#sky with feathers is so dear to me

[fioiswriting]

Muña | one shot

Summary : Marrying your bastard nephew to mend fences between your families wasn't exactly what you had planned. But when you realise that Jace has grown into a strong and handsome man, you might be ready to rethink your plans.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Aunt!Reader (Reader is Alicent and Visery’s daughter. She’s one year younger than Aegon)

TW : p in v sex, mommy kink, sub!Jace (kinda), Dom!Reader (but they both switch tbh), inappropriate use of the word muña, oral (f receiving), afab reader, incest, unprotected sex, not proofread

Words count : 8064

AN : hi everyone!! I’ve been very busy lately so I haven't had time to update BUT I’ve been working a bit on various fics. Sorry to all my Aemond girlies but today it’s time for some Jace x reader. It’s a fic I’ve written for my gf who’s turning into a Jace girlie 🤭 It's full of indecency and inappropriate things.

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

The gardens had become your refuge over the past few days. Under the shade of the trees, on the soft grass, you had found a peaceful haven away from the excitement caused by the arrival of your half-sister and her herd of bastards. The Red Keep made you feel suffocated. And seeing your mother pacing back and forth, running left and right, didn't help. You had to calm her down. You had to keep an eye on your older brother, making sure he didn't slip away into the maze of Flea Bottom for the umpteenth time. You had to hold your family together, and you were tired. 

You almost envied Daeron, in Old Town, away from the hustle and bustle of the court.

At least no one would think of looking for you where you were now. And you could enjoy a moment's respite, poring over the thick book you had borrowed from Aemond's library. Had he known that you had entered his room without warning, had he known that you had dared to disturb the perfect tidiness of his precious bookshelves, he would probably have threatened to feed you to Vhagar. But what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, you could perhaps find a way to pay him back later. 

For now, you just needed to be left alone.

You stretched out, arms reaching for the sky. The sun's rays crept through the leaves, their warmth leaving a pleasant sensation on your face. Summer was back and you were delighted. The gentle breeze that ruffled the corners of your book and occasionally lifted the silver curls around your face gave you a sense of freedom. You deftly kicked off your shoes and lay back for a moment, your eyes closed.

Footsteps echoed on the cobbled floor, and you sighed in annoyance. You didn't have to open your eyes to see who it was. You recognised his footsteps. So, you kept your eyes closed. With any luck, he would continue his way and leave you alone to find someone else to annoy.

"Hey, my favourite little sister," Aegon exclaimed as he landed heavily beside you, his body brushing against yours. You opened one eye to acknowledge him, then closed it again, your arms crossed behind your head. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on me?" he insisted when he saw you weren't answering him. "You know, make sure I don't run off or end up drunk somewhere…Stuff like that. Which our mother probably asked you to do."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. It was true that Aegon was terribly annoying. But of all your siblings, Aegon was still your favourite.

You resigned yourself to rolling onto your stomach, your chin resting on your hands and your head tilted sideways to face him.  "My dear brother," you replied sarcastically. "Unable to occupy yourself, as usual."  He rolled his eyes before reaching out to remove a leaf that had gotten caught in your hair. He subtly ran his fingers through one of your curls, his touch as light as a feather. "And why have you decided to come and disturb my moment of peace, tell me?"

He blew the leaf away and you watched as it flew away on the breeze. Your big brother's eyes shone with mischief. "Why would I need a specific reason to spend time with my favourite sister?" he added, and it was your turn to roll your eyes. He moved to lie next to you, his body practically pressed against yours. 

If you moved a few centimetres, your elbows would touch his. 

You'd always been inseparable, and the habit had stuck over time, even when the teenage years had driven you apart. But in those moments, you were like two children again, ready to run away from Septa lessons to get into mischief in the castle.

“Because you always have a reason for everything,” you replied, and he looked at you with a fake hurt look that was greatly exaggerated. With Aegon it was easy. It had always been easy.  He wasn't as serious as Aemond, he wasn't as strange as Helena, and he wasn't as far away as Daeron.

"I just wanted to make sure my little sister was all ready to meet her betrothed tonight." He paused. "And also, that she hadn't suddenly decided to become a pious woman and follow the path of the Seven." His voice lowered. You poked him in the ribs. "See? I'm a caring big brother. I care about you."

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied. He laughed. Then he rolled onto his back, arms crossed behind his head, one leg bent, and he closed his eyes. The golden rays caught in his long lashes made him look like an angel. 

Everything he wasn't. 

'Well?' He added. “Excited to see Jacaerys Strong?”

You sat cross-legged. The bracelets on your wrists clinkled. Aegon knew how much the idea horrified you. You had no desire to marry Jace, to sacrifice your freedom for your half-sister's bastard eldest son. You had no desire to leave the Red Keep, to follow him to Dragonstone and spend your life bearing him children. It was your mother and Rhaenyra's idea, of course.

The union of the eldest daughter of one and the eldest son of the other, as a way of repairing the rift that has grown between your families over time. 

As if you were destined to mend fences, to undo the mistakes of your own parents.

It wasn't that you hated Jace. But he was your older sister's son, a bastard who had pretensions he shouldn't have precisely because he was a bastard. He was the model son, the perfect son, the prodigy son, the one who always did everything right. It irritated you. He irritated you with his brown curls and his awkward posture.

 It wasn't fair that your father showered him with praise when he could barely remember your own name.

You stood up, smoothing the folds of your red dress to make yourself more presentable, and you caught your brother's eyes on your body, his eyes riveted on the thin fabric that revealed your delicate shapes. God, you loved to play with that. You knew how to get men wrapped around your finger with your sweet, innocent air, and Aegon was the first victim. You approached him and held out your arm to help him up, which he accepted by pulling himself to his feet heavily. After putting your shoes back on, you bent down to pick up the thick book in your arms. If you lost it, you could be sure that Aemond would be angry with you. And that was a risk you didn't want to take.

 "Perhaps you're right, lēkia. I'd better go and make myself more presentable for my betrothed. I wouldn't wish to disgrace our family." And with that you turned back, your hair swirling in the air behind you as Aegon watched you go with a small smile on his face. 

You knew how much Aegon hated being ignored, and even more so when it came from his little sister. You knew that he would return with his tail between his legs and a pleading look on his face. Between his constant whining and his dirty jokes, he gave you little respite, but it was a game that had developed between you; a game that, deep down, you enjoyed.

He was so predictable. 

“If I had known you liked strong men, I would have dyed my hair,” you heard him shout from behind you. Aegon wasn't the least bit shy. You shook your head, your silver locks bouncing.

"Get lost, you moron," you replied without even turning around.

The meal in honour of your betrothal promised to be exciting.

*** 

As soon as he saw you, your nephew rose to pull the chair beside him in a gallant gesture, and you found yourself watching him. Really watching him. His long, broad fingers on the back of the chair. His dark locks falling around his face. His precise features; his straight nose and deep eyes and square jaw. You hadn't realised how much your nephew had changed. He'd grown up too, and he was now a good head taller than you. 

He had become a strong man, indeed.

But you refused to admit that Jacaerys Strong had become quite pleasant to look at.

"Princess," he said, pushing the chair back for you to sit down. Fingers brushed the skin of your partly bare shoulders. The touch had lasted a fraction of a second, enough to make you wonder if it had been a figment of your imagination. 

"Lord Strong," you replied in greeting. If the words hurt him, Jace didn't show it. Always the perfect son. What would it take to push him over the edge? To crack the shell he'd built around himself? To shatter the image of the gentleman?

To your right, Aegon was already seated. He was holding a glass of wine between his fingers while Aemond seemed to be lecturing him about something you couldn't understand. The exchange between you and Jace had obviously not escaped his notice, and the corner of his mouth had already curled into a smirk. You knew what it meant. 

His silence was full of implications, louder than any words. 

Your mother had lectured him before dinner, warned him to behave because that was what was expected of him, and she was counting on you to make him obey. 

But your older brother didn't say anything. He simply raised his glass in your direction, his lips forming a word that you couldn't read. You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed.

You looked at your nephew. He had donned a gambison in the colours of the Velaryons, and you couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation. 

After all, a bastard in blue was still a bastard.

"Enjoying King's Landing?" you asked your betrothed, in an attempt to start a conversation. His attention turned to you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. 

“It's quite different from what I remember,” he replied, his voice a little lower than usual, his warm eyes meeting yours. “But of course it all depends on the company you are with."

You hesitated, suddenly unsure.

You hated what the sound of his voice did to you. You hated the way his eyes suddenly made you feel vulnerable. 

Fuck.

“It all depends on the company, indeed. And do you find yourself in good company tonight, nephew?" You gave him a defiant look, as if to judge his reaction. 

As if to unveil what he held within himself. 

“I'm not quite sure. Should I?” He paused, one eyebrow raised. He had taken the bait. “What would yousay?”

His eyes sparkled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't the malice you usually found in Aegon's eyes when he wanted to tease you. It wasn't the gleam that animated his mind when he came up with a new plan for you to cover. 

"I would say I'm in pretty strong company," you replied as you took your cup, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of your lips that you hid behind the glass. 

You were cruel, giving him no respite, you knew. But you admired his composure. He hadn't cracked yet. 

You knew men who were less patient.

Jace leaned towards you. A slight tilt of the head, just to make sure you were the only one to hear him. As if he wanted to share a secret with you. “Careful, Aunt,” he began, his voice suddenly quieter than before. It was almost a whisper. “I might begin to think you enjoy my company.”

You know I don't, you wanted to reply, but Jace had already straightened up as if nothing had happened, his head turned away from you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Baela give him a questioning look, and an unfamiliar sensation stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

An unpleasant heat. 

A hint of irritation.

You were annoyed, and you didn't know why.

“Look how handsome your betrothed has made himself for you,” Aegon sneered as he reached for the decanter and leaned in close to your ear. “A true Velaryon, isn't he?” He huffed.

You wanted to slap him on the thigh, make him swallow his mockery. 

“If you think he's so handsome, I can happily leave him to you,” you replied, and Aegon's eyes widened. You saw him take a sip of wine, and something deep inside you told you he probably wasn't opposed to the idea. His usual mischievous smile was hidden behind the wine glass, but there was no mistaking his eyes.

Aegon had that tendency to give himself away, and you could read him like an open book.

The meal proved to be as boring as you had imagined. Small talk exchanged over fake smiles. An illusory moment in which everything seemed to be going well for one evening.

You weren't fooled, and you knew it was all a facade. You knew your family well enough to understand that the slightest spark could set things alight. You knew your brothers well enough to realise that all it would take was a simple glance between them to liven up an evening they found dull.

You just hoped they wouldn't cause too much trouble tonight.

To your left, Jace was still deep in conversation with Baela. They had that kind of complicity that made your blood boil inside; a shared laugh that sounded in your ear like the squeaky music you hated. You frowned. It was you, his betrothed. It was you, not Baela, and you didn't understand why that statement was suddenly so important. 

After all, you despised this union. You hated Jace. You had no desire to promise him the rest of your life.

Jace was a bastard, and you deserved better.

So why did the sight of him touching Baela's hand cause a twinge of jealousy in your body?

His fingers brushed over hers absently. A light touch on her knuckles. 

And all you felt was fire.

And then. Then, your fingers slipped under the wooden table. 

You knew you were playing with fire. And you knew that if anyone paid too much attention to what you were doing, they would see that you weren't exactly behaving like the perfect Princess Targaryen you were supposed to be.

But you didn't care.

You let your fingers wander, running along the outside of Jace's thigh before moving up to settle in the hollow that connected his thigh to his hip. With a faint touch, your fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh, and then lower, tracing small circles through the fabric that was already beginning to tighten. 

Jace almost choked. 

He spat out the contents of his glass, his dark gaze fixed on you. Everyone had fallen silent, their heads turned towards him. Rhaenyra's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

And you hadn't removed your hand. 

An innocent smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You wondered if Aegon could read you. If he could see that look on your face, so similar to his own. That distinctive feature you shared. 

Deciding to play with your prey a little longer, you put on your best fake concerned face, pretending to be worried about his health.

"Are you all right, Jacaerys?" you asked, your voice a little higher than usual as your nails dug into the fabric of his breeches. Not to hurt him, of course. Just enough to wake a certain part of him, just enough to remind him that you were his betrothed.

He cleared his throat and coughed again.

“I swallowed wrong,” he replied. 

Your fingers crept a little higher, trying to explore his upper thigh, where you knew your nephew would be sensitive. You didn't want to be rational tonight, you wanted to let the fire take over and consume you. 

You wanted to let the sleeping dragon within you awaken.

The taste of the forbidden was divine, and the heat spreading through your lower belly was too delicious to stop now.

"Be careful, mandianna. We're not married yet." you said.  We're not married yet and look where I've got my fingers. You kept your thoughts to yourself. "I wouldn't want to find myself a widow already," you replied in High Valyrian, amused, and Jace looked at you with his big brown eyes, somewhere between anger and excitement, embarrassment and curiosity. 

Under the table, out of sight, your hand brushed the stretched fabric where you could read the confirmation of what he was feeling, the manifestation of his desire.

He was hard.

Perfect.

It was you who provoked this. 

He responded to your touch.

You felt a familiar breath on the back of your neck and realised Aegon was leaning against you again. He was pretending to serve you some of the vegetables that had just been brought in for the starter, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear as he did so well. "Try to be more discreet, little sister," he chuckled softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper to make sure no one heard you. Discreetly, he nodded to where your hand still rested on your nephew's thigh. He tilted his head. "Rhaenyra is right in front of us. Do you think she can see what you're doing to her son under the table?"

He put on his best disinterested face. As if the words exchanged between you were nothing more than banalities. 

As if he weren't commenting on the indecent deeds you were doing under the table, unworthy of a girl of your rank.

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. You didn't want him drawing any more of your family's attention to you, especially when you hadn't finished playing.

Your big brother gave you a knowing wink, as if to promise you that your secret was safe with him.

And you decided to continue entertaining yourself with the new game you'd invented.

You were bold, and you decided that if Jace didn't already know it, he would find out soon enough.

*** 

It wasn't that Jace was disappointed with his betrothal. You were divine, and the dress you wore made you so regal that he couldn't keep his attention anywhere but on your body, on your cleavage so gracefully offered to his gaze.

It was precisely why he had turned to Baela, why he had tried to distract himself with their conversation, why he had desperately tried to find something else to hold on to.

Because you were making him lose his footing. And that was a feeling he hated.

No, Jace did not regret his betrothal. You were everything a man could want; you were beautiful, you were regal, you were clever, and above all, you were a Targaryen. A princess. The king's daughter.

The only problem was you were distant and elusive.

Jace remembered your pretensions and mockeries from his childhood. He remembered the little brat you were, following in your older brother's footsteps. He remembered a little girl with a strong temper, who knew what she wanted. He remembered the pranks, not just the ones he'd taken part in, like the Pink Dread, but the ones that had turned against him because of you and Aegon, too.

It was clear that the little girl you had once been, taller than him, with long silver curls and an air of self-assurance far too confident for her young age, had grown into a beautiful young woman. 

And that was something Jace hadn't considered.

He couldn't concentrate on his conversation with Baela, not when your fingers were digging through the linen of his breeches into the flesh of his thigh, as if to remind him to whom he had been promised.  

Your fingers, slender, light, burning against his inner thigh. 

He clenched his jaw.

All around him, the words and faces of the guests mingled in a swirl of sound and colour. Fuck.

Fuck.

His breeches were really becoming too tight.

You'd dared to do that. You'd dared to slip your fingers under the table, in front of everyone, and Jace didn't know whether to admire your audacity or wrap his fingers around your wrist and force you to take them off. 

Suddenly he felt hot, a familiar warmth spreading between his loins. 

He wasn't sure he could get up, not with his member pulsing between his thighs. 

Fuck. You weren't supposed to make him feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel such a desire for you when you weren't officially married.

This dinner was about officially declaring your betrothal, not consummating a union not yet pronounced.

He was trying to calm down. He tried to ground himself back into reality. Perhaps by staring intently at the contents of his plate he could ignore the sensation of your fingers rising dangerously high; the desperate need to finally have your fingers wrapped around his manhood.

His knees slammed into the table in a sudden movement.

Your fingers had just brushed the bulge that had formed between his thighs. 

And he needed more, infinitely more.

You couldn't have the cruelty to arouse such lust in him and then leave him like that. He would never forgive you.

"Stop that," he growled in your direction, low enough for no one else to hear. 

But you still had that damn innocent smile, that damn audacity to act as if nothing had happened. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, mandianna." Nephew. The sound of the High Valyrian rolling off your tongue sent a wave of heat between his legs. Seven hells, you were going to be the death of him. 

He wanted more. 

He needed more. 

More of your fingers around him, more of your tongue against his length, more of that innocent look on your face as you knelt before him, more of your tight cunt.

Jace was on the verge of losing it. You'd made him a slave to his own desire. You had closed your claws around him and he knew there was no turning back now.

“If you play with fire too much, you might get burned, muña," Jace retorted, leaning towards you, and he felt the imperceptible movement of your hand twitching at the threat. Aunt.

Despite his dwindling strength, King Viserys tried to make a speech about family, betrothal, and a whole host of other undoubtedly honourable values, but neither you nor Jace paid any attention. You were caught up in your own game.

Then Jace stood up, forcing you to remove your hand. 

You could see he was uncomfortable, for you knew where to look, for you knew what you had done. 

You knew he had a painful erection between his thighs, and it was all because of you.

But you could only admire your nephew's composure. 

“To my uncles, Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. I have fond memories of our shared childhood.” His glass between his fingers, he raised it in the direction of his uncles, then turned to you. "And to my sweet and beautiful bride-to-be, who I'm sure will never cease to surprise me with her daring and surprising side. May our marriage be filled with joy and satisfaction".

The toasts continued, as did the meal. The servants had brought the rest of the dishes consisting of steaming meat and tasty garnishes. It was almost too joyous, almost too happy to be real. As if there was a threat lurking somewhere in the corner.

But Jace still had to teach you a lesson.

The music started, the sound of instruments filling the room. Jace apologised to Baela and walked over to his aunt. His other aunt. Your sister. 

And you felt the anger return; the same inner turmoil as before. 

Jace had held out his hand to Helaena and led her to dance a little further away. You immediately exchanged a questioning look with your brother, who had also stared at Jace in disbelief as he had walked away on your little sister's arm.

"So?" Aegon began. "It seems your betrothed didn't appreciate your little game?" You glared at him, but he just scoffed. "If he changes his mind... You know I like it." 

You wondered if you could do the same. You wondered if you could ask Aegon to dance and if Jace would feel the same bubbling inside him, the same jealousy coursing through his veins.

You hated that feeling. 

You shouldn't feel that kind of emotion, especially not for him.

You obviously didn't see it, too focused on your own annoyance, but Jace kept glancing in your direction, as if to make sure you saw him. 

He wanted to make you jealous. He wanted to fuel the feeling he'd identified in you. He wanted to catch you at your own game. And one thing was certain, Jace hadn't played all his cards yet.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

After a moment that seemed an eternity, your betrothed returned to sit beside you, Helena going back to her own seat. You were less and less able to hide your annoyance, and no doubt Jace noticed, for he leaned towards you, a satisfied look on his face. "Your sister is very sweet," he murmured. He knew very well that this simple phrase would be enough to send you over the edge. 

You liked attention. You liked compliments. You liked to be praised. 

You said nothing back. But Aegon had his trademark grin, the one that stretched his lips when he had a devious plan, and he was already getting up on the pretext of serving Baela some wine so he could whisper in his nephew's ear.  "I know my little sister can be particularly demanding.” He paused. “And difficult to tame. So if you ever need any advice... Or demonstrations…"

Jace was fuming, but he knew he had to keep his cool. It was Aegon, typical Aegon, to push his buttons, to succeed in making him suddenly unsure of himself, to make his mind confused. His fingers closed around his cup, his jaw clenched, and it took all his self-control not to throw the contents in his uncle's face. 

He didn't even look at Aegon, who had returned to his seat with a triumphant smile.

But you felt something under the table. Something slipped between the folds of your dress, along your skin, discreetly, lightly, a delicious touch against your skin that made you want more.

Your eyes widened.

Jace. 

Jace the perfect son. Jace the model son. 

Jace slipping his fingers under your dress, touching the skin of your thigh, rising dangerously high where you could already feel the wetness forming in the crease between your thighs. 

This was the moment he snapped, you knew it. You hadn't heard your brother's words, you had only seen him lean towards your betrothed, but you knew he must have struck a chord with Jacaerys Velaryon. That he had probably touched his weak spot. 

Or perhaps you were just getting your comeuppance. After teasing him, after making him hard and desperate.

Jace moved his hand, tracing the space where your skin was soft and tender, all the way up your thigh, with a slow, gentle touch. His hand moved further towards the centre of you, where you were sensitive, and he brushed against your crotch. He didn't even need to apply any pressure with his fingertips to tell that you were wet.

Your hips automatically moved towards his hand in search of more contact, causing you to wiggle in your chair. All you wanted to do was grab his wrist, force him to slide his fingers under the fabric separating you, force him to touch you right here. But you were still at dinner and the game was becoming far too dangerous. 

"I told you to be careful," Jace whispered as he withdrew his fingers and resumed his serious gaze, his fingers fidgeting on the wood of the table. “Two can play at this game.”

And then perhaps the Seven heard you. Perhaps they were offering you a way out. To be honest, you weren't sure if it was a miracle or a curse. For Aemond had risen, and he had done what he did best; he had made a mocking and provocative speech to his nephews. 

Everything happened quickly. Jace and Luke leapt to their feet to answer the provocation, Aemond and Aegon were ready to fight back, and even Baela and Rhaena were prepared to defend their family. You had no time to move, no time to react, for dinner was already over, and so was your little game of cat and mouse with Jace.

This was your way out, you knew it. You were tired of sitting around a table listening to boring speeches. And the entertainment that had consisted of sliding your fingers under the table to push Jacaerys Strong over the edge had now turned against you.

"I shall rest," you warned your mother, who was deep in conversation with Rhaenyra, her features wrinkled with worry. "Tonight's events have left me somewhat tired. And I think a night's rest would do me a world of good."  She nodded, stroking your hair, and you knew instinctively what she was thinking. Always the perfect daughter.

And as you passed through the heavy door of the dining room, you hurried off in a direction that was not that of your room.

Oh, but if she knew.

*** 

Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the slightest desire to run into a guard who would ask you where you were going or escort you to your room for security reasons. 

Your steps were as discreet as possible on the stone floor, like those of a small mouse. You moved quickly, stealthily, almost on tiptoe.

Only the crackle of the fire broke the heavy silence between the cold walls, where the dancing shadows of the flames distorted.

You slowed your pace. You had a doubt. You weren't sure which door was the one you were looking for. 

And then suddenly, as you reached the end of the corridor, you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you against the wall, away from prying eyes. A strong grip, as if it didn't want to let you vanish again.

Jace was holding you between the wall and his own body. Despite the darkness, you could see his eyes shining in the candlelight, fueled by a devouring hunger you didn't know he possessed. He stared at you for a moment. His eyes in yours. A tension hung between you, burning, ready to consume you both, and you were completely willing.

Gently yet firmly he turned your body. Your chest against the cold wall, your back against his warm chest, and you pulled your hips back to provoke him. You wouldn't succumb so easily, not to Jacaerys.

He pressed himself against you, moving his pelvis forward so you could feel his hard member against the top of your buttocks.

"Do you feel what you're doing to me?" Another thrust of his hips. "Can you feel the effect you're having on me?" He pressed harder against you. Through the layers of fabric between you, you could almost feel him throb. Gods, he seemed big. "Teasing me all evening... Such a tease, aren't you?"

If it wasn't the consequence of your own actions.

You stifled a moan with your arm so as not to attract any patrolling guards. What you were doing was dangerous. At any moment you could be caught. At any moment you could be in big trouble.

But you couldn't stop now. Not when the best was yet to come.

You moved again, seeking more contact, seeking to make Jace harder and more painful than he already was, and you turned your head to challenge him. "What if it's you who's just too weak?"

You felt his hoarse breath against the back of your neck, at the base of your hair. He seemed to be hesitating, thinking. About what he was going to do to you, about what he was going to do to make sure you were responsible for your actions. Again he turned you so that you had your back to the wall, facing him, and you recognised the gleam of desire in his eyes.

Towering over you, he lowered his gaze to you, your faces inches apart. For a moment he let his eyes devour you, wandering from your eyes to your lips, from your lips to your breasts, visible through the fabric of your dress. He wanted to keep this image printed behind his eyelids; your half-open lips, your pleading gaze, like that of a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

You looked ravishing.

"Tell me to stop," Jace murmured. And you knew it was the sensible thing to do, you knew it was better to stop everything now, while it was still possible to turn back. For you weren't married yet. 

But you had no desire to be responsible.

His fingers curled around a lock of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, waiting for your answer before continuing.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you replied, your eyes locked with his. He felt your hand against his cheek as you detailed his face, tracing his well-sculpted cheeks, and he longed for more contact, his face seeking the warmth of your palm. 

You put your arms around his neck to draw him closer, to close the distance between your lips, to feel his warmth against your body.

To quench this desire, this need that was becoming uncontrollable.

And your lips met in a feverish, urgent kiss. He pressed you further against the wall, his fingers running down your sides, brushing against the breasts he so craved.

He found your hips and his fingers worked frantically up the bottom of your dress in a crumpled ball of fabric to reach your core. "Look at how wet you are." His fingers brushed your folds through your undergarments. "All of this just for teasing me." He pressed one hand against the wall, still leaning against you, but not giving you what you wanted: his hand had stopped, and you tried to wiggle your hips to force him to continue, to force him to give you what you wanted.

Deep down, you loved the way he was losing control. 

You loved that side of Jace you didn't know. 

So you grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers under the last barrier that separated his skin from yours. 

The sensation was delicious. 

The touch of his warm fingers against your folds sent a wave of heat from your lower belly through your entire body. You didn't want him to stop. "Here." You breathed against his lips. "This is where muña needs you." Aunt. He tensed beneath you, and you wondered if it was the ambiguity of the family tie, uttered in High Valyrian, that had such an effect on him. 

You let your lips brush against his.

He collected your wetness on his fingers, exploring the slit between your folds up to your little pearl. You were soaking wet. And you desperately needed him inside you. 

His fingers slid down to your opening where he applied a little pressure with the tip of his index finger without ever penetrating you.

"I know," he murmured, drawing small circles before abandoning your opening to return to your bud. "But I can't give you what you want now."

You whimpered under his cruelty, against his lips. 

You could see through his game. 

He wanted to make you beg, but you weren't the kind to beg. You were the one with the power and you were going to show him.

"We shouldn't stay here," you muttered, rubbing yourself against your nephew's hand. "If someone catches us..."

Jace nodded his head in agreement, withdrawing his fingers glistening with your juice, which you guided to his own lips, spreading the stickiness against his lips. 

"If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me."

And with that, he pulled you into his room.

*** 

Lying on the bed where you'd pushed him, Jace watched as you removed your dress, his prominent erection stretching the fabric of his breeches. The dress fell to the floor, forming a red puddle that you stepped over, one foot after the other.

Your nephew couldn't look away from your hypnotic figure, but his eyes inevitably wandered back to your breasts. You'd seen him glancing at your cleavage all evening, you could tell he wanted to run his fingers over your soft flesh, his lips over your nipples, and now that you were completely naked in front of him, you could see the unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You walked up to him. He clenched his jaw when he saw you. You, and the perfection of your shape, your little pointed nipples, the tantalising path that led from your chest to the space between your thighs where he knew you were soaked for him. 

The flat of your hand pressed against his chest, forcing him to lie down between the pillows. He complied, never breaking the eye contact between the two of you, and you took your place on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. His husky breath escaped through his parted lips, lightly caressing your face.

You were naked, he was still dressed, and you had infinite power over him.

You lowered your hips against his covered crotch, the essence of your desire staining the linen of his breeches as your hips began to move slowly.

You leaned down and traced his jaw with the tip of your lips, planting kisses along his throat. Underneath you, his member twitched. Mimicking what he'd done earlier, you let your fingers rest on the painful bulge between his legs and whispered, "I know." You applied a little more pressure, drawing a moan from between his lips. "I know it's painful. But I can't give you what you want right now."

Jace growled. He wanted to turn you over, slam you against the mattress, pound into you and make you swallow your insolence. But he wanted to see how far you were willing to go. He wanted to see you keep control for a while longer.

You deftly undid his breeches to make it easier for your hand to slip through. You found his hard member, warm and heavy between your fingers.

It was a new sensation. As a model princess, you'd never ventured into this territory, saving your maidenhood for your future husband.

But Jace was your future husband.

You closed your fingers around him, your thumb collecting the sticky beads that had already formed at the tip of his cock and spreading it along his length. 

"First I want to come on your tongue," your lips articulated against the skin of his throat as the hand that was in his breeches moved up his torso to close around his jaw, your thumb caressing his lower lip to emphasise your words. "Will you let me?" you added. In response, he let the tip of his tongue slip between his lips, touching the pad of your finger. "Let me show you," he whispered.

And indeed, Jace worked devotedly between your thighs, his tongue tracing the length of your slit, drinking in your essence as it flowed from your entrance like a delicious nectar. His tongue tickled your little knob, his thumbs spreading your folds to gain access to the treasure he coveted.

One of his fingers found your hole clenching around nothing, tracing small circles against it to force you to voice what you wanted. "Do you need me here?" he whispered against your flesh, the vibration of his deep voice sending shivers through your core. Your hands buried themselves in the dark mass of his hair and you moved your hips against his face, urging him to maintain the contact of his mouth against you. "Use your words, muña," he added, despite his nose being buried between your folds.

When you gave him the answer he was waiting for, he let a finger enter you in a delicious stretch. You held back a moan, your fingers digging deeper into his hair, not caring if you were hurting him or not. He continued to explore your cunt with his tongue, like a thirsty man, like a devoted man.

You wouldn't last long, your release close.

Jace then added a second finger. The sensation of his fingers inside you, against that rough spot, combined with that of his tongue between your folds, against your pearl, was simply divine. 

"Go on," Jace started, but you immediately cut him off. "Shut up." You didn't want him to speak. You wanted him to continue with his damn tongue, with his broad fingers inside you. You didn't want him to stop. "I am... I am close."

And your climax washed over your entire body like a wave of warmth. Your legs closed around your nephew's face.

It was probably one of the best sensations you'd ever experienced.

Still between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs, Jace collected your arousal on his tongue, sending shivers of overstimulation down your spine, and your whole body shuddering in a brutal spasm. You straightened up, knees still bent, your hand returning to your nephew's hair to guide him over you, his face close to yours. You stroked his cheek gently, as if to let him know he was a good boy, and your thumb picked up the sticky fluid that was smeared all over the bottom of his face.

You were both out of breath. You from the intense release you'd felt, he from the dedication he'd shown.

A smirk formed at the corner of your lips, and you pressed your thumb between his lips to ensure he didn't waste anything. Jace tilted his face close to yours. "You taste divine," he breathed, turning your cheeks red. "But now I need to be inside you."

His fingers slipped between your thighs, where your centre was pulsing, still far too sensitive from the ministrations he had given you. 

"You can give me another, can't you?" He asked, and you nodded, so sore.

After he undressed, Jace pushed on your shoulders to make you lie down, but you skilfully changed positions, taking him by surprise.

You were unwilling to give him the power he wanted, not yet.

Straddling him, you moved your hips to rub your crotch against his erect manhood, spreading your wetness along his length. Beneath you, his torso rose and fell rapidly, and the grunts he let out conveyed his need for more. So your hand sought his hard member, guiding it to your entrance without letting it penetrate you. "So?" you asked playfully. "Do you think you've been a good boy ? Do you think you deserve to be inside me?" You wanted to make him beg, and Jace could see right through you. "To be the first?" you added, lowering your voice slightly, as if you were telling him a secret.

But he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer.

So he capitulated, giving you the defeat you'd been waiting for.

"Yes." he breathed. "Please." Your victorious smile stretched your lips and you guided him further against you, pressing his erection against your opening. Fuck. He was massive.

He was about to breathe a sigh of relief, ready to feel your velvet walls tighten around him, but you blocked his hip movement. 

It wasn't enough.

"Please who?" you asked, your fingers moving back and forth around his manhood. He glared at you. You were gloating. "Please, muña," he finally begged, and you gave him what he wanted.

You lowered your hips to let him slide into you in a long thrust that stretched you around him. He was indeedmassive, and the new sensation of having him inside you was a delicious mix of dull pain and burning pleasure. You stood still for a moment to adjust to his presence inside you, your core throbbing around him. The initial pinch gradually dissipated, replaced by a pleasant sensation that sent a wave of warmth through your body. 

And then he began to thrust in and out, pushing up to sink into you. "Fuck...fuck, you're tight," Jace growled. Your loose hair cascaded down either side of your face, tickling his cheeks, and he caught it in a messy bun to hold it behind your head. 

You could feel the same pleasure as before building up in your lower abdomen. 

Gods, you could feel him so intensely. So deeply too. Bouncing rhythmically against that particular part of you. 

You buried your head in his neck, his woody scent filling your nostrils.

It was primal. Animal, between the two of you. All that mattered was the here and now. Your body against his, the sweat beading between you, the moans filling the room.

Jace tugged at your hair, causing you to throw your head back, freeing access to your chest, and he straightened up into a sitting position, his member still deep inside you, to find your breast. He buried his face in it and your hand instinctively found the back of his head to stroke his hair. Jace's lips traced a trail of kisses down the valley between your breasts, following the curve of your flesh before closing around your nipple, which he sucked gently. One of his arms wrapped around you to hold you tight against him, his other hand resting on the breast he wasn't devouring.

You stayed like that for a while, your legs on either side of him, his mouth seeking solace in your breasts, the divine sensation of being full, with him inside you, in the softness of the night, the flames rocking your lovemaking.

One of Jace's arms finally found your back and in one swift movement he reversed position. He desperately needed more, sensing that he wouldn't last long. 

He pinned you beneath him, against the mattress, your legs immediately closing around him and the pace quickened.  His thrusts became more messy, more sloppy because of your two combined essences.  "You're mine, now" he grunted, and you shivered. His index and middle fingers wandered between your folds, caressing the spot where you were joined before moving to the pearl hidden at the top of your slit. "Am I?" you replied teasingly. You could feel him throbbing inside you. "Then be a good boy now and give muña your seed."

That was the spark that ignited the fire. Jace quickened the rhythm of his hips, his fingers still buried between your folds, his movements erratic. With each of his thrusts, you felt his member hitting that sensitive spot against your spongy inner walls. You tensed and for the second time that evening, your release flooded your entire body.  You were followed by your nephew as Jace spilled into you, his seed painting white ropes against your womb.

He lay still inside you for a moment, his cock softening as you both caught your breath, your hands in his dark curls, his head at the nape of your neck. 

You winced as he withdrew from your still sensitive core, his now cold seed flowing between your thighs. Jace dropped down beside you, satisfied. Then you turned to him. You grabbed his wrist one last time and guided his fingers to your centre, where your folds were smeared with the remnants of your lovemaking.

"Look how much you've left inside me," you whispered into his ear, making Jace collect his own seed on his fingertips and push it back into you. "I'm going to keep it all inside me, would you like that, sweet boy?" you whispered again.

And Jace pulled you against him to kiss you, his member stirring between his thighs, against you. It was true that he'd given you the upper hand this time. But he was ready to show you what he could do. You snuggled up against his chest, tucking your head under his chin.

"Perhaps…We should bring the wedding date forward."

And he smiled.

[the-moon-files]

Not sure if anyone has asked this before I think it’d be funny for the Links to get flustered if reader asked them to touch their ears (out of curiosity) (I’m totally not curious myself)

Like are they sensitive? Just some thoughts to ponder...

Again, just going thru old asks, so if i don't apologize in the ask, I promise its a given 😭

Moon: presumed male reader, but no he/him, only "you" used, so gender neutral really ig ("you")

Orbit: SFW, Headcanons-ish, SHORT

Stars: vaguely the classic chain of links

Comets & Meteors: CWs: mildly suggestive, mild discussion about ear piercings/cartilage mention, & TWs: ear piercing disussion (vague, no talk of needles).

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

I actually sorta touched on this in an old ask, I’ll leave the link here in case u wanna see it, (when i find it…)

so ig I’ll expand on some short headcanons here!

so i mentioned last time i talked abt this being like a cultural hylian thing to only touch the ears of someone you love dearly, so like obviously parent/child, maybe older/younger siblings, etc. but i like to think generally,

esp as hylians grow up and become adults, their ears are like a thing only lovers/spouses touch/take care of

including piercings a lot of the time, so like a parent or sibling or lover will learn to properly pierce ears (tho i imagine they only really pierce non-cartilage piercings commonly)

so on the subject of piercings, i definitely think they see any multiple piercings/cartilage piercings on your ears as badass/def a show of good pain tolerance regardless of what you acc can withstand lol

(bro and if you have non-ear piercings?? Wind/Wild is Fascinated, and Leg/Hyrule/Sky/Wars jaws def dropped, even Time’s eye widened)

ok switching lanes back to the intimacy aspect

ok so we’re continuing off that situation in teh last post where you touch Four’s ears and are told what that means, and then half jokingly respond that they are very dear to your heart

(but obv if they’re uncomfortable you’ll def not do it)

bro the effect this has on them is actually irreversible lol

Wind was def the first to outright ask you to like check his ears after swimming or if they get nicked or even to ask you to pierce them once!

(if ur squeamish u said “no Wind, ask ur grandma” lol - but if ur not, like me when i was drunk once, u go for it after making super sure they’re symmetrical and sterile and whatnot, theyre just his firsts, as in the earlobe basic, and lend him a pair of your own earrings to keep in the meantime until healed, which is faster than humans. he is so happy he looks more like a pirate lol)

and the others def followed suit after Wind gave them the courage ironically (both being the youngest and also they literally all fought evil lol)

Wild politely asked if you could make him/help make him some earmuffs, Hyrule shyly asked if you would change his earrings, Four nearly went as red a tomato giving you a pair of earrings before suddenly but slowly all of them (except Wind?) gave you earrings some way or another (made or bought)

When one of the waitresses at an inn you guys stayed at giggled at seeing Sky give you a pair of carved pretty wooden feather earrings, before quickly running off, then congratulated you,

u asked what for, only to have her giddly explain it was a courting gift of course!!

…

nahhhh, all the Links gave you a pair of earrings, they were just being sweet and welcoming you into their culture probably!

or showing that you were dear to them to, since it was an “ear culture” thing!!

…you see the waitress sigh pitifully at the blonde men at your table later that night.

☆

thanks for the ask!!

peace out,

🌙📁

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

My, Oh My

WaHHHHHH 😭 Thank you @tinyfantasminha for this questionable cute artwork OTL It feeds the Eternity Float brain rot that has been eating away at me for the past few weeks…

I wrote a little something to go along with this illustration 💞

Shading her face, Raven throws her gaze across the sea like a fisherman might cast his line. The waters are an impossible hue, as if dyed with dreams to be even truer, even more turquoise than reality would allow. It almost matches the sky, a gradient of brilliant blue. Sunlight dapples the tips of the waves as they crest and crash into the shoreline in a spray of salt water, forming a white foam before dissipating back into the deep. The clouds, too, resemble that sea foam, bubbling deliciously at their edges as they melted away upon a balmy breeze.

The sky above, the fathoms below. The city is perpetually painted in a vivid, deep blue. Lapis lazuli, but liquid.

Ultramarine, she thinks, is quite the fitting name. I want to bottle it and use it to write.

Out of the corner of her eye, Raven notices a ball of feathers drifting down, webbed orange feet firmly planting on the pier. A caw calls out to her.

“New to these parts?” A seagull, sated on fish, lazily pitches the question. He speaks in Bird, but some foreign variation of it--an accent colored by the Sunshine Lands. The words roll like the waves, set in a shrill trill.

Raven smooths out her skirt and, keeping her knees together, squats down to meet the bird at his level. “Yes. How did you know?”

“You’re lookin’ around like you’re seeing everything here for the first time, sweetheart,” the seagull laughs. “And the company you keep? No sea legs on'm."

With the tilt of his head, he indicates a pair of rowboats far out on the waters. They're so small that she would have struggled to identify the figures in them, had it not been for the telltale horns on one and the red-face of the other. Both clutch onto the sides of their rowboats for dear life, the sea tossing them and their oars—thrown overboard—about like violently thrashing ragdolls.

“JADE,” a livid Riddle thunders, easily cutting the distance between him and the shore. Steam practically pours out of his ears. “YOU SCOUNDREL!! I knew we shouldn't have listened to you...!! STOP LAUGHING THIS INSTANT AND COME HELP US, OR I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD!!"

Malleus comes softer, but cool as ice, his voice drifting in and out. She pieces together the fragments: “This is a conundrum. How are we to row back to land when Leech has only taught us to row straight in one direction…?”

“Trouble brewing already,” Raven murmurs to herself. Then, to her winged acquaintance, “Would you mind retrieving their oars for them?”

The seagull opens his beak, but the response is only a strangled squawk. With a panicked flutter, he takes off, abandoning Raven on the pier.

“Ah…! W-Wait, Seagull-san…!”

The day suddenly darkens. No—a sinewy shadow drapes itself over Raven’s slight figure. Its arrival is heralded by a musical chuckle. Alarm creeps up her spine and raises the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Such a shame, it scattered before I had the chance to greet it."

"... Shouldn't you, as their rowing instructor, assist them with this predicament?" Raven asks as she stands, refusing to face the sinister presence.

“Experience is the best teacher,” Jade replies smoothly. The sequins woven into his twisting stole glitter darkly as he subtly shifts, placing a hand over his chest. “This way, Riddle-san and Malleus-san will learn how to problem solve out at sea without my explicit directions. They will be prepared for the Eternity Float in a worst-case scenario.”

“… Right.” She instinctively pulls her violet cloak more tightly around herself and retreats into it. The last thing she wants is to expose herself to him. Her calves, her shoulders, and, most of all, her heart.

Raven steals a sideways glance. The distinctive feeling that something—that someone—is missing slowly collects like frost on a glass pane. “… Where are the others?”

“Ah, Yuu-san and Grim-san walked further down in search of a better angle to film from. Rook-san has not yet returned from his own excursion.” There is a hint of glee in his otherwise professional, calm tone. His brows turn upright, conjuring a practiced look of concern. “It is just the two of us at the moment.”

She frowns. “That is not reassuring whatsoever.”

“Now, now, Miss Raven, beggars can’t be choosers,” Jade tuts, as if speaking to a misbehaving child. His single golden eye gleams with mischief. “I am here to ensure your safety. You are a creature unfamiliar with the sea. There is no telling what dangers may befall you, should you stray from my vigilant watch. For example…”

His foot darts out, quick as the snapping jaws of a piranha, nudging her wedged shoe with enough force to cause her to teeter. Raven yelps, throwing her arms out, flailing, in desperate attempt to regain her balance. She stumbles dangerously close to the edge of the pier, her back arching in preparation for a spectacular plunge.

Every drop of blood in her screams.

But instead of hitting the salt water, Raven is seized and roped back by strong arms. One snakes front around her waist, securing her by the hip, and the other splays fingers across her shoulder. She is the fish, and he is the net she has gotten tangled in.

“You see? You are still unsteady in your new footwear,” Jade coos, saccharine sympathy falling from his lips. Each word, a warm puff of air tickling her bare skin. The eel, she realizes, is far too close to her, and practically resting his head on her other shoulder. With Jade’s hair slicked back, black strand tucked behind an ear, there is nowhere she can hide from his discerning gaze. “Fufufu. Aren’t you fortunate that I was present to catch you?”

Heat explodes across Raven’s face. Is she the same color as the coral Riddle wears, or the orange-crimson of the beach at sunset, or the deep, rich red of the crab promised for dinner? Pieces of him, to be shared with her. Raven’s heart races, uncertain of the answer.

The Suspension Bridge Effect, Rook had called it. When fear is mistaken for attraction.

“You’re the one that knocked me off balance to begin with?!” Raven manages to sputter. “You have NO right to be acting like the hero!!”

She tries to pry herself free, but Jade’s arms are an ironclad cage. He smiles pleasantly, allowing a hand to languidly stroke her cheek.

“Oh dear, you’re positively burning up. Could it be heatstroke?” Jade tucks his fingers under her chin and inclines her towards him. “Let me see.”

“N-No need!!” Raven jerks away, her eyes flicking down to deny him contact. She finds the flash of a silver band, the shimmer of a single large pearl inlaid in it. Her breath hitches. “What are you wearing?”

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific than that."

"On your finger," she snaps.

"This?" He innocently raises his hand, the pearl catching the sunlight. "It is a ring. Surely you have lived among humans for long enough to know what a ring is, yes?"

"I know what it is, but why are YOU wearing one?!" She feels her temperature rising as she ushers out each successive word. Her own band--crowning her right middle finger--seems to burn, as if branding her. “On your left too... I-Is that not the side reserved for one's WEDDING RING?! Just what are you trying to imply?!"

"Oya, how presumptuous of you, Miss Raven." Jade's smile is smug and dripping with sugar. "I happen to be wearing this to accessorize with the outfit Mother selected for me. There is no meaning behind the placement of the ring. It only implies marriage when worn on the ring finger--but as you can plainly see, I am wearing it upon my middle."

“Well then, why are we the only two wearing rings?! And on the same finger, but different hands!!”

“As I have said, there is no meaning behind it. You are simply overthinking it.”

“As if I would believe that!!”

Raven’s indignant cry fills the skies and skips across the surface of the sea. It carries far and out to where a rowboat ferrying a huntsman bobs.

Rook swivels in the direction of the distress. Squinting past a curtain of drooping branches, he spots the shoreline and the entangled duo upon the pier. The huntsman laughs to himself, a soft sound that makes a round in the secluded cove.

“Oh la la~ Elle est intimidée. Elle n'ose pas l'embrasser.”

[pedroscurls]

letters across time (one-shot)

summary: after having moved to rome for a fresh new start, you begin to receive letters from an unlikely stranger that you begin to develop feelings for... only to come to the heartbreaking realization that the two of you may never meet.

pairing: marcus acacius x fem!reader content warnings: angst (with a happy ending), strangers-to-lovers trope (?), mutual pining, mentions of war and death, sorry - i've got a lack of historical ancient roman knowledge but trying my best lol, deviation from the film (lucilla dies before marcus - sorry, wanted marcus to be single / widowed which only fuels his hatred for the emperors), reader has a nickname (rose), excuse my poor attempt at speaking italian, no use of y/n. word count: 9.4k a/n: so i'm really stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, but i've been obsessed with marcus a since gladiator 2 came out (and honestly who else hasn't lol). also a bit of a tidbit - my first ever tattoo is with the latin saying ad maiora so i had to fit it into this story hehe. if the characterization seems off or if the historical aspect of ancient rome / dialogue is inaccurate, please bear with me - it's my first ever marcus a fic and first time writing in that time period... anyway, huge thank you to @jolapeno for hosting this "dear-uary" challenge <3. my epistolary is letters and my prompt is here. hope you all enjoyed this!

Finally settled in, you walk out to your small balcony and take a seat. It overlooks the famous Colosseum and despite the sounds of chatter coming from nearby, you have to wonder how this place looked centuries ago. Rome had always been a place you wanted to visit, but never did you think that you’d move here. 

You don’t speak the language (yet), and the apartment you moved into was surprisingly affordable given the location. An elderly couple owns the small building and when you had approached them about a vacant apartment listing, they were more than eager to have you move in. It wasn’t at all luxurious–the apartment building. It was very dated, remnants of ancient Rome decorated throughout the building. It almost felt like you were transported back to that time period, given the decoration that filled not only your apartment but the entire building itself. 

The couple could speak a little English, asking plenty of questions that a usual landlord wouldn’t ask. 

American? Yes, you answered.

Married? No, you replied with a heavy sigh–memories of your last relationship flickering in your mind. 

A beautiful girl like you, not married? No, you repeated–now trying to end the conversation in hopes that you don’t have to go into detail why you uprooted your entire life into one suitcase. 

You had noticed the way the older woman’s smile drops, can see her eyes softening at the sight of you. It’s almost like she knows, like she can understand why you’re here. She’s the first one to say that you got the apartment–the brief meeting lasting only twenty minutes. 

It’s yours, she said. 

You had told them you weren’t sure you could afford it, given how close it was to the Colosseum and knowing that it was one of the hottest tourist spots. There’s a lot of foot traffic that surrounds this area and you’d be lucky to have found an apartment this fast. 

Whatever you can pay, the husband had chimed in. We will accept.

Then, the woman had touched your arm–gentle, light, almost feather-like and you could have sworn the warmth radiated throughout your entire body. This place, this couple–it felt familiar, it felt like home. 

You nodded in agreement and you shook hands with the husband before the woman hugged you gently. 

And now, sitting in your new apartment, this didn’t feel real. You still feel like you’re running, like you’re looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the sun begins to set, the sky soon turns a shade of orange and you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

A flood of relief washes over you.

You’re safe. 

This is your fresh start. 

And you remember what the woman had told you when they had given you the keys to your new apartment: Ad Maiora, cara mia, she whispered, eyes staring into your own. A fleeting gaze of understanding. You asked her what that meant and she smiled, patted your hand and answered, Towards greater things, my dear. 

After finding luck with your apartment, you doubt that your luck would continue. But now, a month later, you have a steady job at a coffee shop that’s within walking distance and the elderly couple–Giovanni and Antonia–have begun teaching you Italian. Most nights, they invite you to their apartment for dinner where they ask you about your day along with a detailed lesson in learning Italian. Some nights, though, they ask you to teach them English–living so close to a famous tourist area, they encounter plenty of Americans and they believe it’d be good for business if they learned how to speak the language. 

Rome starts to feel more like home as the days pass. Giovanni and Antonia have welcomed you with such warmth that they soon find out the reason for you moving here. You told them you left America for a fresh start–having just gotten out of a very toxic relationship and a very meaningless job. You wanted more for yourself and you knew that staying in America was only going to keep you complacent, stagnant. 

Antonia had given you a hug at the end of that night–a hug that you had gotten so used to receiving, a hug that you found so much comfort in. They reminded you so much of your grandparents that had raised you–those were the only good memories that you dreamt of, a time where you could be a young girl again, running around in your grandparents’ home. 

You feel much freer, more at ease, safe now that you feel fully settled in here. And one day after work, you walk up the two flights of stairs to your apartment and unlock your door. There’s an envelope on the hardwood floor–almost like someone had slipped it underneath your door. There’s no writing on it, no name addressed on it, but you pick it up anyway and notice that it isn’t sealed. You set it on your small rounded table and walk to your kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine–this is routine for nights when you don’t have dinner with Antonia and Giovanni. 

You take a quick sip of your red wine and then move to your bedroom, removing your clothes to change into much more comfortable clothing–shorts and an oversized crewneck, your hair now pulled into a messy bun. You’re barefoot when you walk back into the kitchen to retrieve your wine glass. As you pass the rounded dining table, you notice the envelope. Someone must have had to slide it underneath your door on purpose, right? 

You take the envelope and then walk out to your balcony, sitting on one of the seats as you set the glass on the small table. Slowly, you pull the letter out of the envelope and open it, the writing in neat cursive. You shouldn’t be reading it, especially if this was meant for someone else. 

Confused but intrigued, you continue to read. 

Lucilla died today. I was not there to bid her goodbye. I had given her a promise–that this campaign will be my last. All of Numidia–for the glory of Rome… all for nothing. Writing this journal entry surely is treacherous–I could be punished for it, but what is the point of it all? This is not Rome. This is not the Rome I had promised to fight for.  Lucilla–I am sorry, my lady. I will love you for the rest of my days and cannot wait until we meet again. Your blue eyes, your smile… Your laugh and your voice–I will carry it with me, my love. I will speak with the Senate. I will–I will do what is right, what must be done.  For you. For Rome.  Acacius

You’re unsure of what you just read. Lucilla. Numidia. Acacius. Rome. It almost seems like this is a journal entry–the feel of the paper, the cursive writing. Maybe you shouldn’t have read it, but you’re curious. Something inside you tells you to write back–almost like a tug, a pull that you feel in the pit of your stomach. So, you grab a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing–not in cursive, though.

Dear Acacius,  I’m so very sorry for your loss. I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can say to make things better and I’m not even sure if time helps either… Shit happens. It sucks, and I want to say that life goes on, but it doesn’t. At least not for the person who lives.  I lost my grandparents when I was eighteen–it crushed my entire world and set me on a path that I’m still trying to fix. I know this isn’t the same as losing a wife or a partner and I’m not even sure if I’m making any sense. I just–I know what loss feels like and it fucking sucks.  Anyway, I think this might have been sent to me by accident and I’m sorry that I opened it and read it. It wasn’t my intention. So, I’m just gonna send it back to you–somehow–but… I hope things get better for you, Acacius (really cool name, by the way!).  Best wishes,  A stranger

You fold your letter and place it into the envelope with Acacius’s original piece of paper. You then close the envelope, grab your glass of wine and walk back into your apartment, setting the envelope onto your dining table so that it’s visible for you tomorrow morning to ask Antonia about. 

The following morning after getting ready for work, you notice that the envelope is gone. You furrow a brow in confusion, beginning to turn over your entire apartment to find the envelope–contents of your letter along with Acacius’s journal entry inside of it. When you realize that you’re late for work, you decide to call in sick and quickly leave your apartment to descend the stairs to speak with Antonia. 

She’s in the community garden, tending to the roses and when she sees you, a bright grin lines her lips. She stands and pulls you into a hug without hesitation. 

“Cara mia, no work today?” 

You shake your head and ask, “Antonia, there was an envelope in my apartment last night. Do you know who might have slid it under my door?” 

“Envelope?” she shakes her head, confusion written across her features. “Like a letter?” 

“Well, not really?” you answer. “It seemed like a journal entry. They talked about Lucilla, about Numidia–”

“Lucilla? My dear, she was the daughter of Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius.”

“Wait, that was centuries ago.” 

Antonia nods. “And Numidia,” she sighs. “So very tragic.”

“Antonia, who’s Acacius?” 

“General Acacius?”

“G–General?”

“Cara mia, cosa sta succedendo?” asks Antonia. My dear, what’s going on?

You shake your head. “Nothing. Um, I’ll have to skip tonight’s dinner with you and Giovanni. Mi dispiace.” 

“Cara mia–”

You give her a hug and walk back inside your apartment, determined to find out more about Acacius. 

Marcus returns to his chambers, distraught and overcome with grief. His bed–once shared with Lucilla–now remains cold and empty. He can’t bring himself to lie in bed, yearning for his wife who is no longer alive. After Numidia, he was more than ready to return home–returning home meant returning to Lucilla, but when news of her death finally reached him, he no longer found the need to go back to Rome, despite the emperors’ orders. 

But Marcus was a man of honor. He would ask Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla for a period of rest from war, to fully grieve the loss of Lucilla. He can’t even think about attending the emperors’ ceremony that’s dedicated to his success in Numidia–how can he when Lucilla is no longer here? 

He hears a knock on the door and he walks–barefoot–to open it. He sees a chambermaid on the other side–she has a look of sympathy across her features with a hint of fear. 

“G–General,” she mutters. “There is a letter for you.” 

“A letter?” he asks, confused.

She nods and extends her hand. Marcus takes the envelope from her and gives her a single nod, dismissing her silently. She turns on her heel and Marcus shuts the door, walking towards the candle that illuminates a small table. He takes a seat, pours himself a cup of wine before he begins to open it. He holds two pieces of a paper–one he’s familiar with and when he opens it, he realizes it’s the journal entry that he had written–and the other, much more smooth, less texture, more white in color. When he opens it, his eyes widen at the writing–all capitalized, not written in cursive. 

He reads the first line and realizes that this is a letter to him. He reads it with interest, eyes still slightly widened at the choice of words that he’s not used to. 

Shit sucks. 

Cool name.

It’s signed A Stranger and he isn’t sure how his journal entry even got into the hands of someone else. He doesn’t have any information aside from the fact that your writing is unusual and the words you use are out of the ordinary. 

But, he finds comfort in your letter. He’s known loss before–plenty of his men understand what he’s going through–but somehow talking to a stranger who doesn’t truly know who he is provides a sense of relief. He doesn’t have to be General Acacius in his response to you–he can just be Marcus. 

So, he grabs a piece of paper and his quill and begins writing to you. 

Dear Stranger,  Thank you for returning my journal entry. I am not sure how that fell into your hands and it is quite alright that you read it. However, for some reason, I feel some relief knowing that I am not alone. Maybe my journal entry was meant to find you… Do you believe in that? In fate?  Anyway, I am sorry for your loss as well. Loss is… Well, it is a part of life but that does not mean that it is pleasant either. I am sure the path that you are on now will lead you to greater things. There is a saying–if you are familiar–Ad Maiora. It means towards greater things.  Also, what do you mean by ‘cool name’? It is quite interesting that my name is associated with some kind of temperature… unless I am misunderstanding.  In any case, you may call me Marcus. If you are comfortable, may I ask what your name is?  I hope this letter finds you well, stranger. And I hope I get to talk to you again.  Best wishes,  Marcus

He re-reads his letter, furrows a brow and sighs. It sounds desperate–a plea to get you to talk to him again because he feels less alone when he’s writing to you. He isn’t sure how this letter will get to you, but he keeps his journal entry and your letter and places his reply back into the envelope. 

Marcus spends the better part of his night drinking, having ended up falling asleep at his desk and the envelope magically disappearing by the time he awakes the following morning. 

You awake the following morning, having fallen asleep on your couch with your laptop and notebook scattered on the coffee table. You had spent the entire night researching Acacius. Antonia was right–Marcus Acacius was a General for the Roman empire, serving under the rule of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. Empress Lucilla was his wife, but had died while he was on his way back from Numidia. But all of this–it happened centuries ago. 211 AD. And Acacius ended up dying–right in the center of the Colosseum after he was forced to fight in the arena after the emperors found out his plan of treachery. 

There’s no way that the person you had written to the other day was the same man you had researched–he was dead. Surely, you can’t be writing to someone from a different time period and to someone who is no longer alive. Right? 

You sit up from your couch and notice the same envelope magically resting on your coffee table. Quickly, you grab it and pull the letter out. Same paper, same writing. 

It’s from Acacius. 

You read it quickly, a small smile lining your lips and a quiet giggle escaping you. You feel a wave of emotion when you read his reply; it’s obvious this man is clearly still alive but how could it be possible that you’re communicating with someone who lives in an entirely different time period? And how come the envelope is your only string tying you to him? 

After you finish reading his letter, you grab your notebook and pen and begin writing your reply. 

Dear Marcus,  You can call me Rose. It’s my favorite flower and I grew up helping my grandma with her garden, which was filled with roses.  You’re cute, Marcus. Cool name meaning… You have a nice name. I think that translates the same?  Ironically enough, Ad Maiora is something I’m trying to remind myself when I have tough days. A good friend of mine mentioned it to me when I moved here. It’s been something that keeps me going every day… the hope that I’m moving in the right direction.  And fate… I don’t think I believe in it. We all have free will and everything we do in life is a choice we make… like my choice in getting into a relationship with a really bad man. Would you call that fate?  I like talking to you too… and I feel less alone too. Can I ask a question, by the way? What year is it?  Best wishes,  Rose

You take Marcus’s letter and set it aside, folding your reply and placing it back into the envelope. You’re sure that it’s going to disappear during the night and you hope that you can wake up the next day with a response from Marcus. 

Marcus attends his ceremony, dressed in white and gold as he feigns a look of pride, a forced smile when he’s standing in front of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. It makes his blood boil–the fact that these two young men are parading him around like he’s done something so great, so grand. All he can see is the unnecessary bloodshed, the bodies burning in that pit. All he can feel is the emptiness in his soul–Marcus doesn’t want to be here. 

And not once did they give their condolences over the loss of Lucilla. Marcus asks for a respite from this war, but they don’t grant him that luxury. He has a cut along the side of his neck due to Emperor Geta placing a sharp blade along his skin. As soon as the ceremony is over, Marcus retreats to his chamber where the envelope that disappeared that morning magically appears on his desk. 

Still in his white and gold attire, he quickly opens the envelope and reads your letter. He lets out a breath of relief as he sits down and reads your words over and over again. It gives him comfort–something he desperately needs right now. 

There’s something in the way your words put him at ease. He still has to put Lucilla to rest and he isn’t looking forward to it–that the next time he sees his wife will be in a coffin. 

He grabs a piece of paper and begins writing to you. 

Dear Rose,  That is a beautiful name and a beautiful flower. There are gardens filled with them here. Now, when I see a rose, I will think of you.  Cute–I have never been called cute before. That is certainly a first, thank you.  I believe in fate, Rose. I believe that everything happens for a reason… But I am sorry to hear that you had to endure a difficult relationship. It pains me to hear that you were mistreated and I surely hope that you are far from him now.  I believe that we have crossed paths for a reason. Maybe we will never know why, but I am surely glad that we did.  You can ask me any question you like and I will be more than happy to answer. It is 211 AD–do you not know the year? Also, I assume that you live in Rome since these letters are coming rather quickly.  The next few days will be… rather difficult. I am planned to bury my wife and I am not sure if I will be available to reply, but if you send me a response… I will do my best to write to you when I can.  I am not looking forward to saying goodbye to Lucilla. She was an amazing woman. She had to sacrifice a lot in her life–she was very brave, strong, resilient… I should have been there at her bedside. I should have held her hand when she took her last breath…  I failed Lucilla.  What kind of man does that make me?  If you choose to never respond after this letter, I understand. I just–there’s something in the way your words bring me comfort, puts me at ease, gives me a sense of relief… Anyway, I must go now. Until we speak again, Rose.  Best wishes,  Marcus 

He folds his letter and puts it back in the envelope, ensuring this time that he passes it along to the chambermaid. 

Later that night, you come home after having spent dinner with Antonia and Giovanni. You’re welcomed with the sight of the envelope sitting neatly on your dining table. You set your things down immediately and grab the envelope, taking the letter out and sitting down on the couch. 

Your heart breaks slowly as you read Marcus’s letter. You can feel his guilt through the words on the page and when he confirms the year he’s living in, it all but crushes you. This is a man that you’re slowly developing a friendship with and you know that it isn’t going to last long. 

As you continue to read his letter, you feel tears sting your eyes. So, you don’t hesitate to begin writing your response back to him. 

Dear Marcus,  With you, I’m starting to believe in fate. Would you believe me if I said the year I live in is 2025? I’m not sure how to explain how we’re able to exchange letters from different time periods, but… here we are. It’s possible. I just don’t have an explanation for it.  I can assure you that I am no longer in a relationship with that man and I am very much far from him. I moved to Rome about a month ago and I love it here. I can see the Colosseum from my balcony.  I’m sorry that the next few days will be difficult. I can’t imagine the pain that you’re feeling–losing the one person you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with. Lucilla sounded like a great woman, Marcus. I know saying sorry doesn’t change anything, but I don’t know if there’s even anything I can say to make things better.  I’m sure Lucilla knew… I’m sure she knew that you did your best to get to her. I’m sure she knew that you wanted to be there with her…  And you know, maybe you don’t have to say goodbye. The ones we love don’t ever really leave us, do they? We continue living to keep their memory alive.  You didn’t fail, Marcus. Sometimes, things happen out of our control. Not being there for her at the end isn’t a reflection of who you are as a person, or as a husband. I’m willing to bet that if you had it your way, you’d have been there for her. Maybe wherever you were… you wouldn’t have gone if you had a choice.  Finally, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, sorry.  I hope the next few days give you some closure, Marcus, and when you’re ready, I’ll be right here waiting.  Best wishes,  Rose 

You take his letter and put it on the pile you’ve collected before you place your reply back into the envelope. You turn your back for a moment to grab a glass of water and when you turn back around, the envelope is gone. 

Marcus awakes that morning to the sight of the envelope. He can’t explain how it just vanishes and reappears out of thin air on his desk. He pulls your letter out of the envelope and reads what you have written. 

2025? Surely, that’s a lie. There is no way he’s exchanging letters with someone centuries into the future. He has to wonder if this is some sort of joke, if maybe the emperors put someone up to this. As he continues reading though, he feels tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over. Your words–it provides a sensation of warmth that blossoms in his chest. He wants to believe you, wants to believe that he’s a good man. 

Marcus rereads your last sentence repeatedly, commits it to memory as he begins thinking of what he has to do today. 

I’ll be right here waiting. 

He doesn’t have time at the moment to write you back, so he keeps the envelope and letter separate from each other. He takes one last look at your letter before he leaves his chamber. 

The next few days, you’re anticipating a response from Marcus. He did warn you that he wouldn’t write back until he’s able, but you still can’t help the disappointment you feel when the envelope doesn’t appear for the next few days. Antonia and Giovanni notice a change in your demeanor since you’ve been receiving the letters–they notice the excitement in your eyes, a much freer spirit, but you tell them it’s because you’re finally feeling more and more comfortable here in Rome. 

You learn more about Marcus through your research and you try to find someone who can explain the phenomenon that you’re experiencing. How is it possible that you’re communicating with a man from a different time period? Sure, there are theories about time travel but that never felt real to you. 

At the end of the week, you’re already getting anxious. It’s been four days since Marcus’s letter. You have to wonder what he’s doing, how he’s doing. You know how his life ends, and you have to wonder what would happen if you told him. That would change so many things, right? It would not only change history, but it would ultimately change the trajectory of how the world is now. 

On the fifth day, Marcus is exhausted. Saying goodbye to Lucilla had only fueled his anger for the emperors. He has a plan in place and he knows what end he will meet if he gets caught, but at this point, he has nothing else to lose. 

After he buries Lucilla, he finds some time to ask around if anyone knew a woman named Rose. When someone would respond with a nod, there’s a flutter of excitement that he feels in the pit of his stomach but he’s left disappointed every time. Every Rose he’s met so far has no idea of the letters and he’s starting to believe that maybe you do live in the future–centuries into the future. It leaves him with an unsettling sensation in his chest, a sad reality that there’s a likely possibility that Marcus will never get to meet you. 

Now, he finally has some time alone. So, Marcus sits at his desk, rereads your letter once more before he takes his usual paper and quill out to begin writing a response to you. 

Dear Rose,  I am sorry for the delay in my response. The last five days have been very difficult for me, but every time I saw a rose… I thought of you and it brought me a lot of comfort that I did not realize I needed.  I want to express my gratitude to you, Rose. Your last letter–I kept it close to me at all times during the last few days here. Somehow, knowing that you’re waiting for me helped me get through each day… and knowing that I get to write to you again helped me through the difficult moments I endured. Ad Maiora, I suppose. Towards greater things… and I think that greater thing is you.  I buried Lucilla yesterday. She still looked so beautiful, but she looked… peaceful. She endured a lot of hardship in her life and there is some comfort that I feel knowing she’s no longer in pain. She no longer needs to fight… and I believe you are right. The ones we love do not ever leave us. We keep their memory alive and Lucilla will always hold a special place in my heart.  I must be completely honest with you, Rose. I am the General of the Roman army. I have a lot of blood on my hands… all for the glory of Rome, but you are right. If I had a choice, I would have been by Lucilla’s side from the start. I am conflicted… It is difficult to fight for this version of Rome. So much bloodshed, so many lives lost… all for nothing. I should not be writing this–it is certainly punishable, but I am exhausted, Rose.  If you do live in 2025–which does not seem possible–how does Rome look like then? You say you moved to Rome. Are you happy here? I also tried to look for you. Asked around about you, but I did not get anywhere. There isn’t anyone by the name of Rose that knows about these letters. Do you really live in 2025?  Lastly, tell me more about you. I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose. I hope that is okay.  Best wishes,  Marcus 

He folds his response and places it into the envelope. Right before his eyes, it suddenly vanishes and Marcus is sure that he must be hallucinating. He’s exhausted and hasn’t had much sleep since he’s gotten back, but he has no other explanation for it. 

You awake the following morning to see the envelope on your coffee table. Excitement fills your veins and you quickly walk over to the envelope, carefully taking the familiar piece of a paper out. You begin to realize the letters you have begun exchanging with Marcus are becoming longer and longer–it brings a smile to your face and heat rising in your cheeks. 

You sit on the couch, pull your legs underneath you and grab the blanket to drape over your lap as you finally read Marcus’s letter. He thought of you–the last five days and he thought of you. When he finally tells you the truth about who he is, you feel a sense of relief. You had been afraid that you’d accidentally let it slip that you know who he is, despite already telling him that you live in the future. 

The last sentence in his letter brings you back to reality. You feel the pit in your stomach drop at the realization that this is as far as you’ll ever get with him. Sooner or later, this letters will end but you can’t help the feelings you’ve begun to develop for a man you will never meet. 

I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose. 

It’s almost like he knows what will happen to himself–maybe he knows that the plan he eventually comes up with is a death sentence once the emperors find out. 

You know you shouldn’t get attached, but you get your notebook and pen and write back to him anyway. 

Dear Marcus,  I must say, it’s such a relief to hear from you. I wish I could have been there for you, with you… supporting you. If I’m being honest, it’s hard to hear that you’re going through a difficult time. Makes me want to go back into time and pull you into a hug. Do you think that’s possible? Time travel?  You sure know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you? You make me blush sometimes with the things you say. Are you sure you’re real? A lot of the men here certainly don’t talk like you do–you can definitely teach them a thing or two.  I'm starting to think our saying is Ad Maiora, isn’t it? Moving to Rome led me toward a greater thing… one after the other, and it finally led me to you. I’d say that’s fate, wouldn’t you?  And General Marcus Acacius–sounds so formal, so official. You must be very important, aren’t you? Like I said, I wish I could pull you into a hug. I hope, at least, knowing that I’m here to listen is enough though. Also, if talking about this is punishable, then maybe we should be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you… Yes, I live in the year 2025. I’d be surprised if someone lied to you and said they knew about the letters we’ve been exchanging. Rome is… different than what you’re used to. There are no emperors. The colosseum is no longer in use–there aren’t anymore gladiators. I’ll attach a photograph of me and my balcony, maybe it’ll help you believe me.  Well, what do you want to know? I’m an open book, Marcus. Ask away.  Can’t wait to hear from you again. I have missed you.  Love,  Rose 

You sign the letter without thinking, but you don’t bother to change it or rewrite it after you realize the word you used. You hope it isn’t too forward or too insensitive. You grab your Polaroid camera and quickly walk out to your balcony. You face the camera to yourself and smile, pressing the button to take the picture. Once it develops, you go back inside and fold your letter. After a few minutes, the Polaroid develops and you look down. It’s a good picture and gives a good view of the colosseum in the background. 

Placing the letter and the Polaroid into the envelope, you close it and surprisingly see the envelope disappear. 

“So it is real,” you whisper to yourself, a smile lining your lips as you already begin counting down the time before you receive a reply from Marcus. 

Later that same night, Marcus sees the envelope on his desk as he gets ready for bed. He sits down instantly at his desk and uses his candle to illuminate your writing. 

But he sees the Polaroid and takes it out of the envelope. Marcus lets out a quiet breath when he sees you. He isn’t sure what exactly he’s holding or how this managed to capture a realistic photograph of you but he’s distracted by your beauty to even notice the colosseum in the back. He’s still reeling over Lucilla’s death, but there’s something in the way your smile and your bright eyes somehow puts him at ease. 

“My lady,” he mumbles. “Lucilla, if you can hear me, please forgive me. This woman–She is helping me through this, through your loss.” Marcus shuts his eyes, guilt and desire mixing together. Guilt because he’s still dealing with the grief of losing Lucilla, and desire because you are absolutely stunning. Marcus isn’t even surprised–this is exactly how he pictured you when you began exchanging letters with him. 

Marcus turns his gaze to your letter, but his eyes flicker to your picture repeatedly. You really do live in the future and you will always be so out of reach. 

Then, he sees the word you sign your letter with. A warmth washes over him. His lips curl upwards just slightly and he begins to write. 

Dear Rose,  This–This picture, it is you, yes? I cannot explain how something like this exists, so it must be true that you do live in the future. So far into the future.  But you are breathtaking, Rose. Absolutely beautiful. Your smile and your eyes… there’s a kindness and warmth to them. The man you had been in a relationship with before truly did not realize what he had because any man would be lucky to have you.  The colosseum in your photograph–it looks old. If what you say is true, no gladiators and no emperors, then can I ask… is your world a better place than what it is here? I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life. This is not to say the life I currently have or have led is not great, but a man can still dream, right?  A hug from you sounds very nice. I imagine that I would feel even more at peace with my arms around you. I am not too sure about time travel, but if these letters are any proof of what’s possible, then maybe time traveling is too. Though, if anyone is doing the time traveling, I would rather it be me. I do not want you to be in this time period here, Rose. I do not want you to be around such men because there are bad men here too. Maybe more worse here than there.  If I may be honest… I cannot stop looking at you. I believe I’m going to keep this very close to me from now on. I am sorry that I cannot provide the same type of picture of myself–we do not have this here… but maybe I can think of something else…  An open book, hm? Well, I know your favorite flower. I know that you are starting fresh here in Rome… I suppose I should ask what do you like to do then? If you are living in the future, what is there to do?  I am unsure if you have experienced this yet, but this envelope… it seems to be the reason why we are able to exchange letters. It vanished before my eyes the other day, Rose. I cannot explain how or why that happened, but maybe this is fate. Exchanging letters across time sounds impossible, but for some reason, the Gods wanted us to meet. That sounds like fate to me.  I will wait for your next letter, Rose, and I have missed you too.  Until then.  Love,  Marcus

He quickly folds the piece of paper and gently slides it into the envelope, not bothering to wait for it to disappear because his attention is pulled to your photograph. He brushes his thumb across it gently–wishing you were here. 

The following morning, you’re awake far too early but excitement fills your entire body when you see the envelope sitting on your dining table. You make a cup of coffee and open it, having grown accustomed to Marcus’s neat cursive. You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he compliments you, can feel the butterflies in your tummy. 

I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life. 

You feel your heart tug just a little–the harsh truth that you will never get to meet him becomes more and more real as you continue to exchange letters with him. 

He’s seen it too–the envelope disappearing without a trace. You can’t explain how it’s possible and there is a part of you that no longer wants one. Time travel–there isn’t a way that’s possible and even if it was, how would it even work? 

You grab your notebook and quickly begin writing to him, setting your cup of coffee down. You lift the cup away from the paper, taking note that it left a coffee-stained circle at the top corner of the page. 

Dear Marcus,  You are very sweet… I’m sure there are more pretty women there. I’m just… me.  But Rome… it’s beautiful here. It’s always been a place I wanted to visit. I never did think I would end up moving here and now, I can’t even imagine ever leaving.  Considering your time period, I would say the world now is much better. I think you would like it… it might take some getting used to–it’s so very crowded here, but I think you would like it. I suppose that’s all we will have, isn’t it? Dreaming of a different life… Or maybe I’ll learn how to time travel and bring you here.  I love the beach. I love the water, the sunsets… It’s calming, almost peaceful to me. There’s just something about the sounds of the waves, the feel of the water, the sight of the sky that just puts me at ease. The beach was the one place that I felt like I could get away from everything. It became my safe haven, my safe place…  What about you? General Marcus Acacius–what do you like to do? I have also seen this envelope just disappear. I don’t have an explanation for it either, but maybe you’re right. Maybe there is a reason why we’re able to communicate across time. Do you think we’ll ever get the chance to meet face to face? You know, if I learn time travel…  Sometimes, when I go to bed, I pray that I dream of you. I think it’s the closest I can get to ever meeting you. I imagine what you would look like, what your voice would sound like… How it would feel like to be in your arms. I would assume I’d feel like how I would if I were at the beach–safe, calm, peaceful.  If by some miracle I’m able to time travel, may I come visit you instead? I think it would be much easier for me to go back in time rather than you come here. Some things might change if you were to leave your time period and come to mine… Looking forward to your next letter, Marcus. Love,  Rose

You fold your letter and place it in the envelope, already counting down the hours until you receive Marcus’s reply.

Marcus finally sits at his table after an exhausting day at the colosseum. He doesn’t find the violence entertaining like everyone else. It’s unnecessary and he wants no part of it, but he has to put on a facade for the emperors. He still plans on speaking with the senate, to conjure up a plan to somehow overthrow Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. 

However, he’s conflicted with so many emotions. The grief and loss he feels over Lucilla lingers in his chest, but he feels hopeful–excited whenever he sees the envelope on his desk. If he goes through with his plan and he ends up getting caught, Marcus knows what the consequence will be. He knows that it’s ultimately a death sentence if the emperors find out, but his mind drifts to you whenever he thinks about what his end might be. 

His eyes drift to your picture on his desk, a small smile curling his lips. He dreamt of you last night, after he had written his response to you. He dreamt that he was in your world, somehow lying in a bed with you in his arms. It was the first time since losing Lucilla that he had woken up with a feeling of ease–just dreaming about you brought him that sense of peace. 

Marcus takes your letter out and reads it with a smile. Once he finishes reading, he begins writing back to you. 

Dear Rose,  I dreamt of you last night. The Gods answered me and I dreamt of you. I dreamt that I was in your world, sitting on that balcony in the picture I received from you. I have this image of you–smiling and laughing–ingrained in my mind. It puts me at ease. Talking with you has been my safe haven, I suppose. Things have been difficult here ever since I got back and it’s lonely without Lucilla. I am sorry to bring her up.  These letters have been able to get me through each day. Your picture, too. Lately, I have been dreaming of a different life than the one I am living. I have been a soldier for most of my life, Rose. I do not think there’s a day that has gone by where I have not fought… And it is tiring. The beach sounds like a great place to just get away from it all, I agree. Here, though, I like to go to the gardens. More so now than before. I am usually surrounded by roses and it makes me feel closer to you.  I am ready to retire, Rose. I am ready to spend the rest of my days in quiet–possibly far, far away from Rome. Maybe near a beach, hm? That would certainly be another place where I can be reminded of you.  I will pray to the Gods for a miracle that we get to meet one day. I didn’t think it would be possible to exchange letters with someone from a different time, so maybe being able to meet face to face may not seem so out of reach… I imagine that I would feel safe and calm with you near too.  Your beauty, your words… The way you have made me feel… It all reminds me of Lucilla, but in your own way. I am a man of honor, Rose, and Lucilla will always have a piece of my heart, but… you have become the reason why I am able to get up every morning. I look forward to the next time I see this envelope because it means I get to talk with you.  Maybe tonight, we can meet in each other’s dreams, Rose.  Until then, my lady.  Love,  Marcus

Days turn into weeks and your letters with Marcus become more and more frequent. You’ve tried to teach yourself the theories of time travel, but you’re just as confused as when you first started. The more you talk with Marcus, the more you begin to realize the magnitude of your feelings for him. You try to tell yourself that developing feelings for a man you won’t ever meet–a man who’s already dead–is only going to set you up for heartbreak. 

But despite knowing how this might end, you still exchange letters with him anyway. 

Marcus is set to meet with the Senate tomorrow and he knows that if he gets caught, it will be his death sentence. There won’t be any way that he will be able to get out of it. He holds onto your letters–and especially your picture–when the days and weeks become more difficult for him. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla require his presence at the colosseum and Marcus finds it increasingly exhausting to sit there and feign interest. 

When he gets back to his chambers every day, the envelope is there waiting for him. He reads your letters repeatedly before he can even write a response. The way you talk about your world–it helps him escape his reality. He begins to realize just how deeply he feels for you and it saddens him because despite how strongly he feels, Marcus knows that you two may never get the chance to meet. 

Later that night, you see the envelope and feel the excitement rush through you. However, once you open the letter and begin reading the words on the page, you feel your heart drop–tears building at the corners of your eyes. This feels almost like a goodbye…

Dear Rose,  I am set to meet with the Senate tomorrow. In secret. I realize that this might be the last letter I will ever write to you, but I will be praying to the Gods that it won’t be, but if it is… I wanted to write to you one last time.  You have given me hope, have made me feel alive when I had lost everything. Coming back to Rome after Numidia, after losing Lucilla–I could not find the will to live, but then I received your first letter. It was fate. You saved me, Rose. You continue to save me.  I wish I could see you. I wish I could touch you. I wish I could hold you. I know I said in a previous letter that I would want to spend the rest of my days in quiet… but I think that has changed.  If I had it my way, I would spend the rest of my days with you. I imagine what my life would be like with you. I imagine a lot of laughter. I imagine that we would be at the beach or maybe at the garden and we would have plenty of meaningful conversations. I imagine my mornings would be one of my favorite times of the day because I would get to wake up every morning with you by my side.  If this is the last time I get to speak with you, just know that you now also have a piece of my heart, Rose. I will carry your photograph with me forever. I will hold onto the conversations we’ve had and the letters we’ve exchanged.  If I do not make it… please remember that you deserve all of the good things in the world. You deserve to always be happy. You deserve to live your life the way you want. You deserve to be with someone who will cherish the very ground you walk on because you deserve nothing less.  When I sleep tonight, I will dream of you… like I always do, Rose.  Yours forever,  Marcus

You know what he means when he says he’s going to speak with the Senate tomorrow. You’ve read what will happen–after all, you know exactly how history plays out after having researched the history of Ancient Rome and Marcus. 

You can feel your heart breaking–the ache in your chest beginning to throb almost painfully. You know how Marcus’s story ends, but you can’t let him go. You had been hesitant before–altering history–but you have to tell him. You may never get to meet him, but you don’t want this to be the end. 

Grabbing your notebook, you begin to write your response. Almost fifteen minutes later, you fold it in half and place it inside the envelope, watching it disappear yet again before your eyes. 

Marcus awakes that morning with a knot in his stomach–his eyes glance over at your photo before he catches the envelope. He sits up from bed and walks towards his desk, pulling out your letter and reading it carefully.

Dear Marcus,  Don’t. Your last letter feels like a goodbye, and I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to say goodbye, not yet… Not ever. I shouldn’t be telling you this because I’m sure it’s going to alter my own reality, but I don’t care. I don’t want to let you go.  You’re going to get caught. No matter how many times you’ve rehearsed it in your mind, you will be caught. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla will find out and they–they will not take it lightly. They will make you fight in the colosseum and that is where you will die. I know how your story ends and yet, I made a choice to continue exchanging letters with you. I knew that our story would only end in heartbreak, but maybe… Maybe there’s still a chance for us.  I am begging you, Marcus… Please do not do it. Don’t go to the Senate. Just–Just leave Rome. Live the rest of your days in quiet–away from war, away from the bloodshed, away from the emperors. You no longer need to fight and I understand… I understand that you made a promise to Lucilla, to yourself, but I cannot lose you and maybe this makes me selfish, but– You saved me too, Marcus.  I will spend the rest of my days figuring out how to transcend time… to find a way where you and I can finally meet. Fate brought us together, right? We will figure this out. I will figure this out.  This is not the end of your story, Marcus Acacius. Do you understand me? And this certainly isn’t the end of ours. At the end of the day, we still have a choice… If you decide to still go through with it, then I will understand. I know you are a man of honor, Marcus. And if you do decide that you will go to the Senate tonight, then I hope you know how deeply I feel for you too. I didn’t think I would ever love again, but you… You nestled your way into my heart and made a home there. I go to sleep dreaming of you. When I wake up, you are the first person I think of.  I love you, Marcus.  Yours forever,  Rose

He sits at the edge of his bed, rereading your letter over and over and over again. You know how his story ends and you know exactly what will happen when he goes to meet with the Senate tonight. He should have known that you’d be aware of his history–you live in the future after all. 

Marcus isn’t afraid to die–in fact, it’s something that he’s come to terms with a long time ago, but for once, he doesn’t want this to end yet. He doesn’t want to let you go either and maybe, maybe you two will never meet, but he would rather die an old man exchanging letters with you. 

He reads the last sentence repeatedly and he can’t help the way the words stir something in him–the butterflies he feels in the pit of his stomach, his heart beating faster–you love him. 

Marcus knows what he needs to do now. 

The rest of the day seems to drag on–the minutes trickling by ever so slowly. Even at work, you can’t concentrate. Antonia and Giovanni pick up on your distraction, but you reassure them with a fake smile and tell them that you’d just rather spend the night alone. 

You know it was selfish to tell Marcus the truth, to practically beg him to stay, but you couldn’t imagine continuing to live your life with the possibility that you could save his life. You had only been exchanging letters with him for a little over a month, but you couldn’t help the feelings that you had begun to develop for him. The way your heart races faster when you see the envelope, or the way your stomach flips when you read his letters. 

In your free time, you had been trying to learn how to time travel. It seemed almost impossible, but you didn’t want to quit. You couldn’t explain how you’re able to exchange letters with someone who lives centuries in the past–and if that was possible, then surely it was possible to time travel. 

Somehow. 

You enter your apartment later that night–you can feel the nerves settle in the pit of your stomach when you slowly open the door. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, heart rate slowly picking up when your eyes scan the dining table.

No letter. 

Your stomach drops, so you close the door and then move your gaze to the coffee table. 

Nothing.

Tears begin to pool at the corner of your eyes and you realize that Marcus had made his choice. You sit on your couch, bring your legs to your chest and cry into it. The sob builds and builds until you let out a quiet whimper, tears now streaming down your face. 

He was gone. 

Forever.

A week later and you finally get the courage to go back to work. When at work, you fake a smile–feign happiness, but when you get back home, you cry yourself to sleep. 

Antonia and Giovanni leave you dinner at your front door, but you don’t bother to open it. You aren’t hungry–you haven’t had an appetite since Marcus’s last letter. You wonder if he ever received your letter and if he did, did he read it? 

And if he did read it, what went through his mind? 

And when you admitted that you loved him, did that scare him away? 

When you open your front door later that night, you set your things down and begin walking into the living room until you finally see it.

The envelope. 

Your heart leaps out of your chest. 

You waste no time in opening the envelope, quickly taking out the letter and breathing out a sigh of relief when you see his familiar cursive writing. 

Dear Rose,  I am sorry that I have not written back to you. I had a change of plans after your last letter and had to strategically plan how I would be able to execute it.  I am no longer in Rome. You were right–I no longer need to fight. I faked my death–with the help of some trusting men of mine–and am far away from that place.  I am living the rest of my days in the quiet–I now live in a small village where no one is familiar with who I am or what I have done. It is almost like a fresh start–a chance for me to live a different life… a life that I might have chosen from the beginning if I had the choice.  I want to thank you, Rose. For telling me the truth, for warning me. I am much happier now than I have ever been, and I am more than ready to spend the rest of my days with you. Traveling to this village was not easy, but you gave me the strength–like you always do–to keep going.  I love you, Rose. I wanted to tell you that once I was safe–once I was finally settled in. Ad Maiora, right? Towards greater things... So, my lady, what do you say? Shall we continue our story together and maybe–one day–finally meet? Yours forever, Marcus

the end...?

[nekonaps0]

One Taste

✦Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader

✦biting, obsessive undertones, suggestive tension, blood,

✦I got inspired by this song:

The night found you walking alone.

Too late. Too quiet. Too foolish.

A breeze whispered through the trees, the air sweet with late blooming flowers and something else… something darker. You paused beneath the flickering lanterns that lit the path your way to the ramshackle, heart skipping.

“Careful, darling,” came the purr of a voice behind you, silken and laced with joy. “Wandering like this… you never know what might bite.”

You turned, and there he was, looking into your soul with that everything knowing smile.

He perched casually on a low tree branch, his fanged smile glinting in the moonlight. His eyes shone like the stars on the night sky, glowing with something far older than any student should possess. There was always a playful tilt to his voice, but tonight, something in it… hungered.

“You scared me,” you breathed, giving him a small glare.

“Did I?” He dropped lightly to the ground, boots silent on the grass. “Mm, how rude of me.” He stalked toward you with the grace of a cat, hands folded behind his back, smile curling wider. “But I must admit... watching you shiver like that is such a delightful little bonus. Are you cold or my presence is the reason of your goosebumps?”

You tried to steady yourself. “What do you want, Lilia?”

His laughter was soft, amused. “Always so direct. I do like that about you.” He circled behind you, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath brush your ear. “I’ve been thinking of having a little… taste.”

Your breath caught. “Of what?”

“Of you. Of course.” His fingers grazed your neck, feather light. You shivered despite yourself.

“A single bite, just here…” His lips hovered near the sensitive skin below your ear. “To see if you’re as sweet as you act.”

Your knees nearly buckled. “You’re teasing me. Is this another one of your tasteless jokes?” you whispered, though your voice wavered.

“Oh, but darling…” His voice dropped, velvet and dangerous. “What if I’m not?” Lilia stepped in front of you now, gently tilting your chin up with gloved fingers. “What if every word that left my mouth is serious?” His eyes burned into yours eternal and magnetic.

“One taste,” he murmured, “and you'll be mine.”

A warning. A promise.

Your heart thumped in your chest like a frantic drum, and still… you didn’t move away.

“You’re afraid,” fangs flashing with a devilish grin. “But you’re also curious. So tell me, little my dear… should I bite? Should I satisfy your curiosity…?”

You should say no.

You should run.

But instead…

“…yes.”

He didn't hesitate. His mouth found your neck, lips hot against your already burning skin. His fangs sank in with slow, gentle care, enough to make your breath hitch, your body tremble. A jolt of something electric surged down your spine as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Pleasure danced with pain. Fear tangled with longing. When he finally pulled away, your knees gave out, and he caught you, smiling like the devil himself. So proud of himself while he looking at you up and down.

“Delicious,” he purred, licking the blood from his lips. “And now…” He leaned in, brushing your lips with his in a ghost of a kiss.

“You’re mine.”

..............................................................................................................................

I know it’s short but I tried my best 🥲

[marvelstoriesepic]

Tattoo Me in Flowers

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: Bucky gave you a flower tattoo weeks ago. Since then, he keeps coming to your shop for the real ones - or just you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: flirty Bucky; Bucky is smitten; tattoos; mentions of tattooing

Author’s Note: This was such a sweet request, thank you so much, my dear!! I hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The bell above the door sings your name again.

It’s late morning and the sun is inviting itself in and spilling all over the petals of your daffodils. The shop smells like spring came home and took off its shoes.

You’re wrist-deep in a bucket of eucalyptus, sorting stems by instinct, not logic, when you hear him.

The creak of boot soles against your old wooden floor.

The soft clear of his throat.

You don’t have to look up. You know it’s him.

Bucky Barnes, with arms like poetry carved into muscle and a stare that should be illegal in daylight. But seriously, the sun lights him up as if it doesn’t know how to behave around him.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greets you, as if you’re the bright thing in this room.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say lightly, brushing your hands on the hem of your apron, trying not to let your heartbeat spill out of your mouth.

With that charmingly crooked smile, he leans his forearm against the counter, careful not to touch the bouquet you made earlier, but close enough to smell the freesia.

In his other hand, he’s holding a small pot. Something purple and dramatic with curling petals. Clematis. A climbing thing. The kind of flower that grows fast and reaches high and needs something to hold onto.

“Someone’s got a green thumb now?” you tease, nodding to the flower.

His grin grows shameless. “Thought it looked lonely. Figured it might like some company.”

You laugh. Feather-light and blooming. And Bucky’s eyes sparkle. His grin widens.

He’s been coming into your shop more times than not since he spent those three hours giving you the most breathtaking tattoo on your shoulder a few weeks ago.

And every time he had a new excuse as to why he was here.

And every time he pretended as if he was only here for the flowers.

I think I need something for… a neighbor. She’s got a cat. Or a baby. I don’t really know.

My friend just moved into a new apartment. Thought he could use some decorative plant, what’d you think, sunshine?

Bucky doesn’t move, just watches you take the pot from his hands, fingers grazing his for one too-long second. Your skin remembers him, remembers the heat of his palms steadying your arm, the buzz of the tattoo machine, his voice like river stones rolling smooth and easy while he asked if the pressure was okay and wanted to hear you talk about your shop. How you fell in love with petals instead of people.

It was roses and marigolds and wild things inked across your shoulder blade, and he listened as if he was genuinely interested.

He was. He still is. That’s why he’s coming by so often.

“So,” he starts, leaning against the counter with a casual elegance that is anything but. “How’s it healing?”

And there’s the question you’ve been waiting for. Because he’s been asking every time he came into your shop.

You try to hide the smile, but your face doesn’t cooperate.

“It’s healing nicely,” you answer with a warmth in your voice. “It’s looks really beautiful, Bucky.”

He nods, pleased. There is a gleam in his eyes, in his smile.

“You took it like a champ,” he states earnestly. “Didn’t even flinch.”

“I did flinch,” you remind him, smiling a little shyly, taping down the wrapping paper and tying it with a silk ribbon.

But Bucky shakes his head, dipping it just slightly, maybe in shame, maybe in guilt, maybe in embarrassment. “Nah, that was my fault. Shouldn’t have flirted with you while tattooing your back.”

You could flirt with me now, is laying on the tip of your tongue but then you meet his gaze again. Mistake. Or maybe not. His eyes are the chaos that stirs the sky, steel and soft thunder, and he’s looking at you as if you’re the only thing in the room that’s blooming.

A breathless laugh escapes you and you turn back to the pot that is already nicely packed up. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind the flirting.”

You feel Bucky’s gaze. The way he studies you, as if you’re one of his sketches, and he hasn’t figured where to draw the next line yet.

There’s a pause, but it’s not awkward or rushed. It’s just filled with things. The way he keeps finding reasons to stop by. The way you keep letting him. The way your shop smells of eucalyptus and fresh-cut roses and something more now - something electric that carries his name in the air even after he leaves.

“You’ve been taking care of it,” he says, something underlying his tone. Something soft. But he means the tattoo. You know he means the tattoo. It tingles at your back.

“Of course I have.” Your fingers adjust the bow, but your thoughts are tangled somewhere else entirely. “I’m not going to ruin your art.”

“Wasn’t just the tattoo I was worried about.”

And it’s soft, the way he says it. Not casual, not flirty. Just soft.

Something inside you blossoms wild and sudden and a little bit dangerous.

Clearing his throat, he picks up a single stem - a pale pink dahlia.

“This one. What’s it mean?” he asks curiously.

You swallow, letting yourself speak in the language that’s easiest for you. “Dahlia means strength. Grace under pressure. Inner dignity.”

He nods once. Slowly. Considers it. Places the information in a box inside his head.

Then he sets it down and picks another.

“And this?”

“Ranunculus. Charm. Attraction. Like…” You refrain from clearing your throat, but your breath is lodged somewhere and won’t come up that easily. “I find you captivating, but I don’t want to say it out loud”

He holds your eyes, something swirling in those too-blue eyes. “Good to know,” he hums. “Why don’t you wrap me up eight of those, sunshine, and three of the others?”

He says it casually. But you wrap the flowers deliberately, knowing this is a game he’s playing. A slow, drawn-out thing. He’s patient. You’ve learned that about him.

While you care for his flowers, he walks a slow, wandering circle around the shop, fingers ghosting over petals, letting them breathe around him. He’s gentle, always. Even with all that strength curled in his arms.

Brushing his fingers over a petal, he speaks up again. “You know,” he says, and it’s too nonchalant again. “I’ve been meaning to ask… You ever do custom arrangements? Like, if a guy wanted something special. For, uh, a friend?”

You raise a brow. “What kind of special?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs. Shrugs as if it costs him nothing. “Something that says, I hope your day is as pretty as you are, and maybe we should get coffee sometime, no pressure, just casual, unless you want pressure, then-”

You laugh, breaking it before he can go on and his voice can drift too much toward nervousness. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you now, but his eyes are shifty, his hands are flexing, his stance is wavering.

“You don’t need to buy flowers to ask me out.”

He stills. Then his smile grows slow and real and brilliant, blooming like the tattoo on your shoulder, like the petals he’s been coming back for again and again.

You breathe. You bloom.

“Okay,” he says, and he’s beaming. “But I still want the flowers.”

“You really don’t need to-”

“But I wanna, sunshine,” Bucky interrupts, returning to the counter and grinning at you with bright eyes. “They’re for you, after all.”

Your cheeks warm up.

And when you try to hand him the bouquet, he only closes his fingers around yours, squeezes softly, and guides your grip to a vase on the counter.

You feel his touch all the way to where your skin still holds the memory of his ink.

Bucky takes his time with placing the flowers in the vase between you two, large and calloused fingers staying on yours, thumbs brushing your skin. With another slow squeeze, he pulls back again.

Your cheeks are on fire at this point.

And with a smirk on his lips and a fond adoration in his eyes, he leaves with the promise that next time when he comes in - and you know he will - you’ll let him stay longer.

Long enough for coffee.

[metranart]

hey, I know you probably busy and I’m sorry to bother you, but could you maybe make some headcanons of what hawks would do if y/n got pregnant?

You don't bother me at all, cutie. :) Here you have some cute little headcanons of our favorite birdie boy.

What Hawks would do if Y/N got pregnant? <3

Takami Keigo is not complicated, he wants as many chicks as he has fingers and toes, and he wants them all with YOU. 

You hadn’t thought about the subject but every time you’ve been at it … -it WAS unprotected. There was nothing to keep you from getting, round and heavy, with his child. And it wasn’t just once. Keigo could go for hours on end- he wouldn’t stop until he fucking collapsed on top of you, completely spent. “Sheesh, that-that was something else entirely, dove.” His smile bright enough to compete with the sun in the sky and win.

“If you get pregnant… I’ll be required to take care of you for the rest of our lives.” He shared all too proud of his deed, that look of adoration in his face, way too close to possessiveness. “—But one thing I swear, (Y/N). I’ll take care of EVERYTHING, you, them, us… All, you just watch me.” 

When the pregnancy test finally confirmed that his secret efforts had been fruitful, he nearly exploded with happiness, he carried you in his arms and your feet did not touch the ground again for the next forty minutes. 

“Dear god- you got even tighter.” Keigo’s voice sounded deeper, “So WET- my love, taking my time to preparing you first was more rewarding than I expected it’d be.” The lingering taste of you on his tongue nearly enough to get him off- “I’m LOVING this pregnant stage, don’cha?” 

The more your belly grew the more he glued to your side. All of the energy that in the past went into making the baby now goes into keeping you and his child happy and healthy. 

One morning, Keigo was looking at you with that unblinking, unreadable look of his, anxious you chewed at your lower lip before voice out your deeper doubts out loud. “I'm not a fan either-” his head cocks to the side, questioningly, and you suck in a nervous giggle, “-of my mom body.”

It would have been better if you slapped him, that would have been less offensive than what you just said. "I LOVE your mommy body, dove. I dream with your plump adorable tummy and all your mommy curves, all night long!" he stressed, ignoring your embarrassed giggles, in order to give a clear and firm statement, "... I'm even thinking about keeping you with that mommy body, all round and pretty and full of my chicks... how would that sound to you?" You shake your head, and he pouts playfully, your heart impossibly warm for him and his cute efforts which always work to make you feel better.

“Stop starin’.” You grumbled, cracking one eye open and staring at him, a tired grin ghosting your lips. “I can’t sleep with you watching me, Keigo.” The Hero grins, “Just checking that you were comfortable-” you shake your head, “For more than an hour?”

Keigo glanced downward at your stomach, a fond grin twisting the corner of his lips up as he imagined a little boy or girl, who looked everything like you- just with his last name, he asked for nothing else. The little one snuggled up in his arms as he read bedtime stories. He imagined teaching the child to ride a bike, to fly-… At this point, Keigo craved just for two things, domesticity and YOU… or just you, if it came to that.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” He growled for the thousand time, though his hands stayed gentle on your round belly. “I love everything about you. Your imperfections are so mouthwatering, (Y/N). My favorite parts.” He managed to sound reverent, like a man speaking of his Deity. He would kiss the ground your feet touch if you let him but sometimes you are so restrictive with him.

Having you in his arms has become his favorite part of finishing his patrol, that little extra weight you've gained is mesmerizing, he could adore you for hours, that's why since he met you, he leaves some feathers hidden in your apartment when he must leave, that way he can at least be close, even when he's far away.

"Don't think I don't know what you do, birdie." You whine playfully and he laughs, "how long have you known?" you snort through your mouth, "since we've known each other." Keigo snickers widely, you are definitely his person, no one else could stand how mushy and clingy he can be, more than you, his adorable and pregnant, dove.

🔞➡️ MHA X Reader NSFW ART

[hollowtakami]

HEYOOO

so I read your keigo fics and I really loved them! What do you think about Keigo waking up from a nightmare and he can't find you, so he starts to panic, and when you come back from the toilet (or wherever you were), he immediately latches onto you panicking and crying

Man he is so sweet

hi anon! ^_^ tysm for your ask, it rlly made me smile hehe. here’s a small drabble as thanks:)

(apologies if its rusty, the only thing i have written as of late is uni essays-)

keigo gasped for air as though he’d been reborn, feathers pricked out like needles.

he clutched at his shirt like a vice, daring to tear through his skin and stress grip his dying heart. he panted, delirious amidst his fear.

the suns of his eyes bounced across every corner of the room, his free hand scratching away the duvet in search of you. nothing, not even his feathers could sense you, clouded by fright.

what the avian didn’t know was that you hadn’t left him like his father, you’d only gotten to get a glass of water after the drought in your throat had woken you up, not nearly as violently as the way your boyfriend’s body treated him.

what you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was unfurling faster than the might of his wings ever could.

pattering through the hallway of your apartment with a glass and a plenished throat, you gently broke your way into your shared bedroom with a tired hand.

your eyes retreated behind their lids at the light you swore you hadn’t put on, lest you disturb keigo in his sleep.

no, an instinctual feather did so.

you stop, feet planting into the carpet as your brain tries to process the scene in front of you, whirring through its fatigue.

there was keigo, plumage fluffed up in fear, eyes wild and pinned on you, your bedsheets in tatters.

“kei?” words clawed up your throat as you slowly made your way to the bedside table and placed the glass. keigo grabbed your wrist the moment you’d set it down, you managed to get a better look at him.

sunny bedhead and a dark sky lining his eyes, his chest heaved along with the heavy burdens that laced his blood, what was his own that didn’t stain his hands.

no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, keigo would never be clean. it had trickled into his brain, and he couldn’t even escape it in his sleep.

“stay,“ he silently barked, his words scratchy.

keigo’s stress grip on your wrist wouldn’t let up, the avian latched onto you for dear life.

your face fell, eyebrows furrowed as you saw his glassy eyes, glossed over with fear.

“bad dream, baby?” you whispered, slowly raising your wrist to run a hand through keigo’s hair, massaging his scalp with gentle nails.

keigo only choked on a sob, his vulnerabilities racing down his cheeks to their end. if only this would end, he begged to a god he wasn’t sure existed.

you brought your wrist down, eyes trained on the dots of his.

“‘m not going anywhere, baby boy,” you soothed, gentle reassurance hanging in the air until keigo was ready to pluck it down and hold it close to him.

he tried to not, more words contesting in his throat.

keigo looked down at himself, feathers shaking more than his tired body.

“bad..” he gestured to himself.

“you aren’t him, birdie,” your words were soft, sun against his skin. his heart swelled amidst the silent rage of his head.

soon, you felt keigo’s grip starting to soften too.

you grabbed the glass of water with a free hand, using the other to usher strands of gold out of his eyes, tucking them behind his ear as you helped him sip some water.

kissing his forehead, you cooed, “that’s my boy,”

keigo chirped, too frightened to speak. he would only chirp or coo when this regressed into his fear, not that you minded. you knew that his bird qualities were something he was forced to bury, much like other innocents.

but, there wasn’t any blood on keigo’s hands.

the only thing in his hands was the silk of your skin, fingers intertwined as you spoke to him with the song of your voice, an angel he would tell himself he didn’t deserve.

your wings were pure, his stained red. he was born like this, conceived by a monster of a man. so, that must mean that he was born the same.

it took an angel like you to help him realise he had never fallen, it was someone else who had clipped his wings.

[bokettochild]

I cannot BELIEVE no one told me we had an update!!!!!

Anyways, here's my favorite bits as always, because I need to SCREAM about this one!

The rupee acquisition!

I love how JoJo included that traditional *item acquired* pose that all the Links do, and gave it a reason in the comic (Wind insisting he hold it up is just so fun)

Sky's comment though, "don't spend it all in one place". Isn't that a line you get in Skord when you acquire rupees? The cute little easter eggs here are so fun!

I also really love how Legend is taking an instructional role here, both with Wars and the champion!

While also letting his veteran show

and I love that the rest recognize that! Wild calling Legend "an expert" and actually listening to what he has to say, even if he doesn't agree with it.

I also super like the panels of Twilight's interaction with Legend here

Very eldest and middle sibling discussing the youngest child, and I love it. It reminds us that, even for all the cuteness we got between them in the last arc, Twilight still sees Legend as too rough around the edges, enough that it borders on bullying when it comes to some of the rest, and he's trying to curb that. And Legend is LISTENING, because (as I've said a thousand times) Legend respects Twilight and values his opinion. Twilight is his big brother too now and Legend, while still being himself, genuinely seems to care about his opinion.

Twilight's just tense in general, although why, I think is mostly because of Time's sharp scolding in the last update. Even though he's snapping back at the younger ones, he's not very happy to be snapped at right now, and he's eager to get out from under Time's watchful eye.

Time and Warriors

Because while he feels e has grounds to correct Legend for telling Wild what to do, Warriors straight up subtly scolding his protege is different. And the difference is that Legend and Wild and Twi had camaraderie (see Dawn p.3), they're brothers, but Wars is approaching this as a commander, a captain, and Twi doesn't appreciate that. Warriors isn't their leader though, but he's taking that role anyways. (Old habits die hard, I'm sure)

I mean, we all knew Wars was going to confront Wild sooner or later, but I'm glad he was so calm about it. Twilight's ruffled feathers (fur) is more from Time being overbearing, I believe, so it aggravates any slight annoyance Warriors might present.

Even despite some of our suspicions earlier, I like this bit here. Wild was a soldier once, and the captain is very much the image of what he would have worked with before. JoJo mentioned wanting to play with that dynamic, with them bothering having military background, and I think this is that training (hundred years ago though it was) kicking in and making the champion defer to the man who outranks him (as far as they know). Granted, they all call Wars "Captain" but this felt pointed.

I do love Four acting as the word of wisdom here, advising Time, just like he does Twilight, as to the best way to handle a team. it's a reminder that he's done this before, and he knows how teamwork can be, but also that sometimes you need space and working together means working in different areas.

Anyways, here's a couple bonus things that make me happy!

Bunny stance!

(shh, I know he's making a point by stepping on Wild's toes, let me have this)

Wars being so freaking pretty! Dear Hylia help me! (Is it wrong I understand Cia a bit now?)

Wind being the youngest sibling who is Done With Your Chatter

A competent boy being competent (and not as experienced as Ledge, but pretty darn close (if you've played both their games you know))

Showing off items! (I can hear the little ✨da nana na✨)

And of course, I love Time being a tired, overprotective parent (he looks like my mom here, good grief!)

[yandereunsolved]

☾ — Yandere Revali — ☾

"Impressive, I know. Very few can achieve a mastery of the sky. Yet I have made an art of creating an updraft that allows me to soar. It's considered to be quite the mastery of aerial techniques, even among the Rito."

"Hmm?"

"W-Were you not watching my feat of aerial mastery?"

"Sorry, Revali! I got distracted by one of the other Rito."

"Oh? What was this 'gracious' Rito speaking to you about? Was it that much more important than me?"

"It's nothing like that! I just got offered to be taught a few archery techniques. The Great Eagle Bow you gave me should be put to good use!"

What...? Some moronic half-cocked Rito is trying to teach you the thing I am greatest at? They're trying to teach my dear, my darling, my dove. How dare they.

"Ugh—such a betrayal. If you really want to learn something, then be taught by the master. Thousands have asked to receive my teachings, and I have turned every single one of them down. Yet, I extend my wing to you so you don't look so pathetic with that graceful bow on your back. Do you accept?"

"I kind of already made a promise that I'd go practice with them. You're really busy anyway. You have all that champion stuff you have to do. I wouldn't want to be a bother."

It seems like that Rito is about to have a flying accident. It'll be such a pity that they accidentally broke their wings and plummeted towards the ground. Their body will be barely recognizable. A pity. Such a pity.

"Nonsense. I could not allow my Hylian visitor to look like a fool in my village.However, if you already promised, it would be disrespectful of me to try and twist your word. Just take one of my feathers, will you? As good luck for your practice."

"Thank you for being understanding. It's such a kind gesture."

A gesture that you are mine. Such a silly Hylian. You don't know how courting is in Rito culture. Keeping that feather on you means that you are my new mate; you have accepted me. I hope that twat sees my feather in your hair before I kill him. 

"I am nothing if not generous." my love

( @sunset-peril @sixofcrowley )

[burningcheese-merchant]

Golden Cheese’s wings had come in just a few weeks ago, and quite late, according to what she knew of her species. Usually, a Phoenix's wings sprouted during early teenagehood, but hers came when she was already almost 18.

She'd spent hours and hours combing through every inch of them, days watching the pin feathers slowly mature and their keratin sheath flake off so she could preen them to perfection. It had been a painfully long process, there were no other winged people around, let alone phoenixes, so she had to do it all by herself.

But now here she was, gold and turquoise wings shiny and huge and perfect. Except… Golden Cheese didn't know what to do with them. Fly, of course. But no matter how much she tried, she couldn't take flight. The thought of flying was exciting yet so terrifying at the same time, she couldn't even hover a few inches off the ground without her heart leaping to her throat.

It was such a pity too, she had wanted to surprise her best friend, the Herald of Change, by flying into his temple in all her golden, newly winged glory. She could imagine what face he'd make upon seeing her and it made her giddy. Alas, that would have to stay in her imagination.

The Herald was so busy most days, and as they both got older, he became burdened with even more responsibilities, to the point they could barely hang out anymore. But now, Golden Cheese had the perfect excuse to drag him out of that stuffy temple. He could never refuse her when she was insistent.

The boy, now man, really, stared at her wings as she proudly spun around to show them off. His open mouthed, amazed expression inflated her ego like you wouldn't believe “So, will you help me?” she asked

His face fell, and he looked to the side almost in guilt “...Not today, I don't think. But when I can, I will, I promise!”

Golden Cheese frowned “What? No way, come on, come on! Let's do it right now! It won't take more than an hour!” she grasped his hands with her own.

He inevitably relented.

It took much more than an hour. It took days, in fact. But eventually, Golden Cheese managed to flap her wings and stay a few feet off the ground, hands on a death grip around The Herald’s forearms as she gently grasped onto hers.

He could tell that she would not go further than this If It depended on her, so he did something a little foolish. He tightened his grip on her and started to run. As fast as he could.

His friend screamed at him to stop, threatening to kill him, priests be damned. But the wind on his back told him her wings were flapping, and once she stopped screaming and the sound of flapping became steady, he let go.

It took her a couple seconds to muster the courage to let go of him, but she did. And she flew. Higher and higher into the air, to the point she became a tiny speck in the bright blue sky. The Herald of Change watched in wonder as she slowly came down, he thought she was about to land, but was surprised when she started to fly in circles.

Golden Cheese’s wings shone in the Sun like fire, watching her was a spectacle for his eyes only. It was the most beautiful thing he's ever had the honor of witnessing, a moment that would never, ever leave his memory.

High above, her laughter was almost inaudible, but her delight was his delight. His beautiful phoenix, flying free and circling above him. He could never get enough of her.

If, somehow, The Herald of Change became The Great Destroyer, golden bird imagery would be heavily associated with him. In almost every single tapestry or artwork dedicated to him, It would be there, flying above the Destroyer himself.

And Golden Cheese, the goddess of wealth and ruler of the Golden city, would stare at them with confusion, and strange familiarity.

(A gift for you, I really like your blog! Was thinking about them a lot today)

This is so beautiful 😭😭😭 what have I done to deserve this cuteness 😭😭😭 thank you so so much, I love it! You write so well! GC and BS being dear friends that tragically drift apart due to heroic responsibilities is so... ugh, my heart. Friendship that evolves into romance that eventually ends in tragedy is peak. I can't thank you enough man, this made my day!!!

(ugh... The golden bird imagery featured in all of his artworks... Imagine he's shown always reaching for that bird, his body language and expression suggesting such painful longing... Fury and hunger in some, grief in others, all of them always bordering on desperation for her... I feel so ill rn)

[vhagarys]

harrenhal

uncle!aemond x reader

summary: your uncle has come to take harrenhal, and his sweet, little niece

warnings: slight smut, kidnapping, dub con, mean aemond

MDNI

“i know you’re here, little niece,” your heart was pounding out of your chest as you hid inside one of the broom closets.

harrenhal had fallen. aemond murdered your father daemon and every other living soul in the castle.

you knew aemond would take his vengeance on your father, you had never thought to this magnitude.

as the only true born of daemon and rhaenyra, you were a gift to aemond from the gods. you always looked at him with such innocence, such reverence for your older uncle.

he reminisced how he would come to wish you goodnight in your chambers, lingering on your pert nipples poking through your small clothes.

he’d lay awake pleasuring himself to the thought of him stretching out your untouched cunt, making you gush around him. defiling his sweet, innocent niece had consumed his thoughts as of late.

he anticipated this day. he felt beside himself with glory as he lay waste to your father and his armies.

you heard footsteps slowly wandering through the halls. your body trembled so intensely you had to grab the wall to steady yourself.

“Ao gīmigon nyke jāhor daor henujagon kesīr rūsīr ao,” his voice eerily calm as he delighted in this little cat and mouse game you decided to play with him.

(you know i will not leave here without you little one)

when news of aemond flying to overthrow harenhal, you naively clung to the hope you could plead forgiveness to your uncle on your fathers behalf. he always paid you special attention as a little girl, surely he would spare you and your family?

after vhagar doused the battlefield with her flames, any hopes of peace were incinerated as well.

you caught a glimpse of your uncle before you scurried away to your best hiding spot. as he dismounted from his dragon, all hairs on the back of your neck raised as he plunged his sword threw the throats of men and boys alike.

as he made his way towards the castle, the hairs on the back of your neck stood as his laugh rung through the air.

this was the not your uncle, it couldn’t be.

you knew your only chance of surviving was to escape. if you could make it to the cellar, there was a secret exit which led to the forests surrounding the castle.

you listened as the footsteps receded, finally mustering the courage to slowly crack open the door to ensure his presence was gone.

your heart pounded so loudly in your chest you were afraid he’d hear it.

the coast was clear. not a single sound was heard throughout the hall. you had to force yourself out of the closet, your fight or flight instincts screaming at the top of their lungs.

you were as light as a feather on your feet, knowing he was listening for you to make the slightest sound.

your vision blurred with adrenaline. it felt as though you were a mouse running from a hawk, merely a temporarily delay in its inevitable demise.

the night sky illuminated only by stray candles lit through the corridor only added to our terror as you raced towards the stairwell.

behind you, a creak sounded in the floorboards. you whipped your head to assess the source, terror sinking into your bones at the prospect of him right on your tail.

in the same breath, your body suddenly collided with a sturdy presence.

aemond grabbed your arms so hard they were sure to bruise. every muscle in your body clenched and you screamed and used all your might to wrench your arms out of his grip.

he grinned sweetly as he backed you up into the wall.

“there you are my dear, i’ve been looking for you.”

“uncle please! don’t kill me, don’t kill me i beg of you. spare me, i-”

“shh, shh, shhh,” aemond caressed your cheek. he pulled you closer and you couldn’t help but lean into his embrace, perhaps your bodys final mechanism to convince your captor to spare you.

he leaned down to kiss you on the forehead. “aōha lentor maghatan bisa bē ao. nyke’ll mīsagon ao,” you froze at his words.

(your family brought this upon you. i’ll protect you now)

“uncle, we are family. please let me go. i’m your niece, i’ll do anything-”

in an instant, he hoisted you over his shoulder and walked out of the castle towards vhagar. your body went limp in his grip, exhausted from the sheer panic that had consumed you since his arrival.

aemond smiled at how easily his niece submitted to him. he knew how much you adored him, even as a monster you’ll come to love him still.

you knew what horrors awaited you if you were brought to the red keep. your stomach churned at the thought of being paraded around as some war prize by those who stole the crown from your mother.

you knew queen alicent and the hand will make a show of you, ‘the traitors daughter who’s come to pledge her loyalties to the rightful king aegon.”

you always feared your other uncle. he was impulsive, drunken, and depraved. after his coronation, these traits only magnified.

your last shred of hope was to make a run for it when aemond set you down. the moment you mounted vhagar marked the end of your freedom.

as if he could read your mind your uncles voice broke through your train of thought.

“listen to me sweet niece. i’m gonna set you down and you will not run from me. i would hate to see you suffer the same fate as your half brother,” you winced at the reminder of little lucerys.

your lack of response resulted in your uncle pinching the back of your thigh, “i need to hear you understand little one”.

ashamed at how helpless you were, you bit down on your lip so hard you tasted metallic to hide your whimpers.

“i-i won’t run uncle. you have my word,” aemond smiled to himself. he slowly slid you off of him, indulging the feeling of your full breasts pressed against him.

he couldn’t wait to feel your tight, wet cunt. to fuck his seed into you until you craved having him inside you at every waking moment.

you would carry his children, pure targaryen heirs to rule in years to come.

his cock stiffened in his riding leathers as he perched you atop vhagar, pulling your body taut against him.

“nyke jāhor gūrogon sȳz care hen ao riñītsos”.

(i will take good care of you little niece)

authors note: this man is an itch in my brain i cannot scratch, ENJOY

[thegleamingmoon]

Beloved.

Chapter 1 - Meeting you.

🪷✨ ❛ In every world, my heart would bloom for you. In every moment, in every lifetime, amidst the stars and the endless ocean, in every heartbeat and whispered breeze, I would choose you always and forever. ❜ ✨🪷

*********

The golden rays of the early morning sun filtered through the intricate carvings of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, casting a divine glow upon its magnificent structure. And there she was, draped in a simple yet elegant saree as she walked through the temple's corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone floors and like every other day, the air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, as the devotees murmured their prayers, lost in their own worlds of devotion as the girl walked into the inner sanctum, where the majestic form of Lord Padmanabhan lay in eternal slumber.

"Dear lord, please look after the world like you always do. I pray for the good health of my family and dear ones. May you always be with them and keep them happy." This was what she usually prayed for. Nothing more, nothing less. But today was different, she had come here to seek solace in the divine presence of her beloved deity but she still felt restless for reasons unknown.

The strange sensation grew as she moved out from the sanctum to the temple premises, she felt as if someone was watching her. Turning around, her eyes met those of a man standing a few feet away. He was tall and handsome, with an aura of mystery surrounding him. His complexion, very much like the clouds filled with rain and eyes, deep and penetrating that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Namaskaram", he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming.

"Namaskaram," she replied, curiosity piqued by this stranger. "Are you new to the this place? I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes, I am new to this city." he said, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "I’m Aravind. May I know your name?"

"Bhadra. It's nice to meet you, sir", she replied and saw his smile grow wider, making his eyes twinkle with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bhadra. And we can drop the formalness." He said as she shyly giggled. It was sweet to hear her name in his beautiful voice. She thought, mentally facepalming to bring herself out of her mind. Something was really wrong with her today.

As they walked through the temple grounds, Bhadra found herself more intrigued, drawn into a conversation with Aravind. They talked about the temple, the city of Thiruvananthapuram, its history, and the legends that surrounded it. He spoke with a depth of understanding that left Bhadra in awe. Hours passed like minutes, and soon the sun began to set, casting an orange hue hue over the temple.

"What brings you here? And how do you know so much about this place?", Bhadra asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Aravind smiled mysteriously. "Well, I have always been connected to this temple."

"Tell me about it." She looked deeper into his eyes, only to find a glimpse of her own secrets that were kept away from the world.

Bhadra lived a simple life, tending to the temple and helping those in need. She didn't remember a time when she was not insanely drawn to the deity. She had always looked up to the blue-hued god who slept on a thousand hooded serpent. She saw him in the vast sky, in her delusional thoughts, in the poetries she wrote, in the songs she sang and in almost everything she did.

She would dream of peacock feathers, moonlit nights and beautiful dense forests where gleamingly blurry visions of her beloved flute player would greet her with bliss and confusion. She would hold on to them to this day and maybe forever, without any expectations but just pure, boundless love that she had.

"Maybe those visions are trying to tell you something? You still get them don't you?"

That deep voice of Aravind broke her chain of thoughts as she looked up at him perplexed and maybe a little annoyed.

"Did you just read my mind?"

He just replied with a cheeky smile as he brought himself dangerously close to her, "Perhaps I just understand you better than anyone else, Bhadra. I have always done so." he gently whispered, only making her confusion grow.

"And I have always wanted to tell you that I love to hear you sing, even though you don't sing often. Your voice melts like honey into my ears. I can listen to it everyday." He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"How do you say that when you have never heard me sing? Who are you, Aravind?", she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to know me in ways that no one else does."

He chuckled even as his eyes were moist, "Oh I have heard you countless times. You, my dearest, are much more than you think of yourself to be."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I want to explain, I can't. He sighed wistfully. "It's sad, but I have to leave now. I will return soon, Bhadra. Until then, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Why?" She clearly didn't understand a thing. It didn't seem fair, or so she thought. This man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, mysterious but familiar, only to say he’d disappear again, leaving her with countless questions. Yet, somehow, it all felt right. Despite not wanting him to leave, she could only hope that he would come back.

Adoring the curls that framed her soft features one last time, Aravind stepped back. "Until next time," he voiced, extending his hand. Bhadra grasped it firmly, losing herself in his eyes as she tearfully bid him goodbye.

"Moley," she heard her father's call and turned around. "I'm here, Appa," she yelled back, hearing his hasty steps as he reached her.

"I knew you'd be here," he said with a warm smile lighting up his kind eyes. "It will be dark soon. I want you to come home with me." He gently caressed her head, and she nodded in agreement.

"Are you okay, kanne? Were you talking to someone here?" He asked, concerned.

Bhadra turned to her side, only to find nobody there and smiled in despair and surprise. It all felt too real to be one of her delusions and too elusive to be reality. She wanted to tell her father about the mysterious person she met but she knew that it would be difficult for him or anyone to believe. So she chose to remain silent about everything that happened today.

"No, Appa. Let's go home" She replied as she followed her father on their way back home.

Today was different indeed.

**********

Moley/Kanne - a way to address a daughter or a little girl in Malayalam.

A/N - Wanted to write something like this for the longest time. This may have some cliche moments but this work by far, is the closest to my heart. And I may turn this into a series if y'all wish. So let's see. I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Tags- @krsnaradhika @houseofbreadpakoda @harinishivaa @achyutapriya @kaal-naagin @sambaridli @sambhavami @yehsahihai @ramayantika @khushireadsandrambles

[legend-of-morons-after-dark]

Oh god, I don't think I've ever written this kind of thing before. I apologize if it's bad. I'm not sure if I'll write more yandre stuff either, lol. This idea wouldn't leave me alone.

This was written on this blog because yandere content is darker. Nothing graphic though.

I wrote this with a particular feel in mind. I always figured if someone is yandere it would mess with all their relationships, so have... whatever this is.

-------

Okay first if all: my interpretation of this is based on my own thoughts. I think if the chain is yandre for reader they are (platonic!!) Yandere for Eachother. They are family, they don't share with anyone that isn't family. (They can't lose anymore family dear god)

It's easy, to settle into the chain. You aren't a chosen hero but you are quick to patch them up or help with chores.

It starts little.

You notice how oddly protective the chain are over eachother versus others.

You notice how possessive of eachother they are. (No one outside thier group is ALLOWED too close...)

The extra viciousness in Hyrules fighting if one if the others are hurt.

The dark look that crosses Wind's face when someone oversteps Warriors boundaries.

You notice how Time keeps a intimidation air that betrays the violence he's capable of in front of others

They're pleasant enough to outsiders (unless provoked)

They're nice to you. Patient because they remember being pulled inti some adventure they didn't want or plan on

But there's something between the chain that you aren't part of. Yet.

You see it in the way you accident say the wring thing to Hyrule and get growled at by Twilight. You Apologize immediately are already trying to make it up

Then one day there's a shift.

It starts with Wind. He's the most open of the group. He starts dragging you away from people that make you uncomfortable with a dark glare at them

The sailor starts to bring you rocks or trinkets he finds that remind him of you

He brings you a necklace (to mark you as his- as his FAMILY. He can't lose you. He can't let someone think you Aren't his family-)

Wear it. It delights the boy.

The others... are slower but because Wind took a shine to you you are now officially higher up the priorities than like anyone outside the chain. Congrats!

The second to decide you are thiers is Time. It's an accident. He doesn't mean to fall for you he just does- watching you with Wind and watch you in genral-

Time is your's a week after you were claimed by Wind.

The old man is subtler. He's a calm protector at your back who can send creep running with a glance.

He starts to pay lore attention to if you're doing okay mentally.

Time starts to trust you. He trusts you alone. He trusts you with rhe orhers

Time trusts you to start taking watches

He starts placing you at the same level as his boys (and maybe even above as he grows more attached. They are his Family but you? You are his soul-)

Twilight is next to claim you. He falls hard and fast. He dosen’t realize he's decided your his darling until way after.

He starts wrapping an arm around you on the road

You get unlimited Wolfie cuddles

Twilight is always offering to do your chores if you show even a litter discomfort

He's quick to offer you his pelt any chance her gets. He needs you to smell like all of them but also like him

You're thiers. You're his!

Sky and Hyrule come next.

Sky dosen’t fall for you he walks. He walks into love with you.

You're his sun.

His stars

His world

Sky takes to playing music for you on his harp

He's quick to cheer you up with gentle words and warm smiles

He's making sure you have comfortable bedding (why not just use his?

Sky is a cuddler

He stakes a claim over you through your choice. When outside the chain (outside the Family- the only people that matter) he know you will chose him

He gives you one of his loftwing's feathers too. That's special

Hyrule is sweet. He is! He just... is also Fae

Once he Chooses someone as his (in any capacity)... there is nothing that changes his mind. He'd kill for them. Die for them. He would endure torture for them

Hyrule marks you with his magic. He starts to make you Promises (a dangerous game). He Promises to keep you alive.

Hyrule is healing you before anyone else

He will grow your favorite plants

He's very good with poisons :) should you need someone handled

Warriors is next.

The moment he's decided your not just thiers bur his?

He's gifting you anything you stare longingly at

He will lend you his scarf at a moment's notice

He's strategizing to have you far away from danger.

Wars tries so hard to not be obsessive but he is. He IS.

He's trying to get you to use his soaps or lotions

He must get told you appreciate/love him at least 3 times a day for mental health

If someone oversteps around you, or worse tries to take you? Warriors will have thier personal lives torn to shreds with a single rumor

Death is still on the table but he prefers the psychological aspect

Four is next to fall. He's- calm on the outside and intense inside.

He's repairing your things before anyone elses

Wants you to have his kid(s) (or adopt depending on anatomy and your own preferences)... he could live without kids he just thinks you'd be so cute with kids

He will make you jewlry/weapons as a claim

He's got the minish leaving trinkets for you to find on his behalf.

Four is always trying to anticipate your needs

If he needs to... handle someone? Well... they just dissapear.

The colors? Oh the colors.

(Vio and Blue are reserved, they're the ones that handle people. They're sweet but only to the select group that is Thiers.

Green and Red are the ones to comfort you with kisses and words and distract you.)

Legend comes next, having fought against this as long as he can. He dosen’t want another person to lobe who could leave. (His New Familh is enough risk)

Except you're perfect

He's sliding protection rings onto you

He's pressing against you in the cold

Legend let's you do as you please, he returns hugs easily

He's quick to scare off jerks with the look in his eyes

You're his- hishishis--

Legend is just about always teasing you but only playfully (God help anyone else that isn't part of What's His that tries-)

He disposes of pests with fire.

Wild is last. Not because he loves you less but because he is scared about rejection.

He starts making your favorite food on purpose

You get bigger portions if you wnat them

You can have his desert

He will bring you gem stones

Show you fireflies

He has albums and albums if pictures of you

He's fearl, if he has to dispose of someone... it makes the news.

He's going to be clingy he's lost so much what if he forgets you one day?

The chain as a whole decides you ate the most important thing. It's you, then them, then the Zeldas, then thier fitness, then everyone else

And because I think it's a cool dynamic, why not have reader be a little yandre too?

You probably know what they are, that they're like this. So devoted to you

You know that they can't bate to lose the family they made (they have schedules and rules to help mitigate jealousy among them)

How could you not return such devotion?

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: mistaken letters

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: helluva boss

rating: PG

genre: slight angst, mainly romance

pairing: stolas x reader

summary: when the letters that you wrote were the only thing that got him through.

When the letters he wrote were the only thing that got you through.

Request:

Can I ask for one with stolas where they are friends and writing each other per letter and someday stolas wrote a love letter but never wanted to send it to reader- but did it in the end because he mixed up his letters? 

Writing letters to Stolas is what got you through some of the hardest times in your life, but also was where you went during the best times of your life to celebrate about positive things that had happened. Stolas was your best friend and closest confidant. 

You had photos from all the important stages of Octavia’s childhood and knew of the marriage problems that Stolas was facing with Stella. It broke your heart that someone so kind could be treated so cruelly. You had mentioned, kindly of course, that you felt that maybe he should seek a way to amicably end the relationship, seeing as neither were happy. This caused a very heated letter to be sent to you from Stella, telling you to “stay the fuck away from my husband and my family”. You hadn’t sent a letter after that, nor had received one from Stolas either. 

You sighed as you sat on your balcony, looking out over the Pride ring, recently moved up here from Gluttony. The red sky was very pretty, you mused. It made you miss you feathered friend even more.

Friend… you sighed looking down at the street below watching as sinners walked past. You had constantly wished to be more than friends. When you had spoken of others who would treat Stolas better, you only thought of you, as selfish as that sounded. You wanted to be the one to be there for him, but he had a family. You had a dream that was dying a slow death. You turned and walked back in, heading to your kitchen when you saw a letter zap itself onto your counter. You would know that celestial magic anywhere.

“Stolas….” You breathed as you reached for the letter and began reading. 

My Dearest, I do hope this finds you well. I have missed your letters deeply and I apologize for my own absence.  I took your advice. Stella and I are now divorced. It’s been hard on Octavia, but I think we are both happier. And now I can finally be truthful with you.

Your torn from the letter when a sharp knock is heard from your front door. You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to be torn away from the letter, but then the knock becomes incessant. 

“I’m coming!” You yell as you cross to the door, letter still in hand and open it, coming face to face with spindly, bird legs. Looking up you see Stolas, out of breath, disheveled and eyes wild. 

“S-Stolas?” Your mouth forms the word, his name, but it’s like your body has been knocked of breath. 

“I-uh-I see you’ve already read the letter I mistakenly sent.” He whispers, his shoulders sagging. 

“Mistaken? It’s addressed to me? What do you mean Stolas?” Your confusion prevailing over your shock of seeing him after so long.

“You haven’t read it all the way through then?” His eyes light up, hope glinting across them.

“No, I was in the middle of doing so before someone so rudely interrupted me.” You sass, leveling a glare up. 

“Wonderful, then let me just switch these out as I sent the wrong one dear.” He smiles sweetly and tries to grab the letter and you pull it away. 

“Oh, no. I’m reading this one. You can hand me the other too, but you’re not getting this one back.” You say backing into your home. 

“Please, just give it back, darling.” He says and starts toward you. 

“No!” You exclaim as you run to your room, him hot on your tail as he is yelling for you to stop. You make it to your room first with just enough time to shut and lock the door. You hear him bang on the door as he pleads with you.

“Please, I will beg if I must, don’t read it.” He whispers the last bit. You don’t answer and look down at the letter, continuing it.

And now I can finally be truthful with you. Your letters were some of the brightest parts of my day. Your perspective I cherished and your sassy little come backs never failed to make me smile, even on my most miserable of days.  I guess this is to say that I have fallen in love with you.  Completely and wholly. It is not the reason why Stella and I separated, I don’t want you to think that.  But I do love you, and I hope that you can say you love me too. Yours, Stolas

Your mouth fell open as you quickly snatched open the door, seeing the sorry sight of Stolas, hunched over and almost looking like he was waiting to have something thrown at him.

“I-I told you not to read it. I mistakenly sent it to you… I never meant to. I am so sorry.” He murmured, his head and eyes low.

“Can you bend down for me? I can’t reach you.” You ask quietly.

“You can just decline my advance from here, thank you very much. I don’t need pity.” His voice haughty, to disguise the anguish. 

“You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, now bend down.” Your voice leaving no room for arguments. He kneels in front of you, finally eye to eye. Your hand reaches up and brings his chin up so you can look into his eyes. 

“Your silly, you know that?” You smile and he looks indignant. Before he can say anything, your thumb swipes across his lip, rubbing over the break where part of his beak was and continuing across. A little whimper being dragged from him as his eyes shot open, not even realizing his eyes had closed. “I love you too.”

“You what?” His voice wavering, as his eyes searched yours trying to confirm what he heard.

“I love you, Stolas. I have for a while. Deeply, for everything you are, and are not and will be.” A smile spreading across your face at his cheeks burning bright pink. He leans in and captures you in a kiss, feeling more so than hearing his hum in his chest as he quickly deepens the kiss. Pulling apart, you gathered him to you and rested your head on his chest. 

“I’m not letting you get away this time.” He whispered, his voice rough, like he was fighting tears.

“They’ll have to pry you away from me, birdy.” You say, your words muffled by his chest as somehow pulls you in tighter, not letting you go. 

[brokebonewritings]

Help Me Remember You

Marc Spector x Fem! Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+, language, slight gore, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are given a second chance at life after dying. After waking up in the hospital, you find that Marc has no recollection of you or your relationship.

Word Count: 3.5K

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A hand grasps your shoulder, as you stand on the sidewalk close to your flat in London. You couldn’t remember how you got there, but you turn your head to see who it was. A man stood tall next to you with a grim look on his face. With a shaky breath, you follow where his eyes lay. There on the ground, was you. Lifeless. Your eyes staring towards the sky. Towards the moon.

You look back up at the man. “Who are you?”

“Anubis.” He says, giving you his full attention. “I came for you, sweetheart.”

“What about Marc?” You ask, turning back to look at yourself.

“They will learn to live without. They have done it before.”

Before you can respond, he is gone, and you are in a new place. You stand in a gleaming white space, the afterlife you realized. A man stands in front of you just a few yards ahead. You can’t help but feel a sense of comfort radiating from his direction. As you begin to walk towards him, you see the small table and scales set upon it.

“Osiris.” You say softly, and bow your head.

“Yes, child.” He replies, “I am sorry we have to meet like this.”

Nodding, you kneel before the table and he does the same. Osiris reaches out and places a feather on one side of the scales while gesturing for you to place something on the other. You see a knife laying in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you take it and plunge it into your chest. Though there is no blood or pain. Reaching inside, you grab your heart and place it upon the scale.

The room falls silent as the scales tip ever so slightly, the feather barely moving. You hold your breath, waiting for Osiris to make a decision. After what feels like an eternity, he looks up at you with gentle eyes.

“Your heart is light, my child. You have lived a life of love and kindness.” Osiris's words wash over you like a soothing balm, filling you with a sense of peace.

As he stands up, you follow suit, feeling weightless and free. Osiris extends his hand towards you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“Welcome to the afterlife, where your soul will find eternal rest.”

You ever so slightly reach out your hand, before taking it back. “But this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He chuckles softly, a sound like distant bells floating through the liminal space.

“Destiny is a fickle thing, my child. It weaves and changes, guiding us down paths we never could have foreseen.”

“Please I have to go back, I know there is something I need to finish.” You plead, not realizing tears had begun to fall down your cheeks.

Osiris's expression softens as he observes your distressed state. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch bringing a sense of calmness over you.

“I sense a powerful yearning within you, a yearning that transcends even death itself.”

With a gentle smile, he motions towards a shimmering portal that has materialized beside you. “If your heart truly calls for it, the path back to the mortal realm awaits. But remember, the threads of destiny are tangled and mysterious. Be prepared for what lies ahead.”

You take one last look at Osiris, gratitude in your eyes before stepping through the portal. The world around you blurs and shifts, time and space bending to accommodate your return.

As you open your eyes, you find yourself in the hospital. Rightfully so, you had been strangled by a madman. You reach your hand up to feel the brace around your neck.

“Don’t move too much, darling.” You hear an unfamiliar voice before a nurse steps into view.

She has a kind smile on her face as she checks your vitals and adjusts the IV drip by your bedside. You try to speak, but she shushes you softly.

“Your vocal cords are very damaged, dear, you’ve been through quite an ordeal.” She says softly, “but you’re safe now. The police caught the man who attacked you.”

Pointing at her pen, she obliges also handing you a small notepad. You scribble a quick note asking about Marc.

The nurse pauses, a shadow crossing her features before she responds, “I’m sorry, dear. There was no one else found at the scene.”

Your heart sinks at her words, grief welling up inside you. He hadn't known you were attacked. You clutch the pen tighter, before writing his number.

“Would you like me to call him? Is he your emergency contact?”

You nod as best you could, and she nods back. “I'll be back in a moment.”

The nurse steps out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. As you lie in the hospital bed, flashes of memories flood your mind - moments shared with Marc, laughter echoing in your ears, his warm embrace enveloping you on cold nights. 

The beeping of the machines fades into the background as you drift into a haze of longing. Minutes feel like hours until the nurse returns, a somber expression on her face. Your eyes never leave her face, searching for any sign of hope or despair.

“Darling, Was this the right number? The bloke who answered said he didn’t know who you were.”

As the nurse's words sank in, a wave of panic washed over you. How could Marc not know who you were? You had spent countless days and nights together, sharing your deepest thoughts and dreams.

Frantically, you motioned for the nurse to dial the number again, hoping it was just a misunderstanding. You listened intently as the phone rang on the other end, each tone echoing in the silence of the hospital room. Your heart pounded in your chest, the seconds stretching into eternity until finally, a voice answered.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded gruff. It was definitely him.

“Hiya, it’s me again. Listen, dear, she is very sure that this is the correct number.” The nurse tries.

“Fucking christ, I already told you I don’t know who that is. Did this woman get hit in the head or something?”

You wince at the harshness in his voice. He definitely doesn’t remember you. You wave at the nurse, and scribble another name onto the notepad asking her to say it to him.

“She can hear you, you sorry bastard. She just wrote another name on the page, says Jake Lockley.”

There’s silence on the opposite end of the line. After clearing his throat, he asks, “Which hospital is this, I’ll be right there.”

You feel a mix of relief and confusion as Marc agrees to come to the hospital. Maybe there was a mix-up, a misunderstanding that could be cleared up once he saw you. The nurse smiled reassuringly at you before stepping out to wait for Marc's arrival.

Hours pass, each minute feeling like an eternity as you anxiously wait for Marc to arrive. Finally, the door opens and in walks a man, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you. 

“Are you y/n?”

You try to speak, but your damaged vocal cords only allow a hoarse whisper to escape. Tears well up in your eyes as you nod. His expression shift, looking much softer, but still no recognition. Though you immediately know who you’re about to talk to.

Scribbling on the notepad, he slowly walks over and sits in the chair next to your bed. He looks over to see what you wrote.

Steven. Please remember me.

He looks up at you with his doe eyes. “How did you know it was me? How do you know about us.”

Fiancé

“But I don’t know who you are. How could we be engaged if I’ve never met you?”

You hold his gaze, willing him to remember, to see beyond the fog that clouds his memory. With trembling hands, you reach out and touch his face, tracing the lines as if to etch your presence into his very being.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you try to convey years of shared memories and love in a few fleeting moments. You point to the engagement ring on your finger, a symbol of the promises made and the future planned together.

His eyes flicker with a hint of recognition, a spark of something familiar dancing within them. He takes your hand in his, gently running his thumb over the ring as if trying to unlock hidden chambers of remembrance.

“I... I don’t understand,” he stammers, his voice laced with confusion and a tinge of fear. “How can I be engaged to someone I don’t remember?”

You scribble on the notepad again.

I died, I met Anubis and Osiris.

“You met Anubis and Osiris?! How is this possible? How are you here?!”

You smile, this is the Steven you remember. They gave me another chance, but when I came back you didn’t remember me

Something in his eyes flashes, and the hard expression returns. Marc was back, his eyes searching your face for any sort of recognition. Your heart ached at the disbelief and confusion in his eyes.

His hand recoils from yours as if your touch burned him, his features contorted in a mix of fear and disbelief. You watch helplessly as the connection you once shared with him slips further away, like sand sifting through your fingers. The weight of your heartache presses down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs.

“I can’t... I can’t do this.” His voice is barely a whisper, filled with a turmoil you cannot comprehend. He stands abruptly, knocking over the chair in his haste to distance himself from you. “I need to go.”

You reach out to him, the words trapped in your throat as you watch him move towards the door. This man before you, who was once your anchor in the storm, now feels like a stranger walking out of your life.

As he reaches the threshold, he pauses for a fleeting moment, his back still turned to you. “I’m sorry... I don’t know who you are,” he says softly before stepping out. 

The door closes behind Marc, leaving you alone in the silence of the hospital room. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, wrapping around you like a shroud of sorrow. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks as you try to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

You clutch the notepad to your chest, feeling the indentations of the words you had written in haste. Memories of your life together with Marc flash before your eyes, each one a painful reminder of what once was. The engagement ring on your finger glints in the dim light, a symbol of a future that now seems uncertain.

As you lie there, staring at the blank walls of the hospital room, a sense of numbness settles over you. The sounds of the machines humming fade into the background as you slip into a state of disconnected solitude. The world outside continues to spin, indifferent to the ache that gnaws at your heart.

Hours turn into days as you remain in the hospital, your voice slowly coming back to you. Janice, your nurse, had quickly become a good friend. Helping you contact your landlord, and trying to get Marc to come back. Each time getting the hard no.

"Y/n, I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you," Janice said softly, placing a comforting hand on yours. "But you're not alone. We'll figure this out together."

You managed a weak smile, grateful for Janice's support during this tumultuous time. Despite the ache in your heart, a sliver of hope bloomed within you at her words.

After almost a month in the hospital, you were released. You got to go back to your life. Not entirely, but for the most part.

As you stepped out of the hospital, the sunlight felt harsh against your skin, like a stark contrast to the dim confines you had grown accustomed to. 

Everything looked different, even the familiar streets seemed alien as you navigate your way back home. The weight of Marc's absence pressed down on you, a constant ache in your chest that refused to dissipate.

Your home was almost the same as it was before the incident. A bit cleaner, since Janice stopped by to collect your post, and check on the flat. Despite Janice's unwavering support and encouragement, there were moments when the loneliness threatened to consume you. 

The silence of your apartment echoed with memories of laughter and whispered promises, now replaced by a deafening void that seemed impossible to fill.

One evening as you sat by the window watching the stars, you see a figure on the rooftop of the building across from yours.

The figure was familiar, a silhouette etched in your memory like a ghost from the past. Despite the distance and the darkness shrouding their features, you knew without a doubt who it was. Marc. He stood there, his form outlined by the faint glow of the moon, his gaze fixed on your window.

A surge of emotions welled up inside you, and you know he saw you notice him. Your heart pounded in your chest, as you got up and moved to lay in your bed.

The sight of Marc on the rooftop stirred a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you, pulling at the threads of hope and heartache that had woven themselves into the fabric of your being. His sudden appearance after weeks of absence sent a surge of questions racing through your mind, each one vying for attention in the chaos of your thoughts.

As you lay in bed, unable to tear your gaze away from the figure on the rooftop, a sense of longing welled up inside you. Could this be a chance to bridge the chasm that had formed between you and Marc? Or was it simply a cruel twist of fate, dangling the possibility of reconciliation before you only to snatch it away once more?

The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness that lingered between you like an invisible thread.

The figure remained on the rooftop, unmoving yet a silent presence that seemed to bridge the gap between your past and present. You lay there, caught in a limbo of emotions that threatened to unravel the fragile threads holding you together.

Eventually, a soft knock at your door broke the stillness of the night, startling you from your reverie. With hesitant steps, you made your way to the door, heart pounding in anticipation of who may be on the other side. As you turned the doorknob, you were met with a familiar silhouette backlit by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

Marc stood before you, uncertainty etched across his features as he searched your eyes for a sign of acceptance. Before any words could be spoken, you found yourself enveloped in his embrace, the warmth of his touch seeping into your bones like a soothing balm.

Tears welled up in your eyes as weeks of pent-up emotions threatened to spill over the edge. You didn’t know what was happening, but you needed this.

As you stood in the doorway, locked in an embrace that felt both foreign and achingly familiar, a sense of hope bloomed within you. The raw vulnerability in Marc’s touch mirrored your own, a shared language of unspoken apologies and forgiveness that transcended the barriers of time and memory.

In that moment, as the world outside faded into insignificance, all that mattered was the connection between two souls reaching out for each other across the expanse of uncertainty.

The embrace with Marc felt like a lifeline, a beacon of light cutting through the darkness that had clouded your heart for so long. As you clung to him, the walls you had built around your emotions began to crumble, giving way to the flood of feelings you had buried deep within.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Marc’s voice trembled with emotion, his words a whispered confession that hung in the air between you.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze as tears streamed down your cheeks. “I don’t understand…” Your voice is still hoarse.

"I was lost, Y/n. Lost in a storm of confusion and fear that clouded my judgment," Marc's voice cracked with emotion, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to cup your face. “But I saw him. He told me everything.”

“Saw who? Marc, please. You remember me?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t, but please let me.”

The sincerity in Marc's eyes tugged at your heartstrings, a flicker of hope igniting within you despite the lingering doubts. His vulnerability laid bare before you, an unspoken plea for a second chance that resonated with the deepest corners of your soul.

With a shaky breath, you reached out to touch Marc's trembling hand, a silent gesture of understanding and acceptance. “Was it Osiris?”

He nodded, “We went searching for him. Khonshu, the old bastard, actually helped me.”

Osiris? The name reverberated in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine. Memories long buried stirred within you, whispers of a past that seemed almost surreal. And yet, here was Marc, standing before you, his eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotions.

You’re brought back to reality for a moment, and realize you’re in the open where your nosey neighbor is probably spying on you. “Do you want to come in?” You ask Marc, and he nods.

Closing the door behind him, you lead him to the living room and sit next to him on the couch. “I just don’t understand why you came back. You know I was actually beginning to accept you not coming back.”

"I know I've caused you pain, Y/n. And for that, I will never forgive myself." His voice wavered with emotion as he continued, each word heavy with the weight of his confession. "But meeting Osiris...it made me realize I fucked up.”

You studied Marc's face, searching for any hint of deceit or manipulation, but all you found was raw honesty etched in his expression. A part of you wanted to push him away, to guard your heart against the possibility of hurt once more. But another part yearned for the closure and healing that only forgiveness could bring.

“I can't erase the past or the pain I've caused. But when Osiris showed me the truth... I couldn't stay away. Everything leads straight back to you.” You see a stray tear run down his cheek and he explains himself. “I know I don’t remember you. We all don’t remember you, but we want to.”

Your mouth felt dry as you listened to him speak. As you gazed into Marc's tear-filled eyes, a surge of compassion welled up inside you. You feel his hand take a hold of yours. His hand trembles in yours, but the touch grounds you in the present moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“Don’t say anything, just…” He sighs before continuing. “Help me, Help us remember you.”

As you sat there on the couch, silence enveloping you both like a protective cocoon, you felt a sense of calm settle over you. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath and when you opened them you saw him still sitting there. No trick of the mind or anything.

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes. A flicker of relief passes across Marc's features, gratitude shining in his eyes. Without another word, he reaches out and pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if afraid that you might disappear if he lets go.

In that moment, as you find solace in each other's arms, a sense of unity washes over you. The past may be shrouded in shadows and uncertainty, but the present holds the promise of rediscovery and redemption.

“Let me kiss you.” he whispers softly.

You hesitate for a moment, “but you hardly know me.”

“y/n, I know I’ll remember you. Let me kiss you.”

Uncertainty begins to swirl within you like a tempest. However, his eyes ignite a flame of trust in your heart. Leaning forward, you meet his lips in a tentative kiss, a gentle exploration of emotions that have been suppressed.

In that fleeting moment of connection, you feel a glimmer of recognition as if a door to the past has been cracked open, allowing fragments of forgotten moments to seep through.

As the kiss deepens, a sense of familiarity washes over you, intertwining your souls in a dance as old as time itself. The weight of unspoken apologies and unshed tears melts away in the heat of this newfound intimacy, leaving behind a raw vulnerability that binds you together in shared longing and hope.

When you finally pull away, breathless and trembling, Marc's gaze meets yours with a mixture of yearning and uncertainty, as if seeking validation in the depths of your eyes. For a moment, the world around you fades into insignificance, leaving only the echo of his touch lingering on your lips.

“I will remember you,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath, “I promise.”

With a silent nod, you offer him a small smile. “I know you will. I’ll help you.”

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