#So expect this to come up more often on here

[tame-the-lion-writes]

reader x dog shifter 141 [pt.2]

(If you haven't seen it yet, here's part one.)

It’s been a couple weeks, and you’re starting to catch on to just how smart your dogs are.

Not that you know what they actually are—but they’ve got this weirdly human intelligence behind their eyes, and weirdly human personalities. The Great Dane likes to sit on the recliner in your living room, regal and commanding, often watching your front yard whenever the gardener would come over. The gardener’s son replaced him once for a job, leaving grass cuttings in the driveway, and he was all huffy about it. It amused you at first, but then you realized his judgement wasn’t reserved for strangers. He was even more huffy the time you accidentally burned a steak. (Jeez, since when was he a dad?) Not to mention the empty whiskey glasses he likes to keep around, but that's not right—dogs can't have alcohol, can they?

The German Shepherd, on the other hand, is surprisingly clingy—but not in a bump-into-your-leg or overtly cuddly kind of way. Instead, he follows you while never begging for attention, attentive and patient as though a soldier awaiting orders. You’ve been jump-scared one too many times by his presence, when you think you’re alone and he appears out of thing air. A massive giant of a dog, with paws as silent as a shadow. And he’s stubborn—doesn’t initiate contact, but you swear you’ve caught a subtle bashful glance. Especially when you scratch behind his ears and along the scar of his cheek and chin.

But what the Shepherd lacks in open affection, the Labrador makes up tenfold. He doesn't pester about it, though, simply hopping up to your side on the couch to curl up or placing his muzzle on top of your knees. Still, while probably the most obedient out of the four, you’ve seen him get roped into food heists with the Foxhound, or stalking as closely and silently as the Shepherd. Very much the little brother who tags along with whatever. But you can't stay mad at him for long, either—not when he knows how to apologize—bringing you a freshly chomped-off flower from the backyard whenever you get mad. Then he'll sit at your heels with a faint tail wag, whining 'til you're settled and appeased.

The Foxhound is perhaps the most talkative, in both a noisy and conversational way. His joy is unrelenting around you, and he greats you like you’d expect any other dog. Still, he’s awfully communicative. It’s how you’ve learned their names—with you wandering aloud what to call them, and him making faces at every suggestion. He eventually settled for playing retriever: playing charades by bringing you back bottles and bars of soap. For the Great Dane, he grabbed an old receipt from the trash. For the Shepherd, he threw on a sheet. He seemed awfully confused on what to do for the Labrador, though, and just kept whining as if in apology.

“So Soap, Price, Ghost, and…,” you trail off, glancing at the Labrador with a slight pout. “Oh, I’m sorry, boy. I really don’t know what to call you. And Soap here seems like he’s run out of braincells.”

Ghost snorts in amusement, which is returned by Soap’s unfettered glare.

The next morning, though, there really is no explanation as to how Soap learned the alphabet, how to write, or to arrange your bedsheets in the following name: GAZ.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

"Aha... what the fuck."

Price has face-palmed (face-pawed?) and Ghost just walks over and calmly almost slapstick-esque baps Soap on the head. Meanwhile, Gaz looks dejected, pressing his forehead to the front door, like he's expecting you to kick them out in the next five seconds.

Not that you would, of course—but we can queue the mild horror and existential questioning of what the hell these dogs actually are. You call your friend to rant about your theory—that they could be escapees from a top secret government laboratory, or spies from another country. She just says to enter them into a dog show, or make ‘em celebrities on social media.

[luveline]

hi jade!!! i would love to see a poly!marauders fic where they help r fall asleep please! absolutely no pressure at all just a suggestion ofc <3

“Why so moody?” 

You rub at your eyes, standing just behind the sofa. You’d been frowning when James spotted you, not wanting to ask. “I can’t…”

“What?” Sirius asks. 

Remus perks up from beside him. 

Three sets of eyes makes it worse and somehow better. Sometimes it’s easier to only tell one of them when you have a problem, but sometimes you need all of them to know. “I can’t sleep again. Are you coming to bed soon?” 

And listen, four people in one bed is insane but occasionally you manage it. Most of the time you sleep with James, less often Remus. You and Sirius tend to be incompatible while you sleep, because he grabs you around the neck and face for hugging and you wake up with sweat pouring off of you, blind. 

Perhaps that’s why he offers first and emphatically. “I’ll come to bed with you, darling,” Sirius says, a picture of concern as he stands. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just tossed and turned for half an hour and I can’t take much more of it.” 

“She’s going insane,” Remus comments with a severe frown. 

Sirius helps him onto his feet. James, never one to be left out, turns off the television and gathers his throw blanket. “Not on my watch.” 

“Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to get up,” you say, wringing your hands behind your back. You hadn’t meant to summon them all to bed. You’d just wanted to know when you could expect an end to your agony. 

“Oh, well,” James begins, wrapping the throw blanket around your shoulders, “too late for that. Will you warm my side for me? I’ll lock up.” 

You feel shyer than you’d thought, shuffling back to the bedroom. Sirius’ hand finds your lower back as he enters the room from behind you, encouraging you gently to the side as he goes for the other. You’d left the sheets in disarray, the lamp on. James’ room is messy as always, but it’s your fault as you live from it most days. Remus is immediately put off by the overflowing dresser, closing each drawer with a shush over the runners. 

Sirius makes the bed, peeling back a corner for you. “Here, lovely. Climb in.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to wait on me,” you say shyly, embarrassed at their attention.

“There’s nothing I like doing more.” 

“He’s in a mood,” Remus says, though you’d guessed that already. “Enough room for me, too?” 

“‘Nough room for everyone,” you murmur, rounding Sirius to climb into bed as instructed. 

You and Remus end up in the middle of the bed, thankful for James’ sense of reality —everybody knew when you moved in together that the separate bedrooms wouldn’t last, but only James had the wherewithal to buy a very large bed. You’re immediately comforted by having one of them next to you, and Remus is very kind about it, asking in a murmur if he can cwtch you, wrapping his arm around your chest like you’re in danger of breaking from his touch. 

Sirius is less polite, but not less caring. If he thought you didn’t want him to touch you he certainly wouldn’t, but he knows he can hug you pretty much whenever he wants. He presses his nose to your face, Remus’ against your shoulder, the three of you deflating after a long day never quite this close to each other. You can feel a day’s worth of back ache leeching in your mattress. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Ooh, for what?” Sirius asks. 

“Making you come to bed.” 

“Didn’t make us do anything.” His breath warms your cheek as he talks. “It’s late. We would’ve been in bed soon.” 

It’s true enough. Everyone is in their pyjamas, Sirius smells like toothpaste. Still, you feel guilty for asking. And yet… you can finally relax now they’re here. It’s like they know exactly what’s been keeping you awake. Remus had cleaned and now holds your chest, Sirius reassures you and calms your stomach with his palm. 

James gets one good look at you all and rolls his eyes. “I asked you to do one thing for me. Jesus. Babe, could you move over?” he asks Remus, not giving him the time to comply before he’s in bed and smushing everyone even closer together. “This is fun. Sleepover!” 

“Just don’t start climbing on me again, Jamie,” Remus says. 

You close your eyes. “Don’t worry, they’ll chill out soon,” Sirius promises in a whisper. 

“Kiss?” you whisper back. 

Three different boys attempt to kiss you in the dimly lit bedroom. All the fuss doesn’t help you sleep, but knowing how much they care about you definitely does. 

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Dating the Slytherin boys (+ Harry) - HEADCANONS

Requested: No

Characters: Mattheo Riddle, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Regulus Black, Harry Potter (+ y/n)

Warnings: NSFW mentions, English is not my first language

A/N: I'm not sure I like this but here we go. However I have to say I like Regulus' one so I might turn his version into a one shot one day (when uni won't be killing me slowly). This will include also the pre-dating/flirting stage as well. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Enjoy! ^^

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @anawritez-posts @pumpkinchee @alwayslatetothefandoms

Mattheo Riddle:

His feelings for you probably confused him at first 

If he falls first, he either won’t let you know or will do everything to get your attention (‘Hey, y/n, come sit here, the seat is free!”, “y/n, do you mind helping me with homework for Snape? I can’t bloody do it”, “How about we go to Hogsmeade, just you and me?”, “you look beautiful, y/n”)

Your love for him always calms him when he gets anxious or when he’s upset, especially after his father comes back

Will tell you things he never told anyone

Would rather spend time with you than with his friends

Is terrified something will happen to you because of his father 

VERY jealous, but trusts you

Despite easily getting angry, he can’t get mad at you. Even during arguments 

LOVES sleeping in your arms or when you just hold him

He's crazy about your body

Loves showering with you, and we both know how it often ends

HOT, passionate sex

Will randomly eat you out without expecting anything in return (doesn't mind if you return the favor, though)

100% calls you "baby" or "love" all the time

Doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of him as long as you love him

Your love makes him feel lighter and stronger

You're his whole world

Feels bad when he hears someone criticize you for dating him 

Always makes sure you don’t overwork yourself, and makes sure you get enough sleep, water and food, and comforts you when you're anxious

Holds your hands when he's anxious or stressed

Will listen to anything you have to say 

Crazy about your perfume

Theodore Nott:

Struggles to express his love or feelings in general, at least in the beginning 

Has never done serious relationships before, and it may cause some trouble in your relationship, as you end up believing he doesn’t care about you

It causes many fights, and the last one will be the first time he says ‘I love you’

Always goes to you for comfort 

Loves sleeping with you in his arms/on his laps, or cuddling, and with time he can’t sleep without you

Loves watching you sleep 

Loves having you on his lap

Always gets you great gifts (even randomly)

“Well, it thought it was pretty, and…it reminded me of you.”

Will fight any guy who is rude to you or acts like a creep 

Very jealous (trusts you, doesn’t trust others)

Doesn’t mind PDA at all, will gladly hold your hand or kiss you in public

Always have a hand on your waist of around your shoulders 

Very supportive in everything you do, even when he doesn’t understand it/isn’t interested in it

Isn’t very good with comforting people (mostly because he's not used to it), but will hold you and listen to you as long as you need, can even give you advice/reassurance 

Every compliment/'I love you' you say melts his heart and means much more to him than he shows, same goes for anything you do for him

Loves doing fun things, even if it’s just throwing snowballs at each other during winter (which ends in loving kisses, just savouring the joy of being together)  

Love getting in a pool with you and playing "childish" games

Any form of intimacy means A LOT to him 

He's used to hooks up and "fucking" but it takes him a bit of time to have sex with you (despite being crazy about you and your body) because you mean everything to him and with you it's really making love instead of just "fucking"

The first time is loving and slow yet passionnate (eye contact, hands holding, desperate kisses from him), and it gets a bit rougher and passionate the next times (but aftercare, which he isn't used to, is always on point and keeps getting better)

Is secretly very insecure, and is terrified you will leave him (especially for another “better” guy) 

Craves your touch and your love but won’t admit it

His boggart is probably you being dead alongside his mother

Will tell you sweets things in Italian

Very clingy in private - and also in public with time

With you he learns to be happier and discovers a happier side of himself he didn't know he had

Loves you much more than he actually shows at first 

Will often say you're all he has (and means it)

But with time, you have no reason to doubt his love and he’s the perfect boyfriend

Blaise Zabini:

Probably will court you like the gentleman he is

He doesn’t trust people easily and might be a little distant (while always polite and kind) in the early stages of your relationship 

But with time he becomes very warm and smiles a lot

Always kisses the top of your hand or your forehead 

Doesn’t do much PDA except for holding hands and kisses on your forehead

However in private he’ll 100% cuddle you and hold you

Dates in parks or restaurants  

Get you flowers at least once a month

Will always defend you against others 

One of his love languages is acts of service

Lorenzo Berkshire:

You either were friends before dating or he fell in love with you at first sight, there is no in between

Takes you on fun dates (arcade, funfair, theme parks) 

Can be shy at the beginning, which will make it a bit hard for him to talk about he feels about you

Movie nights where you two eats lots of snacks and sweets while cuddling 

Always smiles when you enter a room

So supportive 

Loves when you're on his lap

He has no problem with PDA

Quickly willing to meet your family if you agree

He’s a great listener and mostly gives good advices 

Loves taking naps with you 

Always makes you sure you get enough sleep, water and food

Won’t let you get yourself into dangerous situations

Loves to go anywhere with you, no matter the activity and even if he just follows you around 

Many pet names

If you're Muggleborn or grew up among Muggles, he will totally ask you questions about the muggle world

Passionnate sex, will get rough if he hasn't seen you in a long time or if it's angry sex after he got jealous

His aftercare is the best, and he's always thankful you trust him enough to have that form of intimacy with him

Draco Malfoy:

Won’t flirt at first with you but keeps wanting your attention

Tries to seduce you with expensive gifts, and is a bit taken aback when you say he doesn’t work

Continues to get you gifts, but will make sure they match your interests/tastes, and keeps expensive gifts for your birthdays and Christmas (even though he’d like to get them all year for you) 

At first he doesn't show any weakness in your presence

With you he’ll learn patience and to focus of more positive things, and also to stand up to his father

Takes you on dates every chance he gets

Will ditch his friends to spend time with you

Probably makes Crabbe and Goyle carry your bags or do things for you

So proud to be dating you, it might even make him more arrogant

Gets grumpy when jealous but after a kiss on the cheek he’s back to his normal self 

Will invite you to his home and write you nearly everyday during holidays

Hates it when Harry or any Gryffindor boy tries to talk to you

Surprisingly has no problem with PDA

Loves when you come to see him play during Quidditch matches

Tom Riddle:

Oh boy

It started with him admiring/watching you from afar, for he reason he can’t understand

SUPER confused by what he feels for you and why

Will probably try to get closer to you through homework or through books if he sees you read one

Will know everything about you, and will secretly follow you, saving you if you’re in danger with you never knowing who it was

Crazy about your perfume, so much so that it makes him steal one of your clothes just to be able to smell it anytime he wants

After a while, he’ll spend most of his time with you without ever admitting he likes it

Will probably let you know his feelings for you after he cast a spell on a guy for being a creep with you 

Won’t let another man touch you

Will ask Mattheo for advice to be better or to make you fall in love with him

Will do your homework without hesitation, even if he pretends that he hates it, and will leave explanations so you understand his answers/his work

No PDA except for holding hands or your hand under his arm, but will make sure to stay close to you at all times 

Is a surprisingly good listener 

VERY jealous, but surprisingly isn’t mad or suspicious at you

“Did you enjoy having his attention? Do you wish for me to show you how my attention is better?” 

He doesn't stress over homework or stuff like that, so he finds it ridiculous when you do (learns with time to be more understanding)

Will let flowers in your room with a note on it

Pretends to not care about the gifts you get him for his birthday or Christmas but it actually means so much to him as no one ever got him any gifts before 

Nothing the others say about him gets to him, but he gets angry when he hears someone say that you deserve better than him

Is secretly insecure about his background and the fact that he’s poor, and thinks you deserve better 

As Voldemort: Might be torn between continuing his goals for power and spending a simple with you; is aware you’ll leave him if he gets on a darker path 

As Voldemort’s son: would do everything to protect you from his father, and if he’s forced to get the Dark Mark, he will makes sure you don’t know 

Possessive kisses 

Would hurt anyone who does you wrong

Borrows money from Draco to take you on dates or to get you gifts, as he feels like you deserve the nicest things, even though you keep telling him his mere presence is enough

May feel a little bit guilty that he can’t properly show you his love like “normal” boyfriends do 

Won’t admit it but considers you the only good thing in his life, and if he ever lost you he’d get on a dark path

Won’t cuddle at first, but if you wake up first you’ll find him sleeping close to you, with at least one of his hands touching you

Always notices when you don’t eat, sleep or drink enough

Not only you’re the first (and only) person he feels romantic love for

He has a bit of sexual experience before, but with you it's completely different - once you guys have sex for the first time, he becomes obsessed with your body and how it makes him feel

Loves fingering you

"You like it, dove?"

Even if you guys don’t work out, he won’t ever be with somebody else 

Would ask your parents for you hand in marriage, but honestly it's just out of politeness, the only answer that matters to him is yours

Regulus Black:

Like Blaise, he was raised the old fashioned way

Acts coldly towards everyone except you, his tone and eyes gets warmer and kinder when talking/looking at you, and you’re the only person he’ll smile at

You were his best (and only) friend and he has been in love with you for years

He hides his feelings very well, but one day you start dating someone else (thinking Regulus doesn’t share your feelings) but he can’t bear it and confesses his feelings

Always defends you

He’ll take you on restaurants or picnics dates, always bringing flowers

Mostly fine with PDA (holding hands, hands on your waist)

Thinks he’s very lucky to have you

Probably already starts thinking of marrying you during your last year at Hogwarts 

A bit jealous, but can’t stand it when Sirius tries to talk to you

Will gladly do your homework with/for you

Loves it when you sleep in each other’s arms, loves feeling you close

Loves it when you call him “Reggie” (only you is allowed to)

Will literally do everything you ask him to

You’re everything to him

Can’t stay away from you for long

Will get worried if you’re five minutes late

Always calls you “sweetheart” or “love”/”my love” 

Slow, romantic sex most of the time but sometimes he needs to be rougher

Thanks to you he’ll feel lighter and he will become kinder

You’ll even make him change his views on blood purity and stand up to his parents, and with time he gets closer to Sirius thanks to that (and you) 

If that doesn’t change and he still joins Voldemort, he’ll leave you a letter before going to the cavern, saying how much he loves you and how much you mean to him

Harry Potter:

Don’t expect any pet names from him, but he might create a nickname with your name (like he calls Ginny ‘Gin’ in the Cursed Child) 

His love languages are fierce protectiveness, loyalty and a patience he didn’t knew he had

Has no problem with PDA because he doesn’t care about what other people think  

Loves cuddles

Rarely gets mad at you, and feels guilty when he does

Mostly gets mad at you when you hurt yourself (for example during Quidditch) but it's also because he was scared for you

Hot kisses in private

Will be jealous if he sees you with another guy 

He’s passionate in a lot of things he does, and it includes you and everything you do

Will fiercely defend you again anyone, can even throw hands

Gets FURIOUS when Umbridge hurts you during detention, and will cuddle you for hours and do everything he can to make the pain disappear

Knows people are mean to you during fifth year because you're dating him and he hates it

During that year the only peace he feels is when he's holding you or when you sleep in his arms (it's also the only time he doesn't get nightmares)

Very supportive 

Loves getting you gifts 

You make him feel SO happy, he’ll just keep smiling for no reason 

Gets more and more clingy with time

Always write to you during the holidays (you always invite him to come to your house)

I'm not sure about sex while you guys are at Hogwarts but he 100% feels lust for you, there will definitely be hot making sessions when you guys are alone in a dark corner of the castle and it often ends up with you against the wall with your legs around his waist while he kisses your neck and caresses your legs

However sometimes he just can't stop himself and will eat you out (even maybe finger you at the same time), and will be proud when you come

Any act of service you do for him means a lot

You're always worried about him when he's at the Dursleys but he reassures you that he's fine

Comes to you in the middle of the night if he has a nightmare and generally comes to you for comfort or to rant 

Needs you more than ever after Voldemort comes back and after Sirius’ death 

Misses you like crazy during his quest for Horcruxes, and he can’t bear the thought of something happening to you 

Might struggle to show it, but he knows and is thankful of how patient and comprehensive you are with him, and that makes him want to be the best boyfriend he can be

Terrified Voldemort might hurt/kill you

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[worriedvision]

Ajaw ruins his relationship with you - Kinich

Gender neutral reader, angst. No happy ending here, borderline crack BC Ajaw is a cracky character let's be honest. Ajaws a little shit here

--

Kinich had, somehow, caught your eye enough for you to successfully land a date with him. One date becomes two, and the third one ends in you inviting him over for a drink. He accepts, and before you know it your home becomes a place for him to call home as well. While Kinich wasn't very emotive, he seemed to smile just a bit around you.

However, the couple affections you would expect from him in a relationship weren't coming. Nothing like kissing or hugging, and for a while you think it's because Kinich was not a touchy person. You also knew he was very busy with his work, which was why the first few times he left and told you not to wait for him you didn't think much. At the time, in fact, you were more attracted to him because he was honest with you.

"Don't wait up." He blankly states, every morning he leaves. If you're lucky, he comes back at night time only to sleep - he doesn't make himself any food or drink from your home.

You got suspicious of him when you were hanging out with Mualani, and she brought up the fact someone called Ajaw wouldn't stop nagging at Kinich. When you ask who Ajaw was, rather if this was his boss, Mualani laughs.

"Ajaw probably thinks so, but they bickering too often to do any work together." Mualani tuts. "Do you never hear Ajaw? That voice is so... Annoying to hear!"

"No...I've never met this Ajaw." You hum out, Mualani gasping.

"Tell me your tricks!"

--

Once you get home from your interaction with your friend, you've had enough time to think. After some long thinking, you come to a decision. You move the stuff that's Kinich's, leaving them by the front door, and add temporary locks in addition to the one your key locks until you can change the lock.

To your surprise, Kinich sounds surprised when he notices his bags out. You refuse to open the door, having more than enough time to waste as you had a day off, and Kinich defeatedly picks up his few belongings before leaving.

--

"Hah! You should see your face!" Ajaw jeers, Mualani and Kinich groaning out at Ajaws harsh words. "Good thing _ wisened up and realised they can do a lot better than some mortal being that can't even get himself a group of companions!"

"Because you always ruin things." Mualani sighs.

"Hey, I can't take credit for this one! I never even once spoke around _!" Ajaw shrugs, putting some sunglasses on.

"I was hoping to finally get to spend some time with them. I've finally got enough cover for a few days." Kinich states, seeming to realise what Ajaw did. "...Mualani, you know how annoying Ajaw is. Do you know if -"

"Oddly enough no! Honestly, I'm jealous. Ajaw doesn't know when to shut up."

"...It seems they do." Kinich massages his temples, Mualani making eye contact with him.

"...Do you think they were suspicious you were seeing Ajaw? Yuck!"

"Hey, I can hear you, ya know?!"

"It makes sense though. They don't know Ajaw isn't even human, and also isn't mortal."

"Hahaha! Oh boy, even I didn't think keeping my mouth shut around your potential love interests would give this benefit!" Ajaw cackles, seeing Kinich's hand flying towards him. "Hey, what are - AHH!"

--

You keep getting asked if Kinich is single, each time you saying he wasn't seeing you anymore before they seem excited to pursue a taken man. It's quite concerning, really, you think theres little dignity in being the other person in the relationship.

Kinich tried to talk to you, but each time you saw him you'd make an excuse for being too busy before hearing some weird child cackling and screaming in retaliation to someone reacting to them. As much as his hurt expression spoke to you, you still knew in your mind that Kinich was in a relationship.

Even if he wasn't, you would know in your mind that you were the second choice.

[idkyetxoxo]

Gwayne Hightower - Redemption

Summary - A spirited princess enchants the fallen knight, Ser Gwayne with her charm challenging him to seek redemption in the most tantalizing way. Their flirtatious banter ignites a heated encounter, driving him to extraordinary lengths in his quest for atonement.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2205

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Far and wide, it was known throughout the realm that of the two Targaryen princesses, I was the more mischievous. My reputation preceded me, a blend of spirited antics and a loose tongue that often set the court abuzz.

"I believe I shall perish if I am not more thoroughly entertained," I declared dramatically as Alicent, Rhaenyra, and I sat together, watching the tourney unfold before us.

"You always need some sort of spectacle, don't you?" Rhaenyra said, feigning exasperation. I responded by sticking my tongue out at her, which made her smile.

"What can I say? I simply must be entertained at all times," I replied, my eyes wandering over the arena in search of any new and interesting faces.

"Who is our uncle about to joust?" I asked curiosity piqued as a confident knight rode around on his horse, preparing for the match.

"My brother Gwayne," Alicent answered.

I leaned forward, my interest now fully engaged. Gwayne removed his face shield and glanced in our direction. As expected, his stature matched his looks, he was indeed a strikingly handsome knight.

"Oh my," I murmured, my voice low and tinged with intrigue.

Alicent's eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Rhaenyra playfully swatted my leg. I leaned back in my seat, lifting my arms in a gesture of mock surrender, but not before sending the now-curious knight a flirtatious wink and a teasing bite of my lip.

As the joust began, the clashing of lances and the thunder of hooves filled the air. Gwayne rode with impressive skill, but his opponent, my uncle was formidable. With a particularly forceful strike, Gwayne was unseated, falling to the ground in a flurry of dust and metal.

"Better luck next time," I whispered to myself, a smirk playing on my lips. 

The match might have ended, but my interest in the knight was far from waning.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Later that evening, as the festivities continued, I wandered through the castle's winding corridors, seeking a reprieve from the crowded halls. 

I was lost in thought when, as if guided by fate, I turned a corner and nearly collided with Gwayne himself. He had changed out of his armour into more casual attire, but his presence was no less striking.

"Ah, the mighty knight who fell so spectacularly today," I teased, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Gwayne raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "And here I thought I might escape unnoticed."

"Escape? From me? Impossible," I replied, leaning against the cool stone wall of the corridor, crossing my arms with a dramatic flourish. "Tell me, how does it feel to be bested in front of the entire realm?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and deep, taking a deliberate step closer. "I admit, it was a blow to my pride but I suppose it makes for a more interesting story, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," I replied, matching his step forward. "Though, I must say, you took it rather well. Most men would be sulking in their chambers."

"Ah, but I am not most men," he said, his eyes locking with mine. "And you, Princess, are not most women."

"True enough," I said, tilting my head slightly as I studied his face. "But tell me, Ser Gwayne, how do you plan to redeem yourself after such a loss?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear as he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Perhaps you will find out at the next tourney. Or perhaps I shall redeem myself in other ways."

"Intriguing," I said, my eyes narrowing playfully as I considered his words. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

"Do you now?" he asked, his smirk widening. "I didn't take you for one to wait passively for entertainment."

"Who says I am?" I countered, stepping even closer until there was barely a breath between us. "Sometimes, the best entertainment is in watching someone strive to impress."

"Is that so?" His voice was low, almost a purr. "And have I managed to impress you yet, Princess?"

"You've managed to pique my interest," I admitted, letting my gaze linger on his lips before meeting his eyes again. "Which is more than most can say."

"Well then," he said, his hand lightly brushing against my arm, sending a shiver down my spine. "I shall consider that a victory in its own right."

"You do have a way with words, Ser Gwayne," I remarked, my tone as light as the banter we exchanged, but charged with an undercurrent of something more.

"And you, Princess, have a way of making a man forget his losses," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Careful, Ser Gwayne," I said, my voice softening to a whisper, "flattery will get you everywhere with me."

"Then I shall continue to flatter," he said, his smile almost predatory, yet warm and inviting. "For I find that I enjoy seeing you smile."

"Good," I replied, stepping back but not before letting my fingers trail down his arm. "Keep it up, and who knows? You might just redeem yourself sooner than you think."

The tension between us was evident, and as I turned to walk away, Gwayne reached out and gently caught my wrist. I turned back to face him, a playful glint in my eye.

"Not so fast," he murmured, his voice husky and laden with intent.

"Impatient, are we?" I teased, stepping closer until our bodies were nearly touching. "What are you going to do about it?"

Without another word, he closed the distance, capturing my lips in a heated kiss. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me against him as my fingers tangled in his hair. 

The corridor around us seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of us in our bubble of desire.

Breaking the kiss, I looked up at him, breathless. I took his hand and led him through the castle's labyrinthine halls. My heart pounded with anticipation, and I could feel his gaze on me, burning with intensity.

We reached my chambers, and I pushed the door open, pulling him inside. Once the door was closed, I turned to face him, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. 

Slowly, I began to undo the laces of my dress, my eyes never leaving his.

"You're going to have to earn your redemption, Ser Gwayne," I said, my voice a sultry whisper.

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with desire. "And how do you suggest I do that, Princess?"

"Watch and learn," I replied, letting my dress slip from my shoulders and pool at my feet. I walked towards him, each step deliberate and teasing, until I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

Gwayne's breath hitched as I reached up to trace a finger along his jawline, my touch light and teasing. "Are you ready to impress me?" I asked, my voice a soft purr.

"More than ready," he replied, his voice rough with desire.

With a smile, I leaned in to kiss him again, this time slower, savouring the moment. His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve and dip, as I guided him towards the bed. Our kiss deepened, becoming more passionate as we gave in to the irresistible pull between us.

His clothes were pulled off in a frenzy of passion, leaving us both naked and exposed to the cool air of my chambers. There was a brief, electric pause as we took in each other's forms, desire evident in our eyes. 

With a commanding presence, Gwayne pushed me down onto the bed, and I let him take charge, intrigued by how exactly he planned to impress me.

His hands, rough from years of wielding a sword, caressed my legs, lifting them into the air. His eyes, darkened with lust, held mine as he began to pepper soft, tantalizing kisses along my inner thighs. Each touch sent waves of heat coursing through my body, and I couldn't help but arch my back, a soft moan escaping my lips.

"You're already off to a good start," I murmured, my voice breathless.

Gwayne chuckled, the sound deep and husky, as his kisses inched closer to where I most wanted them. His mouth moved with slow, deliberate precision, his lips warm and moist against my skin. He traced the sensitive skin with the tip of his tongue, leaving a trail of burning sensation in its wake. 

The anticipation was intoxicating, and I felt my body responding to his every touch.

"Patience, Princess," he whispered against my skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. "I want to savour this."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, urging him closer. He obliged, his lips finally finding their mark. His tongue flicked softly against my most sensitive spot, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. 

He alternated between gentle, teasing licks and firmer, more insistent strokes, his lips sealing around me to create a delicious suction. His movements were skilful, his tongue and lips working in harmony to drive me to the edge of madness.

"Oh," I gasped, my voice trembling with pleasure.

He paused briefly, looking up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Not bad for a fallen knight, hmm?"

"Not bad at all," I managed to reply, my breath hitching as he resumed his ministrations. "But let's see if you can truly impress me."

His grin widened, and he redoubled his efforts. His hands roamed over my thighs, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh as his mouth continued its assault. His tongue moved with a maddening rhythm, swirling and flicking in a way that left me breathless. 

The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that left me trembling beneath him. 

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, he slowed his pace, drawing out my pleasure and prolonging the exquisite torment.

I writhed beneath him, my hands gripping the sheets as I surrendered to the waves of ecstasy crashing over me. He didn't relent, his mouth and hands continuing their assault until I was teetering on the edge of release. His fingers joined in, slipping inside me with a deftness that sent shivers through my entire body.

"Gwayne," I cried out, my voice a desperate plea.

He looked up, his eyes locking with mine, and in that moment, he gave me exactly what I needed. The world seemed to shatter around me as I was consumed by a powerful climax, my body arching off the bed as I called out his name.

As the waves of pleasure began to ebb, Gwayne shifted his focus, his lips capturing mine in a passionate, commanding kiss. I could taste my pleasure on his lips, and it only fueled my desire further. 

Drawing him closer, my hands roamed over his muscular back, feeling the tension and strength beneath my fingertips.

He aligned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked with mine as he gradually pressed inside. The sensation was exquisite, a slow, delicious stretch that filled me. I gasped and wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

Gwayne moved with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deep and measured. His touch was methodical, aimed at drawing out my pleasure. His hands roamed my hips and thighs, while his lips lavished attention on my neck and breasts, his kisses and nibbles making me shiver with delight.

"Gods, you feel incredible," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with desire.

I could only moan in response, my fingers gripping his shoulders as I met his thrusts. Our bodies moved in seamless harmony, the friction and heat between us building steadily. When he shifted his angle slightly, the head of his shaft brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside me, sending jolts of pleasure through my core.

I cried out, my nails scraping down his back as I clung to him, overwhelmed by the sensations.

"Right there," I gasped, my voice trembling. "Don't stop."

Gwayne responded to my plea, his movements growing more intense and urgent. His gaze remained fixed on mine, driving me higher and higher. The pressure inside me built to a crescendo, the promise of release just beyond my grasp.

"Cum for me, Princess," he whispered, his voice a rough command.

I unravelled beneath him, my body trembling violently as the force of my orgasm overtook me. Gwayne's thrusts continued unabated, extending my pleasure and drawing out every lingering wave of ecstasy. He maintained a steady rhythm, even as my muscles tightened around him, pulling him in with each wave of release.

As my climax subsided, he quickened his pace, his own need apparent in the way his body tensed and his breath came in ragged bursts. I could feel him approaching the edge, his control slipping as he sought his own release.

With a groan, he plunged deep one final time, his body convulsing as he reached his peak. I held him close, feeling the warmth of his release fill me as our bodies remained entwined in the aftermath.

For a moment, we lay there, tangled together, our breaths mingling as we came down from the heights of our pleasure. Gwayne's hand brushed my hair from my face, his touch gentle and tender.

"You, Princess, are truly remarkable," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

I smiled, a sense of satisfaction washing over me. "And you, Ser Gwayne, have more than redeemed yourself."

A/n - Who knew saving face was such a literal term in medieval jousting x

[only-1-a]

Imagining this within the first week of Charles and Edwin knowing each other. Charles has helped Edwin catch up on a BIT of what’s happened in the last 70 years, but Edwin can tell that Charles’ knowledge and strengths are not in history (finding out there was an even worse world war right after The Great War was certainly horrific though). So Edwin decides his best bet is to look in the public archives. Charles is sitting in the room with him absolutely bored out of his skull when he comments “Wow, you weren’t joking about not being great at people, were you?”

To which Edwin’s patience runs out, and he snidely responds, “Evidently not. If my researching the events of the last seventy years is so off-putting to you, then you can leave.”

Edwin was expecting some kind of token protest, but instead Charles just hops up, and says, ��Cheers mate. See you.” Then LEAVES. Just like that. Edwin would like to be offended, but he supposes he did tell Charles to go. He just thought there would have been more to it than that? It almost feels…anticlimactic. At least he and Charles barely knew each other. Better to cut their losses now than get attached. Even as he thinks it he can’t help but feel maybe he was already growing attached.

So he spends the whole day digging through the archive and he learns so much about the past half century. It’s amazing and daunting just how much as changed. No wonder Charles hadn’t been able to go over even a fraction of it. It’s like the world is a completely different place.

He’s engrossed in his research when a head pops in through the door, and violently startles him with a cheerful, “Hey mate!” Edwin doesn’t have a heartbeat, but if he did it would be running a mile a minute from that fright. Charles is just grinning as he walks through the door. “I have to say, that’s my favourite part of being dead so far. I can just walk through walls.” Charles continues to chat happily, completely oblivious to Edwin’s shock.

Eventually Edwin gains enough of his senses back to interrupt Charles and say, “You came back.”

Charles just cocks his head, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah bruv. You’ve been here ALL DAY. The sun’s started going down. I know we don’t need to eat or sleep, but I figure you should take a break. Plus all the people playing football at the park left, so I got bored.”

Edwin doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He’s still working on the fact Charles came back. Charles hadn’t planned on leaving in any permanent way. He just went to do his own thing while Edwin did his. Yet instead of anything intelligent coming out of his mouth, he says “Football?”

“Oh c’mon! I know you had football even a thousand years ago. Yeah, I went to play with some other guys at the park across the street.”

Edwin snorts at that, and isn’t that a strange and wonderful feeling, laughing after all this time. He doesn’t even know if he did it often before he went to Hell, but here Charles has been making him laugh on and off for the week they’ve known each other. “Yes, we had football. You’ll have to explain how you managed to play a team sport without being seen by either team. You are right though. If it’s getting dark out, they’ll be turning the lights out in here soon. We might as well leave for the day.”

“Cheers. Mostly it involved messing with the ball so it went the wrong way when they kicked it. Oh! I kicked one over a fence. Do you think we can go grab it? How about your day? Learn anything exciting?”

Edwin leads them out, and now in a much better mood he shares something he thinks Charles will enjoy. “As a matter of fact, there was quite a lot about how music evolved, and styles from the Americas really took off since the 20s.”

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, and ink. Tom Riddle x reader-oneshot

was posted first on ao3, last year, now finally posting it on here for yall to enjoy :D

=

Salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, and ink.

That was what Tom Riddle smelled when Professor Slughorn was introducing the class to the most powerful love potion in the world-Amortentia. Tom, when Slughorn had asked if anyone knew what the potion was, obliged and answered, stepping closer to examine the potion.

He hadn't expected to smell anything when he got a whiff of it. the potion was supposed to smell of what, or who, that person was in love with. Tom had maybe thought of parchment, books, iron(snake skin),  maybe even another potion-but instead he got salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, and ink.

A curious combination, one that had him furrowing his brows in confusion and slight wonder. He had a sweetooth-that wasn’t well known, but he did. But salted caramel wasn’t one of the sweets he liked-he wasn’t one for strawberries-too sour more often than not, vanilla? Yeah, he usually charmed some into his cologne, but ink?

He liked ink, but he was sure he didn’t love it, it was just a tool to write with-besides, it gave him a headache more often than not-especially fresh ink.

Tom shook himself free of these thoughts, clearing his throat as he stepped back from the pot-Slughorn watching him curiously. “and-salted caramel,” Tom finished explaining what he smelled, pushing down the flush that wanted to reach his ears as some of the girls in the class-some if not all of them having a crush on him-whispered amongst each other-wondering if Tom loved Salted Caramel, or liked someone that smelled like it.

He was sure it wasn’t a person; he had never had a crush his entire life-he was 16 now-why would he just-suddenly have one now? Girls had never interested him, and he was very sure he wasn’t into men. So, he was sure he just liked certain things he didn’t realize he had.

He didn’t like anyone, not in that way anyway, he didn’t have a crush, he wasn’t in love with anyone-he wasn’t attracted to anyone.

He was sure of it. he had gone 16 years without being attracted to anyone, there was no reason he had started liking someone without realizing it.

It just made no sense.

-

Tom furrowed his brow at the scent of metal brushing across him-looking to his side to see you. You always smelled like metal after coming back from the black lake-training with swords. You had always been skilled in swordsmanship, even when you were young. How would Tom know that? You had grown up together, at the orphanage, which allowed you certain privileges that others didn’t.

Such as sitting with Tom while you were sweating and reeking of metal. “Did you even take a shower before assaulting me with your sweat?” Tom muttered, flipping the page of his potions book before scribbling something down for his notes-rolling his eyes as you just snorted through your nose, grabbing his cup of pumpkin juice and stealing the rest of it, something Tom had long stopped trying to stop you from doing.

“And miss out on that face you make every time I don’t? Not a chance~” you teased, leaning into Tom, laughing as he huffed and shuffled away from you-pushing your face away from him-his hand cool against your warm face. “Also-I knew you had snacks, so-“ You reached out-snatching the chocolate bon-bon from the golden plate Tom had and popping it in your mouth, humming as you bit into the chocolate and the filling melted into your mouth. “mmm caramel~ you know me so well.” Tom just hummed, not really listening-taking another bon-bon and biting into it. Irish cream.

-

“Oh hell, I just bought it, how could I already be out of it?” Tom glanced to the stairs that led towards the girl’s dormitories, seeing you trot down, speaking aloud as you rummaged through your bag. “What are you looking for?” Tom asked as he sat up, using his finger as a bookmark as he closed the book he had been reading, his other arm going over the back of the couch-where he had been waiting for you to finish getting ready for the day.

“My perfume, the vanilla one-either I lost it or I already ran out, because I cannot find it.” you grumbled, closing your bag with a huff and walking over to Tom, dramatically bending over the back of the couch and huffing again. “It was my favorite too, and I can only find it in Hogsmeade.”

Tom hummed, patting your head with awkward sympathy, standing when he remembered his cologne also had vanilla charmed into it. you didn’t move as he went back into the dorms-grieving for your missing vanilla perfume. You perked up only when Tom tapped you on the shoulder, offering his cologne. “Is that your…?” you sat up, taking the small square bottle, staring at it for a moment, before grinning. “you know, you try to make me think otherwise-but you really are such a sweetheart Tommy,” Tom-pushing down the urge to smack you, just huffed-his cheeks a light pink as he shoved your shoulder gently.

“Oh just use it, the next Hogsmeade trip is this weekend-we can look for your stupid perfume then.” You laughed but did as told, spraying it as needed and handing the bottle back to Tom-who just put it in your bag. “I don’t want to go back upstairs, now let’s go, or we’ll miss breakfast,” Tom grumbled, ignoring you while you laughed, but letting you take his arm as you walked to the great hall for breakfast.

-

Tom glanced to the side, seeing you-like usual-next to him, scribbling away on your parchment, doing everything but taking notes. You were drawing-like always, your fingers stained with ink as you sketched. Tom glanced back up, seeing Professor Dumbledore with his back turned and Tom looked back at you-tapping your hand with his fingers, giving you a stern look.

“You need to pay attention,” Tom whispered, rolling his eyes as you just grinned. “Why should I? you always give me your notes anyway, not like I ever miss anything either way.” You whispered back, turning your eyes back to your parchment, redipping your pen-the smell of fresh ink permeating the space between you and Tom.

“At least use less ink, I’m getting a headache,” Tom sighed, knowing it was no use-because yes-he would give you his notes, and you were way ahead of the class in transfiguration, one of Dumbledore’s star students in fact, you hadn't received less than an O in his class since you started.

You obliged and cleaned your pen tip off, letting your previous work dry a bit before resuming your sketch, glancing at Tom once or twice as you doodled out his profile-showing it off to him as you left class, laughing as his ears turned pink and he shoved you away-once again letting you take his arm as you both went off to study during your free period.

-

Tom bounced his leg as he sat at a table within the three broomsticks, reading a book as he waited for you to arrive-a warm plate of food set in the middle of the table-his jacket and scarf set on his chair. “Sorry, I’m late!” you huffed as you slid into the chair in front of him, grinning as Tom glanced up at you, nodding as you took your jacket and scarf off-setting them on the back of your chair. You turned around again, grinning at Tom-your eyes sparkling as you spotted what was on the table.

“Tom, I love you,” Tom froze, his eyes going wide as he stared down at his book-why had those words shaken him so much? You had said it before? He looked up, sighing as he saw you digging into the plate of strawberries he ordered for you-they were your favorite after all. The juice dripped down your chin-Tom’s gaze following it, swallowing harshly as you wiped it off and looked at him-your grin wide. “yeah yeah, you’re welcome, just don’t use my hand as a napkin again,” Tom muttered, going back to his book, ignoring the way his heart continued to flutter at the words that came from you only moments before.

“That was one time Tommy!”

“Once is still too many times, (y/n).”

-

He was back in potions class, working on making a brew of the draught of living death-a small competition Slughorn was holding, if someone made a successful brew-they would get a small vile of liquid luck. Tom jolted as he felt a hand dig into his pocket and he snapped his head to the side-sighing as you withdrew your hand, holding two wrapped chocolates. “Seriously?” Tom muttered, going back to his potion, pouring in the juice of 13 sopophorus beans that he needed-stirring seven times, and then once the other way-tapping the stick on the edge of his cauldron before turning to you-watching as you opened the chocolate and took a bite-the caramel inside following the separated pieces and breaking.

“Not my fault you always carry these with you, especially the salted caramel ones-you know they’re my favorite,” you teased, popping the other half in your mouth and going back to your potion, humming to yourself as you worked. Tom rolled his eyes, shaking his head(fondly).he would never admit he carried around those certain chocolates because they were your favorite.

“Of course I know,” Tom muttered, letting his potion simmer until it turned pink-turning the burner off. Perfect. “you practically reek of salted…caramel-“ Tom trailed off, suddenly hit by realization.

Salted caramel, strawberries, Ink, vanilla, metal.

Oh….

Oh

Oh shit.

Tom was suddenly all too aware of you, and your scents. Fresh ink on your skin, strawberries on your lips, salted caramel on your breath, metal on your hands, vanilla on your neck. He could smell it all when you were close-which was nearly all the time. Holding his arm, sitting next to him, hugging him, doing anything near him.

He suddenly realized you, the way your hair fell in front of your eyes, how you let Tom brush it behind your ear, grinning at him every time. The way you fiddled with your wand-flipping it between your fingers. The way your shoulders brushed against him whenever you could-standing so close others couldn’t tell where one began and one ended.

Laughter had always annoyed him-and yet he never minded yours, he preferred silence over constant chatter-and yet he could listen to you for hours(though he did zone out sometimes).

This entire time-had he been-in love with you? And had just-never noticed? Is that why he thought he never had a crush-because the entire time-he had liked you.

Tom could hardly comprehend it, he knew he liked you-but he had thought just as a friend, his best friend no less. But-did best friends look at each other like that? Did best friends look at the other's lips, wanting to-do something? Did best friends want the other close at all times? Did best friends yearn for each other? Like he did for you?

When you weren’t around-he missed you, he never dared let it show, and when you teased him about it-he never let it be revealed, unless you bugged him long enough to annoy it out of him.

Did best friends get butterflies when the other said they loved them? Did best friends fall asleep in the common room-curled up together, with the others face in their neck?

Did best friends vow to stay together forever?

Did best friends think about each other all the time? Unable to get rid of the other from their mind, their voice always there, their phantom hands always tingling against his skin.

It took another week for Tom to come to terms with it all, and what had set it in stone-had been another whiff of Amortentia.

Salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, Ink.

All like you, and he knew-because you were standing right next to him, smelling the exact same as the potion.

He was in love with you.

And he wasn’t all that panicked about it anymore, in fact-he didn’t really mind it, because-you had been by his side since he could remember-who else was worthy of his love, then none other than his best friend?

His breath stopped as Slughorn asked you to say what you smelled-and you stepped forward, towards the love potion-your hand slipping from his arm, a wrapped salted caramel in your other hand. “Ink, books,” your brows furrowed-deciding how to describe something “Cologne; sharp and cold-with a hint of vanilla?” it almost sounded like a question, and Tom swallowed, his eyes on your neck-where your perfume wafted back towards him-along with the other scents from the potion.

Salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, ink.

“and, um, iron, pumpkin juice, and-wormwood.” You stepped back with that, once again next to Tom; who glanced down at you, watching as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth-refusing to look at him. he brushed his fingers against your hand-wanting you to look at him, and you did, your breath catching when you caught his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, not wanting to be caught talking while Professor Slughorn lectured the rest of the class. You nodded, swallowing, your eyes dashing down for a moment before looking back into his eyes. “Never better,” you muttered, turning back to face Slughorn, opening the chocolate and taking a bite-distracting yourself.

Tom just hummed, handing you another chocolate as you finished the first-smirking as you took it and opened it quickly, still avoiding his gaze.

Ink, books, cologne with a hint of vanilla, iron, pumpkin juice, and wormwood.

Tom held back a smile, now-one could call him ignorant and arrogant for assuming-but.

He also knew you, and you knew him.

Salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, ink.

Ink, books, cologne with a hint of vanilla, iron, pumpkin juice, wormwood.

You liked each other, and Tom was sure you wouldn’t mind going to Hogsmeade with him, though this time-as his date.

-end-

[hardlyinteresting]

To Have and To Hold

Jake Seresin x Reader

Jake comes home

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please), I grew up in an Army household so some of my Navy knowledge may be slightly off base (no pun intended) Word count: 1.8K

The floorboards creak with the weight of his footsteps still. there's a strange comfort in the sounds of this old house settling; the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the quiet slide of his socks across wood floors. If he listens carefully, he can hear the whistle of the wind blowing past the window he meant to reseal all those months ago. The reminder of another missed task weighs heavy in his heart; a failure to provide a safe, warm home. It's the little things that matter most, his mama's voice reminds him, but it's the little things he so often misses-- always overlooked with the prayer that he won't be made a liar when he says he'll do it later. 

Time plays him for a fool. At 35 he rushes to make sure he meets the milestones he set out for himself, steadfast and resilient in his resolve to do more-- to be more. He breaks records, and sets precedents. But, he struggles to relax. Breathing doesn't come easy to him when it's not through his aviator's mask. In for seven, out for five. He counts the seconds of his inhales and exhales grounding himself in the moment. 

He does his best to hold tight to the moments he has here, But still, it never seems to be enough. like sand through an hourglass it all seems to slip away from him; these new found days of domestic bliss escape through his fingers like the memories of his childhood back in Texas. He wonders if one day he might be afforded the chance to pick up all the pieces and fit them together in some semblance of a “normal” life. He worries about his time away from home, what he's missed, and worse yet what he stands to miss if this life is taken from him too soon. 

Tonight marks the end of a six month separation, and tomorrow morning the count down to his next inevitable departure will begin. Always running out of time. It never used to bother him, it exhilarated him even, time blasting by in a blink of an eye. Back when he was younger, back when he had nothing to lose, and no idea what he stood to gain by sticking around. Now he worries about the quality of the lock on the front door, he thinks about restaining the floor downstairs and fixing up the kitchen. Domestic life snuck up on him. Slowly but surely his house became a home. Sun-baked bricks and weather-worn siding, with a shade of green paint he's been told matches his eyes. Four walls and roof that keep the outside world at bay. 

Down the hall in their bedroom, he Expects to find his wife sleeping, waiting in dreams for him to come home to her. It's the part of his job he struggles with the most now. It's so hard to leave this life they've built now that part of him is forever tethered to the earth. 

“I worry sometimes that I'm holding you back,” she confessed one night, “your job is hard enough as it is…I don't want to make it harder for you”. He hadn't been able to find the words to tell her how wrong she was.How could he describe the ways she had changed him? 

The need to return home to her never leaves him stunted in the sky, it fuels him. Long gone are the days where he fought just to be seen; she sees him. He's quick up there, tens of thousands of feet above the ground, he's calm and he's brilliant. His colleagues can call him cocky all they want, but his confidence is founded on his proven ability, and sometimes it's necessary to show off a little bit even if it's just so he can have another story to tell his sweetheart when he gets home. He imagines himself writing her name in the sky, carving her likeness in the clouds, a blazing trail racing home to her. 

So many of his earlier years had been spent playing the field too afraid to commit, too afraid to be loved. Adaptability, while necessary for his job, had never been his strong suit. A tiny part of him deep in the back of his mind always left the hair at the back of his neck on end when faced with change.

He had struggled in school, not academically, but socially and learned to over compensate to make up for his discomfort. The navy had given him the structure he had craved, a way to make his bed and fold his clothes, instructions that weren't open to interpretation. Living on his own allowed him to follow the same schedule and practices as he did on base.  In a split second, his life on the line, he never hesitates, but sustained change to his daily life left him nauseated. Welcoming another person into his life, and into his home had pushed him past the edges of where he believed his comfort laid, but forced him to confide in a support system outside of routine. 

Over the course of a few weeks her belongings joined his, sprinkled through out the house like a treasures to be found. Without a word she had taken care to intermix her books with the few of his own on the shelf, sorting them by alphabetical order just as he'd been doing for years. His anxiety slowly waned as his darling girl continued to prove she understood him better than anyone else ever had. 

“Do you prefer flying at dusk or dawn?” She had asked a few weeks after she moved in. curled up on their sofa, her head tucked under his chin, college football playing on the tv, she traced invisible shapes across his chest. “I don't have a preference, sweetheart. I just like flying,” his response felt half-baked, but it was the honest-to-good truth. 

“But if you had to pick?” she persisted. He weighed his answer before giving it to her, “if I had to pick, it would be dusk. There’s a moment, if you're up at the right time where you can see the night sky blending into the sunset…the sky is a gray-blue and you can see the sun at the horizon and the little pinpricks of stars”. 

“It sounds beautiful,” her smile was soft and genuine when she cupped his cheek to make sure he was looking at her. A habit of hers, not letting him hide away from the softer parts of himself, she seemed to so easily pull out. “It is”.

That weekend he’d spent 72 hours on base and returned home on Monday evening to the faintest smell of fresh paint. In the low evening light, it took him a moment to figure it out, standing puzzled in the middle of the living room, still dressed in his service khakis trying to identify the source of the smell. “You’re home!” she’d grinned coming down the stairs, her jeans and t-shirt splattered with gray. It’s then he noticed with his darling girl looking so proud of herself, the walls of the living room coated in a soft heather blue-grey, no longer just a coat of contractor-grade white reflecting the shade of twilight through the windows. Flicking on the light he watched her grow nervous as he felt his brow furrow processing the unexpected change. “Do you like it?” she asked. 

“It’s perfect, baby,” he promised pulling her close and kissing her thoroughly, “It’s beautiful”. 

A few months later he came home from work to find his shower gel and shampoo had both been replaced by a new set. Confused and with no other option, he chose to use them, deciding he liked the smell of eucalyptus and mint much more than he'd liked sport: for men anyway. 

“Baby, what happened to my shower gel?” 

“You were complaining about how dry your skin has been”.

“Hmm,” the consideration to change his routine to better himself hadn't occurred to him before she moved in. 

More recently he'd come home from a night out with the squadron, and woken up under a Forest green duvet, a jarring difference to the burgundy plaid cover he'd owned for years. Momentary panic filled his chest. Like a sharp, sudden plunge into cold water he'd gasped his eyes scanning the room to confirm his location. The familiar scent of her perfume, the sound of the ocean breeze, assured him he was in fact in their room. In the dark when he'd come home, colour of the duvet hadn't been noticeable and he found himself mildly embarrassed by how badly it startled him. Her hand reaching out for him, stretching across the sheets to touch him lured him back to a flat position letting her snuggle herself right up against his side. It was then he noticed that the weight of the blanket was the same as before, and it was just as plush as it had always been. Her on going respect for his comfort continued to leave him floored. A memory of her texting him to ask his favourite colour (green) filled his mind and left him drifting back to sleep with a smile on his face. 

Secretly, he'd begun to look forward to the tiny changes she brought into his life and into the house. The littlest reminders of their strengthening bond, their lives stitching together in more tangible and visible ways. The Navy had taught him to think literally, latteral thinking developed and honed to reach conclusions and make decisions quickly and effectively, but the metaphor of their lives blending like the presence of her belongings along side his own, and freshly painted walls is not lost on him. 

Tonight the house is quiet as it often is when he returns so late. He knows if she knew what day he was set to come back home she would've done her best to stay awake for him, dozing off on the sofa with the living room curtains wide open, hoping to catch the sight of his headlights pulling into the driveway. It's thoughts of her safe and waiting for him that have pulled him through this latest deployment, so he does his best not to disturb her sleep as he makes his way to her. Like a silent sirens call an unspeakable force drags him through the house. His boots are left by the door, laces tucked in. His bag is heavy in his hand, more than just its physical weight tugging at him, and he's glad to be able to put it down by the bedroom door. 

“Welcome home,” she whispers stirring from her sleep as he slips beneath the sheets, freshly showered. 

[four-loose-screws]

Hi! I’ve seen people people say that Dimitri speaks in an informal rude manner in Japanese so him being super polite in English is weird changes his character a lot, but I’ve also seen people say the localization is just fine. Could you clear up please? Thank you!

This ask has been in my inbox forever, and I know other ENG/JP bilingual FE fans have weighed in on this topic before. But exploring the nuances of Japanese formal vs. casual speech is always super fun, so I want to share my own thoughts too. There's always a chance there will be more to learn with each new person's input on the same topic. Plus, I discovered some things even I didn't expect! So, I'll still offer everything I have to say!

First, I'll explain the full background this ask is referring to. Japanese has 2 major distinct speaking styles - casual and formal. I was taught to call the formal style "distal" - because it is more about respecting distance in social standing than being formal specifically. But formal is the more common term, so I tend to stick with saying formal most of the time.

The distinction between casual and formal is made with pronoun choice, word choice, and other factors as well, but the fastest way to differentiate the two is to look/ listen for the use of desu and masu at the end of someone's sentences. Formal uses them. Casual drops them. This concept is entirely foreign to English speakers!

Dimitri drops desu and masu most of the time. His "I pronoun" is also ore, and his "you pronoun" is omae - both casual, blunt, and masculine choices. But does speaking casually to most of the cast make him rude?

Short answer is... no, not at all! There's 2 major reasons for this.

Reason #1 - the rules for casual vs. formal speech are a bit different in reality vs. fiction:

Partially, Dimitri speaks casually because he is showing his personality. He's got all those traits most standard FE protagonists share - he's strong, straightforward, and wants to connect directly on a personal level with everyone he meets. He tries to convince several characters that they can speak casually with him, because he sees people as people, and doesn't want social status putting distance between them.

Fictional characters generally speak more in-line with their personality more often, rather than following the socially acceptable speaking rules of the real world. (Though don't get me wrong - casual real Japanese people will speak casually in more circumstances than the average Japanese person.) This is simply the style that Japanese writers largely choose. And I think it is one of the great benefits of Japanese - anyone can start to pick up on a character's personality archetype almost instantly, thanks to their speaking style!

Reason #2 - Dimitri is a prince, making him of high social rank:

Here's the second nuance to this - it is absolutely standard for a superior to talk to their subordinates in casual style.

In modern times, this is shown in the workplace. Bosses and those in other leadership positions will frequently speak casually with the staff in a lower-ranking position than them. The president of the office I now work at is Japanese, and he speaks very casually with me - I have to be formal in response though, because he's at the top!!

But in the past, this would have been a distinction made between lord/ royalty, and those beneath them. Which is the case that is relevant in Fire Emblem's setting.

Dimitri can also speak casually without coming off as rude, because he is one of the highest ranking people across all of Fodlan.

-

Okay, so that's the answer in broad strokes - but let's get a bit more nuanced, go down Dimitri's support partner list, and confirm whether or not he always speaks casually!

Group #1 - Dimitri and the other citizens of Faerghus (8 other Blue Lions + Gilbert)

Dimitri has a multi-layered relationship with all of the other 8 Blue Lions. They are citizens of the country he is a prince of, therefore he is ranked very highly in social standing above them. But they are also his friends, classmates, and later, war allies; placing them on the same social level in that regard. So the way they speak to him comes down to a little bit of column A - personality, and a little bit of column B - which aspect of their relationship with Dimitri they feel is the "main" one.

Gilbert is also here in this category, as another person from Faerghus.

Dedue: Dimitri speaks casually, Dedue speaks formally, as they have a lord/ servant relationship. Dimitri wants Dedue to be a very close friend to him though, and wants Dedue to speak casually with him - this is a major source of tension in their supports. In the end, being able to mutually speak casually with each other and be friends, is a place they may reach one day. With other characters, Dedue speaks casually.

Felix: As royalty above Felix's noble house, Dimitri speaks casually. Felix is Felix, so he speaks casually too. I imagine he sees Dimitri quite literally as more of a wild boar than a human being, much less royalty.

Ashe: Dimitri speaks casually, Ashe speaks formally. However, pretty much the whole point of their supports is Dimitri attempting to get Ashe to speak casually with him.. Ashe tries in earnest to switch, but in the end sticks with speaking formally, otherwise he feels too uncomfortable. His view of Dimitri as his prince is too strong for him to let go and speak casually.

Sylvain: Dimitri speaks casually, and Sylvain speaks casually more often, but actually switches to desu and masu more than once. When a relationship is "in-between" higher/lower social standing and friendship, it's not uncommon for at least one person to switch back and forth between casual and polite speech, depending on which side of the relationship they are appealing to more at the moment. This happens in real life too as people shift from strangers, coworkers, etc. to friends.

Mercedes: They both speak casually. In Mercedes' case, I think she's speaks more in-line with her personality rather than paying attention to social status.

Annette: Both speak casually, but Annette is well aware that there's something a little wrong with that - her father would never let her get away with it if he knew!

Ingrid: Dimitri speaks casually, Ingrid speaks formally. But I think Ingrid speaks formally with everyone.

Gilbert: As you can probably guess based on my comments in Dimitri and Annette's analysis, her father most certainly speaks formally with Dimitri! He is very formal and takes social heirarchy very seriously. Dimitri, as the prince above him in social status, speaks casually.

Group #2 - The other characters at the monastary:

Since the remaining characters are not from Faerghus, Dimitri is not their prince. They'll be more likely to view him through the lens of a different relationship than royalty/ subject.

Catherine is originally from Faerghus yes, but she has cut her ties from her homeland completely to serve Rhea, so she fits into this group now.

Raphael: Both speak casually. I think Raphael treats everyone like a life-long friend!! He at least attaches san or sensei (teacher) to the names of his instructors, but that's about it for formal language for him.

Marianne: Dimitri speaks casually. Marianne speaks formally, as she does with everyone. I think she even attaches san to everyone's name, conveying how much she keeps her distance from people, trying not to form close relationships.

Flayn: Dimitri speaks casually. Flayn speaks formally, as I think she does with everyone.

Hapi: Both speak casually. I think Hapi speaks casually with everyone.

Alois: Now *here's* where things get interesting! At this point, I really thought I would discover that Dimitri speaks casually with everyone. But alas, he does NOT! Dimitri speaks formally with Alois, while Alois speaks casually to him. Why? Well, while Dimitri is a prince, he's also a student at Garreg Mach (in Part 1 of course). In this way, he is below all Garreg Mach staff and professors in social standing. So it makes perfect sense that he'd speak formally and Alois would be casual in this case.

Catherine: Same situation as Dimitri and Alois - as someone who serves as an instructor at Garreg Mach, all students like Dimitri are below her in status at the monastary. So Dimitri speaks formally, and she speaks casually.

Byleth: I left Byleth for last, because while Byleth is a professor at the monastary... Dimitri speaks casually with them. I imagine this has more to do with Byleth being the self insert than anything. Everyone bonds to Byleth on a deep level faster than magnets stick together.

And that's all I can think of to say for now! This is a super fun example of how nuanced Japanese's casual vs. formal language can get, and showcases one of the many reasons why Japanese has such a high barrier of entry for anyone learning it - including young native speakers! You don't get all this desu and masu stuff, until finally you just do.

Let me know if I missed anything, or if anyone has any follow up comments to make!

I apologize it took me so long to respond to this one! Thank you anon, and all readers, for waiting! I hope it helped explain even more of the trickier nuances of Japanese.

[cherrylovelycherry]

𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a pain au chocolat."

Insolence and control

pairing. Sunday x gn!reader cw/genre. angst, argument, some slow burn, TW(abuse), first time slap, criticism, synopsis. his control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves. full menu note. something short to keep up with the language heh.

As the Family's spokesperson with a hectic schedule, Sunday is arguably the busiest person in Penacony. His workday often extends beyond 15 hours, occasionally reaching over 19 hours. In short, he rarely makes it home, even when he desires to.

On an unusual Tuesday, he manages to arrive home before midnight—a rare occurrence. You casually sit on the living room couch, watching TV until you hear the front door open. It's Sunday. You promptly rise from the couch and assist him with the briefcases in his hands.

"It's okay, Y/N. I can manage them," he declined, visibly exhausted as expected.

You persist, attempting to take the briefcases from his hands, but his demeanor suddenly changes.

"I said it's fine! Can you just fucking leave me alone?!" he shouts, his voice strained. His sudden temper leaves you questioning what has come over him.

You freeze upon his unexpected outburst. His usual composed self was now replaced with a completely different aura.

Sunday drops the briefcases on the floor and takes a step back, averting his gaze. His breathing is heavy, as if he's holding back. The outburst was seemingly triggered by seemingly minor interaction.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted," he says, trying to regain his composure. He's still avoiding eye contact with you, but then his expression suddenly shifts to one of surprise.

His eyes widen slightly upon realizing something.

"Are you…wearing one of my shirts? A hint of irritation laces his tone as he finally looks at you, examining your appearance. You're wearing one of his work shirts that you had borrowed.

You nod, a bit confused by his reaction.

"I missed you—"

You thought he wouldn't mind you borrowing his shirt.

Although hey, he'd never found out you were using them, until now.

He grits his teeth, the irritation in his voice evident, but his eyes remain fixated on the shirt.

"Take it off." he says, his tone firm.

Your heart skips a beat at his command. The shirt suddenly felt too tight.

You look at him, searching for a hint of humor, but you're met only with his intense gaze.

"But why?" you asked, managing to push the words out of you, despite the growing knot in your stomach.

With a great notorious irritation on his face, he spoke again.

"Because you're going to dirty and wrinkle it."

You look down at yourself, noting that the shirt is barely wrinkled and clean, contrary to his statement.

However, the tension in the air was palpable.

You tried to protest, not understanding why he was making such a big deal about something so trivial. "But this won't - "

Before you could finish, he silenced you, his voice filled with irritation and authority.

"Don't argue with me. I said take it off. Now."

But oh right, he wanted to always have everything controlled and in place.

You hesitate, torn between obeying him immediately and questioning his unreasonable demand. But his stern stare leaves no room for argument.

Slowly, you lift the hem of the shirt, preparing to take it off.

However, the moment the shirt slides halfway up, revealing the midriff, he abruptly grabs your wrist.

His touch is firm, his grip preventing you from going further.

"Change in the bedroom, not here," he said.

He released your wrist but recorded your other hand before leading you towards the bedroom, his demeanor still emanating tension and irritation. You followed behind, still trying to wrap your mind around the situation.

Once inside the bedroom, he went to the closet to put on slightly more comfortable clothes.

You stood by the bed still puzzled, wondering why he was so upright about this. It was just a shirt.

But anyway, you approached your side of the wardrobe, to take out your own clothes and put it on.

Once you finish changing, you turn around to find him sitting on the bed, still visibly agitated.

Once you finished changing clothes, you left his shirt on dirty clothes.

You sighed and turned your body towards the bed, he was sitting there.

As you approach, he pats the bed, motioning for you to sit next to him. You comply, taking a seat next to him. The air in the room was thick with tension, each moment of silence felt uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze toward you. His eyes were filled with frustration.

He spoke, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation. "Do you know how long I've been working this week?"

You replied, a hint of guilt in your voice. "I know. It's been incredibly busy for you lately."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I've been working non-stop, sometimes not even coming home till midnight. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically."

You moved your gaze to his face. Dark rings under his eyes were visible, evidence of his tiredness.

He continued, venting his frustration. "And what do I find when I finally get home? You, wearing my shirt as if it's nothing."

His voice rose, the irritation in his tone evident again. "That's not just some random shirt; it's mine. It's supposed to be clean, pristine, hanging neatly in my closet. Not being casually worn and wrinkled on you."

"I'm sorry," you replied, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. "I just missed you, and I thought you wouldn't mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You've been living here, in my house, with me, for how long? You should know not to 'borrow' my belongings."

The tension in the room was escalating quickly, and you found yourself feeling defensive.

"It's just a shirt, Sunday," you said, trying to stay calm. "I thought you wouldn't mind."

He shot you a stern glance, irritation evident in his gaze. "It's the principle, not the shirt itself. I have specific ways I want things organized and kept in order."

His control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves.

"I wanted to feel closer to you, that's why I wore it. Is that such a crime?" You said.

His jaw tightened at your response as he shot back angrily, "You could've done that in a different way; not by disrespecting my belongings,"

His control started to leak out of him completely. The outburst was not only about the shirt, but the frustration built up during the week, from his stressful work to the lack of time you both had for each other.

He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "I expect more from you, especially as my partner. You should understand and respect my boundaries,"

"Boundaries?" you replied, the frustration in your voice evident. "Is it really about boundaries, or is it about control?"

You were starting to lose your patience.

"I do respect your boundaries," you added, your voice starting to rise. "But there's a line between having expectations and being ridiculously controlling. And right now, it feels like you're being the latter."

Sunday's eyes narrowed, clearly not appreciating being challenged. He retorted, "I'm not being controlling; I just have high standards, and I expect them to be met. You know exactly who you're living with."

His voice grew more frustrated. "And instead of understanding and appreciating that, you're questioning me, and accusing me of overstepping boundaries. I demand a certain level of order and respect. Is that really too much to ask for?”

"Are you serious right now?" You snapped back, your frustration reaching its peak, "Of course it's too much to ask for! You're acting as if this is all my fault. You're being completely unreasonable,"

"I can't just sit here and take this—this verbal abuse because I wore your stupid shirt," you exclaimed.

The room was thick with tension.

"Verbal abuse?" Sunday's voice rose, clearly offended. "I'm not abusing you; I'm expressing my expectations and frustrations. There's a difference."

He pointed his finger at you, frustration etched on his face. "And yes, it is your fault. If you had respected my boundaries, we wouldn't be having this argument. It's not about the damn shirt, it's about your disregard for my wishes."

You let out a slight laugh in mockery, as you rolled your eyes.

"You know what? Fine, you win, I'm not going to touch your stuff," you said, as you got up from the edge of the bed.

Sunday's eyes followed you, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "Where are you going?"

You replied, "to the living room, i need some space to cool off."

He let out a scoff, clearly not satisfied with your response. "You want space? Fine, take all the space you need. But come back here when you're ready to apologize and accept you're in the wrong."

Your eyes narrowed at his insistence that you were in the wrong. You retorted, "I'm not going to apologize for something that doesn't make sense,"

He clenched his jaw, his tone stern. "You know what, maybe you shouldn't come back until you see reason."

His words stung more than you expected. The implication that you weren't being reasonable made your heart flutter, mixed with the hurt of his cold statement.

You crossed your arms, your voice filled with determination. "Fine, I won't. Consider this a break from your 'expectations and rules.'"

His eyes flared with anger as he responded, "A break from my expectations and rules? You make it sound like I'm controlling, but those boundaries exist for a reason."

He got up from the bed, his voice raised, "And if you can't respect them or me, then maybe we need more than just a break."

The tension between you both palpable, your relationship suddenly hanging on a precipice.

You let out a hollow laugh, the hurt and frustration bubbling up within you. "Maybe that's what we need – a break from each other."

You moved back towards the bedroom door, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'll go stay somewhere else."

His expression hardened, a mix of surprise and stubbornness evident on his face. "You can leave. Go ahead."

You opened the door, your hand gripping the handle tightly. The urge to turn back, to argue further or something, was strong.

"Fine, I will," you said, your voice quiet, almost resigned.

You took one last glance at him, noted his tense stature, and then walked out the door, shutting it behind you with a sharp click.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the apartment, leaving Sunday alone in the quiet room. He stood there for a moment, his mind racing with frustration and anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. He looked down at the floor, the argument still fresh in his mind.

You didn't end up leaving the house, first of all, or know where to stay.

So you stayed in the house, huddled on the couch.

As the hours passed by, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. Sunday still hadn't come out of the bedroom.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

You lay on the couch, choosing to sleep.

You didn't know how much time passed, but you felt someone pushing you a little bit, to make room for the couch.

As you stirred from your sleep, you felt someone gently pushing you on the couch, attempting to make room. You opened your eyes slightly, groggy from the disrupted sleep.

You noticed Sunday hovering above you, a tired expression on his face.

"Move over," he said, his voice softer than before, but still holding a hint of tension.

You shifted slightly, creating space for him on the couch. He slumped onto the spot you just vacated, his presence immediately filling the room with his energy.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, sighing heavily.

The two of you stay there in silence for a moment, the weight of your unresolved argument still lingering between you. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim bedside lamp, casting shadows on the walls.

Sunday broke the silence first, his voice a low rumble. "You didn't leave."

You looked at him, your gaze meeting his weary eyes. The tension from your earlier fight still hung in the air, but his comment felt almost like an olive branch, a hint that maybe he didn't want you to leave either.

You replied softly, "I didn't know where to go."

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then, after a few more seconds, he spoke, his voice holding a hint of resignation.

"You could have gone to a friend's place. Or a hotel. Anything but here."

You responded, your voice quieter this time, "I didn't want to go anywhere else."

He shifted his head to look at you, your eyes meeting his. His expression softened for a moment, before the tension returned.

He continued, his voice slightly strained, "You'd rather stay here, even after what happened?"

You nodded, your eyes not breaking contact with his. "Yes. Despite our argument, I didn't want to leave."

He inhaled deeply, his eyes still fixed on you.

After another moment of silence, this time you spoke first.

"Couldn't sleep?" You asked, seeing his tired look.

He let out a weary sigh, stretching his tired figure a bit.

"No," he admitted, "I've been tossing and turning in bed for hours."

His eyes searched your face, studying your expression.

"Why is that?" You asked, curiosity piqued.

He shifted his position once again, clearly not wanting to give a direct response.

"The bed felt too empty," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let go of a little 'mhm' while also moving yourself a little on the couch, looking for comfort.

"Then let's sleep," you said, closing your eyes.

There was another moment of silence, this one felt heavier.

Sunday didn't say anything at first, but then you suddenly felt his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

You allowed yourself to intertwine your legs with his, feeling more comfortable so you could sleep on the narrow couch.

You both settled into a rather tight, but somewhat comfortable position on the couch, with your head resting on his chest.

The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body were strangely soothing, despite the lingering tension between you.

His arm remained around you, his hand gently tracing light circles on your back.

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep again.

The sky outside had started to darken, dusk painting the horizon in hues of purple and deep blue. It was getting late, signaling the end of another workday.

Sunday was still at work, finishing up a few tasks before returning home.

You were sitting on the couch once again, scrolling through your phone when you heard the sound of keys in the front door.

The door opened, and in walked Sunday. He looked weary and tired, exhaustion evident in his gaze.

This time you didn't get up to try to help him, because the last time you did he was too irritated to be kind.

"Hey, sweetheart," you greeted, as you turned your gaze towards your phone again.

He closed the door behind him, locking it as he always did.

He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door, his movements weary.

He turned to face you, his expression revealing his fatigue.

He couldn't help but make a grimace when he saw you sitting there.

"Did you wash the dishes?" He dared to ask, as if he knew the answer.

You immediately felt the irritation rise in you. Despite your attempt at not letting it affect you, his first words felt like another challenge.

You replied, trying to keep your tone even, "Yes, I did."

He walked over to you, stopping in front of the couch.

He didn't seem convinced, as he raised an eyebrow and asked again, "Are you sure?"

His tone was laced with skepticism.

The doubt in his voice made your annoyance flare up even more, the feeling of being constantly questioned and disbelieved by him was wearing thin.

You shot him a look, before answering again firmly, "Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't lie about something as simple as washing dishes."

He shifted, leaning his arm against the back of the couch, towering over you.

He responded with a dry tone, "And how am I supposed to know? You've been known to forget before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his skeptical gaze with your own. "I'm not a child, Sunday. I'm perfectly capable of doing basic chores, without being questioned and doubted constantly."

He didn't respond and headed to the kitchen, where he saw for himself that the dishes were clean.

But not in the right way.

Or at least that's what he thought.

"Y/N, did you dry the dishes with the cloth for the dishes or to dry your hands?" He raised his voice, from the kitchen, so that you could hear his words.

You felt your frustration rising again. Why was he always so nitpicky about every little thing?

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. "What difference does it make?" You replied, trying to keep your voice even. "They're both clean, aren't they?"

He looked at you, his expression stern. "It does make a difference. One cloth is supposed to be used for the hands, not as a drying cloth for dishes."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The way he was picking on such a trivial issue was mind-boggling.

You retorted, "Sunday, this is ridiculous. It's just a cloth, and it serves the same purpose, right? The dishes are clean."

He shook his head, his expression remaining stern.

"No, it's not just a cloth. The dish cloth is for the dishes, and the towel is for your hands. It's about order and organization," he responded matter-of-factly.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

"Well, I'm going to wash them again and dry them with the right cloth," you said, in a tense voice.

As you approached to start putting the variety of dried dishes inside the sink.

He stopped you with a gesture, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Wait."

His tone was firm, preventing you from moving forward.

"Let me do it. You'll probably just use the wrong cloth again." he declared, his gaze fixed on you.

You let go of an unconscious mockery after his words reached your ears.

"How nice," you said, as you left the kitchen.

You left the kitchen feeling frustrated and annoyed. The fact that he thought you couldn't handle such a simple task as washing dishes felt like a blow to your pride.

You sat back down on the couch again, still see something but trying to control yourself. You picked up your phone, pretending to be distracted, all while feeling his presence in the next room, taking care of 'your mistake'.

And yes, you thought he was just irritated and it would only be the only times he would make those kinds of comments.

Oh, aeons. How wrong you were.

Time after time again, every time he came back late at night, he insisted on criticizing the things you did, from how to fold your clothes, to how you eat.

At this point you were starting to feel frustrated, and of course, you couldn't help but defend yourself, sometimes speaking badly or raising your tone of voice.

It wasn't the best way to speak for you, but it was infuriating for you to criticize everything.

And obviously, he didn't like your attempts at defense and tone of voice.

At this point, you were sitting on the couch, somewhat relaxed not to have Sunday in the living room.

You were now glad that he spent so much time away from home.

The door opened once again, revealing the tired figure of Sunday once more. As he stepped into the room, his gaze instantly focused on you, sitting on the couch. The moment he saw you, a disapproving frown settled on his face.

He closed the door behind him and approached the living room, his footsteps reverberating in the quiet apartment.

"Y/N," he began, his voice stern. "You're sinking into the couch again. It's going to wear it out."

You couldn't believe it.

He was now criticizing how you were sitting on the couch. It was as if everything you did was wrong in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure.

"I'm just sitting comfortably," you replied tersely.

But Sunday wasn't satisfied.

"You're sinking in the couch," he repeated, his tone disapproving. "You know it's not good for the couch, or your back, to sit that way. You need to sit up straight."

His constant criticism and corrections had been wearing on your nerves, and this latest comment was the final straw.

"Oh, for Aeons sake, Sunday," you snapped, your frustration boiled over. "Can you just relax for a moment? I'm tired, I'm just trying to relax."

He didn't take your response kindly. His expression hardened.

"And I'm tired of coming home every day to find you slouching on the couch," he replied firmly. "It's not respectable, or good for you."

Your eyes widened at his words and this time, you lost it.

You stood up, your voice raised and filled with frustration. "Respectable? Are you serious? You're more worried about how respectable I look on the couch than how I feel?"

He was taken aback by your outburst, but stood his ground. "It's about maintaining a certain standard… "

You interrupted him, your voice filled with sarcasm. "Oh, spare me, Sunday. We're not living in some uptight Victorian house."

Sunday's expression tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Watch your tone, Y/N. I'm just trying to help you be more presentable… "

You laughed bitterly. "Presentable? Is that all you care about? My appearance and how it reflects on you?"

Sunday tried to maintain his stern expression, but the tone of your voice was starting to chip at his composure.

You continued, your irritation rising, "You're always criticizing me, finding faults in everything I do. I can't relax without you nagging at me to be 'more respectable' or to do things your way. It's like I'm walking on eggshells every moment you're here."

Sunday clenched his jaw, clearly growing irritated. "You're exaggerating. I just want you to have some basic decency and standards,"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Decency and standards?! Is that what you call it? I call it suffocating and controlling. I can't even relax in my own home without you breathing down my neck, telling me how to sit, how to fold my clothes, how to talk‐"

Sunday interrupted you, his own irritation seeping into his voice. "Because you're not doing it right! Someone has to keep things in order around here. You think the house will magically stay organized and tidy without any effort?"

You retorted, "I'm not saying we need to live like pigs, but there's being tidy and then there's being overly obsessive about every little detail."

"You're making me feel like I can never do anything right, and it's driving me insane."

"It's about showing some self-discipline and self-respect. You're always so slovenly and careless…" He said.

You felt like you couldn't take his comments anymore. "Slovenly?" you replied, your voice filling with incredulity. "I'm not a slob, Sunday. I'm just being comfortable in MY own home."

The tension in the air was palpable. Sunday's irritation was now almost palpable, and he looked like he was on the verge of losing his composure.

"Your 'comfort' is an excuse for being undisciplined," he said, his voice growing louder. "You think because you're at home, you can just relax and do whatever you want. You have an obligation to yourself to maintain a certain standard of behavior and appearance."

'Obligation?'

You snapped.

"Who the hell do you think you are to dictate my behavior and appearance?" Your frustration boiled over. "You're not my boss, Sunday. You're my partner. You're supposed to support and respect me, not nitpick and control every little thing I do. This isn't a military drill, it's a home."

Sunday's own frustration flared up as you stood your ground. "I'm just trying to help you be better. If you'd just listen and take my advice - "

"Oh, so it's 'advice' now?" You interrupted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're not advising me. You're ordering me around like a damn soldier."

"I'm not just supposed to sit idly by and watch you act carelessly. It's my duty to guide and correct you when you're veering off the right path." he shot back, his voice rising in volume.

You couldn't help but use sarcasm again at his loud tone of voice. "Oh, right, right."

"In the process, teach me how to breathe, yes? I'm sure I'm doing that wrong too."

That comment clearly hit a nerve and Sunday's irritation turned into anger.

"You're being sarcastic and disrespectful again," he said.

"Disrespectful my-!" Your words were quickly cut off.

By he stepped closer, towering over you.

"How insolent!" And the moment he spoke, his hand rose above his head.

Just as you were about to retaliate, your words were cut off by a swift and firm slap across your cheek.

The sudden shock left you stunned, your mind spinning for a moment. Your hand gingerly touched your now stinging cheek.

Sunday stood there, his face filled with disbelief. It was as if he was just as surprised as you were by what he had just done. For a moment, both of you remained silent. The air was filled with shock and a tense silence.

You knew Sunday was stern and strict, but this was the first time he had ever raised a hand at you.

The atmosphere in the room was now even more tense. You felt a knot forming in your stomach and throat, fear and anger mixed together forming a confusing sensation.

The realization of what had just happened was slowly reaching your brain.

He slapped you. He actually dared to lay a hand on you.

The room echoed in deafening silence, the only sound was your own breath, which now came in and out rapidly.

Sunday stood there, his hand still slightly raised as if frozen in time.

Sunday's breathing started to quicken as he began to regain his composure.

His eyes widened after realizing what he had done, his gaze fixed on your reddening cheek.

Your own mind was reeling, trying to process this moment. Just moments before, the conversation was heated, but it had never crossed the line into physical violence.

The stinging sensation on your cheek was slowly turning into a dull ache.

You could feel tears start to sting the corners of your eyes, at that point, you couldn't identify whether it was because of the fact that he had dared to do that or because of the sudden sharp pain in your face.

Sunday's expression morphed from shock to something akin to helplessness. He had crossed a boundary that he never thought he was capable of crossing. All this time, he thought that words were enough to guide and correct, but for the first time, he had crossed the line.

He tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was silence.

The tension in the room was palpable.

He finally managed to speak in a shaky, low voice. "I… I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I don't-"

But you were already at the brink of breaking down. The pain on your cheek combined with the emotional turmoil was becoming unbearable.

You couldn't hold it back anymore.

A soft sob escaped your lips, your tears starting to spill down your aching cheek.

Sunday's heart ached as he saw you starting to break down before him.

He captiously took a step forward, his hand reached out towards you, but stopped midway. He didn't know if he should comfort you or keep his distance after what he had just done.

His voice was a hushed whisper. "Please, let me-"

The sight of him trying to touch you after what he had just done sent a shockwave of fear and anger through you.

"Go ahead," you said, trying to get your voice out without any sobbing.

"Go ahead," You repeated, turning your face a little, pointing to your cheek that wasn't hit. "slap me again,"

At no time did the tears stop, practically you spit out the words between cut-down and agitated breaths.

"Surely this is how your 'father' hit you," you said again, with hatred in your tone. "Surely he did the same for you to be obedient,"

Your words, despite being fueled by anger and pain, stung like a dagger through Sunday's heart.

He stood frozen in place, shocked at the comparison you had just made.

Sunday had revealed to you in a previous conversation how strict Gopher Wood was, raising him to be obedient and disciplined. Growing up, there were times him had used physical means to discipline him for mistakes.

He couldn't deny that his upbringing had influenced his way of thinking and acting, but he had never, ever considered crossing the same boundaries Gopher Wood had.

He had never spoken about it with pride, and in fact, he often looked ashamed when he spoke of the times he was reprimanded in such a manner.

He shook his head, voice shaky. "I'm not like him, It's not the same-"

"Isn't it?" you cut him off, your voice quivering with pain and anger.

"Why? Because you love me?" you continued, the tears now flowing freely down your face.

"Because your father didn't love you? That's the difference?"

Sunday clenched his jaw, your words hitting him deep.

You continued, your voice choked with emotion. "If that's the difference, then you're just as bad," your words cut like blades.

"Maybe even worse, because you should know better." you finished, your voice a broken whisper.

The room was once again heavy with silence, the only sound being the occasional soft sob that escaped through your tears.

Sunday's face was pale, a mix of shame and helplessness.

All he could do was stand there, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

The sight of you broke his heart, but the knowledge that he had caused this breakdown weighed heavily on his soul.

He didn't know what to say, how to justify this to you or even to himself.

He just stood there, feeling like a complete failure.

"I hate you, Sunday," you murmured, As you passed your hands across your face, be careful not to dry your tears abruptly, down your sensitive cheek.

Maybe he is a failure.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[rainybubbles]

I need a whole story with Ghost and arranged marriage.

(and hybrids, I love the AU of the fandom about hybrids 141)

Something slow burn, angst where the reader is confident, but with social anxiety, maybe a f!reader?

She's a sacrifice, about to be married to another duke. But here comes a duchy long forgotten, tucked away in the shadow of the mountains, ruled by a mysterious Duke no one had seen in years.

A Ghost.

His name was Simon Riley, a widower, burdened with loss and cloaked in rumors. They said his heart was as dead as his wife, that a curse had taken not only her but every bit of warmth that could ever live in him. And so, when the black carriage came for you, no one in your village dared to offer you comfort.

You were the sacrifice—the black sheep sent to marry the Duke, an arranged match born out of fear, not love. Your family had seen you as expendable, a lamb to slaughter to secure their own futures.

You were confident in your spirit but burdened with the knowledge that your body didn’t fit the delicate mold others expected. (no one had courted you)

You never thought yourself beautiful, never thought you could inspire anything but pity or rejection. But it didn’t matter, did it? You weren’t meant for love. You were meant to survive.

When you arrived at the Duke’s castle, the silence that greeted you felt heavy, as if the very stones were holding their breath.

Simon Riley stood before you, a towering figure wrapped in shadows, with eyes that seemed carved from stone—cold, distant, and full of secrets.

He did not look at you the way men often did; there was no curiosity, no warmth, no appraisal. Instead, he seemed to be waiting, as if bracing for some inevitable end.

He didn't marry you for love, but because of his curse. Simon was fated to die within a year, and he needed someone to care for his kingdom and use their connections to maintain peace with other realms.

His people were not human, at least not fully. The hybrids, part-beast, part-man, served him with loyalty forged from some unspoken bond. There was Soap, whose wolf-like nature caused him to prowl the castle grounds in restless energy. Gaz, whose wings glinted like silver in the moonlight, was ever watchful, guarding the castle’s gates. And Price, the fiercest of them all, his dragon wings scorched from endless battles, often returned to you for healing.

You became their caretaker, stitching their wounds, reading old texts on werewolves to understand Soap’s habits, and joking with Gaz’s children when they visited.

Slowly, you found your place in this strange, otherworldly family.

And yet, Simon remained distant, an enigma wrapped in silence and sorrow.

He never sought your company, never looked for you, never asked for more than the duty of your presence.

He was a Duke, cursed and broken, and you were his sacrifice, meant to ensure his survival, not his happiness.

Days turned into months, and the weight of your loneliness pressed into your chest like a slow, relentless ache. You gave and gave—your time, your care, your heart—until you had little left for yourself. And one night, it became too much.

The walls of your room, once a sanctuary, closed in on you, and you cried. The sobs came softly at first, but then they grew louder, filling the quiet darkness with your grief, your exhaustion, your sense of never being enough.

Simon heard you.

He came to you in the dead of night, silent as a shadow, and found you curled up in the corner, tears staining your cheeks. He knelt beside you, his hand trembling as he reached for you, as if he wasn’t sure how to touch something so fragile. When his fingers brushed your skin, it was like a shiver of warmth had broken through the icy armor he wore.

“It means nothing,” he whispered, his voice rough and deep. He was speaking to himself as much as to you. “Comforting you means nothing.”

But his hands told a different story. He cradled you gently, pulling you into his chest, and for the first time, you felt his heart beating against yours. He held you, whispering words you couldn’t fully understand, telling himself that this was just duty, that you were just another sacrifice for his throne. But you both knew the truth.

He had fallen.

Bit by bit, Simon let you in, let you see the man behind the Duke, the man who had lost so much. He had never hoped for love—not after losing his wife, not after the curse had taken everything from him. But there you were, taking care of his people, offering comfort without expecting anything in return. And in the quiet moments, when you would tend to Price’s wings or read to Soap, Simon would watch you, a strange ache building in his chest.

He had fallen, and it was too late.

But Simon’s curse was not the only one. Another hybrid, König, appeared at the castle one day, his presence unsettling. He was larger, more menacing than the others, and his eyes lingered on you in a way that made your skin crawl. There was something in his gaze, something dark and possessive, that told you he was not just another visitor.

And then, you were gone.

On the day Simon was to meet his death—a death foretold by the curse—you were not there. He searched for you, frantic, the coldness of his impending doom creeping up his spine. But you were nowhere to be found.

König had taken you, hoping to break the curse for himself, hoping to claim you as his own. But what König didn’t know, what no one knew, was that you had the power to break the curse—not just for Simon, but for another. You were the key, the sacrifice whose heart could unlock the chains binding these cursed men.

But Simon… Simon had already decided.

He would not let you sacrifice yourself again. He had watched you give and give until there was nothing left for yourself. He had heard your cries in the dead of night, felt the weight of your despair. And now, he was ready to curse himself—for you. He was ready to bind his heart to yours, to live an eternity of torment, meeting you again and again across lifetimes if that’s what it took. He would endure the curse, relive the pain, as long as it meant you would be free.

And as Simon drew his last breath, his heart shattered—not from the curse, but from love. His love for you, the woman who had given so much, the woman he had fallen for too late.

And in the distance, far from the castle, you felt it. The weight of his sacrifice. The bittersweet ache of love lost, of a heart cursed not by magic but by fate.

You wept, not for yourself, but for him—for the man who had loved you in silence, in shadows, and in sacrifice. And as the winds whispered through the mountains, carrying his name on the air, you knew he was gone.

But Simon… Simon would return.

Again and again, across lifetimes. Searching for you. Loving you.

Even if it was too late.

Centuries later, he stood frozen, eyes locked on the new translator stepping onto the base. Your smile was polite, a stranger's greeting, but his heart ached as the weight of lifetimes crashed over him.

"You're back," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Yet, your eyes held no recognition—you didn’t remember him.

Yeah, I need a fic like that. 10 chapters, where I cry because damn, this man deserves happiness and so does the reader...

And bonus if the reader is on the fat, chubby side , because I need to see more of that.

[lidiasloca]

more than this (azriel x reader)

summary: after Azriel and reader had a summer together, the last thing Az was expecting was to face her again. (angst).

previous chapter

chapter eight

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AZRIEL'S POV

“Do you miss her?”

The question didn’t shock me. It was Cassian who asked, so of course it didn’t surprise me. His eyes silently asked me every time I let him into my apartment—though that wasn’t often.

“For fuck’s sake. You won’t even say a word? A single word?” he asked, exasperated. If my brother was losing his temper, it was only because he’d been trying all day. Well, technically for two whole months. And still, he hadn’t given up. Maybe now he would.

“I’m not in the mood to talk,” you mumbled, just to give him something.

“Yeah, no shit. You haven’t been in the mood to talk for a long time, Az,” he replied, but at least he sounded calmer now. “You can’t go on like this. Your life is waiting for you outside this apartment.” He sighed deeply before adding what I knew would be a low blow. “A life without her.”

I didn’t know what was so different in the air today, but I felt like trying to talk about it. For once, I knew deep down I had to. “I don’t want a life without her.”

“You had a life without her before. And you were just fine.”

Nothing had been fine without her.

I didn’t feel like arguing, so my heart gave my mouth a confession to share. “I want her, but I can’t have her—and that’s my fault.”

“Sometimes what we want isn’t what’s good for us. Maybe she wasn’t the one for you…”

She was not the one for me.

She was not the one for me.

Over the loud thoughts in my mind, I could hear Cassian continue. “Sometimes giving up is the right thing, Az. And you have to—”

“Shut up.”

He met my eyes instantly, alarm and quiet anger in them. “You never let me help you, brother,” he said, defeated.

“You cannot help.”

“You’re not helpless, you—”

“YOU CANNOT HELP ME!” I stood, anger surging through my veins. “You can’t! I HAVE FUCKING LOST MY MATE. MY MATE! AND YOU THINK YOU CAN HELP WITH THAT?!”

And that was that.

Cassian was shocked. “Your mate?” he muttered.

My lack of an answer was enough for him to stand, walk toward me, and say plainly, “I can help you—I will help you because you’re my brother, Az. Because I love you, and I know you deserve your mate. No matter your mistakes, I know you like no one else, and you are a good person. You’re not defined by one mistake, you hear me?”

I let out a humorless chuckle. “How could you help me?”

He looked down thoughtfully. “I have an idea. It’s not great, but it’s an idea.”

Hope sparked inside my heart. “What?” I asked eagerly. But Cassian suddenly turned and started walking toward the door. “Cassian,” I called, but he kept going. “Cassian?!”

Once at the door, he turned. “You won’t like the idea.”

“Then don’t do it.”

“Exactly. I can’t let you stop me from trying.”

“Cassian,” I threatened, watching his hand on the door handle. “Alright,” I gave in, knowing he’d do it anyway. At least I’d rather know. “I’ll let you do it. But tell me. Please.”

“I’m going to talk to Elain.”

…

And now she was here. Y/N was in front of me, her eyes surprised as if she hadn’t been the one coming to my apartment and knocking on my door. As if she wasn’t the one with the upper hand here, the only one who with one word could ruin my life.

Or save it.

One word is all it takes.

“Can we go to the lake?” is what she says instead, and it makes me think maybe it doesn’t depend on her words, but simply the sound of her voice.

Yes, the melodic sound of her enchanting voice could save me. So the answer comes easily out of my lips. “Yes.”

The familiar path we take to the lake is uncomfortably memorized in my heart, and I guess in hers as well. Every step I take, I’ve taken many times before with her, but it feels like that was in another lifetime.

No one has dared a word yet, and I fear I am not strong enough to start. I know I should, I know there are many unsaid speeches I owe her. But my lips won’t move to my command.

“Elain came,” she states plainly.

It’s plain and short, but I am still grateful the silence is finally broken. I am not so grateful when I realize I have to reply to that. Talking about Elain is not ideal.

“Cassian might have had something to do with that.”

She turns her face to me, giving me a pointed look that I know means no harm. She’s simply analyzing me so she doesn’t have to ask. “No. She came for herself. And for you.”

I regard her back, still walking. “Did she?” I inquire incredulously. I am sure Cassian sparked Elain’s visit, but of course, she would have had a more relevant reason to talk to her.

But doing it partly for me?

The last time I spoke with Elain had been a very rough night. I remember what I said, what Y/N said. The day had been cruel enough, and I ran to the one I had put through an even crueler time. Elain.

“Yes,” she replies, nodding. “She told me about the last time you saw her. That night…” Her voice turns weak at the last bit. I feel weak at the memories her words bring. The wound feels fresh now that she’s near again.

Silence unfolds upon us, helping both of us swim deep into the ocean of pieces of our shared lives.

As if on cue, the lake finally appears in front of us. It is still the same as the last time we swam in it together, as if it were a space created just for us, only to be undisturbed when we weren't there.

I silently ask her with my eyes if she wishes to get closer to it. She gives me an approving nod, so I walk toward it and sit on a large rock by the lake. She sits next to me.

“I’m so sorry.” I turn to her quickly, my eyebrows rising in utter shock.

“What? You don’t have to be sorry about anything,” I mutter too quickly to come out clearly.

“Of course I do. Yes, you do more. But I will always be sorry about what I said to you that night.” She sighs, shifting her gaze away from my eyes. “I wish you could forgive me.”

I open my mouth, even more surprised. “Y/N, of course, I forgive you. Don’t…” I try, but her words, even if I don’t hold them against her, still feel hard to forget. Hard not to let them kill me slowly. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. I should. I must.” I wait until she looks at me again to go on. She needs to see I mean it. Every bit. “I’m so sorry. What I did to you and Elain was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I regret it every day. I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust.”

The air feels thick with unspoken emotions—betrayal, disappointment, maybe even love—all mingling in the quiet. At last, she says, “I forgive you, Azriel.”

My mind goes blank with raw confusion and shock, trying to grasp some coherence in her words. She forgives me. I don’t have to ask her why, for she sees the confusion on my face and continues.

“Because I love you.”

What.

“Because I love you still, Azriel. And because you are my mate. And because I know you truly are sorry.”

Hope sparks inside me, quick and strong. And when I let thoughts of the life we could have together take hold, it’s a fire that roars in my heart.

She loves me—maybe, after all, I still had a chance. Perhaps not everything was lost as I thought. Perhaps I had everything right in front of me.

“You love me…” I blurt out in question, because I still need confirmation.

“Yes,” she replies, and if I weren’t already reeling from this, she smiles sweetly. Her smile. Y/N’s smile. It had been so long since I’d seen it bloom on her beautiful face.

The last time had been in this very place. As if reading my thoughts, her eyes travel to the lake in front of us. Her smile deepens, and to my surprise, I smile as well.

There is a burden I’ve thrown away with her words, with the opportunity she’s given to what I thought I had lost.

Her eyes travel through the beauty of the place as she says, “This lake…”

“Yes,” I quietly mutter, because I know what she’s thinking.

She then turns to me, and it’s her eyes that remind me how much I love her. “Do you remember? This lake? Us?”

“I remember everything.”

-Characters by Sarah J. Maas

HEY! IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY AZRIEL MASTERLIST HERE <3

tag list:

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[httpseungmxn]

Big Boy

Quackity X Streamer!Female Reader

🍡 - flirty/extra flirty

Authors Note: Hello hello my Angels, I know I promised the Jin fic soon buuuuuut Q posted this photo and everyone, including myself, went wild over it! So I just had to make a fic about it! I have decided to make a new fic category just for this one, flirty/extra flirty! This fic will also play off of the other fics I made about him! I hope you guys can enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!<3

Warnings: Lanai attempts to get reader canceled:( , Reader is called “hermosa” and “amor”, wee bit of cussing fr this time

Triggers: None as far as I am aware!

You had really come to know Alex over the past few months. Him becoming one of your best friends, especially after it came out that your best friend Lenai had been spreading lies about you. She had gone to Alex first, expecting him to believe her, but that was a big mistake. As soon as he noticed the negative way she was speaking, he hopped on call with you while also helping notify your fans of the girl's lies.

Nightly calls were almost a daily thing between you two, as well as constant facetimes during yours and his visits to the gym. His hat was always left on, despite feeling just a little extra hot, he wasn’t quite ready to show you yet. You fully understood considering you used to hide your face from everyone. 

The closer you got, the more you wanted to visit him. You were bringing much more in than you expected from streaming, so a plane ticket wouldn’t be a problem. You wanted it to be a surprise to Alex though, knowing that would make it more fun. Alex had often talked about you guys meeting in real life, and how exciting it would be. It was decided, you would be booking a flight to see him. You already knew where he lived, having reached out to karl to help you with the surprise. Making him swear he wouldn’t tell alex you were going to see him. The plane ticket was much easier to get than you expected, and packing was done in a matter of hours.

The nerves set in that night after you had finished packing. It was clear to you and the fans that you had a bit of a thing for Alex, and getting to meet him was making you nervous. You always wondered if you should tell him how you felt but was always too scared to let it slip out to him. You had come so close to saying it a few days ago but it just got stuck in your throat.

You hardly slept the night, and as much as you hoped you would sleep on the plane, you didn’t. You were too nervous and excited at the same time. Feeling bad when you had to decline a facetime from alex while you were on the plane, not wanting to spoil the surprise. Though you answered him as soon as you were off the plane and in a taxi. “ hermosa, why didn’t you answer any of my calls before? I thought you were mad at me! “, “ im sorrrryyyy, I was taking a long nap, I’m in a taxi now though “,  “ a taxi? Where are you going, hermosa? “,  smiling to yourself, knowing in just a short while he will know where you are.

That came sooner than you expected though. Getting out of the taxi and making sure the camera is angled directly at your face so he can’t see where you are. “ im just visiting a friend nearby. Hold on just one sec, alex. “. knocking very gently on his door and looking to the camera, nerves setting back in when you see him leave his room. “ someones here, but I didn’t order any pizza. if I die, it was the hut, hermosa. “, unable to hold back a giggle. Looking to the door when it opens and smiling brightly at the boy in front of you. “ guess now you know which friend I’m visiting, huh? “. He didn’t respond at first, probably still trying to process it. Just as you didn’t process what he was doing until you were lifted up into a tight hug.

Smiling brightly as you hugged back. Not even letting go when you were set down. His arms were wrapped to tight around your waist, if you were a balloon you probably would’ve popped by now. You didn’t mind it though, you felt safe in his arms. Your nerves being shooed away with one little hug. “ how the fuck did you manage to surprise me so well, hermosa “ ,  “ you know I like to keep you on your toes, ‘lex “. Smiling again when he lets out a light laugh at your response. 

“ come in, come in, sorry it might be kind of a mess “, Alex spoke as he gathered your bags and carried them inside for you. Only then did you realize just how big he had gotten in the muscle category. Eyes staring at his muscles as they flexed with each movement. “ alex, when the hell did you manage to grow those? “, unable to hold your filter. 

Listening to him laugh again before he flexed his arms to show off for you. “ are you checking me out, amor? “. That was new, he had never called you that before, and it was obvious to him you knew what it meant considering the blush coming to your cheeks. “ now don’t get too ahead of yourself, cowboy, you were the one purposely checking me out on call just five minutes ago “.

“ Did you expect me not too? You look really beautiful in that dress “. That was also new. Alex was constantly teasing you, but the tone in his voice was different now. It sounded so serious and dripped with confidence in how he felt. You found it hard to hold eye contact wit him now. Not even five minutes into the meet up, and alex already had you red.

“ Lets be honest, Amor, surely you didn’t expect me to hold back just because you’d turn all red and yell at me. You being here just means I can let it all out, times ten. “. His smile had you wobbly in the legs, there was something so different about seeing it in person compared to facetime.

Only now did you realize this visit was going to be a lot more different than you expected. 

Alex was going to be the death of you.

Authors ending note; So who else got butterflies reading that? I got jittery and I’m the one writing it! I feel like I’m slowly beginning to get better at portraying him, and thats probably because I study the way a lot of people write him while also paying extra attention to how he is in streams/videos. Perhaps soon we will get a confession, and possibly a hair reveal? Who knowssss, guess you guys will have to just stick around for the next one! Also who else lost their mind over that photo he dropped last night? I’m in the whatsapp and as soon as he sent it, twitter was going absolutely chaotic[myself included]! If you guys wanna follow me on social media, my X is @/f_fuyuma! Until next time, My Angels 🫶

[celestialtarot11]

Moon in the 12h

Hey friends! Welcome back to another post focusing on the moon in the 12h! 🤍 just to spread some awareness on this placement. There’s a lot of great posts shedding light on this placement already ✉️ hoping to expand more on this post in the future in combination with esoteric astrology 👀 feel free to like comment & reblog! divider creds: @fairytopea

Natives with moon in the 12h often are left feeling excluded. Its not that they hate what is around them necessarily, but rather its what they wish they had that isn't in front of them. It often stems from family issues.

They want that safe happy family everyone else seems to have. Some natives may even look at other family through rosed colored glasses, projecting their fantasies, missing the idea that other families can struggle too.

But to 12h natives, its not just a fantasy. Its their inner child longing to be safe, to be held.

Moon in the 12h natives often grow up to understand what happens around them externally is essentially a product of their behavioral patterns.

Moon 12h aspects (square, opposition, conjunction)

Moon-saturn aspects often experience neglect, isolation during their hardest times by biological family and what they consider friends. The native clings to what sabotages them over and over, until they withdraw completely. Either that—or life has torn apart their relationships to show them they cant hold onto what is falling apart. It gives them no control to show them what they can control. And that is their ego, how they treat themselves. Their perspective, habits, etc.

Moon-pluto can result in the native feeling confused as to what their desires are. What their true nature is. They’re wrapped up in selling a persona someone else liked, in order to be validated. They get lost in fueling others so much they forget themselves. They can act as a, “pick me up,” easily. But when it comes to helping themselves the native may cope with unhealthy mechanisms. The native can experience views of self victimization, learned helplessness and obsessive tendencies towards others.

Moon-pluto aspects often experience turbulence regarding the mother. The mother could have been absent for some part of their life—or a female figure that was considered a guardian to the native, abandoned them. That female figure then became manipulative, trying to take advantage of the native’s emotions. This mother or guardian figure abandoned the native in times of need, and also forced the native to take responsibility that was never theirs to begin with.

Both saturn & pluto here force the native to grow up faster than necessary.

Regarding the father figure for moon-saturn aspects, or a male guardian to the native, the figure was cold. Demanding, harsh, and inflexible. The figure could have enforced strict rules to not allow the native to socialize—often pinning their fears onto the native. It’s very possible the father figure engaged in self sabotage in front of the native openly.

Moon-neptune aspects get consumed by energy completely. They become one with the energy in the room. Therefore if surrounded by toxicity, and negative energies the native can fall sick because of it (mentally, and physically speaking.)

These natives are the type to daydream about having the perfect family to feel safe in their heads. They block everything out that hurts them, and then eventually takes their feelings out on themselves. These natives possibly struggled with being seen as “less than,” in the family. Misogynistic parents or friends, parents or friends who belittle them, victimize themselves and yet expect the native to grow up—all whilst keeping the native “stuck” in a naive mindset.

Harsh expectations in their environment to be perfect all the time. Mental health? Basically does not exist in this environment. Same can be said for moon-saturn and pluto aspects.

Moon-mars aspect dealt with verbally aggressive environments, perhaps physical too. There is always someone trying to be “better,” than the native, or showcase their skills to seem higher than the native. Comparison, competition and jealousy often were in the household. Its very likely this came from a mother or female figure, and father figure/male figure as well.

The native dealt with roughhousing and learned to develop a sharp tongue to keep themselves safe. As a result they can be anxious, defensive as a way to protect their emotions. They’d rather keep their walls up as a defense than to let others in, because when the people closest to them saw them hurt, they were met with aggression.

Moon-mars native can have a hard time regulating their emotions, and have had the people around them be so focused on the “material realm,” like money, cars, etc, to the point of neglecting their emotional health.

When moon in 12h heals…

They learn to accept their emotions for what is. Are they actually being needy, clingy, “emotional,” or human? Slowly, they unravel the narratives that were forced onto them since a young age and discover their emotions aren’t the enemy.

It’s the harmful narratives and perspective around emotions that is the enemy.

Moon in the 12h can also begin to gain perspective as to why everyone is the way they are—generally, no human is completely sane. We are all traumatized in one way or another. But they know now this isn’t an excuse for mistreatment.

Extra

Paid readings 🤍

[fae-morrigan]

Someone put a post (where they admit they straight up dont know these characters lol, and also spell damian as 'damien' so like. yknow.) in the tags saying that if you're a fan of Jon & Jay, you shouldn't buy super son. Well, as the crowned CEO of Jay & Jon, I'm here to tell you guys that you absolutely should.

Super Son did the amazing thing of hitting several marks that I predicted while still managing to surprise me in how they hit them. Which is high praise for any story: A great narrative should be able to both meet reasonable audience expectations (i.e, staying in character, setup payoff) WHILE STILL throwing in curveballs that tell you something new.

There's a lot I want to analyze and get into, namely how I think the rooftop conversation between Jon & Nia is really brilliantly done in what it says about both characters, but mainly I've been thinking a lot about how great those last few pages were and how I think Sina absolutely nails how Jon & Jay's specific issues interact with each other.

Jay's always been a blunt person. From their first meeting back in SOKE 2, hes said what he thinks, and rarely does he try and soften himself. More than that, his bluntness is often a shield from vulnerability, which Jay struggles with the whole scene. It makes total sense, after what hes experienced (re-traumatization at the hands of a friend) that he's displaying that trait again.

Jon, however, is immediately vulnerable. This is the most poignant confession of the issue: Not even in the amazing sequence of Nia helping him make a place in the darkness (look, its back, thanks isabel!) do we get this admission of fear.

And Jay, like always, embraces him. Sidenote, LOVE how they got in the thing Jon does where he's constantly tucking his face in people's shoulders during hugs.

But the moment ends, and we get here. First of all, cold af. I could feel the aura before I turned the page.

Second of all: Jay is totally valid in feeling this way. And it makes perfect sense that he would.

Sara was his everything. Getting her back was one of his main motivations in SOKE. Because of Nia's actions, she died horribly (do you know what happens to a person when they fall from that sort of height? I do. Its AWFUL.) for an unjust cause. Of course he's glad she can't hurt anyone else!

And that's when we get to my FAVORITE PART! Oh how I love this bit. Because like. You understand why Jon's angry- Its a harsh thing for Jay to say! Nia was the one who kept him sane while he was trapped in his own mind! But Jay, like always, is RIGHT: Jon DOESN'T get it. How could he?

Jon Kent will NEVER, ever, be put in this position. Out of universe, his parents are Clark Kent and Lois Lane. They'll ALWAYS come back. Hell, the fact they'll always come back is something Ma LITERALLY says to Jon in SOKE. He will never, ever have to know this pain.

In universe, Jon's a white american. Despite being queer, despite being an alien, he'll never know what its like to be this kind of collateral, delegated as pawns in a greater war for 'freedom'. That is what killed Sara at the end of the day: imperialism.

This next bit hurts my heart. Great job, guys!

For one: Jon claims he's not excusing the mistakes Nia made, but by downplaying it like this... yes he is. But did you catch that part? Right at the start of that bubble?

"I'm going to fight every day to make up for my own part in this."

That's where it clicked for me. Something I had been hoping for since Nicole first called them twin flames.

He's projecting.

Of COURSE he's defending Nia. Of COURSE he wants Jay to forgive her. It isn't just about the fact that she gave him support, it isn't just the dreams, its the fact that... well. If Jay can't forgive her... how could he EVER forgive HIM?

THIS is where the fact that Jon and Nia are so similar as character SINGS. They become mirrors to each other, evaluating their own self worth through the other, at the unintentional expense of the people they've hurt.

Jay's right, though. Again. Its almost like he's the embodiment of the truth or something. He doesn't HAVE to do anything.

When he starts crying though, I immediately was RUINED. This is the first time we have EVER seen him cry before during his entire existence of a character. And its not really even because his mom is dead (though yes, that) and its not even because of the argument. Its because Jay fundamentally wants to be understood, and he's not getting that.

Which is important for the next bit:

I want to first backtrack a bit to Son of Kal El again, specifically, issue fourteen, right here.

Hello, two-panel sequence that succinctly describes these two as characters. How convenient you are for me, a guy analyzing a work that isn't written prose.

Jon isn't good at letting go, for better or for worse. The things he cares about stay with him, and when something or someone tries to exit his life, he clings to them with all his might.

Jay however, both selflessly and selfishly, is willing to let go first if he thinks its better for the other person. To me this line so effortlessly summarizes who Jay is- he's a person who's accustomed to not having things, and will leave before it hurts and he gets too attached.

And that thought is ALL over this scene. Jay, who begins to let go, Jon, who both literally and physically CLINGS to jay, practically begging him to stay.

(Sidenote. This is like, the third time Jay mentions breaking up when Jon starts acting up. Good for you king, keep that white boy on his toes, let him know he ain't all that.)

Every little detail of this four panel sequence is killing me. "My worst nightmare is not having a home with you in it." His greatest desire. The thing that kept tipping him off in every fake reality Nia constructed for him- Jay's absence. Him wiping the tear of Jay's cheek. Jay walking away from him.

But what really gets me is how on this page, Jon talks about them as 'we', while Jay is firmly stuck in 'I.'

This is what made me LOSE MY MARBLES at three in the morning. Just utterly fucking off my rocker in a straightjacket talking to myself.

Because this is what JON wants. But is it what JAY wants?

Jon never asks.

What about what Jay fears? What about the life that HE wants? What if he doesn't want San Francisco? What if the life he wants is the life he HAD before everything went wrong? Jon outright says he wants a fresh start. But Jay, Jay's someone with such deep connections to what he just lost, what he likely WANTS to get back. His country. His mother. His sense of self. But. He says yes.

(Sidenote. FIRST I LOVE YOU WOOOOOOOOOO) To quote my buddy Dami: Oh, the drama of needing a future with someone who can't get over the past.

It is left unclear, by the end, whether or not Jay is saying yes to this because he genuinely wants to, or if he's only saying yes because he doesn't want to lose Jon, too. Jon doesn't stop to question whether or not Jay's only reaching after him because Jon's walking away. We, the audience, are left to ponder that for ourselves.

How much of Jay saying yes is him just accepting that this is the best he's going to get? That he's never going to be understood because nobody wants to understand?

He's an afterthought to Nia, an obstacle at best, and to Jon he's a particularly handsome prop in this little fantasy he has of running away and starting new. He's either not thought of at all, or when he is thought about, it's in the context of how he can emotionally fulfill the other person And you get why Jon did this. He's desperate, he's hurting, he just got tangible evidence that the time he has with the people he loves isn't ever guaranteed. He's been needing space from Clark and Lois for MONTHS because god knows they haven't been fulfilling his emotional needs. In a very real sense, Jay is who he has.

But wanting someone to stay with you so much that you'll... Not even ignore, but just not ever consider what they may want. The intentional isolation, moving halfway across the country away from all support systems. The need to cling to someone.

It reminds me of... something. Someone.

Don't tell Jon I made this comparison. He'll kill himself. Jon and Ultraman ARE similar. They're both such deeply lonely people who cling very tightly and even though it manifests in different ways and even though they have different core thoughts about it. The effect at the end of the day is the same, isn't it?

Is loving Jay not a brutal act of destruction?

There's so many more details about this story I love. Jon & Nia's conversation being vague enough that you have no idea how Jon meant what he told her but you KNOW how NIA took it (girl you can do better hes literally ugly!). Jon breaking a pillar by bonking his head against it (LMFAO). The pretty lies vs ugly truth dichotomy of Jay vs Nia here.

But this one scene, man. This one fucking scene takes the cake. STELLAR work all around. Every panel counts.

This better lead into a full Superman & Gossamer run or SOMETHING or I'm going to have WORDS with DC's editorial staff.

[onepiece-writting-forest]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4 - ʙᴏʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ

Summary: In the middle of exams and a diet of instant noodles, you decide to order some take out. What you did not expect was your delivery person to be a hot guy on a motorcycle, who, as fate would have it, happens to be a fellow student at your university.

chapter notes.: Penguin and Shachi being really interested in who Law had a study date with, and mentioning of Laws ex gf, also uncle Rosi mentions <3

tags.: One Piece, Trafalgar Law, Law x Reader, NSFW, slow burn romance (?), Modern AU, law has a motorcycle cuz its hot, Penguin and Shachi appearing as flat mates, Rosinante as the loving uncle, Laws crazy Ex,

[ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]

Law wanted to text you. He felt a bit guilty for leaving so abruptly without a proper goodbye. Maybe he could use the chance to apologize for his quick disappearance or, better yet, set up another study session. He had to admit, the last one had been surprisingly productive—way more than he’d expected. Your structured notes made it easier for him to memorize the material, and that wasn’t something that happened often.

Initially, he agreed to study with you because he was running out of time and figured someone who always seemed to be buried in their books could save him some effort. It might’ve sounded opportunistic—and honestly, it was. Sure, he enjoyed your company, but the main reason was to cram effectively. He wasn’t ready to admit, even to himself, that your presence actually helped him unwind, even for just a moment.

Still, he couldn't find the right time to message you. Walking home with Penguin, he didn't want to risk sending a text and having to deal with his teasing. Penguin already joked that their "study date" was more of an actual date, and that was already irritating enough. Even if it was something more, it wasn’t any of his business.

“By the way, those puns were terrible. Seriously, you’ve got to cut them, Peng,” Law muttered as he dropped onto the worn-out couch in their living room. Penguin already popping open a cold beer and handing one over to Law.

Before Penguin could defend himself, Shachi strolled out of the bathroom, a towel draped around his neck, his damp brown hair pushed back, still dripping slightly. He was already dressed in his usual comfortable clothes and hearing the conversation, he wanted to comment on Penguins thesis as well, which he also proof read for him.

"Yeah, Peng. You're supposed to impress your professor with your thesis, not make him cringe."

"Guys, come on, there's a strategy here!" Penguin held up his hands in mock defense, already sensing the incoming wave of criticism. He sat down next to Law and wanted to explain his…creative way of writing.

Both Law and Shachi exchanged suspicious looks but gave Penguin a chance to talk.

“My professor is basically a walking dad joke. I figured slipping in a couple of puns would make it more… relatable, you know?”

Shachi frowned, grabbing a beer before slumping onto the couch next to them. “Dude, it's an academic thesis, not open mic night. Are you sure that's the right call?”

Law was quiet for a second, considering it. Then he shrugged. "If your professor’s into that sort of thing, maybe toss one in... but just one. At the conclusion or something.”

“Are you seriously encouraging this?” Shachi raised his eyebrows, clearly in disbelief, especially coming from Law.

Law took a long sip from his beer, then shrugged again, nonchalant as ever. Maybe it was his exhausted mind talking nonsense, but honestly he didn’t really mind it if there was a reason. It didn’t sound stupid.

"Look, it's not like anyone else is gonna read it, and if the professor enjoys that kind of humor, why not? But, for the love of god, Penguin—just one pun. You’ve got way too many in there. It’s distracting."

Penguin sighed and leaned back against the couch, nodding. Law noticed his shift in demeanor—maybe constantly criticizing his work wasn’t the best idea. After all, Penguin had poured months into that thesis, combing through scientific papers, fitting them into his argument, all while completely neglecting his health and barely taking any breaks. Law knew that both his friends were sharp, even though they liked to goof around a lot. Law couldn't deny that. Penguin was knee-deep in marine biology, while Shachi tackled mechanical engineering. Both degrees demanded a lot from students, and Law had nothing but respect for their dedication.

“Besides the puns, it's a solid thesis,” Law said in his usual flat tone, reaching for the remote to turn on their small TV. It sat precariously on a makeshift shelf they’d salvaged from a dumpster. After a few minor repairs, it became somewhat usable.

They had agreed early on not to let their apartment turn into a disaster zone but also didn’t want to spend much money on new furniture. Despite that, the place had a cozy charm. Each of them had pitched in, decorating with random posters they’d stumbled upon, pictures of the group, or bits and pieces they’d brought from home. It was an unspoken rule to keep it reasonably clean. Sure, there were occasionally pots “soaking” in the sink for far too long, and maybe some breadcrumbs were left scattered on the floor, but overall, the place wasn’t a mess.

Hearing the first bit of positive feedback from Law, Penguin looked over, his eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

Shachi also noticing that some positive feedback was probably more constructive than just criticism, he was ready to lift the mood, giving Penguin a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Yeah, man! It’s a great read. I’m sure you’ll ace it. Seriously, stop worrying.”

“Honestly, the only thing I found to fix were those puns, anything else was good.” Law added, propping his head in his hand, his attention still on the TV. That was probably the most support you could get out of Law, generally speaking but also considering how drained he was.

Penguin’s face lit up with a wide smile, finally relaxing into the couch. After all the stress, getting approval from Law and Shachi felt good. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot!“

That being said, a comfortable silence settled between the three young men, which Law was very eager to enjoy. To his dismay however, Penguin wasn’t one to just sit there in silence and spilled the beans out of nowhere, now shifting the attention to Law. „By the way, Law was out with a girl.”

Law’s eyes narrowed in an instant. “I take it back. Your thesis is shit.” He shot Penguin a death glare, knowing exactly where this was headed. Shachi perked up immediately, practically sliding over for the incoming gossip.

“Oh ho ho, really?” He wiggled his eyebrows, grinning like a kid with a secret. “Is she pretty?”

“Yeah, man! You should’ve seen her! The way she—”

“I swear, Penguin, I’ll rewrite your entire thesis with nothing but dad jokes and send it straight to your professor.”

“C’mon, Law!” Shachi joined in, unable to resist. “You never go out with anyone. Obviously, we’re curious!”

Law rolled his eyes, trying to shut out the teasing, but the smug grins from both Shachi and Penguin made it clear he wasn’t escaping this conversation easily. He took a long swig from his beer and let out a dramatic sigh. “We were just studying.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure," Shachi waved off the uninteresting part, leaning forward with a grin. "How’d you meet? At uni? In a lab?”

Law could tell Shachi wasn’t interested in hearing what they were studying. It had been years since Law had anything serious with someone, and even that had fizzled out quickly. His last real relationship, back at the start of university, had been a disaster—his ex was a little... unhinged, to say the least. Aside from that, there were the occasional one-night stands after parties, but nothing anyone would consider serious.

He hesitated, thinking of a way to dodge the subject. But he remembered how often his uncle, had told him to open up more, at least to Penguin and Shachi. They were practically his brothers, after all. Law knew these two could handle his closed-off nature—they’d been doing it for years. If anyone deserved a peek past his walls, it was them. Rosinante was right after all.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “I met her during work.”

Penguin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, while you were delivering food? How did you even end up meeting her like that?”

It was a fair question. Delivering food didn’t exactly lend itself to romantic meet-cutes, and Law wasn’t exactly Mr. Charisma when it came to flirting. It was hard to imagine how this had come about.

“Yep, brought her food,” Law replied, keeping it deliberately vague, the mischievous grin tugging at his lips. He knew that wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy them and was clearly enjoying dragging it out.

Penguin, not amused by the teasing, gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “Oh, come on! You can’t just leave it at that!”

Law smirked, savoring the moment. He tried to play it cool, but his friends were too excited to let him brush it off. Sure, your company was comforting, you were smart, and yes, you were undeniably pretty—but Law barely knew you. He’d only met you once outside of that study session, and he wasn’t about to jump to conclusions.

“Yeah, last week or so, I brought her order and—,” Law began, leaning back into the couch, his voice steady.

“Oh, the night you had to work overtime and finish that other assignment?” Shachi asked, recalling how exhausted Law had looked when he got home. He’d been worried—those dark circles under Law’s eyes seemed to be getting worse every day. Shachi had been silently wondering if Law was pushing himself too close to a burnout.

Law nodded, taking another sip of his beer. “Yeah, that night. She brought me some water, and—”

“Aww, that’s so sweet of her!” Penguin interrupted with a grin, earning a sharp look from Law.

“Can I finish without you two chiming in every five seconds?” Law huffed, clearly not used to being in the spotlight like this.

“Sorry, sorry,” Penguin chuckled, leaning back and gesturing for Law to continue. He could barely contain his excitement, but he tried.

“Anyway, she asked why I looked so rushed, and turns out she’s doing meds too—studying for the same exam next week.” Law shrugged like it was no big deal. “She suggested we study together. Saved me some time to work with someone who’s ahead of me.”

Shachi and Penguin exchanged a glance, their eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Wait, hold up. She suggested it?” Shachi asked, eyes wide.

“Yup.” Law met their gaze, already anticipating where this was going.

Shachi and Penguin looked at each other again, clearly having an unspoken conversation, before turning back to Law, their expressions a mix of disbelief and amusement. They both leaned forward like parents about to explain the facts of life to their clueless child.

“Dude, she definitely has a thing for you,” Penguin said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Law just gave a casual shrug, as if it was no big deal. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean ‘nah’? She went out of her way to ask you to study with her,” Shachi insisted, looking at Law like he was the densest person on the planet. “People don’t do that for just anyone.”

Law’s expression remained unreadable. “She just wanted to study. We’re in the same degree. It's not that deep.”

Penguin shook his head, grinning. “Come on, man. She brings you water, chats you up, and then suggests a study date? You don’t see anything in that?”

Law sighed, trying to stay grounded. “She’s just being nice. I’m not reading into it.”

Shachi laughed, slapping his knee. “You’re hopeless. She’s into you, dude. Mark my words.”

Penguin nodded, clearly enjoying the teasing, while Law rolled his eyes again, though this time, a small grin tugged at his lips. His friends were hopeless romantics, always reading into every tiny gesture, convinced it meant someone was interested. Law, on the other hand, was the complete opposite—almost too oblivious to the idea that anyone could like him in a romantic way. He figured people didn't really go for someone as cold and closed-off as he was. Besides, he didn’t have time for a relationship.

“Remember when you were with Yuki?” Penguin chimed in, leaning back. “You didn’t think she liked you at first either.”

Law groaned. “Yeah… I wish she didn’t.”

Both Penguin and Shachi snickered, fully agreeing. Yuki had been... a handful, to say the least. Law’s brief relationship with her was still a running joke among the three of them.

She was also in meds, coming from the North as well and coincidentally from a neighbouring city. It wasn’t too far from Flevance. Back the Law was missing his home town quite a bit, Yuki had helped ease his homesickness with their shared experience from the North. Honestly she was really nice in the beginning, yet it started to spiral once things got serious. Even after Law ended the relationship, she wouldn’t leave him alone. It was a very unhealthy and obsessive relationship.

“She still texting you?” Shachi asked, making himself comfortable again as if bracing for the gossip.

Law shook his head. “Nope. Blocked her. But I’m pretty sure she’s still following me with a second account on Instagram.”

Shachi let out a dramatic sigh.

“Never stick peepee into crazy.”

At that, all three raised their bottles in unison. “Cheers,” they said together, clinking their bottles and taking a long drink. It was a victory toast—a reminder that Law had finally escaped the whirlwind that was his ex and her drama.

Just as Law was about to refocus on the TV, his phone buzzed. A new message. He casually pulled it out and glanced at the screen—it was from you. Unlocking his phone, he read the text from you. It was simple: a thank-you for today and a question about meeting up again for studying. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it caught his attention enough to make him put his beer aside and reply right away.

Of course, his friends noticed immediately. Penguin leaned in, trying to sneak a glance at Law’s phone. "Y/N… is that her?"

Shachi perked up again, sitting upright, all traces of his earlier relaxation gone. "Oh, oh, what’s she saying?"

Law sighed, turning his phone away from Penguin, who was getting a little too close for comfort. “Ever heard of privacy?” he muttered, giving them both a warning look.

Penguin exchanged a mischievous grin with Shachi. "She wants to meet up again, doesn’t she?"

Law groaned, clearly annoyed. "It's just for studying. Now leave me alone."

“You could invite her over—” Shachi started, the teasing tone back in his voice.

“Definitely not.“

The last thing he needed was his friends playing matchmaker or causing any more awkwardness.

“Fine, fine, you're no fun... but how about this?” Shachi persisted, undeterred by the warning glare from Law. His patience was already wearing thin, and he was starting to regret even mentioning you to his friends, but Shachi was never one to be easily intimidated.

Law sighed, letting him continue. There was no stopping Shachi when he was on a roll.

“Do whatever you want, study for your exam, but if she seems cool, maybe bring her to the party in two weeks?” Shachi suggested casually.

“What party? The one your engineering group is throwing?” Law asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that one. By the way, Ikkaku said she’d come too,” Shachi added quickly, his tone more genuine this time. He wasn't trying to push Law into anything, just offering an idea.

Law looked at him for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. It was a simple, friendly offer, not the usual teasing. Shachi knew Law had sworn off dating after Yuki‘s chaotic exit from his life, but he was just trying to help him see that not every connection had to be a disaster.

“Just think about it," Shachi continued. "Study with her, get to know her, and if things feel right, you can bring her along. It's not like you're signing up for a lifelong commitment.”

Penguin chimed in, grinning. “Yeah, man, no one's saying you have to get married. Just have a little fun, meet some people. Who knows?”

Law rolled his eyes but didn’t dismiss the idea outright. He was always packed with work and studying that socializing, let alone dating, had taken a backseat. The idea of bringing you to a party wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He could keep it casual, see where things went—no pressure, no expectations.

“We’ll see,” Law muttered, and took his beer back and leaned into the couch once more. He was glad the topic was over, and he could finally relax…even though you still ghosted around in his mind, especially after what his friends had told him.

Where you really interested?

…Nah, couldn’t be.

tag list: @mars-mizuko (Comment to be added 🖤)