#you learn you aren’t truly forsaken

[dragons1re]

What if I were an angel and you were a demon and we loved eachother so much it changed everything??

[tojicide]

FRENCH BOYS! ☆ RAFAYEL QI.

summary. when your paintings were featured in the same gallery walk as rafayel’s, he can’t help but commission you with an oddly cheeky request — ❛ paint me like one of your french boys. ❜

warnings. fem!reader. nsfw, mdni, artist!reader, body appreciation, reader paints rafayel in the nude, terms of endearment, oral sex (male receiving), tit sucking, p in v, cowgirl, unprotected but he pulls out, mentions of a ‘next time’

wc. 3.6k

note. i’m a raf girlie and this is me paying my dues to every single rafayel fan out there. i hope you give this a chance even if you aren’t a raf fan bc i’m honestly rly proud of this! see you at the bottom < 3 < 3 < 3

click here for portrait inspo! it’s ai which is very unfortunate but i couldn’t find any good inspo pics :(

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❛ Paint me like one of your French boys. ❜

You feel like you’ve read the line enough to have it engraved into your skull by now. You were still having trouble assessing whether or not the words were actually printed on the page or if you’d somehow misread them a million times over.

After all, who in their right mind would add that at the end of a memo for an art commission? Rafayel Qi, you learned. That’s exactly who.

Rafayel has heard of you in passing, of your astounding professionalism and the unique ways in which you depict your subjects. He didn’t know you personally though. In fact, he’s only ever seen you at the art exhibitions that your promoters put on for you.

And even then, you never truly gave him the time of day. Why should you? In the grand scheme of things, he’s a stranger.

Rafayel has never been the biggest fan of the unknown, which was why it surprised him that he was such a big fan of yours.

Call him crazy, but he wanted to get to know you. He’d even reached out to your studio a few times on the basis of collaborating on an art piece together, but when he was met with the generic excuse of your busy schedule preventing you from meeting with him, he was left to resort to the extreme.

He was quite familiar with the art style that you possess. He thought that your knack for figure painting made you interesting, made you admirable. Paying homage to the Renaissance period was a lost art in and of itself, and you managed to do so with nearly every single piece you created.

Now, here’s why he would absolutely understand if you called him crazy…

He would even understand if you called him self-concerned, if you called him vain—if you called him anything your heart desires, because all adjectives of the like are spectacular words to describe him… especially after he sent you that forsaken commission.

A commission that piqued your interest enough for you to accept, but a forsaken commission nonetheless. He knew that it made him look like an arrogant fool, because all things considered, who commissions a nude portrait of themself?

He tried not to dwell on it, because that was exactly how he ended up here, in your presence. Sure, he was posing nude in front of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, but at least you were here…

“Soooo… how’s it going?” he asks, desperately trying to fill the silence between you two that only the sound of your paintbrush scraping against the canvas interrupted.

You peek your head out from behind the canvas, catching another glimpse of him sitting on the grand throne that he had custom made just for this moment.

(He was paying good money for this, alright? If he was going to have a painting of his naked body lying around, he wanted it to depict him in his godliest form.)

“Pretty good,” you shortly answer, sweeping your tongue over your bottom lip as you paint the shadow of a particularly sharp line on his abdomen. Seriously, he was absolutely jacked. At least you had that to keep you from growing bored.

Rafayel smiles as you keep your answers to his questions brief. That’s about the third ‘pretty good’ he’s gotten out of you in the last hour, and don’t even get him started on the sheer number of ‘alright’s you’ve given him.

So, he presses on.

“Not much of a talker, are ya?” he asks, absentmindedly tilting his head to the side as he speaks, only for you to quickly lean around the canvas to look at him. “Uh oh. Am I in trouble?” he asks with just about the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen.

You sigh. “Yes. You should really stop talking.”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you, his smirk still tugging on his lips. “Should I? Here I was, thinking that you were enjoying this dazzling conversation of ours.”

That earns an eye roll from you, which is about the most expression he’s gotten out of you thus far. “You’re too expressive when you speak, Rafayel. You’re a horrible subject.”

He huffs at that, knitting his eyebrows together. “Am not. You mean to tell me that this body of mine makes for a horrible subject? Tsk tsk.”

“That body of yours?” you echo with a small breath of laughter. “Please. Am I supposed to be fawning?”

Rafayel gives you a sulky expression. “Puh-lease,” he mimics you, “I have abs, okay? I’m not saying you have to do anything with that information, but if you were to fawn, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You think quite highly of yourself,” you say, tucking behind the canvas as you stroke the paintbrush over the area that you were currently working on.

He rolls his eyes at that. “Jeez, woman. Sue a guy for being confident.”

When he’s met with your silence and the sound of your paintbrush splashing in a nearby cup of misty water, he sighs. “I’m just joking with you. I’ll—”

“Even when I give you the silent treatment,” you lean out from behind the canvas to look at him, “you still won’t stop your yapping.”

Rafayel furrows his brows, cocking his head to the side as he gives you a deadpan expression. “Lady, please. I was about to tell you that I was going to shut up from now on, but come to think of it, I don’t wanna.”

You found it ironic that your own inability to shut up is what led you to this position. You bite your tongue, shifting to sit behind the canvas again, but his voice is what reminds you that he’s still there.

“Anywho,” he continues. “You’re a hard woman to track down. What made you accept my commission?”

“Good pay,” you deadpan, though a smile curves on your lips. “And the final line of the memo you sent me.”

Rafayel is doing his best to keep his stoic demeanor, but once he finds out that his risky behavior has paid off, he’s internally celebrating. Very much so.

“Tell me,” you continue, peeking at him. “Are you even French?”

He shakes his head, the soft strands of blue hair that hang just above his eyes moving just the same. “No,” he admits. “But my tiny fib got you here, didn’t it?”

You press your lips into a line as his movement ruins the stillness of his pose, but you try not to scold him for it. “Sure it did,” you answer. “Some nerve you have.”

“The nerve,” he echoes through a soft chuckle.

However, the nerves that he’s truly concerned about right now are the ones in his cock that are very quickly waking up. He does his best to not shift around in his seat, but once you disappear behind the canvas again, he does just that.

He really hadn’t thought this through. How embarrassing. Not only is he erect, but he’s erect from purely talking to you. What a mess he is.

The bright side is that there’s a thin layer of silk fabric draped over the lower half of his body, but with the rapid swelling of his erection, he’s realizing that it’ll do very little to help him out.

“Uh…” he clears his throat. His ears are as red as a fire truck, he’s sure of it. “Can we take a quick break?”

You don’t look at him from behind the canvas as you answer. “I’d prefer it if you gave me a bit longer. I’m almost done with this section, I don’t want to disturb the pose just yet.”

He curses himself for hiring such a professional. “Alright,” he murmurs.

You continue working for a few seconds before you speak up this time. “What made you seek me out, Raf? I mean, you’re a pretty good painter yourself.”

Raf. He didn’t think that he’d done enough to earn that level of familiarity to get you to give him a nickname, but he’ll gladly take what he can get.

“I dunno,” he lies. “I guess I just wanted to be the muse for once,” he adds. That time, however, he was being truthful.

He’s always wanted to be the subject, the one in front of the easel, the one who is paid attention to. Call him an attention whore if you must, because he’ll gladly claim that title.

Especially if it’s attention coming from you. He’ll pull out all of the stops to get it, just like he has today.

“That’s almost poetic,” you joke.

“Almost?” he repeats. “Alright, you’ve really hurt my feelings now.”

You shortly hum. “If that’ll get you to stop talking and sit still then I’m glad.”

He huffs quietly, sitting still and silent for a grand total of two minutes. He tried to keep it up, but the silence was gnawing at him.

“What are you currently working on?” he eventually asks.

To answer his question, you’d have to blatantly say that you’re painting his crotch… so instead, you stand up to turn the easel around entirely.

Rafayel takes a moment to gaze at the canvas, his eyes blown wide in wonder. You really were talented, and you’ve managed to make him look absolutely unreal in a way that he believes only you can.

His eyes settle on the section you painted last, judging by how most of the wet paint conjugated in that area. He swallows the growing lump in his throat, studying the way you even painted the faint outline of his length beneath the silk cloth.

“You’re finished with it?” he asks, raising his eyes to meet yours. “That part, I mean.”

You nod, turning the easel around to face you again. “Yeah,” you answer.

Rafayel clears his throat as he glances down at his crotch, which was sporting a full erection beneath the silky fabric. That had changed since you began to paint him, which wasn’t exactly your fault, but he curses his horny brain for what he says next.

“You got it a little wrong,” he tells you.

Your eyebrows raise as you drop your gaze down to the part of the canvas he’s currently correcting. “What? No, I…” you say as you peek at him from behind the canvas.

He shifts a bit under your gaze, watching quite intensely as you eye compare your painting to how he looks right now.

“Hm. I guess I did get it a little wrong, yeah,” you murmur, more so to yourself than to him.

Rafayel nearly smiles at your tone of indifference. “I hear that visual learning is the most efficient,” he suggests, cocking a brow at you. “Gets you well acquainted with the… material.”

“And by visual learning do you mean physical learning?” you counter.

…So yeah, physical learning definitely sounded more appealing to the both of you, which is exactly how you wound up kneeling in front of him with his cock in your mouth.

Your tongue flattens on the underside of his shaft as you sink lower, prompting him to collect a bit of your hair in one of his hands. “Gods, woman, are you trying to kill me?” he huffs, a sly grin on his face as he keeps his eyes closed.

Unsurprisingly, he can’t bear the thought of seeing your beautiful face be made of a mess of. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way, that he’s the reason you’re in this position, but he still does.

His large hand on the back of your head guides your movements as you suck him off, his head tilted back as you use your tongue on him. His stomach muscles are taut, and you’re finding yourself fawning over him after all, because his abs truly are that magnificent.

“Holy shiiiiit,” he pants, finally cracking his eyes open to look down at you. He really shouldn’t have done that, because now he feels like he’s about to cum in your mouth. “Fuck, ‘m sorry, pretty,” he stammers, closing his eyes again. “Can’t… can’t help it. Feels too good.”

You don’t think he has anything to be sorry about, and if anything, you should be assuring him of the opposite. It was one thing to stare at him from afar, but it was another to look at him from this angle—with his eyes screwed shut while his forehead glistens with sweat especially.

He almost feels embarrassed for how loud he’s moaning, his thick thigh tensing as you rest your hand on it to brace yourself. You’re making him feel like a virgin with the way you take him in, the sensation of your tongue making him feel fuzzy.

“Just like—shit—just like that, cutie, yeah,” he babbles, hardly sure of what he’s saying anymore. All he knows is that if he opens his eyes and sees your gorgeous mouth stuffed with his cock, he’s going to cum.

You pat his hand on the back of your head as a means of getting him to guide your movements to his liking, noticing the way he so clearly hesitates with you. You can’t blame him. He doesn’t know you well enough to know that you actually like this sort of thing.

But with the way your mouth feels around his cock, he’s in absolutely no rush to deny you or himself this wish. He pushes your head a bit faster now, listening to the lewd sounds of your spit sloshing around with every thrust he gives you.

“Too fucking good,” he rasps through a moan. He’s almost too lost in you, his lips permanently parting as he lets his vocal cords roll out the most filthy words you’ve ever heard. “Mm-hmm, use that—fuck—pretty mouth of yours, gorgeous.”

As if the sight of him reacting so visually to your mouth wasn’t enough, the words he gives you are more than enough to have your heat pooling between your thighs. You’re both a mess here.

He flings his head back, his eyes shutting even tighter as your nose brushes against the tufts of dark blue hair at the base of his cock. It was safe to say that the curtains certainly matched the drapes…

You gag as he pushes you a bit too far on his length, his eyes snapping open almost immediately. “Oh, honey, ‘m sorry,” he huffs out, releasing your hair to let you off of him.

You shake your head as you cough, pulling your mouth off of him for a brief moment. A thick string of saliva still connects your bottom lip to the base of his shaft, and that alone has his cock twitching right in front of you.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes as he shakes his head, almost dumbfounded by the sight in front of him. He may be out of breath, but he’s still very in tune with his abundant attraction for you. “Come up here, gimme a kiss.”

Rafayel is pulling you and you’re complying, and his lips are slotting against yours within seconds. He holds your jaw in his hand, his other moving to the small of your back to pull you closer until you’re kneeling between his spread thighs.

The kiss is sloppy, the saliva on your face immediately transferring onto his skin, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Not one bit. Instead, he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth, gathering more of your taste on his tongue.

“Don’t think I’m well acquainted enough,” you murmur against his lips, planting your hands on the back of the throne while you shift to straddle his lap. “Do you?”

He shakes his head without thinking. “Nuh-uh. Think you need a little more,” he replies, running his hands along your thighs until they slip beneath your dress.

One of his hands cup your mound while the other rests on your hip, and he nearly moans at the feeling of the sopping wet fabric clothing the needy area between your legs.

“This all for me?” he asks with a lopsided grin, his eyes hooded as he looks at you. You nod your head, a soft whine leaving you as he pulls the fabric to the side, running two fingers along your slick pussy. “Mm, I wanna taste her.”

You shake your head, your hand reaching to stroke his throbbing cock, brushing your thumb along the tip as a spurt of pre-cum leaks from it. Denying head isn’t exactly your go-to, but you can’t help it. You want to feel him inside of you.

He follows your hand down to his shaft before he raises his eyes to meet yours again, giving you the sweetest smile imaginable. “Alright, silly girl. Pussy’s all mine next time though, promise?”

“Promise,” you whisper with a smile.

Rafayel seems pleased with that, so he gives your thighs a light squeeze as he shifts to stand up, only for you to gently nudge him back down.

He raises a brow at you, a smirk quickly growing on his face. “Oh? Pretty baby wants to ride me, is that it?”

His pet names for you nearly make you buckle, and you’re not sure how considering you’re already sitting down, but it almost happened, you’re positive.

“Yeah,” you answer, slowly rubbing the head of his cock along your folds. “Look me in the eyes this time?” you tease.

He’s too drunk on the feeling of your pussy teasing his tip to realize that you’re joking with him. “Huh? Oh right, yeah, cutie, whatever you want.”

If you thought he was whiny there, it was no match for the man he became once the head of his cock pushed into your hole.

“Holy shit, woman, you really are trying to kill me,” he moans, resting his head back. “I was only joking before.”

You chuckle as you slowly lower yourself on his length, feeling the way his girth stretches you out, earning a whine from your lips in return. He smiles at you, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“You feel so good, pretty,” he whispers, his other hand resting on your hip as you begin to bounce on his cock. Up and down, up and down. “Shiiiiit, baby. Fuck me like that, yeah, just like that.”

A smile stretches across your lips as you watch his expression go from one of eagerness to one of absolute bliss, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you.

“Gods,” he breathes as his cock slides between your walls. “Pussy’s so tight—fuck,” he gasps out as he grips onto your hips, slowing your movements. “Gonna want more if you keep doing me like that.”

And by more, he means he’s going to start fucking up into you. He really didn’t want to, not with how pretty you looked riding him on your own, tits bouncing in his face and all.

You whine as he slows you down, and you come to a complete stop for a moment as you sit in his lap, cockwarming him. “Is that not the point?”

Rafayel raises a brow at you, a lazy grin on his lips. “Pfft. Alright, woman, you asked for it.”

You really did ask for it, though when he grasped onto your hips to make you slightly hover over him, you’re quickly realizing that his words were anything but empty.

His cock rams into you before you can even register that he’s moving beneath you, his thrusts hard and fast. You moan nearly every time the tip of his shaft reaches the back of your walls. Without much thought, you lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder as he continues to fuck into you.

“Ah-ah,” he playfully scolds, leaning forward to nip at the neckline of your dress. “Pull ‘em out for me, cutie.”

You do it without hesitation, shrugging the straps of your dress off your shoulders just enough for your tits to be revealed to him. He moans at the sight, leaning in to press a kiss on your perked nipple.

“Such pretty tits, honey,” he murmurs against your skin as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, the pace of his cock pushing into you not letting up whatsoever.

It’s your turn to moan embarrassingly loud now, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel heat pool in your lower stomach. He’s far too preoccupied with sucking on your tits to notice, but once he does, he nips at the sensitive skin of your breast.

“I thought we were looking each other in the eyes this time,” he says, leaning up to press a kiss on your cheek. And when you open your eyes, he smiles. “Thaaat’s more like it, pretty.”

You return the smile, but not for long. Another moan rips through you, your forehead moving to rest on his, though you keep your eyes open.

“I… ‘m gonna cum,” you choke out, earning a chaste kiss from him.

He nods. “Let me have it, baby. Need you.”

And it’s not like you had a choice in the matter. You’re shaking in his lap as your orgasm washes over you, another airy moan leaving your swollen lips as you find your release on his cock.

“So perfect, so beautiful,” he coos, leaning forward to kiss you again, slowing the pace of his hips down as he fucks you through your high. “Mhm, so sweet for me too.”

A soft whine leaves his lips as he pulls out of you. You watch as his hand strokes along his cock, a guttural sound leaving his mouth as he paints his own stomach with thick, white ropes of cum.

He pants as he keeps his eyes on yours, leaning forward to press another kiss to your cheek. You lean into his touch while your other hand threads into his hair.

“Well, won’t you look at that. Guess you’re your own muse after all,” you joke, giving him a suggestive wink. “Y’know, since you painted your own—”

“Mhm, I got the joke, gorgeous,” he deadpans, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips. “You’re just hilarious, aren’t you?”

“…Yeah, I think I’m pretty funny.”

note. helloooooo! i really enjoyed writing this lol, i like the lightheartedness of it all. i might write a pt2 for the hell of it buuuuut i hope you enjoyed reading <3 all interactions are greatly appreciated :)))

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[imagine-darksiders]

Eden's Heir, chapter 6.

Prison break.

Summary: You manage to get your hands on Vulgrim's precious artifact. War is nice to you in his own, strange way, and Strife is his usual self.

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

War has never been one to hide his true motivations behind crooked smiles and sly glances. Their eldest, Death, used to say that of all the Nephilim to be born from the dust of angels and demons, War was always the most forthright. Abnormally so.

Even among his ilk, he was the odd-one-out. Too fair, too just, 'getting to be a little too much like those damned birds.'

Why? Because he doesn't care for lies? As if Angels can't be just as underhanded and amoral as demons. Still, those who threw critique his way usually ended up leaving sadder but wiser, and often sporting broken bones and a new gap between their teeth courtesy of either himself or Fury. Death was more the sort for dolling out verbal degradation, and Strife... Well, Strife wasn't around a lot when War was still a whelp.

Regardless, perhaps it's that very forthrightness that means it doesn’t concern War in the slightest to be staring at you as he is, nor that you’ve been casting several, perturbed glances up at the underside of his chin before snatching your eyes away again every few seconds, evidently rattled by his unwavering attention.

Conversely unashamed and indiscreet, War has absolutely no qualms about frowning down at the small human in his arms, regarding you as one would a piece of mildly interesting trivia he’s never encountered before but is determined to decipher.

Truly, you’re nothing at all like the humans he’s heard about.

Humans aren’t fighters. Eden was a historically peaceful place, the name itself synonymous with Paradise. And yet only moments ago, War had borne witness as one of its prior denizens pulled a tiny blade from out of nowhere, and with a feverous desperation carving lines into your face, you’d plunged that blade into the hand of the gumptious demon who snatched you up.

… Belatedly, War realises he’ll have to tell Strife to be more thorough the next time he goes snooping for hidden weapons.

Humans adapted well to their new home on Earth, faster than anybody thought they would. They’re sturdy and solidly built, well-defined in body, and often ungainly in how they carry and present themselves; perfectly suited to learn the pursuits of agriculture, crafting and gathering.

You, however, stand as a stark contradiction to your entire species.

You’re soft. Graceful in your extravagant raiment, but inarguably fragile, far more-so than your fellow human, which is saying something.

War has felt the jarring give of your skin under his blade.

Strife has not.

War has tested the pressure of his grasp on your limbs and found them astoundingly delicate.

… Strife has not.

It’s why his brother’s actions riled War so fiercely after throwing you across a Creator-forsaken pit of lava onto this stone platform. He’s not certain Strife quite grasps the magnitude of the situation, nor the implications of a human being here in the first place. For you to turn up in the Void, speaking Common, dressed like a pampered Seraphim… it raises a series of rather urgent questions.

But to even have a hope of getting them answered, he and Strife ideally need to keep you alive...

… If only he could figure out how to get that notion through his brother’s thick skull…

Blinking out of his musings, War sees you raise your eyes to peer up at him again, although in this instance, much to his unspoken surprise, you don’t look away. Whilst certainly anxious, there’s a spark of something else tangled within the labyrinthine strands of your unusual irises, something that nearly has an invisible thread tugging at one corner of his mouth.

At last, it seems you’ve rediscovered the same nerve that called you to defend yourself from the demon.

“Put me down,” you utter quietly in a voice that quavers with the effort of keeping it level. You even maintain bold eye contact as you say it.

Again, War almost has to admire your gumption to demand something of one of the Four...

Almost.

If he were a curious Nephilim like his brother, he would probably concede that, yes, there is something about you that invites fascination. Like a mystery that hasn’t yet revealed its secrets.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, merely holds your watery gaze expectantly until you either remember yourself and lower your eyes or-

“Please, put me down?”

And just like that, War’s unspoken admonition is knocked off its tracks.

He hadn’t been expecting… He thought you’d just…

… Oh.

In hindsight, he supposes it was rather foolish of him to expect a human to adhere to the same social rules as another species, and he has to remind himself that just because you’re still meeting his stare, you aren’t being deliberately provocative.

Just… naive.

But why would you know of his reputation? Or of the tall tales whispered by nervous, fledgeling angels who like to try and frighten each other with stories… Stories about what happens to those who are unlucky or unwise enough to look the Horseman, War, in his eye.

Your ‘please’ is foreign to him. He knows of its usage, of course, but to hear it spoken so liberally… It’s as though you assumed ‘please’ was what he was waiting for. Is offering it a human’s way of showing deference?

Curious…

“Ahem…”

The sound of a throat being cleared snaps through War’s thoughts like the crack of a whip.

Quick as a flash, the scowl that had been gradually lifting from his expression slams back into place, and he turns his heated glare onto Strife, who stands in front of him with his arms folded neatly across a silver chest and his helm cocked to one side, eyes narrowed accusingly.

“You done being greedy, or are you gonna share?”

War’s scoff, and your huff occur at the same time, leading the two of you to share a brief glance before the former gives his eyes an exaggerated roll and finally, finally obliges, lowering you to the ground as swiftly as he can while maintaining a strange air of caution that betrays how breakable he thinks you are.

Large, metal gauntlets slide out from underneath your legs, depositing you on a flat piece of stone that’s relatively clean of demon blood.

The very instant you’re free, you only hesitate long enough to squeak out a hurried ‘thanks!’ before tearing yourself away from the gauntlet that hovers behind you and stumble several paces off to the side, putting some much-needed distance between you and the Horsemen. You almost trip over the train of your dress in the process.

Clinging to your elbows, you have to stuff your teeth into your lower lip to stop the sound of despair bursting out through pursed lips.

Your legs may as well be replaced with toothpicks for all the support they’re giving you. Terrible possibilities have begun to swirl across the mire of your brain.

What if you hadn’t found your nail file in time…?

What if Strife had never returned your bag?

You shudder, overwhelmed by the feeling that you’ve landed on the right side of a coin-flip, by no other will than dumb-fucking-luck.

You’ve never come that close to certain death before. You never want to come that close again.

At your back, unseen, Strife gives you a fleeting once-over, only returning his eyes to your veil when he doesn’t spot any immediate damage.

With his typical flair for bad timing and inability to read a room, he stretches his mouth into a hidden, cocksure grin, gives an approving nod and declares, “You did good, kid.”

Giving a harsh sniff, you tip your head towards the ceiling and let out a sharp, brassy laugh, utterly devoid of humour.

“Good?” you echo, rounding on the Horseman, your lungs still feeling two sizes too small when you draw breath, “GOOD!? I could have died! I almost did!”

“Almost!” Strife parrots eagerly, venturing a few steps towards you and spreading his arms out wide, apparently unbothered by your brazen reproach, “You almost died. But you didn’t.”

“That isn’t reassuring, Strife!” you wail.

Shaking fingers lift to try and thread through your hair, only to meet the barrier of your veil. Thwarted, you let your arms flop bonelessly back down against your sides and curl your hands into fists. “I’m not…-!”

But the words won’t come. Instead, you fall silent, realising how redundant it would be to say, ‘I’m not like you,’ out loud.

Christ, what an understatement.

You’re not the type to look at an ‘almost death’ and consider it a triumph. It’s a nightmare. You want to avoid death! That’s the most human instinct of all.

You shouldn’t even be here. You’re not like these two larger-than-life beings from another world. You can’t shoot guns like a master marksman, you can’t swing a sword that’s longer than you are tall, and you certainly can’t make impossible jumps that seem to defy gravity itself.

Hell, you can’t even stand up to your own fiancé and his family…

Sullen, despondent, you allow the adrenaline to seep out of you like water from a leaky pail, leaving you with limbs that feel far too heavy, and a head that’s tired as death.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” you eventually murmur to yourself, resisting the urge to scrub at your eyes lest you spread mascara all over your face. Your heart thunders inside your chest, palms slick with the heat, but more so with the creep of dread that rises in your belly as you picture the demon’s rancid maw in your mind’s eye and grit your teeth, unable to quell the waves of anxiety crashing against you like breakers that pummel a rocky cliff.

All the while, Strife is busy trying to pluck a response from midair, racking his brain for reasons as to why you can’t just ‘get out of here.’

Then, to his surprise and your own, the silence is broken, and it’s War’s stoic voice that brings a pause to the hopelessness dragging your soul down into the pit of your stomach.

“That was a Slag Demon.”

Blinking, you knit your brows into a frown and lift your eyes to the Horseman’s hoodless face. “Excuse me?”

And War, evidently sincere in every aspect, assumes you didn’t hear him, and repeats himself. “That was a Slag Demon.”

Once again, your eyelids flutter in a series of rapid blinks. “Yeah, I… I heard you,” you reply falteringly, “I just-“

“That demon,” he cuts you off, sending you a pointed look, “was forged in the deepest blast furnaces of Hell. They’re deceptively fast, almost invulnerable, and notoriously hard to kill.”

When he falls silent and doesn’t continue for several moments, you shift your weight and awkwardly drawl out, “… Oh-kay~?”

What the Hell is he getting at?

The way he’s peering down at you is… odd, you decide. He still has that perpetual scowl on his face, but the eyes under his furrowed brow seem… brighter, somehow, not quite as piercing and disparaging as they were before.

You’re not sure you like it any better.

Appraising you for a few more seconds, War gives a solemn nod, and states, “You found a weakness. You used what you had at your disposal to gain the upper hand.” Then, after taking a brief moment to consider his next words, he must eventually deem you worthy of them because he averts his gaze and scowls off at the distant stalactites, grunting, “It was a good kill.”

… Your jaw nearly hits the ground.

And judging by the way Strife’s helmeted head snaps around to send a wide-eyed stare at his larger brother, you suppose War must not say this sort of thing very often.

Looking down at yourself, you take in the meringue wedding dress, the ruffled tulle and overall extravagance of your attire.

“But…” Your tongue darts out apprehensively to wet your lips, “But I didn’t even kill it.”

Turning away from you, War begins to march back over to the grate, stopping only long enough to retrieve his enormous sword from the ground.

He barely takes a second to mull over his next answer as he slings the blade into its proper place along his spine. “You created the opening that gave Strife a clear shot,” he tells you, coming to a halt above the iron bars set into the floor and twitching his head towards you, his profile obscured by long, ice-white hair, “It counts.”

And with that, he reaches up to thread large, metal fingers into his hood and flips the crimson fabric up and over his head, once again hiding his face in dark, familiar shadow.

For… quite some time, you’re left speechless, gawping at the back of War’s head, and reeling now from the near-death experience and the unexpected approval of one of the scariest men you’ve ever met. A glance down at your hands confirms they’re still shaking, fingers tight and rigid like the bones under your skin have locked up.

“…Well,” Strife chimes in, heaving his massive shoulders in a shrug, “Good thing I don’t mind sharing.”

Sauntering over to you, he lifts an arm as if he’s about to drape it across your back, but the moment you see him coming, you lurch into motion and start after his brother, following the path War had picked through the dead imps, all the while trying to avoid glancing down at their cold, dead eyes.

Only thrown for a moment, Strife is quick to recover, waltzing after you and continuing, “So! Big day. You killed your first demon, kind of. How d’you feel?”

Your mouth twists up into a grimace. “Like I’m going to pass out, throw up, have a heart attack then die. In that order.”

Which is eerily similar to how you felt walking up the steps to the church.

The panic is… well, it’s definitely still there. The threat of a downward spiral haunts the edge of your mind, always keeping itself in the periphery. But for now, War’s stoic assessment has apparently shocked you so much, it broke the nosedive you were about to take into a total fit of hopelessness.

The Horseman beside you barks out a laugh and takes a few loping steps until he’s swaggering along beside you, the heavy ‘clunk’ of his boots drowning out the ‘clicks’ of your heels. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep a closer eye on you, next time.”

“Next time?” you sputter, brows shooting up towards the top of your veil, “I-I am not planning on doing this again.”

“Eh.” With a dismissive waft of his hand, he replies, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now c’mon! Sooner we get the artifact, the sooner we can be outta this heat.”

Well. You suppose you have to agree with him on that front.

The sudden clatter of metal skittering across the ground nearly has you jumping out of your shoes.

At your side, Strife jerks to a halt, his boot lifted halfway off the ground and his helm tipped down to search for the thing he’d inadvertently kicked with the toe of his sabatons. His keen eye latches onto it at once, and he utters a sound of intrigue at the back of his throat.

Following his gaze, you hone in on the little object that’s still skidding several paces away from you before it slides to a stop, laying small and shiny on the dark stone.

Stooping down, Strife reaches out a hand to gather the little object into his palm.

“Huh, guess it was knocked when I shot that big bastard...” he mutters, rising to his full height and unfurling each finger one by one, peering down at his prize, “I thought you didn’t have any weapons in there.”

Turning towards you, he holds up your bloodied nail-file as he jerks his chin at your bag.

Admittedly, you’re surprised to see it again, and even more surprised at the surge of gratitude that courses through you at the prospect of being reunited with something from the real world.

“Technically speaking,” you sniff, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “A nail file isn’t a weapon.”

Bringing it close to his visor, Strife tilts his head and squints at it, humming dubiously as he runs the pad of his finger over the coarse metal, giving the end a testing tap.

“… It looks like a dagger,” he points out, “… A very small dagger.”

“Or a toothpick,” his brother grumbles up ahead.

“Well, it isn’t either of those things… It’s just something I use to keep my nails tidy…” At the incredulous glances you receive – one from Strife and one from War who deigns to cast you a bemused look over his shoulder – you breathe a weary sigh and thrust your hand out towards the former of the pair expectantly. “Look, can I just… have it back?”

In truth, you half expect him to refuse, whether to simply get a rise out of you or to mitigate your temptation to attack them with the nail file – not that you’d be so foolish.

So, when Strife extends an arm and holds your ‘weapon’ out towards you, you can’t help but let your jaw drop open in undisguised shock.

“Sure,” he says breezily, “I ain’t gonna keep it. More of a gun man, myself. And War’d be embarrassed to be seen with a blade this small.”

You don’t know whether you’re supposed to take offence to that or not.

“Here,” Strife offers again, lowering his upturned palm in the private hopes of coaxing you closer when you just continue to gape at his appendage, “Take it.”

Warily, you start inching your hand up towards his, keeping your eye on the silver helm and those piercing, golden eyes that drill right into you with attentive wonder.

Swallowing thickly, you dare to flick your gaze down to the nail-file, still sitting pretty at the centre of his palm… Up this close, you spot something that threatens to turn your stomach inside out.

“Ew! There’s blood all over it!” you exclaim, retracting your outstretched hand like he’s trying to give you a live snake.

Indeed, it isn’t the silvery metal that’s glinting in the firelight, but a coating of thick, shiny blood that’s already begun to dry on the file’s roughly-hewn surface.

Strife – who had given a start at your exclamation – pauses, then blinks and cocks his brow down at the offending blood sticking to your weapon.

“Oh, so-rry, Princess,” he chuckles, lifting the file to his cowl and wiping it several times against the fabric, smearing dark flakes of blood into the wool before he holds it out towards you again, “That better?”

Tipping your nose into the air, you give the file a thorough once over. Deeming it adequately clean, you at last reach up to pluck it from his grip, holding it gingerly between your thumb and forefinger. “Much. Thanks.”

You’ve turned away before you can see his eyes glow brighter, considerably pleased with himself.

By the time he stops sticking out his chest, you’ve already reached his brother, stopping a respectable distance away near the opposite side of the grate.

War doesn’t even spare you a cursory glance. Instead, he stands still and strong as a statue, his frost-blue eyes scrutinising the bars with rigid focus.

You don’t dare ask him why he hasn’t retrieved his ‘artifact’ yet.

“Hey, War. What’s the holdup?”

Apparently, you and Strife are on the same wavelength. How disconcerting.

A metal elbow suddenly brushes against your side as a titanic body disregards your own personal space and sidles up next to you, pulling a gasp from your lips that goes entirely ignored while Strife addresses his brother over the top of your head. “You gonna grab the artifact or what?”

Grumbling under his breath, War raises his eyes to fix his fellow Horseman with a stony scowl.

“The grate,” he retorts darkly, tossing a hand at the ground as if the answer should have already been obvious, “It’s locked.”

“Oh,” Strife answers flatly, though it isn’t long before he plants a decisive fist on his hip and declares, “Well, then we’ll just have to find the key…” Swivelling around in place, he casts an eye around the chamber and adds, “Maybe the demon had it?”

… You hate to point out the obvious, especially when you haven’t been invited to do so, but…

“Um… You mean the demon that just fell over the side?” you venture.

A thick, uncomfortable silence ensues, during which you’re sure you must have offended him somehow, because Strife’s body goes utterly motionless, and War huffs a breath through his nose.

“… I see your point,” the former concedes at last, and you realise he isn’t angry, just... bashful.

Another derisive sound escapes from the larger Horseman’s mouth, prompting Strife’s helm to snap towards his brother. “Well, you’re the strong one,” he gripes, “Just tear out the bars.”

Now it’s War’s turn to stop and ponder. He casts a sideways glance down at you, regarding you briefly from the shadow of his hood. By the time you’ve lifted your eyes to his face, he’s already turned away, cracking his neck with an audible ‘Pop!’

“Very well,” he rumbles.

It’s a little prideful of him – and Creator knows Death would expect better - yet War can’t help but wonder if you’ll be awed by a show of might. Maybe you’ll be afraid... Moreso than at present.

Pounding a fist into his gauntlet, he lowers his immense bulk down onto one knee and slides his fingers around the bars, rolling his shoulders as he prepares to demonstrate the raw, physical strength of the Red Ri-

“-Can’t you just… reach in and grab it?” you ask, cleanly derailing War’s train of thought and knocking the wind from his sails, “I mean, it looks small enough to fit through the bars, right?”

… Well, War supposes that’s a fair suggestion, but for one not-so-small problem.

Without turning to look at you, War simply holds up his gauntlet and flexes the metallic fingers into a fist.  “I would not get my knuckles through,” he states simply, bobbing his head sideways at his brother, “Nor would Strife.”

“Oh,” you falter, shrinking backwards and stuffing a canine into your bottom lip whilst the Horseman curls his hands around the bars once more.

“Um, why don’t I take a crack at it then?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself wishing you could snatch them out of the air and stuff them back behind your teeth.

Of all the fool things you could have said, why on Earth would you offer to put your hands anywhere near a stone that’s glowing like raw Uranium?

But it’s too late.

Strife has turned a thoughtful, wide-eyed gaze onto War, who returns it with the slightest parting of his brows.

“… Why didn’t we think of that?” Strife posits.

Before you can verbally – and physically – backtrack, War has already twisted his torso about and wrapped his colossal fist around your forearm, notably aiming for the one he hadn’t sliced open with his sword.

Warm metal engulfs your appendage all the way up to your elbow, and though you try to resist, he hardly seems to notice your efforts as he tugs you towards his side, then lowers his hand, leaving you with no choice but to follow its weight and drop to your knees in front of the grate, wincing as they bump against the hard stone beneath your dress.

“Here,” he says firmly, allowing you to snatch your arm back in favour of pointing his finger down at the glowing crystal, “Reach down and take it.”

Curling your hand into your chest, you give your head a shake and protest, “I can’t!”

“You just said you could!” Strife rebuffs.

That you did… “But-!” Wracking your brain, you add, “But what if it’s like… radioactive or something!?”

Visibly, the Horseman balks. “Ray-dee-oh… what?”

War’s eyes start to roll towards the ceiling as he listens to your back and forth with his brother, and he considers whether it would have been faster to rip the grate out of the stone after all.

You proposed a solution however, and in his frank opinion, you ought to stick by it.

The massive gauntlet enters your peripheral just as you open your mouth to shoot another argument up at Strife, but no sooner have the metal tips of War’s fingers ghosted across your arm than you wrench it away, whipping around to face him with startled eyes.

Hastily, you hold up your hands in surrender.

“Okay! Alright!” you acquiesce, “Jesus, just… give me a second…”

Flicking part of the veil over your shoulder, you lean forwards and brace yourself with one hand on a bar, lowering your torso down to stretch your other hand down and into the pit below, fingers blindly fishing around for the Vulgrim’s precious artifact.

When they brush against a warm, smooth surface, you can’t refrain from yelping and snatching your hand back as if it had moved.

The leathery smack of a gun being drawn from its holster reaches your ears.

“You okay?” Strife demands, shifting his weight restlessly.

Swallowing back your embarrassment, you nod and reply, “Uh, yeah, yeah. It’s just hot!”

“Hot enough to burn you?” War cuts in with a rough growl.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you brave another go, reaching down and brushing your fingertips hesitantly over the surface of the crystal. Though it is disconcertingly warm to the touch – no doubt from the ambient heat in the atmosphere – you realise with a third stroke that it isn’t anywhere near as hot as you feared it would be.

“No,” you sigh, only partially relieved.

The massive presences surrounding you relax slightly.

“Good,” Strife murmurs, raising his voice to add, “Can you get it loose?”

You can, as it turns out. Quite easily in fact. The crystal isn’t being held in any kind of clamp. To your mounting astonishment, it seems to simply float in midair.

“This is so freaky~,” you sing to yourself as you slide your palm down the long side of it, feeling for the pointed base and cupping your fingers around it with an audible gulp.

The whole crystal seems to buzz and hum under your touch, sending an eerie tingle racing up the length of your arm and raising the hairs all the way up to the back of your neck.

According to all sense and reason, this thing is nothing more than a pretty, pink crystal. But here, where sense and reason have been turned on their heads, pulled inside out and shaken up like a vodka martini, the thing in your hand is no more a mere crystal than the Horsemen are mere men.

Trying very hard to ignore how much the fluctuating thrum beneath your fingertips reminds you of a pulse, you clench your jaw tight, close your eyes, and pull… with a little too much force.

It’s lighter than you expected it to be. Nearly weightless. And it slips straight through the bars of its prison without even dinging against the sides.

Letting out an undignified bleat, you teeter backwards and land painfully on your backside, the crystal smacking against your bosom before falling from your trembling fingers and sliding safely into the soft, white fabric of your skirts.

Cracking your eyelids apart, you blink down at your lap, chest stuttering on a breath. “I… I got it?”

That was…decidedly easy…

Well, aside from almost getting eaten by a demon in your quest to find the damn thing.

The soft, pink glow of the crystal lights up your face as you peer down at it, glittering off your wedding dress and bathing the fabric folds in warmth.

“Wow,” you hear yourself whisper.

With cautious awe, your fingers wander towards it and slip gently around your rescued prize.

You’re so busy admiring the smooth, faultless lines that you don’t notice the shadow of a hand falling across your shoulders until War’s gauntlet has slid beneath your arm.

Aside from blurting out a squawk, you helplessly have to let yourself be lifted with unnerving ease onto your feet, still clutching the crystal close to your breast.

“Good job, kid,” Strife declares, slapping a palm on your back.

If War’s fingers hadn’t tightened around your arm at the moment, you’re sure you’d go tumbling over onto your face.

The force of the larger Horseman’s warning growl sends tremors through his gauntlet and down into the toes of your shoes, rattling the teeth in your skull.

Strife, pleasantly unfussed by his brother’s idle threat, leans over your shoulder as War releases you, and together, you all stare down at the crystal in your arms.

“Wonder what this thing’s worth to that soul-sucking ghoul,” Strife remarks after nobody breaks the quiet hush that’s fallen over you, as though he can’t bear to sit in silence for too long. Bringing his gauntlet up to rub at the chin of his helm, he thoughtfully adds, “We could always convince Vulgrim to throw in a little extra…”

At his suggestion, a tiny frown-line blooms to life between your brows. It is a very pretty gem… but while you know next to nothing about demons, you aren’t sure you like the idea of trying to bargain with one, not when your run-in with one of Vulgrim’s ilk had almost ended so disastrously.

You don’t know if it should come as a shock or not when War’s shoulders bristle moments later, and he bares his canines at Strife, his cavernous chest puffing up until you have to lean sideways to avoid getting jostled by it.

“The artifact, in exchange for information,” he snarls dangerously, “We will honour our agreement.”

‘Honour among Horsemen of the Apocalypse?’ you muse privately, ‘Wonders will never cease.’

Though only in War’s case, evidently. Strife just heaves an obnoxious sigh and tosses his helm back, “Ugh, you have no ambition… Why’ve you gotta be such a killjoy?”

War’s lips start to curl even further apart.

“So!” you quickly interrupt the broiling fracas, “We’ve got the… this thing-“ You shrug the crystal in your palms. “-H-how exactly do we get back?”

That, at least, gets the pair of bickering brothers to fall silent and pivot their attention from one another onto you. War’s expression is still as stony as ever, but you consider it a win that he looks marginally less murderous.

“Huh,” Strife says, “That’s a good question.”

Rumbling at the base of his throat, War grunts, "It would be prudent to find a way out of this realm as quickly as possible."

"Oh?" A mischievous glint sparks in his brother's keen gaze. "And here I thought you were.... warming up to the place."

Unbidden, a short puff of laughter is scoffed right off your tongue, more amused by how bad the joke was than the joke itself.

Either way, Strife's chest fills out proudly as his helm quirks towards you, one eyelid flashing closed behind the visor in a wink.

Oblivious, War just grumbles, "You know your humour escapes me."

And quick as a whip, Strife returns, "All humour escapes you."

Giving a brusque shake of his head, the larger Horseman decides it isn't worth getting into this argument for the umpteenth time. Turning his attention down to you and the crystal in your hands, he beckons with a gauntlet for you to step closer.

"Come. If we retrace our steps, we may be able to-"

You never get to hear the end of his sentence.

It isn’t that you’re particularly unlucky, you think… God, you hope. You’ve never thought yourself significant enough that the Universe would have it out for you personally, after all.

But when the ground suddenly disappears from under your feet in a blinding flash of vivid, blue light, and the deafening rush of air buffets your dress and boxes your eardrums, you can’t help wondering if you’ve somehow - in some unwitting way - slighted the powers that be, and now they’re playing their revenge card.

Which is a hassle for you, because you’ve had just about enough of portals and getting whisked off to places unknown for one day.

The last thing you see as you throw your head up and open your mouth to release a scream that’ll be sucked away with you as your atoms once again rearrange themselves to fit through a spatial rip, is Strife’s luminous, golden eyes flaring hotly like bursting stars – a direct contrast to the cool, ethereal blue of his brother’s, who’s own gaze opens up in surprise and, you think, alarm, one gauntlet outstretched in your direction.

And that’s all you manage to glimpse before the light overtakes you, and your body is yanked like a fish on a hook into the luminiferous aether.

[josephsaturn]

Library visit (AU DRABBLE)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shmi thinks about things while she gets ready to go to the library

(This is a drabble for an AU I have where Shmi was taken by Jango to be a nanny for Boba)

WORDS: 595

CW: none as far as I know

Note: Shmi’s thoughts on the Jedi aren’t my thoughts on the Jedi, nor how the Jedi would be portrayed if I made a full-on fic for this AU

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though it’s been 3 years since Mr. Fett brought her from Tatooine to Kamino, Shmi was still shocked by how different the two planets were.

Tatooine was hot, dry, and sandy, and Shmi didn’t miss it one bit, but Kamino was cold. The cold was omnipresent, from the moment she woke up in her apartment to the moment she went to bed. On top of that, no matter how many layers she put on, the cold would always worm its way through to her skin. She didn’t think she could hate anything more than the anger of Tattooine’s suns boiling her alive, but Shmi thinks she’d prefer it over the constant, unyielding cold.

This cold isn’t just in the environment, either; evidently, the cold seeped into Kamino’s dominant species.

Shmi dreads to talk to any of them, with their callousness toward the sentient life they’ve made of Mr. Fett’s DNA, or their callousness in general.

That’s another thing, too: the clones.

Seeing as Shmi isn’t a trainer, she’s not allowed back there to be among or train them, but…there are windows nearby. When she’s feeling stir-crazy, Mr. Fett is planetside (which is usually only for a week or two between months-long bounties) and Mr. Gilamar is busy (which he usually is), Shmi will walk to a window and just…watch them train.

Children, the lot of them.

Children as young as 3 (physically, Mr. Gilamar had been very insightful on how they differed from her sometimes-charge when she asked), hooked up to machines for hours on end, staring at screens that beamed military training into their minds.

Children as young-looking as 6, learning how to take apart blasters and wield knives to take down men two times their size.

For a planet with a seemingly-infinite amount of water, this place is no more free than Tattooine.

And just like Tattooine, the Jedi won’t come to liberate these boys.

No, they’re an army for the Jedi: bought and paid for, even. The Jedi will come here in a few years to pick them up, and make them their loyal lapdogs, with no chance for these boys to live their own lives.

She should’ve spat in Master Jinn’s face when he asked to take her son.

“Miss Shmi?” A voice asks at the same time she feels a slight tugging on her dress.

Turning around, she sees her charge, the reason Mr. Fett brought her to this forsaken place.

Boba Fett, Mr. Fett’s 3 year-old son.

The only clone who’ll get to have a childhood. To grow up, to live.

“Can we-can we go to the li-b’rary now?” He asks, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Shmi lets out a soft puff and gives a small smile.

“Go put on your shoes, Boba.”

It’s not this boy’s fault for this, she knows that. He’s just as innocent as the other clones.

No, the one she truly despises is Mr. Fett. He sold his DNA to make an army, he treats everyone with indifference at best and hostility at worst.

There’s no positive emotion in her body for that man, not a lick of it.

Shmi smiles as Boba walks over, shoes on his feet. “Ready!” He shouts, giving her a thumbs up, and Shmi holds her hand out, not moving until the boy’s small fingers curl around her own fingers.

They both walked over to the front door of the apartment.

“So, which book do you plan on getting today?” She asks as the door slides open.

She might not be able to do anything for the other boys, but she’ll help boba in any way she can.

In spite of Mr. Fett.

[birb-boyo]

FHDHDHDDH

Thank you guys for asking about my Linksona(that word sounds so weird)

This is a very long post just so you all know

Everything is under the cut

The Hero of the Seas (:

My Link would probably fit sometime after Wind Waker, when there are still seas and actual pirates. I guess that I will start with the backstory

Before they were born, at least five hundred years, there was a prophecy, though, through the years, the prophecy has been lost to time.

The only part that Hyrule remembers is,

“A forsaken prince will redefine what it takes to be a hero”

Soon after that prophecy was heard, the king of Hyrule made a law that stated that any and all Gerudo princes were to be treated as royalty.

Time skip to soon after my Link’s birth, the current king of Hyrule disregarded the law and set it aside as if it never existed. This king put a bounty on the newly born Gerudo prince.

When Link was five, his home was stormed and raided by pirates. Link’s mother was murdered and he was stolen.

These pirates were only the first ones to see them out of many. They were traded, bartered, and sold into slavery many times until they were fifteen years old. When they were fifteen, another pirate crew bought them, though, they treated them like they were a human. They fed them nicely, told them thank you, they even cleaned and cooked their own stuff. It took them a full year to realize that they were free and that this crew bought them to free them of their shackles, even though they took off the chains as soon as he left the auction.

It took them a while to learn how to love and to learn how to smile again.

Their adventure started when they were seventeen. It started when the crew bought another slave. They looked to be Link’s age and they never spoke. They told the crew, in sign, that their name was Faro. It took a full month for them to speak, but when they did, it was in private with Link.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Link’s eyebrows furrowed at the new, foreign voice.

“I’ve never heard you speak before…”

“You’re that forsaken prince, aren’t you?” At this point, Link had no idea of the prophecy. He’d never heard of it before.

“I’m no prince, Faro. I was a slave until two years ago, princes do not scrub decks.”

“The world has forsaken a Gerudo prince. You are the forsaken prince.” Faro extended their hand to Link. “I need you more than anything right now.”

Link looked around the deck. It was the dead of night. Link and Faro were on night watch tonight. It was just the two of them tonight. Link wondered if this is what Faro came here for, just for him.

“What do you need me for?”

“The king is a tyrant. I only recently found out why he disregarded such an important law.”

Link tilted his head. “What law?”

Faro stood up straight and looked at Link with dumbfounded eyes. “What do you mean, “What law?!” That law would’ve protected you! You’d still have your family if my father was such a-“ Faro paused.

“Your…father?” There was a strict rule on the ship. A rule everyone knew but didn’t speak of. Pirates are outlaws. If any royal found out that pirates had bought the princess, their ship would sink in hours. The Marines were no joke. They did not allow anyone important on this ship, no matter how much they said that they would pay.

Faro grabbed Link’s shoulders. “Please! He is tearing this kingdom apart and we need a hero to stop him!”

“I’m no hero! The ones you compare me to all fought a Gerudo man named Ganondorf! If you really needed a hero, go find a Hylian to do it!”

Faro let go of Link. They took a deep breath before get on one knee in front of Link. Faro grabbed Link’s hand and pressed the back of it to their forehead. “Please, Link. I truly believe that you are the only one who can defeat him. Just please, you must help me…”

Link felt a tingle on the back of his hand and drew his hand away from Faro. Sitting a beautiful gold on the back of his hand, were three triangle. The one on the bottom right glowed brighter than the other two. He stared at it in awe. “…What?”

Faro jumped up and cheered. “I was right! It is you!” They laughed and giggled, but Link stared at his hand, a feeling of giddiness and dread filling him to the brim.

“What is this?”

“The triforce of courage Link! You are the next hero of Hyrule!”

Faro told the crew about everything on the next day, it didn’t help that the triangle still glowed brightly on his hand.

“Well, as I hear it, the king tried to murder his next hero. Why?” Nan, basically the crew’s mom, asked.

“Because he is the one the hero must fell.”

Link turned to Faro, his confusion evident on his face. “Aren’t the heroes supposed to serve the king?”

“There is a lot of things wrong about my father. One of those things are his name. His name wasn’t originally Rhodes. It’s a family secret, but he was born with the name Ganondorf.”

Nan hummed. “So the king needs to be dethroned. Tell me, Faro, does that mean that you’ll be leaving us after this?”

Faro sighed. “I would love to stay, really, but this kingdom needs a ruler. I don’t trust my father’s advisers with the throne. I find that my duty is more important.”

Link nodded, a new fire in his eyes. “Where do I start?”

Nan scoffed. “You mean, “Where do we start?”

Fast forward through two of his temples and puzzles and he now stands inside a water temple, the ship near the opening of the cave.

He defeated the boss and opened the chest. He saw a bracelet with what looked like a sapphire embedded on it. It was shiny, maybe made of silver. He could sell this for a good amount of money.

“What is that?” Faro asked beside him.

“You would think that I know?”

“Put it on…?”

Link thought about it for a few seconds before putting it on. Nothing happened. He even felt like the silver and blue didn’t match his darker skin ton. Gold paired with it better.

“So…?”

“Noth-!” Link stood up and grabbed Faro’s hand. They dragged Faro out of the way. Where they stood, a wave of water hit. The splash hit the both of them.

The two of them blinked more times than they could count. “…Did the water just attack us?” Faro asked. Link shrugged.

“The ship.” Link said as they made their way toward the ship.

Link explored this bracelet and found that it was an old relic of the Zora’s. It used to be a Zora heirloom. Did he return it? No. It was a very helpful item. Maybe he’d give it back after his adventure…anyways-

Link’s final fight took place inside Hyrule Castle. His crew stayed at the docks.

Nan decided that she was too old to lead a crew of pirates mid adventure, so she declared that Link was the new Captain.

The king knew that Link was coming, and yet, the king was alone in the throne room. The king laughed, stating that he couldn’t be the hero of he didn’t wield the sword of legend. He said that Link was too scared to touch it because Link knew that he had that same darkness inside him that the sword banished.

In truth, Link drew the sword, he was just better with his usual weapon, which was a double edged staff.

But don’t forget, Link had to go to Gerudo for a temple. They met their sisters and heard the whole story behind his childhood suffering. He knew that all of his problems, all of his trauma, was this king’s fault.

They fought with a straight face the entire time, letting all of that anger and frustration and pain that he held within their twelve year old body out.

He decapitated the king. It was an accident, but it felt so right.

Faro took the throne and left the crew. They were apparently called “Zelda” to the rest of the kingdom.

Link lead his crew through storms and sea monster attacks. Link knew that the crew loved monster hunting, so that’s what they became. His crew became monster hunters who slayed the horrid monsters that threatened the seas that Link called his home. It had been a year since his adventure ended when it happened.

Link stared at the ceiling. It was night, probably midnight. He should be asleep right now. The monster that they had just fought required him to go under water. The Zora bracelet allowed him to breathe underwater as long as he wore it, that wasn’t the problem. It was how much he had used the bracelet to command the water around him. It took a toll on his body. However, it wasn’t a big one, it only made him tired.

He heard a knock on the door before one of his crew mates opened it. It was Jasper, his right hand man. He was on night watch tonight.

“You might wanna see this Capt’n.” Link was on his feet in seconds.

“What is it?”

Link and Jasper stood on the deck. In front of them, on the firm wooden boards was a triangular shape. Link stepped closer to it and walked around it.

“It looks like a portal of some kind…?” Link mumbled to himself. It was a swirl of purple and black. It also blowed an ominous purple. It almost looked like the stereotypical poison.

“That’s what I was thinking.” Jasper said. “It’s been here for quite some time now. What should we do about it?”

“I’m going to go inside of it.” Something was pulling Link toward the portal.

“Wha-“ Jasper sighed. “Okay, just bring weapons and potions with you. You don’t know where it’ll take ya.”

Link chuckled. “I take my staff everywhere I go. Don’t worry about me.”

So, Link gathered his stuff. Potions and their weapons and some spare clothes and stepped through the ominous darkness of the portal.

*Cue Linked Universe*

_______________________________

Pause…I found a picrew with a Gerudo nose and lips?!?!?? You also know that all Links have worn eye liner

The only thing that let me down is that there were no scars…I loved everything else

@cal-the-duende @phthalo-ocorina @mishwanders (:

[thebrandywine]

More for the ask game!! Hmm, how about...3, 9, 15, 17 and 18! =D

Rubs my grubby little authorial hands together--

3. My favorite fic that I've written so far... is a tie! I really love M&YMT, but I also have a very soft spot for a vignettes fic I've written for the [instrumental] series, which has yet to be posted (EVEN THOUGH I WANT TO POST IT SO BAD)

9. Usually I at least pick at my writing every day! I have a 10-month position for my grown up job, so I have two months off right now to write as much as I want-- haven't written yet today, though, because I only just finished my coffee 😅

15. I don't name chapters because I'm lazy but fic titles are a whole thing. For the [like classical music] and [instrumental] serieses (??), I picked a song for the ~vibe~ to help me write and then I just used it as a title, too. The others are sort of a toss up! Sometimes a song, sometimes just an applicable phrase :)

17. I learned a little bit about oil rigs while writing [in the shadow of ghosts]! Truly knew absolutely nothing about them or how they worked, so I had to learn about the different types and how spars work and all kinds of nonsense. Then I looked up their ambient noise to see if the spook factor was right. It was neat!

18. Favorite lines, huh? Woof. Let's see here.

▪︎ "I thought you were scared of marriage."/"I am. But I'm not scared of you." - [beginning to end: act ii]

▪︎ His eyes aren’t working and his ears can’t make sense of the words, but Leon knows it’s him. Chris is here. Chris will make sure he’s okay. - [forsaken]

How about some fave lines from to-be-posted fics, too? ;)

▪︎ He only knows that he's cold when she touches him. - part 6 of [instrumental] because Ha Ha. Ouch.

▪︎ What he really means is 'I never thought I'd live this long,' but he doesn't need to be that explicit for Piers to pick up on it. - ch 5 of M&YMT because HA HA. OUCH.

Okay I have to stop with the fave lines or I'll go on forever sjbdijs

[zombiecicada]

Wolfbell rubbed at her eye, muffling a few more sniffles. She leans more into Dotty as she feels their hints of fuzz against brush her.

Wolfbell: Y.. yeah.

Subject 42’s eyes narrowed a little bit.

Subject 42: You don’t need to lie about that.

Wolfbell’s ears flattened a bit, and with as gentle of a stern look as they could muster they continued.

Subject 42: you’ve been strong for a very long time. Stronger than most, let alone someone your age, ever has to be. And you are allowed to not be okay because of it. Being strong, and never complaining about being battered by the storm does not go hand in hand with being a living person. It would if you were a stone wall, but you’d not a wall, are you?

Wolfbell gave a little whimper, but slowly shook her head.

Subject 42: I did not think so. Now, talk. I’m listening, and I will understand what you are saying.

She clenched her paws a bit, but after a minute, she did start talking.

She wants to know what she did wrong to deserve this. Being purged. Being forsaken. Is it because she’s a monster? Everyone says she is, and she’s always tried her damn hardest to say it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t phase her, she knows she’s not evil, right?

Only now she doesn’t quite know. Truly, she never did, and just dodged around that fact as it built up inside her. She figured learning things about herself, what she is, would make all the problems go away, she’d feel better about everything. Only… it didn’t, just, prevented her from continuing to hide from the thing she had been running from. Denying, rather than accepting. But she is the monster, she seen the picture, she saw what was written under it.

Subject 42 listens as promised, before slowly rubbing their face with a paw as if a headache was setting in.

Subject 42: Theoús… no, novice, you aren’t a monster.

Wolfbell: but… but the .. the writing said.. and I’m..

She looks at her claws, the red soul magic that trickles from the tips of her fingers.

Subject 42: Our kind, we have been around far longer than the war. Before the monsters were even first created. We’re an important piece of the very balance of the universe’s grand ecosystem, but we’re not the cause of the end nor the cause of these disasters. Simply, the call of the dead is one we can hear and feel drawn to answer in order to fulfil duties as psychopomps and forces of nature, we serve to guide the souls of the dead to the afterlife.

Trust had always been a foreign thing with Dotty.

Putting your safety in the hands of someone else. Someone who you could never fully know the intentions of. Someone other than the man who practically raised you.

But at times, Dotty couldn't even trust him.

And now, that "trust" had been shattered completely. It was like breaking shackles that, at one point, they didn't even know they had.

The man they referred to affectionately as "doc" had violated their trust and privacy too many times, all in the name of "safety."

And just now he dared to imply that his own rescuers were affiliated with--

that place.

Fal was right. Fuck him. Forget him.

"Waffles" was explaining some modern slang to a confused Wolfbell. Old Fluff was busy reading.

Dotty waved with their shadow and tried to smile.

"I'm back, gang."

[supernaturalgirl20]

Meet You There

Pairings: Ezra x f!reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst,references to sex, second chance romance, mentions of injury, low self esteem (Ezra).

Part of @toomanystoriessolittletime writing challenge

December writing Challenge

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

He felt nervous.

For the first time in cycles as he slowly approached the familiar bookstore. It was a simple red brick building with a bright red door and he supposed many passers by wouldn’t even give it a second look. After all, it was nothing special. It blended seamlessly in with all the other buildings surrounding it but he knew different.

This was the place where rare books could be bought. This was the place where a scoundrel like himself could weave through the aisles of old books unnoticed. It was the place where he met you.

***

As his feet carry him through the crowds a smile edges its way onto the corners of his mouth as the memory of your first meeting flashes through his mind. He’d been browsing some of the books from the old earth when you literally crashed into him, the pile of books in your arms obscuring your view.

“I’m so sorry, oh I’m such an idiot,” you said with a tinge of embarrassment, your cheeks reddening under his stare. He couldn’t help it, truly. He’d never seen anything more beautiful and he’d seen the rarest of gems. He helped you pick them up and carry them to a little nook in the back where you proceeded to talk and talk for hours.

He must have been good in a past life he had thought to himself the more he learned about you. You both shared an interest in literature, poetry and ecosystems and he loved the way your eyes would light up when you talked about something you were passionate about.

He made the first move. Leaning in and kissing you softly as you rambled on, the feel of his slightly dry lips on yours silencing you.

He was enraptured. You were like a siren in the books of old calling him to his doom and he would gladly perish at your feet. The soft kiss became more heated and then you asked him back to yours where you became a tangle of limbs and soft moans as he buried himself inside you.

His skin tingles at the memory and his cock stirs to life beneath his sweatpants. The memory of your naked form had kept him company on those long lonely nights on the green.

Now, as he stood staring at the doors to the bookstore that started it all, he can’t help the worrisome feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach. Will you be here? Would you want to see him if you were?

***

You’d both made an agreement way back when, that every year you would both meet here, same time, same place. Until such a time that you both would give up prospecting and settle down somewhere. That had gone on every year for six years until he became trapped on that Kevva forsaken moon.

Ezra pushes open the door, the small bell overhead signalling his arrival and as it closes behind him he quickly scans the store for any sight of you. A disappointed sigh leaves his lips as it becomes apparent you aren’t there. You had probably moved on. Met someone new, someone who could be there for you.

He moves slowly through the store, his feet carrying him to the aisle where you’d first met and he can feel the stares of the patrons boring into him. No doubt staring at the lack of appendage as the sleeve of his jacket hangs loosely at his side. At least he doesn’t have to bear the rejection you would no doubt have shown him.

His eyes rove through the new titles that have been added when a familiar voice echoes behind him.

“Ezra?” You almost whisper, and his body stiffens with shock. Is it really you? Have you really waited for him?

“Moonbeam,” he questions as he turns in the direction of your voice. He gasps at the sight of you before him, a hopeful look in your eyes. “Is it really you, Ez?”

He takes a step forward, slowly reaching his hand out, the need to touch so overwhelming. He nods his head, his eyes taking you in. You haven’t changed a bit and a warmth floods his veins as he thinks he’s finally found his home. “It’s me, I assure you. I..”

His words trail off as his hand caresses your cheek causing your eyes to flutter closed. “I cannot believe you're truly here, moonbeam. It’s as if all my dreams have come true, or I’ve finally run out of luck and met my maker.”

You open your eyes and smile brightly up at him, “I thought the worst last year Ez when you weren’t…I feared you were…” you gulp, unable to speak your worst fears aloud.

“I will not lie, moonbeam. I almost perished on the green moon but a saviour came and helped me leave that wretched place, albeit minus a limb.” He says, lifting the right sleeve of his jacket and your eyes drift towards where his arm should be.

“Oh Ezra. I’m so sorry you had to endure that. I should have been there….maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Hush, do not blame yourself my star…if you had accompanied me on that trip it could have been you who perished and it would have killed me twice over.” His thumb rubs soothingly over your cheek before drifting down to your chin where he tilts it upward.

“Dare I hope that you have waited all this time for a lonely soul such as myself?” His voice is laced with hope as his eyes flicker from yours to your lips.

Your hand wraps itself in his sweater effectively pulling him close. “I would wait forever for you, Ez. You should know that.”

Before he can say another word you reach up and touch your lips to his in a soft kiss. His tongue teases the seam of your lips until you open for him. The kiss is aching and all consuming as your tongues caress each other. A throat clearing pulls you apart and he rests his head against yours.

“I think I’m ready to settle down now, moonbeam. If you’ll have me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @dindjarinswhore @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories

[dingusfreakhxrrington]

hfjdks

may or may not have another request <3

Being the source of Arthur's happiness in life and he tells you everyday

Something To Live For

pairing: arthur havisham x male!reader

summary: with few joys in his life since the death of his father, arthur likes to remind you that you’re the one thing that still makes him truly happy.

warnings: mostly just fluff, minor angst, mentions of past alcoholism, indications of depression

word count: 596

a/n: i’m sorry this took so long, i wasn’t really sure how to go about this request but i had a spark of ideas and i’m pretty happy with out it turned out so i hope you like it too 🤍

friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!

You had met Arthur Havisham in a rundown pub in West London.

The moment you laid eyes on him you could tell that he was outrageously drunk and, thanks to his expensive clothing, had been targeted by some local thieves.

At first, you hadn’t planned on getting involved since you didn’t fancy getting into any trouble yourself. The notion of not helping, however, soon blew out the window when you saw a group of younger boys following him out of the pub as he stumbled along.

They were younger but they were no less of a threat to him, especially when they had blunt weapons hidden in their coats.

You knew how the streets worked and you knew that if you didn’t step in the man was going to get mugged and probably quite harshly beaten up. So, against your better judgement, you had stepped in and swooped the man away before the boys could jump him.

It had been a few years since then and by now you’d learnt a lot about Arthur Havisham.

His family had forsaken him, his sister wanting nothing else to do with him. He’d told you all of the gory details and the heartbreak that entailed.

It took a long while but eventually, he finally started to learn that he didn’t need to lean on cheap whisky when he had you to lean on. Now he was all but free of the addiction he had fallen into to numb the pain he was feeling.

He’d learnt to deal with that pain and, although it still hurt sometimes, he knew he didn’t need to fear it because he had found his way in life again. He had found you.

“I love you, you know?”

You chuckled as you looked down at him in your arms. “Is that so? I don’t think you’ve mentioned it before?”

You were at home, your home, in your shared bed in the early hours of the morning.

“Haven’t I? I could have sworn I only bring it up at least a dozen times a day,” he hummed, playing along with your teasing.

This was how you were used to waking up now, with Arthur at your side. Under the blankets, his legs were tangled with yours. Above them, he lay softly against your chest.

Every morning he told you he loved you and held onto you tight to keep you in bed for as long as he could before you had to pry yourself away to get to work. It was a routine you’d grown quite fond of, almost as fond as you were of him.

“I do mean it though,” he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “Before I met you I had nothing. My life was over but then you walked into it. So, I know I say it every day but thank you. Thank you for giving me something to live for.”

You held him tighter, squeezing him in response as you placed a kiss against his temple. “I love you too, Arthur. I’m glad I met you too. My life would not be the same without you. Now, I, unfortunately, have to get ready for work.”

When you tried to get out of bed he only pulled you back down. “Stay just a little while longer?”

“You’re going to get me into trouble again, aren’t you?”

He chuckled and pulled you to him, laughing still as he kissed you. “Whatever could you mean?”

It was safe to say you were going to be late to work again that day.

feel free to let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist!

taglist: @soundofkazoo @male-reader-reblogs

[lemonadecandy]

Meeting Zhongli [Part 2]

This is a continuation of the Zhongli scenario I had posted earlier.

Note: This is just a one-shot scenario. The premise is that 'you' get transported into the game and journey through Teyvat along with the traveller. This is a reinterpretation of the Liyue Archon Quests. Hope you enjoy~

The tension hadn’t decreased even a little bit. I knew my stomach couldn’t handle any food in this state so I ended up not eating beyond a few bites. But, after he did leave, I could feel my nerves relaxing a little. Lumine and Paimon were done too, so they started bidding Childe a farewell, who stayed back to try and figure out how chopsticks work. I would have been very amused by his comment, and how the little things of the game are still applicable here, but my mind still was unstable from what I had to just sit through.

I should have seen this coming, especially after that incident in Mondstat, all that I have learned from that god forsaken game isn’t the complete truth here. Venti hadn’t seemed this terrifying, I could definitely sense power, but it wasn’t intimidating. I guess being the strongest does make a difference. I followed the traveler out of the restaurant, my legs felt like noodles, like I could lose my balance any second. I really didn’t want to go, my body kept signaling this to me too. I wonder if Lumine sensed that aura? Or Childe? Aren’t they veteran warriors?

Zhongli stood on the pavement next to the main road. Looking at him from a distance finally gave me the opportunity to appreciate his striking figure. He was taller than I had imagined, and inhumanly handsome too, but then again, that was true about everyone here. That aura of his was still terrifying, but strangely charming and enchanting, he truly was the definition of a ‘god’. If the gods back home were real, would they be just like him? Not that it matters anymore. I hung back while the traveller approached the geo archon, far enough that I wouldn’t draw attention to myself but still close enough to hear Zhongli brag about Liyue. The conversation was going just as I remembered, so I started diverting my attention to my surroundings. Everything had been going so fast that I hadn’t had even a moment to look around at the city, also there was no way I was ever meeting those reptilian eyes again. Liyue, it was definitely livelier than Mondstat, and you could feel the commercialism in the air. The crowd had a life of its own, the vibrant clothes shone in the morning light and the people moved like enchanting shoals of fish. There is chatter between sellers and buyers, old friends catching up, new friends made. It's busy for sure, but the hustle and bustle brings a life to this city that I wouldn't want it to be without. A certain nostalgia hit me, I could so clearly remember when Liyue was first released in the game and how I had fallen for it at first sight. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the background music that played in the city and felt my anxiety from before ebb away.

My mood became a bit cheerful as well, but before I could enjoy myself too much, I heard Zhongli suggesting that they go find the materials for the rite of parting. First stop was the Jade Mystery, it was the shop where you could bid on the stones, sadly, we were only going there to buy some noctilucous jade for the ceremony. As we were reaching the store, I suddenly remembered that we were gonna make a trip to Mondstat… to check if the stones… were… pure. Damn, this ordeal isn’t gonna be over for a while, huh? After reaching the conclusion I had anticipated, we left to Mondsat by a carriage, sadly, those teleportation waypoints cannot be used right now, because why would the traveller want to explain their use and make everyone’s lives more comfortable? I sat with Lumine, while Zhongli sat opposite us, to avoid eye contact and any conversation I just pretended to be asleep. They seemed to have bought the act as Zhongli asked, “Has your friend been offended by me in some way? If so, I apologize, I didn’t mean to.” “Why would you think so?” Paimon asked in confusion. “Well, she has been avoiding me…”. Even with my eyes closed I could feel all the three of them glance my way. Are they planning to bitch about me or something? “She’s like that to everyone, doesn’t talk until it’s important.” Lumine sounded a bit dejected. I didn’t really mean to be rude to her and Paimon, it’s just that even looking at them keeps reminding me of this fucked up situation and I feel like I could lose my mind thinking about it. “I see.” I had ended up falling asleep for real and was woken up by Paimon screaming in my ears. The three of them were chatting about something that I couldn’t quite make out. “You are awake!”, Lumine looked jolly. “Mmmmh”, I groaned, trying to drive all the drowsiness away. “So, what were you all talking about?” “Mr. Zhongli was telling us some stories about Liyue’s history.”, Paimon replied. “Ah, interesting.”, I said. Does the history, like the characters, also have deeper layers than what was presented?

As I looked around, my eyes were suddenly drawn to what Zhongli held in his hands, it was a dumbbell. No wait, it was ‘the’ dumbbell. “Memory of dust.”, I let out in a mumble. It was that puzzle thing Zhongli’s friend, Guizhong had given to him. I realized that I had said the name out aloud and covered my mouth in shock as I looked up. Lumine and Paimon looked confused, but the expression on Zhongli’s face was clearly suspicion. Uh-oh. 

P.S: I have found some inspiration, so I will be continuing this 'scenario' or whatever it's called. Please feel free to give advise and any requests you may have!

Part 3:

[ktheist]

2 | all yours to enjoy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read part one, play me like a toy, here.

muses. heiress!reader x ex-mafia!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia au. arranged marriage au. modern au.

warning. implied smut, mentions of gun use and all that mafia shizz

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

x

the carved name above the handle points in wayward angles. as if made by a child.

well, 5 year-old-you lacked tact. and a sense of artistry but nobody dared insult the work of the only daughter of the han group.

the room hoseok stepped in feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. it’s been years, but the pink unicorn plushie still sits on your bed like it’s waiting for you to climb in and cuddle it every night.

the pastel peach walls have been repainted in a deep maroon shade. at your order, hoseok suspects. it’s as if you’ve renounced that childish innocence and took on a blood oath for the han family name.

much of that youthful wander in your eyes has disappeared.

‘it was my fault, i shouldn’t have left her all alone in this wretched place,’ hoseok surly thought to himself.

before he can even think about how inappropriate his actions are - to have stepped into a woman’s room without a reason - a surprised voice echoes from the door adjacent to where he’s standing.

“hoseok...” you’re standing there, in front of the ajar bathroom door, with a pristine white towel around your body and another wrapped around your head, water dripping from the stray strand that manages to escape from your towel turban.

perhaps he had a reason, after all.

perhaps he just wants to see you, the person who coerced him to come back to this god forsaken house where he’s seen more deaths than his fingers could count.

“i’m sorry- i didn’t know you were taking a bath-” hoseok didn’t even manage to take a step back when you shake your head, a smile he’s not used to seeing curved on your lips.

“it’s fine, come in. close the door behind you.”

when he remains frozen in his spot, hand on the handle that seems to seep cold, icy frost into his palm - you raise a pair of trimmed brows, “what? we’re getting married, aren’t we? you forgot but you’ve seen all of me,” a coquettish smile on your lips, “don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now after announcing to the entire head of families that they should sleep with one eye open.”

the funeral had been handled by uncle jihoon, your father’s right hand man and most trusted confidant. he probably cleaned up the skeletons in your father’s closet more times than you’d met your own father in your 25 years of living.

your father had enemies and someone had to get rid of them.

such was the ways of the hans.

yeojun was yours and sehun was chanyeol’s.

hoseok was meant to step in once uncle jihoon resigned since at an early age, he’d gathered enough support to ruin the whole nation. his only fault was being loyal to your father, han jiseok.

and it was his loyalty that made your father drive him away.

because no matter when hoseok was and what he was doing, he’d never betray the hans.

“he’s just a kid,” you’d once heard him say to uncle jihoon.

several months later, he’d announced at the annual family gathering that hoseok got into yonsei university as a business major. it also meant that his ties with the han group would cease to orphan student-influential family sponsors. every record of his existence was wiped clean. he was no longer the child uncle jihoon took in because he pitied hoseok’s miserable state of living. he’d come to your house in tattered clothes and a bluing bruise on his cheek.

jung hoseok was meant to carry half of the burden of the head of family until the true heirs grew up and learned the ropes of leading the han group.

in short, hoseok was a proxy. a stand-in who gathered a little too many support that threatened the powers of the actual heirs.

their bow lingered longer, as if they were thanking the gods for bringing him back just as they’d lost a great leader.

you didn’t mind though. you liked hoseok - he was the only one that didn’t look at you like you were a prophecy of death. a child who’d grow up just as wicked as her father.

he’d looked at you like a human.

han jiseok took a liking to hoseok, the loyal dog of the han family that would drive a fist into someone’s gut at the command of the head or any of his heirs. hoseok wouldn’t question it either - why he was beating someone up half-dead, he just... did it.

so when that jung hoseok who got cut off from the han family at chanyeol’s whining over how his succession would not be supported by the branch families if hoseok were to remain as the stand in - came back and announced  first thing after his return, his engagement to the heiress of han group, naturally, all hell broke lose.

hoseok had stood by your side as you’d kept your head low, the black veil covering your eyes and nose did well to hide your dry gaze.

true to his reputation, as soon as he stepped into the mansion with you, the men who swore their loyalty to the han family, one by one, started bowing at hoseok whilst the heads of the vassal families started whispering among themselves.

“hoseok, the loyal dog? that’s him?”

“did the boss ever say who was going to inherit the family business?”

family business was just a white washed term of the commercial front of han group that was meant to blur the eyes of the korean government on what truly goes on underground.

“the attorney hasn’t been found, right? that means nobody here knows the contents of the will.”

“did he ever mention chanyeol would inherit the business?”

“____’s achievements aren’t something to be turned a blind eye on either.”

one of the heads of the branch approached you, he smiled too sweetly on the day of his principal’s passing. rubbed his hands together schemingly as he murmured words of condolences that sounded like congratulations, “the boss suffered for so long from leukemia, the gods must’ve answered his prayer. i’m sorry for your loss, miss ____.”

foolish fiend.

kang sungho was chanyeol’s uncle from his mother’s side. he was the head of one of the closest branch family who’d swore loyalty to the han’s. yet he acted like a stranger who didn’t have anything to do with his brother-in-law’s passing.

“say, hoseok, you’re here too,” sungho didn’t even wait for you to respond - perhaps he thought you were too in shock to say anything, “it’s been a while, thank you for coming even though you have no relation with han group anymore.”

just like that, sungho made a u-turn and spoke on the behalf of han group.

your hand that you didn’t even know was balled up into a fist shook silently - that was, until hoseok slipped and grasped it with his large hand as he lowered his head in a nod.

“it’d always been my intention to come back to serve the new boss,” his hand had left you to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “well, a husband is a slave to his wife, anyway, right?”

it was clear from what hoseok said that he didn’t mean chanyeol was the soon-to-be wife.

you’d sent yeojun to the hospital to confirm your father’s status while you’d met up with an - well, you were holding her son and husband hostage if she didn’t corporate but still - acquaintance who works at the korean embassy to speed up the marriage registration process.

it was when you were walking out of the embassy and to the car that hoseok slips his hand in yours and murmurs to himself.

but you’d heard every word of it, “your hands are trembling. you’ve never shot a man, have you?”

a sense of melancholy paints his face as his grasp tightens on your hand, as if saying ‘sorry i left you all alone in that house.’

you shook it off, heart too dried and withered to ponder on what he’d thought. thoughts of you father filling your heart.

no ceremony, no nothing.

and now you’re married.

the hoseok from just hours ago stood with his back straight and an ease in his aura. yet his presence alone was enough to make even the eldest of the head bow to him.

“are you... are you okay?” this hoseok asks you with hesitance in his voice.

“what makes you think i’m not?” you amble to the bed and drop your towel, letting it pool around your ankle.

there’s no mistaken low breath hoseok let out at the sight of your naked body. as if he’s a teenage school kid who’s never seen the body of a woman.

“do you mind zipping this up for me?” you say, standing with your exposed back on him, damp hair pulled to drape over your shoulder and chest.

hoseok lets out a cough. as if to announce that he was in the room and he was coming closer.

the fingerpads feels callous against your skin. you have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose than hold it in until your lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

hoseok takes his sweet, leisure time tracing down his index finger down your spine to get to the zipper. and when he does, he drags it up in an agonizingly slow pace, the grazing sound it makes causing the hairs on your neck to stand.

“skip the after-reception... you look tired,” he says after his hand falls away from your body and you’re suddenly missing what warmth it provides, like a flame that thaws the ice in your heart.

a dry laugh escapes you, “the elders are finally looking at me as an heiress, you know i can’t afford to slip out of the spotlight on the pretense of fatigue.”

before hoseok can offer any response, you twirl around, arms banding around his waist and bare face buried in his chest.

“hold me like you used to when i woke up from a nightmare and i’ll be fine,” the remnant of your sob threatens to spill from your mouth - true, you didn’t shed a single tear when you arrived late at night at the hospital.

the death of your father had been announced at 1703 hour.

but it’s only ever sunk in that the only family you have is gone - once you’ve left to your own devices to take a bath and change into new clothes before the after reception begins.

it’s then, that the waterworks began to pour over your cheeks without any hints of stopping.

hoseok must have seen the aftermath of your puffed, pink eyes when you stepped out of the bathroom, not expecting for anyone to be there except the silence.

a pair of strong, secure arms wrap around your body wordlessly. hoseok tilts his head so his cheek is pressed against the side of your head.

“you grew a few inches,” his husked voice brushes your ear like a dream you’d never want to wake up from.

a small laugh escapes you, “oh come on, i got more than my height on me but you-”

hoseok groans and you clamp your mouth shut, chuckling.

“i’m sorry,” he confesses, a treasure trove of remorse laced around those two little words.

all of a sudden, guilt gnaws at your conscience for having teased him too many times about forgetting something he couldn’t control, “don’t say sorry,” you mumble, “now i feel bad.”

“i used to tease you a lot about your obsession for ponies and unicorns.” his voice drums in your ears.

“i used to fantasize about finding a unicorn in the forest behind our beach house and beating chanyeol at a race someday,” without you realizing it, your cheeks are hurting from how wide you’re smiling.

silence lapses around you.

but it has no space in between your flushed bodies. you hear hoseok’s unusually fast heartbeat.

“you’ve changed...” you murmur, somber.

“i did?” he sounds melancholic, as if reminiscing about the days in this household.

chasing after the troublemaker daughter that always thinks they’re playing hide-and-seek. beating and threatening any rival members he sees hovering around the han group’s territorial influence.

“i didn’t say i don’t like the new you,” you tear your face off his chest, tilting your chin to gaze up to his warm eyes that appear deep brown under these fluorescent lights.

standing on the tip of your toes, you peck his lips lightly.

a sweet smile plays on your lips.

‘yeah, his lips are as soft as they look,’ you affirm.

it’s the way his eyelids cover his eyes as he blinks. the way his lips part as if surprised at the sudden, unannounced advancement. the way the realization seems to sink in that there was nothing stopping you from kissing him again-

an index finger presses against your pouted lips as you stand on the tips of your toes once again.

“it’s dangerous...” is all he offers.

but with the way his gaze becomes hooded as the chains of self-restraint shackles his hands and ankles, you think you know what he means.

instead of offering an answer, you sweep your tongue over the length of his digit, mouth opening to lightly bite his finger all the while gazing into his stormy eyes.

“guess i’m just a little kitten compared to the wolves in that room full of old wolves to you, huh?”

once the storm passes, his gaze becomes hooded with something - something you can’t pinpoint.

yet you let him slide his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling the soft pink flesh of your tongue on his fingertip.

you flutter your lashes skittishly, hand pushing the hair to the back of your ear as you lick a strip down his finger like you would his other head. but the rap on your door and the “miss ____, it’s yeojun,” coming from the other side almost sends your heart leaping into your throat.

you suck in a deep breath around hoseok’s finger before pulling away and stepping to the side, completely aware of the sexual tension that hovers in the air like thick, dark clouds.

“yeojun, is everyone here?” your gaze is fixed on the handle that your hand’s reaching out for.

“everything’s set, we’re waiting on the priest to arrive,” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

you step out of the door with half-damp hair and a face bare of make up whilst patting down the skirt of your dress.

but it’s not your half-as-acceptable appearance that makes yeojun stare at you for five solid seconds.

rather, he’s staring at something behind you as you feel the warmth of a body heat against your back.

“i’ll be the one escorting my fiance, yeonjun.”

he speaks casually despite yeojun being older than him and yet it felt natural. hoseok holds out his arm for you as yeojun stepped back with a bow, making way for you and hoseok to walk down the hallway leading to the flight of stairs where the main hall would be.

x

“god, i hate ties,” hoseok murmurs under his breath from next to you, nimble fingers pulling on his collar.

“you wear it well for someone who claims to hate going around in crisp button downs and shiny leather loafers,” a smile tugs on the corners of your lips.

chanyeol finally stepped away with the madam for some fresh air. maybe the death glares she’d been shooting you since you arrived - has finally got the world spinning behind her eyes.

“was the only option an orphaned nobody like me had when i was offered to work a nine to five,” he says casually, still fumbling with his tie.

your hand feels like a child’s when you place it on his. he pauses, gazing down at you before letting his hand fall on his side whilst yours remain on the knot of his necktie.

“may i?”

hoseok’s head moves, not quite a nod but not a shake of ‘no’ either. so you take out the pin from your hair that yeojun fetched from your room after your hair started falling into your face with every head bow you made in front of the guest. undoing the knot on hoseok’s tie, you slip the pin between the knot before looping the end over the knot and patting it down once you’re done.

the ‘how did you learn to do that’ look that hoseok shoots you makes you laugh. he’s both impressed and suspicious.

“my mom-” the one who’s confined to the house your father give and can’t even attend her late husband’s memorial service, reception and after reception, “-taught me all the things i needed to know to be the ‘perfect’ wife.”

“never pegged you for someone who’d obediently absorb her teachings,” he comments.

back then, you were as ruthless and spoiled as they come. the fine lines on your mother’s forehead was probably caused by your bursts every time she tried to push her views on you.

“a year after you left the seong’s proposed for our families to join together... they had a son and daddy had a daughter at his disposal... i was preparing to be a bride because that’s all people around me made my life to be until i just... had enough of being treated like a doll. so i cut a deal with seong joongki, got rid of his dad so he could step up as head, we remained engaged until i turned 18 and broke it. now he’s one of the people i know i can count on,” a shrug of your shoulder and you look up to him, locking his gaze with yours.

“seong, huh?” hoseok scanned the faces of the guests behind you, eyes narrowed like a hawk before they paused on something.

his gaze returns to you, an overly sweet smile appearing on his face as his dimples dig into his cheeks, “people like him cut and run when things get messy.”

you laugh, it sounds tired, but it’s still laugh, “if he does, i’d be the one to tell him to.”

“and i’ll put a bullet in his head if you didn’t,” he says words of murder like a romantic confession as he gazes into your eyes like there’s no where he’d rather be.

that is, until an unfamiliar voice calls the husband of the heiress by his name.

x

“namjoon,” hoseok hugs the chairman of kimcorp. for a lingering moment as the man pats his back once, as if unspeakingly consoling him.

kim namjoon, the second child and heir of kimcorp. and hoseok’s college friend and boss who booked a sudden trip back to seoul at the news of the head of the han group’s passing.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

when they break apart, hoseok turns to you, arm around your waist, “___, this namjoon. namjoon- ___... my wife.”

hearing the word ‘wife’ slip out of hoseok’s mouth warms your heart yet makes your stomach knot painfully. ironic how you’d want to believe the heartrendering way he introduced you to be anything more than the act you told him to put on.

“ah,” kim namjoon narrows his eyes at you, as if shifting through his memories, “the kid hoseok babysat.”

the disparaging regard to your status as heiress tells you enough what this so-called friend of hoseok thinks of you.

“the friendless nerd hobi befriended out of pity,” you state, flashing you best smile.

a nod from his side. as if saying ‘touché’.

“ah, mrs. aera didn’t come?” hoseok asks, eyes searching the crowd until namjoon shakes his head, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

“she’s too tired so i told her to rest at home,” he says and hoseok nods, as if understanding the underlying reason that kim aera is missing from honoring the master his husband’s family’s served for generations.

the kim’s are one of the oldest families that was tied down to han group by an oath. your great great great grandfather helped his great grandfather build the legacy the kim’s found themselves on now.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

he steps away, greeting chanyeol and han chohee, your father’s legal wife before meandering away and keeping out of the spotlight for the rest of the night while you amble languidly with your hand on hoseok’s arm, exchanging pleasantries with the guests like it’s a wedding rather than a funeral until it’s time for the head of the family to gather in the boardroom.

everywhere you and hoseok goes, eyes follow. those who you approach tenses up while they wear their best smiles and utter words of sweet saccharine but as soon as the attorney turns up, you have no sliver of doubt that these people will be the first to vote for your head if it turns out the will appoints chanyeol as the next and rightful heir of han group.

those who you pass by end up with twisted faces. they’re the acquaintances of the han group, loyal to no master - the actual people who’d cut and run.

“mr. jee,” the middle aged man with too big of a nose and overbearing personality turns his full attention to you after hoseok was done talking about the stock market he’d been investing in, “a friend of mine, doctor maria wong, is a skin specialist who just received the asan award in medicine for her recent findings, i can introduce you to her, if you’d like.”

the youngest jee suffers from a rare skin condition which is why she never attended any social functions. they claimed she got accepted to a boarding school in europe when she was actually getting treated in one of the most prestigious private hospitals in the world in switzerland.

the situation is kept under wraps. you lost one of your holiday villas for this piece of information.

“o-oh, yes,” it takes a moment of him staring at you like you’re emitting halo from your body before he stammers back to life, “i- we,” he looks at his wife who shares the same hopeful gleam, “would really like that.”

“one down... tens more to go,” hoseok murmurs under his breath when you walk away from the couple, “you’re pretty good this ‘you know whose side you should be on, don’t you’ kind of threat.”

“i threatened the jung hoseok to marry me, this is child’s play,” you shoot him a coquettish smile, not expecting for him to lean down to your ear and whisper lowly.

“the lock was on the whole time,” he chuckles as he straightens his back at the announcement summoning all the heads of the families present, its representative, the children of the han’s and their spouses to the meeting room.

hoseok pulls out a pair of tucson, ariz’s tucked behind him and places them on the metal tray soobin’s holding out. he slips a hand under his suit, pulling out a revolver from his shoulder holster you didn’t even know he had on. then, two grenades from each of his pockets like he’s taking out a piece of candy. a foldup knife from the pocket of his blazer.

red lights go off when he walks past the metal detector, cursing to himself before he shoots you a sheepish look - the one the new hoseok would - and bends down before pulling out two kolibri the size of your palm and appear like toy guns in hoseok’s that was strapped on both his ankles.

one of your father’s men manually hovers a handheld metal detector and scans him from head to toe before giving him the greenlight to walk into the room just as kang sungho screams, “i’m the uncle of the future head, you’ll regret this!”

you roll your eyes at the old man’s outburst, taking out the dagger strapped to your thigh and pretending to not notice hoseok’s ogling at your exposed thighs when the dress rides up.

“bringing a knife to a gun fight - ballsy,” hoseok murmurs under his breath, his words meant only for you as you join his side, both of you stepping into the still-empty boardroom as the heads of the branch families you pass by grumble to themselves, pulling out the weapons they have on them and piling the tray in front of them.

one even pulled out a bandolier wrapped underneath his coat. the others merely have a pile of handguns and revolvers on their tray.

“oh, i brought something better,” you feel your lips stretching into a smirk as hoseok pushes the chair behind you before slipping in the one next to you, inquisitive eyes boring into yours.

a peck lands on his lips as you giggle at the way his eyes go wide for the briefest moment.

“tch,” someone says as they pass you and hoseok. chanyeol sits across from you, glare digging holes into your skull as he looks at you as if you were guM under his sole.

“please, tell me you have a plan that involves me driving my fist in his face,” hoseok’s low voice sends shivers down your spine.

it takes a moment for you to grasp that his statement needs a response.

“even better,” you murmur, head tilted to him, “you’ll get to do whatever you want with him after we walk out of this room.”

x

“we can’t go on without a leader for longer than 48 hours!” kang sungho smacks his pudgy fist against the clear glass surface of the oval table.

“we get your frustrations head family kang, but we need to locate attorney hyeon first,” seong joongki speaks informally to the man 20 years his senior and kang sungho can only grit his teeth.

in this room, no peerage title exists. every head is equal and that means every single person here is below you and chanyeol, the heir and heiress of han group.

“for all we know, attorney hyeon could be dead,” ahn sujin glances around the room, meeting every eye of the head until her gaze rests on you, “they found traces of tires on the road and a wrecked tree trunk a few feet away.”

“are you saying attorney hyeon got into an accident on the way here but someone quickly moved the car and bodies as if they were planned it, auntie sujin?” chanyeol baritone cuts through the tense air.

he throws you a side glance as he sits at the end of the oval table where your father and his father and his father’s father sat, bearing the weight of a legacy as old and majestic as the royal family had they survived all these years. the audacity of this man you call a brother walked straight up to the seat your father used to occupy and plopped down as if he owned it.

“the crash mark in the bark of the tree was still fresh,” ahn sujin nods.

“well...” at the sound of your voice, the whole room falls silent, “let’s ask him shall we?”

soobin, nods at you like he’s known your ways for years. he pulls out a remote and the tv screens tacked behind the leader’s seat.

the screen flashes with a picture of uncle jihoon getting into a sleek black car with the plate number HG that only you, chanyeol, the madam and your father have access to.

a blurred buzzing echoes against the soundproof walls of the boardroom before it gradually becomes clearer.

“...get the names?” a deep voice asks - the owner sitting directly across from you stares with knitted brows as he focuses on the familiar sound.

“a-... -re you... sure about...? ...involve ...your mother’s family...” uncle jihoon’s dialect wrapped around the syllables of the words, giving out who that voice belongs to.

he used to be proud of where he came from and wore his dialect like a medal.

“..-actly, they’re my mom’s family. not mine. ‘sides, kang sungho’s been clinging onto dad like a fucking leech even though he knows there’s nothing he can offer us that we want.”

silence fills the audio.

hoseok’s hand slips over yours, as if reminding you to let out that breath you’ve been holding.

chanyeol’s jaw tightens as he shoots daggers at you with his eyes.

“the names, uncle.” a sense of urgency laces around chanyeol’s voice.

“th-the kang’s, byun’s and ahn’s agreed to get molly to the scorpios in thailand on 23rd of april on flight ka8792 at 2:35 pm.” uncle jihoon says after a heartbeat.

each of the families listed are known for either their couture designs that receive orders from ministers’ wives all over the world, custom made colognes or either owns five star hotels in south korea and overseas.

“this isn’t enough, you think the cops are gonna believe all we have is the names of families involved in some mid level drug smuggling? my reputation’s on the line here.”

“a-and a fishing vessel will be making port at around 3 in the morning five days from now. it’s owned by the cha’s, they’ve been using it to smuggle meth and hide it under the hauls of fish they caught.”

the cha’s hold the monopoly to the wet market business.

“that’ll do for now, get out.”

the audio cuts off and the screens begin to move again, this time showing shots of chanyeol and a man in his 40′s sitting across from each other, having coffee.

shifting your hand so your palm is facing up in hoseok’s, you slip your fingers in the gap of his longer ones.

“that’s detective kim namseok and my beloved brother having brunch together - that’s right, chanyeol with the held of uncle jihoon, sold the kang’s, byun’s, ahn’s and cha’s off in his grand scheme of getting the leader position in exchange for police immunity for the han group... oops?” your lips purse into a mocking pout.

“lies! you know how much this bitch wanted to take over han group!” chanyeol roars, pushing himself off the chair and turning to face the wide-eyed gazes and dropped jaws of the heads of the families.

“i-i was b-blackmailed...” uncle jihoon stares at his reflection in the table, as if in a whole different world, “i-it’s not my fault! the young master threatened me!”

“let’s ask the detective shall we? since it’s been  proven that men from the han group have a hard time believing the women’s words,” you roll your eyes.

the screen flashes with an dark, barren room with nothing but a man tied to a chair in the middle of it. his head is hung low but there’s no mistaking the sight of blood covering his face and shirt.

the ghost scent of the blood makes your stomach churn yet you wear the malicious smile of someone who’s about to grasp the very thing she desires - perfectly.

“he’s a little... tied up. we caught him just in time before he called up his partner and spilled everything your darling heir provided.”

“uh, hello? are we live?” a cautious, brittle-like voice echoes from the intercom as a man with greying hair enters the frame as he adjusts his glasses to sit higher on his nose bridge.

“attorney hyeon, you’re live,” you affirm, smiling tightly.

“ah, good evening,” a light of recognition glints in the man’s eyes as he smiles, bowing deeply before straightening his back and backing up until he’s standing next to the half-conscious detective, “i apologize for not being able to attend the meeting myself. i got into an accident, drugged and would have had my nails pulled out if miss han didn’t come to my rescue and brought me here.”

“argh... a... ah...” the detective interjects, groaning.

attorney hyeon laughs calmly as if he didn’t just hear the bloodied and bruised man asking for help.

“in my hands here, i have the contents of the will which i will now have my... uh, assistant-bodyguard share it to the screen and send to your phones... are you sure... they’re sent?” his voice becomes quieter whilst phones and tablets begin to ding with a notification simultaneously.

“... the three holiday villas in incheon, jeju and daegu will respectively go to the madam...” he begins listing out the properties owned by your late father and the distribution of a portion of it to the madam and your mother.

no one interjects even though attorney hyeon’s voice seems to drone on and one despite the tape and audio that leaves everyone on the edge of their seats.

“...and for matters regarding the succession of the new head, the boss, han jiseok, wishes a fair voting system be used to decide whether mr. han chanyeol or miss han ___ will take the position a starting a month after his death.” by the end of it, the room is deathly silent as if a pin drop would echo like thunder in this spacious room.

“the heir and heiress are given three months for them to prove themselves to the vassals and in the absence of a leader, jung hoseok will be appointed as proxy-”

at that, the whole room breaks out into a roar.

“jung hoseok hasn’t stepped foot in han manor for over fifteen years!”

“miss ___ and hoseok are married! this will lead to unfair results!”

a screech against the floor as a chair falls over.

“you still want to support the son of a bitch that’s willing to sell all of us out to the blue bastards?!”

“who’s to say the young master’s not selling out the names of sons of bitches like you who switches sides the first chance you have!”

in the midst of the shouting, chairs screeching and the elderly lawyer trying to gain calm the elders, chanyeol turns to you with the eyes of a man who’s watching his legacy fall right in his very eyes.

“i should’ve left you in the forest when we got lost 15 years ago,” he reaches for something behind his back.

you recall the brother with scratches all over his body, the sun was setting and his back had looked broad for your 8 year old self. you were just two kids who lost their way, slipped and fall in the forest not too far from the family villa.

that same brother is holding a gun to your face.

x

hoseok takes a long whiff of the cigarette that sits in between his index and middle fingers.

“that was a shitstorm,” someone laughs from behind him - your voice sounds oddly free for someone who’s about to either get hexed or get worshipped within three months.

the curve of smile on your lips makes him smile too. he breathes out, laughing, “yeah...”

“do you mind sharing?”

hoseok blinks once. then he regains his senses, looking at the smoldering bud and tapping the middle part of the cigarette with the tip of his index finger to get the ash off so it wouldn’t hurt you if it fell.

“yeah... here.” he pushes down the wince that comes from the slightest strain of passing the cigarette to you.

the way your eyes linger on the clean white bandage on his arm tells him you’re not fooled by his unfazed mask. yet you don’t say anything, your eyes flutter close as your matte burgundy lips wrap around the beige colored bud and inhale.

when chanyeol pulled out the gun, hoseok tried to reason him out of it. promises were made at the expense of his own life. all that, in exchange for yours. in the fleeting moment that chanyeol took to consider pointing the gun at hoseok, you find your opening, shoving his hand upward and hitting that spot in his rib.

the bullet didn’t hit you but it grazed hoseok’s arm. he was standing right next to you.

And hoseok has a brand new pack of cigarettes in his pocket along with an electric lighter - he’d probably grab them both in one grasp if he slipped his hand in his pocket now.

for some reason, he takes the cigarette you pass and takes a good, long whiff out of it.

“did you know?” the puffs of smoke pass through your mouth as you speak and breathe out.

“when i left,  boss told me that i should be ready to drop everything i have... everything i am at any moment... they would have dragged me back one way or another and it’s not gonna be with a gun with its safety lock on if i didn’t walk in on my own accords,” hoseok taps the ashes off a second time, watching them flutter down and settle in between the green blades of grass.

a sense apprehension follows your nod as you stare at your reflection in your polished pumps, “after all this... after i convince the vassals, i’ll make sure you walk out of this alive. heck, i’ll sign the divorce papers today-”

the half of the unsmoked cigarette hits the ground.

hoseok finds himself swallowing the gasp that slips out of your lips at his sudden movement. you freeze underneath his fingertips like the ice you build in your heart but you don’t push him away and hoseok takes that as a maybe.

maybe there’s stability in this chaos.

maybe love does bloom in the most desolate place.

he feels his heart leap into his throat when your arm goes around his neck as you kiss him back just as desperately.

maybe, just maybe, you need him as much as he needs you.

x

the three months fly by with you gathering the majority of the votes by exposing the dirt you have on chanyeol as well as obtaining support from the main branch families by giving them more control over the underground market that was previously monopolized by han group.

though you’re competing with no one, the three month grace period still went on to ease you into the leadership spot.

to keep everything fair, you and hoseok lived apart. him in his apartment he’d been living in up till now and you in one of the holiday villas that your father gifted your mother.

by virtue, you had every right to keep staying in the main mansion as the heiress but chanyeol’s presence was still too strong. his people still lurk behind the mask of the so called loyalty for the han group. he’s locked in one of the safest hideout where only a selected few know where it is. one of them being hoseok. you never asked him what happened with your brother.

that brother of yours was dead to you the moment he pointed a gun at your head.

and with that, you find yourself in a standstill when it comes to your relationship with hoseok.

the last time you mentioned divorce was on the day the will was read. you ended up in one of the empty guest rooms in the mansion because yours was too far away. hoseok fucked you into the silk satin material of the bed like he did that night. as if begging you to keep him - even if it was only for cheap thrills and fleeting passion.

once you stepped out of that room - somewhat presentable and barely any feelings in your leg, so much so, he had to wrap an arm around you to keep you upright - he was whisked away to discuss ground rules of what being the proxy head is entitled.

and that included maintaining a professional - as professional as a mafia leader can be - relationship with the heir and heiress he were to oversee.

once the three months were over, hoseok moved in with you. did all the things married couples would do - attended social functions and established your power as the head and him, the husband of said head. as if saying he had no eye for the position of the head. as if saying if they’d get on their knees and bow down at his will, they better be ready to die for you at his will. only when you’re away on trips overseas, visiting other ruling families in tokyo, hong kong, china and everywhere in asia - would he take over your job.

he kept the men in check and made sure they had a good beating if they went astray. and even then, they’d still follow him to the ends of the earth.

jung hoseok has the full support of the people who swore loyalty to the han family and you have the majority support of the heads of the branch family.

to anyone and everyone, you two make a dangerously powerful couple.

except there’s one problem: you’ve only consummated your marriage once and you can barely kiss your husband without him running away like you’re the literal devil that’s after him.

“h-honey, you’re back,” hoseok stammers, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gazes down at your exposed cleavage that’s pressed up against his body, trapping him between the desk and you.

he looks as if he’s a touch away from losing his mind and fucking you against the table in front of the frames of your predecessors on the wall.

but then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he doesn’t need to take it but he does, a ‘namjoon’ flashing across the screen.

as if seeing a lightbulb go off his head, you shake your head, ‘don’t you dare’.

“i remember taehyun caught the baek’s men in our territory, they’re in the tortu- interrogation room. i was gonna kill them and get rid of their bodies, but since you’re back... i have golf with namjoon, see you tonight.” with that, he kisses you on the corner of your mouth.

in other words, hoseok was saying ‘they’re your problem now, boss.’

“wh-what, jung hoseok, you-!” you manage to yell back but he’s out of the door before you knew it.

hours later, the clock hands strike an hour and a half past midnight as they mock you for making your own husband run away at the sight of you. the door clicks twice as some slips in and shuts it behind them.

you don’t even catch the sound of footsteps as hoseok goes about the room, taking off his shirt and wrapping a towel around his waist. the only indication he’s even here is the body that suddenly freezes up at the sudden flash of light on the nightstand on your side.

“where were you?”

“i was out... golfing... with namjoon...” he drags out the sentence as if his brain short circuited when put in the spotlight in nothing but a flimsy towel around that muscular body of his.

“your wife comes back after two weeks and you decide to go golfing on the very day she touched down?” you say curtly, arms crossed over your lace donned chest.

“i-...” hoseok starts pointing to the open bathroom door behind him that he was about to go in had it not been for your abrupt intervention.

“come here,” you order.

“i just got back and i sweated a lot-” is it the way your eyes bore into his without so much as blinking that makes him clamp his mouth shut?

“yes, ma’am.”

a sigh leaves your lips heartbeats after he comes to stand by the bed, head hanging low like a puppy who knows he’s about to receive a scolding. but you’re not his owner and hoseok’s your husband. your lifetime companion.

“hobi,” the nickname slips out of your mouth without you realizing it as your fingers graze his, tugging on his index finger like a child.

he seems to understand your beckoning, bed dipping when he takes a seat, facing you. it takes everything in you not to let your eyes linger longer than a millisecond at the way the towel ends up stretching, revealing a very noticeable lump protruding in between his thighs.

you clear your throat, mentally chiding yourself for the wave of memories that flood your mind when hoseok is looking at you with attentive eyes. all ears for you.

“for some reason, i feel like you’ve been avoiding me and it’s not just this afternoon. since we started living together... it feels like we’re back to being strangers with memories who happen to have to spend their lives together from now on.” you play with his fingers that you tuck into your lap, heart beating too fast for you to look at him in the eye.

and to think you started off like a lioness prepared for war.

all of a sudden, the temperature of the room drops as you mention the word you promised you’d never utter again since the day of the reading of the will.

“i meant what i said about divorce - monthly alimony until the day you die, a house in gangnam a car with a driver, all expenses paid. and if you find someone and want to start a family with them, i swear on my honor as the head of han group, your family will be protected under our care for as long as i’m alive.”

“i don’t want a divorce.” hoseok says, sounding somewhat hurt.

“then- why-” you begin but he cuts you off with his troubled voice.

“____, i watched over you, i dropped you off and pick you up after school,  taught you how to ride a bicycle-”

this time, it’s you who speaks over him,“-ten years ago. hobi -”

i’m an adult who literally knows how to put a bullet in someone’s head.

but you don’t get to say that when hoseok shakes his head.

“do you remember why you started calling me that? because you came home one day and said you learned a new word- hope. you said i was your hope and you were so excited because you could equate a new word to someone you know... someone who’s been like a brother figure to you- how messed up am i to marry the little girl that i watched over and actually desire her as a woman now?”

“so you do see me as a woman.” is all you say.

“is that all you heard, ___?” hoseok’s wide eyed gaze bore into yours, as if disbelieved by your nonchalance.

“it’s the only thing i care about,” you shrug, the easy arrogance almost costing you another ruined relationship but you sigh a second later, eyes fixed on the motionless hand in your lap before you slip your hand in his, holding it like you’re about to commence a thumb war, “i may have acted like a spoiled brat the majority of the time after we met again which is probably why this whole existential crisis is happening right now,” you laugh, “it’s easier to play the role of a bimbo daughter than a strong overbearing heiress. i guess i acted like that for so long, i started becoming that.

your hand lies still in hoseok’s as you look up, meeting his gaze for what it is, “i admit, it’s my fault if you think that my feelings spurred from the fond memories of the only person who treated me like a human.”

“but i assure you, i didn’t get to where i am now because i’m driven by sentiments like hate for chanyeol and everyone who looked down on me nor the love i had for you as a guardian. in life, there’s only one thing i want and that’s to be the head of han group. you’re a chest piece that helps turn the tables around for me but you’re not my only piece.”

the line of hoseok’s shoulders sag, as if hearing the truth hurt him more than the lie convinced himself of.

“choosing to make you my king is entirely up to me... not because of some childhood memory or dependency on a guardian figure like you thought but...” your thumb grazes hoseok’s knuckles as you lift his hand to your lips, pressing a lingering kiss on his knuckles, “we can take it slow, i won’t tease you anymore and you can see for yourself how true my words are.”

“feels like i should be the one saying that,” the lips on your forehead feels warm, spreading through your body like a mid summer’s night.

arms wrap around your body, hugging you to a strong, tight, unclothed chest as your breath hitches in your throat. you raise your hands to return the embrace but decide against it - it feels like a sin to be drooling over hoseok’s abs and greek god-like body when you’ve just promised to stop jumping the gun.

“you smell nice,” you finally cave, slender hands wrap around his naked torso as you breathe in his scent - a faint trace of musk and sea and masculinity.

at that, the body underneath you seems to freeze up, “i-i think i should take that shower now.”

hoseok’s sudden retreat almost has you falling face first into the sheets. you watch as he covers his face with that large, pretty hands of his while his feet carries him into the bathroom door and closes it shut.

x

the room is silent.

save for the sound of the droplet gathering underneath the tap before hitting the quartz countertop.

hoseok stares at himself in the mirror. lips parted, glazed eyes that are becoming clearer with each passing second as if gradually realizing the sticky situation he found himself in.

the bathroom smells like your favorite floral bath gel but he can still sense the scent of his arousal that, after running the shower head over, finally washed down the drain.

the water was obviously hot. not scalding - hoseok couldn’t take scalding hot showers like you do. but since he’d moved in and after screaming and almost tumbling down to his death if the water didn’t boil him alive first - the next day, he’d found the water to be cooler. warm enough not to make him freeze but not hot enough to have his skin emitting vapor like a half cooked human meat.

but that’s besides the point.

the point is - he’s already had a good, warm shower and jerked himself off but he’s still hard.

it’s the way your delicate frame presses against him when you try to hug him. no- hoseok shakes his head mentally, it’s the way you breathe and compliment his scent which, hoseok is certain, smells like sweat and grass and soil that he rolled over after miserably failing to hit the ball.

he might be well acquainted with riches and luxuries but he’ll get used to these rich people hobby namjoon’s been trying to get him on after his marriage with the head of han group.

these days, it feels like namjoon’s been trying to get hoseok to meet him more than the times they have to actually see each other when he was slaving over his perfectionist ass at work.

before hoseok can even ponder further on namjoon’s unarousing quirks and get his boner down, he hears a rap on the door and a hesitant,“hobi?”

“y-yeah?” ha manages to answer somewhat smoothly.

“i just wanted to say that i can sleep in my old room... if you’re not comfortable sleeping in the same-”

“no!” a rushed rejection, a heart trembling inside a chest.

hands of fear grasps at his wrists and ankles as though if he stayed tight-lipped any longer, he might actually walk out to an empty bedroom with no trace of you at all.

as this is all just one beautiful, tragic dream.

“no, i like sleeping with you.” hoseok slaps himself in the cheek, “i mean i like sleeping next to you... in the same bed.”

the silence seems to stretch on for hours until he hears the giggle coming from the other side of the door - hoseok’s heart warms, you sound like you’re back to yourself, “okay, well, come to bed faster.”

“i will!” he curses himself for that rushed response but you’re probably back in bed with the lights from the nightstand off, probably tired as fuck after a one hour flight back to seoul, having had baek’s men’s territory breach matters shoved into your arms and waiting up on your pitiful husband who was avoiding you over his conflicted conscience.

by the time he’s out of the bathroom, loose pajama pants hanging lowly around his hips, he sees that small lump underneath the blanket, your fetal position telling him you fell asleep facing his side of the bed.

hoseok slips into bed, laying on his side and admiring your pretty lips and thick lashes. his hand clenches and unclenches as if he’s not sure if he should sleep hugging you the way he’s used to.

he caves, hand wrapping around your back as he kisses the top of your head.

unbeknownst to him, you’re still awake. you pretended to be asleep because you didn’t want to make hoseok uncomfortable. but now he’s cuddling you like a child whilst his semi erected head presses against your stomach and it’s kind of too late to say anything.

not to mention, you were a virgin up until awhile ago and you’re not sure if it’s normal for men to be able to hold out this long without fucking their wives or if hoseok’s self-restraint is just over the roof and you’re the one with too high of a libido.

‘damn it, should’ve jumped on his dick before initiating a heart-to-heart.’

[hello-everyfandom]

“On my heart, Love.”

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Words: 2k

Summary: You’re tutoring Peter in Herbology and James loves to distract you.

(Enjoy! A little James Potter heals all wounds)

James Potter was widely known, across the grounds of Hogwarts, to be quite arrogant and rather self-absorbed. In classes he was the student who sat in the back making snarky comments back to the Professor and the student who, along with his friends, were quite mischievous. It seemed that James Potter had quite a large head, being quite popular as well as star Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. So, by the time you were appointed to tutor Peter Pettigrew on Herbology, you were fully aware of the presence of Mr. James Potter. It was quite frequent that Peter’s friends interrupted study sessions and you, sadly, had gotten used to the presence of James’ big head.

“Peter,” you sighed, “You really must focus, and I do not say this as your tutor who wants you to do well, but literally because if you do not study these plants and you could actually die in class.”

Peter, who sat next to you, groaned loudly, “But why!” Peter whined making you snicker.

“Why!!” you mocked him in a childish voice, “Because if you aren’t careful in dissecting and are too busy staring at the butterflies, a Venomous Tentacula will snap it’s jaws at you and well...” you clicked your tongue, “I’m afraid you fresh out of luck then.”

Peter sat up and grinned, “You know what?”

“What?” you responded,

“You may be the cruelest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met.” 

“Peter,” you pretended to coo, “that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Peter held his hands up, “I tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”

You snorted, “Yeah, right.”

As the two of you continued to read through the textbook, Peter took notes on exactly what you said. It was peaceful studying until you heard two heavy footsteps marching towards you. 

“Wormtail!” Sirius Black emerged. He flopped onto the bench next to Peter and slung his arm around him. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Taking the intellectual advantage of this poor lady, here.” James Potter answered his friend, pulling the chair next to you out abruptly. 

“Learning about Venomous Tentacula,” Peter shoved Sirius Black’s hand away from his notes. 

“And Remus can’t teach you this hub-bub?” Sirius raised his eyebrow. Peter shook his head.

“Absolutely not. Y/N is the best there is.”

James cocked his head. “Is that so? She’s the best there is in...” he paused to look at the cover of your textbook, “Herbology?”

You were quick in response, “She sure is. And, now that it has been mentioned, she is also quite skilled in the art of jinxes and hexes. Though my word may not be enough to suffice, would you prefer to see an example?”

Your voice was cool but the threat of making James Potter’s fingers into feathers and his nose into a beak was quite prominent. Sirius Black let out a bark of a laugh, holding his chest as he laughed. Peter watched amusedly as his best friend and his tutor (and admittedly also his friend) began to bicker.

“Alright, alright,” James grinned back, “Y/L/N, you’ve won. Don’t unleash your wrath onto poor me.”

“Yes, Y/L/N,” Sirius added, “I’m not sure he could take the humiliation.”

Peter nodded and continued to tease, “His ego is too fragile, like a little teacup.”

“You know what,” James defended, “You’re all pricks, and the only one I respect here is Y/L/N, purely because she knows how to properly articulate an insult.”

“Insult?” you grinned, “You are not worth my time to insult, love. Think of my teasing to be nothing but a mere brain exercise.”

James Potter bit his lip to hold back a smile, “I love nothing more than to be considered a brain exercise of yours.”

Sirius groaned disgustedly, “Alright, enough with the flirting.” He stood and brushed off his trousers dramatically, “Pete, we came to announce that we are going to find the Pixies that Professor Kettleburn keeps locked away and unleash them on some first years.”

Peter immediately looked at you with little begging eyes, “Please! Please Y/N, can I go?”

“We still have to study!” you protested, “Peter, you have an exam on this tomorrow!”

“He’ll be fine!” Sirius pulled Peter up, slinging his arm around him again, “Pete’s been tutored by the best.”

“But-” before you could protest further, Sirius dragged Peter away, ruffling his hair. You sighed loudly and began to clean up the notes and textbooks that littered the table.

“Don’t worry,” James said, leaning to hand you a book, “He’ll be fine.”

You sent him a knowing look, taking the book from his hand and placing it into your bag.“It’ll be on your head if he gets a low mark.”

“I swear on my soul,” James put his hand on his heart, “If he gets a mark lower than Acceptable, I will sit here, myself, and help you tutor him.”

You let out a laugh, “As if.” 

“Swear on my heart!” James called as you walked away.

“Then I’ll see you next Thursday,” you waved your hand, not bothering to look back at him. James watched you walk away with a smile breaking his cheeks. 

That Thursday, as you expected, Peter approached the study table with James in tow. Both of the marauders held their heads low.

“So, I’m assuming-”

“Your assumption is correct.” James answered solemnly.

“I thought so. James, I assume you will be joining us then?”

“Your assumption is,” he let out a breath of sad air, “correct.”

“Wonderful.” you grinned smugly back.

From then on, James Potter attended your study sessions, never late. At first, he absentmindedly looked around the room, busy enchanting paper cranes to fly and twirling his wand to make soft swirls of colours float around. You hated it. James Potter seemed to distract you, even if he didn’t try. He always came in, smelling of grass and cologne and would always reach up to run his fingers through his hair. Sometimes, he’d crane his neck to see what you were writing or make some witty comment that received a not so subtle eye roll from you. 

You didn’t think he cared, not truly, and your blind prejudice made you begin to think James was only there because his ego would be bruised if he backed down from a promise. It was when James began to fly cranes too close to your face for your liking did you blow up.

“You know what.” you stood up, “If you are going to be a prick and distract poor Peter from his studies then you may as well not be here. No one is gaining anything by your presence,” you said rather harshly. 

You turned quickly to go to the bathroom in order to cool off. As you rubbed some water on your face, you began to feel the guilt ride up your neck. You didn’t mean to talk so grating to Potter, you were just having a rough day with your own studies and your own academic life. 

You paced back slowly to your study table feeling sorrowful and thinking of how you’d apologize to Potter. As you approached, you saw James with his arm slung over Peter. Squinting closer and making your steps quieter you could hear their hushed whispers.

“I’m going to fail,” Peter cried pathetically, his head was buried in his arms “I can’t do it, even with a tutor I am absolutely failing this god forsaken class. Maybe I should just drop out now.”  

James clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Don’t say that, Worm. You’re not doing terribly, it will just take a few moments for it to truly click.”

“But you and Remus and Sirius are all doing better-”

“Sirius has skipped at least half of his classes this year and Remus has pulled out half his hair trying to study for O.W.L.S. Really, Worm,” James said seriously, “You’re doing better than any of us combined.”

“But-”

“Wouldn’t lie to you,” James patted his back encouragingly, “Besides, Herbology is one of the hardest courses for our year.”

“Really?” Peter asked, raising his head to look at his friend.

“Really really. Now clean yourself up, don’t want Y/L/N to see you in such a state. Why don’t you go grab a snack from the kitchens?”

Peter agreed, noting that a cookie may make himself feel better, and rose to recollect himself on the way to the kitchen. He didn’t see you in the shadows, looking in surprise at both Peter and James. You had no idea Peter had thought so harshly of himself, in fact, he was steadily improving in his studies. You hugged your arms and walked towards James who was leaning backwards in his chair. He straightened up when he saw you and cleared his throat.

“You’re looking refreshed.” he commented, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

You paused before saying, “Thank you.”

“Listen-”

“Listen-” the two of you said at the same time. You both looked at each other, unable to keep a smile off of your faces. Yours was small, shy even whilst his was large and cheeky.

“You go first,” he waved his hand. 

“I wanted to apologize,” you whispered lowly, fiddling with your nails, “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I thought... well I thought-”

“Thought I was a prick?”

“Precisely,” the two of you laughed together. 

“But, seriously, I am sorry,” you acknowledged seriously.

“I am too,” James answered back, “I know it has been... less than pleasant with me being around your study dates.”

“Study period,” you corrected.

“Whatever it’s called. The truth is...” James looked around to see if Peter had miraculously appeared and let out a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair in a stressed manner, “The truth is... Peter is a little bit embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” you asked incredulously.

“He feels as though he isn’t doing as well as he should... and I... well, I attend your study sessions to cheer him up a bit.”

“Oh.” you mumbled.

“And, I-” James seemed to struggle a bit trying to find his word, “I suppose I try and distract you so Peter doesn’t feel like all the attention is on him.”

“Oh.”

It grew quiet between you two. James stared at you, scratching the back of his neck nervously. You bit your cheek, wondering what you could say.

“But-”

“But?” you interrupted.

“But... that doesn’t mean... I don’t want to come.”

“Oh?” your voiced curiously.

“I mean,” he laughed, almost a little embarrassedly, “I guess I come for Peter, but I also come... for you?” he trailed off quieter and quieter, blushing a bit.

“For me?”

James glanced at you. He saw your smile, one he had grown to love. “Yes.” 

“Oh.”

“Is that all you can say? ‘Oh’?” James mocked lightly. You shoved his arm and he acted as if he were being punched. “Do I render you speechless?” James’ eyebrows wiggled.

“Wow,” you whistled, “Just as you were beginning to warm my heart, you decided to go and be a prick again.” you teased back. 

“No no!” James exclaimed, “I can go back to being cute.” The two of you smiled at each other, no longer feeling the awkwardness in the air.

“James Potter,” you observed slowly, “you’re a good friend.”

He began to flush, his ears went red and he waved his hand, “What are mates for?”

“I guess you’re right,”

“Does that mean you’ll let me stay for study sessions?”

You pretended to think, tapping a finger on your lips, “I suppose so.” James cheered loudly. Your eyes widened at his cheer and quickly shushed him.

“And then maybe... we can-”

“Can what?”

“Meet... for something other than studying?” James Potter, the boy who was charming and confident grew nervous waiting for your reply. 

“We’ll see.” you finally answered, making James let out an exhale of relief. “But only if Peter gets higher than Acceptable on his essay.”

James leaned in close to you, “On my heart, Love.”

And yes, with much studying and preparation from both you and James, Peter received an O.

[elpercotreviews]

Reviewing My Anime 10/10's *Relatively* Spoiler-Free

Note: What I rank a 10/10 is very specific and obviously very subjective to my own. Something can only be a 10/10 if I already consider it a 9/10 AND I must have rewatched it. I am someone who typically does not rewatch/reread anything, unless it's something I truly absolutely enjoy. With that being said, because of the requirements, I only have 4 animes that I rank 10/10, and tbh only one of those animes would get that ranking from the general anime audience. The rest are SO SO SO specific to my particular tastes that I would be absolutely stunned if someone also had the same four as me, because the requirement is so specific. Imma make another post eventually for my 9/10's because I think that list makes a lot more sense for a general anime audience lmaooo.

Soooo, in order of least personal to most personal (although obviously they're all personal to me lol) we have:

1. Psycho-Pass

Recommended for people who: are really into that dark dystopian future society vibes, are fans of Ghost in the Shell, like detective/crime stories

Okay, for a few people, this one actually probably makes some sense. At the moment, it has an 8.37 on myanimelist which means this anime is super well liked. I've watched this anime twice, first the original and then the second time I watched the director's cut (yes that exists lol). Overall, I'm a huge fan of the entire Psycho-Pass anime series as a whole. I've watched all three seasons, as well as two of the movies. I didn't watch any of the Sinners of the System ones cuz tbh I literally couldn't find an english sub of that anywhere, it just doesn't exist lol. I think it's okay cuz the ratings for the Sinners of the System trio of movies seems meh. I've actually watched Psycho-Pass the Movie like three/four times LMAO but that's simply cuz a movie is obviously much quicker to watch than an entire anime season. Like just objectively, the Psycho Pass series as a whole is very inconsistent in quality due to the fact that it's all original, so they do technically just make up everything as they go lol. Season two is all right (I think it gets more hate than it should), three is good but season one by far is the absolute best in the entire series. I'd argue the movie is technically my absolute favorite out of the whole IP, but I actually give the movie an 8/10. The movie, because of being obviously way shorter, simply does not have the deep controversial and philosophical lines of thought that season one has. It lacks that extra depth that would make me put it anything higher than an 8. The two main characters have good chemistry as a crime-fighting duo and the main villain's rivalry/relationship with the male lead is super compelling. The female lead is meant to be relatively naive/more on the innocent side which works with the plot as it allows the show to naturally explain and give more exposition as to the actual world and rules of Psycho-Pass without having it seem so ham-fisted or just throwing info to the audience.

2. Violet Evergarden

Recommended for people who: cry to sad movies, like gorgeous animation, are very empathetic, like vignette-esque storytelling

All right if you even remotely consider yourself an avid anime fan, then this anime is probably also somewhere on your 10/10 list or at least an anime you consider to be "very good." That is, unless you are that very vocal minority who simply really just REALLY do not like this anime for some god forsaken reason. However, in my honest opinion, I think an anime like this just really doesn't sit well with ... how do I put this blunty ... people who do not give a fuck about other people or anyone else's feelings but their own. Basically, IF YOU ARE SELFISH, A NARCISSIST, EGOTISTICAL, OR ANY SORT OF COMBO OF THOSE THREE, YOU WILL NOT LIKE THIS ANIME. And if you do, you probably don't think you're any of those things. Because of the anime's very premise, I find it very difficult to see a very self-centered/heartless person particularly enjoying this anime. The whole premise of this anime is that the main character who, because of her upbringing, doesn't understand feelings/emotions, especially the concept of love, grows as a human and slowly begins to learn what love is. The show does this by showing multiple sets of characters meant to represent different types of love (romantic, familial, platonic, etc). The vocal minority of people I've seen give Violet Evergarden bad ratings all typically argue that although beautiful, the anime doesn't have any substance/doesn't really mean anything. If that's honestly all you got after watching the entire show, then you deadass just don't get it, and you probably will never ever get it. If you've seen or heard of Vivy: Fluorite Eye's Song, than just know that these two animes are VERY very similar in vibe despite being technically different genres. However, I personally found the themes and concepts in Vivy are done much more masterfully in Violet Evergarden which I think is due to Vivy's heavier focus on a story-driven overarching plot/action as opposed to Violet Evergarden's focus more on emotional impact/an episodic format. I've watched the entire series and I've rewatched the main show twice. TBH you can probably skip the gaiden movie AKA the one set at the girl's academy it was highkey pointless. Compared to the opera episode they added as a "special", the gaiden movie was still good but I wish resources were dedicated to something that actually added to the story. ALSO YES I KNOW ITS A GAIDEN AKA A SIDE STORY AKA FILLER SO YES NO DUH IT DIDNT ADD ANYTHING, BUT STILL. As for the main show, I think I cried for three episodes (the one about the playwright/author I forgot lol, the mother and daughter, and the soldier). On my rewatch, I didn't cry but I still deeply cared for and related to the characters. Violet Evergarden is a beautiful anime with a beautiful story.

3. ACCA: 13-ku Kansatsu Ka

Recommended for people who: like bread and bakeries, don't mind a very chill and slow-paced story, like stories about political intrigue and hidden agendas

Based on a relatively short manga, ACCA: 13 follows the main character Jean Otus as he performs his job of auditing the 13 districts of his country Dowa, while rumors and politics brew in the background that threaten to entangle Jean into a complicated plot. To be honest, I think properly reviewing this anime is impossible for me, because I just can't really explain the vibes of this anime besides "chill" and "intriguing." I think trying to explain anything more than the basic premise I just wrote would spoil a lot of what ACCA is, because it's plot is actually relatively quite simple and straightforward. Compared to Psycho-Pass which has a relatively good cult following, and Violet Evergarden which is universally praised, ACCA is an anime that I've yet to personally meet anyone who has ever even heard of it LMAOO. And almost everyone I know watches anime, so that's saying something oof. ACCA is made by Madhouse, which if you don't know, is a super well known anime studio, producing big hits such as Death Note, Hunter x Hunter, One Punch Man, etc. That's why I'm surprised that ACCA has flown just SO under the radar, but that may be due to the overalls nature of the anime itself. ACCA is an anime where all the characters hold their card close and no one seems to really share their real thoughts. One main criticism the anime has is the lack of deeper connections to characters and that for a main character, Jean Otus is very bland. To be honest, I think that's a very fair criticism and I can understand why this would prevent people from rating this anime higher than an 8 or 7. Due to the very nature of the anime and its plot, I do agree that there is a huge cast of colorful characters that we unfortunately don't really get to know more about. To be honest though, I don't mind this because I feel that's honestly quite realistic, especially factoring in Jean's job. All these places he's going and all these people he's meeting, it's literally just his job. He's not on vacation, these people aren't his friends, so the anime has no real reason to dwell much longer on places past its specific episode. Just like in real life, you encounter so many people and go past so many places that you probably won't ever see again. So for me personally, I didn't mind that the anime didn't explicitly show much about the backstories or lives of the cast, save for the very main characters (as their backstories were plot relevant). I think as viewers of not simply an anime, but a whole other world, I think it should be satisfactory to inherently understand that these are whole "people" who have entire lives that we are not exactly privy to. So although admittedly our understanding of many of the characters was all around quite shallow, I think that works for the scope of the anime, which was relatively simple and focused on just Jean living his life and the political plot stirring in the background until it was brought forward in the second half of the anime. Also I love Jean Otus. I actually completely absolutely adore him. He is literally my profile pic for myanimelist LMAO. I think calling him "bland" is fair from other people's perspectives, especially as the supposed main character of an ANIME, but I feel that if ACCA was in a different format like a novel, I think his personality would have been less criticized. Like I said, I love him soo much. I don't find him bland at all, but actually very interesting and highkey attractive LOL (if only he'd quit smoking but it's part of his charm 😞). Yes for an anime "protagonist," he is quite underwhelming especially compared to others, but I think that makes him very charming!!! Like all he wants to do is just chill, vibe, and do his job lmaooo. I think as a person, he’s very charismatic, and in the world of ACCA the rest of the characters see that as well. Because like, if he really were such a bland person, why would so many people like him and actually trust him lol? As for why it’s technically my favorite anime of all time (my ultimate one is a movie), I can’t give super detailed reasons why to be honest. I just really like the overall vibes of the anime itself, and I think the anime is just super unique and original. I’ve watched a ton of anime over the years, but I’ve genuinely seen nothing like ACCA in the slightest. I mean, just look at the recommended animes on the myanimelist. The recommended animes are all stuff I’ve also personally really liked (like fugou keiji unlimited and the great pretender) but yeah there’s just truly nothing that’s close to what ACCA is, and because of that, it reminds my absolute favorite anime show. I’ve seen the dub and the sub, even though I am a vehement dub hater lmaooo (except for very few circumstances, and this also applies to all non-English media, not just anime). There was only one thing in the entire show that slightly confused me/ seemed slightly unbelievable and I won’t spoil but it had something to do with the overall timeline of some events, but it doesn’t detract from the story at all. Oh and the art style! I really love the art style of the anime. It stays pretty true to the manga, but is also just an overall kind of art style I really like. I really enjoy the more like 2d/flat/drawn art style versus really clean and really detailed stuff, and I’m typically not a big fan of very obvious use of CGI (unless done tastefully like in Demon Slayer). All the backgrounds in ACCA have this painted/drawn style and the anime itself has this like muted(?) filter over it that makes the anime seem like someone’s drawings just put up on display in a way that’s really refreshing and nice. I highly recommend this story for anyone who wants a breath of fresh air and to get away from the typical action-packed high energy of big name anime.

4. From Up on Poppy Hill

Imma make a whole separate post JUST for this movie so I can explain why I love this movie so so much. And honestly, Imma need a whole separate post in the first place to address the elephant in the room when it comes to this movie (if you’ve seen it, then you know what I’m talking about). And if you’ve haven’t seen the movie, maybe you’ve heard about one of its controversial themes. I’m not gonna say what it is, cuz I KNOW it’ll be super off-putting for a lot of people, but please omg just hear me out. I just love this movie so so much. I’ve seen it like 7 times and counting. I have it downloaded on my computer and on a flash drive. I’ve watched the sub AND the dub however I’ve stopped watching the dub because it makes me sad every time I hear Shun’s voice actor ;-; This movie is legit an honest-to-god comfort movie for me that I could watch over and over and I’ll fall in love with it again each and every time. And once again IMMA MAKE A WHOLE SEPARATE POST BECAUSE I SWEAR PEOPLE ARE GONNA BE LIKE “Yo ain’t this the movie with the -----” and it’s like PLEASE LET ME EXPLAIN. The vibes of this movie, the themes it addresses (yes even THAT theme), the music, the art, the characters, is perfectly presented in a way that I will never stop watching this movie. The only other film that has come close to the amount of times I’ve watched From Up on Poppy Hill would be Legally Blonde lmaooooo. 

[the-fiction-witch]

The Witch P2

MOVIE THE LAST LEGION COUPLE: ROMULUS X READER RATING: SEXY + SWEET

I smirked and licked my lips as she climbed off me, I sat up leaning on my arms watching her climb off the bed and stand at the foot of the bed tieing her hair back up, I looked at her as she faced away from me seeing her sweet skin with the firelight cascading off her, I felt a twinge of pain in my stomach seeing her perfect arse, the smooth faultless skin the had the body of a goddess truly, but on her arse was a scar the brand brunt into her skin of a pentagram not dissimilar to what I had seen on Ambrosinus, Her father had branded her with it when she was a child not long after her mother died, she said that he told her it was a mark she had to bear it was her place in the world. It made me upset to see such a beautiful body defiled that way, I shuffled to the end of the bed and wrapped an arm around her kissing down her back giving a scar a kiss.

"It doesn't hurt Romulus. Not anymore" she says

"Still. I shall kiss it better" I told her

"Here" she smiled turning to face me stroking across my face "Perhaps this time"

"Perhaps." I nodded she held my still slightly bleeding hand pushing on the wound "Oww" I complained

"Baby" she giggled moving the blood that bubbled to the surface drawing patterns on my skin before she gave my hand a kiss and pressed it to her stomach I smiled widely at her

"I can only hope my little witch" I smiled taking my hand away leaving the imprint of my blood on her stomach "You know what I'd Like?" I asked her as she pressed her own hand on the other side of her stomach leaving her own imprint there beside my own I smiled giving her stomach little kisses

".... let me guess" she giggled playing with my hair "A Little blonde boy"

"No, A Little Y/h/c Girl. our own little witch"

"A witch could never be queen,"  she says nervously

"She will. She will be the queen. The empress. I will make sure of it" I told her "And so will you"

"I cannot see it," she says

"I can." I smiled standing up to pull her head into my chest "I see you sat on the throne in a beautiful black dress with stars and moons, tiara in your hair, nursing our little baby girl," I smiled kissing her head "You've seen our baby. and I promise she will be spoiled beyond measure"

"Whenever I see our baby... they aren't here"

"You don't see everything y/n. I'm sure it'll all be fine" I told her kissing her head "Now, I need to get back. they send half the army out looking for me if I'm not back before the gates close" I told her slapping her butt and starting to get my clothes back on she smiled going to get her dress on top

"Will you be back to see me again?"

"Of course I will. as soon as I have an excuse to sneak away again" I told her giving her a kiss before getting my bag and cloak I went to the door but I hugged her tightly holding her as close as I could "I love you, My little witch"

"I love you too Romulus. go on or you'll be in trouble" she smiled giving me one last kiss I nodded and headed out back into the woods starting the walk back to the palace.

I had hidden away today, I didn't want anyone to see me. I didn't want people to see me. Many of the staff noticed me gone last night, the rumour was whispering around the palace that I was gone last night, and many of them knew enough to theorize where it was I had gone. Many new of her,  and knew I visited her. I stayed locked away not wanting anyone to know they'd burn her if they knew what we had done. The door opened and instantly I hid my hand in my pocket sipping my wine trying to seem normal,

"They all know." He says

"I know" I sighed

"If this gets out the palace. The king... off with A Witch!"

"It's my business"

"You're the king! it's the business of the empire what you do and where you spend the night," He explained "I know your not a child anymore Romulus I don't want to stand here and shout at you like your a child but you have to stop this, What you do, where you go and what happens is my business. Now what happened"

"Nothing I just spoke with her" "spoke with her?"

"Yes."

"Romulus... tell me the truth. did you?"

"..... I did."

"Why would you do that? we have slaves? concubines? any woman you want-"

"well I want her," I said "I love her. I want her to be my queen"

"we can't allow it," He says

"Why not? I thought I could have any queen I wanted?"

"any... but her" he says "Romulus, If you made her your queen sat her on the throne.... what if something happened to you, the empire ruled by a witch, your children heirs to the throne born of a witch, Forsaken by the gods, they could have the powers of there mother." He explained "Think of it, A king... With the powers of dark magic"

"I don't care. I love her, and I will make her my queen" I told him

"Romulus, show me your hand"

"no"

"Romulus, Show me your hand" He ordered I sighed and showed him my hand he looked at it and I saw fear rush across his face "Romulus... What have you done?"

"My job. to give the empire a queen, and an heir."

"They'll burn her. when they learn what she is"

"They try, I'll burn them all first"

I sat slightly bored nothing to do today, sat on the throne listening to politics that do not interest me at all. I couldn't sneak out and see y/n I think I had seen her twice since our last night together and even then not for very long, they had kept a might tighter lock on me and much keener eyes on me, any time I left the castle I had to have someone with me. Suddenly I heard the soldiers outside but the door opened and everyone panicked it was a woman in a long floor-length black hooded cloak her face and body hidden, she stepped forward

"Stay where you are and identify yourself" one of the soldiers ordered, all of them holding there swords out to her

"Sleepy Soldiers," She says and insantly every soldier droped to the floor fast asleep

"Who are you woman?" My advistor asked a fear in his voice

"Sleep" she said again and he dropped to the floor

"Who are you?" I asked taking a step towards her to try and see who she was, she pulled back her hood revealing her sweet Y/h/c Hair,

"Someone who loves you"

"Y/n!" I smiled running to hold her in my arms giving her a thousand sweet kisses "What are you doing here?"

"I had to come see you" she smiled taking my hand and giving it a kiss and resting it on her stomach but her stomach felt so strange, It felt a little like her stomach jolted

"Y/n..." I began but she smirked and let her cloak drop revealing her heavily pregnant stomach "ah. Yeah. that does seem important" I blushed

"I thought it was" she smiled moving my hand "There's Little Freya" she smiled moving my hand to where a weight sat in her stomach "And there is Little romulus Jr" she smiled moving my hand to the other

"T-Twins? How do you know?" I asked her

"Romulus? I just knocked our your intire palace staff without even moving my hand, you think I can't tell the things growing in my womb?"

"Good point, stupid question" I laughed giving her a kiss "Come on, lets get you off your feet, and I wanna cuddle the babies" I smiled tugging her though the palace towards my room "why have you never done that before?" "Done what?" "Put the palace to sleep? so you can come visit me?"

"How do you know I haven't" she smirked hurrying into my room

"Don't you talk like that" I told her off slapping her butt as I shut the door

"why not?"

"Becuase I can't have sex with you when your pregannt"

"why not?" she giggled

"won't it... hurt?"

"Not more then it ever hurts"

"won't I.... hurt there heads?"

"You think your dick, reached my womb?"

"It doesn't?"

"No romulus" she giggled

"Oh... alright then" I smirked tugging her to my bed

[ganymedesclock]

what would be your favorite thing to see in a zelda game?

So my influential first Zelda Game was The Wind Waker, and while I’ve enjoyed many elements of games since then, if there’s one big thing I feel like was never topped... it’s Wind Waker’s version of Ganondorf.

Ganondorf is never, I would say, depicted as dumb (even his ostensibly ‘mindless beast’ versions are noted to show strategic cunning or there’s at least the implication of charisma or calculation.

But I’ve always really liked the sense of Ganondorf in his Wind Waker boss fight where it’s what a friend of mine has called “a duel of contrasting schools”. Wind Waker Ganondorf is a huge physically powerful dude and in contrast against a shrimpier-than-usual Link this stands out... but in practice what makes him a more dangerous foe than other hulking powerhouses you’ve faced in that game is that he shows an unbelievable amount of speed, grace, and agility. 

It’s been years since I’ve played the game but the image of Ganondorf, his great dark sleeves flying as he moves, attacks, and parries like a martial hurricane is embedded in my memory and I really feel like nothing since then has carried that same sense. Twilight Princess Ganondorf has many of the same qualities as a bossfight in his final phase- he hangs at scrutinizing distance only to suddenly rush you- but he presents all heavy and stomping and this was extended even further in Skyward Sword with Demise, who is not Ganondorf but clearly metatextually designed as ‘a counterpart to him’- Demise has some cool specs in his flowing, ‘raw elemental’ vibes but in practice he’s just, the biggest toughest dude and his lightfootedness is kind of an afterthought when he’s wielding Ghirahim in the form of a spiked club.

(which, like. I’ve joked before how this is horribly degrading for Ghirahim. Demise is agile but you defeat him by Skyward Striking him to death. You’re incapable of landing a skyward strike on Ghirahim because it is a MASSIVELY telegraphed movement. Ghirahim- who in his own hands, forges heavy but elegant swords to use as shields rarely, and far more commonly wicked lightweight sabers)

This is partially me coming from a background of, for eight years of my life, I did martial arts, and advanced pretty far at it. I’ve seen quite a lot of people, some of which just happened to be born with larger bodies than mine. They pulled the genetic straw to be big fellas and they even invested in that big body and got pretty strong.

In practice, in martial arts, the people you’re really scared of aren’t the strongest nearly as often as they’re the fastest. I went to a good school- some of our guys routinely took home first place trophies at national-level tournaments. And most of the cream-of-the-crop people in our school, were not huge guys- they were powerful, but that power was condensed and streamlined and wielded with speed and efficiency. 

And there’s more I can say of why Wind Waker feels like the best form of Ganondorf we’ve seen yet- I can talk for hours about the notes of complexity given to his rage and remorse and how the two interplay with each other, the aching emptiness of his speech about the wind and his confirmation at the end, that here, as was at the beginning of his life, the wind is against him- the sheer gravity of this guy as a bastion of a truly forgotten age and people, when Hyrule so often in games lies ‘dead’ but adored and mourned and idealized and even the ‘ignorant’ do not let the dirt from their shoes fall upon its grave- in Wind Waker, Ganondorf is the last known survivor of the Gerudo, looking upon a world where without assuming any monstrous form, there is still no one on the face of the Great Sea that looks like him.

But to boil it down, dammit, I want to actually feel like Ganondorf is a learned man and someone who is dangerous not merely by being a big angry bruiser but a big angry bruiser who carries his vendetta like a whetstone and passes its face over all of the edges of him until he gleams with sharpness. This is a man who orchestrates coups and springs ambushes and commands forgotten and forsaken arts of sorcery. I don’t wanna see him rushing me highlander style, or his gear loadout being determined by “well, he’s, bigger than Link, so he can use bigger heavier swords.”

And if we’re gonna get supernatural monster Ganondorf more than Ganondorf the human dude who is also an apocalypse-tier wizard, then, like... I’ve always stood by that the horror of the werewolf concept isn’t “that a man is replaced by a monster” but rather running from what you think is a vicious animal only to hear it unlock the door to keep following you.

[sondepoch]

Part 3

Paramour (Diavolo x Reader)

You love Diavolo. And Diavolo loves you. But in the Devildom, relationships aren't as straightforward as that—and Diavolo being the future ruler of the Devildom certainly complicates things. So when you learn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, a human, you're overjoyed. Yet, there are still issues. Big issues. Diavolo wants you to be his paramour—whatever that means. But you want to be his wife. And with each passing moment, it's beginning to feel like even love can't bridge the gap between your worlds.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Diavolo thinks he's dreaming when he wakes up to the sensation of someone playing with his hair.

There's only one person in all the realms who would ever do that, but he knows that you're gone. Gone to the human world, gone from his life, gone because he released you, and never to return.

But as Diavolo continues to press his eyes shut, his mind only grows more alert, and the feeling of fingers dancing through his hair feels even more real—almost as if someone is actually there next to him.

The man keeps his eyes closed, savoring the feeling.

He's scared, terrified, that if he lets himself open his eyes and slides back into reality, whatever daydream he's in will slip away and he'll be left all alone again. But when he catches a faint sigh from above him, a sigh he doesn't just hear but one he feels, in the soft and warm breath that just barely rustles his dark red locks, he can't feign sleep any longer.

Diavolo opens his eyes.

And then he regrets not having opened them earlier.

"M-MC?" He chokes out, his voice hoarse from lack of use. His eyes widen at the sight of you: beautiful and loving and sincere as you smile a sad smile down at him.

"You're awake," He hears you whisper.

And part of him still thinks he's dreaming, because that's the only rational explanation for your presence in his bed, but Diavolo doesn't even care because he's missed you so damn much. He practically jumps up, moving muscles he hasn't bothered moving in days, enveloping your body into his as he hugs you tight, tighter than he's ever hugged you before.

"How?" Comes his broken question, and he buries his head in your neck, breathing in the sweet smell of you.

"Lucifer," He hears you respond breathlessly as you return the embrace, and the sensation of your sweet arms wrapping around his body proves to be too much for the demon. Diavolo holds you close, forcing your head atop of his shoulder so that you can't move. So that you can't see the tears of joy and relief pouring down his cheeks.

Lucifer, he thinks, suddenly recalling how he's practically ignored his best friend these past few days. God, he doesn't think he's ever loved the man as much as in this moment, now that you're in his arms because of the other demon's maneuverings.

"Please don't leave," He mumbles into your hair, feeling its softness in between his fingers. "Please don't leave me again."

Diavolo hears you hesitate, and for a moment, panic descends upon him. But then he hears the soft "okay" as you wrap your arms tighter around him, and Diavolo truly believes that he's never been happier.

It's not tangible, he knows.

It's not a promise to be his, and it definitely doesn't offset your reason for leaving for the first place.

But, still. It's a start. And if there's one thing that these past few weeks without you have taught him, it's that Diavolo truly needs you. Just like he needs food and the air and the sun, he needs your love.

Yet, at the same time...False lover, Diavolo remembers.

He never understood it. He still doesn't.

The day after you moved out of his castle and into Purgatory Hall, Diavolo had sent Barbatos to scour the libraries for what any useful information. He knew you hadn't been unfaithful and he knew your love to him was true, so what could it possibly have meant?

Alas, he never found out. Barbatos returned almost entirely empty-handed, carrying nothing but an ancient scripture (perhaps one of the only copies in the Devildom) that could break the sacred paramour contract. Fueled by resentment and pain, Diavolo had used it.

Only afterward did he realize the weight of his actions.

The mark of the paramour faded from both your bodies, not even a ghost of the symbols left to hint that they'd ever been there—and Diavolo realized that he had forsaken his claim to you. His contract with you. He feared that you would consider it him forsaking his love for you.

But you've returned, now, haven't you?

What does that mean for our relationship? Diavolo can't help but wonder as he continues to cradle your body. He allows his fingers to pinch a lock of your hair, long and beautiful as it flows from your scalp, and gives the (h/c) strands a kiss.

It doesn't matter, he decides.

You're here now, and that's all he needs.

***

Being in Diavolo's arms is bliss. True bliss.

You don't realize how much you've been missing this until you feel it, and once you do, you can't help but wonder how you ever willed yourself to leave.

Nothing else in all the realms has made you feel so secure. You lean into Diavolo's body, savoring the feeling of every muscle and outline of every ab as his larger body practically envelopes yours, every time Diavolo holds you tighter just another testimony to his ability to protect you.

Truly, in his arms, you feel safe.

For a long time, neither of you move. The prospect of ruining the moment is too terrifying, and frankly, you feel like you could spend an eternity like this, enjoying the warmth of a man who—no matter what he does—will always have a claim over your heart.

Diavolo presses soft kisses to your body, never straying anywhere intimate, but every contact of his lips to your skin carries a hidden meaning. You close your eyes as he trails from the inside of your wrist to the left side of your temple, from the back of your head down a strand of hair, from your eyelids, closed in bliss, to your nose.

"I've missed this," You hear him murmur. The words are quiet. Small. Almost low enough for you to have missed them. But you hear them, and they bloom a flower of hope inside your chest.

You press your forehead against Diavolo's, both of you closing your eyes in the oddly intimate gesture.

"We both have."

You two must spend nearly ten minutes like that, bodies pressed against each other, lovers finally united. And while nothing has actually happened, no lip-to-lip kisses and no profound declarations of love, you feel like things between you two have slightly returned to what they were before this whole mess with paramours and wives ruined your relationship.

Ah, yes, you think, remembering. Paramour.

The word leaves a dark shadow where it passes through your mind, and you push Diavolo away ever so slightly.

"MC?" Diavolo asks. It feels strange, hearing him call you by your name, but perhaps it would be stranger for him to call you 'darling' right now. You're still not sure what this intimate moment means for your relationship. You told Diavolo you wouldn't leave him, but that doesn't mean there aren't still issues that need to be sorted out.

"You should shower," You tell the man. He seems reluctant to leave, though, so you sweeten the offer. "I'll...I'll get your clothes ready."

A spark of optimism flashes across Diavolo's eyes, and he quickly crawls out of the bed to make way for the royal bathroom, leaving you in the room. It amuses you to see him so eager at your offer, but it's understandable.

Him, showering in the morning with you, picking out his clothes for the day, used to be a part of your normal routine for the two of you. And by choosing to partake in that routine, you're offering him a small slice of hope—that maybe things can go back to normal.

But your heart is heavy as you pick out the clothes.

Of the two of you, no one has yet to acknowledge the elephant in the room: the paramour situation.

You sigh, unfolding the man's clothes as you begin to make his bed. A call breaks you from your thoughts.

"It's been barely ten minutes, and you've already made my room look cleaner, darling," Diavolo cooes, leaning against the open doorframe with his arms crossed. His smile is amused and his eyes are soft with adoration as he stares at you, his previous pain only a light shadow covered by his newfound happiness.

That was a quick shower.

"Hush," You quip back, throwing the man a pair of boxers and his shirt. You're relieved he at least has the decency to keep a towel wrapped around his waist right now; on most mornings, he would come strolling out in the full nude. "Get dressed. I can tell that you've been neglecting your duties, and we're going to see Lucifer and Barbatos."

"We?" Diavolo asks, slipping the clothes on.

"We," You respond, before crossing your arms. "I'm still mad at you...but for now, it's we."

Diavolo smiles.

He doesn't push the limits of your supposed anger, keeping his usual touchy hands and flirtatious comments to himself as you exit his room. He doesn't even call you "Darling" again, opting to use your real name, but you'd have to be an utter fool not to notice the pep in his step as he greets the two demons that he's (apparently) spent weeks ignoring.

"Lucifer! Barbatos!" He exclaims, outstretching his arms in the manner you are used to. "How are you two?"

Both men freeze at the sound of the prince, jaws hanging open at the sight of him actually up and about.

"You..." Lucifer trails off, not knowing what to say.

It's Barbatos who escapes the confusion-induced stupor first.

"Welcome back, my lord." He smiles pleasantly, an unnerving grin that masks all his real emotions. "It's good to see you back to your usual self."

Right, you remember the sorry sight that you'd seen when you first came, and how entirely heartbroken and devastated Diavolo had looked as he slumbered. He's almost entirely back to his usual self now that you're by his side, but these two demons have grown far too accustomed to seeing the darker side of him.

"Indeed," Diavolo responds.

"Would you like some tea?" The butler asks, clearly realizing that the prince hasn't had food in far too long.

"Anything will suffice."

And then Lucifer finally recovers from the shock, practically bombarding his beloved friend with questions once he can bring himself to speak.

"Diavolo! Are you well? How is your hunger? You seem to have showered, are you feeling better now? Is there anything you require? Please don't hesitate to make any—"

Diavolo holds up a hand, silencing his friend. "Relax, Lucifer. I assure you, I have returned to my normal state. Can you tell me of any paperwork or requests that require my attention?"

Lucifer seems surprised to see Diavolo so ready to dive back into work, only then realizing that all his friend needed was the touch of love in his life. The black-haired demon glances at you, flashing a cryptic smile your way.

You fixed him, he seems to say.

You can only smile in response.

It takes barely a minute for the two men to launch into a full conversation about everything that needs to be done, and just a little bit more time for Barbatos to return with a pot of tea. He pours some for both you and Diavolo, handing you both the cups since there aren't any tables directly in front of you.

When he passes the cup to you, though, he flinches the second your fingers graze his.

A tingling warmth lingers where your hands touched.

Awkwardly, you manage to catch the cup, but not without every set of eyes in the room darting to the butler who practically jumped away from you the second his gloved hand came into contact with your fingers.

"D-did I hurt you?" You stutter out, never having seen the butler look so disconcerted. The mask of apathy that he always wears is gone, leaving you all to see the shocked look in his eyes—more shocked than even when he and Lucifer saw Diavolo.

"You've been blessed by angels," He mutters, bewildered.

And then all the eyes in the room are on you.

"You've been blessed?" Diavolo asks, placing a hand over yours, tentatively touching the skin. "By gods," He mutters, more to himself than you. "How did I not sense it before?"

From across the room, Lucifer, too, approaches you, gently touching your hand. His look is one of pure disbelief, but the moment he touches you, he flinches back.

"W-what's wrong?" You ask. "Does it...hurt for you to touch me?"

Worry clouds your eyes, and you immediately begin to regret ever accepting Simeon's offer. It was ridiculous, now that you think about it. You knew that you wanted to spend eternity with a demon, and yet, you accepted an angel's blessing. Wasn't that counterproductive?

"No, it doesn't hurt us," Diavolo interrupts, slow and cautious with his words. "It's just very...shocking. I'm certain you weren't blessed the last time we were together, MC. What...what happened?"

You swallow nervously as the three demons turn to you, each one desperate for an explanation. You can only think of one thing to say: "Simeon..."

Before you can continue, or even begin to explain that you were the one who agreed to Simeon's offer, Lucifer is chanting in a foreign language with a dark glow emanating from his body, painting the room purple.

You instinctively lean closer to Diavolo, but the spell lasts only a few seconds before the light fades, and in its wake stands..."Simeon."

"Lucifer," The angel says, blinking. He glances around, his confused gaze darting from face to face—settling particularly long on you, wondering why you're back in the Devildom—before he turns to the demon who teleported him here. "I know I told you to feel free to summon me if you ever wanted company, but I have a feeling you didn't call me here just to enjoy my conversation." Simeon flashes a kind smile at all of you, mild amusement settled in his emerald eyes as he tries to understand the situation.

"You blessed MC," Diavolo blurts.

"Ah, so that's what this is about. Yes, I gave her my blessing—Michael did, too. Is that a problem?" The angel seems to be asking a genuine question, which is understandable. You know that an angel blessing a demon is supposedly a big taboo, but Simeon told you that angels blessing humans is a rather common practice.

If anything, though, the demons in the room only further tense at Simeon's words.

"She's been blessed by Michael as well?" Diavolo's eyes are wide in disbelief. "MC, is this true?"

You nod your head. "I didn't realize that it was important..."

"It's..." Diavolo trails off, clearly troubled.

"It's complicated," Lucifer finishes for him, crossing his arms in masked disapproval.

"I'm sorry," You murmur. "I didn't think...I didn't realize it would be a big deal. I don't even think that Michael's Blessing had any impact, honestly, so maybe—"

"That's impossible." For the first time, Simeon cuts you off. "An angel's blessing will always manifest."

"Angel blessings are intangible," Diavolo murmurs, and you can feel the light tension between them: angel and demon, disputing over the nature of a blessing. "Michael's Blessing is famous across the realms...the blessing of eternal happiness, no? Happiness isn't always obvious, so it may not have taken effect in the way you think."

"Impossible." Simeon is adamant. "Our blessings are very tangible. They always manifest in the form of a physical change. Always. Even my blessing, which seems intangible: it's to bring people closer to their nature as an angel. But it has a clear manifestation: wings, to physically bring people closer to the Celestial Realm. Michael's Blessing is no different."

"If that is true, how did MC physically change after being granted his blessing?" Diavolo's eyes skirt over you, noting no real differences between now and the last time he saw you.

A momentary silence ensues, even Simeon absent for answers, when Barbatos speaks up.

"MC, would you please stand up?" He asks, approaching you. His usual mask of coolness is back on, but his actions are somewhat hesitant. Not wanting to heighten his discomfort, you comply with the request and stand awkwardly as Barbatos's palm ghosts over your stomach. Just like the last time he touched you, a warmth floods the area and you feel almost dizzy as his magical power literally seeps into you. "My lord, there's something you should see. Or feel, I suppose."

Barbatos steps back, gesturing for the prince to do as he did, and Diavolo keeps his movements slow, as if he almost doesn't want to know whatever it is that Barbatos is trying to show him. Only when his palm is placed flat against your abdomen does a flash of recognition cross through his eyes.

"Her stomach changed?" Simeon asks after neither demon says anything. It doesn't quite make sense, but, looking back, you do remember a flash of pain in your abdomen when Michael blessed you. The feeling subsided quickly enough, turning into a comfortable warmth somewhat similar to the magic pouring out of Barbatos's hands, but you'd dismissed it.

Clearly, it means something, though.

"She..." Diavolo trails off, swallowing. "Her organs are different. Her...reproductive organs."

Understanding dawns in Simeon's and Lucifer's eyes, but you're still confused. Your reproductive organs?

"What does that mean?" You ask, eyes round in confusion. You glance from male to male, hoping that one of them will answer you. In the end, it's Diavolo who speaks up.

"Your child-mothering parts, MC. They're different now."

But the confused look in your eyes doesn't fully fade. Why would Michael change your child-bearing organs? Isn't his blessing supposed to give you eternal happiness?

"It means you can bear a demon child." Diavolo pauses. "An heir to my kingdom."

***

It feels like Lucifer's been yelling at Diavolo an awful lot, as of late. And for some reason, Barbatos always seems to be on the demon's side—much to the demon prince's displeasure.

Diavolo pouts playfully as Lucifer continues to rant angrily.

"Wipe that look off your face!" Lucifer hisses, crossing his arms in a feeble attempt to mask the waves of wrath radiating off his body. Behind him, Barbatos looks somewhat amused at seeing the demon in such a state, but Diavolo can tell that he stands by the man's words. "Do you understand the nature of what it is you propose? And for you to tell Simeon to inform Michael and the other angels—have you no sense? Think what you're planning on doing through, Diavolo!"

"I am thinking it through," Diavolo retorts. Lucifer is always so on board with him when it comes to matters related to the RAD and the student council; why can't the two ever seem to agree on affairs of the heart? "This is the best possible course for my plan to reunite the three realms. I am a demon. MC is a human. And now that we know she is blessed by angels, even the Celestial Realm can't stay uninvolved!"

Lucifer scowls. "A king has never taken a paramour and a wife in one person, not for generations! The people of your kingdom will laugh! And it's not just them you need to worry about," Lucifer warns. "Your father won't be happy at all once he hears what you've planned."

"My father may not be happy, but MC will be happy." Diavolo thinks to himself, adding: "MC will be happy, and I will be happy."

"You're talking about uprooting thousands of years of demon tradition. Thousands of years of culture, all belittled in this human-esque marriage."

"For the three realms to come together, of course, some customs will change. If the Celestial Realm even sends envoys to our wedding as I instructed Simeon to request, that will be a compromise that uproots millennia of their tradition as well."

"Diavolo, you are talking about removing the divide between paramour and wife. Turning them into one in an insult to both!"

"Lucifer, must you always oppose my decisions related to MC? The last time I brought up the idea of marrying her, your only argument was that she couldn't give me a biological heir—and she now can! How can you continue to resist? An angel literally changed her body to remove that obstacle, and her eternal happiness lies with me."

"Angel blessings aren't supposed to be fulfilled by other people."

Diavolo groans, his eyebrows knitting together at Lucifer's resistance.

"Lucifer," He finally interrupts. "Let me ask you this: do you wish for me to be happy?"

"Of course." Truly my best friend, Diavolo thinks with a smile. There wasn't a moment of hesitation in that answer.

"I can only be happy if I am with MC. And for MC to be with me for eternity, this is the only course of action I can take." Diavolo pauses. "So, for the sake of our mutual happiness, please stop arguing this. My mind is made up."

Lucifer stares at Diavolo for a moment, a strange mix of emotion swirling around in his eyes before his expression clears. The demon sits down, eyes narrowed in the familiar focus that Diavolo is used to seeing. "It will be troublesome, trying to manage public opinion of this marriage." But with these words, Lucifer isn't trying to change Diavolo's decision anymore. Rather, they're words of warning. Lucifer has accepted what is to come and merely wishes that the prince understands what he's in for.

"That's why I have you by my side, Lucifer."

***

It didn't come as much of a surprise when Diavolo next proposed to you.

No, you'd sensed his desire to make you his kingdom's queen the moment he learned that you could produce him a biological heir. Once he formally broke off the engagement with the she-demon he had proposed to at the last party, you knew that he was just waiting for an opportunity to slip a ring on your finger.

What does surprise you is the speed at which the wedding has come.

"Do people usually hold weddings a week after becoming engaged, here in the Devildom?" You can't hold the question back any longer. You didn't want to ask Diavolo, for fear of seeming rude, or Lucifer, for fear of Diavolo finding out you asked, but Barbatos appears to be trustworthy enough. Well, trustworthy is a bad word. It's more like he doesn't seem to care about you enough to bother telling Diavolo about such a trivial matter.

"Lucifer advised my lord to make haste with the wedding for the sake of minimizing public response and backlash," Barbatos murmurs, draping the silk fabric of your dress over your shoulders, letting the expensive material hang loosely. You appreciate the gesture—it's awkward enough to have Barbatos dressing you for your special day, but standing like this, with your arms extended, without even underwear, does make you feel rather exposed without something to cover you. "But weddings can come as early as a week into the engagement, or as late as several hundred years. For that reason, they usually aren't taken very seriously."

You nod your head slightly at Barbatos's explanation, watching in the mirror as he begins to lace up the stunning red dress.

It's your wedding dress.

And it's your wedding day.

In truth, you've yet to see what the dress looks like on your figure. Diavolo insisted that you leave all the details of the wedding up to him and simply enjoy feeling like a princess on this special day. He doesn't want you to feel any stress or worry, though you can't help the tiny pit of anxiousness that bubbles in your stomach at the prospect of actually getting to spend the rest of your life with the man.

And this time, you know you're not accidentally agreeing to be his paramour or whatever.

Well, in a way, you sort of still are.

It's a technicality.

"You're my everything," Diavolo had murmured into your ear. "My paramour, my wife, my queen, my lover. You're the only one for me."

So, of course, yesterday, the two of you had reformed your paramour contract. The second time around, you didn't mind the hot sensation in your stomach as the new characters rebranded themselves into your skin, and only when Diavolo knelt down to kiss them did he say that they'd changed.

"They've changed?" You asked, confusion painted across your face. For a moment, you felt your heart tighten at the worry that the marks were calling you a bad lover or something of the sort, but Diavolo simply brought you over to the full-length mirror.

You were both already fully naked, so it was easy for your eyes to find the black markings.

"This one looks similar," You murmur, pointing to a strange symbol on the right half of the mark.

"That's the character for 'lover.' You had it before, as well." You watched as Diavolo wrapped his arms around yours, pressing your back into his chest while he stared at your markings fondly.

Seeing the pleasant expression on his face somewhat calmed your nerves, but the feeling of your lover slowly tracing the outlines of the marks was what truly relaxed you.

The sensation was blissful.

"This is the character for 'single,' or 'only,'" Diavolo murmured into your ear, biting it gently. His hand tapped the two characters. "Together: only lover. That's what your mark spells out."

"And what's this tiny thing?" You asked, pointing at a mysterious marking underneath the two. You would have assumed that it was an underline, but it was too detailed.

"Why that," Diavolo chuckled. "That's the symbol for eternity."

"So..." You trailed off, putting the pieces together. "I'm your only lover for all eternity?"

Diavolo nodded. You turned around in his arms, pleasantly surprised to see that the exact same symbols were etched into his skin, just above the V that divided his legs. You'd been mortified when you learned the meaning of your previous mark of the paramour, but these new symbols appealed to you.

"I want you," You murmured, hand running over his abs and over the mark that defined him as yours and even lower, causing a light groan to escape his lips.

"Eager, aren't you?" Diavolo lifted you easily, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, the motion all too familiar. "Well, consider this an early wedding gift."

You smile at the memory, recalling the tenderness of the moment. All throughout the night, Diavolo laid kisses across the markings on your stomach, practically worshipping the spot with his lips.

And, in truth, you love the marks just as much as he does.

My lover, for all eternity, you think, a giddy feeling spreading throughout your body. And our eternity starts today.

Even Barbatos had stared at the spot with a strangely satisfied look when you first entered this dressing room, stripping before him so that he could help you into the traditional Devildom garb.

You can't help but remember the last time he'd seen your mark of the paramour, and the words False Lover that had been etched into your skin. Back then, he'd been the reason why you'd left.

His words have never left you: "Then perhaps someone else is better suited for the role?"

Now, you know. Your mark of the paramour confirms it. No one else is better suited to be Diavolo's lover than you. Hell, you're more than his lover: he said it himself! You're his everything: wife, paramour, lover, and queen, all bundled up into one.

But shouldn't Barbatos, with his clairvoyant powers of perception, have known such a thing?

You frown to yourself as the man continues to lace up the back of your dress, pulling a bold, black ribbon through the gaps in the back of your dress smoothly as his gloved fingers work against your back. The more you think about it, the more you realize that there's only one logical reason for the butler's actions.

"Barbatos," You finally muster up the courage to say. "Do you hate me?"

For the first time, the man's hands falter. He quickly finds his pace again, continuing to work as he responds: "Not at all. Why would you think that?"

"You...told me before that it might be better for someone else to be Diavolo's paramour. That...that it shouldn't be me, by his side." It hurts to say the words aloud, as if your saying them makes them true, but you force yourself to do so anyway. You deserve to know this much, at the very least, right?

"Wrong," Is all Barbatos says as he delicately ties the ends of the black ribbon he'd been using to lace the back of the dress up, letting the ribbon wrap around your neck once—almost like a collar—into a dainty bow at the base of your nape. With your dress now held up entirely by this flimsy knot, he begins to work on your hair, styling it such that the knot peaks out from your (h/c) strands in an elaborate updo, apparently meant to taunt Diavolo throughout the wedding by tempting him with how easy it would be for him to undo the one thing keeping your dress together.

Barbatos seems entirely unbothered by the scowl on your face as he continues to work, ignoring your light huff until he finally sets to applying makeup. If anything, his expression colors amusement in those olive eyes, and you know he finds your reaction entertaining.

Finally, you can't hold back any longer.

"So what, then?" You ask. "If I'm wrong, what was it that you were trying to achieve by telling me that someone else would be better suited to be Diavolo's paramour?"

"What indeed, I wonder?" Barbatos muses out loud. You watch him as he adds color to your lips, making them a tad redder than usual. All the while, he wears that same unnerving smile that acts like a mask, preventing you from seeing his true feelings. "Though, perhaps I should tell you, given that it is your big day and whatnot."

Barbatos walks behind you, placing down the lipstick, and when he returns, he pulls your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes as they stare straight into you. He seems to hesitate for a second, and then the smile drops from his face, the mask of apathy with it. For the first time, you see a semblance of what might be Barbatos's true face underneath it all. No fake smiles, no sassy comments, just a soft look in his eyes with a cute crinkle in the corner. "All I did," He murmurs, picking a strand of hair into place as he fixes your elaborate updo. "Was play the role required."

And with that, he turns you around and continues fixing your hair, braiding the loose strands into a crown on your head. While he seems to have moved back onto the task at hand, though, you dwell on his words for a long time, turning them around your head even when Barbatos's signature smirk is back on his face—the mask present once more.

The role required, you think, all the way until you're completely dressed and all the demon brothers are fawning over how exquisite you look, donned in traditional demonwear. You look stunning, they tell you, and you know it. Your dress fans out beautifully, the entire gown a thick red silk that outlines your every curve, with black detailing at the bottoms and the back, where the ebony ribbon crawls all the way up to your neck, into a stunning bow that acts as the base for the elegant hairstyle Barbatos has worked your hair into. But your mind is far away, even as they shower you with compliments.

The role required, you think, when hour time finally comes and Lucifer is walking you toward the man you're about to spend the rest of your life with. The whole picture looks strange to you. As a human, you're used to weddings requiring suits and dresses, nothing but formalwear. And while you're certainly in a dress, every demon is proudly in their demon form, angels all glowing with their wings spread out, and each outfit has its own character, even though none of them can compare to how magnificent you and Diavolo look. But even then, as Lucifer presses a kiss to your temple when letting go of your hand, your thoughts are elsewhere.

The role required, you think, as you stand in front of the love of your life, only able to look at him despite the hundreds of thousands of gazes set on your stunning forms. Diavolo lets out a choked sound of surprise as he gazes down at you, his eyes drinking in the sight of you dressed like a demon, wearing one of the most traditional and one of the most exquisite dresses in all of the Devildom.

And only when Diavolo flashes you his usual quirky grin does something click in your brain.

The role required, you think. The role required to get me here. In front of Diavolo.

So many people played a part. Barbatos. Lucifer. Simeon. Michael. Not just people, but things, too. When Barbatos suggested that someone else was better suited to be Diavolo's paramour, it planted the seed in your mind that prompted you to move you out of Diavolo's castle. It drove you into Purgatory Hall, into Simeon's arms, and into Michael's Blessing, where you attained the body you needed, to be able to produce Diavolo an heir, enabling him to forsake all the demon traditions that were stopping him from marrying you.

It wasn't even just that, you think, beginning to understand just how much had gone into bringing you to this point.

The mark of the paramour. It drove you to devastation, but only because you couldn't understand it. When it called you a false lover—it wasn't calling your heart false, but rather the nature of your relationship with Diavolo. You could only be his true lover if you were his everything, and as long as he had another wife, you just weren't. To be his true lover, you had to be it all: not just his paramour, but his wife, his queen, his darling...his only lover.

You smile, beginning to understand that all the pain that has brought you to this moment has been absolutely worth it. From the burning in your abdomen as the mark of the paramour was first branded into your skin to the pain in your lips now as Diavolo teasingly bites them while his kingdom cheers at the sight of you two kissing, binding yourselves to each other in mind, body, and soul to each other for all eternity.

"I love you," You mumble into Diavolo's lips, your voice muffled by his tongue.

"I love you too," He responds, pressing a hand against the small of your back to pull your body closer to his as demons whoop in the background. You swear you can hear the angels attending—Simeon did an excellent job of gathering them—frowning at the sight of such open lust, but even they have to hold back their smiles as they see the swell of pure love blossoming before them.

The remainder of the wedding is unlike anything you've ever experienced at home. The sheer amount of partying and cheering and drinking (and you think you saw a couple of demons stripping?) is ungodly, but so incredibly fun.

The wedding celebrations are to last a fortnight, you know, and you almost wonder how these demons will be able to party this way tomorrow with the sheer rambunctiousness at which they're partying today, but that's a question for another day.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" Diavolo asks as he sits next to you. The two guests of honor at this celebration, you both sit on top of thrones while the celebrations ensue. Only on the second day are you allowed to join in, but today, it is all about savoring your newlywed status and speaking to others who intend to congratulate you both.

Thus far, you've spent nearly an hour in front of the demon brothers as they added gifts upon gifts to the growing pile between you and Diavolo, and another hour with Simeon and the angel friends he brought with him to the wedding, each one just as kind and handsome as the chocolate-skinned angel himself.

"I love it," You respond to your lover—now your husband—as you throw him a bashful smile. You can't help but wonder what the fifteenth day of celebrations will be like, once he is formally crowned King of the Devildom and you the Queen. You have to admit, the thought of Diavolo in a crown sends shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

Thankfully, you don't need to wait long before the sun sets, and the celebrations are forced to come to a close. Diavolo gives a speech, appreciating all those who came and hints (too obviously, according to Lucifer) about his desires for the three realms to reunite, before dismissing everyone with the single command to return tomorrow for even more joyous celebrations.

You stay close to Diavolo as the two of you return to his castle, somewhat surprised that none of the demon brothers have come over to speak to you after the celebrations.

"Darling, why would they come now?" Diavolo asks when you raise the question with him. "There's only one thing we demons do after a day of wedding celebrations, and no man is foolish enough to try to intervene with that."

Your lover throws you a flirtatious wink as he opens the door to your shared bedroom, gesturing for you to enter. In truth, you expect him to press you against the wall and take you the moment you're both inside, but Diavolo seems to be taking his time.

"You looked stunning today, my queen," He murmurs into your ear, hugging you from behind as he places sweet kisses along your neck. You flush at the word, loving the realization that that's what you're going to be now: a Queen. Compliments continue to roll off his lips until you're aching for him to hurry up and do something with his mouth other than talk.

"Stop teasing me," You pout, once you realize what he's doing. Your comment earns you a deep chuckle as the man slowly complies, turning your body around.

Diavolo places a hand on your cheek, kissing you long and passionately before pulling back to gaze at you. You watch, mesmerized as his hands trail, painfully slow, from your cheek to your collarbone to the black ribbon that is tied around your neck in a bow. He touches the knot, fingers trailing down the dark silk material until they're pinched around a strand instrumental to keeping the knot together.

You stare at Diavolo, the hunger in his eyes.

No doubt, the bow has done its job, taunting Diavolo the entire wedding with how easily he could undo it—even though he couldn't possibly do such a thing in public. Here, though, in private...

"You're breathtaking," He whispers, mesmerized.

He gives the edge of the ribbon between his fingers a sharp pull, and then the entire knot falls apart, the lacing that held your dress up widening and coming undone with the single gesture.

In seconds, the dress slips off your body, leaving you completely exposed before him.

"Absolutely breathtaking."

The night is everything you imagine it to be, beautiful and loving and passionate and hot.

You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, loud but steady, much like the man himself, now sworn to be a staple in your life for all eternity.

With only the moonlight illuminating the dark room, you steal a kiss from his lips before drifting off, savoring the feeling of his touch, already beginning to dream about the wedding celebrations for the next day.

At last, the beginning of your life with Diavolo has begun, and just as your blessing promises: it will be a life of eternal bliss, prosperity, and happiness.

Truly an eternity fit for a queen.

MASTERLIST 

Word count: 6.8k

Notes: Sorry this came out a bit later than I had planned :( I ended up writing the whole thing and not liking how it came out, so I redid it - ngl in my first draft i was getting HEAVY Barbatos x Reader vibes and I sort of tried to tone it down (but oh my GOD imagine a Barbatos x Reader spinoff of this where he loves MC i cant should i do it i cant AGHJSK)

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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.