#something something all it costs is your love

[elfwreck]

Remember: they have four years - maybe only two, depending on how many of them we can flip in 2026 - for their bullshit.

They are absolutely counting on keeping people too panicked and off-balance and confused to resist their true efforts, to reshape America into a place where people live in fear and obey not only the law, but what they think might become the law.

Lean hard into the communities you love and trust.

Don't let anyone convince to distrust your neighbor.

If the text of the new bills and horrific executive orders scares you, research the history of similar things - and realize that they're trying a blitz action they know won't actually work. They're throwing handfuls of shuriken into the air - and yes, some people are going to be hit and hurt badly. But it's not 1 blade = 1 death. It's not even 1 blade = 1 injury. They are counting on you seeing each bill or order that catches your eye and focusing on the damage it could cost, multiplied by how many attempts they're making - and not realizing they're not aiming and they have no strength behind any one of them.

(They will put strength behind any of them that seem to be working, which is why the lawsuits against them are necessary. But. They, too, have limited resources, and they're putting a lot into the scare campaign instead of sustainability.)

Give it a month, and we'll be seeing the "Oh no, I didn't know they meant ME!!!" posts from the leopards-eating-peoples-faces voters.

(...avoid putting too much energy into schadenfreude. We're all going to do a bit of point-and-laugh, but don't lose your sense of empathy along the way. There's a lot of reasons why people got duped, and not all of them are "because some of them are greedy and stupid and vicious.")

Find WHATEVER IT TAKES to cope, to support your friends and allies, to hold to whatever hope you can sustain.

If that's pulling back from political news, do that. If it's calling your representatives twice a week and talking into their message recorder until you fill it up and it's not taking messages anymore, do that. If it's gaming in a world where you smite evil necromancers and return the treasure to the people, do that. If it's reading fanfic where the good guys get even more ruined than what's happening in the US, because you want the real world to be *better* than your fantasy world, do that.

Stop feeding the trolls. Block liberally and often. When something saps your energy, look hard at it and decide if you actually need it in your life.

Focus on growing deep roots, not on reaching high and flowering brightly. Connect through tiny spores that move randomly. The lesson for the next few years is endure.

Become the mushroom so they can't kill you in a way that matters.

Listen to me. Listen very carefully:

They are trying to wear you out.

They are trying to wear you out, and they own most major social media now, along with many major media outlets. The disinformation machine is cranking along. You are going to have to slow the fuck down and read things before you help them wear out other people, too.

So you just saw a post about a real scary bill, hunh? Republicans want to make it a capital offense to pet dogs and repeal The Sky Is Blue Act of 1793, declaring the new official color of the sky to be squant? Damn, that sounds scary.

Let's go look up this fictitious "Make The Sky Squant Again Act" on GovTracker* & on the official legislative tracker on congress.gov!

Well, let's see... GovTracker estimates it has a 1% chance of even getting out of committee and a 0% chance of being enacted, while congress.gov says this bill has 2 cosponsors who have been in the House and combined total of less than a month. The bill doesn't have any actual text, and it was referred to 5 different committees.

That fictitious bill and a hundred others like it are quite literally not worth your time, and more than that, continuing to wring your hands about it and tell other people about the scary scary squant sky bill only does their work for them. It scares people, it makes them spend time and energy on it, and it wears them out. It is a legislative Gish Gallop, meant to throw so many things at people that we can't keep up.

Even calling or messaging your Rep in this case means their staffer has to waste time responding to you and letting you know that Representative Buttzonheads definitely won't support making petting dogs a capital offense, a thing that will never, ever happen regardless.

Staying engaged in this environment is going to require protecting your heart and protecting your energy, yes, but also protecting the energy of others. This is why WWII propaganda posters also included ones taking people to task for spreading panicky rumors and undermining morale.

Do you know why most observant Jews don't eat chicken and dairy together, even though the ban is on red meat and dairy together bc you're not supposed to cook the calf in the milk of its mother?** It's not because we think that chicken might secretly lactate or Just Because. It's because the rabbis decided that if I'm sitting out in public and eating turkey and cheese together, someone might glance at the turkey and mistake it for red meat and think, "oh, well, I know that Spider is a good Jew, there must have been a change, or maybe I can just justify it to myself that if Spider does it, it must be permissible to bend the rules just that much." And I would then be accidentally leading my fellow Jew astray. We are responsible for being even more careful for the sake of others than we are for ourselves.

It's the same principle here. We need to really be careful about the information we are spreading and check things past reading a news site. Is it true? Is it relevant? Is it meaningful? Is the news site one I recognize? Can I find meaningful independent corroboration on another site, which is to say, if I find an article about it on a second site, is it just quoting or rephrasing this site?

Yeah, that is a lot. But that's how we keep them from using us to lead our fellows astray.

*GovTracker is an independent site. They explain their methodology in their About section.

**I cannot say enough how I am not at this time interested in going on a Jewish Side Quest About Dietary Laws on this post. Usually, I love it, but hold off this time, please, y'all. Let's stay on target this once.

[moonlight-joy]

The North Remembers

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: You are a member of House Hightower, sent north as a hostage to secure peace after the Dance of Dragons. You and Cregan fall in love, but your relationship is doomed from the start.

Pairing: Reader/Cregan Stark

The wind howled through the walls of Winterfell, carrying with it the biting chill of the North. Snowflakes fell steadily from the sky, blanketing the ancient stone keep in a sea of white. The fire crackled in the hearth of the great hall, but even its warmth could not chase away the cold tension that hung in the air.

You sat by the window, watching the snow fall in silence. It was peaceful here in the North—a far cry from the chaos and bloodshed of the Dance of Dragons. Peace had come at a cost, one paid in dragonfire and shattered alliances. And now, as a member of House Hightower, you had been sent to Winterfell as a political hostage, a symbol of the fragile truce between the crown and the North.

At first, you had felt like an outsider, your southern ways foreign to the people of Winterfell. But slowly, the North had begun to seep into your bones. You had learned to endure the cold, to find beauty in the endless snow, and to respect the unyielding strength of the Starks.

And then there was Cregan.

Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, had been an enigma to you from the start. Stern and stoic, he carried the weight of his duties with quiet dignity. Yet beneath his reserved exterior lay a fierce heart, one that burned with loyalty and passion. It had taken time for him to lower his guard, but when he did, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you never expected.

It had started with stolen glances across the hall, fleeting touches that lingered just a moment too long, whispered words shared in the quiet corners of the castle. What had begun as a tentative friendship had blossomed into something far deeper—something forbidden.

You knew it could never last. The North would never accept a union between a Stark and a Hightower, not after the betrayals and bloodshed of the Dance. But no matter how hard you tried to deny it, your heart had already chosen Cregan.

And his had chosen you.

One evening, as the storm raged outside, you found yourself standing by the hearth in the great hall. Cregan entered quietly, his footsteps soft on the stone floor. He crossed the room to stand beside you, the firelight casting shadows across his chiseled features.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. “If anyone sees us…”

“Let them see,” Cregan replied, his voice low and steady. “I don’t care what they think.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “They’ll never accept us.”

His eyes softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. “I don’t care what they accept. I care about you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you searched his face, desperate to hold onto this moment, knowing it could slip away at any time. “Even if it means war?”

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t hesitate. “Even if it means war.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. You knew the risks—knew that your love could spark another conflict, one that neither the North nor the realm could afford. But in that moment, none of it seemed to matter. All that mattered was him.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips like a prayer.

Cregan pulled you into his arms, holding you as though he never wanted to let go. “And I love you. Always.”

Days turned into weeks, and your secret love affair continued in the shadows. But secrets never stayed hidden for long in Winterfell. Whispers began to spread, rumors of the southern hostage and the lord of Winterfell growing closer than propriety allowed.

It wasn’t long before word reached Oldtown.

A raven arrived from your family, demanding your return. The letter was terse and formal, reminding you of your duty to House Hightower and the consequences of defying your kin. You read the words with a sinking heart, knowing that the fragile peace you had found in the North was slipping through your fingers.

Cregan found you in the godswood, the letter clutched in your trembling hands. The ancient trees stood silent around you, their branches heavy with snow. He approached quietly, his gaze dark with concern.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You handed him the letter, unable to speak. He read it in silence, his jaw tightening with each word. When he finished, he crumpled the parchment in his fist, his eyes blazing with anger.

“They have no right to take you from me,” he growled.

“They’re my family,” you whispered. “I can’t just ignore them.”

“And what of us?” Cregan demanded, stepping closer. “What we have… it’s real. It matters.”

“I know it does,” you said, your voice breaking. “But if I stay, it could mean war. The North can’t afford another conflict. Your people have suffered enough.”

“I don’t care about politics,” Cregan said fiercely. “I care about you. I won’t lose you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you reached up to cup his face. “And I won’t let you destroy everything you’ve worked for. You have a duty to your people, Cregan. You can’t throw that away for me.”

“You are my duty,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “You are my heart.”

The godswood stood in solemn witness as you shared a final, desperate kiss, the taste of salt and sorrow lingering on your lips. When you pulled away, you saw the pain etched into Cregan’s features, a reflection of your own heartbreak.

“I’ll come back,” you promised. “Somehow, I’ll find a way.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Cregan vowed. “No matter how long it takes.”

Your departure from Winterfell was a quiet affair. The people of the North watched in silence as you rode through the gates, their expressions unreadable. Cregan stood on the battlements, his cloak billowing in the wind, his gaze fixed on you until you disappeared from sight.

The journey south was long and cold, each mile taking you further from the man you loved. The walls of Oldtown felt suffocating after the vast, open skies of the North. Your family greeted you with cold formality, their eyes sharp with suspicion.

“You’ve shamed us,” your father said, his voice stern. “Fraternizing with a Stark… it’s disgraceful.”

“I love him,” you said simply, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve.

Your father’s expression darkened. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford. You will marry as we command, and you will forget this foolishness.”

But you knew you would never forget. The North had changed you. Cregan had changed you.

Months passed, and the ache in your heart never faded. You longed for the cold winds of Winterfell, for the warmth of Cregan’s embrace. But duty kept you bound to Oldtown, a prisoner of your own blood.

One night, as you sat by the window of your chamber, a raven arrived. You recognized the seal immediately, your hands trembling as you broke the wax.

I’m waiting for you.

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a thousand promises. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the letter to your chest.

The North remembers.

And so did you.

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[orangeblossomsintheair]

GRIEF ASIDE (2/4) | MV33

summary : Every corner of the estate was consumed by a single, unspoken truth: Lord Jos was returning.

warnings : jos verstappen, child abuse, physical abuse, sexism.

an : thx for waiting loves! ‘25s been busy for me!

Max Verstappen prided himself on his composure.

He was a man who thrived on control, who wielded power with ease and commanded attention with the slightest inclination of his head.

Yet in the last fortnight, he had been reduced to something unrecognizable. Restless. Irritated. Unmoored.

By you.

It was your behavior that had unraveled him. So pointedly, so maddeningly deliberate.

The endless excuses, the sudden vanishing acts, the way you refused to meet his gaze when once you had met him head-on.

You had become a master of evasion, and it was driving him to distraction.

It started off with a simple question.

“Where’s your Lady?” Max asked, turning to Oscar with a box of chocolates in hand.

His fingers tightened slightly around the ribbon tied to it, his nerves betraying the confidence he usually wore so well.

He had waited weeks for the box to arrive. Painfully long weeks, during which the confectioner’s meticulous work and the rarity of the ingredients had only fueled his anticipation.

Chocolates were rare in the north, almost impossibly so.

The delicate cocoa beans were difficult to import, often ruined by the harsh weather before they could even cross the border.

Securing this batch had cost him more than he cared to admit, and not just in coin.

And now here he was, holding it awkwardly as your knight stood before him.

“She is occupied, my Lord,” Oscar said with a slight bow, his voice steady, polite, and frustratingly indifferent.

Max blinked, thrown off by the answer. “…Occupied?” he repeated, as if he’d misheard.

“Yes.” Oscar straightened, his hands resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “She has asked that her business remain private.”

Max faltered, his expression briefly betraying his confusion. “Private,” he echoed under his breath, tasting the word. He glanced down at the box in his hands, the chocolate suddenly feeling heavier than before.

For a moment, he considered the sensible option: handing it over to Oscar and letting him deliver it.

That was the proper course of action, wasn’t it? Courteous, efficient.

But that wasn’t why he’d gone to so much trouble. He hadn’t waited for weeks, chased that damned merchant, and secured a confectioner skilled enough to work with the temperamental cocoa just to have someone else deliver it.

No, he’d done all of that for the sake of seeing you.

To see the surprise and delight in your eyes when you realized what he’d brought.

To see the way your lips might curve into that rare, unguarded smile that always made the world feel a little brighter.

“Is she…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Is she well?”

Oscar’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “She is, my Lord.”

Max exhaled softly, his chest tightening. That should have been a comfort, and yet it wasn’t.

A part of him felt a flicker of unease. Was he intruding where he wasn’t wanted? Was this foolish? The thought stung, but he brushed it aside. He wasn’t the kind of man to walk away without trying.

With renewed resolve, he squared his shoulders and nodded, his voice steady. “I see. Then tell her this: I humbly request a moment of her time.”

Oscar inclined his head, though something in his eyes seemed to shift slightly. Was that curiosity? Amusement? It was impossible to tell. “As you wish, my Lord. I will deliver your message.”

Max nodded again, but as the knight turned to leave, he found himself lingering, still clutching the box. His thumb ran absently over the ribbon, tracing the folds as he stared down at it.

For weeks, he’d imagined what it would be like to give this to you. To see your face when you realized what it was.

Chocolates weren’t just a gift. They were an impossibility here, a piece of warmth and sweetness in a land defined by cold and scarcity.

And they were for you, only you.

—

He’d gone to Lando next. That had been quickly proven to be a mistake. Lando, with his quicksilver grin and eyes full of mischief, was the last person to approach for a straight answer.

“My Lady?” Lando had echoed, leaning casually against the stable door, arms crossed over his chest. His grin stretched wide enough to make Max immediately regret speaking. “Ah, yes. I believe she’s occupied at the moment.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Occupied doing what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know…” Lando’s hand flicked through the air as if the explanation were so obvious it barely needed saying. “Official lady business. I think she’s teaching the geese to curtsy this morning.”

“…The geese,” Max repeated flatly, his fingers tightening on the ribbon of the box.

“Very unruly creatures, geese,” Lando went on, his expression completely serious now, as if he were sharing a great truth. “It takes a lot of effort to get them to dip properly. I think one of them might’ve tried to bite her earlier. Terrible mess.”

Max stared at him, weighing whether it was worth the energy to argue. “Are you being serious right now?”

Lando’s grin only grew. “Do I look like the kind of man who isn’t serious?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m deeply wounded.” Lando placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “But I promise you, my Lord, her time is very well spent.”

Max exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine. I’ll wait. When she’s done with… the geese, let her know I’m here.”

“Absolutely, my Lord,” Lando said with a little bow, the picture of polite deference. But the laughter in his eyes didn’t escape Max’s notice.

—

With that failure, Max even stooped to seeking out Lily in the servants’ quarters.

He caught her coming down the hallway with a basket of linens tucked under one arm, her steps brisk and purposeful. She spotted him before he could call out, muttering something under her breath (he swore it was a curse) before plastering on a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Lord Max,” she greeted, shifting the basket on her hip. “What brings you down here? A rare sight for the likes of us.”

“I need to see her,” Max said bluntly, holding up the box as if it explained everything.

Lily’s gaze flicked to the box, and for a moment, something unreadable passed over her face. Amusement? Pity? Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant, replaced by a steady, practiced neutrality. “She’s… unavailable, my Lord.”

“I’ve heard that every day this week,” Max replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. “And not one person will tell me why. Are her knights sworn to secrecy? What about her maids now?”

Lily let out a short laugh, dry and faintly resigned, as if she’d expected this conversation. “It’s not that, my Lord.”

“Then what?” he pressed, stepping closer. “If you know where she is, tell me.”

“I can’t,” she said simply, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“You mean you won’t.”

“I mean I can’t,” Lily repeated, her tone firmer now, though there was a spark of humor in her eyes. “I’ve been given strict orders, my Lord.”

Max narrowed his eyes, studying her. “You know why she’s avoiding me.”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something— guilt? —crossing her face before she sighed, shifting the weight of the basket again. “I do,” she admitted quietly.

“Then tell me,” Max demanded, his tone bordering on pleading now. “Is it something I’ve done? Something I said?”

Lily shook her head, though she didn’t meet his eyes this time. “No, my Lord. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

She bit her lip, her gaze darting down the hall as if to ensure they weren’t overheard. “You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”

“I can’t ask her if I can’t even see her,” he snapped.

Lily’s faint smile returned, tinged with something like sympathy. “Then maybe you’ll have to be patient.”

“I’ve been patient,” Max muttered, his grip tightening on the box. “Do you have any idea what I went through to get this?” He held up the chocolates as if they were proof of his effort, his voice softening as he added, “I just… I just want to give them to her. That’s all.”

For a moment, Lily’s expression softened entirely, and she almost looked as if she might break. But then she straightened, her professional mask slipping back into place. “She’ll come around, my Lord. You’ll see her soon enough.”

“And what if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Lily said firmly, then added with a faint chuckle, “Believe me, my Lady is stubborn, but not that stubborn.”

Max stared at her, his frustration bubbling under the surface, but he could see he wouldn’t get anything more from her. “Fine. Just… when you see her, tell her I’ve been waiting.”

Lily nodded, her smile softening once more. “I will, my Lord.”

She dipped into a quick curtsy and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the hallway with the box of chocolates weighing heavily in his hands.

—

Now, Max was no stranger to avoidance.

He knew what it meant to intimidate, to be held at arm’s length by those too timid to face him.

That was the life he led, and he accepted it without question. But you?

You were supposed to be his refuge, the one person who didn’t cower in his presence.

And yet here you were, skittering away from him as though he carried some plague, avoiding him at every turn.

It gnawed at him, an unfamiliar ache burrowing deep into his chest. By the fourth day of your nonsense, he could bear it no longer.

When he spotted you in the hallway that afternoon, halfway to the drawing room, his decision was instant.

You froze the moment your eyes met his, caught like a deer in the hunter’s sights. He could see the panic, the frantic calculations as your gaze flicked to the nearest door.

“Do not dare,” he bit out, his voice cutting through the charged silence.

You flinched, your hand hesitating mid-air as though you’d considered bolting but lacked the courage to see it through.

Max advanced, his long strides purposeful, the hem of his jacket sweeping behind him like a battle flag.

“This farce ends now,” he declared. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, his every muscle taut as he forced himself not to reach for you. Not yet.

“My Lord, I-”

He hated that. He was Max with you. He was supposed to be only Max with you.

“No,” he snapped, his words slicing through your protest. “Not this time. You’ve spent days running from me, avoiding me as though I’m some specter haunting these halls. I will not tolerate it a moment longer.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of his fury. “If I have somehow offended-”

“Offended me?” he interrupted, a sharp, humorless laugh escaping him. “You think this is about offense? This- this performance?”

He gestured sharply between the two of you, his frustration palpable. “This is not you. I know you, and I do not recognize the woman before me. What have I done, pray tell, to deserve this... this coldness? This game of cat and mouse?”

“Nothing!” The word tumbled from your lips, too quick, too desperate.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Do not lie to me,” he said, his voice like a thundercloud on the verge of breaking. “I have seen the way you pale at the sight of me, the way you vanish the moment I enter a room. Am I so intolerable to you now? So monstrous?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed, your composure slipping. “You are not intolerable! Far from it. It’s not you at all, it’s-” You stopped abruptly, as though you’d realized you were on the brink of revealing too much.

“It’s what?” he demanded, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, but his eyes burned with something raw, something unguarded. “Tell me. Speak plainly. Do not force me to claw the truth from you, piece by piece.”

“I- I cannot,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will.” His gaze bore into yours, his frustration radiating from every line of his body. “You owe me that much.”

His nearness was unbearable, his scent, his presence, his intensity.

Everything about him seemed to crowd the air, leaving you breathless, cornered.

“Do you think I enjoy this?” he asked, his voice breaking through the silence like a whip. “Do you think I want to stand here, begging for answers from the one person I consider my friend? For God’s sake, just tell me.”

“I don’t know how to act around you anymore,” you whispered, the words breaking free before you could swallow them back.

Max paused, his sharp gaze flickering to you, his composure splintering into something unreadable. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t know how to act,” you said again, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound resolute. “Not now. Not after... not after realizing I-” You stopped yourself, frustration biting at your tongue as your courage faltered. “This is impossible. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

His brow furrowed, and his voice, low and insistent, pulled you back into the moment. “After realizing what?”

You exhaled sharply, the breath almost catching in your throat. If the truth was going to ruin everything, better to hurl it like a stone and get it over with. “After realizing I have feelings for you.” The words tumbled out too fast, harsh and unpolished, as though you were flinging them away before they could sear you further. “And now I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I? I’ve ruined everything.”

Max froze. For once, his infuriatingly unflappable demeanor slipped, leaving him uncharacteristically wide-eyed.

“Feelings,” he echoed, as though the word itself confounded him.

“Yes, feelings,” you snapped, your voice rising despite your best efforts to contain it. “Ridiculous, inconvenient feelings for you, of all people. And now you’re going to tell me how absurd it is, and I’ll have to live with the mortification of this moment haunting me forever.”

“Absurd?” His lips quirked, and you bristled at the hint of amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Max,” you warned, feeling your face burn.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, though his voice betrayed the faintest trace of mirth. “I’m simply... astonished.”

“Well, forgive me if I fail to see the humor in any of this!”

“You think I find this funny?” He stepped closer, the low timbre of his voice setting your nerves alight. “You, confessing something I’ve wanted to say for... weeks? You, standing here thinking I don’t-”

He broke off, and you caught the way his jaw clenched, his hand flexing at his side. His voice dropped, quieter but no less intense. “You think I went to all that trouble for chocolates because it was nothing?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “The chocolates?”

“Yes, the chocolates.” His frustration sharpened, his free hand gesturing toward an invisible point as if grasping for the right words.

“Do you know how rare they are here? How much effort it took? The merchants, the confectioner... and all for what? To watch you run from me? To feel like an idiot carrying them from one corner of the estate to the other while you slip away again?”

“I didn’t ask for them,” you said softly, though the words stung even as you spoke them.

“No,” he admitted, his voice quieter but no less fierce. “But I wanted to give them to you. For you. And now, they just... feel like a waste.”

“Max...”

“No,” he interrupted, the raw vulnerability in his voice stopping you cold. “They’re not a waste because of you. They’re a waste because you won’t let me in. Because you’ve spent days pretending I don’t matter to you when all I’ve wanted was a chance to prove how much you matter to me.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching as his words hit like a thunderclap.

“Do you think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, stepping closer, his tone both accusing and desperate. “Do you think I’ve spent all this time chasing you for nothing?”

Your voice trembled as you whispered, “You feel the same?”

“Yes,” he said simply, the weight of the word carrying everything he hadn’t been able to say. “And I thought I made it obvious.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll have to make myself clearer.”

And before you could think, Max closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and consuming. The world seemed to fall away, the weight of your unspoken feelings pouring into the space between you.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, his urgency tempered by an almost reverent care.

Time seemed to stretch, each second filled with the warmth of him, the heady sensation of finally letting go. He tasted faintly of the cold wind outside, of something intoxicatingly familiar yet completely new.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with your own. His eyes searched yours, still stormy with emotion but softened now by something quieter, more certain.

He whispered, “perhaps I should have said something sooner.”

“You think?” you shot back, and to your dismay, he chuckled, a warm, rich sound that melted some of the tension twisting in your chest.

“Darling,” he murmured, and the tenderness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, “you never had to wonder.”

“Well, I did,” you managed, your voice cracking slightly.

“I see that now,” he said with a sigh, his gaze steady and unwavering as he reached for your hand. His fingers slipped around yours with a deliberate tenderness, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. The touch was so soft, so impossibly gentle, that it made your chest ache.

“I’m glad you told me,” he murmured, his voice was warm as if sharing a secret shared only between the two of you. “And I’m glad you like me. Because I…” He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something unspoken, something heavy. “I would’ve settled.”

The word hung in the air, brittle and raw, and you blinked, confused. “Settled?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a faint, rueful smile. “For being friends,” he clarified, his voice steady but tinged with quiet resignation. “I would have accepted just having you in my life in some way, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted. Even if it meant being civil and… arranged.”

“Arranged,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze holding yours as if trying to convey the depth of his words. “I would’ve gone through with it, our marriage, without ever asking for more. I would’ve smiled at the formalities, kept my distance, played the role. Anything to keep you near, even if it meant pretending.”

Your breath caught, a lump rising in your throat. “That’s… That’s horrible, Max. Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Because it’s you,” he said simply, his tone soft but unwavering. “Because the thought of losing you entirely… I couldn’t bear it. I thought I’d rather have something small, something manageable, than risk everything and scare you away.”

“Scare me away?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “Do you honestly think so little of me?”

“No,” he said quickly, his grip on your hand tightening, as though anchoring himself to you. “Never. But I know how you are. You get this look, like the world’s closing in on you, and you start pulling away before anyone can get too close, and I thought… I thought if I pushed too hard, I’d be next.”

You stared at him, your heart twisting at the vulnerability etched into his features. “You were afraid of me?”

“Not afraid of you,” he said, his voice dipping low, the honesty in it startling. “Afraid of losing you.”

The confession hung between you, fragile but unbreakable, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you managed, “And you thought being stuck in a loveless, arranged marriage was better than just telling me?”

His smile returned, softer this time, almost self-deprecating. “When you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous. But at the time, it felt safer. Less terrifying than this.”

“This,” you repeated, your voice catching. “What we’re doing right now?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin. “This. Being honest. Saying how I feel. It’s terrifying because it matters. Because you matter.”

You felt your resolve waver, your frustration dissolving under the weight of his words. “Max, you’re an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

“I won’t argue with that,” he said, his smile growing. “But I’m your idiot now, if you’ll have me.”

The warmth in his gaze, the sheer tenderness in his touch, was almost too much to bear. “You’re thanking me,” you said softly, shaking your head. “For liking you?”

“I am,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Because you didn’t have to. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve held back. But you didn’t. And now… Now we have this. Something real. Something worth holding onto.”

Your heart pounded, your breath shallow as you stared at him. “And what if I told you I didn’t want to settle either?”

His smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he stepped closer. “Then I’d tell you that you’re stuck with me now,” he said, his voice a soft promise.

“I suppose there are worse things,” you said, though your smile betrayed the fullness of your heart.

“Far worse,” he agreed, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you that I’m the best thing you’ve ever settled for.”

—-

The next morning, you were seated by the window in your chambers, the soft light casting a warm glow over the room. A knock at the door drew your attention.

“Come in,” you called, setting your book aside.

When the door opened, there stood Max. His gaze softened when it found you, and in his hands was a box tied neatly with a crimson ribbon.

“Are those the chocolates?” you asked, a knowing smile already tugging at your lips.

He stepped closer, his own lips curving faintly. “They are.”

You rose to meet him, your eyes flicking to the box as he handed it over. The weight of it was solid in your hands, the ribbon silk-smooth beneath your fingers.

You carefully untied the bow, the lid lifting to reveal an array of glossy, artfully crafted chocolates nestled in their compartments.

The rich aroma of cocoa and spices drifted upward, and your breath caught. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured, glancing up at him. “Thank you, Max. Truly.”

“You haven’t even tasted one yet,” he said, though his tone was soft, pleased.

“Oh, I will.” You picked one delicately, its intricate design almost too lovely to disturb. Almost.

You took a small bite, and the flavor bloomed on your tongue, silky and sweet with just the right hint of bitterness. A quiet sigh of delight escaped you.

Max’s expression softened further, as though your enjoyment was worth all the trouble he’d endured.

“These are incredible,” you said, savoring the last bit. Then you arched a brow at him, a teasing glint in your eye. “But you said yesterday that these were difficult to get. What aren’t you telling me?”

He exhaled, leaning against the edge of your desk, his arms crossing casually. “Do you really want to hear the whole story?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, picking another chocolate and holding it up like evidence. “If you went to that much effort, I want to know every detail. I want to appreciate them properly.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head, but there was something tender in his gaze as he began. “It started with a merchant passing through the capital. Word had it that he’d secured a shipment of cocoa that are.. let’s just say, coveted by certain circles.”

“Certain circles?” you asked, biting into the chocolate and letting the flavor coat your tongue.

“Dukes and duchesses, mostly,” he said wryly. “The merchant wasn’t even planning to stop here. His route was direct, and his stock was all but spoken for.”

“And yet, somehow, here they are,” you said, gesturing to the box. “How did you manage that?”

Max tilted his head, his smile faintly crooked. “It took some convincing.”

“Convincing?” you pressed, smiling despite yourself.

“And a fair bit of chasing,” he admitted, a rueful edge to his tone. “The merchant refused my first offer, so I had to send word ahead to intercept him at the border. When that didn’t work, I had one of my men track him to the next town and… negotiate.”

You blinked, mid-bite. “Negotiate? Max.”

He spread his hands. “It wasn’t as dire as it sounds. But it took a considerable amount of effort, and an even more considerable sum.”

Your heart softened, and you set the chocolate down, looking at him with earnest warmth. “You did all of that… just for me?”

His gaze met yours, steady and open. “Of course I did. You deserve nothing less.”

Your chest tightened, an ache blooming behind your ribs. Not unpleasant, but something overwhelming in its intensity. You smiled, the edges of it trembling slightly. “Max, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate. “Just tell me they were worth it.”

You picked up another chocolate, holding it between your fingers as you studied him. “Oh, they’re worth it,” you said, your voice soft. “But you didn’t have to go to such lengths.”

His eyes softened further, and he took a step closer, until he was just within arm’s reach. “For you, I’d go to greater ones.”

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your breath hitching. Slowly, you took a bite of the chocolate, savoring its richness as you held his gaze.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter but no less warm, “then I’ll savor these all the more. Thank you, Max. Truly.”

He gave a faint smile, his gaze lingering on you. “You’re worth it,” he said again, almost too softly for you to hear.

—

A few days later found the two of you nestled in one of the estate’s sitting rooms, the kind of quiet, secluded spot that felt made for winter afternoons, tucked in a corner, heavy drapes drawn against the chill, and the only light coming from the soft flicker of a fire.

You were curled up on the settee, your legs tucked beneath you, a woolen blanket draped over your shoulders, and a book resting against your knees.

Max sat nearby in an armchair, his posture lazy, his boots propped on a low table, a mug of tea in hand. The fire crackled, the kind of sound that settled deep into the bones.

“You know,” he began, breaking the quiet, “there’s not a single good reason for ‘pookie’ to exist in the English language.”

You didn’t look up from your book, though a smirk tugged at your lips. “I take it you’ve given this some serious thought.”

“Too much thought,” he confirmed, setting his tea down with a resolute air. “I’m just saying, there are standards. Imagine you calling me that in public.”

“What’s wrong with pookie? It’s cute.”

“It’s infantilizing,” he countered, his voice dripping with mock horror. “Do you want me to lose all credibility? Imagine you waltzing into the ballroom, calling me ‘pookie’ in front of Lord Leclerc. He already hates me.”

You smirked behind the edge of your book. “Maybe it’d soften him up. Who could hate someone called pookie?”

“Everyone,” he deadpanned, leaning forward as though the conversation had suddenly taken on life-or-death stakes. “And do you know what happens when dukes hate you? Wars. Wars happen.”

You snorted, the sound more unbecoming than you intended. “Oh yes, the annals of history are full of noblemen going to battle over ill-advised pet names.”

He arched a brow. “Don’t laugh. You’d be the first casualty. Imagine the gossip: ‘Her Lady, tragically felled by her husband’s indignity.’”

You laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Oh, come on. I think society would be more than entertained by your reaction. Honestly, it’d be a great conversation starter.”

Max’s face twisted in mock horror. "I’ll have you know that there’s such a thing as dignity. Standards. Not ‘pookie.’" He gave you an exaggerated shudder. "If you ever said that in public, I'd die on the spot."

“You’d be fine,” you said, grinning. “I think you'd survive. Just barely."

“Not a chance,” he muttered, clearly still distraught over the possibility. He shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter now, his hands running over his trousers as if wiping away the very thought of the word. “I’m serious about this, you know. There have to be some boundaries. What would you say if I called you something equally ridiculous?”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Like what?”

Max paused, giving you that look, the one where he thought he had you cornered. “‘Sweet cheeks,’ perhaps.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “That’s an actual crime,” you said, grinning widely. “Sweet cheeks is... beyond reprehensible.”

He chuckled, satisfied with his small victory, but he wasn’t done. "Or, maybe... how about ‘cuddlekins’?” He dragged out the last syllable, drawing out the ridiculousness for full effect.

Your eyes widened in mock horror. "You can’t be serious. I’m telling you, that would ruin me.” You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees as you regarded him with exaggerated concern. “I might actually have to divorce you.”

Max grinned smugly, clearly relishing the reaction. “See? I knew you’d understand.” He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s why we need to establish clear boundaries. For your sake, as well as mine.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Fine, Mr. Standards,” you said, leaning back into the settee, settling the blanket over you more comfortably. “But what would you allow, then? What’s dignified enough for you, Your Majesty?”

He thought about it for a moment, tapping his finger against his chin in mock consideration. “Something classic. Elegant. ‘Darling,’ for instance.” He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Or ‘love.’ I suppose I could even accept ‘angel,’ if you’re feeling sentimental.”

“Angel?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You want me to call you that? You’re nearly insufferable already, I can’t imagine what would happen if I started.”

“Angel is timeless,” he insisted, leaning forward with a dramatic flourish. “You’d be lucky to use it.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Timeless? You’re not a saint, Max.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “Still, I’d wear it better than ‘pookie,’ don’t you think?”

You tilted your head, considering. “I suppose I could live with ‘angel’.. for now. But you’re pushing it.”

Max grinned like a cat who’d just gotten away with murder. "Good. And in return, I will grant you the honor of calling me..." He paused dramatically. "Max.”

You blinked at him, genuinely surprised. “That’s it? Just ‘Max’?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “It’s a classic. And besides, it has a certain charm when you say it like that.” He leaned back into his chair, an air of contentment settling over him.

You studied him for a moment, then let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. There was something about the moment, about the soft way he spoke, the way his eyes had a lightness to it, that made you feel oddly warm.

"Fine,” you said, glancing back at your book but unable to suppress a smile. “But I’ll say it right now: if you ever call me anything that’s even remotely ridiculous in public, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”

—

The evening had started as so many did. A quiet, comfortable sort of intimacy.

The snow outside beat against the windows, the sound muffled by thick velvet curtains, while the firelight flickered across the room, painting everything in soft, golden hues.

Max lounged in his chair, one arm draped over the back lazily, his other hand swirling the last of the wine in his glass. It was the kind of night that begged for diversion.

That was when he spotted it: the chessboard, tucked onto the corner of the bookshelf, its wooden box worn smooth with use. He stood and wandered over, plucking it from its place as though the idea had been waiting there all along.

“You play?” he asked, holding it up as though it were some sort of hidden treasure.

You glanced up from your seat, where you had been flipping idly through a book, the corners of your lips lifting into a subtle smile. “On occasion.”

He arched a brow at the casual way you said it, like you hadn’t just issued a challenge in the simplest of phrases.

“On occasion,” he repeated, setting the board on the low table between you. “That sounds suspiciously like the prelude to a trouncing.”

Your smile widened slightly, and you leaned forward to help him set up the pieces. “If you’re worried about losing, Max, you can always put it back on the shelf.”

His bark of laughter was low, rich, and thoroughly amused. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to provoke me.”

“Would it work?”

“It already has.”

With that, the pieces were set, the game begun.

At first, Max played as if this were nothing more than a pleasant diversion, his moves deliberate but far from calculated.

He leaned back in his chair, tossing out playful commentary, fully expecting this to be an easy, lighthearted way to pass the time.

But then you struck.

In just a few moves, you had dismantled his initial strategy, if it could even be called that, with a precision that made him pause.

Max’s hand hovered over his next piece, his gaze flicking between you and the board as though he’d missed some vital clue.

“Was that… intentional?” he asked, a faint crease forming between his brows.

You lifted your eyes to meet his, feigning innocence, though the sparkle in your gaze gave you away. “Was what intentional?”

“That.” He gestured vaguely at the board, his tone dripping with mock disbelief. “The part where you just… destroyed my plan.”

You tilted your head, your expression betraying just the faintest hint of smugness. “Max, you had no plan.”

He blinked, then laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, so you’re one of those players.”

“One of those players?”

“The ones who think they’re too clever by half.”

“Think?” you repeated, your tone as smooth as silk.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head as he moved his knight forward. “Alright, let’s see how clever you really are.”

The first game ended quickly, too quickly for Max’s liking. He stared at the board in disbelief as you leaned back in your chair, the faintest hint of triumph in your smile.

“Was that too fast for you?” you asked, the light teasing in your tone making him huff a laugh.

“Too fast? No. Humbling? Absolutely.”

The second game started with Max clearly trying harder, his movements slower, more deliberate.

He studied the board with an intensity you hadn’t expected, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair as he weighed his options. You almost pitied him. Almost.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” you said after a particularly defensive move on his part.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly as he moved his bishop into position. “I don’t intend to.”

It didn’t matter. Ten minutes later, you had him cornered again.

“Is this what you do for fun?” Max asked, his voice somewhere between impressed and exasperated as he surveyed the wreckage of his pieces. “Humiliate unsuspecting opponents?”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and full of mirth. “Only when they insist on playing against me.”

By the third game, Max had abandoned any pretense of casual competition. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, as he stared at the board like a general planning a campaign. His focus was admirable, though ultimately futile.

“You’ve done this before,” he said eventually, his tone a mix of suspicion and amusement.

You tilted your head, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of your rook. “Played chess?”

“No. Watched someone’s pride unravel in real time.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up at that, and for a moment, the tension of the game melted into something softer. The warmth of the fire, the rhythm of your banter.

It all wrapped around the two of you like a cocoon, shutting out the world beyond the storm.

“You’re a good sport,” you said after a moment, moving your queen with practiced ease.

Max glanced up at you, his smile slow and genuine.

“Checkmate,” you said softly, the word slipping out like a secret.

He stared at the board for a long moment before laughing, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “I should be annoyed,” he said, his tone wry, “but somehow, I’m not.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” Max said, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made the air feel just a little warmer, “I’ve decided I enjoy losing to you.”

—

Max leaned against the doorway of your bedroom, his arms folded casually, though there was a slight tension in his posture.

His eyes flicked briefly toward the threshold he was careful not to cross.

No matter how much you reassured him or how much he’d relaxed around you, he still wouldn’t set foot inside your room.

Some etiquette rules seemed etched into his very bones.

“You might want to come to the aviary,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a faint edge.

You paused, glancing up from your writing desk. The way he lingered in the doorway, shifting his weight ever so slightly, caught your attention. “What’s going on?”

Max cleared his throat and gave a slight shrug, trying too hard to seem nonchalant. “Your father’s falcon,” he said after a beat. “It’s here. With a letter.”

You straightened, intrigued. “Father’s falcon?”

“That’s what I said.” He hesitated, one hand brushing through his hair. “You’ll see. It’s waiting for you. And... watching me.”

That last part made you grin, and you rose to follow him. Max wasn’t usually nervous, but the slight unease in his tone piqued your curiosity.

The two of you walked through the twisting corridors of the estate, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the faint hum of the household settling for the day.

When you reached the aviary, the warm, earthy scent of hay, cedar, and feathers greeted you like an old friend.

Inside, the room was alive with sound, the soft rustle of wings, the gentle coos of doves nestled in the rafters, and the occasional bright trill of a songbird darting through the shafts of sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows.

At the center of it all, perched on the wooden stand in the heart of the room, was the peregrine falcon.

The bird’s eyes followed your entrance immediately, but it was Max it seemed to focus on the most, as though sizing him up. Max stopped a few paces from the perch, his hands slipping into his pockets as if to hide any sudden movements.

“Your father’s falcon,” he said again, his tone wry. “Does it always glare like that?”

“It doesn’t glare,” you said, though you had to admit the falcon’s gaze was as intense as ever. “It’s just assessing you.”

“Sure it is,” Max muttered, shifting slightly. “If it decides I’m a threat, how fast does it usually go for the face?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It won’t attack you. Not unless you try to touch it.”

“Believe me, that’s not happening.”

Ignoring him, you stepped forward, extending your arm toward the bird. The falcon’s head tilted slightly, its keen eyes locking onto yours.

Then, with a sharp trill, it launched itself from the perch. Its wings barely made a sound as it landed gracefully on your forearm, its talons light against the leather bracer you wore.

“There you are,” you murmured, stroking its sleek head with gentle fingers.

The falcon made a soft, almost affectionate chirp and leaned into your touch, brushing its beak against your cheek in greeting.

“Of course,” Max said dryly, watching from a safe distance. “It loves you.”

“It trusts me.” You glanced at him with a smirk. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

The falcon’s sharp gaze flicked to Max again, and he raised his hands defensively. “I’m not arguing. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

You laughed under your breath, turning your attention to the small roll of parchment tied to the falcon’s leg. The wax seal, bearing your family’s crest, was unmistakable.

Breaking the seal, you unrolled the thick parchment, your eyes scanning the familiar script.

The falcon shifted on your arm, leaning slightly against your shoulder as though it, too, was eager to hear the news.

My clever one,

I’ll be arriving a few days before the winter feast, sooner than I’d planned. I hope you've been well and that House Verstappen has treated you well.

It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you. I look forward to our reunion.

With affection,

Father

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the letter, the familiar handwriting drawing a warm smile across your face.

“He’s coming back,” you murmured, excitement bubbling in your voice. “Before the festival!”

Max tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took in your excitement. “Good news for once. You’ve been missing him.”

“Of course I have,” you replied quickly, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks.

A soft chirp reminded you of the falcon perched patiently at your shoulder, its sharp eyes watching your every move. It nudged its beak against your cheek, urging you to action.

“All right, all right,” you murmured with a chuckle, reaching up to stroke the bird’s sleek feathers. “I’ll send him a reply. You’re more impatient than I am.”

“Should I give you two some privacy?” Max leaned against the wooden beam as you walked to the small table in the corner of the aviary.

You shot him a playful glare. “The falcon’s far better company than you some days.”

“Harsh,” Max muttered with mock indignation, though his smile lingered.

Grabbing a strip of parchment, you quickly penned a short response, your hand steady despite your racing thoughts. The falcon ruffled its wings and tilted its head, watching you with the sharp attentiveness of a messenger that knew its job.

When you finished, you sealed the note and turned back to the falcon. “Here we go,” you said softly, tying the parchment to its leg with practiced ease. “Make sure he gets this, all right?”

The falcon chirped again, nudging your hand once more before spreading its powerful wings.

“You spoil that bird,” Max commented.

You ignored him, lifting your arm and watching the falcon take off in a flurry of feathers, vanishing through the open beams of the aviary.

—

"Lord Jos Verstappen is coming home."

The announcement echoed through the halls like the tolling of a funeral bell, heavy and foreboding. The once peaceful estate stirred to life, not with joy, but with a frantic, fearful energy.

Servants darted through the corridors, their faces pale and tense as they adjusted garlands that now felt like mockery against the gloom. Silver was polished until hands trembled, every blemish scoured away with desperation.

Knights inspected their armor with grim focus, their fingers twitching over hilts and clasps as though preparing for battle rather than ceremony.

Even the preparations for the winter feast, grand and excessive as always, now carried a frantic edge, as if the abundance might shield them from his scrutiny.

Cooks whispered curses under their breath, their knives slicing meat with fevered precision. The clatter of pots and the hiss of roasting fires seemed louder, sharper, grating against the silence that lay beneath.

The estate itself seemed to darken, its stately elegance cast in shadow by the weight of his impending arrival.

Red banners bearing the Verstappen crest unfurled from the towers like blood dripping onto the pale winter sky. They flapped in the wind with a mournful sound, their bold colors stark against the growing chill.

—

The heavy oak doors groaned open, and the room was instantly swallowed by silence. The grand dining hall, usually alive with movement and murmured activity, now felt cavernous, the echoes of footsteps hollow against the stone.

Jos entered, his presence dominating the space even before he spoke. His boots struck the floor with deliberate precision, the sound like a hammer driving nails into a coffin.

His cloak of black wolf fur swept behind him, its edges brushing the ground, and the lifeless eyes of the beast stared out like a warning. His face was a cold mask of sharp lines and quiet menace, and his gaze moved across the room before landing on Max.

“Max,” Jos said, his voice low and gravelly, yet it carried with ease, filling every corner of the room. “You look like a boy playing lord. Tell me. Do you believe you’ve done well?”

Max stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. His posture was stiff, his hands braced against the table as though steadying himself. “Yes, Father. Everything is as you instructed.”

Jos tilted his head, his expression devoid of approval or interest. Instead, his piercing gaze shifted to you.

You were seated beside Max, your hands clasped tightly in your lap to hide the trembling.

His eyes swept over you and your stomach twisted under the weight of his scrutiny.

“So,” Jos said, his tone slow, deliberate, and heavy with disdain. “This is the Southern girl?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, his lip curling into a faint sneer. “I was told you were of good stock. That you would bring beauty and grace to this family. But standing here now...” He let the sentence dangle, his silence cutting deeper than any insult.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but it felt like staring into a predator’s eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest, and the blood rushed to your face, burning with a mix of anger and humiliation.

Jos stepped closer, his movements slow and measured. He leaned down slightly, as if to examine you more closely, his eyes narrowing.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less cruel, “were they lying? Or do Southerners simply have lower standards for what they call... adequate?”

The words hit like a blow, and you fought to keep your composure. You felt your throat tighten, your nails digging into your palms.

“Father,” Max said, his voice steady but strained.

Jos turned his head sharply toward his son, his eyes flashing with impatience. “Did I say you could speak?” He scoffed. “You’d do well to learn the value of silence, child. Or did my absence made you bold?”

Max swallowed hard but said nothing, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Jos straightened, his focus returning to you. “Listen carefully,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I care little for who you are, where you come from, or what you think you’re worth. Your purpose here is simple: to provide strong heirs for this family. That is all. If you can manage even that.”

His gaze swept over you once more, his expression one of disdainful dismissal. “I suspect even that might be a challenge.”

The room was unbearably quiet, the tension pressing down like a physical weight. You felt your breath hitch, your humiliation raw and visible.

Jos’s cold smile was fleeting. “Weakness will not be tolerated. Not from you, and not from him.”

His gaze flicked back to Max. “If she fails, you know what must be done. I expect no hesitation.”

Max’s hand slipped under the table, finding yours. His fingers curled around yours, firm but not comforting. It was a gesture meant to steady you, but it felt like an apology more than anything else.

Jos turned his back on both of you, walking slowly to the head of the table. He took his seat, motioning for the servants to bring the first course, though their presence felt like little more than ghosts at the edges of your vision.

The meal passed in tense silence. Jos ate methodically, his eyes occasionally flicking to you and Max, though he offered no further words.

His presence alone was enough to fill the room with an oppressive weight.

When the plates were cleared and the servants retreated, Jos spoke one last time, his voice sharp and deliberate. “Do not embarrass this family,” he said, looking between the two of you. “My patience is not limitless, and my tolerance for failure even less so.”

He rose from the table, his chair scraping softly against the stone. Without another glance, he strode toward the doors, his cloak billowing behind him.

The grand dining hall was empty now, save for the two of you. The chandeliers above flickered with the last glow of half-melted candles, casting long shadows across the sprawling mahogany table.

Plates of untouched food sat cold on the tablecloth, embroidered with gold, while the remnants of the night’s cruelty lingered in the air like the bitter scent of spilled wine.

You sat stiffly, your trembling hands gripping the edge of your chair.

The fabric of your gown, a pale blue that had once made you feel lovely, now felt heavy and suffocating, like chains wrapped around your body.

Across from you, Max leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, his black coat rumpled, his tie loosened as though the weight of the evening had crushed him.

His lips parted, a small breath escaping, but no words came. His gaze flitted to your face, then dropped to his lap as he rubbed the back of his neck with trembling fingers.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cold, barely above a whisper. Your hands tightened on the chair, the sharp edge biting into your palms. “Don’t ask me if I’m alright. Don’t insult me like that.”

His head jerked up, his brow furrowing. His mouth opened again, but nothing emerged. He looked lost, childlike, almost, as though he couldn’t fathom where to begin.

“Do you know what it feels like,” you continued, your voice rising, cracking, “to sit there and have every shred of your dignity ripped away, while the man you thought loved you just… watches?”

Max flinched. His knee bounced nervously under the table, but he still said nothing. His eyes, glassy with regret, darted back to yours as though searching for something, anything, to cling to.

You shoved your chair back with a screech, the sound echoing in the cavernous room.

Rising to your feet, you gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself. “Your father humiliated me tonight. He dragged my name through the mud in front of all those people, and you- you just sat there.”

“I wanted to stop him,” he murmured finally, his voice rough. He stood too, but hesitated, his hand hovering over the back of his chair as though afraid to move closer.

“Wanted to?” you repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

You rounded the table, your skirts brushing against the polished floor, your heels clicking with every step. “Wanted to? What use is wanting when you didn’t do a damned thing, Max?”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides. He stepped back as you approached, the candlelight catching the sharp line of his jaw, his collar undone like a man too weary to even maintain propriety. “I froze,” he said finally, the words forced, raw. “I-”

You stopped short, staring at him, your chest heaving.

The anger burning in your veins was the only thing keeping the tears at bay. “You froze?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s your excuse?”

He pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down in frustration.

His coat shifted with the motion, revealing the slightly wrinkled fabric beneath, proof of how tightly he’d been gripping his knees under the table earlier. “I didn’t know what to do,” he said, his voice low, shaking.

Your laugh was hollow, bitter, as you took another step closer. The train of your gown caught on the edge of a chair, but you yanked it free without breaking stride. “You didn’t know what to do?” you spat. “You could’ve told him to stop. You could’ve said, ‘She is mine, and you will not speak to her that way.’ You could’ve done something, Max. Anything.”

His hands reached out instinctively, but you recoiled, stepping back so sharply your gown swished around your ankles. His face crumpled as his arms fell back to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

“Sorry?” you repeated, your voice trembling now, raw and unsteady. “You think that’s enough? You think ‘sorry’ is going to erase the fact that you left me there, alone, while he tore me apart?”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t,” you snapped, holding up a trembling hand to stop him. “Don’t you dare make excuses. You didn’t stop him because you’re afraid of him. Admit it, Max. You’re afraid.”

He didn’t deny it. His gaze dropped to the floor, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Your voice cracked as you took a step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as though you could hold the shattered pieces of your heart together.

“Promise me,” you said softly, each word trembling. “Promise me you won’t let him do that to me again.”

Max’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, pleading. “I…”

“Promise me,” you repeated, louder this time, your desperation cutting through the air like a blade.

“I-” His voice broke. He reached for you again, but this time you swatted his hand away, your tears blurring the edges of his face. “I can’t,” he whispered, the words breaking you more than anything else.

The breath left your lungs in a sharp, painful exhale. You staggered back, your gaze searching his face for some shred of hope, but all you found was his shame.

“Then don’t you dare call me your love anymore,” you said, your voice trembling, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Don’t you dare.”

He froze, his hand still half-extended toward you. His lips parted, but no sound came.

Without another word, you turned sharply on your heel, the fabric of your gown rustling like thunder in the silence.

Max’s voice broke behind you, a desperate plea you couldn’t bear to hear.

“Please..”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t follow me, Max.”

His face crumpled as you walked away, the echo of your heels fading into the dark corners of the hall.

—-

The days following the dinner were marked by an aching, suffocating silence.

You didn’t speak to Max. Didn't even look at him.

Not because you didn’t cross paths, but because you couldn’t. The words caught in your throat every time you tried, tangled up in a way you just couldn’t seem to untangle.

It felt too raw, too heavy.

His silence that night, the way he’d just sat there while his father shredded you down to nothing, still stung like an open wound. It was the kind of pain that didn’t just hurt in the moment. It lingered, nestled in your chest, weighing you down in ways you hadn’t expected.

And Max didn’t push.

He didn’t try to force his way into your grief, didn’t demand your forgiveness or plead for you to move past it.

If anything, he seemed determined to let you set the pace, to give you whatever space you needed even if it meant keeping himself at arm’s length.

You still crossed paths, of course. There was no avoiding it entirely.

You still went on your daily walks through the gardens, wandering paths lined with neatly trimmed hedges and blooming flowers.

You still spent time in the library, the two of you occupying the same space while surrounded by the soft rustle of pages and the faint scent of old parchment.

But now the silence between you was no longer comforting. It wasn’t the easy, companionable quiet you’d once cherished, the kind that felt like the two of you could sit together without the need for constant words.

Sometimes, when you were sitting together, you caught him out of the corner of your eye.

Watching you, his face drawn and tired, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. Or some terrible mix of both.

And sometimes, when you walked side by side in the garden, you’d see his hand twitch, as though he were reaching out for yours instinctively.

It was a habit of his, something he’d always done without thinking. A casual, familiar gesture that had once brought you comfort.

But now, when his fingers brushed the air between you, he’d stop short. You’d watch as his hand clenched into a fist at his side, as though he were physically restraining himself.

There was nothing casual about it anymore. No thoughtless familiarity, no ease.

It wasn’t as though he wasn’t trying.

You could see it in the small, hesitant ways he tried to bridge the distance between you—the way he lingered in the same room longer than he needed to, the way his eyes softened whenever they met yours, as though silently asking if it was safe to come closer.

But you weren’t ready. Not yet.

Every time he looked at you like that, every time you caught the faintest trace of hope in his expression, the memory of that night came rushing back like a tidal wave.

So you stayed quiet, kept your distance even as you occupied the same spaces.

And Max didn’t say anything, didn’t press or push.

He just stayed there, hovering at the edges of your life like a shadow, silent and waiting. Waiting for you to decide if there was anything left to salvage.

—

“You should just talk to him,” Lily said softly, breaking the silence as she poured tea into the delicate china cup in front of you.

You looked up sharply, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “And why, exactly, should I?”

Lily didn’t look at you right away. She finished pouring, carefully setting the teapot down. “Because you look like you’re holding your breath every time he’s near you.”

Your frown deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady. “It means you’re walking around like this thing between you is strangling you. Like it’s taken up every inch of space in your chest and there’s no room left for air.”

You felt your cheeks flush, the sting of her observation cutting sharper than you wanted to admit.

You glanced down at the steam rising from your tea, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t see why I should be the one to talk to him. He’s the one who...” You trailed off, your throat tightening, the memory of that night still raw and aching.

“I’m not saying you need to forgive him. You don’t have to. Not now, not ever, if that’s what you decide. But this silence? It’s not helping either of you. Maybe it’s time to say something. For your sake, if nothing else.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the rim of your cup as you avoided her gaze. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she said, her tone patient, gentle. “It doesn’t have to fix everything. But maybe it’s worth letting him know how you feel. Letting yourself breathe again.”

You shook your head, the familiar swell of anger and hurt rising in your chest. “Why should I be the one to fix this? He’s the one who stood there and let his father humiliate me. He didn’t say a word, Lily. Not one word.”

Her face softened with something like understanding, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Then she said quietly, “I know. And you’re right. He should have spoken up. He should have done more. But...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Have you seen him lately?”

Your brows furrowed as you finally looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he looks awful,” Lily said bluntly. “Like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s walking around with this... this look on his face, like he’s dragging the weight of the world behind him. It’s... it’s hard to watch, honestly.”

You frowned, your heart twisting at the image her words conjured. Max, hollow-eyed and exhausted, carrying his guilt like a shroud. It wasn’t what you’d wanted. You hadn’t wanted to break him. You just wanted him to understand how much he’d hurt you.

Lily tilted her head, studying you. “I’m not saying you owe him anything. You don’t. But maybe... maybe talking to him wouldn’t just be for his sake. Maybe it would help you too.”

The ache in your chest deepened, a knot of emotions too tangled to unravel.

You weren’t sure if you were ready.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever be ready.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lily gave you a small, encouraging smile. “That’s all I’m saying. Just think about it.”

—

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just forgive him already, my lady,” Lando groaned dramatically, his boots scuffing the floor as he limped into the hall with a hand pressed to his ribs and the most pitiful expression you’d ever seen.

You blinked, startled, your gaze darting between his grimace and the faint scrape of steel from outside the window. “Forgive him? What are you talking about?”

Lando paused just long enough to throw you a deeply offended look before collapsing onto a nearby chair as if the journey from the training yard to the hall had nearly killed him. “What am I talking about? Oh, only the fact that your fiancé is trying to murder me. That’s all.”

Your brow furrowed as you glanced at Oscar, who had followed Lando inside.

The knight stood by the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his expression calm but tinged with faint amusement.

“What happened?” you asked, turning back to Lando, who was now slumped over the arm of the chair like a man on his deathbed.

“What happened? He happened!” Lando shot upright, jabbing a finger toward the courtyard. “Your darling betrothed has gone completely mad. I swear, he’s been possessed by some spirit of vengeance. He’s brutal- relentless! My body wasn’t built for this kind of abuse, my lady. I’m delicate.”

Oscar snorted, shaking his head. “Delicate isn’t the word I’d use.”

Lando’s mouth dropped open, scandalized. “Excuse me? This is coming from the man who sat back and watched me get beaten within an inch of my life?”

He turned to you, eyes wide and beseeching. “Do you see what I’m dealing with? First, your fiancé tries to cut me in half, and now your knight mocks my pain. I’m surrounded by cruelty!”

You fought back a smile, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Exaggerating?” Lando looked positively aghast, clutching his chest as though you’d stabbed him. “You think I’m exaggerating? He disarmed me within minutes, then made me pick up the sword and do it all over again- six times! At one point, I was fairly certain I’d lost the ability to breathe. Do you know what he said to me? ‘You’re improving.’ Improving! My ribs say otherwise!”

Oscar’s lips twitched, though he didn’t quite smile. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Lando huffed. He stood gingerly, clutching his back as though the act of rising from the chair had aged him twenty years. “I’ll have you know I’m going straight to the healer. And after that, I’m taking the longest bath of my life. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the tub, rethinking every decision that led me to this moment.”

With that, he hobbled toward the stairs, muttering under his breath about sadists and swordsmen who didn’t know the meaning of mercy.

You turned back to Oscar, who had remained silent through most of Lando’s theatrics. He was still standing by the door, his gaze distant now, fixed somewhere beyond the frost-covered window panes.

“He’s still out there, you know,” he said finally, his tone dry.

“What?”

Oscar tilted his head toward the courtyard. “Your fiancé. He hasn’t stopped. He’s still training.”

You moved closer to the window, peering out into the dusky evening. Sure enough, there he was, a dark figure against the pale, frostbitten ground.

His sword moved in deliberate, measured arcs, each swing cutting through the biting wind like it was nothing. His breath hung in the air in sharp clouds, but he didn’t falter.

“Why?” you murmured, your brow furrowing as you turned to Oscar. “It’s freezing out there.”

Oscar’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes. “He’s not the type to stop. Cold doesn’t bother him, not when he’s like this.”

“Like what?”

Oscar hesitated, his usual bluntness faltering for just a moment. “Like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts.”

You glanced back at your fiancé, your chest tightening as you watched him swing the sword again and again, each movement precise and controlled, like he was fighting an invisible enemy.

Oscar shifted, his voice quieter now. “Look, my lady... I’m not going to tell you what to do. It’s not my place to ask for forgiveness on his behalf. That’s something he’ll have to earn himself.”

You turned to him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone.

Gone was the sharp, pragmatic knight you knew. In his place was something softer, almost hesitant.

“But,” he continued, meeting your gaze, “as a man, I am asking you to give him a chance. Not because he deserves it. But because I’ve seen men like him before. Men who don’t know how to say what they mean.”

His words settled heavily between you, the quiet crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.

“I’m not saying he’s perfect,” Oscar added, his voice even softer now. “But I think he’s trying. And sometimes, that’s worth something.”

—

The snow fell in sheets, each flake biting at Max’s skin like shards of ice. It blanketed the courtyard, piling high in thick drifts that glowed faintly under the dull gray of the moon.

The wind howled, tearing through the frozen night, cutting past the thin fabric of his sweat-soaked tunic and carving into his flesh like jagged teeth.

Max’s breath rose in ragged bursts, visible in the frigid air, each exhale trembling with effort. His hands, stiff and raw, clutched the hilt of his sword with a grip so tight his knuckles felt as though they might split.

The steel was freezing, an unyielding weight that seemed to fuse with his palm. His fingers, reddened and cracked, struggled to keep hold, but he didn’t dare let go.

He swung again. The blade hissed through the icy air before colliding with the splintered wood of the practice post.

The impact sent a jolt up his arms, rattling his shoulders, his teeth.

Pain flared in his joints, spreading through his already screaming muscles, but he ignored it. His body ached, his knuckles bled, but it still wasn’t enough. It never was.

Snow clung to his damp hair, melting into icy rivulets that dripped down his temples, his neck. He hadn’t bothered with gloves. Or a cloak.

The cold was a blessing. A punishment. It numbed the ache of his hands, the burn in his shoulders, and dulled the deeper pain lodged in his chest.

The wind picked up, sharp and merciless, whipping across his exposed skin.

He welcomed it, leaning into the sting as though the air might tear him apart, cleanse him of the memories gnawing at his mind. He swung again, harder this time, the motion wild, unbalanced.

The blade struck the post with a sickening crack, splinters flying as the impact jarred his entire body.

He stumbled, breath hitching as exhaustion clawed at him. His arms felt like lead, his legs trembling under the weight of his own battered frame.

Every inch of him throbbed, the dull, relentless pain seeping into his bones. His body, older than it should have been at twenty-three, protested with every movement.

His hands were aged before their time, the calluses and scars a map of years spent holding a sword when he should have been a boy.

Still, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. If he stopped, the silence would creep in. If he stopped, the memories would return.

He pivoted, his breath a broken rasp as he swung again. The sword felt heavier with every motion, its hilt biting into the tender, split skin of his palm.

The wind roared, scattering snow into his eyes, but he barely blinked. His focus was razor-sharp, pinned on the shattered remains of the post as though destroying it might somehow quiet the storm inside him.

But it didn’t.

The memories came anyway, vicious and unrelenting.

Nine years old. Kneeling on frozen stone, the cold seeping through his skin as he counted the seconds between lashes. The whip cracked, the sound sharp and unforgiving, and his father’s voice followed, low and calm.

“Hold still, boy. A soldier doesn’t flinch. If you move again, we start over.”

He could still feel the sting of the leather against his back, the burn that lingered long after the blows stopped.

He remembered biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, his small body shaking with the effort to stay still. He hadn’t cried, not until his father had left the room, the echo of the slammed door ringing in his ears.

Fourteen. Standing rigid as Jos’s words sliced into him, sharper than any blade. “You’ll never be a man. You’ll never be strong enough. If you can’t endure this, how do you expect to survive out there?”

Max swung again, the blade whistling through the freezing air, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

His vision swam, his balance faltering as his strength began to wane, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t stop.

Because if he did, he’d hear his father’s voice again. He’d see your face.

The memory hit him like a blow, the sound of your voice echoing in his mind. Raw. Shattered. The way you’d looked at him.

Wide-eyed. Disbelieving. Like you didn’t know who he was anymore.

The sword slipped from his hands, falling to the snow with a muted thud. His chest heaved, his lungs burning as he struggled to catch his breath. He stood there, trembling, the snow swirling around him in a blinding haze.

The frost clung to his lashes, melting into cold trails that streaked down his cheeks.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as a fresh wave of pain rippled through him. He welcomed it, needed it, but it still wasn’t enough.

The memory of your face refused to leave him.

You’d been standing in the hall, your gaze darting between him and Jos as though you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Max could still hear the venom in his father’s voice, the cruel, cutting words that had torn into you like claws.

And he’d done nothing.

He’d stood there, frozen, his body locked in place as his father’s fury spilled out. He’d wanted to move, wanted to speak, to defend you, but he hadn’t.

Because when Jos turned his gaze on him, sharp and filled with that same disgust Max had seen since he was a boy, all his courage had turned to ash in-

“What are you doing out here?”

Max flinched at the sound of your voice, the syllables cutting through his thoughts.

He didn’t turn to face you, his broad back stiff against the wind. “Training,” he said after a long pause, the word rasping out of him, half-choked with exhaustion.

“Training?” you repeated, stepping closer. The frost crunched beneath your boots, your breath clouding in the cold air. “It’s freezing, Max. You shouldn’t-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice low, hollow. His hands moved behind his back, fingers curling into fists as though he could hide them, but even from this distance, you could see the raw, bloody skin.

“Max,” you whispered, horror prickling at the edges of your voice. “Your hands-”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly, his tone sharper than he intended. He winced at himself, sucking in a shaky breath. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point,” you said, stepping closer, the hem of your cloak brushing against the frost-laden grass. “What are you trying to do to yourself? It’s the middle of the night, you’re bleeding, and it’s so cold you can barely breathe.”

“I’m used to it,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the ground as though it could swallow him whole.

“Are you?” you challenged, your voice cutting sharper now.

He didn’t answer, the silence between you heavy and brittle. The moonlight cast a silvery glow over his hunched figure, illuminating the tension coiled in his frame.

You exhaled slowly, your breath visible in the icy air. “You’re going to get sick.”

“I’ll go inside later,” he said, his tone dull, lifeless. “You should go ahead first.”

“Max-”

“I told you,” he said, spinning to face you, his voice raw and fraying at the edges. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the depths of his anguish.

The shadows, the guilt, the broken pieces he couldn’t seem to hide. “I will settle. As long as I have you in my life, even if you hate me for the rest of it, I’ll settle for that silence. I’ll take it. I’ll endure it.”

Your heart twisted painfully, the cold biting sharper now as the weight of his words fell between you. “So that’s it?” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not even going to try?”

His shoulders sagged, his breath hitching as he shook his head. “Do I even deserve to?”

Your chest tightened, and you took another step forward, your voice rising with the desperation clawing at your throat. “It’s not about deserving, Max. It’s about trying. About fighting for the people you care about, no matter how hard it is.”

“I’ve grown soft,” he murmured, the words barely audible as he turned away from you. His hands twitched at his sides, trembling as though they carried the weight of his shame. “If I had stood up to him- if I had spoken out- my father would’ve dragged me to the dungeons. I haven’t been there in years, and still… the memory-”

His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands like he wanted to rip the thoughts from his skull.

“Max,” you said, your voice softening despite the anger still simmering in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought to keep his composure. “I was afraid,” he whispered, the admission like a knife slicing through the air. “That’s why I froze. That’s why I didn’t defend you. I was afraid, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I let him humiliate you. I hate that I let you sit there, waiting for me to speak, and I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

Max exhaled. “And I’m sorry. I would let him whip me a thousand times if it meant you’d look at me with softness again.”

The world seemed to stop. Your stomach dropped, your blood turning to ice. “What?” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “What do you mean, whip you?”

Max’s silence was unbearable, the way his head bowed under the weight of his words. It was as if speaking them had drained the fight from him. But then, slowly, he sank to his knees before you, his hands trembling as they moved to rest in his lap.

“Do it,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice raw with desperation. “If it will make you forgive me- if it will make things right- hurt me. However you like. I deserve it.” His head hung low, his body tense, as though bracing for some cruel blow. “I betrayed you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but if pain is what it takes-”

“Stop,” you said, your voice sharp, horrified. The sight of him kneeling before you, offering himself up like some sacrificial lamb, sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. “Max, get up. Please.”

He didn’t move. If anything, he seemed to fold further into himself, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “I can take it,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve taken worse. I’ll take it for you.”

“No,” you choked out, the word trembling on your lips. You crouched before him, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, unsure whether to reach for him or pull away. “Max, this isn’t- this isn’t how this works. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He flinched, as if your words themselves were a blow. “But I hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I stood there and let him- let him say those things to you, and I did nothing. I froze. And now I’m here, training, trying to- trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But it’s not enough, is it?” He raised his head then, his eyes wet, his expression pleading. “So tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. Tell me how to be better.”

Your throat tightened, a lump rising that you couldn’t swallow down. “Max,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “This… this isn’t the answer. You don’t have to punish yourself to be forgiven. You don’t have to prove your worth to me like this.”

He blinked, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and anguish. “Then what do I do?” he whispered. “I don’t know how else to-”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you interrupted, your voice firm despite the tears stinging your eyes. “You’re not your father. You don’t have to fight like he did. And you don’t have to hurt like this- not to earn love, not to earn forgiveness.”

For a moment, Max simply stared at you, his lips parted, as if your words were a foreign language he couldn’t quite comprehend.

Slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His breath hitched, and he froze beneath your touch, like he didn’t believe it was real.

“You deserve kindness, Max,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word. “Even from yourself.”

His shoulders shook, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested against your hand

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he let himself cry.

—

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[lotuswish]

what loving you feels like to them [pt. 1 - scarabia]

featured character(s): jamil viper, kalim al-asim.

summary: ever wondered what it feels like for each twisted wonderland boy to fall in love with you? this series uncovers their feelings, influenced by their personalities, experiences, and desires. follow me to catch the next part!

cw: none.

a/n: my first post w my favorite boys <3 revised and reposted from my other acc, @jamilvapologist.

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jamil viper

loving you feels like both a rebellion and a sanctuary for jamil viper.

it’s rebellion because love, for him, is not something he was meant to indulge in freely. his life has been carefully calculated, structured around duty, subservience, and suppression of his desires. loving you feels like stepping out of the shadows that have defined him for so long, daring to claim something for himself in a world where his needs have always come second. it’s a quiet act of defiance against the chains of expectation, a decision to prioritize his own heart over the demands of others.

but loving you is also a sanctuary, a space where jamil doesn’t need to perform or conceal. around you, he feels seen—not as kalim’s attendant, not as scarabia’s vice housewarden, not as the person constantly managing everyone else’s chaos—but simply as himself. it’s an unfamiliar vulnerability that both terrifies and exhilarates him. you are his reprieve from a life of pretending, the one who notices when he’s tired without him needing to say it, the one who knows when he craves comfort instead of perfection.

loving you is not easy for him. it feels like a constant push-and-pull between his guarded instincts and the growing need to trust you, to let you see the cracks in his composed exterior. at times, it feels selfish, as though he’s stealing moments of happiness that don’t belong to him. yet, the warmth of your presence, the way you genuinely care, reminds him that this love is not a burden but a gift.

for jamil, loving you feels like breathing fresh air after years of suffocation. it’s freedom and fear. it’s knowing that, for the first time, he has something—someone—he’s terrified of losing. and even though it scares him, he cannot imagine a life without you. you are his rebellion. you are his sanctuary. you are the one thing he wants to keep, no matter the cost.

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kalim al asim

loving you feels like sunshine to kalim al-asim—warm, boundless, and all-encompassing. it feels like something that’s always been there, waiting for him to reach out and hold it, like the happiness he’s known all his life but brighter, deeper, and more profound. kalim has always been surrounded by laughter and love, but loving you is different. it’s not the easy affection of a family feast or the shallow camaraderie of a crowd. it’s personal. it’s intimate. it’s you, and that makes it special in a way he can’t put into words.

for someone whose life has been filled with excess—wealth, luxury, and abundance—kalim has always craved something that couldn’t be bought or given to him out of duty: genuine connection. loving you feels like finally finding the one thing he’s been missing, the piece that makes everything else meaningful. it’s the way you see him for who he is, not as the heir to the asim family fortune or the endlessly cheerful boy who never seems to have a care in the world, but as kalim. you see him when he feels invisible, and that makes his love for you limitless.

loving you feels effortless and endless, but it also makes him vulnerable in a way he’s never experienced before. for someone who has always been generous to a fault, giving all of himself to you comes naturally, but for the first time, he realizes how much it hurts to be scared of losing someone. he’s not used to fear, but the thought of you slipping away leaves him restless. it makes him treasure every moment, every laugh, every time you smile at him like he’s your whole world.

loving you feels like freedom. it’s dancing in the streets, laughing without restraint, and knowing that no matter where life takes him, as long as you’re there, he’ll be happy. you make him feel like he doesn’t have to prove anything or live up to anyone’s expectations. loving you is joy in its purest form, a happiness that doesn’t come from wealth or extravagance but from the simple, profound act of being with someone who truly loves him back.

for kalim, loving you feels like discovering that the world is even bigger, brighter, and more beautiful than he ever thought possible. it’s exhilarating and overwhelming, but he embraces it without hesitation, because that’s who he is. loving you is a gift, one he cherishes with his whole heart, and he’ll do anything to make sure you feel the same.

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congrats, you made it to the end! if you enjoyed reading this, likes, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated! :)

[scarlet-bee]

[ID from alt:

You are not just donors, you are hope in a time of war. Thanks to you, there were hearts filled with hope and mercy in Gaza. I will give you part of the upcoming initiatives that I am working on preparing soon, in fact I do not hide from you that we need everything, there is nothing more important than something, everything is important, we are talking about 2 million afflicted people. Imagine that we have not eaten chicken for 4 months, two days ago chicken was brought in but the price was shocking, the price of a kilo of chicken is 26 US dollars, a loaf of bread has become a dream for us, the price of a 25 kilo bag of flour is 250 US dollars, people have become dependent on the food distributed by the owners of charitable initiatives, the high prices here are very high and everyone is unemployed, life here is a piece of hell but your donation contributes to alleviating our suffering.

The upcoming initiatives will be 1- Clothing as many people as possible, in my personal opinion and according to what I see, winter clothes are one of our most important needs now, whether adults or children, as you can see most of us appear in the same clothes from the first days of the war, currently we have clothed 120 children, the cost per child is $36. 2- Distributing shoes to people, especially children, most of whom are barefoot in this cold and the ground is full of glass and rubble 3- Distributing potable water 4- Distributing food supplies 5- Distributing hygiene supplies 6- Distributing children's needs such as milk and diapers. And many supplies that my people need, some of you ask me to document your donation and I have no problem, I do that with all my love and publish the video on my Instagram page.

I forgot to tell you in the previous update that every now and then we do an initiative for a fun day for children in order to entertain them and try to overcome what we are going through. The videos are on my Instagram page. I will put pictures of previous initiatives for you, do not hesitate to contribute. Love you all Mona abu Hamda and her team 5/1/2025 For contact Instagram @monaa__e98 WhatsApp +972597069495

End ID.]

Hey y'all, Mona posted an update for her mutual aid project on GoFundMe! Right now the priorities are winter clothing and food, please give whatever you can to this initiative!

Individuals fundraisers are still important but mutual aid funds such as these can help reach those who, for a variety of reasons, cannot get that help over the internet.

[xylatox]

January 2025 Fic Recommendations!!

a/n: my first fic recommendation list for the year!! All these fics I have read and I have loved every single one of them; please show your love to the authors by reblogging, liking and even sharing your thoughts with them :). To the authors, I'm sorry for the tag!

Key - ☆ -series ♡ -one-shot

Tomorrow X Together

☆ Between Twilight Skies | @jjunbug ~ ongoing

wc - 7.5k+

pairing - choi yeonjun x 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, huening kai x 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾r

synopsis - in a world that's on its dying breath, the once green and lush landscapes get buried in more and more layers of ash. the once flourishing streets that were full of magic are now a dull hum. yet, there is still hope—and it lies in the hands of you and kai, the last people to possess magic. suddenly, you remember the story of a forest that watches, and a well of life that lies deep within. you're determined to save your bleak world in any way that you can, yet, you weren't expecting to end up in a brand new world entirely.

♡ Bloodbound | @beomiracles

w.c - 2.5k

pairing - vampire!taehyun x human!reader

synopsis - Oh, you. So pretty, young and alive. Blood flows within your veins, carrying all the way to your beating heart, the one he can hear from miles away. Your breath hitches when his sharp fangs brush against your neck, your eyes flutter before they widen in fear. — God it drove him insane

♡ The Scientist | @dawngyu

w.c - 21k

pairing - popular hueningkai x deaf fem!reader

synopsis - Kai, who thrived in sound. Loud noise, vibrant conversations, the hum of life. And the quiet girl that sits prettily by the window—had begun to haunt his mind—stirring his heart the way only music ever had.

There must be some scientific explanation for this... right?

♡ The Last Safe Space | @dawngyu

w.c - 30k

pairing - idol!beomgyu x fem!soldier reader

synopsis - The world didn’t end with a bang. It ended with a whisper, a deadly virus creeping through the streets, turning the living into something… monstrous.

It was supposed to be a mission. Get in. Get out. Rescue the five a-list boys holed up deep in the city of Seoul. But nothing in this new, broken world is simple anymore.

The dead don’t scare you as much as his starry eyes do—deep brown eyes that make you question if you’re the one who needs saving, after all.

♡ When The Reaper Weeps | @gyu-tori

w.c - 12.4k

pairing - grim reaper!taehyun x fem mortal!reader

synopsis - The afterlife, where death waits in shadow, Taehyun walks the line between humanity and duty, a grim reaper bound by unyielding rules and a heart he has long denied. Cold and distant, he collects souls with precision—until one last wish changes everything.  

Y/N’s days are numbered, given seven days before the after life welcomes her. Her final mission is simple: mend the broken ties of her past.

As the days slip away, Taehyun’s carefully constructed world unravels. Y/N’s determination forces him to confront the emptiness in his existence. When choices arise—between rules, rebellion, and a love neither is prepared for—Taehyun must face the cost of defiance.  

Will he remain the Reaper, bound to his duty, or will he weep for the first time in centuries?

☆ Supermarket Flowers | @yunverie ~ ongoing

w.c - 15.5k+

pairing - taehyun x reader

synopsis - In the quiet corners of a bustling campus, Taehyun, a once-passionate artist, finds himself at odds with the canvas. Each brushstroke feels heavier, every color muted by the weight of personal battles he keeps locked away. Across the hall lives someone just as adrift— you, a musician whose melodies have grown somber since a breakup that shattered your rhythm and dimmed your spark. Two souls, dulled by life, separated by a thin wall but worlds apart in their own silence.

Fate weaves their paths together in an unassuming art supply room, where their individual searches for solace lead to an unexpected companionship. Amidst the scent of paint and the soft strum of guitar strings, they begin to fill the gaps in each other’s lives without even realizing it. Conversations spark over spilled paints and improvised melodies, and laughter starts to echo where silence once lingered. Slowly, they start to see colors they had forgotten and hear music they thought they'd lost.

And as life begins to take on new hues, they realize that perhaps, just perhaps, love might be worth taking a chance on again.

☆ To Someone From A Warm Climate | @hyukascampfire ~ ongoing

w.c - 93.3k+

pairing - faerie!taehyun x reader, faerie!yeonjun x reader

synopsis - a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

♡ Letters of Yesterday | @gyu-tori

w.c - 9.1k

pairing - cursed writer!hueningkai x fem artist!reader

synopsis - When love is as fragile as memory, Kai is cursed to forget everything—and everyone—he loves. No matter how deeply he feels, the magic erases him, leaving only blank pages where once there were memories. But Y/N refuses to give up, even when every day brings a new heartbreak. As she clings to the fleeting moments of their time together, she fights to keep their love alive, knowing that each day could be the last he remembers her.

In a cycle of forgotten smiles and vanished kisses, can love survive when memories are fleeting? Or will the price of holding on to Kai’s love be more than she can be

Seventeen

♡ Baby | @sailorsoons

w.c - 29k

pairing - Soongyoung x f. reader

synopsis - Soonyoung had been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.  

♡ Cherry Picker | @gyuswhore

w.c - 19k

pairing - Hockey player! Seungcheol xfigure skater! reader

synopsis - [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone.

There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

♡ agrodolce | @amourcheol

w.c - 27.5k

pairing - dessert chef! mc x dessert chef! seungkwan

synopsis - one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

♡ Full Throttle pt1 - pt2 | @diamonddaze01

w.c - 20.6k + 16.7k

pairing - ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader

synopsis - jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

Enhypen

♡ Faking It | @shy2-29

w.c - 12.5k

pairing - lee heeseung x reader

synopsis - You had never liked Heeseung, and he had never liked you either. Over the three years, both you and Heeseung had become the most popular student in the university. You barely spoke to each other, just exchanged the occasional spiteful look in the hallways. You had sworn never to speak to Heeseung again—until one day, he unexpectedly asked you to be his fake girlfriend.

♡ cross the line | @heegyukeluv

w.c - 14.5k

pairing - heeseung x afab!reader

synopsis - “How do you know if someone is flirting with you?”  It was Heeseung’s question to you, and you were left with no option other than to show how you do it.

♡ between you and me | @haologram

w.c - 40.4k

pairing - lee chan x fem!reader

synopsis - everything you've ever done, chan has been by your side - either egging you on or talking you off the ledge. after a rough year of studying, failed relationships and having chan be the insistent angel on your shoulder, the holidays roll around - and let's just say you're not too happy about it.

♡ Falling Alone | @babeyun

w.c - 39.5k

pairing - lieutenant!lee heeseung x therapist!housewife!reader

synopsis - cold cases were heeseung’s specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband’s.

♡ grocery store receipts | @paarksunghoon

w.c - 31.5k

pairing - sunghoon x reader

synopsis - your hot neighbor seems to have everything you don’t: charm, confidence, and a sense of direction in life. you’ve managed to keep to yourself in the time you’ve lived across from his apartment but the holiday season brings brings out unresolved feelings, and you find that the best present of all has always been standing right in front of you.

♡ do you think I'm fragile? | @just-nc-tea

w.c - 30k

pairing - hockey player heeseung x coach's daughter Y/N

synopsis - A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost—and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about.

♡ iced americano season | @just-nc-tea

w.c - 39k

pairing - hockey player jay x radio host x influencer & barista Y/N

synopsis - A simple iced americano is about to ruin Jay’s entire season. Falling for the cute barista at his favorite café means free coffee, but it also comes with unexpected complications. Between her overprotective best friend stirring up drama and the internet’s relentless spotlight on his personal life, Jay quickly learns that some risks are worth taking—even if it means skating into uncharted territory. He regrets nothing

[touchme-teezme]

Why Me?

PAIRINGS | collegeboy!yeosang x fab!reader

TAGS | plot with some porn, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex, angsty & high tension dialogues bcs reader and yeosang are in situationship & figuring it out, reader is a player and avoidant, yeosang gets attached too easily. oopsie.

RATING | NSFW 21+ (Minors pls DNI/if it makes you uncomfortable don’t read thx)

SUMMARY | Yeosang realized he had feelings for you at the worst possible moment—now he’s spiralling and needs an outlet. Lucky for you, you’re here. Unlucky for you, it comes with a cost.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | oK this was plot heavy. lowkey in my feelings when i wrote it and i didn’t rlly want smut to be the focal point of all the stories — especially if i didn’t think it fit the members. so we’re trying something new out with yeo’s part. i hope you like it! guess which member is next hehe enjoy freaks (complimentary). if you catch any mistakes, no you didn’t. i proofread with vibes not scrutiny.

💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

inspired by pink matter & bad religion by frank ocean

(frank come home pls i can’t do this anymore.)

Yeosang wasn’t the nosy type—he liked to think he was above that.

Normally, he’d get himself to stop missing you by scrolling through your posts or replaying your story highlights like a perfectly chill (totally not obsessed) person. But today curiosity dragged him into the abyss that was your tagged photos.

And that’s where he saw it. Them.

The two others you were seeing on the side. He’d heard rumours but didn’t believe them until he saw Lee Chan’s hands on your ass as you were hugging him or a selfie where you were a little too close to Choi Yeonjun.

Even he never had a photo with you where your cheeks were squished against each others.

“Relax,” Wooyoung had told him that night he confided in his friend, “It’s normal. They’re probably just on her roster. You guys aren’t exclusive anyway.”

Now, every time he lay flat on his back, staring at a ceiling, his mind went into the same place:

How did you meet them? How long have you been seeing them? Do they know what you like? Or worse—did you touch them the same way you’re touching him right now?

And seriously, how the fuck did you and Yeonjun even meet?

“Yeosang, i’m talking to you.”

“Huh?” His head jerked up at the sound of your voice, only to find you staring up at him from between his legs, mouth hovering just shy of the fabric of his underwear.

His pants were bunched at his ankles, and he was sprawled out with his knees hanging off the bed—one hand casually tucked under his head.

The angle was doing the most to show off how much gym time he and San had clearly been clocking lately.

“I asked if I can—“

“Uh… Y-Yeah, yeah go ahead.”

You sighed, rising from your knees to gracefully mount his body. Straddling him with elegance, you leaned down, your face inches from his clearly preoccupied gaze.

Speaking of gazes, his eyes were your favourite. Your knuckles grazed his birthmark, then you casually swept his hair back.

"What's going on?"

He reacted instantly, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply as he leaned in. You felt his hands glide down your spine, past the hooks of your bra. He shook his head, "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Something’s definitely going on because I was about to suck you off and you haven’t looked at me once.”

Yeosang gently placed his hand on the back of your head and flipped you over, landing you on your side.

He then adjusted himself, kicking off his jeans with a nonchalant flick of his ankle. Scooting closer to your flushed face, his silence was starting to make you a tad more nervous than usual.

“Is everything okay?” You shifted closer to his body.

“I wanted to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

“Oh. Sure.” Your eyebrows rose. “But maybe we save the serious talk for after, you know, the fun stuff?” You started trailing your fingers along the faint ridges of his abs.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his as he stared down at your joined hands. “Do you…” He trailed off, recalibrating mid-sentence. “How long are we going to keep having fun?”

“Well,” you said, blinking like it was the most obvious answer in the world, “A few rounds, a few hours—though if you do that thing I like, I might have to keep you here a bit longer.”

You leaned in for a kiss, slow and deliberate, your lips skimming his bottom lip. His hand slipped to your ass like muscle memory, but instead of diving in, his brain just had to keep working.

“No, not this,” he mumbled between kisses before pulling away with all the self-control and focus in the world. “I mean… this—as in, us. How much longer are we going to keep this going?”

“Oh.” You paused, your eyes darted between his face and the diminishing gap between your bodies. “I don’t know… as long as we want to?”

His jaw tightened, his expression unreadable.

“Do you not want to anymore?” You asked.

“It’s not that,” he sighed. “I’m starting my internship next semester. I just… I needed to know if I have a reason to turn down that offer in Busan.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could hear was the faint hum of the city beyond your creaked window.

“Well,” you said. “I told you…if you want to, you should.”

“So you think I should go?”

“I think you should do whatever makes you happiest.”

“And what if what I want doesn’t make you happy?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a shrug. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“But it does. It matters to me.” His voice dipped, tinged with frustration, though his gaze softened into something you hadn’t seen before.

“So… what do you want me to say?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” His voice cracked just enough to make your chest tighten. “That you want me to stay. That this is something important to hold on to or that…” He gestured vaguely to himself, as if it physically pained him. “…that I’m not just someone you fuck when everyone else is busy.”

Oh.

You sighed, sitting up to rake your fingers through your hair while pulling your knees to your chest.

Maybe it was one of the guys you’d been seeing who ran his mouth. Word gets around campus pretty easily when you have mutual friends. It’s also not like you were deliberately hiding it, but you somehow still felt a little ashamed for him to find out.

Yeosang, on the other hand, looked like he’d rather dissolve into thin air. Maybe insecurity had sucker-punched him or he was catching feelings and scared you’d bolt the moment he brought it up.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he muttered, voice soft and far away. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” He shifted to sit next to you, his posture mirroring yours.

“It’s fine,” You tried to sound reassuring, but the weight of his question hung in the air.

You glanced at him, and damn his side profile wasn’t helping you think straight. “So, what is it? You don’t want me seeing anyone else?”

His sharp inhale said it all. “I can’t tell you what to do, but just so you know, I’m not seeing anyone else,” his voice was rough, like he was trying to swallow the words before they came out. “I don’t even want anyone else. I don’t know how you do it, how you can… be with anyone else.”

Yeosang turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I just… I want to know if it could ever be… just me.”

He’d meant it when he swore off relationships — especially after what happened to San, he believed that was more than enough to convince him that relationships weren’t worth it.

But the more he saw you, the more his wishes began to crack. The more he wanted it to be only him you came back to.

“What am I to you?” he asked finally, the question breaking the silence.

You swallowed, searching for words that felt like truth but wouldn’t cut too deep. “You’re…” The answer wavered, unsure even as it left your lips. “You’re someone I care about. A lot.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him, trying to drown out the conversation in the only way you knew how.

His fingers gripped your hips tightly, grounding you against him, and you felt a flicker of guilt at the way you were avoiding his question but it melted away when you felt his tongue slip in.

When you pulled back, he was breathless and flushed, his chest heaving as if he’d just surfaced from underwater. His hands stayed firmly on your love handles, and his forehead leaned against yours.

“For fuck’s sake…” he muttered, the frustration thick in his voice. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair like that would somehow untangle the mess in his brain. “Why me?”

“Yeosang?”

He realised right then and there, there was no changing your mind.

He snapped back to reality, his grip tightening as his hands slid down to your thighs. In one smooth move, you were on your back and he was settling himself right on top of you.

Yeosang settled between your thighs. He rocked his hips, grinding himself against you, seeking friction and relief as your lips wouldn’t leave his alone.

You cupped the side of his face, looking up at him between breaks of the kiss to slide a gentle slow finger into his mouth for him to suck as he held your stare.

Your other hand pushed away the curtain of hair falling from his face, admiring his bare beauty in your touch.

You liked how he reacted to your touches, how at a single command he kneels, he’d do anything for you if you’d ask — maybe that’s what scared you in return but you’d never tell him that.

You both eventually fell on your sides, not a single word besides the usual moans and gasps of “yes”, “like that”, and yeosang’s personal favourite: “i need you right now.”

Before you knew it, your back faced him and you were both entirely undressed.

He held you tight, pressing his face into the sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder. His lips trailed kisses there as his hands explored your familiar curves. Your hips ground back against him, rubbing your ass over his erection.

His fingers danced across your stomach before slipping lower. You groaned, feeling his fingers open to a ‘V’ to graze the sides of your entrance with light strokes.

His focus on you was primal and hungry as he started circling the your folds in a distinct pattern. He sunk two fingers deep inside your slick clenching heat, earning a breathy whine that was turning him on relentlessly. Your breath was hot against his ear as you watched him work, your inner muscles clenching greedily.

Yeosang knew your body the best out of the others. He always paid attention to your physical reactions to what you really like and what hurt you. After a while, he got the hang of it pretty damn quick.

Between the gentle caresses and firmer strokes, he was driving you higher, teasing you mercilessly—and yet, he hadn’t even gone all the way. But holding out much longer wasn’t an option; the things you were saying were wrecking his focus, leaving his restraint hanging by a thread.

You’re the only one I want.

You make me feel so good.

I want you so bad.

Don’t get him wrong, the sex was great — but even with you naked in his arms, swearing he was the one you wanted, he didn’t feel it. Because desiring him wasn’t the same as making him yours—and you never would.

You held his face behind you, anchoring your hand on the nape of his neck as he pounded into you with his hard throbbing cock into you at an angle that was blurring your vision.

He was eagerly grabbing a handful of your breast, teasing your nipple between his fingers as he sucked onto your neck, whining against your skin.

He pushed your knee higher. Gripping your side like he was holding on for dear life, he thrust into you with the determination, only to pull out slowly, and savouring the moment.

The increasing pace turned your moans into a symphony of pleasure, loud enough to give the neighbors an unsolicited introduction to Yeosang’s name. They might not have seen him, but they sure knew who he was now.

The sound of skin meeting skin, punctuated by the occasional slap of his hand against your ass made you grin.

“Fuck! Yeosang!” You exclaimed.

“I know baby, I know,” he replied, his voice a low, reassuring rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

His focus unwavering. It was as if he had a singular mission: to bring you to the peak of pleasure and join you there.

He eventually sent you over the edge. You bit down on your lip as he showered you with open-mouthed kisses on one side of your face.

“Shit… Yeosang, that was— you felt so fucking good.” You barely caught your breath.

You held his face over your shoulder and he smiled back, feeling your thumb stroke the side of his face before coming in for a rewarding kiss.

Yeosang had it all—looks, charm, the perfect height for you, and you always had a soft spot for the shy types. Sure, his borderline obsession with video games wasn’t exactly your favorite thing, but hey, at least it wasn’t destructive.

Still, no matter how great he was, Yeosang realised the truth you’d never admit: a relationship wasn’t exactly your thing.

Still, his visit to your neighbourhood didn’t end on that note.

After a few rounds of small talk and a necessary bathroom breaks, you were back to your usual routine — with a few new surprises.

It included him kneeling before your parted legs as you sat on the edge of the bed, watching him savour, and lick up your core. It wasn't long before your leg found its way over his shoulder, trembling and quivering as you held onto the back of his head.

Then came the moment when he held your wrists behind your back, taking you from behind. Fucking. Hell. The spanking returned, accompanied by a string of praises in that low voice of his and it turned you on more than anything else he’d ever tried.

You were so caught up in the bliss and pleasure of the moment, reveling in how he truly outdid himself tonight, that you missed two things:

Yeosang had whispered "I love you" at the peak of his final climax.

And this was going to be the last time.

Yeosang was so haunted by the painful realization that if he ever walked away, you wouldn't miss him.

After all, there were plenty of others ready to take his place by your side, as if he were just another face in the crowd.

He knew you were never going to change your mind, even when he was the one on the line.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you were fast asleep. Yeosang watched the steady rise and fall of your bare back, the room quiet except for your soft breathing. The faint jingle of his belt buckle broke the stillness as he slipped into his jeans.

He caught sight of himself in your full-length mirror in the corner, you sound asleep behind him, and all he felt was emptiness. The faint marks on his neck and chest—your handiwork—didn’t even draw the usual smirk.

He slipped his shirt back on and crept out of your place, the same way he’d done countless times before.

Standing on the corner of your street, he pulled out his phone and fired off an email accepting the position. One press of “send”, he raised his arm, hailing a taxi without a second glance back.

A yellow coloured taxi pulled up just as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. He climbed in, saying the name of his street and sinking into his seat, completely worn out.

The driver nodded without saying much from the rearview mirror where a string of beads with a tassel hung. The car pulled away from that street.

He stole another glance at Yeosang, whose watery eyes and faraway stare made it seem like the weight of the world was crushing his shoulders.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang muttered, leaning against the glass. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket, and his gaze dropped to the screen—Wooyoung’s name lighting up, accompanied by that dumb photo he’d set as his own contact picture.

He’d hoped that by the sixth missed call—during the time Yeosang had your arms pinned behind your back—Wooyoung would finally give it a rest.

But if there was one thing everyone knew about Wooyoung, it was that his commitment to annoying his friends was unmatched.

“Fucking finally, where are you?” Wooyoung’s voice came through, loud and chaotic, with the telltale background noise of a busy restaurant.

“Home,” Yeosang lied, voice barely above a mumble and cleared his throat. “Why?”

“Perfect, so you’re close. Everyone’s already here—your roommate, Hwa, the usual. San and Mingi bailed though. Typical. Anyway, you promised you’d show up tonight, so—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Yeosang cut him off, not in the mood for one of Wooyoung’s endless rambles.

Wooyoung, sharp as ever, caught the attitude immediately. “Don’t be a dick. We’ll just see you at the club if you’re gonna take forever.”

“Yeah, sure. Bye.” Yeosang ended the call before Wooyoung could get another word in. He didn’t even flinch when he heard Wooyoung start to curse—cutting him off mid-sentence was the point.

The driver glanced at him as they pulled to a stop at a red light, an eyebrow quirking in silent judgment. “A lot going on, huh?”

Yeosang’s eyes stayed fixed on the city lights, streaking and blurring as they sped past. “You have no idea.”

The driver shrugged, settling back into his seat. “Well, it’s a long drive to where you’re headed. I’ve got time.”

[chosaraki]

Being a pregnant wife.

————————————

You were in the room, arranging some papers that were scattered on the table, when you heard Gitae's familiar steps. He entered the room with his firm posture, but something in his gaze had changed. The expression on his face was less impassive and more... tired.

"You're standing again," he observed, the tone of his voice loaded with a concern you rarely saw. He knew that, despite your strength and determination, you needed rest. The pregnancy was at an advanced stage, and he somehow worried about his well-being, but he would never know how to express it in a conventional way.

You smiled softly at him, aware of the way he balanced the emotional distance with an almost discreet care. "I just wanted to end this," you answered calmly. "But I'm already going to rest."

Gitae approached and, with a strong hand, took your shoulders, gently forcing you to turn towards her. His touch, although possessive and firm, had a gentle and cautious touch. His dark eyes were fixed on you, and there was a visible internal fight on his face.

"You've been trying too hard," he said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I can't... I can't lose you or our son. I don't know what I would do without you."

The vulnerability he expressed was rare, a loophole he only showed when he was alone with you, away from the eyes of his subordinates or rivals. The power and control he always exercised over his life and others were momentarily suspended, and he seemed, for a moment, just a man who loved his wife and feared for the safety of his family.

You looked at him, feeling the seriousness of his words. Even if you knew that Gitae did not show his emotions easily, you understood the weight he carried. He was unbeatable for others, but with you, he allowed himself to be more human, more fragile.

"You're doing all this for us," you said, putting your hand on his that was still on your shoulder. "I know that, Gitae. But you also need rest. You don't need to carry the world on your back alone."

He was silent for a moment, as if pondering his words. Gitae's expression was no longer so rigid, and his eyes seemed deeper, as if they wanted to say more than he was able to verbalize.

Finally, he gently pulled you into a hug. The gesture was unexpected, but it was one of his ways of showing that, despite his hardness and his position, he also had a vulnerable place in his heart - a place reserved for you and for the future they were creating together.

His hug was not like the others you had already received from him. It was not controlled, nor authoritarian. It was a hug from someone who allowed himself to be weak, someone who, for the first time, felt the weight of responsibility for the life that was about to begin with his son.

"I just... don't want to lose you," he whispered against your hair, the pain in his voice something he rarely expressed.

You felt the sincerity in his words, and although you knew that he would continue to be the ruthless leader he always was, at that moment, Gitae Kim was just the man who loved his family and wanted to protect her at all costs.

You gently stroked your back, offering a comforting smile. "You won't lose me, Gitae. We're together in this, always."

The silence that followed was comfortable, with only the sound of the rain falling outside, and you knew that, despite the emotional storm that sometimes took over him, he would be by your side - your authoritarian "king" and your vulnerable man at the same time, struggling to balance everything, but willing to share with you the heaviest burdens.

—————————————————————————the tension between Gitae's power and vulnerability is more palpable. He remains the man of strength, but opens up in a way that he rarely does, revealing his fear of losing his family and his desire to share the burden with you. Interaction is a balance between affection and the weight of your responsibilities, and it is precisely this contrast that makes your relationship so intense and full of emotional layers.

—————————————————————————

[aboutcustardcreams]

For love, we gladly pay the price

Summary: As Lady Death struggles with an impossible choice (flashback), you and Agatha find yourselves entangled in a very awkward/ uncomfortable situation. The question here is: what does the Road really want from you?

previous chapter

You made your decision– one each mother, in your place, would make. Your son is going to regain consciousness any moment now. And you made it possible. With your incredible power and stubbornness, you gave the boy another chance in life, a proper one. But at what cost?

“Please–” Rio never begged, yet there she was. You’d barely recognize her voice if you listened to it. “I could not persuade her to let him go, if anything– I encouraged her to save him from the start,” she confessed in a pained murmur. 

In the dimly lit hall stood the three sisters, their expressions stoic, yet contemplative giving the illusion that they could still be convinced into changing their mind. They had summoned Lady Death and that alone couldn’t mean anything good. 

Atropos, the eldest, stepped forward. “We can’t ignore what she has done,” her voice echoed like a thunder, taking up the entire space. Rio flinched, but didn’t back away. “Her defiance comes with a price. I’m sure your job has taught you that much, hasn’t it?” 

The Green witch’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding at the words. Of course, she knew. She had known the moment the Fates discovered her secret; how she had hidden Nicky away, shielding him from the River of Souls he was meant to cross at birth. The punishment had been swift and merciless. She had endured it all in silence. Not a word of it ever passed her lips, neither to you nor to Agatha. Because nothing could have been done to change that anyway so why bother you and Agatha too?

Despite everything, her lips curled into a bitter, defiant smile. “she fulfilled the purpose she was born for. Necromancy is her gift. You can’t condemn her for who she is.”

Atropos’s eyebrows shot up as her head lightly lolled to the side. She let out a sound between a scoff and a chuckle at Rio’s tenancy. For being a Celestial being she surely looked quite small now. The other two shared a glance, their eyes lingered as to decide which of them would speak second, in support of their eldest. 

Lachesis, the middleborn, took a soft sigh as she approached. Her long golden skirt swept over the floor, leaving a trail of sparkle in its wake. “I understand your concerns for her– my sisters do, too. In spite of what you might think, we’re not heartless.”

Rio didn’t let her guard down, nor did she allow those ‘apparent’ hopeful words to get to her head, before learning more. “If that’s true, then spare her life.” 

The eldest let out a quiet chuckle. Three heads snapped towards her. “Oh, you’ve definitely gotten sentimental, Lady Death.” 

The witch’s heart started pounding in her chest at great speed, her throat clenched almost painfully as she tumbled out, “it’s my wife’s life we are talking about. I’m allowed to be worried about her.” 

Her mind spiraled, imagining the ruin your death would bring and not just to her, but to Agatha and Nicky. Eternity was a long, unrelenting road to walk with a heart that was very likely to shatter into pieces and bleed forever. Agatha, she knew, would never forgive her. And Nicky, her sweet, pure-hearted Nicky would grow up with that same resentment festering inside him. He’d nurture it, shape it into something raw, something dangerous, especially now that he shared the same magic as yours. 

“This is my domain,” she said, hands turning into fists. “It’s mine alone to determine when a life ends. You cannot interfere with that–” 

“I believe there’s a little bit of confusion here,” Atropos argued. Her eyes flicked to Clotho, who had swiftly moved to sit in front of the chassis, her delicate fingers spinning the shimmering thread within with practiced grace. The motion was almost hypnotic. Rio’s face fell, her frown deepened. Could that be your life Clotho was holding? 

“We do not mean to take your wife’s life before its time,” the youngest admitted. Her voice didn’t match the depths of her power, the way her fingers could create as much as destroy. 

“Contrary to your lover, my sisters and I know where we stand. We would never interfere with something that doesn’t concern us, so I must confess you, it’s not death we wish for the necromancer, but life–” 

Rio blinked in disbelief. “I don’t understand–”

“A tormented life,” Atropos corrected, with a grin. “Something you experienced in a way, but not quite.” 

“I’m sure you’re familiar with our distant cousins, Lady Death,” Lachesis added solemnly. 

Rio’s mouth parted in slight shock, a bitter sound slipped for her lips, “and you said you are not heartless?”

“I take that as a yes,” Atropos replied. Clotho kept her eyes focused on the thread, Rio couldn’t be sure, but she spotted a glimpse of hesitation in her posture. She was touching that thread ever so gently as if she was lulling a baby to sleep. Maybe she didn’t agree with her sisters’ decision, but being the youngest of the three, forced her to submit to their will and play along with it. 

“Clotho, please—” Rio’s shoulders sagged. “It’s not right. You must know that– you–”

“Do not try to manipulate our sister!” The eldest’s voice came out so loud and sharp, Rio flinched and had to cover her ears. 

The youngest swallowed lightly, as she averted her gaze, “I’m truly sorry, Lady Death. If it’s any consolation, the torment will not last forever,” she glanced at her sisters. 

Atropos nodded with a wave of her hand, “sure thing, sister. What were you thinking? Fifty years?” 

Rio’s heart picked up, “that’s insane!” She cried out. Her magic crackled dangerously around her. “She would never survive that and you know it!” 

“A fair compromise for her not to lose her mind and die would be between two and five years,” she admitted carefully. “As we already mentioned, we don’t want to kill her, right Atropos?” 

She grimaced, clearly displeased with the proposition. 

“I suggest two years,” Clotho tried. 

“You’re too soft, sister,” Atropos scolded her. 

“Please–” Rio’s knees dropped at this point. A part of her knew you could make it, however that was not enough reason for them to put you through that. Their cousins were no joke– she had known mortals who had wished to die in less than a month. And out of mercy, she had taken them to the other side. 

“I will accept the three years, and considering you were so adamant into being punished in her place, I want you, Lady Death, to curse her.” 

She looked terrified at the idea. Horrified even. “I-I can’t… I don’t want to…”  

“Oh but you will–” Atropos’ lips curved in a sinister grin. “Or shall we ensure she suffers far worse than what we’ve promised?”

Rio swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

She had known it would come to this. She had tried to warn you— both you and Agatha, but deep down, Lady Death couldn’t entirely blame you for ignoring her. Bringing Nicky back wasn’t a crime in your eyes, nor it broke the natural balance of all things. It was an act of love. The love of a mother. 

But the Fates didn’t see it that way.

This wasn’t about your actions, not really. 

No, their wrath wasn’t fueled by what you had done but by who you were and who you challenged without a second thought. You had challenged their authority and proved yourself more powerful than they dared admit, and they hated you for it. Well, Atropos sure did. 

Clotho gave Lady Death an apologetic glance, “behave wisely.” She didn’t speak, yet Rio heard her in her mind. 

“So, do we have a deal?” Lachesis asked, picking at her fingernails. 

Lady Death’s chest tightened as she stood. Those words would have haunted her for the rest of her existence, of that she was sure. “We do.”

-

Present time

“Feels like we just came out of Mount Olympus!” Teen muttered in awe, staring down at his robe-like ensemble: a rich blue tunic adorned with intricate golden embroidery around the neckline hem and sleeves. Underneath the tunic, he wore white, loose-fitting pants, cinched at the waist with a sturdy leather belt that held a small pouch and decorative golden chains. 

“Check me out–” Agatha purred, as she admired her reflection in one of the tall mirrors placed against the ivory walls. 

She wore an elegant chiton, a deep shade of purple that hugged her figure with effortless grace. Its fabric draped like liquid silk, hugging her waist and hips before cascading softly around her thighs. The asymmetrical shape of the chiton left one shoulder bare, which caused your mouth to go dry as soon as your gaze drifted there.

“Oh, I am.” You drew closer, a subtle grin on your face, as your arms draped around her waist, and your head peeped out her bare shoulder. 

You’re hidden behind her body– almost purposefully. You didn’t want to distract her with what you were wearing, not just yet. “If you’re not a celestial being, then I don’t know who is,” you purred, your lips a few millimeters from her ear elicited goosebumps to her skin. 

She watched your face, through the mirror and her cheeks darkened a bit. You’d recognize that look anywhere. She wanted to see you, needed to, so she spun around and as soon as she did, her mouth parted in awe. 

Your dress, though beautiful, had barely crossed your mind until now. But the way she was looking at you made you suddenly aware of every part of it. 

“Woah, I’m– you are…” 

You did a little twirl for her.  

“Not bad, huh?” you teased, a soft chuckle slipping from your lips. 

The top of your outfit fitted as if it had been sewn just for you: it was a white bodice with a V neckline, adorned with a thick belt of black and silver filigree. The balloon skirt, layered with a silvery overlay evoked the jew/elry in your hair and swirled like shadows over the black underskirt that peeked through with each movement you made. 

When her hand found the side of your cheek, you leaned in, eager for more contact, more of her warmth and she obliged, thumb tracing sweet patterns over your skin. 

“How can you be so beautiful?” She breathed out like in a daze. 

You pursed your lips at her compliment, then tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could ask you the same thing-”

She pulled you even closer, taking a firm grip onto your waist. “You know, I think more and more that the Road appeared to test me, and only me.” 

A flicker of amusement flashed through your eyes. “We both know this trail is for me.” 

Her face dimmed at your words. The grip around your waist loosened a bit and you frowned. “Don’t do that,” you lifted her chin ever so gently, when she dropped her gaze onto the floor. “I’m fine. We’re both fine.” 

She tried to smile at your optimism, but her worries for you were eating her from the inside. “And let’s be real,” With your arms around her neck, you tried another tactic and pulled her in for a gentle kiss. “We make quite the hell of a team, don’t we?”

Her smile stretched into something far more genuine, making your heart swell with love at the sight. “The very best–” 

“Oh– There is wine after all,” Jen observed out loud, causing you all to turn towards her. There was a lovely cruet, sat invitingly on a low dining table. “And fresh fruits.” 

“Don’t touch it,” Lilia warned. “Could be poisoned.”

“Wasn’t going to–” she retorted, with an eye roll. “I’m not as desperate as someone else here…”

Your eyes narrowed at that jibe. 

Agatha shot an eyebrow at her and clicked her lips. “Careful there, Kale. Your obsession with me might be misunderstood as a crush.”

The witch made a ick sound, “Sorry to disappoint, but you’re hardly my type.”

“Course, I’m not,” she chuckled, with a wave of her hand. “That’s all the ladies say.” 

The others shared a quiet laugh, whereas Jen spun around and growled, trotting away from Agatha. 

You sighed and tiredly pinched at the bridge of your nose, before your eyes landed on Agatha’s again and you mouthed, “what was that?” 

She shrugged innocently, a playful grin tugged at her lips. 

“There’s something else here!” Alice called out after a minute. On an armchair lingered a piece of scroll, folded gracefully with a thin, red tape. 

You all circled the protection witch in a rush, eager to  figure out whatever was written on the paper she held. As she carefully unfolded it, the tension was palpable. Without realizing it, you leaned closer to Alice, your shoulder brushing against hers. You two shared a nervous glance before she started to read. 

She dared to grasp what none could hold. Each path and twist respond to our will. We wove the threads, but she cut the rope and stitched it back with cursed skill. The lies they spun must now unwind. The debt is due; your fate aligned. 

“What does it mean?” Teen asked, looking at each and everyone of you for clarity.  

“Well, I don’t know the details but you kind of challenged the Maiori, didn’t you?” Alice trailed, her voice soft, not accusing at all. 

It brought a tight smile on your face. At least she was trying to have some tact and tolerance. “I did, yeah. Or they challenged me. Depends how you look at it.”

Agatha’s brows met in a frown, as she surged forward to grab that piece of paper from Alice to take a second look at it. Was it a warning? A threat? What did it mean for you? Were you in danger?

Lilia and Jen shared a look, before the elder one spoke, “the cursed skill would be your power, commonly known as your silver,” she continued, giving a wave of her hand to help her reasoning. 

Your lips flattened. Correct, again. 

“It’s not cursed,” Agatha grumbled, flashing her a smarted glance. “It’s her. As simple as that. Her essence is necromancy and it’s about time witches– you all stopped harrowing her for it.”

“Lilia is just trying to help, Agatha–” Teen commented. 

“Exactly. I was merely paraphrasing,” the divination witch pointed out. 

“Of course,” Agatha mumbled, still looking irritated. 

You sighed, your fingers started to play with the tips of her hair. “It’s okay, really,” you added, calm as ever. “Plus it’s not that she wrote it. It’s just part of a puzzle…”

“I hate puzzles,” to Agatha’s remark, you couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle.  

“If I may interject–” Teen stepped in, snatching the scroll from Agatha’s hands, not without earning a glare from her. “I don’t think this is only your trial. I mean the message addresses a ‘she’ at first, that could be you, but then, it mentions a ‘they’ and a ‘you’ so it probably refers to more than one person,” he looks up at Agatha, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Could it be you?”

She hesitated, “I’m not sure.”

“The lies they spun must now unwind–” Alice repeated the line, trying to make sense of it. 

You averted your gaze, eyes dropping on the floor for a moment. 

Jen’s head lolled to the side, suspicious. “Does it mean that… you lied to someone?”  

You gaped, then stuttered out, “N-no, what? It doesn’t make any sense,” a forced, nervous smile tugged at your lips. But it didn’t last. “It’s not clear… it’s–” you sighed, a tad exasperated. “We need more hints. This isn’t going anywhere.”

Agatha watched you closely, catching and worrying about your sudden discomfort. It was her turn to reach out to you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jen stepped in before you could formulate a response. “Maybe it wants you to tell the truth about what happened during the Salem days?”

“Yeah,” Lilia agreed, with a nod. “Since we were told the wrong version of your story,” she added, although both you and Agatha could grasp the hesitation as she stressed on the word ‘wrong’. 

“Sweet.” The succubi witch let out a short, dark chuckle as she shook her head. “And if we didn’t want to share our story? Then, what?” She dared to ask, in a mocking tone. 

Alice sighed and folded her arms over her chest. “There could be consequences.” The sudden seriousness in her tone made Agatha recoil. 

“What kind of consequences?” Your voice came out barely above a whisper. 

���I don’t know. Maybe your girlfriend should fill us in,” Jen shot back, rather boldly. All eyes turned to Jen, your collective frown deepening. “I mean, she’s been here before, hasn’t she? Or was that just another lie?”

“As I’ve already explained,” Agatha replied, her voice clipped with irritation, her eyes refusing to look at her for obvious reasons, “the road is never the same. It shifts and changes depending on the witches who walk it.”

“Oh, great. So basically, you’re useless,” Jen deadpanned, her tone dripping with exasperation.

“I don’t see how you’re making yourself useful here, Kale,” she hissed back. Hadn’t Agatha been powerless, she would have blasted that witch against the nearest wall, or mirror. Depending on how badly she wanted her hurt. 

“Guys, stop–” you stepped in, the faint beginnings of a headache pulsed at your temples. You pressed your fingertips to them, rubbing in slow circles as you fought to stay calm. “Can we not tear into each other right now? I thought I made it clear– we are supposed to be working together.”

“It’s a hard task with a witch killer giving you eyes,” she mumbled, though everyone could catch the bitterness behind her tone. 

“It’s a pity your vocabulary is as rusty as your magic,” Agatha quipped mockingly. 

Jen growled. 

“Not helping–” you gave her a pointed look. 

She lifted both her hands in surrender, “alright, fine. I’ll be good.” 

You blew a raspberry. She could fool them, but not you. 

“Umm, as you were when you killed your coven?” Jen inquired. 

Agatha stilled, her jaw tightened and this time she said nothing for herself.  The witch in pink had been dancing on thin ice for far too long, pushing and prodding without care. But this—this was the last straw. Resenting Agatha’s behavior in the present was one thing, but dragging up her past and passing judgment without knowing a damn thing about her reasons? It pissed you off. 

So you snapped. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” 

The room froze, Jen flinched, Agatha… well, she appeared pleased for a second, considering you successfully gave poor Jen a fright and were able to shut her mouthy mouth.

"You are, without a doubt, the most infuriating, insufferable witch I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. And yet, somehow, I’m not spending every single second we’re stuck here reminding you just how deeply you irritate me. Nor, might I add, am I blasting you through these walls like you so thoroughly deserve—” Your hands trembled, and before you could stop it, magic surged through your palms, a darkish hue of gray loomed over your outstretched fingertips, desperate to be lashed out, but you managed to contain it… sort of. 

Teen flashed Agatha a worried look, silently prompting her to do something. She groaned and muttered something like ‘spoilsport’ before walking up to you. That’s when she noticed your eyes turn silver. 

“Love, come on now, look at me–” her voice sounded so soft to your ears, your eyes darted towards her, but only for a mere second before turning back to Jen. 

With a sigh, Agatha stepped in front of you taking up all your front vision, and when she did, her hands opted to cup your cheeks instead of holding your hands. It was not because she believed you’d hurt her. Quite the opposite. Why? Because she was a succubus. It was in her nature to steal magic. And yours was very available and very tempting at the moment. 

“Hush, please-” she bored into those beautiful silver orbs of yours and you into her blue ones. You caught her lips curling upwards, then. “You’re sexy when you’re mad, I’ll give you that,” as she predicted, your anger dissipated, and turned into slight amusement at her evident joke. She always knew how to make you laugh, even in a situation like that. 

“Atta girl–” When magic vanished from your palms, she took a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding, and then pulled you in a hug. 

Once you pulled away, you looked at the others, at Teen in particular who had his lips pursed in a grimace. Had you gone too far? Had you scared him? “I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered, embarrassed. 

Teen gave you a shy smile as to tell you that no harm was done. Same did Alice and Lilia. 

Jen remained quiet. 

“You should apologize to both,” Teen told her. 

The potion witch gave him a quizzical look, “w-what?”

“I second that,” Alice quipped, with a nod of her head. 

“I hate to admit it, but you poked the bear,” Lilia continued. “Well, bears.” 

Both you and Agatha shared a look. You chuckled at Lilia’s choice of words, also pleased with the fact that finally someone was taking your side. At last. 

“Fine, ugh– whatever,” the potion witch rolled her eyes and waved her hands in mid air. “I’m sorry, alright? I went too far.”

Agatha hummed, torn. “Say that like you mean it, toots–” 

“Don’t push it-” that’s all she said, before walking away from her, and from you. 

“We will take that,” you conceded calmly. 

You knew you’d have a hard time gaining Jen’s trust, so for now you accepted her not-so-felt apology and moved on. 

Lilia’s eyes landed on something she was sure wasn’t there before, or if it was, had sat still till now, unmoving. It was an hourglass, whose wedged white sand had just started to trickle slowly. She nervously cleared her throat, then. “You know, I’d really hate it if demons, snakes or whatever ambushed us, so… whenever you’re ready…” 

“Shit… alright. Okay!”

You slumped back against one of the couches arranged in a circle around the table laden with wine and fresh fruit. “I will take a glass after all,” you muttered, with a quiet, humourless chuckle. “Maybe two.”

Agatha sat down next to you, at your right, Teen at your left, followed by Alice and Jen. Lilia took a seat across from you instead. 

Your lover gave the wine a skeptical look, as she tumbled out, “I hope this isn’t the cheap stuff,” the glass in her hand filled to the brim on its own. So did yours. 

“As long as it’s not poisonous…” you retorted, taking a long, large sip.

[twijaxx]

Hellooo, this is my first time sending a request to you, but I’ve been craving a sweet and comforting ness x fem reader. I just read the latest chapter and I just want to comfort him and hug him, kissing his tears away. Thank you!!

OMG yess!! my baby Ness deserve it after what he been thru in the latest chapters :(

"Ness you should quit soccer. This is not the place for those who live for someone else. Pigs without autonomy should get lost." Those words said by Kaiser kept replaying in Ness head, he cant believe after what he did for Kaiser he would just abandon him like that! But the more Ness thought about the recent match, more and more tears where dripping down his chin, onto your chest.

"Its gonna be okay Ness, let it all out.." -you said while gently playing with his brown hair.

"i just cant believe this! after all i did for him? he just left me like a toy he didnt want to play with no more!!"- he sobbed, you really felt bad for him, you couldnt imagine what it feels like, beging abandon by a person you trusted with your life? You saw what Ness said to Kaiser afterwards on the TV, "I dont have a reason to play soccer besides making you the world's best Kaiser..." You knew Ness to well, he will try to bring Kaiser back at all cost, he will beg him until the day Kaiser accept's another club offer and finally leave Bastards Munchen.

You cant stand seeing your baby cry, Ness is very emotional person situations like that happens really often, just Ness crying because Kaiser said something cruel to him. You fell bad everytime he comes back from a match or practice with tears in his eyes. Everytime you say "its gonna be okay" but you know this will happen over and over again until Ness finally realises Kaiser will never change. "Look at me Ness, come on dont cry. Maybe you want to watch your favorite movie? Or take a bath together? Oh! maybe we should go get some icecream?"

"Yeah.. Icecream sounds like a good idea.. Just five more minutes i- need to acept the fact that Kaiser will never take me back" "Oh baby.. you know i cant stand seeing you cry" -You say as you kiss him on the lips "I love you" "I love you too mein Schatz.."

I hope you liked that nonnie! its the first request im writing so i hope its not that bad LMAO I LOVE NESS SO MUCH AHHHHHHHHHH ALSO IM SORRY IF THERES SOME GRAMMAR MISTAKES I WAS WRITING THIS ON MY PC INSTEAD OF MY PHONE LIKE I ALWAYS DO

[xyywrites]

How to write believable enemies-to-lovers dynamics.

Enemies-to-lovers is a beloved trope, but it’s also tricky to execute. The transformation from animosity to love needs to feel organic, not forced. 

1. Establish the Initial Conflict

Give your characters a solid, believable reason to dislike each other. It could be ideological differences, personal betrayal, or clashing goals. The conflict must be significant enough to justify their animosity.

“You stole my promotion. Do you have any idea how hard I worked for it?” “You mean the one you weren’t qualified for? Grow up, Lena.”

2. Show the Nuance in Their Dislike

Enemies don’t always have to hate each other completely. Maybe they grudgingly respect one another’s skills or admire each other’s dedication, even if it drives them crazy.

“For someone so insufferable, you sure know how to shoot straight.” “And for someone so arrogant, you’re surprisingly not dead yet.”

“She’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” “And yet you can’t stop watching her, can you?”

3. Create Forced Proximity

Give them a reason to spend time together despite their dislike. Forced proximity allows them to see past their assumptions and grow closer.

“If we don’t get this presentation done by morning, we’re both fired. So, shut up and start typing.” “Only if you stop chewing on that pen. It’s distracting.”

“You’re bleeding.” “Yeah, and whose fault is that?” “Mine, obviously. Now sit down so I can patch you up.”

4. Allow Their Views to Shift Gradually

The transition from enemies to lovers isn’t instant. Let them experience small moments of vulnerability, trust, or understanding that slowly chip away at their hostility.

“You think I wanted this? That I enjoy being the bad guy?” “I didn’t think you cared.” “Well, maybe I do.”

“You fight so hard for your people.” “You do too. I guess we’re not so different after all.”

5. Use Banter to Build Chemistry

Snarky, sharp dialogue is the lifeblood of enemies-to-lovers. Their verbal sparring should reveal their personalities, highlight their tension, and hint at deeper feelings.

“Careful, you almost sounded like you cared about me for a second.” “Don’t flatter yourself. I care about not dying, and you happen to be useful.”

“If you were half as smart as you think you are—” “I’d still be twice as smart as you.”

6. Show the Cost of Falling for Each Other

Enemies-to-lovers works best when there are stakes. Their relationship should challenge their beliefs, goals, or loyalties, forcing them to make difficult choices.

“If I help you, I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.” “Then why are you still standing here?”

7. Add a “Breaking Point”

There should be a moment where their growing feelings clash with their existing animosity, leading to explosive tension.

“You lied to me!” “What did you expect? You’re the enemy!” “Not anymore. Or at least, I thought I wasn’t.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” “Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you, okay? Happy now?”

8. Use Physicality Subtly

Small gestures can reveal their shifting feelings—hesitant touches, lingering glances, or protective instincts.

“Watch out!” He shoved her out of the way, taking the brunt of the explosion. “You idiot. You could’ve been killed.” “Yeah, but you’re okay.”

She caught him staring at her, his usual scowl softened. He looked away quickly, muttering something under his breath.

9. Build Toward a Satisfying Payoff

Enemies-to-lovers works because of the build-up. Don’t rush the resolution. Let their relationship evolve naturally before culminating in a moment that feels earned.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore.” “Neither do I.” “Then come here.”

10. Maintain Their Individuality

Their love shouldn’t erase who they are. They’re still the same people who clashed in the beginning, but now they’ve grown to understand each other.

“I’m still not letting you win.” “Good. I’d be worried if you did.”

“You’re still annoying.” “And you’re still impossible. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

[ghostsforghosts]

The Start of a Courtship

(NOTE: This is the second part of a COD Regency AU, the first part is here.) This took longer than I had expected, oof. But it is finally written, so I can't complain. Anyways, like last time, Reader is male. Summary: It's time for the first ball of the season and this time, Susannah has a suitor to impress. Meanwhile, Lord Riley is getting closer to you, wanting your presence beside him. Word Count: 1,897

You resisted the urge to fiddle with your gloves, waiting in the main foyer for Susannah.

She was taking longer than you expected to get ready, but perhaps that was to be expected. She had accepted the deal Lord Riley had made and thus for this deal to work, she had to pretend to impress him so well that he'd want to start courting her. This was not only because she had to fool the ton, but she also had to fool your mother.

"One might think you're the one who had to impress suitors," Mama said, her voice biting as she stared at you being fidgety. She slapped your hands down until they stopped fiddling with your gloves, her hands not being kind to you in her actions. "Stop it. You're the man of the house, the Baron. You can't go acting like you're a child who has no clue what you're doing."

You nodded in agreement, deciding to tightly clasp your hands behind your back so you no longer fiddle with the gloves. The seconds seemed to tick slowly, your impatience growing as you all waited for Susannah.

Susannah finally came down the stairs, wearing this gorgeous red-lilac gown adorned with gold beads, her gloves matching the gown. Around her neck was a gold necklace that surely must've cost more than anything you were wearing, Susannah having chosen something that was an eye-catcher to draw Lord Riley in.

You had been conversing with the lord for the past week via letters and learned red and lilac were his favorite colors, so you had been sure to tell Susannah so she could buy a dress Lord Riley would love. You had to sell this ruse, for it to work, which meant she had to make his breath hitch.

A small red rose was clipped to the breast of your tailcoat, as you had been unable to resist adding one of Lord Riley's colors to your outfit.

Mama looked at Susannah with pride, her smile genuine when it came to her daughters. "Look at you, a gem in the making. All the lords will be fawning over you," she said, helping Susannah down the last few steps.

"Lord {Last Name}, the carriage is ready for you," the footman of the carriage said, having come inside to tell you.

"Shall we?" You asked your family, gesturing for them to lead. You stepped aside so your mother could lead Susannah outside.

You were the last one out of the house, the footmen closing the doors behind you. Walking to the carriage, you tried to steel your nerves, hoping this ruse worked.

The journey to the ball was silent, with no one wanting to talk and break it by saying something potentially awkward. Even your mother ignored Susannah's fidgeting so she didn't have to be the first one to speak.

All too soon, the carriage stopped at the manor hosting the ball and you got out with your family following.

Since you were the man of the house, you looped your arm with Susannah's, leading her up the steps and inside the manor. You followed the procession of guests who had come just a few moments before your family did, following them to the ballroom.

Susannah had done so well dressing up nicely that when you two entered, all eyes were on her. She didn't buckle under all the attention, keeping her head high like she wasn't internally screaming with nerves.

It helped that you led her around like you had so much experience showing off your debutante sister. You made your way to the king and the queen were lounging around, waiting in line with Susannah to greet the pair of royals.

The line went quickly and when you two finished greeting the royals, you let her mingle. You didn't go far, knowing that suitors would soon flock to her and you didn't want her to become overwhelmed.

You watched on, watching her talk to her friends while sometimes engaging in conversations with suitors. You saw that your mother was pleased, her eyes twinkling as she watched Susannah as well.

The man you were waiting for arrived, Lord Riley's cane clacking against the ballroom floor being heard before you saw him. All eyes turned onto him, seeing him walk inside the ballroom with his head held high.

He was wearing your favorite color and he looked so handsome in it, your breath catching in your throat as he walked towards the king and queen with a determined stride. With him needing to greet the royals first, it gave you time to walk over to Susannah and wait for him to come to her when he was done.

Your heart was fluttering and you had to remind yourself that Lord Riley was here for your sister, not you. Or well, he was pretending to be here for your sister.

Lord Riley finished greeting the royals and immediately turned towards where you and Susannah were just milling about, waiting for him. His strides remained confident as he walked over, giving a subtle glance over at you and Susannah.

You were pleased when he seemed to have a sparkle in his eye when he caught the red rose attached to the breast of your tailcoat. He seemed to like it very much, exactly as you had wanted him to.

"Lord {Last Name}, Miss {Last Name}, good evening to you both." Lord Riley greeted you two, bowing to you both as he did so.

"My Lord," you and Susannah both replied, bowing as well.

Lord Riley's brown eyes lingered on you briefly before turning to Susannah. "M'lady, you are looking marvelous tonight," he murmured, sounding sincere as he took her gloved hand and placed a kiss on it.

You had the strangest need for him to kiss your hand like he had hers. You wanted his attention, despite how improper it would be to have it during the ball.

Susannah grew flustered at the compliment and hastily searched for a compliment to give to the lord, complimenting his cane. The conversation was a little awkward, but she was handling it wonderfully.

You kept standing by your sister's side until Lord Riley asked her for a dance. You secretly wished you could dance with him, but you settled for watching him dance with Susannah.

Even with his limp, Lord Riley was dancing gracefully, leading Susannah well through the dance as the music played. Each step was a brushstroke to a larger masterpiece, one that played out through your eyes in real-time.

They were standing at a respectable distance as they danced, but each dance was always intimate in its own way. The eye contact that was held, the gentle grips of each other's hands, and their respective touches on each other's bodies (hers on his shoulders and his on her waist). You knew from experience of dancing with other ladies that he could see the subtle flecks in her iris, he could see her makeup up close and personal.

God, you wished you could see the flecks of color in his eyes, hold his hand and shoulder. He was a masterpiece, but one that was out of reach to see.

The dance, finally, ended and they pulled away.

Susannah got pulled into another dance with another lord, but as if they had thought of how to pull this ruse off together, none of her other dances had the same chemistry as hers and Lord Riley's did. Everyone who wasn't dancing was quickly murmuring about how well Susannah and Lord Riley clicked, how it was like sparks had ignited as soon they had met.

You were too busy watching your mother brag to her friends about her daughter managing to catch the eye of an earl to notice Lord Riley sliding up to you and taking in the image of you.

"Are you wishing that I had danced with you?" he asked, his voice a low murmur which quickly made you aware of his presence beside you. He stared at you beneath hooded eyes, his gaze steady as you turned to face him.

"Is it wrong of me to indeed wish we had danced together?" you asked in return, your hands feeling sweaty beneath your gloves as you stared into his eyes.

It felt wrong to even admit that you had wished to dance with him, but at this moment, you felt so safe with him. You felt like you could say anything and he wouldn't judge you.

Lord Riley's face brightened as his lips pulled into a smile, making his scarred face look more handsome. "I too wish we could've danced," he admitted freely once he made sure no one else was nearby. His lips parted as he continued to stare at you. "Forgive me for being so bold, but you draw me in like no other. It was very hard to keep my eyes on your sister while dancing when all they wanted was to look upon you."

Your heart skipped a beat and you had to hide a smile, knowing that you'd be beaming too much that others would become curious. You couldn't believe your ears, but perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised.

You hadn't just taken up the offer of Lord Riley being Susannah's suitor, but also the offer of you two being... friends. You had bonded over your mutual attraction to men and he had often written about his desires for you in the letters you two exchanged.

You weren't in the place to express your desires for him yet, but you had let him know that his doing so wasn't unwelcoming for you.

You wetted your dry lips with your tongue, trying to wet your dry mouth. "I draw you in?" you asked, unable to help yourself from wanting to know more.

"I long to be beside you exactly as I am now, the two of us so close," Lord Riley answered, his free hand that wasn't holding his cane twitching with the need to touch you. He groaned softly, forcing himself to place his hand behind his back. "If we were in my manor, I wouldn't hesitate to draw you closer to me. To give you the dance we both wish to have."

"Perhaps one day," you said too quickly for your liking. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a warmth filling your body as you thought about the two of you dancing with no eyes upon you two. "Perhaps I could come over one day and we can have that dance."

"I'd love that."

The rest of the ball wasn't as exciting as the beginning of it was and you could tell your family were slowly starting to get tired, especially Susannah who had been dancing with lords left and right for most of the night. You had stayed next to Lord Riley for most of it and so you bid him goodnight, giving him one last look before going to gather your siblings and mother.

As all of you got into your carriage and left the ball, you couldn't help but think about the next time you could meet Lord Riley. You hoped it be somewhere more private, so you two could touch each other freely.

You could only hope this arrangement wasn't found out. It'd be a shame to never see Lord Riley again.

Flower banner made by @/dollywons and reblog & mdni dividers made by @/cafekitsune

Requests are open!

[ofdarknesseyes]

Toji shoved his hands into his pockets as he trailed behind Megumi, his gaze casual, yet his mind carefully cataloging every detail. The sight of his son—grown, healthy, and strong despite everything—was something he never thought he'd witness. Megumi wasn’t quite as tall as him yet, but for his age, he was probably a little above average. Lean but toned, with a strength he witnessed during their fight. The messy spikes of his hair brought back memories of his late wife, and Toji felt an unfamiliar softness tug at the corners of his lips. A small, fleeting smile.

He was really doing this, wasn’t he? Actually trying to do something good for once.

No matter what he did now, it wouldn’t erase the years he wasn’t there when Megumi needed him most. Toji knew that, yet this time, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Even if he’d wanted to—God knows he tried—the pull was too strong. He thought about telling Megumi the truth, that it wasn’t out of some noble desire to be a better father. No, it was selfish. He just wanted to be near his son again. But how could Megumi even give him this chance? How could someone as kind-hearted as Megumi find it in himself to care for someone like him?

And yet, Toji saw it. The quiet love and unspoken yearning in Megumi’s eyes. It took all of his willpower not to break. Not to pull his son into his arms and promise, foolishly, that everything would be okay. Feelings like that were foreign to him, alien and uncomfortable, but he couldn’t shake them. Even so, he knew better than to give in. Those promises would do no good—not for him, not for Megumi.

So, he kept his distance, walking a few steps behind, pretending it didn’t weigh on him. At least, not for now.

When Megumi apologized for a blunt remark, Toji let out a snort, amused. There it was—bitterness, laced with a hint of anger. It was normal. Expected, even. Honestly, Toji would’ve been more concerned if Megumi didn’t feel any resentment toward him.

“You survived this long because I wasn’t in the picture,” he muttered, reaching out to poke Megumi lightly on the head.

The topic shifted when Megumi asked about Gojo. Toji hesitated, his answer slow and measured. He was unsure of how much he wanted to give away by saying too much but lying outright wasn’t his style either. Something vague would suffice for now. He’d cross the bridge of full disclosure when Megumi demanded it.

“I only knew him in passing mostly. Later on… I kicked his ass once, and then he kicked mine.”

Toji shrugged, smirking faintly, the ghost of mischief flickering in his expression. He was about to toss out a snarky follow-up when he felt it—a sudden, unmistakable surge of cursed energy. Instinct took over. He stepped closer to Megumi, positioning himself protectively in front of his son without a second thought.

“You can access weapons with your Ten Shadows right?” he asked, his tone sharp but calm. “I know I broke the last one I took from you, but think you can lend me something?”

The Sorcerer Killer didn’t need weapons to kill, not really, but they made things easier. And if it came to a fight, he was damn serious about protecting Megumi. His gut churned with unease, a bad feeling he couldn’t shake. The King of Curses was out there, and Toji knew in his bones that the bastard would come for his son. Not on his watch. If it came down to it, Toji would ensure Megumi survived, no matter the cost. Even if he didn’t make it out of this one, that wouldn’t matter. What mattered was Megumi…

There was love in Toji's eyes. Megumi might have been a fool for seeing it or believing that was what he was actually seeing,but he knew that look. Afte rall, it was the same look Megumi was giving to his father. Two pairs of green eyes filled with so much that was unsaid and that could not be said. Did his father love him? Toji said a lot of things last night, promised a lot of things, and held him but he never outright said he loved his son. Megumi told himself he didn't need to hear it.

His father was stepping up and with THAT look his his eyes. It made Megumi's heart feel so painfully full and empty at the same time. Megumi did want MORE to make up for lost time and also because he doubted one or both of them would make it out of the fight with The King of Curses. Resigned to his fate Megumi's eyes began to fill with more than just love. There was pain and longing there too. He wanted to press himself against his father and feel him again.

Feel how a child felt being LOVED. Megumi shook his head. What Toji was saying only confused him more. Why did he call Satoru a brat like he knew him? And what was with Toji claiming he was supposed to be dead? He eyed his dad with so many emotions but decided to leave the hotel room with his father in tow. it was weird marching into battle. There was so much riding on their involvement but the world around them was oblivious. The world felt more surreal than usual. Curses were attacking Tokyo but the world as a whole was still ignorant. His green eyes looked at his father through his peripheral view as they made their way to the elevator and descended to the main floor.

“ Won't you tell me.. how you know Gojo and ... if you really want to do this. You know I don't need protecting. I survived this far without you. ” That sounded harsh. He sighed. “ Sorry. ”

Outside the hotel lobby, the streets were emptier than usual. People were either smart enough to be warded off by mysterious deaths. When he felt a spike in cursed energy, Megumi instinctively moved close to his father until their bodies were touching.

[peaceinpanem]

drarry - fake dating - muggle au

“Repeat what I just said back to me,” Draco instructed.

"Narcissa is your mother. I need to be polite, but not overly so because she can detect insincerity. Lucius is your father and is to be ignored at all costs. Ted is your uncle and a sworn enemy of your father, so they won't interact much, meaning he'll probably sit next to me at the table. Andromeda, the cool aunt, is sharp and may catch on to our act. Dora, the cousin, is laid-back and won't mention anything if they notice something is off. And then, of course, there's the forbidden aunt, Bellatrix. No mentions whatsoever. By the way, why bring up someone we're not allowed to talk about? I wouldn't have mentioned someone I didn't even know existed," Harry recited, kicking his feet up onto the immaculately clean dashboard of Draco’s obscenely expensive car.

Draco swatted at Harry's legs, admonishing, "That's dangerous, Potter. Ever heard of airbags?" as he navigated the sleek car through the winding, frosty country roads.

Rolling his eyes, Harry had a quip ready, but Draco continued his lecture before he could respond, "I told you about Bellatrix because forewarned is forearmed, Potter. It's better you know exactly what not to say instead of asking some insipid question like 'Do you have any other siblings?'" Draco explained, glancing briefly at Harry before returning to the road.

Harry leaned back in his seat, a smirk playing on his lips. "Harry."

Draco shot him a sidelong glance. "What?"

"Harry. You need to call me Harry, not Potter. I am your boyfriend, after all."

“Must I?”

Harry chuckled, “Well if you want this charade to be even the slightest bit convincing, you’ll have to make an effort. Wouldn’t want your family thinking we’re not madly in love, now would we?”

“Madly in love? Let’s not get carried away. Tolerably in a relationship is already pushing it,” Draco’s glare was piercing.

Harry grinned at the sharpness in Draco's words, the rigid posture he maintained, hands perfectly placed at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Pretending to be in love with the arrogant bloke would be a breeze, Harry thought; his real challenge was acting like he wasn't most days.

"So, does that mean open-mouthed kissing is off the table in front of your parents?" Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Draco muttered, taking a sharp left turn.

Harry instinctively grabbed the handle, suppressing a grin. "Agreed? Malfoy, you practically begged me in the locker rooms to do this."

"Begged? I did no such thing. It was merely a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Mutually beneficial? So, what's the benefit for me, exactly?"

Draco scoffed. "The pleasure of my exquisite company, obviously."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

Draco ignored his insult, opting instead to reach for the dial to turn the music up a bit louder. 'It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas' filled the car with a sweet, smooth voice and tinkling bells. Harry turned to rest his head against the cool glass of the car window, taking a moment to enjoy the views.

The road was narrow, and every visible surface was coated in fresh white snow. Tree branches bent under the weight, and small bits of flurry fell from the sky. In the distance, cottages with windows aglow and smoke puffing from their chimneys added to the picturesque scene.

It was a pleasant surprise, spending time with Malfoy like this. Three years into playing on their university football team together, this was the first time they had spent any time alone, just the two of them, not surrounded by their teammates, coaches, and friends.

“How did your parents take it when you told them?” Harry asked.

“Told them what?”

“That you’re gay.” Harry chuckled, “I always wonder how my parents would have reacted, you know? Like if they were still here.”

“Potter, are you dense? This is me telling them.”

[holyhadesimweird]

as you wish

pairing : knight!ichigo kurosaki x princess!reader

summary : ichigo has no choice but to take you away. after all, it is his duty to protect you, no matter the cost. and now, ichigo has to make sure the love of his life is not found.

word count : 1.2k

warnings : swearing, abusive family, me not knowing how to cook in medieval times

note : this isn't gonna be completely accurate to medieval times, but just go with the flow okay?

༶┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈୨♡୧┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈⋇⊶⊰✿⊱⊷⋇┈༶

saying a goodbye to renji, ichigo continued leaning against the doorframe to watch you. you had taken a blanket and a book, and set up a little area for you to read while he talked with renji inside.

this was no ordinary situation you found yourselves in. you were a princess, and he was your knight. however, those titles were a thing of the past.

about half a year ago, you'd had to escape from your life as royalty. your father was not a good man. he was abusive and was going to force you to marry an old duke in the name of 'forming an alliance'. when your father announced his intentions of marrying you off, you had immediately begged him to reconsider. he would hear none of it and afterwards, you bore a black eye in consequence.

before that instance, you thought you had been doing an excellent job at keeping your father's violence towards you a secret from ichigo. but, he was your knight and of course had known for a long time, however, both your lives were threatened by your father in order to keep him in line and to keep him silent.

when ichigo had realized there was no changing your father's mind and that this would only be the continuation of an awful life for you, he planned for you both to run away.

the night ichigo snuck you out of the castle was also the same night he confessed his feelings for you. he hated the thought of what your father was trying to force you into and couldn't bear the thought of you married to someone else. but he knew that no matter your feelings towards him, he would help you escape if that's what you wanted.

to his surprise, when he was done confessing, you'd practically thrown yourself into his arms and kissed him with all your might.

that same night with the help of some of your handmaidens, you and ichigo ran away. it took a week of almost non-stop travel for you to reach the village that ichigo was born and raised in.

karakura village was the perfect place to hide you in. ichigo had his friends and family here. no one here liked your father as ruler and would most rather spit in his face, and any of his officials, than talk to anyone about you, even if they knew your real identity.

the first month was hard on you. it wasn't easy running away from your home and to change lifestyles. but, you adjusted well and ichigo could tell you were happier here than in the castle.

"you're staring." ichigo heard you say. snapping out of his thoughts, he focused on you again. you had stood up, blanket and book in arm, and were now making your way towards him.

“how could i not when i have the most beautiful woman in front of me?” he questioned, a smile forming on his lips.

“how was renji?” you asked, now in front of him.

“he’s good, him and rukia are doing well as well. he wanted to tell me that rumour has it, we’ve died.” he informed you.

“my father thinks we’re dead?” you looked at him with something in your eyes, hope maybe?

“it would seem so. but it wouldn’t hurt to keep being on the lookout for anything that could put you in danger.” he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "i've asked if some of the men could keep an eye on the newcomers for anything suspicious."

“us in danger ichigo.” you said, a serious look on your face. "you know i don't like it when you try to exclude yourself from my future. you're not going to die protecting me, i won't allow it."

"well, my princess, as you wish. now, what do you say? should we go inside and make dinner? i know you're hungry."

"shut up you idiot. you're the one who's hungry."

“…why would you ever think that?”

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“you really think this is a good idea?” renji asked ichigo. the two had returned to your cabin, where the rest of the now large group were spending time together while they were gone.

"i'm scared renji." ichigo confessed, taking a deep breath. "i was her knight, the one entrusted to protect the princess and i stole her away. her father was a piece of shit and i took her away. i'm scared that one day, when we've finally stopped worrying about him, that he's going to come and take her away from me."

"they announced the princess' death was a result of consumption. i don't think they suspect anything and would come for you." renji told his friend, who was looking at a dagger in his hands.

"i know. but i can't help but fear that this beautiful life we've started for ourselves is going to disappear one day." ichigo continued. "it's why i'm going to teach her to defend herself. it'll bring me peace of mind and help her become more confident in going out into town."

"it is an honourable thing to do, you know. to keep protecting and defending her. to give her the opportunity to do most things women in other regions can't do."

"thank you renji. now let's go see what the women have been up to without us." ichigo said, opening the door to your cabin.

the cabin was filled with laughter as renji and ichigo walked in. the house smelled of freshly baked bread and delicious meats that you were currently taking out of oven.

"ichigo! renji!" orihime exclaimed. "you're just in time. we just finished making dinner."

"did you find what you wanted?" uryu asked ichigo, knowing why the two went into town today.

"he did. now, what did we miss while we were gone?" renji asked, taking away the attention from the errand.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"you had this made for me?" you asked, looking at the dagger ichigo held in his hands.

after everyone had left for the night, you two made your way to your shared bedroom in order to prepare for bed. you'd just sat down on the bed when ichigo had told you he wanted to talk to you.

"i did." he confirmed. he was currently kneeling in front of you as you sat on the bed. "i know your father thinks we're dead and is covering it up so we most likely don't have to worry about him anymore... but to be honest with you, i'm scared. i'm scared that one day i won't be able to protect you and i need to know that you can protect yourself."

"oh ichigo..." you said softly, placing the blade down on the nightstand and taking his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. "nothing will happen to me. but i will learn how to wield this dagger for you."

"thank you my dear." ichigo said, opening his eyes to look at you again.

"now, if you don't get in this bed and cuddle me, i will throw a royal sized tantrum ichigo!" you exclaimed, making the man laugh loudly before tackling you into the bed.

[equippedtolove]

so, 2025 doesn't seem like the year for our environment. but what can you, as an individual, and we, as a group, do in the face of denial?

please like, reblog, and share.

as donald trump takes office in 2025, he brings with him his ignorance of climate change. the government in the usa will now do nothing to reduce their carbon emissions, and whether you're republican or democratic or not even american, this event will affect you and the generations to come.

so... how can we make a difference?

as individuals, this seems like too big a problem to tackle. but we, the people, can make the biggest change. women's voting and gay rights did not start when governments started listening to what people were saying. they started when people took to the streets in protest, demanding better policies, better laws, better futures. if we work together, we can make a difference.

some steps you can take to reduce your carbon emissions:

eat locally grown/produced food. this encourages sustainable practises of farming, reduces the need for fuel-based transportation, and generates less pollution.

eat less meat, particularly lamb and beef. livestock generally produces a large amount of methane, which is a particularly harmful greenhouse gas. in especially more intensive farms, crops and trees are often cut down to make way for the large amounts of land that we need to raise animals.

take public transport, or even walk to places. this reduces your carbon emissions by miles, and often is a reason for you to improve your physical health. this is also much more economically sustainable for you, with fuel prices rising as companies make record profits drilling into our home.

these individual solutions are not only doable, but also cost effective. this is very much your world, and we, the future generation, can do all we can to reduce the harmful legacy we're inheriting.

if you and a group of people, families or friends or whole communities, are passionate about what is happening to our earth, here's some things that require a group effort:

try to get your family talking about other, renewable sources of energy for your home, or better insulation. conserving energy and generating it from endless sources are a fantastic way to reduce your carbon footprint and take action against climate change. and once you do it, convince others to do the same.

volunteer at cleanups. live in a littered area? see rubbish at the beach? organise something with family or friends to help clean it up! working as a group will increase morale and ultimately get the job done, and the next time you look at that place, you'll feel a sense of satisfaction as a reward. you may even make it a open event, and meet new people who have the same beliefs as you along the way.

recycle, reuse, and give. this seems obvious, but over-consumption is almost trendy today, as fast fashion takes the stage to triumph more sustainable ways of clothing. swap clothes with your friends, donate old clothes to charity, even buy secondhand, but all of these things are pre-loved and extremely helpful for the environment. additionally, using things until they can't be used anymore is an underrated yet effective (and cost effective!) way of doing nothing while doing a lot.

it's not too late, not for america, and not for the rest of the world. there are people all over the globe showing others how to be kinder to our earth, and when the people in charge won't, we will. it's time to make 2025 the year of change. it's time to start fighting for our futures and uniting under a common cause. what affects the poor today will affect the rich tomorrow, and you will feel the impact of rising sea levels and deforestation and global warming in no time. this is no 'old arguement'. this is an international emergency. we will not be dismissed; we will not do nothing.

in the words of greta thunberg, change is coming, whether you like it or not.