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oepionie · 6 months

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🍰 demented devotions & dark chocolate cake

— ꒰ pairings ꒱ : m.draconia x reader x r.flamme in the moonlit garden, rollo stumbles upon you and malleus in the midst of a slow dance. malleus doesn't like how rollo is being so touchy with you and promptly drags you away. — ꒰ warnings / tag ꒱ : obsessive behavior (rollo), possessiveness, slight power dynamics, soft yandere, rollo calls you 'my lamb', twinge of religious themes because it is rollo event masterlist

NOBLE BELL COLLEGE, bathed in the gentle light of the moon, was a breathtaking sight. The buildings, reminiscent of sanctuaries with their time-worn stone walls, bore intricate carvings that appeared to come alive in the ethereal glow of night. Every archway and pillar whispered stories from the past. The bell towers stood as dark silhouettes against the starry canvas of the night sky, and each chime of the bells echoed through the entirety of the campus.

For Rollo, it had become a nightly custom to wander through the college gardens, a torch in hand, casting light upon his path. The garden provided him with a haven away from the cold, austere chambers of his dormitory.

As he strolled along the cobblestone pathways, the moonlight cast elongated shadows from the trees, while the warm torchlight bathed the surroundings in an almost magical ambiance. However, even in this tranquil setting, memories of a recent festival continued to plague him. The festival began with promise, a colorful whirlwind of music and laughter, but unsurprisingly, it swiftly descended into chaos. And yet, among these memories, your presence stood out as a bright spot amid the less pleasant recollections.

Your hair, like the finest silk, would sway gracefully when caressed by the breeze, and the sparkle in your eyes resembled stardust. However, what had left an indelible mark on Rollo's memory was the scarf that clung to your neck.

Rollo's fingers gently brushed against the soft fabric of that very scarf tucked in his pocket, and a wistful smile played upon his lips. Pulling it out, he pressed the scarf to his face, captivated by the lingering scent that still held traces of your presence. Ah, he could vividly recall how the scarf's color complimented your eyes. You had left it behind by the bell tower that day, and he had stumbled upon it. Although he had intended to return it to you, his search for you had proven fruitless.

No matter, he thought to himself, pocketing the purple fabric, he was certain he would find you sometime during the week.

Suddenly, distant sounds of laughter reached Rollo's ears. The alluring and familiar sound called out to him, and he couldn't resist its pull. Step by step, he followed it, drawing nearer with each move. As he cautiously peeked around the corner of an academic building, his heart sank upon witnessing the scene before him.

Your lips bore a wide, giddy grin as you were swept up in Malleus Draconia's embrace, twirling gracefully in a delicate dance. The fae's lips barely brushed your cheek, a subtle smile gracing his features. The enchanting dance held you both captive in a world of your own, oblivious to your surroundings.

"Heavens," Rollo grimaced, torn between watching the spectacle and turning away. The sight of Malleus pressing a kiss to the side of your neck only deepened his disapproval.

Brazen, lewd, and odious. It was a vile, depraved display.

Unable to watch anymore, Rollo cleared his throat and stepped out of the shadows, shattering the enchantment that had held you both in the dance's spell.

"There is a strict rule on public display at Noble Bell College, one that I had hoped you were aware of," he called out, his tone firm and disapproving.

In that moment, your eyes widened in realization, and you hastily pulled away from Malleus's embrace. Rollo couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the faint frown that momentarily marred the fae's face.

Embarrassment lined your features as you ran a hand through your wind-tousled hair, gesturing with the other, voicing your remorse for breaking such a basic rule.

"I will overlook this transgression for now," Rollo assured as he advanced toward you. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, and you tensed at his touch, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of red. As you instinctively started to pull away, his hold on your chin remained firm, coaxing your gaze back to his.

Rollo extended his torch closer to you, wishing to see your features more clearly. The flames danced perilously near, a few errant sparks floating in the air, almost singing the tips of your hair and the lapels of your coat. He observed your reactions with an amused smile, enjoying your wariness as you wrinkled your nose at the acrid scent of smoke.

Cute.

Rollo then leaned in closer, the flickering torchlight casting intriguing shadows across his face. His voice dropped to a low, confidential murmur, mindful of the fae hovering over you two.

"What a delicate soul you are," Rollo whispered, his intense crimson gaze locked on yours. "It's rare to see someone like you, tainted by the presence of magic, and yet somehow, still… pure despite it all." His words hung in the night air, a puzzle in his eyes, as if he were unraveling a secret you weren't even aware of.

"Pure?" you blinked, tilting your head in confusion, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by that?"

Rollo's lips curled into a wry smile as he brushed his thumb against your cheek. "Oh, my lamb, it's a complex matter, one best left for another time. You're already dealing with plenty, especially with those miscreants at NRC. Those fools are probably driving you mad."

The endearment he used sent a warm shiver down your spine, and you felt flutters in your stomach. Your eyes nervously shifted from Rollo to the serene surroundings of the garden, the moonlight casting a soft, ethereal glow on the foliage.

Malleus, unable to stand and watch any longer, clicked his tongue disapprovingly, signaling his irritation at the unfolding situation.

Wordlessly, he positioned himself behind you, his large, possessive hand gently running up your back. Despite the seething anger within him, Malleus restrained his magical abilities, aware that any inadvertent spells or outbursts could only serve to worsen the situation. As much as he wished to unleash his fiery wrath on Flamme, that would have to be reserved for another time.

"If you'll excuse us. We have somewhere to be," Malleus murmured, his voice laced with urgency as he swiftly pulled you away from Rollo and led you out of the garden.

Unbeknownst to you, Rollo's gaze bore into Malleus with an intensity that bordered on obsession. His crimson eyes radiated an otherworldly fire, and sparks ignited at the soles of his feet. As the flames danced beneath him, the once lush and vibrant grass around him withered and turned into dry, lifeless ash. Rollo then scowled, turning his attention to the scorched ground. He pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to his face, muttering to himself in frustration as he stepped away from the darkened earth, dusting his shoes off with an absentminded air.

"Blasted fae."

🍰 . . .

Once you were safely out of earshot and view, Malleus came to a halt and his demeanor took a shift.

"Malleus?" you murmured, looking up at him curiously. The fae didn't say a word and instead turned to face you. The moonlight cast soft shadows on his face as he suddenly knelt down before you.

With a look of reverence in his eyes, Malleus took hold of both your hands, his touch warm and tender. He began to lavish adoring kisses along your palms, wrists, and fingers, each press of his lips filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent promise, a pledge to protect and cherish you.

"Mine," he whispered, his emerald eyes sparkling with an almost possessive light, his voice tinged with a sense of ownership that sent shivers down your spine.

"Mine and mine alone."

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #rollo flamm x reader #malleus draconia x reader #rollo flamm #malleus draconia #twst rollo #twst malleus #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamme

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cocteaucherry · 3 months

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angst cuddling with suguru

cw- slight obsessive suguru at the end, depressed suguru, depressive episodes, slight allusions to not eating due to depressive episodes, gn!reader

{Just small thing I wrote! if you have any requests send them in please <33

This summer was tougher than usual

The rise of sweltering heat, the uprising in curses, and dealing with the lasting effects of Riko Amanai’s death. All these factors held the deadly combination of a horrific melancholy summer, the month filled with fun festivals and late nights turned out to be an inconvenience.

You remember the first day Suguru laid on your bed that summer, the sun was setting and the harsh heat blew more mild and humid. He briefed you on the short missions he was sent on, (coming to an all-time low now that Satoru had taken over all his serious missions)

“So Satoru is representing all of us at this point” you giggled toying with the air conditioner valve that sat on the wall, “Yeah. Guess so,” Suguru said rather dimly, he wore a shirt that used to fit perfectly on him now it was slightly baggy, his collarbone making a more outward appearance than usual.

“Why sound so glum about it? We get more free time now! Or are you upset that you can't hang with your soulmate all day?” you teased walking towards your plush bed, Suguru stood next to the foot of the bed, his knees buckling from the tired strain he put on them every day. It was getting harder for him to stand these days due to his lack of sleep and his small appetite. He was severely malnourished.

He didn't respond to your comment, instead standing in silence, you cleared your throat and collapsed on the bed as the AC finally kicked to life, a strong breeze of cold air filling the space. “You know you can sit down right?” you pulled your legs onto the bed glimpsing up at him through your eyelashes.

“I'm good really, I'm leaving soon anyway.” he offered a weak smile, “Come onn Suguru! Just relax!” you smiled brightly watching his lip twitch as he sat down. He refrained from making eye contact with you instead just staring at the wall.

“Are you okay Suguru?”

You were the first person to notice or ask him that.

Tears began to pour from his eyes as he harshly grasped the material of his sweatpants, “I'm not..” he mumbled and immediately felt the warm embrace of your arms around his torso, “Sugu…Why didn't you say anything..?” you whispered to him brushing his hair out of his face.

“I-I can’t,” he cried tilting his head up, “Everything I've built here would be for nothing..”

“You don't have to tell me.. Just stay here for right now.” you smiled softly moving to the right side of the bed as he followed, “is this why you've been so dismal Sugu?” you laid down picking at the lint on your cat plushie. “I look that bad?” he chuckled quietly trying to cover up his emotions, “I'm just tired… Exhausted from everything really.”

“I'm sorry Sugu..” you sighed, taking him in an embrace, his muscles loosened as his head fell to your shoulders. Your scent was calming to him, the smell of warm caramel and toasted vanilla filled his nose. He was deeply infatuated love with your scent.

“Can I stay here a bit longer..?” he whispered his tires eyes looking into yours, his dark circles being accentuated by the setting sun peeking through the blinds. “Of course Sugu..” You hummed with a smile as he slumped down further into your bed.

Hours later the sun had set and the alluring sound of summer cicadas filled the silence, Suguru felt at peace, the soft blow of the AC and the moonlight cascading across both of your bodies. He wished he could stay here forever, have the world stop and just sleep with you forever.

He knew he couldn’t, if he were to go about showing his true feelings. Maybe you would accept him and his view, be with him forever maybe?

His hand reached around your waist to pull you extremely close, Geto’s nose plunged into your hair taking in your scent once more.

“please..” he whispered quietly.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto angst #gn reader #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader

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aifanfictions · 7 months

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A story about (y/n) being a hunter in a small village. The village then gets visited by Geralt of Rivia and his friend Jaskier. Jasier offers (y/n) to travel the world with them. After returning from the ball where Jaskier was invited as the entertainment, Geralt under the influence sloppily confesses feelings for (y/n) right after falling asleep face first into the bed in (y/n)'s and Geralt's shared room.

Whispers of Destiny

In the heart of the enchanting countryside, far removed from the chaos and troubles of the world, (Y/N) found herself seated on a weathered bench, the soft rays of the setting sun casting a warm, golden glow on the landscape. The tranquil village of Willowbrook, nestled amidst rolling hills and blossoming meadows, had become a sanctuary for her, a place where her heart had found refuge.

She had been a hunter in Willowbrook for as long as she could remember. The village had been her home, and its people, her family. Yet, the arrival of two unexpected guests would forever change the course of her life, steering her away from the familiar and into the realm of the extraordinary.

Geralt of Rivia, a man of unshakable resolve and a silver mane that seemed to shimmer like moonlight, had crossed paths with (Y/N) on one fateful evening. Jaskier, the flamboyant and charismatic bard with a lute that could weave tales as captivating as his songs, had accompanied Geralt on his travels.

The duo had brought an air of adventure and wonder to Willowbrook, as they regaled the villagers with their exploits and entertained them with stories and music. The once-quiet village had come alive in their presence, the spirit of wanderlust awakening in the hearts of its inhabitants.

One evening, as Jaskier spun tales of far-off lands and mythical creatures, he cast a curious gaze in (Y/N)'s direction. She, like many others, was enchanted by his storytelling, but what caught his eye was the glint of determination in her eyes, the subtle strength that lurked beneath her unassuming exterior.

"You, my dear, are wasting your talents in this small village," Jaskier declared with a flourish. "Why don't you come with us? Travel the world, see places you've never imagined, and have adventures beyond your wildest dreams."

It was a proposition that filled (Y/N) with both excitement and trepidation. The villagers relied on her skills as a hunter, and her responsibilities weighed heavily on her shoulders. Yet, the allure of the unknown, of uncharted territories and unforeseen challenges, was impossible to ignore.

She looked to Geralt, whose stoic demeanor hid a keen sense of observation. He nodded, giving his tacit approval, as if sensing the hidden potential within her. "Jaskier's right," he said, his voice gruff but filled with sincerity. "There's a big world out there, and you have the skills to survive it."

With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, (Y/N) agreed to join them on their journey. She packed her belongings and said her farewells to the villagers who had become like family to her.

Their travels were a whirlwind of excitement and danger. They encountered ferocious beasts and cunning bandits, navigated treacherous terrain, and faced mystical creatures that defied explanation. Through it all, (Y/N) learned valuable lessons from both Geralt and Jaskier, mastering not only the art of survival but also the intricacies of the world.

As the weeks turned into months, (Y/N) found herself growing closer to Geralt. Beneath his gruff exterior, she discovered a man with a strong sense of justice and a hidden tenderness. She admired his dedication to protecting the innocent and his unwavering loyalty to those he cared about.

One evening, in a quaint village where they had stopped to rest, Jaskier persuaded the locals to throw a grand ball in their honor. He was the star of the evening, singing and charming the guests with his wit and charisma.

(Y/N) watched from the sidelines, content to observe the festivities. Geralt, however, seemed out of place amidst the elegant surroundings. He sipped his ale quietly, his eyes occasionally flicking in (Y/N)'s direction.

As the night wore on, Jaskier's lively performance continued, and the villagers danced merrily. Geralt, having had his fill of the revelry, excused himself and retired to their shared room at the local inn.

(Y/N), feeling a mixture of curiosity and concern, followed him. She found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his white hair bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.

"Geralt," she began tentatively, "are you alright?"

He turned to look at her, and in the dim light, she could see a vulnerability in his eyes that she had never witnessed before. Without a word, he rose from the bed and took a step toward her.

And then, as if propelled by some unseen force, Geralt gently cupped (Y/N)'s face in his hands and kissed her. It was a kiss filled with years of unspoken emotions, a kiss that conveyed his feelings more eloquently than words ever could.

When the kiss ended, Geralt pulled back slightly and whispered, "I love you."

(Y/N)'s heart swelled with emotion, and she found herself echoing his sentiment. "I love you too, Geralt."

They spent the rest of the night together, wrapped in each other's arms, their love and understanding deepening with every passing moment.

From that night on, their journey continued, but now they faced the world as not just companions but as lovers. (Y/N) had found not only adventure but also a love that would endure the trials and tribulations of their extraordinary lives.

Together, they ventured into the unknown, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, secure in the knowledge that they had each other's hearts to guide them through the darkness and into the light of a new day. And so, as they traversed the vast and wondrous world, they whispered their love to the wind, for they knew that destiny had brought them together to share a lifetime of adventures, and they would cherish every moment, every stolen kiss, and every quiet night by the campfire, as long as they had each other.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

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jackles010378 · 4 months

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Midnight Magic...

(Jensen Ackles x you)

No warnings just fluff 🥰

Y/n found herself standing in front of a grand mansion, adorned with twinkling lights and the sound of laughter cascading through the air. It was the night of New Year's Eve, and she had received an unexpected invitation to a masquerade party. Excitement and anticipation coursed through her veins as she approached the entrance, the air filled with an aura of mystery and allure.

As Y/n stepped into the lavish ballroom, she was greeted by an array of elegantly dressed guests, all concealed behind their masks. The music played softly, inviting everyone to partake in the festivities. Y/n couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the grandeur of the occasion, but her curiosity pulled her deeper into the crowd.

Lost in the sea of masquerade masks, Y/n found herself alone near the refreshments table. She reached for a glass of champagne, swirling it absently as she watched the party unfold around her. Suddenly, her attention was caught by a figure sitting across the room from her, his eyes hidden behind a magnificent bronze mask.

Curiosity piqued, Y/n made her way towards the mysterious stranger. She approached with caution, unsure of what to expect. But as soon as he started to speak, a connection formed. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter filling the spaces in between. It felt as if they had known each other for a lifetime, despite the hindrance of their masks.

As the night progressed, Y/n and the mysterious stranger found themselves irresistibly drawn to one another. They danced together, twirling and spinning under the moonlight filtering through the ballroom windows. The world outside seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the enchantment of the masquerade.

When the clock struck midnight, signaling the start of the New Year, the energy in the room soared. Y/n and the mystery person found themselves locked in each other's arms as the countdown began. With each passing second, their connection grew stronger, their hearts beating in synchrony.

As the clock struck twelve, Y/n closed her eyes, anticipating a magical moment. And in that instant, their lips met in a passionate kiss, the world seeming to stand still. Sparks flew, and time seemed to pause, as if bowing before the magic unfolding between them.

In the moments that followed, Y/n's mystery partner slowly reached up and removed his mask, revealing a face she had seen countless times before. It was none other than Jensen Ackles, the renowned actor whose charisma and talent had captivated her for years. She couldn't believe her luck; fate had brought them together on this magical night.

Y/n and Jensen retreated to a quieter corner of the ballroom, still caught up in the whirlwind of emotions. They talked, laughed, and shared their dreams for the future. The connection they had shared during the night only grew stronger, and their hearts opened up to the possibility of something more.

As the night drew to a close, Y/n and Jensen exchanged numbers, promising to meet again soon. The masquerade party had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience, a night filled with mystery and enchantment. But more importantly, it had brought two souls together, creating a bond that neither time nor distance could extinguish.

And so, their love story began, intertwined with the memories of that magical New Year's Eve. Y/n and Jensen continued to dance through life, their masks long gone, but their hearts eternally illuminated by the spark they had found in the darkness of the masquerade.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @nescavaneck

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #jackles #jensen ross ackles #spn cast #deanwinchtser #soldier boy #jensen ackles gifs #beau arlen #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fic

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xaytheloser · 10 days

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small Kumiho Cookie doodle I did of her "Moonlight Festival Allure" costume from Ovenbreak :3

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #cr kingdom #kumiho cookie #kumiho crk #cookie run ovenbreak

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kingdom-cookies · 2 years

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Kumiho Cookie’s Moonlight Festival Allure

#cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #cr ovenbreak #kumiho cookie

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ratrodstudios · 5 months

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Enchanting Yuletide Journey..............

Immerse yourself in the magical allure of "Enchanting Yuletide Journey," a captivating painting that brings to life the timeless charm of Santa Claus and his faithful reindeer, Rudolph, embarking on their nocturnal odyssey through a serene forest. The canvas is awash with the soft glow of moonlight, casting an ethereal ambiance over the scene. Santa, dressed in his iconic red suit, skillfully steers his sleigh, laden with beautifully wrapped gifts, while Rudolph's glowing red nose illuminates the path ahead. The enchanting woodland is a tapestry of evergreen trees dusted with a sprinkle of snow, creating a tranquil backdrop for this festive escapade. As the duo glides through the silent forest, the air is filled with the hushed whispers of nature, and the magic of Christmas comes alive in every stroke of the artist's brush. "Enchanting Yuletide Journey" is a celebration of the joy, wonder, and timeless enchantment that the holiday season brings.

Greeting Cards By Bob Kramer https://artist.greetingcarduniverse.com/bobkramer

Art By Bob Kramer https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/3-bob-kramer

Art By Bob Kramer https://www.zazzle.com/artbybobkramer

Art By Bob Kramer https://www.redbubble.com/people/BobKramer1/shop?asc=u

Rat Rod Studios https://www.cafepress.com/ratrodstudios/17350621

#santa #christmas #reindeer #holiday #rudolph

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heiibo · 2 years

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!!!!!😭💕❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥😭❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥😭😭❤️‍🔥!!!!!

#cookie run #kumiho cookie #moonlight festival allure #rebel cookie #skillful royal secret agent

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poop-diddy-scoop · 2 months

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jareth x reader - i have conditions

The annual gala was abuzz with excitement and elegance, the air thick with the scent of opulence and intrigue. You navigated through the crowd, your gown trailing behind you like a river of midnight silk. Every step you took seemed to draw gazes, but there was one pair of eyes that you could feel burning into your back, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

From the shadows, Jareth watched you with a predatory intensity, his piercing gaze following your every move. But you refused to acknowledge him, determined to maintain your composure despite the tension crackling between you like electricity.

As you mingled with your friends, Esmeralda and Gwenneth, their excited whispers filled the air.

"Did you see the Goblin King?" Esmeralda's eyes sparkled with fascination. "He's so dreamy and mysterious..."

Gwenneth nodded enthusiastically. "I want a piece of him alright!"

You rolled your eyes, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice. "Don't waste your time with a prick like him. Too narcissistic; he's a sociopath who likes mind-games-ing you until you're a pile of mush."

Esmeralda and Gwenneth exchanged a glance, clearly taken aback by your vehement response.

"But he's so alluring," Esmeralda protested, her voice tinged with a hint of longing.

Gwenneth shrugged. "Maybe so, but you have to admit, he's got that dangerous appeal."

You shook your head, refusing to be swayed by their infatuation. "Trust me, he's nothing but trouble. The last thing you need is to get tangled up with someone like him."

As the night wore on, you did your best to enjoy the festivities, putting thoughts of Jareth out of your mind. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were still on you, watching from the shadows with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Feeling suffocated by the crowd and the weight of Jareth's gaze, you excused yourself from your friends and made your way to the bar for another drink. The cool liquid provided some relief, but you still felt on edge, like a hunted animal trying to evade its predator.

Seeking solace, you slipped away from the main hall and into the quiet solitude of the garden. The moonlight cast a silvery glow over the manicured lawns and winding paths, offering a semblance of peace amidst the chaos of the gala.

But just as you began to relax, a presence made itself known, stopping you dead in your tracks. You turned to find Jareth standing before you, his expression unreadable but his eyes gleaming with a cold intensity.

"The past is called so for a reason," you snapped, attempting to brush past him and continue on your way.

But he blocked your path, his voice like a whip crack in the stillness of the night. "Running away, are we? Afraid to face the truth?"

You gritted your teeth, refusing to let him get under your skin. "I'm not afraid of anything, least of all you."

Jareth's lips curled into a cruel smile, his words dripping with venom. "Oh, but you should be. You know better than anyone the power I hold over you."

Your patience wore thin, anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava. "You don't hold any power over me. You're nothing but a manipulative, selfish tyrant who thrives on controlling others."

Jareth's laughter rang out like the tolling of a bell, cold and mocking. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? That I'm the villain in this little drama of ours?"

You shook your head, refusing to let him twist the narrative. "You were the problem, Jareth. You put me through hell, you ruined me for anyone else I'd ever meet."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. But then Jareth spoke, his voice low and dangerous.

"And yet here you are, still drawn to me like a moth to a flame. Tell me, darling, who's the real villain in this story?"

"You followed me here, dumbass! Now leave me alone," you snapped, your voice ringing out in the quiet of the garden.

But instead of retreating as you expected, Jareth continued to follow, his expression unreadable but something off about his behavior. There was a strange urgency in his movements, a tension that prickled the hairs on the back of your neck.

You turned to face him, arms crossed defiantly over your chest. "What do you want from me?"

Jareth hesitated for a moment, his usually confident demeanour faltering slightly. "I... I have something important to tell you. That is why I followed you out here."

You raised an eyebrow, sceptical. "Oh, really? And what could possibly be so important that you couldn't wait to ambush me in a crowded room?"

He sighed, a hint of frustration flickering across his features. "Just hear me out, might you? This isn't exactly easy for me."

You scoffed, incredulous. "Oh, forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you're capable of genuine emotion."

Jareth's gaze hardened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something vulnerable that took you by surprise. "I may not be the most... forthcoming individual, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of sincerity, dear."

You studied him for a moment, searching for any hint of deception in his words. But try as you might, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.

"Fine," you relented, reluctantly. "But make it quick. I didn't come out here to listen to your melodrama."

Jareth took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "I know I've hurt you in the past, and I can't change that. But I need you to know that... that wasn't my intention. I never meant to cause you pain."

You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "What are you saying?"

Jareth took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. "I'm saying... I still care about you, more than you'll ever know. And if there's any chance for us to move forward, I want to take it."

You felt a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you, uncertainty warring with a flicker of hope. But before you could respond, Jareth continued, his voice low but determined.

"So, what do you say? Are you willing to give us another chance?"

You stood there, grappling with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Jareth's unexpected confession had thrown you off balance, stirring up memories and feelings you had long tried to bury. But amidst the chaos of your thoughts, one thing was clear: if you were going to even consider giving him another chance, there would be conditions.

"Alright," you finally said, steeling yourself for what was to come. "But there are conditions. Things you must do to earn back my trust."

Jareth raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism creeping into his expression. "And what, pray tell, are these conditions?"

A mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "You have to try to seduce my friends, Esmerelda and Gwenneth."

Jareth's eyes widened in disbelief, his shock quickly morphing into reluctance. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm deadly serious," you replied, your tone unwavering. "If you want any chance of proving that you've changed, you'll have to show me that you can resist your old ways and win them over without resorting to your usual tricks."

Jareth sighed, clearly less than thrilled with the prospect. "Very well. I suppose I have little choice in the matter."

With a resigned nod, he turned on his heel and made his way back into the gala, leaving you to watch from afar with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

As Jareth approached Esmerelda and Gwenneth, you couldn't help but feel a pang of uncertainty. Would he be able to resist the temptation to fall back into his old habits? Or would he prove once and for all that some things never change?

You watched intently as Jareth engaged the girls in conversation, his charm turned up to full throttle as he unleashed his legendary wit and charisma. Esmerelda and Gwenneth were clearly taken aback by his sudden attention, their giggles and blushes a testament to his undeniable allure.

But as the night wore on, you noticed something curious happening. Instead of resorting to his usual tactics of manipulation and deceit, Jareth seemed genuinely interested in getting to know them, his conversation peppered with genuine laughter and heartfelt compliments.

By the time the gala drew to a close, Esmerelda and Gwenneth were positively smitten, their eyes shining with newfound admiration as they bid Jareth farewell.

As he made his way back to you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope flickering in your chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to the Goblin King than met the eye.

"So," you said, unable to keep the teasing grin from your lips. "How did it go?"

Jareth smirked, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Let's just say, your friends were quite... receptive to my charms."

"Sure they were," you said, rolling your eyes at Jareth's confident demeanor. "But that's just the easy part. Now comes the real test."

Jareth arched an eyebrow, his smirk faltering slightly. "And what might that be?"

You held his gaze, your expression firm. "You have to get on your knees and beg properly."

At first, Jareth scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You can't be serious. You want me, the Goblin King, to grovel at your feet like some common servant?"

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. "Yes, I'm serious. If you want any chance of proving that you're truly sorry for what you've done, you'll do it."

For a moment, Jareth looked ready to argue, his pride warring with his desire to win you back. But then, with a resigned sigh, he dropped to his knees before you, his expression a mixture of reluctance and defiance.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "But don't expect me to enjoy this."

As he began to speak, his words were stilted and insincere, filled with empty apologies and half-hearted excuses. But you refused to accept anything less than genuine remorse, grabbing hold of his shoulders and forcing him to look you in the eye.

"Try again," you said, your voice firm but gentle.

Jareth hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. But then, as if something inside him had shifted, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the facade of arrogance crumbling away to reveal the vulnerable man beneath.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for everything I've done to hurt you, for the pain I've caused, for the trust I've broken. Please... forgive me."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you watched him, the sincerity in his words cutting through the armour you had built around your heart. And as he looked up at you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness, you knew that this was the moment of truth.

With a trembling hand, you reached out and brushed his cheek, the warmth of his skin a tangible reminder of the connection that still lingered between you.

"I forgive you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "But you have to promise me, Jareth. Promise me that you'll never hurt me like this again."

Jareth nodded, his expression filled with a determination that echoed in his voice. "I swear it, my love. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us."

"You have one more condition," you declared, your voice firm and unwavering.

Jareth raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "And what might that be, my dear?"

"You have to let me control the kiss," you stated, your tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I want you to give up your domineering ways, just this once, and let me take control."

For a moment, Jareth seemed taken aback by your request, his smirk faltering slightly. "Oh, really? And why should I agree to such a preposterous demand?"

"Because if you're serious about wanting to make things right between us, you'll do it," you replied, your voice low and commanding.

Jareth sighed, but there was a hint of resignation in his expression. "Very well, my dear. But don't expect me to enjoy being submissive."

As you leaned in to kiss him, you could feel the tension crackling between you, a potent mixture of desire and uncertainty. But as your lips met, all doubts faded away, replaced by a fierce intensity that left you both breathless.

You took control of the kiss with a determination that bordered on desperation, your hands finding their way to his waist as you pulled him closer, your tongue exploring the depths of his mouth with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

At first, Jareth seemed reluctant to relinquish control, his movements stiff and hesitant as he struggled to adjust to your dominance. But as the kiss deepened, you felt him begin to respond, his body melting against yours as he surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

For a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace. And as you finally pulled away, your chest heaving with exertion, you could see the shock written plainly on Jareth's face.

"Well, that was certainly... unexpected," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of sassy defiance.

But as he looked into your eyes, you could see something else there, something vulnerable and raw that made your heart ache with longing.

"I may not have enjoyed being dominated," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't deny that there was something... exhilarating about it."

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his admission. "Maybe you're not as opposed to being taken care of as you thought."

Jareth chuckled, the sound like music to your ears. "Perhaps not, my dear. Perhaps not."

As Jareth tried to maintain his composed facade, you sensed his vulnerability, his longing beneath the surface. Without a word, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in another kiss, more fervent than before.

His initial resistance crumbled, giving way to a wave of desire that crashed over him. His body responded eagerly to your dominance, melting against you as you deepened the kiss, your hands tightening their grip on his waist.

"Mmm," Jareth moaned softly into your mouth, his voice choking with pleasure and surrender. His hands clutched at your shoulders, fingers digging into your skin as he lost himself in the sensation of being overwhelmed by you.

With each passing moment, his resistance faded further, replaced by a desperate need to be held, to be dominated by your touch. He made submissive sounds helplessly, his breath hitching as you continued to explore the depths of his mouth with your tongue.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the urgency in his movements matching your own. And as you held him against you with such strength, he seemed dumbfounded by the intensity of his own desire, a realization dawning in his eyes.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, aching with longing and need. But as you looked into Jareth's eyes, you could see something new there, something vulnerable and raw that made your heart swell with tenderness.

"Perhaps being dominated isn't so bad after all," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. You smiled, a sense of satisfaction washing over you.

"I'm glad you finally see things my way."

#jareth x reader #jareth fanfic #jareth angst

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legendary-cookies · 10 months

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Sorry if this is answered but what is your favourite costumes

If you mean in general, I'd say my most favorites are Wind's Zephyr of Life, Lotus' Warlord of the Eternal Lotus, and Kumiho's Moonlight Festival Allure

If you mean out of the Legends (with multiple costumes):

Sea Fairy: Rippling Moonlight

Moonlight: Milky Way

Fire Spirit: Blue Flame Hierophant

Wind Archer: Zephyr of Life

Timekeeper: Ruler of the Ephemeral Flow

Lotus: Warlord of the Eternal Lotus

#velvet speaks

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mellaratully · 3 months

Text

location: one of the parties during the last nights of the celebration/tourney in the crownlands. out in the gardens of the party @monterysbelaerys

as the tournament neared its climax, each passing night seemed to usher in grander and livelier festivities, as if the evenings sought to match the crescendo of excitement inside everyone. inside the hall, the air thrummed with the melodies of the orchestra, their music weaving around as people danced together. glasses clinked, laughter echoed, and conversations flowed like the wine they were drinking.

amidst the jubilation, mel found herself seeking solace in the tranquil embrace of the garden for just a moment. stepping outside, she was greeted by the cool embrace of the night air, a welcome respite from the heat within. descending the patio stairs, she ventured further into the gardens, where even amid the serenity, the distant echoes of merriment from the party lingered.

for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to be swept away by the euphoria of the celebration, relishing in the fleeting joy it offered. yet beneath the veneer of festivity, a nagging sense of apprehension gnawed at her, a reminder of how easily she was swept up in this. how easy it was for her to fall into her habits.

despite her recent efforts to temper her impulsiveness, mel found herself grappling with the dilemma of succumbing to the allure of the present moment versus heeding the cautionary whispers of foresight. but despite her best intentions, the allure of spontaneity often proved too enticing to resist.

but she had done so well lately. she had tried to to at least.

how could one tell they were walking into a spider’s web until it was too late?

emerging from her reverie, mel's gaze fell upon a familiar figure amidst the garden. lord belaerys, stood bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.

"it seems i keep running into you at these parties lord belaerys," mel remarked, a warm smile gracing her lips as she approached him, the gentle rustle of foliage accompanying her every step.

#;;monty

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dent-de-leon · 1 year

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I’m not sure if you wanted prompts from that kiss list or it was just inspiration, but if you want writing prompts….. maybe 3 and/or 10 for widomauk? 🥺

Hi!! uhh sorry I took too long on this I got like a couple paragraphs in and then it just kept going. Anyway, here's some Moonweaver festival widomauk. Thanks for the prompt!

“Caleb! You have to come see this! There’s lights dancing in the sky!”

The Moonweaver’s ribbons wind between the mountain peaks cresting high above, snow capped summit scintillating and shimmering like diamond dust, brilliant beams of neon green cascading into electric blue, opalescent radiance shining brighter than every star. Time slowing to the golden halcyon haze of a lucid dream.

Heavy wingbeats echo overhead to the chorus of distant roars, wyverns soaring across the sky in dark streaks against the glowing night, their riders threading gossamer rays of light through a sea of stars. Thundering applause and uproarious cheers ring out in all of Lyrengorn, the crowd merry with song and dance as the Moonweaver’s radiance wove through a crystal clear solstice night.

The sight steals Molly’s breath away, leaves him starry-eyed and moonstruck, entranced by the ethereal night above. He throws his hands up in the air and twirls around in the whirling snow, flurrying powdery flakes alighting on his horns and crusting his long dark eyelashes. For just a moment, Caleb can imagine him catching a falling star, winding ribbons of light passing through his claws.

If anyone could catch a shooting star, it would be Mollymauk. He burned with a light all his own, eclipsing even Catha’s pearly glow. Caleb always loved watching comets blaze across the horizon like a fireball called down by the gods, burning hotter than the Nine Hells. Incandescent. But how fast they faded as they fell to earth, their light snuffed out in a heartbeat. Too good to last.

Warm, bubbling laughter escapes Mollymauk until he collapses in the snow still reeling with giggles, breathlessly giddy and delighted and so vibrantly full of life.

“Oh. That’s lovely,” he sighs. And then, tail swinging excitedly at the thought, “Ya think they’d let me ride one of those?”

This is the side of Mollymauk that always brings a smile to Caleb’s eyes. The wide-eyed, easily dazzled wonder; his boundless curiosity and love for every little mystery and simple pleasure this world had to offer. Savoring the taste of fine wines and summer strawberries. Luxuriating in the soothing steam and perfumed bath salts of a lavish bathhouse. Threading wildflowers through tousled dark curls, horns jingling with chains of gold and silver and shiny little trinkets.

Caleb wants to see Molly catch a glimpse of an airship as it lights up and takes flight, the fanged grin when he stands before a volcano for the first time. Bask in that patch of winter sun Mollymauk always carried with him.

The Moonweaver herself must have cast her radiant glow upon Mollymauk when he first woke, bathed him in a pool of glimmering moonlight and washed Lucien’s bloody past away. Even now he was haloed in her celestial glow, soft pearlescent rays shining down upon him.

Caleb was born and raised under Empire rule, burned and bled for it. And for all his life, worship of the Moonweaver was strictly forbidden. But of course Molly would flirt with the temptingly forbidden and mystifying, ingratiate himself to a god who was themself an outsider. It did not hurt that her domain was the easy allure of play and dance, trickery and passion. The keeper of midnight trysts.

Even among the sanctioned deities, every temple in the Dwendalian Empire was government-owned and run, clerics and priests meticulously vetted to suit their needs—always kept on a tight leash. Religious practice in itself was a social taboo; the empire highly discouraged divine magics, fearing any earnestness in prayer that might turn to treasonous fervor. And yet, Mollymauk had still believed. And hid. Kneeling down under a full moon and carefully tucking his idols of Sehanine away.

Caleb had never seen Mollymauk Tealeaf worship so freely, lost in a crowd where everyone was so warmly welcoming and happy. The crisp night air was alight with music and laughter and cheer. Dancers twirling their partners as glistening auroras rippled and swirled above. Children chasing after each other howling with laughter. Merchants passing out hot drinks and fresh baked sweets, the scent of gingerbread wafting in the air.

He’d gone to festivals like this once. Long ago, in the flowering fields of Blumenthal. Wulf sharing a sip of his drink as Astrid grabs him by the arm, steals him away. Leads him off into the crowd of merry dancers and lets her hands fall to his waist—

He can’t linger too long on those stolen moments, the rare smiles and tender touches, gentle kisses in a hidden alcove after the clock strikes midnight. Every shred of cold comfort desperately scoured in the darkness. It bleeds together with all the rest, the gnawing pit of shame and guilt and grief hollowing him inside out. That life and name he can never return to.

But he isn’t there, buried in the ruins of it. He’s here. He’s Caleb. And beside him, Mollymauk’s joy is infectiously radiant.

Molly revels in the beauty of the Moonweaver’s star-woven tapestry, the bleeding crescent sliver of Ruidus merely a distant gleam, like a half-forgotten dream. On nights when the faraway moon flared a bright, blazing vermillion, it was far too reminiscent of the Somnovum’s burning red Eyes gazing down upon them.

“You see that cluster of stars that look like a weird duck? Just there?” Mollymauk asks, pointing up at a shimmery haze of blue as dark as the midnight sea. Pinpoints of starlight sparkled in the mist, drawing Caleb’s eye farther north, to a beacon of breathtaking light. “Has different names,” Molly adds, “but Gustav says lots of elves call that the Mollymawk. It’s…a seabird. Or something. Big bloody thing, so don’t fuck with ‘em. Some say they’re a sign. An omen. Or maybe they’re just oversized seagulls that love to go for a swim. But I always thought they’re a pretty sight.”

He tilts his head up to the light of full moon, basks in Catha’s glow and tries to glean the pattern of stars nestled by her side, tracing imaginary lines between half remembered constellations, seeing stories come alive in the winter sky. His hand falls, unbidden, to the pocket where he kept his tarot cards. You should ask him for a reading, Caleb admonishes himself, Molly would like that. Except, he’s still too afraid to take that step.

He can’t bear the thought of what Mollymauk might see.

A memory flits back to him in the soft snowfall and prismatic patterns of ambient light. Molly’s dextrous claws carding through the deck, deftly shuffling. “I saw her again,” he confesses, a quiet chuckle escaping him, eyes shining bright with mischief. “Beautiful and eccentric as ever. Read my fortune. It was a good card. Well, there are no bad cards—sort of. But this, aye, this was a good one.” He flips the card on the top of the stack, revealing a stunning portrait of Yasha wreathed in a sunlit halo. Shimmering wings unfurled to frame her imposing frame, a bouquet of blooming flowers cradled in her arms. Shackles shattering into ash and dust. Her soul breaking free.

“Do you know what this means?” Molly asks, leaning in conspiratorially.

The card is titled Love, and it makes his traitorous heart nearly stop.

Caleb catches a flash of something out of the corner of his eye, coasting along on the late night breeze, fluttering away in the moonlight.

A long white satin ribbon streams from one of Molly’s horns, tied on for good luck. Molly had fastened a matching one to Caleb’s own wrist, tying it in a neat bow despite his protests, frantic pulse beating against the whisper of soft sheer fabric. Hands sweating as Molly traced the delicate trimming with careful claws, thumb brushing over his lifeline. “Oh come on, Mr. Caleb. It’s festive.”

Although baffled and a bit flustered, Caleb was honored to be included. Mollymauk’s worship had always been such a personal matter; a quiet, private moment. An unspoken intimacy between him and the moon that always lit his steps through darkness.

Swathed in silvery moonlight and whispering over his shimmering glass swords—how much of that was for show? A play, a performance, cloaking himself in the rich mantle of superstition and ceremony. They say Sehanine shelters her followers in the shadows, secreting them away under the cover of darkness. But Mollymauk, ever the flashy peacock, had mastered the delicate art of masquerading in a veil of prismatic color and glittering light.

An ornate coat embroidered in the symbols of every god permitted in the Empire’s pantheon, the sign of the Platinum Dragon hanging from his neck. Idols of Sehanine safely tucked away in hidden pockets. Crescent moons subtly stitched into the lining of his coat. His love for the Moonweaver woven into the elaborate ornamentation of his tarot cards, inked into his very skin among blooming flowers and winding snakes. A secret covenant between him and his moonlit goddess.

Molly’s worship is a declaration of love.

Moonlit prayers and pleas whispered into warm skin at the witching hour, reverent and desperate and strung out with the sweetest sighs. A drunken song dissolving into bursts of giddy laughter. Lingering touches that echo for lifetimes after. Mollymauk worships the way he fights, scrappy and passionate and fiercely protective, bleeding his own heart dry. A sacrificial knife glinting in the last rays of twilight. His blood spilling down the alter, giving up all that he is. A body rent in two with the last gasping breath and trembling hands of a life tangled up in too many loose threads.

Caleb worships no one. Bows before no god, not even the savior whose idol hangs heavy around his throat. The simple comfort of a stranger’s kind touch and gentle words; a favor from a faceless god he could never return. And still, Caleb had never sworn himself to any Prime Deity in the pantheon. Never cared for the paltry promises of faith and salvation, not when he could bend reality to his will with his own mortal hands, manifest anything his broken heart desired.

And what his heart ached and longed for more than anything was for Mollymauk Tealeaf to rise from the grave, laugh in the Raven Queen’s face just one last time. Finally open his eyes. Mollymauk lies naked, bloodied, broken, his ruined body torn from mangled flesh and bone and rot, painstakingly pried from Lucien’s decaying husk like some grisly, mocking pantomime of birth. Stripped bare and caked in blood and all curled up, tail wrapped around himself. He looks…young. Vulnerable. Caleb is seized by the sudden, fiercely protective urge to cover Molly’s still form with his own coat, to somehow shield his prone body from all the lifeless eyes of this horrific place.

They don’t have any time for that. Caleb traces his fingertips along the wicked scar bisecting Molly’s torso, the one he dug his own claws into. His hand comes away drenched in blood—Molly’s blood, once so warm, but going cold—and he scrambles for the little lucky stone in his pocket, trembling as seven pairs of eyes all fall to him.

He can do this. He has to.

But it’s Caleb’s first time unravelling the Matron’s thread, and he is no cleric. He has no prayers or offering to lay at Molly’s feet. He has only his own magic, a lifetime of study and discipline and desperation coursing through his veins in burning clarity. He kneels and begs for Mollymauk’s soul to hear them. And when the spell fails, when the light dies and Molly’s body is still and lifeless and—empty. He’s empty. Even though Caleb promised, gave his word, swore he’d be Empty no longer—

When it all falls apart, Caleb has only himself to blame.

If only he had something—anything—to contribute to the ritual. A worthy offering.

But he had nothing. Only a letter left unread, still buried in the grave, that Mollymauk would never see. “Your name is Mollymauk. Mollymauk Tealeaf.” Only a memory encased in stained glass, a rainbow of brilliant color glistening in the warm candlelight, the centerpiece of hearth and home. “Come and find us.” Only a broken goodbye as he gently brushes the sweaty hair from Molly’s eyes, leaves him with a kiss that tastes only of regret.

Caleb is godless, faithless. And more than that, he is already damned; death and grief and guilt sink their claws into him still, every spark of flame conjuring shadows of his old home. He has no illusions of the weight his own sins carry, understands far too intimately that he may be beyond redemption. Too little too late. Maybe. For him. But if he can save another soul, pull someone else back from the brink, again and again, spare them from his own doomed fate—

Astrid. Wulf. Essek. And then Mollymauk, caged and screaming, rattling at the bars and spitting in Lucien’s face, prying away pieces of himself in clawing agony.

Caleb has no god to pray to. But when Mollymauk’s body glows, bathed in the light of a Magician’s spell, and his skin is warmed as it was in life, and Caleb swears he can hear the faintest echo of a heartbeat, he desperately believes. In Mollymauk, in the Nein, in some raw aching hope for salvation and second chances.

For this falling star that brought a gleam of light to all their lives, Caleb can kneel in supplication, and lay bare his own heart upon the alter.

“He’s religious, you know,” Fjord divulged once, even as Beau balked and Nott nearly spat out the drink she just downed. “No, really. I see him praying over his swords every night.”

“Every night?” Beau adamantly shakes her head, nose scrunching up as she snorted into her cup.

“And every morning!” Molly adds brightly, slamming two more tankards down on their crammed little table.

“Oh, Molly! You have a god too!” Jester squealed, jumping up to her feet and practically bursting with excitement. “Who is it? You think maybe they’re friends with the Traveler?”

“Huh. That’s a good question, I hadn’t really thought of that. Could be…She reminds me a bit of you, actually. The playing tricks. The blue.”

“She’s blue!?”

“Just your shade, I’d think. Could be your sister.”

“What is it you believe in, Mr. Mollymauk?” Caleb asks carefully, eyeing the glint of mischief in Molly’s twinkling eyes.

Mollymauk swings his leg over the chair and falls down with a vibrant jingle of gold and jewels and clamoring trinkets all tinkling like a handful of coins. He sprawls across the table and shoves one of the tankards in front of Caleb, almost as an afterthought. Spiced sweetness; cloves, cinnamon, pumpkin. Sharp burn of whiskey. Caleb cradles it in his hands and greedily gulps it down, warmed to his core by the drink and something else he dare not say.

Mollymauk turns to him with a rakish grin, claws idly circling his tankard’s rim.

“What do I believe in? Mm, let’s see.” He dragged the words out thoughtfully, savoring the taste of every one. “Pleasure.” Caleb doesn’t wet his lip as his throat goes desperately dry. He definitely does not. “Joy. Chaos. Leavin’ this ridiculous world a bit better off. Making some folks a little happier, doin’ a good turn. Havin’ fun while ya’ still can. Love. The finer things in life, Mr. Caleb.”

The finer things. Caleb was anything but; haggard face smeared in dirt and grime, dark circles rimmed under his sunken eyes. Threadbare clothes falling apart at the seams, sagging on his bone thin frame. Too many months since he’d had a shave, since he’d taken a pair of shears to his overgrown, matted auburn hair.

And yet, he can remember bits and pieces of that other life so clearly. Fine silk robes bearing the seal of the Solstryce Academy. Sunlight dappling golden halls, shining on stained glass. Condensation glistening on marble arches and columns, clouds of steam wafting over crystal clear bathwater. A ripple, a splash. His hands dipping into the water in a bloody stream, blotted streaks of bright crimson blooming at his touch, a stain he could never wash away.

He gingerly scrubs the blood from Astrid and Wulf as his own dyes the world around them a deep, murky red. Fearful awe and aching reverence in every touch, trembling hands tentatively exploring the expanse of pale, bony skin laid bare before him. He can't remember if it was devotion he chased or merely desperation. If the distinction even mattered. If he wanted this or just wanted and wanted and wanted—aching to feel anything other than the ceaseless violence and searing pain.

He still cannot fathom why Mollymauk cast those disarming smiles his way, looking past the decade mired in wallowing filth and decay, staring through to Caleb’s core and truly seeing him. For years, he hung his head and skulked in the shadows, roaming the streets alone and destitute, a nameless shade haunting the country he once called home. All in the faint, desperate hope that discerning eyes would glaze over him in sheer revulsion. No one would ever look too close and actually see him. Just another lonely hermit, not worth anyone’s attention.

But Mollymauk had seen. Again and again, as Caleb ducked his head and raised his hood, darted past and fearfully tried to steer out of his way, he could never quite shake the tiefling’s piercing gaze.

He squirmed at the attention at first. The playful teasing and too sharp smiles and barest brush of soft lips on fever warm skin.

Caleb’s keen mind recalls that the Moonweaver favors kind souls and tricksters, Catha’s grace shining upon star-crossed lovers. The allure of forbidden romance. Clandestine trysts. Caretaker of all the bleeding hearts doomed to a tragic end.

As Caleb reluctantly trails after Mollymauk in the mirthful crowd, he can’t help but notice parents lifting children up on their shoulders to admire the wondrous winter lights. Circles of elves timidly exchanging flower crowns. Young couples holding hands in the moonlight.

Why had Molly even asked him to come?

“...hey, Caleb. You still with me?”

It takes a moment for him to realize the tiefling had been speaking, chatting away animatedly as lights painted the night in bleeding watercolors; Molly’s face illuminated by the auroras’ soft glow flickering above, dappled in iridescent shades of glacial blue melting into molten gold.

“Ja. I was just—” Mollymauk is walking closer now, advancing on him until he’s stepping right into his space, leaning in until he’s mere inches away, “—distracted.”

“Magician.”

Caleb loves the way he says that. The light lilt of his accent and soothing cadence. Fond, teasing. Charming. The Magician—flashy tricks, sleight of hand, a magic that’s only real if you believe it. A gracious bow as the curtain drops.

Molly bites his lip and Caleb desperately tries not to mirror him. But his gaze still falls to the pretty shape of his mouth and that glint of fang sinking in.

Of course Molly catches him staring.

Mollymauk watches him with the quiet intensity of a wizard unravelling a spell, deeply invested and singularly focused, tearing loose the fabric of the universe to lay it all bare—an Archmage’s blasphemous arrogance.Tampering with the gears and tugging on heartstrings to see what makes a man tick. Deft hands shuffling the deck, every card stacked in his favor. Smiling as blood streams from a split lip. Hooded red eyes gleaming in the firelight as he downs his tankard with roaring laughter. Burnished sunset gold in glistening amber globules. Turning cards and twisting truths, changing fate and fortune at the whim of his too-soft heart. Sharp tongue still ringing silver, crooning sweet nothings in his ear with a devil’s tender touch.

For all his playing at the fool, Mollymauk knew far too much.

“Close your eyes a moment,” Molly orders, eyes narrowed.

His tone brokers no room for argument.

“Was?”

“Eyes closed! No peekin’.”

Caleb relents with an exasperated sigh, surrendering himself to another of Molly’s mercurial whims. And maybe there’s just the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips, a certain fondness for his ridiculous Circus Man.

He’s rewarded for his gracious compliance with a little pat on the cheek.

“Good boy,” Molly purrs—it warms him to his core, saccharine sweet as ambrosia spilt by the gods. Caleb can just imagine his tail swaying in glee, a coy cat who just cornered prey.

Brat.

Something changes after that. A charge in the air, exhilarating and electric. A taste of ozone before the storm. Is this what Yasha feels, when she inhales the wind and pouring rain and heeds the call of thunder roaring in her blood? Skin soaked to the bone, dark tousled hair plastered to her sweat sheened forehead as she stands and walks headlong into the raging tempest. Terrifying—thrilling—a bolt of blazing lighting that resonates with every beat of her racing heart.

Mollymauk is dangerously close. Both of them are. Dancing at the edge of the precipice, ravens circling. Caleb can feel the warmth of his breath fogging up the chilled night air between them with every gentle exhale.

"Mr. Caleb," Molly says, and he knows it's accompanied by a cheeky grin. "Tell me, how would you feel if I--"

"Kiss me." Caleb's voice is raw, breathy, the words both a demand and ardent plea.

Molly's laughter is a warm rumble that could melt all the snow in Lyrengorn.

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

Molly delicately cups his cheek in hand, drawing him in like a gravitational pull, like a pale moon caught in their brilliant star’s orbit. Warm lips pressed against his in a tender kiss, feather soft and fleeting. Molly’s every touch is gentle. Intimate. A distilled moment of sheer bliss that leaves his heart lighter than air. Molly breathing a bit of joy back into his life, sharing some of the same spark that chased away his own demons, filling up the clawing Emptiness that hollowed him out and made its home in his bones. An Emptiness that Caleb feels he’s always known.

It’s frighteningly easy to surrender at such gentle hands, acquiescing to Molly’s capricious impulses and guileless affection, an unspoken temptation he dared not indulge in. But Mollymauk, heathen, hedonist, patron of all worldly pleasures, had never once known temperance. Chalice overflowing with the heady rush of desire, every forbidden tryst and flare of passion a reverential blessing. He has always bowed before the goddess of love, and he remains ever devout in his worship.

It’s addictive, intoxicating. And over far too soon. Just as their lips brush, Molly’s hand starts to fall away—letting him go.

Caleb doesn’t want him to.

He surges forward and tangles his hands in Molly’s dark curls, drawing him in for another kiss. And another. Molly lets out a breathy laugh that Caleb gladly claims, holding him tight and reveling in the taste.

He’s enveloped in the familiar comfort of Mollymauk’s scent. Sandalwood—warm, earthy—and just a tinge of something sweeter. Kneeling in prayer over burning incense, massaging perfumed oils as they wade into the steam of a warm bath.

And curse him, but Caleb is seized by a fervent longing to mouth at the hollow of his throat and bury himself in the soothing balm of Molly’s all encompassing embrace.

He pours his heart into each kiss, the long months of loss and longing gnawing away at him. Heated gazes in quiet moments, a little pat on the cheek or comforting hand on the shoulder. Molly’s playful teasing thawing at the frost of his heart—even though the Waldhexe surely devoured it long ago. A spark of burning life that Caleb had to watch die out twice. Shine bright, Circus Man. Echoes of memories clinging to Molly, tethering back his wayward soul. Caleb’s feelings flowering into bloom just as his Circus Man finally wakes.

The last time Caleb kissed Mollymauk it was to say goodbye, tumultuous waves of grief and guilt spilling over in his last desperate attempt at comfort. Mourning a love and tenderness that would never return.

He wouldn’t stand by and suffer in silence again. Heart shattering along with the jagged shards of a Transmuter Stone, broken fragments falling from his shaking palms as it all goes dark.

The Matron’s ravens couldn’t have him. Not while Caleb still lived and breathed; he’d sever the binds of every thread if it came to that, burning away at fate’s cruel weave until Mollymauk was finally free.

“It’s good luck if you get a kiss tonight,” Molly whispers when they part, his face softening in the moonlight.

Then all too soon that rush of hearth-fire warmth is gone, Molly’s indigo curls wind tossed and fluttering in the cool night breeze as he turns away, turns to run and vanish under the cover of shadow. Molly shoots him a grin, sharp and sweet, before he turns on his heel and darts off into the crowd of revelry, that familiar laughter echoing in the night as he disappears into the dark. His mother told him fairy stories once. Tales of creatures with otherworldly beauty, dancing wild and free under the Moonweaver’s light, captivating lost mortals. But doomed to never stay. Fading back into the void black dark and winding woods, leaving behind nothing but the lingering shadow of a phantom touch.

“M-Mollymauk!”

Caleb nearly loses his footing scrambling to chase after him in the snow, a gust of biting cold wind and ghost of a chuckle leaving him breathless. But he can’t help grinning, even as his teeth chatter and every aching muscle protests the bracing, blistering chill cutting through him, knives of ice in his chest. He barely feels it as he races after Mollymauk, spurred on by the tiefling’s teasing taunts and howling laughter. Chasing a falling star.

#widomauk #mollymauk #this got too long whoops--#caleb widogast #the mighty nein #absolutely have these two on my mind with the reunion so soon I cannot wait

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