#but she makes room for him in the apartment and her life

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Please Let Me Live - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think? Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

w.c: 10k

You'd avoided it for so long. For months, your best friend had been pestering you to read the shoujo isekai novel of the year. According to them, it was the epitome of romantic drama, the kind that would "turn your heart into a mess of feelings" and "change your life." So, finally, after a particularly grueling week, your willpower hit rock bottom. You caved. You bought it, poured yourself a drink, and figured, "How bad can it be?"

Turns out, really bad.

You’d barely made it past the first few chapters before your brain began to leak out of your ears. Every overused villainess plot point imaginable was crammed into the story like a contest of "how much nonsense can we fit in here before the reader gives up?" The evil fiancée everyone inexplicably hated? Check. The perfect cinnamon roll male lead everyone adored even though he had the personality of wet cardboard? Double check. The heroine who was so pure that even her sneeze would be enough to unite warring nations who also happens to be the saintess? You had to put the book down and take a moment when she gave a speech about friendship that was so saccharine, your teeth hurt.

Grumbling and filled with regret, you got up to refill your drink… only to slip on bubble wrap you swore yesterday that you were going to pick up later, fall face-first into the kitchen counter, and began to bleed out.

It was a comically stupid way to die. You knew that as you lay there, watching the light fade from your vision, your last thoughts being, This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And then, darkness.

You woke up with a groan, your head pounding. As your vision cleared, you noticed you were lying in a very, very fancy bed. Silk sheets, gold trimming on the canopy, the works. And you were dressed in something frilly, layered, and far too complicated for someone who just woke up from a near-death experience.

"What the…"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze as the realization hit you. This was not your bed. This was not your apartment. This was… Oh god, no.

You whipped your head around the lavish room, recognizing it from the novel you’d been hate-reading just last night. The massive mirror above the dresser, the tapestry with an overly detailed family crest, the obnoxiously large bouquet of roses that smelled way too sweet.

You’re in the book.

Panicking, you scrambled out of bed and rushed to the full-length mirror by the wall. The reflection staring back at you was not your own. Instead, you saw an unfamiliar face—her face. The one mentioned once, maybe twice, in the whole novel before being discarded like an old shoe: the betrothed of the villain.

The fiancée who dumps him for the male lead. The fiancée who gets themselves killed in the process.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, slapping your forehead. “I’m the villain’s betrothed? I’m that idiot who leaves Vil Schoenheit because I fall for the human incarnation of a sugar cube?”

But there was no escaping it. You were now stuck in the body of a side character so irrelevant that even her death was treated as an afterthought. The one who leaves her handsome, ambitious, gorgeous fiancé for… Neige.

No. No, no, no. You were not about to die over a soggy cinnamon roll.

Determined to change your fate, you gathered your wits and opened the door to leave the room. But of course, you ran headlong into a tall figure, knocking you both back.

“Oof! Careful there!” a smooth, yet stern voice said. You looked up—and froze. Standing before you, looking like something straight out of a high-fashion magazine, was Vil Schoenheit. The man whose heart you were supposed to break, the villain who would later descend into madness after you ditch him.

And wow. In person, he was even more stunning than the novel had described. His golden-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, his purple eyes were as sharp as they were beautiful, and his posture screamed confidence.

You blinked up at him, utterly dumbfounded. You’re supposed to leave him? For Neige? You nearly gagged at the thought.

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your wide-eyed staring. “Is something the matter?”

You gulped. Right. You were supposed to be cold and dismissive toward him, weren’t you? But how? This man looked like he could make the heavens weep with his beauty. How had your character ever even considered leaving him?

“No, nothing’s the matter!” you blurted out, a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, everything’s great! You look fantastic! I mean, not that you don’t always look fantastic—because you do—but, you know, extra fantastic today!”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange.”

Abort. Abort!

You quickly cleared your throat. “Uh, I’ve just been… thinking. About us.”

His gaze became sharper. “About us?”

You nodded, plastering on your most sincere smile. “Yes! I’ve realized… I haven’t been very, uh, appreciative of you lately. And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. So from now on, I’ll be the most appreciative fiancée ever!”

Vil looked at you as though you’d just told him the sun was cold. He clearly didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude. “What exactly brought this on?” he asked slowly, suspiciously.

Time for Plan B. “Oh, you know, just… reflection! Self-improvement! I thought, ‘Why would I ever look anywhere else when I’ve got someone like *you* right in front of me?’ You’re… amazing, really.” You cringed internally at how corny that sounded, but Vil didn’t seem entirely put off.

“Hm,” was all he said, but his piercing gaze stayed locked on you, watching for any sign of deceit.

You were sweating bullets, but at least he wasn’t storming off. Yet.

You knew from the moment you read the back cover that this novel was going to be a dumpster fire of clichés, but you were not prepared for the sheer chaos of it all.

So, first off, we have the heroine—the Saintess—who has somehow never faced a single hardship in her life, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the kingdom’s beacon of virtue and a symbol of overcoming hardship. She’s engaged to the crown prince, who conveniently disappears on a diplomatic mission and dies offscreen, probably to make room for her new love interest, Neige LeBlanche. Neige. That sparkly ray of sunshine who is so perfect and pure that you feel like you need sunglasses whenever his name is mentioned. Because apparently, what’s more romantic than falling for a guy immediately after your fiancé kicks the bucket?

Then there’s the second male lead, the brooding Duke of the North, who checks all the boxes: tall, brooding, handsome, tragic backstory—yawn. Of course, he’s madly in love with the Saintess, and like any self-respecting second male lead in a trashy romance, he sacrifices himself for her later. Because nothing says “I’m irrelevant” quite like noble self-sacrifice.

And don't even get started on the heroine's best friend. She’s basically there to fawn over the Saintess and then inexplicably fall for Vil, the Grand Duke, after she pressures him into apologizing for insulting the heroine's dress. Like, why? Was his dress critique that alluring?

Now, Vil Schoenheit. The Grand Duke. The guy you’re currently stuck with as your fiancé. He’s actually a decent character—powerful, intelligent, not falling over himself to worship the Saintess like everyone else. But in the novel, he’s wasted. Why? Because he’s engaged to the character you’re now possessing—Miss Mean and Cold—who treats him like dirt because she’s too busy fantasizing about Neige. You know, the guy she has no shot with because he’s destined to fall for the Saintess. Then, when your character eventually dumps Vil for Neige, she dies in a freak accident. Vil, who actually loved her (for reasons no one understands), is so heartbroken that he turns into the main villain.

Yes, that’s right—this whole mess of a plot ends with Vil going full villain mode because the love of his life ditched him for the living embodiment of a children’s snowman and then died in a way that no one can explain. Cue the Saintess and Neige teaming up to defeat him and live happily ever after.

And that’s the story. A tangled web of nonsensical relationships, conveniently dead characters, and more emotional whiplash than you can handle. And the cherry on top? You're stuck in it, watching everything unfold firsthand. It's honestly a wonder the book didn’t end up as kindling.

A few days passed, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to keep up the act. Every morning you would wake up, still half-expecting to snap out of this bizarre isekai nightmare, but instead, you were met with Vil’s meticulous morning routine and the low hum of his voice offering helpful reminders about skincare.

And the more time you spent with him, the more baffled you became.

How the hell could the original character have messed this up?!

Sure, Vil was particular—okay, maybe borderline obsessive—about appearances. His lectures about proper sunscreen application could rival the length of the Odyssey. And yes, the daily inspections of your outfit choices felt a little like going through customs at a royal border.

But… he was kind? Like, actually caring?

Every meal was an event because he made sure you were eating properly and not just shoving random food into your mouth like the gremlin you clearly were before. He listened when you rambled about your day, offering advice with this gentle patience that honestly made you want to weep. How could anyone leave this?

You found yourself in front of a mirror one afternoon, pacing and gesturing wildly at your reflection, as if you could summon the spirit of the character you’d possessed. "What the actual hell was wrong with you?!" you hissed at the glass. “What kind of brain rot would make someone ditch a man like Vil?! Are you missing brain cells, or was your skull just a rental with nothing in it?!”

You paused, glaring at your reflection as if it could offer answers, but nope. It just stared back, helpless.

“Like, hello?!” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You had a golden opportunity here! He’s literally gorgeous! He’s got hair that looks like it was hand-spun by some ancient beauty god, his fashion sense could kill a lesser mortal, and he—*gasp*—cares about your well-being?!”

You slapped your forehead dramatically. “How did you mess this up? Were you allergic to good things? Did you wake up every day and choose to be a feral raccoon instead of, I don’t know, appreciating this actual masterpiece of a human being? What, did you look at his perfect face and go, ‘Nah, I’d rather yeet myself into self-destruction?’ Because clearly, that’s what happened!”

Your reflection remained silent, offering no help, which only fueled your rant further.

“You absolute donut! You ridiculous bottle of poorly mixed potion! You—” You stopped mid-sentence, running out of sufficiently creative insults to throw at the former owner of this body. Because seriously, what kind of fool would’ve thrown Vil away?

You gripped the sides of the vanity table, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your own reflection. "If I find out that you gave up on this because he once asked you to wear a face mask or told you to drink more water… I swear, I'm going to find a way to repossess you just to kill you again for making me deal with this."

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your self-directed tirade. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around to see Vil standing in the doorway, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his voice smooth but with a teasing edge. “You know, that’s usually a sign of stress. Perhaps we should revisit that meditation routine I mentioned.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, wondering how much he’d overheard. But then you caught sight of that soft smile he reserved just for you, and your brain short-circuited all over again.

Right. The original character was definitely an idiot.

The first major hurdle hit you when you least expected it.

It all started with what should have been a calm afternoon—a brief moment of peace where you and Vil could actually spend time together, no schemes, no weird confrontations, just enjoying tea. You were finally getting comfortable with each other, slowly building the trust that had been so fragile at the start. Finally, you thought, things were moving smoothly.

Then the overused villainess trope decided to rear its ugly head.

Vil was talking about an upcoming event he’d be hosting, his voice calm, his usual stern features softened just slightly by the moment of peace. You were finally letting your guard down.

That was until the door creaked open and in waltzed the heroine’s best friend, a girl with wide, doe-like eyes and a penchant for stirring up unnecessary drama. Behind her, looming in the doorway, was the second male lead—your eternal source of frustration from the novel. He was tall, brooding, and always, always popping up at the most inconvenient moments. A defeated looking Epel walked in behind them, with a look that screamed 'trust me I tried to stop them.'

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath, recognizing this scene before it could even play out. You knew what was coming, and you braced yourself for the utter absurdity of it.

Vil’s sharp gaze flicked from the two intruders back to you, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. “What is it now?” he muttered, already sensing the impending nonsense.

The heroine’s friend, ever the bringer of chaos, marched right up to your table with a dramatic flair that could only come from someone who believed they were the only purveyor of justice. “I can’t stay quiet any longer!” she declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Vil’s direction. “Vil, how could you treat the heroine this way?! You’ve been so cold, so distant—and it’s clear that you don’t truly care for anyone but yourself!”

You blinked. Excuse me?

Vil’s lips pursed, the irritation growing on his face. “And what, pray tell, did I do?”

“You know what you did!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms like she’d just delivered the most damning statement in history. “You’ve been ignoring her, brushing her off, and acting like she doesn’t even exist. She’s heartbroken because of you!”

You groaned internally. Oh no, this was that scene. The one where, because Vil once made an offhand comment about the heroine’s poor choice in dresses at a ball, suddenly he was painted as some cruel villain who was emotionally tormenting the delicate heroine. It was such an incredibly stupid misunderstanding that you distinctly remembered wanting to throw the book across the room when you’d first read it.

To make matters worse, the second male lead, standing silently but brooding in the doorway, was glowering at Vil like he was ready to challenge him to a duel at any moment. Because of a comment about a dress.

“Are you serious?” you blurted out, the frustration bubbling up before you could stop yourself.

The heroine’s friend gasped, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

“Let me get this straight,” you said, rising from your seat with a groan, “you’re upset because Vil, what, didn’t shower her with praise at the last event? And now you’ve decided to come in here, storming into our tea time, to complain about it?”

The second male lead’s brooding scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “Vil has been cruel—”

“About a dress.” You cut him off, waving your hand dismissively. “Vil made one comment about her dress. That’s it. And now we’re doing this whole song and dance like he’s some kind of evil tyrant?”

The room was already tense, the heroine’s best friend visibly fuming, but you couldn’t help it. The words just came out before you could stop them.

“And while we’re at it,” you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence, “let’s talk about that dress. You know, the one you’re all so upset about. I mean, I’m no fashion expert, but who in their right mind thought wearing that shade of mustard-yellow was a good idea?”

The friend’s mouth fell open, but you weren’t finished. “I mean, she walked into the ballroom looking like a sad banana trying to go to a high society function. I get it—saintess and all that—but there’s no reason to dress like the interior of an overripe cantaloupe.”

Vil made a choking sound next to you, and you dared to glance at him. His eyes were wide with shock, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with the crudeness, but he definitely wasn’t going to stop you either.

“And you,” you said, turning to the second male lead, who had been standing there like a silent, brooding statue, just staring at the two of you menacingly. “What’s your excuse? You came in here with all this brooding energy, acting like you’re about to duel someone over the fate of the heroine. But seriously, what’s with your whole tragic hero act? Is your personality just permanent raincloud or do you practice that in the mirror?”

Vil covered his mouth with his hand, and you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He was losing the battle to keep his composure, but he was trying—for dignity’s sake, of course.

Epel, on the other hand, had completely given up. The moment you’d said “sad banana,” he had fallen off his chair, doubled over in laughter, his face red as he clutched his sides. You weren’t sure if it was your insults or the second male lead’s thunderstruck expression, but either way, Epel was in hysterics.

“I—” the heroine’s friend sputtered, but you interrupted her again.

“Oh, and you.” You looked her up and down with a condescending smirk. “You really want to talk about fashion? Because I don’t know who told you that wearing ruffles with plaid was a look, but they were wrong. You’re out here looking like you got lost in a fabric store and fell into the clearance bin.”

This time, Vil snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was so out of place that it almost derailed your tirade, but you powered through, buoyed by his reaction.

The second male lead looked like he was ready to explode, his aura now bordering on murderous. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, can’t I?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Because it seems like all of you came in here with the intent to stir up drama over something as trivial as a constructive remark. If you’re going to go to war over fashion, at least wear something that doesn’t look like you picked it out with your eyes closed. Scratch that, I couldn’t imagine picking that up even with my eyes closed.”

By now, Epel was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “C-couldn’t pick it out… with your eyes closed!” he wheezed, slapping his knee.

Vil, despite himself, let out a low giggle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well,” he said, his voice steady but filled with mirth, “I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit.”

The heroine’s friend, now red-faced and flustered beyond belief, grabbed the second male lead by the arm and yanked him toward the door. “This isn’t over,” she spat, glaring at you. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the heroine—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved dismissively, “when the heroine what? Realizes she’s been pining for someone who can't tell mustard from elegance? Trust me, I’m not worried.”

With that, they both stormed out, slamming the door behind them in a huff of embarrassment and frustration. The second they were gone, you let out a breath and sank back into your chair, grinning at Vil, who was now openly smiling.

“You really didn’t hold back, did you?” Vil said, his amusement evident despite his usual calm demeanor. “I don’t approve of such… crude insults, but I must admit—” his lips twitched— “it was rather effective.”

Epel, still recovering from his laughing fit, managed to haul himself back into his seat, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was… that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps for air. “I can’t believe ya said that right to their faces!”

“Glad to be of service,” you said with a grin, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d actually said all of that out loud. But judging by Vil’s pleased expression and Epel’s ongoing laughter, it had been worth it.

Maybe surviving this trash novel wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You’d barely had time to process how bizarrely normal your life as the villain’s fiancée had become when the next absurd isekai plot point decided to rear its ugly, trope-filled head again.

It all started at yet another lavish tea party. Honestly, you’d begun to lose track of how many of these events you were forced to attend. They all blurred together into a haze of polite smiles, floral patterns, and far too much sugar.

This time, you were seated next to Vil, who, as always, looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance painting. You, on the other hand, were trying not to spill tea on the new dress he’d insisted you wear. The dress itself was lovely, of course—Vil had impeccable taste—but the whole setting made you feel like you were constantly walking on eggshells. Especially since she was here. The heroine.

Today, though, you were determined to get through it without any drama. Just smile, nod, and let the heroine do her thing. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Everything had been going smoothly, too. The heroine, in all her sunshiney glory, was seated at the table, surrounded by her usual group of admirers. You had been doing a great job of fading into the background until someone—the hostess, perhaps?—brought up your previous adventures.

“Oh, didn’t you once accompany the Grand Duke to deal with that bandit problem on the eastern border?” the hostess asked, fanning herself with interest. “What a thrilling ordeal!”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of too many eyes on you. “Well, I wouldn’t say thrilling exactly…” you began, trying to downplay it, but your nerves had other ideas. “I mean, the heroine here was probably off rescuing some poor lost puppy while I was just, you know, holding down the real danger.”

The air went cold.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. The table fell silent, save for the quiet clinking of teacups being set down. Every eye was on you. The heroine’s wide, eyes blinked at you, full of hurt and confusion. And across from you, the second male lead—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—looked like he was ready to leap across the table and strangle you on the spot.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Why did you leave your filter at home?

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could, the second male lead slammed his cup down on the table, the porcelain rattling ominously. “You dare insult her honor?!” he roared, rising from his seat like some kind of vengeful storm cloud. “I will not stand for this!”

*Why did I say that?* You cringed internally, face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I-it was a joke—"

“No,” he declared dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “I demand satisfaction! A duel for her honor!”

You were still too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. A duel? Over this? All you’d implied was that the heroine wasn’t exactly… battle-hardened. Surely that wasn’t duel-worthy? This man was acting like you’d called his mother a turnip or something worse.

The heroine, ever the epitome of grace, tried to intervene. “There’s no need for—”

But Mr. Broody wasn’t having it. “No! Her honor has been besmirched, and I shall defend it with my life!”

Vil, who had been watching this spectacle unfold with an expression of mild disgust, finally rose from his chair. His cool gaze swept over the table, landing on the second male lead with all the intensity of a snake about to strike.

“If anyone’s honor has been besmirched,” Vil said icily, “it’s mine. And I will not allow my betrothed to be disrespected by the likes of you.”

You blinked up at Vil, stunned. “Wait, you’re going to duel him? Yourself?”

Vil turned his piercing gaze to you, and though his face remained calm, there was a glimmer of something softer in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I would never entrust such a matter to anyone else. Besides…” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve put an upstart in his place.”

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Was it getting hot in here?

The second male lead, apparently unaware of just how screwed he was, smirked triumphantly. “Very well! Let’s settle this once and for all.”

The duel was set for the next day in your estate gardens. You spent the time leading up to it pacing back and forth in your chambers, wringing your hands in nervous anticipation. Somewhere along the way, you’d decided that you needed to do something—anything—to support Vil. So you had spent hours learning how to embroider a handkerchief, your fingers aching from the effort. By the time you finished, you were practically shaking, but you were proud of the result.

You didn’t expect Vil to be touched, let alone notice that you’d worked so hard. But when you handed him the handkerchief just before the duel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You made this?” he asked, holding it delicately between his fingers, as if it were some priceless artifact.

You nodded sheepishly. “I figured, you know, for luck. Or to rub it in his face after you beat him. Whichever.”

Vil chuckled, his usually sharp expression softening. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He then noticed the small needle marks on your hands and frowned. “You hurt yourself.”

You quickly hid your hands behind your back. “It’s nothing! I mean, I’m fine. Just a few pricks here and there.”

Vil’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he looked almost… touched. He carefully tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

You didn’t swoon. Well, maybe just a little.

The duel was, in a word, ridiculous.

The second male lead strutted around like a peacock, his sword gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he swung it dramatically for the small crowd that had gathered. “Prepare yourself, Schoenheit!” he bellowed, pointing his sword at Vil.

Vil, on the other hand, looked utterly unimpressed. He barely glanced at the man before calmly removing his coat and handing it to you. “Hold this, will you?”

You took the coat with a nod, trying not to pass out from how effortlessly graceful he looked even in the midst of preparing for a fight.

The second male lead lunged forward with all the finesse of a drunken ox, his sword clashing loudly against Vil’s. For a moment, it looked like a real duel—until Vil, with a single fluid motion, disarmed the man in one clean strike. The second male lead’s sword went flying, landing in the bushes several feet away with a pathetic thud.

The crowd gasped, and you had to stifle a laugh. It had barely been five seconds, and the duel was already over.

The second male lead stood there, stunned, his hand frozen mid-air where his sword had been. He blinked once, twice, then turned bright red with embarrassment. “W-what?!”

Vil, ever composed, didn’t even break a sweat. He sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold, dismissive look. “This duel is over. Consider your demand for satisfaction... fulfilled. Now, kindly leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as the second male lead sputtered and tried to come up with an excuse, but it was clear to everyone that he had been utterly humiliated. Even the heroine, standing off to the side, looked like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

As the second male lead stumbled off, defeated, Vil turned to you and offered his hand. “Shall we go?”

You took his hand, still trying to process how easily he had won. “You were amazing,” you blurted out, your heart fluttering as you gazed up at him. “Seriously, that was… wow.”

Vil smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Of course I was.” He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I expect a proper reward later for defending your honor.”

Your face went beet red, and you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Yep, you thought as he led you away, his hand still in yours, surviving this trash novel might not be so bad after all.

It happened at one of those overly extravagant banquets the royal court liked to throw. You spotted Neige from across the room, all bright eyes and an innocent smile. He was the epitome of purity, as if his very presence could summon woodland creatures to frolic at his feet.

And you hated him on sight.

You watched in disbelief as everyone around him melted into puddles of admiration. He was practically glowing, and his overly cheerful, squeaky voice was grating on your ears.

The overly saccharine male lead stood there, looking like a cross between a baby bunny and a sentient cupcake. Everything about him screamed "pure-hearted." You nearly gagged on your drink, hoping no one noticed your grimace.

Vil noticed your sour expression and leaned in. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s him, isn’t it?” you said through clenched teeth. “The one I used to follow around?”

Vil followed your gaze, and for a moment, his lips twitched in the faintest show of amusement. “Yes. That’s Neige.”

You snorted. "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would prefer him over you."

Vil's lips curled into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice was silky, dangerously low, but you could see the flash of satisfaction behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you muttered, still glaring in Neige's direction. “I mean, look at him. He’s so… good. And not in a ‘wow, what a decent person’ way. It’s like he’s one bad haircut away from sprouting fairy wings and breaking into song.”

Vil let out a low chuckle, right next to you ear, (Lord, have mercy) the sound sending shivers down your spine. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way about him. You’ve been fawning over Neige for as long as I can remember.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up. “That was the old me. The dumb me. I mean, have you seen you?” You gestured dramatically toward him. “How could anyone even look at Neige when you exist?”

Vil was quiet for a moment, watching you intently. His violet eyes glinted with something unreadable, but you could tell he was pleased. Oh, he was very pleased.

“You certainly have changed,” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. “And I must admit, I find it rather… delightful.”

Before you could respond, a very familiar voice rang out from behind you. “Ah! What a beautiful reunion this is! A moment filled with l’amour, sparkling like the stars in the sky!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Rook Hunt appeared seemingly out of thin air, his hands dramatically clasped together as he beamed at you both. “I have seen many couples in my lifetime, but none quite so radiant as you two.”

You blinked, trying to recover from his sudden appearance. “Rook… were you just… hiding in the curtains again?”

Rook, ever the dramatist, placed a hand on his heart and smiled wistfully. “Ah, but how could I stay away when the beauty of your love draws me in like a moth to a flame?”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “Rook, you’re not helping.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Rook insisted, twirling in place with a flourish. “I am merely basking in the glow of what is surely a love for the ages! The way your eyes meet, the subtle tension in the air—it is magnifique!”

You sighed, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but chuckle at Rook’s antics. Meanwhile, from the other side of the ballroom, Epel was watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. He caught your eye and shot you a grin, raising his glass as if to say, Good luck with this.

But the fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Neige, the human embodiment of a children’s choir, started making his way toward you. As he approached, his bright eyes locked on yours, his smile so innocent and wide that you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.

Almost.

“Good evening!” Neige greeted you, his voice as sweet as sugar. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to properly meet.”

You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

Neige blinked, clearly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm. He probably wasn’t used to people not immediately falling at his feet. “It’s truly wonderful to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You squinted at him. “Mm-hmm.”

Vil, standing beside you, looked positively elated. You could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of him. He wasn’t even hiding his smile anymore.

Neige continued, oblivious to your complete disinterest. “I’m so glad we’ll have the chance to spend time together in the coming months! I hope we can—”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” you interrupted, turning away and pointedly ignoring his very existence.

Neige blinked again, looking like a lost puppy. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Vil, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. His arm slipped around your waist, his touch gentle. “I must say,” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ve never enjoyed one of these balls quite so much.”

Yup, maybe this novel isn't that trashy after all?

Everytime you think this novel might not be that bad, it manages to prove you wrong.

The day had finally arrived: the Founding Day Ball. The event to end all events, where the kingdom’s most distinguished were honored in a grand ceremony. And, of course, at the top of the list of honorees was Vil, who might as well have been carved into the actual history of the kingdom itself with how perfect he was.

As his partner for the evening, you were dressed to the nines, dripping in elegance you didn’t even know you were capable of. When you caught your reflection in one of the massive ballroom mirrors, you had to do a double-take.

"Who is that?" you whispered, eyes wide. "Oh. It’s me."

Honestly, if there was a chance of impressing anyone here, you were impressed with yourself.

The ceremony went as expected. Vil was awarded the highest honors, his name met with thunderous applause as he gave a speech that left the crowd swooning. You found yourself half-clapping, half-gawking, wondering how this man kept getting more perfect. Like, was he actually human?

But as the evening progressed, the dreaded scene you despised the most crept into the evening, like a bad smell at a gourmet dinner.

After the ceremony, it was time for the opening dance. Naturally, Vil, being the epitome of grace and nobility, was the prime candidate to lead it. You were fully expecting him to ask you, but before he could even turn in your direction, the heroine — yes, that heroine — appeared out of nowhere, like she was materializing straight from the pages of the worst romance novel ever written.

“Vil,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey and broken promises, “I trust you’ll grant me the honor of the first dance.”

You blinked. *Excuse me?*

She said it so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion, like she was used to the world revolving around her whims. It was the equivalent of someone just cutting the line in front of you at the store and expecting applause for their audacity.

Vil, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression was as cool and elegant as ever, but you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice smooth and polite, “I already have a partner for the first dance.”

The heroine’s face froze in a way that almost made you choke on your own breath. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, as if her brain couldn’t process the fact that someone had just told her no.

You, too, were a little stunned, for a seperate. Was she actually planning on throwing a tantrum right now? In public? At a literal state function?

“B-But you always dance with me,” she stammered, voice rising in disbelief, her face turning an alarming shade of pink. “I’m supposed to be your first dance!”

You physically had to stop yourself from snorting. Always? He has never even looked at her for longer than five seconds! You couldn't recall a single time Vil had given her anything beyond basic pleasantries. The only reason she’d be in his line of sight was because she was constantly putting herself there.

Vil’s lips twitched slightly, though whether it was out of irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “I don’t recall ever dancing with you,” he said calmly, as though she were discussing someone else entirely.

The heroine blinked, clearly taken aback. “W-What?”

Vil’s voice dropped to an even icier tone, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “In fact, I dislike the very idea of it.”

The heroine made a strangled sound behind you, like a baby bird trying to scream.

You looked around the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to pop out, because this had to be a prank. Who acts like this?!

And as you floated onto the dance floor with Vil, you couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute insufferable nature of the scene you’d just witnessed. This was, without a doubt, the moment that solidified your hatred for the trash-tier novel world you’d been trapped in. People like her actually existed here?

Behind you, the heroine stomped her foot like a petulant child, completely ignored by the crowd. It would’ve been almost sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

And as you twirled under the chandeliers, feeling Vil’s warmth beside you and the heroine’s tantrum echoing faintly in the background, one thing became crystal clear:

This novel may have been trash, but at least you were the one dancing with the prince of perfection.

It hit you like a ton of bricks one day—completely out of nowhere. You had been sitting in Vil’s study, watching him work. He was meticulously going over some documents, his brow furrowed in concentration, his golden hair falling perfectly in place despite him having been there for hours. You were supposed to be reading through some kingdom protocol book, but instead, your gaze kept drifting over to him.

He’s so… beautiful.

You blinked, the thought suddenly snapping you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

Wait…

Your eyes widened. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

You slammed the book shut, startling Vil from his work as you stood up abruptly. “I-I need some air.”

Vil raised an elegant eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden panic. “Something the matter?”

“No! Nothing’s the matter!” you said, far too quickly, your voice an octave higher than usual. You stumbled over your chair in your haste to get out of the room, nearly tripping on your own feet. “I just—need to—um—fresh air, yes, exactly!”

Before Vil could say anything else, you bolted from the study and down the hall, your heart racing as though you’d just run a marathon. You darted into the nearest empty room and pressed your back against the door, your mind swirling with confusion.

Am I falling for him?

You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified by the realization. “No… no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m in love with a character from this awful, brain-numbing novel?”

You slumped against the door, groaning as the full weight of the situation sank in. How could this happen? How could my first true love— you gagged at the phrase —be from this trash novel?

There was no escaping it now. The butterflies in your stomach every time Vil looked your way, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled, the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be close to him… it was all painfully obvious.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of embarrassment in this ridiculous world.”

And the worst part? It wasn’t even one of the good isekai novels. You’d somehow gotten stuck in what could be considered objectively the worst one, and yet here you were, head over heels for a character who—against all odds—turned out to be the most amazing person you’d ever met.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself, sliding down to the floor, your head falling back against the door with a thud. “I'm in love with Vil. I’m doomed. Completely doomed.”

“Mon Dieu! What a revelation!” a voice suddenly rang out from the shadows.

You yelped, whipping around to see none other than Rook Hunt—perched in the corner of the room like some kind of overly dramatic bird of prey, his hat casting a mysterious shadow over his eyes. His entire being radiated excitement, and you swore you saw actual sparkles in the air around him.

“Rook?! How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough, my dear,” he said, voice hushed with reverence, as though you had just confessed your deepest, most tragic secret. “Ah, love! The torment, the longing! The exquisite despair you must be feeling!” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm. “But fear not, mon ami, for I, Rook Hunt, shall be your faithful cupid! Together, we shall make Vil see the truth of your affections!”

You blinked, stunned. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s—"

“Ah, but you must!" Rook declared, swooping down to kneel dramatically before you. “Love, once realized, must be pursued with all one’s passion and determination! Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers like sand in the wind! I shall assist you!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sheer intensity of his expression made you falter. Rook was looking at you like this was the most important mission of his life.

Honestly, what did you have to lose at this point?

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Help me, Rook.”

Rook’s grin stretched so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Excellent! This will be an adventure for the ages!” Before you could even process what you’d agreed to, Rook leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “But we will need more help. A certain someone with a youthful spirit and just enough mischievousness to add that je ne sais quoi to our plans.”

Oh no.

Cue Epel.

“What the hell are you ropin’ me into?” Epel grumbled as Rook dragged him into your predicament not five minutes later.

“I have volunteered you for a most noble cause, mon petit pomme,” Rook said, not even breaking stride as he swept Epel into the room. “Our dear friend here is head over heels for our Vil, and we are going to help them win his heart”

Epel paused, blinking at you in disbelief. “Wait, Vil? That Vil?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Vil’s office was.

“Yes, that Vil,” you said flatly, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this point.

Epel gave you a dubious look. “And you agreed to let Rook help you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, fine. I’m in.” Epel shrugged, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it big.”

Thus began the most absurd, over-the-top, and borderline catastrophic schemes in an attempt to prove your love to Vil Schoenheit.

It started innocently enough. You wanted to make Vil his favorite tea. Simple, right? But Rook insisted that it couldn’t just be any tea. No, it had to be presented with an air of mystery and allure.

“Bring it to him while reciting a sonnet of devotion!” Rook suggested. “Declare your admiration with each step, so that he understands the depth of your feelings!”

“I’m not reciting a sonnet, Rook.”

Epel, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. “Or you could just… write him a note and leave it with the tea?”

That seemed normal. Rational. You’d take Epel’s advice. So, you snuck into Vil’s room, left the tea and a note on his desk, and slipped out before anyone noticed.

The next morning, Vil eyed you suspiciously over breakfast. “Did you leave tea in my study last night?”

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I see. How thoughtful.”

Then came Operation: Compliment Vil at Every Opportunity.

Rook, of course, insisted you be poetic. “Tell him his beauty rivals the very stars in the sky!”

“I’m not saying that.”

Epel chimed in with a much more straightforward approach: “Just tell him his hair looks nice. It’s always nice.”

But Rook’s enthusiasm was contagious, and before you knew it, you found yourself blurting out, “Your radiance is blinding today, Vil! Truly, I must shield my eyes from such ethereal beauty!”

Vil, who had been in the middle of inspecting his reflection, froze. His eyes darted to you, and he gave you a strange look.

“Are you… feeling alright? Did you perhaps get bitten by a stray Rook?”

You shook your head vigorously, your face heating up from how ridiculous you sounded. “Totally fine! Just… appreciating your beauty! Yep. Normal stuff.”

Vil didn’t say anything, but you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused—and maybe a little pleased—but more than anything, he seemed confused.

At least he didn’t think you’d lost your mind. Yet.

You were convinced this novel had it out for you from the beginning, but this? This was a new low. The memory loss trope, the final attempt to make your life as ridiculous as possible, had arrived—right on schedule.

You knew how it was supposed to go. You’d hit your head (a complete accident, obviously), wake up with no memory of Vil, and immediately make the worst decisions possible, like falling for that knockoff prince, Neige. Cue dramatic heartbreak, public humiliation, and eventual abandonment. Classic trashy novel shenanigans.

But apparently, the universe—or whatever cosmic force was in charge of your suffering—had decided to take a vacation after all the work it had been putting in. Because when you opened your eyes and saw Vil leaning over you, worry etched into his perfect face, instead of forgetting him, you were… immediately smitten?

What?

And it didn’t stop there. When he took your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles in that heartbreakingly tender way, it was like a light switch flipped. Your memories came rushing back, completely bypassing the whole convoluted plot about amnesia and bad decisions.

Because of course in this disaster of a novel, the solution to everything was true love's kiss. The most overdone, eye-rolling cliché in the history of romance, and yet here you were, living through it.

You almost laughed out loud. Of all the tropes this novel had thrown at you—evil fiancées, jealous heroines, duels for honor—this had to be the funniest. It was as if the universe had taken one look at your situation and said, “You know what? Let’s skip the suffering and go straight to the ridiculous happy ending.”

True love’s kiss. Really. This novel is mocking me at this point, you thought, fighting the urge to scream. But hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with more drama. And as Vil’s concerned gaze softened into a relieved smile, you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this was one trope you didn’t mind after all.

You'd almost given up on confessing. Maybe you'll just live like this forever, your fate was sealed. The novel clearly doesn't want you to tell him how you feel.

But there was another ball (because apparently that's the only place that nobility had be at in this novel. What was this? the 108th ball of the year?) You'd decided that you'll ask him for a stroll under the moonlight and just tell him.

Of course, the novel is not on your side. What's new?

The ball was going well—well, for you and Vil, anyway. You’d just finished dancing, and he looked absolutely stunning, as usual. You were basking in the afterglow of all the whispered praise and envious stares. That is, until you overheard someone bad-mouthing Vil.

Of course, it had to be the heroine’s best friend, who was apparently using this grand occasion to air her grievances.

“I just don’t understand why Vil is always so cold to her,” she whined, loud enough for everyone within a three-mile radius to hear. “She’s the saintess! She deserves kindness and adoration, not disdain.”

Cue the dramatic gasps from the crowd. Ah, here we go.

You shot Vil a look, but he merely shrugged, rolling his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to start any trouble. But you? Oh, you were about to flip the table on these idiots.

“Excuse me,” you began, stepping forward, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as you made your way over. “I couldn’t help but overhear your incredibly loud complaints about my fiancé.”

The heroine’s best friend froze, clearly not expecting you to get involved. You smiled sweetly, but your eyes were throwing daggers.

“Let me set the record straight. Vil isn’t cold to her because she’s the ‘saintess,’” you air-quoted the title, “He’s cold to her because she’s an insufferable brat who’s so used to getting her way that she throws a tantrum every time someone says ‘no.’”

More gasps from the crowd. You could see Neige stiffening across the ballroom, already sensing where this was going. But there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me started on you,” you pointed at the best friend, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re out here defending her honor like you’re some knight in shining armor when, let’s be real, you’re just as bad. You fawn over her like a lost puppy, expecting her to shower you with praise when all you do is enable her delusions.”

Vil, somewhere behind you, was probably trying not to laugh. But you weren't done.

“And as for your precious Neige over there?” you tilted your head toward the prince-wannabe, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “He’s not some perfect angel either. He’s just a guy with an unsettling talent for showing up at the most convenient times, with that same doe-eyed, clueless expression, making everyone feel sorry for him.”

You didn’t stop at Neige.

"And as for you," you said, spinning toward the brooding Duke of the North, the infamous second male lead, who had been leaning against a pillar, looking every bit the tall, tormented, handsome cliché. “You’re not fooling anyone either. You’re the king of melodramatic entrances. Always lurking in the shadows, trying to look mysterious, but really, you’re just sulking because no one’s paying attention to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you brooding? Again? Let me guess, you’re thinking about some dark secret that you’ll drop at the most inconvenient moment to make things worse for everyone, right?” You mimicked his deep, serious voice. “‘It’s the burden I must bear… alone.’” You threw your head back in mock agony, hands dramatically placed on your chest.

He straightened up, clearly offended, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And stop pretending like you’re some tragic hero,” you added, lowering your voice with a sharp edge. “You’re just a guy with commitment issues who sacrifices himself because you can’t handle the fact that the heroine doesn’t want you. Let it go.”

There was dead silence. You half-expected a chandelier to drop just for the dramatic effect. Even Vil had to look away for a moment, probably to hide the fact that he in tears, about to burst out laughing.

The heroine was slack-jawed, her best friend looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, and Neige… well, Neige just looked confused. As always.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and turned back to Vil, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe, as if he’d just witnessed some divine intervention.

You let out a satisfied huff and turned to leave. "Come on, Vil, I can't stand to be in the same room as these second-rate characters any longer, let's bounce"

Once outside, you saw Vil was still recovering, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think you may have traumatized half the ballroom.”

“Good,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “They deserved it. Especially that brooding Duke. ‘I sacrifice myself for the greater good.’ Ugh, give me a break.”

Vil chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. "Still, you didn’t have to go to such lengths for me."

You stopped in your tracks, spun around, and looked him dead in the eye. “Of course I did! I love you, Vil. I couldn’t just sit there and let them trash you like that.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. Oh. Well. There it was.

Vil’s eyes widened, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in your words. Then, without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, soft but sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had.

When he pulled back, his smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You love me,” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, a bit breathless from both the confession and the kiss. “Yes, Vil. I love you. Even with all your ridiculously high standards and obsession with skincare.”

Vil laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Vil pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist, and asked with a quiet, almost teasing tone, "Well then, since you love me so much... should we get married?"

You blinked, your brain taking a second to catch up. "Wait—what? Married? Like, right now?" You stared at him, heart racing, before suddenly, an idea lit up your face like a firework. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it. Let’s get married ASAP. Like, today. Right now. Do we even need a ceremony? We can find an officiant and—boom—done. Just tell me where to sign!”

Vil’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “Are you… serious?”

You grabbed his hand, absolutely buzzing with energy. “Of course, I’m serious! Why wait? This dumbass universe keeps throwing garbage tropes at us, and honestly? Getting married right now is the perfect way to flip the script! Take that, fate!"

Before Vil could respond, an overly excited voice erupted from behind a nearby pillar. “Oh là là! Mon cœur can hardly handle this romance!” Rook leaped out from the shadows, practically sparkling with joy, as if he had been waiting for this very moment all his life. "The passion! The declaration of love! And now, a spontaneous wedding? Magnifique!”

“Rook!?” Vil’s voice was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying?” Rook gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Non, non, Vil! I was merely ensuring your well-being as any devoted friend would!” He gave a wink, clearly pleased with his role as an unintended audience.

“Me too!” Epel poked his head out from behind another pillar, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, who’d wanna miss out on somethin’ like this? Y’all are gettin’ married!”

Vil let out a long, tired sigh, but you could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you said, grabbing his arm again and dragging him forward. “We’re doing this, and it’s going to be the best wedding in this entire stupid book, Rook, Epel, you’re both invited. Wait, scratch that, you’re both in the wedding party now!”

“C’est incroyable!” Rook twirled dramatically, hands clasped together, already imagining his outfit for the occasion. “I shall be the most loyal and stylish groomsman! Oh, l’amour!”

“And I get to wear somethin’ fancy, right?” Epel asked, already envisioning something much cooler than his usual attire.

Vil was now fully grinning, his initial surprise turning into genuine amusement as he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You really are something else.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be your something else forever.” You beamed up at him, still holding onto his hand like you might drag him to the altar yourself right now.

“Well then,” Vil sighed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get married.”

Before you could even start plotting where to drag Vil to find someone to officiate, Rook suddenly gasped, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Mon dieu! How could I forget? I am more than prepared for this moment!"

You and Vil exchanged puzzled looks. "What are you talking about, Rook?" Vil asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Rook grinned, remviong his hat and and dramatically pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Behold!" he announced, waving the paper with a flourish. "A certified license to officiate weddings. I took the liberty of acquiring it long ago, knowing that one day I’d be the one to unite you and your beloved. C’est le destin!"

“You’re… licensed?” Vil blinked, looking at Rook like he had officially lost it. "And you're walking around with the license in your hat?"

Rook nodded with a dazzling smile. “Why yes, I’ve been preparing for this glorious day! Every flower petal, every gust of wind, every glance of love I’ve witnessed between you both has been leading to this fated moment!” He struck a pose, the parchment still dramatically held aloft.

You stared at him, then back at Vil. "Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but honestly? This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I kind of love it. Let's just let him do it."

Vil put a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Are we really doing this?"

“Yes!” you declared, squeezing Vil's hand. “If we’re going full chaos, we’re going all the way. Rook, officiate the hell out of this wedding!”

Epel, watching the entire spectacle, burst into laughter. “Only in this house, I swear…”

Rook practically sparkled with joy, bouncing on his feet. “Oh là là, it will be my greatest honor! I’ve been rehearsing my officiating speech in front of the mirror for months”

“Months?” Vil repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his tone.

“Mais oui! Every day, I’d wake up and say, ‘Today could be the day!’” Rook sighed dramatically, already tearing up. “And here we are. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Now, shall we begin? I have the vows prepared, unless you have your own?”

You leaned into Vil, barely holding back laughter. “I have zero regrets about this. Absolutely zero.”

Vil sighed again but couldn’t stop smiling. “Only you could make something this absurd seem perfect.”

Masterlist

Okay, this became way longer than I expected it to be but to be fair, i was on an extreme caffeine high and i'd just finished an assignment that had been beating my ass

[goldsbitch]

Not on the menu

Making out in public is not something to be shameful, right?

light smut, minors DNI, angst

note: this is my first Franco fic. this man came, served and what are we suppose to do?!

When it feels this good, it's worth breaking few rules.

You and Franco. Very well protected love affair. A fling. Just two young people who somehow end up in each other's beds whenever the opportunity arises.

Working in F2 as one of the production assistants was more exciting than one might think. Everyone would always praise F1, the size of the teams, the budgets, the glam surrounding it. F2 was different, more loose and less on the spotlight. Full of professionals, who just like drivers, worked their asses off just for a chance to progress into F1. But you were just so young, just starting and unlike with the drivers, you had no rush, plenty of time for that in the next years. It was all about learning, getting to know people and also, occasionally, having some good fun. It's hard to keep young people on a leash. Lot of travel involved, hotel rooms and many people mingling around, leads to just one thing. It wasn't special or albeit scandalous to fool around with a fellow crew member, in fact many marriages started like that, no matter the rank or department. Life on the road has its habits.

So when you first ended up on a dance floor with the ever-so-charming Franco at one of the opening events for F2, it was not such a surprise that you ended at his hotel room. Way less wondering eyes and almost no glam was at these evenings, the exact opposite of F1.

By some miracle, you managed to keep it a secret, apart from few closest friends, who served as an excuse for you two to actually hang out together. These few trusted souls witnessed their fair share of tipsy make outs and laughed collectively at your hickeys, which turned out to be his speciality. You never texted, never addressed your fling when sober. Deep down you knew you were curious to see how he was as a serious partner. But he never gave off that kind of a vibe. So you protected yourself, remained cool and decided that this was the peak your relation would ever be, and that was ok enough.

"So what about you and Franco?" a friend of you both asked you, once again. You hated when she did that. In her mind, it would be a great idea to have two of her friends together. But the truth was, she was way closer with him than you were. Nothing wrong with that, but it only reminded you of how shallow your interaction were. In order to keep you dignity while fooling around with a player, you pretended to be one as well. "You know how these things are, it's just physical. I don't think he's the kind of person I'd like to date." False. You knew that, but..! You stayed on the ground, he was just a bit out of your league. Simple as that. Soon enough he was gonna catch the eye of some model and you'll be old news. The whole thing would be way worse if anyone knew that you would actually be open to at least try and date him. It was hard to stop the daydreaming sometimes. "Yeah, that makes sense," was the only thing your friend, disappointed by your response, answered. You only wondered if she had conversations like this with him as well about you.

Life was good that one evening in August. At the time, you had no idea it will the last evening of that era. It was one of the typical dinners the wealthier members of the teams organized, a nice chill place to wind down after stressful days. You were sat few places from Franco, who was charming as ever. Raining smiles on everyone and stealing glances with you.

A text notification - Bathroom?

You gulped, locked eyes with him and gave a small nod. His smile was probably crafted specifically for you, somewhere in the depths of hell. Impossible to resist.

He got up and you followed a minute later, giving a knowing look to your mutual friend. She understood and happily covered for you in case someone else caught on.

It wasn't exactly the right thing to do, lock yourself in a room dedicated for nursing mothers. But better than blocking a bathroom.

"Aren't you a little old to be in this room?" you asked when you joined him and secured the door behind you. He was leaning over a counter, fingers tapping on the top. "I can't help it, I am hungry," Franco responded and gestured you to come closer to him. With a challenging look, you took few steps towards him. "This is a restaurant, you're at the right place."

"The things I want are not on the menu." He was done playing sneaking around and crashed his lips onto yours, as if to prove his hunger. He was just too good with his tongue. Taking you, like his little victim, making you forget the outside world still existed. His hand went to grab your neck, behind your ear, because by then he had figured out that keeping you in check was the thing that made your knees weak. His lips were locked with yours, in heated frenzy, not allowing any breath to be wasted. You knew how to play the game as well, and with a soft bite into his lower lip, drawing a gasp from him, you pulled away slightly, not allowing him to take full control. "Oh," he said, trying to steal another kiss from you while you pulled away more with satisfied smile. "Is this how it is now?" he continued, tone laced with intrigue and challenge. Your tongue reached to lick his lips once again. His hand suddenly lessened the pull towards him. "Oh, hermosa," he whispered, "two can play this game." Butterflies occupied your stomach. He stepped back and to your questioning look responded with another bloody wink. And then, then he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up in the air and sat on the counter. You gasped, only amusing him more. Lost for words, you only raised your eyebrows. "Better," he said and with audacity only young boys have lifted your shift up. Without much of a thought you put your arms up and helped him get you slightly more naked. His eyes were shamelessly focus on your chest. "Almost there," he said and gestured towards your bra. "Go on. Take this horrible thing off." You chuckled, because as charming and suave he was, taking a bra off was a moment where he failed each time. Desire fueled you into making this quick. Now that you were sat, his eyes were at a similar lever to your boobs and there was something hot about his hungry look, watching you undress even more. Once you were finally fully bare, he observed you and the locked eyes with you once again.

"Pretty," was the only thing that he said before putting his lips on your left nipple for a gentle peck and then on the right one, which received a light bite. He decided to stay focused on that one, few kisses here and there and began to suck on it while his hand pinched the left one. Arrows of pleasure flew into your lower belly. He knew your weakness, he must have because this was sending you into other dimensions. Anything that feels this ecstatic would make anyone crumble. Whatever he did seemed to always work on you. He wasted no time with gentle touches. Not enough time for that. After nearly sending you over the edge with his lips dancing around and sucking on your nipple, moved a bit upwards and went for his signature move - marking your breasts with hickeys so purple it would take a week to heal. You bend your head backwards, trying to contain any loud noises your body wanted you to make in reaction to his actions. Another twirl around your sensitive nipple, bite into your skin and a hard squeeze. You did not want him to stop, too deep in it to think straight. But that must have been his plan from the beginning, because he put you on edge and then back away. You almost let a soft "No..." escape your mouth. With a puzzled look you slowly came down and remembered you were still in public. Heavy breaths and you gulped your way back to normal. He stepped back a bit and observed his mark on you. With an approving nod, he had the audacity to fix his boner up so that it was not so obvious. "Looking forward to seeing you later?" he asked with a tone that indicated the answer was obvious. You just nodded and reached for your bra, hoping his hickey was low enough it would not be visible. But, he had never made that kind of a mistake. You hopped down and gave him one more kiss, a slow and gentle this time, before he parted back to the dinner table. You joined in a minute, after fixing yourself up and trying to make your cheeks less red. Thankfully, there was only one another amused person when you came back to the table. Your friend raised her brows at you and drank her wine as if nothing ever happened.

Everything shower, hair on point, favorite perfume - you were all set and ready for how the evening would inevitably progress. This time you even made sure to clean your room. You got too comfortable with your expectations. Watching his every move, you noticed immediately when his expression changed from a casual smile to focused frown when reading a text on his phone. Was it something serious? Would he confide in later, sometimes it happened by accident. Secrets shared among tangled sheets. He got up and sent you a cheeky wink. You had to bite your cheek in order to stop the smile your body wanted to respond with, a small bruise burning inside your bra.

It took you fifteen minutes to realize he was not coming back from his phone call. You had his number, you could easily text him. But you didn't. And just like that, he was off to F1.

[cainified]

did you just try to harm your lieutenant? 📏 *ೃ༄

pairing: simon ghost riley x afab!reader

cw: i suck at writing military debriefs or any at all , not proofread cos i’m scared ┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

It wasn’t by any means your fault that this meeting was so painstakingly boring. Mapping out plans Laswell for a small takedown, ensuring every little detail was covered just made you huff each time you passed a sheet back over to the table after a quick review.

It didn’t go unnoticed by your Lieutenant, his lips in a thin, straight line as he watched you carelessly sort through documents until reaching the right one, scribbling mess over the paper before sending it away. You would wince each time the paper would fly a little further than expected, reaching over the table to push it back into the pile, giving a sheepish smile to no one in particular.

It also wasn’t your fault when Laswell had left a ruler by your side as she explained the importance of the mission, her eyebrows furrowed as she pointed out each and every possible scenario she could manage to think of. The scratched at ruler, having seen better days, soon rested half off the table, your palm holding it down whilst the other gently pressed it down, producing a short brrrring before the sound fell flat.

Thankfully, the whirr of the computer behind you, (which in no way could have been up to date for the work you were dealing with) covered it up perfectly, allowing for you to continue with your quiet antics. Well, for a few extra seconds, anyway.

The silence that ensued went ignored by you, pressing the ruler down harder to see how far you could test it. "One... two..." You whisper under your breath; "We should scout out the p-," Laswell begins, turning over to face you.

Immediately, you startle from the change in volume, your palm lifting before you could stop the vibration of the ruler- it's almost as if the world stops as the ruler flings at Ghost, making a sharp clack against his hard mask before it falls to the table. You didn't know if you should thank God that it hadn't instead hit his face against the thin fabric of the balaclava he normally dons, but the sound it had made practically punctuated your fear instead.

Fuck. That's you out of a job for harming a Lieutenant, and probably living in a shroud of shame for the rest of your life.

Soap immediately holds his hand over his mouth, sputtering at your Lieutenant, earning a sharp slap upside the head before he turns to face you. It doesn't stop either him or Gaz from guffawing at the scene in front, but you badly wish it had.

Your face burns, blood rushing up your cheeks, almost trying to help engulf you into hiding from Ghost. You reach over the table, a sight for sore eyes, or really all eyes on the table, as you picked the ruler back up, sliding it over to Laswell.

"I-I'm.. so sorry." You whisper, your voice hoarse; if you had spoken any quieter, maybe it wouldn't have happened at all. With a shake of his head, Ghost interlaces his fingers, resting them onto the table. You weren't sure if the quiet was making the situation worse, forcing you to sit there, staring down at your lap.

"Well, apart from someone attempting to take out their Lieutenant, I think we should be ready for Thursday." Price states, his hands caressing over his mutton chops before he stands, thanking everyone, gathering up the papers to slip into a plastic folder.

You abruptly stand, your head tilted down as you brushed by the three other men; if neither had seen the annotated documents still scattered on the table, they would have believed that you were never there.

Ghost turns around, ignoring Soap’s short comment, stalking behind you, leaning forward to grip your wrist once you were both out of earshot from the meeting room, “What’re y’playin’ at?” He asks, gruff with slight concern, his head tilting to the side, his shadowed eyes gashing through you like a laser.

You step back, as far as you could make one step count, giving Ghost an incredulous look. You hesitate to respond- your eyes droop down to see the moulding of his dark green shirt against his damp skin from having trained with a few rookies before the meeting.

“..It really was an accident, I’m sorry. I just get a little distracted sometimes, won’t happen again Lieutenant.” You mockingly raise two fingers, saluting him to try defuse the tension; or to make it seem a lot less worse than it did. Was it working? Absolutely not.

A bemused smile curls against Ghost’s mask - you’d be thankful you couldn’t see it if you knew- as he drops his hand, wringing his own together. Bounding down the hall, Soap claps his arm around Ghost’s shoulders, still having that half-playful, half-serious look about him. “Ye’ alreet there, hen?” He directs to you, holding up the ruler that had just attacked your Lieutenant.

Just the thought of sending a flying ruler straight at Ghost’s face makes you groan, your hands instinctively coming up to hide your face, “Soap, put that down.” Your words come out slightly muffled against your hands before they rubbed down your face, but before you could reach out to grab it, Ghost takes it, glancing over at the plastic as if it was a precious gem.

“I’ll take it, I need a new one anyway.” He slides it into one of the many pockets adorning his trousers, nodding at Soap before walking off, leaving you a little stunned. Right.

wait this is my first ever post sigh was it a flop .. thinking of doing a part 2 cos no way is reader getting away with attempted murder of a lieutenant!!!!! wink wink

taglist: (but it’s just my friend sob) @thewrstinme

[holylulusworld]

Compensation (3)

Summary: No one messes with Walter Marshall.

Pairing: Mobster!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader

Warning: angst, a lil plot twist, scared reader, fluff, possessive Walter, language

Compensation (2)

“I know it’s not your apartment, but please, make yourself home, princess,” Walter murmurs as he follows you inside the guest room. It’s not far away from the master bedroom, the one Walter inhabits.

The luxurious bedroom looks bigger than your former apartment. It’s part of his well-designed home. Everything in the room looks brand new and expensive. From the vanity table to the chaise lounge. There is a velvety, high-end carpet placed under the luxurious four-poster bed.

“I know you must be tired, but let me give you a tour,” he says and wraps one arm around your shoulders. Walter guides you toward a door on the other side of the huge room. His warmth is almost unbearable. You want to bask in it and feel safe, but you can’t.

Walter drops his arm from around your shoulders to point at the door.

“Walk-in wardrobe. Through the other door is a bathroom, with a shower, a bathtub, and everything you’ll need.”

You can't find your voice, so you nod. Everything is just too much. Your boss killed a man for you. Your home got destroyed. And now he wants you to live with him.

Why? You have no clue.

“How about you take a warm bath and get settled in? I’ll be right next door, Y/N. If you need anything, the door to the left is mine.” He smirks when you look up at him with big, wide eyes. “You’re safe here. Nothing will happen to you on my watch.”

He finally steps away, letting you breathe. Walter looks you all over again, humming as you look adorable in his sweater. It’s too big for you and reaches your knees.

“Thank you,” you murmur; it’s all you can do. “For everything.”

Walter hesitates for a moment. He stares at you for what feels like hours before he cups your face with his right hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll have everything you need. Get some sleep now.”

And then he turns around to leave you even more stunned. You can still feel the warmth of his hand on your skin when the door shuts behind him.

You stare at the door for a little longer before you turn toward the walk-in wardrobe. Opening the door, you gasp. You expected it to be empty, not filled with clothes.

You slowly walk inside, glancing at the pretty clothes. Dresses from designers you only ever saw in fashion magazines, soft sweaters, and shoes in every form. Nightgowns, pajamas, even socks. Everything is your size.

“That’s impossible,” you grab one of the sweaters, frowning because it’s brand new. “How can he know my size?” Even if Walter knew your size, how did he manage to get so many clothes in such a short amount of time?

You’re overwhelmed once again. Stumbling out of the wardrobe, you make your way toward the bathroom door. Maybe if you splash cold water on your face, you’ll wake from this dream.

“I said no!” Walter barks on the phone. “I don’t want to meet up tonight or any other night.” He makes a face as one of his regular sex dates purrs filthy things. “Stop that, or I’ll make you stop. Never call me again. I have someone now."

He hangs up the phone, immediately blocking her number.

“You have someone now?” Rachel cocks a brow. “I didn’t know you’re dating. When did that happen?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Walter waves her off, not in the mood to explain his love life to her. “I’m not into Chanel any longer. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.” She shakes her head. Rachel tries to stay professional, never getting involved in her boss’s private life. “I was just wondering if you need us to protect the new woman in your life.”

“She’s not for you to worry about.” He dips his head to glance at Rachel. “I need you to check on the whereabouts of Y/N’s ex-boyfriend. Find me some dirt I can use against him. That fucker has to stay away from her.”

“Why not find a final solution?” Rachel questions. “I can send someone to get rid of him.”

“The cops would connect the dots, Rachel. Y/N works for me. She lives at my place. Suddenly her ex disappears?” He huffs. “We cannot risk drawing too much attention toward us and our business.”

“Got it, boss. I’ll find all the dirt you want.

Opening the cabinet in the bathroom, you frown. There’s lots of makeup, creams, lotions, and everything you could wish for. Everything is unopened.

The expensive shampoo and conditioner are the ones you always wanted to try. You shake your head. How could Walter possibly know about all that?

No. He can’t. Maybe one of his girlfriends liked the brand, and he had some left to give to you. This must be it. Everything else doesn’t make sense...

You decide to forget about what happened and do what Walter told you to do. You’re going to take a warm bath and try to get some sleep.

“No!” You wake up screaming. The soft blanket clutched to your chest, you stare at the door when it bursts open. Walter storms into the room, a gun in his hands.

“Princess?” He steps inside your room, looking for an intruder. “What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone try to hurt you?”

You’re panting heavily, close to panicking. “I-I…he…” You shake your head, and Walter sighs. He had hope you’re going to heal knowing the man attacking you is dead. How foolish of him. Of course, you won’t get over what happened so easily.

“It was a nightmare,” he concludes and steps even closer to your bed. Walter looks at you, clinging to the blanket. “Do you want me to stay?”

He presses his hands to his sides to not scare you even more. You look at him, wrinkling your forehead. “I can sleep on the floor or on the chaise lounge.”

Dipping your head, you look at the small chaise lounge. A huge man like Walter could never sleep comfortably on the furniture.

“I don’t know,” you tug at the blanket, eyes darting from Walter’s face to the gun in his hand. “Would you?”

“Sure, princess,” Walter murmurs your name as he secures his gun. He puts it on the nightstand before he turns to close the door. You’re nervously chewing on your lower lip. Your boss is crawling under the covers to lie next to you. His big hands reach out for you to bring you into his arms.

You go stiff when he nuzzles his face in your neck. “I’m here, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe with me, princess. Always.”

“Okay, Walter wants the dirt. Get it!” Rachel barks orders at the tech nerd they hired some months ago. “Oh, and do me a favor.” She runs her hand over Jensen’s back. “Check on Y/N Y/L/N and her father too.”

“Why?” Jensen frowns. “The boss wanted me to do the same months ago. I thought he was satisfied with the information I gave to him.”

Rachel frowns deeply. “Months ago?”

“Yup. Boss wants me to check on every employee, but damn, he even wanted to know about her favorite ice cream.” Jensen grins before typing away on his keyboard. “Does he want me to print him everything again? I bet he accidentally threw it away.”

“Can you send me everything to my account?” Rachel asks. “And not a word to Walter. I want to check on her background again. I need to be sure he didn’t overlook an important detail.”

“Not much to find out about her,” Jensen shrugs. “Her parents died in an accident. Nothing interesting or fishy about it. She’s a single child. Do you want me to continue?”

“Her parents are dead.” She frowns deeply. "Compensation, my ass!” Rachel exclaims before glaring at Jensen. “I want everything you got on her, her parents, and everyone she ever talked to. If you tell Walter about this, I’ll cut your tongue out!”

You fell asleep faster than Walter expected. His warmth and two strong arms wrapped around you made you feel safe.

“I’ve got you, princess.” He murmurs in your neck. “I knew when I saw you that first day after you came to my town that you’re going to be mine.”

Walter closes his eyes to allow himself to get some sleep too. He regrets nothing. Having you finally in his arms was worth all the effort.

The only thing he regrets is that he couldn’t stop the bastard from attacking you. Walter should’ve made a move on you sooner. Your attacker would’ve stayed away from you knowing you’re Walter Marshall’s girlfriend...

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part Three | Series Masterlist

Summary: tensions between Aemond and the pianist reach boiling point | Word Count: 4.6k~ | Warnings: smut, semi-public sex, forced proximity, mummy issues

There was a sense of unease about being awake at this time. An early riser, Aemond was, but even this was pushing it for him as he sat on the creaky bus, having to listen to the way plastic and metal jolted his bones with every little divot in the road, only amplifying the disquiet that was equally happening inside his head.

Glancing at his watch, the gold hands mocked him once more. 5:49 in the morning.

That morning, Alys had made her stance painfully clear: their encounters had to end. She seemed to realise that their relationship had become merely a means to an end, a way for him to escape his pressures. The implication that she felt used weighed heavily on Aemond, even though she framed her decision in practical terms.

"You need to focus on your music, not me," she had said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. It was a logical decision, one that should make perfect sense to a disciplined musician like him. Yet, as he turned her words over in his mind, they struck a dissonant chord.

The thought of facing Otto's incessant messages about organising a meticulous solo practice session, only to nitpick at his every perceived flaw, was unbearable. So, Aemond sought refuge in the numbing scroll of social media, anything to ward off the encroaching silence of the apartment.

As his thumb flicked mechanically across the screen, a thought struck him, a reckless impulse that had been lurking in the back of his mind. He paused, his heart rate ticking upward with the audacity of what he was about to do. Swiping out of the mundane updates and into the search bar, he typed her name, the pianist who had so effortlessly invaded his thoughts and challenged his perspectives.

Her profile wasn’t hard to find, her public persona was as vibrant and engaging as her performances. There she was, in photos and tagged videos, her presence as dynamic online as it was in person. Each post, each snippet of her life and art, pulled him in deeper, her world unfolding before him through the glow of his phone screen.

The more he watched, the more he realised how much she had begun to permeate his thoughts, challenging not just his musical ideals but the very way he viewed his art. It wasn’t just professional curiosity, it was something more, something deeper. A connection he hadn’t anticipated, one he wasn’t sure he wanted, but also one he couldn’t seem to deny.

He thought perhaps a nice, hot shower would clear his thoughts with heavy ribbons of steam, near-scalding his pale skin as droplets of water slid off his body. His hair clung to his neck, falling in strips around his face as he stared at his reflection on the drain cover. Sometimes he could not bear to even look at himself.

But even with his eyelids pressed tightly shut, he did not know peace.

He was sixteen again, standing on the stage of a packed auditorium. The applause had faded, and he was left alone with Otto, whose presence loomed larger than the praise had ever felt. Otto's face was stern, his eyes dissecting not just the performance, but Aemond himself. "That was adequate, Aemond, but only just," Otto had said, his voice cold and precise. "Your bowing was sloppy in the second movement. You must control every motion, every emotion." Aemond's hands had trembled with a mix of exertion and suppressed anger. He had poured his heart into that performance, felt every note resonate within him, but Otto saw only flaws. "Control, always control," Aemond muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the neck of his cello. Otto had caught the muttered defiance. "What was that?" he snapped, stepping closer. "If you have something to say, speak clearly, boy." "Nothing," Aemond replied, his voice low, but inside, a storm was brewing. Otto’s relentless criticism after every performance, his inability to see anything but the mistakes, Aemond felt like a vessel about to burst. That night, back at the music academy, in the solitude of the practice room, Aemond stared at his cello. The beautiful instrument, which had always been his voice, now felt like a chain. In a moment of blinding rage, a desire to break free from Otto’s relentless grip, he did the unthinkable. With a shout that echoed through the empty room, Aemond lifted his cello and smashed it against the floor. Wood splintered, strings snapped, a harsh, discordant noise that was the antithesis of everything he had been taught to produce. The destruction was quick, but the silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of what he had done. But didn’t regret it one bit.

Aemond opened his eyes, the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He had eventually replaced the cello, and Otto had never mentioned the incident, assuming it had been an accident. But something inside Aemond had changed that day. The act of destruction, though regrettable, had been his first real rebellion, his first step toward finding his own voice amidst the oppressive expectations placed upon him.

Now, years later, as he considered reaching out to the pianist, he realised he was standing at another crossroads. Would he continue to conform to the stringent demands of his classical training, or would he dare to explore the emotional depth that she so effortlessly embodied in her music?

Stood there, beneath the stream of water that had now ran cold, Aemond felt the old, familiar stirrings of rebellion. This time, however, it wasn't about destruction but about discovery. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to smash through the invisible barriers he had erected around his music and his heart.

The loud chattering and messy runs of various instruments made it difficult to concentrate. She found herself blinking hard and tiredly, willing the exhaustion away. Lyonel Strong had yet to arrive to conduct today's practice, and so everyone had taken it as an excuse to not practise at all.

"Can you believe this?" Jason called out from across the room, his voice tinged with annoyance. He was leaning against the wall, his violin hanging loosely in his hand. "Lyonel's late again. We could have started at least half an hour ago."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I know, Jason. But complaining isn't going to make him appear any faster."

Maris, with her fiery red hair and a perpetual scowl, was plucking at her strings, each note more discordant than the last. "It's not just Lyonel," she snapped. "Half of you can't even play your parts right. Couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery.”

The others chimed in, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of complaints and criticisms. Jason and Maris continued to bicker, their frustration with each other and the situation palpable. She tried to mediate, her soft voice lost in the din, while others muttered under their breath or joined in the argument.

The pianist tuned out the noise, focusing instead on marking her music sheets. She meticulously made notes, adding small annotations to help guide her through the piece. The process was calming, a small island of order in the midst of the chaos around her. She could hear snippets of the ongoing argument, but she chose to ignore them, her mind drifting.

Their band was a far cry from Aemond's. His ensemble operated with a precision and unity that seemed almost unattainable for her group. Every member of his band knew their role, their place, and they worked together seamlessly. In contrast, her band felt like a collection of individuals, each with their own agenda, their own frustrations.

When Lyonel eventually decided to join them, having had his fill of several espressos, their practice could finally begin. The tension lingered, a constant reminder of the disunity that plagued them. As she played, her thoughts drifted to the upcoming competition, the inevitable clash with Aemond's band. She knew they needed to be better, to be more cohesive, if they were going to stand a chance.

"Can I have a word?" Lyonel asked authoritatively as she was packing her things away with practised efficiency. The room had cleared, others wanting to escape the confining claws of his teachings.

She nodded, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. "Of course."

Lyonel glanced around the now-empty room before speaking. "I wanted to talk to you about your solo performance."

She had known for a while that she would have a solo, but the way he said it now made her stomach twist with unease. "Yes, sir?"

Lyonel studied her for a moment longer, then sighed, his stern demeanour slipping. "Look, I know our chemistry as a band isn't perfect," he admitted, his voice softer. "But that’s exactly why we need you to shine. Your solo can elevate the entire performance. It can make up for the lack of cohesion."

She bit her lip, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "I understand the importance of my solo, but wouldn’t it be better if we worked on our chemistry as a band? If we played better together, maybe the pressure wouldn’t have to fall entirely on one person."

Lyonel’s expression hardened again, though not unkindly. "I know it’s not fair. But with the time we have left, we need to play to our strengths. And right now, you are our strength."

She wished he would address the root issue instead of putting all the pressure on her, but she knew better than to argue further. "I'll do my best," she said finally.

Lyonel placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of support. "I know you will. Just remember, it’s not just about you out there. It’s about all of us. We’re counting on you."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She stood there for a moment, letting his words sink in. The pressure was immense, but so was the opportunity.

“Music is in your blood, my dear.”

Memories of her family surfaced unbidden. Her father, a renowned classical musician, had always been a looming figure in her life. His talent and success were legendary, casting a long shadow over her own musical ambitions. Yet, despite his fame, he had left her mother for another woman within the same industry when she was still a child. The betrayal had torn their family apart.

Her mother, once supportive of her daughter's musical pursuits, had become bitter and resentful. The very sight of a piano seemed to deepen the rift between them. "You'll end up just like him," her mother would say, the words dripping with disdain. "Consumed by music and blind to everything else.”

Their relationship had deteriorated to the point where they barely spoke. Communication was limited to snotty texts, her mother’s disapproval seeping through every word. Her mother couldn't understand why she wanted to follow the same path that had destroyed their family.

On the other hand, her father would occasionally reach out, but his messages were infrequent and perfunctory. His busy schedule left little room for meaningful connection. When he did find time to call, his conversations were often laced with criticism.

She often found herself caught between two worlds, one that resented her passion and another that demanded perfection. She longed for approval, for a sense of belonging that seemed always just out of reach.

Her fingers hurt but she didn't care. She stood on stage, feeling like a million dollars, soaking in applause that rang in her ears, the first place medal cool against her chest. But as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for a familiar face, for her mother, she felt her stomach sink. Her heart pounded harder than it had during her performance, but for all the wrong reasons. The rush of victory, the adrenaline that should have been pumping through her veins, was rapidly replaced by a hollow feeling. She stepped off the stage, clinging to the hope that maybe her mother had just been late or stuck in traffic. Maybe she’d be waiting outside, apologising for missing the performance, but there nonetheless. She checked her phone, scrolling through her contacts until her mother’s name flashed on the screen. Her hands shook as she dialled. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail. The third call, the fifth, the eighth, it all blurred together as she wiped at her eyes. By the tenth attempt, her hands were trembling, and the high of winning was a distant memory. She dialled again, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. When the voicemail beeped once more, she paused, then finally spoke, her voice breaking. "I won, Mum…” She stared at her phone for a long moment before slipping it back into her bag. The title, the first-place medal,  they felt like nothing now.

Packing up her sheet music, she made her way towards the practice rooms, and as if on cue, a text buzzed in her pocket. With a sigh, she opened the message from her mother, bracing herself for the usual criticism.

Your father mentioned you have a competition coming up. 

She rolled her eyes. As if her mother had expected her to bite when that is the bait.

No ‘how are you’ or ‘how is music school’. No. It was always about how she had to not follow the same path as her father and not let music consume her like it had him.

Whenever her thoughts drifted to him, she found herself sinking into confusion. However distant he was, she still craved his approval. Longing for him to say he was proud of her. Just once.

She slipped through the doors with the hotheaded mindset that she would do better. Determined. But she halted when she heard the familiar whine of a delicate instrument she had come to know so well. If her shoes hadn’t squealed against the varnished, wooden floor, she wouldn’t have disturbed him from his practice. But like an animal primed for distractions, Aemond’s head whipped up from his cello, his expression hardening once he saw her.

“I have this room booked.”

She narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening. "Funny, because I do too."

Aemond's lips pressed into a thin line, his annoyance palpable. "You must have made a mistake."

She shook her head, stepping further into the room. "No mistake. Maybe you're the one who needs to check the schedule.”

She slipped her bag off her shoulder, searching it with her back turned to him. Her hands shook with frustration, the build-up of the day lingering with fire in her blood. She froze when she stared at her blue tinted screen, seeing that somehow…

Double booked.

“You're not going to leave, are you,” Aemond muttered annoyed.

She turned to face him, an eyebrow raised. “Why should I? I have as much right to be here as you do.”

Aemond smirked, leaning casually against his cello. “Is that how you justify it? Riding on the coattails of your daddy’s fame?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension, “the big famous musician embroiled in scandal. Must be tough living in that shadow.”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know anything about my family.”

“Oh, but I do,” he said, setting aside his instrument to taking a step closer. “Everyone does. It’s quite the story, isn’t it? Daddy leaves Mummy for someone else in the industry. Must be quite the inspiration for your music. I knew I'd seen your surname around somewhere. Turns out it was the tabloids.”

Her hands tightened, her nostrils flaring with irritation.

“Aw, sore spot?” he taunted, enjoying the way her eyes flashed with anger.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I am.”

“That arrogance is going to be your downfall one day,” she shot back.

“And your baggage is going to be yours,” he replied smoothly.

Without warning, she stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “You want to talk about family baggage? Let’s talk about yours.”

Aemond’s eyes darkened. The smile, victoriously wiped from his face. “Careful.”

“Why? Can’t handle it?” she challenged. “Maybe you throw accusations of daddy issues because you have them yourself—”

“Watch it.”

“Or what? You’ll keep me from practising? You’ll sabotage me?” she retorted, stepping closer. “You're a fucking coward—”

The door to the practice room opened abruptly, and the sound of footsteps interrupted their heated exchange. Without thinking, Aemond grabbed her arm and pulled her into the storage room, shutting the door quietly behind them. They stood in the cramped space, their breaths mingling in the darkness.

The footsteps in the practice room slowed, followed by the unmistakable murmur of voices. Aemond stiffened, his body going rigid against hers, and for a split second, all he could smell was her perfume and feel the rapid fluttering of her heart against his chest. The weight of the voices hit him hard, and he recognised them immediately.

Otto.

And Lyonel.

His heart pounded harder now, not only from the closeness of her body, but of the two men outside the door.

Otto's voice carried through the thin walls. “I trust you’ve got a firm hand on your group.”

Lyonel made a noise of agreement, but there was a subtle edge to his tone. “They're a bit disjointed, but not as much as I hear yours are.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched. Neither of them dared to breathe too loudly, straining to hear the conversation outside, but the pressure between them, physical and emotional, was unbearable.

“That is none of your business,” Otto's voice was guarded. Icy.

Aemond’s breath hitched, and she felt the sharp intake of air against her ear, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His hand slid to brace himself against the wall beside her, his body pressing more firmly against hers not out of seeking comfort, but simply because he had no choice.

“Hmm, your grandson I hear is a bit of a wild card.”

“He’s difficult, but I’ve trained him for this. He just needs focus.”

The footsteps shifted, and for a moment it seemed like they were heading toward the door of the storage room. Her mouth opened but Aemond’s hand shot up, covering her mouth as he leaned in even closer. His eyes widened in silent warning. 

Her pulse quickened.

"Your grandson is a good player," Lyonel said, a hint of frustration in his tone. "But from what I've seen, he’s too rigid. No room for improvisation. He might fall apart when things get unpredictable."

Aemond’s teeth clenched, his hand now gripping the edge of the shelf beside her. She could feel the tension vibrating off him, and she fought the urge to push him back and say something. But they couldn’t risk being heard.

“That’s why you’re counting on her, aren’t you?” Otto’s voice was quieter now, almost conspiratorial. “Your pianist, what’s her name again? She’s your only shot at taking the solo.”

Lyonel chuckled softly. “She’s going to win it for us. I have no doubt about that.”

The footsteps began to fade, the two continuing to speak about where the final performance would be held, and she heard the distant click of the door closing. Aemond finally released her, but the tension between them was far from gone. The room seemed smaller, the air heavier with the weight of everything unsaid.

She pushed against his chest suddenly, a sharp shove that didn’t budge him an inch. “What the fuck was that for–”

I am no fucking coward.

“Just stop fucking talking," he growled, cutting her off with a kiss that was as furious as it was desperate.

She felt the hardness of the wall behind her as Aemond shoved her against it, grounding her as he deepened the kiss, exploring with an urgency that made her breath hitch. Coupled with that was the hardness that pressed against her stomach. It was a fight in that of itself, the clashing of their lips and teeth only intensifying what was already a fiery dynamic.

There was something exhilarating about it. And as her fingers weaved into his hair, pulling him closer, no matter how small the gesture, it solidified the simple fact that he needed this. She was intensity personified. And he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, in his personal and in his musical life, combined in one dangerous cocktail that was her. It wasn’t only lust, it was an addiction to the thrill of the chase, the danger that came with being so close to her. His rival, his obsession.

He trailed kisses down her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat beneath his lips as she arched up against him in silent encouragement. But he was the one who pulled her legs around him, rucking her black skirt up to her hips and ripping ladders into her tights as he shoved them down her legs, his movements frantic and needy, as if he were a man starved of water. She was soft and yielding beneath him, yet there was a strength in her grip that intrigued him still.

Clothes. Fucking clothes.

He perhaps thought that if he tried to mould himself to her. If he could just be inside her for a moment, would he be able to understand her? To absorb her.

The urgency of their actions felt reckless, yet a part of him revelled in it. It was the kind of intimacy he craved, the kind that made him forget everything else. 

She gasped against his mouth as if completely not expecting the blunt head of his cock against her, his fingers having wrenched the gusset of her underwear aside to press against her bare skin. And she felt heat rise to her cheeks when she glanced down between them, watching the way his length glistened as he teased himself against her slit. The spontaneity of the moment meant that while she was not completely wet, it was embarrassing that she was at all.

She dare not look him in the face. He was doing this to prove he knew what he did to her. To let her sit in this feeling of resentment for responding to it.

And yet she would not admit how it stole her breath away when he firmly pressed into her. There was something exciting about the feeling of being partly unprepared. Her ego somewhat inflated that he simply couldn't wait a moment more. But the sting of it as he slid to the hilt reminding her that she would most certainly be sore the next morning.

He wanted her to feel it.

But equally, she wanted him to want it. And the breathy whimper he gave when he pulled back to push his hips back against her, made her think that he absolutely did.

And he didn't wait. His movements became frantic, each thrust igniting a fire deep within. Her breath hitched, and he felt a flicker of satisfaction at how easily he could provoke such a response from her. There were no words. If there were, they would have carried the same fire that had simmered for days, weeks.

Had it only taken weeks for him to crave her.

Her nails dug into his back, grounding him. And so his grip tightened around her thighs as he drove into her, as if holding on to her could tether him to something solid, something real. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the sharp gasps escaping her lips, the way she arched into him. And he knew, he knew this wasn’t just him.

They were both lost in it, both fighting against and succumbing to whatever this was. He wanted to hate her, to despise her for how easily she got under his skin, but in this moment, all he could feel was her, the way she wrapped around him, the way she pulled him deeper.

She wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, just another obstacle, another rival to conquer. But her taste was on his tongue, her scent filled his lungs, and her body felt like the answer to a question he’d been too afraid to ask.

He raised his gaze from where they were joined, plunging into her with abandon, less about pleasure and now more about the release. 

Aemond's grip shifted, his hand trailing up her neck, his fingers curling gently around her throat. Not in a way that threatened, but in a way that demanded attention.

“Look at me.”

She hesitated for a beat, then her eyes flickered up, locking with his. A flush spreading over her cheeks, a soft pink bloom that travelled down her neck. His gaze was relentless, searching her expression.

Look at me.

He could see it now, the way her composure was slipping, the way she was coming undone beneath him. That small, vulnerable break in her guarded facade was everything, and it only drove him deeper into the need to witness her fall apart, to be the one who made her unravel.

Aemond felt the shift in her body first, the subtle tremor that ran through her as she neared the edge. Her head tipped back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as she finally surrendered to the intensity between them. He felt her body tense and then shudder as she came apart beneath him, the quiet, breathless moan escaping her lips like music. Soft, involuntary, raw.

It wasn't the feeling of her trembling around him, more the sight. He couldn't hold back any longer. His grip tightened around her hips as he followed her over the edge, his body trembling with the force of his release. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his breaths ragged, the tension that had been coiled inside him snapping with a fierce, undeniable rush.

After, they stood still, bodies pressed together, the lingering heat between them slowly dissipating. For a brief moment, as he felt her skin warm under his hands, there was a flicker of vulnerability. But as quickly as it came, it was drowned out by something darker. Regret. A sharp, suffocating regret that sank deep into his chest.

He had given her power. Ammunition. She could use this, twist it, turn it against him. The walls he had carefully built around himself felt as if they had cracked in her presence, and that thought made him recoil internally.

She let out a quiet breath as he pulled away, feeling the loss of him instantly, followed rapidly by the warmth dribbling down her thigh. His hands worked swiftly to do up his belt, his movements mechanical and detached. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn't let her see the conflict etched across his face.

If he had looked. He'd be more irritated by what he saw.

She stood there, half-naked and breathless, the flush of their shared moment still on her skin. He didn’t stop to think about how she might feel, the confusion, the embarrassment, the sense of being used. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter.

She was never going to see that side of him again.

Without so much as a glance back, Aemond turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone in the suffocating quiet, half-naked and stunned.

Aemond snatched up his cello as he left.

Leaving her behind, vulnerable and half-dressed, he had merely traded one form of destruction for another. But he’d rather face the self-imposed torture of his strings than the unpredictable vulnerability of human connection.

Swapping one prison for another, the cello felt safer. At least this was a pain he knew how to manage.

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

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@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[cheynovak]

Complicated

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N, a young personal assistant to Soldier Boy (Ben) and Crimson Countess, is caught in a whirlwind of events that shatter her sense of stability. After accidentally witnessing an intimate moment between Ben, Crimson, and another woman, she’s left shaken and unsure how to process it. The following day, Crimson casually invites her to join them, which only adds to Y/N's confusion.

Warnings: 18+ Threesome, cheating, smut

English is not my first language 

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

part 2/?

I drove back to my office, not knowing where else to go. My, our apartment was no longer a refuge—it was tainted, just like everything else. The small couch in my workspace was uncomfortable, but it was better than facing the wreckage of my life back home. I curled up on it, hugging a pillow, tears silently streaming down my face. I had never felt so alone.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, crying even in my dreams. Every now and then, I'd wake up to the sound of my own quiet sobs, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

At some point in the night, I felt something, someone, touching my hair. I stirred, disoriented and groggy. For a split second, I thought maybe it was a dream, but then I saw him.

Kevin.

He was standing there, his hand gently stroking my hair as if he had every right to be there, as if nothing had happened. The sight of him sent a surge of anger and panic through me, and I bolted upright, screaming.

"Get out! Leave! Now!"

Kevin looked shocked, he tried to calm me down while I kept yelling, he was telling me all the things he thought I wanted to hear, pretending this was the first time he cheated but that was a lie, I knew it deep down.

Then I heard a deep, calm voice from behind me.

"Is there a problem here?"

I turned, and there he was, Soldier Boy. My screaming must have been so loud he heard it at the top floor where his penthouse was. Or he's just happened to walk by.

His imposing figure stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression hard. His eyes shifted between Kevin and me, quickly assessing the situation. He must've noticed my red, tear-streaked face because his gaze darkened, and I could see the tension ripple through him.

Kevin opened his mouth, likely to make some excuse or explanation, but Ben cut him off with a single, cold command.

"Leave."

The word hung in the air like a threat, and Kevin hesitated for only a second before backing down. He gave me one last guilty look before slipping out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

I was still sitting on the couch, my body tense, my mind reeling from everything that had just happened. Ben stayed standing for a moment, watching me. He wasn’t smiling, his usual cocky, teasing attitude gone. Instead, his expression was unreadable, almost concerned.

After a long pause, he walked over and sat down beside me on the couch. He didn’t say anything right away. The room was so quiet I could hear my own ragged breathing.

For the first time since everything had gone so wrong, I didn’t feel like I was drowning. His presence, solid and calm, was grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

As I sat there, tears still rolling down my cheeks, Ben shifted slightly beside me. Before I could react, he pulled me into his arms. My body tensed at first, but then I melted into the warmth of his chest, my cheek pressing against the firm muscle beneath his shirt. The quiet hum of his heartbeat was the only thing I could focus on as the sobs came again, uncontrollable and raw.

I didn’t hold back this time. I blurred out everything, the pain, the humiliation, the betrayal. "He cheated on me," I choked out between sobs, "and I was so stupid… I really thought he loved me." My voice cracked on the last word, and fresh tears poured down.

Ben didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer any comforting reassurances or tell me everything would be okay. He just sat there, letting me cry, holding me like he had no idea what to do but felt obligated to be there.

His arms weren’t tight around me, just loosely draped as if he were holding something fragile he didn’t really want to break but didn’t quite know how to handle. It was awkward in a way, like he didn’t want to get too close, but he didn’t want to pull away either.

For some reason, that made it worse. I felt small in his arms, insignificant, like this whole emotional outburst was just another inconvenience for him. I shouldn’t have cared, but it made me feel even more broken. My chest ached, my throat raw from crying, and I didn’t know what to say, so I mumbled the only thing I could think of.

“I’m sorry…”

I pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him, my face still wet with tears. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark, intense, watching me with something I couldn’t quite place. Before I could process it, before I could even think, his hand gripped my chin firmly, and suddenly, his lips were on mine.

It wasn’t soft, or tender, it was forceful, rough, a kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. My body froze in shock, my mind going blank as I registered what was happening. This wasn’t what I needed. This wasn’t what I had asked for.

I almost leaned into it, almost let myself fall into the moment, but something inside me snapped back to reality. My hands instinctively pressed against his chest, pushing him away, breaking the kiss.

I pulled back, wide-eyed, breathless, and completely overwhelmed. I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Ben’s gaze was still locked on me, his breathing steady, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes something dark and unrepentant.

I didn’t know what to say. My mind screamed at me to leave, to run, but I was frozen in place, caught between fear, confusion, and the weight of everything that had happened.

Without thinking twice, my anger toward Kevin surged like a wave, and before I could stop myself, I crashed my lips back against his. The heat between us ignited quickly, our tongues battling for control, the intensity of it all erasing any hesitation I had just moments ago. It wasn’t about passion, it was about drowning out the hurt, the betrayal.

For a minute or two, we were lost in that raw, reckless kiss.

Then Ben pulled back, a glint in his eyes as he grinned, still holding my hand. “Let’s get you some revenge,” he said, his voice low and filled with something dark.

My breath hitched as he tugged me to my feet, leading me toward the elevator. My mind spun, still trying to catch up with what was happening, but part of me—part of me wanted this, needed this.

The idea of payback, of forgetting Kevin, made me follow without question. A night with Soldier boy was something a lot of women would sell their soul for.

When the elevator doors opened into his penthouse, I was hit with a rush of nerves, a gnawing feeling deep in my gut. The space was grand, just as I’d expect from Soldier Boy, but what made my stomach drop was who was waiting for us.

Crimson Countess.

She stood by the window, dressed in something slinky and red, her lips curling into a wicked smile when she saw us enter. "Well, you brought company." The knowing look in her eyes made it clear she knew exactly what was happening, what Ben had brought me here for.

My heart raced as realization hit me like a brick. This wasn’t just about me and Ben. His intentions became clear.

“Oh no, I… I’ve never done anything like this,” I stammered, feeling completely out of my depth, my skin tingling with a mix of fear and something I didn’t want to admit.

Ben didn’t miss a beat. He sat on the bed, leaning back casually, watching me with that same confident, predatory gleam in his eyes. Crimson stepped up behind me, close enough that I could feel her breath on my neck.

“That’s okay,” Ben murmured, his voice low, coaxing. “She’ll teach you anything you want. We can take it slow.”

I swallowed hard, my mind spinning. Everything about this felt wrong and right all at once, the pull of anger and the need to numb my pain warring inside me.

I had never been in a situation like this, never imagined myself here, but the bitterness I felt toward Kevin and the desire to hurt him the way he’d hurt me clouded my judgment.

Crimson’s soft voice whispered behind me. " This will be fun." Ben added “Don’t you want payback on, what’s-his-name?”

“Kevin,” I muttered, my voice shaky. My breath hitched as she lightly ran her fingers down my arm.

Ben smiled, his eyes gleaming as he leaned forward on the bed. “Right. And what better revenge than spending a night with not just one, but two superior beings?”

My pulse raced, my body caught between fear and something I didn’t want to admit. The temptation to get back at Kevin was so strong, the anger still boiling inside me. The words danced in my mind—payback, revenge, forgetting the pain—and I was so close to giving in.

Ben's eyes were locked on me, challenging me. Crimson’s hands lightly brushed my shoulders, her touch warm, inviting.

But was this really the kind of revenge I wanted?

--

The answer was yes.

I gave in to the pull of revenge, the need to drown out the hurt Kevin had caused me. Ben kept his word, taking it slow, easing me into a world I had never imagined I’d be part of. I had a little to drink first, and another, just enough to blur the sharp edges of my anxiety.

Crimson made the first move, her touch soft but confident. Ben just sat there, relaxed, watching me as I explored the sensation of another woman’s body for the first time.

Crimson was clear about what she liked, guiding me with a kind of experienced patience that made it easier for me to follow. I couldn’t say I truly enjoyed it, it was more surreal than anything. But my body responded, either to her touch or to the way Ben’s gaze burned into me as he watched, his eyes following every movement, every reaction I had, playing with himself while smoking a blunt.

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the way he looked at me, but after a while, I found myself giving in. When Crimson brought me to my first orgasm, my mind clouded with the strange mix of guilt and release. She smiled, satisfied with herself, and then leaned back, her voice sultry as she said, “I want to try something else, I'll be right back."

I was still lying on my back, catching my breath, my mind spinning in ways I couldn’t control. I looked up at Ben, feeling more exposed than ever under his intense stare.

Without hesitation, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up, straddling him in a swift motion that made my heart race. His hands slid over my naked form, fingers brushing my skin in a way that made me shiver despite myself.

"I thought you were a little nun," he teased, his voice low and teasing, his lips hovering near my ear. "A virgin waiting till her wedding night."

I bit my lip, my mind a mess of thoughts and emotions. The guilt, the anger, the desire to forget—it all mixed together until I couldn’t tell one feeling from another.

Ben's lips brushed my ear again, his voice even lower this time, dripping with confidence. "You need a man to really enjoy it, don’t you?"

I nodded quickly, too overwhelmed to speak. His grip tightened on my hips, and for a second, I felt like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something I couldn’t come back from.

Ben’s hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding me with deliberate slowness until I felt him pressing against me. In his hand he didn't seemed all too big, but brushing against me made me beg to differ.

Just an inch, and I gasped, my head falling back as a rush of sensation overwhelmed me. He was big, too big. My body tensed, trying to adjust to the feeling, but even through the discomfort, there was something undeniably intoxicating about it.

I could feel his eyes on me, the heat of his gaze as he studied my every reaction. His hands never let go of my hips, controlling my movements as he slowly pushed deeper, inch by inch. I tried to stay focused, my breathing ragged as my body started to respond in ways I wasn’t expecting.

My face was close to his now, my hands resting on his broad neck near his hair for balance, finger tugging at his hair. I could hear his breathing, steady but deep, as he helped me move up and down, guiding me to take him deeper, bit by bit.

The sensation was overwhelming, my mind a blur of thoughts and sensations. I couldn’t think about anything else, not Kevin, not the mess my life had become, just the way my body was reacting, the way Ben’s hands felt on me, the way he filled me. It was too much, and not enough all at once.

As I moved on him, Ben’s voice was a low, sultry murmur, sending shivers down my spine. “That’s it, just like that,” he encouraged, his breath warm against my ear. “Feel how good this is? You’re doing amazing.”

He shifted slightly, guiding my hips. “You’re so tight… just let go and let me take you there.”

I could feel his hands tightening on my waist as he thrust deeper. “You like that, don’t you? You were made for me.” His eyes locked onto mine, filled with an intensity that made me blush.

Ben’s voice was low and commanding as he talked, guiding my movements with an intensity that made my heart race. I caught a glimpse of his eyes flicking to something behind me—probably Crimson returning—but his attention remained solely on me. He was in control, and I was swept along for the ride, unable to dictate the speed or the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Just focus on me. Let me show you how good it can feel.”

Each word dripped with a mix of dominance and allure, making it impossible for me to resist. “I want to see you fall apart, to feel every inch of me,” he growled, urging me on as I lost myself in the moment.

As pleasure built, he leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re perfect like this. Just let it take over.” And when I finally reached that edge, he whispered, “That’s it… let go for me.”

With each deep thrust, I felt myself teetering on the edge, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through me. I lost track of time as pleasure built, wave after wave crashing over me until I finally tipped over the edge, spiraling into a blissful release. It hit me again and again, each pulse sending me higher, until finally, I felt him reach his own climax, his breath ragged against my skin.

As the aftershocks settled, I glanced at Crimson. She wore a look that suggested she wasn’t entirely pleased, but in that moment, I didn’t care. I was too worn out, my body buzzing with the remnants of ecstasy.

Eventually, I found a comfortable position on Ben's left side, feeling the warmth of his body next to me. Crimson settled on his right, and the exhaustion washed over me, pulling me into a deep sleep. In that moment, I let go of everything—the hurt, the betrayal—and surrendered to the darkness.

--

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[hoesluvjude]

Love Language || jude bellingham

Word count:1.3k

Genre:fluff

Summary:How jude shows his love to you

Masterlist

Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gently tracing the worn edges of the envelope. It was Jude’s handwriting, as familiar to her as the sound of his voice. Neat but slightly rushed, like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough before they slipped away. She smiled softly, already knowing what she’d find inside. It was their thing—one of the many small but deeply meaningful ways Jude had of showing his love for her.

She carefully slid a finger under the envelope flap, pulling out the folded sheet of paper. The faint scent of his cologne wafted up, a comforting, familiar smell that made her feel like he was right beside her, even when he wasn’t. Unfolding the letter, she settled back against the pillows, her heart fluttering with that familiar warmth she always felt when reading his words.

"To my one and only Y/n," it began, like every letter before this one.

"I know I say this every time, but I can never seem to find the right words to tell you just how much you mean to me. It’s funny, right? I can talk all day to the press, or during interviews, or even when we’re just hanging out with friends. But when it comes to telling you how I feel, the words never seem enough. So I write. I write because it’s the only way I know how to pour out everything I’m thinking, everything I’m feeling, without stumbling over myself."

Y/n smiled, her heart swelling as she read the familiar sentiment. Jude had always been a romantic, but his love letters were something special. They were his way of showing her the side of him that no one else got to see—the vulnerable, thoughtful, and deeply caring man behind the public persona. He didn’t write letters because he had to. He wrote them because he wanted to,because it was his way of showing her just how much she meant to him.

"I think about you constantly, even when I’m miles away, even when I’m on the field. You’re always with me, Y/n. In the quiet moments before a game starts, or when I’m lying awake at night in some hotel room, wishing you were there beside me, your laugh, your smile—it’s all I need to feel at home. You’re my home, Y/n."

Her throat tightened as she read those words. He had a way of making her feel like the most important person in the world, even when he was away on trips for his football career. No matter how far apart they were, he always made sure she knew how much she was loved.

This letter, like all the others, was filled with little details—memories of quiet moments together, thoughts he’d had about their future, and reflections on the life they were building together. Jude never shied away from being honest in his letters, and it was something Y/n cherished more than anything. Every line was a glimpse into his heart, and she knew how precious that was.

She folded the letter gently, placing it with the others in the small wooden box Jude had given her. It was handmade, of course—just like most of the gifts he’d given her. Jude had a habit of pouring his heart into everything he gave her, whether it was something he bought or something he crafted himself. He wasn’t the type to just grab a gift at the last minute. No, Jude was thoughtful, meticulous even, when it came to showing his love.

Among the things she cherished most were the white tulips he always gave her, her favorite flower. It had started with a single bouquet early in their relationship, back when Jude had noticed her stop at a florist’s window, admiring the tulips on display. Ever since then, he made it a point to bring her white tulips for every special occasion—and sometimes just because. Each bouquet came with a small note tucked between the stems, written in his familiar scrawl, reminding her of how much he loved her. Whether it was a big celebration or just an ordinary Tuesday, those tulips had become a constant symbol of his affection.

There was the delicate silver bracelet he’d given her for their first anniversary. Each charm on it represented something special—a tiny football to remind her of how they met, a small book to symbolize her love of reading, and a miniature star to represent all the late-night conversations they’d had under the night sky. He had spent weeks looking for each charm, finding ones that perfectly matched the memories they shared.

She glanced around the room, her eyes falling on the framed sketch on the wall. Jude had drawn it himself—a simple but heartfelt drawing of the two of them sitting by a lake, her head resting on his shoulder, the trees behind them swaying in the breeze. He wasn’t an artist by any means, but he had poured his soul into that picture, and she had cried when he gave it to her. It was a moment frozen in time, captured by his love for her.

It wasn’t just the big, grand gestures, though. Jude had a way of making the ordinary moments extraordinary. Sometimes it was as simple as bringing home her favorite flowers after a long day or surprising her with a playlist he’d made of songs that reminded him of her. Once, he’d even learned how to bake, just to surprise her with her favorite cake on her birthday. The cake had turned out slightly burnt, but the effort behind it had made it taste like the best thing she’d ever eaten.

Y/n’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from Jude. She opened it, her smile widening as she read his words.

"Check under your pillow."

Curious, she glanced at the bed, lifting her pillow to find another envelope tucked beneath it. She hadn’t even noticed it before. She grinned, shaking her head as she opened it, her heart already racing in anticipation of what he’d written this time.

"Surprise," the letter began."I couldn’t wait until I got home to tell you how much I love you, so here’s another letter for your collection. I hope you don’t mind that I keep doing this—I just can’t seem to stop."

Y/n laughed softly, her heart swelling with affection as she continued to read.

"I thought about getting you something fancy this time, but then I remembered you telling me once that it’s not about the price of the gift, but the thought behind it. So here’s my thought: you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make me better every single day, and I’ll never stop trying to show you just how much I appreciate you. You deserve the world, Y/n, and if I could, I’d give you that. But for now, all I have are these words, and my love, and maybe a few more of those weird wooden things I keep trying to make for you."

She laughed again, her eyes misting over.

"I love you more than I can ever say. So I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep giving, and I’ll keep finding new ways to show you that, because you deserve nothing less. Always yours, Jude."

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she folded the letter, holding it close to her chest. She didn’t need expensive gifts or extravagant gestures. Jude’s love was in every word he wrote, every carefully chosen gift, every handmade trinket, and every thoughtful act that made her feel cherished.

Jude was her love story, written not in grand proclamations, but in the quiet, heartfelt letters he left her, in the gifts made with his hands and his heart, and in the simple, beautiful way he loved her every single day.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way

[akataiii]

Go ahead and try (A Hawks x reader)

“It'd be so easy, you know?”

Tearing my eyes from the ballroom floor and casting my gaze to the right, I'm met by the sight of a smug-looking Kiki; a short woman with curly, purple hair and a pair of white dove wings residing on her back. She is also known as one of Hawks' most trusted sidekicks.

I turn my body so I'm facing her fully, readjusting my grip on the glass of champagne in my hand. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, tilting my head at her and quirking a puzzled brow.

“I'm sorry?” I ask, voice portraying the confusion I was feeling.

Kiki huffs, bringing her own glass of champagne to her lips and taking a languid sip while shifting her attention to the opposite side of the room. I follow her gaze, finding what, or rather, who she is staring at.

Hawks' pretty, red wings are unmistakable; standing out in the crowd and demanding immediate attention, almost as if screaming, ‘Look at me!’ And I did look. I always looked at my boyfriend.

I looked at how he gave his best every day, striving to be an amazing hero and somehow managing to muster up enough positive energy to make up for my lack of daily optimism.

Me and Keigo were pretty much two opposite ends of a coin, and yet we somehow worked together perfectly, making up that coin in perfect harmony each and every day.

“What I meant was,” Kiki starts, drawing my focus back to her, where she's taking another sip of her champagne. “It would be easy for me to steal Hawks from you,” she finishes, turning to look at me with a smug smirk.

I blink at her, momentarily stunned. Well, that came out of nowhere, I think to myself, (e/c) eyes widened in surprise. It doesn't take long for me to get over the initial shock though, instead letting out an amused huff before folding my arms across my chest, careful not to spill my champagne. 

“Well then,” I say, letting my features fall into a relaxed and unbothered expression. “By all means, have at it. Try your best,” I prompt, trying my best to suppress my laughter at the astonished look Kiki sends my way. 

“Seriously? Just like that?” She questions, looking slightly disappointed at not receiving any kind of negative reaction from me. “You're just going to give him up?”

I shrug, bringing my glass of champagne to my lips and looking over at Keigo’s bright, red wings again. “I don't see how it's necessary for me to put up a fight,” I reply, a faint smile grazing my lips as I catch Keigo laughing at something Mirko said.

“You have no respect for your relationship,” is the last thing I hear Kiki say before her heels are clacking loudly against the tiled floor, and she's marching away from me.

Nope, I think to myself, feeling smug and self-assured at my own thoughts. I just have that much faith in my boyfriend.

—

I stretch my arms above my head, hastily bringing one hand back down to stifle the yawn that slips past my lips. The cement of the sidewalk feels hard under my feet as I walk back towards me and Keigo's apartment, returning from the day at my boring, mundane, civilian job. 

I don't regret my choice of not becoming a hero. The whole flashy, saving people lifestyle just never suited me, and I was perfectly alright with that. Even if my job was mundane and void of any flashiness, it never failed to fill me with a sense of joy. 

How could I ever hate the flower shop I worked at when it's where I met my lovely boyfriend? I still remember the day Keigo came in, fresh on the job, and picking up the flower order for the grand opening of his hero agency.

Even if our relationship was rocky at first, filled with countless bickering and endless antagonizing (all from my end, oopsie), we ended up together and in love anyway, and I could never be happier than when I was by his side.

Of course, life is never that simple, and neither are relationships, especially that of a pro-hero. Keigo was never allowed to let the public know about himself, always forced by the Hero Public Safety Commission to hide behind the Hawks exterior they curated for him.

A select few people did know about our relationship, though. Mostly the heroes Keigo worked alongside and the sidekicks at his agency.

Which is where Kiki comes in.

It's been a week since her random confession to me at the Hero Gala me and Keigo attended. It didn't bother me; instead, I was only curious to see if Kiki would actually carry through her plan of 'stealing Hawks from me.’

Thoughts of how I could possibly ask my boyfriend about it swirl around in my mind as I continue my trip home. My feet hit the pavement in a rhythmic pattern, lulling me into a state where I was only half paying attention to the world around me. Suddenly, the red feather around my neck gives a violent jerk to the right, almost knocking me off my balance.

I stumble on the cement below me, regaining my footing before glaring down at the feather in confusion and irritation. It had settled back down and was resting innocently against the skin of my collarbone, like it didn't just almost choke me half to death.

Knowing it had a mind of its own and was likely trying to show me something, I shift my gaze to the right, the direction in which the feather jerked in. Immediately, my eyes latch onto the two red wings on the opposite side of the road.

Keigo stands talking to Kiki, hands raised in surrender and seemingly waving away something she's saying.

What a pleasant surprise, I think to myself, moving to lean against the nearest lamp pole. My arms are folded comfortably across my chest as I watch whatever situation is currently playing out in front of me.

I watch as Kiki says something else to Keigo, her lips curled into a wide, mischievous grin as her finger lightly pokes his chest.

Kiki is Hawks' most trusted ally, always going with him on patrol and assisting him on missions. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that they were close, and the media even went into its usual conspiracy theories that the two might be dating.

Keigo, polite as always, denies the accusations every time, waving them away with his usual smile and saying nothing other than, ‘She’s a great sidekick. Nothing more.’

I was never the jealous type and never would be. Hawks may be some flirty, charming hero persona created by the HPSC to be shown to the public, but in private, Keigo was happy to just be. While he was still a flirty and charismatic person in general, when he got off the clock and came home, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

I smile to myself, thinking of all the nights the blonde came home and immediately attacked me with a flurry of chirps and kisses, letting his suppressed bird instincts free. I would always dissolve into a fit of giggles when he twittered and chirped in my ear, telling me how much he loves me and how much he missed me that day.

Point being, I had complete faith in my boyfriend and trusted our devotion to one another.

Back to the current time, the feather around my neck gives another jerk, this one much less violent, catching my attention and causing me to frown down at it in concern.

In theory, or well, confirmed by Keigo, the red feather around my neck was just an extension of his body and Quirk, meaning the feather reacted the same way the feathers on his back did. Which could only mean…

I lift my gaze to inspect the pair of heroes across the street. Kiki had made her way further into Keigo's personal space, now standing only inches away from him and running a hand along his chest while looking up at him from under half-lidded eyes. Even from where I stood, I could read the seduction in her actions, and it caused me to physically cringe. Is she aware of just how desperate she looks?

I feel the feather twitch again, and with my gaze focused on Keigo, I catch the way the feathers on his back twitch as well, a clear indication of his discomfort. 

As previously mentioned, I had complete faith in my boyfriend, and I'm also aware of how the HPSC controlled his actions and personality in public. I also know that Keigo is a considerate person and cares deeply for the people he works with. It's for those reasons that I don't blame Keigo for not immediately shoving Kiki away or yelling at her to keep her distance from him. Lashing out at her would only get him in trouble and nag at his subconscious.

I think for a few moments, mind filing through ways I could possibly save my boyfriend from the predicament he was in. My gaze falls on the twitching feather again, and my eyes widen at the newfound idea in my mind. 

I kick myself off of the lamp pole, unfolding my arms and reaching a hand up to gently pinch the feather between my fingers, knowing exactly how sensitive the item is. With measured actions, I tentatively bring the feather to my lips and softly graze it against them, smiling when I catch Keigo stiffening across the street. 

“Hey Kei,” I whisper, knowing the blonde could hear my every word.

Keigo's head whips around: beady, golden eyes immediately finding me and lighting up with a happiness I recognize all too well. He hastily pulls Kiki’s hand from his chest and makes his way over to me, all in a matter of mere seconds. A man too fast for his own good, I chuckle to myself, finding amusement in my own thought.

“Hello my love,” Keigo greets, arms instinctively wrapping around my waist and pulling me close.

I smile, soft and almost unnoticeable, but Keigo knows it's there nonetheless, and I bring my hands up to cradle his face in my palms.

“Hello,” I mumble, gaze fixed on the way Keigo's lips are spread into a wide smile, and his eyes are filled with that fondness always aimed at me. If there was ever any doubt as to whether or not Keigo loved me, all that you needed to do was analyze the way he looked at me. In those golden, sunset irises, you’d always find the undeniable answer written between his affection.

Keigo lets out a soft chuckle before pulling his face from my hands and closing the distance between us, nuzzling his face against my cheek with quiet chirps escaping his lips.

“Missed you so much,” Keigo coos, planting soft pecks against my cheek.

“You're going to get into trouble with the commission,” I warn, making no effort to put a stop to his actions of showering me with affection.

“Don't care,” he says, voice muffled where his face is buried in the crook of my neck.

“I know, but I do,” I say with a giggle, softly running a hand through his hair and pulling out a small twig that likely got stuck there when he was flying.

“I wanna kiss you,” he admits quietly, the sadness shining through in his tone. My brows draw together in a sympathetic frown, only able to imagine how trapped he feels, bound by the HPSC’s rules and regulations.

As much as I would have loved for him to kiss me right then, I knew it only spelled trouble for the both of us. The way his arms were wrapped around me now was already bordering on the limits set for us by the commission. Anything else would definitely end in ruin.

“Kei,” I gently warn, and he gets the message hidden behind the word, pulling his face from my neck and standing upright, releasing my form and taking a small step back. His lips are jutted out in a pout, and his brows are settled in a light frown, pulling yet another soft giggle from me at how adorable he looks.

Picking up the feather around my neck again, I place it against my lips to give it a kiss, and Keigo's cheeks flare up in a blush. 

“I'll give you a proper kiss when you get home after patrol, Pretty Bird,” I promise, never missing the way my boyfriend’s eyes light up in excitement. Like a kiss from me is some holy gift bestowed on him from above.

“I'm holding you to that,” Keigo says, wings flapping behind him and sending a gust of wind my way as he rises up in the air. He gives me a final wave and blows me a kiss before he flies away, leaving me alone on the ground. 

My eyes fall from the sky and land on Kiki, who is staring forward with a stunned expression, mouth hanging open in pure bewilderment and shock, as if I'm the one that just tried to steal her boyfriend. The ridiculous notion causes me to laugh, catching her attention and bringing her focus back to reality.

With a smug, self-satisfied smirk, I pull the feather between my fingers again to hold it out on display for the woman, my other hand raising to flip her the bird. (Pun fully intended.)

˗ˋ Bonus ˊ˗

“Hello my love.”

Keigo tackles me into the couch’s cushions, and I giggle freely at the chirps filling the air and the lips tickling my ear. I scrunch my nose at the sensation, hands burying themselves in Keigo's hair to try and reel him in a little.

“Hi Pretty Bird,” I greet back, earning me a happy chirp at the nickname. “I missed you too.”

“Hmm,” Keigo hums, placing another peck on my cheek and pulling back to place his forehead against mine. “Where's my promised kiss?”

My lips tug into a smile, and I can't resist the urge to tease him at least a little.

“Where's my—”

I'm interrupted by Keigo’s phone ringing, his ringtone blaring from the coffee table and disrupting the peace of our shared apartment.

We stare at the lit-up screen for a moment, both of us able to recognize the caller ID as that belonging to the HPSC. My stomach twists nervously, and I shoot Keigo a concerned glance.

“Did you get into trouble?” I question, fearing the answer would be yes. 

Keigo looks to me as well, ignoring the phone still ringing in the background. His lips are pulled into a guilty smile, brows furrowed nervously. “I wouldn't exactly call it trouble,” he says, tilting his head to the side. 

In his attempt to avoid any events that may have transpired earlier that afternoon, I find my concern melting away, replaced by fondness and endearment.

“Shouldn't you answer that?” I question, pointing to the phone still ringing on the coffee table.

Keigo sends a feather out to retrieve his phone, inspecting it in his hand before pressing the ‘decline’ button and tossing the device over his shoulder.

“Nah,” he says, lips curling into a lazy smirk. “I'd rather take that kiss now.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes, cupping his face all the same and pulling him closer to slot our lips together; the action so fluid and natural. Like it was always meant to be Keigo's lips and no one else's.

[karlachismylife]

I Need My Love To Be Here

Once again I couldn't help but do the second-most voted choice too. Why am I making my own life so much harder?

CW: fem!reader, reader and Price are married and have a daughter, long-distance relationship, my music taste projected once again, the tiniest bit of suggestive teasing, toothrotting fluff.

(Title from The Beatles' "Here, There and Everywhere")

Dealing with an energized six-year old refusing to go to bed was a battle alright, especially when your trusted partner with his commanding presence and a true Captain's voice wasn't there to help. You couldn't blame your little one for behaving herself better when John was around: isn't a natural law that the one parent that's often away and always comes back with gifts is the favourite one? It's not daddy who's forcing you to eat healthy food every day and go to sleep when you want another batch of cartoons.

It's the strict, stern-looking mum with her hands on her hips as she scolds you gently for throwing a fit over putting your toys back like promised.

Still, you'd want a little more appreciation and cooperation from Princess Price, sulking in her frog pjs - everything was frog since recently, you even got daddy a froggy hat for when he comes back from deployment.

He was away for a long time. Not somewhere dangerous, he told you as he called and texted regilarly, but he was constantly held back by one or the other thing that just couldn't be resolved without Captain's expertise.

That's what made his new phone call just the sweeter, since the first words you heard after closing priness's door hastly and moving to the living room, were:

"Guess who's coming home tomorrow, darling."

A relieved, longing sigh escaped you as you leaned onto the couch and stared at the ceiling with a dreamy smile.

"Good. Someone here needs a reminder how to listen to what she's being told."

"Is princess being a bad girl?" John's hearty chuckle warmed you even through the phone. You bit your lip, trying to save your own face from splitting in two with the horribly wide smile - same was gracing Price's face for sure, you could hear it, his plump cheeks all big and round, almost hiding his happily narrowed eyes.

"Not necessarily bad. But we have attitide and no respect for mummy's authority. Maybe I should start calling myself Captain too, just for her to listen to me."

"I'm afraid, impersonating an officer is illegal, love," he huffed and chuckled again, gruff, big, bear-hugging sound. A pause. "Are you being a bad girl?"

You pressed your phone closer you your ear as a warm tingling flooded your cheeks and held your breath.

"I'd like to report I'm being perfectly good, sir," if only you could see the way his kind eyes twinkled in the dim lighting of wherever he was, sitting on a chair with knees wide apart, one hand holding the famous cigar.

"That's good to hear. I have a little something for you. A reward for being so good for me and waiting while I'm in this shithole."

"The only reward I need is you back home, John," you weren't even being coy, just honest. It was so long since you last felt his rough palms slide over your sides and lock together as he pulled you into a tight hug from behind, pressing ticklish kisses into your nape.

"I know, sweetpea. Consider this an apology gift then, for taking so long," he didn't let you argue a single word, clearly set on having you accept whatever he prepared, as if him being alive, well and home wasn't enough. "Got us tickets to that McCartney concert, love. For all three of us. Gotta start teaching our princess what good music is."

You gasped, jumping in your seat - your heart did a little flip, cheeks burning now, butterflies that never went away even after years of marriage flocking to your lungs.

"But it's so close, how did you even- oh, I just wanna kiss all hells out of you, John!" His laughter dripped through the phone like spicy honey, sweetening already increbibly sweet deal.

"Oh, I can tell, love. Hope you feel the same way tomorrow."

"Why is tomorrow so far away?" You allowed yourself to be just as sulky and pouty as your little one snoring softly in the other room. Of course you could wait another day, you've waited for months already. But now every minute felt like a whole month itself.

"That's so you can get enough sleep before I make you forget about it for several nights."

[cielosafeplace]

second part of "I already found out that there is someone new caressing your skin"

https://www.tumblr.com/cielosafeplace/761187613564665856/imagine-that-poly-141-x-reader-where-they-break?source=share first part ❤️💋

As soon as they got to the house, no one was talking but the atmosphere felt heavy and tense. They all got out of the car and took her to her old personal room, where there was nothing that belonged to her anymore (the only things that belonged to her were hidden in a box that they kept in their closet) an empty room where they left her clothes to get comfortable. Reader took a shower and put on the boys' clothes, when she went downstairs she crossed paths with John and Simon in the hallway, she just looked at them, John had a bruise on his cheek and a split lip and Simon was without his mask but his face had no bruises present. Simon just murmured to her that there was tea and coffee in the kitchen in case she wanted some and she just nodded silently and went down to the kitchen where Kyle and Johnny were talking in low voices but they stopped as soon as she appeared. Kyle poured her coffee and prepared it exactly how she always drank it and left it in front of her. She just mumbled a thank you and took a sip, the atmosphere was still heavy, Johnny and Kyle healed each other's knuckles while drinking tea

Then Johnny spoke breaking the silence - was that your boyfriend? - which made Kyle give him a look and a small punch on the thigh. Reader just sighed and nodded, she didn't even know why she had been dating him. He was a jerk who painted a world of roses for her in 3 weeks, maybe it was because she was hurt and didn't know what to do when the boys left her with her heart in her hands. John and Simon appeared in the kitchen.

- do you love him? - asked Johnny, his voice now sounding more hurt, Reader looked up from his cup of coffee that no matter how much sugar it had, it tasted bitter -

- soap no... - Simon spoke from the kitchen door, he knew that this conversation at this moment would not turn out in the best way

- shut up Simon, tell me do you love him? - Johnny insisted again, he got up from the chair and leaned on the table with both hands, as if he were interrogating her

- Shit no!.... I don't love him - Reader shouted and then spoke again in a calmer voice, he didn't like to fight with anyone, he had never even liked to argue about a trashy television program - I loved you and you left me.... - her voice cut off and a stifled gasp came out of her lips

None of the boys moved, guilt weighed on their chests as if they had 20 kilos of stones on them, the boys always promised to make whoever makes her cry pay, but they were the ones who caused these tears and the tears she shed every night when the bed felt empty and huge without anyone, when she had breakfast alone and John wasn't there preparing her breakfast, when she trained at the gym and Johnny didn't give her a bottle of water or help her finish her repetitions, when Kyle wasn't there when She left her dance classes, nor when she got up at dawn and Simon wasn't somewhere in his apartment smoking and drinking his whiskey letting her curl up on his chest letting her sleep there.

- I don't love him, I love you... Shit I love you as if my heart beat only because you exist... I'm so pathetic - reader started to cry, all the emotions she was repressing during the night came out as if a water dam had broken - crying like a damn girl for men who don't even love me -

If we love you, shit we love you every moment... - Johnny spoke

- Then why did they leave me?! - Reader shouted again

- Because we didn't want to ruin your life - John raised his voice

John no -

Reader was speechless, he didn't know what they meant by that but he didn't expect it. - What are you talking about? - he asked in a calm voice now.

-Y/n go to the room - says Simon, his body is tense now his big hands grip the kitchen counter tightly

-John! - exclaims reader in search of an answer

-9 months ago we went on a mission and Simon and Kyle almost died, an ambush while they were changing positions- John spoke while looking her straight in the eyes, you had not gone on that mission so you did not know and no one had informed you - Kyle received a bullet in the thigh and Simon in the chest, they almost bled to death-

Her lip trembled at the words but she did not fully understand why they had not told you, or why they left afterwards

-We did not tell you because we did not have communications, not even with Laswell, when they both recovered a little Simon said what would have happened if both or one of them had died, with you far away and without saying goodbye- John's voice cut off, you had seen him cry only once in the 6 years you knew him - we could not burden you with that anguish, how could you bear the death of one of us

.-It was better to end it with a lie, that would not affect you as much as our deaths," Simon's voice echoed, deep and gravelly with emotion stuck in his throat.

She sat still on the stool, the words echoing in her brain, bowing her head and beginning to sob silently. They stared at her, trying to hold back their tears. Kyle stood up from his own chair and carefully put his arms around her, not knowing how she would react. Kyle's arms tightened around her as he didn't recognize any resistance from her.

"I'm sorry, lass," Soap's voice broke the silence again, his normally cheerful and happy voice sounding full of anguish. Regret was the only thing she felt, they believed they were doing the best, that they had made the right decision

-I would have been with you until the end, even after death- she sobbed into Kyle's chest, her hands gripping his shirt tightly, afraid that if she let go he would walk away again

John walked up to her and gently grabbed her chin, his calloused hands took her gently, moving her away from Kyle a little, she looked at him attentive to his movements, her breath caught in her throat when he approached and kissed her. A slow but deep kiss, the warmth of his body and Kyle's body comforted her, giving her back something she had lost a long time ago. To his boys

When John pulled away from her for lack of air he spoke inches from her face - we are idiots my girl, we are so sorry, I know we hurt you a lot but come back to us - he sounded desperate, repentant. The idea of ​​his girl being in the arms of another man other than them had eaten away at him all night, all the nights he stayed up working and she wasn't lying on the couch in her office reading a book, he couldn't think of anything else but her, she never left his thoughts.

Kyle put his hand under her shirt, touching her back softly - we'll never leave again, this time we'll do it better baby - his words were murmured against her neck, the hot breath making her body tingle.

-We're not going to force you, we're just asking for another chance- Simon was on the other side of the kitchen island, his body still tense.

She just looked at John and nodded, John instantly understood what she meant. He motioned for Kyle to join him.

-Kyle and I will prepare the bed, doll. - He placed a kiss on her forehead, Kyle repeated the action and together with John they walked towards the room.

Johnny and Simon just looked at her, not knowing very well whether to approach her or not. She got up from the chair and slowly approached Simon, who had his eyes full of unshed tears, wanting to show himself vulnerable in front of her. She raised her head to look at him and a hand rested on one of Simon's cheeks, he expected a blow, screams and insults but all he felt were her small hands, soft against his face, caressing the skin with old scars.

-You can still cry Simon - her voice came out in a quiet whisper - allow yourself to feel and express, it's okay - that was enough for Simon to hug her wrapping his arms around her smaller figure, his face buried in her neck and he cried. He cried for having missed her, he cried because when he almost bled to death the only thing he saw was her, her along with her mother both with their hands together and looking at him from a distance, he cried for having abandoned her, he cried because she was not by his side when he woke up after a nightmare.

She simply let him hug her and caressed Simon's broad back, allowing herself to be his pillar, even after all this time and after everything that happened, she would still be there for them. She would allow herself to forgive them knowing that they all needed each other, it was reciprocal. She knew that they simply wanted her not to suffer but things don't always go as one plans. She motioned for Johnny to come closer to them and he did so, hugging his bonnie and Simon tightly, letting a few tears fall from his eyes as well.

After crying and many apologies, the five of them shared a bed once again, wrapped in the comfort of what was once their home. That night was different. Making love was something else. They joined in soul and body, the five of them loving each other deeply and connecting skin to skin, agreeing to their love forever. There were no complaints, no dirty words, only praise for everyone and promises to improve, promises of a future together.

Three months later, they were all on vacation, in a cabin on a private beach. A place where they all got engaged, knowing that legally they could not get married but wanting to do things as normally as possible. The five of them got married and there were no more lies or deceptions in between.

They all stayed together until the day she died, an old woman happy with the life she had created with her boys, who didn't mind breaking their knuckles just to see those big, bright eyes full of happiness.

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

This is the only thing that could come out of my mind, I hope you like it. As always, thank you very much for all the love, English is not my native language and the translator is sometimes mean to me. gr Comments and opinions are always welcome .

[crushedsweets]

ej x nurse ann but in a will they won't they flirty friendship kinda way🤭 they are always trying to one up the other when it comes to medical work too so it's like lowkey flirty rivals.. do u see what I'm putting down Sweets?! Long story short I'd let them both operate on me

wait omg i was gonna draw smth for this but its been so long n im tired so i should jsut type.

also it feels so weird to go back to talking abt creeped lore cuz i feel like i have so much information but idk how/if anyone could emember it cuz its been sooo longgggg LOL so if anything is like "??? this isnt canon ???" its cuz my AU is very specific and changed etc etc. CREEPED DISCLAIMER WE ARE SO BACK

OKAY SOOOO. in my au specifically, nurse ann is a fake nurse! she was a red-room sorta cam girl (killed ppl for donos), and used a sexy-nurse-persona to draw in more views!

meanwhile, jack only got a few internships in at hospitals during his masters program before the sacrifice.

i could see jack meeting ann because he's close to Lulu and feels really protective over her. so he'd be guiding lulu back to the hospital one day, holding her hand and being all soft spoken while Lulu goes on her little ghostly rants.

and of course, Ann pops up !!! and she's so beyond horribly annoying!! quickly peering over Lulu's shoulder and being like "hi handsome, youre so tall, whats your name, your voice is so deep" whatever. i think it would embarrass the hell out of jack and he'd just be pretty stiff n awkward. polite, but awkward.

eventually he'd scamper off and ann would tell lulu to "get your little tall friend over here". and maybe it would work, HOWEVER, in my creeped canon, it wouldnt go anywhere beyond jack being like T_T and ann eventually giving up . she wont tim too bad.

HOWEVERRRR, if we diverged from creeped canon(which already diverges from creepypasta canon...) for the sake of ann x EJ...

i think it would be cute if she kept flirting, and he was kinda like Jesus Christ you are beautiful . LMFAOOO. and she picks his brain about college life and just him in general, out of curiosity, while he picks her on....well... being some sort of zombie demon vampire thing.

and she'd love him quietly pulling her apart at the stitches. making quiet little observations and scribbling notes and i think EVENTUALLY, he'd get to the point where he is just being snarky with her. theyll be sassing eachother and bickering and she'll be like "well if you keep talking to me that way im not gonna let you make a single note on me ever again" and he's like "you know that isnt true."

LOL.

WAIT. IM KIND INTO THEM RN WAAAIIIIIITTTTTTT

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic Preview

A sneak peek of the next chapter of Come Away, O Human Child

He meets Shannon at the same restaurant they decided to end their marriage in less than a month ago.

It’s strange…he’s well aware of just how drastically your life can change in a short amount of time. How drastically everything can change in an instant. He’s had his own share of moments that changed everything—split seconds where the before and after were entirely different lives. Meeting Shannon. Her telling him she was pregnant. Holding Christopher for the first time. Getting shot down in Afghanistan.

Walking into the 118.

Meeting Buck.

He knows how drastically your life can change in a short amount of time, but Christopher’s birth is the only thing that has ever made him feel so much like a different person. He’s not the same man that he was the last time he and Shannon sat down together to talk. Shannon seems to sense it, watching him with sharp, curious eyes as they place their orders.

“How’s apartment hunting going?” he asks as soon as the runes woven into the fabric of the tablecloth flash blue and their drinks appear a moment later.

“Good. I’ve got it narrowed down to a couple of places—if you don’t mind, I’d like to sign Chris out of school early this Friday and take him with me for the walkthroughs. I want him to have a say in where he’ll be staying when he comes to visit. Thought we could take the weekend to see some of the sights, maybe get a fancy hotel room?”

Eddie nods, mentally flicking through the calendar of appointments and plans he has over the next few days. Chris has a doctor’s appointment early next week, but there’s nothing pressing. “Yeah, of course—he’ll love that.”

Shannon smiles at him, taking a sip of her drink and leaning back in her seat. She looks good—relaxed and happy in a way she really hasn’t been the last few months. He wonders if she sees the same in him, and it makes his heart ache for both of them. Trying so hard to do the right thing and just hurting themselves and each other doing it. And isn’t that just the story of their entire relationship?

“I’m glad things are going good for you,” he says, and sincerely means it. Shannon’s smile widens, and it strikes him how very much their son looks like her. He sees more of himself in Chris’s mannerisms and expressions, but in looks, he’s practically Shannon made over.

“Thanks, Eddie,” she says, and then tilts her head with that shrewd look that has always made him feel like no one would ever know him as well as this woman does. He knows that’s not true, now. Buck knows him every bit as well as Shannon ever did…knows him better in some ways, understands him on levels that Shannon was never able to reach no matter how hard she tried.

But Shannon knew him first. She will always be the first person who looked and saw him, he thinks.

“But I’m guessing you didn’t ask to meet up just to tell me you’re happy for me?” The runes on the tablecloth light up again, and they both sit back as their steaming plates appear—mushroom risotto for Shannon, salmon and asparagus for him. He stalls a moment by grabbing his fork and poking at the (perfectly done) fish before shrugging and nodding.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I’ve, uh, got something I want to talk to you about.”

Shannon raises an eyebrow at the serious tone of his voice. “Okay,” she says slowly.

“So, I know we haven’t really talked about, uh, how we want to handle it if…when…we want to maybe introduce someone. To Chris. Someone new.”

The other eyebrow shoots up, surprise and something a little hurt flashing across Shannon’s face. “You’ve already met someone?” she asks. “And you want to introduce them to our son? Eddie, we’re not even divorced yet!”

And oh…oh, yeah, okay, it sounds bad when she says it like that. “No! No, not like that—” He breaks off with a heavy sigh. “It’s…complicated,” he finishes lamely. Confusion joins the surprise and the hurt, and Eddie mentally throws his hands up. “It’s someone Christopher already knows—someone we see all the time. Nothing was going on while you and I were still…anyway, it’s new. For both of us. But I don’t want to try and sneak around Chris when we see this person so much. But we already talked about it, and we don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. You’re his mom, Shan—you get a say in this.”

Shannon’s brow furrows, and she tilts her head slightly. “Who is it?” she asks.

“It’s Buck,” he says simply.

It surprises him a little, actually, how easy it is to say. They’ve kept it totally between them, this new…development in their relationship, agreeing that they don’t want to throw anymore hand grenades into their lives until everyone knows about Buck’s curse, and why he can’t try and get his magic back. They’d also agreed that Chris needs to know before anyone else in their immediate circle, and that Shannon needs to be a part of that conversation. It should feel bigger, he thinks, more momentous, telling someone else for the first time, let alone his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Like everything with Buck, though—every damn thing—Eddie finds that it just…fits. It’s easy, when it comes to Buck. The truly important things are always easy.

Shannon’s jaw actually drops, and she stares at him wide-eyed for a few seconds, before abruptly shaking her head. “Okay…is it weird that that’s not even in the top fifty of things I thought you were going to say and completely unsurprising?”

[secretlyobito]

Arranged marriage! Itachi x Reader

Itachi must choose between massacring his clan or marrying the hokage's granddaughter.

Contains: arranged marriage, Hiruzen hate(lol), mean itachi, use of genjustsu on reader, angst.

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“Itachi, you’re not here to report this conflict is miraculously over I suppose?” the old man, hiruzen rasps out noticing the slightly vacant expression on Itachi’s face before taking another puff of his pipe. To make himself feel better, Itachi often assumed the substance in Hiruzen’s pipe was crack.

“There was nothing I could do about it, the clan elders have decided to overthrow the village….. tomorrow night”

The room was silent for a solid minute, the atmosphere as thick as a fog. Hiruzen sighs glancing at Itachi’s kneeling form before him, his shoulder’s slumped and his fists clenched.

“Stand up Itachi, we knew this was coming……I suppose you know what you have to do now” Itachi gets up, his head still down as he clenches his teeth, his shoulders shaking in panic. Why did it have to end up this way? Why did he have to be the one to take care of it? What was going to happen to Sasuke?

Hiruzen glances over Itachi’s distraught form with pity, he knew it was incredibly unfair and selfish to ask the boy to dispose of his clan for the sake of the village. Nevertheless, Hiruzen had a duty to protect the village’s interests above anything else. His mind drifts as he smokes his pipe, there was another way out of this he had though of but it was a gamble, he personally hoped it wouldn’t have to come up.

“Itachi, it saddens me to have to ask this of you, you are like a son to me” he turns around and sits on the window sill “so I offer you two choices today, dispose of the Uchiha or……….marry my granddaughter”

“…what?”

Hiruzen lets out another puff, giving Itachi time to process his words. “Marry your granddaughter” Itachi repeats almost dumbfounded.

“A union between you and one of my own will force a personal stake for both the Uchiha and the village to maintain peace”

".............."

“….what if I just murder her” Itachi’s cold voice rings out, Hiruzen glances at him. It’s a plausible question, Hiruzen can’t argue with that. “then you would give me the reason I need to forge ahead with the execution of the Uchiha clan for good” Hiruzen replies just as cold, the old man was far from stupid, he knew Itachi couldn’t feel all rainbows and sunshines towards him considering what he had put the boy through, but he had to remind Itachi of his place.

“Our new familial bond will enable me to advocate more for your clan’s interest without protest from the village, It is exactly what we need to show your clan that they will always have a stake in this village”

“…”

“You have until tomorrow morning Itachi. The fate of the village is in your hands”

So here he was in the living room of his new marital home, gifted to him by Hiruzen, getting ready to meet his new…..wife, the mission paperwork in his hands long forgotten. Of course it had come to this, if this was what it was going to take to maintain peace and save his clan, Itachi was going to do it. His thoughts raced as he sat on the living room couch, he had no intention of cozying up to this stranger who was probably going to be a spy, after all that was exactly what Hiruzen made him do. He planned to get another apartment far from here, where he would use the excuse of missions to be as far away from her and the marriage as possible.

Knock knock

Itachi stiffens, she was here. Despite his completely calm expression, he felt his stomach twisting. His life would never be the same after this, he wondered what she would be like and desperately hoped she planned to keep her distance like he did. He walked over to the door slowly, each step felt like torture, he wished this was all a dream and that he would suddenly wake up. His pale hand reached for the door handle and slowly twisted it open.

A girl stood before him, she was noticeably shorter and seemed to be nervous, her gaze was fixated on something as she chewed her lip while twirling a strand off her hair absentmindedly. “ahem” he cleared his throat making her nearly jump out of her skin, very absentminded, he noted with a slightly disapproving look. Nevertheless, he pushes his displeasure away and holds out his hand politely, “you must be Y/N Sarutobi, its nice to meet you” she shakes his hand clumsily, still rattled from earlier “Nice to meet you as well Itachi-san” He gives her a once over before silently side stepping her, her eyes follow him in confusion as he grabs her luggage in the hallway, lugging it in. “oh! Thank you, you didn’t have to Itachi-san” “Just Itachi is fine” he responds without looking back at her as he drags the luggage into their shared room, the thought of sharing a room makes him cringe but once again, he pushes the thoughts aside. He’s doing this for those he loves, he repeats.

She stands in the living room fidgeting, he seemed cold. She muses taking in the living room, it was small and quaint, the perfect starting house for a new couple. She considers taking a tour round the house but freezes once Itachi re-enters the room. He sits at the table, resuming his mission paperwork not even sparing her a glance. Really? She thinks as she awkwardly stands in the middle of the living room, was he just going to pretend like she wasn’t here? She sighs as she sits at the table opposite from him, her eyes travelling over his features. He was very…pretty, his long lashes framed his obsidian eyes as he read, the stress lines that travelled along his face only adding to his charm. She takes in his dark hair tucked away into a low ponytail before her gaze moves over back to his eyes, she gasps as she realizes he’s already looking at her, his gaze unrevealing and his mouth in a straight line. “Nice hair” she awkwardly tries to explain why she’s staring at him, cringing as soon as the words leave her mouth. Itachi keeps looking at her for a few seconds before going back to his paperwork. She nearly groans in embarrassment before shifting awkwardly in her seat, why was he making this so hard? “I’ve heard a lot about you Itachi, your reputation precedes you” she tries again.

“is that so?” he replies not even looking up “yes” she chuckles “you’re quite the superstar at my workplace”. He finally glances up “and where is that?” his interest piqued. “I work at the villages intelligence department, in the hokage’s tower” she responds, happy he’s finally being responsive.

“Intelligence department….” He gives her a once over, clearly not convinced, his eyes going back to his paperwork “did your grandfather get you the job?” He asks almost innocently but she could feel the venom behind his words. Her smiled dropped from her face as the words leave his mouth, she bites her lip as she balls up her fist, she was used to the nepotism accusations, her grandfather being the Hokage and all but it hurt to hear it from him she didn’t even know why, they had only known each other for a couple of minutes. Her anger grew as she stared at him, deciding to confront him on his behaviour “why’re you being so rude? I’m just trying to make this w-“ “perhaps I should remind you of what 'this' is” he interrupts her sharply, dropping the paperwork as he stared her down “this, is nothing more than an arrangement, it is not a fairy tale. Sorry to inform you but there will be no warm discussions or love exchanged here” he finishes, nearly gritting his teeth.

She stares at him in shock before retorting, politeness be damned, she tried to make this work. “remember that reputation I told you about? It was about you being an asshole and boy were they right” she scowls as her hands grip the table slightly. A cold expression washes over itachi’s face before he closed his eyes, his obsidian eyes swirling into the sharingan as he re-opens them “I could care less what you think about me but….I would be more than glad to confirm that reputation right now” he states menacingly, standing from his chair. She gasps as she stands as well, scrambling back at the sight of his sharingan, perhaps she should’ve watched her mouth, she was no shinobi after all, she was a mere civilian.

Itachi walks toward her frightened form as she slowly backs away, her eyes wide with fear. She walks backward until her back hits the wall, she swallows as she stares at the angry uchiha in front of her, Itachi may be cold but he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her….right? A scuttling noise rings out from the hallway, causing her to glance in the direction of the noise, her heart rate picking up. Her old co-worker emerges from the shadow of the hallway, his form contorted as he speaks “you’re so used to always getting want you want” another co-worker emerges still disfigured “your job, your house, your marriage” “everything was handed to you on a silver platter so you should just know your place!” another disfigured co-worker appears yelling at her with a mangled voice, it was like they were repeating all her insecurities straight from her head.

She screams in terror as she glances at Itachi for help, Itachi stands in his previous spot unmoving as he continues to stare her down. The pieces of the puzzle comes together as it dawns upon her that she is caught in one of Itachi’s gentjutsu. Tears begin to fall down her cheeks, “I’m sorry Itachi, please stop this” she cries clutching her head as the taunting voices get louder “you should just disappear!” “go away! Run back to grandpa” the voices yell at her. She sobs as she slides unto floor, covering her ears as the voices become painfully louder “stop Itachi!” she yells over the voices through her tears. He finally snaps out of his hateful daze as he releases the gentjustsu, his eyes falling on her sobbing form slumped on the floor. She glares up at him through her tear-filled vision “you’re a jerk” and with that she races toward their shared bedroom, slamming the door.

Itachi sighs as he sits back on the couch, deactivating his sharingan. His rubs his face with his hands as he glances toward the direction of the bedroom door, hearing her muffled cries. He sighs, perhaps he took it too far, he only wanted to scare her into not trying to be friendly with him but ended up torturing her. Itachi sighs as he gets up and walks towards the bedroom, determined to apologize to her. He was angry, angry at the situation, angry at Hiruzen, angry at his clan but he didn’t need to lump her in. He was going to make things right.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I wanted to make Itachi as canon as possible. I may make a part two but this time, there'll be lots of fluff and Itachi won't be as mean lol. If you liked please leave a comment or reblog!♡♡

Part 2 out neow

[skyward-floored]

Little tiny fic with Eveni (Midlink kiddo) and Link who’s refusing to admit he’s depressed!!

(Spoilers for true form AU if anyone even cares)

So this is after Midna leaves. Link is still a mess, he’s refusing to work through his issues, and he can’t stay in Ordon because it just feels too stifling and small. So he leaves, and wanders around with Eveni for a while, apart from the occasional issue Zelda needs his help with.

————————————————————

Link trudges up to Zelda’s quarters, boots tapping on the stones the way they always do. His stomach growls loudly as he ascends, and Link sighs, ignoring the twist in his middle. He hasn’t eaten anything since before he cleared out the monsters by Lake Hylia early this morning, and it’s nearly dark out now.

Fortunately he just has to hand his report of the incident to the princess, and then he can go figure out something to eat.

And pick up Eveni, of course.

Link shakes his head to himself as he continues to climb, still a bit in disbelief at what had happened. He’d been... more than surprised when the Queen herself had offered to watch his son while he took care of the monster infestation. The kingdom’s knights hadn’t gotten anywhere in eradicating the beasts, and Zelda had asked for Link’s assistance, which he’d easily agreed to, and he’d been prepared to take Eveni along as usual.

Zelda had looked at him in disbelief when she’d realized he was going to bring his son, but it wasn’t like he was going to take Eveni into battle with him. He was used to traveling around with a toddler, and he’d done this several times, tucking Eveni securely on Epona’s back, and sending the two of them plenty far away from the fighting.

And he hadn’t wanted to leave Eveni so far out of his reach.

“Link, he’ll be far safer here,” Zelda had said gently when he’d declined. “I know you have your methods, but you’re still taking Eveni into a battle. If you leave him here you won’t have to spend your energy worrying about him, and I’ll need your report of what happened afterwards anyway. If he stays here, you don’t have to make any extra stops for him. You can merely come back here when you’ve finished, and then go as soon as you’d like. I know you don’t prefer to linger around town.”

The queen was right of course, (was she ever not?), and Link had hesitantly agreed. He’d gone on his way, but not after a long goodbye, and a tight hug for his son.

He’d never been away from Eveni for such a long period of time before, and found himself hurrying as he trodded up the stairs, worried thoughts drifting past his mind.

Yet... he wasn’t too worried.

Something about knowing Eveni was with the woman who’d helped him shoot arrows at the incarnation of hatred itself did help ease his mind. Other than his family and the folks in the Resistance, Zelda was someone he trusted above all else, even if their relationship was a bit awkward at times. Partially because of her character and how she was his friend-acquaintance-occasional-employer, but also in part due to an innate sense that he could trust her with his life, and he’d follow her anywhere.

...That was probably just the triforce connection though.

Link nods at a guard as he reaches the Queen’s quarters, and enters her rooms with a knock. An orange head shoots up in attention the moment he passes through the door, and Link can’t help the swell of relief at the sight of his son, safe and sound.

“Papa!” Eveni squeals, toddling over to him and waving his ever-present stuffed cat. Link hurried over and scoops up Eveni in a tight hug, noting Zelda standing up from where she was seated nearby. Eveni nestles up to him, and Link gives his head a kiss.

“Hey buddy, me and Epona missed you today. You have a good time?” Link asks with a smile, lifting Eveni and eliciting another happy squeal. His son laughs and squeezes Link’s neck, nearly choking him, but he merely adjusts him so he can breathe better.

Then he shifts his attention to Zelda, and gives her as much of a respectful bow as he can with a toddler clinging to his neck.

“Thank you, your majesty. I hope he wasn’t any trouble.”

“He was wonderful, Link. No thanks are needed, I was glad to spend some time with him again,” Zelda says with a faint smile. “He’s gotten so big since he lived here. I barely recognize him.”

Link’s smile dims at her words, the reminder of the brief time he and Midna stayed at the castle after Eveni was born still painful. It truly was one of the happiest times of his life, but the memories are more bittersweet now than anything.

Fortunately he’s gotten rather good at not letting it show.

“Yeah. He’s shooting up like a weed these days,” Link replies, looking down at his son. “Growing faster than I can handle sometimes.”

Eveni’s still clinging to his neck, but when he catches Link looking at him, smiles widely, and waves his cat around.

“Elda read! Oggy oggy!” he babbles excitedly, and Link looks over at Zelda to see if she has any clue what he’s talking about.

“I read him a bit of a tale with a wolf in it, he was quite enraptured,” she said, the same faint smile playing around her lips. “I suppose it runs in the family.”

Link almost rolls his eyes before he remembers it’s the Queen of Hyrule he’s talking to, and quickly refrains. He may know Zelda pretty well, but he at least tries to keep his manners in check.

So instead, he reaches in his pouch for the report he’d quickly scribbled up about the monster situation, and hands it over to the Queen.

“Everything went well,” he says simply, avoiding Eveni’s waving hands. “The road is passable again, monsters won’t be taking residence on the bridge again anytime soon.”

“That’s wonderful news Link, you have my thanks,” Zelda says gratefully, taking his letter. “Those bokoblins were causing all sorts of problems, and nobody seemed to be getting anywhere in removing them.”

“Well they shouldn’t cause any more problems now,” Link says, unable to stop the satisfaction from leaking into his voice.

He stretches his arm a little, grimacing when an ache ripples up his elbow. He hadn’t been seriously injured at all, but he had been hit by a few clubs, and they weren’t severe enough to merit use of a potion. There would doubtless be multiple bruises coloring his skin tomorrow.

“May I offer you a seat?” Zelda says when she notices the face he’s making, and Link hesitates, then nods, the thought of sitting a welcome one.

“Just for a little while,” he relents, and settles on one of Zelda‘s chairs with a small sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized quite how tired he was until he’d sat down.

Eveni shifts so he’s in his lap instead of clinging to his neck, and starts talking about Zelda again. Link listens to him as he recounts his day, mostly understanding his babbling words. Zelda does as well, and occasionally chimes in with an explanation of something that doesn’t quite translate.

But eventually Eveni’s chatter trails off, replaced with sleepy yawns, and Link looks out the window, the first few stars beginning to twinkle in the sky.

“It’s getting late,” he hums, and Zelda nods, setting down the tea she’d been sipping at.

She’s about to reply, but then his stomach lets out a horrendous gurgle of hunger, cutting her off and making Link flush with embarrassment.

“Link... did you forget to pack any rations?” Zelda asks in a stern voice, and Link shrinks under her stare. There’s a spark of amusement in her eyes when his stomach growls again, but she’s still giving him that look. “You were out all day Link, you can’t just not eat.”

“I ate breakfast,” he points out, ignoring the fact that said breakfast was a single piece of fruit. Zelda sighs as his stomach gurgles even louder.

“And obviously nothing since. Seeing as you’ve already here, I suppose you could... join me for dinner?” Zelda suggests, and Link pauses. “You and Eveni. You can take some time to rest and eat, and you can tell me of your eradication of the monsters at Lake Hylia yourself, and I can skip the report. If you’d like to of course,” she adds on, almost a little hurriedly.

“We really ought to be going...” Link trails off, and while Zelda doesn’t say anything, she knows just as well as he does that he has absolutely nowhere he needs to be.

He’s just... not in the habit of sitting around and talking to people anymore.

He looks down at Eveni where he’s nestled in his lap, a thumb in his mouth. Eveni’s head is resting on his shoulder, and his eyes are starting to close, but he’s still awake for now, and smiles when he sees Link looking at him.

“Papa hungy?” he asks with a tug on his collar, and Link smiles.

“Yeah, papa is hungry. And I bet you are too,” he says as he pokes his tummy, and Eveni giggles.

His son nestles up to his arms again without replying, and Link looks over at Zelda, still patiently awaiting his answer.

He’d planned to be out of here as quickly as possible; merely drop off his report, pick up Eveni, and be on his way. Avoid unpleasant memories and people he doesn’t want to talk to or answer probing questions from. Go back to wandering Hyrule just like before.

And yet.

Sitting here with Eveni secure in his arms, talking with Zelda and for once not having to worry about his son’s safety...

He doesn’t... want to leave.

He meets Zelda’s eyes, a shade of blue some might call cold (he knows better, he’s seen them light up with a warmth as bright as a summer’s day), and breaths out, giving her a hesitant smile.

“That would be wonderful, Zelda.”

[dark-elf-writes]

Vongola meets Sally, and they all sit there going. "Are we *sure* she's Reborn daughter? Like I know, we ran multiple DNA tests, but she seems way too nice." And then after meeting Percy, "Okay, so maybe Reborn's, Reborn-ness, just skipped a generation."

Right up until Sally goes, ":) And then I killed my first husband and sold his corpse as an art installation to by a new apartment and put Percy and myself through school. :)"

And they all collectively go. "Oh, okay. Yeah, we were very wrong. She is definitely Reborn's."

Dino and Tsuna were sitting at the kitchen table watching Sally bustle around the cozy space after she had waved off the many offers to help with dinner, sharing a plate of blue cookies when they realized Sally Jackson really was Reborn’s daughter. It was just so hard to see when she was all kind smiles and motherly affection. So hard to imagine her with blood on her hands or her life tainted by shadows.

Sure there was the whole ‘had a kid with a god’ thing, but that was relatively minor compared to Reborn’s… Rebornness.

Percy darted into the room, laughing as he jumped the table and snagging a cookie from the plate as he went. He, on the other hand, was very much related to Reborn, if kinder due to his mother’s influence. Terrifyingly competent and powerful, and still a teenager. He was still laughing as he leaned down to press a kiss to Sally’s cheek.

“I don’t remember the last time one of my grandfathers hunted me for sport being quite as fun.”

Sally hummed, reaching up to pat his cheek. “You better get moving. He’s around the corner.”

Percy jammed the whole cookie into his mouth and made a yuck escape out the window. Sally watched him go with a fond smile.

“I never thought we would be this happy,” She murmured, probably to herself, but Dino was quick to latch on.

“What makes you say that? You and Percy always seem to be smiling.”

Sally hummed, turning back to the stove. “It’s been that way ever since I killed my first husband. It’s like a weight was lifted from our shoulders.”

Tsuna choked on his bite of blue chocolate chips.

“You what?”

Sally turned, giving them both a smile over her shoulder. “I killed my husband. With the head of Medusa that Percy had won as a spoil of war after killing her. Selling that statue was enough to get us this apartment and me into classes.” She turned back to the stove as something began to boil.

Dino and Tsuna shared a long look.

Yeah. She was Reborn’s daughter.

[softquietsteadylove]

If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear your headcanons for the Ice Queen X Tyrant King AU as well🥹🫶💕 thank youuu <3

More Ice Queen/Tyrant King headcanons! Let's go!!!

Little Heiress lives in Korea again. She will hate Gil and Thena both until the day she dies. But she has resigned herself to the fact that going after either of them again will result in her death.

Druig is a hacker, like one of the crazy impossible ones in the movies. He taps into surveillance like it's nothing, owns a bunch of networks and servers. He doesn't show up to many meetings in person, but he and Makkari get together when they can.

Speaking of the Lightning Thief herself, she has many talents, but she chooses to stay contracted as a petty thief. She thinks it's more fun and it offers her more variety and the freedom to travel. She has no permanent place, usually renting in small slots of time. When she's in town, she stays with Druig.

Makkari loves hanging out with Thena and Sersi. None of them had all that normal a childhood, so she likes having girl friends to hang out with. Sometimes she breaks into their homes when she wants to have a sleepover. She doesn't do it to Thena anymore, ever since she broke in and they were getting busy in the elevator again.

Kingo really played it down at the time, but he was the one to give Gil Thena's building passcode. He told him that she was miserable, moping around like she'd gotten her heart broken. His instruction to Gil was "fix it".

Imo comes to America a lot more often now, entirely to visit them. And by them, it's mostly Thena. She'll show up and Thena will drop all her business for the day to visit with her. Imo says she's a good daughter. Then Gil will get home, find out they've spent all day together, having tea or chilling or shopping, and he pouts about being left out.

Gil once asks Thena if he's losing his edge. When she asks what he means he pats his belly and says maybe he should quit drinking beer or something. She says she doesn't mind any shape he's in, so long as that shape is alive (and she says she's not romantic).

He does go to the gym though, that is on days when he's not beating people up and disposing of bodies, since rest days are important. It's mostly because, ever since that French guy, he's been even more aware than usual just how beautiful and desired his fiance is.

He's asked Thena once or twice what she wants to do for the wedding. She says that she thought he would have an idea. They haven't gotten very far past that, since they're already quite married in spirit anyway.

They both have their ring tattoos on the left hand, while the physical rings are on the right. Thena takes hers off frequently, whether it's because she doesn't want to get blood on it or because she doesn't want whomever she's meeting with to know she has a weakness like that. Gil never takes his off.

Thena's favourite foods are tteokbokki, carbonara and traditional Russian solyanka, all of which Gil knows how to make deliciously. She grew up with a lot of Russian and European cuisine of course, and even some central Asian dishes thanks to her various nannies and caretakers. But once Gil started cooking Korean food for her, she hasn't looked back.

Imo shows her some things when she visits, but Thena has confessed multiple times with embarrassment that she's a terrible cook. Imo says that's fine so long as she has other things she's good at, like running the business.

Imo is surprisingly violent. She's run the family business for a long time--the business Gil's father married into, she likes to remind him. Imo has enforced so much in her day that she used to get called the Red Queen. Thena only idolizes her even more for it.

Although it's rare, if Thena and Gil argue over the course of a few days, she'll threaten to call Imo. Things resolve themselves quickly.

Gil likes bringing home little treats. Thena always says she doesn't need them or she's not hungry after dinner or something. They're always gone by the next time he looks in the fridge.

Gil loves calling Thena little petnames like Ice, and Sweetness, and Princess, and she even lets him call her baby here and there. But he makes sure to take time to lean in close and whisper Thena at just the right times.

They still haven't discussed the wedding plans, but if Gil were to ask her to go through with a Korean wedding, she would still say yes.

Imo calls the office sometimes and Thena isn't in, but she likes talking to Kingo--thinks he's funny. Thena tells her not to taunt her personal assistant, but Imo is like an orca who enjoys playing with her food before the kill.