#south facing ofc

[smute]

i swear to whatshername you could stop heating this house in november and it would still be warm enough by xmas. outdoor temp peaked like 3 days ago but my room is still at 28°C 👹

[speci-society]

EVERYONE IN THIS VAGUE SHAPE AND FURTHER SOUTH IN THE US (IVE SEEN PICS FROM PPL IN TEXAS AND JUST WEST OF ATLANTA- UNSURE HOW FAR SOUTH IT ACTUALLY GOES) GO LOOK OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW AND WALK OUTSIDE TO LOOK AT THE SKY RIGHT NOW AND APPRECIATE THE AURORA BOREALIS AND ATTACH IMAGES AS IT IS CLOUDY WHERE I AM THANKS

[sweetvalentinescandy]

Still thinking about my breakup (..from 5 months ago)

Prob the reason i dont like creek anymore but fuck him ill still draw them anyway

[fairytaleendingss]

hiiii!! i lurved your writing in the roommates fic so much and wanted to request a little something if you're keennnn. . .

i was thinking of this poly!marauders thing, where a reader who has previously been in a bad relationship (the extent of the bad up to you) gets into a relationship with the marauders and keeps trying to "test" their limits only to be met with patience and love. maybe leading to jumpiness from the reader as they feel it's all going to go south but it just never does? mayyyybe hurt/comfort and reassurance?👀👀

thankyouururu ofc no pressure 💕💕💕💕 love your work again

Thanks so much for the request hun! Sorry I've been a bit slow in responding but hopefully you enjoy!

Testing The Waters

Summary: Your ex boyfriend used to get mad at you for the littlest of things and you begin to wonder whether your new relationship will be the same.

Pairing: Poly!Marauder x fem!reader

CW: Talk of toxic relationships, reader being extremely insecure in her relationship, allusions to sex (only mentioned), brief mention of Sirius' abusive childhood, a disgusting amount of cheesy pet-names.

—

It started in a Tuesday night. You'd come home from a long shift at work that afternoon and had been so exhausted from the day that you decided to take a nap. You knew your boyfriends would all be home a little later and you figured you'd shut your eyes briefly and then get up in time to make them dinner before they arrived.

You had all moved in together only a month ago but you'd quickly slotted into routine when it came to chores. Despite all working weird hours at your respective jobs, it seemed that you were all able to fall into a steady rhythm, naturally configuring to each other's schedules in a way that just seemed to work.

So when you woke up a few hours later to the sound of the front door unlocking, you were sent into a full blown panic. You jumped out of bed frantically and rushed to the front door to see Sirius and James enter, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. Your heart was racing as a jolt of guilt pierced your stomach.

In the back of your mind, you could hear the voice of your ex boyfriend.

"You're so worthless, y/n! You always mess everything up."

Tears sprung to your eyes as you hurried into the kitchen, quickly filling a pot with hot water and throwing it haphazardly onto the stove.

Hearing the clanging of pots and pans, Sirius and James were allerted to your presence. However, they grew concerned when they walked into the kitchen to see you wiping tears from your eyes as you frantically gathered the ingredients to make pasta.

"Hey darling, what's going on?" James asked, reaching an arm out to grasp your wrist gently.

He cupped your face in his walm palms, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks while Sirius peered over his shoulder, looking like a kicked puppy at the sight of your distress. '

"Please don't be mad," you choked out. The concern in their eyes did nothing to loosen the vice of guilt that was clasping itself around your heart.

"Why would we be mad, lovely?" Sirius stepped forward, resting a hand ever so gently on your shoulder, like he was scared you'd crumble under his touch.

"I wanted to make you dinner before you got home but I fell asleep and now your here and I haven't done it."

There was a moment of silence before James barked out a laugh. You furrowed your brows in confusion.

"Is that all this is about? Geez, love, you scared the shit out of me. I thought something was wrong."

You blinked up at him, perplexed by his response. "But I wanted to do something nice for you and I ruined it!"

"You didn't ruin anything, angel," Sirius cooed. "How about I give Remus a call and he can pick up some Chinese on the way home?"

"Sound's good to me," James responded keenly. Then he turned back to you.

"In the meantime, why don't we go and cuddle on the sofa for a bit. I could use it after the day I've had."

He guided you towards the couch but you couldn't help but glance back towards the mess you'd now made in the kitchen.

"But-"

"No buts," Sirius stated firmly. "I'm calling Remus right now. You go and relax."

Eventually you relented, however, you couldn't stop replaying the interaction in your mind. Even laying in bed that night, curled up with your boyfriends, stomachs full of takeaway, your mind went over the scene.

You couldn't fully comprehend what had happened. You just didn't understand it. Your previous boyfriend would never have let you get away with something like that.

He would've yelled at you, called you stupid and lazy and stood over your shoulder while you made his meal to make sure you didn't burn anything in your haste. That's just how things went. You looked after your boyfriends and when your failed, you got in trouble for it.

Only, Sirius and James had seemed so... understanding? Something about it made your heart stutter with unease. Maybe they were mad, you thought, and they were just too tired from work to tell you off. Maybe they were saving it up for the next time you had an argument.

Whatever it was, it twisted unpleasantly into your gut. Remus was also quiet tonight, he was probably mad at you for making him pick up food on the way from work and wasting his time. Maybe he was giving you the silent treatment, putting a distance in between you as a form of punishment.

Subconciously, you rolled over towards him, where he was nestled beside you and you felt him throw an arm over your waste, still it didn't serve to bring much comfort in that moment.

--

The next morning, you expected them all to confront you. To sit you down and reprimand you for your failure the night before. However, the blow never came.

Instead, they got dressed as usual, ready for work and one by one planted a kiss on your lips as they walked out the door. You supposed you should've been relieved but something in the back of your mind wouldn't let you. You couldn't shake the feeling there was something else at play here, some resentment building inside of them just waiting to burst out.

You couldn't help but wonder what it would take for them to snap.

--

The next time it happened was on Friday. Sirius wanted to take you out to a trendy new restaurant that had opened down the road and you'd all been very excited.

You wanted to make sure you looked amazing for your boys tonight which meant spending over an hour sifting through your wardrobe to find the perfect outfit.

At one point you pulled out a red dress you'd bought to wear to your friend's bachelorette party. It was short and tight and hugged all your curves perfectly. You pulled it from the wardrobe and tossed it aside instantly. You'd never worn in in front of the boys, but your ex always said it was inappropriate for you to wear in public while you were in a relationship and that it made you look like a hooker.

You paused then, for a moment, turning to glance at the piece of fabric where it lay on the bed. You bit your lip as you examined it and a silly idea crossed through your mind.

You knew in an instant it was a dumb thing to do, to test your boyfriend's limits like that, but a nawing curiosity plagued at you. In a moment of confidence, you slipped the dress on.

Walking, down the stairs, you braced yourself for impact. You were well prepared to be told you looked slutty, and that you'd have to change before leaving the house. You had a second, more conservative outfit layed out on the bed, ready for a quick change. But you just had to know for sure.

The boys were waiting for you as you walked down, all dressed up nicely. Their eyes widened when they fell on your form.

"Wow!" Sirius blurted, looking like his eyes were about to burst forth from his skull. "You look..."

You cringed. You knew they wouldn't like it. "Is it too revealing?"

James shook his head. "No baby, not at all. You look amazing."

You were taken aback by the comment, even moreso when Remus agreed with him.

"You look beautiful, dove," he complimented softly. "Besides, it's not up to us what you wear. You could go out in a paper bag for all I care and you'd still be the prettiest girl in the room."

Heat rose in your cheeks at his statement. "Really?"

"Absolutely!"

You're gaze then fell back to Sirius, who was standing in front of you, mouth agape, still at a loss for words as he stared at you.

You felt embarassed then. You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up with the other boys. You should've known it'd be Sirius who objected. He tended to be the most protective of the three of them.

"You don't like it?" You questioned unsteadily, already turning on your heel, ready to go back upstairs and change, when Sirius suddenly grabbed you by the waist.

"No, no, baby. I love it."

He pulled you towards him, eyes ablaze as he looked you up and down.

"You look so sexy. I think you should dress like this all the time."

A small smile formed on your face as you looked up at him. He licked his lips deviously.

"Alright, down boy," James teased, claping a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "We've still got to make it through dinner yet. You can rip her clothes off when we get back."

Sirius rolled is eyes dramatically.

"Oh alright then," he turned back to you briefly. "But get ready baby, because tonight I'm going to rock your world."

"Keep it in your pants would you? We're about to go out in public," Remus huffed, shaking his head exasperatedly and James all but dragged Sirius away from you. Remus then held an arm out for you to grasp.

"Shall we?" He asked, looking down at you fondly.

You nodded shyly, as the two of you headed towards the door.

Well, this definitely wasn't the response you'd expected.

__

You're next opportunity came just under a week later. Friday night had been very very fun but you still couldn't get the thought out of your mind that something was wrong.

You couldn't wrap your head around why the boys had been so nice to you. You're ex boyfriend would never let you get away with as much as you had. Surely there was something that would drive them over the edge. Anxiety niggled at the back of your mind. You felt on guard all the time over the last few days, like you were just waiting to find the thing that would trigger the walls to come crashing down around you.

You were laying on the couch, scrolling through TikTok when James came into the room, holding a bag of his dirty gym clothes.

"Hey, darling," he placed a kiss to your forehead. You responded with small smile.

"Shall I put this in the laundry basket for you to take care of later?"

You froze, a thought flashing through your mind. You knew he didn't mean anything by it. You always did the laundry, the boys just expected it. The same way that James always washed the dishes, Sirius vacuumed the floors and Remus took care of the dusting.

However, you couldn't help but wonder what he'd do if you didn't do it. Would he yell at you? Threaten to leave you?

The thoughts swirled in your mind. James rarely ever got properly angry. He was a good communicator and able to laugh things off for the most part. But what if you did something to really piss him off?

You had to know. You had to be able to prepare yourself in case it happened again.

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

You were surprised by the sound of the words as they came out of your mouth and you were immediately filled with guilt. You never spoke to your boyfriend's like that. Especially not sweet, loving James.

He raised his brows, startled by your response. He stood there for a moment, processing what you'd said.

Now I've done it, you thought. You bit your lip anxiously as you braced yourself for the fallout.

Then, James' features softened. He dropped the bag down on the floor and came to crouch by your head. With a gentle hand, he reached up to brush some hair from your forehead, eyes swimming with concern.

"Is everything okay, my love?" His tone was so affectionate that it made you want to cry. "Are you feeling unwell?"

You shook your head, continuing on with your ploy but confused about his response.

"N-no. I just don't feel like doing it today."

You shuffled away from his touch slightly, unsure of what his reaction would be.

James just smiled sympathetically. "That's okay."

"It is?"

He nodded sweetly. "Of course! We all need a break sometimes. You do the laundry every day, it makes perfect sense you'd be growing tired of it."

Your eyes widened.

"Don't worry about it, lovely. I'll take care of it today."

He plopped a sloppy kiss on your cheek and then stood up, whistling to himself as he scooped his bag off the floor and ventured into the laundry room.

You lay there in silence for a few moments, not 100% sure of what just happened.

--

It was two in the morning and you were laying awake in bed thinking. You had been laying there for a while, a plan formulating in your head. You slowly lifted Sirius' arm off you where it was splayed across your stomach and wiggled your way out of bed.

You were lucky that James had requested to take the middle position this evening, otherwise your mission would have been a lot more challenging.

You crept towards the kitchen, your feet light on the floor as to not alert any of the boys (Sirius was a notoriously light sleeper).

You took a deep breath as you made your way over to the pantry, moving towards the shelf you were looking for. The shelf that contained Remus' chocolate stash.

You hesitated. Was this a dumb idea? You'd seen Remus get mad at Sirius just a week ago when he'd stolen some of his chocolate. You knew that this was going to set him off.

But you just had to see. You had to know what would happen when they got mad at you. You couldn't stand the anticipation anymore.

Determinedly you grabbed a couple of mars bars off the shelf and quickly ate scoffed them down. Then you returned quietly to bed, knowing Remus would definitely notice in the morning.

--

"Okay, who ate my chocolates?"

You shrunk down on the couch, quickly becoming nervous at the irritation in his tone.

"Sirius, was it you again? Because I swear to god I told you last time-"

"It wasn't Sirius," you piped up, saving your boyfriend from an unwarranted scolding. "It was me."

The boys all turned to look at you, and slowly you met Remus' wide eyes. You braced yourself once more.

"Oh," he said. "Okay."

You looked up at him like he had two heads. "Okay? Aren't you mad? I stole your chocolate Remus."

He chuckled. "Dove, you bought me that chocolate. You can have some any time you like. We can get some more in the next grocery run."

"B-but you were so mad at Sirius..."

He flopped himself down on the couch beside you, running a hand affectionately through your hair. "Yes, because Sirius does it all the time just to spite me."

"It's true," Sirius called from his spot on the love seat.

"He hides it as well sometimes."

"What can I say?" the boy teased. "You're cute when you're mad."

Remus just rolled his eyes. "Anyway, darling, if your hungry, you're welcome to have some. I'm happy to share. You don't have to sneak it in the middle of the night."

You sat there in shock for a moment, not quite sure what to say.

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

You gave him a tight lipped smile but inside, the anxiety still bubbled on.

--

Over the next few days, you'd done many things to try and get a reaction from them. You came home late from work without telling them, you "forgot" to lock the front door after leaving the house, you even left all the lights on when you went to bed, something you knew Remus couldn't stand.

However, the worst you ever received was a gentle reminder. Instead of reassuring you, it made your stomach churn. Why were they being so nice all the time? Surely they had some kind of ulterior motive.

When the weekend came around, you decided you finally had enough. It was time to pull out the big guns.

"Hey love, do you mind making us a cup of tea?" Sirius had questioned innocently as you all sat huddled together, watching a movie.

"Of course," you'd responded, jumping up from the couch.

You'd put the kettle on and were removing the teacups from the cupboard when a horrible thought crossed your mind. These were Remus' mother's teacups. The ones he'd kept after she'd passed away. The other boys were so protective of Remus, you knew this was going to illicit some kind of reaction.

You took a deep breath.

CRASH

The teacup clattered to the floor, smashing into hundreds of pieces that scattered across the white kitchen tiles.

Regret consumed you the moment that you did it. Oh God, you thought. What had you done?

You immediately crouched down in an attempt to collect all the pieces and tears began to flood your eyes. The voice of your ex played in your mind once more.

"You're so pathetic. Look at yourself right now. How is anyone supposed to love someone as stupid as you?"

You choked on a sob as you heard the sounds of your boyfriend's footsteps rushing towards you. James got to you first.

"Sweetheart, is everything okay? We heard something break."

You looked up at him, the concern on his face and more tears came to your eyes. You choked on a sob when you realised that this was it. They'd probably break up with you when they saw what you'd done.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry," You choked out. "I know how much you loved these teacups Remus."

You spared yourself a glance towards his face. You expected him to look angry or upset or hurt but instead he just looked... worried?

"Dove it's okay," he walked towards you. "But you need to get off the floor, lovely. I don't want you to get cut by the glass."

You looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. "What?"

"I can help, I've got slippers on," Sirius stated and in a swift movement, he was lifting you up off the floor and setting you down on the counter, away from the dangerous shards.

This only caused you to sob more. Why were they being so kind?

"Why are you crying doll? Did you cut yourself?" Sirius asked gently, assessing your face with a hand cupped around your cheek.

You shook your head and sniffled pathetically.

"Then tell us what's got you so upset," James pleaded, looking like he wanted to cry himself. He was always the most sensitive of your boys.

You took a shaky breath. "Why won't you get mad at me?"

Remus looked taken aback. "Why would we be mad at you, dove? It was just an accident."

You sniffled and shook your head. You were on the verge of hysterics now.

"No it wasn't! I did it on purpose. You were supposed to be angry."

"What are you talking about?" James questioned, running a gentle hand along your back. You shrugged away from the contact.

"You're all too nice to me!" you exclaimed. "No matter what I do or how much I stuff up, you're always so kind about it! You're supposed to be angry sometimes!"

"Sweetheart," James murmured. "It's because we love you. Nothing you do will ever change that."

"Really?" you questioned unsurely.

"Of course, dove," Remus confirmed.

You looked up to Sirius to see that he was now looking down at you with a glisten of anguish in his eyes.

"So this is what's been going on? You've been testing us?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. You supposed he was right and suddenly you felt stupid for putting them through all you had for the last few weeks.

"I'm sorry, I'm a terrible girlfriend."

All of a sudden, you were smushed against Sirius' chest.

"No your not. You're wonderful," he muttered into your hair. "I understand, you know? I did the same thing when I ran away to James'. I just wished I picked up on it sooner."

"It's okay," you murmured, your tears finally beginning to slow. "It was silly."

"It wasn't silly, if it made you upset," Remus chimed in.

"Yeah darling, and you know you can come to us with anything? If you're feeling upset about something we want you to tell us," James added.

"I know," you sighed, pulling back from Sirius so you could look at all three of the boys. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, doll. What about this? We promise we will be honest with you if we're ever upset about something so you don't have to worry."

You nodded.

They smiled at you. And for the first time in a while, you're ex's voice vanished from your mind. You didn't need to worry about him anymore. You had your boys, and that's all you needed.

[aventoru]

in an attempt to spice up your instagram feed, you decided to try out something you had never done before : an at-home photoshoot. and after hours of scrolling through social media for inspiration, you finally came across a post that caught your eye. it was a perfectly curated picture of a person posing with kiss marks on the exposed parts of their body.

but there was one very obvious problem. you couldn’t place these kiss marks yourself. but you know who can? your always-willing boyfriend, who happens to walk by at that moment and seemingly occupied with his phone in hand. it must be your destiny.

“hey, babe,” you call out.

“hm?”

“can you uhh…kiss me for a—”

“yes.”

“but i didn’t get to fini—”

“doesn’t matter, i heard enough.”

not even 5 minutes later, you find yourself sitting down on the bed to apply red on his lips. after finally getting to explain your vision to him, he seems even more excited to kiss you, evident by the mischievous glint in his eyes. “all done,” you pull away as he presses his lips together, smoothing out the buttery gloss for an even finish before puckering his lips dramatically in your face.

you laugh at his antics before letting him shift you both into a more comfortable position so he can start kissing various parts of your skin. your heartbeat accelerates he starts with your face, smooching your cheeks gently before moving down to your neck.

all the while, you sit there in jittery anticipation with an undeniable flush on your face. the soft music in the background does nothing to calm your nerves. after all, this was different from any of his previous kisses. this time, he was leaving a piece of his love on you, using your lipstick. even though this was just for some photos, it felt so strangely intimate, and you were loving every single second of it.

he places a kiss on your collarbones, and you move to stand up, thinking he’s finally done. but to your pleasant surprise, he pulls you back down, flush against him. his affections get the best of him as he goes further south, leaving kisses on your arms and even going as far as to kiss any other exposed parts of your back and torso. he finally stops after placing one last kiss on your fingers as he pulls back to admire his hard work.

and when you start taking pictures, he’s there watching and assisting you, to the point where he becomes more passionate than you are. and of course, he doesn’t miss the chance to get in frame with you, holding you tightly with that smug smile on his face to let everyone know that you’re his.

when you finally post those gorgeous photos, you gain traction and undoubtedly go viral. and he thinks you and your beautiful self deserve nothing less.

HAIKYU : OIKAWA, ATSUMU, suna, osamu, kuroo, nishinoya, timeskip!hinata, yaku, timeskip!lev, iwaiuzmi, bokuto, terushima, tendou

JJK : gojo, toji, geto, ITADORI, TODO, inumaki (speaking in his code ofc), hakari, choso

BLUE LOCK : kaiser, chigiri, reo, BACHIRA, chris prince, lavinho, yukimiya, otoya, karasu, aiku (help not the red flags), sendou, SHIDOU

+ your favs!

masterlist

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital drawing of Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives ad Samama Khalid from The Magnus Protocol. It is just their heads. Jon is an Arab man with scarred brown skin and long, curly black hair with gray streaks and a mustache and beard, and Sam is a South Asian man with brown skin, short curly black hair, and a mustache and small goatee. Both have brown eyes that have been drawn as very huge and sparkly. They are giving pleading "puppy dog eyes" expressions. The background is a pattern of sad green and red cat and dog faces, and there is a gold and green "VS" between their heads. end ID]

~~~~

i present to you all

The Puppy Dog Eyes Showdown

the ultimate battle between our current most sopping wet eye guys among these two podcasts. i beseech thee to cast thy vote in favor of whomever has the most convincing, most unbearable, most Powerful pleading puppy dog eyes out of the two of them.

NOT NECESSARILY FOR THESE DESIGNS ofc, the pic is just there for vibes. please, look into your heart of hearts, what do you believe?

[supernotnatural2005]

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Hair Pulling

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Exploring kinks with Dean.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings/tags: Smut! (18+), hair pulling kink, Dean is a kinky s.o.b. swearing, the usual porn without a plot for this series 😅

AN: You know I had to use the Abaddon pulling his hair gif for this ��(different context ofc, but still). I told y'all, I'm a smut hoe, and I love these two kinky b*tches 😂. Now I had a theory about Dean and how he loves to be touched/hair played with, and I went with it 👀.. I hope you guys enjoy this one ❤️‍🔥

Main Masterlist

SEDW Masterlist

The first time you tugged on Dean’s hair, it was instinctive—fingers curling into the short strands at the nape of his neck as he kissed you, bodies pressed together in desperate need.

You hadn’t even thought much of it, just a reaction to the way he was making you feel. But the way he groaned, deep and guttural, the way his hips jerked forward like he couldn’t help himself? That stuck with you.

And it stuck with Dean too.

At first, he brushed it off. But every time you touched him—fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp—he felt it. That heat curling low in his belly, the ache that settled deep in his bones, the way his cock twitched in response. It was worse when he had his head between your thighs, devouring you like a man starved. 

When you grabbed at his hair, yanking him closer as your back arched and breathless moans tumbled from your lips, it was like his brain short-circuited. His hips rutted against the mattress on their own accord, chasing any friction he could get, and the pathetic whimper he let out? Fuck. If you knew what you were doing to him, you might’ve never let go.

And that was the thing—he wanted you to know. He wanted more. Harder. Wanted to feel that sharp pull that sent shivers down his spine, that sent his blood rushing south, that made him lose control.

It took a while for him to admit it, first to himself, and then to you. However, you gave him an opening one night, when you were both discussing the things you enjoyed most in bed. You’d both already been experimenting with a lot of new kinks, but you wanted to know what really got to Dean.

And so, he confessed. He wanted you to pull on his hair. Hard.

“Really?” you asked, not in a teasing way, more so curious, and he nodded, watching as you processed that information before silently, you slipped into his lap. Your body, clad in only his shirt, brushed against his bare chest as you ran your hands along his shoulders, firm and warm beneath your palms.

You leaned in and kissed him soft, slow, just a barely there brush that had him leaning in for more. And that’s when he felt it—the sharp tug, making his nerve endings explode, his breath hitch, and his eyes snap open, wild and dangerous as you grinned down at him.

“Like that,” you murmured, and Dean pounced.

His mouth was on you, claiming, devouring, his hands yanking you against him, his cock thick and heavy beneath his boxers as he ground up against you. The friction had you both groaning, and when you rolled your hips, your fingers slipping into his hair once again to tug at the strands, he damn near lost it.

“Fuuck,” Dean drawled, breaking the kiss, his head falling back as his eyes fluttered shut. The pleasure of it ripped through him like a live wire, his cock jumping at just the right pressure. When he looked back at you, breathless, dazed, he grinned, sinfully, and before you could react he flipped you onto your back.

He kissed you deep and dirty, his body pressing you into the mattress, his hips rolling against your bare pussy, teasing you, pushing you right to the edge of madness. Your nails dragged down his back, over the ridges of taught muscle before you found his hair again, varying the pressure of your grip, feeling him unravel beneath you.

Dean panted, growled, fisting the sheets beside your head as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering with every sharp tug.

“Shit, fuck,” he hissed before he suddenly sat up, his eyes blown black with lust as he ripped your shirt up and off, tossing it aside. His hands roamed the newly bared skin with reverence, palms rough and calloused as they mapped every dip, every curve.

Then, his mouth found your breasts, tongue swirling around each peak before he sucked one into his mouth, slow and deliberate until you were gasping, arching and desperate.

“Dean,” you breathed, and he groaned against your skin, nipping, teasing, before working his way down.

He wedged himself between your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders as he kissed the tender flesh on either side, his lips hot and wet against your skin.

Your head dropped back against the pillows at the soft press of his mouth, teasing you, building anticipation, everywhere but where you needed him most. Your hips lifted, seeking, and before you could beg, you felt a light smack against your thigh.

“Don’t hold back on me, sweetheart,” he warned, voice thick with need. His green eyes burned into you, dark and serious.

He wanted you to pull hard.

You swallowed, nodding your understanding, and then, with a wicked smile, you buried your hands into his hair and tugged.

Dean groaned, low and wrecked, and then he dug in.

His mouth latched onto your clit, tongue flicking, swirling, sucking as his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread wide. You keened, your back arching, your fingers twisting in his hair as you yanked harder, feeling the shudder that ran through his entire body in response.

Dean moaned into you, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through your core. His hips rutted against the mattress, desperate, chasing friction as he devoured you. The more you pulled, the more he lost himself, his breath hot, ragged, his movements frenzied, almost sloppy with need.

“Dean—oh, fuck—” You gasped as the coil inside you snapped, your whole body tensing, trembling as pleasure crashed through you, white-hot and all-consuming.

Your thighs clenched around his head, your hands still tangled in his hair, tugging so hard it bordered on pain, and the wrecked noise he let out against you sent another wave of pleasure surging through your veins.

Dean groaned as your body pulsed beneath him, and he nearly lost it himself, his hips jerking erratically into the sheets. He dragged his mouth from you, breathless, his lips wet, his face wrecked with hunger as he climbed back up your body, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, could feel the way his body shook with restraint, barely holding on.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath fanning across your lips, you searched his wild eyes, the darkness in them, the raw need.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice soft, teasing.

Dean let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head before kissing you again, slower, sweeter.

“More than okay,” he murmured, his voice wrecked.

Then, with a wicked grin, he grabbed your wrist, guiding your hand back to his hair.

“Again,” he rasped, and you didn’t hesitate.

Your fingers curled into the short strands, giving them a firm tug, and the way Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, the groan he released—low and ragged—sent another shiver down your spine.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and insatiable, as he tugged down his boxers and settled against you. His cock, heavy and throbbing, teased through your folds, dragging against your slick heat, each slow, deliberate movement making your breath hitch.

“You’re still holding back,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open as he rolled his hips again, coating himself in your arousal but refusing to give you what you wanted. “C’mon, sweetheart. Show me.”

You let out a frustrated whimper, rocking your hips against him, desperate for more friction. But Dean only smirked, dragging his cock through your wetness again, the head nudging your clit just enough to make you moan but not enough to satisfy.

“Dean,” you gasped, trying to move against him, but he held you firm, making you take every bit of his teasing. The bastard was enjoying this.

And that’s when you snapped.

You fisted his hair hard, yanking with all the pent-up frustration he had worked you into. Dean let out a strangled hiss, his whole body tensing as his cock throbbed against you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice breaking, and before you could even take another breath, he drove into you in one smooth, deep stroke.

A broken moan spilled from your lips as he stretched you, filled you completely, his body shuddering above you from the sheer force of finally sinking into your heat.

He barely gave you a moment to adjust before pulling back, teasingly slow, only to press in just as torturously back in.

“Dean—” you panted, trying to buck your hips to urge him on, but he just grinned, dropping a kiss to your throat as he rolled his hips in another measured thrust. “Goddamn it, move.”

His breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw. “Make me.”

You didn’t even hesitate. Your hand shot back into his hair, and you yanked. Hard.

Dean choked out a groan, hips snapping forward instinctively, driving into you deep. His control shattered, and he gave you exactly what you wanted—fast, hard, devastating thrusts that had you clawing at his back, gasping for breath.

Every time you tightened your grip, every time you tugged at his hair, he lost himself a little more. His movements turned desperate, his breath ragged, his moans growing more wrecked by the second.

“Fuck—sweetheart—” he all but whined, voice raw as he buried himself inside you, over and over, his cock hitting that perfect spot. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and he was panting, trembling, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

And when you finally came, when pleasure ripped through you and you yanked on his hair so hard he was sure some hairs had been pulled from the root, Dean lost it.

A strangled, broken moan tore from his throat as he slammed into you one last time, his whole body shuddering, cock throbbing deep inside of you as he coated your walls, wrecked and breathless.

He buried his face in your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin as he tried to catch his breath, his body still trembling with aftershocks.

The only sounds filling the room were the ragged inhales, the slowing heartbeat between you, with the sticky warmth of your bodies still pressed together.

As you both calmed, you smoothed a hand through his hair, your fingers gentle now, soothing over his tender scalp, and Dean shivered.

As much as he enjoyed the sharp sting, fuck, if this didn’t feel just as good.

“One for the books?” you hummed a smile in your voice as you continued to play with his hair.

Dean’s head popped up, a tired but satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Oh, hell yes.”

Then he tackled you again, capturing your lips in another deep, lingering kiss, already hungry for more.

AN: Is it just me who thinks Dean has a bit of a hair kink? let me know 😅! Also if you are enjoying this series and would like to see a particular kink explored with these two, feel free to drop a comment, or DM. I won't touch wincest or threesomes, just keeping it between these two. ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @shadysoulangel @my-stories-vault

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

[c-monthecob]

Tokyo Revengers Headcanons!

(Decided to just throw everybody into one)

Chifuyu took his daughter to an anime convention. He dressed up as Tanjiro, and she was Nezuko. He spent the entire day avoiding Zenitsu cosplayers like the plague.

Hakkai is actually pretty good at snowboarding. He only found that out when he was too scared to go down a hill, and Taiju pushed him. (Only time he's been thankful for Taiju's bullying.)

Naoto gaslights Takemichi into believing there's a ghost in his house by moving things around and making weird sounds at night. Takemichi eats this up, ofc. He believes that if time travel is real, then so are ghosts.

Shinichiro got set up on a blind date. He waited two hours for her, but she never showed up. Their date was actually supposed to be the next day, but he was just so excited he forgot the actual time.

Koko and Inui go missing every winter. They turn their phones off and spend the season in Hawaii.

South and Rindou aren't allowed in karaoke bars anymore. South gets carried away and treats the tables like a stage, they fold under his weight. Rindou’s only there for the drinks and gets super rowdy, matching South's energy. Overall, it's the noise complaints that get them banned.

Mikey packed a suitcase full of snacks when he visited America for a race. When TSA tried to take them, he made a scene.

Taiju is actually good friends with Gordon Ramsay. He even made a guest appearance on MasterChef.

Baji got Cheeto dust in Sanzu's hair, and it sent Sanzu into a mental spiral. Hakkai had a fan try to get him to sign a picture of him from his Toman days. Rightfully so, he got a little creeped out and froze up. Yuzuha had to escort him away.

Ran and Rindou went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Rindou went missing for two nights straight. Ran eventually found him passed out in the bathtub of their hotel room, his neck decorated with beads. (NOLA bounce changed Rindou's life.)

Wakasa has mastered the ability to block out anyone’s voice, specifically Takeomi. He does it by accident a lot, too. He’s had dates walk out on him because of it.

Takemichi tried swimming in six feet of water and nearly drowned. It was a pool party, btw. Nobody noticed until his head was completely underwater.

When Sanzu and Senju first started getting attention for their channel, people thought they were a couple and made ship edits of them. Nobody lets them live it down.

Mitsuya foams at the mouth whenever a celebrity isn’t on theme for the Met Gala. He's worse than a drunk dad watching the Super Bowl. When Shinichiro walked Emma down the aisle, he tripped on her dress and nearly took her out.

Kazutora watches horror movies and gameplays at night with his back facing the closet. It's not that he doesn’t believe in ghosts, he's just overly confident he could take one on.

Emma and Kakucho do yoga together. He recommended it to help her back pain, and they ended up really enjoying each other’s company.

Takemichi tried hopping a fence and got his underwear stuck. He was suspended there with the worst wedgie of his life for a good five seconds. (Mikey and Draken just stood and laughed.)

Baji's mom signed him up for every sport she could find to burn his energy. Basketball, soccer, football, baseball. She eventually gave up and put him in a dojo. (It didn't help.)

Sanzu and Senju did a meet and greet. A fan sneezed and then tried to shake Sanzu’s hand. (He doesn’t do meet and greets anymore.)

When Rindou had his first kiss, her hair got stuck in his braces.

Pah is surprisingly good at singing, specifically opera.

Izana woke up and found Mikey in his bed several times. He’d move to the couch, only to wake up with Mikey right beside him again.

Koko does synchronized swimming and refuses to let anyone know. Not even Inui.

Ryoko sent Baji to a sleep-away summer camp, and they sent him right back.

Mana and Luna showed Mitsuya AI art of a dress made of diamonds and he fully believed it.

Mucho had to teach almost everybody how to drive. Each dent on his car is from a different person.

Smiley has always wanted a big dog, but Angry is afraid of them, so their family is stuck with those tiny, crusty white dogs that live forever.

Ran is always backseat driving whenever Rindou’s behind the wheel, but he absolutely refuses to drive anywhere himself.

Koko tells his kids he’ll hold their money for them. (They never see it again.)

Someone keeps sending Baji threats promising revenge. (It’s Sanzu.)

Koko bet a fuck ton of money on the gender of Emma’s baby. He had to leave the baby shower to collect himself after seeing that pink/blue confetti.

It took Grandpa Sano a week to realize Izana had moved in.

[cloveroctobers]

CUT TIES — Terry Richmond [Fall Crumbles] 🤎

A/N: There’s enough Terry to go around right? This is inspired by two things…OFC a song + taking another chance at writing something influenced by Love is Blind. Who saw that wasteful reunion?! Anyways that is what this is so get ready for angst.

WARNINGS: Reference to a intimate moment but a line at best?

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11:32pm

FROM: T. Richmond

I Need To Hear Your Voice…Can You Call Me?

Was the text message he sent you, which made you let out a long exhale.

11:43pm

TO: T. Richmond

I’m at work T [Deleted] Terry.

11:44pm

FROM: T. Richmond

I’m Aware. I’ll Feel Better When I Hear Your Voice…And I Know You’re Probably Saying That I’ve Got A lot Of Nerve To Say That To You Right Now…Yet This Will Always Be True, No Matter How Things Ended.

You were glad Terry can acknowledge that he did in fact have nerve requesting a call from you, when the both of you already had that final closure conversation weeks ago…however here he was back again, entering your life whenever he pleases.

Picking up your phone, after watching it ring for a while you debated about letting it go to voicemail honestly. You really didn’t need to hear many more angles about whatever situation Terry got fucked over in. Things seemed to be going well lately though, at least that’s what he tried to portray on social media…which was also new for him.

Always the type of man to be lowkey and out the way but after the exposure of being contestants on a certain love show, he stepped out just a little. It was never too much, Terry wasn’t the type of man to be in your face about his blessings but if things went south, then he had no problem stepping to you if common ground couldn’t be located.

“Hey,” He starts, his deep tone sounded as if he was ready to go to sleep, possibly lying down, whereas you were wired on your night shift, “Sorry for bothering you—

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but to let it slip through your lips, “Are you though?”

He hummed, “Nope, can’t say that I am, to be real with you.”

“Well, can’t ever say you failed at honesty.” You replied with a hint of sarcasm which made Terry chuckle humorlessly, “What’s up? What was so important that you needed to be on my hotline right now?”

It was Terry’s turn to roll his natural underlined eyes but he’s not trying to pick a fight or even think about you with someone else, “…the house is too quiet and I couldn’t sleep. The first person I wanted to talk to, to ease the loud silence…is you. I believe that’s how it’s always gon’ be.”

Not long after you called it quits, Terry closed on a house that he’s been eyeing long before he decided to go on the show. It was meant to be if they couldn’t get it sold. He of course talked to you about it once you were out of the pods, saying how some rooms needed Reno and asked your thoughts on if that could be your main home once married. Thankful that you already had your home that you owned at such a young age, You spoke about how much you already invested in your home and how you had no plans of selling just yet even if you two chose to get married.

Which isn’t something that he wanted you to do but questioned how this would work. He wasn’t down with sleeping in separate houses, although Terry knew it would take time to get everything right, the house he bought was livable and he wanted that with you.

Something that Terry always admired about you is, that you had your own mind and drive to do what you felt was best for you. He respected it, had to really learn how to when you said you two needed to put some distance between you after a final argument got too heated.

“…I’m sure you’ll get used to it at some point.”

“I don’t know if I agree with that.”

Terry listened to you sigh.

“I’m going to say something you won’t want to hear but I’m saying it anyway,” you start as you lightly flick your feathered pen back and forth at the desk, “You’re going to have to get comfortable being alone in that house, Terry. I know you’ve been used to being a lone wolf majority of the time…but you officially settled somewhere now and you’re building a life outside of the danger you once knew. Which I’m proud of by the way but you’re going to have to start finding comfort elsewhere or with yourself because I’m not going to provide that to you anymore.”

Terry was afraid that you were going to say this one day. Usually you both were good at having balance when your relationship was solid, giving each other the space needed and showing up when needed. Everything just took a turn once the chaos showed up again at Terry and his cousin, Mike’s business. This was the first time Terry ever lied to you and that came at multiple costs. It blew up in his face because leaving you in the dark and not communicating with his fiancée? led to being stalked and a home invasion that still haunted you.

Terry would always be sorry for that.

From bliss to passion to heat to closure to yearning. It was all stages of what this relationship was, for Terry it was the process of your love story whereas for you, it was part of your origin story.

“What if I say…I’m finding that’s not what I really want?” Terry speaks, “…That I don’t see much of a future without you in it? We talked through that hurdle, we wished each other the best after the reunion but what if that’s not enough for me? What if we’re each other’s best?“

This was another side you predicted would happen. One thing about you is, your mind was always turning just like the earth spinning on its axis. Which took another turn in your argument, speculating things that weren’t true once you found out that Terry lied about some new men targeting him. You predicted that once you both tried to move on and live without each other, the other would crack. It happened before, a month after the reunion when his aunt invited you to her forty-fifth birthday party. Your friends told you not to go and that night made you weak for Terry Richmond.

So weak you couldn’t feel your legs for days, Terry knew your body so well, had no problem burrying himself deep downstairs in his aunt’s basement, green hues trained only on you, while having your legs in the perfect V over his shoulders, and that man was a mountain.

A dangerous one.

Now it was your turn to fully stand on business and the year was coming to a close so you didn’t need Terry to find new ways in.

That was supposed to be understood but you both fumbled that at the party.

You had enough time to figure out what was best. Of course you experienced the what if’s yourself, been as loyal as they came but a structured life of constantly looking over your shoulder was just not it to you. To no longer feel safe with the man you thought you would grow old with. Now you had the world weighing in on what they’ve seen on their tv’s and online—you can handle challenges—you worked as a nurse on the oncology floor, however you have to be smart enough to realize when it was too much and that was enough to walk away.

“At a time we were,” you finally answered before reassuring, “Everything you’re feeling is valid. I hear you. I’ve been there and got through that. You will too.”

Terry’s silence was as potent on the phone as what he probably felt like the inside of his home was. The scratching of the branch that was too close to his bedroom window was similar to the clawing you were doing to his heart. He didn’t want to lose you for good, call him selfish but he didn’t want to just forget the unique connection you built.

Although he felt disrespected with the way you spoke (yelled) to (at) him during your breaking point, he was willing to come back and work through it but ultimately it felt like there was no trust there anymore. Terry did feel like you were looking for a way out because you two were “too” good together, unfortunately this was too big of a situation to come back from.

The stubborn one out of the two, Terry can sense that you already had your mind made up. Two tough conversations were had, one behind the scenes and another for streamers to dissect and formulate their own opinions on, should have been enough but Terry always kept his cards close. You were his most precious one, yet you were telling him how to store it away back into the deck for good.

“Is this really what you want? To fully walk away?”

A hint of annoyance hits you and could be felt as you start, “We went over this—

“So us going two rounds that day meant nothing?”

Sure it did.

“Terry that was goodbye, you had to have known that. The last hurrah. So let me make it clear this time without raising my voice because I know you hate that—and I’ve been working on it—I’m cutting ties.”

Half expecting the line to go dead, you still find yourself holding your breath as the quiet goes deadly silent. Until you hear shuffling on the other end, Terry’s sitting up on the edge of the bed now, feeling a stress headache arrive right on both sides of his temples which then radiate to the back of his neck.

“I don’t want this to come off the wrong way…but I love you. I need you to know that.”

That was obvious but again, sometimes love isn’t enough.

“Don’t do that.”

“What’s that?”

“Trying to find other angles to make this work. We tried after the big argument—that spark isn’t the same and would never be the same.”

Terry huffs, “Maybe we didn’t try hard enough.”

Grasping at straws, was not necessarily in Terry’s nature. He also knew that statement was just not true. Both of you put your hearts on the line and this was something the both of you would have never taken so lightly.

“…don’t let your loneliness overshadow what can’t be managed. We been made our decision but this is me finally enforcing a boundary.” You inhale air through your teeth before continuing, “You are headstrong, very structured and lived a life that I know nothing about if it comes knocking at our door again. What happens if we brought kids into that? It’s not that I don’t believe you couldn’t keep us safe, it’s the fact that our lives would always be at risk even if it’s not something you intentionally brought to the table.”

“We take risks every time we step out the door. That’s what life is,” Terry tried to reason, “I tried to leave the life I lived prior behind me, which is why I like to keep to myself and not open up. You changed that. I know we’ve been over this countless of times…I just don’t know if I’m ready to completely cut the rope. To never have you around is…a scary thought.”

In a minute, it wouldn’t just be a thought.

“It’ll be as if before we met. I’m not saying it’s easy by any means but I’ve accepted the art of letting go. Ending access to each other for real this time, does not automatically mean we never loved each other or there isn’t any more love there. If we fell back into each other, it would be a repeat of all the pieces we wouldn’t want to live with. It’ll be hard to fake and deal with.”

“Deal with?” Terry echoed in a tone that oozed frustration, “I’d be willing to be a team.”

“Then why wasn’t that taken into consideration when those men shot up your business? Or me being stalked by one of those men at work? Then being followed home.” You felt your blood pressure rising at what you thought you forgave—but everything is a process, “Or when Summer and I went out to lunch, just to find out that she knew about the drive by before I did? Or how I almost got ran over on purpose in the parking garage at work? That didn’t feel like team work. I was in the dark when we needed to continue to be a piece of each other’s light from the damn sun rays. Being the last to know often, did not make me feel like a priority. I feel like that part of you, you wanted to shield me from all the time…so now I’m going to be a shield on my terms.”

Terry Richmond never wanted to be responsible for changing the trajectory of someone’s entire life in a negative way. Although you said the love shared wouldn’t just vanish, it did feel like you thought about it and had time to sit on it.

He could make this easy and give you what you wanted, should have and it was once something he actually agreed to. However people change their minds all the time and he never saw himself falling out of love with you.

It wasn’t about being trained, it was about being in love.

He clears his throat, “I had no intentions on making this conversation out to be difficult…I knew I’d get push back, it’s one of the things I love about you,” Terry says, “I just wanted to let you know that I miss you, that your voice is actually what makes me feel safe and probably always will. And that I hope I’d get the chance to love you more in every lifetime. That was part of what I wrote to you in our vows by the way and I still stand by those words. If I had more time, those words would be actions. I’d make up for it, if you just let me.”

Him saying that over the phone, did make you feel a way. It made the back of your eyes burn but the shield was already in the works of being fully up. You didn’t need to hear this, you never doubted Terry’s love for you but it was over, you had the scissors slowly running along what kept you connected. Terry didn’t get the choice to go back on the agreement, yes people change their minds all the time but there was no time to compromise.

“There’s no use in crying over spilled milk, Terry.” Is all you can say, leaving each other to listen to each other’s breathing before the man is finally hit with the call ending.

He’s left holding on tightly to his phone, taking in the sound of autumn’s whipping air outside of his home. Tossing the phone behind him on the bed, Terry gets to his feet, determination shining his in his eyes while he begins to put his mind elsewhere opposed to holding onto you.

As you sat at the front desk, you snapped out of the dissociation that wanted to creep in, to place your phone on charge. Then grabbed onto some scissors returning back to the craft project you were working on to help decorate this level of the hospital for the holidays.

Snip!

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More autumn anthology prompts here.

[bluemari23]

darl+ing you || choi seungcheol

summary: You were on your way to South Korea, leaving your life behind to follow your soulmate back home. Your anxiety runs amok, and Seungcheol tries his best to get to know you better. pairing: choi seungcheol x neurodivergent reader genre: soulmate au, soul bonds, fluff, angst, idol au warnings: major angst, some light fluff, airport mayhem, angry cheol (not at mc), sneaky jeonghan ofc, word count: 2.8k new _world / part 2 of ?

masterlist

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

You truly weren’t sure how to do this. You had been alone forever and didn’t know how to adjust to suddenly having someone in your presence, wanting to be in your presence. 

You were at the airport, your flight with Seungcheol, he insisted you call him Cheol or another nickname but you weren’t too comfortable with that yet, leaving at almost 5 am this morning. So, you arrived at around 2 am, a driver coming to pick you up, ordered by HYBE. 

After packing yesterday, you realized that Seungcheol only had what he was wearing when he was transported, so you took him to the store to try and grab a couple of items for him to last until we got to Korea and he was able to get back home. He pouted almost the entire time, claiming he didn’t need anything, but you just ignored him.

Once at the airport, you had to go through customs and security, which you thought would take longer with Seungcheol not having any of his things. But you were proven wrong when the driver had handed you a soulmate passport, made specifically for those with the soul transport bond that had been transported into a different country. This meant that you had the same privilege and status as your soulmate. 

After going through customs, you and Seungcheol were led to a separate lounge, away from other people, besides a security member that had been assigned by Seungcheol’s company to stay with you until you both got to South Korea. 

“It’s okay, baby.” Seungcheol whispers into your ear, trying to ease your anxiety as he places his palm on your thigh, causing your leg to stop shaking up and down. You freeze again, so unused to any affection but he doesn’t act like he notices, instead choosing to rub his thumb against your legging covered thigh. 

You were anxious about everything right now. 

You were trying to ignore the thoughts circling in your head about being unlovable, the television program’s voice just ringing in your head. It was hard to overcome the cemented feeling of being unlovable and an outsider and then all of a sudden that idea being thrown out at the appearance of your soulmate in your bed.

You slowly relax into his touch despite your thoughts, causing a small smile to grow on his lips. He had a feeling your life was tough before he showed up, literally. He wanted to know everything about you, the way you took your coffee, if you were an artist of some type, what your favorite song was; he wanted to know anything you were willing to tell him. 

You felt the same, wishing to know who the person behind the screen was. You felt so comfortable with him already, not having the usual tense reaction to touch that you usually experienced. You felt like your body and soul had already accepted your bond, they were just waiting for your mind to join in. 

“I’m just nervous, I guess.” You let out a little breathy, wanting to take full advantage of having a bond. You’ve always dreamed of being bonded, and you weren’t gonna let anyone take it away from you. “All of this is so…new.” You threw your hands up, gesturing to everything around you.

Seungcheol turned in his seat to face you, his hand still working small circles into your thigh. He could see how much you lean into his touch; how much you crave that intimate feeling his touch could bring you. He was so happy to have a soulmate, and he was going to do everything in his power to prove to you that you were his and that he was going to treat you like a queen. 

But, before he could say anything, give any reassurance to you, his phone began to ring. He moved forward quickly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he put an arm around you and pulled you into his chest to your head rested on his shoulder. Then, pulling his phone out of his pocket, he realized it was a facetime call from Hoshi, but he knew that all of his members were probably going to be on the other end. 

With you still in his arms, he answered the facetime. There were so many faces trying to push their way into the screen, whether to see you or to hide others, Seungcheol didn’t know, but it made him grin either way. 

You remained frozen as you watched the members of Seventeen, besides your soulmate, fight over the phone. This was just another reality check for your new world, being a part, even if it’s a small part, of the idol scene. 

Eventually, they all backed away from the screen as Mingyu balanced the phone on something so they could all be in screen. You look up at Seungcheol to see if this was normal, only to see him smiling at the screen with fondness, before looking back at the phone. 

So many questions start at once, everyone having something to say to you and their leader. 

“Okay guys. One at a time.” Seungcheol finally manages out between laughter as you tense up at the loud noises coming from them. 

“Can she understand Korean?”

“Are you guys at the airport already?” 

Those were the two questions you could make out, as they all tried talking at once again. You were frozen, shy at all of the members looking at you. You almost turned your head into Seungcheol’s shoulder, trying to hide your shyness and the blush creeping up your cheeks. 

Seungcheol could tell as well, squeezing your shoulder in his grasp before moving his arm to rest at your waist, holding you to his side for comfort before answering.

“She does understand some Korean, but you need to speak slowly for her to understand. She is Seungkwan and Vernon’s age. She is a carat. And we are in one of the private lounges at the airport.” Seungcheol answered the questions he heard, some shouts of excitement from the two ’98 liners being heard in the background as he answers Dino’s question. 

“It is very nice to see you, Y/n. We can’t wait to get to know you better when you get here.” Woozi spoke softly but was still heard by you as he waved to you. He spoke slowly enough for you to understand, thankfully. You were still a bit shy, but you knew you needed to be polite and respond to him, plus, you wouldn’t turn away the opportunity to speak to members from one of your favorite groups. 

“It is nice to see you all, too. I—uhm, I’m excited to get to know you all as well.” You respond in your best Korean receiving a big smile from all the boys, but the biggest grin from your soulmate who leans down and kisses you on the head, unable to help himself. 

The call is cut short from the hired security coming in to tell you both that he was ready to board the plane with you and your luggage. You only had a carry-on and a suitcase as well as your personal backpack that had your purse in it while Seungcheol had borrowed one of your duffel bags for the things you bought him and the stuff he was transported in. 

“We are about to board so we got to go, but I’ll text you when we get in the air.” Seungcheol ends the phone call after several thousand goodbyes are said.  

Once he puts his phone away, he leans down and grabs the handle for your suitcase while you put your backpack on and grab the handle to your carryon. Once he puts his duffle on his arm, he grabs your hand to hold in his and the both of you follow the security to the first class entrance. 

You felt like you were in a trance, having flown only a couple of times and being in economy every time. First Class was so extravagant looking. Everything was clean and you definitely felt out of place as you walked forward, Seungcheol leading you to your seats. As you passed by the other seats, you noticed a small blanket, eye-mask, and earbuds were placed on each seat as well as a water bottle and an empty champagne glass. The seats reclined into a bed and there was even a small side table and television in each seat pod. 

When you got to your seats, Seungcheol surprised you by placing your stuff in the overhead compartments and helping you into your seat-pod. You didn’t expect for him to do this, to take care of your things and you before himself. 

You had a feeling that your wishes for a soulmate were actually manifested in Seungcheol. Yes, you were a carat and knew he liked to take care of his members, but you weren’t a member and you were used to having to do everything yourself, always being overlooked and forced to be hyper-independent. It was such a nice thing that you almost began to tear up as he made you sit down as he opened your water bottle for you. 

“Why are you crying, baby?” He questioned you softly, leaning down to look you in the eye. You didn’t think he would notice, but he did. Which was something you were sure you would need to get used to.

“I’m not used to others taking care of me.” You whisper, answering without thinking, still too in your head over your soulmates caring actions. 

Seungcheol can’t help but to get a little angry inside, nodding his head at your words. He swears in his head to anyone listening that you will always be taken care of with him. He loves how open you are being with him though, that you feel safe enough with him to tell him to truth about your feelings. 

“I will always take care of you, my soul” He cups your cheeks softly, tilting your head downward so he could place another soft kiss on your temple, resting his lips there for a couple seconds before getting up on his feet and moving to his own seat. He doesn’t miss the blush on your cheeks though, beaming to himself that he can make you so flustered so easily. 

-*-*-

You spend the rest of your flight playing twenty questions with your soulmate, Seungcheol having managed to put the divider between your seats down so you could see each other. It was a nice time, truly, just getting to know your soulmate without the pressure of everything you knew was going to happen when you get to South Korea. 

Once you touch down, your peaceful atmosphere was unfortunately broken. Before you got off the plane, Seungcheol receives a call from his manager who was waiting outside for you, that it has been leaked what had happened the past couple days and that the airport was swarmed with fans and paparazzi, waiting for you two. 

You could see Seungcheol was upset, his jaw tense and his grip tight on your hand as he holds you still. You didn’t know what was going on, only that you had to stay on the plan for a little bit longer while HYBE security and the airport security do their thing. 

Seungcheol remained on his phone, talking fast as he tries to ensure your safety while now bringing you into his embrace, holding you like he did in your room the morning before. His chin was resting on the top of your head as your cheek rested against his chest, feeling the vibrations coming through your cheek as he talked to another person on the phone. 

You stayed on the plane for an additional twenty minutes before someone Seungcheol recognized came onto the plane and over to you. 

“We have a route out and to the car. You can leave your things here. We will grab them.” The large man spoke to Seungcheol, before looking toward you and giving you a small smile with a nod of his head. 

“Okay. Come on baby.” Seungcheol looks down at you before pulling away. He grabs your hand again without even thinking about it and begins to lead you out of the plan. He holds you closely to him, your shoulders brushing against each other as you walk out to the plane and are suddenly surrounding by maybe ten large men, formed into a circle around you. 

You keep your head down as soon as you see the lights flashing ahead of you. You can feel Seungcheol hold you even closer, cursing under his breath at the amount of people waiting for you both. Once you got into the crowd, despite being surrounded by guards, you were scared. You felt like you dissociated once the flashes started, but you were brought back by a tug on your shirt. 

Despite the number of guards near you, someone managed to get their arm through them and latched their hand onto your shirt, tugging you to the side, and in turn, tugging on Seungcheol who had a tight grip on you. It was a split second, but the damage was already done. You could hear screams but you were now moving quickly, Seungcheol beyond angry and more guards came over. 

You could feel the tears building in your eyes, falling because you were too scared to wipe them away. You were too scared to move your body in fear of being grabbed again. 

You hadn’t even realized you had gotten outside and to the car when Seungcheol had opened the door for you and helped you in first. You saw someone sitting in one of the seats from the corner of your eye, but you kept your head down, flashing lights continuous in your vision until Seungcheol got in and the door was closed behind him. 

You were frozen, trying to calm yourself down as Seungcheol moves closer, buckling your seatbelt for you and sitting as close to you as possible. 

“I am so sorry, baby. I can’t believe we got leaked!” Seungcheol pushes out the last sentence in anger. He was so mad about the entire situation and was beyond worried for you. He could tell that what happened had scared you; you hadn’t spoken to him since the plane and you were practically shaking like a leaf. 

Seungcheol was scared. He couldn’t protect you in that moment and he almost lost you to someone tugging on your shirt. He had just found you and then almost lost you in a second. It would not happen again. 

Seungcheol only pulled you closer to him, hoping his presence would be a comfort for you before he turned to the other person in the car. 

“So, how did you win the competition to be here?” His voice was tense, understandably, but you could still hear some fondness in his tone as he spoke to the other person. You still hadn’t looked up yet.

“I snuck in while everyone else was freaking out.” Jeonghan teased, hoping to get you to look up at him. He wanted to ease the discomfort and fear he knew you were probably feeling right now. They were used to this. You were not. 

Jeonghan’s words had you looking up though, eyes red and puffy from your silent crying breaking both of their hearts. Seungcheol hadn’t even realized you were crying and made himself a mental reminder to do his best to pamper you tonight. 

“Have the company found the leak?” Seungcheol asked, his hand squeezing your won tightly still, not having let go since you got into the car. You could hear the anger lacing his voice, his determination to keep you safe only doubling. 

“They have. And they’ve been fired. It seems that someone overheard a conversation about your announcement to us. Everyone has been dealt with.”  Jeonghan didn’t hold back, knowing how his leader and friend got when something went wrong. No one wanted to get in their leader’s way when something happened to one of their members. He could only imagine how amplified that would be now with you. 

“Good.” Seungcheol ended that conversation, quickly moving onto another, more light discussion when he noticed your eyes begin to glaze over. He could tell something was wrong, but he would wait until you were both alone to talk to you about it. 

You remained quiet as you listened to Jeonghan regal the tale of what happened when they realized what had happened to Seungcheol and how excited the other members were to meet you. Hoshi and DK already fighting over who would be your best friend while Joshua and Mingyu were trying to figure out what kind of welcome gift to get you.

It seemed like the members were more excited to meet you than you could have imagined. 

[hearts4johnwick]

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 your husband has been missing for almost two months now, yearning for him is making you relive some of your best memories.

CW. 𝜗𝜚 mentions of od’ing, fluff & angst (whose page are you in??? ofc it’s angst 👅) bold = flashbacks

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 umm i know absolutely nothing!!!about south korea or their schools, so this is purely based off of american schools bc my latina ass is not cultured on this, if yall wanna correct me or help me in some stuff, pls do! just know i’m writing this for fun tho <3

the voice of your teacher announcing a new student catches your attention, a boy with slightly longer hair stands beside her, holding onto his backpack. “this is kang dae-ho, he is transferring from seoul, and as your new classmate, you shall treat him with respect.” your eyes analyze dae-ho, he’s cute, you think. you glance over to your friend and she raises her eyebrow in a flirty manner, you smile.

“find a seat, dear.” there were plenty of seats available, but the seat beside you was the one he was eyeing the most, and you did not mind at all if he sat next to you.

the two of you make eye contact and you watch his eyebrows raise slightly, he quickly makes his way to the seat beside you. you give him a soft smile and he returns it, a soft hint of redness grows on his face.

“of course.” your friend playfully rolls her eyes and you chuckle before the teacher begins the class.

once the class finished, you head to your lockers to put away your books, in the distance you see dae-ho and your friend speaks. “you should go and talk to him, maybe we can go to the bakery after school.” you look at her and nod.

“that’s a good idea.” you walk away from your locker, your hand holding your other over your legs as you make your way toward him. dae-ho turns and his heart begins to race as if your beauty leaves him speechless, or you coming up to him caught him off guard. “dae-ho, was it?” he nods. “nice to meet you, I’m y/n.”

he smiles widely. “cute name for a cute girl.” you smile, his confidence taking you aback for a slight moment.

“thank you.” you feel your face heat up, but you brush it off. “my friend and i were wondering if you’d like to join us at the bakery right across the street after school? we usually go there for some lunch, since the lunch here is not too good.” you make a disgusted noise and scrunch your nose, he laughs and you smile.

“I’d like that,” he says and you smile.

“great. see you there. what’s your next class?” you ask him, and he tells you that it’s math, you exclaim when you look at his schedule and realize you have every single class together.

after classes finish, the three of you do as you agreed and head to the bakery. you get to know a lot about dae-ho, and you find out you have much more in common than you ever thought. he’s energetic and kind, and you admire that.

“so, do you have any plans after graduation?” you ask him, breaking the silence your friend left you both in after her mother came to pick her up.

he hums, taking his time thinking what to say. “joining the marines is a good idea.” you raise an eyebrow. “but, apart from that—i’d love to marry a pretty girl, maybe start a family with her, maybe move back to the city, or move to costa rica, i’ve seen pictures and i think it’s the most beautiful place i’ve ever seen.” you can’t help but smile at his plans, they’re quite nice. “and you?” he asks you your question.

“i want to become a veterinarian. i love animals so much, i’ve rescued some! dogs and cats!”

“what do you do after? do you keep them?” he questions.

“oh no no! i’m allergic to cats, i just send them to a shelter or put them up for adoption. when animals stay in shelters too long they sometimes kill them, and i hate that. i wish i could keep every animal i rescue, but ive only kept two dogs, two german shepherds.”

dae-ho laughs. “remind me not to mess with you, then.” you laugh at his joke.

“yeah, don’t.” you suck on your bottom lip and look at him. “but, apart from becoming a veterinarian, I’d also like to marry a handsome guy, and maybe start a family, although, I’m alright with dogs—how many kids do you want?”

“i want 4.” your breath hitches, and you grimace, you’re acting as if you’re gonna be the mother, but, you couldn’t help it.

“your poor wife.” you place your lips into a thin line. you two share a short laugh and continue to get to know each other.

you and dae-ho grew fond of each other in only 3 months, he was even walking you to your house, no matter the fact that his house was nearly 20 minutes from yours.

one night, you and dae-ho stand in your front steps, before you say goodbye, he grabs your hand and caresses it softly. “y/n.” he begins, he has all of your attention. “why don’t we… take a break from the bakery and go to an actual restaurant…maybe tomorrow?” he pauses between his words, thinking thoroughly about what he’s saying. when he sees your expression soften, he knows it’s going great.

“i’d love to.” you smile widely and place a hand on his cheek gently. the two of you share a sweet moment, he said he’ll text you the details, and you dismiss him with a kiss on the cheek and the blood rushing to his cheek makes your heart flutter.

one date led to another, and then another, after that, another one, until it became a weekly thing. when the two of you graduated, he quickly went off to the marines, and you were proud of him for that, he could do what he wished for, but you were terrified at the same time, terrified that one day he might not come home, and the thought of that destroyed you.

him coming back home permanently meant everything to you, you thought that maybe you could start a family now, you were at a fine age, you were married and financially stable, your job was paying you very well, and so was, dae-ho’s, but now that he’s back—forever now, that might change—and, it did.

you turn sideways on your bed, your hand brushes the cold spot next to you, it’s empty, you don’t like that feeling at all, it makes you feel empty. you remember the moments when dae-ho kept you warm, the times after intimate moments when you would just lay in his chest, staring into his eyes, or simply when you would fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you check the time, and it’s 2:34 am, you sigh and stare at your ceiling, and you start to feel tears pooling in your eyes. you stand from your bed and head over to the closet. there, you take one of dae-ho’s jackets and hug it, as if he was wearing it as if you were hugging him. his scent made your heart ache, this was the closest you’d been to him in almost two months.

you sob your heart out as you slide down the wall, softly murmuring his name like a prayer, hoping he’ll hear you.

your finger softly curls dae-ho’s hair, and the two of you admire each other in the spotlight, his hand on your hip and yours on his shoulder, sharing the prom king and queen dance.

“prom king, huh?” you raise an eyebrow.

“no thanks to you, prom queen.” he chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“what’s a king without his queen?” dae-ho raises his eyebrows and nods. “this is so embarrassing, i hope they’re not looking—or looking at you.” you chuckle.

“no, trust me. they’re looking at you.” your eyes light up, and your face gets hot, but you don’t know if it’s because of embarrassment or his compliment. “you look unbelievable tonight, y/n. i can’t imagine you on our wedding day.” he says, your mouth opens and your heart flutters, god, you cannot wait to marry him, he’s all you’ve ever wished for, you don’t care that he’s your first love, you think he’s the love of your life—you know he is, and that’s what matters, not what people think.

“i love you.” your confession catches him off guard, he’s said it before, but you never said it back, only ‘me too’ but the words ‘I love you’ have never come out of your mouth, and even though you’ve been wanting to say it ever since the moment you laid eyes on him, something has been stopping you, but you knew it was about time.

“i love you more,” he says back, and you smile widely. you embrace each other, but continue your dance until it concludes.

shortly after graduation, the two of you decided that after dae-ho serves his time in the marines, you’d get married—and so you did. your wedding was beautiful, it was intimate, with only two or three family members from dae-ho’s side, for obvious reasons, and almost your whole family tree.

your family loved dae-ho as if he was their own, and that made you feel very grateful, dae-ho had a rough childhood, and seeing him get the love he never had growing up was better than anything you could ever ask for.

the day of your marriage was truly the happiest day you’ve ever been, and let’s not even talk about the night. from then on, you appreciated every single moment with dae-ho, you always have, but you’re treasuring them even more now. the two of you began to travel, you started with costa rica, of course, and so on—you went to some places such as japan, tennessee, bali, dominican republic, and all of europe, you’d hope that between this year and next, you can finish traveling the caribbean because dae-ho loves the caribbean and the beaches.

you had planned for the bahamas on your next trip, but this is around the time when your husband was struggling, and when he turned up missing.

dae-ho has been missing for almost two months, he just vanished into thin air, he didn’t leave you a note, or a text message, he just… left. and you missed him dearly, you thought these months as an eternity, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

the orange bottle of full pills was tempting you—you wanted to end this pain, you wanted to end it now. he could end it, if he would just show up on the doorstep, just him, you don’t even want flowers or a gift, you just need him, or the other reason to end it is to just not keep living.

why would you need to keep living? the reason you are hasn’t been here with you these days—you have no reason to keep living, so why not just finish it?

your brother found you, he took you in his arms, sobbing and calling out your name. the bright hospital light was bothering you, your vision was blurry and your heartbeat was steady, slower than usual, but it was still beating, and that was the important thing.

the cold, dry air of the hospital made you feel sicker as if you were actually dead. you had your eyes closed when you felt a familiar, warm touch in your hand. you try your best to open your eyes, but your vision is still blurry.

“dae-ho?” you croak, a drop of wetness rolling down your cheek in pain. you hear no answer, so you don’t know if you’re hallucinating, or dreaming, but you cry.

you had thought that maybe—maybe he’d been back, oh, god you wish he’d been back, just so that you could spend the time you have left with him—but one thing is for sure, and it’s that you’ll soon be seeing him, whether that would be in the flesh, or the after life, is still to be decided.

❛ i wish i could live without you

but you’re a part of me. ❜

[melzula]

Smoke and Shadow

part one

pairings: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: it’s finally here! hope you guys enjoy this and sorry it took so long! and ofc reminder that reading the comics is suggested for this piece

summary: The Princess decides to pay Zuko a visit only to find the Fire Nation in disarray.

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

Returning home from the Fire Nation always feels bittersweet; you miss your people, but you know that once you’re back in the South the ache of homesickness will be replaced by your longing to be at Zuko’s side. You once thought the end of the war would mean easier days for your relationship, but being the leaders of two different nations seemed to keep you apart more often than it kept you together. Leaving him never got any easier, but you knew in your heart that this was for the best. You had duties to fulfill and people to take care of, so you’d just have to be patient. Things will settle eventually and the distance will become easier, you just have to see it through.

“Do you really have to go? You just got here!” Kiyi complains with a frown as she watches you pack your things and prepare for your return home.

“I’m sorry, Kiyi, but my people need me.“

“Can’t someone else do it?” She retorts, prompting you to let out a small laugh of amusement. She certainly had her older brother’s attitude at times.

“I’m afraid not. I have a tribe to rebuild and students to teach,” you explain to her. “Things don’t run very smoothly when the Chief is away for too long.”

“Will you at least come back and visit me?” The little girl begs, and you can’t really find a way to say no to her when she looks at you with her best pleading eyes. “I want to see more water bending tricks!”

“I promise to come back as soon as I have the time,” you assure her before giving her a tight hug. You’ve grown rather attached to Zuko’s little sister since meeting her, so it’s not easy having to say goodbye.

A gentle knock at your door alerts both you and Kiyi of someone’s presence, but once you see Zuko’s face peeking through the doorway you smile and part from the girl so that she can run out to play in the palace halls. “My love, the ship is ready to leave when you are.”

“I suppose I’m ready,” you sigh with a melancholic smile, melting into Zuko’s touch when he pulls you into his embrace. “It’s going to be hard being away from you.”

“I know,” he comforts while resting his warm hand upon your cool cheek, “but it’s nothing we can’t handle. We’ll be together again soon.”

“I’m already counting down the days,” you profess earnestly, eliciting a soft chuckle from him in return. Rubbing his nose affectionately against your own, Zuko angles his face to reach your lips and press a tender kiss against your own. It’s the last one you’ll be sharing for some time, and he makes sure to savor it for as long as possible. Your kiss is impossibly sweet, your smell of fire lilies intoxicating, and it pains him to have to pull away from you.

“I love you, y/n. I hope you know that.”

You smile before pulling him in for another kiss, enjoying your perfect goodbye.

~~~

A month has passed since you left the Fire Nation, and the South has developed swimmingly. With the help of your sister tribe, the outer villages have slowly begun to transform into cities equipped with new buildings, homes, and even town halls. Progress is steady and your tribe is growing, and it will only be a matter of time before the Southern Water Tribe is restored to its rightful glory.

As your advisor, Hakoda has agreed to oversee the Southern Reconstruction Project so that you may focus on teaching the next generation of water benders with Master Pakku. Your time as Chief is spent either at your school or in your office to approve new construction plans and debrief with Hakoda about the progress of the rebuilding project. You’re as busy as ever, but you couldn’t be any happier.

“Sifu y/n, why do we have to learn about healing?” One of your students complains as you set out the practice mannequins for the children. “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!”

“Healing is just as important as bending,” you explain thoughtfully. “As a wise woman once told me, ‘You cannot bend something that is broken, but you can heal something that is hurt.’ Some situations require a gentle hand, and it’s important your bending has balance. Healing can save lives, and your gift can be used to help your people.”

“Sifu y/n,” another student says with her hand raised eagerly in the air, “is it true you healed Fire Lord Zuko from a lightning strike?”

“It is,” you reply with a fond smile, laughing at the amazed gasps your students share at the story. “I wouldn’t have been able to save his life if I hadn’t known how to heal, and that’s why it’s important for you all to learn. Now any last questions before we begin?”

A little hand raises into the air and you nod, signaling them to continue. “Do you miss Zuko?”

“Always,” you sigh wistfully, the familiar ache of longing pulling at your heart strings. You wondered what he was doing now and if he was thinking of you in this moment.

After teaching your healing class, you retire to your office for the evening to look over the new construction plans Hakoda has prepared for you. However, your mind seems to be elsewhere for the night as you find yourself repeatedly looking upon the frame on your desk. The night of your coronation you’d had a local artist paint a portrait of Zuko and yourself. You shared the biggest smiles, the two of you adorned in formal water tribe attire for the festivities ahead. It had been a perfect night, and the painting served as a reminder of the wonderful time you’d had together.

Sighing, you look over your schedule for the upcoming week. Nothing too major seems to be taking place, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you took a short trip to the Fire Nation to see how Zuko and Kiyi were doing. Hakoda could handle the reconstruction project on his own for a few days, and Pakku could look after your students in your absence.

Grabbing a scroll and a brush, you quickly begin scribbling out a lengthy list of items for Hakoda and Pakku to oversee while you’re gone. It seems your mind is made up, and as soon as your affairs are in order you’ll be using the secret tunnel to travel to the Fire Nation to finally see Zuko again.

~~~

Zuko was exhausted.

Carrying the guilt he felt for his sister’s kidnapping as well as the awkward tension that came with working alongside his ex-girlfriend wasn’t exactly helping him keep his peace. More children were going missing with every night that passed, and it seemed he wasn’t any closer to catching his sister and her group of Kemurikage. A part of him wished it really was spirits tormenting his people instead of his sister, but he figured she’d have to turn up eventually.

“We’ll find them, Zuko,” Mai comforts, carefully resting her hand upon his tense shoulder as he stares down at the array of scrolls scattered across his desk. Various passages about the Kemurikage and information about the men part of the New Ozai Society line the endless papers, and yet none of it has gotten them any closer to figuring out where the missing children or Azula are.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmurs before shifting his gaze to the bush of fire lilies out in the courtyard. It dawns on him then that he hasn’t had the time to write to you lately, and he feels you deserve to know about Kiyi‘s disappearance and Azula’s return. He’s sure you’d know just what to do, just what to say to make him feel better, and he needs the comfort now more than anything. “I should write y/n. She cares for Kiyi just as much as I do, she should know.”

Mai’s mood immediately sours at the mention of the Southern Princess, but she’s able to mask it well enough for Zuko’s sake. Despite being willing to work with her ex-boyfriend to find her missing brother, their past relationship was still a sore subject for her. It’s not exactly easy getting over the fact that the boy you thought was in love with you was really just using you to get over someone else.

Their talk at the Boiling Rock hadn’t given her any real closure, and her encounter with the Princess at the flower shop didn’t leave the greatest impression on the girl. Mai still couldn’t see what was so special about her, and she didn’t understand what kind of future Zuko saw with her. She supposed it didn’t matter what she thought anymore, and it didn’t matter what Zuko did with his life. She was with Kei Lo now, and the Fire Lord was no longer her concern.

“Is writing a letter to your girlfriend really your top priority right now?” She can’t help but to retort sarcastically, prompting Zuko to scowl.

“Y/n could be a great help to us,” he argues defensively. “She views things more clearly than I do at times and keeps me from making rash decisions.“

“So is she your girlfriend or your babysitter?”

“Mai-!”

“I know, I know,” she sighs with a passive wave of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Zuko lets out a quiet breath before turning to meet her gaze. He’s unsure of how to approach such a sensitive subject, but he knows he must if any progress is to be made. “I know you’re still mad at me, and I know no apology will fix the hurt I caused you, but you have to put it behind you if we’re going to work together. Y/n is my girlfriend, and Kei Lo is your boyfriend, so why are things still so awkward between us?”

“It’s not that simple, Zuko,” Mai snaps, a bitter scowl masking her features. “It’s not just that you broke my heart, it’s that I was stupid enough to let you! I should have known I’d never be enough for you, and you talking about her is like throwing salt in the wound. It’s like a constant reminder that I was never good enough for you, that what we had was all just a lie. I never want to feel that way again, but I feel it every time I’m around you. I’m like the pathetic ex-girlfriend you can’t get away from.”

“Mai…”

“I can’t believe I still care about you,” she grumbles sullenly.

“I care for you too,” he insists before gently taking one of her hands in his own. “Maybe not in the way you want me to, but I do. I always have, even when we were children and I pushed you into the fountain to put out that apple on your head. You’re a good friend, and I owe you more than I can ever repay you for what you did at Boiling Rock. Can’t we still be friends?”

Mai is silent, her gaze set firmly upon her hand in his own. The sensation is warm and familiar, comforting, but she knows the hurt that is to come if she agrees to his request. Maybe one day she can learn to love Kei Lo and fill the emptiness, be the one doing the using instead of the one being used, but she can’t accomplish this feat with Zuko in the picture.

The room is quiet and tense, but still she does not remove her hand.

And neither of them notice the figure in the doorway watching the scene unfold.

~~~

You’re surprised to find Zuko’s end of the tunnel blocked off by Fire Nation guards. He hadn’t been expecting you of course, but you didn’t think you’d find the passage closed off like this. What had happened while you were away to promote such a drastic measure?

“Excuse me,” you call gently so as to not startle the guards that face away from you, “I’m here to see Fire Lord Zuko. May I cross?”

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in or out of the Capital City,” one guard states gruffly, but his companion waves him off dismissively.

“She’s the Southern Chief and the Fire Lord’s girlfriend,” he explains before gesturing you to continue forward. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to hear we’d blocked his beloved from seeing him.”

“O-Oh, my apologies,” the first guard stutters sheepishly before clearing himself out of your path.

“What’s going on? Why is the Capital City in lockdown?”

“Children of the Fire Nation have been going missing and the people are becoming restless,” he explains. "The Fire Lord wants everyone to stay put until a culprit has been caught and the children are returned safe.”

“How awful,” you murmur quietly before an uneasy feeling begins to hit you. “Have you heard anything of Kiyi, Ursa’s daughter? Is she safe?”

The two guards exchange solemn glances, and that’s all you need to know before immediately rushing towards the palace. If Kiyi is in danger, you want to do everything you can to help Zuko find her and the other missing children before it’s too late. Who knows what danger they could be in?

Your trek to the palace isn’t easy, what with the protests and unrest occurring on the streets as a result of Zuko’s harsh restrictions, but you manage to weave your way through the chaos and make it to your destination. You’re a bit overwhelmed by the commotion, blind to the conflict that’s been occurring in your absence and unaware of what exactly is going on, but you do your best to focus on finding Zuko first.

Surprisingly, the palace hallways are relatively empty, and you slow your sprint to a walk once you reach the throne room corridors. The pristine gold doors are left open, and the sound of Zuko’s voice carries through the air. Already you can feel the worry melting away just by hearing him speak, and though you want nothing more than to run in and throw yourself into his arms you stop to listen. You want to make sure you’re not interrupting anything important before you announce yourself.

“I care for you…” you hear him say, prompting your brows to furrow slightly in uncertainty. You can’t exactly make out everything he’s saying or what the context of his conversation is, but you’re able to note the soft gentleness in his tone, and a part of you is starting to feel strange listening in. Who is he speaking to in such a manner?

Peeking your head around the corner, you can’t help but feel your heart begin to sink to your stomach at the sight before you.

Zuko stands in the center of the throne room, gently clasping one of Mai’s hands in his own as he speaks to her in a comforting manner. You’re not sure what exactly they’re saying to each other or why she’s there, but watching the scene unfold before you fills you with dread and insecurity. Surely Zuko wouldn’t be unfaithful to you… would he?

You’ve worked hard to build your trust in him again after all you’d both been through, but you can’t help but question what he’s been up to in your absence. Why was he with his ex-girlfriend, and why he was holding her hand in what looked to be like an intimate moment? Was he thinking of leaving you again? Had he changed his mind about your relationship? What had you just walked in on?

“Zuko?” You call meekly, as if you shouldn’t be there interrupting their moment and as if you’re not his actual girlfriend. The two startle at the intrusion, but when Zuko realizes that you’re actually there before him he immediately releases his hold on her and runs towards you.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, engulfing you in the tightest hug imaginable. You’re unsure how to react at first, still reeling from what you’d just seen, but eventually you return his hug. Your weary gaze sets upon Mai who keeps her eyes down to the ground and refuses to look you in the face.

“Am I interrupting something?” You warily ask when he finally pulls away. He falters for a moment, almost offended by your insinuation.

“No! No, of course not,” he rushes to explain. “We were just… talking.”

“It kind of looked like it was more than just talking to me,” you say defensively. You don’t want to be jealous or accusatory, but you can’t help it. How could you not question them being alone together and holding hands?

“Princess, I swear there is nothing going on,” Zuko pleads earnestly, taking both of your hands in his own. “Mai is only here because the children of the Fire Nation are going missing and she’s helping me find them.”

“They took my little brother,” she adds quietly, solemn gaze still focused on the ground.

“They took Kiyi,” Zuko utters sorrowfully. His eyes are full of shame and worry, and you find it difficult to be upset with him when he looks so hurt and vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur softly before pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I have the city on lockdown until I’m able to find the people responsible, and I’m doing everything I can to get them back. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, I didn’t mean to exclude you. I swear I was just going to write you and ask for your help.”

“You never have to ask,” you say with a comforting smile. “I came to surprise you because I missed you, and I’m glad I did.“

“So am I,” Zuko professes earnestly before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Neither of you notice Mai leaving the room.

~~~

Zuko catches you up on everything- the Kemurikage, the “Safe Nation Society,” the kidnapping of Tom-Tom and Kiyi, Azula’s return, and Ukano’s possible connection to Zuko’s sister. It was a lot to process, but you were quick to get up to speed so that you’d be able to do all you could to help.

“I don’t think you should have kicked Aang out of the throne room,” you chide Zuko after hearing him recount his disagreement with the Avatar. Fire Nation guards escort you to the Capital City prison as you converse, and Zuko hopes that by the time you reach your destination Mai’s father will be caught and ready for questioning.

“I tried to do things his way, but if he isn’t going to see things my way then I can’t have him around,” he tries to explain.

“Zuko, I saw firsthand how restless your people have become as a result of your harsh lockdown rules. Aang might be right,” you try to reason with him. “I don’t think causing fear and uncertainty is going to help us find the missing children.”

“I had to do something,” he argues weakly, “I have to get my sister back and stop Azula before it’s too late.”

“You will,” you assure him firmly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

As the two of you talk, Mai trails along quietly behind you both. A whirlwind of emotions are festering in her mind; she wants her brother returned to her, but she feels guilty exposing her father to Zuko and his guards and costing him his freedom. It feels like she’s working with the enemy, and perhaps in a way that’s true.

She can’t help the scowl that plays upon her features as she watches you and Zuko walk arm in arm to the prison. While she’s fretting over her family, it almost seems as if you two don’t have a care in the world about anything but each other. That isn’t true, of course, but her resentment clouds her better judgement, and all she can feel is disdain for the couple in front of her.

You were Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, a master bender, kind, beautiful. She could understand why any guy would want you, but why did Zuko? And why did you have to want him back? You had practically everything, you grew up a Princess, so why couldn’t you have just let her have this one thing? Why did you have to take him back and take him away from her after she’d finally gotten the one thing she’d always wanted?

“I’m sorry about your brother,” a voice says, pulling Mai away from her thoughts. So wrapped up in her cynicism, she hadn’t even realized they’d made it to the prison. A couple feet away, Zuko speaks to one of his men about the riot that had broken out on behalf of the Safe Nation Society. And in front of her you stand, your features kind and your words remorseful despite the tension you share.

“Thanks,” she says flatly, unsure of what else to say. The last time she’d spoken to you had been in the flower shop, and it hadn’t exactly been a pleasant conversation. She knows that you’re trying, and she knows this is all just as uncomfortable for you as it is for her, but she still isn’t so easily swayed. She doesn’t think you deserve her sympathy or understanding, and she doesn’t plan to go out of her way to be nice to you.

“I don’t have any siblings so I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help however I can if you’ll let me.”

“You can help by staying out of the way,” she replies bluntly, her gaze hardening much to your surprise. “Zuko promised he’d help me find Tom-Tom, and I don’t need you distracting him while you’re here.”

“I want to help him find Kiyi,” you argue defensively, “I’m not going to get in the way of something as important as finding the missing children. Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because you have a really good track record of getting in the way of things that are important to me.”

Stunned by her admission, you can’t help but find yourself falling short of words. You knew Mai didn’t exactly think highly of you or approve of your relationship, but did she really still believe that you’d stolen Zuko away from her? You’re not to blame for what Zuko did to her or what she went through. You’ve endured just as much hurt as she has if not worse, and it isn’t fair for her to paint you as the problem.

“I didn’t even know about you and Zuko until we were already broken up! I’ve never personally tried to hurt you, and I don’t expect you to like me, but you need to get over yourself. Zuko isn’t what’s important here, you and I are not what’s important, it’s the kids. It’s Tom-Tom and Kiyi and all the children that are probably so frightened and alone. Can we at least agree on that?!”

It’s silent for a moment, you and Mai simply starting each other down for what feels like ages until she finally relents. Her tense shoulders slowly fall in defeat and she sighs, somewhat embarrassed at her little outburst. She’d been letting her emotions get the better of her lately, failing to conceal them like she was usually so good at doing, and it was painfully embarrassing for her to come to this realization.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, “let’s just focus on finding the children. The sooner this is all over the sooner we never have to see each other again anyway.”

“Fine by me,” you huff indignantly. Though Mai has more to say, she isn’t given the time to once she spots her boyfriend being escorted towards the prison in handcuffs.

“Kei Lo!” She exclaims before turning to the Fire Lord. “Zuko, this is obviously a mistake! Get him out of those cuffs!”

“I’m not so sure,” Zuko says hesitantly, looking to you for guidance to see if he’s making the right choice. You merely give him a hesitant shrug, not really wanting to get involved in their quarrel. You don’t know the full story, so it’s better to just stay out of it.

“Are you serious? You need her permission to let my boyfriend go?” She exclaims exasperatedly. “Release him!”

“What were you doing with the Safe Nation Society, Kei Lo?” Zuko prods firmly, ignoring Mai’s complaints.

“They ran into me! Literally!” The boy argues to try and prove his innocence.

“You’ve betrayed your allies bedore, who’s to say you aren’t acting as a double agent now!”

“Zuko! Stop being ridiculous!” Mai scolds angrily before looking to you. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

“I’d rather not get involved…” you trail off awkwardly, only irritating her further.

Eventually Zuko allows for Kei Lo’s release, but you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t too happy about it. His firm gaze seems to be burning holes into the back of Kei Lo’s head as he watches Mai embrace the boy, and a part of you wonders if he’s feeling some sort of jealousy towards him. Surely he wouldn’t be, he has no reason or right to be jealous, at least you think so anyway.

“Zuko?” You utter softly, placing a careful hand on his back to get his attention. “If I ask you something… will you be honest with me? Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear?”

“Of course, my love,” he says earnestly before giving you his full undivided attention. “What is it?”

“Do you… do you still-“

“Zuko!”

You startle away from Zuko at the sudden intrusion, eyes widening as you see Aang sprinting towards your boyfriend with Suki and Ty Lee in tow. You’re honestly surprised to see him considering he should have been heading back to the South with Katara and Sokka by now, and based upon his reaction it seems he’s just as surprised to see you.

“Aang!”

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” He exclaims in bewilderment.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zuko interrupts. “I thought you left.”

“Well you thought wrong, buddy!” Aang corrects him impatiently. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Suki, Ty Lee, and I found something you need to see! Come on!”

“Fire Lord,” one of Zuko’s men interrupts, “the sun will set before we know it. We need to make a plan our people will rise up again.”

Zuko shares a quiet glance with the men before looking to Aang. You know what his answer is going to be, and you know that the Avatar isn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, Aang, but General Mak is right. I need to handle this my own way.”

“Even if your way is stupid?!” He rebuffs indignantly.

“What Aang means to say,” you correct, trying to put a nicer spin on his words, “is that maybe the approach you’ve been taking isn’t working. Maybe keeping your people on lockdown like they’re criminals in their own homes will only make things worse. You need to change your approach.”

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I know what’s best for my people.”

“I’ve seen your people, and they’re not happy. They’re scared, and I know you want to find Kiyi and stop Azula but you need to start thinking rationally first.”

“Can you please just trust that I know what I’m doing? Help me come up with a new plan to keep the Fire Nation citizens in order and find Azula and Ukano so that we can find Kiyi.”

His pleading eyes beg for your understanding and support, but you’re hesitant. You know that Zuko means well, but you don’t agree with his methods at all. Being a leader yourself, you know that fear and unrest is not the way to solve problems. You must treat your people with trust and respect like they deserve, otherwise they won’t be able to do the same for you.

Luckily, Aang buts in before you’re able to shoot Zuko’s request down. An air scooter is abruptly thrown beneath your boyfriend, lifting him up and carrying him away to spirits know where- if the situation weren’t so serious you’d laugh at how discombobulated Zuko looks being swept up off his feet and whisked away by a ball of air.

“Aang, slow down!” You call out before sprinting after the pair. Suki and Ty Lee are right beside you chasing them down. “Why are our reunions always so chaotic?”

“I don’t think this group knows how to live without chaos,” Suki quips with a breathless laugh. “It’s good to see you, y/n. Ty Lee and I will catch you up on everything on the way there.”

“I’d love nothing more,” you applaud gratefully.

You can only hope that whatever it is they’ve found will make things much easier from here on out.

Because you’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch

[dearharriet]

could i request james potter x reader where james discovers reader’s small “j.f.p.” tattoo on her hip and he’s like !!! obsessed :D<3 ofc only if u feel like writing it love u 🦌

this is such a cute ideaaa !! ty for the request my darling, I hope you’re well! (wc: 860) (cw: non-sexual nudity)

You’d gotten it while James was away on a trip with friends. Not exactly a whim-of-the-moment thing, but neither was it entirely planned. You knew you wanted him on you somewhere, sometime, and then Marlene asked you to accompany her for a septum piercing…

The rest fell into place. There was a small postcard in your pocket that you’d pulled from your mailbox, with James’ scratchy handwriting detailing his excursions and how much he missed you. At the bottom, he’d signed his initials, and that was what you gave the artist for reference.

There was a week of marveling at it afterwards, tracing over it with your fingertips every time your shirt lifted and wondering what James would say. If he had come home a couple days earlier, you might’ve gone with your heart and shown him right away, but he didn’t.

So when James barreled through the door of your shared apartment, towing bags and gifts, you stayed silent.

The two of you had dinner, sat down for a movie that you didn’t watch. James described the whole trip and rubbed your feet and told you he missed you. You knew you couldn’t keep the tattoo a secret, but you couldn’t will yourself to bring it up, either.

Later in the night, when only your bedroom lamps were on anymore, James came back from the shower in a skimpy towel wrap.

“Babylove, I don’t think getting dressed is in the cards for me tonight.”

You were laying on the bed, one arm under your smooshed face and the other hanging limp over the side.

James went to the dresser, smiling at your drowsy eyes and kicking feet. You murmured something like ‘good’ before he dropped his towel.

“Yeah, good,” he teased, tugging a pair of boxers on.“‘Cept I think we oughtta even the playing field here.”

Curiously, you flipped onto your back to see James better. He was in the middle of crawling onto the bed, hands and knees on each side of your legs.

“What are we evening?”

At your waist, James smiled up at you, hands leaving the bed to sweep under your night shirt.

“Oh,” you breathed, and then lifted your arms and allowed him to tug it off. You glanced furtively to the waistband of your sleep shorts, catching the sliver of ink peeking out of the top before James’ hands were there.

“Y’okay bird?”

Looking up, you met James’ careful eyes, nodding your express approval. His lips twisted, and then his needling fingers retreated from your shorts to soothe up your waist.

“Yeah? Sure?” he asked, and you put your hands in his hair to reassure him, somewhat pressed for words. “So quiet.”

“Sorry,” you managed, hands venturing over his shoulders. “Just missed you.”

You felt the truth of that curling in your belly, and James must’ve seen it on your face. Smiling wide, he swooped in to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “You too.”

A second kiss on the opposite cheek, and then he was back to business undressing you.

You sucked a breath in as the elastic pulled and slid down your hips, and the whole mass of scribbles caught light. James’ eyes were on your face, your hair all fanned out, but when he sat back to toss the shorts they traveled south and—

He froze. You can’t say for how long, but it felt an eternity, your breath held tight in your chest. When your body caught up with itself and exhaled, James’ name tumbled out with it, questioning and nervous.

His eyes flicked up to you for less than a second, a sliver of acknowledgment before he’d glued his eyes on the tattoo again. Something was swimming behind his expression, and you couldn’t gauge if it was bad or good.

“Jamie,” you said again, squirming, “please say something.”

With one finger, James traced the loops and turns of his own handwriting on your skin, swallowing dryly.

“Baby,” he finally spoke, a cloying ache in his voice. “Baby.”

Finally catching your gaze again, James just gawked at you with the awe of ten men. He was touching you, absently, reverently, which you figured was a good sign.

Not quite knowing what to say, you let him work out his thoughts, staying very still.

“This is real?” You nodded, and James’ lashes fanned over his cheeks as he gave it yet another look. Then, with a spoonful of disbelief he asked, “When?”

Hips shifting a bit under him, you said, “while you were away. It’s from your letter.”

“I know what it’s from,” James assured you. “I just can’t believe…”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, beckoning James’ attention.

“If you don’t like it, Jamie, I really want you to tell me. I won’t be offended.”

James shook his head ardently.

“I really love it, bird. Really truly. I just can’t fathom how lovely you are.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from cheesing, and James’ lips curled up too, a mirror of yours.

“Though,” he said, finally settling himself on top of you, “if I’d known that’s where my signature was going, I’d have signed my full name.”

+

thank u for reading! xx

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[edgeray]

Ray! 🍅 anon here, I said I wasn't going to request but there's one idea I've been really, REALLY itching at.

So you know how you reblogged "cold nights" by beiibeii? Yeah about that... I think I cooked an angst idea of this on a related tangent? (If you choose to write this, ofc)

How about Mother!Reader who is faced with the same scenario of Arle neglecting them to the point that she loses hope in their relationship? Think of the angst when the children constantly remind their Father of important dates but she's away or somehow missing most of them because of work. To the point reader just implies for them to stop trying and accepts the fact that they married Arlecchino but is now simply the Knave's wife? Like even the children can see them losing hope which is why they sometimes lowkey plead with their Father to actually pay more attention to Mother. Mother marrying Father means that Mother is strong but behind their strong facade you can see their sadness! You can feel their loneliness! And their sense of isolation and sorrowful acceptance of their new reality. And Arle does not pick up on the subtle signs until it's Too Late. Like. Reader in the coffin Late.

And as the Knave's wife Reader does need to undertake missions like in "I am Fine in Your Arms" but because reader has lost so much hope in living a wife outside of being the Knave's wife, reader does not make an effort to return alive. The angst of the burial, maybe the children blaming their Father etc. The really young ones aside, I don't think they would be actively angry with their Father, just very, VERY, disappointed. HotH would lose its warmth for a while before Lyney, Lynette and Freminet try their best to build it back (but of course, it never becomes as warm as it used to be)

Whether or not you choose to give this one a happy ending is up to you, but on my end the only happy ending that I cooked up for them is that Arle wakes up in the next Samsara with all these memories of losing Reader and prevents the relationship from going South in the first place. (Bonus points if Reader also has the memories and compares it to how they were treated by Arle previously, makes a comparison, and goes "How I wish this were my Arle" without knowing that it actually IS their Arle, just acknowledging she fucked up BIG time and is now making heavy amends for it. and Arle Knows because of that look that Reader gives her, sorrow and joy in a complex blend.)

...I think by now you can tell that I'm an angst writer too HAHSHHSHA Nobody leaves my fics without getting a knife and I promise it's just for the plot (like we always say).

I've still been keeping up with your writings (Beauty and The Beast actually fits, holy-) (Someone send Siren!Arle a whole farmhouse of ham for her consumption please) and yes I agree that you've been pumping out bangers after bangers. (I mean. Given that, you probably can afford to be a little indulgent? If writing this much quality about your muse doesn't give you the OK to put your hands all over them, abs and all, what does?)

As always, prioritise your sanity and schedule first, stay well rested and hydrated!

Lost Warmth

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N -  Link to my momma's (@beiibeiii) piece right here. If I see you read this before reading the masterpiece I just linked, know that I am a very disappointed axolotl. 😔  Anyways, you might be able to tell just how long this has been sitting in my inbox… haha… my bad guys. T^T. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write more angst. :3 And thank you for the additional comments 🍅 anon. I do have quite a soft spot for siren! arle, seeing that she was my first request (and requested from my momma :3). Wanted this to be a little longer, but I do have to wake up earlier tomorrow, so this is what you get T^T. Hopefully it's still good. Content warnings / info - angst, character death (duh), reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise GN!, 1.4k words

Cold is a feeling you've long gotten used to. Cold is your husband's dismissal of your existence, with every interaction ending with her blunt words and back towards you, leaving you with a crumbling heart. Cold are the long nights as you anxiously wait for Arlecchino's appearance for a candlelit dinner you spent half the day preparing, only for her never to return until you fell to exhaustion on the couch, a flower bouquet that remains unreceived in your hands. Cold is the creeping loneliness in the late hours of the night, when you've finally grown tired of anticipating someone that will never come, and returned to bed alone. Cold is the way you shiver underneath the thickest of blankets, no one's body warmth to sink into, no one's softly whispered words into your ear to drift you to sleep. Cold is when instead of your husband, only dim stars, a bottle of liquor, and the tears that stream your face join you in bed.

When was the last time you had felt warmth? 

You recall when the Knave first started courting you, how gentlemanly she was for such a rumored cruel Harbinger. You were first just a caretaker of the House of the Hearth, this small orphanage which you quickly found to be home for you. You couldn't help but adore the endearing children, watching as you slowly became a staple in this family. Despite your best efforts of hiding it, Arlecchino noticed when you snuck in the occasional pastry or cake from the town's most lavious bakery for the children, out of your own paycheck as well. It was then, your husband admitted, when she first fell for you. It had taken her months of encouragement from her ‘pestering’ children before she asked you out, and it was impossible to not fall for her charm.

How could you not? Not when she held you like you were her world. Not when she viewed you higher than the Tsaritsa herself. Not when her touch was heavenly, her words silky and sweet. When she proposed to you, your heart leapt with levity, and you thought your life was perfect now. A warm house, fitted with warm parents, that was what you had had, you had never felt so content. 

Then came the long nights. Nights when she trudged home later than usual, where she fell asleep without a word but sunk into your arms still. Then she started forgetting, forgetting about the dates and birthdays, and anniversaries more and more. At first, you chalked it up to her demanding Harbinger duties, but as time grew and the excuses started to run out, the perfect life you knew was crumbling. 

You became aware of this two years after your marriage when you had been preparing dinner for the two of you once she arrived home, slow cooking a steak since the early hours of the morning. Just as you exited the kitchen, you heard some children surrounding your husband before she left for another Harbinger meeting, telling her that you had a surprise for her once she came home and how excited you were for her to enjoy a new recipe you created. Your heart swelled with hope and appreciation for your children, especially when Arlecchino promised she would return in time. 

You should have known better.

You ate your tear-ridden steak alone and went to bed, leaving the steak out for her for whenever she returned home. Just like how you fell asleep, you woke up without your husband's presence, and when you arrived at the kitchen, the meat and the note besides the plate were untouched. 

You tried to eat the cold steak for lunch as well. You threw it away at the first bite. That day, you gathered your children, pleading them not to ‘pester’ Father with more reminders, as she was very busy. All that you gained back from the children was pitied expressions, and the agony in your chest worsened. Your children could pity you, but your husband couldn't? Even with your husband's coldness, you still carried out your Mother role, if only for the children. You cannot deny that the children's antics helped you forget the ever-present void inside you, caused by Arlecchino. 

You never learned the reason for Arlecchino's behavior, why she had grown so cold towards you. Now, you suppose, you would never know.  

Red fills your hazy vision as you lay on the ground, your entire body aching and fatigued, desperate gasps for air while your heart pounds in your eardrums. Your side was sliced, and the crimson liquid quickly poured out of the wound while you tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. 

This is your end, you think to yourself as you weakly turn on your side, every nerve in your body protesting against the movement. Your bloodied hand comes into view, your engagement and wedding ring gleaming slightly underneath the blood. The rings bring your thoughts to Arlecchino–oh, how you imagine the common disappointment in her otherwise apathetic expression, disappointment at your mission's failure. Your eyes bubbled and blurred with tears, vivid memories of your wedding flashing through your mind. The wedding ring is beautiful, still polished with that bold scarlet, the same color of her eyes, the same eyes you could never stop drowning in.

Would she even know your absence? Would she ever acknowledge you, treat you properly like her partner even if you did return? You doubt it. Did you want to return a cold bed, to a husband that does not love you, to a house no longer warm? 

It's warm. 

Your body feels like fire courses through your veins as you feel inexplicably hot, yet it's a welcomed heat. It's the first time you've felt this, but it feels familiar, comforting, like a hearth, and you want nothing more than to surrender to it. It soothes your heartbeat and calms your breath, easing your body as if you were to sink into the most plush of beds, swallowed by the thickest of blankets. The warmth coils around you, wrapping you like a cozy embrace, evoking you to sleep. Your eyes flutter shutter, a faint smile plastered on your lips.

It feels just like Peruere's arms. 

— 

Arlecchino receives a letter addressed to her on the third day you've been sent on a mission. The contents make her drop the paper, and she rushes outside, without an additional word, leaving the House. 

The children do not see her until she returns late into the night, a body wrapped in cloth in her arms. Arlecchino raised her children to be smart, to be attentive, to be logical. Whose body it is, they realize with little difficulty. 

The children weep that night. Arlecchino does not. How can she, when her source of emotions is gone? 

The burial takes place soon afterwards. As your body is placed into the ground, Arlecchino can feel the weight of her children's stare on her back. The charged tension between her and the children is palpable without words. She cannot discern which of the two reactions cut deeper. The seething fury underneath the oppressive grief for the young ones, having to lose another parent, or the crushing dismay inhabited by the older ones, specifically the twins and Freminet. 

Their thoughts are clear, even when none of them speak out loud. 

How could you fail Mother?

The House of the Hearth no longer suits the orphanage's name, not with your missing presence. There is no warmth, no matter how much the trio tries to fuel a lost flame. Even with Arlecchin's pyro vision, it is futile.

Arlecchino stands before your gravestone, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hand, and she rests it beside the other bouquets by your grave. Six bouquets in total, for each day after your burial. 

“For all the flowers, I should have given you, my love,” she whispers as she addresses you, glancing up to the heavens. The last two words make her feel like a fraud, undeserving of calling you hers, when she had clearly never shown so. 

Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fatui Harbinger, does not plead, does not beg, does not kneel. However, her knees drop to her dirt, and she grovels. “Please… wait for me one more time, my dear. Once I meet you again, I promise I'll never leave you alone, I'll never let you out of my arms again.”

There is no reply. 

Arlecchino feels cold. 

[rustyarcade]

Fishbride hcs? 👀👉👈

The long awaited……

Fishbride Headcanons!

Nina fell first, but Bride fell harder

Both of them tried really hard to suppress their feelings for each other. The Bride suppressed since her last long term love related fiasco (she had several hookups/situationships throughout the years). Nina suppressed since she didn’t know the first thing about being in a relationship and any love related attempt quickly went south.

Bride had confessed about her feelings to Phosphorus who constantly teased her about it. Everytime Nina passed by, he’d elbow Bride playfully and try to be her wing man (which she did not appreciate)

“Hey Nina, cute shirt, is it new?” “It’s the same prison shirt I always wear?” “Yeah well Bride said that you looked really good in it, huh Bride? “I’m gonna kick your ass so hard your flames are going to extinguish.”

Nina told her feelings about the Bride to G.I. Robot who unfortunately/accidentally told the Bride all about it.

“Hello, commander! I was just discussing with Nina about new strategies and tactics to kill Nazi enemies! But she did not seem to have much interest in our conversation. All she could speak about was how lovely you are and how she cares for you deeply. Even more than a friend. I find it quite queer that someone could be so disinterested in slaughtering Nazis. I hate to suggest the notion, but do you suppose… she could be on their side?”

Bride confronted Nina about this and she was the first to admit her feelings. She was a nervous wreck throughout it.

Bride very nonchalantly replied to Nina that she had been feeling the same way about her.

Their first “I love you”’s and kiss were on a mission.

It seems as if the battle that was set before them could have been their last ones so they stayed very close the night before. Bride opted to sleep on a cot next to Nina’s bath bed.

After they said their goodnight, Nina softly whispered “I love you” while quietly sobbing. The Bride sat up and Nina did the same instinctively.

The Bride reached her hand towards Nina’s wet face and pulled her in for a gentle longing kiss.

Also Bride likes to sneak Nina out so they can go on dates during their downtimes on missions. Nina always protests, but ends up having a wonderful time.

Bride also likes to kiss Nina’s helmet when she’s wearing it even though Nina finds it silly to do so.

As I mentioned before, Bride is incredibly protective of Nina (especially since her “incident”). Nina will tell her to lay off every now and then, but she does admit she loves all the attention she gives her.

Bride calls Nina “babe”, “my Nina”, or “cariño”.

Nina calls Bride “love” or “my Bride”.

And ofc, “fish” and “softie”

They don’t use pet names very often, especially not in public. They’re usually reserved for private more tender moments.

Bride’s love language is acts of service, gift giving, and words of affirmation.

Nina’s love language is quality time and gift giving.

Bride and Nina eventually were able to bunk together.

Nina secretly longs for a domestic life with the Bride… but she knows she’ll probably never get it due to their circumstances. But she daydreams about it constantly. Living together, filing their taxes together, marrying each other, having a family…

Bride hadn’t felt this kind of love in decades and Nina is excited yet anxious to jump into this kind of love for the first time with someone she cares about so much :’(

So I’m a big fankid fan and I like the idea of them having their own biological kids somehow, but in my personal headcanons, they “adopt” a monster kid

Basically she’s a little gargoyle girl that’s like 6-7 years old that they rescue from a mission. (if you’re interested in learning more abt her, pls lmk cuz I wanna share her so bad)

Part 2? 👀 You let me know! And don’t be afraid to share your headcanons too!