#i’m obsessed with the way he fills out that armor

[wildsaltair]

"he's a terrifying formidable killing machine" TO YOU. to me he's my precious honeybunch

[theetherealbloom]

TAKE ME DOWN TO LIFT ME HIGH

Summary: In the grand city of Rome, you, a senator's daughter, are entangled in a world far removed from your aristocratic upbringing. Your chance encounter with General Marcus Acacius, a renowned gladiator and war hero, changes your life forever.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AU, PWP, Some Plot and more smut, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, Canon Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism (it’s ancient rome, babe), Sneaking Around, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, Boobs,

Word Count: 6k

A/N: The amount of research I had to do for this was insane. I was more obsessed with Greek Mythology than Roman so I needed a refresher. Hehe, there’s not a lotttt of drama, but it leans more into the smut side and just cheesy over all plot lol and a little fun ceremony in the end. Everyone say thank you to @wheresarizona for listening to me go feral over Marcus. Go send her some love cause she deserves it :>

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

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Song: Selene by NIKI

| Main Masterlist |

The return of General Marcus Acacius was an event of grand opulence. The streets of Rome were alive with screams and celebrations as he rode his golden chariot, smiling and waving at the throngs of admirers. It was as if the bloodshed and death that marked his victory were distant echoes, easily forgotten by the jubilant crowd.

"Long live General Marcus!" someone shouted.

"A true hero of Rome!" another voice rang out.

You weren't supposed to be in the crowd. Your place was at home, learning household chores such as cooking, cleaning, and weaving—the essential skills expected of a Roman matron. Yet, here you were, hidden beneath a hood, blending with the common folk as you watched the celebrated general parade down the street.

As the parade came to an end, you discreetly followed behind the procession, your eyes fixed on General Marcus Acacius. He was dressed in white and glittering gold, a stark contrast to his usual attire of blood-stained armor and weapons. Even though he was smiling and waving at the crowds, you could see the disdain in his eyes for such a grandiose display.

You had heard stories about him, rumors whispered amongst the noble families of Rome. They spoke of his ruthless acts on the battlefield, of his unwavering loyalty to Rome, and of his preferences. Yet here he was, parading through the streets in all his glory, hailed as a hero by everyone.

You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite everything you had heard. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of General Marcus Acacius, wondering what kind of man he truly was beyond his reputation as a war hero.

As you stood there, trying to remain inconspicuous, your eyes met his. The connection was electric, almost as if the gods themselves had intervened. Marcus’s gaze was so intense that it seemed to pierce through the crowd and find you alone. He noted every feature of your face, his expression betraying a hint of fascination.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat and quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned and began to scurry home, the thrill of the encounter leaving you breathless.

Your pulse raced as you made your way through the bustling streets of Rome, trying to push aside the image of General Marcus Acacius's piercing gaze. You couldn't understand why you were so affected by a man you barely knew, but there was something about him that drew you in.

You managed to sneak back into your room, just barely slipping past the household guards. Being the daughter of a senator afforded you certain privileges, including an education that many girls your age could only dream of. Your studies typically included reading, writing, and arithmetic, equipping you with the skills necessary to manage a household and participate in society. You were also taught music, dancing, and literature, for understanding and appreciating poetry was considered a virtue for a Roman woman.

As you settled in your room, the memory of Marcus’s gaze lingered in your mind. The image of his rugged face, scarred from countless battles, and his piercing eyes was etched into your thoughts. There was something about him that was both terrifying and captivating.

A soft knock on your door interrupted your reverie. It was your handmaid, Lydia, her expression curious.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

You hesitated, then sighed. "I went to see the procession."

Lydia’s eyes widened. "The general’s return? You could have been caught!"

"I know," you admitted, "but I had to see him."

"Why? What could be so important?"

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain the inexplicable pull you felt towards the gladiator general. "I don't know, Lydia. It's just... when our eyes met, it felt like something changed."

Lydia shook her head, her expression a mix of worry and understanding. "You must be careful. The world outside is not as forgiving as the walls of this villa."

The days following the procession were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn't shake the image of Marcus from your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the inexplicable connection that had sparked between you.

The grand villa of your father was abuzz with preparations for the evening’s banquet. Slaves hurried to and fro, setting tables with fine silverware and arranging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers.

Tonight, your father, a respected senator, was hosting a dinner in honor of General Marcus Acacius. The entire house was a flurry of activity, with guests arriving in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter filling the atrium. You stood near the entrance, feeling the weight of your responsibilities as the senator’s daughter.

Your mother approached, adjusting the drape of your stola with a critical eye. “Remember, you must be on your best behavior tonight. This banquet is crucial for your father’s alliances.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. Ever since you had seen Marcus in the parade, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The memory of his piercing gaze had haunted you, and now he was here, in your home.

"Come," your father said, his hand on your back guiding you through the crowd. "I want you to meet someone."

You followed, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you approached, you saw him standing there, taller and more imposing than anyone else in the room. Marcus Acacius, the hero of Rome, the man who had invaded your thoughts and dreams.

"General Acacius," your father began, his voice carrying the weight of his status, "allow me to introduce my daughter."

Marcus turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, but his gaze remained unwavering. "My lady," he said, his voice like velvet, "it is an honor."

General Marcus was the most strikingly handsome man you had ever seen. His chiseled features were framed by dark brown eyes beneath thick, black eyebrows. His long, aquiline nose and firm mouth, accentuated by a sensuously full lower lip, completed the picture of rugged masculinity. He stood tall, towering over most men, with a lean, muscular body and broad, powerful shoulders.

His hair, a captivating mix of salt and pepper, was cut short and fell in loose curls around his head, with distinguished grey patches in his beard that added to his allure.

"The honor is mine, General," you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed.

"Please, call me Marcus," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We are, after all, in more intimate surroundings."

Your father chuckled, clearly pleased with Marcus's easy charm. "I will leave you two to get acquainted," he said, patting Marcus on the shoulder before moving away to mingle with other guests.

The moment your father left, the air between you and Marcus seemed to crackle with electricity. He took a step closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you. "I must confess," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I have been looking forward to this moment."

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. "As have I," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Marcus's eyes darkened with desire, and he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your knees weaken. "You are even more captivating up close," he said, his voice husky. "I find myself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel it too?" he whispered.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, his scent, his warmth, the sheer power of his focus on you.

As Marcus's hand continued to caress your arm, you felt your heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You had never been this close to him before, and the realization that he was interested in you sent a wave of exhilaration through your body.

His lips brushed against your earlobe, making you shiver. "I want to know everything about you," he murmured, his voice sending sparks down your spine. "Your hopes, your dreams, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry out for mercy."

You turned towards him, meeting his intense gaze. "I want to know about you too," you said, feeling bold in his presence.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer. "There is not much to tell," he said modestly, though the way his eyes roamed over your face suggested otherwise. "Just a soldier who has dedicated his life to serving Rome."

But there was something more behind those words, something hidden beneath the mask of duty and honor. You could sense it in the way he held himself, in the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't believe that," you said firmly. "There is so much more to a person than their profession."

Marcus's smile widened into a grin as he took another step closer to you. "You are wise beyond your years," he said appreciatively.

The room around you seemed to fade away as you became lost in each other's gaze. It was as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

Suddenly, a loud noise broke through the moment – someone had knocked over a vase nearby. The sound jolted both of you back to reality and Marcus stepped back slightly.

"I should go check on that," he said regretfully.

Marcus's lips lingered on your skin for a moment longer before pulling away to look into your eyes. "I promise, we will continue this conversation another time," he said softly.

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. You couldn't wait to spend more time with him and get to know him better.

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him walk away, his confident stride and broad shoulders filling you with a sense of admiration. You sighed dreamily and turned back to the feast, only to be greeted by your handmaids with teasing grins.

"What was that all about?" one of them asked, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You feel your cheeks heat up, trying to hide your excitement. "Nothing," you said coyly. "Just a conversation."

As the guests were seated in the triclinium, the air was filled with the sounds of conversation and the clinking of goblets. You found yourself seated across from Marcus, who looked imposing in his formal attire. His presence commanded the room, yet his eyes frequently strayed to you, a subtle intensity in his gaze.

The evening progressed with toasts to Marcus’s victories and speeches praising his valor. You tried to focus on the conversations around you, but your mind kept drifting to the man across the table. Finally, you could bear it no longer. Under the pretense of needing fresh air, you excused yourself and slipped out into the garden.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you wandered through the manicured paths, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating your way. The garden was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively banquet inside. You found a secluded bench and sat down, letting out a sigh of relief. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of voices from the villa created a serene backdrop as you tried to gather your thoughts.

As you sat there, the faint sound of a conversation caught your attention. You turned your head slightly, realizing that a group of senators had gathered nearby, their voices low but urgent. You recognized the voices of some of the most influential men in Rome, including your father.

"I hear that Emperor Caracalla is eager to stage a grand spectacle," one senator said, his tone conspiratorial. "He wants to solidify his power and win the favor of the masses."

"Indeed," another replied. "I heard he plans to pit some of the finest gladiators against each other. And there are whispers that General Marcus Acacius himself might be forced to take part in the games."

You felt a pang of concern at the mention of Marcus's name. The thought of him in the Colosseum, fighting for his life, was almost too much to bear.

"Emperor Geta is not pleased with this idea," a third senator interjected. "He sees it as a waste of a valuable military asset. But Caracalla is determined. He believes a victory in the arena will elevate Marcus to legendary status, securing loyalty from the soldiers and the people alike."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed their words. The political machinations of Rome were ruthless, and it seemed that Marcus was caught in the middle of it all.

As the senators continued their discussion elsewhere, their voices drifting away back into the villa, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Marcus emerging from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He moved silently, his powerful form cutting through the darkness like a predator stalking its prey.

"My lady," he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It seems we both seek refuge in the quiet of the garden."

"Marcus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "I overheard the senators. They plan to have you fight in the Colosseum."

His expression darkened, and he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. "I know," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The emperors play their games, and I am but a pawn. But tonight, I do not wish to think of such things."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you. "Tonight, I only want to think of you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a tantalizing softness. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His touch was both possessive and gentle, his need for you evident in every caress.

"Marcus," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. "This is madness. If we are caught..."

"Let them find us," he murmured against your lips. "I would rather face the lions in the arena than be without you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you responded with a fervor that matched his own. Your bodies pressed together, the heat of your passion driving away the cool night air. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other.

"Promise me," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "Promise me you will come back to me, no matter what happens."

"I swear it," he said, his voice filled with determination. "No matter what the emperors or the gods throw at me, I will return to you."

With those words, he captured your lips again, sealing his promise with a kiss that left you breathless. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

His voice, a velvety whisper, sent a wave of desire flooding through you as he murmured, "I want you. Here. Now."

The moon was high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the garden, as Marcus pressed you against the wall. His hands roamed over your body, igniting fires with each touch. You could feel his desire for you, and it only fueled your own.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you up and pressed you against the garden walls. His body hovering over yours as he trailed kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you couldn't contain the moan that escaped from your lips.

With a growl of need, Marcus captured your lips once again while his hands began to explore under your dress. The feeling of his warm skin against yours sent shivers down your spine as he traced patterns along your thighs.

"Marcus," you gasped between kisses. "We shouldn't-"

"Shhh," he whispered, gently sliding your white cotton robe off your shoulders. "I can't resist you any longer.”

Marcus unexpectedly reached out his large, rough hands and cupped each one of your breasts, weighing them in his palms. Your body jolted at the sudden touch, your skin tingling under his warm heat. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, hardened from years of wielding swords and other battle weapons, leaving tiny marks on your delicate skin like a trail of fire.

As he squeezed and rotated your breasts gently, desire surged through you, igniting a deep longing within. You wanted to surrender yourself completely to him, to offer up not just your body but your very being to his every whim. The sensation was so overwhelming that you yearned to throw your head back in abandonment and give in to the all-consuming pleasure he evoked.

The protests that had escaped your lips now transformed into guttural moans of pleasure as his skilled fingers worked their magic on your most sensitive spot. Every touch sent electric shocks through your body, making you shiver and writhe against the wall. As Marcus trailed his fingertips over every inch of your slick flesh, you felt yourself becoming more and more lost in the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each stroke, your body arched further off the wall, desperate for more of his touch. It was like a symphony of sensations, building and crescendoing until you were completely consumed by the intensity of it all.

He slid a finger between your legs and pushed it deep inside you. Pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch and writhe as he expertly stroked your tight passage.

"My lady, you have an incredibly tight cunt," he grunted out, his voice strained and revealing his own growing arousal. His features twisted in pleasure and his eyes glinted with a primal lust.

He firmly grasped your aroused nub and slid another finger into your tight, welcoming entrance. "We have to be quiet or we'll risk getting caught," he whispered in your ear.

You nodded eagerly, pleading, "Yes, anything. Please."

As his skilled fingers gently rotated over your sensitive clit and his other digit pumped inside your wet, pulsing core, you couldn't help but surrender to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. From the moment his eyes locked on yours, you knew you were his to be used however he pleased, your body a vessel for his insatiable desires. With each expert movement of his fingers, you felt yourself spiraling into a dizzying state of pure ecstasy, completely at his mercy. Your flesh responded eagerly to his touch, begging for more as he claimed you as his own.

The General's gentle touch on your skin was electrifying, bringing a growing pleasure to your body that felt almost overwhelming. You could feel yourself getting too hot, too tense, and you were afraid of releasing the intense climax that was building inside you with just a single touch. 

"Oh Goddess," you gasped, tilting your head back against his shoulder and shutting your eyes as your desire became sharper and more urgent.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as his long finger penetrated you, rotating and rubbing inside your core while his other fingers worked relentlessly on your sensitive clitoris. Your body squirmed against the intense pleasure, your hands grasping at his muscular arms to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations. He chuckled softly as you began to move your hips in a circular motion, still continuing to bring you pleasure with his skilled touch for several minutes. Just as you were about to reach the edge of climax, he eased off slightly, keeping his movements quick and light.

But eventually, your body tensed up and convulsed, your movements erratic and desperate, your breaths coming in short gasps. As the tension in your loins grew tighter and tighter, you let out a high-pitched wail and reached the peak of ecstasy. Your walls pulsated around his probing finger, which was now coated in even more of your warm juices.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Marcus gently turned you to face him again. His white robe and short toga were cast aside, leaving him naked in front of you. He stood tall and proud, his lean and muscular frame on full display. But it was his erect penis that took your breath away. It was massive, thick and much longer than average, standing rigid and red above a nest of dark pubic hair.

His impressive and exposed physique took your breath away as you gazed upon it. "Oh, my Goddess!" you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by his sheer size.

Without hesitation, Marcus reached out and grasped your thighs, pulling you closer to him. He leaned over your body, closed his fist around his member, and guided the tip towards your still-dripping entrance.

He managed to get the thick bulbous tip of his penis through your opening. You immediately felt stretched and full. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling in an effort to accommodate him. “You big brute, you’re tearing me apart.”

He clenched his teeth, sweat starting to matt his silver and grey hair at his forehead. The pleasure of being inside such a tight flesh was almost dizzying, and he had to pull in all of his control to prevent himself from plunging completely inside of you. 

That would come later, he promised, once you had been well oiled by him. He pushed again and managed another inch, and slowly continued to advance his penis inside your channel. 

“You’re so tight,” his voice was harsh and strained, as if in pain. It wasn't too far from the truth; she felt tight around him, almost like a vice grip. But despite the discomfort, she was so warm and smooth inside.

With a groan, he slid the thick bulbous tip of his penis into your opening. A sharp pang of fullness shot through you as your body stretched to accommodate him. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling and contorting in an effort to ease the pressure. "You big oaf," you playfully scolded, though there was a hint of pleasure in your voice.

He clenched his teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he fought for control. The sensation of being inside such tight, warm flesh was almost overwhelming, and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He promised himself that he would give in completely once you were well-oiled by him.

He pushed with all his strength, feeling the resistance of your body as he slid deeper and deeper inside. The walls of your channel were smooth and slick, clenching around him like a vice. He couldn't hold back the grunt that escaped his clenched teeth, a mix of intense sensation coursing through his body. It was a pleasurable pain, like being held in a fierce embrace by someone who loved you too much - an exquisite torture that he never wanted to end. But with each slow and deliberate thrust, he knew that the pleasure would only intensify, building to a climax that would leave them both breathless.

Slowly but surely, Marcus eased his penis deeper into your body. With each inch of progress, you both felt the intensity of your connection grow stronger. Your entire body trembled with each thrust he made. When he was halfway inside you, Marcus used his fingers to stimulate your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your core throbbed with ecstasy as Marcus took advantage of your relaxed muscles and thrust deeply inside you until he was fully engulfed.

You and Marcus both groan at the same time. He quickly covers your mouth with his hand, gently hushing you. "Shh, my Carissima... I know it feels good, but we must be quiet. We can't risk your father catching us in this compromising position." The General continues to stimulate your sensitive spot, using his fingers to tease and moisten it further.

Your hips continued to rock and push against his manhood, your desire growing with each movement. You leaned back and moaned as General Marcus Acacius took full control of your body. He held onto your hips tightly as he thrust deep inside you, the pleasure intensifying for both of you. It was clear that neither of you was far from reaching the peak of ecstasy.

You let out moans and contorted your body as the large, broad, man moved back and forth between your legs. As your face twisted in pleasure and your head thrashed about, you experienced this unfamiliar sensation called sexual pleasure. Your climax came quickly and intensely, feeling like it lasted for several minutes. You threw your head back and let out a scream as the intense pleasure broke through between your thighs. A hot wave of pleasure spread throughout your body, causing your hips to writhe against Marcus'.

As your body trembled and released into an intense orgasm, you felt Marcus' muscles tighten beneath you. A deep, primal roar escaped his lips as he too reached the peak of his climax. The sound echoed through the gardens blending with the rhythmic pounding of your heart and breath. It was a moment of pure, raw passion that left you both gasping for air and tangled in each other's embrace.

As the intense pleasure slowly subsided, you became aware of the small droplets of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the grass. It was a sign that your virginity had been taken, marking the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

General Marcus Acacius carefully pulled out of you and helped you to sit up. You could see his concern in his eyes as he looked at the blood staining his robe on the ground and your thighs.

"Are you hurt, Carissima? I didn't mean to be so rough..." he asked, his voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "No… I'm fine," you managed to say.

He let out a sigh of relief and gently wiped away the blood with a nearby cloth. You winced slightly at the slight soreness between your legs but it was nothing compared to the intense pleasure you had just experienced.

Marcus held you close, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. "You were amazing, my love," he whispered in your ear.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you realized what had just happened between the two of you. You had shared an intimate moment with General Marcus Acacius, someone who was forbidden to you because of your status as a daughter of such nobility. And yet, in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of love and desire that consumed both of you.

Your mind was spinning, knowing all too well what would happen if anyone found out about your relationship with the General. Your father would surely punish both of you severely and possibly even sell one or both of you off.

Even with the knowledge of what had just happened, and what could, it was difficult for you to feel remorse or embarrassment. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment that you had never experienced before.

Marcus chuckled warmly and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. "You are truly something special, Carissima," he said with adoration in his eyes.

You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. Despite the risks and consequences, being with Marcus felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But as the reality of your situation sank in, a sense of worry crept into your mind. How would you continue this relationship without anyone finding out? How could you possibly be with Marcus when your father would never allow it? Or worse, your father having you marry someone else?

Marcus brushed his fingers against your cheek, and it felt like he could read your mind. "We will find a solution, my love. I promise I will marry you and make you my wife," he whispered to soothe your fears.

The weight of Marcus' words settled heavily in your heart. The thought of being married to the man you loved filled you with joy and hope, yet the reality of it all seemed impossible.

"How could we possibly make that happen?" you asked, your voice laced with worry.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt. How could someone as powerful and respected as General Marcus Acacius be able to marry someone like you? You were just a daughter of a nobleman, while he was one of the most influential men in the kingdom.

Marcus spoke with unwavering assurance, his gaze locked onto yours. As you looked back into his eyes, all your doubts and fears dissipated. You were certain that he would do anything to keep you safe and by his side. "We will find a way, my love. I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife."

"I believe in you," you said softly, placing a hand on his chest.

Marcus smiled and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips gentle and loving against yours. In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away except for the two of you.

"But we must be careful," Marcus reminded you, his tone serious once again. "We cannot let anyone find out about us until the time is right."

You nodded in agreement, understanding the risks that came with your relationship.

"We must also gain your father's approval," Marcus continued. "It won't be easy, but I am determined to prove myself worthy of you and your family."

You couldn't help but admire Marcus' determination and love for you. Despite the challenges ahead, he was willing to do anything to be with you.

As the sun began to rise, you woke up in your room with a smile on your face. Today was the day that Marcus would finally meet with your father and ask for your hand in marriage. You could hardly believe the moment had arrived, the day you had dreamt of for so long.

Ever since he had first confessed his love for you, the two of you had been meeting in secret, stealing moments together whenever possible. The clandestine nature of your meetings had made your bond even stronger. The thought of being with Marcus made every challenge worth it.

You dressed carefully, choosing your finest gown, and adorned yourself with simple yet elegant jewelry. Your heart raced with anticipation as you made your way to the garden where the betrothal ceremony would take place. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves created a serene atmosphere.

In the garden, your father stood with Marcus, deep in conversation. The sight of them together filled you with a sense of pride and hope. Marcus, in his formal attire, looked every bit the honorable and powerful man that he was—a general respected by all of Rome.

Your father turned to you, his expression warm. "My dear daughter," he began, "today is a momentous day as the gods have blessed us. General Marcus Acacius has proven himself to be a man of honor and valor. It would be a great honor for our family to be united with his."

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is my greatest wish to make you my wife," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise to honor and protect you for all the days of my life."

The betrothal ceremony commenced, a formal ritual between your two families. Your father and Marcus exchanged respectful bows, symbolizing the joining of your households. Gifts were presented, and the dowry was discussed and agreed upon. A scribe stood by, ready to document the agreement in a written contract.

Marcus then produced a small, ornate box and opened it to reveal a beautiful finger ring. "This ring," he said, "is a symbol of my commitment to you, a tradition that stretches back through the ages."

He took your hand gently and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a thrill through you. The ring was exquisite, a delicate band adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of ancient craftsmanship. 

"You honor me with this gift, Marcus," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion.

Marcus smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "The honor is mine, my love."

With the ring in place, you turned to the scribe, who handed you both the written agreement. You signed your name carefully, your hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. Marcus signed next, his signature bold and confident.

Finally, the moment came to seal the betrothal with a kiss. Marcus stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, sweet kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that perfect moment.

As you pulled away, you saw the approval in your father's eyes and felt a rush of joy and relief. You were now betrothed to Marcus, the man you loved, and your future together was set.

"Let this day be the beginning of a lifetime of happiness," your father declared, his voice filled with emotion.

Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Together, we will face whatever the future holds," he promised.

And with that, your hearts intertwined, you knew that your love would endure, growing stronger with each passing day. The journey ahead was full of promise, and with Marcus by your side, you felt ready to embrace it all.

[wifeyoozi]

Mr. Lee Pick-me Jihoon

No because Lee Jihoon in love is utterly the most pick-me, cringey, sore loser kinda guy. Jihoon’s got this whole complex about being the perfect boyfriend, but he ends up looking like the most obvious, over-the-top lovesick mess, convinced he’s the coolest guy in the world for it. He tries to play it smooth, like he’s effortlessly romantic and all-knowing about relationships, but it’s so clear to anyone with half an eye that he’s absolutely whipped—and trying way too hard. He somehow misses the irony every single time, basking in this self-made illusion that he’s doing the most “under-the-radar” job at being completely devoted.

It’s hilarious how he’ll throw himself into these “sacrifices” for you, like he’s some kind of knight in shining armor, going out of his way for the smallest things. Once, you casually mentioned craving a certain drink from a café clear across town. The next thing you know, Jihoon’s blowing up your phone with updates as he embarks on this “heroic” journey to get it for you, acting like he’s in some epic quest. He makes a whole show out of sighing dramatically when he gets back, sweat on his brow, handing over the drink like he just saved the kingdom, while casting you these little glances to see if you’re as impressed as he thinks you should be. It’s cringey and way over the top, and yet somehow endearing—because only Jihoon would turn a coffee run into an Oscar-worthy production.

Then there’s his obsession with being “different.” He’s convinced that he’s unlike any other boyfriend out there, a “hopeless romantic” who just gets it. The first time he tried to explain this to you, he looked off into the distance, like he was pondering some great truth, and murmured, “People these days don’t appreciate true romance, y’know? Not like I do.” You had to bite back a laugh as he continued, talking about how he thinks relationships should be full of little gestures and poetic love notes. He even tried to write you a letter once, but halfway through, he got embarrassed and tore it up because, according to him, “You deserve a better writer than me.” It was cheesy and melodramatic, yet something about his seriousness made you fall a little more in love.

And the fishing for compliments? It’s practically a full-time job for him. He’ll lean in close, adjusting his shirt or messing with his hair, pretending he doesn’t notice you watching him. “Do I look okay?” he’ll ask, like he’s casually inquiring, even though he’s practically holding his breath for your answer. If you compliment him, he’ll brush it off with a fake modest shrug, saying, “Oh, thanks, I guess…” But you know he’s about five seconds from grinning like a complete idiot and checking himself out in the mirror just because you called him cute.

But nothing beats his little sigh-filled monologues about how deeply he loves you, how his feelings are almost too much to handle. It could be the simplest moment—like the two of you watching TV on the couch, or walking through the grocery store—and suddenly, he’ll stop and say, “You know, loving you… it’s like… it’s almost too much. I don’t think you understand how intense it is.” He’ll shake his head, all serious, as if he’s grappling with this grand, tragic love, and you have to stifle your laughter because he’s acting like a main character in a soap opera. But he’s deadly serious, as if his heart can barely hold the enormity of his feelings.

Whenever he’s feeling insecure, Jihoon has this self-deprecating move he pulls, fishing for reassurance in the most obvious way. He’ll sigh and mutter, “I mean, I know I’m not like… the coolest boyfriend ever or anything…” trailing off and casting side glances at you, waiting for you to tell him he’s wonderful. When you finally give in and reassure him, he tries to keep a straight face, but you can tell by the way his shoulders relax that he’s basking in it, practically glowing under your validation.

What’s really priceless, though, is how he’s convinced that being with you makes him the luckiest person alive, and he’ll say it to you at the most random moments. “Do you realize how lucky I am?” he’ll whisper, even if you’re just brushing your teeth next to him. “Seriously. I don’t think I deserve you.” He’ll shake his head like he’s some tragic, noble hero, sighing in contentment as he gazes at you. It’s such a ridiculous, earnest display, and yet you can’t help but adore him for it.

In the end, Jihoon’s trying way too hard to be this ideal boyfriend, failing miserably at being subtle, and somehow landing squarely in “adorable loser” territory. He’s clueless to how transparent his little “cool guy” persona is, blissfully unaware that you can see right through him. But in a way, it’s what you love about him—he’s just so unapologetically and awkwardly in love, and while he thinks he’s fooling everyone, you wouldn’t have him any other way.

[rememberwren]

Lord forgive me but I’m a little obsessed with the thought of bank robber!Simon. tw: dubcon, guns, reader wears a dress

I can see it as some blistering hot day in the 60’s, sweat dripping down the back of reader’s neck soaking into the collar of your dress on your way just from the car to the bank.

As you’re stuck standing in line the first gunshot rings out and everyone hits the floor, panicked cries echoing off the stone floors, arms over their heads (as if that’s going to save them).

And the robber himself is huge, a great hulking man with a mask. He takes out the shaking security guard—who’s probably never shot the gun at his hip in his life—with a strike on the temple. His voice is booming, no-nonsense as he tells everyone to lay on their bellies with their hands behind their heads and to not do anything stupid if they want to make it home for dinner. He’s on his way toward the back of the bank when he passes you…and you watch his big black boots double back and come to stop right in front of you.

“You,” he gestures with the gun. Your heart pounds with adrenaline. You’ve never felt so small and helpless. “Up.”

“Don’t hurt her,” the gentleman in front of you insists, brave and stupid.

“Not gonna,” the man in the mask says. He even helps you stand, awkward as it is to rise to your feet in your dress. “As long as she behaves herself.”

“Take me instead,” the man insists loudly.

He turns the gun on the man. “Keep talking and she’ll have to see me blow your brains out.”

He forces you along, gun nudging the small of your back. His gloved hand skims the curve of your waist making you shiver. He makes you act as a go-between between him and the bank tellers, makes you retrieve instructions on how to open the vault. He makes you help him fill a canvas bag with bills.

“I think he liked you,” he says slyly.

“Who?”

“Guy out front. Your knight in shining armor,” he mocks, eyes dark beneath his mask, glittering up at you from where he kneels, neatly stacking bands of cash in the bag.

You grimace. “I don’t even know him, I swear.”

“He’d like to know you.”

On the way out, it seems like the nightmare is about to end. But when he leads you back to your initial spot, he forces you down onto your knees and tells you to unbuckle his pants.

He fucks your mouth in front of the whole bank, one hand on the back of your head and the other on his gun, cooing filth to you while your gags and whines echo off the stone around you. You’re not sure if he takes his eyes of the man beside you once, his expression smug as he fucks into the softness of your throat.

He’s still hard when the first hint of sirens can be heard in the distance. His hand forces you down on his cock at a brutal pace, drool dripping from your split-open mouth down to the skirt of your dress. Before he cums, you get scared.

You always get scared.

“Come on, Si,” you say, voice wrecked as you nuzzle against his cock. “Cops are gonna be here soon.”

He sighs, slipping his cock away. “Always the sensible one.”

“Keep you outta jail, don’t I?”

“You—you—“ sputters the man next to you, watching as Simon pulls you to your feet and gently wipes the drool from your chin. “You’re working with him!”

“Hey!” you say with a frown. “He’s working with me!”

The sirens are closer than ever.

Simon gives a long suffering sigh and says: “Let’s argue about it in the car.”

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♱ ₮ⱧɆ ⱧɄ₦₲ɆⱤ: Ø₦Ɇ ♱

♱ Pairings: boyfriend!yungi x chubby!fem!zombie!reader

♱ Genre: horror/angst/fluff/a micro drop of smut

♱ Summary: On your way back home from a party you and your boyfriends get into a terrible accident. While they walk away nearly unscathed, you don't walk away at all. The next day while mourning their loss your reanimated corpse finds its way back home and sparks their journey down a very bloody road that pushes the limits of what exactly they're willing to do for love.

♱ Word Count: 3.5k-ish

♱ Warnings: you're dead, babes, sorry. Undead technically. Mentions of a car accident, some grieving, light descriptions of your undead body, technically necrophilia, blood play, blood drinking, a lil smidge of cannibalism if you squint, masochism, Yungi are like really obsessively dedicated to you, kissing, and a handjob to top off this totally normal list of warnings.

♱ A/N: If you're reading this I'm assuming you're also a fellow horror lover so, hello my love. I've been working on creating a lot of horror series lately and this is one of them. I'd consider this like the lightest appetizer, the bread before the meal so to speak. An intro before we head into a world of full blown erotic cannibalism, murder, dismemberment, ya know, fun wholesome things that await in further entries. So if this is too icky for you I beg of you stop here. It'll only get worse.

The rain hasn’t stopped since. It began the moment you died. Sheets of it pouring down from the weeping and endless night sky. Down to the minute, down to the very second that doctors pronounced you dead. And even now, as the morning sun pries itself through a thick fog of gray clouds, it cascades around the quiet little house you called home. One that's been filled with sorrow because you’re lost. The two men inside seated opposite each other at the kitchen table, picking over a thrown together breakfast, have lost you.

And the rain…it hasn’t stopped since. 

But Mingi doesn’t mind. Everyone who needs to know has been informed and his phone has been on silent since. The rain’s an armor of sorts. Knowing no one can make the drive out to bother them in this weather has bought him the time he needs to accept a reality that doesn’t feel quite real yet. 

“You should eat something” Yunho insists, fork tapping at the edge of his ceramic plate, his own food untouched. He knows it’s nothing special, nothing close to the delicious meals they woke to everyday from you, but he poured everything he had into it.

Mingi raises an eyebrow, swirling the fork an inch or so above his plate before shoving the gleaming silver into the space between the cast on his left arm and his inflamed skin. Every human has two bones in their forearm. The ulna and the radius. Mingi walked away from the car accident having fractured both of them. Yunho, the driver, had gotten lucky with only a few cuts and bruises. A flesh wound to the abdomen. And you, well…

“Can you stop that?” Yunho asks, the sound of the metal back of Mingi’s fork scraping against plaster grating his ears. It isn’t his fault, though his heart aches in a thousand places thinking that it is. Mingi doesn’t blame him. He couldn’t have predicted the oncoming truck would swerve the way it did. No, he blames the world but, isolated between these eerily quiet walls, Yunho is all there is to it.

Mingi scratches faster, deriving some relief from the sting that comes along with it. “I’m sorry, is this bothering you?” 

Yunho breathes in and back out. In and back out again. Deep, full breaths meant to calm his boiling rage at that incessant screeching. Mingi doesn’t mean to do this. He’s just hurting. They both are. “Just ignore it” Yunho tells himself “Ignore him. Ignore the burning in the pit of your stomach. Ignore the tears.”

“Stop it before you hurt yourself!” Yunho shouts, snatching the fork from Mingi’s hand.

Blinking, his eyes dart over to his empty chair and back to a shocked Mingi. Yunho isn’t sure how he got over here. He doesn’t even remember getting up. A tear runs down his cheek, the exhaust from an overheated engine, and he swiftly wipes it away.

Mingi hangs his head, ashamed of his immaturity pushing Yunho a little too far. “I’m sorry” he says, sniffing back tears of his own, “But it hurts so much. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. I just want her back”.

Yunho tosses the fork onto the table, taking Mingi into his arms just as he breaks down into tears, “I know, I want her back too. I’d give anything to see her smile or hear her call my name again.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A rattling at the front door lighter than a toddler’s, light enough that it’s nearly lost to the rain. “Yunie! Mingi!” a voice calls sweetly, broken and the faintest bit horse but distinctly yours. The blood in their veins runs ice cold, the color draining from their faces. The men look to each other, desperate for confirmation that they haven’t lost their minds. 

“Did you—” Mingi starts, rising from his chair, careful not to make a sound. 

Yunho nods, moving towards the front door, with Mingi close behind. They tiptoe down the hall, floorboards creaking here and there as they pass framed photos of the three of you together. “Open. Please. Cold. So cold” your voice croaks once more, Yunho’s fingers inches from grasping the doorknob.

Mingi slips off to the side, peeking through one of the curtains, and his heart nearly stops from what he sees. “Open the door! It’s her!” he shouts, pushing Yunho aside to unlock the door. 

Yunho slams it shut, unable to wrap his mind around what’s happening, “What do you mean it’s her? It can’t be her!”

“It’s her! I swear! Open the door!” Mingi begs, gripping the doorknob tightly enough that his hand’s begun to redden, “Yunho, please.” 

There has to be an explanation for this. Some shared hallucination fueled by their grief. They’re only hearing things, they must be, but Mingi seems to need this and Yunho can’t bring himself to deny him of it. “Okay” he sighs, backing away from the door, “Do it.”

Mingi wastes no time tearing it open, rain pouring in as you limp across the threshold. The two towering men shrink at the sight of you, terror freezing one where he stands and making the other retreat into a corner.  

Barefoot and soaking wet, you wear the tattered, blood stained dress you were rushed to the hospital in. In death your skin has paled, broken blood vessels giving your lips a light blue hue. Behind you is a trail of muddy footprints, marking your journey up the front stairs to this place you call home.

It’s a blur. Your death and your return. It’s all a series of broken memories, fragmented pieces of film that make you dizzy each time you attempt to piece them together. You can only recall a party filled with dancing and laughter. Headlights brighter than the sun. Screaming. A dark place. A coldness eating at your bones. Then, like magic, you were here, dragging yourself up to the front door with blistered feet and an unnerving stillness in your chest.

Turning to meet the faces of the men you love, faces that haven’t once failed to light up in your presence, you’re puzzled by their fear. Noticing Mingi’s injured arm, you run your fingers down his cast. 

“Mingi hurt?” you grunt softly. 

His eyes blur with tears and he blinks them away, quickly conjuring up a lie to soothe your worries. “Only a little. I was working on something out back and, well, you know how clumsy I can be, but it’s nothing” he says, smiling through the tears.

You return the comforting gesture with a smile of your own, placing a frozen palm against the warm wetness of his cheek. “Liar. Mingi hurt. And…sad?” 

“No, baby, not sad. I’m just happy to see you. We’re happy to see you, aren’t we?” Mingi looks to Yunho, confident that he feels the same way, but finds instead that he’s alone in his joy. 

Backed so far into a corner that he might as well be a part of the wood paneling, this is nothing short of a nightmare for him. This is unnatural. Far beyond anything that should be possible. You, the real you, is lying on a slab in a morgue somewhere. Whatever’s standing before him is something he can’t bring himself to trust. 

“Yunie hurt too?” you ask, turning your attention to the bruising around his jaw. You hobble over to him, nearly touching his hand before he snatches it away. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

His rejection is so alien to you that you don’t even process it as such, reaching out for him again. “Yun—”

Your fingers skim his, making his skin crawl. “Don’t touch me!” he yells, slinking clear of your grasp. “I don’t know what you are but you’re not her. She is dead. You are dead.”

“Me? Dead?” The word sends more memories racing through your head. The taste of wine. Your favorite. Mingi’s arms around your waist. A high pitched ringing in your ear. The beeping of machines. The visions drown you in an overwhelming sense of sadness that makes you want to crumble into pieces. 

“No! Don’t listen to him!” Mingi says, filling the space between you and Yunho,“You’re not dead, baby. You’re here with us and it’s a gift.” Ignoring the nagging pain of his injury, Mingi lifts you up into his arms, cradling you like a baby as he carries you up the stairs. 

“Now how about we get you cleaned up?”

“Take bath? Bubbles?”

Mingi laughs, smitten with you even in your undead form, “If that’s what you want, of course.” 

Yunho slides down to the floor, growing catatonic as he zones out to the sounds that come from above. The running of bathwater, his best friend’s laughter, and the broken words of some kind of monster. This has to be a nightmare. All he needs to do is wait it out until he wakes up. 

“Wake up” he whispers like Dorothy clicking her heels together three times to escape the land of Oz, “Wake up. Wake up…”

Two showers, one long bath, and a few hours cuddled under the blankets with Mingi. That’s all it takes for you to begin to look more like yourself. You’re far from what you used to be, signs of your time as a lifeless corpse still showing through, but you’re coming back to yourself and, however long that takes, Mingi’s more than willing to wait it out.

While you’ve refused to eat, despite the grumbling of your empty stomach, he’s managed to keep you happy with movies and games which now litter the bed and the area around it. Much to Mingi’s dismay, beating him at everything is something you picked up on quickly. You’ve only been back to life for a few hours and already you’re kicking his ass again.

“Play again?” you ask, excitedly spreading your winning Uno hand out on the blanket. 

Mingi yawns, the sleep he lost last night beginning to catch up with him, but he shuffles the deck for a new game anyway. He knows he can’t keep this up much longer. His lids are growing heavy and his focus is waning but he can’t, for any reason, allow himself to drift off to sleep. While Yunho may be somewhere in this house terrified by the possibility that this isn’t just a dream, Mingi’s been haunted by the very real possibility that it might be. What if he closes his eyes and you’re gone again? That’d mean losing you twice and his heart can’t survive breaking for you a second time.

As Mingi deals the cards, you glance around your bedroom with fresh excitement. Every new color or scent brings your dulled senses back to you if only briefly. And every item has a memory attached to it. Some vague, some incredibly vivid, but all serve as a suitable feast for a brain hungry to recover what once was. Just as your focus hones in on a pair of fluffy puppy shaped slippers by the door, you catch a tall figure looming in the doorway. 

Halfway obscured by the wall, Yunho watches you the way a scientist would its test subject. Simply observing, waiting for you to do something that proves you’re an imposter. But you only smile at him the way you always have, making him feel strangely welcomed to enter the room.

Coming up here was far from his intention. The rain had let up almost immediately after your arrival and he’d picked up the car keys a half dozen times to leave. Once he got as far as the end of the driveway before he turned back, making it further up the steps each time until finally gaining the courage to face you.

And it is you. Despite the words he spat in fear and anger, he felt your energy all around him when he first heard your voice and that feeling’s grown in intensity every minute since. 

“Are you playing or are you just gonna watch like a pervert?” Mingi teases. 

Yunho steps from behind the wall, arms folded across his chest, “If I recall correctly you’re the one who likes to watch” he shoots back, cautiously entering the bedroom. 

“Ha” you snort, sorting through your hand, “Like with sex and stuff.” 

“Oh, I see you’ve been helping her get her language skills back. Starting with the important words first, huh?”

“Playing or watching? You pick. Quickly” you insist, patting Yunho on the arm, his prior reaction momentarily slipping your mind.

He winces a little, jogging your memory, and you go to pull away but he stops you, taking your hand into his. It’s like holding hands with a block of ice, making sense of the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants you’re curled up in. What you said on the other side of the door had been true. Cold. So cold. 

Yunho’s thumb traces the blue collapsed veins down the back of your hand, brushing past your knuckles to an empty space on your ring finger. There used to be two gorgeous silver rings there, part of a set of six that he and Mingi had made for all of you. 

“Mingi says we’ll get back, won’t be a problem. Right, Mingi?” Your question’s met with the sound of snoring, a few seconds without stimulation being just what Mingi needed to drift off to sleep. You crawl up the bed to lay down beside him, poking at his cheek. “Mingiiii” you sing, softly flicking at his plush bottom lip. 

Yunho slips in on the other side of you, pulling your fingers away from Mingi’s face. “Maybe we don’t do that” he laughs, “We should let him rest. I think he’s tired.”

“Mingi’s tired and what about you?” you ask, rolling over to face him. The color of your eyes are marbled between the paleness of death and their natural shade. It’s bizarre but beautiful in a way that mesmerizes him. 

“Tell me, have you eat and sleep?” You pet his hair, watching it twirl around your fingertips in bouncy brown wisps. Being touched by you, it’s something he thought he’d never feel again, and the joy of it makes him want to cry almost as much as the fear did. 

“It’s ‘eaten and slept’ but no, I haven’t. I couldn’t” he says, “I’d ask you but…”

Your stomach grumbles, announcing its hunger. You hadn’t eaten before the accident. The party you were headed home from had been overflowing with alcohol but food, at least any you were interested in, was in short supply. 

“I can cook for you. We haven’t been shopping but I’m sure I can whip up something.” 

You shake your head, having already gone through this with Mingi, “Nothing really tastes good but the smells help.”

“The smells? What smells?”

“Mmm” you hum, sniffing the side of Yunho’s neck, “You and him. Your smell makes me warm inside.”

Nuzzling your nose against his neck, you inhale the scent beneath his cologne. The natural oils of his body are more fragrant than anything that comes in a bottle. You rest a hand on his heart, feeling it pound as your lips meet his heated skin like ice against fire.

Yunho can’t help but feel guilty about the way his body responds to you. He can’t manage to fight the instinct to bring you closer, massaging the fullness of your curves through the thick cotton of your clothing. You part your lips, dragging your tongue along veins that rush with hot, fresh blood. As they pulse below the surface of his skin, yours begin to pulse as well, matching the rhythm. 

“I…I’m not sure we should be doing this” Yunho stutters, his hands betraying his words to move under your sweatshirt and reacquaint themselves with the rise of your hips and the hills of your breasts. His lust for you only makes the blood pump through his body faster, worsening your hunger. 

“But I need you to keep me warm inside. Please don’t let me be cold again” you beg, sinking your teeth into his neck. Blood drips from his wounds, coating your tongue, pooling in the bottom of your mouth. It’s the taste of life, draining his to restore yours, and you’re ravenous for it.

Yunho screams out in pain, sacrificing a few shreds of flesh to tear himself free of you. “You bit me! Why would you do that?” he cries, stumbling to his feet, his sleeve pressed to his neck to control the bleeding.

On your hands and knees, you move to the edge of the bed like a lioness prowling for her next meal. Your eyes swell with tears at the pain you’ve inflicted but your mouth salivates at the delectable taste of his blood. The ecstacy of it sliding down your throat makes you feel more alive than you did when you actually were. 

“I’m sorry, Yunho. I didn’t mean to hurt you, really. I think I’m just, mmm, hungrier than I thought” you pout, speaking with perfect clarity for the first time.

“Hungrier? Are you…you’re trying to eat me?”

“Eat you? Of course not. I would never. I only needed a nibble to make me better.” You raise your shirt, stroking your exposed skin as it grows plumper and warmer to the touch. “Come feel me. Touch me.” 

Your voice is like a spell, drawing Yunho back in. Your body sings out to him, whispering how badly it longs for him. He wants you, though he shouldn’t. The searing pain in his neck dulls at the realization. It gets him off seeing that you need him this desperately. Not only for pleasure but to survive. 

Approaching the bed again, Yunho lowers his blood stained sleeve from his neck and caresses your body. The red liquid coating his fingers sticks to you like candy, leaving a trail of red along your belly. You lean into him, sliding a hand up his thigh to palm the growing bulge in his jeans. He lets out a satisfied moan, lightly tugging at your hair so that your head’s tilted back, sparkling eyes gazing up at him. 

“What are you?” he whispers with whatever speck of sanity he has remaining.

His bloody fingers find your mouth and you lazily lick them clean, savoring the taste. All the while your own hand’s undoing his zipper to stroke his length, your thumb circling the moist tip of his cock.

“What am I?” you giggle, “I’m yours, aren’t I?”

Releasing his middle finger from the suction of your soft lips, you push his sweater up to kiss your way across his lower stomach. Every kiss has his cock twitching in your grasp as his fingers tangle deeper into your hair, keeping you in place.

And then you find it. The perfect spot. You aren’t sure how you know but you just do. You suckle at his skin, letting your teeth gently pierce the surface until your tongue’s reintroduced to the taste of his blood. Yunho grits his teeth through pain that only makes the adrenaline rush that follows all the more pleasurable. 

“I’m still yours, aren’t I, Yunie?” you ask, his flesh still filling the space between your teeth.

Yunho pulls your head back and leans down to kiss you, the feeling of your lips against his worth the faint metallic taste that comes along with it.

“Of course you are, baby” he whispers, “You’ll always be mine and I’ll never let anything hurt you again. I promise.”

You lay back on the bed, pulling him on top of you, and wrap your legs around his waist. Yunho tears at your clothes, kissing you ravenously as if he’s the one with the undead hunger that must be fed. He’s ready to rip them off of you and take you right here with no regard at all for the best friend sleeping an inch away from you. But a loud banging at the downstairs door snaps him out of it, stirring Mingi from his sleep in the process. 

Mingi jolts upright in bed, on the verge of a heart attack, “Huh? What? What’s happening?” He glances over just in time to catch Yunho climbing off of you to zip his pants back up, the blood from your second bite already showing through his clothes.

You reach back to rub Mingi's leg, your view of him inverted, “Mingi, be calm.”

“Be calm?” he shouts, jumping to inspect the blood on your face, “Answer me now. What happened?”

The banging on the front door gets louder and Yunho throws a “Ssh” at Mingi, sneaking to the window to get a peek at the unexpected visitors. 

“Don’t shush me! Why’s there blood and why were you…” 

Yunho turns around slowly, eyes wide and hands trembling, “Mingi, shut up.”

“No, not until one of you tells me what’s going on and who the hell is that?” 

The banging continues, shaking the door so hard the hinges creak. Yunho sits back down on the bed, his brain firing off in a hundred directions at once. He wishes the knocking at the door were another minion of the undead—some corpse you accidentally drug back with you from the trenches of the morgue—but what awaits him this time, what awaits all of you, is something far worse. 

“It’s the fucking cops.”

[carooosa]

Craving Temptation Part 2: Psychic Ecstacy

Part 1: First Bite

Word count: 2.7k Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion x AFAB!Tav/Reader Warnings: 18+, tadpole, masturbation AO3 link: Psychic Ecstacy

Summary: You can't sleep and instead spend the night thinking of the vampire who was wormed his way into your mind, in more ways than one. How will you react to Astarion's smooth voice and honeyed words as he talks you through your pleasure?

A/N: If you've read the previous fic, this one is in Tav/Reader POV. If it seems like Astarion is OOC, good, because he's manipulating Tav.

You toss and turn in your bedroll, sleep refusing to bless you this night. Your mind is racing with questions and worry as you think back to all the failed leads so far. Nettie tried to poison you, the goblin “priestess” locked you in a cell, Ethel turned out to be a hag and made you blind in one eye, although you didn’t have to deal with that long since Volo accidentally removed it, and Halsin, while unable to heal you, has agreed to journey with you to Moonrise Towers for a cure.

Thinking about all of your adventures so far gives you a headache, but that pain is soon replaced by the wriggle of the tadpole behind your eye.

A sultry voice fills your head, pushing all of your previous thoughts away. “Unable to sleep, darling?”

Although you were unsure about using the tadpoles… powers, Astarion had quickly accepted the changes they brought. You shoot back a short reply, a simple “No.”

It feels as if he’s chuckling right next to your ear as he responds, “My, my Tav, I thought you didn’t want to use the tadpole’s power. What ever could have changed?”

You scoff out loud at that. “Nothing has changed, I still don’t want to use whatever this tadpole is giving me.”

“Well, I’m simply flattered, dear, that you’d make an exception just for me,” Astarion quips back, and you can vividly imagine the smug smirk that’s across his face.

You huff and roll over in your bedsheet again. Astarion always seemed to pick on you. After you turned down his proposition at the Tiefling party, you were sure that he would leave you alone, but that rejection only seemed to fuel his desire for you further.

It’s not that he wasn’t attractive, gods no, he certainly was. But with the threat of being turned into a mindflayer, as well as the never-ending side quests you seemed to be going on, you didn’t have the time or energy to even humor his advances. Although, you did have the time to at least imagine how a night with him would be.

You picture his face, the sharpness of his nose, and the way his hair is always a perfect mess. His eyes, a piercing crimson, always lingering on your body for a moment too long. His soft lips, an unassuming pretty pink that hid his sharp fangs.

You imagine how those fangs would feel in a kiss. Would they get in the way? Or would they add excitement to the moment? How would Astarion react if you bit him?

You think about how elegant he looks when lounging around camp, leisurely reading a book in the sunlight— just a hint of his chest peaking out beneath his shirt. His arms are muscular, usually hidden beneath his armor but put out on display when he rolls his lounge shirt up.

And his hands. Gods, his hands. You’ve seen him make quick work of a lock, his fingers nimbly maneuvering his lock-picking tools with ease. You imagine those hands on your body, feeling you up and down, the coolness of his touch would somehow heat you up. You picture his hands going lower.

“Having fun, darling?” Astarion’s voice rips through your thoughts.

Embarrassment washes over you as you realize that he was spying in on you obsessing over him. “It’s not what it looks like, I-” you start, only to be interrupted by the silky voice of the man you admire.

“There’s no need to be flustered, now, is there? To be honest, I thought there was something utterly messed up in that head of yours when you turned down my offer. But I’ve noticed the way you look at me. I see the longing in your eyes. Why not let me relieve some of your stress?”

“Astarion, we don’t have the luxury to fool around with each other. We have to get to Moonrise Towers as soon as possible,” you reply back to him, and you can feel a twinge of annoyance in your tadpole.

“Yes, yes, getting rid of the tadpole and all that. You’ve made it perfectly clear that no time is to be wasted.” He responds. You expect him to leave you alone at that, but instead, he offers a new proposition. “You’re certainly not going to sleep anytime soon, and I can feel your arousal from our connection. I won’t give you the best night of your life, against my better judgment, but who’s to say we can’t keep this connection while we both take care of ourselves, hm?”

You think for a moment. It might be beneficial to, as Astarion says, alleviate your stress. You have been wrangling a handful of companions who all have different ideas of the best path to take. It’s been over a tenday now and you’re exhausted, not just with them but from the constant creeping of anxiety in the back of your mind. Perhaps letting go would give you the refresher you need to keep pushing forward. And besides, you’ll just quickly and quietly masturbate, clean up, and then go right to bed. You wouldn’t lose any more sleep than you’ve been losing lately.

“Fine,” you say back to Astarion and you feel a hint of surprise before the overwhelming feeling of lust, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“So you can make smart decisions,” he quips. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, pet.”

You feel like a disobedient child who’s stayed up past their bedtime to sneak some sweets as you prop up your pillow and undress your lower half. You reassure yourself that this is the most logical thing to do and that you’re doing it to clear your mind to be a better leader, nothing else.

“Tell yourself whatever you want, but we both know that you’ve been craving my touch and have finally succumbed to your yearnings. It’s understandable, really, that you would be distracted by my dastardly good looks and body. But what you don’t know is that I am well experienced when it comes to pleasing others. While I’ll settle with talking you through your pleasure, I’ll ensure that after tonight you’ll be begging for the full experience.”

You know that you'll reprimand yourself for this later. You've already agreed to do whatever this is that you're about to do, and you're never one to back down from a challenge.

"Don't make me regret this," you warn the vampire as you close your eyes.

His voice overwhelms your mind. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He pauses for a moment leaving you wondering if he's changed his mind, when suddenly you hear his silky voice yet again. "I've got to say, Tav, that I never expected you to have so many scandalous thoughts in that pretty little head of yours. It took me by surprise to see you imagining my face, my body, my hands. Perhaps I could give you a lesson on lockpicking sometime."

An image of Astarion expertly unlocking a chest flashes in your mind. With years of experience, he's able to use only one hand to undo the contraption. His fingers languidly run over each hook of his tool, pausing over the one he needs and rubbing it between two fingers. While he shows you this image, one of your hands travels down your body and to your entrance. You mimic the movement on your clit, finding the perfect spot to rub and pinch.

“Good Tav, keep touching yourself for me. Pretend your hand is mine, teasing your clit and working you up into a mess,” Astarion instructs.

You feel guilty for a moment, taking your own pleasure and not thinking of anyone else. Astarion must have somehow picked up on your dread as your attention is snapped away from your guilt. You feel the whisper of a cool hand against your face before it disappears, and Astarion reassures you.

“We’ll have none of that now, darling. You’ve every right to turn down my advances, but it’s simply cruel to deny yourself pleasure.”

You stop touching yourself and respond, “I’ve done nothing to warrant a ‘reward’ for myself. There’s still so much that’s yet to be done; this was a mista-”

Astarion abruptly cuts you off “Blasphemy. You’ve done nothing but help others this entire time I’ve known you. You’re the epitome of what a savior is, yet you refuse yourself the title. Even the gods above take their praises in pride.” He pauses for a second, letting the words sink in before continuing, “I suppose that just proves that the gods themselves are nothing compared to you.”

Your heart catches in your throat at the words he throws your way. You freeze, scared that if you even breathe you’ll ruin the moment.

“Besides, if nothing else it’ll make the playing field even again,” he quickly adds.

“What do you mean even again?” you ask, only to be met with silence. Although you don’t want to embrace the tadpole, you decide to push into Astarion’s head. You’re met with a flash of a scene: Astarion, mouth full of your blood with some dripping down his chin, frantically fucking his hand in the woods behind the camp. As quickly as the image appears in your mind it’s gone.

“You drive me mad, Tav. Bless me with the privilege of being your undoing. Allow me to be your ecstasy.”

You’re unsure how to respond to such a plea. Exploring your own wants and desires had always been pushed to the background, the responsibility to help others always taking precedence.

You decide to give Astarion one last chance to back out. “I’m not as experienced as you are with this sort of thing. I’ll be awkward.”

“Let me guide you, then,” he offers, and you finally decide to give into this want of yours.

“Tell me what I should do.”

You feel a rush of excitement through the mind-link you share. “Oh darling, there’s nothing I’d rather do. Now, let’s give you the most mind-shattering pleasure imaginable. Follow my instructions and let me know if there’s anything you don’t like. Open your mind up to me so I can see what you’re doing.”

You take some deep breaths and relax, strengthening the connection to his tadpole until your minds are completely connected, Astarion’s voice as loud as your own thoughts.

“Why don’t we spend some time worshipping those breasts of yours? I want you to massage them, try different speeds and different amounts of pressure, until you find a momentum that you like.”

You oblige, tentatively touching yourself and wondering what the point is of doing this.

“Tsk, tsk, you refuse yourself pleasure so much so that you think masturbation is just a means to an end. My darling, your body is simply divine. If I was ever given the chance I would make sure that no inch goes untouched, no part of you unloved. Gods, Tav, you captivate my mind every second of the day.”

Your face flushes red and a warmth spreads through your body. You’ve found a slow and gentle pace, but Astarion urges you to press further.

“Don’t be afraid, darling. Your body can withstand some roughening up. Hells, what I wouldn’t do to mark you up, leave bruises on your unblemished skin.”

“Your body is a temple yet explored, and I intend to be your guide. Rub and pinch your nipples for me, darling. Bite your lip and rub your thighs together. You like being bitten, don’t you, Tav? Don’t think your little whimpers and shakes went unnoticed by me. Fuck, Tav-” Astarion’s voice falters, instead replaced with some grunts.

You listen to Astarion’s instructions and squeeze your nipples tightly, yelping at the pain but then doing it again, quickly becoming addicted to the sensation. You think back to the night you awoke to find the vampire looming over you, his eyes filled with hunger, a hunger for you. You jolt at the thought and bite your lip, hard, relishing in the slight pain. 

All the while you experiment with your pleasure, Astarion has gone quiet. You search for him in your mind. You’re overwhelmed with the erratic thoughts going through his head, thoughts of you, your body, your voice, your scent; every single position Astarion would like to take you in.

“Astarion?” you gingerly ask.

As soon as you say his name, a feeling of bliss radiates from him.

“Hells below Tav, you’ll be my ruin.”

“What happened?” you ask.

“What happened? What happened?” Astarion repeats to you. “What happened, my dear succubus, is what I hope to bring unto you. I see you’ve been listening to my instructions as I can smell your arousal from my tent.”

You quickly notice the wetness that has begun to pool beneath you, your nipples fully hardened from your touch.

“You’re such an obedient little pet, aren’t you? Oh, how I would train you to become drenched at the sound of my voice if you’d let me. Let me guide your hands, Tav. Keep one hand on a breast and move the other to your clit.”

You oblige, his voice filling your mind and working you up. You gently place a finger on your clit and begin to rub, gasping out loud from the sensitivity.

“Don’t falter on me just yet. I have yet to explain how I would ravish you with my tongue, slicking you up before using my fingers to stretch you out. I’d leave you a writhing mess beneath me, begging for me to fill you with my cock.”

As you stimulate your clit, an image of Astarion looming over you with hair unkempt and eyes blown out from lust pushes into your mind. You rub faster, and right as you reach your peak, Astarion speaks.

“Cum for me.”

With the sound of his voice and the image in your mind, your body shakes as you cum. Your breathing steadies and you feel an overwhelming emptiness in your core.

“Already wanting more?”

You shake your head and try to come to your senses. “This was more than I’ve done and more than I expected to do tonight.”

Astarion starts to tease you, amused with this revelation. “More than you’ve done? Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, now.”

“No! I’ve had sex before, I just-” you start to correct him before he cuts you off.

“You’ve never orgasmed before, have you?” You don’t respond. “Oh, Tav. You sweet forbidden fruit. You have no idea just how much pleasure I could give you. The night’s young; let me show you what pure bliss really feels like.”

You’re almost tempted to agree before you remember that you’re on a mission to get rid of the tadpoles you’ve been using to talk to Astarion.

“Tsk, it’s a shame you won’t indulge in yourself. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed this. I would ask if you had fun, but I already know the answer.”

You decide to quickly shut this down before it continues further “Goodnight, Astarion.”

You feel a twinge of disappointment from him before it disappears. “Goodnight, Tav. Try not to dream of me too much.”

Before you’re able to sever the connection, Astarion shows you the mess he’s made of himself during your conversation. He sends the moment he came undone into your mind: you saying his name. You see him thrusting into his hand as streams of cum shoot out of his cock.

The connection ends, and you’re left alone with the silence of the night and your thoughts. You’re unable to get the image out of your head. Your hands start to wander over your body as you recall the instructions he gave you, this time imagining it’s Astarion touching your body. It looks like you won’t be getting much sleep tonight after all.

Part 3: Sanguine Relief

[muiitoloko]

Hii! I just saw that your asks are open, and that you write for Kingsman. Yesterday I discovered the two Kingsman movies and I watched them both, and now I'm obsessed with both Harry and Merlin.

I wanted to ask you for a Merlin or Harry fic (whichever you want) of angst and the grovelling trope. Like, maybe he has a terrible day and the reader tries to confort him, but he ends up snapping at her and telling her some real hurtful things and so he has to grovel *a lot* to earn her forgiveness or something like that :)

If you don't want to write it or you're too busy I completely understand :)

Also, if you do write it, please tag me, I don't want to miss it for the world <3

Title: The Price of Pride

Summary: Harry's pride and stubbornness drive a wedge between him and Gawain, leading to a heated sparring match that becomes a battleground for their unresolved feelings.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Jealousy.

Author's Notes: Hii! @leylovestaytay and @shamelesstrekkie13 😊 First of all, welcome to the Kingsman obsession club—Harry and Merlin are just too irresistible, aren’t they? Your request has me grinning because, oh boy, who doesn’t love a good groveling trope? I can totally imagine Harry or Merlin having to do some serious damage control after snapping at the reader. I’m definitely up for writing this. Thanks for the awesome idea, and stay tuned! 💖

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Harry’s hands trembled with barely contained rage as he stormed into the dimly lit safehouse, his usually impeccable composure shattered by the events of the day. The mission had been a disaster from start to finish, and the humiliation of failing a mission—a task that had always come so naturally to him—was like a knife to the heart. But the worst part, the part that made his blood boil, was Chester, the current Arthur, who had the audacity to make fun of him, to belittle him in front of the others.

And to add insult to injury, the one person who had saved his ass on that mission, who had pulled him back from the brink of failure, was the same person now standing in front of him, trying to offer him comfort—Agent Gawain. You.

You watched Harry from across the room, your heart aching as you saw the torment etched across his usually stoic face. You knew how much pride he took in his work, how much it meant to him to be the best, to maintain the perfect image of a Kingsman. And today, that image had been shattered. You wanted to help him, to console him, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides.

"Harry," you said softly, taking a tentative step toward him, your voice filled with concern. "It wasn’t your fault. The mission… it was unpredictable. You did everything you could—"

"Don’t," Harry snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His brown eyes were dark, filled with a fury you had never seen before, and it made you stop in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat. "Don’t try to console me, Gawain. You have no idea what it’s like to fail like this. To be humiliated in front of the entire organization, to be mocked by Chester of all people."

You flinched at the venom in his words, the way he spat out Chester’s name like it was poison. "Harry, I’m just trying to help—"

"Help?" Harry let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating. He took a step toward you, his presence overwhelming as he loomed over you, his height and intensity making you feel small, insignificant. "You want to help me, do you? Is that why you saved my sorry ass on the mission? To play the hero, to swoop in and save Galahad like some knight in shining armor?"

You shook your head, your chest tightening with the weight of his anger, his words cutting deeper than you could have ever anticipated. "No, Harry, that’s not it at all. I just… I didn’t want you to get hurt."

"Didn’t want me to get hurt?" Harry repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is that really what this is about, Gawain? Or is it because of that little crush you’ve been nursing for me? Did you think saving me would make me finally notice you, that it would make me see you as something more than just another agent?"

You felt your heart drop at his words, the sting of his mockery hitting you like a physical blow. You had never been able to hide your feelings for Harry, your admiration for him that had grown into something much deeper, much more complicated. But hearing him throw it back in your face, using it as a weapon against you, was something you hadn’t been prepared for.

"Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, even as your vision blurred with unshed tears. "That’s not what this is about. I care about you, yes, but I would have done the same for any of my fellow agents. You know that."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Care about me? Is that what you call it? Do you know what I think, Gawain? I think you’re just a pathetic little schoolgirl, clinging to some fantasy of what we could be, when the reality is that you’re nothing more than a distraction."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. You had always known that your feelings for Harry were one-sided, that he would never see you in the same way, but hearing him say it out loud, in such a cruel, dismissive way, was almost too much to bear.

"You think that by saving me, by trying to console me now, you can somehow make yourself more than what you are?" Harry continued, his voice cold and cutting as he advanced on you, his presence overwhelming. "You’re delusional, Gawain. I don’t need your pity, your concern, or your so-called care. What I need is for you to stay the hell out of my way."

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. "I’m not trying to get in your way, Harry," you whispered, your voice trembling with the effort it took to keep it steady. "I just want to help you. I want to be there for you."

"Be there for me?" Harry’s laugh was harsh, almost cruel, as he looked down at you, his brown eyes filled with disdain. "You’re not there for me, Gawain. You’re nothing more than a distraction, a hindrance. Your feelings for me, your pathetic little crush, are nothing but a burden that I’ve had to carry. And you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you."

The finality of his words hit you like a slap to the face, the coldness in his voice making it clear that he meant every word. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, the weight of his rejection, his anger, almost too much to bear.

Harry’s gaze bore into you, his eyes dark and unforgiving as he took one last step toward you, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "You think I don’t know what you want, Gawain? You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me, the way your eyes linger on me, the way you practically beg for my attention? You’re nothing but a desperate little girl, clinging to a fantasy that will never, ever come true."

You could feel the tears streaming down your face now, hot and unchecked, as you looked up at him, your heart breaking with every word he spoke. You had never felt so small, so insignificant, so utterly worthless.

"And you know what the worst part is?" Harry continued, his voice low and filled with contempt as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You actually thought you had a chance. You thought that saving me, that being there for me, would make me see you differently. But let me make one thing perfectly clear, Gawain—I will never, ever feel the same way about you. You’re just another agent, nothing more."

You felt your knees buckle under the weight of his words, your body trembling as you tried to hold yourself together, to keep from falling apart completely. But it was no use. The pain was too much, the anguish too overwhelming.

Harry stepped back, his expression cold and impassive as he looked down at you, his voice devoid of any warmth, any compassion. "Now get out of my sight, Gawain. And don’t ever try to console me again."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, shattered and broken, the pieces of your heart scattered at your feet. You watched him go, your vision blurred with tears, your body trembling with the effort it took to keep from collapsing.

You had always known that Harry was a man of control, a man who prided himself on his stoicism, his ability to remain calm and composed in any situation. But today, that control had slipped, and you had seen a side of him that you had never seen before—a side that was cruel, cutting, and utterly devastating.

And as you stood there, alone and broken, you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever be able to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, or if you would be forever haunted by the memory of Harry’s words, the coldness in his eyes, the finality of his rejection.

The days following Harry’s cruel words were some of the hardest you had ever endured. You did as he asked, staying out of his way, not even greeting him when the two of you passed side by side in the corridors. You didn’t look at him during the weekly meetings, where all the agents gathered to deal with Arthur. You interacted with everyone except Harry, and when you had to address him, you treated him as Galahad, with a cold, distant professionalism that cut deeper than any insult.

Harry noticed the change immediately. It was as if a light had been extinguished. Your jokes, your infectious laughter, your kind words—you still shared them with everyone else, but never with him. To you, he was no longer Harry, your mentor, your friend, the man you had admired and cared for. He was just Galahad, a title and nothing more.

At first, Harry tried to tell himself that this was what he wanted. That it was better this way, that you were just a distraction he could do without. But as the days passed, he found himself missing the sound of your voice, the way you used to tease him, the way you would light up any room you entered. The absence of your warmth, your light, left a void that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried.

It didn’t help that Merlin had begun to notice the tension between you and Harry. Merlin was nothing if not observant, and it didn’t take long for him to piece together that something was wrong. He saw the way you avoided Harry’s gaze, the way you stiffened whenever he entered a room, the way you now treated him with a cold formality that was so unlike you.

One afternoon, after a particularly tense meeting where you had barely acknowledged Harry’s presence, Merlin decided it was time to confront him. He found Harry in the training room, where he was taking out his frustrations on a punching bag, his movements sharp and aggressive, each punch landing with a force that betrayed the turmoil inside him.

“Harry,” Merlin called out, his voice steady but laced with concern as he approached. Harry didn’t stop, didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on the bag in front of him. But Merlin wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Harry!” Merlin’s voice was firmer this time, and finally, Harry stopped, his chest heaving with exertion as he turned to face his old friend.

“What is it, Merlin?” Harry’s tone was clipped, his expression hard as he grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering as he studied Harry. “Something’s going on between you and Gawain. What the hell happened?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing at the mention of your name. “Nothing that concerns you, Merlin.”

“Bollocks,” Merlin shot back, not missing a beat. “It concerns all of us when two of our best agents can’t even look at each other, let alone work together. I’ve known you for too long, Harry. You don’t just snap at people like that for no reason. What did you do?"

Harry turned away, his shoulders tense as he tried to brush off the conversation. “It’s nothing. Just leave it alone.”

But Merlin wasn’t having it. He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he pressed on. “Did you hurt her, Harry? Did you push her away?”

Harry’s frustration flared as Merlin’s words struck a nerve. The accusation, the implication that he had done something wrong, only added to the boiling anger that had been simmering within him since that disastrous mission. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he stared at Merlin, his mind racing with the injustice of it all.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Harry snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. “Why not Gawain? Why am I the one to blame here?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, his expression unyielding as he met Harry’s gaze. “Because we both know that Gawain would never willingly hurt you, Harry. The girl worships the ground you walk on. She hangs on your every word, looks at you like you hung the stars. Hell, some of the other agents have even gotten a bit jealous of the way she treats you, the attention you receive. And you—”

“I didn’t ask for any of that,” Harry interrupted, his tone defensive as he turned away, trying to escape the weight of Merlin’s words. But the truth of them clung to him, gnawing at the edges of his conscience. He knew how you looked at him, the admiration in your eyes, the way you would brighten whenever he entered a room. It had been both flattering and overwhelming, but he had always tried to maintain a professional distance, to keep things strictly business between the two of you.

But now, as Merlin’s words sank in, he realized just how much he had come to rely on that admiration, on the warmth and light you brought into his life. And now that it was gone, the absence of it left him feeling hollow, like something vital had been stripped away.

Merlin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gentler tone as he pressed on. “Harry, what did you say to her? Whatever it was, it broke her. She’s not the same. She barely looks at you, barely acknowledges you. You’ve hurt her deeply, and I can see it’s eating away at you too. So, what did you do?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, the memories of that night in the safehouse flooding back—the anger, the frustration, the venom he had unleashed on you in a moment of weakness. He had said things he didn’t mean, used your feelings against you in the cruelest way possible, all because he couldn’t handle his own emotions, his own failure.

But now, you were paying the price for his mistakes, and it tore him apart.

“I… I was angry,” Harry admitted, his voice thick with regret as he finally turned to face Merlin again, the anguish evident in his eyes. “I said things I shouldn’t have, things I didn’t mean. I pushed her away, Merlin. I broke her.”

Merlin’s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Then you need to fix it, Harry. You need to make this right.”

“How?” Harry’s voice cracked with the weight of his guilt, his brown eyes filled with a desperation that Merlin hadn’t seen in him before. “She won’t even look at me now, won’t acknowledge that I exist. She’s gone cold, Merlin. And I deserve it. But I don’t know how to reach her, how to make her see that I—”

“That you what?” Merlin prompted gently, his gaze steady as he watched his old friend struggle with the words.

Harry swallowed hard, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. “That I care about her. That I miss her. Damn it, Merlin, I miss her so much it hurts.”

Merlin nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. “Then you need to tell her that, Harry. You need to show her that you’re willing to crawl back, to earn her forgiveness. Because right now, she doesn’t think you care. And if you don’t do something soon, she might not give you the chance to prove otherwise.”

Harry’s heart sank at the truth of Merlin’s words. He had pushed you away, shattered the trust and admiration you had held for him, and now he was faced with the impossible task of mending what he had broken. The thought of you, the way you used to joke and laugh, your infectious smile that had always brightened his day, now replaced with cold indifference—it was unbearable.

And yet, you had every right to treat him that way. After all, he had been the one to throw your feelings back in your face, to reduce you to nothing more than a distraction. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, suffocating him with guilt and regret.

For days, he tried to find the courage to approach you, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. But every time he saw you—sitting quietly in the briefing room, your eyes avoiding his, your smile reserved for everyone but him—the words would die in his throat. He had hurt you too deeply, and now, it seemed, you had built a wall between you, one that he didn’t know how to break through.

And so, he began to retreat, letting the shame and guilt consume him, until one day, when he found himself standing outside your door, his heart pounding in his chest. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say a thousand times, but as he stood there, the words seemed inadequate, insufficient to convey the depth of his regret, his longing to make things right.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly, his heart in his throat as he waited for you to answer. When the door finally opened, and you stood there, looking up at him with that same cold, distant expression that had haunted him for weeks, his resolve nearly crumbled.

But he couldn’t back down now. He had to try.

“Gawain,” Harry began, his voice rough with emotion as he looked into your eyes, hoping—praying—that he could find a way to reach you. “I need to talk to you. Please… can we talk?”

You looked at Harry for a moment, your expression unreadable as you stood in the doorway, your hand resting on the handle of your suitcase. The sight of him standing there, his posture slightly slumped, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and desperation, stirred something deep within you, but you quickly squashed it down, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected you.

"Make it quick, Galahad," you said, your voice cool, almost detached, as you turned back into the room, leaving the door open behind you. You didn’t wait for him to follow you, moving to the small desk in the corner of the office and beginning to gather the last of your things. The room was a fraction of the size of Harry’s own office in the Kingsman mansion, but it had been yours—a space where you could work, think, and be alone when you needed to.

Harry entered the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stood awkwardly near the doorway, his eyes scanning the space as if seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t the first time he had been in your office, but it was the first time he had really paid attention to the place—the small, tidy desk, the bookshelf lined with mission files and personal mementos, the single chair tucked neatly into the corner. It was all so much like you—efficient, organized, but with a touch of warmth that had always drawn him in, even if he hadn’t realized it before.

You continued to sort through the papers on your desk, your movements precise and deliberate, as if you were trying to keep yourself busy, to avoid looking at him. "What do you want, Galahad?" you asked, your tone flat, as if you were asking about the weather.

Harry hesitated, the words he had rehearsed in his mind suddenly feeling inadequate, but he knew he couldn’t back down now. He had to make this right, even if you wouldn’t let him.

"I wanted to apologize," Harry said finally, his voice soft, almost tentative, as he took a step closer. He tried to keep his tone measured, his words carefully chosen, but the anguish in his heart made it hard to maintain the stoic façade he usually wore so effortlessly. "For what I said… that day. I was angry—furious, really—and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve it, Gawain. None of it."

You didn’t look up, your hands continuing to move through the papers, straightening them, placing them in neat piles, as if you hadn’t heard him at all. Your silence, your indifference, was like a knife twisting in his chest, but he pressed on, desperate to make you understand.

"I know I hurt you," Harry continued, his voice trembling slightly as he forced himself to keep going. "And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gawain. I never should have said those things, and I—"

"It’s fine, Galahad," you interrupted, your tone clipped, as you set down the papers and finally turned to face him. There was no warmth in your eyes, no trace of the affection that had once been there, and it made Harry’s heart ache. "It’s in the past. Let’s just… leave it there."

Harry felt his chest tighten at your words, at the cold, distant way you dismissed him, as if everything he had just said meant nothing. He had expected anger, or maybe even tears, but not this—this cold indifference that made him feel like he was talking to a stranger.

"But it’s not fine," Harry said, his voice growing more urgent, more desperate, as he took another step toward you. "It’s not in the past, Gawain. I see the way you look at me now—the way you don’t look at me. You’ve shut me out, and I can’t… I can’t bear it. I miss you. I miss your jokes, your smile, the way you light up every room you enter. I miss the way you used to look at me, with that admiration in your eyes. I miss you, Gawain. And I’m sorry—"

"Enough," you cut him off again, your voice firm as you held up a hand to stop him. You didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to let him back in, didn’t want to let yourself feel the pain that his words were stirring up inside you. You had spent weeks building up these walls, weeks trying to protect yourself from the hurt he had caused, and you weren’t going to let him tear them down now.

"It’s done, Harry," you said, your voice steady but devoid of emotion as you looked him in the eye. "You said what you needed to say, and I’ve heard it. But I’m not going to pretend that things can just go back to the way they were. You made it very clear that I’m nothing more than a distraction to you, and I’ve accepted that. So let’s just move on."

Harry looked at the ground, his mind swirling with emotions he couldn't quite name. He had come here to make amends, to try and salvage what he could of your relationship, but now, faced with your cold indifference, he found himself at a loss. The warmth, the light that had once radiated from you, was gone, replaced by a wall of icy detachment that he didn't know how to penetrate. It was as if the person who had always been by his side, supporting him with your jokes and infectious laughter, had disappeared, leaving only a hollow shell in their place.

For a moment, Harry considered pressing further, considered trying one last time to break through the barrier you had put up between you. But the words caught in his throat, the weight of your rejection pressing down on him like a physical force. He couldn't bear the thought of humiliating himself further, of begging for forgiveness that you seemed unwilling to give.

So, he did what he always did when faced with emotions too complex to handle—he suppressed them. With a deep breath, Harry forced his features into a mask of indifference, schooling his expression into the stoic, unflappable demeanor that had become his trademark. He had tried to make things right, and if you couldn't accept his apology, then that was your problem, not his.

"Very well," Harry said, his voice cool, detached, as he looked up at you with an expression that betrayed none of the turmoil he felt inside. "I hope this... unfortunate conflict won't affect our ability to work together in the future."

You snorted at his words, a sound that was equal parts derision and disbelief. The sound grated on Harry's nerves, but he kept his composure, refusing to let you see how much it affected him. If this was how you wanted to play it, then so be it.

Without another word, Harry turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his steps measured and controlled. But as he reached the doorway, something inside him snapped, a flicker of the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface. He pushed the door closed behind him with more force than he intended, the sharp click of the latch echoing through the room.

Fine, he thought bitterly as he stalked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence. If you wanted to shut him out, then he would let you. He wouldn't humiliate himself further by groveling at your feet, by begging for something that clearly wasn't there anymore. He had his pride, after all, and he wasn't about to let it be trampled on by someone who had decided he was nothing more than a distraction.

He had tried to apologize, had swallowed his pride and admitted his faults. If you couldn't see past your own hurt to forgive him, then perhaps you weren't as mature as he had once thought. Perhaps you were still nothing more than a child, clinging to a fantasy that would never come true.

Harry's thoughts grew darker as he made his way through the corridors of the mansion, his mind racing with a mix of frustration and regret. He couldn't shake the image of your cold, distant eyes, the way you had dismissed him as if he meant nothing. It stung, more than he cared to admit, but he refused to let it show. He was Harry Hart, after all—Agent Galahad. He had faced down enemies far more dangerous than this, had endured pain far worse than the sting of a broken heart. He would survive this, just as he had survived everything else.

The next morning, Harry arrived at the training facility, his usual impeccable composure firmly in place. The early hours were always reserved for physical training, and today was no different. The large, open space was already buzzing with activity as agents honed their skills under Merlin’s watchful eye.

Harry forced himself to focus on the task at hand, determined to push the previous day’s events out of his mind. He needed to regain control, to reassert his dominance as one of the top agents in Kingsman. But as soon as he walked into the training area, his eyes found you, and all his resolve crumbled.

You were sparring with James, the current Lancelot, and to Harry’s irritation, the two of you seemed to be enjoying yourselves far too much. James was a notorious flirt, a man who had always tried his luck with the female agents, but until now, you had never reciprocated. Yet here you were, laughing at something he said, your eyes bright with amusement as you effortlessly blocked one of his punches.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold, his chest tightening with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had no right to feel this way—not after what he had said to you, not after pushing you away so cruelly. But the sight of James flirting with you, and worse, the way you seemed to be responding to it, sent a wave of jealousy crashing through him.

He tried to focus on his own training, to throw himself into the exercises with the same intensity he usually did, but his eyes kept drifting back to you and James. Every time he saw you smile at him, every time he heard you laugh at one of his stupid jokes, Harry felt his blood pressure rise.

James was relentless, his flirting becoming more blatant with each passing minute. At one point, he leaned in close, his hand brushing against your arm as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. The sound, once so sweet to Harry’s ears, now grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Harry’s fists clenched as he watched James step back, a cocky grin on his face as he squared off against you again. The two of you moved in a graceful, almost choreographed dance, your bodies in perfect sync as you sparred. But it wasn’t the skillful movements or the precision of your strikes that caught Harry’s attention—it was the way you were looking at James, the way your eyes sparkled with something more than just amusement.

The irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface all morning finally bubbled over. Harry’s punches became more aggressive, his movements sharp and jerky as he tried to burn off the anger coursing through him. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge the jealousy that was eating away at him, but he couldn’t deny the truth.

He was angry. Angry at James for flirting with you, angry at you for reciprocating, but most of all, angry at himself for pushing you away in the first place. This was his fault—he had driven you to this, driven you into the arms of another man. And now, he was paying the price.

Harry knew he had no right to feel this way, knew that he had forfeited any claim to you the moment he had spoken those cruel words. But that didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him, from making his blood boil every time he saw you smile at James.

"Nice form, Galahad," Merlin’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts, jolting him back to reality. The older man was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the training session. His sharp eyes took in every detail, missing nothing.

Harry nodded curtly, forcing himself to focus. "Thank you, Merlin," he replied, his voice clipped as he delivered another precise punch to the training dummy. But his mind wasn’t on his training—it was on you, and the way you were still laughing with James.

Merlin’s gaze followed Harry’s line of sight, and he raised an eyebrow as he noticed the interaction between you and Lancelot. A knowing look passed over his face, and he let out a quiet sigh. "You’ve got work to do, Harry," he said quietly, his voice laced with sympathy. "She’s not going to forgive you easily. You’ll have to crawl a lot to earn her trust back."

Harry attacked the training dummy with renewed aggression, his fists slamming into the padded target with a force that was almost reckless. He barely heard Merlin’s sigh of exasperation as he muttered to himself, his words laced with bitterness. “I’m done, Merlin. I apologized last night. I did what I could. If she wants to ignore me, so be it. I’m not chasing after her anymore.”

Merlin shook his head, clearly irritated by Harry’s stubbornness. “You’re acting like a damn teenager, Harry,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he watched his old friend take out his frustration on the inanimate target. “You care about her, and she cares about you. But you’ve got to stop being so bloody proud and actually talk to her, not just throw apologies at her feet and expect her to come running.”

Harry didn’t respond, his focus on the training dummy, his knuckles turning white as he continued to land blow after blow. The truth in Merlin’s words stung, but he was too angry, too frustrated to admit it. He had tried—he had swallowed his pride, bared his soul, and all he got in return was cold indifference. What more was he supposed to do?

Suddenly, a sound drew their attention, and both men turned to see you and James in the midst of what appeared to be a playful tussle. James was lying flat on the mat, a wide grin on his face, while you straddled him, your hands pinning his wrists to the ground. The sight made Harry’s stomach twist with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge—jealousy, burning and raw.

James, never one to miss an opportunity, chuckled up at you, his voice low and teasing. “I’ve always loved a woman who knows how to take control,” he said, a playful gleam in his eye. His words earned a laugh from you, the sound light and genuine, and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you released his wrists and helped him to his feet.

“Is that so, Lancelot?” you quipped, a teasing smile on your lips. “You might want to be careful with that kind of talk. You never know when someone might take you seriously.”

James flashed you a grin, clearly enjoying the banter. “With you, Gawain, I’d gladly take my chances.”

Harry scoffed under his breath, turning his back on the scene, his eyes narrowing as he resumed his assault on the training dummy. “Isn’t James a little too old for you?” he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He landed a particularly vicious punch, the force of it making the dummy sway. “For the love of God…”

Merlin, still standing nearby, couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice as he observed Harry’s childish behavior. “You’re really going to stand there and sulk while she’s right there, laughing and having a good time? Maybe if you stopped being so bloody stubborn, you’d realize that she’s still the same woman you’ve always admired—she’s just hurting.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pounding of his fists against the dummy. He couldn’t let go of the anger, the bitterness that clung to him like a second skin. He had tried to make amends, and you had brushed him off. What was he supposed to do—grovel?

Across the room, James glanced over at Harry, his expression thoughtful as he caught the tension in his old friend’s posture. He knew Harry well enough to recognize when he was struggling with something, and he also knew that this tension between Harry and you wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

James leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, if you really want to get under Harry’s skin, you should keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what exactly am I doing, Lancelot?”

James smirked, glancing over at Harry’s back, which was still turned to the both of you. “You’re driving him absolutely mad. I think he’s seconds away from ripping that dummy to shreds.”

You chuckled, though there was a hint of sadness in your eyes. “I’m not trying to drive him mad, James. I’m just… I’m tired of feeling like I’m chasing after something that’s never going to happen.”

James softened at your words, his teasing demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Gawain, Harry’s a stubborn bastard, we both know that. But he cares about you. He just doesn’t know how to show it, especially when he’s hurt you the way he has.”

You sighed, glancing over at Harry’s back, your expression conflicted. “I don’t know, James. It’s just… it’s been hard, you know? I thought we had something, and then he just—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you tried to push the painful memories aside.

James placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Give him time. He’s not the best at dealing with his emotions, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. He cares, Gawain. He just needs to pull his head out of his arse long enough to admit it.”

You gave him a small, grateful smile, but the sadness in your eyes remained. “Thanks, James. But I’m not holding my breath.”

As you turned back to your training, Merlin approached Harry, who was still pounding away at the dummy with unrelenting force. “You know,” Merlin said, his tone mild but pointed, “if you keep pretending you don’t care, you’re going to lose her. And judging by the way you’re acting, I’d say that’s the last thing you want.”

Harry paused, his fists hovering in mid-air as Merlin’s words sank in. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of you and James, still chatting and laughing together, and a wave of frustration and helplessness washed over him. Merlin was right, of course. He was acting like a fool, letting his pride and anger cloud his judgment. But admitting that—admitting that he had been wrong, that he needed you—wasn’t something Harry was used to. He had built his life on control, on maintaining a calm, collected façade, and now that it was slipping, he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Maybe she’s better off without me,” Harry muttered, more to himself than to Merlin. “I’ve already caused her enough pain.”

Merlin let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’ve both caused each other pain, Harry. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You just need to stop being so damn stubborn and talk to her. Really talk to her.”

Harry didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the training dummy, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, on the way you had smiled at James, on the way his words had made you laugh. The thought of you moving on, of finding happiness with someone else, sent a fresh stab of jealousy through him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you deserved better. Better than a man who had pushed you away, better than someone who had let his pride get in the way of something real.

But as he watched you from across the room, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late—if he had already lost you to the easy charm of someone like James, someone who could make you laugh without the baggage that Harry carried.

And as he turned back to the training dummy, his fists clenched at his sides, Harry couldn’t help but curse himself for being so blind.

After James finished his workout, he gave you a warm smile, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. "Good work today, Gawain," he said, his tone light but sincere. "If you ever get tired of Galahad’s grumpiness, you know where to find me." He winked, his flirtatious nature coming through even in his goodbyes.

You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. "I’ll keep that in mind, Lancelot. See you around." With that, James headed toward the showers, leaving you alone in the training room, your mind still spinning from the morning’s events.

You turned back to your equipment, trying to focus on packing up, but you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was; the air seemed to shift when Harry was near, and the tension between you was almost palpable. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was coming.

Harry wasted no time in approaching you, trying to appear casual and nonchalant, but the set of his shoulders and the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. He was nervous, though he would never admit it. "Gawain," he began, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of something deeper. "Mind if we train together for a bit? I could use the workout, and it’s been a while since we’ve sparred."

You hesitated, your first instinct was to refuse. After everything that had happened, you weren’t sure you were ready to spend time alone with him, not when the wounds were still so fresh. But another part of you, the part that knew you couldn’t ignore Harry forever, reminded you that this was bound to happen eventually. The two of you were partners, after all, and sooner or later, you’d have to learn how to work together again.

With a slight nod, you agreed. "Sure, Galahad. Let’s do it." Your voice was calm, but you couldn’t hide the slight tremor in it, nor the way your heart raced at the prospect of being so close to him again.

Harry’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—relief, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of the old warmth that used to be there before everything had gone so wrong. "Great," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Let’s start with some hand-to-hand."

You both moved to the center of the mat, assuming your stances. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief pause where neither of you moved, as if you were both waiting for the other to make the first move, not just in the sparring match but in the fragile reconciliation that lay just beneath the surface.

Then, as if by mutual agreement, you both lunged at the same time. The first few exchanges were cautious, testing the waters, feeling out each other’s rhythm. But as the sparring session continued, the tension began to melt away, replaced by the familiar push and pull of two well-matched partners.

It was almost easy to fall back into the rhythm, to let muscle memory take over, and for a while, it felt like old times. Harry’s movements were precise, controlled, but there was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in weeks. He was pushing you, challenging you, and you met him move for move, refusing to back down.

But there was something different, too—a simmering undercurrent of tension that hadn’t been there before. Every brush of his hand against yours, every time he managed to pin you, every time you escaped his grasp, it all felt charged, electric, like there was something more beneath the surface that neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge.

At one point, Harry managed to get you into a hold, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck, the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His grip on you was firm, but not painful, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, made your breath catch in your throat.

"Not bad," Harry murmured in your ear, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to take me down."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips, the sound breathless and a little shaky. "I’m just getting started," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way your heart was pounding made it difficult.

With a sudden burst of energy, you twisted in his grip, using his own momentum against him to break free. Harry grunted in surprise, but he recovered quickly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted his stance. "Impressive," he said, his tone both teasing and admiring. "You’ve definitely gotten stronger."

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but the compliment sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. "I’ve had a good teacher," you replied, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The moment they left your mouth, you felt a pang of regret, worried that you had said too much, revealed too much.

Harry’s eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something more serious, more intense. "I’m glad to hear that," he said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that small space, connected by something neither of you fully understood.

The sparring match continued, but the mood had shifted. The movements were more fluid now, more synchronized, as if the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that was all your own. There was still the push and pull, the challenge of trying to outmaneuver each other, but there was also something else—a closeness, an intimacy that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before.

At one point, you managed to get the upper hand, pinning Harry to the mat, your knees on either side of his hips as you held him down. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, and for a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"You’ve got me," Harry murmured, his voice low and rough, the words sending a shiver down your spine. "But the question is, what are you going to do with me?"

The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on you, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your heart racing as you tried to figure out how to respond. But before you could say anything, Harry shifted beneath you, using his strength to flip you onto your back, reversing the position so that he was the one pinning you.

His body was pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the way his chest heaved with each breath, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, was almost overwhelming.

"I’ve got you now," Harry said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, his brown eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "What are you going to do about it, Gawain?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts, none of which made any sense. There was a part of you that wanted to push him away, to put distance between you, to protect yourself from the confusion, the hurt that still lingered from everything that had happened.

But there was another part of you, a part that you had been trying to ignore for weeks, that wanted nothing more than to close the gap between you, to give in to the tension that had been building between you for so long. You could see it in his eyes, the way he was looking at you, like he was waiting for something, like he wanted to see what you would do next.

Your breathing quickened, your pulse racing as you considered your options. You could push him away, keep things professional, pretend that nothing had changed. Or you could do something reckless, something that could change everything between you.

As you lay there, pinned beneath Harry, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the weight of his gaze holding you in place, a surge of emotions flooded through you—desire, confusion, and something else, something darker. The closeness between you was almost suffocating, the intensity of the moment making it hard to think clearly. For a brief second, you considered giving in, letting yourself get lost in the moment, in the way Harry was looking at you, like you were the only person in the world.

But then, as if a switch had been flipped, the memory of his cruel words, the way he had mocked your feelings, throwing them back in your face like they meant nothing, came rushing back. The pain, the humiliation, the anger—it all hit you like a tidal wave, dousing the spark of desire that had ignited within you.

Suddenly, the weight of Harry’s body wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating. The intensity of his gaze wasn’t exciting—it was oppressive. The closeness between you wasn’t something to savor—it was something to escape.

With a sharp push, you shoved Harry back, forcing him off of you. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that Harry nearly lost his balance, his eyes widening in surprise as he scrambled to regain his footing. The look in his eyes was one of shock, confusion, and maybe even a touch of hurt, but you didn’t care. The anger, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface since that day in the safehouse had finally boiled over, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

"You win, Galahad," you said, your voice cold, distant, as you pushed yourself up off the mat. The words were sharp, cutting, meant to put distance between you, to remind him that this was just a training exercise, that whatever had happened between you before meant nothing now. "Thank you for the training."

The formal tone in your voice, the way you addressed him by his title rather than his name, made it clear that you were done—done with whatever this was, done with him. You weren’t going to let him hurt you again, weren’t going to let him use your feelings against you.

Harry watched you in silence, his expression unreadable, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his fists clenched at his sides, as if he was holding back something—words, emotions, you weren’t sure. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t let yourself care.

Without another word, you turned and walked over to where your bottle of water sat on a nearby bench. You grabbed it, taking a long drink, letting the cool liquid soothe the fire in your chest, the anger that still burned hotly within you. You didn’t look back at Harry, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt, the frustration that still lingered in your eyes.

When you finally turned around, bottle in hand, Harry was still standing there, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, detached, as if he were just another agent, just another colleague.

"Goodbye, Galahad," you said, your voice cool and professional as you nodded at him, the formal tone making it clear that this was the end of the conversation. Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out of the training room, your steps measured and controlled, your heart pounding in your chest.

Harry stood there, watching you go, the tension in his body palpable, the regret and frustration clear in his eyes. He knew he had messed up—knew that he had hurt you, driven you away, and now, he was paying the price. He had tried to make things right, tried to bridge the gap between you, but it was clear that he had a long way to go before you would even consider forgiving him.

As the door closed behind you, Harry let out a low, frustrated growl, his fists clenching at his sides. He had underestimated just how deeply he had hurt you, how much damage his words had done. And now, he was left standing there, alone, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a physical burden.

He knew he had a long road ahead of him if he ever wanted to earn your forgiveness, if he ever wanted to see that light, that warmth, in your eyes again. And as he stood there, his heart heavy with regret, he realized that he would have to work harder than he ever had before.

Because losing you—truly losing you—was something he couldn’t bear.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

As soon as the papers were signed for new consignment delivery and the ink was dry on the paper, Tommy decided to throw a curveball, to get to know his elusive new business partner.

“Grace is throwing a party for some charity. She asked me to invite you and your wife.” Tommy said carelessly.

“Party…?” Reuben asked in confusion, he had never mixed business with pleasure or even family.

“Don’t you Americans have over the top exuberant parties?” Tommy taunted the former soldier.

“We do, but I don’t believe in getting my family involved with the people I do my business with…” Reuben tried to reject the offer as politely as he could.

But little did he know, Thomas Shelby was not going to give it up so easily.

“It is a charity ball for orphaned kids nothing dangerous, I’m sure your Mrs can handle one night with the Shelbys” Tommy cajoled.

“Mr. Shelby, I don’t mix my work with my personal life. It is better that way and I certainly do not involve my wife in anything related to this side of my business.” Rueben tried to argue his way out this predicament.

“It is not going to be anything illegal or even borderline illegal, I have promised Grace that I will do no shady dealings at the ball.” Tommy reiterated.

“I really don’t mix my business and personal life and I would like to keep it that way.” Rueben did not budge. 

Tommy lit a cigarette, giving himself time to think of any other way of getting insight into Rueben’s life, any pressure point that can be exploited if needed. Tommy’s other attempts had been in vain; soldiers in Rueben’s rank had been tight-lipped about everything, something he admired about Rueben and his tightly reigned empire.

Tommy took out the invite from his drawer and handed it to Rueben as a last resort.

“Take this, will you, I don’t want Grace finding it here. I will tell her you are busy” Tommy added defeatedly.

Rueben pocketed the invite not wanting to further prolong the conversation with the king of Birmingham.

Ruben got up and held out his hand to shake Tommy’s to read his temperament. Tommy shook Rueben’s hand with mild annoyance, annoyance that he hadn’t been able to pierce the armor around Fitch and his gang.

Rueben gave Tommy his charming smile, he was relieved that Tommy dropped the subject.  He was never going to let his two worlds mix. You were too precious for him to be tainted with what his not-so-legal life is filled with, the grotesque violence, the depravity, the drugs among other things.

Tommy decided that he needed to find another way to find any weak spot in Rueben’s Gang.

What he did not expect was for Grace to get Rueben to the ball.

When he saw Rueben at the ball, he was astonished…Apparently, Grace had run into the loving couple at the marketplace and somehow convinced Rueben’s wife to come to the ball. Tommy could not describe the feeling when he saw you for the first time…There you were looking glorious and innocent like a princess in a purple dress. He gulped visibly, he now understood why Rueben kept you away.

[bloodlust-1]

༻ 3 Nights ༺ part 1

Gortash x fem Tav — mini series Explicit 18+

Summary: Gortash invites Tav to stay 3 days at his palace for the sake of an alliance. Reluctantly, she compromises for peace and it becomes an experience they won’t forget.

T/W: language, manipulation, blood

Notes: okay. Yes, he’s been my new obsession so I had to write something up. This is a bit of a long one, I’m planning to do a few parts in total. Enjoy ;)

Tav arrived at the tyrant’s palace, and she couldn’t shake off the feeling of foreboding that settled in the pit of her stomach.

Arguably, this could be the stupidest thing Tav’s ever done. To agree and comply with Gortash for the sake of an alliance for some sort of peace.

This alliance was just for the time being, of course, Tav was way too ahead of her plans to betray him when the time came. To seal the alliance, Gortash requested Tav to stay 3 days with him. Not a hard task but it made Tav extremely suspicious of him to even request such a thing.

Tav only agreed to see if she could infiltrate any plans stashed away in his office. This could totally be a one-up in the game for her. But for now…Tav forced her shoulders high with a brave feeling in her chest, and she barged right into his palace doors.

Tav was quickly met with metal steel watchers, and they instantly alerted their attention to her, “Lord Gortash has been waiting for you. Meet him upstairs in the main room, he won't ask twice.”

She rolled her eyes and swatted away the watchers. She didn't need an invitation and she sure as hell didn't need to listen to Gortash's orders. She did as she pleased, and with that, she made her way to his quarters. Making a few stops to peer into different doors here and there.

As Tav continued to his quarters she was met with a pair of dark eyes. Gortash's cold, calculating eyes seemed to pierce through her as he welcomed her to his palace. Despite his courteous demeanor, Tav could sense the aura of ruthlessness that surrounded him.

"My favorite little hero is finally here. Come in, make yourself comfortable." His words were laced with veiled threats, and she realized that he pulled out a chair for her.

Tav walked into the room, crossed her arms, and refused to sit, "I hope you have some better guest adequate considering you weren't there to greet me at the palace door. Just remember this whole —" She waved her hands around, "Thing going on is not for fun and games."

Tav despised Gortash for his cruelty and oppression, yet she knew that aligning with him was crucial for achieving her own goals. Her conscience wrestled with the moral implications of her actions, and she found herself questioning whether the ends justified the means.

Gortash's lips tugged into a smile, "Dear, this is so we can trust each other. An alliance is what you want, isn't it? We should trust one another if that's to happen."

His eyes lingered around Tav's body. It admittingly made her a bit uncomfortable although her armour did leave a lot to be desired. "Really? Armor darling. " He clicked his teeth and shook his head, "This is my home, not a battlefield."

He yelled out for a servant, who came scurrying into his quarters, "Please give our guest some proper clothing. She will be staying a couple nights here. She is to look like a proper lady before dinner. Now, go."

Tav's eyebrows furrowed as his cruel words hissed at her, "Excuse me? A 'proper lady'? That's a hunk of bullshit!" She snapped back at Gortash, who quickly ignored her by leaving the room with an amused smug on his face.

"Come, my lady, let's get you cleaned up." Tav was still on guard, but she agreed to give the servant an easy time. So, she followed her into a bedroom attached to a lavish bathroom. A marbled tub ran with warm water that was adorned with many soaps and rose petals.

Gods, when was the last time Tav enjoyed a bath?

The air was filled with the delicate scent of flowers, and Tav undressed her armor, letting it fall onto the carpet. She stepped into the warm embrace of the water and cleansed herself of any traveler grim. The soaps soaked into her skin, leaving Tav smelling divine.

After her bath, there was a set of clothes laid on the edge of the bed. Tav tried on the white dress, with golden embroidering and frilled sleeves. There was also a black corset to pull the whole outfit together. Tav felt beautiful yet uncomfortable.

The same servant walked into the room with a hairbrush and pins, "Allow me to pin your hair, my lady."

Some time had gone by before Tav was deemed "acceptable" to sit with Gortash for dinner. She thought it was absolutely ridiculous, and these days may go by slower than she thought.

Her heels clicked against the palace floor as she made her way into the dining room. When the doors opened, there he was. Those same dark eyes piercing her own.

The long dining table was set with fine china, crystal glassware, and flickering candlelight. Tav's gown shimmered in the soft glow of the room, and she purposely took her seat at the far end of Gortash.

Tav pulled out the seat and purposely plucked herself onto the chair. She looked the part but certainly didn't act like it.

Gortash’s eyebrows curved into a questionable look. He brought his elbows onto the table, bringing his fists to rest against his mouth. There was a long silent pause, he peered at Tav trying to get a good read on her.

"Let us get to know each other, hm?" He brought his hands away from his face and picked up a glass of wine instead to sip.

Tav hunched over the table, her hands balled into fists. She gave him a threatening stare, "Gortash, Did you not hear me earlier? I am not here for fun and games, so whatever it is you're trying to do — stop it."

He snickered, damn was this amusing for him. He had never met anyone who just waltzed their way into his palace to pick a fight. She was a nobody. Gortash, he was somebody. Yet she came to him with confidence, an alliance, and now she's here in his home. How entertaining was this whole debacle? He wanted to push her as much as he could. It was all a manipulation tactic to see how far he could go.

"Enver— Call me Enver for the next 2 days. But like I stated, let's get to know each other, little hero. I'd love to hear about your background." His head tilted with a mischievous smile on his face.

"That's none of your concern." Tav spat out harshly, with a threatening glare. They were both testing each other.

The air was still and tense, and Gortash's presence dominated the area. His evil smile radiated a chill throughout the room. "Isn't it? I am lord now, and I want all my baldurians to be considered. Especially my most favorite citizen."

He reached out his hand, the tips of his fingers adorned with the sharp glove that pointed into hooks. "I'd love to hear about that pathetic fucking camp you have right outside the city. A shame it would be if something were to happen while their leader's gone."

"What...How did you —"

He spoke with command, "See, that's something I learned about you. When you care to get to know someone, these things come easy. But please, you're welcome to search this whole palace all you want. Maybe you'll find something about me worth learning."

"Okay, I'll humor you— but first, we need to lay some ground rules. If you respect my rules, I'll respect yours. "

"I’m listening, Tav."

A chill ran down her spine when he spoke her name. It cringed her and only made her rules more needed, " 1: You will not hurt my camp, 2: You will not try to attack me, and 3: I will roam freely where I please."

"Yes, yes, and yes, you have my word." He nodded in agreement. The room was tense at this point, but he still locked eyes with Tav. Her beauty was one he saw in paintings, and she was free to his viewing pleasure. A thought crept into his mind: what if she was mine? An interesting thought indeed. He cleared his throat, "Tell me about yourself."

Throughout the meal, the conversation between them was polite but strained. Tav struggled to maintain her composure, her uncertainty about Gortash's intentions gnawing at her. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was walking on thin ice, unsure of what might be his true motive.

Despite her unease, Tav maintained a facade of politeness, engaging in small talk and lurking eyes on one another. She would look away each time she caught herself staring at his exposed chest. It angered her even more that Gortash was attractive. Only when he spoke would his image crumble for her.

As the evening wore on, she found herself carefully measuring her words and actions, acutely aware of the potential consequences of missteps in this precarious situation.

~

After dinner, Tav wandered around the palace. By this time, the sun had set and the palace went dark. Only a few candles lit the room, barely reaching its light out to see clearly. Tav kept a pocket knife on her hidden in the folds of her clothes.

She grabbed a candle stick and began to investigate the rooms. There were many rooms, a lot of them were untouched. Tav thought he must've been very lonely in these walls. instantly she shook her head, she did not want to pity him. After all, he's the villain.

Tav found herself standing in a room aligned with many books and a single desk inside. It appeared to be a study, and she waved her candle around the room. A fresh painting hung on the wall: a portrait of Gortash.

Tav studied the art, and it was a very well drawing of him. It even captured how deep his jacket cut, exposing the hair on his chest. She only knew this by how hard she was staring at it at dinner. Her eyes scanned his face, examining the scars on his jaw that she hadn't noticed.

A handsome man he was, truly.

Tav stepped back from the picture, she was looking for any signs of any importance. The desk was littered with folders, papers, and crumbled notes. She settled the candle on a stand as her fingers sorted out the piles of paper.

Most of what she read was events that already happened from Moonrise. Tav placed the pile down and reached out for one of the crumbled letters. It was a letter about her. Surprisingly, there were people already sending Gortash news about her even before the takedown of Ketherick.

He truly had eyes everywhere.

As her eyes lingered on the note there was a huge knocking noise. Her head shot up and was matched with Gortash’s presence. His broad physic leaned against the door way, his arms crossed and he looked at Tav questionably.

“Well— did you find anything worth learning?” His eyes were cold, his demeanor felt off, and he was already making his way towards her before words could come out.

Tav shot the letter away from her face, “You knew about me this whole time… what’s the point of this? I know my reasonings for an alliance but what’s yours?” There had been tension between them all day and enough was enough. She needed to know his intentions before she stupidly fell into his game.

Gortash grabbed Tav’s chin firmly, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were filled with a mix of desire and control as he attempted to assert his dominance over her.

Tav's expression remained resolute, refusing to succumb to his intimidation.

She struggled against his hold, refusing to show any sign of submission. Gortash’s grip on her chin tightened. Despite his forceful demeanor, Tav met his gaze with unwavering strength, silently challenging his authority.

“Power, of course. I need you and you need me, so I’ll play nice.” His voice became low, “Only cause I tolerate you.” He forcibly tilted her face as his eyes traced the contours of Tav's face. “You are one fine specimen.”

Tav’s eyes went wide and her face went pale. Did they actually find each other attractive? Gortash continued to speak, “I’ll give you something to imagine: A kingdom loyal to their court. A king and queen sat next to each other as everyone bowed to them. Their power: unmatched. Their strength: untouchable. Their bond: unbreakable. Are you painting this picture? This could be you and I. My equal and my right hand.” The warmth of his breath hit against her skin. She was still under his hold and a rush of warmth hit her body. Her knees buckled and her face grew red. What in the hells was she thinking?!

Tav's heart started to race under his touch. He physically towered over her and his face was undeniably closer to her face than ever. Tav stared at him with defiance but her body language went against her will.

He was just another man under all this drama, and his intimidation felt almost….sensual? It was a mix of emotions she never felt.

“You can let go of my face now.”

With a swift motion, the claw of his glove snagged a small cut on her cheek. Tav winced and used all her force to push him away. She palmed her face, and the slick had already started to drip down her jaw.

Tav's adrenaline kicked in as she pulled the pocket knife out, charging at him with a shove. The blade sunk into the nape of his neck as Tav's body pinned his closely against hers on a wall.

Her eyes raged as she looked into his gaze from the dimmed light. Just as he did, she swiped her knife against his skin. Only enough to create a small laceration just like hers.

His hand gripped Tav's wrist. The claw of his gloves pressed against Tav’s skin— Giving it a tight squeeze, and knocked the knife out of her grip.

With his free hand, he closed the gap between their bodies, “Is this your way of flirting? We’re both a mess now.” The slick of blood streamed down into his chest.

Tav quickly surrendered to the pain that shot up from her wrist. So, she let her restraint down. Gortash saw her surrender and loosened his grip, “Good girl.”

Tav scoffed, “Bastard.”

“I know.”

Gortash let go of her body and walked back to the desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out a small kit of some sort. Gortash then lent out a hand, waiting for Tav to accompany it, “Come, girl.”

She frowned and shook her head, “I’m not holding your hand.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, “Suit yourself. Let that—“ He pointed at her cheek, “get infected all you want.” It was then that Tav noticed it was a medical kit. Was he trying to clean her cut? Strange.

Gortash took the kit and walked out of the study and back into the dark halls. With an annoyed groan, Tav followed aimlessly for him. His heavy boots hitting the floor echoed throughout the hall. It gave the atmosphere an unsettling aura.

She was led into a familiar room— it was exactly the one she settled herself in earlier. Gortash dragged a nearby chair to the end of the bed. He sat down, his legs spread while he hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, “Sit.” He spoke in a commanding monotoned voice.

Tav hesitated, she had little trust in him. However, with a skeptical feeling, Tav sat on the edge of the bed in front of him. Gortash opened the kit and drenched a cotton ball with alcohol, "Look at me." He commanded with a softer tone this time.

Tav sat still as he brought the cotton to her cheek, lightly dabbing it against the wound. She winced and scrunched her face in pain.

Secretly he enjoyed seeing her in pain. Something about the way her eyes weakened sent shivers up his spine. Gortash continued to clean the cut with precision, his touch gentle yet firm. Tav's breathing began to steady as she relaxed into his care.

He reached for a bandage and carefully applied it to Tav's face. He leaned back, admiring his handiwork with a satisfied smile, "While I do enjoy the blood, I wouldn't want to mess the silk bedding. "

"I do as I please." Tav pouted. Her eyes fixated on the now-dried blood that rained down into his chest. Her eyes traced the trail into the same spot she had been staring at dinner. He was...nice, to look at she supposed.

Gortash leaned closer to her, he had caught Tav staring a little too hard at him. Being stealthy was something Tav was horrible at considering she bursted into his coronation. This realization filled him with confidence as his charm and poise alter a subtle change in Tav's behavior. She was seeing something she liked in him.

Gortash firmly put his hands on Tav's shoulders, shoving her back onto the mattress. Tav let out a small gasp as he hovered over her small stature. His hungry eyes viewed every little piece of skin available to him.

Calculating eyes bore into her, as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with contempt. "Do it. Do as you please."

A shiver ran up her spine. She wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing, but her body completely froze under him. Her mouth parted with no words left to say.

What the hell was he doing? Why couldn't she move? Maybe it was how handsome she found his restless eyes. Or the way his body was strong and tall. Gortash always stared so passionately at her, even now.

With no response, her eyes glistened with anticipation. Gortash brought his lips close to Tav's mouth. Only the slightest space between them, Gortash's eyes downcasted on her while her heart thumped against his skin. The warmth of his breath caressed her lips. Tav closed her eyes and submitted to the tension between them.

"Tch—" Gortash scoffed teasingly.

The warmth Tav felt suddenly grew cold. She opened her eyes to see Gortash standing over the bed. There was no kiss. Tav propped her elbows up, why did he leave? A slight shame cast on Tav as she lay there dumbfounded. Was he just toying with her?

"Rest, I will be expecting you for breakfast." Gortahs's arms crossed as he stared down at Tav like a scolding parent, "Don't make me wait." With that, Gortash walked out of the room.

He purposely planted a seed into Tav's head of control as soon as she let her guard down. His deceit would have her tossing and turning all night.

To be Continued ~

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

Part 2 here!

[ink-through-her-veins]

Arthur stumbles upon the dragon purely by happenstance, but by gods is the beast a chatty thing. It goes on and on about destiny, Albion, peace, and Arthur’s favorite part how the once and future king (himself) and his fated other half (Emrys) are two halves of the same coin, and everything will become clear when they realize this. Then the beast tells Arthur that Emrys not only has magic, but is magic, and Arthur’s head begins spinning—not with fairy tale romance where he gets swept off his feet as he’d been imagining moments before—but how anyone could have magic and not be evil.

‘Merlin could do it,’ he thinks wistfully, his unrequited crush upon his manservant rearing its ugly head even as he contemplates his soulmate.

He’s pulled from his daydream by said crush ambling clumsily into the cavern, gaping wildly, and then blurting out, “I can explain!”

The dragon laughs. “I already have, Emrys.”

And Arthur’s head starts spinning again. He pushes himself off the ground, takes a single step toward Merlin, and pulls himself back as a landslide of realization clobbers him like a thousand stones. “You knew?”

Merlin looks completely broken when he says, “I didn’t want anything to change between us.” I didn’t want you to have to choose between me or your father.

Arthur’s heart aches. Tears burn behind his eyes. “Of course,” he bites out, but all he can think, is what kind of man can’t be loved by his own destiny? What kind of monster must he be?

Things do change. Merlin’s stiffer. Arthur’s quieter. The dragon beneath the castle becomes one of Arthur’s closest confidants even if it speaks in riddles and leaves Arthur’s clothes smelling so strongly of smoke even his father notices.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers one night as the smell of Kilgarrah’s sulfurous smoke fills his nostrils as he prepares Arthur for bed. He misses the smell of Arthur’s sweat, and the combination of leather and grease that clings to his armor. He misses the way Arthur used to look at him, joke with him, befriend him before he knew about the magic. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

I’m sorry I’m me, Arthur thinks as he silently raises his arms to let Merlin drop a sleep shirt over his head. He only grunts in response.

Months pass, and as the ground thaws so do Merlin and Arthur, because though he may speak as clearly as a mud puddle Kilgarrah isn’t wrong: one cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Arthur clings to Kilgarrah’s promises. One day. One day. Hopefully one day soon.

And the day comes in late summer when Merlin’s nearly skewered by a bandit while he and Arthur are on a hunt. Arthur’s checking him obsessively for any signs that the blood on him is actually his, while Merlin swats at his hands insisting he’s fine.

“Why wouldn’t you use your magic!?” Arthur screeches shoving Merlin’s hands out of the way so he can look over every inch of him.

“So I could be burnt upon a pyre? No thanks.” Merlin manages to push himself free of Arthur and stalk away.

“We’re meant to marry one day. We’re two sides of a coin, soulmates. Do you truly think me so monstrous?”

Merlin’s eyes are big as eggs. “What? Married? Soulmates?”

“What do you think Kilgarrah meant?”

“He’s an overgrown lizard!” Merlin shouts suddenly feeling too warm and too confined despite the mild weather and endless amounts of fresh air. “That…He…Is that what two sides of the same coin means?” He’s pacing the meadow, ignoring the dead bandits scattered in the tall grass. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I am. I…I don’t think you’re a monster, and I’m sorry you have to choose between your father and I. I’m—“

Arthur sees something then in the way Merlin tugs at his hair, eyes full of concern when they swing toward Arthur. Fools, Kilgarrah had called them, and fools they absolutely were.

“There’s no choice,” Arthur murmurs, sidling up to Merlin to take his hand. “It’s you. It was you before I knew of our fate and your gifts, and it’ll be you no matter what stands in the way.”

[1000dactyls]

Obsessed with your hc that they all have their own unique braid pattern and Stoick does it for trans girl hiccup like it legitimately making me tear up 😭 but do you have any more tgirl hiccup trans hc? Hiccup is always kinda seen as trans masc, which yeah look at him but hardly transfemme

i do! actually, i’m working on a fic right now where i explore more tgirl hiccup and how that changes her sense of self and relationship to others. though, it’s a bit more exploratory and not as chronological as my other httyd wip, which is a canon-divergence exploring a “what-if” where hiccup doesn’t grow up on berk and is trying to find his mom, but somehow ends up in berk anyway to end the war… but i digress!!!

So here are some assorted thoughts for you :D

i do think tgirl hiccup still has stubble (she doesn’t shave every day, though it does depend on whether she can handle the sensory experience that day). In part it’s because there’s less stigma about it; i dont think berkian society cares much about girls having facial hair so long as whatever hair does exist is well-kept, and whoever that hair belongs to is alive. And if anyone says otherwise, then snotlout and the twins are there to kick their teeth in. And also because facial hair and body hair in general are just parts of our bodies and i like being able to include that…! she also has arm hair, at least the bits that survive the forge.

Initially hiccup grows her hair out, enough to put it in a ponytail, but at least by the time httyd2 rolls around it’s back to being shoulder length/short again. Long hair does not make for fun flights, as it turns out, because her hair gets REALLY tangled. Even though Astrid is very handy with a comb. And her fingers.

gothi gets this girl on estrogen. with the help of strategically placed padding/armor and the lean muscle she’s built up flying toothless, hiccup slowly begins to fill out, though she’s still scrawny and gangly and a toothpick

I think by virtue of living with a single dad (and a gobber)(lord. stoick and gobber’s bromantic/homoerotic relationship is a post for another day), Hiccup already knows how to do what are considered “womanly” chores. That being said, she isn’t particularly extraordinary at any of them — she doesn’t have Snotlout’s proficiency with needlework nor Tuffnut’s cooking skills, lacks Astrid’s finesse with laundry and Ruffnut’s clever compositions with kennings, and certainly can’t match up to the way Fishlegs manages little ones. Which is fine — her skills lie elsewhere, in the forge and with dragons. At least she can cook a decent enough meal for her and her father and Gobber, and that’s enough for their little family.

Toothless was told first and he also knew first. They’re two halves of a whole, not-so-much a girl and a dragon as they are a single entity, a We, and i think toothless would also trans his gender in solidarity/kinship but hiccup shakes her finger and is like You and I both know damn well you feel like a boy. and he’s like (chuffs)(human gender is stupid… how limiting !). One day he will be able to communicate the nuances of dragon gender to his stupid human. But for now, Hiccup will call Toothless a “boy,” and that is the limits of human language.

[bolderfunkyman]

♡ Yandere Kaveh Part 2 ♡

Okay it has been a while im sorry.. But I am back at it again! And i have part 2 finally done. it's gonna be several parts so there also will come a part 3 and 4. I don't wanna rush it. Link to part one = Part1

its kaveh x reader there are no mentions of genders.

Word count: 1,3K

im also testing a new writing format with a POV please let me know what you think of it!

Content: Lovesick, Obsession, Manipulation, blood, Mindillness, smut, fluff, possesiveness. MINORS DO NOT INTARACT

reminder as to where we lefr: You stayed at the library for way to long and kaveh was worried about you. He couldnt find you. You walked home alone and then you got jumped. Kaveh came to save you. But as suddenly as he was there, as suddenly he dissapeared again.

A playlist to set the mood -Link to playlist-

Kaveh POV:

After he scared off the ermites. He couldn’t help but feel anger about what happened. So instead he followed you home without you knowing. And when he knew you were safely home. He went after the emirates. He couldn’t leave it be. They hurted you. That's not something he can accept. After a while he found them. They were killed. If you saw the scene it would have seemed as if a slaughter had taken place. But it was Kaveh who showed them how angry he actually was with them. He often repeated to them to stay away from his girl. Although she didn’t know yet she was his. He made sure to clean up the scene and made sure no traces were left behind. Kaveh quickly returned home, washed his clothes and went to bed.

Falling asleep thinking of you. Hoping you now saw him as your hero, a knight in shiny armor. 

Jump to present day reader pov -

As you woke up from your sleep you noticed that you had a hazy memory of what happened the night before. All you remember is that Kaveh left in a hurry and that you felt like something or someone was watching you walk home. You started your daily morning routine before heading to The Akademiya.

You kinda forgot you normally walk with Kaveh to the Akademiya, So when you heard someone call out your name you didn’t right away think it was him.

“Hey, why are you ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?” Kaveh asked.

Oh no i’m sorry! I kinda had a weird morning. My head was still filled with what happened yesterday’, you told him. “Oh… did they give you nightmares?” he looked at you concerned while saying this.

I guess so? I just have a hazy memory as if it was a fever dream but, it wasn't a dream it was reality, you looked at him while saying this. Do you perhaps know more? I know you were there as well, kaveh. 

“All I know is that I saved you from those ermites. And after that I had to hurry to a meeting, they didn’t do anything to you right?” he asked. No, they didn’t do anything. I got home safely. Although I did feel like something was watching me. Maybe it was my mind. Because of what happened. I also really didn't eat anything before bed. Not the smartest choice I made I guess.. You gave him a weak smile.

“Maybe I should take you home? You clearly aren’t feeling well” Kaveh told you.

No no I'm fine really, I take it easy today and after all this I just go home to eat and sleep. That probably will help me feel better. 

“Hmm if you say so. I’ll wait for you at our spot to walk you home okay?” he still looked very concerned at you. Yeah that’s fine. I promise I won't forget this time. 

Your day just passed by silently and slowly as if time barely moved. But it reached it’s end and you were able to leave the Akademiya. And indeed kaveh was sitting there waiting for you. He also already got you a drink. 

“Finally! there you are I got worried” He sounded energetic, like a puppy happy to see you. 

Mhm today was quite energy draining if i’m being honest. 

“Shall I carry you home then?” He joked. Oh My god have you been hanging out with Cyno a lot or something? Just as bad of a joke.

“But I wasn’t joking I wouldn’t mind carrying you home” And he indeed sounded serious about it.

No, I will be fine walking  by myself I believe. “If you say so, I am almost done with this design and then we can have a walk around or I will just take you home?” He said.

“They will be able to get home by herself, Kaveh” A man told him. You turned your head to see who was talking to him. 

"Al Haitham? What are you doing here?” He asked the man. He looked pretty annoyed. His eyes almost daggers at this man.

“Maybe you have forgotten kaveh? Do I need to speak it out? Do they already know?” He had a blank stare at kaveh. No emotion it seems. Kind of cold.

Know what? You asked. 

“Nevermind It. I’m sorry I have to go. I can’t walk you home today I'm afraid” And so he stood up and followed this man named Al Haitham. You did hear him bickering with this man a lot. You knew he always had something to say about him.. But seeing him argue with him is something else. 

You are interested in their relationship. If they are friends or not. But seeing as how tired you felt you decided it was enough for today and go home. Take a snack and then sleep. A good night's rest, it sounded like a dream for you at this moment. 

Kaveh POV: 

So why exactly did you have to interrupt me? I was having a nice time with them you know” You can clearly hear he was angry.

“I will leave you be more if you actually paid rent you know” Alhaitham still sounded stone cold. “And who are they even anyways?” he added.

They are my friend. And what does it matter to you anyways? it’s not like you ever bothered in someone else’ he said.

"Hm Perhaps. But you are right there is no benefit from knowing who they are. Anyways, I still want the rent. And you need to fix this door. It’s making that noise again.” Al Haitham told him.

I’m an architect. I draw, I don’t fix things like that. So you basically dragged me away for nothing? Kaveh felt he got angry because of this.

“oh well.. that’s a shame” Al Haitham told him while taking a book out to read. “also did you hear about 2 emrites missing?” he asked him.

No, what about it? Of course kaveh knew they were missing. He killed them after all for you.

“Their family is afraid they got killed by someone. And some speculations say they might have just fled to Liyue or something.” He simply answered. 

Oh okay. Well I guess I will keep an eye out for them then’ He lied to al haitham.

the following day - 

You were just walking around in Sumeru wondering what to do today. It was a nice day, slightly on the hot side so you didn’t feel like doing a lot. You were far lost in your own mind to really notice where exactly you were walking and whatever you might bump into, so you got quite the scare when you bumped into someone.

Ow, I’m sorry I should have looked where I’m Going’ You just said.

“You indeed should look around so you don’t make pitiless mistakes like this.” A stone cold voice you can recognize right away.

Oh Al Haitham, I’m really sorry’ you could feel your eyes heating up out of embarrassment. 

“oh you are the friend of kaveh right?” He asked you, sounding a little less.. Cold

Yeah I am hehe’ You felt quite awkward as of now. 

So what brings you here? You tried to have a neutral conversation with him. 

“Just enjoying the weather, It’s a great day to do absolutely nothing.” He answered simply, “would you like to join me on the walk? I will look out for you so you don’t bulldoze more people” he added. 

Ugh how dare he say something like that, it's so insulting, is what was going through your mind, you cannot obviously tell him what you thought. 

So instead you took him on the offer and had a little chat with him. He got to know a bit about you. Meanwhile you still didn’t know much about Al Haitham. Other than that he is a scribe at The Akademiya. 

And today again you felt like someone was staring at you, following you around. You couldn’t place where it came from or why you felt like it. 

But you could notice Al Haitham also felt like someone was watching the 2 of you.

[captain-mj]

*slides briefcase across the table*

You know what I’m here for.

(Please please give them both animal ears and wings. Please I will kill myself if you don’t🥰🥰)

If you want to read this as König being mildly obsessive or that his species actually has soulmates, that is up to you guys. Vote in the comments or something lol

If you guys want a part 2, send me an ask!!

König stalked through the underbrush, listening closely. He felt distinctly out of place in this heavily plant filled area. Brambles and vines clung to his legs as he walked. 

The trees weren’t too bad though. Tall and looming. 

His presence must’ve scared everything living off besides a few chirping bird. 

There was no indication he could really point out. Nothing that screamed you’re about to be attacked. 

He knew though. Right as the person descended on him. Huge moth like wings blocking out the goddamn sun as the blade flashed in their hand. 

König dodged it at the last second, pulling out his own knife. 

The person was… tiny. Well, for his species, he was probably a fine height. But König was close to 8’6 and this tiny person looked to be 5’10. Their wings flared out to make themself look bigger, the leather armor clinging to him. It was a fair bit more conservative to König’s. His face covered, sunglasses on. 

König’s own armor was metal pieces over his sensitive areas with fishnet like material to connect them. It was meant for ease of movement where this person’s looked to be made more to take hits. 

“Tiny…” König mumbled.

The person started to talk at him, but he didn’t understand the language. He moved closer to him and the person lashed out, their blades meeting in the air. 

Their wings were so pretty. König wondered what they’d feel like. Furry? Maybe?

König hummed and stared down at him. He was still hissing curses at him but he didn’t magically understand the language anymore than he did when he first started speaking. 

“König.” He said to the person before pointing at himself, not at all bothered by the blade that kept swinging at him.

The person paused and König repeated it, trying to show that was his name.

“Horangi.” He provided after a moment before trying to rush him. Why they were fighting was lost on König. Maybe he had accidentally got on his territory?

König grabbed his arm and flipped him to the ground, pinning him down with his weight against Horangi’s back. His thighs were on either side of his hips, hand on the space between his shoulders. 

Horangi looked… embarrassed. König could just barely see his eyes behind the dark glass over them. 

“Don’t feel bad. I am ve-” Horangi did a move, flipping them over. He put the blade to König’s throat.

König looked up at him. Oh. He was very pretty. The wings blotted out the sun, making shadows fall around him. His hands settled on his hips. His own skin had swirls of gold all over it, making dizzying patterns that in a way complimented the dark splotches of Horangi’s wings. He blinked up at Horangi, smiling. 

Horangi looked irritated at him, though substantially less angry. Blade pressed harder against his throat. König exposed his throat more in response. His hood covered all of his face but his eyes, but even through the fabric, the blade still managed to press right against his jugular. 

König flipped them again, this time between Horangi’s legs, his hands pressing the wings down. They were furry feeling. And very soft. Horangi immediately started to kick at him but seeing as König was between his legs, it didn’t really work. His arms went to hit him and he caught his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head. 

It didn’t really occur to König how intimate the position probably felt until Horangi looked at where his hips were pressed against Horangi’s inner thighs. 

Ah. 

Oops?

Horangi stared at him, a flush clear on the little bit of skin König could see. He pressed the tiniest bit closer. 

His team wouldn’t be there for a while since they split up. 

König got flustered and went to pull away but Horangi’s legs wrapped around him and pulled him back. Ah. He could’ve easily pulled away. Horangi wasn’t in the position to get much leverage, even though König could feel the strong muscles underneath. 

It wouldn’t be a crime to… He pressed just a tiny bit closer, despite how flustered he was. Horangi purred, rolling his hips. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

König flushed and gently let go of his wrists to grab his waist instead. Tiny. He rolled his hips back, feeling a delightful pressure against his bulge. 

After some consideration, he pulled on Horangi’s laces, watching the armor loose before he could take his pants off. Horangi immediately smirked at him and even through the mask, König could see it. 

How come even though he was pinned and König was the one pulling at his clothing did it still feel that Horangi was in control?

König flushed and suddenly felt rather embarrassed but he pressed closer, wanting more. Horangi took König’s clothes off quickly, wings fluttering slightly with excitement. They started to grind against each other before König got his hands on him, turning him over so he was on his front. 

Horangi went to pull away and König bound his hands, stroking his wings gently. He followed the outline of them and watched him tense before shuddering into his grip. König had oil in his gear for his weapons that he poured over his fingers to gently push into Horangi. One hand stayed on his shoulder to keep him down, hearing his gasp of surprise followed by very soft moans. It was so sweet sounding. 

König purred at him and laid over his back as he worked him open. With how small he was, König wanted to be careful. He kept his mask on and gave Horangi the same dignity, nuzzling against his shoulder. Horangi’s eyes were closed tight as he moaned and whined, pressing back against his fingers. His eyelashes fluttered as König’s fingers dug in deeper. 

König pulled away and got the rest of his gear off, keeping Horangi pinned. He glanced up at König, batting his eyelashes and trying to look at him. 

König got flustered and quickly tried to distract. His body was… He had more of the swirls and scars and he did not find himself very pretty. He very much doubted Horangi would find him pretty. 

Instead, he lined up, wrapping his arms around him so his back was pressed to König’s chest. 

“I know you can’t understand me, but just relax.” König cooed and Horangi flushed more, leaning up. The binds on his wrist kept him from moving too much. Gently, carefully, he pushed into him, surprised by how warm he felt. He was also so perfectly tight. 

Horangi tensed up and König gently rubbed his back until he relaxed again so he could keep pushing into him. 

“Good boy.” 

Horangi murmured something in his own language at him, legs shaking slightly. König held his hips to keep him stable, not wanting him to fall. He thrust in, hearing Horangi wail. 

“You’re so much more sensitive than my previous partners.” König mumbled to him. “I want to… touch you more. Your skin is so soft.” His hands trailed down his sides, feeling him all over. He gently tugged his wings and Horangi’s back arched, a soft moan breaking from his mouth. 

His thrust grew faster and he did… something that had Horangi scratching at his binds, trying to shove him back against him. 

König flipped him on to his back again, pinning his tied hands above his head as he thrust into him again. His cock made a small bulge in Horangi’s stomach and if he had the time, he’d love to mark the area. Honestly, he wanted to stay there and mark every inch of Horangi. Bite and lick his way across his whole body. 

But they were two strangers and not much else. He shouldn’t get so attached. They also didn’t have much time. 

König put his forehead on Horangi’s and thrust in again, getting the same result as before. He pounded into the nerves in Horangi’s body, feeling him start to tense and pant. Horangi yanked out of his grip to yank his mask down. His fingers tangled themselves into König’s hood as his head fell back. 

König looked at his gorgeous face. The soft skin, the scars on either side of his mouth that looked like whiskers. He wondered where they got there. 

He wasn’t paying attention.

Horangi lifted his mask and kissed him. 

König felt panicked. Did Horangi’s species considering this as intimate as König’s did? 

His heart started to pound as he melted into Horangi. 

Something curled through his thoughts. 

My heart. 

My stars.

My love. 

König came in him, quickly stroking Horangi to help him finish. He’d have to take him home. He would have to get his bed fixed so it would be shorter. The way it was Horanig would have a problem getting on it. 

Horangi came and then sank his teeth into his bindings, ripping straight through it. He flipped König before standing up and stretching. 

“What are you…” Horangi shut him up with another kiss and König’s eyes closed instinctively. 

Please keep kissing me. 

Horangi pulled away and was gone before König even opened his eyes. He had to clean himself up, alone. This feeling was not nearly as nice as the feeling of being kissed. 

“König.” His hand swiveled to see Ghost of all people. Catching him crying. Ah, that’s embarrassing. “You okay?”

“I… uh…”

“You reek of sex.” 

“I think I found my soulmate and they left!” König threw himself at Ghost who grimaced.

“Oh… Wow. Um.. Huh…”

“They kissed me. Twice!”

Ghost pulled away. “Seriously?? Twice? And they just left you?”

“Yes!”

Ghost patted him, which was a bit awkward since König was almost a foot taller than him. “Don’t worry buddy. Uh.. Shit look this is more Price’s thing. If it’s meant to be, I’m sure you’ll see him again?”

König started to cry again.

“Okay, okay. Um.. Do you want me to help you lookkfor him?” Ghost did not look the happiest about this idea.

“Yes, please.”

[howlingday]

Actually I’m curious with the Mama!Harley au how would she react to vol9 jaune?

"Hattah, Imma give ya one chance!"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Quinn!" Said the strange man in a green hat.

Jervis Tetch, or The Mad Hatter for you few Gothamites reading, wagged his finger at Harley. Same gag as he always pulls; kidnap innocent girl, roleplay his obsession with her, snaps because she isn't a fan like him, then kills her to find the his next 'Alice'. Harley managed to get the girl out, but Tetch had to be taken care of. When she chased him, his trap caught her. Hey, we all have our off days.

"You should know better than to chase the White Rabbit, don't you?"

"I wasn't chasin' a rabbit." Harley snapped. "Only thing I'm chasin' is a creep who got way too into his story books."

"How rude!" Hatter balked. "Clearly, a readjustment must be made, post-haste! Wouldn't you agree, my March Hare?"

The poor goon behind him simply drooled and nodded behind in his brown rabbit mask. Hatter turned to him and snapped his fingers but was only met with the same drooling face as before. From his pocket, he produced a small sitch. With a point and click, he electrocuted the henchman who was gratefully too numb to scream as he was shocked to death.

"Now, what will you be?" Jervis took a mask from a box at random. He clapped his hands with glee at the face that stared back at him. In his hand, he held a mask shaped like a cat. "Oh, my dearest Cheshire! It's been too long!"

"Keep the hell away from me, you creep!" Harley thrashed against her restraints.

"Oh, Harley, I wish you could see things my way." He shook his head. "If you only could see things as I do..." His voice became faded and distant. "Through... the... look... ing... glaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

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

"Ugh, what the hell?" Harley looked around and found herself in a strange location, even by Hatter's standards. Was she about to meet the Walrus and the Carpenter, because that was the only place she could think of that had a beach like this. Still, the colors were way off. "Okay, just gotta find a way out."

As Harley walked, she noticed the scenery was wildly different. Floral gardens had been replaced with lush jungles. She saw a tribe of mice work together to water a bush of thorned vines. As she passed through the village, she noticed all of the characters were pieces from different board games.

"Jaune used tah love board games." She sighed. It felt like forever since she last saw her baby boy.

One day, all of a sudden with no warning, the transdimensional gate between Remnant and Gotham broke and couldn't connect. It was like the gate on the other side was broken somehow, both at Beacon AND in Atlas! Without another portal, mother and son couldn't reunite, no matter how much she wanted to.

Until then, she had to wai-

"M-Mom?"

Harley froze. The voice was different, but she'd recognize it anywhere, anyway, anyhow. It's a real power. Just ask your mother. Jaune could.

"Jaune?" Harley turned and tears flowed on sight. Her son, her baby boy, her little cupcake. He was right in front of her.

But he was so old. His hair, once bright like spun gold had now dulled and filled with white streaks. He'd grown an inch or two, too, and was wearing armor so covered in rust, she felt like she need a tetanus shot just looking at it. And she would after she was done crushing Jaune in her hug.

"M-Ma!" Jaune whined. "You're crushin' me!"

"I don't care!" She laughed and sobbed. "You're my baby boy, and I'm nevah letting you go!"

"What are you doing here?" Jaune asked as he hugged her. "How are you here?"

"It's a long story, sweetie, but I can tell you later." She pulled away. "Right now, I need to find a creep in a green hat. If I don't find him, I'll... I'll..."

"Mom?" Jaune asked.

Harley was conflicted. On the one hand, Gotham needed her to come back. Hatter was still loose, which meant a lot of innocent people were in danger. Batman could handle it, but he wouldn't be around forever.

But neither would Jaune. After so long, she finally meets him again and it's in a fantasy world. She would never get this chance again would she?

"Jaune, I... I don't know what to do." Harley shook her head. "I need to go back, but I... I'm not sure if I can leave this time. Not when I have you in my arms."

"I know, Mom, but... you'll have to let me go some day, right?"

"If I had it my way, you'd be my baby forevah."

"I always will be, Mom."

Harley was crying with a smile. This would be the most painful she'd done since she gave birth and brought him into her world. Not a close second, but a second regardless. She stepped away.

"Jaune, I'll nevah fuhgive you fuh breaking yuh mothah's heart..."

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

"...but I'll always... love... you?" Harley looked around and saw the Dark Knight standing over a beaten Jervis. Panic filled her mind as she found the cat mask in pieces against the wall. "NOOOOO!"

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

Jaune stood there. He stayed where he was, unmoving as the world continued to move silently around him. Some who passed stared as they went about their lives. Children. Parents. Sons. Mothers.

Harley's last words to him rang on a loop in his mind.

'Jaune, I'll never forgive you for breaking your mother's heart.'

[phoenix-manga]

Hunter in NRC Pt. 2

Divus leads her to the clinic where he pulls out a measuring tape along with a sketchbook. Her companions settle on the nearby beds and chairs.

“I must say, I thought that old crow was hit on the head when he contacted us about a young lady with a big dog and a talking cat that came from somewhere unknown… I almost called in the asylum to throw him into a padded cell but looking at you and your companions… I can’t deny that it’s convincing enough.”

He signals her to drop her weapon and do a “T” pose so that he may take her measurements properly.

She placed her weapon down on the floor with a loud thud. Divus can’t help but flinch slightly when he heard just how heavy it was when it made an impact.

Honestly, he didn’t expect this young lady to be capable of wielding such… outrageous weapon.

The colors are quite gorgeous though he has to admit. The craftsmanship on the mechanism was delicately placed yet they looked sturdy to last and cause a lot of damage.

If he were to describe her image in one word, it’s valiant.

Her gaze held the experience from many life or death scenarios no doubt. Very much like a soldier…

Divus gets to work on taking down her measurements. He can’t help but be intrigued at the armor she wore.

It certainly had a style that was not familiar to him, those tribal patterns on her skin make the outfit look quite chic along with the armor pieces covering her shoulders and knees.

But those armor pieces clearly aren’t meant for aesthetic purposes entirely, he can see that there were scales upon closer inspection.

Meant to protect the wearer’s joints as she swings that outrageously large weapon around. A “gunlance” she calls it.

Speaking of joints, he felt a bit of muscle when he adjusted her shoulders. She was suited for bodybuilding than modeling with a figure like hers.

‘I’m sure Vargas would be over the fence if he ever sees her muscles. Though, it makes sense from what she just told us before… Still, for a world filled with monsters, she sure made the effort to dress up her furry companions’

Looking at her mutt and feline companions who also wore armor/outfits of their own, Divus applauds whoever came up with such a design.

Talk about being stylish on the battlefield.

As soon as he was done, he sits down on an empty chair and takes out a sketchbook to jot down her measurements, and immediately started sketching ideas of a suitable outfit.

While he sketched, he figures he should get to know her better since he’ll be seeing her every now and then as a teacher’s assistant.

“By the way, that crow was supposed to find you accommodations but he suggested moving you to a dilapidated dorm without even trying to fix it BEFORE you move in. Honestly, this is why he’s never taken seriously…”

“Wow…” Fraena looks unimpressed at the mention of where she’ll be staying.

Divus flicked his wrist as he continued to drag his pencil across the white surface of the paper.

“Take my word for it, don’t try to buy into his gracious act. He may wear a literal mask but he’s quite terrible at facades”

Divus huffs as his hand swished dramatically as he dusted off bits of eraser.

Giving Fraena a glance, she looked stoic but he can see from her tapping foot that she was nervous.

“So, care to enlighten me on how your world works?” he asked casually.

“Huh”

Fraena wasn’t expecting that. He seemed like someone who wouldn’t be interested in small talk.

“What would you want to know about?” she figured to just answer his inquiries.

Awkward silence makes her nervous anyway.

“How about telling me if you bring your companions in battle, I know the cat doesn’t do fighting from what you said earlier, your canine on the other hand… I’ve seen dog owners teach their pets tricks but nothing comes close to having them face a hulking beast”

Divus looks at Draken who is being brushed by Meowdame while they wait.

Fraena took notice of how his gaze lingered on them.

One can assume that he has quite the obsession with dogs, actually, obsession is an understatement… he’s a total maniac about dogs.

Divus has seen a fair share of dogs and almost every single breed, he adores all of them. His favorite is the Dalmatian breed, of course!

But the one a few feet from him was larger than a wolf and had a lovely shade of scarlet. The armor the dog wore was also exceptional, it gave off a militaristic vibe.

He’s tempted to dress models' dogs the same way in his next fashion show.

“It’s normal for hunters to bring Palicoes into battle, they’re quite capable of combat despite their small size. But Meowdame is retired and assists at camp during a hunt. As for my Palamute, Draken, his breed is used to travel through areas faster but they also provide aid in fighting monsters as well. he has his own weapon.”

Divus could clearly see a small double-sided knife on the belt of the Palamute.

“Oh? Out of context, that seems quite dubious…” the man’s brow raised.

“I… I can’t disagree, but it’s a common misconception to think that hunters force felynes and Palamutes to fight. They are required to be compensated for their hard work. I’ve heard about felynes who hold a high position in the guild…”

“Interesting…”

The conversation went on for half an hour before Divus finally stood up from his seat and showed her his sketch.

“I’ve done your uniform sketch, let me know if there are any adjustments I need to add, there would be no trouble at all I assure you”

He hands her the sketchbook and Fraena’s scans the drawing.

It was a uniform that looked similar to the guildmarms back home but the color palette fits the dark aesthetic of the academy and had more black feathers.

The outfit also had a skirt that wasn’t too long to allow her mobility, though she hopes the outfit comes with shorts because she tends to run around a lot.

Short skirts in a place full of nothing but boys going through puberty are the last place for that type of fashion.

Looking back at the page, she can see that even Draken and Meowdame got new outfits as well.

Though most of it had at least a black feather, obviously to fit the raven logo. And the outfits were not entirely covering them because they’re animals.

In all honesty, it was kind of adorable, what a considerate man, Divus is to make clothes for them too.

“The outfit is fine… though since you did offer to include any changes. Can it be possible to put this symbol on all our clothes?” her hand started to sketch the guild emblem in a blank space.

She presents him with a symbol of the guild’s four swords, Divus looked at the pattern with intrigue.

“This quite an ancient-looking symbol, is this your religion of some sort?”

Divus inspects the emblem with an inspired gleam in his eyes.

“It’s more of a sacred rule, not just for hunters but for everyone. We follow these rules to properly live in harmony with nature, not to take advantage of it”

Divus can tell from her tone that she takes these rules seriously, the puppies could take notes from her and be a little less rowdy in his opinion.

Plus, it was refreshing to have an assistant that wasn’t infatuated with him.

There are two reasons why those who applied for the teacher’s assistant position weren’t able to stay for long in this godforsaken academy.

Firstly, because the workload shoved onto them was too much to handle, it’s all Crowley’s fault by the way, they couldn’t handle the stress and just quit.

Second, those who applied are well aware of the one and only Divus Crewel, Fashion Tyrant who is a very, VERY wealthy man who happens to be single, mind you.

Not to mention his devilishly good looks, he is quite proud of himself for taking care of his appearance, but in this case it was a double-edged sword.

He can’t believe how many applicants had perfected the façade of “professionalism” that dropped quickly once they got accepted.

Skipping assigned work to “chat” or to try and invite him for a coffee. Those previous applicants were dealt with by shoving more of Crowley’s workload onto them or Divus would point out so many flaws in their work performance that their rose-tinted fantasy of an co-worker romance would shatter.

He never felt bad about being brutally honest, and it’s not like they could sue him because he was KNOWN for being harsh.

But Fraena wasn’t like the other assistants, though that may be because she hasn’t heard of him at all.

She was militaristic in her mannerisms and had a no-nonsense attitude about her. Something that Divus wished he could find in the previous ones.

Guess the great seven decided to grant him his wish in the form of a person from another world with a walking cat and a dog with near-human intelligence.

And he wasn't going to reject such an opportunity.

 “I look forward to working with the school’s new teacher’s assistant, Miss Fraena. I hope you can handle that crow’s demands. I would’ve preferred people refer to me as ‘Master Crewel’ but seeing as you are to be my co-worker, you can refer to me as you see fit!”

He holds out his scarlet gloved hand to her, she firmly shakes his hand.

“I look forward to working here as well, Sir Crewel. I’m pretty sure whatever Crowley asks of me, I can handle.”

She says with a steel gaze that made it clear she wasn’t backing down.

This is definitely refreshing, the previous ones who shook his hand had this weird face that looked nearly lewd, Divus may have interests like adults do but he knows there was a time and a place for that!

He is looking forward to teaching in this new school year.

He walked past Draken and Meowdame, Divus didn’t hesitate and brushed his palm on the Palamute’s back, to which Draken responds with a startled yelp.

“Ar!? Grrrr!!!”

Draken growled at Divus who didn’t even flinch and just grinned. Before he exits the door, he looks back to Fraena and company for one last message.

“Now, you are free to use this clinic as temporary accommodation. You’ll move into your new place after I blackmail- I mean, convince Crowley to fix that ramshackle of a dorm… out of his own pocket of course~ Ta-ta, darling~!”

He sounded jovial as he left the clinic with the click of his expensive leather shoes.

Fraena collapsed on the bed as a lot has happened. Draken occupied another bed due to his huge frame.

‘That man certainly was an eccentric character…’ she can’t help but think.

Meowdame plops next to Fraena and unravels the ribbon on her hair. Unweaving it with her dainty paws, Fraena groans either out of mental exhaustion, disbelief, or a combination of both.

“We’ve had quite a day, meowster~ But we shouldn’t take this as a bad o-mew-n, we ought to take this o-paw-rtunity to try something mew. Though we can’t get our answers now, we can still try to adapt, no?”

When she finished untying Fraena’s hair the felyne settles next to Draken who was already asleep.

Giving it some thought, Meowdame had a point. There was no use beating a dead Aptonoth after all.

“You’re… right. It’s just that this is all so sudden and I have no idea what this place even is or what kind of system they have here!” Fraena threw her hands up in the air in defeat.

“All the more reason to observe and study, right? That’s what hunters do after all~”

“…. Hunter, huh…”

Fraena drifted off to sleep with many thoughts in her head. Meowdame did have a point, she can always learn to adapt to this alien-like place. It’s the most basic skill every hunter knows, adaptability.

Yet she feels like she is no longer right for that role. Not after the mixed feelings that continue to haunt her.

The sea of students walked into the main campus building to start the new school year. Though the only thing that was on their minds was about that mysterious woman that appeared during the welcoming ceremony.

Much to their shock, the students encountered the woman in several different places on the campus. Alongside her were that large red wolf-dog and the bipedal cat.

Her armor was now replaced with a custom-fitted uniform that gave off a ‘strict secretary’ image.

The gunlance was propped on her back, making the students gasp in awe as she manages to walk fast despite carrying such a heavy load.

Divus was able to quickly create the uniforms and sent them to her in such fancy packaging, when asked how he managed to make it so quickly he simply replied…

“Magic, of course”

Right, she forgot this place had magic.

It was almost like a cheat code for an easy living. That man had done what could have been two weeks’ worth of sewing overnight.

She patrolled the campus as part of her “morning duty”, or so Crowley says.

“I wonder if this headmeowster didn’t think of hiring an actual guard if this place was so purrs-tigious…” Meowdame spoke what she was thinking while Draken huffs in agreement.

Fraena can’t help but find something fishy with this routine too. She may not have worked as an assistant but she’s been around the guild long enough to know how guildmarms function.

And they certainly did NOT need to do patrolling, those were the guild knight’s jobs!

But she can’t exactly complain when Crowley is the thread that’s keeping her and her entourage from getting sent into an unknown land where she has no identity nor the idea of how their laws work.

No doubt that Zenny can’t be used for purchasing goods here either. For now, she’ll play along with his demands.

She stopped by the statues in the middle of the Main Street, making sure that any tardy students are notified to the staff handling their classes.

Draken yawns and plops himself down next to her.

Meowdame glanced at the statues curious about who these people (and creatures) were. She inspects the one closest to them.

It was a plump woman with her head held high, her hand holding a heart-shaped fan and she wore a dress befitting a ruler.

“Are these their champions, purr-haps? Wonder what kind of meow-gic they have to be great enough to have statues made in their honor?” Meowdame wondered.

Just before Fraena can respond, she heard two voices that called out to them. From the distance, she can see two boys running in her direction.

“That’s the woman from the entrance ceremony! Whoa, they weren’t kidding when the seniors said she had a wolf-dog and a weapon. That’s so badass!” a red-haired boy strode towards them with an eager expression.

“Hey, Ace! You can’t just approach her like that!” a blue-haired boy scolds his companion who pays him no mind as he approached.

Draken stands up immediately and growls at the two boys who are scared stiff when they realized just how big the Palamute really was.

“Draken, heel!” Fraena commands him with a stern tone.

The Palamute ceased his growling and laid down again. The two boys were in awe at the authority the woman held over such a large canine.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to mess with creatures you have no idea of? And why are you wasting time by trying to start small talk with me, you’re not planning on skipping class are you?”

She scolds them with an upset gaze, crossing her arms.

The blue-haired boy bows his head to her immediately.

“We apologize! Ace wanted to see your dog but I tried to stop him, honest!”

She looks to the red-haired boy called, “Ace”, who doesn’t seem apologetic at all, he was pouting at his friend instead.

“Boo, Deuce you’re such a stickler for rules like the dorm leader! Learn to live a little!”

The boy is now known as, “Deuce” shot up and glares at Ace.

“We can’t just approach people like that! She’s one of the staff here and if we get in trouble then…”

The two proceeded to bicker right in front of her.

Good grief, these boys are a handful. Fraena has met boys their age that were the same level of rowdy but at least they got their heads straight sooner or later.

But that’s probably because they were mostly hunters who took the job seriously, maybe that’s why…

“Alright, that’s enough. No need to argue out here… I can’t deny that my Palamute, Draken, here is tempting to pet but he’s not exactly social with strangers. If you guys really just came up to me to pet my companions, then would you be satisfied with shaking hands with a Palico? Would that satisfy you enough to move your butts into class?”

At that, the boys stopped and stared between her and Draken a few times.

‘She named it Draken? That’s really cool! But what the hell is a Palamute and Palico? That a new breed or something?’

Ace thinks to himself as he glanced at the Palamute who was ignoring the boys.

The two students looked confused about the terms used to label a “dog” and “cat”.

But she was right that they, more like Ace, wanted to pet the cool-looking dog.

But since said dog looked ready to munch on their hands if they try, they’ll gladly take her to offer to shake hands with a bipedal cat.

A cat that willingly offers to have its paws squished, who would say no?

“Lovely to meet mew gentlemewn~!”

"I-It talks!?" Deuce gawked.

Meowdame steps forward and shakes Deuce’s hand first. His eyes went wide as he felt the soft beans gripping his palm in her small paws.

“S-so soft!”

Was he crying? Yep, those are tears.

When it was Ace’s turn, he too marveled at the texture of the paw pads.

“You’re right! Aww man, my mom would’ve loved a cat like this!” giving the paw a few squeezes.

“Quite a charmer, aren’t mew? A pleasure to meet such enthusiastic young lads~!”

“All right, you boys had your fun, now get to class before the professor turns you into chow!”

After the handshaking, Fraena ushered the boys to class seeing as how the other students stopped to look while possibly hoping she would invite them to shake hands with Meowdame too.

She sends an ice cold stare at the forming crowd of students.

“The bell’s going to ring soon, you all get moving!”

That got the crowd to disperse quickly. And just as she said, the bell rang moments after.

When there were no students to be found and the area was completely empty, Fraena took that as a sign to head back into the building to start actual teacher’s assistant work.

Meowdame parted ways when they reached the cafeteria because Crowley decided to put her skills as a cook to use in the kitchen. Fraena can’t wait to see how rowdy it will get once they taste the legendary platter.

“These boys may not be hunters but I’ll give them a meal they’ll never fur-get!” she winks at her before heading inside.

Wouldn’t you know it, her first task was to assist Divus with the freshmen in handling potion ingredients. How lucky it was for her that Ace and Deuce were also there for the class as well.

‘It’s her!’

The two thought as Fraena enters the room and stands next to their professor like a soldier with the way her posture is ramrod straight.

Draken stood guard by the door, his back straight and ears twitching for the slightest sound. The students can’t help but divert their attention to him out of curiosity and awe.

“So, you lot are the newest litter of puppies enrolled here… let’s first get introductions in order- hmm?”

Divus paused when he noticed that the students were distracted.

The students were solely focused on Draken and could barely pay attention to their professor until they heard a snap from his teaching stick.

The boys flinched and instinctively fixed their gaze on him.

“You strays will listen when I’m speaking! Any lollygagging will get extra homework as punishment!”

That got them to focus on today’s lecture. While Divus was explaining the hundreds of herbs and fungi, Fraena simply looked at the clipboard of the ingredients the students had on their tables, and to check if they were the correct ones for today’s lesson.

‘There’s plenty of plants I’m not familiar with… But they might seem useful, I wonder if there’s a way to do these recipes without any magic…’ She thought to herself.

Though this world had no large monsters coming for them on a daily basis, she would like to put her skills to use. She’s done a lot of manual combining on and off the battlefield.

And besides, these boys might get into an accident that needed first aid.

Maybe she can bring this new knowledge back home to combat monsters easier too.

Then she hears a loud sizzling, turning around to see one of the cauldrons bubbling with dangerous chemicals overflowing the brim.

Before anyone could start panicking, Fraena whistled to Draken, who immediately dashed to their aid.

“Draken, fetch!”

“Arf!”

The Palamute dashed through the room with agile speed and grabbed the back collar of the two students nearby and dragged them to safety. All while managing to avoid the shelves full of bottled chemicals.

This allowed Divus enough time to cast a bubble spell to keep the explosion contained.

*RUMBLE, RUMBLE!*

There was a rumbling as the concoction exploded in pink and purple foam.

A harsh sizzling can be heard as it slowly dissolved away. When the foam disappeared, the students flinched when they saw the cauldron was partially melted.

They dread to think what would’ve happened had it exploded onto them without the bubble.

Draken lets go of the boys’ coats and returns to his post, Fraena gave him head pats before going to check on the students who were responsible for the disastrous experiment. The two of them seem dazed from what occurred mere seconds ago.

“You boys alright? No burns or cuts?”

She checks if there were any chemical burns on their lab coats or if their goggles were broken, thankfully they weren’t harmed.

The boys blushed when she helped them up from the floor, maybe it’s because Fraena, despite her serious expression, actually has a certain beauty to her (or is that they were being looked over by a female).

Not that she would know because she never pays attention to things like “beauty” when her lifestyle is basically hunting.

She would have no time to look pretty!

Divus walks up to the cauldron, undoing the spell he has cast to inspect the damages. Everyone in the room held their breath as he walks with an agitated gait.

Fraena could hear the students murmuring with a fearful tone.

“Oh shoot… They’re dead”

“It’s only the first day but they’re gonna be slaughtered!”

“I heard from a senior that Professor Crewel is merciless at the slightest mistake…”

He looks in the cauldron for a few seconds before smacking his teaching stick on his gloved hand.

“It seems that a few puppies were too distracted to heed my orders. I said to listen to my instructions carefully, but instead, you lot decided to play around!”

He held, from what Fraena could guess, a melted black mirror with gaudy-looking décor, and one of the students paled at the sight of the object.

So, it was his belonging?

Fraena wondered if the boy was a narcissist and loved to look at himself to bring a mirror to class.

“Ah! M-my phone- eek!”

He shrieks when the professor looms over him with a hardened gaze, clearly displeased after finding out today’s incident happened because of a “phone”.

“Let this be a lesson to you pups… one wrong procedure then you might as well have lost a limb or a chunk of your flesh!”

The students winced at the thought of experiencing something as painful as that. Divus continued on his rant.

“Be thankful, Miss Fraena was here to keep you all safe! You two, sit quietly in the back until the end of class. I’ll give you for punishment later…”

The two gulped anxiously before heading to the seats in the back with their heads hung low.

He tossed the “phone” into a bin and proceeded to continue the lesson. As if he was never furious in the first place.

Fraena has seen quite strict commanders, Divus would’ve been a frightening commander if he was ever in her world.

But why was he so worked up over a black mirror they called, “phone”? Did they hold some kind of magic?

After alchemy class was over and all the students filed out of the classroom, Divus puts a hand on Fraena’s shoulder. A smug grin was present on his handsome face.

“Excellent work today. Despite your canine being bigger than a wolf, I am surprised he was quick enough to get those pups out of danger. He hasn’t bumped into a single shelf either!”

“Oh, that’s because Draken’s quite agile on his feet and he can easily make his way through rough terrain as well as avoid any obstacles...”

At the mention of his capabilities, Draken’s face lights up with pride as he sticks his nose into the air.

Divus grins and proceeds to pet the Palamute who didn’t expect it and yelps before growling with a warning.

The man didn’t seem intimidated and just grinned smugly.

“I usually don’t let animals in the lab but if your mutt can keep these pups in line then I can make an exception. Ah, it really is refreshing to have an assistant that actually does their job~! Your next class is with Trein, isn’t it? You best be going now”

Fraena is escorted out of the room and into the hallway before the professor closed the door. She looks to Draken who wore an annoyed look as he tried to use his paw to fix his ruffled fur.

‘Is he really that relieved? Just how many assistants did he have to go through?’ she wondered.

She has seen a fair share of humans and wyverians with a certain beauty to them, Divus himself could give them a run for their zenny.

A lot of them had to deal with people who liked their looks but they can’t do their job? She’s hardly known about incidents like those.

Guess being attractive can be its own disadvantage huh? She can’t help but feel bad for the guy.

Poor guy was trying to work and someone would be pestering him for attention. If it were her, she’d be annoyed too.

‘I need to get to the next class…’

Not wanting to waste any more time, she heads for Trein’s class.

The man was in another classroom and sat at his desk with his cat, not wanting any trouble she has Draken stand guard at the door.

Palicoes and Palamutes usually get along and if they ever fight it’s usually over little things but they get over it quickly.

Lucius is clearly not happy with Draken if he ever so much as put a paw into the classroom.

“Draken, you can go take a walk in the meantime… I won’t be long”

“Huff…”

Though Draken seems a bit anxious to leave his hunter, he didn’t want to start a fight with the weird Palico hissing in his direction.

So, he obediently heads out to wherever his paws take him as Trein starts the class.

Needless to say, Fraena finds the lesson quite confusing because most of the terms being explained are not familiar to her at all. She merely assisted him in handing out course outlines and reference sheets when he tells her to.

Though she did find it a bit rude for some of the students to be getting drowsy. Though she doesn’t have schools back in her world the information was valuable.

Not to mention it was disrespectful to ignore the person whose job it is to educate.

Lucius made sure to remedy that by swiping at their noses, the students comically flinched at the feline. Barely avoiding the sharp claws that would have made red lines on their skin.

If Lucius was too lazy to swat at the students, Trein’s famous glare can send chills down their spines.

It almost seems like he was cursing them with his eyes.

Fraena did feel a bit of shiver herself, reminds her of the time a newbie screwed up and the Elder Fugen was already having a bad day.

Not a pleasant encounter… for the newbie that is.

It wasn’t a very eventful lesson other than taking notes. Fraena never really needed to go to school.

In a world like hers, “schools” are usually just taught in the village by the veteran hunters and the lessons were mostly about the basics and how to wield weapons, crafting among other survival tactics.

And if they had to take notes, it was usually out in the field. Which is a hard thing to manage if you’re spotted by your target.

Most times it ends up with the hunter kissing the floor after getting tackled by monsters.

Placing schools in another area where kids themselves have to venture to, is dangerous. Considering the kind of ecosystem they have, a school like this would never work out.

Once class was over, she had to stay behind to fix the papers and clean out the board.

While she was putting papers away and cleaning chalkboards, Trein made small talk.

“Most of your duties in my class would be to mark papers but… what extent is your education, if I may ask?”

“Well, mostly anatomy but it’s how to find breakable monster parts. There’s a bit of alchemy but it’s just mixing raw materials to make useful items. That’s about it… I can read and write like everyone else but I doubt I can do that with the different alphabet here…”

Fraena can’t help but feel a bit inadequate, she never had to learn these kinds of subjects before because they weren’t necessary.

“I see, I could teach you a few things if you want…”

“Huh?” she wasn’t expecting that.

Trein’s stern face softened a bit as he pulls out a bunch of handwritten notes and gave them to her. These were all notes on the various subjects!

“I can start tutoring you on weekends if you would like…”

She should take this offer, after all there was no telling when she would be getting back home.

“That would be nice… it’s hard to adjust when everything is so different all of a sudden…”

“You remind me so much of my two daughters, you know” Trein smiles fondly.

“I do?”

She didn’t even know he was married and had children.

“They are strong and proud girls, though they tend to keep their issues to themselves at times, but as a parent I can always tell” he chuckles fondly at the memory.

Seems like his strictness and cold gaze was just his way of showing how he cared about their education, he has a surprisingly soft side to him.

“Though, I am quite curious about your world too. Maybe we could make a deal, in exchange for tutoring you please do tell me about the world you call home. I just find it fascinating that your world has intelligent cats…”

There was a small hint of amusement in his tone, well he is a cat person after all.

Learning about a world where cats can be the perfect company who can do most things a person could, was practically paradise to him.

Fraena agrees to his terms, who is she to deny the man? Hunters can’t help but melt at the sight of Palicoes. She can admit that Palicoes are kind of the best.

Draken would whine if he heard her say that though.

After Trein’s class, she has a PE class that she needs to overlook with Vargas. Though when she got to the field, she could spot Draken who looked like he was ready to kill someone.

No doubt, someone messed with him.

“What’s the matter, boy?”

“*whines*”

Then she noticed that his fur was fluffier in a messy sense like someone had just given him so many pets that it stuck out.

And from the looks of it, he got a whole lot of affection.

Can she blame them? No, because every hunter loves to give affection to their furry companions.

Who can resist? But this may be too many pets.

Then she heard the loud, booming voice of Vargas. What she saw nearly made her have whiplash.

That man was flying… on a broom of all things?! He noticed her stunned expression the moment he landed.

“What’s the matter? Have my outstanding flying skills made you speechless?”

He flexed his muscled arm in pride.

“H-how do you fly… wh-what is happening?!”

“Oh, it’s natural for anyone to fly using a broom, given that they have enough magic and control. Haha! You should close your gaping maw unless you want to eat flies!”

“F-forgive me, I wasn’t trying to be rude it’s just… back home, people usually took flight on a Flying Wyvern and not a tool for cleaning- oh Gogma-dammit…”

She regrets saying that the moment Vargas’ eyes lit up with excitement at the mention of people riding monsters.

Before she could escape, he puts an arm around her shoulder as he gives her a huge grin.

“You mean to tell me that not only do you hunt monsters… but you also ride them into a glorious battle?!” his eyes were practically sparkling.

“W-well, riders are the ones who ride the monsters and hunters do the, you know… hunting…”

Fraena wants to put a boot in her mouth because Vargas won’t pass up on wanting to hear any more stories about “glorious hunts”.

Thankfully, she is spared momentarily when the students started to pile into the field.

She took notice of how some of them had features of animals, she can’t help but stare.

But she soon realized that she gazed at them for too long when a student with dusty blonde hair and hyena ears looked her way.

Vargas blew his whistle and signaled the students to start lining up on the track field for a good 100-meter run.

Fraena watched as the students ran around the large field. Some quickly succumbed after running a short distance and got Vargas shouting for them to regulate their speed.

While there were others who were running quite a distance before they even worked up a sweat. The majority of those were beastmen, she can guess why.

Even wyverians tend to be more athletic and have better endurance compared to humans.

Vargas calls out to her holding a thermal bag filled to the brim with cold water bottles.

“Hand these out to the kids struggling to run, they look dehydrated. Tsk, tsk, those boys ought to work their muscles more! A little bit of exercise won’t hurt every now and again!”

He flexes his muscles to prove a point, Fraena admits that he’s as buff as Elder Fugen. Just not able to match the height… that little detail is kept to herself.

She motions to Draken who immediately figures out what she needed him to do. Fraena rides on his back as the Palamute ran to the students at the far end of the field.

The same hyena boy was sweating quite a lot after running around almost half of the field, he hears rustling grass nearby and he nearly stumbled at the sight of the Palamute.

He looks to the rider to see it was the lady who was standing next to Vargas earlier.

She tossed him a cold bottle which he immediately takes to drinking about a half-full of its contents before dumping it on himself.

“Man that hits the spot! Nothing beats a cold drink on a hot day, shi shi!”

He turns his attention to the lady and his nose catches a confusing array of scents, he can smell some form of an animal? Or at least he thinks is an animal on her.

But also a bit of blood. Ruggie didn’t realize that he was backing away the moment he got a whiff of it. Fraena thought he was afraid of her Palamute and tried to remedy the awkward situation.

“Oh, no need to be tense. Draken’s just not used to strangers…”

“Grrr….”

“Ah! T-that’s not what I was…”

Before he could try to come up with an explanation, she was already running off to another student who was suffering from this sweltering heat.

Ruggie kept his gaze on her, he’s met his fair share of people who smelled like blood. Usually, they’re troublemakers and street thugs who had a history of violence.

Of course, he and his fellow hyenas fought back with their bone-crushing teeth.

But the thing is... the smell of blood on those thugs can always be traced back to other people.

But this lady… the blood smelled close to a beast of some kind. Nothing like he’s ever smelled before.

It was like the scent of an untamed jungle. Where everything is out to get you and won’t spare you any mercy.

And he can tell just by the way she carries herself that she’s not someone who hunts for the trophy.

More like she was the prey and she fought back whatever tried to devour her.

He felt his fur stand on end at the thought. Seems like the new teacher’s assistant wasn’t someone who lived their version of a “normal” life.

‘That headmaster hired another eccentric one, huh?’ he thought to himself.

He goes back to running his laps, trying to shake the lingering scent off his nose.

A few students got distracted by Fraena riding Draken all over the place which caused Vargas to add pushups to their exercise when they bumped into each other.

He thought they were being ungentlemanly and were gawking at the only female staff in this school.

Vargas won’t allow these boys to disrespect the lady who gained his respect!

After the period ended and almost all of the students were gasping for air while feeling the ache of their sore muscles, Vargas dismissed them. Stating how only a few were able to keep up with the assigned exercises.

This is unacceptable in his view, he reminds the boys that he’ll make sure they’re almost as good as he is so they won’t fall back next time. Most of them shuddered at the thought of having more than just the torment they experienced today.

“Those youngsters think that sitting on the couch and scrolling through their phone is all they need. I’ll show them the awe-inspiring revelation of muscles soon!”

He turns to Fraena with an expression that clearly states that she’ll be held here for more chit-chat.

“By the way, Fraena... I noticed you’re quite muscular yourself though. Considering that you carry around that huge weapon and the fact you hunt down behemoths on the daily…”

‘Oh no… please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to tell me!’

She pleaded to whomever deity was sympathetic enough to hear her cry for help.

But alas… no one answered.

“You’ve got to show me some of those moves, little miss! I’m always open to spar you know, no need to worry about hurting me! I’m built like a tank!”

“A-ah… fine… someday”

Not like she had a choice in the matter. She never really liked sticking around people for too long. She found it awkward despite the reputation she got back in Kamura.

Unfortunately, her small talk and distant attitude contributed to her “coolness” or so the rumor goes.

The moment Vargas gave them an out, the two booked it out of the field faster than a sliding Lagombi.

“Ugh, could this place get any weirder?”

*GRUMBLE*

She paused when her stomach growled, at least she’ll have some sort of familiarity once she goes to the cafeteria. Knowing Meowdame, she’ll whip up some home cooking.

“Let’s go see Meowdame for now…”

“Arf, arf!”

Draken couldn’t agree more, this strange place was starting to stress them out. Some food would remedy that.

Little did she know, that the day was about to get weirder once a certain fire-breathing melynx managed to sneak into campus and is now being chased by two first years, Ace and Deuce.

END

[snakegorl212006]

Diasomnia  Journal Entries

---------------Malleus Draconia----------------------------- -Called him Tsunotarou/Hornton for the longest time -Vil,surprisingly, told me his actual name -despite being a ghost who’s supposed to reside and be found mostly in his own wing, he’s actually mostly founded in the woods outside my house -i did some digging to this guy and all i see are legends -malleus was cruel and cunning individual -he ruled the land with a iron fist and would punish anyone getting in his way -i asked him about it to which he only made him said -”even now stories. The only history they see of me is only filled with blood and brimstone” -he tells his own story and the many names he has been called. -over the years even after death, people seek any means into destroying him   -i asked him what made him bite the dust (and then explaining that i'm asking him how he died as he doesn't know who Queen is.) -he told me he placed a curse on these grounds which cost him his life -whatever ritual he did permanently made him part of this castle of a wing -though,especially after what happened to my door, i don’t underestimate the guy -but he acts like a complete and total sweet heart -unlike azul who half of the time he’s most likely faking, he’s completely genuine -but i would say. Possessive should be his middle name -literally would not like for me to leave at all -i sometimes accidentally overhear conversations between lilia and him about some diabolical plans to lock me away or finding out some elaborate way to get an attachment. -i’m hoping still i don’t have to figure out what he’s like when he doesn't get his way (Aka; me not consenting to have an attachment.)

-----------------------Silver------------------------------ -that explains why there’s so much wildlife -something about this guy literally makes him the embodiment of every disney princess -he’s also a little sleeping beauty -not only he has a pretty face but, he’s prolonged to sleep spells -he says he always had this problem as long as he could remember -he sometimes pops out of nowhere and i blame lilia and malleus for this behavior -an illness is what got him unfortunately -he’s also very sweet. -he protects me from lilia’s cooking(forever grateful) -silver also comes to me for advice as lilia,unlike everyone else here, keeps up with modern times -i had to become his personal google translator so he can understand his father lilia -he’s also almost as gullible as kalim -I just happen to idly spin my broom stick around and now Silver thinks I know my way around weapons,specifically a sword. -he had a desire to train with me one day -i asked him what killed him and he told me he got caught with a plague -i felt bad for him for he’s genuinely pretty sweet -terrible way to go down that’s for sure -he told me that lilia saved his life with a last minute attachment,by choice, which allowed him to become a ghost -”sebek and others though i recovered fully due to this no knowing the truth that i was just a ghost like lord malleus and sir lilia”

------------Sebek Zigvolt------------------------------------ -loud -ill tempered -borderline racist -has a high distance for humans which is ironic to say the least -bost about his abilities often and love to talk about malleus -he is super smart and knows a lot in terms of core subjects -he actually doesn't walk around with that heavy armor 24/7 -very protective of his master and idolized him -i did ask him how he pasted which got him boating how he was slain by the hands of his master -i said i was sorry and he got angry and said “Being slain by Wakasama is the greatest honor a warrior could achieve” -i played along and apologize -he’s strong and often helps me with cleaning and arranging things -he expressed great happiness when i gifted him a old painting of malleus(who i bought from sam) -aside from the usual complaining and worshiping the grounds that malleus walks across, he’s really……obsessed with my demise -half of the time i can’t comprehend if he hates me or wants me to become a ghost like them -i mean i’m human and he doesn't like me much but he always is present and advocates with any idea on how to get me to turn into one of them…

--------Lilia Vanrouge------------------------------- -a cryptic old man with the personality and body of a young man in his early twenties - i also feel like he really wants me dead, yet he treats me like he’ve been best friends for the longest time -likes to tell interesting stories of his youth and his time with malleus -he actually gains a camera at some point in time and took pictures which weren’t half bad. -there is a painting somewhere in this wing were a old full body portrait of lilia back when he was army general(still tying to find but he keeps actively moving the dang painting 😤) -based on this i can confidently assume that they have been alive for over 700 years -he said i wasn't far off yet never elaborated further -he makes many,and i mean many, attempts to make me feel comfortable in the Diasomnia wing -this involves in locking me in the wing possibly taking the same idea from jamil’s attempts -bats sometimes flutter around him which ended up being one more creature to take care of -for some odd reason he’s more connected to modern day news ,topics and trends. -he has requested to have a laptop but the way the wing is set up, he has to used electrical outlets from other wings -which then he elightens me of the capacity of the ghost that resides here -this is when i figured out about their paranormal magic and energy usage -this explains on how malleus was able to travel to the woods outside the main house and how some ghost actual know each other -for example leona,who hates him, and vil knows about malleus