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oceandolores · 8 months ago

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ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

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next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

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ozzgin · 2 years ago

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Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #horror #monster x reader #monster romance #yandere oc #monster smut #monster boyfriend #terato #teratophillia #monster fucker

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thesassypadawan · 1 year ago

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Like Rabbits *part 1* (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: After realizing that Hay and you share the same desire, you two have been acting like a pair of horny rabbits. ‘Hopping’ all day and night long. (Hope you enjoy the sequel, Maple Flavored Sausage ❤️)

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Breeding and, as always…Hayden’s big dick.

Notes: Hoppy Belated Easter, my lovelies! And Happy First Day of Hayden's (And Mine) Birthday Event! In honor of the man, the myth, the legend; I will be posting nothing but Anakin, Vader, and Hay stories all of April!

- Thirty-two hours. Thirty-two hours of nearly non-stop raw passion, of carnal desire. All in the hopes of…successfully knocking you up.

- After the whole ‘milk someday’ affair, as it came to be known, Hayden and you have a nice long chat. One that makes you both quickly realize that you’re clearly on the same page.

- And, well, since that’s the case, you two have been, um, rather busy. Especially during those magical thirty-two hours when you’re at the peak of your fertility.

- Yeah, let’s just say you’re like a pair of horny rabbits. ‘Hopping’ all day and night long…

- Eyes flutter open and a soft moan escapes you. You’re awoken by his cock pumping slowly into you, fingers playing and teasing your clit. “Haay…sleepy.”

- “Nope, rise and shine, angel. Nap’s over; it’s baby making time,” he chuckles in your ear. Free hand slides to grasp your ass firmly. Pulling your hip over him, so he can thrust deeper.

- You whine a little in protest, but, nonetheless, happily accept your fate. Hand moving up his throat, coming to rest on the back of his head. Fingers tugging his hair gently, causing him to growl…the sound rumbling in his chest.

- Cunt clenches hard in response, which only spurs him on. Pace picking up, dick practically bottoming out with each plunge. “Fuck. How are you still this tight?”

- Whimpering, your face grows flush. Orgasm approaching embarrassingly fast, overwhelming your brain. “Hay… Hay…”

- “Cum,” he mutters. Pinching your clit, sending you soaring. Head tilting upwards, crying out. Chest pressing against his while you clamp down around him.

- Hayden stills, gripping you as your body goes limp in his hold. Face burying into his neck, the fog in your mind rolling in. All you can think of is… “Sleepy.”

- A good smack to the butt jolts you back to reality. “Not yet, babe; we’re not finished.”

- Grasping your sides, he pulls you fully on top of him. Knees instinctively parting, setting on either side of his thighs. Upper body laying flat on his, you let out a small squeak. “Haaayden!”

- Arms wrap around your waist, and he starts to move again. Almost rapidly, eagerly pounding into your soaked cunt. Hips bouncing off his while he smirks. “What? I haven’t given you more of my baby batter yet.”

- Fingers dig into his shoulder; whines fly from your mouth. He’s stretching you out so deliciously, slapping against you so wonderfully. Both sensations overstimulate you further, another release quickly building in your core.

- His grip on you tightens. Rocking back and forth, he bucks up into you wildly. Grunting, voice low and gravelly. “Going to pump you so full…to the absolute brim. Going to stay in this perfect, little pussy…all through the night and into the morning.”

- Walls flutter at his words. Whines now more high-pitched and needy. Clawing and scratching at him desperately. “Yes… Please…”

- “You’d like that, huh?” Hay growls, slamming into that sweet spot deep inside over and over. “Me cumming in you until it takes…until you have your own cute bump to show off.”

- Nails sink deeper into his skin and his hips stutter. Hands grabbing your ass harshly, holding you firmly in place. Cock twitching, shooting rope after rope of hot cum into you.

- While you mewl and pant. Quivering and trembling, back arching in ecstasy. Milking him greedily for every last drop…before collapsing.

- Stroking your back, his heart racing underneath you. He kisses the top of your head, muttering. “You okay, angel?”

- Spent, your body is so spent. Totally exhausted from cumming back-to-back, not counting all the times prior to this lovely session. “Sleepy…so sleepy,” you mumble into his chest.

- Eyes grow heavy and just as you’re drifting off…you feel him start to lazily thrust. “Come one, we only have like twelve hours left until you’re done ovulating. Don’t want to waste a single minute, do you?”

- You hate it when he’s right. Groaning and grumbling, your hips begin to move in sync with him. “Better make it twins then.”

- “Can’t guarantee that,” Hayden chuckles, speeding up a bit. “But I promise to have you round…those tits milky and swollen soon enough. My adorable baby mama.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16

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rightwheretheyleftme · 4 months ago

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Compiling every ancient source where Medea doesn’t kill her children

Disclaimer: I’m not doing this to delegitimize Euripides’ play, only to bring attention to alternative tellings of the story

Scholia to Euripides’ Medea 9.1-11 (C1st A.D)

“There’s a story from the philosophers that is much repeated—one Parmeniskos also offers—that Euripides changed the murder of the children to Medea because he accepted five talents from the Korinthians. [He claims] that the children of Medea were killed by the Korinthians because they were angry over her ruling the city and they wanted there to be an end of her ruling in Korinth, because it was her paternal [right]. For this reason he changed the [responsibility] to Medea. Hippus presents [accounts] about her residency in Korinth, as does Hellanikos. Eumelos and Simonides report that Medeia ruled Korinth. In his work called On Isthmian Affairs, Mousaios reports that Medeia was immortal, and he explains this also in his work on The Festivals of Hera Akraia.”

264.1-11

“Parmeniskos writes the following for this line: “Because the Korinthian women did not want to be ruled by a barbaric, potion-pouring woman, they conspired against her and [planned] to kill her children, seven boys and seven girls. [Euripides says that she only had two]. They fled, pursued, into the temple of Hera Akraia and they stayed there. But even then the Korinthians did not hold back: they slaughtered all of them at the altar. Then a plague fell over the city, and many bodies were perishing because of a sickness. They received an oracle that the god must be propitiated for the hunt of Medeia’s children. This is why each year during the appointed time seven girls and boys from the noblest families return to the precinct of the goddess and appease their rage—and the anger of the goddess on their behalf—with sacrifices.””

Pausanias, Description of Greece, book 2, chapter 3 (C2nd A.D.)

“As you go along another road from the market-place, which leads to Sicyon, you can see on the right of the road a temple and bronze image of Apollo, and a little farther on a well called the Well of Glauce. Into this they say she threw herself in the belief that the water would be a cure for the drugs of Medea. Above this well has been built what is called the Odeum (Music Hall), beside which is the tomb of Medea's children. Their names were Mermerus and Pheres, and they are said to have been stoned to death by the Corinthians owing to the gifts which legend says they brought to Glauce.

[7] But as their death was violent and illegal, the young babies of the Corinthians were destroyed by them until, at the command of the oracle, yearly sacrifices were established in their honor and a figure of Terror was set up. This figure still exists, being the likeness of a woman frightful to look upon but after Corinth was laid waste by the Romans and the old Corinthians were wiped out, the new settlers broke the custom of offering those sacrifices to the sons of Medea, nor do their children cut their hair for them or wear black clothes.

[8] On the occasion referred to Medea went to Athens and married Aegeus, but subsequently she was detected plotting against Theseus and fled from Athens also; coming to the land then called Aria she caused its inhabitants to be named after her Medes. The son, whom she brought with her in her flight to the Arii, they say she had by Aegeus, and that his name was Medus. Hellanicus, however, calls him Polyxenus and says that his father was Jason.

[9] The Greeks have an epic poem called Naupactia. In this Jason is represented as having removed his home after the death of Pelias from Iolcus to Corcyra, and Mermerus, the elder of his children, to have been killed by a lioness while hunting on the mainland opposite. Of Pheres is recorded nothing. But Cinaethon of Lacedaemon, another writer of pedigrees in verse, said that Jason's children by Medea were a son Medeus and a daughter Eriopis; he too, however, gives no further information about these children.

[10] Eumelus said that Helius (Sun) gave the Asopian land to Aloeus and Epliyraea to Aeetes. When Aeetes was departing for Colchis he entrusted his land to Bunus, the son of Hermes and Alcidamea, and when Bunus died Epopeus the son of Aloeus extended his kingdom to include the Ephyraeans. Afterwards, when Corinthus, the son of Marathon, died childless, the Corinthians sent for Medea from Iolcus and bestowed upon her the kingdom.

[11] Through her Jason was king in Corinth, and Medea, as her children were born, carried each to the sanctuary of Hera and concealed them, doing so in the belief that so they would be immortal. At last she learned that her hopes were vain, and at the same time she was detected by Jason. When she begged for pardon he refused it, and sailed away to Iolcus. For these reasons Medea too departed, and handed over the kingdom to Sisyphus.”

Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca (C2nd A.D.)

“Another tradition is that on her flight she left behind her children, who were still infants, setting them as suppliants on the altar of Hera of the Height; but the Corinthians removed them and wounded them to death.”

Semi-relevant bonus:

Scholia to Pindar’s Olympian 13.74g. (C4th-C5th A.D)

"Medea is mentioned because she lived in Corinth and ended a famine that afflicted the Corinthians by sacrificing to Demeter and the Lemnian nymphs. There Zeus fell in love with her, but Medea did not yield, avoiding the anger of Hera. Therefore, Hera promised to make her children immortal. After their deaths, the Corinthians honored them, calling them 'μιξοβαρβάρους' [mixed-barbarians]."

To conclude, some scholarly wisdom:

“Some scholars have argued that Euripides was the first to make Medea directly responsible for killing her children in an act of revenge for Jason’s infidelity, an issue discussed by McDermott (1989, 9–24). Others, such as Michelini (1987), have argued that the innovation in this respect came from an earlier playwright, Neophron, and that Euripides was following a new variant rather than inventing it.”- Medea, Emma Griffiths

P.S: I’m not a classicist, if you know of any source that I’ve missed, please let me know!

#greek mythology #greek gods #medea #tagamemnon #hera #compilation

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tearsinlove · 4 months ago

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ALL UTA☆PRI SONGS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

A.I

ADVENT ACE

ALIVE IN YOURS

ALL MY MISSION

AMAZING LOVE

AURORA

Ai no REINCARNATION

Ai no Uta

Ai to Yoberu ki no Shita de

Ai to Yume to ANATA to

Ai wo Sasageyo ~the secret Shangri-la~

Akatsuki no Utage

Akuma no Kiss wa Honoo yori Hageshiku

All yours

Alright, All night

Am I a fairy or...?

Ambivalent

Andromeda de Kuchidzuke wo

Angel's Note

Ao no Tsubasa

BE PROUD

BELIEVE☆MY VOICE

BLACK DEJAVU

BLOODY SHADOWS

BLUE×PRISM HEART

BRAND NEW MELODY

BRIGHT ROAD

Baby! My strawberry!

Beautiful Love

Black Panther

Blooming Baby

Bokudake no Kimi Kimidake no Boku

Brilliant Days

CHALLENGE!

CRYSTAL TIME

Canon

Changing our Song!

Clap Hands!!

Clear Sky Message

Code: T.V.U

Colorfully☆Spark

Cosmic Runner

Crown of Agna

DANCING OVER NIGHT (Xmas Rearrange)

DAY DREAM

DESTINY SONG

DOUBLE WISH

DREAM TALE

Dancing Escape

DANCING OVER NIGHT

Dazzling Darling

Dear... Burning my Lady!

Dekiai TEMPTATION

Dizzy Glow

Double Face

Dream Maker

Dream More than Love

Dreamer

Drown in

EMOTIONAL LIFE

ENDLESS SCORE

EVERY Buddy!

EVOLUTION EVE

Egoistic

Eien no TRISTAR

Embrace Ensemble

Emerald City he no Michi

Encore

Eternity Love

FANTASTIC Melody

FLAKE HEART

FLY TO THE FUTURE

FORCE LIVE

FORCE LIVE (Anniversary Rearrange)

FREEDOM

FULLTEN

Fantastic☆Prelude

Feather in the hand

Fiction

First Time

Floating Labyrinth

Frost Dream

Fumetsu no Inferno

Futari no MONOGRAM

Futari no Yume

GAMUSHARA ROman☆Tic

GIRA × 2 ★ SEVEN

GLORIOUS ANGELS

GO!×2 Jet Coaster

GOLDEN☆STAR

GREEN AMBITION

Genesis HE★VENS

Give Me True Love

God Love Keihou Hatsurei

God's S.T.A.R

Grateful friends, Graceful ways

Grown Empathy

HEAVEN SKY

HE★VENLY PARADE

HE★VENS GATE

HE★VENS GATE -Beginning of the Legend-

HOLY KNIGHT

HORIZON

HUG SONG

Happiness

Haruhana

Hatsukoi wa Mata Hajimeyou

Hoshi no FANTASIA

Hoshikuzu☆Shall we dance?

Hurray×2 Dreamers

Hyper×Super×Lover☆

I Am Here.

I LOVE & NEED YOU

I swear...

Ice Pierrot

Ikkiuchi

Ikusen no Evidence

Illusionist

Independence

Innocent Wind

Intimate Distance

Issho ni Hang in there

Itoshiki Hito e

JINN-Ω-RAY

JOKER TRAP

JUSTICE IMPULSE

Jinsei on Sparking

Jounetsu no Déjà Vu Kiss

Junketsunaru Ai -Aspiration-

Just You

KILLER KISS

KIR☆MEKI EMOTION

KISS wa WINK de

KIZUNA

Kakeru Kiseki

Kaleidoscope

Kanbinaru Arcadia

Keiyaku Seiritsu

Kiramekira

Knight no Kiss wa Yuki yori Yasashiku

Knocking on the mind

Koi Kara Ai e...Soshite Mirai ni

Koi no Ondo –melt into one–

Koiiro SENTIMENTAL

Koizakura

Komorebi Diamond

LIFE ~ WITH THANKS ~

LOVE ABLAZE

LOVE AFFAIR

Love Evol

Lasting Oneness

Let's Be Happy

Lost Alice

Lovable midday

LOVE SONG FOR YOU

Love is Bon Appétit

Lovely Eyes

The Forest of Lycoris

Lyrical Poetry

MASQUERADE MIRRAGE

Mune no Kodou

MUSIC FOR LIFE

MUSOU

Maigo no Kokoro

Maji LOVE 1000%

Maji LOVE 1000%-RAINBOW STAR Ver.

Maji LOVE 2000%

Maji LOVE Kingdom

Maji LOVE Legend Star

Maji LOVE ST☆RISH Tours

Maji LOVE☆Revolutions

Makoto ni Tsuki Michite

Marriage

Mellow×2 Chu

Melting of snow

Michibiki Hikari

Mighty Aura

Mirai Chizu

Mirai Yume Arigatou Soshite

Moon Rain

Morning in the sky

Most FORTISSIMO

Mugen no TRINITY

My Cutie... Drive Me Crazy!

My Little Little Girl

NEVER...

NEXT DOOR

NIGHT DREAM

Nanairo no Compass

Natural Identity

Netsuaichuu BANG×BANG×BANG!

Netsujou SERENADE

Neverland no Kiseki

Nijiro☆OVER DRIVE!

No. 1

Non-Fiction

NorthWind and SunShine

Not Bad

ONLY ONE

ORESAMA RONDO

ORIGINAL RESONANCE

ORION de SHOUT OUT

OVER THE TOP

Ok, Hello World!

On Your Mark!

One Day

Orange Rhapsody

Orpheus

Otokogi Zenkai Go! Fight!!

Oumagatoki Mare

Over the Rainbow

PERFECT STORY

POISON KISS

POLARIS

POP SHOWER

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE - HE★VENS Ver.-

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE - ST☆RISH Ver. -

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE -QUARTET NIGHT Ver.-

Paradise Lost ~Beside you~

Paradise Lost ~Fall on me~

Pirates of the Frontier

Pit a pat

Piyo-chan no Uta

Promise to Sirius

QUARTET CROWN

QUARTET★NIGHT

RAIN OR SHINE

RAINBOW☆DREAM

RED HOT×LOVE MINDS

RISE AGAIN

ROULETTE

Rai Rai ☆ All Right

Re: alive

Ready Steady Race!

Ready to be a Lady

Reimei drops

Romantic days

Rose Rose Romance

SAMURAIZM

SECRET LOVER

SHINE

SIMPLE

SMILE MAGIC

SONG LETTER

STAR WISH

STATE OF PERFECTION

ST☆RT OURS

SUKI×SUKI Hanamaru!

SUPER STAR

Sacred Pairs

Saintly Territory

Sanctuary

Seien BRAVE HEART

Seimei no Ibuki

Seiten☆OHA♪YAHHO

Sekai no Hate Made Believe Heart

Setsugetsuka

Shining Star Xmas

Shining☆Romance

Shining☆Romance (Anniversary Rearrange)

Shinnaru Senritsu wa Saiai wo Utau

Snow Ballade

Souai Toroimerai

Southern Cross Waltz

Starlight Memory

Stars From Microcosmos

Stay with...

Steward Dance

Still Still Still

Subete wo Uta ni!

Sunshine melody

Superb Spirits

Sweet Kiss

Syncronism

TABOO NIGHT XXXX

Thank You

THE WORLD IS MINE

TRIGGER CHANCE

TRUE WING

TRUST☆MY DREAM

Target is You!

Tasogare Hugging

Tears in Love

Tempest

Tenka Muteki no Shinobi Michi

Tenkuu no Miracle Star

The New World

The RUN to the RAY

The Wizard of OZ and...

The dice are cast

Timepiece

Togabito no Requiem

Toki no Jewel

Top Star Revolution

Torrid Love

Triangle Beat

TROIS

Tsuki ni Yume Ai ni Anata

Tsuki no Uta

Tsukiakari no DEAREST

Tsumugu Melody

UP TO THE LIMIT

UUUU

Ultra Blast

Unmei no Toki

Up-Down-Up!

Visible Elf

WE ARE ST☆RISH!!

WHITE GRAVITY

WILD SOUL

WINNER

WONDER☆RONDO (Xmas Rearrange)

WONDER☆RONDO

Welcome to UTA☆PRI KINGDOM

Welcome to UTA☆PRI RAINBOW world!!

Welcome to UTA☆PRI world!!

Winter Blossom

With Ding Dong

Wonderful SMILE

YOUR ADVENTURE

YOUR BIRTHDAY

Yoiyami Secret moon

You're mine!

You're my life

Yume no Kuni Neverland

Yume wo Uta e to...!

Yumeoibito e no Symphony

Zero

Zetsutaiteki☆N・A・G・I

Zettai Reido Emotion

Be the light!

Innocence

☆YELL☆

☆light ☆night

#if i'm missing any just leave a comment #or if there are typos #utapri #starish #uta no prince sama #quartet night #he★vens

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homuraakemis · 6 months ago

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My Favorite Arcane AMVs - Part 2 - Caitvi

Season 1

Caitlyn & Vi | Smooth Criminal by JaQenka

(Arcane) Caitlyn & Vi | Rubik's Cube by MockingJamie

Vi & Caitlyn | Crave You by Bells

Vi & Caitlyn | can't pretend. [Arcane] by Kat Brownish

*VI & CAITLYN-Shape Of You* by Demigod's Child

Vi & Caitlyn || Here with me by SnowFalls3

Vi & Caitlyn (Arcane) | A Losing Game by stefani b.

Vi x Caitlyn: you're in my veins [arcane amv] by Lynks3123

Season 2

Vi & Caitlyn | Love that way [Arcane +2x09] by Kat Brownish

Vi & Caitlyn | You and I (+2x09) by Skrewt

caitlyn & vi | thinking about you; by Yiyn

vi & caitlyn | war of hearts {2x09} by cam

Vi & Caitlyn || The Death of Peace of Mind (+2x09) by Infinitex

» dirty thoughts (caitlyn x vi; arcane s2 spoilers) by ForsakenWitchery

Fantastic || Cait & Vi [Arcane] by J.Caron

» why don't we choose love? (caitlyn x vi; arcane s2 spoilers) by ForsakenWitchery

vi & caitlyn | still {2x09} by cam

Cait & Vi | Hearts a Mess by cedric

Cait & Vi | Good in *Cell by cedric

Caitlyn & Vi | Someone to stay (2x09) by iForeverYooung

Vi & Caitlyn by StoryBits

little death [caitvi s2] by moongchi

Vi & Caitlyn | Sexy Back | Arcane by sapphicjuls

Vi & Caitlyn | Oil & Water by Kat Brownish

vi & caitlyn | crush by cam

Caitlyn x Vi | Us [FMV] by 2yeonology 1M

Vi & Caitlyn | From above by somosinevitables

CAITVI supermassive black hole - muse EDIT #arcane #caitvi by natiyeahh

Caitlyn x Vi | Hayloft II [FMV] by 2yeonology 1M

my baby's got a rifle by cedric

Caitlyn & Vi - The Only Exception - Arcane by T Frog

“HALLUCINATIONS” VI ARCANE SEASON 2 AMV || by 𝖞𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖖𝖎𝖝

Caitlyn & Vi | Oil & Water by AJ

ARCANE Cait x Vi Edit | Don't Blame me - Taylor Swift by KitteshTV

Piltover's Finest II Everything Black by luthorsilver

Vi & Caitlyn | Hella Good | Arcane by sapphicjuls

(caitvi) if you love me, won’t you let me know? by scatteredaffirmations

Vi x Caitlyn | Open Your Eyes by Illuzionz

(caitvi) “did i cross the line?” by scatteredaffirmations

Caitlyn & Vi | Patient Lips [arcane s2] by ~ftw~ Edits

vi & cait | down bad [tradução/legendado PT-BR] by Bruna Legendas

Good Things Go | Violet x Caitlyn | Arcane x Linkin Park [AMV] by NoxInvicta -AMV

Caitlyn & Vi | The Great War by Polunaire

Caitlyn and vi - English love affair by WolfBlood

Vi and Caitlyn Edit/AMV - ARCANE Season 1 & 2 - I Can't Hear It Now by Cendrine ♥

Vi and Caitlyn (Stray) Arcane by darkasthesky

Vi and Caitlyn (Its not over) Arcane by darkasthesky

Vi and Caitlyn I Colors by swiftieforevermore

What’s a Soulmate? | Vi & Caitlyn | Black Butterflies and Deja Vu Edit | Caitvi Edit [ARCANE] by tinybearyoonie

Vi & Caitlyn | Remember Me by Kawa Edits

Cait & Vi | Not My Fault by cedric

The Blue Edit | Vi & Caitlyn Edit | Caitvi Edit [ARCANE] by tinybearyoonie

Caitlyn & Vi | The Night We Met [Arcane S2] by Jordy

Vi and Caitlyn | January Rain || Arcane by Alexandra SS

i feel like i'm drowning.. • vi × caitlyn • arcane • ss for ‪@o-yama9304‬ 💜 by nova

(Arcane) Caitlyn & Vi | That's So True by MockingJamie

Caitlyn and Vi I Dress by swiftieforevermore

Fall into Me | CaitVi [Happy New Year '25] by LiveForever

VI - ARCANE // WHO DO YOU WANT? || AMV by ItzXen 禅

Vi and Caitlyn Edit/AMV - Season 1 & Season 2 ARCANE - Say It Right by Cendrine ♥

Cait & Vi | and that's when you found me by cedric

Caitlyn and vi - daylight by WolfBlood

Vi and Caitlyn - Haunted by LightWolf

Vi & Caitlyn | teeth by WickedDreams

Caitvi x Sober by lorde by Andy☆

Caitlyn & Vi | Cinnamon Girl by Kirameki

Vi & Caitlyn | All I Want by Anna's editing

Vi & Cait | Bad Things by hobbitfalva

Vi & Caitlyn| Beautiful Crime [ARCANE] by Valaki

VI ARCANE | Blood In The Cut - K.Flay by Satinabla

Caitlyn & Vi | Sacrificial by SurrenderToRandomness

Caitvi | Fifth Harmony - No Way | Traducción al Español | Arcane: League of Legends by Honguita

Vi Arcane | LOST IN THE CITADEL by Courtney

Reforget | Caitvi by Dery

[CR] That's what I want | Cait/Vi ● [SS for ‪@True-Awkwardness‬ ] by itachismaniac

King Princess - “Fantastic” (from Arcane Season 2) [Official Music Video] by Riot Games Music

Vi and Caitlyn | Tomorrow [Arcane] by N-01

Caitlyn and vi - far away by WolfBlood

Vi & Caitlyn | Crazy In Love by Hina

CaitVi | Wrong Direction by CoolMoon

Afterglow Edit | Vi & Caitlyn Edit | Caitvi Edit [ARCANE] by tinybearyoonie

Vi & Caitlyn - Headlock - Arcane Season 2 edit by Stray Mylse

Vi and Caitlyn ARCANE season 2 Arc I Edit/AMV - Headlock by Cendrine ♥

Cait and Vi | Wicked game | Arcane (+2x04-06) by Helga Tana

you're somebody else - caitlyn and vi by snailcore

vi & caitlyn | promise [arcane] by Verta

Caitlyn and Vi | IDFC (Arcane) by AmbarAna

vi x Caitlyn_ Stay high by Skulla_Sweetz

hayloft ii x caitvi (edit) by foreverwinterchill

Caitlyn & Vi | Oil and Water by HANi

Vi and Caitlyn - The Story Of Us (+Flashing Lights) by LightWolf

Vi & CAITLYN | ARCANE | ALL ABOUT US by O-Yama

arcane: vi & caitlyn scene | [edit] by Verta

VI | BITTERSUITE by goose

vi and Caitlyn - satisfied by WolfBlood

Caitlyn and vi - red by WolfBlood

Caitlyn and vi - let her go by WolfBlood

vi & caitlyn | white ferrari by cam

vi & caitlyn | Arcane | I Won't Giveup On Us by omniversee

[Arcane] Wicked Game | Caitlyn + Vi by paperhearts22

#arcane #arcane fanvid #vi #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #my post.#arcane masterpost

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elvisbdoll · 4 months ago

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“Money, Power and Glory”

You met him under the heat of red lights and camera flashes, somewhere between rehearsal and reinvention. Elvis Presley—resurrected in black leather and swagger, too aware of the image he’d sculpted for himself, yet still searching for something real underneath the rhinestones and resurrection.

And you? You were never supposed to be there.

Just a studio assistant. Another shadow behind the scenes, handing off microphones and collecting cables. But he noticed you. The way your eyes followed him, not with awe, but with quiet defiance. You didn’t care about the legend. You wanted the man. The raw, pulsing ache behind his smile.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said that first night, leaning too close, voice thick with honey and bourbon. “You always look at people like that? Like you know how they’ll end up?”

You didn’t flinch. “Only the ones who want too much.”

He smirked. “Then you’re lookin’ at the right man.”

————

The affair began with secrets—locked doors, whispered promises, your name barely spoken outside the hush of hotel rooms. He’d bring you gifts like apologies—gold bracelets, fur-lined jackets, bills folded into the pages of books you never asked for. You told him you didn’t need anything. He said that was why he wanted to give you everything.

But you knew the truth.

He wanted to own you like a kingdom.

“Elvis,” you’d whisper into his throat, curled in satin sheets and Southern heat, “why me?”

He’d grip your waist like it was the last honest thing he could hold. “Because you don’t want the crown, baby. That’s how I know you deserve it.”

But even then, you felt the weight coming. The slow tilt of his world, where love meant possession and desire always tasted like control.

————

You watched him onstage—sweat shining on his brow, voice burning with desperation. Every girl in the audience screamed for salvation. He sang for sin. And when he looked your way, it wasn’t tenderness in his eyes. It was hunger. Like you were the last thing he hadn’t conquered yet.

“I want money, power, and glory,” he’d hum sometimes, pressing his lips to your shoulder in the dark. “And I’ll take it from you if I have to.”

You kissed him harder when he said that. Maybe part of you wanted to be taken. To feel what it meant to be desired by a man who could have anyone—but kept coming back to you.

————

Still, the world outside never softened. They whispered your name like scandal. Told you to run before he ruined you. But you didn’t run.

You wanted the fire.

You wanted the chaos.

You wanted to see how far he’d go to make you stay.

And Elvis—he fed off that. He loved you like a battlefield, every kiss another power play, every fight a song he hadn’t written yet.

———-

So when he said, “Come with me to Vegas, I’ll make you my queen,” you smiled, lips painted the color of blood and secrets.

“You can’t buy me, Presley.”

He tilted his head, gaze dark and dangerous. “No, but I can make you worship me.”

And maybe he did.

But only because you let him.

Vegas made him bigger.

Brighter.

Louder.

But it made you sharper.

In the gold-drenched halls of the International Hotel, he was the sun. And everyone else, including you, was expected to orbit. The women, the sycophants, the men in suits. They bowed, smiled, clapped, and devoured him with their eyes like a god wrapped in rhinestones.

But you? You sat in the back, legs crossed, silk dress hugging every inch of your body like you belonged on that throne beside him. Watching. Calculating. Remembering the way he once begged for your silence, your touch, your fire.

And now? He expected you to disappear behind the curtain of his spotlight.

But baby, you weren’t built for the shadows.

————

“You’ve changed,” he muttered one night, drunk on applause and champagne. “You used to be softer. Now all I see is glass.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “Maybe I got tired of bleeding for a man who doesn’t know how to hold something without crushing it.”

He grabbed your wrist. Not hard, not soft. A warning. “I made you.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear like a curse:

“No. You bought me. But you can’t afford me anymore.”

————-

It started slow. You stopped waiting backstage. Stopped answering calls after midnight. When he sent gifts, you returned them. When he summoned you, you made him wait.

You wore red. You laughed louder. You danced with strangers in front of him, hips swaying like sin under chandeliers. You knew how it made him feel—that mixture of lust and rage, that fear that maybe this time, you wouldn’t crawl back into his bed.

And when he finally snapped—cornered you in a velvet hallway with that feral look in his eyes—you didn’t flinch.

“You think I won’t leave?” you whispered, voice low like smoke. “You think you’re still the man I wanted?”

He grabbed your chin, forced you to look at him. “You loved me.”

You laughed. “I loved the idea of you. But I’ve met the real thing now, and baby… he’s small.”

————

Elvis tried to cage you in diamonds, dress you in power like it was something he could loan out. But you were done playing muse.

You were done being the thing he flaunted to feel alive.

Now you were the one with the eyes watching.

You were the one they whispered about.

And he? He became just another man addicted to the memory of a woman he could never quite control.

——-

Some nights, you still hear his voice.

Begging.

Pleading.

Cursing.

Loving.

But you don’t answer.

Because power doesn’t beg.

And you finally know what it tastes like.

Tags 🏷️: @jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @gyratingpresley @kxnnxy @iloveelvisss @buglass @rjmartin11 @atleastpleasetelephone

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #70s elvis #elvis history #elvis the king #elvisaaronpresley #elvisedit #60s elvis #black!oc

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mjjune · 1 year ago

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TWTR: A COMIC SANS INTRO

as requested/voted on for my 1k follower celebration! thank you so much to everyone who voted and who cares enough about this story to want to know more 💕

artists featured: check them out!!!

@neapaulatan, @ichimakesart, @littlestpersimmon, @akiwitch, @vacantgodling

below the cut is a full image description and twtr's taglist! reply here or message me if you want to be added ✨

[Image Description:

A Comic Sans WIP intro of 9 slides with dark gray background and various images.

Slide 1: Title page with a dark background of green leaves with the title "TWTR: a comic sans wip intro as requested by my followers <3"

Slide 2: "So WTF is TWTR?" with an image of illustrated art of a forest scene with a tree growing through a cottage in the background, a silvery ax with a dragon design sticking out of the earth in the foreground. The slide reads, "a retelling, sorta, more of a sequel ! the prologue is a little red riding hood retelling, and the rest of the novel is the aftermath. red is not so little anymore. the wolf is back for blood and the woodsman has to finish what he started 6 years ago." In smaller font, a note in parentheses says, "and no i will not tell you what twtr stands for. it’s an ongoing joke now that half my betas still didn’t know what it meant even though it was on the signup sheet 🫠"

Slide 3: The Story. Has an illustrated gif image of the woodsman facing away from the audience, his cape blowing in the wind. He has an ax in his left hand, a raven sitting on his right shoulder in the woods. the slide reads: "the woodsman, an outsider, saves a little girl from a legendary beast, only to find out that she’s?? whoops?? the nearby kingdom’s princess and only heir??? so naturally, if you were the queen, and some strange outsider dude pops out of the evil magical forest with your 10yo daughter claiming he saved her from The Wolf™ ... uh, yeah, that’s sus. he’s arrested and has to prove (via dark shit i won’t go into) that he’s magic-free before he can join kingdom society."

Slide 4: Yikes, then what? Has a banner image of the woods with a cloaked figure in the center, fog rising from the bottom, with a raven with glowing eyes in the corner. The slide reads: "over the years, he works his way up to become red’s personal guard. he has his first real friend of his entire life?? 🥺 until the wolf shows back up, working its way through the kingdom devouring people. avery must kill the beast once and for all before it gets to red. as he tracks it, though, he uncovers lies that go deep not only within the kingdom, but his own past. he finds The Wolf™ in the woods, where it offers him a deal: the truth, for red. which will avery choose??? 👀"

Slide 5: Wait so who are these people?? Has 3 icon images of the main characters. First is "Avery, The Woodsman. known for being short, baby-faced, and a man of few words; mysterious past prior to saving red and joining the kingdom." His icon is an illustrated profile view of a short dark-haired tan-skinned man with freckles and a bit of scruff and a serious expression. Second is "Red, Princess Anara. the spirited heir to the throne; angry that she’s not included in royal affairs and wants to learn everything." Her icon is illustrated art of a young girl with blue eyes, red hair in a braid, wearing a dark hooded cloak looking at the audience. Last is "The Wolf™, a monster of legend, rumored to be immortal that lives in the dark forest surrounding the kingdom; the size of a room and devours people whole :P yum yum." Its icon is a dark image of a wolf with glowing white eyes looking at the audience.

Slide 6: Surely there are other characters, MJ??? Slide is plain with a bulleted list of info, which reads: "Honorable Mentions: MAGNUS, the elite guardsman who trains avery and has a complicated history (an unintentional fan favorite); QUEEN ETIENNE, the queen of the kingdom and red’s mom; "GRANDMA", an elderly woman who red liked to visit (secretly) in the woods and was devoured by The Wolf™."

Slide 7: Also Featuring. Slide reads "a badass ax, hand-crafted by avery’s long-deceased parents; giant trees the size of houses; giant burrowing lizards; religious coercion :); magic metal; magic plagues; magic soup; intimate platonic hair braiding; cute child cameos; southern hemisphere world (aka the north is warm and the south is cold)". To the right is an illustration of avery's ax, a dark handle with silvery ax with an etched dragon design.

Slide 8: Ok, but is it gay? with small parentheses note: "how dare you ask me this honestly." Bullet points read: "unfortunately this is classified :) (tbf even in the book i keep it loose and open to interpretation), but here are some themes which may or may not be queer: “(unconscious) true love’s kiss breaks the spell” except does it tho???; princess “uninterested in courting”; handsome shy wallflower guy gets asked to dance by 100 girls and declines them all (think cullen from dragon age lmao); shapeshifting as a metaphor for... things :); found family / family doesn’t have to be blood / adoption; lights vs. dark not being a clear-cut good vs. evil, nuanced morality etc.

Slide 9: Art credits! Slide reads: "a HUGE thank you to all the artists i’ve commissioned! they’re all linked below! check them out! in order of appearance: dark forest scene by neapaulatan; avery cape gif by ichimakesart; foggy banner and wolf icon (fan-made); avery icon by littlestpersimmon; red icon by akiwitch; avery’s ax by vacantgodling. Below the credits, it reads, "Thanks for reading! and as a reminder, all my works have a taglist! if you want a notif every time i post about this wip let me know :)"

End Image Description]

@aether-wasteland-s @annetilney @artbyeloquent @ashirisu @bebewrites

@cljordan-imperium @dogmomwrites @dustylovelyrun @elijahrichardwrites @eventideintrigue

@faithfire-writes @flowerprose @forthesanityofstorytellers @ghafasinej @helioscenic

@isabellebissonrouthier @jamieanovels @lexiklecksi @little-mouse-gardens @marlowethelibrarian

@marrowwife @mr-writes @macabremoons @perasperaadastrawriting @phantomnations

@tate-lin @thyroidhormones @verba-writing @vsnotresponding @wildswrites

#wtwcommunity #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr community #writerblr #writer community #writing community #fantasy writing #writers of tumblr #wip intro #dark fantasy #wip #w: twtr #comic sans intro #my intro #mj posts

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uranometrias · 5 months ago

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BAD NEWS, BAD REVIEWS. [ part one ]

FALLEN ANGEL:

noun

noun: fallen angel; plural noun: fallen angels

(in Christian, Jewish, and Muslim tradition) an angel who rebelled against God and was cast out of heaven.

[ YOUR NAME ], was a name that was hard to forget. It triggered many a reaction, spilled from the tongue of occupants Heaven and Hell alike, and always, always caused an uproar. She was what you'd call known. World-famous, in the big leagues of history. The baby girl in a quintet of exceptionally powerful celestial beings; she is not too pressed to be caught up in the affairs of humanity or the impending war looming between two of her brothers.

THE TROUBLE, of course, arises when she finds herself too intrigued by the sharp-mouthed, quick-witted little human man, who seemed to have her deadbeat daddy and all of Heaven ready to wet themselves to protect. She certainly was no hell-dweller by choice; if anything, the only time she stepped foot inside the cage was merely to poke fun at the fact that her big brother was still trapped and hopefully would be for many more centuries. However, this didn't mean she didn't stay informed.

She had few demons she trusted, the ones that didn't piss her off as much as the others, and when whispers of a human being snatched straight out of Hell and tossed back into Earth good as new start making their rounds, she's more than a little bit intrigued. Eager to lay her eyes on Heaven's champion, and boy, is she not disappointed.

DEAN WINCHESTER was slowly becoming a legend. A hunter of deadly precision who only became much more of a threat and liability the older he got. He was selfish at times, egotistical; he made rash decisions and would burn the entire world to dust for the sake of his baby brother. He was also charming and snarky, and he called her a "Feather-Faced Freak" more than he called her by her name. But that was an unfortunate side effect of a bad gene pool.

Dean and [ Your Name ] were an unlikely pair, a duo that spurned from sarcastic quips, back-and-forth banter, angry kisses that soon turned into hate fucking to 'take the edge off,' and then became something much worse. Something deadlier than any verbal or physical blow they could hurl at each other. Because the hate starts looking a lot less like hate, and monsters start to become a lot less like monsters through the blurred and messy lines of falling in love.

[ or the one where an Archangel offers Dean Winchester a blade to help him stand a chance in the impending war between Heaven and Hell. ]

→ premise: in which dean meets an archangel that has plans to throw a wrench in the impending war between Heaven and Hell, only to be sidetracked when their banter leads to sexual tension neither is strong enough to ignore ! [ or the one where dean slowly falls in love with a traitorous angel! ]

→ pairing: dean winchester x angel female!reader

→ series warnings: eventual smut, language, daddy issues. <3

→ a/n: honestly idk... inspired by @/whimcycles character.ai bot plot (that went in a vastly different direction than i'm certain the creator intended lol. probably doesn't really comply with canon at all, but yknow what it's fiction so f it we ball.

DEAN stood firm, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the woman before him. She stared at him with an almost smug countenance, and something about her set him off in the worst way. He brandished the knife more menacingly, a fierce glare in his eyes. "I'm going to send you back to hell where you came from."

The woman before him stood unmoving, her expression giving no indication of fear or apprehension. It was clear that she wasn't intimidated by Dean's threat, her otherworldly presence exuding a sense of calm indifference.

Dean's grip on the knife tightened as he prepared to strike. He wasn't going to let this unknown entity go easily.

With a sudden burst of anger, Dean lunged forward, the knife poised to strike. He had every intention of bringing her down, whatever she was. It didn't matter to him what she was or where she came from. "Say something damnit!" he shouts, visibly vibrating in his anger.

"Relax, He-Man. You'll bust a blood vessel if you keep shouting like that." she stares at him less than moved at his aggression. She had a suffocating air of confidence that near surrounded her like a cloud. The smirk she wore as she scrutinized him like a predator sizing up prey was downright infuriating.

Dean's eyes narrowed as he looked up at the creature. This one was definitely different from the usual demons he dealt with. She was stunningly beautiful, with a tall, statuesque figure that could easily turn heads. He lowered the knife slightly, taking a moment to take in her appearance. Despite himself, he felt a little caught off guard by her beauty. But he quickly shook off the feeling.

"He-Man, huh?" he said with a scoff, his usual cocky attitude peeking through. "Watch your tone, sweetheart."

"Or what? You gonna gut me-" she fakes a pout. "I don't think that'll work on me, sweet cheeks."

Dean raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He was used to being the one in control, the one with the power. But this creature was different. She was fearless and cocky, unafraid to challenge him. It was a bit refreshing, if he was being honest with himself. "Don't underestimate me, sweetheart," he said, taking a step closer, still brandishing the knife. "This isn't my first rodeo. I've taken down all kinds of monstrosities, including demons."

"Well your first mistake is for comparing me to those puss-filled sacks of garbage." she grunts angrily. She stares at him as if the comparison was some direct slander against her entire existence. "They're atrocities." she adds, lip curling slightly.

Dean's smirk widened as the creature's anger seemed to rise. She had fire in her, no doubt about it. He had a feeling that she wasn't going down without a fight. "Don't tell me you're one of those feathered-freaks then." he shakes his head in disbelief. "No way." and he notes the way her face contorts, almost like she's agitated by that assumption too. "Here on behalf of the man upstairs?"

"Yeah, right." she spits, eyes rolling. "Let's just say I'm not His biggest fan." she shrugs, "I'm what you'd call emotionally disconnected from the agenda." she explains callously. "A neutral party in this war brewing, that you seem to be smack dab in the middle of."

Dean's eyebrows raise at that, "Not all angels and demons are the same. Some can be downright charming," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What makes you so different, sweetheart? Different breed of crazy or something?"

"Yeah, honey. Something like that-" she mocks with a frosty expression on her face. "What exactly is the extent of your knowledge on what this war is really about, sweetheart?"

And she's got him there, because he's about as blind as one could be. All he knew was that Castiel had ripped him out of hell, and since then the Angels had been showing up more and more with talks of burdens and heavy weights on shoulders.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." She mutters, and she's not mocking in the slightest. "Here's a history lesson, sweetie. Long before your kind were created God, or as you call him, the Big Man Upstairs, created his Angels." she crosses her arms. "Five came first. "Five siblings. Four boys and a babygirl, what you'd call Heaven's big leagues-" she expresses crossly.

"Long story short: thing changed… they really changed. and as of now I'd say the siblings aren't on the… best of terms." and she bristles even more. "Which is why I'm not so keen on helping either side." and she's let her hands drop down to rest on her hips.

Dean's eyes widened as she spoke, the shock and surprise evident on his face. "Wait, wait…" he stammers, his brain working overtime to comprehend what she just said. "You're trying to tell me that you're one of them? One of the first?"

"Ding ding ding. Looks like you win a prize." she drawls.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Dean demands, hand still gripping his knife like a vice.

"I figured since Sammy's got a demon in his corner, you deserved a fighting chance-" she explains loosely.

Dean's eyes widened at her words. His grip on the knife visibly tightened, and the muscles of his jaw tensed. "Sam... You know about Sam?" he asked, his voice low. "And Ruby it seems."

"Course-" she says curtly. "Every demon and Angel in existence knows about Sam." she explains. "It doesn't help that Azazel kind of pumped him up to be Hell's next head honcho."

"Head honcho…" he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Dean knew that this wasn't good. He knew the expectations that were placed on Sam, knew what the demon's end game was. "But why tell me this?" he questioned her, still suspicious of her motives. "Why does this matter to you?"

"It doesn't." she deadpans. "Not really. But, whether you think so or not, when it comes to brothers versus girls … especially girls like Ruby… the girl wins every single time." she explains. "Ruby's poisoning Sam's opinion of you, and at some point it'll get so bad that he won't want to hear jack squat from you at all. He won't care about your opinion, he won't care about much else besides whatever bullshit Ruby's manipulating him with. Whether it's his savior complex- or something else…" she explains.

He listened to her words with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. He hadn't expected her to be this upfront with him, to be so bluntly honest. Her words struck a nerve. The thought of Sam being manipulated, of Ruby poisoning his opinion… it made him angry. Angry and… scared. He didn't want to lose his brother, didn't want to lose the only family he had left. He swallowed hard, trying to bury the emotions that were welling up inside him.

He had to be strong. He had to stay focused.

"Do you even know what Ruby's doing with your brother- how he was able to get so good at using his abilities?"

Dean's brow furrows as he shakes his head.

"Of course I do." he snaps. "My brother told me all about how she trained him. How she saved his life, alright? She looked after him." he sneers, "Guess that throws a wrench in your whole big reveal, sweetheart."

She snorts, "Oh yeah? So you know that she's got him drinking her blood?" her eyebrows raise mockingly. "That demon blood's the only thing potent enough to make his powers all the more deadly?"

It takes a moment for her words to finally sink in, and as soon as it does, Dean's eyes widen in realization.

She smirks smugly at that, "Ooh boy, looks like he didn't mention that part." she taunts, and he cuts his eyes at her sharply.

"Shut up!" he demands, and she raises her hands in mock defense. His hands clenched into fists, anger and worry churning within him. "Sonofabitch.." he growls, cursing under his breath. He had suspected something, but hearing the words- hearing something like this from another person was… Devastating. That little voice in the back of his head, the one always telling him the worst could happen… it was screaming at him now. Telling him that Sam was lost, that he was slipping further and further away…

"I don't know her endgame… I don't even know if she actually cares about, Sam- I just know you'd be more than stupid to trust her." Aly explains coldly. "I obviously can't help you fight-" she motions to herself. "Conflict of interest and all- but.. she's not the only one who can get their hands on some pretty knifty things that'll make that steak knife you've got look like plastic cutlery."

Dean frowned, still trying to process everything she had said. Part of him wanted to just walk away, ignore this whole thing altogether. But another part, the part that cared about his brother, was telling him to listen.

He gave a slight nod, his eyes meeting hers in a determined glare.

"Fine." he said begrudgingly. "What do you have in mind?"

"How much do you know about why your angel pulled you from the pit?" she questions, arms crossing.

"Not a whole lot," he answered honestly. "Why? You know something I don't?"

She purses her lips, disappointed. "Guess not." she denies, and she knows what she's about to give him would absolutely get her killed if it got out. "Look- there's a blade, one that's strong enough to kill an Archangel. It exists-" and she clenches her hand tightly. "You won't need it for Ruby- for her you could use that if you decide to kill her-" and she points to the one in his hand, the one she was certain he'd procured from Ruby anyway.

"There are about five in existence-" she explains. "I don't know if you'll be able to stop Lucifer's return- but I know if you have one of those you'll at least have a fighting chance. And it could help you save your brother-" she trails off. "Before it's too late…"

He stared at her for a moment, letting her words sink in. He was surprised by the amount of knowledge she had... he had expected a few minor tidbits, but nothing like this. His mind raced as he tried to decide if he could trust her words. Was she telling the truth, or just stringing him along?

"And what's the catch?" he asked, his gaze hardening.

"Let's just say it's not in my best interest to jump in the fight head on." she admits, nails popping. "But I want Lucifer gone- just as much as anybody else. And I don't trust anybody else- not the angels... certainly not the demons-" she explains. "So I'm trusting you."

He let out a sigh, running a hand over his face. He had always trusted his gut, and his gut told him she was trustworthy.

Well, as trustworthy as a demon could be, and in this situation, he needed all the help he could get.

"Alright, alright… so where are these blades then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Each Archangel has one." she says, and she bristles, mostly because she was certain what she said next would absolutely blow his mind. "Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel, [ YOUR NAME ] " she explains wistfully.

"And let me get this straight, you're [ YOUR NAME ], is that right?" Dean asks.

"Guilty." she says dryly. "It's complicated." she corrects a second after.

Dean's surprised, not quite expecting her to admit it so blatantly. She was one of the original five Angels. There was something about the way she said it that tugged at something within Dean. "Complicated? What, Angel life not all it's cracked up to be? Aren't you guys all about obedience and holding hands and all that other crap?" he questions as she rolls her eyes in annoyance.

"Yeah, well do you do everything your daddy tells you?" she asks.

Dean's grip on the knife tightened as the question hit a nerve within him. His relationship with his father was always complicated, and she obviously knew it. He swallowed hard, his voice tense as he said, "No. I don't." He didn't want to delve too deep into his personal life with this demon, but something told him that she understood, whether he wanted her to or not.

"Well let's just say angels have daddy issues sometimes too." she offers meagerly with a shrug.

Dean blinked, trying to process everything she had just said. 'Angel family issues' just wasn't something he had expected to hear about today. "So- wait, hold on…" he said, his brow furrowing. "You're an archangel, but you don't want Lucifer to come back?" He scratched the back of his head, trying to piece everything together. This was more complicated than he'd ever expected…

"It's not exactly like any of them are doing me any favors." she expresses. "If my brothers come it won't be good for any of you. It'll trigger what you call the Apocalypse and without the right help you won't stand a chance."

Dean frowned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He wanted to trust her… But trust was a commodity that was hard to come by these days. "Why should I trust you? I don't even know you, and no offense, but the fact that you're an Archangel doesn't really do you a lot of favors either, sweetheart. So far I'm supposed to believe everything you're saying based on what? Your word?"

"No." she denies, and she's pulling out a gold-stemmed blade. "You're supposed to trust me based on the facts." she says. "I do not consider myself someone who enjoys wasting anyone's time." she explains. "I don't have anything else to lose-" she adds, "My father is a piece of shit, and my brothers are at war… getting killed by a human like you is honestly not super high on my things to be concerned about list. If you do it, you do it. I'll be done with this bullshit, and you'll be bladeless and have to deal with the repercussions on your own."

His eyes widened as he takes in the weapon, his eyes darting between her face and the blade she was holding. The fact that she didn't have anything to lose only made it worse. "You're really willing to just give this to me?" he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. "No questions asked?"

She snorts, "Would you like me to make it more difficult for you?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, his eyes locked on the blade. He didn't trust her… but he needed every advantage he could get. And if there was even a chance… He lifted one eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing across his face. "Yeah, yeah, why not." he said, shrugging. "I like a challenge."

"Fine." she says dryly, and just like that she's putting the blade away. "Why don't you go ask your buddy Castiel about [ YOUR NAME ] - and see how good I am at challenges." she instructs, and now she's the one smirking. "It's kind of my thing-" she tsks.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. How on earth did she know about Castiel? "You know about Castiel?" he demanded, the suspicion clear in his voice. "How do you know about him?"

"Archangel, short bus-" she motions to herself. He frowned, annoyance flaring in his eyes. He hated being insulted- especially when his intelligence was being called into question.

"What's that supposed to-" and he falters. "Wait. Do you mean you're an actual archangel? Like, not just making it up or some BS?"

She stares at him for a long while. "Do you think I pulled the name Castiel out of my ass?" she questions. "If I remember correctly, the last time a demon talked to you Winchesters about an angel she was freaked out of her mind. Do I look freaked?"

Damn brat. She had a point. She didn't seem panicked- she seemed as calm now as she did when they first met. His expression darkened as his suspicions were confirmed. He didn't want to believe it... but deep down, he knew it had to be true. "Fine. Let's say that I buy it-" he said, still glaring at her. "How do I know you're not just messing with us? How do I know you're not on Lucifer's side?"

"You don't." she says. "But this-" and she's got the blade in her hand again. She holds out her arm, taking the edge and pressing it against her skin in a way that made her bare her teeth in pain. "Wouldn't be something I'd give you if I was on Lucifer's side-" she gasps, pulling the blade away from the spot that was now dripping blood as she held the base firmly in her hand.

Dean's eyes widened as he watched her cut herself with the blade. The sight of her unbothered by the knife cutting into her skin sent a shiver down his spine, despite himself. He hated to admit it, but there was a morbid fascination as well. She was right- there was no way a demon would willingly do that. If she was on Lucifer's side, it would be too risky.

He hesitated for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. "Alright, alright, fine-" he said, his voice firm but wavering just a bit. "I believe you. You're not on Lucifer's side... But that doesn't explain why you're helping me. Why me?"

"You and your brother are a pretty big topic of conversation in my family."

That didn't exactly make him feel better. He and Sam being a topic of conversation among the Archangels was not exactly ideal. "So they're talking about us, huh?" he said, his tone sarcastic. "What are they sayin' ? Anything good I hope."

"Nothing I can tell you now-" she answers instantly. "Lucifer has an interest in your brother-" she does offer. "My big brother Michael, has an interest in you-" she explains. "Don't you wonder why there's so much talk of War? Why Castiel told you that there's a heavy weight on your shoulders?" she reminds him.

His expression darkened at her words. Lucifer had an interest in Sam, Michael had an interest in him... it all started to make sense now. He didn't like it one bit.

He shook his head, his jaw clenched.

"Yeah, yeah I know all about the weight of this war." he muttered. "But I'm supposed to just trust you? How do I know you're not just playing some long-con here, huh? How do I know you're not just trying to manipulate me for your own benefit?"

"Our father is not all he's cracked up to be." she says with a near snarl. "So In a way I guess I am." she shrugs. "My long-con is simply a desire to see both my brothers get the recompense they fucking deserve. I'm not part of their war- I'm not anything special..." she mutters. "I love my brothers... despite everything, but they're not the same- and that's my father's fault." she expresses.

"My father put me down here to teach me some lesson-" she adds. "To fall in line or be dealt with like the rest of you, like scum." and she looks more hurt than angry. "And you- the human with nothing to gain from saving people the way you do... do it anyway." she admits. "Can't pretend it doesn't intrigue me even if I wanted to-"

He listened to her, trying to understand everything she was saying. He didn't expect any of this, but he could tell that she was telling the truth. And he had to admit, it tugged at his heartstrings to hear her talk about her experience with her family, hearing about her father, the anger. He couldn't imagine the pain she had to be feeling right now… "Yeah, well…" he said, shifting his weight. "I've been called a bleeding heart before."

"And it's a good thing, Dean-"

He blinked, surprised by her words. He didn't expect to get praised for that. He wasn't used to it, to say the least. "Good... thing?" he echoed, his brow furrowing. "You... you seriously think so?"

She stares at him again, cogs turning in her mind. "You are nothing like the others say-" she admits, and it's surprising.

He was starting to get uncomfortable with all the staring, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want her to stop complimenting him right now... "Oh yeah? How so?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side as he tried to read her expression.

"When people mention you- there's... there's a fear, obviously. Your hunting capabilities are near impossible to understand. Something that for you will only get better with time-" she says this more like she's speaking to herself. "But they- they say you are selfish- ignorant, cocky-" and she appraises him further. "Ruby particularly does not have the fondest of opinions of you..." her eyes narrow.

"But you do care about people, don't you? You do this job not because you have no other choice... but because you genuinely care about your kind..."

He listened to her words, feeling a mix of confusion and pride. His hunting skills being described as impossible to understand? That was... kinda cool. But hearing that people thought he was selfish and ignorant? Self-centered? That hurt. Especially Ruby. He knew she didn't like him, but hearing about it still stung. "Yeah, yeah I care about people..." he muttered, avoiding her gaze. "And I do this job because nobody else wants to do it. There's a lot of innocent people who need protecting from the evil things of this world."

Her head shakes. "It's- I can see why Heaven would want to recruit you." she can admit. "They see you as the perfect soldier-" she admits, "But you're not... controllable, are you?" her head tips to the side as if she was really trying to understand him. "You are not someone they will be able to mold into their design, and I think that's good- it'll be a wake up call for them, and you will come out on the other side just fine." she says with a quiet puff of breath. "You're interesting, Dean."

He raised an eyebrow at her words. He was going to be a wake up call? Just how important did she think he was? Sure, he had some tricks up his sleeve, but he wasn't some kind of game changer.

And did she just call him interesting?

"Interesting, huh? Not sure if I should be offended by that or not..." he joked lightly, a smirk playing across his lips. He watched as the blood continued to trickle down her arm, feeling the same morbid fascination. The sight of her blood was strange, yet oddly beautiful, like everything about her. His eyes lingered on the sight for a moment before he snapped out of it.

"I just mean… you are more than you seem. Outwardly you look like the bad guy… bet you feel like it sometimes too." and she purses her lips. "And some part of you- for some reason can't seem to believe good things about yourself. Or why someone would be interested in using you. You have a strong will, Dean- when you have something to fight for, you are near invincible- you've proven that…" and she hums. "How many times has death evaded you? You think someone unimportant would be able to swing something like that?"

He listened as she seemed to pick apart everything that made him… him. She was right, of course. He did feel like the bad guy most of the time. He had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of. And hearing someone point it all out was… uncomfortable. "Yeah, alright, fine. You're right. I'm a little stubborn, and I've probably cheated death more than I care to admit. But it's not like I've never been beaten before- I may be good, but I'm not invincible."

"You're the only person I know who managed to get plucked from the pits of Hell." she corrects him sternly. "I'm not calling you a God, just pointing out the facts. You and your brother are not any regular hunters." and she takes a small step back. "That's all-"

He grumbled a little under his breath, still not comfortable with her praise. "Yeah, yeah I know-" he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "I'm one of a kind, special and all that crap..."

"I didn't call you special." she corrects him.

He paused, a bit surprised by her words. He had been expecting another compliment, some more praise about how special he was. "You... didn't? You're not gonna wax poetry about how important I am?"

"Course not. I don't see it as an honor to be God's chosen." She mutters coldly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a smirk. "You serious? Being God's chosen is the most important thing in the world! You should be begging to be God's chosen!" he teases sarcastically.

She shoots him an incredulous glance. "You think so?"

"At least if you were God's chosen, you'd know you were on the winning team."

"And do you know that?" she questions crossly.

He paused, thrown off by her question. Did he know that? Well… He hesitated, then responded in a quieter voice. "… No."

"Right." she says with a firm nod. "It's not as black and white as that book makes it seem, take some of the smugness out of your voice, won't you?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, still a bit surprised by her bluntness.

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts, sweetheart. And the facts are that between Michael and Lucifer, I'm definitely gonna side with Michael any day of the week."

"Well then good luck with that, sweetheart."

He rolled his eyes again, amused by her sarcasm. He decided to play along. "Oh, I will have good luck, sweetheart. Because Michael is gonna kick Lucifer's ass back in the cage where he belongs."

She bristles at his words, made more than a bit apparent he still had no clue what role his brother played in everything.

She bristles. "Dean-" and she immediately slams her mouth shut. Because she couldn't say anything. Not about how Michael had actually chosen Dean to invade. And how Lucifer had chosen Sam, and how his words held a far darker meaning than he might have believed.

He raised an eyebrow at her words, noticing the change in her behavior. She seemed like she was going to say something… then stopped herself. Dean was suspicious, to say the least. He had a bad feeling in his gut about what she was hiding.

"What? You got something to say? Don't hold back now."

"There are things I want to tell you that will likely get me killed once I say them-" she admits grimly. "And while I do not mind if you decide you want to try and kill me- I do not want to wait for… for any of my father's other children to decide that they will kill me for- for speaking out of turn-" she expresses forlornly.

His suspicion grew with each word she said. She wanted to tell him something, something that could get her… killed. What could be so important that… "You don't trust your own family," he said, realization dawned on him. "They would really kill you just for talking to me?"

"If they find out I tried to give you an archangel blade they surely will."

He was speechless for a moment, simply staring at her. "Why are you so willing to go against your family like this?"

She squeezes her hands together, nails piercing her palms. Fuck it. Worst case scenario, she'd have to shed this vessel and find another one. "Because I care about humanity." she expresses. "And I happen to have taken a begrudging sort of appreciation towards you as well, Dean. And your brother means the world to you, does he not?"

He was speechless for a moment again, caught off guard by her honesty. He hadn't expected her to admit that she cared about humanity, and certainly not that she cared about him- even if it was just a begrudging appreciation. And once again, she brought his brother into the conversation. He swallowed hard, thinking about Sammy…

"Lucifer intends to inhabit your brother-" and once she's said it, there's no going back.

His whole body tensed up at her words. He could feel his heart beating fast in his chest.

Lucifer…

Lucifer wanted to…

"Possess… Sam?" he forced himself to say.

"It's not possession Dean." she denies, because it was so much more than that. "Your brother was chosen- born specifically to be Lucifer's vessel. My brother chose him."

He felt a chill go down his spine at her words. His baby brother was chosen... created to be Lucifer's vessel?! He felt a surge of anger and fear at the same time, and he clenched his fists tightly.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice trembling slightly. "Why the hell would Lucifer want to possess Sam?"

"I suppose for the very same reason Michael intends to inhabit you." she explains grimly.

His gaze flicked to her, a mixture of disbelief and anger. Michael intended to possess him...? He gritted his teeth frustratedly, shaking his head in denial. "No," he stated. "That's not gonna happen. Michael isn't gonna possess me!"

"Of course-" she agrees, head tilting slightly as a sign of submission. "And so now you understand why you cannot turn your back on Ruby? I think she's using Sam's wish to save people as a means to open the final seal to release my brother."

His eyes widened slightly at her words. She… she was right. Ruby was using Sam's desire to do good, to help people, as a way to release Lucifer. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, realizing that they were all just puppets in this game. And Lucifer was the one pulling the strings…

"I don't have much time- I will have to... find a new body quickly." she admits, and she inhales sharply. "I was not supposed to be the one to tell you all of this- I'm sorry you had to learn it without the necessary gentleness, but I don't have time to be gentle. My brothers are setting the stage, their armies are ready- with you and your brother as the main event. Protect him, and protect yourself."

He listened to her words, trying to process everything she was saying. It was a lot to take in, and there were so many questions running through his mind… But there was one question in particular that burned inside him, and he couldn't hold it back any longer. He took a step closer to her and spoke in a low, intense voice…

"Why are you helping me? After all of this, telling me all of this- why should I trust you? Why are you really doing this?"

"What are you waiting for some supervillain origin story?" she asks. "It's not so crazy that there are people in the world who care and what to see you be okay, Dean." she snaps.

His eyes narrowed as she snapped at him, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between them. "You care?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. And… something else. Maybe… "Since when do angels, or archangels, care about us mere mortals?"

"They don't." she corrects him, eyes narrowing as she glares. "And don't get it twisted, "Castiel, he cares about you, he likes you." she emphasizes. "I just want to see you be okay." she deadpans dryly. "Not mutually exclusive, and certainly not proof that I give any more of a damn about you than anyone else." she huffs.

He swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat with the mention of Castiel. God, how did he always manage to creep into their conversations... He ignored it for now though, and focused on her words. She said she just wanted him to be okay. That wasn't proof that she cared... But still... "Why?" he repeated in a hushed voice. "Why do you want me, or... anyone else, to be okay? We're nothing but... worthless humans."

"Worthless humans, worthless angels, worthless demons. All the same to me-" she says with a careless shrug. "And you're encroaching my space, back up- now." she adds, chest heaving as her heart stutter steps at how close he was, looming over her with their current height difference.

He paused, realizing that he had indeed gotten way too close. He took a step back, a little sheepishly, and put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't realize how close I was."

He paused again, still trying to understand her.

"So... you care about all of us, right? Humans, angels, demons... all of us worthless creatures?"

"I don't think any one person should represent an entire species. There are some demons who are a product of unfortunate circumstances... Vampires, werewolves, witches that genuinely mean no harm. There are angels- my siblings that I love and care about-" she says. "There are some humans-" and she has to look away to avoid growing bashful. "There are some humans that are not so bad-" she admits. "I don't care about any one group as a whole. I care about the individual- what I don't want for anyone is for them to be taken out on account of my family's issues-" she explains.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her answer. She… cared about individuals, not groups. And there were humans she… cared about. He swallowed hard, feeling a strange flutter in his chest. But he quickly pushed it away, focusing on her words. He nodded, understanding her point. "So you don't like it when individuals get caught up in your family issues," he summarized. "That's… understandable. But sometimes it's not as easy as that to not get caught up in them. Family… is complicated. Trust me, I know…"

"Humans don't deserve to die because my brothers are fighting. Towns shouldn't be destroyed because angels think they're superior." she crosses her arms. "I'm aware- I'm practically the poster child for daddy and mommy issues-" she huffs. "And I'm just the runt little sister, nothing special- nothing cosmic happening on account of me."

He winces sympathetically as she mentions daddy and mommy issues- he knows all about that. But he was surprised to hear her describe herself as the 'runt little sister'.

He shook his head firmly.

"Hey, don't belittle yourself like that. You're a freakin' archangel. Just because you're the youngest doesn't mean you're not special or cosmic or whatever." He paused, shaking his head again. "Don't sell yourself short, sweetheart," he scolded gently.

Sweetheart. That was dangerous. "You misunderstand." she promises. "This isn't a matter of insecurity or low self value." she continues. "My brothers are leagues more powerful than you may even be able to comprehend." she explains quietly.

"I am certainly not as weak as a regular angel- but I am not even old enough to try and compete with my four brothers. Gabriel, he has incomparable power..." she explains. "Which makes all my other brothers eons more powerful than Gabriel." she expresses. "My father loved me, and he trained me, forced me to be stronger so that I could keep up. So I wouldn't slow them down-" she says.

"But I will always be the little sister- the youngest- the smallest..." She adds. "And now the traitor-" she shrugs. "But once Lucifer fell, I became that anyway- I understand how it feels to love your brother even when you don't understand him." she explains.

He listened to her explanation, a mixture of sympathy and anger in his chest. He knew what it felt like to be the youngest, to feel like the weakest. But the way she described her family...

He shook his head again, frustrated.

"I get it, okay? I get that you're the youngest and all that. But how does that make you a traitor," he insisted. "You're trying to help us, right? To stop the apocalypse..."

"It's more than that." she corrects him. "I am trying to kill them." she explains. "And I'm sure Michael will be more than happy to execute his just punishment if he manages to get his hands on me-" she clutches her chest as she starts to panic- mostly thinking about how Lucifer had been sealed up, left to his own devices to go crazy for centuries. "It'll be fine-" she says unconvincingly. "I'm not changing my mind about this-"

"Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart," he said gently, reaching out to gently grasp her shoulders to steady her. "You really think Michael will be able to get his hands on you?" He asked her intently, trying to soothe her. "I mean from where I'm standing you look pretty badass."

"I am pretty badass." she agrees, "But Michael's my father's go-to for a reason. If he puts a hit out on your head you're as good as dead." she shrugs. "But, I don't care. My end justifies the means." She then notes how Dean's got his hands on her shoulders. "You're close again..." she admits with a huff.

"Is that bothering you?"

She sets her jaw, eyes narrowing just slightly. "For someone who started this conversation practically vibrating in disgust at the very sight of me, you're certainly giving off different signals now." she reroutes, choosing not to answer his question in plain words.

"Yeah, well maybe you made a good impression on me." he offers in that smug little way that was so very Dean.

"I think that's bullshit." she retorts.

"Why?" and their banter is easy, almost too easy. It's not anything like Dean expected, and if he's honest, he's got no idea why he is so close. "Don't I seem like a trustworthy sort of person? I mean, you trust me enough to take on your family." he reminds her with a smirk.

She narrows her eyes further, trying to fight the little smile that wants to worm onto her face. "That's different." she says adamantly.

"That's a load of crap if I've ever heard some." he taunts, and she rolls her eyes. "You don't gotta act shy with me, sweetheart, trust me." he fully smiles then. "A sweetheart like yourself should be able to handle a little bit of closeness." he adds with a grin.

"I have a name." she reminds him gingerly. "You seemed to have forgotten-"

He raised an eyebrow at her statement. "Well, I don't exactly make a point to learn archangels' names," he retorted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think you'll mind too much if I just call you 'sweetheart'. It suits you, especially when you get all flustered like this..."

"I'm not flustered." she argues. "Totally cool, calm, and collected." she challenges. And she juts out her chin, looking up at him in a determined sort of way. "And does that usually work on everyone? That whole sweetheart thing? Did it work on your little blonde wannabe- hunter?" and she hates that she's a bit obsessed with him - obsessed enough to have followed up on him, learned enough about him to try and rattle him.

Dean's eyes narrowed as she mentioned Jo. His face darkened with anger. "Shut up!" he near hisses.

"Touchy… is there a story about you and Joanna I should know about?" she asks with a smirk.

Dean's face reddened. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. "What? No! There's nothing between me and Jo. We're friends. Just friends." He couldn't let her think there was anything else there. Nothing at all.

"Oh, but that's not what she wants right?" and she giggles, a pretty little bubbly sound that near explodes out of her. "You humans are so fascinating." she admits with a huff.

Dean's face flushed deeper as she mentioned Jo and what she wanted. "Shut it, sweetheart," Dean snapped, his tone heated. But he couldn't deny her words, even if he hated to admit it. Jo had made her feelings for him clear on numerous occasions, but he had always shut it down… or at least tried to.

"What's so damn fascinating?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

Her eyes seem to light up at his reaction, "Your emotions... they're always just so clear as day on your faces." she expresses as she rounds the couch she'd been standing behind. "And you're so loyal, so damn loyal to the people you care about." she adds with a hum. "The way your emotions guide you, it's stupid, but fascinating."

Dean's eyes followed her as she rounded the couch, his gaze wary. He felt uneasy under her scrutiny, as if she was looking right through him. She was able to read him like a book, and it made him feel exposed and vulnerable. He hated it, but deep down, a part of him was strangely excited by her curiosity. He couldn't deny that he wore his emotions on his sleeve, but he wasn't about to let her see how much she was affecting him.

"Well, we humans have hearts," he said with a sarcastic shrug.

"I have a heart, honey." she corrects him dryly. "Don't pretend like your little storybooks have told you anything about me."

Dean's eyes widened, a shiver running down his spine at her words. She was ancient, much older than he had realized. The thought of someone like her, having a heart... it was like she was saying she was capable of feeling real emotion. But he refused to believe it. She had to be evil, plain and simple.

"No, you don't," he retorted, trying to mask his unease with bravado. "Demons don't have hearts."

"Archangels aren't the same." she sneers, "And your disrespect has been noted."

Dean regretted his words. He didn't want to anger her, but her demeanor and her attitude were making it hard for him to be anything but defiant. "Disrespect? You're a demon, a monster. You can't expect me to treat you like you're some normal-"

He stopped short, realizing his words too late. He had almost said "like you're some normal person." He knew that she would notice, but he couldn't admit that, even to himself, he was starting to see he was enjoying their banter a lot more than he anticipated.

"And do tell me- oh wise one, what I have done that's so monstrous?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, his jaw tensing. Was she really asking him that? "You really need me to tell you? You're a demon! You're evil. You possess people and cause chaos and terror. You feed on pain and misery. You kill-" He swallowed hard, trying to force down the mental image of her blood dripping down her arm.

"Oh yeah?" and she's stepping closer to him. "Here's a little fun fact, when you're as old as I am, and have as much power as I do- you find that you don't have to do things like possessing people to get around- and for the last damn time, I'm not a demon." she corrects his first assumption. "Your reaction to my bloodied arm says a lot more about your desire to feed on pain than anything you could make up i your head about me." she says with a smirk.

"I saw your face- that little glint in your eye."

Dean was taken aback by her words, his resolve faltering. She had been watching him, noticing the change in his expression when she had cut herself. And she was right- there had been something in his eyes, a morbid fascination. He'd never experienced that before, not with a demon. He tensed as she stepped closer, struggling to keep his composure.

"You're just ten cans-o-crazy, huh?" and he's trying to regain a semblance of control to his wavering tone. "Ain't no part of me fascinated about you, sweetheart." She smirks, eyes flickering down to the clear proof that he was full of shit.

"Sure, sure." she hums, feigning boredom. "You wanna get back on topic now, honey?" she mumbles, "Or you wanna keep going around in circles so you can cop another look?"

Brat. Dean's eyes roll at her smugness.

"You always this damn smug? Or am I a special case?"

"Do you want the blade or not, Winchester?" she questions, exasperated. "Cans-O-Crazy like me have got loads of life to live, can't afford to be stuck here all day with you." she hums, head tipping over to the side.

Dean scrutinizes her, eyes narrowing again. He holds a hand out towards her, almost like he's annoyed as he gives her an expectant glance.

She pulls the blade out, face still smug. "That's what I thought." she mumbles.

"Who's to say I won't take this and gut you with it?" he asks leisurely, and he's reaching for it, watching as she yanks it back away from him.

"Trust me, Dean. I'm worth a lot more to you alive than dead." she shrugs. "But do what you want- so long as you have the balls to use it when it actually matters." she deadpans.

"You that suicidal?" he asks, eyebrow raising. "Hate yourself that much?"

"I'm not scared of death, Dean." she grunts. "Certainly not at the hands of you. Now can you handle it or not?" she demands.

"I can handle anything." he promises.

"Good." and she slaps the blade into his grasp. "Now why don't you look out for your brother." she mutters like she's completely detached from him. The way she looks at him like he's near nothing pisses him off.

"I look out for Sam." he defends.

"Yeah, well try doing it better. Ruby's running circles around you. And honestly it's getting kind of pathetic." she mumbles, and Dean's eyes widen.

"Pretty smart to run your mouth after you gave me this-" and he shakes it like a maraca. "You wanna run that by me again?"

"Sure." and she takes a step closer, stoic faced. "Ruby's making you look like a damn joke." she insists. "Don't let your guard down around her, Dean." she insists.

"You got a plan in mind or something?"

"Isn't that your damn job, Mr. Champion of Heaven?" she mocks. "He's your brother, right?" and Dean's eyes roll. "And she's still just a demon." she reminds him. "Just be smart, easy enough for you, right?" she mocks.

"You know you've got a bad attitude." Dean notes, glaring down at her. She looks smugly as she looks back at him.

"And you're too sensitive." she shoots back. "You're not a puppet, Dean. You're smarter than you look and smarter than you think, alright? I don't need to hold your hand or- or give you the steps to take. You're a hunter. And anything can be hunted." she says sternly. "Simple as that." and she's backing away, arms crossing once more.

"Sounded a bit like a compliment in there." he retorts, stomach tightening up at the way she seemed to see right through him. "Guess I should say thank you!"

"Your thank you will be stopping the Apocalypse." she deadpans. "Don't get it twisted, sweetheart. I'm not doing this cause I like you."

"Yeah, sure, sure. Whatever you say." Dean agrees with a sarcastic nod of his head. "You keep telling yourself that."

"Shut up!" and she's turning on her heel. "Don't get yourself killed anytime soon, doofus. I'll be in touch." and then she pauses by the door, suddenly more serious. "If you ever need to reach me just- pray, and I'll show up." she mutters, as Dean's face contorts into one of disbelief. "Can the Atheism for a second, I'm not saying you gotta get down on one knee. It's as simple as saying my name to yourself. Shouldn't be too hard for a smart guy like you?"

And he hates her all over again.

He's sure he always will.

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risingsoleil · 2 months ago

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not the same anon, but i just read your response to how Su would react to the AU linzin baby, and now I’m even more intrigued to what will happen lol

Su "kidnaps" baby and brings her to Toph, while Tenzin and Pema are fighting about what to do with their marriage. She tells Kya and Katara, so that they know.

Pema's postpartum emotions are really intense this time around, so she's trying to hurt Tenzin for hurting and betraying her.

Tenzin realizes his daughter is missing and gets a call from his mother saying that she's fine and taken care of. But she doesn't tell him where baby is. She says that she'll let him know when the family situation is settled with Pema.

While he's suffering, baby is in the Fire Nation with Zuko, Toph, Katara, Izumi, and Su. She's being well taken care of by the last of the Gaang.

Lin's death and legacy brings them together, and it's a heavy weight in Toph's heart.

Tenzin will not allow another person to raise his child. He made a promise to Lin and that's his daughter. He will protect her however he can and give her the best life he can.

He's familiar that he can take the divorce to court since Pema won't grant mutual consent. So he does.

He does not want to live an act.

It seems acting for the sake of saving face would have been enough for Pema, but not him.

All he asks is that his daughter is protected from anything related to the divorce. Considering that his daughter is not in Republic City, it helps ease some of the stress. But Tenzin is dying to know where she is and if she's okay.

When he tells Katara that he will fight for the divorce, then she tells him they are at the Fire Nation Palace.

He spars Su as soon as he gets to the Palace.

Katara is cradling baby while they all watch.

Kya cheers for Su.

Zuko struggles to use the binoculars so he can see who's winning.

Izumi has to narrate what's going down to her dad.

Bumi brings some girl around to watch a Beifong beat the shit out of an airbender.

Toph gets ready to spar Tenzin right after Su is done with him.

#lin beifong #tenzin #kya ii #katara #pema #legend of korra #tlok #linzin affair baby #suyin beifong

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asgards-princess-of-mischief · 2 years ago

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Last Updated: 2025-07-16

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite Sir Thomas Sharpe stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

➔ Finally Lady Sharpe, the by muddyorbsblr • 18+ • 〔E᜶F᜶A〕 •

Synopsis: The moment your new husband Sir Thomas Sharpe carried you across the threshold, your life took a turn for the exceedingly dangerous. You have to rely on your wits and some unlikely partners along the way to get out of Allerdale Hall alive.

➔ Wedded by yespolkadotkitty • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: You and Thomas spend your wedding night exploring each other in every way possible.

➔ Child Named Sharpe, the by smolvenger • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ �� 𑁍 •

Synopsis: You and Thomas Sharpe welcome your first baby and his second, as Thomas himself faces his own demons regarding his past.

➔ Corsets and Courtship by babybluebex • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 •

Synopsis: Your father's business partner comes to your home in hopes of discussing the future, and you both get more than you bargained for.

➔ Fill You by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Now that you and Thomas have married, he is determined to have you with child come hell or high water.

➔ It's Something Special by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Even though you had been married to the Baronet for three months now, you hadn't been touched by him. Until today...

➔ My Sweet Baronet by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Being married to Sir Thomas Sharpe had some... inconvenient setbacks but you are sure to worth through them with your husband.

➔ Ocean Eyes by andsheloved • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: When your own mind seems shattered, you're reminded of who will always be there to pick up the pieces.

➔ Please Forgive Me by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: After nearly being killed by Lucille and discovering Thomas'... role in the whole affair, the two of you move to Paris for a fresh start... unsure if you can forgive him..., you agree to attend the Paris Exposition with Thomas to begin moving forward.

➔ Secret Affair by sserpente • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: Imagine Sir Thomas Sharpe falling in love with you, a maid. He invites you to live at Allerdale Hall, to serve him and his sister Lucille... All you have to do is keep the affair a secret from her.

➔ To Escape by lady-rose-moon • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: After discovering the dark truth about Allerdale Hall, you confront Thomas. Over time, you and your husband plan your escape.

➔ A Definite Answer by laufeyamp • 〔F〕 •

➔ A Favour by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔F〕 •

➔ Are You Sure? by tomhiddleston-is-mischief • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

➔ Buried by colorsunimaginable • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Desperate by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Family by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

➔ His Happiness by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

I Love You

➔ Indulge Me by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 •

➔ Kiss Me by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Memories by tomhiddleston-is-mischief • 〔F᜶A〕 •

➔ No. by ladyfluff • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

➔ Not Stopoing by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Reading While He Works by foxgloveprincess • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Reading with Sir Sharpe by wanna-rock-n-roll-in80s • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Straight Through the Heart by the--blackdahlia • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Sweet Tooth by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 •

➔ Trapped by ladyfluff • 〔A〕 •

➔ Touch Starved by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

➔ Within the Strongbox of My Heart by frostbitten-written • 〔A〕 • ♡ •

See Also: Navigation || Thomas Sharpe Master Index

Authors: @andsheloved || @babybluebex || @colorsunimaginable || @foxgloveprincess || @frostbitten-written || @just-the-hiddles || @lady-rose-moon || @ladyfluff || @laufeyamp || @muddyorbsblr || @smolvenger || @sserpente || @the--blackdahlia || @tomhiddleston-is-mischief || @wanna-rock-n-roll-in80s || @yespolkadotkitty ||

#Thomas Sharpe x Reader #Thomas Sharpe x Female Reader #Thomas Sharpe x Y/N #Thomas Sharpe x You #Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader #Sir Thomas Sharpe x Female Reader #Sir Thomas Sharpe x Y/N #Sir Thomas Sharpe x You #Tom Hiddleston x Reader #Tom Hiddleston x Female Reader #Tom Hiddleston x Y/N #Tom Hiddleston x You #Crimson Peak Fanfiction #Crimson Peak Fanfic #Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction #Tom Hiddleston Fanfic

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aettuddae · 7 months ago

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high garden academy — chapter 67.

⟢ synopsis: a new school year begins at the high garden academy boarding school, bringing with it new students, and among them, the new center of attention for the drama-thirsty student body: the hong sisters. eunchae and her mysterious and unsympathetic older sister, daein, who oddly seem uninterested in the secrets, legends, and gossip of their new school. winter, the institution's top student, and karina, the popular girl and promising pianist, never imagined they would end up so closely involved with hong daein.

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[written chapter]

minjeong opened her bedroom door to find herself face to face with a daein holding several bags of what appeared to be snacks. she flashed a small smile and raised her eyebrows in excitement.

"guess who got an leaving permit." she announced in a sing-songy tone.

the redhead laughed at the girl's positive attitude and scurried to the side, giving her room to get in. "did you get it honestly or should i be worried?

"i got it by good means." she headed for the bed she already recognized as minjeong's. "but just in case you always have to be worried about me." she turned her head toward her and winked, getting an eye roll laden with mock annoyance in response, then dropped the bags on the mattress.

"and you used your permit to go buy snacks?" she frowned in puzzlement.

"i went to buy other things, but i used my permit to buy you." she bent to rummage through a bag and lifted out several chocolate bars. "isn't this your favorite?

"no way." she mumbled with her mouth slightly hanging and her eyes wide open, it was her favorite brand of chocolate that at the school was impossible to get. "how did you get it?

"i went to a regular store." she shrugged.

minjeong didn't leave the boarding school much, not even on weekends. she had a signed permission to leave from her parents, but she hardly ever used it. she was the perfect student, top grades, impeccable attendance, projects always on time, member of every club she could, and now she added an affair with someone who was the complete opposite, so she had no time to be a normal girl, to go home to her parents. she did it very rarely for special occasions and for her close circle it always seemed to be a surprise, but when she went out she stayed at home spending time with her family, so she didn't indulge herself, she just rested.

she had mentioned a couple of times that she loved that brand of chocolates, she had eaten them since she was a child because they were also her father's favorite. minjeong loved to eat, which was torture for someone who spent most of her life in high garden where they served the most tasteless and vomitous dishes anyone could ever taste. it had been months since she had tasted one of those chocolate bars she loved so much and seeing them in front of her in daein's hands was almost as if she was holding a bar of gold.

"i'm going to cry." she dramatized closing her eyes and placing her hands over her heart area.

"you're so cute." she pinched her cheek, making minjeong's expression quickly change to a serious one again, she babied her too much. "i was thinking we could watch a movie."

"daein, i have french club." she formed a pout with her lips.

"minje." she tilted her head and looked at her seriously. "do you really have to go?" she furrowed her eyebrows in disappointment. "you won't stop knowing french for missing a day, will you?" she took a few steps towards her until their bodies were almost touching and lifted her hands to hold her cheeks and make her look at her, caressing her skin with one of her thumbs.

minjeong contemplated it for a moment, her gaze lost in the wall avoiding staring at daein, the pout still on her lips but hiding a smile behind it, her hands clinging to her opposite's waist. "tu as raison." you're right, she said in french.

"i know what that means." she announced excitedly, her french classes in elementary school had served her well. "will you stay?" she asked expectantly.

"i have two hours before physical education, pick a short movie." she warned with amusement on her face.

daein raised her arms in the air in celebration, though her face was subdued as was now usual, still, you could see the enthusiasm in her. she returned her hold to the girl's face and brought her face closer inside her personal space, taking advantage of the height difference to give her a kiss on the forehead, and then go to lie down on the bed and begin to take the food packages out of their respective bags without noticing that minjeong's face had turned red from her action.

"come here." spoke daein indicating her to sit on the bed too.

minjeong took a breath trying to dissipate the heat on her face and looked at the bed looking for a space to settle on. "but you're taking up the whole bed." she observed.

"it's not like that." denied the older removing a few last things and thus leaving free between her legs a space which she patted so that the redhead understood that she should sit there.

"there?" she pointed her finger in bewilderment.

"and i'll hug you." she added with a flirtatious expression.

minjeong pushed her shoulder in disgust at her sudden mawkish attitude and proceeded to remain static for a few seconds contemplating whether or not she wanted to be in that position with daein, finally climbing onto the bed and sitting between the elder's legs to lay her back against her chest and let herself be wrapped in daein's arms.

she liked being like that with her, not that they weren't affectionate with each other on a daily basis, daein used to hug and caress her very often, besides always trying to have nice gestures with her. minjeong noticed it, and she liked it when she realized that she wasn't like that with anyone else. but that was much more intimate, she had never gotten to that stage with someone, it felt good to be entangled in the grip of the person you like, feeling the warmth of their body, enjoying a tender gesture they had with you.

daein had brought her computer so they could watch the movie, so with some difficulty, she reached for it from her backpack and placed it on minjeong's lap, who turned it on and opened internet to look up what they would watch, but a sound interrupted them, a notification.

daein had the messaging app connected to her computer and at the alert, neither of them could help but turn their eyes to the corner of the screen where it read 'aeinie baby, are you there?' and next to the incriminating phrase could be seen karina's profile picture.

daein felt minjeong's body tense up and the girl straightened up in front of her, breaking any closeness they had between them. she picked up the computer, turned around and set it down where she was sitting before, while she stood up.

"sorry, we shouldn't be having these kinds of encounters." the redhead began to look around her room for something.

"minje." she called out to her, but she didn't stop to look at her. "minje, i already explained to you how the situation with karina is." she remembered, frustrated.

"you told me that your relationship was a lie and that it was all so her father wouldn't suspect her and kai." she continued to gather things, what daein noticed was her french books and notebooks. "i don't understand why if it's all performative she would have to call you 'love' by text."

"she's like that." she also got out of bed. "she always calls me that to annoy me, but it's not real." she began to follow the girl around the room.

"look, daein." she turned to look at her. "i don't believe you." she determined. "you said you'd prove to me that she's not your girlfriend, but all i see is that she acts like she is."

"that's the point of a fake relationship!" she exclaimed helplessly.

"don't yell." she demanded lowering her gaze.

"i didn't." she defended herself.

"daein, you have failed to prove that it's a fake relationship and i won't be anyone's second choice." she settled her backpack on her shoulder. "if you want me then prove it." she sentenced. "i'm late for the club, when i get back please don't be here."

the girl opened the door to get out of there, leaving daein in a room that wasn't hers, rejected, with a good plan abandoned after barely starting it, a bunch of snacks uneaten, a movie unwatched and no quality time spent with the girl she liked. besides she felt like crap for raising her voice, she didn't mean to and she knew it had been wrong, but she just wanted minjeong to listen to her. she took a big breath of air and went to turn off her computer, then put it in her backpack again and left the room, leaving all the snacks for the girl to do what she wanted with them.

already in the hallway, she started walking very fast, she was desperate. she was used to fighting with people, she was used to arguing with eunchae, she could handle a discussion with sehun or with jennie, but with minjeong she wanted to make things right and she never succeeded no matter how hard she tried.

she had yelled at her, she had fucking yelled at minjeong.

she was sure she would lose her, that she could never be the right person for someone so special with her life so organized. she hated herself for never being able to do things with the right procedure, everything around her was complex, deceitful, dark.

she was deep in thought, breathing anxiously trying to relax, her steps at a speed that drew the attention of those she passed, her grip on the strap of her backpack so tight that it would possibly mark the pattern of the fabric on her hand.

as she walked down the cafeteria aisle, she saw from afar the figure of karina, the last person she wanted to talk to, she sped up even more with intentions that she would think she was in a hurry and not stop her, but as soon as the younger girl had her within reach, she grabbed her arm, causing her to look up at her.

"aein, did you see my message? it's about hi-"

daein leaned down until she was at just the right height and close enough for only her to hear. "don't bother me." she emphasized each word. "do you understand?" she raised her voice, perhaps her friends accompanying her could hear her as well now. "leave me alone." she ordered.

the blackhaired stood stupefied in the hallway, still, almost breathless, silent, daein thought that maybe it was one of the few times when the girl had nothing to say. the older one straightened up and went on her way frantically, anxiously, while the younger one watched her go without moving and with a pale face.

(!)

— taglist [open] : @yoontoonwhs @gayforalll @hwm1hyun @jisooftme @gornoi @eunhhh @petruchiosstuff @linnnsworld @xen248 @trueblumarinegf @rinapomu @imahallucination11 @thefckghost @myouiiiiiiii @blaymine @chaewoni3 @aliceiwk @gfriendsapple @sewiouslyz @multiliker @cwpiqwon @pandafuriosa60

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