#doom head x ofc

[slxsherwriter]

Write by the Moon

Fandom: The Gates, 31, A Good Day For It

Pairing: William Colcott x Selina (OC), Doom-Head x OFC, Norman Tyrus x OFC

Word Count: 6,416

Warnings: Demonic rituals, murder, killing

Author's note: This is part one of my reincarnation/soulmate AU fic featuring three Richard Brake characters. Not Beta read as always, so any mistakes are my own. This part will cover William and Selina. As his wife isn't alive in the movie, I decided to treat her as an OC. It is set up to show snippets of their life and the other parts will follow suit. Hope everyone enjoys.

The bar was busy, as it often was on a Saturday evening. Men and women, both reputable and dishonest, mingled about, sharing drink and food. Sheep in a herd, begging to be culled. William Colcott was that wolf in sheep's clothing. Setted at the bar, he was patiently biding his time, looking for the latest victim to satiate that spiraling darkness that resided within. The one that had been cultivated at a young age and had become an ever looming presence throughout his life. Long ago, he had learned that it was far better to give in and indulge in the need. It was what he was good at, even if no one seemed to suspect a thing. After all, the first kill had extinguished the idea of finding his soulmate. Who could be bound to a dark soul like his? Foolish ideas were given up, the mark on his chest ignored for years. 

As he observed the room around him, however, that self-imposed denial came to a rushed end. A slow but steady warmth began to bloom. Deep within and across his skin. The sort that brought about a long forgotten sense of comfort. The sort that had briefly been had when he was a young child, sitting in his mother's lap, listening to her read him stories of King Arthur and the knights of the round table. Was it possible? 

Fingers unconsciously tightened against the handle of his mug, breath stuttering as there was just a moment where he lost himself in the feeling. Indulging in what he had thought he would never be privileged to have. Reality came crashing back after a moment, William gaining his breath back and eyes now almost wildly darting around the room. Desperation never suited any inch of his life but that was what gripped his heart. She couldn't escape and she had to know that he was here. But where? 

A grin, open and free, came to his features unconsciously when his eyes landed on her. Ah, there she was. Far too pretty to be a victim, though such things had hardly proven a matter of concern before that very moment. There didn't seem to be anyone that was accompanying her, leaving an opportunity for him to ensure that she knew right where she belonged. Taking a final pull of the mug, he set it down on the counter before picking his way through the crowd of bodies that now meant absolutely nothing to William. 

"Is this seat taken?" He asked as he leaned down just a little bit, not wanting to shout over the voices of the others. When she looked up at him, he just knew that she felt it too. The way that her eyes dilated, the barely audible gasp that escaped her lips. The warmth only grew now that he was in such a close proximity. There was something else, though, something that he couldn't put his finger on as he looked at the woman. It took her no time to compose herself, though, as if the slip-up had never happened before she smiled at him. 

"I supposed it is now." It was all the invitation that he needed, sliding right into the chair before anyone had the chance to interrupt them. His first thought this close up was that the color of her eyes couldn't quite be deciphered. They seemed to shift subtly each time the light hit them differently. He immediately waved over one of the barmaids to grab her attention. He allowed her to order first before getting himself a second drink. He might as well enjoy himself since this was where he was keeping himself until she was done with the evening. 

To sort out the chaos that was ruling his mind in the moment was impossible. A million thoughts were flooding in all at once, leaving him unsure where to even begin. 

"Perhaps we should start with the easy things before moving onto the elephant in the room." Her voice broke William out of his self-induced haze, and he chuckled softly.  

"Forgive me," he said, "It seems that I am perhaps a little more ill-prepared than anticipated." The light sound of amusement couldn't be missed over the noise that surrounded them, even when it should have been drowned out. Hypervigilant to every reaction, that was what it was. 

"Hardly something that can one can be faulted for. After all, it has turned into a rather unexpected evening, wouldn't you agree?"

"Unexpected but far more pleasant than I had hoped." Briefly, he wondered where her mark was. The thought that instantly followed was that if it was settled in a private location, he didn't want anyone else in the bar seeing it, knowing where it graced her body. That was for him and him alone. All in due time. They hadn't even exchanged names, but the tangible tension would see it's conclusion. There was no doubt in any ounce of his being. Holding out his hand for the woman, he decided that they needed to quickly remedy the first problem at hand. "The name's William." Never before had he desired to meet whatever expectations from an appraisal that another had given, but as her eyes trailed over his face, William wanted nothing more than to meet them for her. 

"It's a pleasure, William," she offered in return, placing her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips before she could retract it, lips brushed over the knuckles. There was a hint of something burnt lingering on her skin. One that he couldn't place but hardly mattered. "Selina." Ah, a fitting name. However, it was not the only thing that he wished to learn about her. 

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." Another laugh, and there was a lightness in his chest, as if it was easier to breathe, easier to simply exist by the sound alone. There wasn't any resentment for the way that she was making him feel. William knew that there were things that would have to be sorted out, that complications would arise once that darkness crept back in, but for now, he would embrace the light that she brought. 

"Quite the charmer, aren't you? Drinks, compliments, if I didn't know better, I would say that you were looking to get me alone." Oh, she was almost perfect. He liked a little sass and feistiness in his women. 

"Now, that just wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, would it? Hardly befitting the situation." 

"Of course, silly me to think such things." He braced his elbows against the table and leaned in. The wood still separated them, but William wanted to close that gap. Needed to in all reality. The compulsion was far too strong to be overcome and ignored. The banter had eased his mind and loosened his tongue. 

"A complaint wouldn't pass my lips if that was how the night were to end." In response, she leaned in. The action wasn't what was anticipated, but he rolled with it, taking it as a positive sign that they were falling onto the same page. "Does it feel the same for you? A pleasant warmth that you could sink into and never let go?" Curiosity got the better of him, and the question slipped. It was far more vulnerable and open than what the man was used to being, though he supposed that was something that would come with the territory of getting to not only know but have this woman as a constant in his life. 

Plenty of people were open about the subject of soulmates. What was felt, what was thought, how their life seemed to switch around in unexpected but not unwelcome manners. William wouldn't give up his life's work or activities just for Selina. But something in his gut told him that he wouldn't have to abandon it all. Something that would be proven true or false with a further exploration. 

"It's a softness," she started and William couldn't tear his attention away. The bar could have been burning around them and it wouldn't have mattered if she still spoke. "A gentle warmth that seems to emanate from my very soul itself. A warmth of comfort and safety." It seemed she had been just as taken if that honest answer was anything to do by and he was thrilled. Safety. That stuck in his mind like a spoke in mud. She would always be safe from him, from the darkness. Nor would anyone dare lay a hand on her. 

****************************************

Selina had impressed the importance of this onto William several times over the last week. He was to be quiet and simply observe. If he spoke anything, he could risk the integrity of the ritual. Among other dangers. He took it seriously since she seemed so invested and dead set on making him understand, both the dangers and what she did.

Having never been a particularly religious man, William had at first thought that her insistence was cute but nothing more than superstition and foolish belief. Still, there was something in her being that drew him in, more than just the fact that they were soulmates. As if there was recognition of a darkness that matched his own. 

What harm would it come to humor her and see what this was all about himself? William had finally agreed to watch a ritual, putting forward effort to understand this part of her life. It was incredibly important to her and a part that she hadn't wanted to keep hidden forever. 

Standing in the corner of the room, he made sure that he was entirely out of the way as she settled a few more things at the table. Some herbs that weren't recognized, a candle that was halfway melted down already, an old copper bowl, and a knife. One that William could appreciate as the dimmed lights in the kitchen of their home caught the edge just right. There was a question that sat burning on the tip of his tongue, but he had sworn that he would remain silent until she gave the signal that it was okay to speak once more. Attention shifted off of the items that had been laid out to the woman herself. That something that he hadn't been able to fully understand hung heavier in the air, as if it was a physical presence in the room. Something besides just the two of them. A silly notion. But not one that he didn't so easily brush aside this time.

A further draw to her very being. Almost like he was seeing Selina for the first time all over again. A sense of awe that was so absent from every other aspect of his life. She settled at the table now that everything was laid out. Silence reigned for several long seconds. Patience was thin at the best of times, but he forced himself to not fidget or speak a word. 

Then, after what felt like hours, Selina was finally moving once more. William watched as she moved with a practiced ease, the same sort that he had when he was out with a victim. It spoke of years going through the same motions, guided by muscles that had long ago memorized just how and when to move. Some of the herbs were placed into the bowl whole, others crushed, others burned. The candle was lit. Movements told him that she was letting the melted wax fall to the table in cruiated patterns before a small amount of wax was poured over the mixture before being placed carefully, deliberately to the left. William had to bite the inside of his cheek as he watched her bring the blade up. She wasn't going to do what he thought she was?

Her palm opened easily, cleanly. The knife was sharp. Yet, she didn't make a sound. His eyes never left the clenched fist as she held it over the bowl, though now, she was muttering something. Words that he either couldn't entirely make out or understand. William wasn't sure which it was at that very moment. 

In seconds, none of that mattered. The temperature of the room dropped significantly and immediately. Hairs stood on the back of his neck, his stomach rolling as bile rose in his throat. A reaction that wasn't expected but uncontrollable. Selina was relaxed as ever in her seat. A smile sat on her lips, one that could barely be seen from the angle that William was at though he could tell it was there. That sense of a physical presence grew. The animalistic primal part of his brain screamed danger, instinct demanding that he slither further back into the shadows. There was nowhere to go, though, his back solidly against the wall behind him. Moving meant disruption, and that was simply not an option. Something was happening here that he didn't understand, but Selina appeared perfectly in control. Ruining that could mean harm to her. An unacceptable consequence of any movement on his end. So, William stayed as stock still as he could, as if he was simply waiting for a victim to pass in front of him.

Then, there was movement. Not from either of them. A shimmer of the shadows, something that caught the very periphery of his vision. It slithered away, vanishing as he blinked. Blood rushed by his ears, the sound near overwhelming as suddenly that darkness seemed to form right in front of Selina. His heart clenched, skipping a single beat as the expectations of violence soared. 

It was with tremendous effort that William remained glued to his spot, the echoes of her voice reminding him that any movement or interference bred more trouble. Selina wasn't cowering or attempting to move away. That subtle smile remained across her face before her head tipped forward in a small greeting. Lips were moving, but he could not hear what words were being exchanged, as if there was some invisible wall between them, blocking out all and any sound. The darkness never took on more of a form than a black, hazy block in the air, at least to him.

So much for not believing in any of this. Before his very eyes was proof that another world existed. One that Selina was intimately familiar with and of which she possessed extensive knowledge. An apology was in due order. Once everything was finished and it was safe once more to speak. 

The entire thing lasted about fifteen minutes. Gradually, warmth seeped back into the room, and light seemed to brighten. Blinking, William was able to break away from the wall, moving to the table where Selina was now cleaning everything up. No words were exchanged right away, not as he sat down and ran a hand over his face. Where was the best place to start? Safety. Not his but hers. That was a priority for him. He had to know that when she did this, she would remain safe. Often enough, it happened when he wasn't around, which was fine with him. What could he really do anyway? Against spirits and demons, his knife was likely useless. She remained silent, allowing him to take that time to gather his thoughts and form a proper sentence.

"I take it as long as you aren't interrupted, then these are rather safe rituals for you?" Her eyes brightened, the smile he was granted as bright as the morning sun. 

"This is one that I have been performing for years and have built a rather comfortable rapport with the being that you saw. Now, I am not foolish enough to believe that I can control him. But I do know that it is far better to have an offer ready and keep him satisfied with respect and sacrifice than anything else. So yes, that one in particular I would say is safe." That left plenty of room for interpretation, William wasn't blind to the way that she had answered but worked around the question at the same time. If she felt confident enough, then he would have to take her word for it. 

"And there are others?" 

"Rituals or beings? Either way, the answer is many." Selina reached out, her hand settling over his and giving a small squeeze. A reassurance in a way and a grounding attempt. "I have a few I tend to stick with. It's just…easier that way." William felt that there was something else that she wanted to add on at the end but opted to leave it be. Remembering something, he reached for the hand that she was keeping close to her being and turned it over. The slice across her palm wasn't deep but it would need to be wrapped to stave off any chance of infection.

"Let's get that wrapped, love." The task was a settling enough motion that he was able to get himself back to a composed state, thinking through everything that he had seen and what its implications meant for their feature. It seemed that he would have some learning to do over the next few weeks. 

*************************************

Looking into the mirror, the unfamiliar jitters of nerves were beginning to become rather annoying. William wasn't sure what the source of such an unusual feeling was, but it didn't seem to want to stop. There was a deep refusal to believe that it was stemming from the fact that today would be the day that he and Selina married. No, it certainly could have nothing to do with that. There was simply nothing for him to be nervous about when it came to the event. Still, as the blue of his eyes stared back out at him from the glass, there was little other reason for it to be present. 

He and Selina were soulmates. A thought that caused his hand to rise unconsciously, fingers lightly pressing over the mark that was over his heart. She wouldn't abandon him now. There would be no cold feet, nothing to stop them from making it official in the eyes of the government. 

The two had been living together for almost a year now, having been together since that fateful night in the bar nearly three years ago. They were tailored for each other, slotting into the routines and patterns of life seamlessly. The sort of actions that many others wished that they could have and held jealousy over. William counted himself lucky for having found her at all but in a way blessed by some sort of being out there that they fit together so perfectly. Not God, no. He had no bearing here. Maybe one of those beings that Selina often spoke to or dealt with indirectly. That was a far more feasible explanation. 

William found himself chuckling and swiping a hand through his hair one last time. It was foolish to waste another second standing in front of the mirror and overthinking things. They had to be at the courthouse on time or risked having the entire thing pushed off to another day. That would leave the woman simmering and scowling for the entire night. A mood that he did not want to have to navigate. 

A simple ceremony had been decided long ago. Neither had family to be concerned with when it came to the union. They were left to decide what they wanted and how they wanted it. The agreement had come easy. He nor Selina had felt all that comfortable with the idea of being married in a church. For a multitude of reasons, with her practices being ranked rather high on the list. Besides, what was the point in having to give money to such an institution when it was just the two of them? It would bring up questions or sympathies that they didn't have the patience or tolerance to handle. Which left getting a civil marriage. The most important part was legal recognition anyway. They had been married in all but name since they had found one another. 

William moved towards the front door, hearing movement upstairs. Selina was still getting ready. It was a good thing that she hadn't been waiting on him. He was only waiting a few minutes before she made her way down the stairs.

"Radiant as ever, my love." The compliment fell naturally from his lips and as always, he was granted that warm smile that lit up her entire face. 

"Forever the charmer, even on the day of your wedding." He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her once she was close enough, using the leverage to draw her body closer yet to his. A gentle kiss was pressed to her forehead. The only one alive, in existence, to experience this side of him. Or, the one that this side only existed for, came alive for was more likely. 

"Cannot go failing my duties now." As she relaxed against him, William ran his fingers lightly over her left shoulder blade, where her mark was hidden beneath the gorgeous blue dress she had chosen. The action was almost instinctual at this point, having been repeated over and over until he could have found it and traced it with his eyes closed. "Come on, we have a carriage waiting." He had to pull away first, a smile saved her and her alone present as one more kiss was dropped to her head. 

The carriage ride was relatively quiet, William keeping an eye on the outside world while stealing glances at the woman across from him. His soulmate and soon to be wife. Her presence always brought that pleasant warmth to his chest, but the thought of calling her his in every way possible just made it all the stronger. The little smile that she couldn't seem to wipe off of her face only added to the atmosphere. A look he had placed there, a sense of pride swelling up at the knowledge. For a brief second, he felt like a boy again, having gotten away with stealing a candy bar and riding the high of having the best thing possible. That was what Selina was. The rest of the world hadn't recognized it, and he had stolen her away before anyone could. Destined to be with him, yes, but bound together on such a deeper level. He had made her his. 

The carriage came to a stilted stop outside of the courthouse. Time for the rest of the world to know what he knew. Stepping out, he was quick to turn around and offer his hand, even when she didn't need the help.

“Ready?”

“More than ever.” Pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, William grinned before leading her into the building. 

**********************************

The shivers wracked his frame, uncontrollable spasms that allowed no rest. It had been that way for hours. Days almost. William had lost track of the time in the fever induced haze, mind skipping in and out of consciousness, but never truly resting. In lucid enough moments, he hated the way that he felt weak and felt useless. He couldn't even get himself out of bed to get to the bathroom. In the non-lucid moments, shadows moved and formed figures, horror that his mind couldn't entirely comprehend appeared and threatened him. 

William coughed violently. The rattle in his chest was worrisome, but Selina couldn't do much more. The medicine from the doctor should have cured his symptoms three days ago. The recent illness sweeping through London has been like a second coming of the plague. Bodies were dropping faster than most could keep up with. Thankfully, it wasn't to the point that they were building up in the streets just yet. Her fingers brushed along his clammy forehead, frowning at the heat still radiating. If the fever didn't break soon, there would be bigger things to worry about. 

She hadn't shown any symptoms yet. A small blessing. If she went down beside him, they might as well call an end to it. Pushing up from beside the bed, she moved to make some tea. It would calm her, and if she could get anything down him, help soothe his throat at the very least. 

Standing in their tiny kitchen, the pot for tea boiling, she let out a slow sigh. If William didn't get better…. As soon as the thought came, she was quick to try and banish it. He hadn't succumbed yet. He wouldn't. Her William was strong and as stubborn as they came. He would make it through this and be back to his normal self. And if not? There were other options. Her eyes strayed to a few of the books that she kept close at hand in the kitchen for when rituals needed to be performed. Death could not part them. She just hoped it wouldn't come to that so soon. 

Selina was pulled from the dark path of her thoughts when the kettle whistled. Making up two cups, the action was soothing. A routine that was familiar amongst the days of unfamiliar motions. Moving back to the room, she was pleased to see him with his eyes open, appearing far more lucid than he had in days. Her chest instantly felt lighter. Though, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that they were out of the woods. 

“It's good to see you awake, love.” She spoke gently. Likely, his head was bothering him given how feverish he had been. And still was. She could see the sweat beading along his brow. “I've made some tea. Do you think you could get some down?” Standing beside the bed, she held it out and watched as shaky hands took the warm cup. She winced at the pained look that came from him at the simple act of taking a sip. Still, it was seeing him do something other than lay there and moan in pain. She wouldn't be picky. Selina reached out and brushed her hands along his forehead, pushing back the sweat soaked hair. William's eyes fluttered closed at the touch, leaning into it. 

“You need more rest.” Not an observation as much as an order that fell from her lips. One that he was in no shape to disobey, and they both knew it. All stemmed from worry. Worry that he wouldn't get better. Worry that he would be taken from her. Worry that some force out there wouldn't allow them to be together, no matter what she tried. 

A low, tired hum was the response given. The man took a few more slow sips of the tea, hands less shaky than they had been when he first reached out. Her husband was a strong, stubborn man. Selina took comfort in that knowledge and seeing a visible improvement. Even if it didn't last all that long. 

“Have you slept at all?” His voice was hoarse, rough from the crying out he had done thanks to his fever dreams. That and lack of use. A gentle smile was given.

“Some. You are my greater concern. I'll sleep once I know you will wake up again.” As devoted as he was to her, she was as equally devoted to him. Her fingers continued the soothing actions against his scalp, hoping to ease him back to sleep. His body needed it, even if he had been barely conscious for three days. Proper rest would help heal him. The rattling in his chest with each breath he took shook her. The sounds were far from the powerful man that she knew. Almost made him sound frail, weak. But, she kept a brave face, not letting on those thoughts. If she gave it, they might come to light. 

William eased back once more. It didn't take long for his eyes to close and his muscles to go slack. Sleep took him under, though this state should be far more restful for him. Hopefully, this lucid moment meant that the fever was going to break soon. 

She watched, feeling fiercely protective over the man in the bed. Not the first in her life. No, she had been that protective over family. However, this may have been the first person, not blood related and certainly the first person in her adult life, that those feelings had appeared. It had taken a little time to get used to, understand, and control them. A little longer than she would have liked, admittedly. A dangerous time. Selina knew what and who she had ties to and the inherent risks that came with that. To herself and others around her. The simple fact that he was her soulmate had been well worth it. She had sensed the darkness that lingered within, the predator just underneath the surface. Drawn to it as much as she was him. Both the bond that fate had woven and the beast within. 

Finishing the tea, Selina let out a small sigh. Her eyes ached. The strain of staying awake for so long was starting to set in. Sleep would soon be unavoidable. The wheezing that came from William was enough to leave her unsettled though, which meant no sleep just yet. The mark on her shoulder felt warm. Not the pleasant warmth that came when they were together. No. More like a fevered warmth. A shared suffering. She shook it off the best that she could without getting too comfortable. A little longer was needed before she could allow herself to rest. At least until his breathing settled into something more aligned with normal. He had been conscious but it wasn't enough of an improvement for her to let her guard down entirely. 

*************************

The evening was cold and damp, rain falling as often was the weather these months. With his jacket pulled tightly around himself, the figure marched through the back alleys, listening, waiting. A predator hiding within the shadows. The nightmare that those among the London streets still feared. His name may not have been known, the press hardly getting their hands on the deeds that were carried out. No, he was far too meticulous for that. As much as the hysterics would be enjoyable to watch. Fame hardly mattered, though, to William. It would have complicated too many things. 

The itch had become too much, and William had needed to go out. Just one kill, and he would be back in the comfortable warmth of their home. It gave Selina time to carry out what she needed to as well, without any worry of being interrupted. 

There was less focus on finding the perfect victim that evening. It simply mattered that his blade was stained red. There had been a sense of complacency and comfort that had settled in after the Ripper killings had stopped. A security that allowed his work to become that much easier. Individuals were emboldened to walk alone in the streets once more. Shortcuts were taken where they had been avoiding any alleyways where light couldn't reach. The perfect combinations of elements that brought his prey right to him rather than him having to stalk anyone and drag them into the shadows without notice. Sure, his killings brought about whispers, and the memory of the Ripper still created that nightmare, but it was not enough for anyone to be able to pay proper attention to what was happening around London.

The kill had come with just a small struggle, the sort that helped keep things interesting without being too much of a hassle. A brief slap across his face and a claw mark made to his wrist before the end had come and the body was dumped. A sigh of satisfaction escaped William as he cleaned his blade against the clothes of his latest victim before stepping back into the shadows and leaving the body hidden among the trash, likely not to be found for several days. After the rats and other vermin had gotten their fill. 

Now that the urge had been quieted, he was looking forward to being home. Spending the remainder of the night, holding his wife close, was the perfect end to the night. His steps were light as he moved through the streets, now among the rest of the population and lights that lined the streets. No one would give a second glance, weather aside. Everyone was in an eager state to get home at the late hour. His shoulders relaxed further when his home came into view, chuckling softly to himself as his pace quickened even further. 

William would have known something was amiss, even if it wasn't for the burning cold that spread out from his soulmark; the lights were off, and Selina's absence from the table in the small kitchen was acutely felt. Eyes wandered around the room, looking for whatever might be out of place, anything that would give him the slightest hint as to where his dear wife was and what had happened. A feeling of dread built from deep within his chest, constricting his lungs and robbing him of his ability to breathe. It was all wrong, and his hand reached for the knife that was kept hidden beside the door, on the off chance that someone was foolish enough to enter their domain. Not the same he used for killing, lest anyone connect the two. Plausible deniability if he used something from the home. 

He could smell the burnt herbs that had been recently used. Selina had done some sort of ritual recently. As planned. That did not give William any sense of comfort as it normally would, not when her smiling face wasn't there to greet him at the door, ensuring that he had not harmed himself. A habit that she had developed early on in their relationship, one that had amused him to now end but had become so ingrained in their lives that it's lacking just heightened that sense of dread. 

The thoughts of a ritual gone wrong flashed across his consciousness but was quickly dismissed. No, Selina was far too practiced and versed to have something go so horribly wrong. Her skills were refined and honed from years of study. She had taught him what to look for as a precaution, and there wasn't a feeling lingering in the air or any sign that it had been such an accident. Something else was at play here. 

Creeping through his own home as he would a victim's, William strained his ears and his eyes for any sign of Selina. Nothing downstairs. The fireplace was dead, not even a hint of embers that would have signaled that she lit it for warmth now that the colder winter months were here. Up the stairs he went, knife at the ready. Still, no sound and the cold was only spreading further, practically invading his lungs with ice. 

As much as he longed to call out her name, it would give away his position. That was when he heard sounds coming from the bedroom. A sound that he knew well enough. Gasped, gurgled breath. No longer could he truly control his actions, rushing forward. The door slammed open, smashing into the wall behind it, causing the man that was straddling his wife with filthy hands enclosed around her neck to jump. Red. It was the only thing that covered his vision as he lunged forward, not giving the man a chance to properly react. Blade met flesh, digging deep into muscle, unforgiving and with a practice precision. His subconscious mind already knew that it was too late, allowing his fury to be unleashed on the man before him. It hardly mattered who he was, or what intentions that he had come to the house with. This waste of a human had stolen his soulmate from him. 

"A wife for a wife," the man below him snarled, the last words that he spoke as William sliced the blade across his throat, not deep enough to cause an instant death. Let the bastard feel what he had done. Panting, he dropped the blade and scrambled for Selina. 

"Selina…" His voice soft, there was a shaky note to it that had never been present before in his life. Pain underlying it all as the ache and agony was setting in. "Please, no…" Gently, he slid one hand under her head while pulling her into his lap, his free hand gently stroking her cheek. The stillness to her body was a clear indication that his worst fears had been realized, that she was truly gone. Curling himself over her form, William let out an agonized sound into the emptiness of the room, heard by no one but himself. Gone. She was gone. 

He had allowed himself to grieve, to cry and feel that nearly all consuming sorrow for no longer than a few minutes. The ice from his soulmark kept him grounded in reality, in the knowledge that she was gone. But that didn't mean that she was lost to him forever. The thought nagged the back of his brain and as his breathing began to even out, a new rush of determination came over him. 

William wouldn't allow the world to tear her so easily from him. No, there was still far too much for them to do. 

"I'll fix this, I promise you. We will be together again. Just give me a little time, love." The words spoken so softly held such intent. A vow far more than a promise. He had learned a few things from her over the years when it came to the occult and the dark beings that resided in the world just outside of their senses. A deal could be made. Whatever sacrifice was worth it. His soul was already damned. Living without her was not an acceptable inevitability. 

First thing was first. He had to clean the mess on the floor beside their bed. With a gentle kiss to her lips and then her forehead, William forced himself to pull away from Selina. Throat still constricted, it took just a moment longer for him to be able to look away from her still, lifeless body and turn his attention properly to the lump of flesh on the floor. Shame that he couldn't have made him suffer longer.

So be it. William knew that there were things that could be harvested from the man to be able to aid his quest. The rest? It would be tossed to feed the rats and stray dogs that ran the streets. 

[celuere]

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arlecchino

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ good night ritual. (nsfw)

cw: cunnilingus

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ teaser. (nsfw)

cw: semi-public, stimulation , mentions of giving head

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ teased. (nsfw)

cw: voyeurism, deepthroating, mirror sex, mild degradation, praising, full nelson

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ the hearth is now extinguished. pt. 1 (suggestive)

cw: unspoken feelings, doomed yuri, mutual pining

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ my hearth. pt. 2 (nsfw)

cw: mentions of blood, bit of angst, oral sesbian lex at the end

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ sweet dreams. (nsfw)

cw: threesome, arle and bossform!arle taking turns on you, overstimulation, fingering, mild degrading, squirting, cuckolding, oral

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ not enough. (nsfw)

cw: fingering, making out, marking, Arlecchino being desperate for her wife, mentions of pregnancy

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ give me what I want. (nsfw)

cw: porn without plot, strap-on, rough sex, overstimulation, pussydrunk Arle

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ arle finding out you‘re pregnant (sfw)

cw: slight angst

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ hard day. (nsfw)

cw: fingering, praising, fluffy through and through, comforting, worshipping

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ arle with a chubby wife (nsfw)

cw: body dysmorphia, insecurity, mirror sex, fingering, body worship, arle being a goner

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ be quiet. (nsfw)

cw: creampie ig??, against a wall, semi-public, almost getting caught, orgasm denial

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ fallen angel!arle x devoted follower!reader (nsfw)

cw: au, loss of virginity, hands down filthy sesbian lex, degrading, worship, arle fucking you out of pure spite for the divine

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ i know if i‘m haunting you, you must be haunting me (sfw)

cw: grief, doomed yuri, angst with smh comfort, depression

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ blunt rotation. (nsfw)

cw: modern college au, threesome, usage of weed, high sex, reader getting passed around, unprotected sesbian lex, might be a little ooc, backshots, cunnilingus (reader receiving and giving)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ sometimes silence guides the mind (sfw)

cw: pregnant wife!reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ kiss it, bite it, can i fit it? (nsfw)

cw: modern au, dilf arle, implied age gap, shameless flirting, reader is lowkey inexperienced, strap-on, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, arle introduces you into the world of awesome sesbian lex, body worship

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ lockjaw (nsfw)

cw: sub!arle, faceriding, overstimulation

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a little bit scandalous (nsfw)

cw: mild exhibitionism, carriage sex, dick sucking, riding, unprotected sex, pet names, slight degradation, slight homophobia

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ her body temperature. (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ arle x wife!reader (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ parent!arlecchino (sfw OFC.)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ arle taking care of her pregnant wife (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ MORE of arle caring for her pregnant wife (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ vampire!arlecchino (suggestive)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ nsfw headcanons (nsfw duh)

cw: degrading, bondage, sub!arle, breeding

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ random hcs about her (sfw+nsfw)

cw: dacryphilia, strap-on

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ speaking french. (nsfw)

cw: fingering

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ playable character!reader earning her talent mats (nsfw)

cw: cunnilingus, strap-on, bondage

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ biker!arlecchino taking you on her bike (nsfw)

cw: semi-public, modern arle

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ hand or vibrator? (nsfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ what happens once her markings reach her heart? (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ pathetic girlfailure arle (nsfw)

cw: sub!arle, bondage

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ girldad arle (sfw obv)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ strapped up arle (nsfw)

cw: cockwarming, public

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ bassist!arle (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ more about her body temperature (nsfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ game night with the hearth (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ arle with a morning boner (nsfw)

cw: somnophilia

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ dilf!arle x milf!reader (nsfw)

cw: breeding, body worship

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ trying out your new lipstick (nsfw)

cw: deepthroating, masturbating, dacryphilia, slightly obsessive arle

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ arle assembling your furniture (nsfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

mavuika

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ mavuika coming to your rescue (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ blunt rotation (nsfw)

cw: modern college au, threesome, usage of weed, high sex, reader getting passed around, unprotected sesbian lex, might be a little ooc, backshots, cunnilingus (reader receiving and giving)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ relationship hcs (sfw+nsfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

cw: strap-on, cunnilingus

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ nsfw hcs (nsfw obv)

cw: strap-on, semi public, cunnilingus, tit play

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ hand or vibrator? (nsfw)

cw: public, fingering

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ pounding you on her bike (nsfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ pregnant sex with mavuika (nsfw)

cw: pregnancy sex

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

navia

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ nsfw headcanons (nsfw duh)

cw: public, cockwarming, somnophilia, begging, praising, cunnilingus, mirror, breeding

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

clorinde

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ nsfw headcanons (nsfw obv)

cw: scissoring, risky sesbian lex, praising, cunnilingus

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

feixiao

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ i want you all over me. (nsfw)

cw: heat, breeding, mating press, feral feixiao

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ dating hcs (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ feixiao with a normal s/o (sfw)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

himeko

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ needy himeko <3 (nsfw)

cw: top!himeko, almost getting caught, quiet sex

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

kafka

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

zani

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬/𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ pussydrunk zani (nsfw)

cw: cunnilingus

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ zani sneaking off with you (nsfw)

cw: semi-public, vaginal fingering

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[lightsoutletsgo]

I’m such an angst girly omg how about lando’s phone not working and reader gets sad he’s not replying or answering her calls for a few days🤨

pairing: lando norris x reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, allusions to a panic attack, reader is v emotional, lando is an idiot ahhhh tysm for sending this in! It was fun to write but ofc I had to make it fluffy to end bc I didn't wanna make myself too sad happy reading! love mimi 🤍

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Long distance relationships were hard, you knew that before you’d even started dating Lando. You’d heard all of the stories before but like the many innocent others who had yet to experience their partner being on the other side of the world, you were determined that everything would be okay. 

Now, as you thought back to how naive you’d been, you scoffed, how could you have thought it would be so simple? If you weren’t battling with time zones, you were battling to find free time, and if you found free time, it was never quiet and peaceful and it never lasted more than a few minutes. You knew you should have been satisfied with those snatched moments you did get, but you missed your boyfriend. 

You missed him even more when he got another podium and you weren’t there to celebrate with him. You’d stayed up until stupid o’clock to watch the race live and you’d cheered and jumped as your boyfriend performed overtake after overtake to move up the grid to claim second place. You knew that once he had done his post-race interviews and meetings he would call you. You sighed as once more Lando’s contact picture flashed up with ‘facetime unavailable’. You’d scheduled this call the night before but he was only a few minutes late. You shook your head as you took a deep breath, he was probably just finishing up in meetings. Half an hour went by and your stomach twisted with worry as you still hadn’t heard from him. You checked your phone but there were no new notifications - not from him at least anyway. 

You curled up on the couch, noticing Lando’s hoodie still resting over the arm of the couch. Pulling it towards you, you nuzzled your face into it and inhaled, the smell of his cologne washing over you. You felt tears well up in your eyes. No matter how busy or tired he was, he had never once missed your call. You grew angry, not with Lando, never with Lando, but just at the situation. 

You huffed and grabbed your phone once more, deciding to doom scroll through instagram until Lando finally called. You noticed that a few people had posted new stories and so you pressed on the first one, absentmindedly tapping your screen until you paused, sitting up quickly as you realised the story you were looking at was Max Fewtrell’s. He’d posted a video in the club at a post-race party. You normally wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, but you could have sworn in the back corner of the dimly-lit club video was a figure that looked suspiciously like Lando. Going back to the start of his story and scrolling through again you realised it was Lando, wearing the black shirt you’d given him for his birthday the previous year. 

Turns out you could be mad at Lando. Something uncomfortable and hot flashed in your stomach as nausea hit you. Anger curled its way up your spine and through your chest, tightening around your lungs and making it hard to breathe. He was out at a club? And that’s why he hadn’t called you? You growled and glared at your screen, thumbs jabbing into the keyboard as you furiously typed a message to Max. He was online, you noted, as you hit ‘send’ and waited for him to read it. You barely had to wait five minutes before Max was apologising profusely and sending you a long paragraph about how he was sure Lando had texted you and would be letting him know straight away. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, throwing your phone down on the couch next to you with a ‘hmmph’. You sat in silence for a while, your emotions slowly welling up as tears gathered on your lash line. Was this how your relationship was going to end? Long nights alone while Lando partied it up on the other side of the world? Surrounded by scores of choices of pretty women and an endless supply of alcohol? You couldn’t help the way you sobbed as you grabbed his hoodie once more, desperately trying to catch your breath. You were crying so hard you almost didn’t hear the way your phone vibrated on the cushion. You gasped for air as you picked it up and turned it over, Max’s name flashing on the screen. You snatched your phone up and pressed the green button to accept, not even registering that it was a facetime call and he was going to see you crying.

You inhaled sharply as it was Lando’s worried face that appeared on the screen, he looked panicked and you could hear the music thumping in the background although slightly muffled. Despite the fluorescent lights he was standing under, he still looked good, “Baby? Oh my god…” He took in your tear stained cheeks and the way your eyes were red. He noted your sniffling noises and the way your bottom lip trembled, “Love I’m so so sorry!” You let out a laugh and rolled your eyes, trying to not let him see the next wave of tears that were threatening to fall, “Sure.” He sighed, “Honey, I promise you, I didn't mean it. I did text you! I didn’t realise it didn’t go through because I was in the post-race meeting!” “I wanted to celebrate your win with you!” Lando gently shushed you as he saw your chest heave, your breathing quickening once more, “Baby, baby, shh sh sh it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here.” He looked off screen for a moment to a person you assumed to be Max before the music got louder again and then quiet, as if Max had left Lando alone. You followed along with his breathing as he over exaggerated for you to copy.

“Love I promise you it was just an accident okay? I texted you to ask if you were ready to call but when there was no reply I assumed you’d fallen asleep so then I texted you to ask if you could be at the airport for 4am…” He winced, “I decided to fly home early and have a few days with you before the next race.” You melted back against the couch, hugging his hoodie to your chest as you tucked your knees up under your chin and rested your phone there, “4am?” You sniffled with a giggle, “Is that my hoodie?” He said, doing his best to distract you and you let out a proper giggle this time, “Lando! 4am is so early!” He laughed, relieved to see you feeling better, “I figured we could go for a super early breakfast and then go home and fall asleep together, in our bed, in our apartment which is my favourite place to be, with my love. Your bottom lip wobbled once more, “You promise?” He nodded to assure you, “I promise.” You inhaled deeply and let out an exhale with a sigh, “I can’t wait to see you,” your thumb gently rubbed across his cheek even through the screen. “I can’t wait to see you either love, can’t wait to be home”

[rimunagenius]

It Was Doomed From The Start

ʚ pairing: Kate Martin x Roommate!reader

ʚ word count: 3.1k words

ʚ warnings: RPF!! , stalking, harassment, angst, self reflection (this topic scares me…don’t judge), fluff ofc bc it’s Kate

ʚ rimunagenius speaks: i know the title looks scary, but i promise, it’s nothing bad with Kate and reader. I wouldn’t write angst for them for this story not yet atleast I also wanted to introduce what Kate has reader under in her phone and i’ve also been thinking about adding one shots about how Kate and reader came up with the nicknames for eachother or little one shots of them before or during the events written about in the series (stuff that didn’t make it to the fic)…if i do they’ll be on the series masterlist but let me know if you’d like to see that!! anyways…here’s the long awaited part three!

Part 3

| Series Masterlist |

"C'mon, it's time to get up, sleeping beauty." There was no beauty in how you were currently knocked out in Kate's bed. Your hair is all over your face and pillow; with parts sticking up due to the lack of hairstyle before going to sleep.

You had your mouth slightly open, quietly breathing through it. You needed this sleep. You usually slept way more appealing but this—this was your well-needed catch up on weeks' worth of rest. "Y/n...y/n. C'mon. We have to get ready." Kate leaned over the bed, a hand on your hip, softly attempting to shake you awake. A string of muffled and incoherent curse words left your mouth as you pulled the comforter over your head.

Curling in on yourself to make yourself small and generate more heat. It was a pretty cold morning in Iowa City. "I don't wanna." You whined under the blanket. Eliciting a small giggle from the blonde, she crawled into the bed, almost spooning you before speaking to you softly.

"Well we have to, sunshine. We have classes, and if you still want to eat breakfast, I suggest you get up now." She flipped the comforter off your head, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. "C'mon, let's go." She gave your arm light taps before she then gripped it and started to pull you out of her bed.

"We should not have stayed up so late last night. It's your fault. I blame you.” You pointed in her face, your hair everywhere and eyes closed, preventing her from taking you seriously. “You kept doing that thing you do with your mouth." You mumbled as you now were standing right infront of your roommate, eyes looking up at her, your mascara under your eyes.

"Sorry I was having a good time. From what I remember you didn't want me to stop." She looked at you, wiping some of the mascara fall out away, giving you a bright smile before walking you towards the bathroom.

"Kate, we were drinking and you know that trick is only funny when we're both under the influence. If you would've stopped messing around, we could've finished both movies at a decent hour. I literally fell asleep in your bed and halfway through the movie." You say as you look at her through the mirror, narrowing your eyes before cleaning your mascara and whatever makeup you had on.

She raised her arms in defense, "I mean, what can I say? I'm the life of the party, baby." She said before placing herself on the counter. "Oh, and I already made waffles and yours are on the counter." She sat and watched your do your whole routine, her legs swinging a little every now and then.

"Yes?" You looked at her as you placed a refreshed coat of mascara on your lashes. You could see her staring. She's been doing that a lot lately. It made you feel warm inside and you wouldn’t lie and say you haven’t been doing it more recently also.

"Nothing. Just watching you." She smiled softly as she watched you do your makeup. A small blush casting over both your cheeks. You both knew what it was.

"Okay, creep." You side eyed her before giving her your best smile, just to prove you were being playful.

"Haha. Funny." Kate mocked you, lightly kicking her foot against the side of your thigh.

"Kate? Can you do me a favor?" You looked at your best friend, her blue eyes immediately meeting yours. She nodded her head quickly, eyes trained in yours immediately trying to read your face for anything wrong.

"Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?" She picked up on your nervous look. You sighed, looking down.

"Nick’s still weirding me out, so I wanted to know if you could walk back here to come get me after your class and take me to my next one? I just don't want to be on campus alone with him being around." You looked nervous, almost as if you had a feeling she'd say no. Of course Kate didn't, though. You still haven’t told her about not even going to report him in the first place.

"Yeah, for sure. I can do that. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah. Okay, thank you. It's just for this class and my next two and then Hannah can take me to practice later." You watched Kate's face soften.

"Y/n, you know i'd take you to every class. It's not an inconvenience. Whatever you need, I got you." She hugged you before saying a small goodbye and watched you walk inside your class while she waited outside.

You went inside and sat down, your phone pinging with a new message.

bear <3

be safe, ily.❤️

sunshine☀️💕

ilym😘

'bear <3 loved "ilym😘"' 

The class went smoothly, you walked outside to see Kate standing, waiting for you. She must have left class sooner to be here on time to not make you wait. God, you were so grateful for this girl.

She walked you to every class before you had anatomy. So far, Nick hasn't spotted you, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. You didn’t want to put it past him to find you, but for right now, you were taking the win. As you finally made it to anatomy, Juliana had been waiting outside.

You and Kate had been laughing about something she said when you looked over and saw Juliana watching you both, a smile on her face. "Oh, Kate. This is my friend Juliana, the one who's helping me with the girlfriend thing." You introduced your two friends, them shaking one another's hands.

"Hi, I'm Kate. Nice to meet you." Kate greeted, a friendly smile on her face.

"Oh, I know who your are. Y/n has said so many great things about you. You're almost all she talks about in here." Your face immediately grew red. You hadn't realized you talked about Kate so much. Did you really?

Kate looked down at you and smiled. A small blush rising to her cheeks. "Does she now?" She asked teasingly.

"Yeah, she's always going on about how such a great friend you are. How good you are to her. Makes me jealous." She jokingly added, before chatting Kate up some more. You didn't know what it was but something about Juliana being overly excited about talking to Kate, Kate being engaged in the conversation, was something that made a pit grow in your stomach.

You had no idea why two of your friends talking gave you a sense of jealously. It was frankly ridiculous. Shaking the totally absurd assumptions of this otherwise normal interaction out of your head, you looked down at your phone. A new notification from a random account on instagram.

The picture less profile, what seemed to be a randomly generated username had sent you a message. Clicking the message, you immediately felt a ball in your throat form. Suddenly your knees felt like they would give up and the world would swallow you whole from right where you were standing.

maybe you should make her leave…

this won’t be good for you.

she’s not good for you.

make her leave.

it won’t be good for her either.

You looked around, trying to find who had sent it. They had to have been talking about Kate. You knew who it was, just thing to find him to justify that you weren’t absolutely going crazy and imagining this whole thing.

“Hey, you okay?” Kate looked at you, her eyes scanning every inch of your flushed face, her worry growing by the second.

“Yeah, I’m totally fine. I’m just going to walk into class.” You swalllowed before you looked around once more, suddenly seeing him. Lurking at a nearby a table, hat on, just staring right at you. He was sitting a healthy distance away, but watching your every move. Watching Kate. You couldn’t take this.

You hadn’t realized you had been staring, Kate followed your stare and saw him too. Juliana wrapping her arm around your shoulder, kissing the top of your head. You instantly regretted not being able to sell that you were unbothered, due to Kate starting to walk over to Nick.

“Kate! Don’t. I don’t need you talking to him.” You grabbed her arm, and pleaded with her.

“He’s obviously making you very uncomfortable. I thought you told someone about him already. What did he even say?” You did not have the heart to tell her that you let this man harass you for weeks just because you didn’t want to have any conflict. It wasn’t the best decision but it saved a lot of people trouble and you didn’t want to be inconvenience with this stupid thing. You could handle it. You could handle him.

“Kate, I was going to I swear. But I just forgot. You going up to him and telling him off isn’t going to make it better. Trust me. I do not want him to harass or hurt you too. ” You were getting super overwhelmed. Your eyes burning, your vision going blurry, eyes watering.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Juliana said, rubbing her arms up and down your arms. She didn’t have the first clue of what to do other than report this. She just didn’t want to do it without your permission. It was wrong, but it wasn’t her place.

“Hey, can you give us a moment?” Kate asked her. Juliana nodded and walked inside the class but not without staring Nick down before doing so.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to get all riled up over this. But you do need to tell someone, baby.” Her face dropped and immediately started turning red. She should’ve caught herself. It just slipped. You hadn’t noticed because you were avoiding looking anywhere and seeing him.

You hadn’t picked up on the name. Trying to focus on what she was actually saying instead of thinking of all the ways Nick could harm Kate. What did he mean by ‘it won’t be good for her either’ ? All you could think about was her safety.

“I’m sorry, what?” You looked up at Kate, your brows furrowing. Suddenly feeling the biggest migraine come on.

Kate’s face relaxed, sighing before grabbing your face. “I was just saying that we should go report him, and i’ll take you home. I’ll tell coach we caught something and don’t want to get the team sick. We—I just need to get you out of here. Okay? Can you do that for me?” Her eyes stared into yours, wordlessly pleading with you to choose your safety over thinking you’re a burden to someone else.

You nodded, looking behind her to see that Nick had left. He was gone. That’s when you felt a hand grab yours, fingers interlocking. Kate. Immediately you felt more relaxed, more safe. At home. No one could hurt you when you were with the people you loved and cared for. Who cared for you. The team, your friends, were your home. Kate was your home. Your anchor.

Nothing could hurt you, and you were going to do it together. Sending a quick text to Juliana, letting her know the situation, you and Kate started walking to the deans office. Kate sat with you, held your hand, and made sure you were comfortable while telling the dean everything Nick had done to you and said he’d do over the course of the two and a half years you had been here.

It was extensive. It started off so small that you didn’t notice that he slowly integrated into your life. He was obsessed with you. Stalking you. You didn’t realize until it was too late—til it got bad. You and Kate had found out he was a transfer, changing his whole major and career plan to follow yours. He had been to 6 different universities in the last 3 years due to ‘personal’ issues.

Turns out every formal complaint had been waived and disproven. You weren’t the only woman he’s done this to. It was crazy to think that of the many women, the countless evidence of severe mental disorders and psychotic behavior and harassment, he was still allowed into many other universities, was able to appeal the accusations and allowed to leave it behind him.

Kate was in better words, fuming. Her and the dean had gone at it, you trying to mediate before the dean resulted to benching her for her last season. You guys had been in the deans office for about 2 hours. Leaving just in time to send a text to Coach Bluder that you’d both be in absence at practice today.

You two had been walking, still hand in hand, back to your guys’ apartment. “Kate are you sure you want to miss practice today?” You looked at her, eyes still a little bloodshot from the crying you had done. “I can totally just go home alone and say I just didn’t feel good. I’m not on the team, you are.” She still looked upset and very irritated at the situation. She hasn’t said much since you both left. The second you spoke, her face softened. You tended to do that a lot; you changed her mood. Her mood affects yours and yours hers. And only you two could fix it for the other.

“And leave you alone? On campus where a crazy guy is stalking you and making you feel uncomfortable and unsafe? No way. I’d miss as many practices as you needed me to.” She smiled at you, squeezing your hand, before letting it go, and settling for wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you, Kate. Seriously. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” You leaned your head on her, arriving at your apartment.

“Of course. Anything for my favorite girl.” She kissed the top of your head, smiling to herself. She was grateful to have you in her life, she needed you just as much, probably more, than you needed her.

You both helped and healed things in eachother more over the last two and a half years of knowing eachother than anyone had for you both in your guys’ entire lives. “You didn’t do anything to deserve me, you know? Anyone would be lucky to have someone like you. Someone as kind, beautiful, smart, loving, caring, and gorgeous as you. Oh, did i mention you were pretty?” Kate laughed, her cheeks growing pinker by the second.

“Okay, Kate.” You laughed as she unlocked the front door, letting you walk in first. “Thank you. I appreciate you, and I feel the absolute same about you. Any girl who gets you, is the luckiest girl alive.” You smiled at her as you sat the on the couch, her in the kitchen grabbing you both water.

She smiled at you, before you turned to turn the TV on. When you looked away, her smile faltered. You looked at the tv, thinking about what she said. What you had said. You both cared for eachother so deeply. You couldn’t possibly be catching feelings for Kate. Was what you said too obvious…? You had known her for a long time, she was your best friend. That could ruin everything.

Could it? I mean, Kate thought about it over and over, watching your from the kitchen. The way your lips curled slightly when you watched the same reruns of your favorite shows. The way you always sat in the same spot on the couch, next to hers, leaving the perfect amount of room for her but also not enough so that you guys would be touching.

It was hard for the both of you to think this way about the person you have shared a space with for so long. Your roommate. Your best friend. You both needed to figure this out. But it was hard. You couldn’t possibly harbour feelings for the one person you both told yourself not to when this arrangement came to be.

Maybe that should’ve been the first sign. The sign that this living situation was doomed from the moment it was thought into existence; it was doomed from the start. How could you possibly set that boundary, silently in your guys’ head, that you guys couldn’t catch feelings. It would only have meant that you both could’ve seen this coming. I mean, neither one of you turned a blind eye to the other being attractive. Let alone, being eachothers type.

Kate brought you both the waters. Setting them down on the coffee table infront of you. Sitting down in her spot, next to you. You leaned your head on her shoulder almost instantly. Whether you had feelings for her or not, the comfort Kate had brought you was something you couldn’t describe. The need to have the feeling of Kate next to you seemingly growing worse with the feelings.

The familiarity was something you haven’t known since back home. So you essentially chased the feeling whenever you could have it. “Thank you for being there for me, Kate. I mean, truly. I already said it, but thank you.” Snuggling a little closer, bring one knee to your chest.

“Anytime, you know that. I’d do anything for you,” Her voice grew quieter at the end of her sentence. She meant it. “Besides, you’d be completely lost without me, sunshine. You need me.” She smiled when you landed a soft playful smack across her chest. She reached her arm over your shoulders, making you more comfortable.

“You’re right, I do.” You laughed before turning your attention to the TV. You both watched TV the rest of the night, deciding that you’d worry about the Nick thing more tomorrow. The dean telling you that it’d be handled very soon and quickly as possible. So, it was tomorrows problem.

As you both watched TV, you both thought over the fact you may be inlove with your best friend. It may be real and you’d both have to find a way to either move on or deal with it.

And fast.

[chilschuck]

omg… thinking abt chil reconnecting w his ex wife and becoming platonic besties. imagine they talk about it finding love again (chil’s ex has a new gf)… chil realises he’s caught feelings for reader… his ex teasing him about it…

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ OMG ANON THIS HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET, WAHHHH. SUCH A CUTE IDEA!!!! it’s currently 2 am but i had to get this out for you since you’ve been waiting a while!!! it was so much fun!! <33

— ALL BECAUSE OF YOU.

꒰ info: ꒱ chilchuck x gn!reader

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw!! some cussing ofc lol

꒰ wc: ꒱ 586

✦ tumblr deleted this before i could post it twice so let’s pray it posts this time, LOL. short but sweet, i hope you enjoy!!! <333

“So… Who are they?”

That simple question was enough to make him choke on his drink. Was he that easy to read? Catching his breath, the half-foot immediately sputtered.

“What are you talking about?” Yet, the knowing look on her face said it all. Even if they had been separated for this long, she could still figure out just what he was hiding. So much for trying to keep some things personal…

“You have this expression, this content smile I haven’t seen in years, Chilchuck. Someone’s making you happy.” Her tone was not condescending in the slightest, rather content with this new revelation. Her words caused his cheeks to flush, more than the ale in his cup could.

And she was right. He was coming to terms with his feelings; and even the thought of you was enough to make him whole again. The fact it was so obvious was rather embarrassing, and he could feel the tips of his ears burn.

“Yeah, yeah… I guess you figured it out before I got a chance to tell you.”

They were nothing like they used to be, having settled on staying close through friendship. Although this maybe would’ve been hard to do in the past, Chilchuck felt more peaceful than he thinks he has in years. There was something about you that lit fire to his senses in ways he had long forgotten, and he found himself seeking you out more than he’d like to admit.

“I’ve told you plenty about my new girlfriend, now it’s your turn to spill. What are they like? It’s a sight to see you this happy.”

It was something only someone who really knew him could see; the change in his demeanor, the light in his eyes, the smile that threatened to spill from the corners of his lips. And it was all because of you.

“You’re going to laugh when I tell you how I met them,” he began, licking the ale from his lips in thought. “Laios’ party. I really ended up eating my own words about inner party romance, huh?” The last sentence came out in a grumble, one that caused her to laugh.

“Wow, they made you go against your own rules? Must be a keeper.”

And you were. Warm, but not enough to burn. Bright, but not blindingly so. Sweet, but not sickening. Chilchuck found himself feeling like a teenager again when it came to you. He bit his tongue.

“So you’re going to confess to them, right?” She teased, prodding his shoulder. “Look at you, blushing like a schoolboy. Must be serious.”

He opened his mouth to retort, before closing it again. The words died before he could speak, the full gravity of his feelings for you hitting him like a freight train. Burying his head in his arms, he groaned. “Shit…”

Chilchuck was doomed. Yet even as his head spiraled from a mixture of the alcohol and his new found love, it always went back to you. You, and your smiles, and your laugh, and your touch. There weren’t enough curse words he could possibly growl out in this moment to make himself feel better.

His ex wife laughed again, patting him on the back and stirring him from his thoughts. “Jeez, you really are a schoolboy. Maybe you should give them a love letter while you’re at it. Might be smart, actually.”

That’s how the rest of their time together went; two close friends musing about the ability to find love again. All because of you.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[myownwholewildworld]

vi. O Seanalair - acta, non verba

chapter 5 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you irremediably find yourself in Marcus' bed again and make a discovery which may help your people. a/n: i have a genuine question. do people like long chapters? because i can't seem to stop when i start writing for these two D: as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, marital abuse, etc - i think you know the drill by now. attempted SA (not by Marcus), callie fights back. fluff and angst. some internal battles. smut. unprotected piv but no creampie. oral (m!receiving). fingering (f!receiving). sleepy morning sex. aftercare. marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd. if i'm forgetting anything, please let me know! w/c: ~11.3k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, about what happened yesterday morning. Every time your mind wandered, it ran back to the exact moment Marcus buried himself in your slick heat for the first time.

How he made you feel. How he ensured you were comfortable and thriving under his touch. How he talked you through it and paced it down to make the whole experience even more pleasurable. How his fingers found refuge in your pussy, working you expertly in preparation to take him. How your cunt deliciously burnt with that heavenly stretch.

How you were gushing now for him, craving the fullness of his dick, pussy desperately clenching around nothing.

“Dè air thalamh? (What on earth?)” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head to clear your mind.

The fact that the memory kept coming back―to your despair―was dangerous, extremely dangerous. Yes, sex had been good ― no, fucking amazing. But it didn’t mean anything, nothing at all.

A means to an end, that’s all he is, you mentally reprimanded yourself.

It shouldn’t bias you, despite how good he had fucked you. You couldn’t get… attached, because whatever this was, it was doomed from the beginning. That was what you had decided the first time you locked eyes with him in the battlefield, and you were not one to go back on a promise. Especially one you made to yourself ― to avenge your family.

To your disgust, you had to admit to yourself that it was harder to keep the focus on that now, knowing how satiated he had left you yesterday. It was truly shameful that you were looking forward to getting fucked stupid again.

In a couple of hours, hopefully. You couldn't wait to have Marcus plunge in and out of you. In... Out... So deep inside…

You bit your bottom lip down out of pure, horny desperation and pressed your knees together, containing the dampness that threatened to soak your underwear if you didn’t rein your thoughts in.

“A bheil thu nad shlàinte, mo bana-phrionnsa? (Are you well, my princess?)” Brighid’s soft voice pierced through your wet daydream, bringing you back to reality.

Blinking rapidly, you gave her a stern nod. A muted reply, since your throat felt dry with desire.

“Are you sure, my lady? You look flushed. There’s a fever going around in the village,” she pushed, lips pouted with concern.

Fuck, kill me now.

“I’m fine, Brighid, don’t worry,” you croaked once you found your voice.

Your cheeks were burning and had nothing to do with an illness. Unless feeling cock-drunk could be considered an ailment. Maybe it should.

“Are Daimh and Iona sick? Perhaps you―”

“They are fine. It’s just hot in here with the hearth running on full blast,” you cut her off, slightly embarrassed by the fact that Brighid had noticed your flustering.

But if she had been fucked the way you had been, she would fully understand. Of that you were sure.

Not by Marcus though, she can find another man. He’s mine.

What the hell was that about?

To avoid any further interrogation, you grabbed the jug, filled to the rim with wine. Veering around, you exited the kitchen promptly. The cold air of the hallway was most welcomed ― the Gods knew you needed it, considering you were about to enter the room where the personification of your wet dreams was.

As soon as you reached the double doors to the great hall, you quickly scanned the room. Every night the great hall of your family home would be desecrated with the presence of your enemy. The legionnaires were chatting and laughing loudly, goblets clinking with their contents spilt all over the wooden tables.

Once a sanctuary for your family and clan, you barely recognised it anymore. The beautiful tapestries that your ancestors had woven had been taken down, the stone walls bare and undressed. Even with the giant fireplace crackling nearby, it still felt cold. It even smelt different ― musty and sweaty, the lingering stench of death they carried coating the air.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you made your way to the dais. Only when you went up the wooden step did you realise that Marcus’ chair was occupied by a man you didn’t recognise, and Maximus’ spot was empty. Another sweep of the room told you what your blood already knew: for whatever reason, they had stepped out.

“Expecting someone else, puella (girl)?” the man on Marcus’ chair cackled as you approached, interrupting his talk with Cassius.

Raising a mighty brow, you decidedly ignored him, pouring wine in Cassius’ cup.

“I am talking to you, you stupid, savage woman,” he sneered.

Before you could think, the man laced his arm around your waist, forcing you to sit on his lap. Your blood ran hot with rage, palms itching to slap him until he fell unconscious. The need to turn around and spit on his face was a call from the Gods themselves.

But you couldn’t, not in a room full of Romans who would behave exactly the same way. You were at a loss here, and you only wished that when the day came and you encountered this bastard on the battlefield, you could slit his throat.

Clutching the jug between your hands, your eyes landed on Cassius. He was watching you with intent, almost studying you, but it was pretty obvious that he was not about to keep his man in check. If anything, he was about to fucking smile.

“Where’s that arrogant look now, huh?” the man cackled, pressing you against his tiny bulge.

“Do you really think you can threaten me with that?” you hissed, referring to the small erection brushing your buttocks. “That is the size of a barnacle.”

You definitely hit a nerve there, because the man pushed you off his lap hastily, grunting something unintelligible, but heard enough to know he was cursing you.

How bad you wished you could empty the contents of the jug on his face. For a long minute, you really considered it, running through the scenario and its outcomes in your mind ― you would be fast enough to catch him off guard, throw the jug at him and make a run for the small door on the back of the dais, latching it behind you and running up the spiral staircase to your father’s solar.

However, before you could act on any of it, Marcus’ deep voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Move, Brutus. Now,” Marcus snarled.

You turned around at the fury his tone distilled, his eyes locked on the man you now knew as Brutus. His pupils had darkened, his jaw tightened. Despite the tenderness he had shown you in the bedchamber, the General was an imposing man outside of it, and Brutus knew as much.

He soon scuttled away like the vermin he was, while Cassius straightened his back, eyes fixed to the front, avoiding contact with his General. Odd.

Maximus was a few steps behind Marcus, closing the door you had planned to escape through. The thought of both of them in your father’s solar didn’t sit well with you, but there wasn’t much you could say without blowing your cover.

“Dux Meus,” you bowed your head down, stepping aside to let him sit.

His opaque orbs lingered on you for a second too long, softening ever so slightly as he studied your composed expression.

You gave him a feeble smile, averting your eyes so people would not notice the brief exchange. By the way Maximus cleared his throat and a smirk curled his lips, you had not been as subtle as you had originally thought.

Once both men were seated, you proceeded to fill Marcus’ goblet. Your hand was still trembling with the fury that coursed through your veins, causing the jug to almost kick the wooden cup. Thankfully, Marcus caught it before it spilt.

His eyes shot to yours, and they were screaming at you. His mouth didn’t open, but his orbs spoke for him very loudly: Are you okay? What’s happened? They were mad with worry ― an honest one you didn’t expect at all. The hand that a second ago was straightening the cup, was now softly clamping around your wrist, the shaking gone under his soothing caress.

The weight of his sight, of his concern for you, was momentarily overwhelming.

“I’m okay,” you whispered before he spoke, giving him a reassuring nod.

“Are you―?”

“I’m fine, truly,” you insisted, worried that people would pick up on your hushed conversation.

Marcus finally let go of your wrist, and soon after you stepped off the dais to fill other goblets.

For the rest of the night, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Before his private conversation with Maximus in the castle’s solar, you had been acting all lively and relaxed, but since his return, your features had been tamed into feigned calmness. Marcus could feel the anger simmering beneath your skin, seeping like venom dripping off a serpent’s fangs.

Wished he had stayed so could understand what had changed, but his duties to the Empire should come first. That morning, he had learnt that Agricola had been ordered back to Rome, claiming that the Caledonian tribes had been subdued, and his replacement would be Sallustius Lucullus. This news came like a shock to Marcus, who could not wrap his head around the fact that Rome was willing to withdraw the vast majority of troops to assist with other conflicts elsewhere in the Empire. It meant they would be left alone in an island that was far from conquered, despite what the false propaganda said.

They only had a couple of weeks before Agricola left with his men, leaving Marcus’ battalion, and other small military pockets around the area, in a very compromised position. In light of this new situation, Maximus and Marcus had discussed going to the Roman fort of Cawdor, just fifteen miles east of Inbhir Nis, to talk to Agricola before his departure.

But now, seeing your composed demeanour, he wished he could have stayed behind. It was wrong―putting you first before the Empire―but it couldn’t be helped. You lurked in the confines of his mind, ever present in his thoughts. It was even worse considering the ring that symbolised his marriage to another woman. Everything he thought he stood up for, crumbled the moment he had his first real taste of you.

His chest still swelled at the memory of you all pliable around his girth. How you had creamed, coating him in your arousal, the first time he sank into you. How you whimpered and hissed his name in ecstasy, the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

However, it wasn’t only that what made him swoon, but how you blindly trusted him with your pleasure. How, despite being mistreated in bed, you had let him show you how a man should treat a woman. How fucking fulfilling it had been for him to see you fall apart, rediscovering how sex should really be like.

Marcus had never felt this way before ― caring, giving, in tune with your body. The connection that tethered him to you transcended the sexual aspect your relationship had taken. For the first time in decades, his heart was not as empty and cold. He found himself craving your eyes, your proximity. Not because he wanted to bed you again―he did―but because your presence put him at ease, even when war seemed to be knocking at his door again.

“I take you’ve finally bedded her,” Maximus’ jest forced his orbs onto his friend’s.

Marcus rolled his eyes to the back of his skull, his shoulders slouching. Sometimes he wished he could sew Maximus’ lips together or punch him square in the jaw to shut him up.

Briefly looking around the table on the dais, it seemed like the other men―Cassius, Valerius, Brutus and one of Valerius’ men―were immersed in a conversation of their own.

“That’s none of your business,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

Maximus palmed his shoulder, a hearty laugh reverberating in his chest.

“I’m just saying, the sexual tension every time she comes on the dais can be cut with a sword, my friend. Good for you, about damn time,” he congratulated Marcus, removing the hand from him. “I don’t understand why you want to keep it under wraps though.”

“Because some could think I’d be fraternising with the enemy,” Marcus admitted to his friend, knowing he could confide in him. “And it’s far from it.”

Maximus’ thick brows bunched up, confused with his reply.

“Because you’re fucking one of the savages’ whores? Like every man in your legion―”

“She’s not a whore,” Marcus quickly cut him off, anger firing at the distasteful insinuation.

Maximus was taken aback by his response, silence filling the gaps in the dead conversation for a minute. Marcus looked at his Commander, his own brows knitting now too. How dared he refer to you as a prostitute? The insult burnt his insides, he’d hate himself if your reputation was sullied because of your involvement with him.

“Alright, she may not be a whore, but she is a savage. Don’t lose sight of that,” his friend replied, the mock gone from his eyes. “If she’s not a prostitute, then what does she want with you?” he hushed, tone dropping an octave so people would not listen. “Do you trust her?”

Marcus’ frown deepened, his friend’s words gnawing at him. He had not even contemplated the scenario Maximus was implying ― he thought he knew you enough now, and you wouldn’t betray him like that. Not after yesterday’s passionate morning.

“Again, none of your damn business,” he sneered, emptying the Carmo wine in his mouth with finality.

“But it is my business to worry about your safety, dammit. I’m your second in command,” Maximus sighed, a hand pinching his nose. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Acacius. There’s a lot at stake here, as you well know.”

Maximus’ reminder of his duty to Rome just angered him more.

The night was coming to an end, with the Roman soldiers scattering and walking back to the barracks. You had seen most of Marcus’ retinue leave the dais too, and you hoped you could catch him alone before he retreated to his chamber.

You were returning from the kitchen with an empty wooden tray, hoping to clear the last of the goblets off the tables and call it a day. Saying that you were looking forward to fuck Marcus tonight was an understatement ― not even the small incident with Brutus could put out the fire between your thighs.

As you ambled along the corridor, you almost collided with someone. Gripping the tray tight so it wouldn’t fall, you looked up to apologise, but the words stuck to the back of your throat.

Brutus. His cold hands clamped like a vice on either side of your waist, fingers buried so deep in your skin it would bruise. He slammed you against the stone wall, his body flush with yours and his nauseating mouth too close for comfort.

Your heart was racing wildly as your mind was coming to terms with the situation, drafting a plan.

“You’re not so fierce now, are you? How dare you insult me in front of my Commander, you slut?” the stench of his breath reached your nose, and you couldn’t help but make a face. “You are nothing more than a cockroach. If I want, I can squash you under my foot like the filthy bug you are.”

Before you could snap back with a retort, he grabbed the tray you carried and threw it to a side, then his mouth covered yours. His lips were cold and tasted horribly, his tongue trying to find an opening into your mouth. You jostled, but the grip on your hips was so tight you could barely move. His stubble prickled the skin around your mouth as Brutus kissed you sloppily, your teeth still shut.

Vile rose up to your throat, your initial panic transforming into steadfast resolution. This fucking cunt was about to get what he deserved. Who did he think he was? He was nothing, no one. A man you could best in the battlefield with one hand tied to your back and the other one holding a wooden sword, all whilst blindfolded.

When his hands loosened on your waist to very harshly squeeze one of your breasts, you took the opportunity. You lifted your knee up hastily, hitting him right on that tiny bulge he seemed to be so proud of.

Brutus started wailing, crouching with his hands protecting his groin. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him back ― snarling now, ready to fight. Quickly you snatched the tray off the cobblestone and as you were lunging forward to hit his head with it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, freezing you in place.

Bewildered, you turned around in the arms that held you to redirect your anger at whoever dared to stop you.

Your resolution faltered the moment your emerald greens met Marcus’ brown irises.

Marcus didn’t understand what he had walked into but was pretty sure that Brutus was about to be in the receiving end of your wrath. Instinctually, he had jumped into the situation, hoping to deescalate it by holding you in place so you wouldn’t kill the man. Because if you hurt the man, Cassius would ask for your head, and he would be between a rock and a hard place.

But the moment you veered around in his embrace and Marcus saw the reddened, wet skin around your mouth, he understood.

For a second, he only stared at you, eyes fixed on your swollen lips. His brain had gone quiet, but the sudden cacophony of his own voice asking for blood brought him back.

“Marcus,” you whispered breathlessly, and his stomach churned at the unspoken plea.

His hands freed your hips to cradle your face, delving into your glassy green eyes. His heart flipped, torn with the idea of what Brutus had tried to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked the question he wished he had said an hour before.

“Aye,” you replied with a small voice.

It didn’t calm him down. In fact, he was seething with rage, blood boiling in his veins with a protectiveness unfamiliar to him.

Once he ensured you were alright, he liberated you from his grasp and faced Brutus. Commandeered by his own anger, Marcus seized Brutus by the neck of his toga, forcing him to stand up and pinned him against the wall as one of his hands clutched around the man’s neck.

Marcus really contemplated the idea of killing him. He wanted the man beheaded and six feet under. How dared he touch you? Force himself on you? Even if you weren’t his to claim, it wasn’t right ― Marcus could never put up with how badly some men treated women, so he would never allow it in his ranks.

“Marcus, don’t,” you called from behind, your soft hand squeezing his shoulder. He looked over it, jaw clenched, to glance at you. “I think…” you paused, “just let him go. I have a bad feeling about this.”

The sense you talked into him finally filtered in, and Marcus released the purchase he had on Brutus, taking a step back. His hands curled into fists at his sides ― he really wanted to smash his skull in, but you were right.

“Get out of my sight,” he muttered, and Brutus quickly obliged.

The moment you two were alone, he looked for you. His hands reached out, one sliding around your waist and his other thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. His heart was still pounding, ears ringing with fear. He couldn’t ask how you were, knowing it was an obnoxious question given the circumstances.

Your gaze locked in on his ― blown pupils, crazed darkened irises. But as much as he searched, Marcus didn’t see any dread in you. Had you been so used to being mistreated by your late husband that what happened unfazed you? How desensitised were you?

What he did see was the ghost of a past memory haunting you, the haze of years of abuse clouding your eyes. You didn’t need to speak it; he could feel it.

His heart cracked at the thought. And what pained him most was that one of his own men was who brought back the pain he had not seen yet swirling in your eyes. And it was so prominent now, he almost folded, lungs burning with ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, removing his hand from your face, afraid his touch would incite any more distress.

Your head tilted, eyes regaining part of the spark that reeled him in.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Dux Meus,” you uttered under your breath. “As a matter of fact, I wasn’t in need of rescuing, I was about to smash his head in and have his brain scattered around the floor.”

Despite your smile, there was no joke in your low tone. He realised you actually meant it. And he shouldn’t be surprised, considering he’d already seen you take a man’s life with no regrets.

“I know, but I failed on my promise.”

“What promise?” you asked, confused, with a cocked brow.

“I swore to you that I wouldn’t let this happen again. And it has, right under my nose,” Marcus confessed, the ride back to the castle after the attack still vivid in his mind. “That you wouldn’t need to defend yourself.”

Your brows lifted, expression softening and lips pouting. Were you trying to hide a grimace?

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

You said it as if it was meant to make him feel better, but it had the opposite effect on him. If anything, it made him feel worse.

The faded sound of footfall approaching broke the moment, both of you untangling from each other and taking a couple of steps back. Marcus watched one of the other maids scurry along, her scared eyes dancing between the two of you. For a moment, it seemed like she was about to intervene in defence of you.

“Do Ghras (Your Grace),” she mumbled in your language, one Marcus didn’t understand a word of.

Quickly, you gave her a stern look and the girl’s eyes widened dramatically, then bowed her head down and ran towards the double doors as if the devil himself was chasing her.

Your eyes shot back to his, pupils enlarged again, studying his face with a vehemence that would have forced any other man to look away. But he didn’t, mesmerised by the strength you were showing after what had happened. Any other woman in your situation would be upset, but here you were standing as if nothing of relevance had happened.

His eyes lingered on your face, deciphering how you really felt. The darkening purple mark tarnishing your bottom lip really concerned him, to the point where he couldn’t stop himself from raising his hand towards your face.

Your head snapped back away from his touch. Marcus flinched at the rejection, slightly hurt ― but he couldn’t blame you for reacting that way, he should have known where the limit was. It was understandable that you didn’t want to be touched after…

His blood began to boil again ― Brutus would pay, he would find a way to make him suffer.

As his hand dropped back to his side, you took a step forward towards him ― your fingers lacing around his wrist. The caress of your palm against his skin was warm, but your gaze was warmer. Marcus froze in place, overpowered by your eyes.

You averted your beautiful orbs, looking down to the cobblestone, as your free hand tucked away a stray red curl behind your ear. That mere gesture flooded his chest, replacing anger with care. Despite how strong-willed you were, there was this aura of innocence around you; one he had not fully perceived until yesterday morning. Now that Marcus thought he knew you a tad more, every piece of the puzzle started falling into place.

But you still surprised him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Trained reaction…” you trailed off with half-lidded eyes, your teeth sinking in the cushion of your bottom lip.

You didn’t need to finish that sentence for he knew how it ended. Your late husband was, once again, sullying your thoughts.

Heart clenching in his chest, Marcus reached for your cheek again, this time successfully. His thumb hovered over you bruised lip, afraid he would inflict more harm than good.

“No need to apologise, mel. It’s okay…” Marcus hushed, still madly worried about your well-being. “Did he… did he hurt you elsewhere?”

You nodded before nuzzling your cheek against his open palm. That simple action had his heart racing and melting at the same time. He really needed to get a grip, or he’d lose his damn mind over you ― something he could not afford amidst impending war.

“My hips,” a very long pause, “my breast.”

If his blood had been boiling before, now it became sharp icicles scratching the insides of his veins. Hearing you say that actually caused him physical pain. His heart had stilled, then resumed its maddening beating, deafening him.

When he trusted his voice had returned, he cleared this throat.

“Can I check, please?” There were no veiled intentions behind his ask, just honest consternation.

You shyly nodded after a brief pause.

You followed Marcus through the corridor, his forearm softly hugging the small of your back and his broad hand splayed on your hip. The possessiveness of his embrace was weirdly soothing.

Checking over your shoulder, you ensured no one witnessed your affectionate exchange. And once you arrived and took shelter in your old bedchamber, the tension gripping your shoulders dissipated.

But the anger inside you still burnt hot. Brutus deserved what you were about to do, had Marcus not interfered. But when he did, something about the whole night nagged at you. As if there was a bigger plan at play, one you could not construe yet.

“Your lip’s bruising, mel,” his voice tinged with concern forced you out of your thoughts.

When he touched it again, you winced. Brutus the Brute had done a bit of a number on you, one you hoped to repay in the near future.

“Can I see, please?”

Well, this was not how you expected the night to go, because judging by Marcus’ rigid stance, sex was out of the cards.

With a heavy sigh, your fingers lifted up your long skirt, exposing your loincloth. Bunching up the fabric, Marcus’ hand and gaze dropped to your mid-section, fingers careful when pushing down the hem of your underwear. His caress venerating, too respectful in comparison to how he treated you yesterday morning ― the contrast abysmal.

His eyes squinted, nostrils flaring, but he quickly tamed his furious expression. Looking down to where he was focused, you understood his reaction. Where Brutus’ fingers had sunk in the flesh of your hips, he had left deep, purpling imprints ― an aquarelle with shades of red, lilac and blue.

“What a cunt,” you hissed when Marcus’ thumbs ghosted over the bruised skin on your hips. His eyes swiftly looked up at you, apologetic. “Not you, him,” you clarified.

You hoped your half joke would lighten his temper, but it didn’t. If anything, his brown orbs darkened even more, a black veil consuming his dilated pupils.

Awright, no jokes when he’s in a bad mood, you mentally noted.

“Show me, please,” he husked, eyes loitering on the neckline of your dress.

His gravelly words shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine, but they did. This wasn’t the fucking time to get all worked up, but the effect he had on you had seeped further into your being than what you originally thought.

I’m so fucked up.

With a trembling hand, you pushed down the frill of your neckline, your left breast spilling over. You held back a raspy breath when the cold air of the room hit your sensitive skin and felt your nipple perking up.

You didn’t dare to look down, eyes fixed on Marcus’ torn face. His lips had fallen into a flat line, jaw clenched as if chiselled by the Gods themselves. And while you were burning hot under his inquisitive stare, his eyes were… cold.

Were you broken past the point of repair? Had Iain shattered you so much, altered your perception of sex? How would you, otherwise, explain why you were roused right now when you should surely feel at least shaken up?

By Red Cap’s beard, I’m sick. There’s got to be something wrong with me.

Sick with lust, perhaps. One you needed to control, because when Marcus cupped your breast, there was nothing sexual in his hold.

Pure, utter worry painted his features, his brown irises opaque.

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered under his breath.

When his thumb stroked the skin under your aureola, your eyes finally drifted down.

Seeing the growing bruise around your nipple was a goddamn reality check, as if someone had thrown a jar of icy water on you. It looked bad, really bad. You didn’t think he had such a tight grip on your breast, but the rush of adrenaline had drowned any other feelings, letting survival guide you.

It reminded you of a time when your body was covered with marks and lesions, and you would do your utmost effort to conceal the damage Iain had caused. How you made up excuses when your siblings queried about a bruise you could not camouflage―oh, don’t worry, I’m just clumsy―or a new limp―ah, it’s fine, I fell off a horse―that had you barely walking.

How you hid under layers of textile when visiting family so your father wouldn’t feel the guilt of shipping you off like cattle to the slaughter.

“For peace you must,” had been his final words before Iain snatched you away from the comfort of your home.

Fiercely loyal, you played your part dutifully. For clan you had silently suffered for a decade, not even once questioning your father’s decision. You endured what you had to, so your people would know peace in their time.

Never once did you let the façade tumble down. Never once did you show your fear, your desperation ― your thirst for freedom.

Never once, until now.

Seeing those bruises again brought back all those feelings you had deeply buried and thought forgotten. Panic bubbling within the walls of your chest, you blinked rapidly to clear the tears that threatened to fall.

Years of abuse crawling back, clamping your throat, stalking your mind ― it all came back in a trice. Your heartrate quickened, the sensation of nasty ants creeping along your skin unbearable. Trying to calm your agitated breathing, but the memories only making it all worse.

Suddenly you felt the searing pain when Marcus brushed your skin again. Not physical pain, but the kind that had tangled itself up around your entrails and become a part of you ― strangling your resolution, your very being. Silently suffocating you for a decade.

Why was it all coming apart now, out of all the fucking moments?

“Hey, look at me, hey. It’s okay, mel,” Marcus’ mellow voice pierced through your eardrums.

Wet eyelashes fluttering, you glanced up at him. For the first time, feeling lost in a loch of torment.

Marcus’ chest squeezed at the sight in front of him.

Your face tilted up, a downcast expression distorting your beautiful features. Your mouth had parted, letting out a trembling sigh that had him shaking with you. Your eyes, always bright, sparkly green, were now of a deep shade of a darkened hue, your blown pupils swimming somewhere in there. And they became darker with every spent tear that wetted your cheeks.

He searched your face, impending dread consuming his heart as your curated front crumbled. Something primal twisted within him, a sense of protectiveness gripping him tight.

Marcus couldn’t see you like this ― with your defences down, as if you trusted him enough to hold the pieces of you together. For a fleeting instant it felt overwhelming, staggering him.

But he knew what he had to do ― what he wanted to do. Marcus let go of his gentle grasp to envelop you in his embrace, hoping to bring you some sense of tranquillity. One of his hands softly rested on the back of your head, fingers lost between your red curls.

At first, your arms were just loose by your sides, but soon enough, when the warmth of his body seeped into yours, you laced them around his waist, hugging him in return.

Time became ethereal, and Marcus wondered if what saddened you had anything to do with today, or past events. You had hinted at a life of marital negligence, and he couldn’t help but ponder the atrocities you had to survive. Society wasn’t kind to women, at least in Rome. Was your culture any different in that respect? How had your life been?

Not easy, by the looks of it. And it pained him realising that, especially after seeing the fierce side of you. The part of you that intrigued him the most, that reeled him in despite the wedding ring on his finger.

How could someone even dare break your spirit? How did Brutus even dare to breathe in your direction?

“I’ll kill him,” he reiterated in a hush, lips pressing on the crown of your hair.

“No,” you muttered, leaning back to let him dive in your determined eyes. “I think that’s what he wanted. What Cassius wanted.”

“Cassius?” he repeated after you, confused.

You paused, lips pouting, and then nodded with averted eyes.

“Aye. There’s something about him that is not quite right… Do you trust him?”

Why was everybody making him question other people’s loyalties today? He couldn’t afford the doubt, not when Agricola’s departure was just around the corner. Marcus needed as many men as possible, and he had to trust them.

“Yes, I do. Don’t worry about him, or about―” he stopped himself before Brutus’ name leaked. “Let’s not talk about them now. Come sit.”

Marcus carefully guided you to his bed as you readjusted your dress, palm pressed on the small of your back. Once you settled, he turned around in search of the concoction Atticus had prepared for his wounds ― a mix of aloe, lemon juice and onions. The balm had been cool and soothing on his skin, so he hoped it helped alleviate your pain.

He snatched it off the chimney’s sill and walked back to you, handing it over so you would apply it. The pad of your fingers touched his knuckles, the feathery caress of your gentleness. When you didn’t grab it, Marcus foraged for your eyes.

“Will you help me, Dux Meus?” you whispered, tone stripped of your usual snappiness.

“Are you sure?” he found himself saying, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

You gave him a soft nod in reply, gathering your long skirt and holding it around your mid-section.

Marcus crouched down in front of you, knees cracking with the friction of time, and dipped his index and middle fingers in the gelatinous mixture. He reached for your hip, one last undecided glance at you, and then gently rubbed the composite on your skin.

You sighed at the touch, shutting your eyes, muscles visibly relaxing now.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, eyes focused on the other side now as he administered the balm.

“Aye, it’s cold. Tapadh leibh a Seanalair” you muttered, palms resting on the mattress as you leaned back.

Marcus’ brows pinched together at the unrecognisable, softly delivered words, but it didn’t stop him from pressing soft circles on your skin, hoping the imprint of fingers would disappear.

“Is that―”

“That barbaric language, yes,” you retorted, head tipped to one side, your green orbs watching him with intent.

Inevitably, he flinched. Those exact words had almost slipped his tongue when you both were returning to the castle after the skirmish in the forest. It was hard letting go of the old ways ― Romans always considered other cultures uncivilised. Now having been in Caledonia for a few months hadn’t wholly changed his mind, but he was starting to see that you all were more similar than what Rome had her people believe.

As a General, he had been trained―indoctrinated―to not see humanity in others. That was the only barrier keeping him from losing his sanity. Because if he saw other people eye to eye, if he acknowledged their humanity, then the resolution to wield his gladius would falter in battle.

And his resolution had faltered. Once.

“May the Gods protect and guide her, for her path is to become darker today,” was one of the few exchanged words that Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had whispered to him before Marcus claimed his life.

They still haunted him to this day. The piercing shriek of the female warrior still rang in his ears like a broken bell, her scream a dark omen it was hard to forget.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” was his poor attempt at apologising. You cocked a brow, expectant of another explanation, and Marcus sighed, realising that was a lie. “Perhaps I did, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Not following Rome’s doctrine doesn’t make us savages, Marcus,” you hushed, expression softening. “Just different.”

“I know that. I just― Force of habit,” he shrugged, slightly embarrassed for being called out. “What does it mean?”

“Aye means yes. Then I simply said thank you, General,” you explained, letting your skirt go after the concoction had dried on your skin.

“Seanalair means General? It sounds so different,” he thought out loud. “I like it. Although Dux Meus sounds better to me,” he ventured with a lopsided smirk.

“Does it now?” you laughed, the first time a crack of happiness making its appearance.

For a moment you didn’t say anything else, just pushed down again the hem of your neckline for him to spread the mixture on your bruised breast. He didn’t waste time, being extremely careful around the sensitive skin of your nipple as to not cause you any more pain.

“You like it when I call you Dux Meus, don’t you?” you said under your breath, voice low and laced with need.

Marcus’ sight shot up to yours in the blink of an eye, removing his hand from your chest. The unexpected tone caught him off guard, so focused on spreading the balm he almost missed the seductive inflexion in your tone.

He couldn’t reply, breath hitching at the back of his throat while a ray of warmth travelled down his spine.

His reaction felt wrong given the circumstances that brought you to his bed. Feuding with himself, Marcus froze when your hand found his cheek, cradling it. You bowed down towards him, the tip of your nose brushing his aquiline one.

“Don’t you?” you insisted, your mouth now ghosting his, testing his wavering resolve.

“I do,” he avowed, eyes fluttering close when your lips caressed his. “Callie― I don’t think this is the time.”

Your head canted back, a flash of anger swirling in your pupils, robbing him of the warmth of your mouth.

“Don’t tell me what I want is wrong. I am not going to let that bastard and his ruffian manners take away from me what I desire. Who I desire,” you retorted back. Not appealing but demanding. “I want you, Marcus, and I want you now. Yesterday you asked me to come back, nothing has changed. Is this not why you’ve taken me to your chamber?”

The carnal delivery of your words gnawed at him, your last question triggering his heart to spike, rejecting such vile idea. He was not a man to take advantage of anyone, least a woman who had barely escaped the hands of a repulsive scoundrel.

“Of course not. I wasn’t thinking of― Deodamnatus (dammit), Callie, I just wanted to help you,” he gritted, springing tall to his feet and raking his curls back in muted desperation.

You swiftly followed, rising up from the bed with unravelling determination in your eyes.

“Then fucking help me. Help me forget his hands, replace his memory with yours,” you beseeched in a hush.

This was fucked up. You were fucked up in the head, it was the only reasonable explanation to why his caress while applying the concoction had turned you on, literally a few minutes after you were crying your sorrow in his embrace.

You knew you shouldn’t, but your body thought otherwise.

And despite the wrong timing, you were serious about not letting Brutus ruin this, ruin you. He was just another notch in the weave of your life, another man who had wronged you, and you were not about to let him become more than that.

You were done with letting men dictate how you should live your life. How you should or shouldn’t react, how you should or shouldn’t feel. You had been ashamed of your sexuality your whole life, forced to be a sack of meat for a despicable man since a very young age. Marcus had soothed that fear, letting you rediscover what you actually desired, opening your eyes to a new world of wants and necessities.

No, you were not fucked up. Men were. You were just dealing with the repercussion of their fucking actions the best way you could. And if Marcus thought otherwise, then he was just part of the problem, not the solution. No matter what he had shown you so far.

Good fucking riddance.

“Faex (shit),” he exclaimed under his breath before framing your face between his broad hands.

His mouth crashed against yours, teeth colliding. The moment his tongue sank between your lips, you moaned a sigh of relief, the heat between your legs enlivened.

The desperate strokes of his tongue had you answering with fierce ones of your own, fingers quick to find the V opening on the front of his toga so one palm slid across his ribs. His skin felt like fire under your touch, and you only hoped that heat was redirected south of his tummy.

Stalking the hairy trail guiding you down, soon enough you found his manhood. Still soft and pliable, you felt a throbbing pulse shooting up his length. With a smirk, your fist clamped around his girth and Marcus gifted you with a guttural groan that you eagerly swallowed.

Slowly you began pumping him, working him hard, while his mouth ransacked yours with tidal force. His cock palpitated and you felt high with power, knowing you literally had him on the palm of your hand. Thumb swiping his wet glans, you squeezed him hard, endowing you with yet another rumble.

“I want to taste you, Marcus,” you purred against his lips, drunk with the memory of your visit to Naimh’s cottage.

“Fuck,” he blurted out, jaw as tight as a bow. “Don’t― Fuck,” he repeated after another compression on his already stimulated cock.

His resolution finally dissolved. While still gripping his shaft so he wouldn’t go anywhere, Marcus unwrapped his toga in quick motions, the white fabric falling to the floor and leaving him completely exposed to your hungry eyes.

Marcus was the fucking reincarnation of Alator, all hard edges except for the welcomed softness of his lower tummy. Your mouth watered at the sight, proving it difficult to show self-restraint.

This time around, you were not shy to undress yourself, anxious to get started. Then you faced him, both standing bare in front of the other.

And without any other words, you dropped to your knees. Marcus closed his eyes, face tilted to the ceiling, while his erection swayed at your eye level, enticing and yearning for your touch.

The second you fisted his base and led him to the damp warmth of your mouth, Marcus hissed between gritted teeth, his eyes meeting yours instantly. Suckling on his flushed head, you maintained eye contact with him, but when the musky taste overtook your senses, your eyelashes fluttered close as you gave yourself free rein on his cock.

Your tongue twirled around his glans, the tip playing with his slit to clean off the precum beading there. Then your lips trailed down his length, pressing gentle kisses on your way south to lick the heavy balls underneath. When you were satisfied with the spit covering his sacks, you lapped his underside, feeling the throbbing, feeding vein until your lips sealed shut around him again, hollowing your cheeks to make room for his delicious girth.

You went through the motions over and over again, revelling on his taste, on his growing weight on your tongue. While saliva and precum overflew, dripping down from the corners of your mouth, you looked up again.

Marcus’ heavy-lidded eyes were transfixed on you, his hand gently resting on the back of your head to feel your bobbing. His hips slanted forward when you stopped, waiting for him with an open, welcoming mouth.

Slowly he fed you, rocking his hips softly, while you remained still below him. The tip of his mushroom head kissed the back of your throat, and you irremediably moaned around his circumference, clamping your lips on him.

When he pulled back, the pop sound forced you to open your glassy eyes. A bridge of spit connected his angry tip to your swollen lips ― a connection that reached further down to your gushing pussy.

“Stop, mel. Or I’m going to come,” he pleaded, caressing your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted heavily to what you had just done.

“And is that a bad thing?” you asked innocently, blinking rapidly as one of your fingers swirled in the air between you to catch the thread of saliva and push it into your mouth, licking your finger clean.

Then you pressed a kiss on his tip, lingering with parted, waiting lips.

Marcus pouted, his fist wrapping around his base to contain himself, but couldn’t resist the urge to stroke your lips, swiping his glans a few times on your mouth.

“No, it isn’t. You’ve sucked me so good, mel, but I want to fuck you as you deserve,” he admitted, and you definitely didn’t argue.

He extended a hand towards you, which you gladly accepted to stand up to your feet.

“And I want to fuck you so good, you’re even going to forget your name,” his promise made your slick pussy throb at the expectation.

“That’s all I’m asking,” you whispered, crawling onto the silky bed.

His gaze tracked you like a wildcat chasing after a vole, lingering on the swaying of your hips as you inched forward, settling on the centre of the mattress. You saw his eyes darkened with desire, taking in the moment ― for a tad too long, because his attention drifted to the bruising skin on your hips.

“Marcus,” you called softly, shifting his attention as you coaxed your thighs apart, your sweet dripping nook in display for him.

He stilled, transfixed on your sex as if it was the first time you bared yourself in front of him. His mouth fell flat into a fine line, then the tip of his tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip ― a simple gesture that had your pussy leaking onto the linen.

Without a second to waste, Marcus joined you on the bed posting himself between your legs, his broad frame blanketing yours as you slowly sank into the feathery cushion underneath. Your hands reached up his ribs, tracing the battle-scarred map of his skin until your palms rested on his shoulder blades, pushing him down towards you.

This time, the kiss was gentler, paced. The languid strokes of his mouth pulled a wanton moan out of you as the weight of his throbbing cock rested heavily on your mound, his balls rubbing against your puffy fold every time he leaned forward. It was feverishly intimate ― the way his nuts would kiss your sex, your clit writhing in your seam.

The soft pressure of his lips turned into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His hand cradled your left breast with reverence, thumb skimming your pebbled nipple delicately and incessantly. Fingers intertwining with yours, Marcus brought your laced fists down your belly and past his erection.

Guiding your hand, Marcus pushed your own fingers past the cover of your seeping slit. A throaty sob escaped your lips, eyes shutting with pleasure, as the General showed you how to press tight circles on your thudding clit, leading you and your desperation right to the edge of a cliff. A now-known wet warmth pooled around the bottom of your spine, your inner walls squeezing nothing but the emptiness of your womb.

“Oh…” you cooed, back arching into his chest.

“You love that, don’t you?” Marcus teased you, his fingers moving yours against your slick nub. “You’re melting, mel. You’re so wet already, why?” You didn’t reply, brows pinching in concentration, mouth agape. “Did tasting me excite you, hm?” You gave him a little shy nod, too focused on the thunderous, pulsing feeling in your cunt. “You enjoyed sucking me, having your sinful mouth full of me… dribbling, just like your pussy is drooling now.”

His sweet talk had you gushing again, his thumb now drawing tight, precise circles on your clit as your middle and ring fingers framed it for him, for his delightful attention. The sensation was so intense, so delicious, it curled your toes as your limbs stiffened ― climbing up Beinn Uais (Ben Wyvis) was less strenuous than this.

Your lungs were burning, heaving now, but your pussy was catching fire.

“O mo chreach (oh, my goodness), Marcus― I’m coming, don’t stop,” you begged, lewd noises spilling from your mouth. “Please, please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Come for me,” Marcus purred, mouth ghosting yours, inhaling your needy whimpers, fingers insistent.

At his command, you did. Fuck, did you come… Your pussy clenched almost painfully whilst your overstimulated button pulsated maddingly in your seam ― your whole body quivered as you reached for the sky, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

And as you came crashing down, an intense orgasm hitting you from all flanks, Marcus led your fingers away from your twitching clit, down to your leaking hole. He rammed your two digits in your pliant, slimy opening, compelling you to fuck yourself throughout your blissed climax.

Your pussy wolfed down your own fingers down to the knuckles with ease, Marcus’ hand halting the movement of yours.

“Curl them,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “Curl your fingers, touch that spongy spot for me.”

Still blissed out from your high, you followed his directions as your eyes fluttered open. His blown pupils had yours in a trance as he watched your expression transform when you found the precise point he had referred to.

Without breaking eye contact, you fingered yourself under his attentive guidance. Pleasuring yourself like this should feel wrong, but Marcus made it seem as natural as breathing. His constant reassurance became a mantra, humming his approval when your hips jerked up in ecstasy.

Suddenly, his middle and ring fingers joined yours in your tight pussy, the burning stretch almost unbearable. The feeling of fullness so severe, you started withdrawing your own hand.

“No, don’t pull out, mel. Follow my lead. I know it’s overwhelming, but it’ll be worth it,” Marcus breathed. “Trust me.”

You did. So far Marcus had shown you a path of pleasure you thought forbidden, and this was not the time to doubt him. With four fingers shoved in your throbbing pussy, the palm of your hand cradling the back of his between your thighs, you let him guide you ― it was overwhelming… but in the best fucking way possible.

Marcus knew perfectly what he was doing, because soon enough the pads of his fingers were persistently rubbing that tender spot on your anterior wall while his thumb smothered your clit yet again.

“Fuck, I-I’m coming again…” you hiccupped, whimpering aloud now as the coil inside you started tautening again.

“You’re pulsing so hard, do you feel that?” he gritted out, your walls squeezing all four fingers tight. “Such a sweet grip, mel.”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as another tidal wave washed over you with an ungodly force.

You screamed Marcus’ name, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes due to the intensity the orgasm hit you with. After that, you felt your cunt beating for a very long minute, the contractions further apart as you relaxed under Marcus, all sweaty and satisfied.

“Do you think you can take me?”

Your heavy eyes flew open at Marcus’ strained voice. Looking down, you realised his cock was still resting on your mound. A constant trickle of precum had slid down his shaft, a milky puddle sitting on your skin.

Even if you were tired, you couldn’t deny him ― not when he had been so mindful with your needs. And, truth be told, you wanted him inside.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you curled your fingers around his girth and slid his glans along your slick slit, soaking him in your arousal. You lingered on your sensitive clit, rubbing it with his tip a few times until you led him down.

The moment his throbbing head kissed the mouth of your cunt, you knew you could come again, no matter how tired you thought you were. You led him in and let go of his thudding cock when he was halfway in.

You sighed, trying to relax your muscles, but your pussy had a mind of her own. His girth pried your pussy lips open and, once fully seated inside you, Marcus froze in place. His brows furrowing as you fully sheathed him, wrapping him in your wet, tight heat.

“I could stay here forever. You hug me so tight, take me so well now…” he hushed, leaning forward, his weight almost crushing you. “You only need a bit of encouragement, patience… And I am a very patient man. I’d be so happy with just making you cream, mel.”

He was right. Sadly, you were no stranger to sex, but this kind? This was so new to you, sometimes you doubted yourself ― what you were doing, how you were doing it. Something about Marcus made you feel insecure, because you didn’t want to disappoint him. For once in your life, you wanted the man to enjoy you, make you fall apart.

Your head spun around to the point of almost fainting when he pulled back softly and then back in. A wail broke free from your mouth as Marcus slowly but steadily rutted into you, picking up the pace with every mind-blowing thrust.

You dug your nails on his back, leaving bloody crescent moons behind. His mouth hunted down your lips, fusing into a deep kiss as he fucked you good and harsh. The snapping of his hips against yours filled the room with wet, squelching sounds ― the atmosphere brimming with the musky scent of sex and sweat.

Marcus dove in so deeply, you swore you could feel him in your throat. His sharp stabs hit all the right spots, another climax building up ― both of your sexes pulsing in unison, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. It wasn’t long until you were creaming around his girth again, moaning like a madwoman as another climax overtook all your senses.

The General pumped his cock into you relentlessly, fucking you through yet another wave of ecstasy. He pulsed inside and you knew were close to finding his own release. When your walls relaxed around him, Marcus swiftly pulled out, a chesty groan bouncing between the walls of the room ― his flushed, reddened glans nudging your clit as his warm spent spurted out in thick, white ropes.

His cum clung to your pebbled nub, sliding down your tacky, swollen pussy lips and pooling on the sheets underneath.

Marcus kissed your forehead before falling to the other side of the bed, utterly spent. His skin glistened under the candlelight while his chest raised in quick succession.

As your heartrate calmed down, you giggled, the most content you’d ever been. Marcus looked at you, a creeping smile curling his lips, and extended an arm towards you, inviting you onto his chest.

You were quick to accept, your blushed cheek resting on his sternum. He kissed your forehead again, a slight brush that pulled a satisfied sigh out of you.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Surprisingly, the silence was comfortable, calming in a sense. You never got to enjoy the aftermath, too busy with keeping yourself together. This was different.

Marcus was different.

But he couldn’t be. He was just another man focused on the next battle ahead, planning your demise. Whether you liked it or not, the General was your enemy, a conqueror ― the incarnation of everything you hated. The man who had killed your father right in front of you, with his expression blank and devoid of emotion.

You hated him. You should hate him. Your determination shouldn’t falter just because you were fucking him. You were not doing it for your own enjoyment; you were doing it because you had a purpose. In fact, you should be repulsed every time he put his hands on you, every time he easily sank into you, blissfully stretching your inner walls.

And despite everything, despite knowing who he really was, you still… liked him. You were not disgusted by his touch, but horny for it, craving him.

You were so fucked.

Marcus stirred under you, battling his own demons.

He knew this was wrong but couldn’t stop himself. There was a gravity around you that pulled him in, no matter how hard he fought against it. Irremediably he found himself orbiting towards you, like two stars in a colliding path.

There’s no harm in having a little fun.

But was it just that? A little fun? Couldn’t be, not when his unoccupied mind kept drifting back to you. Before he would be thinking about the next step, what he needed to do to win the next battle, but now war was far from his mind.

He wished he could shut the door and keep the outside world at bay. He wished he could live in this little cocoon with you.

But duty always called.

You had fallen asleep on top of him, so carefully he moved you off his chest. His mind was so loud he couldn’t follow you into Morpheus’ realm.

Sitting back on the bed, Marcus looked over his shoulder at you, sleeping on your side. Your face was buried in the pillow underneath, your red curly hair an angry could around you. Completely naked on his bed, you were a godsend. A voluptuous figure with generous, round breasts; your moonlight skin glistening with the product of your pleasure.

His eyes travelled down your figure, arriving at the sweet gap between your thighs. His cum was still smeared all over your mound and pussy lips, dry and tacky, a reminder of the shared passion.

Damn, you looked beautiful.

With a sigh, he got up and walked towards the basin near the fireplace. The fire kept the water lukewarm, and he dampened a clean rag and wringed it out. Walking back to the bed, Marcus sat beside you. Delicately, he pushed one of your legs aside and swiped off his spent, cleaning your folds with extreme care not to wake you.

But you did. One of your eyes fluttered lazily, and looked over your shoulder to stare at him, slightly dishevelled.

“You alright?”

Marcus smiled softly, discarding the rag to the feet of the bed as he laid down behind you, head propped up on his hand.

“Yes, I was just wiping you clean,” he muttered, kissing your shoulder.

You groaned with a smirk, pushing your sweet ass against his hardening bulge. Your buttocks rubbed his growing erection as your eyes shut again.

“Another round?” you whispered and then bit your bottom lip, wriggling your hips so his manhood found refuge in the gap between your thighs.

“You nymph,” Marcus moaned. Your heat was turning wet again, soaking his now stiffened cock. “But I can’t, I―”

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you husked sleepily, one of your hands slipping down your belly to grab his beating dick poking between your legs. “Just a quickie, Marcus, please,” you added, leading his leaky tip inside you.

There was no discussion after that. Groaning, Marcus plunged in in a smooth motion, your velvety walls parting to greet him and hug him tight. His arm draped around your waist to hold you in place and began fucking into you from behind. You hummed your approval, Marcus paying worshipping attention to your neck, kissing and nipping at it.

When you squirmed and whimpered, your pussy clamped down around him with force, announcing your orgasm. Still rutting into you, the hand holding you down trailed down your belly to gently pet your clit.

Your moans grew louder and needier, your ass pushing back into him, meeting every thrust. You came sobbing his name, strongly pulsing around him, wetting his cock and balls with your warm cream. Mustering all the strength he could, Marcus pulled out, his dick resting between your pussy lips.

You pressed your thighs together to squeeze his throbbing manhood and cradled his glans as he pumped himself between your inner thighs, his tip kissing your clit every time he pushed in. A minute later, Marcus came undone too, his warm spent landing on your cupped palm around his mushroom head.

Marcus remained still behind you as his cock softened and both of your breathings calmed down. Your eyes were still closed, but a smug smile curled your lips.

“See? I was quick,” you retorted.

“Always true to your word,” he joked, pulling back to grab the forgotten rag. He began rubbing your skin again and you parted your legs to have him wipe you clean. “But I really need to go.”

“So soon? Where are you going?” you pouted, craning your neck to glance up at him.

“It’s almost dawn. I…” Marcus fell silent, pondering his options.

He could tell you where he was going as a test to your loyalty. Prove Maximus wrong. He didn’t know why but confiding in you felt natural.

Marcus really wanted to trust you. If nothing went wrong, then he would know he had nothing to worry about.

“I’m going to the Roman fort in Cawdor with Maximus. We need to discuss some news we’ve just received,” he explained, carefully studying your expression.

“Oh, okay,” you muttered, completely unbothered by the information he had just shared with you, as if he had just told you that today was going to rain. “I’ll leave then.”

“You can stay and sleep in, no one will bother you here, mel,” he kissed your shoulder, heart lighter, before he stood up and started putting on his black armour.

You rolled around to lay on your other side, watching him dress with your hands tucked under your face.

“Need a hand with that?”

“No, I’m okay, thanks,” years of practice made it easy. He tied the belt around his waist and sheathed the gladius, then walked towards the bed to bend down and kiss you goodbye. “There’s some more of the concoction there. Please use it.”

You nodded your agreement, still half asleep, and Marcus stepped out.

The moment the door had closed behind Marcus, you had sprung to your feet, dressing yourself in a frenzy. But knowing you couldn’t just follow him, you had paced around the room for half an hour.

You had never run faster in your entire life. Once in the stables, you had fought with Kelpie to saddle her and trotted to Bonnie’s crannog. There you had encountered Torcall, who grilled you with questions.

“Where have you been? You’ve been gone the whole night! I was worried sick! What the hell are you up to?! Don’t tell me you’ve been with him, please.”

Needless to say, you didn’t answer any of it. You were a grown ass woman and didn’t need a nanny. Plus, it was none of his fucking business.

You had not intended on falling asleep on Marcus’ bed, but you had felt so at ease, you hadn’t fought your heavy lids.

You just told Torcall that you had gotten your hands on some valuable information and needed to go again. You knew that Marcus was testing you, if you could be trusted. If you told your father’s men about this, they would take action, outing you in the process.

No, you had to go alone. If you passed his test, then you were sure he would share even more in the future, just what you wanted.

Daimh and Iona were at the dining table, breaking their fast. You had kissed each of them before vanishing again.

It didn’t take you long to track down the prints of hoofs on the muddy eastbound path. Soon you caught up with Marcus and some of his men. Maximus, Cassius and Valerius accompanied him, as well as three other legionnaires you did not recognise.

You kept your distance from them and traversed through the forest instead of the path to avoid being seen. After three long hours, you finally arrived at your destination.

You were not prepared to see all those troops at Cawdor. There were hundreds of soldiers, the fort brimming with life. At the same time Marcus and his retinue arrived, a legion did too.

Why were there so many men here? Something was going on, something that could change the course of history. Was this just a repositioning exercise?

There were no women in sight, so you couldn’t just put a cloak on and blend in as you had intended. So you remained in the shadowy edge of the forest, hidden behind a tree.

Suddenly Marcus halted and veered his horse around. Someone from the newly arrived legion stepped out on a white horse.

“Governor Agricola,” you heard Marcus say in a greeting.

“General Acacius,” the man said back.

So, this was Agricola, the man who terrorised Caledonia. You wanted to hate Marcus, but your easy hate for Agricola burnt hot. He was the one responsible for the defeat of your people, the one who had taken prisoners in boats and parade them around the coast to show others what would become of them if they rose up in arms.

“We’ve heard the news of your premature departure, Governor. We wish to discuss the defence of Caledonia in your absence,” Marcus spoke clearly.

“Not Caledonia. Britannia, Acacius. That’s its new name. Use it,” Agricola’s arrogance seeped through his stupid smile.

Britannia? The bastards had already renamed your land? How fucking dared they?

But this was huge. It seemed like Agricola was leaving, possibly taking many of his men with him. If that was the case, the number of Romans in Caledonia would drastically reduce, giving you a fighting chance.

The snap of a branch behind you startled you, quickly turning on your heels. The forest was dark, so you squinted your eyes while scanning the area.

Perhaps it had just been an animal, so you redirected your attention back to the men.

To your misfortune, they were walking through the portcullis and a second after you lost sight of them.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You ran back to Kelpie, needing to make the way back home fast.

Finally, some good fucking news.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[daizedndconfused]

hello!! how are you?? i was wondering if i could request something to do with cole brookstone 🫣

please could it be something about him and the reader have a sleepover at the readers house and its just fluff!! you could write about them making dinner together or something

idk if you’d be down to write this and i hope i’ve done it right, this is my first time requesting anything 😭

slumber party

a/n: hii ofc you can!! i’m doing good thanks sorry this took a while haha but thanks for being patient with me <3 this was such a cute prompt btw i had a lot of fun writing this

characters: cole brookstone x reader (established relationship)

type: fluff!!

warnings: none (not proofread)

synopsis: you sneak cole into your house for a sleepover while your parents are out of town

word count: 2.5 k

Your boyfriend was perfectly punctual. So when the clock struck four the rap at your window didn’t come as a shock to you.

Smiling to yourself, you got up from your bed and bounded over to your curtain covered window. Sliding away the light fabric, the grinning face of your boyfriend waited for you, perched on the roof below.

“What do you have against the front door?” you asked as you swung the window open.

Cole gracefully hoisted himself up and vaulted into your room, his landing ever so silent.

“It just doesn’t feel right.” Cole gave you a quick peck on the lips, pulling away with a lovesick smile. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Cole,” you smiled at the term of endearment, linking your fingers behind his neck.

You and Cole had been planning this weekend for months. Being eighteen and finishing up your senior year of high school, your parents still weren’t extremely open to your boyfriend spending the night.

To them it didn’t matter if he was a ninja with honor practically flowing from his bloodstream, the bottom line was he was your boyfriend and therefore no sleepovers. Apparently his boyfriend title outranked his ninja status.

Who knew?

But none of that mattered this weekend. This weekend your parents were out of town for a wedding. Of course they suspected you’d pull something like this, but before they could even bring it up, you told them Cole was going to a training camp that weekend as well.

A lie, but a necessary one. That meant you two had the whole house to yourself for the entire weekend. You were giddy just thinking about it.

“What did you tell the elders?” you asked him.

Your parents weren’t the only problem. If either of you thought Wu, Garmadon, or Misako would be fine with this stunt you guys were pulling–dead wrong.

They loved you, seeing as you had been to the monastery countless times, but they were like Cole’s parents. And they also didn’t approve of sleepovers.

“Got everyone else to cover for me,” he assured you. “As far as the elders are concerned I’m violently sick and extremely contagious.”

You shook your lead with a laugh. “You better hope they don’t try to bring you medicine.”

Cole shook his head. “Locked it and snuck out the window. And I told Jay to tell them I brought a bunch of medicine into my room so they didn’t have to.”

“Very smooth,” you complimented.

“Yeah, come one give me some credit.” Cole scooped you up bridal style. “I can lie when I have to.”

“Which is usually never.”

“Only when it means I can spend time with my beautiful girlfriend,” Cole beamed as you two flopped down on your bed.

“Aren’t you the charmer?”

“Always have been.”

“Lies,” you poke his cheek resulting in a shared laugh. “So, whole house to ourselves. Whatever should we do first?”

The two of you looked at each other. Twin smirks on both your faces.

“Are you done yet?” Cole huffed from below you, doom-scrolling on his phone. You peeked over his shoulder a few times and saw that he was watching edits of himself. Both liking and saving them too.

“One second,” you mumbled around the cap of your marker. “So impatient.”

“I’ve been laying here for hours,” he complained.

“Hour–singular,” you corrected, removing the cap from your mouth and clicking it back onto the marker. “You’d know that if you went to school.”

Cole turned his head and shot you a glare over his bare shoulder. You laughed at the sight, ruffling his dark hair.

“You and I both know Misako homeschools us.” Cole attempted to get up, but you pushed down on his shoulders from your position–straddled over his lower back.

“Wait!” you insisted, leaning over his back to snatch his phone out of hands.

He protested slightly, but it was back in his hands in no time. You had just used it to snap a picture of the artwork you had done on his skin.

“Is that my dragon?” Cole asked, a hint of awe in his tone.

It was indeed. Using a marker that was one hundred percent safe for skin, you tested out a new design on your boyfriend. The idea had been in your head for a long time, you just didn’t have a suitable canvas until now.

“Mhmm,” you confirmed, pecking his cheek, looking at the picture on his phone.

The earth dragon’s strong wings stretched over the width of his broad shoulders while the dragon’s body and tail resided down the expanse of his back, ending just above his waistband.

“That’s a crazy amount of detail.” Cole zoomed in on the head of the dragon where you had drawn out his crown of spikes and added texture to most of your drawing.

“Maybe I’ll give you a tattoo one day,” you shrugged, climbing off his back allowing him to throw his shirt back on.

Cole was no stranger to tattoos. In fact, he had some. A few small ones here and there, but he told you if you ever got your hands on professional equipment, he’d let you give him a tattoo.

He even has your initials behind his right ear. You remember staring at it for hours after he finally showed you.

“Come on,” you patted his back. “I’m starving.”

“Starving means food, I’m in.” He hopped up immediately, following you down the stairs and into your kitchen.

The two of you forged for something you could make a meal out of. Luckily, your parents had just restocked all the groceries since they were going out of town.

“How does pasta with a side of salad and garlic bread sound?” You asked from within the fridge.

You felt a presence walk up behind you, and suddenly your boyfriend’s strong hands were on your hips, his front pressed against your back.

“I’ll eat anything you make, gorgeous,” he said, breath brushing against your left ear as he reached up and grabbed the lettuce and dressing from the top shelf of the fridge.

You turned in his arms and gave him a quick kiss. “Pasta it is.”

“Want me to–?”

“You can put the lettuce in a bowl and add the dressing.” You cut him off quickly.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that was the only task he could complete successfully. Throwing things into a bowl he could do. Anything else? Not so much.

You don’t mind much. Not everyone’s a good cook. And you personally find it much more fun with his company.

You saw the slight pout on his face, but he knew you were right.

“You can add whatever else you want if you can find it in the fridge,” you said over your shoulder while grabbing the pasta from the pantry and a few more things to make the sauce recipe your mom taught you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a dismissing hand while the other grabbed a larger bowl for the salad.

Laughing softly, you made your way back to the stove to boil some water, and get started on the sauce.

You were in the midst of stirring and setting a timer when music flowed from the speakers built into your ceiling. Turning around, you saw Cole sat on one of the barstools, phone in hand as he nodded along to the song.

“Elvis?” you asked, pointing upward.

Cole nodded in confirmation. “Suspicious Minds is one of my favorites.”

“Mine too,” you smiled before leaning over to check on the boiling noodles.

It wasn’t long before you were being spun around. Taken aback, you almost tripped over your own feet, but he was there to catch you. He always has been.

Hazel eyes met your own, and you couldn’t help but mirror his elated expression.

“Dance with me?” he offered.

You just pulled him closer in response. One of his hands curled around your waist, while the other gently clasped your hand that wasn’t planted on his shoulder.

Unsurprisingly, Cole was a good dancer. Other than the fact he had amazing balance being a ninja, his father taught him to dance as a kid. While Cole didn’t love it like his father did, he loved dancing with you.

The two of you sound around each other and between the counter and the island as Suspicious Minds continued to play from above.

Neither of you could keep the grins off your faces, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he dipped and spun you. His strength just made dancing with him all the more entertaining. He could lift you with one hand above his head if he wanted.

However, the blare of the timer you had set had your feet faltering to a stop and ducking under his arm to check on the things at the stove.

You gave the sauce another quick stir before lowering the heat before moving to strain the pasta. Before you could get to it, Cole had placed a dish towel on either side and carried it to the strainer in the sink.

Steam wafted up into the air as he tipped the pot over the bowl of the sink.

“Thank you,” you sing-songed as he returned the strands of pasta to the original now water free pot.

“No problem, gorgeous,” he gave you a heroic smile before moving to take the garlic bread out of the oven as well.

Watching as he carefully slid the bread out of the hot space, you couldn’t help but be thankful that you caught him first before some other girl beat you to it.

“What is it?” Cole asked as he placed the tray on one of the unoccupied stovetops.

“Nothing.” You shook the lovesick expression off your face. “Taste this for me.”

You lifted a wooden spoon up to your boyfriend's mouth. He complied immediately, always eager to sample your cooking.

“Thoughts?” you asked.

“Amazing as always,” he responded with a nod.

“You flatter me,” you shook your head, tossing the spoon in the sink before combining the pasta and sauce into one pan.

“Flattery or honesty?” Cole asked, leaning against the counter as he watched you work.

“I suppose I can always rely on you to be honest with me,” you admitted.

“Damn straight.”

You laughed, announcing food was done. Cole fetched the two of you plates and held one out for you. You accepted, and per his insistence, got first dibs at the food you had cooked.

Soon, the two of you were sat at the island, eating your dinner side by side. Cole praised your food, and you laughed, insisting he only likes it so much because he can’t cook to save his life.

After you two had finished, Cole wouldn’t even let you touch your plate, claiming since you cooked he’d do all the dishes. You protested at first, but after he quite literally carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room you gave up.

Instead, while he did the dishes, you were looking for a movie to put on for the two of you. But you didn’t stop there. It was almost like a girlfriend ritual to make your boyfriend do skincare with you, and while you weren’t overly into skin care, you did have a few face masks.

Cole stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes landed on what was in your hands. Pore strips. You’d put them on him before, and though he denied it, his eyes started to water when you peeled it off him.

“No.” He crossed his arms.

“Please!” you begged. “It’s good for you!”

“Lies, that’s just what they want you to think so you keep buying them.”

You didn’t back down, and eventually, you dragged him over to the couch and placed a pore strip over the bridge of his nose.

“Why do I let you do this to me?” he whined.

“Because you love you,” you said, patting his chest.

“Sad but true,” he sighed dramatically.

You gasped in fake offense before he tackled you back onto the couch, tickling your sides briefly. To compensate him for the pore strips, you picked one of your mutually favorite movies to put on.

However, when the thirty minutes for your strips were up, you had to chase Cole down around your house. Eventually, you caught up, reassuring him you’ll be gentle this time.

He eyed you skeptically, but stayed still anyway. You began to remove the strip from his nose, but almost every time you moved it, he’d wince.

“You’re so dramatic!” You laughed.

“I’m not! This shit hurts!” Cole leaned his head back, blinking furiously.

Slowly, you managed to get the strip off his face, but you had to stop him from scratching at the exposed place. To show him it wasn’t that bad, you removed your strip in one fluid motion. It hurt a little, you had to admit, and it made your eyes water slightly, but you powered through it.

“What happens when a villain slaps a pore strip on you, then what?” You asked as you two made your way back down stairs.

“Then I die a hero’s death.”

The rest of the night you two had spent watching your favorite movies with a bowl of popcorn between the two of you. At one point, you had put on one of your favorite sad movies, and when the main character died, Cole gasped and threw a piece of popcorn at the TV.

After the movies, you found one of your old Just Dance discs. It didn’t take a lot of concing to get Cole to do it with you. Somehow, he beat you every round to the point where you took to tripping him in order to win.

After another loss, you suggest a switch in games that led you to Mario Kart. Unlike Just Dance, he didn’t beat you once at Mario Kart. Not even when he covered your eyes with one of his hands.

Eventually, well into the late hours of the night, you two dragged yourself up to your room where Cole put on a pair of pajamas he kept at your house, and crashed into bed.

Soft morning rays bled through your half closed curtains as you buried your face further into the warmth of your boyfriend next to you. Cole’s soft breaths were ruffling the hairs on the top of your head, and his arms were wrapped around you as if he was afraid you’d disappear during the night.

Stretching as well as you could, you scratched at his scalp lightly, not wanting to wake him. A triumphant grin spread across your face. You had just gotten away with your boyfriend sleeping over at your house!

A cleared throat had your eyes shooting open. Your gaze landed on both your parents standing in your open doorway. Your father’s brows were raised, arms crossed as he tapped his foot while your mother was doing her best to conceal a smile.

“You’re back early,” you forced out a laugh, attempting to slide the covers higher to cover Cole’s body.

“And you’re grounded–three days,” your father deadpanned. Letting out a tired sigh he continued, “Breakfast is downstairs when you’re both ready.”

Your mom gave you a wink before following your father downstairs. You could tell neither of them were genuinely upset.

Well, you almost got away with it.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XIII

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: Geta is starting to realize something isn't right. Letha has to fight for her own protection. Caracalla wishes to save his brother from himself, because he's being Rome's biggest idiot (not so affectionate).

Warnings: violence, death, period-typical sexism, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 13 of 15

[ Part XII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I think writing action (be it the fun kind or the dangerous kind) is the hardest part. I hope this is even slightly entertaining. Next part might not be the last, I'm still writing so it depends on how long it gets. I would also like for there to be some sort of resolution as well so it doesn't end so abruptly. We'll see. I should really thank one of my favorite bands for putting out a particularly angry song that helped me get in the headspace for this. Thank you for reading.

The Emperor’s box remained empty until moments before the event began, the usual pomp and circumstance of the games abandoned for a dour display of punishment. 

The games held the people’s attention. Watching men fight for a chance at glory, to possibly better themselves, it was entertaining. Tactics could be observed, armor and weapons utilized in new and unique ways. Legends were written by the combatants and their actions daily. Physical prowess could be appreciated and admired.

Fighting desperately in an ultimately futile battle to survive a few short minutes longer didn’t hold much attraction. There was no one to root for, no underdog to champion. No one to bet on beyond who might die first. Only the most voracious Romans attended these events. 

As Geta stared down at the empty arena, he felt ill. Ill at the thought of the previous 24 hours. The visible fear he’d seen in Letha’s eyes as he stood over her made Geta’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Sleep eluded him. He feared what horrors awaited him in his dreams. 

He distrusted people on principle, but for him to be so wrong, let alone twice… It left him reeling. He resisted looking over to Macrinus who had visited upon them this horrible news. Something was off about the man he’d dared call a friend. Ever since delivering Geta’s own death knell, the man lingered nearly everywhere about Palatine Hill. 

As if he were taking over in the absence of Letha.

And what he had said… the party. It was clear to Geta that Macrinus had no clue about the specific nature of his interaction with Letha. He’d clearly made some assumptions, but the idea that Letha had somehow found time to not only speak with Thraex, but concoct a scheme against him and his brother felt impossible. Especially when accounting for the small slip of time in between him dismissing Lyra and stepping out to meet Letha in the hall.

No, there was something else. Something Geta hadn’t quite cracked yet. He had considered visiting the miserable cells where Letha waited for her doom to ask her himself, but he didn’t trust himself. He couldn’t possibly predict what his reaction would be to seeing her again. That scared him.

Caracalla sat in the seat beside him, staring daggers into the side of his head. On the ride over, he’d insisted again that there was something wrong here. And Geta did agree, though he didn’t say as much to his volatile brother. Regardless, none of it changed Letha’s sure guilt. He would not relish today, not by a long shot, but it was necessary. 

And to think, he would’ve sought to marry her.

“Emperor?” Ancus questioned quietly.

Geta glanced over to see Caracalla in close conversation with Ancus, his eyes fixed on his personal guard. What was said, Geta couldn’t make out. But he did notice the way Caracalla’s hand lingered on the Praetorian’s forearm.

“There will be three others,” Ravi warned quietly, wrapping the gauzy fabric strip around her shoulder, beneath her arm, and across her chest, the pressure of it easing the difficulty of moving her arm. “You must be first to get to the sword.”

“Or I definitely die first,” she lamented.

“Or you definitely, probably, will die first,” Ravi agreed, tying off the thick wrapping. “Sorry, princess.”

The mood was deeper than melancholic. Letha pulled up the straps of the plain scrap of cloth she’d been provided, a familiar sight. It still bore Hyacinthia’s signature stitching. 

Letha remembered Hyacinthia insisting to Macrinus upon her arrival that she be provided something more suitable to wear. Within a day of Macrinus’s assent, Letha had been provided with this top and some modified braccae. Though they were discouraged among men, it relieved Letha to be able to wear something more concealing around the stable of gladiators. 

And she treasured it now, eager to get rid of the bloodstained dress.

Ravi broke the uncomfortable silence first. “Did he hurt you?”

Letha played dumb. “Who?”

Ravi sighed. “The tyrant.”

“No,” she answered. “Not at all.”

Perhaps if he’d lived up to his reputation, it wouldn’t be so painful.

Before Ravi could ask any other questions, a Praetorian appeared, standing outside the cell. They could hear Viggo chasing him down, shouting that he wasn’t allowed to be back there and needed to speak with Macrinus.

Ravi bristled beside Letha, but she stood, approaching the cell bars.

“Ancus?”

“Get away from there!” Viggo ordered, finally catching up.

Ancus didn’t bat an eye. “I’m here on orders of your Emperor. It would be in your best interest to leave us.”

Viggo looked for a moment like he might argue before he turned tail and fled, most likely in search of Macrinus.

Ancus returned his attention to the cell and its current occupants. He glanced from Letha to Ravi, then back, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s trustworthy,” she assured him. 

Ravi played it cool, shooting an unbothered smile Ancus’s way, though Letha knew he was brimming with curiosity.

“I was told to deliver this to you. If it is as planned, you may need it.” Ancus reached through the bars, a small bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands. Letha took it, pulling some of the material back to get a peek at what was inside. Letha saw the familiar shape of the dagger she’d used all those nights ago. Someone had kept it.

“Tell Geta I am thankful,” Letha begged.

Ancus frowned. “I’m sorry, my lady. It is Caracalla who has sent me here.” 

It shouldn’t have left her feeling so cold, but it did. Of course. 

“Well, tell him the same.”

Ancus nodded. “I will have an eye on you.” He moved to leave, but came back. “Good luck, Letha.”

She couldn’t say anything in return, just nodded and looked down at the bundle in her hands as he walked away.

“Friends in high places, princess,” Ravi commented. 

She unwrapped the dagger, finding it still coated in dry blood. 

“Well, if you don’t need the sword, I’d say you should definitely go for the shield.”

The sound of one of the large gates on the edge of the arena opening drew Geta’s gaze. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. She had some cobbled-together armor on her shoulders and arms, but little else. Her hair had been braided, circling her head not unlike a crown. She looked nothing like the woman he had come to know.

All the better. It would be easier to watch that way, he supposed. No, no. What a ridiculous notion.

Nothing about this was easy for Geta. He regretted his choice almost as soon as he’d made it. His suggestion was borne of the grievous injury she’d dealt him. Now that the outcome of it stood on the sand below the box, the selection of weapons waiting in the center of the oval, he sat in his seat stewing in dread. 

“You can still put a stop to this madness, brother,” Caracalla reminded him, his voice terse, uncharacteristic. Geta looked over, seeing a conviction he wasn’t used to finding in Caracalla’s eyes. 

“Do not speak to me of madness, brother,” Geta spat back, irritated with Caracalla’s needling ever since he’d formed an opinion on his handling of Letha.

Caracalla’s temper flared. “You cannot even stand to look at her now,” he accused.

Geta reared around to face his brother fully, muscles in his neck tensing as he tempered the volume of his words. “Because I cannot bear it.” 

The sun burned Letha’s skin, as if Apollo himself decided to visit the arena. Her eyes moved over to rest on the Emperors’ box, seeing the two of them sitting there, in conversation with each other, their copper hair shining. Perhaps they were touched by the divine after all. 

Or perhaps the gods were playing a trick, drawing out her pain until she couldn’t bear it any longer. They would send her to her death, despite everything, all thanks to the snake, Macrinus. She got in his way. This would be the consequence.

“Don’t die too quickly, princess,” Viggo jeered from behind the wooden gate, just off to her side. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your lover.”

She didn’t dare look over, focused instead on the gate opening up in front of her. Who, or what, would walk through it? What insurmountable task would she have to deal with? How swift a death could it provide? 

Just one moment and it could all be over. All the heartache, the pain, the vitriol, the rage. It could all disappear if she just let it happen. No matter where she ended up, be it Elysium or the pits of Tartarus, anything would surely be better than this. 

Maybe she would see her family again. Her brother could mock her once again. She could feel her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her father would seize her in a tight hug, telling her she did what she had to do, even if those words didn’t exactly ring true.

The tears welled up, obscuring her vision until she blinked and let them fall onto the sand. She quickly wiped the trails from her cheeks, breathing deeply. 

The man walking out into the arena bore an unmistakable red line across the top of his cheek, just below his temple, and it went all the way to the back of his head. The missing portion of his ear a stark reminder of her fury and how she arrived here. 

General Plautianus. 

They did this on purpose. She wondered if this was Macrinus’s idea, or if Geta had suggested it himself. This was a former general of Rome, not a gladiator. The idea of dying at his hands repulsed her. He had already claimed her father and brother, he couldn’t claim her, too. 

But did she even stand a chance? Her shoulder was still injured, she couldn’t rely on her dominant arm for too much before it grew tired and tender. They had only given her the most basic armor, nothing for her chest or legs. The only weapon she possessed was a dagger. Her dagger. A kind gift from Caracalla. She didn’t think she’d get a chance to properly thank him.

Letha didn’t know how she was supposed to fend off a Roman general. If she had just done what Macrinus tasked her with, none of this would be happening. None of this additional pain would exist. Protecting the twins had earned her no favors, clearly. It all meant nothing. 

He felt nothing. And that was almost worse than the death that awaited her. 

“I should have killed you. I knew there was something off about you,” Plautianus taunted. “You thought you could take revenge? You? You’re as dumb as your brother. Clearly fated to die by my sword. My hand was stayed once, it will not be again,” he promised, flexing his hands, his eyes focusing on the three items at the center of the arena. 

Two other men joined them, standing an equal distance from the items waiting at the center. A gladius, a spear, and a small round shield. That meant someone could be left empty handed. As Ravi had warned her, that couldn’t be her. Still, the idea of rushing to meet all of them in the same place didn’t fill her with confidence, though she didn’t have much choice.

An announcer stepped forward, dressed down compared to the usual games. There was no formal ceremony. It took Letha a moment to even realize they’d been given the go-ahead. The only tell was a flicker of movement from the other prisoners. 

Letha snapped into a sprint, her legs fresh after sitting in the cell for so long. The same could be said of the others, however. She could see them approaching the center just as quickly as she was. She did note that the general seemed slower, his bulk and elaborate armor weighing him down. But he was still fast. She didn’t think it wise to underestimate any of them.

Before Letha could get her fingers around the lip of the circular shield, she was body-checked, knocked to the chalky gravel, and one of the other prisoners hefted it. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the next thing within reach. The spear.

Surely not the most optimal choice for her stature, it was better than nothing, the sword getting snatched up by the other man, leaving the General with nothing. 

Plautianus approached the group, his eyes raking over the slight build of the man currently holding the gladius. It took him only a moment to dodge the reckless swipe and tackle the man to the ground. He wrenched the sword from his grip and ignored his protests as he plunged the blade into his chest, rising to his feet with an ease that surely frightened those he fought against in battle. 

Three. 

Letha tried to find a good way to grip the spear, the wood rough lacking any wrap or protection for her bare hand. Even having the weapon, her options were slim. Even if she took out the man with the shield somehow, that would leave the General. And she didn’t like those odds.

It seemed Plautianus was similarly assessing his options, and as his gaze fell heavy on the shieldbearer, she knew he’d made a decision. It wasn’t what she would’ve done, had she been in his place, but she was no general, had no tactical prowess. Or maybe he was just saving her for last.

She couldn’t do nothing. Nothing would get her killed.

As Plautianus charged, she almost lost her nerve. He reached the shieldbearer, holding the sword threateningly in his direction. As he swung it overhead, the shieldbearer hefted the round disc high to block his blow. 

Letha moved in.

She jabbed the point of the spear into the back of his knee, as hard as she could. The roar Plautianus let out echoed around the arena. Before she could pull it free and step back, a swipe of the gladius cut through the pole of the spear, sending her on her ass. She got up as quickly as she could, keeping hold of the useless pole just in case.

Stunned by her action, the shieldbearer stood no chance, taking the brunt of Plautianus’s fury as he gutted him. He ripped the shield from the man as he fell, hopping a bit to take pressure off his injured leg as he faced her.

As he stared her down, she felt like she was back on the floor in the entryway to her house, shoved down to her knees. She could picture her brother slumped against the wall, his biting wit still being used to lash out at the Romans standing around them. It did nothing but earn him a few extra kicks to the ribs. But still he sat there, making use of the only tool he had left, right up until her impulsive action got him killed.

“You are the thorn in my side no longer,” Plautianus promised, leveling the sword at her, shield held close to his chest. He did not charge at her, no, he moved with purpose, a significant limp the only sign he’d been injured. It didn’t show in his face or his focus.

There wasn’t anywhere to go. She couldn’t run or hide. There were only the two of them. She was forced into a defensive position after sacrificing the tip of the spear, for all the good it did her now. He would still bear down on her, he still had the sword. 

Plautianus moved quickly, striking like a viper. She brought up the spear’s shaft to attempt to deflect the blow. The sword skated off it and cut a hot slash into her upper arm, thankfully only splitting the skin and not going deeper. Her hand went to the fresh wound and she backed away from the general, trying to pay attention to his movements as he stalked her. 

He moved in swiftly. She chucked the pole at him for lack of anything else. He raised the shield to smack it away, giving her a small opening. She drew the dagger quickly and advanced, ducking under another slash to drive it into his thigh. It had worked, another blow in this war of attrition, but she left herself open, the lip of the shield colliding with the side of her head, the crack of it audible. 

She scrambled back, seeing stars. It was hard to recover from, her stunned state causing her to lose her balance and crash down onto the fine pebbles. The chalky surface stuck to the sweat on her skin. 

Plautianus let out a roar and reached for his bleeding thigh, inspecting the damage done. With a gut-wrenching glare, he abandoned the sword and shield. He wouldn’t need them. 

As she tried to regain her breath, her vision swimming, his foot caught her injured shoulder, knocking her back onto the ground. The small stones bit into her palm as she pushed herself up onto her knees, holding the dagger desperately. Her chest burned as she tried to steady her breathing.

He just kept coming at her. There was only one way this would end. This had been orchestrated since the order was given to claim the lands she came from. Perhaps the gods were here in this arena after all. Putting things into motion in order to amuse themselves later. They must view the people as playthings, acting out plotlines for their entertainment.

It bothered Letha that she might have always been going to die at the hands of General Plautianus. Someone above surely had a penchant for torture, letting her fool herself into thinking there could be anything else but this waiting for her. 

None of it mattered. Not to her outcome. Not to him. 

It was hopeless to try to salvage her feelings now. Let it hurt, let it burn her up. If she was to meet her end here, by his order, within his view, then she could allow herself to feel the sadness of it. It was sharper than any blade. It cut deeper. By that measure, she was already dead. No point in fighting it.

She threw the dagger down onto the sand, abandoning any effort to stand. 

General Plautianus laughed. “Surrender? You’ve been watching too many gladiator matches. There’s no such thing here. The gods don’t intervene to save treasonous whores.”

She watched him turn around and hobble over to where he’d abandoned the sword, something close to happiness in his face as he reclaimed it.

“You put up this fight, all this bluster, but you’re ineffective,” he spoke, gesturing to the scar along the side of his head. “At least you’ve realized that now, and I can put right this wrong.”

Letha would not rise to his taunts.

She waited for the sword to meet her neck, her head bowed low, the careful plait of her hair exposing the back of her neck for the blade. Plautianus was strong, she’d seen him wield that blade before. Her death would be swift. 

She rested her hands on her covered thighs and closed her eyes, letting the breeze blow in the scent of the heat, the stench of Rome. She would soon add to it, a carefully crafted perfume of misery. 

The crowd had gone quiet, their breath bated for the spilling of her blood. She could hear the crunch of the gravel underfoot, could just about picture how close General Plautianus was standing. Would he cleave her head from her shoulders in one blow? Or two?

“Stop!” Geta roared, his voice echoing around the colosseum. The silence stretched, no one sure of what was happening. 

Letha opened her eyes, turning to see Geta leaning out of the box, his chest heaving. 

“Enough,” he spoke, his voice not as loud this time. She could hear the pain in his voice. She didn’t dare let herself indulge in it. It changed nothing. 

“Mercy,” Caracalla agreed, standing beside him.

Letha heard Plautianus scoff, his shoe scuffing the ground. “Mercy?” he spat. “I was promised blood,” he yelled at them. She looked up at him, alarmed, as he began to ready his arm for a swing despite the Emperors’ wishes.

“Ancus!” Caracalla shouted. 

Before she could bring up an arm as if to shield herself from his blade, the shunk of an arrow sounded as it struck Plautianus in the chest, piercing the armor. The sword clattered to the ground. She sat there, shocked, as he sank to his knees right in front of her, his expression one of disbelief as he reached for the arrow lodged in his lung. He choked on blood as his face turned an ugly color. He finally fell back, landing on his side as he continued to claw at the wound. 

The Colosseum filled with uncertain murmuring. Why was she still breathing? Why did their general lay there, dead? Why was Emperor Geta so upset? Why did they intervene?

Letha refused to look up at the box, refused to look for Geta. Refused to let herself hope. She heard the Praetorians before she felt them hauling her to her feet. Despite being carried out of the arena still alive, she felt far from safe. In fact, nothing was certain now. 

What would Macrinus have to say about Geta’s intervention? Was he fuming in the box, wishing to crack the brothers’ skulls together and be done with it? She assumed he wished to see her dead before he enacted the final steps of his plan. Now that it was foiled, the twins weren’t safe, and she was stuck in the belly of the Colosseum, unable to help them. If they would even welcome her help. 

If she somehow got the chance, she would see Macrinus dead. And then, the fates could have her.

[ Part XIV ]

[e-vay]

Anon bc i’m shy djdbdjdb Ive had a question floating around my head for as long as I’ve known about this au and I don’t believe it’s been answered? How does Aurora feel about Shadow being a Black Arms(if that’s still a thing with him here ofc), does she even know?

And if he is still a Black Arms hybrid did any of the shadora babies inherit any alien traits or specific powers?

Hello!

Yes, Aurora knows (and even their future children know [x]) that Shadow was engineered and he was made using Black Arms DNA. (I even have this old doodle of the Shadora family tree but keep in mind this was drawn before my official Shadora kids were designed so the doodles are not accurate lol). Aurora loves Shadow no matter what, for all the things that make him him. She doesn't find him scary or frightening or 'alien,' she finds him magnificent.

All of the Shadora babies have powers and many of them have powers that closely stem from Shadow's Chaos powers. None of them have any of the "Doom abilities" that were seen in Sonic X Shadow Generations, however. I posted why they don't have those abilities, but the post contains SXSG spoilers so click at your own risk.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 4.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: this chapter might be a bit slower. it's building some things up and i wanted to brush up on my combat writing. it's a bit scuffed but i hope you enjoy! aemond is kind of feral in this chapter.

wordcount: 4.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing

story playlist

‘Little wolf spider’ Helaena had called her. She remembered Helaena’s incessant facts about them specifically– why, of all things, did she remember that? She remembered Helaena citing that they were excellent hunters with superb eyesight. They did not spin webs, most being wanderers without permanent homes.

It almost made her want to laugh. It truly described her well, didn’t it? Besides the eyesight part… and the hunting part– she was indeed, a little wolf spider– doomed to be alone and not able to make her own home, a rolling stone amongst the waves that threatened to drown her.

After the betrothal announcement dinner and subsequent breakdown of Shera, she stayed in her chambers for a few days, not feeling well enough to socialize, nor see the faces of people that would’ve heard her crying. Cregan visited a few times, bringing her a meal or two and forcing her to bathe– it was agitating her to be forced to do something she loved, something she wished to do alone.

He, thankfully, had maids do the actual washing part– but this still annoyed Shera to bits. She hated being touched, being fretted over by them as they looked upon her like she was lesser, like she wasn’t capable of doing things herself. She felt suffocated in a place that usually brought her peace, simpering tiny whines as they pulled at her hair. 

I can do it, I can do it– just let me do it!

She wanted to scream and claw their wandering eyes out, then go and kick Cregan in the balls– this was his fault, his fault– 

Finally, the maids left and she felt like a freshly plucked duck, ready to be roasted over the fire. Her skin was red and pink, emanating heat that she could almost see, steam roiling over her overwrought skin.

Moongeist whined at the closed washroom door– they had locked him out, the absolute fiends. She wrapped in a robe, pinning her hair up with a whale bone pin and opened the door.

“Come here, lovey,” she cooed, voice broken and hoarse still. “They locked you out– my poor bubby.” Shera pat his head, descending onto her knees. She was still weak from the emotional turmoil she’d gone through, bleeding into her physical state, but she would need to be bed bound before she would ever forsake Moongeist proper scratches. Her hands glided through his black fur and she pressed her face to him, taking in his familiar scent.

 Everyone said he smelled like a dog, but that was simply untrue. He smelled… clean, he smelled like wolf– which was much different than smelling like dog. It was primal and heady, deep and warm like fir trees and pine nettles and all the things that were so synonymous with him. She scratched behind his ears and his leg thumped on the ground. 

Cregan returned to her chamber, a plate of something sweet smelling in his hand. He put it down on the dining table. “Are you feeling better today?” 

Shera’s mouth pursed into a thin line as she got back to her feet— with Moongeist’s assistance— and meandered to the table. “Define better.” she murmured, inspecting the plate. It was piled high with her favorite treat; sticky honey walnut cakes. Her mouth filled with saliva instantly and her brow raised to Cregan. Perhaps her brother was more considerate than she thought. 

“Better as in you’d be able to walk the Keep— Jacaerys and I are going to be skirmishing in the training yard at noon.” 

She all but scowled as she pilfered one of the pastries, biting into it without much decorum. It was a messy dessert, designed to be eaten with a fork and knife— but damn that, she would be sticky faced like a honey drunk bear if she pleased! She melded into the flavors, the nostalgia of it tampering her mood. “… I suppose I could watch.”

“He asked for you, you know.” 

Shera’s brow raised. ‘He’ could mean a lot of people. “Who?” 

“Jacaerys. He asked if you were alright and wished his condolences for your… illness.” 

“Is that what we are saying it is now? An illness?” she muttered, taking another bite of the cake. Yes, how diminishing it felt to pass off her fragility of mind as an illness. Of course— how else could it be put? She was surprised that it wasn’t being spread as a ‘malady of woman’, or some other pompous innocuous name for whatever was really wrong with her. 

“What would you call it then?” 

She made a noncommittal noise and continued eating. After finishing, she let out a sigh. “Thank you for the cakes, Cregan.” 

“I didn’t bring them— they were at your chamber door when I came back.” 

She tilted her head. “They were just… there?” 

“I didn’t even know you liked honey walnut cakes, Shera.” 

She clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll be at the yard at noon. I need to get ready, if you please.” she said, the nicest way of putting it. Leave, brother. You’re annoying. 

–

Dressed in a lighter garment than usual, she descended the steps carefully. A light blue tulle train flowed behind her, rippling and waving in the breeze like the white capped crests upon the Blackwater. It was different from her normal style of muted, monotone colors— mayhaps it was a way to uplift herself. 

It was a lovely blue and green hue, embroidered with filigree patterns. The sleeves were long, accompanied by a sweeping circular decolletage, exposing her soft collarbone and the faintest swell of breast. She had felt so confident leaving her chambers— she even went with a shorter veil than usual, the lace falling just past her jaw. 

Walking down the hall, Moongeist nosed her hand to his head, as if to remind her of something. She felt… exposed. A bit too much for her liking. Her fingers glided over her wolf’s soft fur… and she remembered, swiftly turning around to grab her fur stole from her room. “Thank you for reminding me, sweet boy,” she hummed, snuggling into the comforting, familiar fur. 

Descending down to the training yard, she fanned herself with an errant hand. Even with less layers than usual and lighter colors, she was still broiling under the sun. Moongeist panted near her, tongue lolled out in silent agreement.

“A parasol might do you well, my lady,” a bored voice drawled. “Your pale complexion does you wonders, but I wonder if you still flay in the sun like as a child.” 

“Aegon,” Shera recognized the lazy, tired voice of the eldest child of Alicent. He had been one of her companions back in the day, but also one of her greatest foes– before the incident of course. “I’m surprised to see you outside. I’ve heard you’re solely a creature of the dark now.”

“I am full of surprises, dear Shera,” he caught up to her, looping their arms together all too readily. He had a dopey smile on his face, but it didn’t match the pure exhaustion in his eyes. Dark bags fell under those violet orbs like a dreary storm. “I happen to be coming back from… such nightly activities.”

Moongeist let out a growl as he touched her, but Shera silenced him. She didn’t believe that she had any reason to fear Aegon and thought him almost as pathetic as she. “Very well.”

“I heard about… the dinner. I’m glad I slipped out when I did, I knew it’d be a shit show,” he was fiddling with his rings on his free arm, all while stringing her along to the training yard. “Curious how Aemond said you were a bashed up mess under that veil of yours, and yet– he is challenging your betrothed and your brother to a duel?”

“How do you know that?” 

“I have my ways– eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Helaena told you, didn’t she?”

“... mm. Maybe– even so, I don’t think it’s wholly terrible under there, is it?” he peered at her, a single hand lifting her veil to peek underneath. 

She promptly slapped his hand away and wrenched herself from his grasp, followed by Moongeist giving a warning snap to the air. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Sleeping off your night, mayhaps?” 

“Well– yes,” Aegon backed up, putting his hands in the air in surrender. “I just wanted to catch up. Is that so terrible?”

“Yes.” 

He patted down imaginary dust from his doublet, twisting his rings again as they reached the landing to the training yard observation deck. He leaned his head to look out and survey it for a moment before a devilish smirk perked at his mouth once more. “You are going to wish that it was me talking to you soon enough, Shera. Have fun, zokla.” Wolf. 

Shera watched him jaunt off with an air of confusion, turning to walk onto the rampart. She saw Jacaerys there already with Cregan, talking and laughing with… Rhaena and Baela. Daemon was there, too, stalking in the background.

Fuck.

She took a deep breath, glancing to the dirt grounds where Aemond was sparring with Criston. 

Cregan’s voice echoed in her mind. They’re not your friends, not anymore. She pulled her stole closer to herself, walking forward. I don’t have any friends here. Except for Helaena, it seemed. Steeling her nerves, she made her way to the small congregation. “Brother, Jacaerys,” she greeted first, dipping her head. Cregan seemed jovial and in good spirits– he always was around Jacaerys and vice versa. “Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena.” she spoke then, trying to keep her quivering voice even. They hadn’t spoken since Baela had slashed her eye and attempted to kill her. Shera took in her appearance best she could– she had grown up, as they all had, but especially resembled her mother, Laena. Shera remembers seeing Laena’s portraits in Driftmark– and her statuesque coffin depiction before she was pushed into the sea. 

“Shera,” Jacaerys grinned, taking her hand– which she did not offer him– and kissed it. So gallant, so princely. It made her want to vomit. “It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?”

Yes, it’s a lovely day, stifling hot in the hells. “... it could do with a breeze, mayhaps. But yes, quite nice.” she responded coolly. 

“‘Tis my turn to spar Aemond next– apparently he has been here since the crack of dawn with Criston. Do you think he’s getting exhausted yet, my lady?” Jace asked, guiding Shera to her seat and handing her a fan. At least he noticed that she was positively broiling.

She leaned and looked over the rampart to the skirmishing ring, where Aemond kept up his pace. “Since dawn, you say?” she asked, raising a brow as she fanned herself.

Aemond was using a shortsword, which seemed to be his weapon of choice against all others. Ser Criston was wielding a morningstar with spiked barbs around it. Her lone eye was entranced on the prince’s movements as he danced around his teacher, footwork impeccable as if he were simply floating across the dirt, whipping up hardly any dust in his wake. Shera wished she was a bit closer so she could see it better, but his movements didn’t seem to be exhausted in the slightest– he was like grebe skimming over the water, in his element. 

Criston raised his morningstar, twirling it before making his advance to the prince, to which Aemond did not move. Move, Aemond. Move! What are you doing? Shera clenched her fist in her lap and leaned forward even farther to try and parse exactly what Aemond’s plan was– certainly not to face a morningstar head on with a simple shortsword? She held her breath as he was within bludgeoning range of the flail, the chains clinking as Criston didn’t waiver– it was like they were in a real fight. Was he about to kill Aemond? 

She rose to her feet quickly, startled by what she thought was about to be a murder– only to watch Aemond roll deftly out of the way as the kingsguard’s weapon stuck into the dirt, lodged a few inches in by the heft of his lunge. This was a clear opportunity for Aemond, one he calculated so carefully. He stuck the tip of his shortsword through the links of the flail, keeping it pinned to the ground and hovered a dagger at Ser Cole’s neck with his other hand. 

“I yield, my prince.” Criston huffed, bowing his head. 

“Very good,” Aemond grinned– but it wasn’t a grin of joy, this seemed to be a recurring theme with Aemond– he smiled but it was nothing of mirth. It was simply a reflex, like a snake opening its jaws to stretch its fangs, one might think it was laughing. “Who’s next?” 

Shera realized the kerfuffle she’d made, her hand white knuckled against her chest as she stared at Aemond in abject horror, still not getting past the fact that she had been deathly worried about Aemond– even after the horrible things he had said. If Ser Cole’s flail had met the prince’s head, she would’ve jumped the rampart with Moongeist and mauled that sordid Kingsguard without a second thought.

She blinked, letting out a breath. Where did that come from? She was usually so well versed in her moods, as tumultuous as they could be. But this rage had snuck up on her, her blood boiling slightly. She glanced to her side, Moongeist was up and raring to go, as if sharing her sentiment.

Aemond wiped sweat from his forehead, finally looking to the ramparts. Their eyes met once again and he smirked. Smirked. It wasn’t a reflexive, mirthless smirk either. It was taunting, pompous. “Lady Shera,” he drawled, dislodging his sword from the ground and twirled it with ease, like it was an attachment of his own body. “You are dressed… brightly today.” he walked to the edge of the ring, looking directly up at her. 

Shera looked behind her for a moment– the rest of the party was occupied with talking with one another. She pressed her arms on the wall and leaned down. “I am. You are not.”

“When have I ever been?” 

“You used to like green.”

“Hm,” he snorted, wiping some errant dirt from his face. “If I were in a tourney, would you cast down your favor to me?”

“I thought you didn’t care for tournaments, my prince.” 

“I don’t.” he responded coolly, his eye trained on her so intensely. He was looking at something– did she have something on her face?

She realized quickly the air coming up from under her veil, the shorter one she wore today, and her angle. She was looking… down at him, and the veil stayed in place. He could see her face. He was looking at her, studying her like a book. Shera let out a soft sheepish noise, pushing back from the rampart and sitting back at her seat. 

She heard him laugh as he walked away to stow his weapon on the rack and pick another. He was laughing at her– surely because he thought her ugly. Wilting into herself, she adjusted her veil so that she might not have any more mishaps. 

“Jacaerys, I believe it’s your turn,” she murmured, fanning herself again, then fanning Moongeist.

“Ah, very good. Wish me luck, my lady.” 

“Good luck, Jacaerys.” she hummed. I do wish you don’t get your brains splattered in the pit by Aemond. I am not getting up again.

Cregan clasped Jace on the shoulder with such ferocity he almost knocked the prince over, walking down to the pit with him. Shera rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

“So, Lady Stark,” Baela hummed, pulling her seat up next to Shera. Uncomfortably close. “Cregan is your brother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.” she responded, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Forgive me– you two don’t look much alike, so I was just making sure.”

You cannot even see my face, how do you know we do not look alike? The last time you saw my face, you mauled it. “Cregan takes after our father more than I. I am more like our mother– or so I’ve been told. I’ve not met her.” she fiddled with her fur stole to ease her growing irritation. Add mother issues to the list of things I have wrong with me. Shera’s mother died shortly after her birth– all she knew is that she had copper hair. Their father had put away portraits and any semblance of her existence after– and never remarried.

Baela carefully sidestepped the issue of Shera’s mother, keeping her pressed about Cregan. “My stepmother says that mayhaps after you and Jacaerys are wed, she will propose a betrothal between Cregan and I.”

Oh, of course. Let’s have Winterfell all but indebted to dragons. “I hadn’t heard. Have you been North, my lady?” 

“No– but I imagine it cannot be any harsher than the roiling tides of Driftmark.”

Fuck you. “Having been both places– they are very different, Lady Baela,” Shera knew she was being short and not doing well in containing her agitation at this whole situation, being in proximity to her would-be murderer. “The North is harsher than any tide and is not the best climate for everyone. I do not think dragons fair well in the North,” she paused to breathe, her pace of speaking beginning to burn her throat. She was fueled by disconcertment and barely contained anger alone. “... that is what I have heard. Vermax loathes the snow.” 

“Well,” Baela kept a smile on her face. “Cregan is handsome, don’t you think?”

“I cannot say, my lady. I don’t really see him in such a manner— I am not a Targaryen, after all.” Shera said back, finally regaining some control in her voice. 

She heard Daemon laugh behind her. She fought the urge to turn around and sneer, focusing on the melee happening in the pit. It was well on its way and Jacaerys was… faring. She didn’t know how he was faring, but he wasn’t knocked out yet. 

Aemond was circling him like a wolf upon prey– a totally different technique than what he had done with Criston. He had let Criston come to him, rather than facing him head on. It was almost sickly how he was playing with him before the slaughter. There was a dangerous glint in Aemond’s eye that only Shera seemed to catch– did he mean to kill Jace? She remembered a similar glint in his eye when he raised the rock to Jacaerys’ head in the tunnels under Driftmark–

Aemond surged forward and steel met steel, their swords clashing together. Jace had chosen a shortsword as well, parrying his opponent’s thrust– barely. He knocked the white-haired prince back slightly, catching his breath. 

Once again, that sickly smile spread across Aemond’s face. “Tired already, Jacaerys? We’ve barely begun!” he continued his walk around his nephew, twirling his sword.

“Hardly, uncle. All you’ve done is dance around me. How about an actual fight, ey?” Jace quipped back. 

Shera had to give him credit where it was due. Jace was brazen. Taunting an already unhinged Aemond and being mayhaps a bit stupid– but brazen nonetheless. 

“A swordsman knows how to pick his fights and when to wait, doesn’t he?” Aemond’s eye flicked to the ramparts where Daemon was still looming. “Has your stepfather not taught you that?”

“You’re both talking a bit too much for my liking,” Cregan grunted, his hand itching on his own sword, which he had already unsheathed. It was the Stark’s ancestral weapon, a huge greatsword aptly called Ice. Cregan handled it with ease– Shera wouldn’t even be able to lift it. “Go on, Jacaerys.”

“Go on, Jacaerys,” Aemond taunted in a similar tone, his hackles raised. He looked slightly manic in the moment. “Let's see what your stepfather has taught you– if anything. I thought you were supposed to be strong.” 

Jacaerys raged forward, spurred by his rising anger. Their swords clashed again with such force that sparks flew from the metal. Aemond thwarted him off, pushing him backwards into the dirt, shrugging his shoulders. 

Despite being pushed down, Jace still got up, coming at Aemond again and again, each slash more sloppy than the last, but fueled with spite. His uncle continued to parry him, to push him, to sweep him aside with ease– it was a game to him.

“Keep your attacks focused, Jacaerys,” Cregan commanded. “He’s getting tired, I can see it.”

“I can go all day, Stark!” Aemond barked, his violet eye pierced solely on Cregan now as he thwarted Jacaerys’ heavy-handed blows without even looking at him. “Let’s make a wager, shall we? If your… pup here wins, I’ll personally pay for you and your troops to have a trip to the Silk Street– the best brothel. If I win– I get to take your sister for a ride on my dragon.” 

Ah, fuck. Cregan’s hackles rose and he shoved off his fur cape. “Don’t talk about my sister, you beast,” the vein in Cregan’s neck throbbed and Shera knew it would come to blows between the Warden of the North and the One-Eyed prince. “You wouldn’t know a real fight if it hit you in the face.” 

“Oh, please– now give me a moment so I can pummel your little pup into the ground and show your sister a real dra–” Aemond’s voice was cut off as Cregan punched him squarely in the face, right in his nose. Blood dripped from his nostrils and he then raised his sword to Cregan. “Fine.”

Their bodies tensed and Jacaerys saw the opportunity to walk away, thoroughly exhausted and not wanting to get in between the two of them. 

They were about to clash swords once more in a very real manner and Shera stood up from her chair hastily, opening her mouth to say something– but she was cut off. 

“Aemond!” an authoritative voice called from the rampart. It was Otto Hightower, hand of the King– and Aemond’s grandsire. “Forgo your petty spar and meet me in the Tower of the Hand. Promptly.” 

The mania in Aemond’s eyes and aura faded, snuffing it out once more– just like his rage at the dinner. “Of course. Good fight, Jacaerys,” he nodded his head to his nephew, then looked to Cregan. “Stark.” he uttered before spitting blood onto the dirt, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t even look at Shera as he ascended the steps and followed his grandsire. 

“I notice you did not greet me, Lady Stark,” Daemon hummed as he loomed behind her. “Am I not worthy of your respect?” 

“... you were quite far away, Prince Daemon. I simply cannot project my voice that far, forgive me.” she droned, blinking profusely at the turn of events. 

“My nephew said he would’ve taken you on a ride upon his dragon– care to enlighten me what that might mean?” he continued, tapping ringed fingers on the stone barrier.

“I presume he would take me on a ride on Vhagar,” she muttered, edging away from Daemon. “He would find it hard to get me upon his beast, even if he won the bet.”

“I’m sure he would. Your brother has a temper when it comes to you, it seems?”

“All men have tempers when it comes to women in their lives, do they not?” 

“That’s true.”

“I don’t imagine you would wish your daughter,” she cleared her throat, eyes looking to Baela, who was speaking to Jacaerys off to the side. “To be absconded to the North. Nor do I imagine you’re entirely pleased at the prospect of more Andal blood tainting your line.” 

“An apt observation, wolf. Though, I am not sure the North is meant for northerners, either. Some people just do not belong anywhere, it seems.” 

Fuck off, old man. “I wish you a good day, prince Daemon.” Shera whispered, bowing her head, careful of her veil placement. She could feel his gaze on her, leering at her, trying to figure out what was beneath.

“Cregan– I am going to lunch with Helaena,” Shera tried to call down, but her voice didn’t project. He was caught up talking very animatedly to Jacaerys and Baela– Rhaena was off to the side, not saying much.

Shera let out an errant puff of agitation and left the training yard. She stopped at her chambers before going to Helaena’s– she took off the errant piece of flowing fabric from her outfit and put it on the desk. 

– 

Aemond returned to his chambers hours later after being thoroughly chewed out by his grandsire for ‘behavior unbecoming of a prince’. Is this how it felt to be Aegon?

His nose ached and he was sure that northern beast had broken it. It mattered not, it will mend. Most things do in time.

He began to unlace his jerkin as he noticed a piece of cerulean fabric on his desk, pinned with a note.

My favor, for you.

There was no signature to whom had written it, only a crude drawing of a wolf. He rolled his eye, picking up the fabric. It was soft between his calloused fingers and smelled heavily of lavender and rosemary. It smelled of her– he could absorb it even with his broken nose.

A tiny smile perked at his lips for a moment. ‘Twas a real one.

[whatevermakesyoubreak]

⚠️ MINORS DNI ⚠️

> SIC INFIT <

> pairing: Illumi Zoldyck x OFC

> ft. past hisoillu and chrollo x ofc

- ❤️‍🔥 Post-Hunter’s Exam, Illumi Zoldyck makes the most impulsive decision of his life, arriving at his home with a mysterious, money-motivated woman in tow— a partner, a colleague, and, if his mother had it her way— a fiancée.

Fellow contract-killer and Meteor City royalty Lira Vesuvian is charismatic, beautiful, and flirtatious— almost unnervingly so— possessing a dangerous vice, obsessive nature, and troubling background of her own.

Deceptive, disingenuous, and volatile, with her own family after her head, one might wonder what originally drew the typically asocial Illumi to her in the first place… As Illumi struggles to come to terms with and rationalize the strange feelings plaguing him, the two assassins contract with the Phantom Troupe— a job that stirs up past connections for the both of them.

Meanwhile, after meeting Illumi, Lira begins finding out more and more of her own family’s dark, twisted secrets— one of which being an unspeakable and brutal cover-up, that upon discovery, quickly ensures her and Illumi’s danger— with not only the corrupt Underground of Meteor City, a society fueled by crime, drugs, sex, and blood money, but also, a righteous avenger hungry for retribution.

this fic includes, but is not limited to:

lust at first sight

powerful male character x powerful female character

bisexual male character(s)

obsessive, parasitic love from both parties

perpetuating generational trauma

two characters matching each other’s freak to a degree that is dangerous for the safety of others

psychopathy/sociopathy

doomed siblings

failfamily/families

hypocrisy

sibling rivalries

mommy issues galore

two hot, emotionally deficient, rich assassins making morally questionable choices

illumi zoldyck meeting someone just as creepy and unsettling as he is and proceeding to simp

substance abuse

dark themes in basically everything, but their relationship is as healthy as it can be given the circumstances

this will have a HEA. somehow. just trust me.

[sunnyie-eve]

8. Secession

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Series: Devious Opportunity

Pairing: (Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!)

Word Count: 1.5k

Notes: Incest, death, betroth offers, Aegon being giggly

| MASTERLIST |

The next day everyone gathers in the throne room to discuss the succession. As Rhaenyra, Daemon, the girls, and the boys enter the room walking to the front, Aegon looks over at her trying to hold back his smile.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the secession of Driftmark." Otto starts off, "As Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters." He adds taking a seat on the throne, "The crown will now hear the petitions.

Ser Vaemond goes first saying while Targaryen's ruled the skies, Velaryon's ruled the seas. That true unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through his veins. Rhaenyra says it's the same for her sons but Alicent cuts her off saying it wasn't her turn to speak.

Aegon sees the look she gave Alicent making him slightly smiling loving how she got when she started to get pissed with someone. He thought the little look she always gave was cute. She then gives him a look catching him so he nods his head as an apology.

When it was Rhaenyra's turn as she stepped forward the doors open to show Viserys showing up even at his worst for his daughter. Celeste could tell Rhaenyra was shocked but grateful while the Hightowers and Vaemond were just in shock.

Slowly but surely, Viserys made it to the throne and Daemon helped his brother up the steps taking a seat before going back to his spot. "I must... admit... my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." He starts, "The only present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.

She goes to speak saying that his wishes were to pass to his son's true-born son Lucerys and his mind never changed nor her support to him. She even adds that Rhaenyra informed her that she desires her sons to marry Baela and Rhaena. And that she agrees to the proposal given to her.

Celeste can't help but look over to the other side getting upset at what was being said making her smile a bit. With Aegon watching her, he smiles a bit too as they make eye contact.

With Viserys saying the matter was settled with Luke being heir to Drifmsark, Vaemond starts to snap, "That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine."

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark." Viserys tells him and Celeste covers her mouth from laughing as Damon gives her a look.

"You...may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine." Vaemond starts to shake in anger, "My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this-,"

"Say it." Daemon tells him wanting him to say it.

Vaemond looks at him for a good few seconds, "Her children... are bastards!" He shouts pissing off Viserys, Daemon, and Jace while Celeste holds Luke's arm as he looks concerned, "And she...is...a whore."

"I...will have your tongue for that." Viserys gets up but Daemon uses his sword slicing the top of his head off from behind.

Helaena covers her ears as Alicent turns her away, Aemond steps back shocked, Aegon made a disgusted face just like Celeste did, Luke had a shocked face, Jace had no reaction, and Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, and Baela were also a bit surprised.

"He can keep his tongue." Daemon looks down at the body.

"Disarm him!" Otto yells so guards pull out their swords.

"No need." Daemon says calmly stepping back as he did want he needed to do was over with.

The King starts to feel worse after everything and is helped out of the throne room. They start to have everyone else leave so they could clean up Vaemond's body to take away. Walking out Celeste and Aegon ends up beside each other but don't say anything to each other since Otto was right behind them. They could basically feel his eyes on them. Before walking out the door, Celeste secretly slips a note into Aegon's hand without Otto seeing.

Once he was alone he read the note that was saying to go by her room because the girls wanted to see him again. All morning they had been asking for him wanting to play. Celeste didn't understand why they specifically wanted Aegon but she told them maybe later he'll play.

"What is that?" Helaena walks up behind him.

"Nothing." He hides it.

"For Celeste, isn't it?" She smiles a bit, "If anyone looks for you, I'll say you went off somewhere wanting to be alone." She tells him.

"You'll do that?"

"Go see them." She says knowing about the twins from her dreams.

He was going to ask her more about what she said but she was already wandering off from him, "Thank you!" He shouts to her rushing off to his room to go see the three.

Getting to her room he makes a little noise to let her know he was there and hears her say it was just them so he goes in. "Helaena said she'll cover for me. She knew about the girls. Did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her. Maybe she knows because she probably a dreamer." Celeste says knowing about them from story's Rhaenyra told her about.

"What?" He asks confused not knowing a thing about it.

"Some dragonriders can be dreamers. It's a type of prophetic dream or vision experienced by some individuals of Valyrian descent." She gives him a short summary.

"Is that why she says odd things at times?"

"Probably," She agrees, "The handmaids said she'll be waking up soon." She lets him know about Astraea sleeping while she held Dahlia who was still sleepy.

"I'm not surprised my father showed up for Rhaenyra. I was hoping he would actually because the Hand wouldn't let Luke keep his inheritance." Aegon goes to take a seat on the sofa.

"Speaking of Rhaenyra... She told me before I went to bed last night. You said she'll make a good Queen." Celeste follows taking a seat as well. As soon as she sat down, Dahlia left her lap going over to Aegon so he could hold her.

He chuckled picking her up, "I did and we made amends as well." He tells her as Dahlia cuddles into him falling back to sleep, "Our talk was nice. For the first time ever we were siblings. I did not know how much I needed that from her. Her words helped me think about some things."

"I'm glad to hear such a thing. Mostly on your half." She tells him as Astraea wakes up.

"You're here!" She runs over to Aegon causing him to laugh quietly because of Dahlia.

"I'll put her back in bed." Celeste gets up taking her from him.

"Your mommy tells me you and Dahlia wanted me to play with you girls?" He leans forward with a smile talking to her and she nods her head quickly, "Let's play then." She grabs his hand leading him over to her toys.

Celeste was surprised by how well Aegon was with Astraea but then again he was still very childish himself. He proved that in the way he played with the dragon figures making noises for them.

After sometime there was a knock at the door as it starts to open Otto announces himself to let her know before coming in all the way. As soon as Aegon heard his voice he rushed to hide in the room.

"Yes?" Celeste turns to face him as Astraea gets up making her way over to where Aegon hid.

He puts his finger over his mouth to tell her to be quiet making her giggle. Otto looks over in the direction but he couldn't see due to the panel blocking the bed area where Aegon was hiding in a corner next to a cabinet.

"She often does that. Running away from strangers giggling." Celeste lies, "You came for?" She asks.

"The King has requested that tonight the family all eats together. Of course, excluding the younger ones."

"Thank you for letting me know." She smiles hoping he would hurry up and leave.

"Mommy, tell Aegon to come play." Astraea walks over with a pout making both her parents curse in their heads. "Not long ago, Jace and I were taking about everyone's reaction to what happened with Vaemond. She must have heard his name. Anytime she hears a new name she wants to play with that said person." Celeste makes up another lie on the spot, "Especially when she doesn't know that person."

Otto nods his head, "Speaking of my grandson, have you seen him around?"

"Not since we left the throne room." She lies, "I don't have much time to wonder about the Red Keep. My priorities are my daughters."

He says he understands before leaving her so Aegon comes out of hiding, "Some help you were." He grabs Astraea picking her up spinning around with her causing her to giggle.

[mercillery]

ok can we have a part 3 for yandere zenon x cheater reader? im so totally absorbed in this scenario. For part 3, zenon somehow finds out that dante forced himself to reader and reader chan was loyal and faithful all this time. ((but now after the isolation and abuse reader chan went through [that she didn’t deserve ofc], she does not harbour any sort of feelings for zenon anymore. basically she’s now numb and emotionally unavailable)) zenon also finds out that dante ordered his dark disciples to twist the what truly happened which caused to put all the blame on reader chan. basically dante being dante and spreading his evilness. what would happen now that everything has been uncovered?

BTW I REALLY LOVE YOUR WRITINGS I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL. THANKS SO MUCH 💝💕🎀

WARNINGS: FEMALE READER + YANDERE THEMES + DANTE SUCKS + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: I honestly did not think I’d ever get to part 3 with this. Sorry this was so short, anon. And thank you for your kind words, I hope you’re doing well too 🫂🩷🩷🩷

I read this request and did the biggest 😮 of my life

Okay, so imagine Zenon, standing in the dim, ominous corridors of the Spade Kingdom’s fortress, a place so lacking in interior design you’d think they hired someone who exclusively works with shades of "doom" and "gloom." He’s brooding as usual, probably wondering why they ran out of skull wallpaper for the meeting room. And then—boom—news drops like the world’s most dramatic mic: Dante had forced himself on you, and you, the loyal soul that you were, got framed, slandered, and thrown under the metaphorical bus while Zenon fell for the whole twisted story like it was some top-tier villain plot.

How does Zenon find out? Picture this: A Dark Disciple, sweating like they're in a sauna, stumbles in, eyes darting like they just got caught in a game of "Who Told Zenon the Truth First?" Maybe this Disciple is one of those rare ones who took a philosophy course once and grew a conscience. Or maybe Zenon overhears a whispered conversation while passing by, because let's face it, his ears seem to pick up everything—he’s like the NSA of the Spade Kingdom, minus the Wi-Fi.

The moment the pieces click into place, the atmosphere drops about 20 degrees. Everyone nearby suddenly finds a very urgent task to do elsewhere. Dante’s penchant for turning every situation into a melodramatic power play has finally caught up with him. He had you cornered, used his twisted charisma and brute force to strip away your peace, and then had the audacity to spin lies thick enough to strangle your truth. Zenon never fancied himself an emotional man, but realizing you bore this cruelty alone ignites something he can't quite name but feels suspiciously like...regret? Rage? Maybe even shame? Oh, we’re venturing into feelings territory, and Zenon didn’t sign up for this emotional rodeo.

Enter Zenon’s response: the guy's ice-cold exterior shatters. Anger seethes through him in waves so palpable you could surf on them. He doesn’t yell—Zenon isn’t exactly a karaoke enthusiast—but his silence becomes so sharp that even the bravest Dark Disciple in the room considers updating their will. In his head, he’s calculating: How do you punish a brother who holds all the arrogance of a peacock that just discovered mirrors?

But here’s the kicker: as he processes this, he knows how numb you've become—how the light in your eyes that once flickered even in darkness now looks like someone turned the “Open” sign of your soul to “Closed.” And it hits him in a way that no bone magic ever could. The one person who stayed true, who endured his coldness and the insanity of being tied to him, was left shattered and empty because he couldn’t see through Dante’s lies.

And let’s not forget, Zenon is not a talk-it-out kind of guy. He’s more of a “this ends with me breaking several laws of nature and decorum” type. Once the truth settles, and he stands before you in that isolation chamber he should have burned down ages ago, there’s a new weight in his stare. No words will fix the cavern between you now, and he knows it. You’re a shell of who you were, and Zenon’s about to realize that revenge on Dante isn’t just personal; it’s poetic justice wrapped in a tragic bow. And Dante? Well, let’s just say his evil cocktail is about to become the least of his problems.

The bloodlust that ignites in Zenon when he finally pieces together what happened isn’t just your run-of-the-mill rage—it’s the kind of fury that could power a medieval war machine. And the best part? This time, it’s not directed at you; no, you’re the one thing in this twisted story he doesn’t blame. All that anger has one target, and it’s wearing Dante’s smirking face. The fact that it’s his brother who crossed the line? It doesn’t matter. Family dinners were awkward enough before this, but now, they might as well be battlegrounds.

He should’ve seen it coming, really. That nagging thought needles at him like a thorn he can’t pull out. A part of him knew Dante might one day take an interest in you—it’s Dante, after all, a man who considers “personal boundaries” a foreign concept, especially when it comes to beautiful women. But Zenon thought he had kept a tight watch on you, sure that the shadows of his vigilance were enough to protect you. Turns out, even shadows have blind spots, and Dante knew exactly how to slither into them.

And as that anger festers, Zenon’s usually ice-cold logic burns with a single focus: Dante. Dante, who knew you were Zenon’s, who saw that invisible line in the sand and not only crossed it but danced on it. Dante, who left you a shell, drained of feelings, left with nothing but numbness where there used to be warmth and hope. Zenon knows you aren’t to blame. Not for this. Not for anything. The thought anchors him even as the violent storm inside threatens to break him. You were his; you were true and faithful, even when he was too cold, too distant to see the truth.

The million-dollar question: what now? What’s Zenon’s next move, and what kind of trouble has Dante unknowingly signed up for? Well, let's just say the Zogratis family reunion is about to get an upgrade—from “tense” to “bloodbath, guest-starring the Grim Reaper.” Listen, Zenon’s been holding it together with that controlled, cold demeanor of his, but finding out what Dante did to you?

Dante might have a reputation as the charming, ego-fueled ladies’ man of the Spade Kingdom, but he messed up—big time. He should’ve known better than to touch you, Zenon’s one precious, untainted thing in a world full of corruption. Zenon isn’t impulsive, no; he’s meticulous. He’s the guy who plots three steps ahead even when he’s playing chess against himself. But with this revelation, his obsessive tendencies are cranked up so high that the needle might as well snap off the dial.

And don’t get it twisted: this isn’t a rage-fueled rampage. Zenon’s not going to storm down the hall, screaming like some low-level henchman caught in a tantrum. This is a hunt, a cold, methodical execution where Dante is the prey, and Zenon is Death with a bone to pick. Because in Zenon’s world, harming you is a cardinal sin, punishable by, well... death. Family ties? Irrelevant. Brotherly bonds? Not like that ever existed in the first place. Dante didn’t just cross a line; he set the whole dang map on fire.

Don’t think Zenon is going to play fair or drag this out. He’s not the “monologue and let the bad guy escape” type. He’s the “I’m going to remove you from existence before you even register what’s happening” type. Dante is powerful, sure, but Zenon’s on a mission fueled by obsession, betrayal, and a smoldering, controlled fury. If you’re worried Zenon might not win this? Don’t be. Dante’s facing a man who’s decided that brother or not, you messed with his world. And Zenon doesn’t just plan for victory—he guarantees it.

Zenon’s attacks are like clockwork: precise, merciless, and unforgiving. Each blow he lands isn’t just a strike—it’s a declaration of betrayal avenged, a reminder to Dante of just how far he crossed the line. Zenon doesn’t waste his breath on dramatic speeches or curses. No, his silence is deafening, a silent promise that words would only cheapen what he intends to do. The only sound between them is the sharp clash of their power, punctuated by the chilling realization that Zenon isn’t here for a fight; he’s here for an execution.

Dante, in his typical fashion, tries to laugh it off, throwing taunts like they’re worth more than the air he’s wasting. But Zenon? He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Dante’s bravado falls flat, lost in the shadow of Zenon’s ice-cold, calculating expression. A face so still, so controlled, it could freeze the blood of anyone foolish enough to witness the carnage. The fight itself is brutal, a display of Zenon’s sheer depth of possessiveness and hatred, honed to a deadly edge. When the final blow comes, it’s swift and final, a moment so silent it almost echoes.

He emerges victorious, a grim conqueror of a battle that wasn’t just personal—it was sacred. But here’s the thing: victory doesn’t taste like anything at all. Not when he returns to you and finds your eyes as distant and cold as the deepest, most unfeeling void.

The sight of you, numb to the core, eats at Zenon in ways no physical wound ever could. He hides it well, of course. That’s what he does best—keeping his pain locked up so tight it would take a miracle to crack him open. But the reality is, seeing you so lost, so detached, shatters whatever satisfaction he could have drawn from avenging you. He knows he can’t force a reaction; demanding you to feel again would only be another cruelty added to the list of things you never deserved. So, he waits, resigned to the idea that your trust, your warmth, might never come back to him. That he might have won the battle, but lost the war for your heart.

But Zenon is nothing if not relentless. The yandere in him, that twisted, obsessive part, doesn’t mind waiting. If all he can do is dedicate his life to protecting you from the distance, even if you stay cold and unreachable forever, then so be it. He will guard you, care for you, and devote himself to you, even if it means living with the torment of knowing that redemption is out of reach. Because for Zenon, loving you—even from afar—is a battle he’ll keep fighting, whether or not you ever feel again.

Although you’re now as emotionally numb as a frozen fish stick, Zenon’s trust in you skyrockets. Why? Because nothing screams loyalty louder than surviving Dante’s twisted schemes while staying faithful to the guy who basically invented stone-cold silence as a personality trait. So congrats—if Zenon’s trust was a vault before, it’s now a fortress with “No Trespassing” signs aimed at everyone except you. Gone are the days of cold punishments and harsh treatment. Turns out, finding out that your brother is the villain of the century makes Zenon reevaluate his methods faster than you can say, “Therapy, maybe?”

Now, Zenon knows you’re numb, probably for good, but that doesn’t mean he’s planning to make it worse. In fact, punishing you is out of the question now. He won’t say it—because if Zenon admitting fault out loud isn’t the eighth wonder of the world, I don’t know what is—but he realizes his old ways of dealing with his feelings won’t exactly be much to help you feel again, you know?

So he tries to reach out. Tries being the keyword here. He approaches cautiously, as if you’re a wild animal that might bolt, or worse, give him that blank, thousand-yard stare. Zenon doesn’t do verbal apologies—why use words when glaring and brooding have always worked just fine? Instead, he goes for subtle actions. He starts taking care of you like a silent, overbearing butler, appearing out of nowhere to make sure you’re fed, warm, and alive. You didn’t ask for any of this and definitely don’t react, but that doesn’t stop him.

Need a blanket? It’s already on you before you even shiver. Water? Magically appears on your nightstand, as if hydration is suddenly Zenon’s personal crusade. He watches over you with a sort of quiet devotion that would be almost romantic if it weren’t so intensely unsettling. But, hey, romantic or not, he’s attentive. Is he creepy? Maybe. But he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. Even if all he’s met with are your blank stares and silence, Zenon is prepared to keep trying, his version of an apology more action-based than a dozen heartfelt “I’m sorries” ever could be. Because while you might be numb, he’s going to make sure you’re not alone in that.

If Zenon was obsessed before, now it’s like he’s taken his fixation and turned it into a full-time job—complete with unpaid overtime and zero vacation days. He devotes himself to silent acts of penance, the kind that would make a monk say, “Take a day off, man.” He sits by your side, sometimes for hours, not saying a word, his usually cold eyes softer but more haunted, as if hoping his mere presence can stitch up the deep wounds that words can’t touch. It’s like he’s trying to will the shattered pieces of your spirit back together, one silent moment at a time.

Zenon’s aware that what Dante did left emotional scars so deep that even time itself might throw up its hands and say, “Sorry, this one’s beyond me.” But that doesn’t stop him. No, Zenon becomes obsessed with coaxing even the tiniest spark of emotion from you. A flinch, a sigh, even a glance that doesn’t feel like it’s staring straight through him—it would all mean progress to him. It’s an all-consuming mission, and he approaches it with the same deadly focus he uses in battle, only now, his enemy isn’t a person; it’s the void that’s swallowed you whole.

If it takes the rest of his life, so be it. Zenon’s not exactly the type to quit, and the idea of you staying numb, an unresponsive shell of the person you once were, gnaws at him—surprisingly. So he keeps trying, meticulously and obsessively. Because somewhere in the depths of his fractured, intense devotion, he believes that if anyone can reach you again, it’s him. And if it means spending the rest of his life searching for that lost light in your eyes? Well, Zenon figures he’s got time. Plenty of it. After all, he’s already given you his heart—what’s a lifetime in comparison?

[kyoaeri]

──★ ˙ ̟ 🐰 enha as angst tropes !

this is part 2 of my enha as love tropes post <33

tw ( ? ) mentions of hospitals / major injuries in jake’s , but nothing graphic ofc

heeseung : right person , wrong time

you loved heeseung , so much that you couldn’t think of life without him until you were forced to . his things were still strewn around your apartment the day after he said goodbye , when you woke up to an empty bed and a piece of paper with only a hastily scrawled i’m sorry , goodbye . the time you had together wasn’t enough , but you can’t ever let go of it , the memories lingering in your dreams , a constant reminder of the love you lost. you’ll see him again someday , happy with someone else , and you’ll mourn the love you could’ve had , had you met him at a different time.

jay : villain x hero

you knew getting involved with jay was a terrible decision , but you couldn’t stop yourself from coming back again and again , just to see him. his face , his hair , his touch haunted your thoughts , so much so that you found yourself in front of your superiors , harsh words being thrown at you . they stung , but not as much as the knowledge that you and jay could never be what you wanted to be , not while you were fighting on opposite sides . of course , you separated soon after , fleeting glances on the battlefield and his voice in your mind the only reminder of the love you once shared.

jake : memory loss

you were the first person to visit jake in the hospital after the accident , nervously pacing and heart beating a mile a minute . tears of relief pricked at the corners of your eyes when you were finally let in , only to find that he couldn’t remember you . you knew there was a reason ; the trauma he suffered to his head during the accident , but you didn’t care. in your mind , it would be deception to force him to love you again , so the best thing you could do would be to leave. so you do. you grow up and live your separate lives , but the love you still hold for him is strictly one-sided. you are the only one to carry the burden of your past love , one that will never spark back to life.

sunghoon : doomed relationship

you gripped your phone tightly in your hands , awaiting the text you knew would come. this was a rehearsed routine for you and sunghoon , having repeated it time and time again. break up , make up , you knew it was unhealthy but you just kept coming back. you truly loved sunghoon , and you hoped he felt the same way , but you two couldn’t help the way you fought , almost daily with tears in your eyes and anger in your voices. the love you felt for him almost outweighed the hurt in your heart and the suffering you endured every time you split up just to get together once more. almost. your phone lights up with a ding , and you swipe open to reveal the message you were expecting. i’m sorry , baby. i love you. you closed the app with a sigh , tears threatening to fall once more . you didn’t want to , but you would settle for this push and pull. you would do it for love.

sunoo : unrequited love

from the very moment your eyes met sunoo’s , you knew he was the one. it’s a shame he didn’t feel the same way. for so long , you pined after sunoo , wanting so tangibly it hurt , a debilitating , aching pain in your chest. you knew he wasn’t interested , yet you truly couldn’t stop loving him . it came as simply as breathing , it was the only thing you’d ever known. you were by his side as he entered and left countless relationships , knowing there was nothing else you wanted more than to be the subject of his affections , not his wingman. in another life , your feelings were reciprocated , but you would have to settle for unsteady friendship and countless heartbreaks in this one.

jungwon : time loop

the day jungwon broke up with you was a day you would never forget , because you couldn’t. for some heartbreaking reason , whether it was karmic debt or the universe’s personal dislike for you , you were forced to repeat what you would consider to be the worst day of your life forever . every day , you woke up to a message from jungwon , asking to talk . no matter how you tried to avoid it , he would find you and shatter your heart into millions of pieces , time and time again. you were no stranger to heartbreak , no stranger to shedding tears alone and the aching pain in your chest , but this was crueler than you could ever imagine . even just seeing his face , memories flood back into your mind of the perfect love you would never see again.

riki : miscommunication

you and riki loved each other so much , so it came as a shock to everyone around you when you separated . you really loved him, you did , but you couldn’t stop the feeling of inferiority you got whenever you were around him . he was so talented , set up for a successful future and a happy life . all you could do for him was bring him down , a sentiment you knew others around you shared , even if they didn’t say it . so , without even telling him the reason , you broke up with him . he’ll be thankful in the future , you thought. with me by his side , he’ll never be able to achieve his dreams. in the future , when you see him on tv , having achieved his dreams without you , you’ll never know the amount of tears he shed with your name on his lips , mourning the love you threw away.

[noctxj]

down, down into the mountain | part i

“and what is it that this curious little fae hopes to find hm?” 

the last dragon laena had crossed paths with had asked. his question had stumped laena, no one had asked her that before.

“… i’m not hoping to find anything.”

“the word travelling suggests you have a destination no?” he’d cocked his big head to the side whilst peering down at her from his great form.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

in which the curious little fae laena exploring a long abandoned mountain kingdom (accidentally?) stumbles across a hungry dragon.

pairing: dragon!john price x fae!ofc

mdni. future adult content.

it was a devastatingly beautiful sight, the once ornate archways of a forgotten ancient kingdom now lay silent and still. carved into the side of a rocky mountainside, stories spoke of the impossible depths its original inhabitants had dug; always searching for more minerals, crystals, and gold to fuel their appetite for new knowledge and innovation. an appetite that would eventually lead to their doom; attracting the impertinent eyes of a dragon— or at least that is what is believed to have happened. almost a millennia has passed since then, the echoes of time notorious for warping stories of calamity into exaggerated fables and poignant legends.

however, laena wasn’t interested in times long gone. the concept of time and immortality was nothing to flitter about as one of the long-lived fae, only second to dragons themselves.

although as long as laena had been alive, she had only ever come across a handful of them. a secretive race who dedicated themselves to their own kin. 

wise. intelligent. and especially kind to her whenever she crossed paths with them. often mistaking her for being lost, having strayed too far from her clan. had offered laena refuge with them and their kin until such time they were able to track down her own, as it was rare for the fae to leave the comfort and protection of their own clans. instead each dragon-kind chortled in surprise and confusion when laena explained she was a lone travelling fae.

“and what is it that this curious little fae hopes to find hm?” 

the last dragon laena had crossed paths with had asked. introduced himself as nikolai, and was far more boisterous and reckless than any other dragon she had come across. his question had stumped laena, no one had asked her that before.

“… i’m not hoping to find anything.”

“the word travelling suggests you have a destination no?” he’d cocked his big head to the side whilst peering down at her from his great form.

another question that had stumped her.

“… then i am exploring the realm.”

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

nikolai had ended up accompanying laena for several decades, stated that she needed his “realm rich knowledge!”, even if she had been travel—exploring for a few centuries at that point. it was an odd pairing, but laena enjoyed the company, forgot how drawn into herself she had become, as if she was just a soulless spirit moving across the many plains of the realm. had forgotten the fulfilling feeling of connecting with someone.

until finally, fate decided that their travels as a “dynamic duo” (nikolai's words, not hers) had inevitably come to an end. nikto finally confessing his long-drawn yearning to return to his kin. laena had berated him for not returning to them sooner.

“you tryin’ to get rid of me, eh?” nikolai had drawled in half-hearted (fake) hurt. wiping away an imaginary tear from below his bright reptilian blue eyes for good measure while lounging back against a rock in his human— albeit intimidatingly very large, form. laena now use to his antics, just directed a flat look of annoyance at him.

“that is not the issue you big oaf, they are your kin. your family. they must miss you as much as you miss them. you should have returned to them sooner.” laena had snipped back. nikolai just waved his hand in response, an exasperated sigh spilling from laenas lips. sometimes she found it hard to believe he was several centuries older than her.

“i’ve always known i would return to them, child,” nikolai had huffed, interrupting her thoughts. the humour now absent from his glowing eyes— instead, sadness? regret? stained them, “i’d just hoped that whatever you are searching—i mean “exploring” for, would be found; that i would be there for you.”

laena hadn’t ever heard nikolai speak in such a serious tone. the sincerity of his words had caused a tiny pinch of sadness to throb within her chest, his words also resonating with laena. she already would miss him. she had secretly hoped he would be around for longer. 

“… so that I may rub it in your face that you’ve been playing treasure hunter, minus the map, of course”

never mind. 

this cracked out dragon could crawl back to his kin like a worm after laena wrapped his wings in some sticky vines—

“wait laena i was just kidding! hey— wait, no—!!”

laena considered nikto a good friend, perhaps even as an (overbearing) older brother. it had only been a few months since they bade each other farewell, errant tears had escaped laenas eyes as nikolai enveloped her in one of his crushing bearhugs. his cocooning scent of comfort and safety now just a fond memory.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

standing in the middle of the vast hall with her back to the outside world, laena could feel nothing but the cool still air; the light of the moon and stars only illuminating a limited capacity before her. despite the ruin that surrounded her, she couldn’t deny the surviving details of grandeur reflecting a time long gone— forcibly removed from existence.

which begged the question of what this now desolate kingdom did to garner the ferocity of a dragon.

a curious thing… what did you do to deserve their wrath?

a hmph and then a gentle whisper of a simple command flittered into the otherwise quiet air. a beat, a low hum, and then an almost appreciative sigh could be felt all around as the old fluorescent minerals embedded into the walls lazily flickered brighter and brighter, until warms hues of light coursed throughout the space; down corridors and up stairways. the once desolate halls 

now able to clearly see, laena felt a delighted giddiness spread throughout her form, her wings fluttering in excitement at the prospect of exploring this untouched place. discovering what she may learn, what she may find—

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

what in the gods was that sound?

another great crack vibrated throughout as laena quickly swept under a slight alcove as dust and slight debris fell deeper within the mountain.

laena wasn’t sure how long or how far deep she’d travelled into the cavernous mountain kingdom, wasn’t sure how long it would take her to get back out.

this is definitely not ideal.

laena thought as she gritted her teeth, settling her feet onto the shallow shelf of the wall to properly ruffle off the errant dust that managed to land on her wings. 

perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to get out now before she got smothered by rocks—

all of a sudden, a fleeting glint of bronze and gold refracted upon the corner of laenas eye, her attention now snapping down below to pinpoint the origins of the object

… but not before she figured out what that was, of course…

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

a poor lapse in judgement, laena later decides as her body is now seemingly frozen in place. a colossal figure—

larger than nikolai if possible—

was just a short distance away, encapsulated in shadow, a pair of bottomless azure eyes crackling with electric bolts of crystalline blue, regarded laena with an unchecked ferocity she wasn’t sure what to make of.

… those eyes—

the stranger pulled in a deep inhale, eyes fluttering and the expanse of his broad, bare chest expanding, holding, and then releasing— along with a trail of smoke, and the shifting of enormous bronze and gold wings behind hus figure.

a dragon, in their half-shifted state—

“curious little fae~” the unknown dragon purred, his now half lidded eyes trailing across laena’s form with a starved glint, “‘ave been waiting so long for you,” the deep timber of his rough voice akin to the rumbling of thunder.

… what?

for the first time in her long life, laena felt the foreign feeling of confusion and fear trickle down her spine. she was always sure of herself, knew herself to be capable in every situation. one doesn’t stay alive, alone, for this long without some level of preservation instinct and self assuredness in your own knowledge and skills after all, immortal or not. but this was different— 

felt dangerous—

felt as if she was the target, as if she was being hunted. but the question was: why?

“come now, no need to be shy,” the dragons rumbling voice interrupted her disoriented thoughts.

one side of his mouth quirked up in amusement, a sharp canine peeking from beneath his upper lip and surprisingly kempt facial hair. especially given his state of- or lack there of, of his dress; a poor excuse of navy blue trousers which had definitely been through the rigours sat lazily along the dragons' hips. the powerfully corded muscles which make up the dragons' thick thighs 

this condescending brute—

her initial disoriented state of the unknown now replaced with a strike of indignation as she narrowed her eyes at the stranger before her. 

“my introductions with most dragons don’t often begin with them claiming i’ve 'kept them waiting’” she snipped in a cool tone, as if what he had been spouting out of his dumb mouth up until now had been a waste of her time—

why in the hells was he smiling?!

an amused huff and then a hearty chuckle, the apples of his cheeks lifted upwards— fully showcasing the extent of his deadly canines, but also highlighting that while he was a senseless dragon, laena couldn’t deny he was also a devastatingly handsome one at that. feeling her own cheeks growing warm; from embarrassment or realisation, she wasn’t completely sure—

wait, what kind of thoughts—

laena, not right now—!

all of a sudden the dragon took a step forward— laena automatically taking one backwards, still wary of his intentions. a steadily growing rabid hunger prevalent in the dragons cerulean eyes as his breathing seemed to pick up, his eyes refusing to break away from laena’s own, as if the thought of losing sight of her would cause him pain. 

“afraid little one?” heaved the dragon, his form seemingly expanding in mass due to his heavy intakes of breath; as if trying to breathe in laena’s very essence.

not good.

as laena took stock of her surroundings; almost at the very edge of this walkway. she couldn’t hope to escape this stranger dragon’s grasp if she tried to take flight out of the mountain— impossible. she had to try and outsmart him in the tunnels below, even if she didn’t know what he wanted, she sure wasn’t in the mood to find out so quickly.

“never,” laena haughtily claimed, taking another step back; the edge of the rocky walkway now immedaitely behind her feet— a fact that made the dragon just a few metres away from her growl in discontent.

the volatile (handsome) dragon taking another heavy step forward, nostrils flaring.

laena wasn’t going to wait to find out his next move (despite his addictive disposition).

she took one final step backwards and let herself fall, the wind breezing through the delicate nature of her wings. the feral roar of the dragon following as she pivoted mid air and folded her wings tight to her back, the goal of escaping the seemingly dangerous dragons’ attention paramount, the cool air rushing against her body.

down

down

deeper into the mountain

the curious fairy and the hungry dragon went.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

posting this while drunk bc might as well HEHEHEHE

this was suppose to be purely smutty, but i am a hoe for The Lore™ (• ε •) of anything and everything - including whatever this is hehe. also, not sure if its obvious but said lore is heavily inspired by the hobbit and skyrim? kind of. unedited as always.

thank you for reading!!! mwah ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

crossposted on ao3 (same username!) 

[ohmydeareshowiluvu72]

Can I request an sbg x fem reader one-shot who has the powers of winter from aespa's new Supernova mv in the phantom world, but the drawback is that she gets sick and vomits blood + she has lucky girl syndrome (which means she's lucky asf)

☆Oh the power that flows inside me... ☆

Powerful/lucky reader x sbg

Yay ✧⁺⸜(●˙▾˙●)⸝⁺✧ srry but I feel more comfortable with poly!

It started off when you first joined the group... (It was after the Aiden incident)

☆Y/n point of view☆

I was running so fast I could feel the adrenaline running through my veins I was running to the graveyard since thy was the only safe place I knew...

But hundreds of Phantoms behind me wasn't good I was doomed... Untill I heard people!...

I started running to the sound faster and faster and before I knew it I was floating top speed avoiding items in my way as I finally got their I saw them... As I look under myself

Ashlyn, Aiden, Ben, Tyler, Taylor, and Logan looking at me like I was insain I didn't realise untill I wanted to run to them but then realised that I was no longer on the ground at all...

"AHHH GET ME DOWN"!!!

I screamed so loud ashlyn coved her ears

"Oops srry Ashlyn!" I spoke again

I had to calm down to lower myself...

"Y/n you sure you're ok!" Logan said in a worried but loud voice

"Dang lucky girl..." Aiden said almost jealous but still haveing that smile on his face Ben just shaking his head at his cousin words

☆one hour later!☆

Well it took one hour but I got down but with the help of ashlyn I got down safety luckily when I got down no phantomes where near us at all none at all!

☆but in the morning... ☆

I was vomiting I mean VOMITING out blood it looked like organs and many other stuff that made me throw up more

Ofc the team was worrie but at the end I was alr...

But I guess these new powers could come in handy later in the future...

If we even have one...