself between him and the attack, absorbing the impact yourself.

“MC!” Solomon’s voice rang out, full of horror and disbelief. His usual calm, teasing demeanor disappeared in an instant as he rushed to your side.

He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he tried to stabilize you, casting healing spells in vain. “Why... why did you do that?” he asked, his voice trembling.

You could see the panic in his eyes as he realized that no amount of magic could save you. His hands moved frantically, trying to cast every spell he knew, but it wasn’t enough. You were slipping away, and there was nothing he could do.

“MC... I’m supposed to protect you,” Solomon whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I... I promised I’d look after you...”

But even the most powerful sorcerer couldn’t stop death. And as your vision faded, you felt his grip tighten on you, the weight of his regret hanging heavy between you both.

Simeon

Simeon was an angel of light, a beacon of hope even in the darkest of times. But today, even he was struggling. The enemy’s attacks were relentless, and despite Simeon’s divine strength, he was starting to falter.

The enemy launched a strike aimed directly at him, one that could be fatal if it hit. Simeon’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t fast enough to block it.

You moved before you could think, throwing yourself in front of him just as the blow landed.

“MC!” Simeon’s voice was filled with shock, his usual gentle tone now laced with panic. He caught you as you fell, his strong arms cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Why...?” Simeon whispered, his voice trembling as he held you close. His eyes, usually so full of light and warmth, were now clouded with grief. “You didn’t have to... I would have been fine...”

You tried to smile, but the pain was too much. Simeon’s grip on you tightened, his wings trembling slightly as he leaned over you, his tears falling silently onto your skin.

“MC, I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he held you closer. “Not like this...”

But there was nothing he could do. As the darkness closed in, you could feel Simeon’s sorrow, the way his heart ached as he realized he couldn’t save you.

Luke

Luke, despite his young age, was full of determination and bravery, always trying to prove himself. But in this moment, facing a dangerous enemy, you could see the fear in his eyes. He wasn’t ready for this, and the enemy’s next attack was aimed directly at him.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t let Luke, so full of light and innocence, take that hit. Without hesitation, you stepped in front of him, taking the blow meant for him.

“MC!” Luke’s voice was high-pitched with panic as you collapsed in front of him. He rushed to your side, his small hands trembling as he tried to shake you awake. “No, no, no! You can’t... you can’t leave me!”

His voice was frantic, full of fear as tears welled up in his eyes. He had always looked up to you, always relied on you, and now you were slipping away before his eyes.

“Why would you do that?” Luke cried, his tears falling freely. “You’re supposed to be okay! You’re supposed to be with me!”

You wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was alright, but the pain was too much. Your vision was fading, and the last thing you heard was Luke’s heartbroken sobs as he begged for you to stay.

[dreadnought-despair]

hey y'all yeah this is the post you think it is

after two official tries and several unposted attempts over the course of almost 8 years, i think im calling dreadnought despair, er... mostly dead? BUT im bringing this blog back! ill be picking stuff to answer from the askbox (keep in mind i have a job and im getting old lol) as well as just drawing the kids bc i miss them

i also feel pretty bad about where i left off, so i'm considering finishing out chapter 1 (if i can remember how i had all the code set up 😬) but it would take A While. so heres a poll

more of an explanation under the cut. if you want to see what else I've been up to, check out my art blog @amelias-art and my twitch [AmeliasArt], where i've started streaming pretty regularly on tuesdays and thursdays around 7pm CST!

im sure this cancellation isn't a surprise to anyone but i just wanted to get this out there for my own peace of mind

it has nothing to do with the wonderful folks who supported me through the years and everything to do with my mental health, getting older, and frankly poor story planning. it's a classic case of a project that never had a strong outline and thus ballooned in scope as it went-- you'll see what i mean when i start trying to answer asks about what would've been the endgame LOL. and ill do my best to answer some stuff, but there are some unintroduced concepts and characters that i would like to save for other stories so i may be vague about parts of it

even if it was masterfully planned, though, it still would've been hard to really pick up again-- I started this fic in college when I was at my most suicidal, and the reboot happened in 2020 which, well anyway,, im in a better place now with a loving husband, a stable job, a healthier relationship with my queerness, and multiple mental health diagnoses and medications. im proud of what i did accomplish with dreadnought, and im grateful to it and the community for getting me through some miserable times, but it's still a reminder of those times in and of itself. maybe by officially shelving it i can move on

thank you so much for sticking around! it really means a lot to me

[cheynovak]

Lose Control - pt 3

Characters: Azriel x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:  Azriel, struggling with the emotional aftermath of his fight with Rhysand over Elain and the fact that Gwen found out his gift for her was a returned gift for Elain made him seek out some company at the pleasure hall. Y/N an old... 'friend'

Warnings: 18+ - Pure SMUT - Sexual content, Dominance, Spice, jealousy

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own fanfiction, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

* Published September 21th 2024 *

It's a long story... brace yourself.

As I slowly gathered my things, trying to be as quiet as possible, Elain’s name echoed in my mind. Elain. The name carried an elegance to it, something sweet, soft, and undeniably sophisticated. She had to be beautiful, probably as stunning as Mor, with a grace and serenity that I couldn’t help but imagine.

I couldn’t stop wondering what she looked like as I pulled my clothes back on, stealing a final glance at Azriel as he lay asleep in his bed. My heart ached as I looked at him, remembering how he’d unknowingly stolen my heart the night we first met—decades ago. The connection we shared had always been undeniable to me, even when I hadn’t fully realized what he meant to me. But now, everything felt painfully clear.

I opened the door, not paying much attention as I stepped out, lost in my thoughts. Suddenly, I bumped into someone, startling us both. A young woman with soft, delicate features stood before me, her expression gentle but surprised.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I blurted, trying to hide my embarrassment.

“No, it’s my fault,” she replied, her voice as soft as a summer breeze. “I didn’t expect someone to walk out.”

Her voice was so light, almost musical. It took me a second to process her presence, and before I could respond, she asked, “Who are you?”

Caught off guard, I quickly extended my hand, trying to appear composed. “I’m… Y/N.”

She smiled politely, shaking my hand. “I’m—”

“Elain?”

Azriel’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, making the air between us suddenly feel too thick, too heavy. I turned, seeing him standing in the doorway, his face betraying the mixture of surprise and tension that hung between all of us.

Elain. The woman in front of me, the one I had been wondering about—this was her. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and my world shrunk around me, the walls pressing in. I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened as the weight of her presence and what she represented crushed me.

Elain glanced between us, her own confusion clear as her soft gaze flickered to Azriel, and then back to me. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, with no way to pull myself back.

This is her. The girl who had broken his heart. Or the girl who still held it. And here I was, standing between them.

“I—” I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. The look on Azriel’s face, the weight of everything unspoken, left me feeling like I didn’t belong in this moment, in this place, in his life.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I turned to leave, catching a glimpse of Azriel still standing there, shirtless, his wings relaxed but imposing. I tried not to stare, not to let my heart ache at the sight of him, but it was impossible. My whispered “Bye” barely made it past my lips as I moved to slip past Elain, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the situation.

I had just made it to the door when Azriel’s voice stopped me. “Y/N, wait!”

I froze, my back still to him. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I heard him take a step toward me. “What… why are you leaving without saying goodbye?”

I clenched my jaw, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to keep it together. I could feel his presence, looming, concerned, and I knew that if I looked at him, the fragile composure I had would break.

“I just…” My voice wavered, betraying me. I kept my gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “I remembered I had to be somewhere. I’m sorry.”

Before he could say anything else, I brushed past him, my body tense and on the verge of fleeing. But just as I moved toward the exit, I walked straight into a room that was anything but empty.

Rhysand and Feyre were there, standing at the far end, their expressions poised but curious. Nesta stood beside them, her icy gaze sharp and calculating. Amren sat nearby, observing everything with her usual detached interest, while Mor stood with her arms crossed, glancing between me and Azriel. And then there was Cassian, his broad grin lighting up the room.

“Y/N!” he boomed, moving toward me like an excited puppy. “Long time no see!” Before I could even react, he swept me into a bone-crushing hug, lifting me off the ground and kissing my cheek in his usual affectionate way.

I forced a smile, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks as I caught a glimpse of Azriel and Elain walking up behind me, clearly still part of whatever gathering was happening. The weight of it all—their stares, their presence, the sudden awkwardness—settled over me like a heavy cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Rhysand said, his tone smooth but amused as he looked from me to Azriel, a grin tugging at his lips. “If I’d known Azriel had a guest over, I would’ve set the meeting at the River House.”

The playful lilt in his voice made my stomach twist. He knew. They all knew. I could see it in the way Mor’s lips twitched, in the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed slightly in recognition.

Azriel stood behind me, his presence an anchor I wasn’t sure I wanted to lean on. The room felt impossibly full, the tension thick enough to cut through, and I suddenly felt like I was drowning.

Cassian, oblivious to the undercurrent, set me down but kept his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, you’re not leaving yet, right? We’ve barely said hello!”

I forced another smile, but my eyes darted to Azriel, who was watching me closely. I could see the concern, the confusion in his gaze. He hadn’t expected this. Neither had I.

But all I wanted was to escape. To get away from the mess I had just walked into.

“No, no, I should really leave,” I stammered, trying to back out, but Cassian waved me off with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice booming. “You’re staying for breakfast.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died on my tongue. Cassian’s energy was infectious, and as much as I wanted to bolt, something in me gave in. “Well… at least let me make it,” I offered, mostly as an excuse to stay out of the way and avoid the tension swirling in the room. If I kept myself busy, maybe I wouldn’t have to think about the mess I had just stumbled into.

Cassian shrugged, all too happy to accept. “Works for me!”

I moved to the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. I could hear the others talking softly, but I wasn’t paying attention—wasn’t trying to pay attention. The meeting, whatever it was, didn’t involve me. And frankly, I didn’t want to get involved in anything more than I already was. I had enough to deal with, given the awkwardness of Azriel and Elain standing just feet away.

As I was preparing the food, I felt someone walk up behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was—her soft, delicate presence was unmistakable.

“So you and…?” Elain’s voice was quiet, but the question hung heavily between us. Her finger moved over the kitchen counter, clearly afraid or shy to look at me.

I fumbled with the food, my heart racing. “Oh, uh, we’ve known each other for a while,” I said, my words tumbling out clumsily. “It was, um…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain what Azriel and I were. How could I, when even I didn’t fully understand it?

Elain gave me a polite nod, an awkward smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I get it,” she said softly, her eyes not quite meeting mine.

We exchanged uneasy smiles before I quickly turned back to the food, setting it on the table in hopes of avoiding any more awkward questions. The tension in the room was suffocating, but before it could settle too deeply, Cassian’s loud voice cut through again.

“Oh my gods, Y/N!” he exclaimed, his mouth full as he dug into the food. “You should open a restaurant! This is even better than the last time you made food.”

I couldn’t help but blush at his enthusiasm. Cassian’s praise was always so genuine, even if his timing could be a bit off.

Azriel, who had been conspicuously silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice sharp. “You’ve had her food before?” The irritation in his tone wasn’t lost on anyone except Cass.

Cassian, oblivious to the tension that thickened the air, nodded enthusiastically, still chewing. “Yeah! A few times. Honestly, Y/N, you chose the wrong profession. You should try her pies" he said to Nesta.

I felt my face heat up even more, the attention making me uncomfortable. I could feel Azriel’s gaze on me, something unreadable in his expression as Cassian continued eating, completely unfazed by the awkwardness swirling around us.

I tried to smile, tried to act normal, but the weight of it all was too much. Elain’s lingering presence, Azriel’s sudden shift in mood—it was all pressing down on me. "So, eh... What do you do?" Elain asked with innocence in her voice.

The room was suddenly charged with a new wave of tension as Elain’s question hung in the air. Amren and Mor almost spilled their drinks, their reactions betraying their surprise. I glanced at them, feeling a sharp sting of embarrassment as Cassian answered for me.

“Y/N works in the flower shop in Velaris,” Cassian said, his tone matter-of-fact but somehow completely missing the undercurrent of discomfort in the room. His eyes met mine, knowing, telling he has my back.

Azriel’s face twisted in confusion. “You do?”

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I’ve been working there for a while now.” Azriel’s brows furrowed, and his eyes darted between Cassian and me. “I didn’t know. How do you even know?”

He turned to Cassian, his irritation palpable. “How do you even know her?”

Cassian, who had been in good spirits, suddenly felt the shift in the room’s atmosphere. His face fell as he realized the tension. “Dude, relax. I helped her move and find a job. She made food as a thank you.”

Azriel’s anger flared, his voice sharper than before. “Was that all she did to thank you?”

Mor’s voice cut through, firm and authoritative. “Azriel!”

The room fell into a tense silence as Azriel’s eyes softened when he turned back to me. I could feel the tears threatening to spill, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I couldn’t handle the scrutiny, the judgment. I just wanted to escape.

“If you will excuse me,” I said, my voice trembling as I gave a respectful bow to Rhysand and Feyre. “I would like to go home now.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and made my way toward the door. The weight of their stares was almost too much to bear.

Cassian, still visibly annoyed with Azriel, got up from his seat with determination. “I’ll take you home,” he said, his voice firm.

As I moved toward the door, Cassian followed closely behind, his presence a comforting contrast to the heavy atmosphere I left behind. I could hear the muffled conversation behind me, but I didn’t turn back.

All I wanted was to get out of there, away from the confusion and hurt, away from Azriel.

The flight home was quiet, the weight of the day hanging heavily between us. I was grateful for the silence, though it gave me too much time to think about everything that had happened.

Cassian dropped me off at my apartment and before he left, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t hate Azriel. He’s clearly protective of you.”

I huffed, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Or he just felt guilty about being caught with a whore in his bed.”

Cassian’s laughter was a rare, genuine sound in the tense air. “A florist, to be precise,” he teased gently, though the humor didn’t quite reach my eyes.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the weight of my own foolishness. “It was stupid to go home with him. I should have just left.”

Cassian’s hand stayed on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly comforting. “You care for him,” he said, his tone warm. “That’s beautiful. Azriel just has a twisted idea of not being worthy of someone’s love. He doesn’t see how much you care. You need to tell him.”

I looked away, shaking my head. “After seeing the look on his face when he saw Elain? I’m not telling him anything, Cass. I’m not Mor, I’m not Elain. I’m not the woman he wants a life with. I have to accept that.” I will not be loved

Cassian’s eyes softened with understanding, though a shadow of sadness lingered. “At least you two have one thing in common,” he said as he prepared to leave.

I looked at him, puzzled. He offered a small, knowing smile. “You both struggle with feeling unworthy.”

With that being said he kissed my cheek and took off into the night sky, leaving me alone at my door. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the warmth and tension of the evening.

I entered my apartment, I tried to shake off the lingering feelings of hurt and confusion. Cassian’s words echoed in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of the complexities of love and self-worth.

--

The next day dragged on at a slow, almost torturous pace. I took a long, steamy shower, read a book, and made dinner for myself, trying to keep my mind off the chaos from the night before. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and I was dressed in just some comfy panties and an old shirt that had seen better days.

As I was tidying up the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. I was expecting it to be Cassian, perhaps checking in on me. But when I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat. It was Azriel.

I looked at him, confused. “How did you find me?”

“Cassian,” he replied simply, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes scanned the modest space, and he seemed to be taking in every detail.

“It’s not much,” I said quietly, trying to avoid his gaze. “But it’s more than I had before.”

Azriel’s eyes remained fixed on the room as he walked further inside. “Cassian helped you?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice soft as I moved towards the kitchen. I attempted to shift the focus away from the uncomfortable situation. “I made some pie. Would you like a slice?”

I turned to face him, holding out a piece of pie. “I have one slice left, you’re lucky.”

Before I could fully register what was happening, Azriel had me cornered against the counter. His eyes locked onto mine for a split second before he took a piece of the pie from my hand. He took a bite, and as he did, a low, appreciative moan escaped his lips. His eyes closed, savoring the taste.

“Cassian was right,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

My cheeks flushed with a deep blush at his reaction. “I’m glad you like it,” I managed to say, trying to steady my breath as his proximity and the intensity of the moment overwhelmed me.

Azriel opened his eyes, and the heat in his gaze made me catch my breath. For a moment, the room felt charged, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension. I could feel the warmth of his body so close to mine, and the closeness was both thrilling and terrifying.

He finally spoke, his tone softer, almost vulnerable. “I’m sorry for everything. For how things went last night. I didn’t handle it well.”

I swallowed, my heart racing. “I don’t know what to say.”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he stepped back slightly, giving me space. “I’ve been struggling with how to make things right. I just… I needed to see you.”

I looked at him, the confusion and hurt from the previous day still fresh but mingled with the undeniable relief of seeing him again. “You didn’t have to come here. I'm not mad, I’m just trying to move on.”

He nodded, his expression one of regret and understanding. “I know. I just wanted to tell you that… despite everything, I appreciate you and I'm sorry for what I said. I care about you more than I’ve allowed myself to admit. I know I shouldn't be jealous, but the idea of you and other males... Stupid I know.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. The mix of emotions, the remnants of our past interactions, and the reality of our current situation left me feeling torn.

Azriel seemed to sense my inner conflict. “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. I just needed to make sure you knew how I felt.”

I panicked, the thought of him leaving so abruptly hitting me hard. “No! No, I don’t want you to leave. Please.” I grabbed his hand, my fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around his. Azriel looked down at our intertwined hands, his gaze catching on the small burn mark on my finger.

His eyes moved back to mine, a mixture of concern and tenderness in his gaze. “You burned yourself?” he asked softly. I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “Yes, this morning. It’s nothing major, just...” Before I could finish, Azriel’s lips moved to the burn, pressing a gentle kiss to the sting. The softness of his touch, the warmth of his lips, sent a shiver through me.

My breath caught, and my lips parted slightly at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. Azriel looked up at me, his eyes filled with an intense, vulnerable emotion.

“I’m sorry for how things have been,” he said softly. “I just wanted to make things right.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The tenderness of his kiss and his words broke through the walls I had built around my heart.

Azriel’s lips traveled up my arm, moving slowly and deliberately, their warmth and softness sending shivers across my skin. He traced a path to my shoulder, then up my neck, his breath warm against my ear. I leaned into his touch, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. The words were a caress in themselves, and I felt a rush of emotions flood through me.

He nipped gently at the sensitive skin beneath my ear, his lips then moving to lick and soothe the spot. My breath came in heavy, uneven gasps. “Az… what are you doing?” He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my heart race. “I’m making it up to you,” he said softly, his hands cupping my cheeks.

His gaze was full of earnestness, as if he were pleading for a chance to right the wrongs. Before I could fully process his words, he leaned in, capturing my lips in a heated, passionate kiss. The kiss was deep and fervent, his lips melding with mine in a way that conveyed everything he was trying to say without words.

The world seemed to narrow down to just the sensation of his touch and the warmth of his embrace. His hands were gentle but firm as they held my face, and his kiss was a blend of regret and desire, a promise of something more if only I could let go of my fears. I responded to him, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as I gave in to the intensity of the moment.

As the kiss deepened, the boundaries of our previous hurt seemed to dissolve, replaced by the raw, undeniable connection that had always existed between us.

Azriel’s touch was both tender and electrifying as he gently turned me around, his hands slipping up under my shirt, his hands made their way up to cup my breasts. His lips continued their trail of kisses along my neck, sending waves of warmth through me.

A deep, approving hum rumbled from his throat when his fingers made contact with my bare skin beneath the shirt. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the moment, trying to make up for everything that had come between us.

His fingers played delicately over the exposed skin, tracing patterns that made my breath hitch and my body respond eagerly. His kisses on my neck became more insistent, his breath hot against my skin as he explored my body further.

The sensation of his fingers moving slowly and deliberately made my pulse quicken, my body arching slightly into his touch. I let out a soft moan, my head falling back as I lost myself in the intensity of his caress.

“Az,” I breathed, my voice trembling with the mix of emotions swirling inside me. The intensity of his touch was overwhelming, both comforting and intoxicating.

He paused for a moment, his lips brushing softly against my ear as he whispered, “I want to show you how much you mean to me. How sorry I am for everything.” His words were a soothing balm.

Azriel’s hand moved to my hip with deliberate, measured movements, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my panties, making contact with the sensitive skin there. The sensation of his touch was both intimate and intense, a mixture of warmth and anticipation.

He explored gently, his fingers finding the wetness that had accumulated in response to his touches and kisses. His breath hitched slightly at the contact, a soft, approving growl rumbling in his chest. His touch was careful and purposeful, seeking to both reassure and arouse.

The warmth of his fingers against me made my body tense and then melt into his touch, my breath coming in uneven gasps. I arched into his hand, unable to suppress the soft moans that escaped my lips. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure through me as he explored with a tenderness that contrasted with the raw need we both felt.

Azriel’s eyes were focused on me, his expression a blend of concentration and desire. His fingers moved with a deliberate, rhythmic motion, adding to the mounting intensity between us. Each movement was measured, designed to build anticipation and pleasure, to make the moment as intense and meaningful as possible.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against my ear, his voice low and urgent. His fingers continued their slow, deliberate exploration, the pressure and rhythm building in a way that made it hard to think clearly.

I struggled to find words, my thoughts muddled by the overwhelming sensation and the raw vulnerability of the moment. “Azriel… just… don’t stop,” I managed to gasp, my voice barely audible over the sounds of our breathing and the quiet rustling of the room.

He responded with a soft, appreciative hum, his fingers continuing their exploration as he leaned in to press a tender kiss to my neck. The dual sensations of his touch and his kisses created a potent mix of pleasure and intimacy, making it hard to focus on anything but the way he made me feel.

Azriel’s hands moved with a mix of urgency and tenderness, pulling my panties down and letting them fall to the floor. As he guided me over the counter, his touch was both firm and gentle, guiding me into position. I felt a rush of anticipation and vulnerability as he helped me settle against the cool surface.

His lips brushed against my behind, the kiss a teasing promise of what was to come. The sensation of his warm breath and the light touch of his lips against my skin made me shiver, heightening the anticipation and making me acutely aware of every nerve in my body.

As he widened my stance, I heard the sound of his zipper, the soft rustling of fabric as he freed himself from his pants. The sound was both exciting and daunting, a tangible reminder of the passion and desire that we were about to indulge in. His hands moved to hold my hips, positioning me just right, and I felt the heat of his body close behind me. The tension in the air was palpable, a blend of desire and intimacy that made my heart race.

Azriel’s touch was both commanding and reassuring as he guided himself to my entrance, his breath warm against my skin. He paused for a moment, his fingers brushing along my hips as he prepared to enter me. The anticipation was almost overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and nervousness as we both braced for the intensity of the moment.

His entry was slow and deliberate, allowing me to adjust and savor the sensation as he filled me. Each movement was measured, his hands gripping my hips firmly as he began to move, his rhythm steady and purposeful. The connection between us was electric, the combination of his touch, his kisses, and the deep, rhythmic thrusts creating a potent mix of pleasure and intimacy.

As he continued, the counter beneath me felt solid and grounding, a stark contrast to the intensity of the feelings coursing through me. The sounds of our combined breaths and the rhythmic movement filled the space, a symphony of desire and connection.

Azriel’s hands moved to hold me closer, his grip on my hips firm and steady. His movements were both powerful and tender, each thrust a testament to his need and desire, as well as his care and consideration for me.

Azriel’s movements were deliberate and filled with a raw intensity as he gently turned me around to face him. I was now sitting on the counter, my legs spread apart, and his gaze was unwavering as he positioned himself between my thighs once more.

When he entered me again, it was with a deep, controlled motion that made me gasp. The sensation was both thrilling and intimate, the warmth of his body pressing against mine as he filled me completely. His eyes locked onto mine, a fiery intensity in his gaze that spoke of his longing and need.

The look he gave me was filled with a mix of desire and tenderness, his eyes dark with passion as he took me in. “Gods, I love that look on your face,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. His hands rested on my hips, his touch firm yet gentle, guiding me as we found our rhythm.

“I love how much you care,” he continued, his voice a rough whisper against my skin. “I love… I love… all of you.”

His words were a potent mix of adoration and desire, each declaration a testament to the depth of his feelings. As he spoke, he moved inside me with a steady, rhythmic thrust, each motion accentuated by the heat and urgency of the moment. His gaze never wavered, his eyes locked onto mine with a fierce intensity that made my heart race and my breath come in shallow gasps.

The connection between us was palpable, a powerful blend of passion and emotion that made every touch and movement feel significant. His hands caressed my hips, his fingers digging in slightly as he continued to thrust, his breath coming in uneven pants as he chased his release.

As the intensity built, I felt every part of him—the way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way his words and touches made me feel. Each thrust was a testament to his desire, each word a declaration of his love and longing.

The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the electric connection between us. The counter beneath us was a solid, grounding presence, a stark contrast to the intense emotions and sensations that enveloped us. In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the powerful, intimate connection we shared.

As we reached the peak of our desire, the culmination of our passion was a profound mix of pleasure and vulnerability, a reminder of the depth of our feelings and the complexity of our relationship.

Our breaths came in ragged, sharp, and heavy, the intensity of everything between us settling into the stillness. His forehead pressed gently against mine, and his eyes—soft, vulnerable, and full of regret—held mine like they were searching for answers. "I mean it," Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Every word. I was a fool. It wasn’t until I thought about you and Cassian… that it hit me. Will you forgive me?"

I didn't respond right away, still reeling from his words. “Me and Cassian?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, confusion spreading across my face. His gaze faltered for a moment, shame flickering in those eyes that were usually so steady.

“I—” Azriel hesitated, a pained expression overtaking him. “I never knew he was a… a client.”

The words struck me like a blow, and I instinctively pulled back, my heart sinking. "Az, no." I shook my head, my voice gaining strength. "He never was. Cassian and I… we met, we clicked as friends. He saw other girls, but that was years ago, when he was much younger. Never me. We’ve never slept together.”

Relief washed over his face, the tension in his body visibly loosening. “I didn’t know,” he murmured. “I let my jealousy and insecurity get the better of me, and I… I should have never.”

I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of his words hanging in the space between us. Guilt, regret, and love all swirled together in his expression. He closed the gap between us again, his lips pressing softly against mine in a kiss that felt like both an apology and a plea for forgiveness.

When we pulled back, he cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently across my skin. "I should have never dragged you through the mud like I did yesterday," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. You deserve better than that… better than me treating you like I did."

There was something raw in his confession, something that tugged at the tender places in my heart. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say, but seeing him like this—vulnerable and remorseful—reminded me of why I had fallen for him in the first place.

--

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