#i decided to lean towards the former

[agnerd-bot]

Fanservant: Frau Trude Gothel, Wicked Witch of the Fairy Tales(Caster)

Ascension Stages:

First Stage: Gothel is dressed in an elaborate dark ballgown that reaches all the way to the floor, the dress ornate with gold and silver accents. On her ring finger, a shining golden ring gleams in the light. Long pink hair flows down to the small of her back, topped by a black crown, and a pair of gleaming golden eyes shine as she stares down the Master.

Second Stage: Gothel’s outfit has changed to a more ‘traditional’ witch’s style, with long, flowing sleeves extending out from her robes, and a witch’s hat resting upon her head, replacing her crown. Her dress has shortened, revealing her long legs, and her hair has grown out to be much more wild and unkempt. Her sclera have darkened to become pitch-black, and a fiery aura has begun to surround her entire being.

Final Stage: Gothel’s form has changed from that of a witch to a true Devil. Out from her back sprouts black feathered wings, and her skin takes on a deathly white pallor. Her nails lengthen into demonic claws, and a pair of monstrous horns sprout from the sides of her head. The ring has been corrupted slightly, becoming immersed in hellish flames.

Theme:

Character Theme: Healing Song - Tangled

Battle Theme: BlazBlue CentralFiction - Walpurgisnacht (Nine the Phantom theme)

Fatal Battle Theme: 破壊神

Traits:

Class: Caster Alternate Class: Berserker, Alter Ego, Beast True Name: Frau Trude Gothel Source: Grimm’s Fairy Tales Region: Germany Alignment: Chaotic Evil Attribute: Earth

Known as: The Witch of the Story’s End, The Witch of the Tower, the Forest Witch, The Villain of All Fairy Tales, The Devil Incarnate, Diabolus Ex Machina 

Voice Actress: Noto Mamiko

Deck: QABBB

Parameters: Strength: D Endurance: A++ Agility: B Mana: EX Luck: C NP: A

Passive Skills:

Territory Creation(Fairy Tale) C++:

As a Fairy Tale character, Gothel is uniquely capable of altering her environment, creating the backdrops of the stories to be told. Gingerbread houses, massive towers, fantastic castles, all can be made by Gothel with a mere wave of her wand.

However, as much as she is the creator of the world around her, the majority of her creations are simply temporary structures of illusions made to trap victims, meaning this skill is less effective than a true master’s handiwork. While her creations could be much more impressive if she chose to apply herself more properly, she’s content to lazily throw together false illusions to suit her needs and then smash them to pieces when she is done.

(FGO Effect:) -Increases own Arts and Quick performance by 10%.

Item Construction EX:

The power of one of the most famed witches to ever exist, and yet one of a witch who melts away among all the rest. Gothel’s ability to create fearsome cursed items and magical weapons is among the best among all Servants, thanks to her status as an offshoot of the legendary Baba Yaga. There are few Servants that could ever hope to match her raw talent in magecraft.

In at least one Fairy Tale, The Dragon of the North, it is even said that a witch-maiden held the power of King Solomon’s Ring, and knew of its incredible secrets. While this story is likely nothing more than a fantasy, it speaks testament to the incredible and fearsome powers that Gothel has at her beck and call.

(FGO Effect:) -Increases own Debuff success rate by 12%.

Wicked Witch of the Story’s End A:

As the Villain of All Fairy Tales, Dame Gothel reigns supreme as one of the most powerful Fairy Tale Servants alive, surpassed only by the Big Bad Wolf and the Persecuted Heroine, and matched only by her equal opposite, the Fairy Godmother.

Where there are stories to be told, a villain will naturally arrive to cause strife and pain.

(FGO Effect:) -Increases own critical damage by 12%. -Increases own damage by 250.

Active Skills:

Devil’s Contract B:

While many in the world feared witches and blamed them for countless misfortunes and disasters that happened to them, few, if any, ever truly laid eyes on a witch and recorded their experiences. As few understood witches or how their powers worked, many associated their existence with that of the Devil, believing them to be Brides of Satan who had sold their souls to evil in exchange for power. As a Fairy Tale whose existence was based off of these false notions, Gothel has imprinted upon her a ‘contract’ with Hell itself.

This contract with Hell has granted Gothel incredible powers, and is the source of some of her more powerful magic. She can summon pillars of hellfire that can erase even a victim’s soul, drag victims off to the deepest pits of Hell, and summon monstrous creatures from the Pit to fight for her in combat. Her powers are effectively limited only by her sick imagination and sadistic cruelty.

Most notable of her powers is a form of pseudo-immortality. While her body can be destroyed by an enemy, she can resurrect herself each and every time, so long as the enemy she faces isn’t a god or similar divinity. It is through this power that Gothel has survived things like being burned alive by Handel and Gretel, dancing to death in Snow White, being hacked to pieces, and other similar fates.

No matter how often the villain dies, or how often the hero beats her, she will always return when the story begins anew, ready to ravage the lands at her leisure.

(FGO Effect:)  -Increases own Debuff Success rate every turn for three turns. -Apply a state to yourself: Gain NP Gauge when attacking with Buster Cards (3 turns). -Apply Guts to self for two times, five turns.(Stackable with other Guts).

Wicked Transformation A:

In Fairy Tales of old, there were hundreds of tales of witches using their accursed powers to transform unwilling victims into horrible monsters, helpless animals, or inanimate objects for some reason or another. Whether it be envy of another’s virtue, punishing the wicked and foolish for incurring their ire, or twisting a victim’s wish into something terribly ironic, the ability of a witch to alter the forms of those she chooses is unlimited, and when these powers are unleashed, it is all too easy for Gothel to dispose of her victims.

If need be, Gothel can turn this transformation unto herself, shifting into the form of an eagle to fly through the air, an old beggar woman to disguise her appearance, a ferocious bear to fight off her enemies, and so much more, all with a mere magic word and a wave of her wand. It is through this power that Gothel gained her reputation as the Villain of All Fairy Tales.

However, as with all fairy tales, this ability does have a caveat. Each transformation comes with a condition that, once fulfilled, will release the victim from its binding. If a victim is able to escape from Gothel and find someone to free them from their curse, then they will be returned to their true form.

(FGO Effect:) -Inflicts Buff Block status for three times on one enemy. -High chance to Stun an enemy for one turn. -Gains Critical Stars every turn for three turns. -Increase Critical Damage for yourself for three turns

Mesmerizing Banquet of Cockaigne B:

Poisoned Apples.

Gingerbread Houses.

Irresistible Rapunzel.

In the fairy tales of old Europe, food and drink has often served as the greatest tempter of man, and witches like Gothel have preyed on these temptations for ages, able to prey on the hunger and greed of humanity by creating food that no human is able to possibly resist.

This power over food has only grown in power after Gothel has consumed the mythical Land of Cockaigne and further bolstered her power. The mere presence of her cooking is able to drive victims mad and lure them into the land of food and drink that is Cockaigne, abandoning all precepts such and former memories to become self-indulgent and hedonistic, like cattles to the slaughter.

Surprisingly, while Gothel can easily summon food and drink by means of her magic, she seems to have a preference for making her food from scratch. When cooking, a faint smile can be seen on Gothel’s face, even when not preparing a meal to deceive or hypnotize.

“Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble… Rampion flower on the vine… return to me what once was mine…”

(FGO Effect:) -Significantly increases NP Gauge. -Removes own Debuffs. -Low chance to lower Critical Resistance for all enemies for three turns. -Low chance to lower Buster Resistance for all enemies for three turns. -Low chance to reduce NP Charge for all enemies for three turns. -Low chance to lower Attack for all enemies for three turns. -Low chance to lower Healing for all enemies for three turns.

Noble Phantasms:

Noble Phantasm: Die Teufelsmaske - Feed the Devil’s Fire Rank: A Maximum Targets: 1 Range: — Classification: Anti-Unit(Self)

A terrifying Noble Phantasm that removes all guises and illusion from Frau Gothel’s form to reveal who she truly is: The Devil, villain of Europe's very first fairy tales. In this state, she takes on the form of a terrible demon straight from Hell itself. Gnarled horns as red as blood pierce through her skull, her hair takes on a deathly pallor, angelic wings burst out from her back, and her teeth sharpen into deadly fangs. The world around her shifts and darkens, becoming a dense, foggy forest filled with dead trees and ominous winds, all isolating the devil and her victims from the world.

She is not the true Devil, but rather “Mankind’s Approximation of the Devil”, a false image who bears but a fraction of the true Adversary's power. Simply put, she is the ultimate evil for a hero to face in a fairy tale, a monster with the potential to become an Evil of Humanity itself.

It is not just her physical form that changes upon activating this Noble Phantasm, but her magical prowess surges to seemingly limitless heights, able to weave her own story and alter the world around her how she pleases. It was through this Noble Phantasm that the Hausmärchen Singularity Collective was born, where the Beast of Ignorance would attempt to consume all other stories in order to destroy Humanity to its very roots, and where Gothel would attempt to destroy the Chaldeans on her orders, by altering these beloved fairy tales and corrupting them with her immense power.

So ferocious, so dreadful is this power that even the nascent Beast of Ignorance, Red Riding Hood, didn’t dare face this monster head-on in combat, instead choosing to let the Chaldeans distract and weaken her so she could land a mortal wound on the demonic witch.

“Fufufufufufu… Do you understand now? I am not some mere ‘thing’ that goes bump in the night… I am not just the paltry scratches at your walls… I am the monster that all children fear. I am the evil that makes you lock your doors. I am the witch that lives just next door. I am Evil. I am Wicked. I am Frau Trude, and I am very real, child.”

(FGO Effect:) -Remove all Debuffs from self. -Increase Debuff Resistance for three turns. -Increases own critical star absorption for three turns. -Grants self On-Attack-Activate buff for three attacks, three turns. --Increases own Critical Damage for one turn when attacking with Buster Cards. -Increases own damage against ‘Fairy Tale’ or ‘Fated Hero’ enemies.

Noble Phantasm: Kleine Verlorene Kinder - Happily Never After Rank: A Maximum Targets: — Range: — Classification: Anti-Army

Dame Gothel has the ability to summon massive golems made of gnarled wood and hellish flames, each one standing over ten feet tall. These golems are nigh-immortal, soulless husks of incredible power, akin to the Olympian Soldiers of the Fifth Lostbelt. They feel no pain, are able to regenerate from nearly any damage, and will not cease until their targets have been completely and utterly eradicated. They know nothing but destruction and death, and wickedly relish in it any chance they can.

Truly, these must be monsters straight out of Hell, demons created from the darkest pits mankind has ever known. There is nothing else that could explain their sheer malice and relentless nature.

Alas… if only that were true.

In reality, these monsters are the children slain by Dame Gothel, the foolish and wicked children who disobeyed their parents. They strayed from the path and ended up caught by the wicked witch. Their bodies were killed and eaten by the monster in the woods, and their souls were left to burn in the Devil’s fire, fueling these monstrosities. What memories these creatures held have been long forgotten, and all they know now is to obey, a monstrous punishment for their foolishness in life.

Now, all these children have left is resentment and anger. Hatred for the ones who got away, who had a chance to escape the monsters of the world. It is unfair, they say, that they alone must suffer. So they will drag down anyone and everyone they can into the darkness, using their powers to twist and distort their victims into more of these monstrous creatures, until nothing is left behind but death and chaos.

Noble Phantasm: Rapunzel, Rapunzel - The Maiden in the Tower Rank: A Maximum Targets: — Range: — Classification: Anti-Fortress

The fabled tower in which Dame Gothel spent the rest of her days, and where the fair maiden Rapunzel was locked within. It is a prison akin to Merlin’s Garden of Avalon, a nigh-inescapable maze of hewn stone and wood. This tower serves as a great and terrible prison in which escape is nigh impossible. The tower itself is protected against magical attacks of all kinds, and is far sturdier than its appearance belies. The only way in or out is within a window high near the top of the tower, where Gothel herself lays in wait for anyone who would dare escape or enter.

Gothel can summon this tower in parts, summoning the walls as a bulwark against enemies and their attacks. However, the tower is at its most fearsome and powerful when the full structure has been erected, serving as the central lynchpin of the Hausmärchen Singularity where all Fairy Tales were forcibly distorted.

However, for those trapped within, there is a single thing to serve as a guide. A long, golden rope of hair, which can be seen throughout the tower. Despite the obvious trail it leads, Gothel does not do much as touch the hair, content to leave it be.

Voice Lines:

Summoned: Bow your head, human. You stand in the presence of Dame Gothel, the Witch of the Story's End. Hmm… So I have been summoned to serve Humanity, is it? Hah! What a joke. But I suppose I can spare you for now, Human. Though be warned. If I find you irritating, I will cook and eat you like all the rest before you.

Summoned(Clear Singularity “Hausmärchen - Land of Stories”): I see now… This is why I was called by the World to save mankind. How irritating... Does this world expect me to play the role of a hero now? But I suppose if that is the role the story asks me to play, I must play it out to my best. Don't think I'm getting soft though, human... I am Dame Gothel, the Witch of the Story's End, and a monster I will remain until the end of days.

Level Up 1: More fuel to the fire… Good, let the flames grow higher.

Level Up 2: Another ingredient to the cauldron... How delicious.

Level Up 3: Another offering for me? My, my, you're too kind.

1st Ascension: Ah, now this is more to my tastes. This is a dress most befitting a witch like myself. Fufufufufu… What do you think, human? Beautiful and fearsome, am I not? Perfect for the monster that I am.

2nd Ascension: You insist on pressing onward? Even if what you see may be frightening? I wonder... Would you consider yourself brave or foolish? I suppose time will tell.

3rd Ascension: Fufufufufufu... Finally, you see me for who I truly am. Do you understand, child…? You've strayed too far from the path of light, and now The Devil has come to make you pay for your sins. Tell me, was it worth it, selling your soul?

4th Ascension: Good and evil... Light and dark... They are but roles we are meant to play in the story. I did not choose the path I have taken, it was thrust upon me. The story dictated that I was to be the villain, and so I took upon that title with pride. I do not regret a single action I have taken... ...I wonder, did she think the same? Did she not once look back?

Fight Start 1: By all means, welcome to my humble abode… You’re not going to leave it anytime soon…

Fight Start 2: Well, well, well, it seems like a lovely little morsel has arrived. And just when I was getting hungry, too…

Fight Start 3: You know, you shouldn’t go walking around the woods by yourself. Who knows what monsters lurk in the shadows…?

Fight Start(Fatal Battle): Ah… Ahhh…! Rapunzel, Rapunzel…! Why…?! Why did you leave me?!

Skill 1: Double, double, toil and trouble…

Skill 2: Fire burn and cauldron bubble…

Skill 3: By the pricking of my thumbs…

Skill 4: Something wicked this way comes…

Command Card Select 1: Is that all?

Command Card Select 2: I suppose I haven’t used this trick in a while.

Command Card Select 3: This should be more than enough for the likes of you!

Noble Phantasm Select 1: It’s time we cast off this illusion…

Noble Phantasm Select 2: Tell me… Are you afraid?

Attack 1: Burn, down to your very bones!

Attack 2: By all means, scream…

Attack 3: You are going to taste exquisite…

Attack 4: Crush them, Tower with No Doors!

Attack 5: Hell awaits you!

Attack 6: Do you think you can survive this?!

Attack 7: Bind them, Seal of Solomon!

Extra Attack 1: The final chapter has been written… It’s the end of your story!

Extra Attack 2: Oh, do you think you can escape…? How foolish!

Noble Phantasm 1:

Heeheeheeeee… Hahahahaaaaa…!

Now the real fun begins…

Now the feast shall commence…

Now, little ones…

It’s time.

Let. Me. In.

DIE TEUFELMASKE!

Noble Phantasm 2:

The Witch’s Night has come and gone…

Now the Devil comes to play!

So run and hide, it’s all the fun!

NOW HAS COME THE TIME TO SLAY!

DIE TEUFELMASKE!

Noble Phantasm 3:

Bolt your doors…

Hide your children…

For the witching hour has arrived…

Die Teufelmaske.

AHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!

Noble Phantasm 4(Fatal Battle):

I am a monster…  I am the Devil… 

I am a demon who holds no love for anything in this world… 

Then why…

Why does my heart hurt so much?!

Rapunzel… Rapunzel… 

It's all your fault!

YOU DID THIS TO ME!

AHHHHHHHH!!!

DIE TEUFELMASKE!

Damage from Noble Phantasm: How annoying…

Regular Damage: Tch.

Defeated 1: If the story says so…

Defeated 2: I’ll come back another day, just you wait.

Defeated(Fatal Battle): No… Please… Just let me end this!

Victory 1: Unfortunately for you, there is no happy ending.

Victory 2: And so the story reaches the end. The hero has been slain, and the wicked witch claims another victim.

Bond Level 1: So, we really are doing this, hm? Very well, as per our agreement, I shall lend my aid in your task to save mankind. In return, the moment I get bored with you, or I grow irritated by your words, or I am offended by your presence, I can and will eradicate you, completely and utterly. This I swear. Such is the binding of our contract. ...fufufufufu. Congratulations, young Master of Chaldea. You've made a deal with the Devil.

Bond Level 2: What's with that strange look you are giving me? ...ah, I understand. You don't trust me, do you? Don't worry. I may be the Witch of the End, but even I understand the sacred nature of an oath. Even if it is an annoyance to me, I intend to fulfill my side of the bargain to the fullest. I expect nothing less from you. Otherwise... *snaps fingers* Your soul is forfeit. Do I make myself clear?

Bond Level 3: Ghhh... Must you insist on following me around like a lost duckling? Surely, there must be other Servants that you could bother aside from me? ...hm? Lonely? ... What a joke. I am a monster. The Devil Incarnate. Whoever heard of a creature like that being lonely?

Bond Level 4: Your presence... It's annoyingly familiar to me. You remind me too much of my daughter. No... That's not right. Unlike her, you truly do fear me, don't you? I can smell it. And yet, you still choose to approach me? How strange... Still, I suppose I can't begrudge you, given our contract. But stay out of my way.

Bond Level 5: What is it now? ...ah, I understand, a revision to the contract. Very well. I suppose we are due for some additions. First off, your terms wish for me to... be more open in Chaldea. Tch. What an annoyance. But I suppose it is an acceptable one. I do not promise to be kind, or to be sociable, or any of that nonsense. But I suppose I can make an effort to do more around here. As for my terms...? You are not allowed to leave. ...oh? Do I see hesitation on your face? Then allow me to explain. Your life and mine will become bound to one another. If you are to leave me behind, I will follow. If you are to die, I will put you back together. If you are to vanish from this world, I will use every bit of my power to return you to it. Your fate and mind will become connected for all eternity, until we both agree to annul this contract. Simply put? I will not let you abandon me. So... do we have a deal?

Dialogue 1: Tell me child, when you think of the villain of all Fairy Tales, who comes to mind? …eh? The Big Bad Wolf…? Tch. What a pain. It appears I’ve been slacking in my efforts.

Dialogue 2: So, you too are a dreamer? Feh, I should have known. You have that annoying air about you. One of hoping and dreaming…

Dialogue 3: Are you just going to sit there and gawp at me while I work? If you have nothing better to do, here. Get me these ingredients. What? You’re worried it’s too dangerous? Well, it’s not my problem. Now go!

Dialogue 4: The end is fast approaching… I wonder, what will you do when the time comes? Will you cower in fear? Will you fight? Or will you simply accept it…? No, that’s foolish of me to ask, I know the answer.

Dialogue 5 (If you have Pinocchio): Little Pilgrim Made of Pine… The boy has apparently got it into his hollow head that he is to be my ‘conscience’. …heh. Isn’t that funny? A monster having a conscience? I’d laugh if the boy didn’t seem to mean it with all his heart…

Dialogue 6 (If you have Cinderella): Ah yes, the Persecuted Heroine… She reminds me all too much of my dear child. Such a pity, though… To have all the fortune in the world and still be unhappy. 

Dialogue 7 (If you have Red Riding Hood): The Beast of Ignorance… Yes, she summoned me to create her own Singularity. In exchange, she would give me the salvation I desperately wanted. I was a fool to think I could trust a wolf. Be that as it may… I don’t enjoy being tricked.

Dialogue 8 (If you have “Goldilocks”): Ah, it’s you… I was wondering for the longest time why you of all characters felt so out of place… To think that it would be that a fallen deity stood before me. …how irritating.

Dialogue 9 (If you have any “Angel” Servants): Have you come once more to mock me, angel? Fine. Make your jeers and your judgements, they’re all the same.

Dialogue 10 (If you have Beni-Enma): Have you come to cast your judgement on me, little sparrow? I suppose it’s only fair. But if you expect me to make it easy for you, then you are a fool.

Dialogue 11 (If you have Mephistopheles): Oh? The Demon of Faust is here as well? How interesting… What a shame that he is not a true demon, though. I suppose his trickery and deceit is entertaining enough. I wonder, clown. What tricks have you up your sleeves?

Dialogue 12 (If you have Oberon-Vortigern): You too… have lost something important to you? Ah, Titania… No, I sadly have never met a woman such as that. Have you by any chance…? No, I suppose you wouldn’t have. In any case, I wish you luck, Fairy King.

Dialogue 13 (If you have Kintoki Sakata): Golden hair… The son of a witch… And an annoyingly chipper outlook on the world. Ghhh… He’s clearly not the same, but still, he’s too familiar. I best keep away from him for now.

Dialogue 14 (If you have Nursery Rhyme): Hm? What do you want, child? …you wish for me to read you a story? … No, there are other Servants better suited to that-OW! Hey, stop pulling on my dress! Ghhh…! This is why I hate children!

Dialogue 15 (If you have Hans Christian Andersen): Hans Christian Andersen… I suppose I owe my existence partly to him. What a sad little man he is. Putting up a front of coldness and disdain, but he’s just a coward too afraid of intimacy. …hm? What do you mean ‘he reminds you of someone’?!

Dialogue 16 (If you have any other “Fairy Tale” Servants): It appears my reputation precedes me… Yes, all the looks of terror and fear surrounding me… Fufufufufu… Now this is my element!

Dialogue 17 (If you have Lostbelt Morgan): The Witch-Queen of the Britons, as I live and breathe. You may be from a time and place not of this world, but I can sense your magical talent all the same… How frightening.

Dialogue 18 (If you have any “Child” Servants): Well, well, well… Lunch has arrived. Fufufufu… Don’t worry, Master, I’m only kidding. For now, at least.

Likes: There’s no greater pleasure in this world than eating. If there’s one thing God has done right, it’s grant all creatures, great and small, the ability to eat and cook. And of course, thanks to my magic, I can change my appearance however I wish. In other words, I can eat as much as I want, and suffer none of the consequence!

Dislikes: Something I dislike? Children. They’re terrible little things, talking to you, invading your homes, taking things from you… Yes, what rotten, horrible things children are. Only good to be a meal, nothing else.

About the Holy Grail: The Holy Grail…? Hmph, do you take me for a fool? That thing is clearly cursed. To make a wish on it, one must either be desperate, or an idiot. No, my magic is more than enough to surpass that paltry little thing.

During an Event: Oho? Now what has come a-knocking at my door? My, it seems that some festivities have begun, and here I am without an invitation. This cannot stand… Come, let us go see what all the fuss is about. I happen to know a thing or two about crashing parties…

Birthday: What? Oh, you wish to celebrate your birthday with me, do you? Hmm… I suppose I can whip something up from scratch. It may be a bit of a rush, but I suppose I can indulge you just this once. Don’t expect me to make this a habit, though.

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Once Upon a Time, in a faraway land, there was a witch. Or rather, there were many witches. Monsters that stalked the dark forests, looking for children to kidnap. Women that had sold their souls to the Devil in exchange for fantastic magical powers. Tricksters that caught victims in riddles and traps for their own sick amusement.

These stories would eventually become fused into one, a witch who would symbolize the fear all children hold in their hearts, and the looming threat that lay beyond the walls of their home. One of the few named witches, who terrorized the tales of the Brothers Grimm told to children at night. Gleefully, she tormented those who walked in her forests, cooking children for her meals, burning wayward fools who entered into her hut, and tearing families apart, all to amuse her.

She was Frau Trude Gothel, the Wicked Witch, a monster who held no love for anything.

Bond Level 1:

Height/Weight: 176cm • 75kg Source: Grimm’s Fairy Tales Region: Germany Alignment: Chaotic • Evil Gender: Female

Once Upon a Time, in a faraway land, there was a witch. Or rather, there were many witches. Monsters that stalked the dark forests, looking for children to kidnap. Women that had sold their souls to the Devil in exchange for fantastic magical powers. Tricksters that caught victims in riddles and traps for their own sick amusement.

These stories would eventually become fused into one, a witch who would symbolize the fear all children hold in their hearts, and the looming threat that lay beyond the walls of their home. One of the few named witches, who terrorized the tales of the Brothers Grimm told to children at night. Gleefully, she tormented those who walked in her forests, cooking children for her meals, burning wayward fools who entered into her hut, and tearing families apart, all to amuse her.

She was Frau Trude Gothel, the Wicked Witch, a monster who held no love for anything.

Bond Level 2:

The witch's cruelty comes in many forms, some benign, some sinister. Some overt, some subtle. In some stories, she is The Devil, extending a gentle hand to bind a victim within a horrifying contract, cackling as another fool sells their soul and loses everything to her. In other tales, she is a temptress, luring children into her home with promises of sweets or enticing mysteries to solve, only to kill these innocents and use them to sate her vile hunger. In still others, she is a vain sorceress, tormenting younger beauties in envy of their purity and goodness, forcing a hero to come and save the maiden from her monstrous cruelty.

However, on very rare occasions, the witch is not the villain of the story, but rather a guide and teacher for the hero to seek out. And at times rarer still, she is a mother, a guardian, and a protector, watching over her child with the rage of a loving parent. How strange it is, that this self-admitted monster can be so versatile, how a being who claims to be heartless can come to care for anything with true love.

And here, in truth, does the story begin in earnest.

Bond Level 3:

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, the witch Dame Gothel lived, laying deep within a forest by her lonesome, relishing in the fear and terror her very name brought to the land. Mothers locked their children behind their doors, fathers carried torches and pitchforks in the night, and all prayed to God for salvation from this monster. She was content with this, all too happy to be the monster she was meant to be.

One night, the witch heard a rustling outside her door, and found that a neighbor from a nearby home had ravaged her garden, stealing the rapunzel plants and placing them in a basket. Incensed, the witch accuses the man of theft, and readied to kill him on the spot. The man, in turn, fell to his knees and begs.

"Please, miss! My wife needs to eat these plants to survive! She is to give birth soon, and I fear that she is wasting away! For the love of God, have mercy!"

The witch stayed her hand at the man’s words, but her mercy was not bourn out of kindness. Rather, she came to a terribly wicked idea. A bargain that would drive the man to the deepest pits of despair.

"Very well, I shall spare your life, but in return, I ask for one thing: your child that is to be had. I should like to keep her, and in exchange, I will let you eat of my plants."

Desperate, the man agreed, and upon the child's birth, she was given to the witch, at both mother and father’s despair. Frau Gothel took the child with her to a tower with no stairs or doors hidden deep in the forest. She named the child Rapunzel, after the very plants that secured her imprisonment to Gothel, and locked the baby into the highest room of the tower, where no man could ever hope to find her.

Bond Level 4:

Dame Gothel never truly intended to keep the child for herself. She had no use for a progeny because of her immortality, nor did she particularly want one in the first place. Children were far too noisy and prying and irritating for her to keep, that much was clear. No, if anything, the child would suffice as a meal. Perhaps not as she was now, but in due time, the baby would serve as a meal, nothing more, nothing less. It was as she was named: Rapunzel. Merely an ingredient to be cooked in a stew or served in a salad, just like all the other children before her.

And yet...

As the years went on, the child grew and grew, and Dame Gothel couldn't help but feel a sense of happiness as she watched. The child looked her in the eyes with no fear, unlike anyone else who had met her before. She did not care of the magical power she held, or the terrible atrocities she had done. No, the young Rapunzel saw no evil in her mother's eyes, and in turn, Dame Gothel beheld something she had truly begun to love. Eventually, all thoughts of eating the child were gone, and in their place were a mother's protective heart. She would shield the child from the cruelty of the world, protect her within this tower with all her might. Nothing and no one would ever lay eyes on her precious daughter, and they would live together within this tower, just the two of them.

They would all live Happily Ever After.

Alas, if only it was meant to be.

Bond Level 5:

She did not know when the man came, nor how he came to find their hiding place, or even why he climbed the tower to begin with. But it was unmistakable, the stench of that 'prince' violated the tower, just as much as he had violated her dear Rapunzel. Gothel confronted her child, and soon, the relationship between mother and daughter began to strain.

"You... You let him in here?! Moreso than that, you bear his child?! How could you do this to me?! How could you do this to yourself?!"

"Mother, I love him! And he loves me! We are to be wed, and I will not let you stand in the way of our marriage!"

"Love?! Marriage?! Rapunzel, you are a fool! You've only known him for a few months, and you're talking about marrying him?! You're just blinded by your naivete!"

"Whose fault is it then?! You call me naive, and yet you're the one who locked me in this tower, never able to see anything beyond these walls! If I am blind, then it is because you are the one who has blinded me my whole life!"

"How... dare you?! I did this all to protect you!"

"No, you did this to keep me all to yourself!"

At her daughter's words, Gothel was overcome with a monstrous rage she had not known since taking in the child. In a fit of blind rage, Gothel cut off Rapunzel's precious locks, her golden hairs falling to the ground all at once. The two fell silent as mother and daughter looked each other in the eyes. Horrified at what she had done, Gothel could not even speak a word of protest as her child left the tower, never to return again. Silently, she extended a hand towards the one person she had ever loved… And did nothing as she faded away into the dark forest.

Extra (Clear Singularity “Hausmärchen - Land of Stories”):

Upon Rapunzel's departure, the Witch of the Forest remained in the tower waiting, hoping for the day that her child would one day return, and they would live out their lives as they always had. Just the two of them together. She did not eat. She did not sleep. She did not even attempt to leave her prison of her own making.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and yet neither hide nor golden hair of the child had made her way home.

So, the Witch of the Story’s End did something she had never done in her long years of life: she prayed. Clasping her hands together, Dame Gothel, who had sold her soul to the Devil, who wickedly defied Heaven without remorse, begged Heaven for a sign, an answer from God that her beloved daughter would come home to her, that her family would be made whole once more. After many sleepless nights of prayer, Heaven would eventually answer Gothel’s prayers, sending an angel from on high to speak to the monstrous witch.

"Dame Gothel, wicked and cruel tormentor of mankind... You dare ask God for intercession? You, who has torn apart countless lives, murdered hundreds of children, now beg for your own child to return? Do you not realize that your daughter left you because you refused to give her happiness? That you marred her own beloved just to selfishly keep her in your tower? ... You disgust me. The only reason why I do not damn you to Hell here and now... Is because I see that no punishment could ever surpass your torment here and now. So lay here and rot until the end of your life, Dame Gothel... Forever knowing your daughter is far happier now that you are gone from her life."

Upon the angel's words, Gothel's heart had shattered into pieces. The wicked witch, who had gleefully tormented families and left them in despair, was now trapped within her own sorrow, having lost her dear Rapunzel. She had nothing to live for, nothing to smile about. Without Rapunzel, she was left as nothing more than a living corpse, left to waste away until nothing remained of her.

Never to regain her Happily Ever After.

The End.

[magicalgirlmascot]

I just thought:

Nuju as Toa Hordika perching on Whenua's shoulders. Whenua might crumble under the weight if only because it's so one-sided.

BBIWKSMSM

"GET OFF ME YOU BIG FEATHERED NUISANCE. KUALUS MAKE HIM STOP."

[rykno-j]

Thinking of you (j/jk)

(after writing the whole thing out, it actually got pretty long, arghsgd.)

I wrote this with s/atos/ugu in mind but I ended up not establishing it explicitly, so I'll leave that up to interpretation.. but obviously they are in love.

Anywayy, my first full fic for j/jk? And it's for them? I mean of course it is. Who else would it be for?

2.9k words

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They were currently in another city, on a mission, having been specially requested.

The exorcism was done quickly (of course) and Gojo suggested they shop for souvenirs to bring back for their friends, to which Geto agreed with a rather reluctant sigh.

Unbeknownst to Gojo, Geto had been struggling through a suppressed cold for the past few days, and it was making him become easily exhausted.

However, in an attempt to avoid the stew of questions that would follow if he turned Gojo down, Geto opted to go to the nearby mall instead of returning to the hotel for much needed rest.

He followed Gojo around for an hour before he felt his body begging him to stop, to let up. At the moment, Gojo seemed to be absorbed in the wide array of sweet snacks on display. Geto considered this to be his first little glimmer of luck for the day.

"Satoru- I'll just be over there alright? There's something I want to look at."

"Mm, yeah, okay-" Occupied with his basket full of goods, Gojo didn't spare Geto a second glance nor did he notice anything, much to Geto's relief.

Making quick escape from the store, Geto looked around desperately for a bench, a stool, anything for him to sit down and rest.

And he found one, an empty seat by the side of a big fountain right in the middle of the mall.

As Geto sat down, he resisted the urge to curl his knees against his chest. Isn't is supposed to be summer right now? Why is he freezing?

Water from the fountain splashed around him. He had noticed the slight temperature drop due to the flowing water. Normally, it would have been a good relief from the heat. But right now, it only served to make him shiver harder.

He should really move to a warmer spot.

Geto considered getting up from his seat, but his eyelids felt heavy, and his legs were begging him not to stand up for the next few minutes.

It wasn't as if he could find another place anyway. Everything suddenly felt really blurry, and Geto was sure he could fall asleep right there and then, if not for the dull tickle that formed at the back of his nose, courtesy of the cold temperature.

"..h'-hngxtt!! hh-tch'gxt!!"

They came out louder then normal, due to Geto having no energy left to stifle them into complete silence. He crossed his arms around himself, pulling the jacket he was wearing tighter around his body.

He shivered. Not warm enough.

"..hhH'-!!"

And to make matters worse, the urge to sneeze creeps back up on him. Preparing a fist in anticipation..

It never comes.

"hh'H-!! a-ah'.. m'n.. snff-"

A quick glance around the mall gave Geto the comfort that he was indeed alone. If need be, he could always give his nose a mildly rough rub to send him back into a building hitch. But doing that has only ever led to sneezes that came out harsher, and that would be hell on his throat. He'd rather avoid that at all costs.

As if fate was playing with him, some of the water from the fountain splashed onto the bit of exposed skin on his neck, causing rapid shivers to run down his spine.

Raising an arm to wipe the droplet away, it was quickly re-directed away from his back and in front of his face-

"..haH'-ngXxt'chh!! hH'..hNgxt! "

The first one manages to escape due to how unexpectedly it came. However, the second that followed was quickly pinched into submission.

Geto sighs inwardly, rubbing his nose softly. He could feel a dull ache starting to pool between his eyes. Tomorrow was going to be a lot worse. He could already hear Gojo reprimanding him for not taking care of himself, all while begrudgingly making a cup of warm tea for him.

(of course i meant 'begrudgingly' here not in a literal way but more of an endearing 'take care of yourself, dammit! or i'll do it for you.' way)

It may not seem like it most of the time, but Gojo cares about people in his own way. Geto had been on the receiving end of several of such telling acts before.

As an example, Geto was half sure that Gojo had put a little more effort into the exorcism this morning than he normally would have, allowing Geto to take is easy.

Or it could have been sheer pure coincidence. Whatever it was, he was grateful.

Speaking of which, where was he? Geto was fairly sure a good chunk of time had passed since he made his timely escape. A quick check of his phone showed no missed calls or messages.

All he wanted to do at the moment was to burry himself under the covers of the hotel bed. Why did he even agree to follow Satoru here in the first place? Oh, right. It was the fear of being alone in this state.

Gojo was as much of his weakness as Geto was sure he was to the other.

Geto leaned forward to hold his head in his hands. He must be having a mild fever, if these thoughts running through his mind was any indication of the fact.

"..hH'tchh'w!! hah'dtchh!!"

With his hands still covering his face, Geto decided against stifling those. His head hurt, and the sneezes were soft enough that the noise from the fountain behind him muffled the sound. Besides, nobody was watching.

Geto remembers the first time he sneezed in front of Gojo. it was an accident, one that he normally didn't make in front of people. He remembers Gojo reaching for his wrist and pulling it away from his face as he geared up to stifle another.

"..Suguru, don't do that."

Nothing else was said, but Geto distinctively remembers the way Gojo was looking at him. No disgust in his eyes at all. Just pure tenderness.

"..haH'dZzch!!"

"See? That's a lot better, isn't it?"

There was just something about that interaction that melted Geto's heart.

Back to the present, Geto had shut his eyes, and was starting to drift off into a light sleep when a gentle hand on his back made him jolt up in surprise.

"Bless you."

"..Satoru? are you done shopping?"

"Suguru- are you feeling alright?" He had completely ignored the question about shopping.

"Yeah, I'm fine, what makes you think otherwise?"

Behind the sunglasses, Geto could make out an unamused look coming from the other. Then, he notices the cool palm resting against his forehead. How long had Satoru's hand been there for? Had he really not felt the touch until now? Maybe he was more out of it than he gave credit to.

"Well I don't know. Maybe the fact you've left my side for a good half hour? I thought you were going to come back once you were done looking at whatever you left for. I was waiting, only to find you crouched over here! Not to mention the fever you're running right now."

Geto winced at the scolding tone of Gojo's voice. Moments of silence passed before he heard a soft sigh.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. Want to head back? Can you walk?"

Geto nodded in response to the question. Using Gojo as a crutch, he rose to his feet, making sure the world stopped spinning before he opened his eyes.

The comforting hand that was on his back never left its place throughout the whole trip back to the hotel. Halfway through, the coat that Gojo was wearing even found its way onto Geto's shivering frame.

"Suguru, go lie down. I'll make you some tea."

There it was. The tea, just like he had expected.

"I was wondering if this morning was a fluke. Guess it wasn't after all. I have quite the foresight, don't I? Putting in a little more effort so you didn't have to," Gojo remarked rather smugly, though there was a tone of softness behind it.

"You're lucky exhaustion only caught up to you at the mall, what was I supposed to report if you collapsed while the exorcism was still happening? You need to take better care of yourself, Suguru."

And there was the scolding, just like he had expected. But he wasn't going to take that sitting down, fever or not.

"You're one to talk."

"HaH?? I take perfectly good care of myself."

"Says the one who passed out through lessons last week."

Gojo grumbled something that Geto couldn't quite catch in response to that statement. When he finally turned around, mug in hand, Geto could have sworn he saw a look of concern flash past Gojo's features.

Either that, or it was the fever making him see things. No matter what it was, Geto reached out a shaky hand to clasp at the steaming mug Gojo held out for him. He hopes the shivers had went unnoticed.

"You know, a few more sugar cubes would never hurt."

Geto couldn't help but smile.

"Well, I'm not you. Thank god I'm not you, a-actually. hH'..having two of y-you running around would cause our teachers a b'hH!! ..bigger headache, I'm sure."

Gojo watched, unamused as Geto turned to the side to stifle three itchy sounding sneezes into silence.

"A bigger headache than you're giving yourself by doing that?"

"..Yes."

Gojo let out a small sigh of defeat before making his way to where their luggage was. Carefully, he pried Geto's open, before realising that he should actually ask where the thing he was looking for was.

"..So where's the medicine?"

"..Medicine?"

"Yeah, for your cold. You packed some, right? There's no way you just caught that today."

Geto felt his legs curl up under the blanket. He considered lying, saying a quick "I didn't" or a quick "it started today". But then Gojo would probably leave the hotel to go buy him some, and he didn't want the other to leave his side, not yet.

"..Top half, middle pouch, shoved all the way to the bottom."

After a bit of digging, Gojo pulls out a small packet.

"When's the last time you took this?"

"..In the morning."

Gojo hummed in reply, moving to push one of the pills out before returning to Geto's side.

"It's a new pack too. Recently bought from the store? Is that why you randomly left school alone the other day?"

"..Maybe."

"How long did you intend to hide this for?"

"..Until i got better.

"You weren't going to tell me?"

"No."

"Why? You don't trust me?"

"..I didn't want you to worry."

"Suguru- you know I only worry because I care."

Geto had to laugh at that, softly. "You're saying weird things, Satoru."

"It's weird that I care about you?"

"No. It's weird that you're expressing it so openly."

Gojo let out a small sound of exasperation, holding out his hand as he looked away. "Take it, you need to get that fever down."

"Mm, thanks."

Once the mug was empty, Gojo made a quick trip to the sink to clear out the teabag, before he returned to the bed, this time crawling onto it from his end instead of standing by the side.

He flops onto the pillows, fluffy white hair spanning out. A hand makes its way onto Geto's chest, tapping it lightly, an unspoken invitation.

Beside him, Geto sighs. "It's still early, Satoru. You sure you don't want to go walk around a little by yourself? We're heading back tomorrow anyway."

"M.. yeah. I already bought everything I need. And besides, there's no way I'm leaving you here alone."

"Because of your 'worry' again?"

That same little sound of frustration left Gojo's lips as he threw the blanket over himself rather haphazardly.

Right. The only person he'd get this worried about was Suguru. It always has been this way, and probably would stay this way. He was the only one Gojo would show this side of himself to.

Instead of a response, Gojo slipped his arm under Geto's chest, pulling himself closer to the other.

"..Enough about that, you should rest now."

Geto allowed himself to get pulled under the covers, allowed Gojo to press his head softly against his chest.

He could feel Gojo's heartbeat, steady but fast. The rhythm slowly lulled him into a state of drowsiness, and Geto would have fallen asleep right there, if not for yet another tickle that buzzed at the back of his nose.

"S-Satoru.. hH'-!! I- I have t'hh-!!"

Gojo made no signs to move despite Geto's light tapping against his back. Just his luck that his arms were trapped under Gojo's sleeping body.

The light tapping turned frantic, before Geto squeezed his eyes shut, bracing his forehead against Gojo's chest, trying his best to keep the outburst as quiet as possible.

"hiH'tchh-w!! hah'zchh!! ..snff- hh'ngxt!!"

The last one, painfully stifled without his fingers, sent a shiver down Geto's spine from the effort it took.

"..Suguru, you should just let them out."

So he was awake after all. The bastard just wanted to watch him suffer.

Geto sniffled, pulling his arm from under Gojo's body.

"I.."

"If you're worried about it getting everywhere, you can just use my shirt, you know?"

Geto blinked once, twice. Did he hear that right?

"Why do you think I'm wearing this one? It's the softest I've got." Gojo pulled up the edge of his shirt in demonstration, bringing it to Geto's cheek and wiping is softly. "See? You can just use it, it won't irritate your nose further."

Geto opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by a hitch in his breath.

"hH'-!!"

Taking advantage of the other's sudden vulnerability, Gojo grabbed both of Geto's wrists, pinning it against his own chest.

"Trust me, Suguru."

"Let.. m'hH-!! ..me g-ghh'!! ..go-"

"Not until you-"

"..hH'!! ..haH'dzZchh!! ..hiH'zzch-w!! ..hH' haH'DshH!!"

"There we g-"

"..heH'DzZtchh!!" hah-hH'dtch-iww!! I'm s..shH' haH'tzcHH!!"

Geto refused to lift his head, instead choosing to ram his forehead into Gojo's chest. Underneath his fingertips, Geto could feel Gojo's heart racing.

"See? That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

When he was met with no response, Gojo reached under his shirt with the hand currency not occupied with securing Geto's wrists to his chest. He lifted the soft fabric with careful fingers, bundling it before gently pressing it to the base of Geto's nose.

Gojo felt the other stiffen against him as his shirt made contact with the sensitive skin. Geto could feel Gojo's slender fingers through the cloth. If he didn't know better, he would've sworn that they were quivering.

After a moment of silence, Gojo was the first to speak.

"See? It's okay. Don't worry."

"..You don't think I'm- ..it's ..disgusting or anything?"

"Of course not. Why would I?"

If there was any point in time that Geto felt like crawling into a hole, it would have been this moment. He was sure inside his ribcage, his own heart was beating as fast as the one under his palms.

He sniffled uselessly, the thought of pulling away completely leaving his mind. Satoru was right, the shirt felt really soft against his nose.

"Suguru, You're shivering."

Was he?

Gojo sighed, letting go of his wrists to reach over, pulling the blanket over to cover up to Geto's neck.

"Get some rest, okay? We have an early flight tomorrow."

"..snff- That goes for you as well."

"I'll sleep, after you."

Soon after, Geto drifts off into peaceful sleep, his head pressed against Gojo's warm chest, arms wrapped around the other as if Gojo was the only thing grounding him to reality.

Gojo on the other hand, watched with endearment as Geto shifted in his sleep, letting out muted stuffy snores every now and then. The hand on Geto's back remained through the night, all whilst rubbing comforting circles into it.

He remembers the words that Geto once told him a while back when he was in a similar situation, knocked out from a bad cold.

"Satoru, you've been too strong for too long. Let me take over, even if just for a little while."

And now it was his turn. Gojo lowered his head to Geto's, his voice a soft whisper, afraid that he would disturb this much needed sleep.

"Suguru, I'll take over from here. Get some rest, okay? I'll be here when you wake up in the morning."

With that, Gojo let his chin rest softly atop Geto's head, palm finally slowing to a stop. And if they shifted in their sleep such that they woke up with their limbs all entangled with each other? That would be a memory for another time.

And the shirt? Gojo had folded it gently into his bag in the morning, only to take it out on their flight back home to be used as a pillow for Geto as he dozed off against his shoulder. And if they held hands under the armrest, fingers intertwined? That never happened.

Gojo's lips curled into a contented smile as he tilted his head to rest against Geto's. Truly, he did not even remember the grade of the curses that they had exorcised last morning.

Not that it's important, Gojo thought. Nothing is. At least compared to you.

-end-

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

My first full fic for j/jk, and my first fic in a long while too ahhhhh

oh god i hope i did the characters justice. it was rly fun to write this one, i won't lie about that.

Maybe gojo was a little ooc in this, but i genuinely think that when he's alone with geto, especially with the state that geto is in, his soft side would shine a little more.

This started out as a 100-200ish word scenario, but i have NO IDEA what happened, but i kept typing, and this was the outcome

▪︎•▪︎

but anyway, i hope it was a nice read either way

Edit: theres a sequel now shsjhs

[meownotgood]

if I have to drag you all back to 2016 and write a hanahaki disease fic with aki I will. don't test me. if no one else is brave enough to do it, then I will take up the mantle.

[betweenlands]

YET AGAIN I AM CORRECT ABOUT LEGUNDO LORE

ARCHITECT ABSOLUTELY DID NOT OLLIE OUT OF DECEM ON PURPOSE

[lone-pylon]

i am so normal about this rn

(wip)

[superfallingstars]

i know this is not hp lol but i realized i haven't really posted anything in color on this account yet. and as i colored a metric crapton of old sketches yesterday, i figured i might as well share them. these are all OCs, most created nearly a decade ago and honestly i kind of neglect them. but i still sometimes draw them for fun. also yeah i used to be big into transformers and made like 30+ robot OCs don't worry about it

[rainbowtvz]

Fire and balance for the self ship Wizard101 ask game!!!

@pr0minenceburn

fire;

sal: music! and art. both listening to/looking at and making it. we've made plans to have a jam session together when we can. and I also found a nice violin that i'd love to get my hands on and i think he wants to gift it to me. and for art, he's not the best at drawing but he definitely loves watching me do so, and paint. it feels like i'm bearing my soul to him and he takes extra care of it for me when i do :3

absynthe: definitely art, food, and gardening, more so the latter two. absynthe and i are both artists so we take turns showing each other what we've drawn, but we definitely connect more over gardening and our love of food :3. she has a big green thumb and while i'm not an expert i'm pretty good at growing stuff myself. i'm always in awe at how simple and easy she makes it all look lol. and as for food, well we're both foodies and the way to someones heart is through their stomach, supposedly.

johnny: music as well as punk culture and sticking it to the man. the way we approach this has similarities as well as differences, since he's more selfish and in it for revenge, as well as just being anti-corpo in general. wheras i am more concerned about fighting for the underdog, serving justice, and the environment and the future of the planet. we get into arguments about it sometimes because of how strongly we feel about our stances.

eddie: eddie and i are practically twinsies in the things we're both passionate about, ranging from music, alt culture, nerd culture, to both being queer in the 80s. like we have so much in common that sometimes we finish each others jokes.

john: john and i are still getting to know each other and learning how to navigate our relationship but we are both extremely passionate in our own ways, just in very different directions. we both care so much about doing the right thing. the way it manifests in our words and actions couldn't be more night and day though. it makes it tough to compromise and meet each other half way but true love isn't overnight and it takes work.

balance ;

sal: sal is the introvert and down to earth go with the flow guy to me ambivert head in the clouds worrier self. where my weaknesses lie he steps in to provide strength and vice versa. of course i don't have to go it alone and neither does he because i am also dating absynthe. and while he's not, they're still good friends.

absynthe: she and i are definitely two peas in a pod! it's hard to find differences between us in a way that we balance each other out. i guess it's more her energy in general vs mine? or the way we approach and handle things. she's more shy and introverted than i am, but not exactly like sal is. sal is way more reserved and harder to open up to others. so i guess i'm sort of a bridge between them and that world since i'm an ambivert. i love being social when i am in my comfort zone, but i have to go home and recharge too. and i always know that she's my safe person. i can be around her even when i'm low on social battery.

johnny: johnny has energy for days. like he is just. so extremely extroverted. and he's an asshole. but he takes care of the social and people aspect when i can't and he barely complains about it because he knows that i need breaks from dealing with others. it's more of a snarky complaint anyway because he likes to tease me and get me riled up. it's fun for him. he fills in gaps that i have, knowingly or not, and i keep him grounded and level headed. i guess it's sort of a moirailegence (or however u spell that) in terms of what a pale relationship is from h.omestuck lol. but definitely not platonic. far from it. when he's out of line i bring him back down to earth and calm him and he does the same for me when i end up splitting. he knows he can't get this kind of care and compassion anywhere else and while things can be tumultuous between us, what we feel for each other is real and worth all the headaches, and the heart palpitations.

eddie: eddie is also extroverted! but in a fake it til you make it way. and he's so good at it. it has me in awe. he's my inspiration and muse and my safe person, my home away from home. and i'm his safe space, the keeper of all his secrets and worries, and his voice of reason. i'm also his idea guy and second opinion that he goes for when he wants to pen up a new song or bring something new to the dnd table. the relationship between us is very easy going and light hearted, which is something we both need what with everything going on in hawkins :3. no matter where he goes or what trouble he gets into he can always come back home to me, and that's only part of why he loves me.

john: john is the business man. whether it's clean or dirty. whether it's his profession, past, or how he engages in relationships. his love language is acts of devotion and domesticity. he takes care of the spiders, of the things i can't engage with without becoming squeamish or nauseated, he takes care of me when i am fatigued, in pain, and/or sick. he takes care of me when i break down and he does it without complaint, because his love is unconditional, and it is never transactional between us, at least on his end. i always feel guilty that he does so much for me without even having to ask him and try to give back as much as i can, and he tries to tell me it's not necessary but i do it anyway. my love language is acts of generosity and physical affection. so i get him gifts that make me think of him or remind me of him, whether it's bought, free, or handmade. i make sure he's taken care of as well when he needs it. whether it's learning how to patch him or massage him when he's sore and hurting, or forcing him to take a break and let me take care of him. i remind him that i'm there for him every time i kiss him or run a hand through his hair, when i hold him, when we listen to each other's heart beat. we're sort of a shaky team when it comes to matters not heart related, but we're still a team.

[betawooper]

i will have you know i have spent a fuck ton of time internally debating the subject of canon yoo joo’s gender identity since learning about that punisher thing and i still cant seem to come to a consensus

[criminalamnesia]

GOD I LOVE traitor and how strong you've made the reader. It's amazing! And I eagerly await any future parts, whether it's big proper story or drabbles. BUT, you come first and your life does so you do what you gotta and go be amazing! We can wait. Proud of you X

im so late to responding, but thank you! <3

here’s part six :) also not really proofread so I apologize for any errors! I’ll fix them later!

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor, cross-legged amongst broken glass, brittle flowers, and discarded clothes, when someone knocks on the door.

you don’t move, don’t say anything. the noise seems distant— too far off to be real.

besides, if someone is really knocking on your door, they know you’re in here.

and if they know you’re in here, it could be one of five people. your former squad mates, or the doctor.

the knock sounds again. it shakes you from your stupor, yet you still make no move to answer it. let them come in; let them see what they’ve made of you. of who you were. of who you could’ve been.

the person on the other side of the door is speaking now. you register the muffled baritone as it fights to be heard from the hall.

you clench your fists, then unclench them— stretching out your fingers as far as they go. clench them again. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it’s a tick— a calming habit. you don’t think it’s working at the present moment.

the doorknob turns. you still don’t move.

the door is being pushed in, light from the hallway aggressively slicing through the darkness you’d left yourself in. you fought the urge to curl in on yourself.

you’d been so consumed by your anger— are consumed by it— but coming into this room and seeing that damn note was earth-shaking. it was terrifying, and it was a tangible reminder of the team’s unapologetic tactics. simon’s unapologetic tactics.

the voice is speaking once more, clearer now that the door is out of the way— but you can’t make out the words over the ringing in your ears.

a hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, and that’s when you snap.

you whirl around, throwing yourself into the intruder like a cobra striking its prey. clearly caught off guard, the person lets loose a ‘oomph’ and falls backwards as you take out their legs.

everything is fuzzy. the ringing in your ears crescendos, and it brings pain with it. you’re striking your target with reckless abandon, still not registering who is flailing underneath you.

punches land and land and land. nails scrape and scratch and draw blood. all you see is red— all you hear is the sharpening of a knife or the whirring of a saw.

and then there are hands on you, yanking you away from your victim. the red slowly starts to recede, the ringing in your ears subsiding.

it’s only then do you release you’re screaming.

its only then do you see the swollen and bloodied face of your doctor, lying a foot away from you. she sputters a cough, blood leaving her lips and splattering onto the man leaning over her.

“you need to calm down,” a voice speaks into your ear.

“calm down, or they’ll sedate you,” it says, and you finally stop screaming. you take a breath.

clench your fists. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it takes you another minute to calm down enough to realize the person holding you is simon.

the doctor is being carried away now, and you notice it’s johnny and kyle carrying her. you notice john is standing to your left, eyes full of sympathy and guilt as he looks at you.

“get,” you huff, reaching down to slap at the arms circling your middle. “off me.”

simon releases you instantly. you don’t hesitate to put distance between the two of you. a few feet, at least. he just stands there, eyes watching with an expression you can’t place.

“what happened, love?” john’s voice is a soft rumble as he speaks. he moves a hand toward you, but decides against touching you— even if he only wanted to comfort you.

“I—” you start, glancing down at your hands. they’re bloody again.

“I thought it was—” you try again, but stop yourself.

you thought it was what? thought it was who?

you had heard man’s voice speaking to you. your mind had twisted things— had given you something you wanted to hear, deep down— because it gave you the chance to strike.

it gave you the opportunity to tear apart whichever man from the 141 had been there to check on you.

and you know you had wished it was simon.

john takes a cautious step forward at your silence. “let’s get you somewhere private, yeah? somewhere to cool down.”

the fire licking at your veins has subsided in favor of the chill of shame. of terror at what you’ve done— what you’ve done to the one person you had on your side. the person who was truly on your side.

you don’t fight this time. you give a nod, then solemnly follow him down the corridor. simon falls in behind you.

john takes you to his office, opening the door and ushering you inside. you move without protest, stepping into the dark room.

the two men enter behind you, john flicking on the light while simon pulls the door shut. you would’ve laughed at the scenario if you were in your right mind.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t okay. you knew that you weren’t, at least physically, but what you just did…

there was no way you were going to be transferred now. you doubted you would’ve even before you attacked the doctor.

you’re going to be discharged. you understand why.

but it hurts. this is your job, your life. years and years on the battlefield don’t prepare you for life off of it.

“love?”

john’s voice brings you back to the present. you realize you’ve been standing in the center of the room, unmoving and unblinking.

you feel simon’s hard gaze on your back. you want to cry.

how did things ever get this fucked up?

“im fine.” you say, not bothering to turn around. you didn’t trust yourself to keep it together if you faced them.

“you’re not,” john states, and you roll your eyes.

“im not talking about this with you,” you bite out, circling your arms around yourself. “either of you.”

“you should at least talk to someone, love— this isn’t healthy.”

“please, stop.” you tell him, but john was never good at taking orders. he gave them, not followed them.

“you hated the therapist, and you haven’t spoken to anyone else since… everything.” he continues.

“stop, john,” you try again.

“you need to let it out, love. we’re here—”

you spin around then, fists dropping to your sides. “for the love of god, john, shut the fuck up.”

that stuns him into silence, eyes slightly widened and mouth agape as he looks at you. simon doesn’t move from his position near the door.

“you are the last people i would ever fucking talk to! I don’t even want to be talking to you right now, but you won’t stop trying. trying to talk to me, trying to make it up, trying to wriggle your way back into my good graces.”

you pause, sucking in a breath. “johnny must’ve relayed the message, and that’s why you’ve back off a little— but one wrong fucking move and you’re swooping again! you aren’t my dad, you aren’t my lover, you aren’t my friend, and you’re sure as hell not my fucking captain anymore.”

“so please, john, leave me be. the four of you have done enough.”

the room is silent for a beat, then two. then three. and then simon takes a step forward, removes his balaclava, and looks you square in the face.

he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, so you take the chance to.

“don’t start with me, simon. just don’t.”

“the note,” he says. “you read it.”

you just look at him, a disbelieving scoff leaving your mouth as you give a nod. “yes, I read your fucking note. and I saw the stupid flowers, too, after seeing everything else you wrecked. tell me, how long did you wait after you tied me up to tear it all apart?”

he just watches you. you want to scream.

the note flashes back into your mind.

‘hope you can understand.’

“does it make you feel better, thinking what you did was right?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have done it differently.” simon tells you.

you clench your fists. unclench. stretch.

breathe in, breathe out.

“and if the roles were reversed,” you said, watching him. “if you were in my position, would you have expected me to do what you did?”

“yes.” he says, without hesitation.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huff. “is that how little I meant to you? all that time, wasted?”

“that’s not what I said.” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“no, but it’s what you meant.” anger is bubbling up again. you feel overwhelmed; shame and fury battling inside you. the ringing building up in your ears again, emerging from the background.

you can’t do this.

“what i meant is what i said.” he takes another step forward. “you’re just too damn stubborn to listen, always have been.”

“just go, simon.” you tell him. “both of you. go.”

“I wouldn’t change what I did,” he says again. “to protect my team, my family, I would do whatever it takes.”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to keep arguing with him. he was an unmovable object— there was no way to reason with him.

“im not sorry it happened.” he speaks. “i did what i thought i had to do. what i had to do to make sure my team was safe.”

“and you should understand that, considering this team is all you have, too.”

you don’t respond— and even if you were going to, a knock on the door breaks the tense silence in the room.

johnny pops his head in, his eyes full of concern. “doc’s alrigh’.” he says, his gaze catching yours. “jus’ some bumps and bruises. she’ll be jus’ fine.”

“and she uh— said she’s not pressin’ charges or anythin’. says she still expects to see ya in a few days for your check-up.”

that’s what breaks you.

a tear slips from your eye, falling onto your cheek. another follows, then another, and you’re sobbing as you fall to the floor of price’s office.

the three men are staring, but no one makes any move to comfort you.

probably wise, considering what you did to the last person who tried.

you faintly register the click of the door as it shuts again. you don’t look up— your head in your hands as you cry.

cry about what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. mourn your career and your family and your love for the man who doesn’t regret what he did.

unbeknownst to you, simon is the only one still left in the room. his steps are silent as he approaches you— leaving only a foot of space between your bodies now.

he watches you as he sinks to the ground across from you, his long legs folded over each other, the fingers of his left hand twitching as he finds himself wanting to reach for you.

he still cares for you. his feelings for you were what made him do what he did in the first place.

the love he felt for you, twisting into betrayal and hurt and agony. fueling his actions, his desire to hear you admit your wrongdoings.

passion made people dangerous. passion in love, passion in rage. it was a fine line, and simon had crossed it.

he understood what this meant for you. recalls the conversation he had with price earlier— how laswell was planning for your discharge instead of your transfer.

this was the end of your time with them, and in the military. the hands of the 141, damaging one of their own beyond repair.

he finds himself mourning alongside you, then. mourning what was and what could’ve been.

what should have been.

“im sorry for what we did to you,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper that you don’t hear.

“im sorry.”

thank you all again for your patience! I plan on tying this little series up soon :)

as a reminder, I no longer do taglists. if you want to be notified when I post, follow @troiastitans and turn on notifications. I only reblog my works there.

I hope you all enjoyed :)

[tahnisreu]

the developing hint that addi would end up using a slingshot is sometime early in the 'movie' she would be seen like.. chucking tiny beads at someone just by using a bit of RDA standard elastic from their supplies. she's hittin bullseyes most of the time. dead center of the forehead.

[zhongrin]

my archon

— you sit on the floor by his leg and lay your head on his lap; how does he react?

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, cyno, tighnari, xiao, ayato, childe, wanderer

◇ tags ◇ mostly fluff, slightly suggestive on some, petnames (dear, little one - zhongli | bunny, babe - childe | puppy - ayato)

◇ a/n ◇ is this an excuse for me to imagine getting into a position to worship zhongli? yes. yes it is-

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli, ever the gentleman, frowns at seeing you sit on the hard cold flooring and caresses your cheek gently, his other hand settling on your shoulder.

“that must be uncomfortable, dear. come rest on-”

he blinks, brows furrowing when you tell him that you want to stay down there by his feet. the protests die in his throat at the reverent gaze you give him, and something stirs in his chest. a nostalgic feeling that takes him millennia back; to the olden times when he was a feared deity of a more… disagreeable temperament.

“…. very well. but at least sit on a cushion, please,” a flutter of his long eyelashes, and for a moment you catch the shadow of his former self behind his amber eyes, “if you are so intent to worship me, who am i to refuse, little one? you already do look the part of a devoted worshipper….. hm... why don’t i teach you how to do this properly.”

al haitham glances away from his book to raise his eyebrows in amusement toward you.

“what are you doing?” he asks plainly; several possibilities pop up in his sharp-witted brain, but he would rather hear your intention from your own lips rather than blindly guess what your unexpectedly unique mind has concocted this time.

you hum nonchalantly and grab the free hand that isn’t holding his book, insistently tugging on it when he doesn’t budge. with a sigh, he lets you maneuver the appendage so it rests against the top of your head. with a roll of his eyes and a slight redness to his ears, he starts to tend to your hair, blunt nails scratching against your scalp every now and then in a way that you always praise him for doing.

“you’re a strange one, [name].”

hey, they do say birds of a feather flock together, right?

tighnari gives you a look. you know. that sassy side eye and a crooked smile threatening to lift one corner of his lips?

“am i not the one who’s supposed to be given headpats and pampering?” he asks teasingly, slightly moving his feet to nudge on your sides.

your boyfriend laughs at the playful glare you give him, and he releases the pen from his fingers to give you your much-needed pats. his eyes soften at the way you lean onto his touch, and he slumps backward onto his seat, exhaustion starting to settle in after hours of working on those reports and manuals.

“ten more minutes, and then it’s my turn.”

childe blinks owlishly at first, lips parted in surprise when you just decide to do this while he was just chilling on the sofa after a long day at work. his expression quickly turns into a teasing boyish grin, however, and he opts to squish your cheeks with his fingers.

“awww, seems like someone really missed me, hmm?” he leans down to place a quick kiss on your puckered lips, “why don’t you climb onto my lap, bunny? i can give you all the attention you’ve missed~”

he frowns when you refuse, and his clear blue eyes darken when you insistently hug one of his legs, your cheek pressing onto his thigh.

“be careful there, babe. you might start something if you keep that up.”

“what…. is the meaning of this, if i may ask?” cyno asks, flustered, the cards in his hands forgotten.

just seconds ago, you had pushed away the album containing his tcg cards from his lap and replaced it with your pretty head. while he doesn’t mind the sudden change at all - he can always sort out his cards later, you always come first, of course - he’s both befuddled and unsure of what you wish for him to do when you give him those pair of puppy eyes with this unfamiliar arrangement.

he follows your gaze that is locked onto his hand, which prompts him to discard his cards on top of the album and place them on your cheek, calloused thumb slowly drawing circles as he gives you a silent questioning gaze.

when you close your eyes in bliss, he chuckles, and he moves his other hand to settle on your other cheek before leaning down to kiss you on your forehead.

“how is it that you get more and more adorable the more we spend time with each other?”

kaeya raises his eyebrows, the hand swirling the glass of wine stopping its movements completely as he feels you hug his leg and place your head on his lap. instinctively, his free hand brushes against your cheek.

mischief colors the tone of his voice as you lovingly kiss his knuckles and give him those doe eyes he adores.

“my, a free leg warmer? how kind of you.”

he laughs in response to the playful slap you delivered to his thigh.

“so, are you planning to climb onto my lap anytime soon, or?”

another slap, another laugh, and kaeya leans down to place a kiss on the crown of your head.

“i have to ask - does this leg warmer come with the service of a wine glass holder? hmm? how about a-” [lines redacted to keep this sfw]

“wha- g-get up! you shouldn’t-” xiao splutters in embarrassment, trying to grab onto your shoulders to pull you into a standing position.

his shock is quickly overwritten by utter confusion when you protest and insist on staying where you are. he ceases trying to move you from the spot, but he decides to ask, “-i… don’t understand. isn’t it uncomfortable? what are you hoping to gain from this?”

the yaksha is still at a loss even after you answer. it’s illogical, he thinks. if his attention is what he wants, why would you choose to have this discomfort when you can just sit beside him and achieve the same thing? does this position have a special meaning to mortals? he’s only seen it on the illustration of that silly romance novel written by an apparently famous mortal from inazuma that you were reading about a week ago, telling a story about a deity and his favored subject- oh.

“…. you’re so weird,” he grumbles, suddenly avoiding your eyes as redness begins to creep onto his cheeks. he is most definitely not a being worthy of worship….. but he supposes if it’s you… he can indulge, right? just for a little….

“oh dear, it seems like someone’s bored,” ayato chuckles, not even looking down from his paperwork as he repositions his legs on his plush armchair, “unfortunately, puppy, i am currently working and unable to tend to your whims.”

his smile only gets wider when he hears you whine and tug on the sleeves of his kimono. what a greedy little thing; your adorableness truly knows no bounds, he muses in amusement. but it is true that he might have been quite neglectful of your needs the past few days…

but it’s no fun to just give in that easily.

ayato gives you a glance and two short pats that are far too brief to your liking, before he returns his attention to his papers, but not before saying with a teasing edge to his tone, “stay like that for an hour while i finish my work, and i’ll give you all my attention after, alright?”

wanderer smirks and crosses his arms before leaning back on his chair, clearly amused and pleased at the sight. he attempts to move his leg away, and when you whine and chase after the limb, the puppet barks out an amused laugh, mirth dancing like electric sparks within his eyes.

“look at you, so needy and desperate for my attention,” he rolls his eyes in fake exasperation, though he doesn’t bother hiding the pleased toothy grin on his expression, “what? what do you want?”

he parries your hand away when you reach out for him, a disbelieving huff of breath escaping the ex-harbinger. the flick on your forehead is playful, and the same tone carries to his next words, like a fleeting wisp of breeze cheekily grazing your skin.

“you think you can order me around as you please? think again,” his voice lowers into a darker and softer drawl, “aren’t you already in the correct position? beg, and then, maybe i’ll consider fulfilling your request.”

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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[yandere-daydreams]

tw - nsfw, physical/psychological abuse, wildly unhealthy relationship dynamics, and derogatory language.

Most days, Bailey struggles to decide whether you're an idiot or a masochist.

He’s leaning towards the former, but it wouldn’t take much to sway him towards the latter. That doesn’t make you special on its own, though – no, most of the stupid brats in his orphanage have shit for brains and the survival instincts of pre-splattered roadkill, but you manage to make your peers look like shining pillars of intelligence and caution and all the good, important, necessary traits that you were tragic enough to be born without. If he didn’t know better, he might think that you’re doing it on purpose, that your behavior is just the product of some misplaced cry for attention. You should count yourself lucky that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever be.

He should’ve gotten rid of you the first time you failed to pay your rent. He should’ve, and he tried to – selling you off to the highest bidder, leaving you blindfolded in alleyways and restrained on the edge of town, but like a beaten dog too stupid to acknowledge that its master left it for dead, you always seem to drag yourself back, always bruised, most often bloody, and occasionally soaking wet. More than once, you haven’t made it all the way back, and he’s had to go out of his way to pick up ‘his precious ward’ from the intensive care unit at Harper’s request. He would leave you there, if he thought his reputation would survive giving that freak of a doctor a free lab rat.

 You can’t hold down a job. That part, he can’t entirely blame on you. If going outside is risky, then trying to earn a living is all-but a death sentence in a town like this. He knows you have a few minor gigs, pick up odd jobs every now-and-then around the wealthier neighborhoods, but it’s never more than petty cash, and having to watch you drag yourself through the orphanage halls with torn clothes and that distant, glazed-over look in your eyes almost makes what little rent money you can scrap up not worth it. You’re wary enough to keep your head down in school, so you don’t have a lot of friends, either. Most of your time is spent at home; toiling in your weed-infested garden, trying to pretend you aren’t hiding in your room, and when he lets you, curling up in the smallest, darkest corner of his office – your legs pulled into your chair and your eyes fixed on the floor. He asked, once, why you thought you had to waste your time sulking in his peripheral like some poor, attention-starving kitten. Despite help from the better half of a bottle from his vintage stash, he can still remember your answer.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, with a smile so delicate, he was almost tempted to see how easily it shattered. “I guess I just feel safe around you.”

He stopped asking for rent, after that.

He tries not to think about you. It’s a constant effort, but he tries the hardest when he’s standing in your doorway hours after midnight, fucking his fist as you pretend to sleep less than a full ten feet away. He still hasn’t made up his mind about the masochist part, but you have to be an idiot. A pretty, empty-headed idiot.

His pretty, empty-headed idiot.

He decides, as he finishes to the sound of your muffled sobbing, that he’ll soak it in while he can. Even if he does his best, even if he keeps his distance, even if you never come to your senses and run far, faraway, he knows he won’t have long left to enjoy this.

He knows that, no matter how hard he tries to hold himself back, you’re not going to feel very safe around him for much longer.

[gutsby]

Best Served Cold

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Warning: NSFW. Attempted SA. Unprotected p-in-v. I don’t condone cheating (unless it’s on abusers lol). Semi-public sex and getting caught doing it in a tent 🫣 Based on this kickass idea from @dilfsandmartinis (I'm so sorry it took this long for me to post the story) !! 💓

Your man returned to your tent that night like he did most others: slick with sweat and too tired for sex. At least not again, not with you. He would undoubtedly claim to have been checking the perimeter, standing guard like a good leader should, but any blind man in that quarry camp could’ve seen he was just boning Lori.

A lot.

You were really more offended that he thought you stupid enough to abide by his lies than the fact he was fucking someone else. That part wasn’t new—his dick never knew how to stay in one hole longer than a month or two—but in an apocalypse? With his newly-deceased best friend’s widow? That was low, even for Shane.

Which was why you felt no compunction yourself as you slipped quietly from your tent toward the water’s edge that night, pink vibrator clutched tightly in hand.

Useful little thing that it was, a six-setting suction device that worked wonders on your clit, even underwater. You figured since Shane couldn’t be bothered with you or your sexual pleasure so long as the former Mrs. Grimes was occupying his time, you’d make use of this sex toy instead and start really leaning into the “self care” you’d been craving for so long.

The water was warm all the way up to your chest, and the air around you tepid. You moved around, treaded in place, and finally reached comfortable bearings a couple yards from shore. You relished the solitude and silence.

The moment you felt the toy come to life in your hand, you couldn’t help but smile. Exhaling as you brought the tip close to your center.

“Shit.” Even the gentlest setting too harsh on your clit, you nipped your lower lip and bit back a whimper.

You swirled it lightly on your inner thigh, tried painstakingly as ever to acclimate yourself to the buzz of the rubber, but damn were you sensitive. Almost too tender to be touched, too ripe with excitement and aching for the feel of something on you, or in you, or just barely skimming the surface of your skin underwater.

A low moan escaped your lips the second the head drifted back to your clit. Your toes curled into rough, rocky terrain underfoot, and your breaths started to quicken. You made a gentle motion with your hips—a sweet, semi-circular thing you’d been doing over Shane’s lower half as long as you could remember—begging for more friction, needing more of that mechanical hum.

You pressed the button for a higher setting. The peaks of your pleasure soared to new heights.

You were helpless to the trembling of your knees and felt immensely grateful for the water’s aid in keeping you straight. You pressed the rounded tip of the toy even tighter to your core and didn’t heed a thing around you as you sighed several expletives under your breath. A jolt of bliss washed over your body.

Your eyes had just started to close in the first throes of that wild sensation, when a new sound startled you.

“Ya done pissin’ or what?”

You shot a look toward the shore and saw a slightly less-than cheery individual standing at the edge of it, the toes of his boots grazing the incoming waves.

You froze in place. You hardly knew what to say.

“Ain’t safe fer you out here ‘n you know it. Come on.” Daryl beckoned you with one hand and started to turn.

At what point was it appropriate to tell him you were naked?

You thought he could surmise from the fact you were neck-deep in the water and refusing to move that maybe something more was keeping you in. Daryl seemed clueless, however.

“I ain’t got all night, kid,” he snorted, “’f you don’t hurry, Shane an’ the rest of ‘em’ll be out and— ah.”

Ah.

At the last, he stepped on a pile of clothes folded neatly on the shoreline nearby, undergarments and all.

So this wasn’t a midnight swim or a late night piss at all, but a full-blown skinny dip. He should have known you weren’t the bikini type.

Awkwardly, almost begrudgingly, Daryl gathered what clothes of yours he could and chucked them closer to the lake. Then he turned on his heels and stalked up the beach without another word—fuming, it seemed to you. Once averted, though, Daryl’s face betrayed a look of horror. Like a parent who’d just stumbled upon a box of condoms in their daughter’s sock drawer after swearing she was still a virgin.

In the few short weeks since you’d been thrown together in this mess, Daryl had practically taken to you like family. He hated Shane ‘Shit-for-Brains’ Walsh most days, it was true, but the fact that you were you, and times were tough, and nothing seemed to occupy Daryl’s mind quite like the thought of keeping you safe, that he had to keep you close at all times. He just hadn’t imagined your proximity would turn this intimate so suddenly.

“Keep up,” he spoke more sharply than usual. Didn’t even wait for you to dry and dress completely before snagging your hand in his.

You glanced at your taut, hardened nipples poking up through the damp material of your tank top and suddenly wished you’d brought a towel. Or a bra. Your shorts, too, clung to your ass like a second skin and made you feel extra bare before Daryl’s eyes—even if he hadn’t spared a look at you once as you’d traipsed behind him through the woods.

When you tripped, he held you up; when you nearly ate shit over several rocky spots, he carried you over them. His eyes never strayed toward your body, though.

Once you’d made it to the clearing where your group had made camp, Daryl lowered you to the ground and still couldn’t find it within himself to look your way. You shuffled uncomfortably on your feet, now standing inches away from the tent you shared with Shane.

“Thanks for...that,” you said, flatly.

Daryl managed a curt nod.

Before you turned in, you decided to venture a look at Daryl’s chest, and you felt an influx of embarrassment. The taupe-colored cutoff he wore as a shirt was soaked with water. Instinctively, you brushed your fingers over the stain—as if touching it might dry the fabric, or else mask your humiliation at being the cause. You tried not to evince a hint of surprise at how sturdy he felt.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Daryl.”

You hadn’t thought any man was capable of looking more afflicted than Daryl did before, but somehow, incredibly, he appeared even more ill at ease when you touched him. You immediately retracted your hand.

“’S’okay,” he managed. He would’ve given anything not to be where he was, or who he was, at that moment.

Just when another apology leapt to your tongue—feeling even worse that you might’ve crossed a physical boundary you shouldn’t have—a twig snapped close-by.

You and Daryl jumped in your skin. You turned toward the source of the sound.

Shane was tugging his pants into place, pulling the zip up in haphazard fashion as he marched out of the woods.

He’d either been blowing Lori’s back out (again) or off to take a piss in the bushes. By the looks of his dazed and drowsy expression, you guessed it was the latter.

“Got a nice rack, doesn’t she?” Shane observed, careless as ever.

He walked past the two of you and unzipped the tent.

“I was jus—” Daryl started.

“Don’t care,” Shane cut in, “Goodnight.”

You were amazed at the level of nonchalance your fiancé exhibited. On finding you soaked to the bone and touching another man in the middle of the night, the old Shane probably would’ve laid Daryl flat on his ass.

But overprotective, possessive Shane was no more.

Before disappearing into the tent, Shane reached for your elbow. You barely got another glimpse at Daryl as you were ushered inside.

The tent was re-zipped in an instant, and you assumed Daryl would be quick to leave the scene, too.

You turned and saw Shane fumbling to unscrew the lid of his canteen. Taking several big gulps before re-fastening the top, tossing the jug to the side, and letting out a sigh.

“You get a look at the hard-on he had?” Shane chuckled.

You almost choked on your spit.

“What?”

“Pitched a tent in his pants bigger’n this,” he returned, gesturing to the polyester enclosure overhead. Then he got back to his feet, walked over to you, and kept going, in spite of your perplexed expression, “He must really wanna fuck you.”

You blinked up at him, unsure if you were more baffled by Shane’s serene demeanor or the fact that you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s boner. You decided to overlook the erection for the time being.

“And you don’t...care if he did?” Instantly chiding yourself for the twinge of indignation in your tone.

“Nuh-uh,” Shane said. His hands came to rest comfortably on your hips, and he seemed to be hearing your words without really comprehending what you meant. As usual.

If he picked up on the irritation in your voice, he didn’t show it. He just rolled the denim of your shorts between his fingers and pulled you closer.

“This,” he hummed, fingers sinking between your legs, “is not for him.”

And Shane was community dick. Made sense.

You didn’t attempt to conceal your annoyance this time as you rolled your eyes and pushed his hands away.

“Well maybe if Daryl asked nicely…” you trailed off, starting toward the bed.

Shane stopped you before you could. He took a firmer hold of your sides and showed the first real hint of jealousy in his eyes. You were almost glad to see it.

“No,” Shane said, shaking his head. Then, snaking his touch back down your legs—with the fabric of your shorts fisted in his hands this time—he continued amidst your quiet protests.

You were gripping his wrists, trying to keep them from moving any further. But Shane was insistent.

“He wouldn’t get to ask nicely, because I’d blow his fucking brains out before he ever got the—”

“Shane.” You were actively shoving his hands off now. You didn’t mind this envious side coming back to the surface, but you would not, under any circumstance, be Shane’s sloppy seconds the same hour he’d fucked Lori.

“No. You— you smell like—” you cut yourself off before the woman’s name could leave your lips.

“Like what?” Shane snapped. Suddenly intrigued to hear what you had to say.

You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but when you couldn’t, and when he pressed you again, you sputtered some nonsense about his drinking—how he reeked of booze, not Rick’s wife.

“Thought you liked it when I fucked you drunk,” Shane grinned, voice dripping with condescension, “Said it gave me stamina.”

You’d said no such thing. You groaned lightly as Shane managed to pull your panties and shorts, together, to your ankles. When he started to take them off at your feet, he hardly seemed to notice your nails dig in his shoulders, silently begging him to stop.

“Think I should invite Daryl back over? Let him watch me fuck you stupid?” Shane’s mouth was hovering close to your center, hot breaths fanning over your lower half.

In any other situation, you would’ve craved him here: on his knees, ready to suck and lick and dick you down like he always used to do. But things were different now, you had to remind yourself. Apart from the walking dead invading your world, there was no Rick in the picture, no semblance of platonic feelings between his widow and your fiancé—you felt physically sick at the thought of Shane touching you now. You tried to stand the instant he threw you on the bed.

“Shane, I don’t wanna—”

“Fuck? Yeah, I figured,” Shane shrugged as he tried to peel your shirt off your body.

“Then quit,” you hissed. You were starting to fear the fabric might tear if you held on any tighter.

When it seemed evident you weren’t going to give in on the top, Shane let go and turned to his pants instead. Pinning you down with one hand, he unbuckled his belt as you whimpered and pleaded that he stop. The sounds only made the mound in his pants more pronounced.

The two of you had dabbled in CNC before, but this was not that. No safeword, no fallback, no trace of consent between you, and to be frank, you were starting to get scared. The second Shane freed his cock from his boxers, you felt a surge of panic rise to your chest.

“Fuck— STOP!” Without thinking, you jerked your knee.

You hadn’t meant to hit his balls so hard. But you did. And he folded in half, seizing with pain, while you took that as your chance to slide off the bed, slip on your panties—and hightail it the fuck out of there.

Shane’s cries pierced the night air like a blade through rotted flesh. You stumbled, half-blind in the dark, and blazed a reckless path through the tents all around you. Weaving in and out of neighboring spaces, searching desperately for any lone, dim glow of a lantern to tell you someone was awake to hear your pleas if needed. But sadly, no tent was alight but yours, and the entrance to that was presently being torn open once more as Shane staggered out there himself.

“Y/N!” he bellowed.

In your haste, you’d tripped over Glenn’s knapsack. You scraped your knee, scrambled back to your feet, and tried with everything in you not to make a sound as you retreated further from Shane’s voice.

You probably looked feral, weaving in and out of tents with your knee leaking blood and your pupils grown wide with fear. You scampered fast across the rocky campgrounds and made a beeline for the woods.

Until Shane’s footsteps fell heavy mere feet away.

Quickly changing course, you dove for the nearest tent and ripped it open. When you slipped inside, zipped it up, and went crab-walking backward like a panic-stricken animal, you hardly saw much of anything else.

Had your pulse not been pounding in your ears and your gaze not glued to the front of the tent, you likely would’ve gotten a pretty good laugh at the sight behind you.

At the very least, a chuckle or a smile or a slightly sheepish blush would’ve been supplied in a second, seeing someone wide-eyed and holding his cock in a death grip just inches from your rear.

You’d unwittingly scrambled into the tent of a man who’d just been beating his dick off furiously to the thought of you—and there you were, sitting pretty in pure, unadulterated fear for the sight of your fiancé any second now. When you turned your head, your hand flew to your mouth.

“Dar— oh!”

Like before, your heads snapped in the direction of a new sound, quick to sense that it was Shane, and this time, you went crawling over to the archer without a second thought. Hardly noticing his pants were down, you leapt into his lap.

“Y/N—” Shane hissed as he tripped over something outside. You heard a clatter and a bang, the sound of a few curse words sputtered in vain, and a groan. Daryl’s arms snaked around your sides and pulled you closer.

“What’ve ya gone and done this time?” he whispered.

“Told him no,” you murmured back.

You pretended not to feel the singe of Daryl’s gaze boring straight through the side of your head. Then a little lower, to your near-bare lower half and shaking legs. It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened.

“Y/N,” Daryl started, far louder than you could bear. You shushed him swiftly, ignoring the flare of anger in his eyes that told you he was currently conjuring up fifty different ways to kill Shane and just aching to act on it.

“Don’t. Please,” you said.

“Did he—”

“No. I...kneed him in the balls before he got the chance.”

“Oh.”

Shane was pacing outside, like he knew you were somewhere close. He called your name every now and then, drew near enough to send you rigid with fear. Then Daryl would hold you tight, stroke your hair, or else just graze his lips on your shoulder to let you know he was there, and eventually, the fright would subside. You nestled yourself into that touch and felt something far kinder than fear for the first time in a long time.

You felt aroused.

Ever more inspired by the sound of Shane stewing, fuming outside within earshot and the nudge of Daryl’s member against your barely-clothed core. Well…you were tempted, to say the least. You just weren’t sure if Daryl would be on board for being your lightning-quick rebound fuck of the night.

You sighed as his hips moved gently against your own.

“You think maybe—” you started.

“Yeah?”

“—you might…tell me what you were doing before I barged in here?”

Even in the dark, you could sense a blush creeping up his neck. You loved to see a man like Daryl flustered.

“Oh, uh, that?” he said in half a chuckle. Glancing down at his groin and going back and forth between two thoughts in his mind, most likely. Tell you the truth or come up with a half-assed lie on the spot.

“Just…jerking off to you.”

He never had been any good at a bluff.

Your face visibly brightened in the dim glow of the tent. You tried not to let your elation get too far ahead of you, though, lest your voice raise above a whisper and draw Shane’s attention.

“Yeah? What about?”

Daryl never thought it possible for a woman’s enthusiasm in a question to turn him on, but yours did. He looked to your lips and swallowed, suddenly at a loss for how to answer.

“I…well…”

“You’re fucking dead to me, Y/N. If you don’t—”

Your fiancé’s voice was as close, and as terrifying, as it had ever been. You eased Daryl onto his back.

“Were you thinking of this?” you teased.

You made that soft semi-circular motion with your hips and watched a brand new face contort with pleasure. The footsteps outside hardly registered in your mind any longer, as your attention was singly focused on Daryl.

He fought a groan in his throat as you grazed your slick heat over his length.

You coated him with your arousal quicker than even you had expected. You knew you were turned on, but never had it been like that, where you were damn near dripping sweet nectar all over a man’s cock. You let a little whine leave your lips.

You couldn’t help it; your cunt rocked back and forth over Daryl’s fat, throbbing cock and made obscene sounds as you did. The archer’s hands found your hips and gently guided you up and down as his own moans struggled to break loose.

You could’ve stayed like that forever, you figured—if you hadn’t been so fucking wet that the head of his cock slipped inside of your heat the second you and Daryl bucked your hips together. An inch was quick to stretch to seven before you could think or blink or do anything else but groan in pleasure, and suddenly, he was bottoming out inside you.

“Fuck!” Daryl hissed.

“Daryl!”

“Daryl?”

Fucking Shane, of all voices you didn’t want to hear in that moment. Fortunately, he’d heard Daryl’s voice alone and not the sound of your moan, calling his name at the same time, for entirely different reasons, it seemed.

Daryl gritted his teeth as you bounced on his cock,

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Y/N. You seen her, brother?”

Seen you, felt you, fucked you, yeah—he had.

Daryl closed his eyes and tried not to blow his load on the spot as you squeezed around him.

“No— no, I haven’t. Not since earlier,” he grunted.

“You sure?” Shane pressed, dissatisfied, “I heard her running around this way.”

You braced your knees against the ground and rode the man beneath you even harder, taking every ounce of resentment you felt toward Shane out on Daryl’s cock. Fuck if revenge sex didn’t feel nice when the object of your ire was standing right outside the tent.

You almost wanted to moan, wanted to whimper, but were quick to think better of it the longer you spent moving up and down his length. Seeing shades of lust in his eyes like never before, you just couldn’t bear the thought of having to pry yourself off any time soon.

Daryl sank his fingers into your thighs and sighed, leaving ten perfect crescents in their wake.

“Don’t you fuckin’ stop,” he murmured.

“Could ya— could you come outside and help me look?”

‘Come the fuck on’ seemed to be the silent, shared sentiment between you and Daryl as your bodies writhed fast against each other and your highs came close into view. You braced your hands against his chest and begged him not to answer with your eyes, but you also knew Daryl couldn’t not say something to him, either.

“I…I’m sure she’s fine.” Daryl tried, weakly.

He flipped you over so you were flat on your back, hands careful not to make much noise or cause you discomfort as he did. Cock never leaving your wet, greedy hole, he found it easier than ever to resume the pace you’d made above him—now pounding you quietly into his sleeping pad.

You gripped his back and, simultaneously, bit down on his shoulder to keep from letting out a shriek when he grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you. Tried not to whine when he hit it again. And again. And again.

Shane was growing impatient. Hovered close to the front of the tent so you could see the outline of his shadow.

“You got something better to do, Dixon?” he snapped.

Yeah, fuck your fiancée, Daryl thought with a smirk. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him even deeper.

That light, airy feeling preceding ecstasy was close at hand. You wanted to give in—let the levee break and just relish the sweet sensation quick to follow—but you knew you couldn’t. Knew yourself too well to be a screamer not to hold on a little longer, until Shane had left.

But the way Daryl’s cock was pumping in and out of you at present made it hard, to say the least.

“Just…tired, ‘s’all,” Daryl groaned close to your ear.

“Tired from what?!” Shane jeered, “Wrist been hurtin’ from how hard you’ve been jerkin’ it to Y/N, huh?”

You almost burst out laughing. Daryl quickly cupped your mouth. Fucked you harder to shut you up.

And shut up you did; but not for long, you feared. The faster he pounded you, the more that coil in your stomach came to swell, and soon enough you might—

“Eat shit, Walsh.”

“Just help me out. Please.”

Daryl shook his head and fucked you harder, much to your chagrin. You didn’t want him to stop, but you needed him to, in truth, or that swollen thing inside of you just might get the better of you and burst. You pressed your hands to his chest and tried to whimper something softly, but Daryl just hushed you with his hand to your mouth and kept on at that breakneck pace. Your eyes rolled back, your legs started to shake, and if Daryl hadn’t had to tear his attention away to say something to Shane, he might have seen how close you were to blowing your cover…before it was too late.

With one more stroke inside your wet, sensitive hole, you felt a cord inside you snap and a flurry of wild, unbridled bliss take over, stronger than you’d felt in ages.

A shriek desperate to escape your throat, your teeth raked down Daryl’s flesh with the force of it, and, instinctively, the man yanked his hand away and yelped.

You hated to do it, but the feeling was just too good. Your lips parted to release one of the most lewd and obscene sex screams of your life—with Daryl’s name following over and over as you came.

Daryl’s eyes grew to half the size of his face, it seemed. Stilling inside you, feeling your sweet, hot juices flow down him in waves, he sat there and couldn’t quite decide if he was more turned on or terrified.

When Shane tore through the fabric of the tent and charged inside, he figured it out pretty quickly, though.

[kazumist]

WHY DON'T WE FALL IN LOVE TONIGHT ?

✩ — in which you found yourself executing a ruse with the known duke of meropide, wriothesley. what could possibly go wrong? (many things, apparently.)

✩ — prompt: panache — you agree to a fake courtship with another. (for @xianyoon's "a night to remember" event (event two hehehe))

✩ — includes: wriothesley x f!reader. royalty!au. fluff, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort if you also squint, comedy squeezed in just a teensy bit. cw: alcohol consumption (reader ends up taking a shot or two) one crazy scene in the garden but it's nothing too explicit i swear they just get a little carried away OOPS. wc: 8001 yes you read that fucking right (i went insane). fake dating trope went a bit overboard my bad (heavily based by bridgerton season 1 minus the explicit scenes LMAO). one pride and prejudice and meme reference line sneaked in (if u get my reference then ilysm i need to kiss u). other fontaine characters make a cameo yipee!! full fic of this silly post i made back then but i changed things up. kinda

✩ — please reblog !! it wld help me tons :,)

love at first sight was a frivolous belief for a man like wriothesley.

romance, in general, was a frivolous belief for him in the first place. as much as his father pushes him into the marriage market for all of the women in the kingdom of fontaine, he would always find his way out of it. but he does admit—the nagging could get quite... overbearing sometimes. romance almost never crosses wriothesley’s mind. he shuns every vigorous mother that presents their daughter towards him in hopes that he’ll take an interest in them (which he never does; wriothesley believes that marriage is too big of a responsibility for him).

a ball is never uncommon in society at this age. and certainly it isn’t uncommon for his father to urge him to grace these balls with his presence on behalf of his former duke of a father. and tonight wasn’t so different from the other balls he previously attended. wriothesley holds back the urge to roll his eyes after he excuses himself (for the nth time, he thinks) from another mother who tried to offer her daughter up for his hand in marriage. it was exhausting, to say the least. wriothesley wants nothing more than to leave at the moment. however, to his dismay, the ball had just begun not too long ago.

it’s another long night for him.

sharing some conversations with queen furina’s royal advisor, neuvillette, wasn’t a bad way to pass the time. and it certainly was effective because people were far too nervous to approach him with the queen nearby. the friendship he shared with the royal advisor wasn’t new knowledge to society. almost everyone and their mothers had heard about the tale of the current duke meropide and the queen’s royal advisor being close friends during their early days of childhood and onwards. though wriothesley sometimes admits—he surely misses his youthful days.

it’s not like he's that old now. he’s currently thriving at the young age of twenty-five! not too young, not too old either. “and just how long are you going to stand by my side tonight, wriothesley?” neuvillette asks, his eyes focused on the crowd below him. there were pairs dancing gracefully in the middle of the venue as the quintet orchestra played by the side. wriothesley doesn’t glance at him as he answers. “just a bit longer, i suppose. i could still feel their eyes boring holes into me.” he mumbles the last part, leaning closer only for neuvillette to hear, as he refers to the mothers that attempted to make their advances on him earlier. neuvillette simply chuckles at his remark.

“still refusing marriage, i see?” he replies. 

“i’m confident that you’re well aware of what my answer to that is going to be, neuvillette.”

wriothesley feels comfortable like this. but he’s aware that he couldn’t spend all of his time by his friend’s side. soon after, wriothesley decides to take his leave after making sure his coast is clear. he then exited nearby and found himself wandering into the garden. surely, the workers at the house of hearth had done a splendid job maintaining this garden. he reminds himself to commend duke arlecchino for this if he ever gets the chance.

the wind tonight was quite cold, yet it’s nothing wriothesley couldn’t handle. he stumbles upon what seemed to be the center of the garden, surprised to see a fountain there. the moonlight shines brightly in this area—but what actually made wriothesley curious was who was sitting by the fountain? he steadily approaches, careful not to make the wrong move and sits by the fountain as well. there was still some distance between the two of you—a lot of it. it would be indecent of him to burst into a woman’s personal space. his father did not raise him to be that sort of man.

“what brings you here tonight?” he suddenly finds himself asking. it was a poor attempt at small talk, he thinks (he could do much better than that, he swears). wriothesley doesn’t even dare steal a glance at you, as much as he wanted to. you hesitated before answering him, still sinking in the fact that you suddenly have company in this garden now. “avoiding society as usual, especially the members of society who cannot give up offering their hand of marriage towards me, i suppose,” he hears you sigh. huh, how ironic. did wriothesley just bump into someone who suffers from the same problem as him? 

the answer was most definitely yes.

“oh, what a coincidence—i suffer from such a predicament as well.” he chuckles bitterly in reply—too bitter for his liking. he didn’t want to suddenly ruin the mood now; the conversation had barely even started. “is that so? i’m delighted to know that i’m not alone in this boat then.” the tone of your chuckle was different from the chuckle you got from wriothesley. a comfortable silence was then enveloped over the both of you, enjoying the scenery around. he takes this as his chance to steal a glance, and he quickly takes it back. yet he finds himself glancing again.

and again

and again. 

he doesn’t quite understand it himself. however, there was something about you that had this alluring effect on him of some sort. he just couldn’t tear his eyes off of you for some reason. “enjoying the view much, duke?” you asked, meeting his gaze. wriothesley then turns away suddenly, embarrassed that he was caught red handed in the act of practically ogling at you. his father did not raise him to be like this at all. he did not spend his childhood and teenage years training how to be a proper gentleman for his debut in society just to be ogling at a lady he just met at a ball. he needs to snap out of it.

“my apologies, but how could i resist putting my attention on a stunning lady like you?” he tries to play it cool. (keyword: tries.) it was a strategy that he learned to adapt every since he made his debut into society. playing it cool always works for him—surely his old trick wouldn’t fail at him now of all times, right? but wriothesley soon snapped out of his thoughts, and he then asked another question. “wait, you know who i am?” 

you were taken aback by his words. is he seriously asking you that? “who wouldn’t know you? you’re quite famous with the other ladies.” you asked him back. he simply replies with a short “fair point.” and silence takes over once again. but this time, it was a bit awkward. you decided to introduce yourself to him, stating your name and title. he nods in acknowledgement of your introduction. he has heard of you before, of course. your family has quite a reputation in society, making you get quite a bit of attention at formal parties as well. 

wriothesley doesn’t dare steal a glance at you again, as he has seemed to learn his lesson from what happened earlier. you, on the other hand, took this as your chance to take your leave. “although your company has been quite interesting, duke meropide, i’m afraid that i must take my leave first. i seem to have forgotten that i excused myself from lord jackson earlier.” you got up from your seat, already walking away from the fountain—that is, until wriothesley speaks.

“lord jackson? you mean the lord jackson who’s known for his… awful history in relationships?”

“i don’t believe there’s any other lord jackson in this society, duke meropide.” you turn around to face him.

“what business do you have with him?” why am i even asking? he thinks.

“he’s simply another one of the men who my mother had decided to set me up with for marriage. i was told to accompany him for tonight but you see, his company isn’t really... the best.” you replied, choosing your word carefully. despite you not liking lord jackson at all, it would be informal for you to speak ill of him when he could be the man you’ll actually marry.

actually, scratch that. as if you’ll ever allow yourself to marry a man like him. lord jackson was a creep, to say the least. you were aware of the talk that goes around him. but your dear mother is still kept in the dark about these stories, and she decided to set you up with him without your prior knowledge. so by technicality, you really had no choice. “you can’t marry him.” the man in front of you suddenly says.

“i beg your pardon?” you asked, afraid that you misheard him the first time. “you... you can’t marry him.” he repeats and then he continues. “i mean, surely you have heard the news about him—his temper makes him vicious. your marriage with him wouldn’t prosper at all.” you held back the urge to scoff at him. “i appreciate your concern, my duke, but our society works in an unfair way at this age. i cannot just declare that i do not wish to marry, unlike you. that is a privilege that i cannot simply afford.” you shot back at him.

wriothesley suddenly feels like a light bulb in his head has switched on.

“we could pretend to form an attachment.” he then says. you were getting more baffled by the second this conversation held on longer. “whatever do you mean?” you weren’t stupid. but you refused to believe that what he’s hinting at is also the one you foolishly thought. “with you in my arm, people would think that i have finally found my duchess. as for you, your mother would raise her standards and find more suitable candidates for your hand in marriage. because although i could be wrong, but have you ever told your mother what traits you find in a man?” he replies, a small smile slowly tugging on his lips. he clearly enjoys this idea.

“i… i suppose not.” he got you there. “but this is an absurd idea.” you protested.

“i find it quite brilliant, if i do say so myself.”

“you do know the risks of what you’re proposing right now, am i correct?”

“i do. but you do not wish to marry me, and i do not wish to marry you, so whatever should you have to lose?” he’s insisting. he’s insisting like this plan would work perfectly fine for the both of your benefits (well, if you were to be completely honest, there is a chance for it to be successful. but you grew up to believe that you shouldn’t expect for things to go so smoothly in your life). “i…” a lost of words. that’s what you are. too many possibilities are running through your head at the moment.

however, the duke did have one hell of a good point.

“fine. you got yourself a deal.”

and that’s how you got roped into the situation you have now. with an arm interlocked with the duke meropide’s, all eyes were bound to set upon you both. wriothesley could see the amusement in neuvillette’s expression; the same goes for the hint of amusement in queen furina’s eyes as she spots them in the crowd. wriothesley slowly guides you towards the dance floor, just in time for another dance to begin. gracefully, you took his hand as you step onto the dance floor with him. a familiar song started to play, one that you remember memorizing as dance class was mandatory for being a debutante in society.

“are you bothered?” he then asks in a whisper as he twirls you around. “whatever for?” you ask him back. “the staring. i could feel all of them looking at us right now, honestly,” he chuckles lowly. “hm, i’m trying not to mind it that much. but i suppose you’re probably enjoying all of this attention now, aren’t you?” a simple tease on your part, and wriothesley smiled at that. “my, are we on casual terms now?” 

“chemistry should be a major factor that we should have in this plan, yes? so we might as well start by being more casual with one another.”

“indeed. glad to know that you’re quick to pick up on things.” he says. “of course i am. what do you take me for, duke meropide?” you asked him, a slight pout forming on your lips. and wriothesley smiled at that again before replying. “nothing offensive, that i can assure you.”

“i’m delighted to know that the ever-so-famous duke of meropide doesn’t harbor any sour feelings towards me then.” 

it was a bit suffocating, all of the staring. yet at the same time, you understood why they’re staring in the first place. wriothesley, the current duke of meropide, is suddenly on the dance floor with a young woman. and he seems to be quite interested in her as well. people would assume you’re the reason why the duke has rejected so many marriage offers up until now—because he already had you in the first place.

the other unwanted attention you’d get from that assumption alone was enough to make you distracted to the point where you almost stepped on wriothesley’s foot. “i—my apologies, duke.” you stammered. “it’s alright. just look at me,” he says. you scrunched your eyebrows at him in confusion. “pardon?”

“just look at me; don’t focus on anyone else. it will help ease your mind.”

with hesitance, you followed what he said and locked your eyes with his. the duke’s eyes were a fine shade of grey. a unique color, if you do say so yourself. and surely he was correct. shifting your focus and thoughts to him did ease you from all of the other eyes that are locked onto both of your figures that’s moving along with the music.

time felt like it had stopped, as it also felt like you were the only ones present in the room.

to wriothesley’s surprise, the night passed by faster when he was with you. because before he knew it, he was already accompanying you back to your carriage. a lot of things had happened in the span of just a few hours. but wriothesley does not regret a single second of it, now that he recalls everything again. he wonders why—was it because he encountered you in the garden tonight?

maybe. that’s where it all started anyway.

he quickly snapped out of his trail of thoughts as he heard you speak. “i suppose i’ll see you soon then?” you asked him. “mhm, i suppose so. safe travels, m’lady.” he bids you his farewell by gently grabbing ahold of your hand and pressing a soft kiss onto your knuckle, refusing to break his eye contact with you as the footman closed your carriage’s door.

“safe travels as well, my duke.”

— — — — — — — — 

word spread fast about you and the duke of meropide. your mother was shocked at the news—yet happy that you finally became “independent on finding your match” as per her words. you had no specific agenda for the day, so, as you usually do whenever you are free, you decided to visit the modiste—where your good friend chiori resides. 

the sound of the bell chiming as the door opened made chiori perk up to see who would possibly need help making a new dress. but when her eyes met yours, she just knew you weren’t here to ask for a new dress. “i heard about the commotion last night.” she says, setting down a cup of tea for you as she takes a sip from her own cup, waiting for your response. “commotion is a vulgar term for it, chiori. i prefer to call it a memorable event.”

“i suppose it’s memorable for you to enter with your arm wrapped around the duke meropide just like that. how did it even happen? i vividly recall you telling me that you had no intention of marriage.”

“it’s… a long story,” you sighed, taking a sip from your own cup of tea. “oh? are you implying that there’s more to this than meets the eye, then?”

“i guess you could say that.”

“well, then tell me all about it.”

“i… i can't. my apologies, chiori.” it's not like you didn't trust her. in fact, there are more secrets that are held within this fine modiste’s place than one could ever imagine. but it was a silent and automatic agreement between you and the duke that no one must know of your plan. (although you already hinted to chiori that there's more to it than meets the eye.) besides, chiori is a smart woman who has known you before she could even have her place built.

she doesn't need to be a genius to find out that there's something up. she'll pick up on it sooner or later.

“it's alright. there’s no need to feel pressure to tell me now, but do promise me one thing: you're not doing anything against the law, right?”

you couldn't help but burst out in laughter at her question. “chiori! do you take me as a criminal? of course, i’m not!” you replied, laughing in a fit of giggles in between your words. “thank goodness. well, how was i supposed to know? you almost never stop by so we rarely have the chance to catch up. every bit of news i hear from you is usually from the other ladies who sometimes talk about you.”

“don’t worry, my friend. i’ll stop by more often from now on, but seriously, are you still eavesdropping on your customers? i thought we were past that.”

“it isn't my fault some of them whisper way too loudly for my liking,” chiori scoffs.

as you two have a few more conversations, it is about time for you to take your leave, as the time has reached for the hour when chiori would usually have customers. “it was truly a pleasure to catch up with you, chiori.” you said as she escorted you to the door. “a pleasure indeed. do drop by more often, alright? it can get quite lonely here, you know.” a giggle leaves your lips at her response. “will do. i believe i might need a new dress soon for the upcoming firestone ball?” you say and you notice how chiori’s had some sort of sparkle at your mention of needing a new dress. she had always loved making dresses for you.

“is that so? i promise to suggest some designs that you might like once you return.”

— — — — — — — — 

the fountain of lucine was a famous spot for a walk in the park type of day. every day, you’d see different individuals make their wish upon the fountain. whether that is a prosperous marriage, being blessed with a beloved child, or even gaining wealth, everyone wishes for all sorts of desires towards the fountain. but you never found yourself doing the same. it’s most probably because you've already been content with your life up until now. you never had any struggles when it came to growing up.

but again, that is up until now. 

you took a step further towards the fountain, silently stating your wish and threw the coin into the fountain’s small pool of water. “penny for your wish?” you heard someone say beside you. quickly turning your head to the direction of the voice, you were surprised to see the duke there. “duke meropide! i—i didn’t expect that you were going to be here today.”

“i decided to go out for a stroll; the weather is quite nice today, is it not?” 

“ah, yes, i suppose it is,” you replied, looking around. the weather was indeed nice today. perfect for a quick stroll around the area. “would you mind taking a stroll with me today? it would be a shame to waste this fine weather talking in the same spot.” he says, offering his arm for you to take. “i’d be delighted to.” your arm gets hooked on his.

“how are you faring lately? it has been quite a while since our last meeting,” wriothesley starts. he personally prefers his attempt at small talk today to his attempt at small talk the night he met you. it has been a few days since the ball held by the house of hearth. and within those few days, you haven’t spoken to the duke since. though, your house suddenly has suitors calling for you during your calling hour. all hopeful to gain your interest in them instead of the duke.

(however, you all shut them down politely. you found yourself repeating your apologies to the lords that have called upon you during those times.)

“i’ve been well. certainly, the stunt that we pulled during the ball held in the house of hearth did not go unnoticed. my social energy has been drained because of the suitors who called me.” a sigh leaves your lips. “oh? i apologize for that then. i hope that your social energy isn't at it’s lowest right now,” he chuckles. you gave him a playful glare at his remark. “are you making fun of my previous predicament, duke?” 

“oh, heavens no. my apologies, did that offend you?” he says, holding back a smile at his words. he was definitely not apologetic. “you’re not that sorry for it, aren’t you?”

“perchance.”

“you cannot just say perchance!”

a laugh erupts from wriothesley at your response. it was the first time you heard him laugh like that. and in the public eye, you two would seem like a joyful couple spending some quality time walking around the fountain of lucine as a pastime. well, that was technically the goal. to show the public that you and the duke of meropide are madly in love with one another. what could possibly go wrong?

— — — — — — — — 

by the time the firestone ball had taken place (which is nearly just a week after the ball from the house of hearth), you and the duke were on the dance floor once again.

“i believe we have yet to discuss our other terms and agreement for our plan, your grace.” you said, following his lead in the waltz. “ah, you’re right. well then, why don’t you start? ladies first.” he says. “i was hoping that you’d have some ideas on what terms we should have; after all, this was your idea, if i may remind you.”

you continue speaking as wriothesley continues to lead you through the dance. “i am starting to be convinced that this will be more than just a simple game of pretend just so we could fool the members of society, or my mother, or the women you have wanted to get away from every time you step foot in public. a life is at stake here, your grace, my life, and i just simply cannot have this go wrong. so if you are not in agreement with that, then you should tell me now.” the duke never broke his eye contact with you as you spoke.

“i shall agree… on one condition.”

“your grace, i believe that you do not understa—”

“you must call me wriothesley.” 

there’s only one word to describe you at the moment: speechless. and wriothesley takes your silence as a chance to continue his words. “if we are truly to be courting, and if we are truly to prove that this is a match like no other, then you should call me by my name. after all, weren’t you the one who suggested that we should be more... casual with one another?”

he was right, and he had yet again another one hell of a good point. you mentally sighed, “very well then… wriothesley.” a laugh dares to escape your throat but this does not go unnoticed by the man who has his hand held in his at the moment. “is there something funny about my name?” he asks you, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. “no, no. it is a perfectly fine name. it is also quite unique, if i may add.” you replied, calming yourself down. laughing loudly while you’re in the middle of the dance floor would raise questions, after all.

“oh, perfectly fine? very well then… (name).” wriothesley’s voice seemed to have lowered itself an octave lower as he said your name with a slight rasp. your eyes looked away from his as you shifted your gaze to his collar instead. both of you went silent, yet you were still moving to the rhythm of the music.

wriothesley’s hand, that was supposedly at your waist, trailed upwards. just below the nape of your neck and also before your spine starts. your breath hitched at the contact of his cold finger tips there.

“i do hope that this plan will be successful.” you said, gaining your composure.

“have faith in us.”

— — — — — — — — 

meetings with the duke of meropide became more frequent than you expected. whether that may be a coincidental meeting or a planned one—no one could really pinpoint it, much to their dismay. 

it started off with a simple meal. then another walk. then an official invitation to accompany him to a ball or two. or three; in fact, he has invited you for a lot of them now. you haven’t thought much about the future as of late, always focusing on the present, where you’re definitely by wriothesley’s side. there was never a dull moment with the man. it was always entertaining to be with him. whenever another man (a man whose appeal is not to take interest in a sense) would approach you, wriothesley would pull some sort of stunt that’s connected to his “wild jealousy” of some sort. it’s a bit hard to hold back a laugh whenever this happens. there are times when he would talk to you about the other nobles present in the party and how he’s acquainted with them, and you’d admire the fact that he has many connections (something that a duke like him should have; he’s doing well in his duties, you’d note).

there are also times when you two will find yourselves alone, secluding yourselves from the crowd. these were, personally, your favorites. with the moonlight shining brightly upon you both once again, you’d always be reminded of the night you met. at these moments, this is when you and the duke would share… more personal things with one another. things that neither of you had expected to share with anyone else. like how he avoids marriage because of the huge responsibility that comes with it. or like how you doubt that others, especially men (minus the duke), would understand your struggles as a woman in this society.

wriothesley might have a lot of connections, but he was just the same as you. both of you kept your circle quite small (and by small, you both have only one person you truly trust to confide in). but even if you both wouldn’t admit it out loud, trust had also bloomed between the two of you.

(yet is trust the only thing that has actually bloomed?)

tonight, you found yourselves in yet another garden. “have you ever heard of why a flower wilts, wriothesley?” you decided to start this time. “hm? i suppose it’s because nothing good actually lasts long in life.” 

“how… pessimistic of you to say.” you sweatdropped at his response. he chuckles yet again, you noticed that he always chuckles apologetically while looking away before he actually says his apologies. a habit of his, perhaps. “my apologies; i must repeat myself. the less a person sees of me, the happier their life is.”

“why so? i enjoy your company quite well.”

“oh? and are you sure those words aren’t forced because you’re stuck with me with this little ruse we have ongoing?” he asks back. these exchanges became frequent. one would ask a question, and the other would ask another in return. “i’m being quite honest, wriothesley. i really do enjoy your company quite well.”

“the feeling is likewise, (name).” there’s something satisfying about how your name rolls off of his tongue. he pronounces it the same as everyone else does yet how does it feel different when he says it? it’s baffling, that’s one thing for sure. “is it awful that i’m actually quite enjoying this?”

“you mean my wild jealousy?” he asks, playfully offended.

“fooling society.” you corrected. “there are some in the crowd who secretly know everything about everyone. yet we have them utterly convinced that we are mad for one another.”

“we are awfully clever then.” he says in amusement. “indeed we are.” you chuckled at his reply.

if there’s one thing you would always notice between the two of you, it would always be how you were glued to one another. like there’s some magnetic pull that automatically drags the other to their side. 

this moment is no different because you could feel his knuckles grazing against yours ever so lightly. it starts with the hook of your pinkies, then slowly turns into you grabbing a hold of his other fingers. wriothesley could feel his heart beating fast at the contact. he glances at you, admiring your features underneath the moonlight once again. you glance at him as well. was he already this close to you when you started walking in this garden? because you swear your faces are inching even closer to each other. wriothesley’s other hand gently grabs your nape, guiding you as he gently pulls you in for a kiss. 

his lips were soft against yours, something you didn’t expect from him. he kisses you like you were delicate (to which you were, delicate to him, at least), eyes closing themselves as he enjoys the sensation of your lips against his. you kiss him back in the same way, not really knowing what to do next—but you kiss him back. that’s all that matters. his lips leave yours as wriothesley latches his lips onto your neck, continuing the light kisses against it.

you let out a gasp at the contact as you lean your head back so you can give him more access. he intertwined his other hand with yours; it was quite scandalous. having a moment like this on someone else’s property. you extracted him from your neck, pulling him in for another kiss. this time it was a bit more rough—desperate, even.

well, that was until he pulled away from you abruptly. you looked at him in a daze yet you were confused. “we must return; we’ve been out long enough,” he says, letting go of your hand in the process as he fixes himself. he tries to catch his breath, processing what has just happened. did he really just kiss you? he supposes (or, in other terms, hopes) that it’s normal. ultimately, this should’ve been part of your agreement in the first place, right?

“i… you’re right. my mother could be looking for me any moment now.” what could possibly go wrong, you ask? well, apparently, many things could go wrong.

but if there’s one thing that got stitched into your mind tonight, it’s only one thing:

the duke of meropide is one good kisser.

however, what will become of your relationship now?

— — — — — — — — 

you found yourself going to chiori again. the familiar sound of the bell chiming against the door notified chiori of someone entering her place. and once she saw you, she could just feel the distress radiating off of your body.

“what happened this time? i haven’t heard any good news about you two from last night’s party.” she says, pouring you a cup of tea. “good news? more like insane occurrences,” you sighed, watching the tea leave the teapot as it transfers onto your teacup. “ insane occurrences? what happened to ‘memorable event’?” she asked, confused with your choice of words.

you let out another sigh, finally revealing everything to chiori. luckily, today was her day off. with another ball just held last night, she would get at least a day or two of good rest before she opens up again. chiori takes in every detail of your story well, surprised that this is what you’ve been up to.

as soon as you were done talking, you decided to take a sip of your tea. “so you’re worried that you almost slept with the duke of meropide?” chiori states. and you choked on your drink once you heard her. “you didn’t have to word it like that! have some decency!” you exclaimed, embarrassment surging through you. 

“i don’t get it, though. what are you so worried about? it’s almost as if… wait.” she pauses.

“it’s almost as if what, chiori?”

“do you love him?”

“huh? love who?”

“don’t play dumb with me, (name). do you or do you not love the duke of meropide?”

this time, it was your turn to pause. do you? well, certainly, he is nice company. and he treats you well despite neither of you having the wish to marry each other. he is also a good kisser (something that you don’t really feel like counting but it’s still a fact). recalling everything that has happened now, the only things that come into mind are the things you’ve noticed about wriothesley. how his eyes are the most remarkable shade of grey, his scar below his right eye. the feeling of the callouses on his hands as you held them on the dance floor.

it can’t be. there’s just no way. he’s a duke of all people—he’s out of your league in so many ways. he’s too far for you to reach. and besides, this is all just a game of pretend, is it not? surely that kiss would’ve meant nothing to him. 

fuck.

“i do.” you replied to her in a whisper

“i’m glad that you’re not dense.” chiori says, flicking your forehead. you yelped in pain at the contact. 

yes, you do love the duke of meropide.

and you stand by that.

meanwhile, on the other side of the coin, wriothesley had a crisis himself. “you’re quite lucky today, to ask for my presence while queen furina is occupied with duke arlecchino with her. so what assistance can i offer for you today, wriothesley?” neuvillette states, pulling his chair so he could take a seat before the man in front of him. wriothesley leans back on his seat, an elbow propped on top of the chair’s arm rest as his index finger is rested upon his lips. 

wriothesley sighs. before spilling everything to neuvillette. his friend’s expression grew more amused as he continued on with the story, finding every detail unexpected for a man like his friend. “i see. so that’s how it is. well, let me ask you a simple question then, my friend.” 

“shoot.”

“do you love her?”

wriothesley pauses. neuvillette’s questions echo repeatedly in his mind. do i love her? he then asks himself. he was not stupid. wriothesley did not need to become some sort of genius to find the answer to that question—because the answer is no. he doesn’t love you. yes, he has grown to trust you with things he would never even dare tell anyone else. but he’s scared. wriothesley is scared because he has never thought of commitment in this way before. romance was just a frivolous belief to him, after all. so surely, this would all just mean nothing.

he ponders about it for a few more moments. he’s too scarred—too damaged—to be loved by someone like you. he feels undeserving of it. he knows there’s another man out there who could be the man you want to be. someone who will make you happier than he does. someone who is willing to commit himself to you. someone who could love you with nothing holding him back. 

“i don’t.” wriothesley firmly says.

no, wriothesley cannot be in love with you.

(neuvillette gives his friend a sigh as his friend takes his leave. he returns back to the room where queen furina is currently spending time with duke arlecchino. the duke had a habit of bringing the queen sweets from their travels abroad. the queen has excitement written all over her eyes as she makes eye contact with the pastries set in front of her.)

— — — — — — — — 

it wasn’t hard to put two and two together to realize that wriothesley has been avoiding you.

it has been a few months since you decided to start your ruse. although he still accompanies you, once it’s quite crowded, he will deliberately avoid your presence like a plague, and you have no idea why. you first thought that may be he was just feeling unwell but it has occurred more frequent now and it just stings, really. it stings because you thought that you two had formed quite the bond over the past few months.

“wriothesley, is something wrong? you know you could always talk to me, right?” you asked him, finally cornering him as he had successfully avoided you for the past two hours ever since the party started. “it’s nothing of your concern,” was all he said before leaving you again. but that answer wasn’t enough—hell, it wasn’t even a proper answer for you. so you decided to follow him.

“where are you going?” you asked him. speeding your pace up to catch up to him. wriothesley doesn’t answer and just continues on walking. he ends up going into a secluded room, not even bothering to close the door. you followed him in and shut the door behind you as you faced him. he had his back facing you as you heard him take a deep breath. “wriothesley, what’s wrong? and don’t even dare say that it’s none of my concern because it is.”

wriothesley could feel himself going mad. he can’t do this tonight. what even caused him to behave this way?

ah, he remembers. it was that unbearable sight of you interacting with marquess lyney. he should’ve been happy that you finally seem interested in someone else because all you two have to do now is plan how you should end things. but that thought made wriothesley realize two things. one, he cannot bear the sight of you with another man (but why? it’s not like you’re actually his in the first place). and two, he doesn’t want things to end between the both of you. whether it's a ruse that feels too real for his own liking or whatnot, he doesn’t want to lose you in his life.

he loosens the buttons on his top so that he can breathe more properly. you got closer to him, but only if you knew that was a dangerous move on your part. you grabbed his arm in hopes of getting a view of wriothesley’s expression at the moment.

he then faces you, his eyes searching for something in yours but you just can’t find out what. it was silent; neither of you dared to speak a word. and wriothesley finds himself pulling you for a kiss. it was a bit rough how his lips crashed against yours. he then pulls away, his eyes widening at what he just did. “i… my most sincere apologies.”

and he leaves. just like that.

the familiar door to the modiste is presented at you as you knocked. it was late at night. the party you attended earlier with wriothesley was long over. but you knew your dear friend would still be up even at this late hour. 

“(name)? what brings you here at this hour?” chiori asks, opening the door wider so you could enter.

“i need a goddamn drink.” you said.

— — — — — — — — 

“so you’re telling me that he just… kissed you again, and then he left the party? just like that?” chiori repeats. you take another shot of the alcohol chiori provided for the both of you. “hey, calm down. this one is actually pretty strong, you idiot.” chiori warns you.

you lean back, slamming the shot glass against the table. “just like that, chiori. like what is wrong with him? is he perhaps sick in the head?”

“i honestly don’t know if i should be at least grateful that he apologized.” she says, taking a shot as well. you glare at her remark and she raises her hands in return. you sighed this time, “are men always this… complicated?”

“hm, i don’t think so. maybe it’s just the duke.”

“you’re not helping!”

“you never said you wanted help in the first place.”

— — — — — — — — 

seven days.

seven days since you last spoke to wriothesley. seven days since you last heard of him. it has been seven days yet he hasn’t made any attempts to contact you since. 

just what was up with him? he was fine before. did you do something wrong? did you accidentally say something that was offensive to him? everything has changed now. wriothesley is treating you like he treated you before he actually met you—cold. 

your mother has decided to throw a ball this time—something about her not wanting to fall behind the other mothers. you complied, having to accept that society is nothing but competition against one another. and on the day of the ball, you found yourself lonely. if only chiori wasn’t busy with her other orders, then maybe this night would’ve been more entertaining.

wriothesley has yet to make his appearance (or perhaps he is already here yet he has decided to avoid you again). but you have decided on one thing tonight: you will talk things out with that stubborn man no matter what it takes. because you cannot just bear to stand idly by when wriothesley could be struggling alone. you once heard from your mother that love makes you do the craziest things and tonight was the night you realized that she was right. but isn’t it worth it if it’s all in the name of love?

the outdoor area of your home was also used for the ball, and decorations are displayed here and there to make the area look more eyecatching. to your family’s dismay, it has begun to rain. making all of the guests head inside to continue the festivities. but as you made your way to follow the crowd, you spotted someone too familiar—it was the man you’ve been looking for all evening, wriothesley.

looking around his surroundings, wriothesley spots you getting drenched in the rain. his eyes widen as he quickly makes his way towards you, removing his coat to drape it over you instead. “are you insane? you’re getting drenched!” he exclaims in worry. you scoff in return, pushing yourself away from his coat and allowing yourself to get wet by the rain.

“am i insane? i should be the one asking you that!” you said, glaring at him. “how… how could you? do you know how worried i have been because of you? you avoided me, then kissed me, then avoided me even more! i had no idea if you were okay because you didn’t even dare speak with me while i was here stuck waiting for you. why? because i didn’t want to pressure you into telling me what’s wrong!”

wriothesley is at a loss for words at your outburst. he just stares at you in return, guilt written all over him. he deserved your anger. but he didn’t mean for things to go this far, yet he also didn’t know how to handle things. you continued speaking, “wriothesley, i have no idea what’s clouding over your heart but i do know one thing: you musn’t keep it to yourself.”

“(name)...” he softly says—hesitantly, even. like he’s scared to even say your name in the first place. you take a step forward, both of your hands reaching out to hold his face. your touch was gentle on his skin, making sure you weren't making him uncomfortable. “tell me what’s wrong, wriothesley. i’ll listen.”

and tell you, he does. he voice shakes at first yet he begins to steady it as he unravels to you everything that has been bothering him up until now. his jealousy, his inner turmoil, and his insecurities. and you listen to him, understanding every word that escapes his lips as your hand never leaves his face, your fingers gently brushing over his scar below his right eye. and once he’s finished, you choose your next words carefully.

“there’s something that i realized in life that i believe you should know. just because something is not perfect does not make it any less worthy of love. you made yourself believe otherwise. you made yourself believe that you had to be without fault just so you could be loved but you’re wrong, wriothesley. should you need any proof of the matter, then look just here.” you weakly laugh at the last sentence, and wriothesley just stares at you. you couldn’t find out what’s going on in his head but you know that he’s listening.

your voice shakes as you continue. “i am tired of this sick game of pretending. i am tired of pretending—of acting as if i do not love you, because i do. i love you more than you could ever imagine. every scar, every flaw, every imperfection—i love all of you. you may think you’re too damaged or too scarred to allow yourself of happiness but you can choose differently, wriothesley. you can choose to love me as much as i love you. that should not be up to anyone else—that cannot be up to anyone else.”

“it can only be up to you.”

he was still silent as you slowly let go of his face but wriothesley was quick to catch them. he grabs ahold of your hands, and with his slight shaking, he takes a deep breath. he realizes something when you profess your love for him. he puts two things together: commitment and you. and the conclusion he draws from that is that he doesn’t mind commitment, as long as he’s committing himself to you. that’s how much of an impact you have on him. yes, he’s scared. and yes, this might not go like he hopes it will. but that doesn’t matter to him because he knows it will all be worth it for you. wriothesley is a coward when it comes to love and the like—that, he admits. but he isn’t allowing himself to be a coward for the rest of his life. why deprive himself of the serene type of happiness that he could only achieve when he has you by his side?

he kept his eyes on the hands he’s holding now as he began to speak. “i.. i do not wish to be alone. i know that now. but what i do not know is how to be the man you wish for me to be—the man you truly deserve. i do not know how to do any of this, but i do know another thing: i love you too. i love you. most ardently.” he then meets your eyes as he notices one thing in them. love.

“you stay. you stay and we’ll get through this. together. that’s where we’ll start. we have all the time in the world.”

“may i… kiss you?” he hesitates to ask. but you give him a nod of approval before you’re met with the familiar pleasure of his lips on yours. he relishes every second of the kiss, taking this as a chance to ground himself into reality—refusing to believe that this is some sick dream that his mind decided to play in his head. a hand slithers its way to the nape of his neck and wriothesley groans at the feeling as his hand grabs your waist tighter. wriothesley thanked his lucky stars for the night he met you because this wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for them.

love at first sight was a frivolous belief for a man like wriothesley. 

but he knew otherwise the moment he laid his eyes upon you that night in the garden.

[etheries1015]

Because I have favorism towards the fae myself (And I'm sorry this is suggestive)

Remember Malleus' voice line about touching his hornes? Now, reader just touches them whenever they can be reached (like when Malleus is using their lap as a pillow) or stroking his tail whenever it's wrapped around Reader. Without realizing it's doing things to him.

Oh my gosh. Don't apologize for suggestive content, I love that shit. Feed me more of it. Heuheuheuheu.

Feeding a Faes hidden desires

Featuring: Malleus Draconia <3

General warnings: Gender neutral reader

18+ / suggestive content minors please don't interact~

It was difficult for Malleus Draconia to open up to people, he had to be the face of pure perfection for the sake of his kingdom. Every action he took, every word he said, would reflect upon Briar Valley and put his position as a prince in either light of greatness, or foolishness. The former was not an option for Malleus Draconia. He was given the best of the best when it came to his studies and academics, except, unfortunately, sex ed.

He understood the bare minimum of course, for reproduction was important for keeping the bloodline of the Draconias strong. What he was not well versed in, however, was the feeling of lust that came with reproduction. He never knew it could feel so... dirty.

When he had agreed to allow you to touch his horns when you insisted, he had no clue what kind of...desires this would stir up in him without realizing.

You had asked the draconic fae to touch his horns and his tail, and he spent a few times urging you otherwise in fear of harming you in some way. Yet it did not take him very long to feel curious and begin to imagine how your hands would feel upon his horns and extremities, starting out purely out of curiosity and the desire to be closer to you.

The first time you touched his horns was in the comfort of the lounge, he bent over for you to touch and feel them freely before being interrupted by Sebeks outraged cries of blasphemy. Since the moment your soft fingertips pressed against the roughness of his obsidian horns, he felt his body shudder at the contact, and something in him he decided to ignore screamed in his mind that it was perhaps a...dangerous endeavor. He had managed to suppress himself from such thoughts and desires, even allowing you to (on occasion) touch his horns and tail at your request. Never for too long, for when the thoughts returned he made a quick excuse to end the session. He wanted to respect you and your soft touch- not sully the romantic gesture with lustful thoughts.

He was often searching for your touch in many different ways, in hugs, cuddles, gentle kisses, holding hands...yet a few months and almost a year, he could feel himself become far more greedier. Malleus would notice the slight changes in himself when you would reach up to grab hold of something on a shelf, the way your shirt rode up your stomach ever so slightly, the way your hands would draw circles around the title page to get a feel for the book, he almost felt himself envious of the piece of literature. He told himself not to lose control, to hold himself together like a proper gentlefae, allowing you to only touch his draconic features on the rare occasion he felt he could keep himself properly composed.

Yet now there you were, in your room in Ramshackle dorm, sitting upon the lap of your lover gently caressing his smooth black horns absentmindedly. It was a comfortable atmosphere for you, being held lovingly by your tall fae significant other in silence while pouring your love and affection into your little pets upon his horns. You muttered a "beautiful..." before leaning up slightly...

and placing a kiss upon his horns.

Malleus let out a sudden high-pitched "urgh!" of surprise, his tail squeezing your waist slightly. Your eyebrows raised in shock, pulling away to look at your now flushed lover, feeling a bit of...excitement from down below. He suddenly removed his tail from your waist and seemed to want to move away from you, until you pushed your body on top of his own, straddling his waist and feeling his arousal between your thighs.

"I-i'm-" He gulped and let out a low moan, his hands shaking hesitantly mid air, not certain where he should place them, "I'm sorry- this is incredibly unbecoming of a king-" You hushed him with a rushed kiss and shook your head, the kiss lasting only a moment prior to you pulling away face as flushed as his and forehead pressed against his own.

"It's natural," You comforted him, "Do you...like it when I touch your horns, Mal...?" You hesitated your inquiry, his response a simple and slow nod giving you confidence to move your hands back to his horns and begin to rub them intimately. You felt his body twitch below you and his tail wrapped itself around your thigh, voice trembling. You hadn't seen the fae prince so shaken up before, so uncertain, so vulnerable. Only in front of you would he allow himself to lose such control.

"Are you...are you certain? I haven't any...experience," He muttered against the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your body and hugging you tightly as if to console himself.

"It's okay," you murmured, hands removing themselves from his horns much to his whining displeasure of the sudden warmth disappearing from them, before shuddering once more as your attention shifted to his tail. Your finger trailed the scales and you felt him twitch between your thighs through his pants as his excitement stirred with every touch you placed upon his extremities.

"I...want it too," You purred.

Malleus's desire gauge was now at 100%

and you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into.

~~~~

Masterlist