#searching for the feeling he had with you—only to never find it

[onthesandsofdreams]

From Duty To Love

Fandom: House of the Dragon/ASoIaF Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader Summary: Cregan knew that a marriage to Queen Rhaenyra's only daughter would be different. Two people who perhaps were on the opposite ends when it came to their respective houses: Fire and Ice. He could not fault you, much like him, you took your duties seriously. And he wondered if that would only be the only kind of marriage you both would have. Until he noticed. Rating: G Notes: Listen, I just wanted to write fluff, ok?Also, while reader is Rhaenyra's daughter (Velaryon), there are no descriptions. Tagging: @flashfictionfridayofficial

Read @ AO3

Cregan knew that a marriage to Queen Rhaenyra's only daughter would be different. Two people who perhaps were on the opposite ends when it came to their respective houses: Fire and Ice.

He could not fault you, much like him, you took your duties seriously. And he wondered if that would only be the only kind of marriage you both would have.

Until he noticed.

Until his wolf eyes and instincts were forcefully opened about the subtle signs you had been sending. How you'd lean towards him during dinner, how you always tried your best to keep waiting until he returned to your shared chambers. Your offer to take him flying, something he'd yet to accept. How you always had a kind smile for him, how you in your quiet and subtle manner, were actually looking out for him. Too much time in the training yard? A bath with scented oils waited for him. Too lost in books and ledgers? A tray of bite size food and drink on his desk. His clothes always laid for him, and yes, he'd noticed that some of his clothes now bore embroidery in wolf shapes. Your handiwork, he knew it.

It also did not escaped him your kindness and respect towards his people. Your people now too. But, in your short time as Lady of Winterfell, you had earned your placed with those who had served his family, some even before he was born. Even the most hardened Northman, you'd find a way to charm and made them feel at ease. It had helped that, while you had pride in who you were, you did not looked down upon others.

He furrowed his brows, so, why then were you still shy when it came to him?

The reason slammed into him fast, The Hightowers. Of course, you'd had seen how they treated and spoked of your mother, and as such, he understood now that you did not want people to speak in the same way about you.

Not that he'd let them.

If anyone would be foolish to try and slander his wife, they would soon be acquaintances with Ice. He would not tolerate any disrespect towards you. Not now, not ever.

He put his quill down and stood from his desk, and left his solar in search of you. Asking a passing maid, he'd been told you had just gone out to see Silverwing, so, for once he gathered his courage in facing the she dragon and followed you.

He found you leaning against Silverwing's snout. He did not need to announce himself, soon enough, the she dragon moved and made you look. He saw the surprise in your face as you found him there. He watched as you stood and walked towards him.

"Cregan, is there something wrong?" He had insisted that you called him that.

"No, I just wanted to check on you?"

He savored the way your face softened, "I am well, just Silverwing was getting a bit lonely." You bit your lip. "I was thinking of taking to the skies, would you like to come?"

He did not miss the way your eyes shone with hope. And he swallowed his nervousness and fears, "As long as you promise not to let me fall."

He was not prepared for you to turn radiant with joy and all but leap at his arms. The kiss you placed on the corner of his lips felt like fire of a kind he had never known. "Never, Cregan. I will never let you fall."

He let you take his hand, and followed you towards Silverwing.

Perhaps now, duty would not be the only thing that would tie your marriage. He hoped.

[mythblossoms]

cherry wine

pairing: sylus x gn!reader

content: mutual pining, slight angst, music used as metaphor (poorly), pre-relationship, hand holding and dancing

a/n: sometimes a specific scene sticks in your head and you have to write something around that only. i also just love the sound of a cello ;-;

wc: ~1.4k

Music was honest. It spoke plainly about its desires and was vulnerable. The melodies openly conveyed emotions and stories, imploring those who heard to succumb to their passions. There is a beauty in patterns and themes laced between the harmonies.

At the least, that’s what Sylus told himself as he leaned casually against the gilded pillars decorating the gala floor. 

Your invitation to some musicians gala hadn’t been unexpected - the connections and intel privy to him had become a bonus to your missions, and Sylus was happy to oblige. But your openness, that was new. Your willingness to reach out and discuss tactics and invite him as something more, more than a source of knowledge at least.

He was happy to watch you work, your acting skills so finely honed now as you smiled coyly at other guests perched at the bar - your eyes, in contrast, sharply focused on your surroundings. You were an unknown force in your element, poised to strike. 

The musicians began their arrangement, the opening notes notifying the guests of the story they aimed to tell.

The aching thrum of the cello, the pining glide of the violin - woven together to create a song of want, grounded by a repetition of keys played softly on the piano. Sylus knows the story that inspired the peaks and valleys of this piece - the undying devotion of some underworld god to his spring bride, the names long forgotten but the sentiments still clinging to the notes. For you, I will wait. For you, I will suffer time and space. 

His eyes find your form across the gala floor. You, so warmly illuminated by the overhead chandeliers, cherry wine in hand and the pomegranate stain of your lips. Would you also eat the seeds — if offered? Would you stay — if asked? Your eyes flicked to his, offering a near imperceptible nod in his direction. For you, he would ask again and again.

The low lament of the cello hums through the room as your eyes leave his, searching the faces of each passerby as you swirl the untouched wine. Reasonably, Sylus knows that once you’ve completed your mission, you’ll be gone again. And he will wait again, until he is needed, until you are ready. The constant refrain his own frustrating internal melody - wait, wait, wait — again, again, again. He did not have the patience of some ancient god, and the yearning notes of the song left a sour taste in his mouth. 

As the music swells, melodic and mournful, Sylus finds himself pulled to you. He moves across the floor slowly, yet purposefully, eyes never leaving your face. 

“Dance with me.” Sylus offers his open palm to you, an open invitation, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slight smirk. 

You swirl the wine again in your glass, watching as the dark red liquid briefly coats the glass before settling. “Do you always ask people to dance to tragic love songs?” you mused, placing the glass on the bar. It’s easy, like this, pretending to be two strangers drawn together by the fervor of the strings. The hunger of their pitch echoing the feeling in your chest. 

“There’s a - sincerity to tragedy that makes it more memorable.” And for a moment, he seems far away, some distant memory clinging to the edge of his vision before he’s raising an eyebrow at you again.

“People will think you’re some sort of brooding crow.” You tease and gently take his hand, letting him guide you to the near empty floor.

“Do you think I care what people think, sweetheart?” Sylus smirks again, lightly holding your hand in one and splaying his other across your lower back. He pulls you in closer, chests nearly touching as he leans in closely. “I’m more interested in what your eyes see.” His warm breath sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. 

Logically, you think he means finding your target. Your vantage point from the center of the room certainly allows you to see more faces than you could from your singular place at the bar. And yet - the gentle way he holds your hand, the warm touch on your lower back, the softness in his eyes as he searches yours - you consider the outcomes of being bold, of being honest. 

Your hand flattens against the base of his neck, a thrum of energy flowing between the closeness of your bodies - your eyes fixed solely on his. “I’m not sure I’ve seen enough to make an informed decision.” The air stills around you, time seemingly frozen in this moment as the energy between you intensifies, the magnification of something bigger than both of you. “I’ll keep looking though.” 

The far away look returns to his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly - unexpressed sentiments hanging in the air. The instruments die down, the lack of sound somehow deafening in your ears, and Sylus slowly releases your waist - breaking the chord that hummed so loudly between you. 

Before you can step away, he captures your hand in both of his. Delicately, he lifts your palm to his lips and presses a light kiss in the center, holding your gaze before fully releasing you. Your palm tingles with warmth as you squeeze your hand shut, tucking it at your side. “Careful - don’t look too far or you may lose sight of what you're searching for.” His words feel ambiguous, leaving you sifting through context and emotion, the two swirling together as he steps closer. “On your right,” he murmurs before casually walking towards the exit. 

This is why pretending is easier, why leaving is easier - even when you knew you would come back. Staying meant confronting whatever ambiguity grasped onto each look or word between you and Sylus. Leaving granted space, a moment to breathe. Exhaling, you locked onto the man on your right, surrounded by others clinging onto whatever syrupy words he spun. Leaving meant gaining some control of this situation.

Sylus did not have the patience of long forgotten gods, but he did have their petulance. Standing at the end of the long hallway, shrouded in the shadow of a pillar - surely this is the type of brooding expected of a deity. 

Twice you managed to catch him in a moment. Twice, a fleeting sense of clarity that was quickly broken once he realized his surroundings and the scenario you both were in. You had truly looked at him this time, as if you could see each miniscule crack that deepened each moment spent together then apart. He felt a seismic shift beneath layers of protection he had spent so many years building up. The notes of the cello reverberated through Sylus’s mind, blending with his internal symphony - wait, wait, wait, for you. He had no clear path forward to you, no seeds to offer you - only the notes of song urging patience.

Footsteps interrupted his ruminations, the sound resonating down the hall moving closer to him. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you, the familiar determination underneath the light sound - letting you come to him. “Caught what you needed, kitten?” The teasing nickname falls easily from his lips, but he’s searching your face again - looking for something, anything to flicker across your face. Your determined mask remains in place and you’re barely slowing down as you pass him — leaving again.

“His notes were…off-key,” you state plainly, stepping out into the cool night air. Sylus huffs a laugh in response, bad intel. “But not a total loss, he had some interesting friends. Guess I’ll have to look closer.” There’s a subtle curtness to your voice, dismissive even, as you navigate the city street - Sylus still trailing behind.

“Be patient,” he almost bites out, the irony not lost on him. “True motives always reveal themselves, in the end.” 

You stopped abruptly in front of him, turning to face him with a boldness he’d grown fond of. “And if I’m not patient?” Your words are clear, daring to hold his gaze. “What if I’m impulsive?”

“The power is in your hands then - you have to decide how you want to proceed.” Another dance, another song — laced with hidden meanings. Your eyes soften slightly - were you playing the same tune? Did you understand the notes played under his words? Sylus extends his hand to you again, palm open and still. “For now, let’s get you home.”

You smile lightly, the corners of your lips slightly turned up. “It’s early for you - isn’t it?” You take his hand, gently lacing your fingers with his. “Why don’t you take me on the scenic route?” 

[gayofthefae]

This scene is wild. He doesn't notice her exhaustion, says he wants to use her powers, then, to top it all off, when Dustin and Lucas leave him alone with her, he looks back at her then where they left irritated to be there

Craziest part? This is the last scene before their first kiss. It is actually the direct reason they have it.

Dustin and Lucas leave him alone with El and he asks her to the Snow Ball and kisses her. But do not be fooled, he is not in any way taking advantage of the opportunity of being alone with her.

As we know, he only brings up the Snow Ball after being prompted by her confusion. The intended conversation is about how he's happy that soon she will be able to live normally, with a bed and food. And even on the topic of the Snow Ball, he does not have intention to kiss her. He does it out of visible exhaustion at explaining it as a substitution for defining romantic feelings.

He did not want to be alone with her, preferring to go after Will and even looking a bit upset with Lucas and Dustin for leaving him with her. When left alone with her, he struck up a conversation about her living situation without no intended segue to romance before becoming avoidant to questions about romance and kissing her essentially to end the conversation.

He became her friend in season 3. He loved her starting when she got back and he actually got to know her - the her that teases and jokes and likes comic books and says bitchin'.

In season 1, he was impressed by her, he appreciated her understanding in a time when he needed it, and he was grateful for her help in finding Will. Here, she was not using her powers so he was not impressed, he was not in need of her comfort, and most of all, being with her was actively barring him from going after Will. So he resented it.

He loves her now. But in season 1, she provided a service he was eternally grateful for. That is never more clear than here: when she is not providing it.

As is always a version of this question that gives us our every answer:

He loves her when she's helping him find Will. But does he love her or that she's helping him find Will? The only way to know? What does he do when choosing between the two.

In season 2, we see this with Dart. He does not care and is more neutrally curious about Dart, if a little grossed out, like the others...until Will expresses distress over him. Then he hates him. But we only know this because in episode 4, when given the choice to tend to Will's distress or find Dart, he goes to Will.

Similarly, here, he meets El. He cares to ensure her safety, but it does need to be with him. He says outright that once his mom has helped them get her somewhere safe, he will go back out in search of Will. He also explains directly to Lucas that he kept her around because she knew Will. And then we have this moment: El or Will.

In seasons 1, he seemed in love with her because El and Will were a single choice. But when they weren't, he was exasperated to not be able to choose Will.

In season 2, it is mostly sidelined so harder to notice, but he chooses Will. In season 2 episode 3, he thinks she's right outside the door but doesn't find her. What does he do next? Pursue her? No. He goes to find Will and stays with him for the rest of the week and stops calling her. "353 days" is less romantic when you consider that it had been around 357 by now.

And, of course, in season 4, see him do the most interesting of all. After a day of seemingly choosing El - a year, really, including the previous season - he reveals that it had been surface level. He stops looking for El. He is the one who stops walking to fight with Will about their issues.

His priorities are clear if you look. Progressively, you need to look less and less. But they have always been there.

And in season 1, he didn't love El. He loved Will through her.

[moonlightdreamzz]

late nights — bang chan, hyunjin, wooyoung, and niki. ♡

it feels so good to be seen and loved, especially after an exhausting day.

bang chan

truthfully, you don’t even know how you made it here in one piece—here, being chris’ studio. utterly exhausted doesn’t even begin to cover it, but the day is finally over, and you’re holding onto that small grace. not like you have much of a choice, right?

your eyes flutter shut for just a second as you lean against the door, the light thud startling you back to the moment. you laugh quietly at yourself, embarrassed by how ready your body was to believe this was the end of the day, before finally pushing the door open.

you and chris share the same curse: you work too hard, and far too much. so, it doesn’t surprise you to see him exactly as you left him this morning—headphones on, hunched over his computer, eyes flickering across the screen. even from the doorway, you can hear the bass pumping loud enough to feel it in your chest.

you weren’t planning on saying anything. the couch beside his desk had your name written all over it, and all you wanted was to curl up and let sleep take over until he was ready to leave. but somehow, you find enough strength to call out to him.

“baby.”

it’s almost immediate, the way his head snaps toward you, his eyes softening as soon as they land on yours. it’s like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. his headphones are off in seconds, tossed carelessly onto the desk. that alone tells you everything—he must think you look even worse than you feel.

he doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms wide, inviting you in. and how could you ever say no to him? you drag your feet across the room, collapsing into his lap without a second thought. his arms wrap around you tightly, and for the first time all day, you feel like you can finally exhale.

“you had a long day, didn’t you?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before pressing a soft kiss there.

all you can do is nod, burying yourself deeper into his neck. he smells just like he did this morning, warm and familiar, and it makes your chest ache in the best way. neither of you moves for what feels like forever, but it’s the kind of forever you could get used to. his touch says everything words can’t—how much he missed you, how much he hates seeing you this tired, how much he loves you.

you want to tell him you should go home, that you need a proper bed, but you can’t. you know how important his work is, and you’d never forgive yourself for making him feel guilty about staying.

but then his voice breaks the silence, low and soft. “i think i’m done for the night.”

your head snaps up, searching his face for any sign he’s joking. “no, baby. i’m fine. keep working,” you say quickly, even as your body betrays you and leans back into his chest. the guilt creeps up before you can stop it.

his thumb brushes your cheek, and his eyes lock on yours with so much tenderness it nearly knocks the wind out of you. “the only thing i want to do is go home, run you a bath, and hold you while you fall asleep. this can wait until tomorrow. you’re the most important thing to me, and i need you to know that.”

he kisses you softly, and when he pulls back, there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “besides,” he adds with a wink, “if i don’t take care of you, who’s going to remind me to take care of myself?”

hyunjin

you and your man were both terribly sleepy babies. no matter how hard you tried to stay awake for each other on late nights, one of you always gave in first. it was a routine by now: a simple “i love you” text signaling surrender to the pull of a memory foam mattress or an irresistibly soft couch. there was never any guilt, just understanding.

but this month? this month has been unrelenting. you’ve been in full girl boss mode, pushing through deadlines and back-to-back meetings, while hyunjin has been caught up in the chaos of a comeback. you can’t even remember the last time you sat down together for dinner, watched a show, or just existed in the same moment. you miss it. you miss him.

when his schedule was calmer, hyunjin stayed with you as much as he could. but now, the dorm has him locked down. as you punch in your door code, you sigh, already feeling the emptiness of your apartment. you wish he were here—even if it meant finding him passed out on the couch, mouth slightly open, barely coherent as you whispered him awake and tugged him to bed

tonight, though, there’s no detour. no lingering in the kitchen or collapsing on the couch. you head straight to your room, already peeling off your jacket as you close the door behind you. exhaustion weighs heavy on you, but something feels… off.

your heart stutters. someone’s here.

you freeze. open your eyes, idiot, you scold yourself. slowly, you do, and your breath catches in your throat

there, glowing like a dream, stands hyunjin. a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, his smile stretching so wide his eyes crinkle shut. he’s radiant, like he stepped out of your imagination, but he’s real.

“baby,” you whisper, your voice trembling with disbelief. “what… how are you here? i thought—”

you don’t get the words out, too stunned to string them together. he steps closer, slow and steady, placing the roses and wine into your hands before cupping your face and kissing you, soft and sure. his lips feel like coming home

“i missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm against your ear. “it’s been hell not being able to see you, touch you, hold you. i’ve been trying so hard to wait, but when i called you this morning and heard how tired you sounded… i had to be here. i couldn’t let you come home to an empty apartment tonight.

you melt into his arms, burying your face in his chest as his words sink in. “i knew it,” you say suddenly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, a teasing smirk spreading across your face. “you really can’t stay away from me. i’m irresistible, huh?”

he bursts out laughing, the sound warm and rich, making his whole body shake as he leans his forehead against yours. “shut up,” he grins, but his eyes are so full of love you can feel it in your bones.

The he cups your face again, pressing his lips back to yours in a kiss that feels like a promise. this one is different—hungrier, deeper, filled with everything he’s been holding back. his right hand gently takes the flowers and wine from you, tossing them onto the couch as if they’re the least important thing in the world.

“you’ve been stressed too, baby,” you murmur between kisses, your hands sliding up his chest as he pulls you closer. “you want me to make it better? take your mind off everything?”

“please,” he breathes, the single word trembling with desperation.

and that’s all it takes for the two of you to let go of everything else—the stress, the distance, the long days apart. tonight, it’s just you and him.

wooyoung

i know that the last conversation we had didn’t end on a good note. and i know you’re still trying to process everything going on with us and probably don’t want to see me. but I can’t help but feel like you’re exhausted and need something to take your mind off of everything you have going on right now. regardless of what we’re going through rn, i love you and I’ll always be here to make things better.

your heart aches as you read wooyoung’s text.

i’m outside. take your time. i’ll wait for you.

you didn’t think you’d hear from him tonight—not after the way your last conversation had ended. but that’s wooyoung, always showing up when you need him most, even when things between you feel fragile and uncertain.

you grab your jacket and step outside, the chill in the air catching you off guard. but then you see him, leaning against his car with his arms crossed, his hair a little messy, his expression soft despite the exhaustion etched into it.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world stills.

without a word, he opens the car door for you. as you slide into the passenger seat, you feel the familiar warmth of his presence settle over you like a blanket. he gets in, shutting the door gently, and the two of you sit there, bathed in the soft glow of the dashboard lights.

“you didn’t have to come,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

he turns to you, his gaze steady, his hand already reaching for yours. “yes, i did.” his tone is quiet but firm, like he needs you to believe it

his thumb rubs gentle circles against your skin, and it’s enough to unravel the tight knot in your chest.

“i know it’s been rough lately,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “but no matter what we’re going through, i can’t stand the thought of you sitting at home feeling this way. you don’t have to go through this alone. i’m here. always.”

you close your eyes, his words sinking into the deepest parts of you.

he leans over, pulling you into his arms, and it’s like you’re a piece of a puzzle snapping into place. his embrace is so warm, so full of everything he can’t quite say, and you don’t realize how much you needed it until you’re here, breathing him in.

“you’re freezing,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “i should’ve brought a blanket.”

you let out a soft laugh, your breath brushing against his collarbone. “you’re the blanket.”

he smiles against your hair, holding you a little tighter. “good. then i’m not letting go.”

for a long time, you just sit there, his arms wrapped around you, his hand gently tracing soothing patterns along your back. it’s so quiet, but the silence is full of him—his love, his care, his determination to make sure you feel safe, even when things between you aren’t perfect.

“thank you for coming,” you whisper after a while, your voice muffled against his chest.

“i’ll always come,” he replies, his lips brushing against your forehead. “no matter what’s happening. you’re my person.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, it feels like everything might actually be okay. whatever else you have to figure out, whatever else you have to say, you can face it together.

for now, this is enough. this is everything.

niki

the studio was quiet now, the kind of quiet that made you feel how tired you really were. your body ached, your mind felt heavy, and the only thing keeping you upright was the cool press of the mirror at your back.

you closed your eyes, just for a second, and let out a sigh.

“you always look like you’re about to fall apart after practice,” a familiar voice teased, pulling you out of your thoughts.

your eyes snapped open, and when you saw him standing there in the doorway, you actually laughed out loud.

“niki?” you said, your voice pitching higher in disbelief. “what the—how did you even get in here?”

he grinned, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place, hands stuffed casually into his hoodie pockets. “i have my ways.”

“your ways?” you repeated, still laughing, though your exhaustion made it sound a little delirious. “what, did you sneak past security?”

he shrugged, his grin widening. “you’d be surprised what a little charm can do.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, shaking your head, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

niki stepped into the room then, pulling a takeout bag from behind his back like it was some big reveal. “anyway, i figured you might be hungry. you were going on and on about this the other day, so…”

you blinked at him, your chest tightening. “you remembered that?”

niki rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a blush creeping up his neck. “obviously. i’m not as clueless as you think.”

he walked over and sat down beside you, his legs stretching out across the floor. the bag landed in your lap, and the smell alone was enough to make your stomach growl.

“you didn’t have to,” you murmured, though you were already pulling the container out.

“yeah, well,” he said, leaning back against the mirror with a shrug, “i wanted to.”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, you forgot how exhausted you were. his face was calm, but his eyes were soft, like he was seeing you in a way no one else ever had.

“thanks, niki,” you said quietly.

he waved it off like it was nothing, but the tips of his ears were pink, and you knew him well enough to know what that meant.

“you worked hard today,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “but you always do.”

you smiled, but it felt bittersweet. “sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”

niki’s gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “it is,” he said firmly. “you are.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and meaningful, and you didn’t know what to say. so you didn’t. you just opened the container, took a bite, and let the warmth of the food—and his presence—melt away the edges of your day.

he didn’t say anything else, just stayed there beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed when one of you moved.

and maybe you were both too scared to say it out loud, too scared to ruin whatever this was, but in that moment, you knew: he was your safe place. and maybe, just maybe, you were his too.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x disabled!reader with chronic pain (not specified)

series masterlist - my masterlist

you should have known better than to go on the mission yesterday, but there’s nothing you hate more than feeling weak and patronised. charles had told you to sit it out if you were in pain, and you’d snapped back that you could handle missions just as well as any other x-man which, while true, doesn’t mean you should push yourself past your limits.

you can’t even get out of bed, every small movement making you whimper and groan as pain shoots through you, unforgiving. after so long dealing with chronic pain, you sometimes think you should be used to it, but no matter how many years go by and how many flares you experience, it never gets any easier.

logan’s upset with you, huffy and fussing, repeating over and over how you should have listened to charles, how the professor only wants what’s best for you, and telling you that it’s idiotic to let your pride take over. he’s being hypocritical, but you know it’s only because he hates to see you this way, hates to see you vulnerable, worries that one day something will happen and the x-mansion will be attacked and you’ll be in too much pain to effectively defend yourself.

so you let him take care of you, because you know it makes him feel better. it allows him a modicum of control over an uncontrollable situation. he, unlike you, has not yet given up on the idea of finding methods to lessen your chronic pain.

he helps you take your medication, brings you food and water, goes so far as to feed you so that you don’t even have to shift your body in case it’s too much. he waits by your side until the drugs kick in, refusing to leave until you tell him to go.

he asks jean to check in on you, asks if there’s anything she can do with all of her medical knowledge - the answer is no, there is no cure to a condition like yours, only techniques to lessen the pain temporarily. he searches for the few mutants in the mansion with healing abilities and practically begs them for help; it’s the only time he lets anyone see him vulnerable, because he hates to see you in pain and would do anything to bring your usual smile back to your face.

you groan in annoyance when he returns to your room with a slightly scared-looking teenager that you vaguely remember teaching last year, but she takes some of your pain away and so you thank the kid. she blushes and whispers “you’re welcome” before skittering out the room, and you’re now able to move enough to turn towards logan with your arms crossed over your chest, an unimpressed stare leveled at his face.

“she asked to help!” he protests, “he overheard me talking to jean about your pain and she offered. i didn’t force her to do anything.”

you sigh. chronic pain can’t be healed even with mutant abilities, you’ve tried it all before. it can take away the worst of it in the same way that some medication can, help with the inflammation that comes with a flare up, bring it down to manageable levels. but you’ll never be free of this burden.

“come here,” you say, and he does, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to give you anything and everything you desire. it’s ridiculous and you laugh, the first real smile you’ve shown all day, now that every breath no longer feels like a battle not to cry out in pain.

you stay in bed the rest of the day. it’s better to take it easy for a while than to risk anything. and logan stays with you, massaging at your muscles until they relax under his strong grip, leaving only to bring you more meals and your medication. he kisses you every time you complain that he surely has better things to be doing, covering your mouth with his large palm as he reminds you that you’re the most important thing to him now.

main taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

[dilftaroooo]

hello hello helloooo. this is a continuation of my gym bro gojo imagine. You search through gojo’s hamper and fap to his dirty briefs eeeww. the events aren't in chronological order, just the reader's horny experiences

tags: minors dni + gn!reader + reader's sex is unspecified + graphic blowjob + very uhhh testicle-centric ig + satoru rides ur face + oral sex + sex scenes are just fantasies (not real) + perverted reader again + underwear sniffing + scent kink.

You never thought you’d swoop this low. It was beyond an invasion of privacy; crossing the morality border and arriving in the field of degeneracy. Resting in the palm between clammy digits lay a pair of gray briefs -- your roommate's briefs -- Satoru's briefs. You found it by thoroughly searching his hamper, hiding underneath the pile of graphic tees and wifebeaters (don't ask why you were sifting through his dirty clothes in the first place). It's riddled in his potent musk meaning it's been there for a good minute and the scent only reinforced your presumption.

Your flesh crawls under the gusts of wind blowing from his ceiling fan, initiating your blooming wariness as you stand in the middle of his room. You glance to your left at the open door of Satoru's room.

Gojo had left temporarily to pick up some snacks (most likely an abundance of goodies tainted with added sugars and grease). He wouldn’t know what you took from him. How long would it take for someone to find out their briefs were gone? Undergarments are the last thing people think to go missing, right? No. You shouldn't keep them. That would be too over the top.

You decide to sit at the edge of his bed as you fight with yourself internally, staring at the piece of cloth -- cloth made for the most intimate part of the human body. It conceals his groin, from the leaky tip of his mushroom head to his hanging balls. Your mind wanders to something more lascivious as you inquire if he still keeps his pubes. You can imagine him keeping his happy trail, trimming it up a bit, just to keep minds fresh with lust as they look at silver strands of hair starting below his cute belly button and ending beneath the hem of his sweatpants.

Though, you believe the hairs on his balls would be gone for his hookups to gargle on them. He'd be aware of how uncomfortable the hairs would be down their throats. The pleasure would be mutual since he'd be able to feel their wet tongue directly lick the loose skin of his sack. The tendons of his legs would tighten and his toes would clench the floor underneath him as he attempts to keep his groans at bay.

It would be hard for him, undoubtedly so. The wet swell of the appendage would skillfully cup his testicles, sucking in their cheeks and releasing with a degenerate 'pop'. You can envision him tilting his head back to look at the dim ceiling, growling out a shakey 'fuuuck' as he grips the scalp of his fervid hookup -- bobbing their head and relishing in the struggled intakes of air.

You struggle for your own breath as Satoru's room starts to get humid. Materialized images of your hot roommate's sex life plague your head. You were completely unaware of the hand that found itself touching the fabric that barricades your genitals. Fingers grope you in mannerisms you only know; familiar flicks, strokes, and taps composed in patterns you could only produce. A question arises within you: When did you start touching yourself?

Satoru's dirty briefs find solace beneath your nostrils, the crotch region burrowed deep in your face. It was tainted in sweat. It stunk. It stunk with Satoru's smell. However, humiliation was nothing but a distant stranger as it remained near your nose and your fingers continued to dance along that spot that made you writhe.

Another fantasy covered with unapologetic libido haunts you again as Satoru hovers over the apex of your face. Nearly sitting on your collarbones, the base of his cock drifts along the tip of your nose and you juggle his balls with your tongue, the frantic piece of muscle excitingly glides around him, sucking out an unrestrained moan from him. He'd put one hand on his headboard while the other finds purchase on your cheek -- the bulging vein that crawls along his index finger fills your peripherals.

"Look at you, a good little thing taking my balls down your mouth. This is what you've been wanting for a while, huh?" is what he'd say between quivering lips.

His stamina was of a revved-up motor, grinding on your face with sloppy thrusts in search of climax. He'd want you to come with him too, of course -- ordering you to keep pleasuring your filthy fucking sex as he humps your nose like a sly dog. You'd dig the nails of your left hand in his perk ass and he'd clench them in response. You know you'd come for him. You were just as close as he was once you felt his quads shiver near the shell of your ear.

His cock tip would leak precum and your genitals would begin pulsing to the beat of Satoru's thrusts. His sweat glands would open up, seeping out his natural, potent odor. It's bliss for you as you deeply inhale its chemicals like it's gasoline. Sniffing in the toxic fumes for its scent is addictive.

The mere sight of him riding your face as though he's in heat, his must that taints the room, his clenched jawline as he feels himself close to ejaculating; it was all enough to make you cum. And he'd follow suit.

The ropes of semen shoot in the locs of your hair, gluing the strands together. He'd love how it'd decorate you. Like a fucked up Christmas tree. His smile would shine brightly before his form would disintegrate, fading away into atoms.

You'd blink once. Then twice -- man. You finally find the gall to sit up from his bed, making sure there are no bodily fluids left on his sheets before walking up to his hamper. Sinister, opaque clouds slowly start to invade his room, progressively making their way over your head as shame pours over you. How could you do such a thing in HIS own room? A long disappointed sigh sneaks out of your lungs. You'd continue to mope in your room before he catches you standing in his room, caught red-handed.

You were about to throw his briefs on top of the dirty pile of clothes until you saw something peculiar. Bending over to pick up a piece of cloth, you inspect it.

Its red hue was obnoxious and its style was unfitting for Satoru's stature -- or rather his style in general. You rotate the undergarment to find out that it's unexpectedly in your size. You and Satoru weren't even remotely close in size either. He's a big man with big muscles and you're not even in that caliber of staggering height and bulging veins.

You squint at the cloth, deep in thought. Where could these come from? It felt like ages until your eyes widened at a distant memory of laundry day and a feeling of something being missing as you folded each of your clothes to be put away.

Satoru took your underwear?!

[minniebbang]

Always & forever | H. Jisung

pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

summary: silence in the air, it was odd. Something changed, he changed. Or maybe it was her who changed. Maybe, it was something else.

word counts: 1k words

genre: angst

a/n: I seriously think that physics is the main cause why I write so many angst stories. Never thought physics had that effect on me>>>. Also let me know what you think!

Shutting his eyes, his head remained on the headrest while a low but audible sigh escaped him. His hands had fallen from the steering wheel, finding comfort by his side as the wind from the air conditioner played with his hair. His heart heaved at the thought of starting the car and heading to the place — the one he knew by heart now.

The car suddenly sank, followed by a soft thud from the passenger’s door, but he remained still as a doll. His breath was stolen momentarily upon the sound.

No…he must have misheard it.

He unfolded his eyes and slowly turned his head to the side, his gaze clouded with a vague feeling, a feeling that she couldn't quite point. Feelings that rarely painted on his usually soft features.

She closed the door and beamed a small smile toward him — a smile oh so warm that could light up his days, once a beacon in his unknown path.

“Are you okay, Jisung?” Her hand reached for his hand and gently grasped it.

But her hands felt cold. Hollow of warmth.

A sharp pain struck his head and his hand jolted back, dropping out of her grip. His hands began quivering as they found their place on the steering wheel, gripping them tightly. Everything around him closed up, emerging into each other, creating distorted images. His chest raised in alarming rhythm as he tried to calm himself and gained control over his breathing again and she only could…watch.

Nothing else.

Stuck in the seat without any way to comfort her broken lover.

The sound of his phone pulled him back to reality. Picking it up, he hastily slid the green icon to the side and placed it to his ear.

“Hyung…” his voice echoed in her ear, a tone nearing breaking down, but he held on as long as he could. As long as the latter won't worry about him.

“Jisung, are you sure you're fine to go there?��

“Today is our anniversary, hyung. She will be happy to see me there”

The latter sighed “Alright, be careful. If anything, I’m here. ”

“I appreciate it, hyung”

He placed his phone back into his pocket and glanced at her once more before pulling the break, feet lightly stepping into the gear and leaving the house.

“Jisung..?” Her words hung in the thickening silent air.

No reply or bubbly humming, like he usually did.

He was an arm's length away from her.

But it felt like a concrete wall had built itself between them.

He was unreachable.

Her eyes searched for any remaining love in his orbs, but she found none. As if the person beside her was a stranger.

The radio was playing silently in the background. She raised the volume, and immediately, her eyes widened, looking at Jisung with excitement as the familiar beat bounced in the car.

“Hey, it's your song! I remember how nervous you were when you said this song is about me” A giggle bubbled out from her, but it faded when she saw tears pricking in the corner of his eyes; it hung there and never fell.

He was still holding on. Even though the thorns had embedded in his heart, causing it to bleed and slowly fall apart.

“It's our song, baby. You never accept that although I say it millions of times.” He whispered to himself. His heart ached at the memory, her giggle and smile.

She slumped back to the seat, hugging herself as the temperature around her dropped. The faint smell of the flowers wafted in the air — it was her favourite flower.

Soon, a graveyard rolled into his view and he parked the car beside a tree. Picking up the flowers on the back seat, he trudged his way to a place. She followed him closely from behind.

His steps stopped at a grave and the tears finally poured down to his cheeks.

The bits of his heart that he was collecting had fallen. He couldn't hold it anymore.

Her smile wavered as she peeked at her name carved into the gravestone.

Jisung settled on the grass, leaving the flowers beside her grave.

“Happy anniversary, baby. I’m sorry I was late. If I’m a bit early, you’re officially my wife, right?” He sniffled and smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“How are you? I hope the angels are taking care of you. They probably take care of you better than I am” he chuckles dryly, a slight sympathy to himself.

She kneeled beside him and wanted to wipe his tears off but her fingers just slipped through his face.

Ah. Could someone give her another chance to take care of him again?

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn't save you”

“Why are you blaming yourself, Jisung? You try to save me…”

“If I cut my leg that day, will you be alive by now?”

“Baby…none of this is your fault.”

A conversation with death always ends up pointless. They couldn't reply to you but at least it would help you to move on, wasn't it?

The flashback of that day winded back in his head.

They were on their way to their wedding ceremony.

Moments later, their car was tumbling out of the road, rolling off the cliff.

His legs were stuck under the heavy tree branches but he was breathing, barely

One glance to the side, his bride was unconscious, shattered glasses stabbing her in various places.

He blinked and he was back at the grave, forced to stare at her grave again. Yet, she was still by his side, staring at her name and her death date, unmoved. Her heart was begging for her to stay

But she knew she couldn't stay here any longer. Not where she no longer belonged to earth.

Wrapping her arm around his waist, she rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closing as she felt herself vanishing, bits by bits, from reality.

“I love you, Jisung. Always and forever”

A warm wind brushed his cheeks out of sudden, bringing a fond smile to him amidst the running tears. Raising his chin, his gaze was met with the soft blue sky. A white butterfly landed on his cheeks, its wings flipping graciously and swiped the tears off.

A light giggle escaped him as he closed his eyes, the thorns in his heart had untangled themself, letting his heart beat with ease. After a while, the butterfly flew away.

“You're here earlier, aren't you? Thank you for the comfort. I love you, always and forever, Y/N”

[m4rv3l-girl]

bucky Barnes and y/n just got to where they're staying for their honey moon and without a second thought bucky is all over you.

but there was one problem that you have tried to ignore until now, you are still a virgin, not only that but you don't even know how to touch your self, let alone please your new husband, y/n is scared and starts having a panic attack as soon as she is put on the bed, not realizing her fear until this moment bucky helps her but also assuring her that she doesn't have to have sex with him just to prove her love.

Honeymoon

Warnings: Mentions of sex.

The moment the door to the cabin closed behind them, Bucky Barnes had you pressed up against it, his lips seeking yours with a fervor that took your breath away.

The rustic charm of the honeymoon retreat - the roaring fireplace, the faint smell of pinewood, the soft lamplight painting golden hues on the wooden walls - all melted into the background as his strong hands framed your face. His kiss was demanding yet tender. It was a combination that only Bucky could master, and your heart raced in response, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling in your chest.

“You’re everything, doll,” he murmured against your lips, his deep voice vibrating through you, sending warmth flooding your veins. His blue eyes searched yours and you couldn’t help but smile shyly.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You reached up to touch his face, brushing your fingers over the slight scruff of his jaw, marveling at how lucky you were to call this man your husband.

He grinned, leaning into your touch before kissing the palm of your hand. “Can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he said, his tone reverent. Then, he scooped you up effortlessly, making you squeal in surprise. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t carry my bride over the threshold?”

Your laughter filled the room as he carried you to the bed, the large, plush comforter looking as inviting as ever. But as he laid you down gently and hovered over you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck, that bubbling laughter faded into something else.

The nervousness you’d pushed aside since the wedding ceremony came rushing back with a vengeance.

You felt your body stiffen beneath him, and he paused immediately, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone laced with concern. His metal hand, cool to the touch, rested lightly on your hip, while his flesh one cupped your cheek.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. The realization of what tonight might entail—what it likely would entail—hit you like a freight train. You hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it, but now, with Bucky so close, his touch so intoxicating, it was impossible to ignore. Your chest tightened, and your breaths came quicker, shallower. A wave of panic began to rise, and you pressed a hand to your chest as if it could keep your heart from hammering out of control.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me,” Bucky’s voice broke through the haze, firm but gentle. His hands moved away from you, giving you space, as his worried gaze locked onto yours. “What’s wrong, doll? Talk to me.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you turned your head away, feeling overwhelmed and embarrassed. “I…I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I just… I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he asked softly, his hand finding yours and squeezing it reassuringly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe for me, okay? Nice and slow.”

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling deeply and exhaling shakily. His presence, his steady encouragement, helped calm the storm inside you just enough for you to find your voice. “I… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted in a whisper, your cheeks burning with shame. “I don’t even… I don’t even know how to…”

Realization dawned on his face, and his expression softened even further, if that was possible. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a tear away from your cheek with his thumb. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t ready. Or that I don’t love you.”

He shook his head firmly. “Doll, listen to me. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know you love me. I see it in everything you do. Every look, every touch, every word. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. Do you hear me?”

His words washed over you like a balm, soothing your frayed nerves. You nodded, a fresh wave of tears spilling over, but this time they weren’t from fear or shame. They were from relief.

Bucky sat back slightly, giving you space to sit up. He held both your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he spoke. “This isn’t about some expectation or obligation. This is about us, Y/N. About what makes you feel safe and loved. And if you’re not ready, then we’re not doing anything, plain and simple.”

“But… what if I never…” You hesitated, your voice faltering.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we ever get to it,” he said, his tone steady. “But for now, we’ll go as slow as you need. There’s no rush, doll. We’ve got forever, remember?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Bucky pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady, soothing rhythm beneath your ear, and you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace ground you.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a while, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“You never have to thank me for loving you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “That’s the easiest thing in the world.”

For the rest of the evening, Bucky didn’t push.

Instead, he suggested you explore the cabin together, and the two of you ended up curled on the couch by the fire, wrapped in a blanket as you shared stories and laughter. It was intimate in its own way, and by the time you both retired to bed, the weight of your earlier panic had lessened considerably.

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized that love wasn’t about grand gestures or fulfilling expectations.

It was about moments like these.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope this is what you wanted, My Dear 🫶

[seitmai]

Wow I just have many thoughts...

All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him.  The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

Seems like the prayers worked 🤭

You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

I feel like he would be overwhelmed with so many people there to help him, so he just keeps the bare minimum or rather the people he really want to have around him

Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

They probably share those feelings about home 🥺

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

Ahhh those shared glances 🥰

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.” “And you?” It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

Oh he is probably so disappointed by that 🙈

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

Everyone deserves love though 🥺🫶🏻

“What about you, Dominus?” “Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

Let's find it again 😌

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…” “I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.” “I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure. He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

I'm just in love with this little conversation 😍

He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

To have someone listen to you and wanting to hear your thoughts is just such a great way to show love 🥹

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape.

That's just so cute 🥰

Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

🥹🥹🥹

He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

Not the glance over the shoulder 🥺

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

He said "yeah thanks, but no thanks" just more politely 😅🤭

Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He really made sure she knows his feeling about this meeting!!

On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

A fresco for his past as a gladiator and one for the future his wants, his muse😉

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.” “Well, I still need to draw your bath and…” “Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied. You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?” “Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

Urgh im swooning, he just wants her to relax and take care of her 🥰🥹

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger. “Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

Valid reaction

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

The pleading 😮‍💨🥰

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.” “I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

😭😭😭

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

Urgh I just love that you can truly feel how he means it 🥹🥰

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” “You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.” “Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

🥰🥰🥰

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.” You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

I'm crying this is just so good 😭🥰

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

They shared their names to now entrust each other's hearts 💕

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.” He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

He is just so excited for her, especially because he has thought about it for a while🥹

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too.

 both if them shaking just shows how emotional and meaningful it is for the both of them 🥹🥰

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

🥰🥰🥰

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

I love that he not only noticed it but also adressed her new aura 🥰

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.” His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

Ahhhh it's happening!!

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

Oh, he is so ready to worship her even if it's just laying at her feet

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

I've had a head massage before, so I get it 😌

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

This is just one of those key elements in this story that I love so much!! Him giving her his name, showing how much he values her and giving her time and space to truly make up her own mind if she wants this, it's just perfection 🥰👏🏻

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

A truly good man ❤️‍🩹🥹

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

A sight to be seen, I'm sure 🤭

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough.

🥰🥰🥰

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

Aww rats just so cute, I love tender little moments like that (especially after some other things happening before 🤭)

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

I'm a true sucker for post-sex laughter and giggles shared together 🥰

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours.

I just loved this so so much 🥹🥰👏🏻

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[erisv7]

The Female Lead In a Yandere Harem Game

The Imperial Chronicle

Issue 157 | Year of the Tiger, 12th Moon Cycle

SCANDAL IN THE PALACE: THE EMPEROR BRINGS DISGRACE WITH A CONCUBINE

The lady glanced over the scandalous news once more. Her lips curling into a wry smile. Despite the insult of her husband's betrayal, she maintained indifferent. She carried herself with dignity, as if the scandal is unworthy of her concern.

"So, you're the concubine he picked."

The empress's voice was smooth, almost sweet. As she lounged back in her seat. With deliberate ease, she pressed the heel of her jeweled slipper onto the concubine's shoulder. A mockery of affection that carried the weight of her disdain.

[Name] knelt frozen, her mind racing. How had it come to this? She had never sought the Emperor's attention, nor wished to be dragged into the chaos of court life. Yet here she was, the plaything of power, caught in a game she had no hand in starting.

The empress tilted her head, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "I suppose even a pawn can be amusing." She mused, pressing down slightly harder. [Name] remained silent, her shame swallowed by a quiet resignation. It wasn’t defiance. Only the hollow understanding that her fate had never truly been her own.

"Do you know why he took you as a concubine?" The empress drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. She leaned closer, her piercing gaze slicing through [Name]'s composure. "It wasn’t for your charm, your wit, or even your beauty. No, it was for me."

[Name]’s breath caught, her confusion plain. The empress’s lips curled into a cruel smile as she continued.

"He chose you because I instructed him to. A quiet girl from an unremarkable family. I have no taste for men. Their arrogance, their fumbling desires. I find it all... distasteful. Women, though," She said, her fingers lightly brushing [Name]’s cheek. "Women are art. And you, my dear, are here because I wanted you."

[Name]’s mind reeled. She hadn’t chosen this life, hadn’t asked for any of it. Now she realized she wasn’t even the Emperor’s plaything. She was the empress’s pawn.

The empress reached out, tracing a cold finger along [Name]’s jaw. "How does it feel, knowing your purpose was never yours to decide?" She whispered, her tone held cruelty and amusement. [Name] lowered her eyes, swallowing her bitterness. What could she say? This, too, was out of her hands.

"Prove your worth," the empress commanded, her voice low and smooth. Yet laced with a threat. She turned on her heel, not waiting for an answer. "To my bedchamber."

[Name] followed in silence, her footsteps heavy with resignation. The gilded doors closed behind them, sealing her fate yet again.

Later, the empress stepped out into the cool night. The air fragrant with blooming jasmine. She walked slowly through the palace gardens, her demeanor serene. Yet her mind sharp with satisfaction. The night was hers, her control absolute.

Meanwhile, [Name] lay on the silken sheets. Staring blankly at the ornate ceiling. Her thoughts spiraled into absurdity as she tried to make sense of her life.

She was the protagonist of a game. The female lead, ensnared in a world where everyone’s desires revolved around her. Pulling her into their obsessions.

She stared at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror. Searching for the girl she used to be. Instead, she saw the character they had cast her as. An object of obsession in a game she never chose to play.

[Name]’s mind wandered through the faces of those who seemed hopelessly drawn to her. Their obsessions suffocating and relentless. Each one brought with them a peculiar brand of madness that tightened the web around her.

The Emperor

Beneath his regal demeanor was a possessive man who saw [Name] as the perfect jewel in his collection. His love was stifling, expressed through gilded cages and lavish displays. He watched her every move, ordering his spies to report on her daily activities. If she so much as smiled at another man, that person would vanish. His existence erased by the Emperor’s silent wrath.

The Empress

Her obsession was colder, sharper, like the edge of a blade. The empress viewed [Name] as her personal possession. A treasure she refused to share. She would isolate her, ensuring no one else could bask in her light. The empress's punishments were subtle but devastating: restricting [Name]’s movements, destroying her friendships, and whispering poison into her ears to make her doubt herself.

The Knight

The palace knight. Stoic and loyal, was consumed by a feral devotion. He would cut down anyone he perceived as a threat, his blade swift and merciless. His obsession bordered on worship, and he viewed himself as her eternal protector. Yet his protection came at a cost, her freedom. He would lock her away if it meant keeping her safe, even if she begged for release.

The Wizard

The court wizard was a man of intellect. But his love for [Name] turned his brilliance into something terrifying. He would weave enchantments to bind her to him. Spells that made her dreams twist with his image. His obsession was suffocating. His love an experiment. If she resisted, he would create illusions to isolate her from reality, ensuring she saw no one but him.

The Maid

The sweet, doting maid hid a darkness behind her kind smile. She adored [Name] with a devotion that bordered on madness. She sabotaged any attempt [Name] made to grow close to others. Spilling secrets and spreading rumors. Her yandere tendencies were quiet but insidious: poisoned tea for rivals, missing letters, and stolen moments where she would cling to [Name] as if her life depended on it.

Each of them was a piece of a puzzle [Name] had never asked to solve. Their affections weren’t love. They were chains, binding her tighter with every gesture, every whispered promise, and every desperate act. She was the center of their twisted universe, and there was no escape.

[call-sign-shark]

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: A public confrontation during dinner escalates and leads General Kirigan to show his quiet but firm protection of you to everyone. Especially Zoya.

Words: 4K

TW: graphic mention of injury, humiliation, reference to past prostitution, slight alteration of canon events: Zoya was never Kirigan's fav.

Previous || Masterlist || Next

As you walked out of the training room alongside General Kirigan, his shadow-like presence enveloping you entirely, murmurs erupted behind you. They were only whispers and yet sounded as loud as the cacophony of screams and cries that followed the frightening silence after a bomb exploded.

Did you see what she did to Zoya? The way she almost tore her apart?

Broken ribs, one lung reduced to mush, heart badly injured, the healer who took care of the arrogant Squaller couldn’t believe such damages were the result of a Grisha. While Heartrenders had always been the most feared and valuable soldiers of the Second Army, none of them could induce that much damage with one sole flick of the wrist. Let alone a beginner who had only used her abilities a few times. The origins of your power remained a mystery for everyone including Zoya, yet she was at least sure of one thing: hadn't General Kirigan intervened, she would have died today in a painful, gruesome way.

Following the incident, you had quietly followed the Black General through the corridors until he stopped and turned to face you. His dark eyes, darkest as the blackest moonless night, had bore into you, as though searching for something.

“You need to control it,” He had said, his tone still firm but the pace of his voice slower, for he was carefully choosing his next words, “Your power is immense. I can feel it pulsing around you like a chained beast… But it’s dangerous.” He let out a long exhale through his nostrils, “You can’t let anger guide you.”

The weight of guilt you felt in your weaving chest became heavier, settling over you like an anvil, “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Aleksander interrupted, his gaze softening ever so slightly, “But intention doesn’t matter when lives are at stake.” 

You simply nodded, unable to find the words to respond, and watched him disappear upstairs with his black kefta dancing behind him like shadows lingering in his wake.

Weeks passed and life at the Little Palace soon fell into a rhythm for you — a rhythm laced with unrelenting tension and exhaustion. Days were a grueling cycle of harsh training sessions where you pushed your limits under the watchful eyes of Ivan and the disdainful stares of your peers. As for your nights, they weren’t any better. Here in this foreign place, terrifying memories of your past impatiently waited for you to sleep in order to plague your dreams, turning them into nerve-wracking nightmares. And when the nightmares wouldn’t come, it was the shadows that crept into your room at night, seeming to carry Aleksander’s presence with them and to watch you as you rolled over in your bedsheets.

Despite everything, there still were moments where you could breathe again and they were when Fedyor spent time with you. Admittedly, you had found an unlikely friend in him considering how everyone carefully avoided you, but his cheerful disposition, unwavering kindness, and humor gave you a sense of normalcy in a world that constantly reminded you that you didn’t belong here. Nevertheless, Fedyor wasn’t always there, his frequent missions for Kirigan leaving you alone to fend off the cold hostility and wariness of the other Grisha. You couldn’t blame them though, not after almost killing a well-known figure of the Little Palace in front of their eyes.

Kirigan too was rarely present during the day, the last time you truly spoke being your last discussion about the necessity of learning to control your powers. For weeks, your encounters with him were fleeting — just brief moments stolen between his duties as General and your relentless training. Yet, even in his absence Aleksander was always there, making you silently understand that he was watching over you. Not in a way that felt overbearing but in a manner that made you hyper-aware of his presence nearby. 

Sometimes it was a brush of his warm hand against your freezing one as he handed you a training sword. Some others, a shared glance across the room that made your heart miss a beat. Or the way he stood a tiny bit too close when he spoke to you, his voice a velvet promise that made your skin prickle. Each time, his intensity steadied you and unnerved you all the same for you hated how easily he seemed to consume your thoughts for some unknown reasons.

Once, during a passing encounter in the hallways, Kirigan stopped beside you, his void-like and unfathomable gaze sweeping over you as if carving every detail of your face in his memory.

“You’re improving,” He said with an even tone, though his somber pupils gleamed when the Palace’s light hit them at the right angle.

You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through your spine, nor control how your pulse quickened a little under his scrutiny, “Thank you, General.” You replied, your tone neutral despite the inner turmoil he triggered in you. His lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile that disappeared as fast as it had come before he walked away, leaving your heart racing even more.  Why the fuck am I feeling like this whenever he’s around? you thought. 

Since your childhood, you have always considered yourself an anomaly. Like an island detached from the ocean of emotions that seemed to flood the others so effortlessly. You were cold, unfeeling, almost clinical, which had often left you wondering if something fundamental within you was broken. Like, an essential piece of humanity missing. Joy, sadness, empathy — they had always felt more muted than they should have been, like distant echoes you could experiment but never fully grasp.

But not with him.

The weight of him was thrilling each time he entered the room and you hated it. Hated the loss of control, the way your supposedly buried emotions now surged to the surface like a storm breaking through the calm waters. To be honest, you didn’t know what unnerved you more: the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room or the way you found yourself wanting to be looked at like that by him. And there was more to it, something deeper. It wasn’t just about his commanding presence nor the unbearable tension when your skin brushed his, but it was a pull. A tug at something unseen within you. As though your souls had already known each other in another life, an unspoken murmur of recognition that both terrified and soothed you. You couldn’t understand this foreign ache of familiarity in his presence. 

The ache of something that called you home.

The dining hall was alive with chatter, filled with a background noise that only served to highlight how utterly alone you were even surrounded by the crowd of Grisha who lived here. Prior to going downstairs for dinner, a gifted tailor named Genya had asked you why you weren’t wearing the red kefta given to the Heartrenders. To this, you had simply replied “Why should I bother? I’m not one of them” and proceeded to leave, closing your grip on the collar of the white and comfortable fur coat you had found in your bedroom’s closet. Quickly sneaking into the dining hall, you walked to the far end of a table and sat there.

With your gaze fixed on your plate, you were trying hard to ignore the whispers all around you. As always, the other Grisha avoided you, their fear palpable and their resentment an unpleasant feeling that washed over you. Fedyor’s absence was particularly striking tonight. How much you would have loved him to be next to you, listening to his stories and laughing at his gossip but here you were, without an ally. 

You were about to bite into your fork when the room fell silent with the kind of quiet that only preceded trouble. Wondering what was happening, you looked up and quickly understood: Zoya had stepped into the dining hall and was approaching you, a cruel smirk playing on her pretty lips.

“Still sitting alone, I see. Fitting for someone like you.”  Her voice was loud enough to draw the attention from the nearby tables. Attention… Everything you didn’t need.

You didn’t respond, keeping your pale eyes firmly on her as she slowly moved her wrist to make the content of the cup she was holding swirl. It was probably wine.

Unfazed by your silence, she leaned closer and continued to taunt you, “You know, for someone so dangerous you’re awfully quiet. And out of place. Like a wolf pretending to be tame.” 

“And you’re awfully chatty for someone who begged for her life a few weeks ago.” Your words felt like sharp shards of ice that pierced through her ego. “Have you finished yet? I’d like to eat without having to bear that stupid voice of yours.” 

But Zoya wasn’t finished. 

“Tell me first... What does it feel like to be the monster even among deadly Grisha?” 

This time, your grip tightened on your fork as Kirigan’s words circled in your mind like a broken record.  You need to control it. You need to control it.

“Struggling to reply? Here, let me help.” Joining words to deeds, the Squaller let out a bitter giggle and, with a theatrical flourish, she lifted the cup she was holding and dumped its contents  —a thick, deep crimson liquid — onto your white outfit. The splash of its cold content against your chest made you freeze instantly. It was the metallic scent that hit you first and made you understand what the liquid was even before you saw the dark crimson stains on your dress and coat: it wasn’t wine. It was pig’s blood.

A chorus of gasps echoed through the room, overhung by Zoya’s and her friends’ laughter that rang hollow in the silence.

“Red suits you far better, Sankta!” She sneered.

Rage suddenly boiled beneath your skin, making your body stiffen and your little hands tremble – not with fear, but with a fury so cold it scorched you alive. And even though the whispers and laughter around you were deafening, resounding like a thunderstorm, you could barely hear them above the buzzing in your ears. For a moment, your vision blurred as you stood up in one violent motion, your chair falling to the ground with a loud thud. Your brutal movement led Zoya to take a step back, anticipating your reaction and potentially violent way to attack her back but nothing came. 

You stood rigid in front of her with blood splattered on your diaphanous skin and white outfit, your chest heaving as your quick, shallow breaths resounded in your skull. The crimson streaks soaked the fabric and created a grim contrast with your pale, delicate figure. Of course, you’d have loved to erase the smug smirk on her lips by pouncing on her and ripping her face with your own sharp nails in an animal-like fit of rage, but your body was petrified. Your eyes burned with uncontrollable anger, unblinking, as your fists clenched at your sides, even more trembling under the weight of the humiliation.

“You—” Your throat went dry before you could say something else, your resentment so deep that it strangled you, choked every word you wanted to utter and every insult you wanted to scream.

“What’s the matter, little Saint?” Zoya tilted her head, beaming.

“Is this how we treat one of your own, now?” 

The shadows in the corners stretched toward the two figures standing, creeping slowly in black smoke curls, and the more they came close, the more it seemed to feed the storm that was building up inside you. As the atmosphere became heavier, silence fell again in the room and hushed all whispers as the Black General appeared, emerging through the thick fog of his darkness. Without wasting time nor condescending to glance at Zoya, Kirigan moved toward you with an unsettling calm, his pace conveying determination and his boots echoing softly against the luxurious stone floor of the dinning hall. The two obsidian of his eyes, sharp and as dark as midnight, locked onto you as if you were the only person in the room worthy of his attention. And despite the silence, the weight of his presence was deafening. 

When he reached you, General Kirigan stopped, standing close enough for you to feel the shadowed intensity as well as his power radiating from him. Not a single word was uttered, not a sound escaped his charming lips. Instead, his hands rose, unhurried and confident, to undo the few closed buttons of your blood-splattered fur coat. The gesture might have been simple, but it carried a startling intimacy as his fingers brushed gently against the edge of your collarbone when he lifted the coat away and let it fall at your feet. The intense feeling of humiliation still crashed against you like brutal rogue waves crashing against the shore, rendering you unable to hold his gaze. As you bowed your head, your fierce nature momentarily flickered at the sight of your ruined dress with its thin white fabric soaked through and clinging to you like a second skin. But even drowning in humiliation, the light touch on your collarbone sent a surge of electricity through your whole body.

In this moment suspended in time, Kirigan’s eyes dropped, lingering on your body for a bit too long. Surprisingly, his expression held no disgust or pity — only something unreadable, almost reverent. Something scorching, making you feel exposed both physically and emotionally to the extent that your breath hitched in your tight throat. As if he had stripped you naked with the sole power of his eyes. 

“Look at me.” The Black general said in a low voice, the very top of his index finger delicately pressing under your chin to force your gaze to meet his, dizzyingly deep and intense.

Blood rushed quicker in your veins in return, every fiber of you reacting to him in an uncontrollable instinct. It was only then that he shrugged off his own black kefta in a fluid movement, but the subtle care with which he unfolded the luxurious garment and wrapped it around your shoulders was anything but cold or impersonal.

 The fabric of the kefta was thick and warm, its weight providing a comforting and protective embrace that immediately calmed both your fury and feeling of shame down. Finally, your petrified body came back to life as you batted your doe lashes as though you had just woken up from a terrible nightmare. It had been the unmistakable scent of him — earthy cedar, spiced amber, and a fragrance darker, undefinable — that had helped you emerge from that feral state of rage. A hypnotizing, reassuring smell that enveloped you like a shield and anchored its owner’s presence in every thread. 

He patted your shoulders, then took one step back just enough to give you more space. “You’ll sit with me,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the tension like a blade, and his tone leaving no room for argument.

You almost opened your lips to speak but restrained yourself to do so for the way he uttered his order had been truly disarming. It wasn’t a question, not even a suggestion. No, it was a statement, one that accepted no debate. And even though the only thing you truly wished at this moment was to run away from this hellish place and lock yourself in your bedroom, you still followed Kirigan when his hand pressed lightly to the small of your back to guide you forward under the glance of every member of the assembly and a gutted Zoya. 

One step after the other. 

The dining hall seemed to fade as he led you across the room, his touch steadying your trembling steps and giving you the strength you lacked to ignore all the pairs of eyes that were riveted on you. Once he reached his table, Aleksander pulled out a chair, the scrape of wood against the floor creaking, and he gestured for you to sit. Hesitation crept into you but the way his dark, shining eyes softened ever so slightly — not in kindness but in reassurance —  encouraged you. Moreover, pushing him and rushing out of the room wasn’t an appropriate option anyway so what else could you do besides sinking into the seat? He took his place beside you as the officers seated at the table exchanged confused looks but knew better than say something for their deference to the General was absolute.

The dinner unfolded, and exquisite plates followed, but the humiliation you had suffered earlier lingered, giving you a bitter taste in your mouth. And there were their eyes, their fucking eyes staring at you in a way so nerve-racking that you wished you could have plucked them out of their sockets with your nails.

It was halfway through the meal that Kirigan’s gaze flicked discreetly toward you, with an expression still unfathomable. One look was all it took for him to sense the unease that seeped through every bit of you. Maybe that was why, hidden beneath the table, his hand sought yours. You froze slightly, surprised at the sensation of his fingers finding you, warm and firm, and lacing yours together without hesitation. 

“Let them stare. They’ll grow bored of it really soon.” 

The gesture was grounding, a silent lullaby for your soul, and relaxed you enough to allow you to exhale a shaky breath.

“I feel like an animal in a bloody zoo.” You whispered, the word ‘zoo’ spat with disgust as it painfully reminded you of the Menagerie. For the umpteenth time, Aleksander seemed to read through your thoughts for his gaze briefly dipped to your wrist, catching the faint outline of a tattoo partially obscured by the sleeve of his kefta you were wearing and that was too large for you. His brow furrowed slightly at this observation, curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes but you turned your arm and hid the mark right away before he could study it further.

“I know the feeling.” Kirigan replied after a few seconds, his voice briefly letting you grasp a tinge of humanity before he turned to stone again and shifted his attention from you to discuss war strategies with Ivan. 

Your shoulders relaxed a little bit and, finally, you started to eat — or rather to carefully pick a few things from your plate just so you wouldn’t have to sleep with an empty stomach. Your two hands remained intertwined during the entire meal, his thumb sometimes brushing lightly against the back of yours in a soothing caress, like an anchor amidst the storm. Admittedly, the intimacy of it sent a jolt through you in a mixture of comfort and confusion that only deepened the inevitable pull you felt toward him. The way his touch quieted the turmoil in you was both thrilling and suffocating, a contradiction that left you shivering… As you always did when he was around. 

It was wrong.

This whole situation made no sense. And still, you tightened your grip around his hand. Needy. Surely.

Tenderly.

The office was dimly lit by the dozen candles flames dancing around, feeble and slow, and casting their long shadows across the walls. 

Zoya was standing stiffly near the doorway, arms behind her back and her posture irreproachable, though her confident demeanor crumbled under Aleksander’s cold, unwavering gaze. Leaning against his desk, the shadows around him curled faintly at his shoulders as a visible manifestation of his restrained anger.

“Close the door,” He ordered without looking at her with a voice calm but edged with steel. Wasting no time, Zoya obeyed. The click of the latch sounded far louder than it should have in the silence of the office. 

Aleksander spoke first while looking directly at her, his pitch-black eyes sharp and accusing. She couldn’t help but notice that he had fetched his kefta back from you once you had reached the door of your bedroom safe and sound “Do you enjoy embarrassing me, Zoya?”

She gritted her teeth. “With all due respect, General, I’ve done no such thing. I merely—”

“You merely threw blood on a member of this court.” Cold fury crackled from his tone. He had given her no chance to justify her behavior for he had already charged her guilty,  “In front of everyone. Did you think that it was acceptable behavior for a soldier under my command?”

Zoya stiffened, “She’s dangerous. A liability. I was making a point—” Her lips tightened into a thin line.

“A point?” Aleksander’s voice had turned into a hiss now , “What point, exactly? That you are envious of someone stronger than you? That you cannot stomach the presence of someone who makes you question your own worth?”

“She doesn’t belong here!” Zoya burst out with trembling words but her tone bore clear hints of both defiance and frustration. “She almost killed me! You’ve brought in a wild animal and expect us to treat her like—”

“Quiet.” His order was like a whip, “You will not speak of her like that again. Do you understand me?”

As Zoya’s fear momentarily eclipsed her anger, she stuttered, “General, I only meant—”

“Do you know what I meant, Zoya?” Against all expectations, the tall darkness’ voice was deceptively soft and still, and yet it cut deeper than any shout, “I meant for you to serve this court with dignity. To protect your fellow Grisha, not humiliate them for sport. Tell me, did you feel powerful when you poured that blood on her? Did you feel strong?”

This time, the fierce Zoya Nazyalenski looked away, “I was protecting us,” she muttered, though her speech lacked conviction. “She’s—”

“She is under my protection,” Aleksander interrupted, “And that should be all you need to know. You will respect her because I demand it. Not because you like her. Not because you understand her. But because you respect me. She’s part of this court and you will treat her accordingly.”

Tears started to prick at Zoya’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I’ve served you faithfully for years,”  She lamented, “And you would cast a loyal follower for her?”

Aleksander leaned over his desk to come a tad bit closer to her, his gaze filled with threats that didn’t need to be spoken to be horrifying. “For someone with your talents, Zoya, you can be remarkably shortsighted. This is not about her or you. This is about the unity of Grisha, something you should value more than your petty grievances.”

For the first time in years, the Squaller flinched as though struck by lightning, her confidence shattering in millions of shards like a broken mirror under the General’s unemotional eyes. He straightened and waved off the topic, “You may go. And if I hear of any more incidents, there will be consequences far greater than this conversation.” 

At first, she remained still and hesitated, as if she desperately tried to search for some trace of leniency in his expression but she found none. Just plain disappointment and anger as cold as the deadliest blizzard. For Zoya, pride had always been her armor, but today it cracked, leaving her exposed to a truth she could no longer deny: the General’s favor was a fortress she would never breach. A fortress you had conquered in the span of a few weeks while she had worked on it for years. As the door closed behind her, the sound was not just the end of a conversation—it was the shattering of the illusion that she still stood untouchable.

And even though no one had overheard what they had said, many saw Zoya leaving the General’s office in tears. Quite a paltry price to pay for the humiliation and pain she had bestowed upon you earlier.

Please consider reblogging and commenting if you want the story to continue. It is what motivates writers to write the next chapters...

tags: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune

[ohdeerfully]

Hi,

I was wondering if I could request a story. Alastor x reader although they’re more friends at the beginning. And something thats probably not canon.

The reader is doing research for the hotel trying to find proof that souls can be redeemed. In her search she stumbles across newspaper archives about the Louisiana killer. Knowing that its Alastor she becomes interested and through more digging she discovers that his victims were actually all criminals ie rapists, drug dealers etc. She prints some of the info out (I don’t know why) and then back at the hotel she accidentally drops some of the papers and Alastor sees them. I’m not sure where to go from here, I want Alastor to get a bit angry but reader assures him that his secret is safe with them.

I know its long I’m sooorrry! Let me know what you think.

💙💙

heyyy!! thank u for the request sorry it took literal ages to touch...this short fic contains NO ROMANCE sorry alastor lovers. but i hope you still enjoy!

Silence Your Soul

Alastor x Reader (platonic) TW: nothing specific? alastor is a jerk but whos surprised. hazbin typical crimes

masterlist join my discord!

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After Charlie gave you a second chance at her hotel, saving you from the streets in the city of Pride, you were nothing but devoted to her cause. Offering her a hand in trying to prove that the damned can be forgiven and offered a spot in Heaven was the least you could do—although it wasn’t easy.

It was a late evening when you found yourself in an unkempt library at the edge of the city, only tended by a single employee that probably hasn’t seen a soul in weeks. Her excitement upon your arrival made you feel bad, seeing her nearly jump out of her chair as she greeted you made her loneliness awkwardly obvious. You exchanged pleasantries before meandering through the dusty aisles.

You had given yourself a challenge that you weren’t even sure was possible to complete; it seemed more so just busy work to keep you from getting bored at the hotel. Finding proof of redemption for one of Hell’s most prolific Overlords was crazy work, but you assumed if it was possible then virtually any other demon could be forgiven.

Fingers trailed over the spines of historical books and biographies, pursing your lips as you searched the overwhelming amount of titles at your disposal. As rundown as this library was, you would guess it had the inventory of hundreds of ordinary libraries you’d typically find while alive. It didn’t help that you really didn’t have a starting point—you had no clue if you’d even find anything written on Alastor. You only had a vague idea that he was a murderer in Louisiana.

By tedious preservation you eventually managed to find a biography very succinctly titled “Alastor - New Orleans Terror.” You clasped your hands together and raised it to the sky in relief before grabbing the dusty cover and bringing it to the front of the library. After a brief conversation and being asked to sign up for a library card—although more often than not books were never returned—you were on your way back to the hotel.

Charlie had provided you with a little office to do your work in, a small gesture as thanks for your dedication to her idea. You locked your office door and sat down at your desk, pulling a packet of sticky notes and a few pens closer before opening the biography on the resident Radio Demon.

A few hours later, around midnight, you decided to call it for the day with a hefty slam to the book cover. You pushed your chair away from the desk and stretched your arms above your head, bending your back over the head of the chair until a satisfying series of cracks went up your spine. You slumped back down and began to tidy up your area.

The book had a littering of tabs sticking out of the pages, numbered to follow the bullet pointed notes you wrote down on a few sheets of paper. You were pleasantly surprised with what you found out about Alastor, although now you weren’t sure how it would help Charlie’s case in proving all souls can be redeemed. Murder is bad, yes, undoubtedly, but a strong case could be made for Alastor regarding who and why he killed. His reasonings were rather… kind? Somehow? As kind as murder can be.

You tucked the loose pages into the back of the book, holding it firmly to keep all your notes contained. You clicked off your lamp, stood up, pushed your chair back under the desk, and left your office.

Investigators at the scenes of his murders always drew to a similar conclusion—his victims were often rapists, abusers, and two were even politicians with links to trafficking operations. Murder… could be forgiven in this case, right? Of course, Alastor is in Hell for a reason, he’s actually insane and extremely manipulative, but his reasonings for the actual crimes he committed were—

Your thoughts were cut off as you rounded the corner and full body slammed into the man of the hour himself. Shit, how did you not sense his presence? Or, better, how did he not sense yours?

The book in your hand flew almost comically a few paces away, pages scattering out and landing in a messy halo around the book. You took a few stumbling steps backwards, hand pressed against your nose, aching from the impact. Your eyes were blurred with pained tears as you lifted your gaze to Alastor’s smiling expression.

“Hey, shit, I’m sorry,” You said quickly, blinking the haze out of your eyes as you dropped your hand from your face. You began walking towards the book. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Alastor was faster, beating you to the mess with his much larger stride. “No worries at all, my dear!” He said all too cheerfully for it being the middle of the night. “Awareness goes both ways after all!”

He hummed as he bent over, swooping up the biography with his name plastered grandly on the front. His shit eating grin somehow doubled as he looked back at you, his long index finger tapping on the cover. 

“A fan?”

“Hardly,” You rolled your eyes, playing a bit coy to counter his confidence. “Just picked it up at the library. Since I work for Charlie I figured I could learn a bit about our more famous residents.” 

Your act didn’t seem to put a damper on his cheer as he briefly thumbed through the biography, but it didn’t take long for him to notice the numbered sticky notes. His red eyes casted towards you before looking down at the similarly numbered sheets of paper by his feet. You sucked in a breath before gritting your teeth. You could probably explain yourself through this if you thought fast enough. 

He knelt and gathered the pages, placing the book down so he could use both hands to shuffle through the papers. You waited, tense, as his eyes scanned your notes. As painfully quiet moments passed, you saw his brows furrow and grin grow tighter.

When he looked back at you, his expression remained calm, but you could tell by the harsher prickling of static on your skin that he was frustrated. 

“While I’m quite pleased to see someone so interested in my living affairs,” He said rather forcefully as he stood, papers still gripped tightly in one hand. “This extensive meddling is rather annoying. What was it they said about… that one curious cat?”

The air grew a bit dangerous with his words as his voice dripped with venomous radio static. You were frozen in place, thoughts flying in every possible direction for words to calm the Overlord.

“H-hey, I’m just working for Charlie, you know, like I said earlier,” Your explanation came in an embarrassing stutter. You figured you may as well just tell the truth, although leaving out the part that you chose to research him. Of course, maybe it would butter him up enough to let you go if you told him how interesting you found him and his previous life; you chose to keep your dignity for now.

“Well, I ask you to leave me out of it,” He responded quickly, and you knew he wasn’t really asking. You nodded feverishly, promising to obey and reaching for the papers in his hand. He tutted before moving his hand away.

“I assume you’ve dedicated quite some time to this research, no?” He mused, waving the stack of pages tantalizingly just out of your reach. You sighed in defeat, hand falling to your side. 

“Yeah, a bit,” You admitted, folding your arms. He laughed for a moment and then you saw a green aura emanate from his palm before a burst of flame consumed the papers. Your mouth twisted into a frown as you watched green-tipped embers of your hard work sizzle into nothing on the red carpet below.

“Well! Then that’s far too much sensitive information on my history, so better it to be gone,” He explained, patting his hands together to rid them of any remaining debris. His eyes then turned to the book, swiftly picking it back up.

“Such a fine piece of literature, really,” He sighed dreamily, theatrically tracing a finger over his own name. It almost made you sneer—what a self-absorbed prick. Then, that same green aura lit in his hand. “Shame it has to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that’s not mine, I need to give it back to—” A whoosh of bright flame cut off your pleas, and you groaned in aggravation as shards of the book crumpled by his feet. You watched in helpless defeat as Alastor burned any remaining bridges to his living history. Perhaps that book managed to slip under his nose all these years as he built up his title as an Overlord. Now you had the awkward chore of trying to explain to the librarian why you can’t return her book.

“So…” Shit, that ominous tone in his voice was back as he met your gaze. You couldn’t handle the eye contact, so you swiftly looked to the side, down the hall, in meager hopes that anybody could interrupt this scene and save your sorry ass.

“All that remains, my dear, is you,” He stepped closer, and you similarly stepped backwards. The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy, the lighting too dark. Were you crazy, or were the shadows in the corners stretching towards you?

“I can’t have you running around Hell, whispering my secrets into the ears of the unworthy majority, right? No… that wouldn’t do at all,” Another step forward from him, another back for you. This continued for a few steps before your back hit a wall, sending a freezing chill down your spine. You knew running would only enhance his drive to strike you down, so you remained stuck in place. 

The antlers on his head seemed to expand and grow sharper as he reached a hand towards you. You squeezed your eyes shut and grit your teeth. If anything, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing your screams. 

The burn of flames never touched your skin, nor did the sting of tearing flesh. You cracked open your eyes, and saw that his arm hovered only a foot away from you, palm turned upwards. His piercing red eyes bore into your own, never leaving even when you struggled to meet his gaze.

“Unfortunately for me, maybe fortunately for you, Charlie is very fond of you,” He sighed dramatically. “But, still, I can’t have you walking freely around knowing what you know. You are now the last source of my history. So…”

His hand nudged, regaining your attention. You swallowed a lump in your throat, adrenaline still pumping through your entire body and creating an uncomfortable pounding in your head.

“My soul..?” 

Alastor’s eyes rolled before his grin curled maliciously. “Well, obviously, how else will I keep you from opening that mouth of yours?”

Your fingers instinctively reached towards your chest, toying with the fabric of your shirt. Was it really worth it?

“I don’t know how much of an incentive you need here, my dear,” He laughed, although his tone gave away his slight impatience. “You give me your soul and your silence, and I give you… your pitiful life. Hm. Sounds fair to me!” 

You chewed on your cheek. Man, fuck it, you didn’t really want to risk finding out if Charlie’s friendship was truly enough to keep Alastor from killing you. Your hand shot forward before you could give yourself any more time to ponder—or, any more time for Alastor to lose his patience and change his mind. 

As soon as your hand folded around his, a near blinding flash of green light forced your eyes shut as you turned your head away, a squealing and staticy noise filling your ears as you felt a heavy pressure on your neck and a lightness in your chest. In a brief moment, the room fell silent again and Alastor yanked his hand from yours.

You slowly opened your eyes again, timidly looking towards him. You didn’t really have any words at this point, only a sense of loss you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“There, all settled,” He spoke cheerfully, a complete contradiction of his actions just seconds prior. “Have a goodnight.”

Without another glance, he turned heel and walked away, a light hum playing from his lips. You stood there, staring aimlessly down the hallway and then down at the carpet where blackened ashes of his history stood.

Honestly, right now you were just grateful you weren’t a part of the pile.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Every doctor appointment, every development of the baby, everything Lucifer was there for. When he felt the baby kick for the first time Lucifer had thought his heart had melted. He wasn’t there for the first time, but damn will he ever miss this one. Adam was more than enjoying all the attention from his mate. Eve had done her utmost best to at least ensure his comfort throughout each pregnancy.

For that he will always be thankful. However, she wasn’t Lucifer.

Adam awoke from his slumber as Hells reddish rays of light streaming down his face. He smiled feeling well rested. He brought a hand that was lying at his side up to rub the sleep out of his eye. Unexpectedly, but predictably, it ran against his large six month bump. He left out a small laugh and rubbed it. Adam: Good morning, I almost forgot about you

Once the omega had fully woken up, which took a good few minutes, he was up and about going through his morning ritual. He cleaned his face and teeth, then took a good, long warm bubble bath. It always helped him release the tense muscles that overnight brought. As he washed himself he couldn’t help but play with his long, thick brown locks. Now don’t get Adam wrong he loved his hair it was just a little too long for him.

In Heaven he wasn’t allowed to really cut it. The elders told him that it was natural for all omegas to have a face of femininity. As the first omega and mother of humanity he had to set an example. That meant that he must follow their expectations of him to a tee. His hair was only one of those things.

He wasn’t allowed to dress in his preferred style. Nor was he to have any facial hair. Then of course there were his manners, ‘omegas were to be seen, not heard’ ‘Speak only when spoken to’. He was told that after all he was the one to have initiated discord and sin being brought upon the mortals. Since the rest of omega kind came from him they all were the same. Never mind the fact that alphas also came from him.

The more he kept thinking about it, the more Adam was glad to have left that place.

Once Adam was fully cleaned from head to toe. He got out of his bath, donned a fresh robe, and made his way to the closet. He searched and searched for any pants that might fit him. However, all his maternity pants have seemed to outgrow him. He was just going through a few shirts when he felt someone hug him from behind, resting their hands on his belly. Lucifer: Good morning my beauty.

Adam: Morning.

Lucifer: What’s the matter? Can’t find anything good to pick?

Adam: More like I can’t find anything at all. None of my clothes fit me.

Lucifer: Hmm, if you don’t mind I think I know something that will work.

Lucifer snapped his fingers and Adam’s soft fuzzy robe and slippers disappeared. Only to be replaced by a maternity dress that went just past his knees. It was white and covered in skulls, wrapped against the side of his belly was a black bow. It almost made it look like a present. Adam was already impressed but when he took a glance down to his feet he almost gasped.

It was the boots he saw in that store window a couple days ago while baby shopping with Lucifer. The very best part? They were low heel and felt incredible for his already swollen ankles.

Adam: Oh baby I love it!

Lucifer: Knew you would sweetie. Anyway better finish up. I have a surprise for you.

Adam raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. Once done and ready he went outside where Lucifer was waiting for him. He grinned and pulled out a blindfold.

Lucifer: You don’t mind do you? I just don’t want you peeking and having the surprise ruined.

Adam shook his head and lowered it so that Lucifer could tie the blindfold around his eyes. Once he made sure that Adam couldn’t see. He carefully guided him down the stairs, down the hallways, until finally they made it outside to the garden. He could’ve just portal him to their destination but wanted to build up the excitement and interest. Adam was confused when he heard murmurs all around him.

Even more confused when he heard a “Get down!” Followed by a loud slap and a yelp. Adam: Uh Luci?

Lucifer: Hold on aaaaaand now!

Adam took the blindfold off and immediately gasped. Hands flying to his mouth in shock at the sight of all the baby decorations, snack tables, and most notably a mountain of presents on one stand. There were a group of demons, a few Adam recognized and some he didn’t. They were very big was all that he would say.

There was even a banner above that said congratulations. Adam turned to his mate who had a big smile on his face.

Lucifer: Happy baby shower love!

The First Anti-Christ

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

(excuse me for the long prologue)

Anti Christ, the child of the fallen one, the devil. Everyone knows of the name and what it means. However, they don’t know of WHO that child is do they? Everyone thinks that the child will make themselves known as they bring on the end of humanity. What people don’t realize is that the anti-Christ has already walked upon the Earth.

In fact he was the first to be born on the planet. You see he was one of the very first humans. The very first child and son of the mother of humanity, Adam the first omega. His name was Cain.

Now many must be wondering on how this came to be. Why did it happen. How and why did the first omega manage to give birth to the fallen one’s offspring. All will be explained here, in this story.

A long, long, long, time ago when the Earth was still young the creator of it had decided on what its final inhabitants would be. They were called humans, the very first of their kind. He made them into something special. With their names came their designations.

Lilith the first woman and alpha

Adam the first man and omega

He made the two to be companions, to watch over another as one would for a friend or as he hoped like siblings. However, his other creations had other plans. While the Lord was busy attending to his purpose of watching over the universe. The other creations, the angels went down to the humans and they told the two that they were more than just companions. They told them that they were mates and they would bring forth true humanity.

Both were confused and asked how? The angels told them that once a month Adam’s womb would welcome Lilith’s seed and instructed him for when the time came for Adam to lay on his back and to spread his legs for his mate. When they heard of this both were rather disgusted by it. They hadn’t known each other for long but they simply weren’t compatible in that way. They couldn’t even bother to be friends for they both had too many differences that often clashed with each other.

While Adam was energetic and outgoing, Lilith was reserved and careful. It would often cause arguments from the two, especially when it came to their duties. Their first duties, of naming and caring for everything in the garden. Lilith thought Adam to be immature. Adam thought Lilith to be demanding. Both seemed to think that nothing was ever good enough for each person. One thing they both could agree on is that they did not wish to be mates.

Still Adam did not wish to upset the angels and simply bowed his head and nodded submissively. They began to explain other sets of rules that both were to follow. Lilith as the alpha was to always provide and care for her omega. Adam as the omega was to always follow her way and submit to his alpha. Both were to bring children into this world.

Lilith would become the father of humanity. While Adam would become the mother of humanity.

Lilith, disgusted at the thought, disagreed wholeheartedly. She fled from the garden and away from the omega. Hoping to never set another foot in there again. She was found by someone, an angel of the Lord himself, whom she would soon call a friend and sometime after that a husband. Though she didn’t trust him at first she eventually told the angel of why she ran from paradise.

The angel was shocked and confused. Why would his siblings do that? Why would they mess with his Father’s creations that way? He wanted so badly to go up there and tell his Father of what they had done to Lilith. He knew that they would somehow find a way to pin the blame onto him.

That is why he came up with a new plan. To meet and talk to Lilith’s supposed mate. What he didn’t know at the time was that the omega was actually his true mate.

He crept into the garden, careful not to aware the elders of his presence. What awaited him in the garden was not what he expected. A true beauty, one that took his breath away. Though he had thought Lilith to be pretty. She was nothing compared to Adam.

His soft brown hair, honeyed eyes that sparkled, and tan skin that was splattered by freckles. His Lucious curves was enough to drive him insane. The angel managed to open his mouth and introduced himself. His name was Lucifer, the angel of light and God’s most favored son.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 62

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 59, part 60, part 61

the first part takes place somewhere between parts part 37 and part 39, the second part takes place during part 40, and the last part takes place sometime between part 40 and part 41.

“No, no, no,” Steve complains as the radio just keeps talking. He had switched it to the game while he was making dinner, seeing if it was anything worth watching. “Come on.”

Considering how bad they were losing, it might give him more stress to watch it happen.

“Something goin’ on,” Wayne asks, rummaging around the fridge to find something to eat before going to work.

“Nothing serious. Just a bunch of idiots who can’t seem to actually score anything good.”

“Listening to the game?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Might just turn it off, it’s pissing me off.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. I normally listen to the game on my way to work, find myself turning it off when I can’t take it anymore.”

He turns to stir the stir fry he was making in the pan. Lowering the heat so it doesn’t burn. “If there’s nothing good in the fridge, you can have some of this. I made too much for myself anyway.”

“Thanks.” Wayne grabs a bowl. “If it won’t piss you off too much, we could go and watch some of the game before I have to leave.”

Something in that makes Steve freeze for a moment. No one ever offers to watch the games with him. Nancy would sometimes, back when they were dating, but was never really into it. Back when he was friends with Tommy and Carol, they would sneak off halfway through. And just the mere mention of watching it now makes Robin gag, and Dustin roll his eyes.

The only person he can remember watching it with was once with his dad. He was seven and his dad called him into the living room, made him sit down. Asked somewhere between the fifth and sixth inning if Steve ever wanted to play. He knew, then, that if he did, it would make his dad proud. He said yes.

He never liked playing baseball as much as watching it, though. He switched to basketball and swimming in middle school, played that the rest of the way through high school. But that moment was one of the only nice memories he had of his dad.

“Yeah,” he says. Trying to play off whatever he was feeling. “That would be nice.”

Wayne walks away, waiting for Steve as he searches for the channel on the TV. Steve sits down on the other end of the couch. Watching the train wreck of a game, but that’s not what he was focusing on anymore.

It’s stupid, he knows. But somewhere, right now, that hole in his chest fills a little bit. For a moment he can pretend that he’s seven years old again, watching the game with his dad. It’s better this time, though. Now it’s with someone who cares.

“If you ever wanted to make this a little sweeter, a small bit of honey goes a long way,” Wayne offers during a commercial break.

“Really.”

Wayne nods. “Just a little bit, don’t need to go wasting it. But it just adds a little more flavor to it.”

Steve smiles. “I’ll have to try that next time.”

. . .

Steve’s out in the garage when he hears it. Someone in the house calling out his name. The closer he gets, the more distressed it sounds. He tries to remain calm as he finds who it is, but the panic is there.

And then he realizes that it’s Dustin, and everything starts to crumble.

“Dustin,” he says, trying to mask the panic in his voice.

Dustin’s just standing there in the hall, tears streaming down his face. He opens his mouth to try to say something, but all that comes out is a sob. His knees buckle and Steve rushes forward to catch him.

“What’s wrong,” the panic asks. “Are you hurt?”

“You—” is all Dustin says, the words broken off with another sob.

Steve holds him upright and brings him to the living room. Gets him to sit down, calm down. When he starts to breath less frantically, Steve leaves to go get some water from the kitchen. He finds Dustin’s backpack, the radio inside going off like crazy.

“Dustin,” Mike’s voice cracks through. “Dustin, do you copy?”

He finds the walkie. “It’s Steve, he’s at my place.”

“Oh thank God. He just ran off; we didn’t know where he went.”

“Is he ok,” Lucas speaks over Mike to ask.

“Doesn’t look like he’s injured, I’m pretty sure he had a panic attack, though. I’m making sure he’s ok.”

“Ok. Thanks, Steve.”

He returns to the living room, finally gets Dustin to tell him what happened. All of this started because Steve wasn’t at work. Because he called out. The panic on his face says something different, though. Something deeper.

“Dustin, talk to me,” he tries to coax. “What’s going on?”

“No one tell me anything,” Dustin practically yells. “I have to find out everything from someone else, or days, or weeks later. I never get told anything by the person themselves. I’m always the last to know.”

“Dustin—” Steve tries to explain.

Dustin doesn’t let him, though. “No. I’m tired of the excuses. I’m tired of you saying that it’s not my thing to worry about. Because I do. No matter how hard you think you shield me from it, I worry about it. Every day I wake up and wonder if your head is killing you. If when I see you later, you’re going to be how you were before, or a ghost of yourself. If I’m going to look at you push yourself for my betterment. When I know that you’re in pain.”

Stupidly, Steve thought he was hiding it well enough. There was that little bit Dustin saw last week, but that was a one-time thing. He didn’t need to know more; he didn’t need to worry about Steve.

“You’re like a brother to me, Steve. You’re family. I don’t know why you think you can just get away with hiding this from me, but you can’t. Because I love you and all I’m asking is to know what is going on with you. Is that such a big thing to ask?”

Brother, family. Hearing those from Dustin hits Steve harder than he thought they would. Because, deep down, he knew that. He knew that him and Dustin were close, and that they acted like brothers would. There was just that voice in his head that told him it was all fake. That Steve couldn’t really mean that much to Dustin, not when he had a family of his own.

Steve pulls Dustin into a hug, holding him closer than he needs to. But really, he does need to. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s a start. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

. . .

Steve shoots out of his sleep, sitting upright. Breaths leaving his lungs faster than he can suck them in. Heart beating so fast, it could run right out of his chest.

A trembling hand reaches out to click the lamp on his bedside. Three things. The swim trophy he won in his senior year. The picture of the party on his desk. His overflowing laundry basket. All things that can’t be in that place. They are all too new.

He wasn’t there. He was home.

In for four, out for eight. Until his breathing slows, his heart calms. The jittering comes to a steady pace. He won’t be able to go back to sleep. But he’s at least not panicking.

Well, not as much as he was.

Because he needs to do something, he stands and grabs the laundry. Takes it to the laundry room and throws it in. Stops to go and change his clothes, before shoving them in the washer too. It isn’t enough.

He heads to the kitchen, pulls out a book and opens the dog-eared page. Begins a recipe that he probably knew by heart by now, but needs to read. Because the steps, the simplicity, the method, it was calming in a way he couldn’t voice.

Robin was the first person Steve ever baked with. She had come over one day back in the summer complaining that her mom was trying this new health trend, and refused to buy any chocolate chips. And well, since he had an empty house, and at that point a hefty food budget from his parents, he offered to get the stuff to make it.

At first, they used the recipe on the back of the bag. Spent most of the time laughing, and spilling half the ingredients on the floor. He didn’t care. It was the first time that the house felt alive again.

What he didn’t realize, then, was how calming baking could be. How following a recipe precisely could calm nerves. Place the fear into something productive, and give it away. Steve didn’t make much, sometimes he would stray from the simple recipe, but nothing brough comfort like homemade chocolate chip cookies. Nothing reminded him how much he wasn’t alone.  

“We have to stop meeting like this, Steve,” Eddie’s voice echoes through the kitchen. He walks over to the island, taking a seat. “What will the town say?”

Steve smiles. “I don’t care for what the town says about me anymore.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, thinking that Steve doesn’t notice. He does. It was painfully obvious, but Steve didn’t care. It’s been so long that someone stared at him for who he is, instead of who they want him to be. The look made Steve feel alive, in a way, like he was still capable of something.

And really, if Steve wanted to push, it could mean that the ignited heat that traveled with each stare might lead to something. Because, if his peripheral wasn’t fooling him, Eddie looked at him with such adoration it made Steve simultaneously melt and feel like a phony. How someone as amazing as Eddie looked at him like that, he didn’t know. But he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

“What are you making,” Eddie asks as Steve cracks the second egg into the bowl.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

Eddie hums. “Didn’t take you as much of a baker. Especially a midnight baker. There’s a backstory to that one, I’m sure. Let me see.”

He does this thing, sometimes, where he just goes off on a tangent of one thought melding together with the next. Creative thoughts stringing together in one story, much larger than it needs to be. Steve likes listening to it, though. It’s kinda cute.

“So either,” Eddie continues, “you are so ashamed of your secret love for baking that you only allow yourself to partake in such activities in the dead of night. Or. You are secretly a night owl, which is why you are so perky in the morning. You’ve already been up for hours, and are not tired.”

He laughs. “I’m not that perky in the mornings.”

“If you smile at me before eight am, that therefore makes you perky.”

“Maybe I just like smiling at you. Ever think of that?” He looks at Eddie when he says that. Sees the teasing smile turn into shock. Unexpected shock, but not unpleasant.

Steve’s reckless with his feelings sometimes. It makes him say things like that. Makes that beating of his heart come back. But instead of fear, it pumps him full of something else. Something terrified him in a way he was comfortable with.

And it meant that Eddie looked at him like that, and let Steve know it. It made Steve think that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t crazy for this. He hasn’t lost his mind. He isn’t making a stupid mistake. He might just be making the right decision for once.

The oven beeps that it’s done preheating, breaking Steve away. He hopes that it doesn’t mean Eddie does too.

“How’d I do,” Eddie asks as Steve starts to place cookies on the sheet pan. “With my guesses.”

“Not entirely wrong, I am up for longer than you think I am, sometimes. But not because I’m secret night owl.”

Eddie reaches out and steals the spatula. Hesitating for a moment to see if Steve would stop him. He doesn’t. “Why then?”

“Nightmares.”

The room falls to silence except for the clicking of the scoop.

Steve sighs. “When I get a bad one, I need to do something to get my mind off it. If it’s light out, I go for a run, or a drive. If it’s night, I bake. Sometimes I clean, but that never really helps as much as baking does. Not sure why that sticks so much.”

“I get it,” Eddie almost whispers as Steve slides the cookies into the oven. “Before, when my hands didn’t actively hate me, if I couldn’t sleep, I would play something on my acoustic. It helped calm me down. Playing songs I knew by heart, feeling the motions of my hand playing the notes, it was the most calm I ever felt.”

He wishes he was there to watch Eddie play. He could only hear it, just slightly able to differentiate the live playing from the recording. Steve can imagine what he looked like, but he wished he didn’t have to.

“You’re going to be able to play again, you know.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but he really believes it. “With your determination, I think you could do anything.”

Eddie scoffs, rich in pain. “I wish I was as optimistic as you are.”

“Just because you think that it won’t ever happen again, doesn’t mean it won’t. That pool out there, I haven’t been able to fill it for two years. Something happened in there that made me never want to fill it again. But I did. And maybe when I stop thinking something’s going to pull me into another dimension, I’ll be able to swim in it again.” He turns to look out the kitchen window, seeing the moonlight reflect on the water. “I used to love to swim.”

He did. Before the upside down, when it was just a normal life that were giving him problems, he would swim lap after lap. Until his muscles were sore and his body still felt the waves of the water even when on land. Each time his arm crashed into the water, his frustrations melted away.

“Maybe both of us could find a way to love what we used to again,” Steve finishes.

He turns back to look at Eddie, seeing a mix of emotions in his face. The thing that stands out the most is the want to believe him. The want to believe that the weakness in his hands won’t stop him from playing again. That somewhere in the future, it could be possible to.

Steve really believes that it’s possible. It will just take time. Far too much time, creating nothing but frustration and anger. But it is possible. He believes that. And maybe, just maybe, if Steve could still be lucky enough to have Eddie in his life, he could witness it happen.

If the secondary look that Eddie’s giving him is any solace that what Steve feels isn’t one sided, maybe it could guarantee that. Maybe, if Steve could find the words and tell him, or lean forward and just take a chance, he could see if it’s possible.

The timer beeps, breaking whatever moment they had. It’s for the best, really. Steve can’t lose a friendship over the possibility of maybe. He’s lost too much already to that.

apparently my goal when writing this is how much I can make myself cry, because that bit with Wayne and Dustin definitely got me there

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 3

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1094

Written: 21st December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

His arms feel lighter, colder... sluggishly opening worn eyes. The bed is empty, his hand reaches out but there's no ghost of warmth.

This has happened before. You hate to wake him up when you get up, alarm not needed because your hours as a hunter have permanently ruined your sleep patterns.

The first time, he'd felt fear grip his heart in an icy hand. Tightening, twisting and tearing. Now he just sighs into the air, turning over in his bed to look for phone. Checking there's nothing imperative that requires him, shooting off a message to the prince that you need some clothes brought over.

Your hunter uniform was beginning to resemble scrap, and he'd laid one of his shirts out for you to use until the prince could deliver more options.

Or he could buy you more... still you frowned at him when he suggested such a thing, telling him with a little laugh that you had plenty of clothes.

He hadn't yet worked out how to explain that dressing you was a satisfaction for him. Seeing you wearing things he chose, he paid for? He was still a dragon through and through. Decorating his lair and his greatest treasure.

He understood, however, that certain things you owned were picked because you liked them, found comfort in them. Safe things. So if it meant dragging the prince out here with a bag in tow, he didn't think either of them were too put out by it.

Reluctant to leave his bed, but yearning to have you close by again, Sylus pulls himself out of his nest. Flick of the hand righting his covers, and padding out in slippers and sweats.

As soon as he leaves the room, music drifts towards him, accompanied by very familiar voices, and he follows its call like you're a siren.

Even if you were, he knows he'd drown blissfully for and with you.

His kitchen is filled with the scent of sugar and bread, hitting his nose as soon as he swings open the door. The twins are sat on the kitchen counters, bobbing their heads to a song he doesn't know, and he's pretty sure they don't know either, judging by the 'do do do's' they're singing along with it.

He almost wants to complain, because they're loud enough to cover some of the notes you're singing, but you're laughing and smiling amidst the words. Cheeks dimpled...

Your shoulder is bared because his sweater is too big, slipping down, and covering the tops of your thighs. Shorts underneath, long fluffy socks up to your knees. Foot tapping the floor as you mix dough in a bowl.

You're like an angels song.

Head bobbing, tilting as you sing out to words he doesn't recognise. Not that he needs to.

I'm on my knees waiting for the sound.

It's a strange feeling, he's tried to replicate how your voice makes him feel with his own. He's learned how to sing to music that he doesn't really understand. Tunes that he can't quite replicate. Sylus listens to everything he can find because he wants to understand. It's a strange dim sensation on his own, with his records playing. Though they remind him enough of you that he is comforted anyway.

Stuck in a world gone wrong.

It is like he's chasing your shadow, and he never can seem to catch up.

So lift me up, I'll never let you down.

A feeling that blooms like fresh flowers, brings him to ease, reminding him of days where he learned what love was.

Calmed and riled and fragile but so warm and safe. The feeling is chaotic and terrifying but if he could spend his life feeling it, his very very long life. That only you can end, and when you choose to, he hopes it's alongside yours.

So he can never feel it without you, though he feels it's shade when he remembers you.

Searching for the words that I can say.

Instead it licks flames up his skin when you sing in front of him, when your voice fills the air and wraps around him and he understands. He always understands with you.

How it feels when you're with me.

The twins look up at him, pointing at him as they sing non-existent words and his kitten doesn't notice until he pulls up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin on your shoulder, hunching over to look down at what you're doing.

Mostly just so he can feel the rumble of your song through his chest.

The music falters for a second, as your hand reaches up to touch his cheek. He thinks he might purr in response but wouldn't admit it outloud if asked.

"Sugar cookies." You answer his unspoken question. "They're easy, but I'm testing the recipe with less sugar."

"The doctor will be happy." He murmurs against the skin of your neck. Biting absently, in protest as you stop singing for him. Not too harshly though, after all your voice is beautiful when you speak too. Always a song for him. Always lighting that unusual sensation in his chest.

"We've been taste testing!" Luke calls out, and he tilts his head just enough to watch the twins sticking raw dough in their mouths.

"Hey! Don't eat too much you'll make yourself sick!"

"S'fine." Kieran speaks with a full mouth, spraying some dough over his brother, who wipes it off and glares. "You missed a spot." And he flicks him in the forehead.

The two begin to scuffle, leaping off the counters and chasing each other out of the room, the sound of their yelling is head down the hall.

You begin to laugh in his arms, eyes twinkling with affection, and lean back against him with a contented smile.

He wishes the fish were here to paint you. He debates going to grab his phone that he's left on the side, just to take a photo for him later. It would mean releasing you though... he supposes there's more chances to see you like this.

His whole life, he hopes.

"Thank you." You speak, tilting your head to press a kiss to his head, and he turns you quickly, one hand moving to your neck to keep you there while he kisses as much of your skin as he can reach.

Cheeks, lips, forehead, neck. Quick pecks with no heat.

His chest, his heart. He's molten, melting, burning. It would hurt, he thinks, if it didn't feel so delightful. His heart, his soul, his home.

[naffeclipse]

Hey babe. I have been rereading your fic In Song Fish Amid the Stars. And ofcource I love Eclipse our little soft baby. But I have to say I love your world building. What I enjoyed especially was Y/n's relationship with Gregory. Not only I wholly loved his character and interpretation (how he grew up to be this kinda loner mechanic that had to have surfer cut) but also his dynamic with the main character! The fact that they were practically like siblings to each other always having each other's back. Even a small mention of their domestic moments (lending books, having meals togehter) melted my heart. And whenever I read this fic and come to the part of Y/n's disappearance from the boat, like damn. I can't imagine the despair Gregory felt, the desperate search that has no limits and ending in sight. After all the ocean is endless. The same goes for the relief when he found put y/ns home. So i have a question. Can we have insight into his point of view? His thoughts, his actions, what did he tell Freddy? How did he feel sailing back home without them? Was he falling apart thinking that his sibling is dead? Killed by the very thing they always feared? The thing he made them scared of (at least in his eyes).

Sorry for rant haha

I just live family fluff and their relationship is perfect.

Kisses

Ahhh, I'm rattling you! Thank you so much! I'm really glad you enjoy Gregory in SFATS!! He was very fun to write <3

Gregory was the one to discover Y/N's empty room on the ship, and his gut told him something was wrong. Not only were you not in bed, but you weren't sick in the bathroom or even hiding out somewhere to stop feeling the stormy waves. It didn't take long for him to confirm from a shiphand that you were missing—overboard.

And you've never swam in the ocean before.

All he could do at that moment was beg Freddy to start searching the sea. There wasn't time for guilt that first day. Once the big ship returned to the island, Gregory threw himself onto his boat and darted out to join the search with the leviathan.

He kept telling himself over and over that if anyone could find Y/N, it would be Freddy. The leviathan mer is magical, powerful, and big. Freddy can fix this. Gregory lost the parents he never knew, and now he was going to lose the only real human family he had, and he knew you. He has to give you back your old book he borrowed from you. You have to take it back.

But as the hours wanned on and Gregory tirelessly tread deeper and deeper waters, dread and fear began sinking their teeth into him. Freddy was very calm but concerned, the anchor to Gregory's storm. The fatherly mer kept Gregory going with hope despite the infinitely terrible chances.

Gregory was aware of Sun and Moon out in the sea due to a combination of Freddy spying the two colossal fish once or twice in the depths, and your own suspicious behavior, but they never once crossed his mind until he finally returned and caught news of your miraculous survival.

You're alive. He thought you looked like a wet, sopping cat who just barely survived drowning. You kind of were.

That's when the guilt returned to him in full force, and it almost bowled him over. He had to confess right then and there that he never should have forced you onto that boat. He thought he was helping. He thought he could make you less afraid but all he did was nearly get you killed.

You and Freddy told him in the same breath that it wasn't your fault.

But then you kept talking. Or rather, you kept avoiding an answer to his question: how you got back to the island in one piece. Freddy suggested so quietly within Gregory's mind that perhaps your mers are to be thanked for the rescue. Your mers.

And he thought you were a big ol' scared cat. You have a giant mer, well, two, just like him.