Waiting
Waiting
Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.
It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.
CW: Post-war Levi x fem!reader, angst, memory and cognitive decline, major character death
A/N: I cried while I wrote this. Happy late Valentine's Day XOXO ~2.2k words
It started with the little things. A forgetfulness masked by old age, and yet it always felt like something more.
Levi Ackerman was anything if not prideful, and yet the confusion that dazed him at times forced him to tell you, his beautiful wife, that he was struggling with something deep, so much so that you urged him to visit the doctor.
He hated doctors. He had enough of them after the Battle of Heaven and Earth. Prodding, pestering, painfully pricking at him to ensure he remained alive until adequate care could arrive. Who would’ve known it’d take weeks?
And so, Levi hated doctors—but he loved you, his wife, so much that he’d bear through another annoying visit. If anything to soothe your mind that this is just him in his old age, that this is nothing more than another bumpy hill before he’d get better.
He saw it all his mind, you’d wheel him to the doctor’s office, just so that they’d tell him the war changed him, and that many war veterans face mental struggles. Then they’d charge an arm and a leg for the “prognosis”. You’d happily give payment if it meant Levi’s just fine—as fine as Levi Ackerman could be, but fine was good.
Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.
It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.
You’d seen Levi swing through trees to face the ugliest of titans, seen him fight through despite the pains in his body, and yet that first harrowing face of forgetfulness stuck with you.
The doctor’s appointment was moved up from next month to next week.
You wheeled him to the office, hands on the push handles subtly shifting every now and then to pull the graying bangs from his forehead to behind his ear. His hair is getting long, you think. It’s time for a haircut and he hasn’t even mentioned it.
The doctor says that war changed Levi. That many war veterans face many mental illnesses—and yet Levi’s is a strange and unique one, one that the doctor’s heard of but very, very rarely. As if done with the novelty of being “unique”, Levi scoffs at the doctor, limping from the examination table back to his wheelchair.
“Well then, your job is to cure this right?” The doctor’s face is blank and expressionless.
“There’s no cure.”
The walk back to your home is silent, more silent than you think you can bear. Your hands on Levi’s push handles stay put, no longer casting them towards his hair for loving caresses. You don’t want to impose on his boundaries after a conversation like this—Levi wishes you would.
Dinner is eaten silently, deep contemplation overtakes the both of you.
“Screw what the doctor said,” he utters.
“What?”
“I said screw what the doctor said, I just won’t forget. I can’t imagine it can be so difficult.” For some reason, it felt like the easiest solution in the world. You beam at him and the hopeful look in your eyes make him feel warm.
Of course, you think, Levi won’t let you down. Levi who's survived it all would fight this too, and things will be as normal as they can be.
“What’s with the shit eating grin,” Levi asks you one afternoon. You had just come back from the local market.
“I brought you this journal,” and you shove the bound papers into his lap.
“You can write everything you remember, the ladies at the market told me it helps with memory loss.”
“You didn’t—”
“No, I haven’t.”
Levi’s reluctance to let anybody know his illness was debilitating, your friends would definitely care if something were going on. But Levi’s image has already been impacted once—he didn’t want to add another smear to the already imperfect painting.
And so, Levi writes, albeit only in the evenings and when you are fast asleep. He writes of his mother, his friends, his squad, Hange and Erwin.
He writes about you.
Your name, the day he met you, a cheeky soldier with a death wish, as he likes to say. He writes about the day he told he you he loved you and first kissed you, the day he married you. He wrote about it while it was still fresh in his mind, where he willed for it to remain, where he begged for it to remain, for the rest of his life.
Levi forgets your birthday.
It’s a good thing others didn’t, because neighbors and friends arrived to give you well wishes. He kisses you at the end of the night and you smile at him, and you forget about him forgetting.
Levi forgets about the chicken in the oven.
Fortunately, you arrive on time to salvage dinner, some of the skin burned, but digestible. He apologizes, face red in embarrassment. You tell him it’s nothing.
Every morning you inspect the journal while Levi rests, warm with the memories that still persist. Levi’s fighting, you think to yourself, everything will be alright.
Things remain in limbo for a while, with you picking up the pieces of Levi’s forgetting mind and putting them in their place. It remains like that for a while, you reminding Levi of the things he’s supposed to be doing.
Suddenly, so suddenly, you come home one morning to find Levi struggling to stand, finding support in the nearby table.
“Levi,” you exclaim, “what the hell are you doing?”
He seems almost startled by you, but he clenches his jaw in defiance.
“Where the hell is everybody? We need to stop Eren, and I’m just sitting here doing nothing.”
Suddenly, so suddenly, it’s like you’ve woken up and are facing reality for the first time.
The tears slip from your eyes, the hands by your side clenching and unclenching into fists. Levi looks at you with a stern expression, calling your name, but you ignore him as you walk away. You hide in your bedroom.
Levi talks of titans for two days straight, washes the same dishes several times, asks you where Hange and Erwin were, before finally snapping back into reality.
You’re crumpled on your bed and he sinks there with you, head falling into your shoulder. He’s silent in quiet horror, you’re silent in quiet loneliness. He apologizes over and over. You tell him it’s okay.
The frayed edges of Levi’s mind begin to tear at the seams, the gaps in his mind no longer something he can conceal. He wills himself to write. Where there was once lengthy journal entries, now repetitive sentences covered the pages.
We are living in year 86x. The war has ended.
Erwin Smith is dead. Hange Zoe is dead.
The war has ended.
The war has ended.
The war has ended.
Levi forgets your anniversary, Levi forgets to bathe, Levi forgets the route home when he steps out to buy…something—he can’t remember what he was supposed to buy.
To avoid your pained gaze, Levi’s wheelchair permanently lives near the window in the corner of the living room. Away from disturbing you, away from being near you.
Things remain like this for a while. You wait—for what, you don’t really know. You watch Levi scramble day in and day out, until he finally stills, hands in his lap, staring outside the window.
After months, you inspect his journal, wanting to feel hope, wanting to remind yourself that Levi’s fighting, that he’s trying.
The last journal entry was weeks ago. All that remain are scribbles. Levi remembers the routine, but does’t remember what he’s supposed to do.
The doctor says there’s nothing left to do, and so you watch your husband implode. And oh you wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy. To watch the man that loves you forget you. To watch as the man you love forgets everything.
Levi’s exhaustion is apparent from where he sits. He holds his teacup, fingers feeling weird where they were. Why does he hold teacups like this?
But only when he forgets your name does your own world implode, the bits and pieces of your self floating, with nobody to piece you together.
He doesn’t sleep in your bedroom anymore, only married people do that. In Levi’s mind, he’s respecting you, an unmarried woman, and so his permanent spot by the window also becomes the spot where he sleeps.
The doctor gives him a couple of more weeks, but it’s months of confusion, months of gazing into nothing, grasping at far away memories.
Where’s Erwin?
Where’s Furlan and Isabel?
Where’s my mother?
You remind Levi that they’re gone, but that they’re waiting for him. Wherever they are.
You wait. For what, you don’t know.
It’s months of self hatred, before for a moment, Levi finds relief; clarity.
You catch him staring at you one evening, when you’re cleaning the dishes of tonight’s dinner.
“You remind me of someone I used to love,” Levi tells you.
Your heart catches, blood freezing, before you smile, a shaky breath escaping you.
“Yeah,” you respond, “used to?”
Levi stays silent. You’ve long gotten used to the silence and the quiet contemplation, but for some reason you are compelled to look at him.
You are used to his lost gaze, used to the permanent furrowed brows that are always deep in thought. Is it your lover trying to remember you? The fighter in him, still combatting the destruction of his mind?
You look at him like a teacher looks at their student, the answer at the tip of their tongue, the knowledge in the deepest part of their mind, waiting to be brought out.
You are used to the defeated glance of despair, the quiet confusion that tells you help me.
You are not used to, however, the look that now graced Levi’s face.
Recognition. It startles you. It startles him.
He calls your name and your breath hitches. You can’t help the tears that slip. He says your name, over and over again and you walk over from the kitchen counter to his spot by the window, toppling over his wheelchair in an embrace. Your face falls into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around you.
“You married me,” he says quietly, “why?”
You’re quiet, not trusting your voice to not fall and break down, but force yourself to speak anyway.
“I love you,” you say, voice hoarse, “that’s why.”
Neither of you say anything else. His face falls into your shoulder and he breathes you in—you smell familiar, look familiar too. Perhaps Erwin and Hange can tell him later who you are and why you’re embracing him. You’re just too warm to let go right now. All he knows is that you’re his wife—his beautiful wife.
For the first time in a long time, Levi wheels himself into your shared bedroom and sleeps next to you. For the first time in a long time, things feel normal.
That chilly evening, Levi left your world.
It wasn’t his world anymore, no—hadn’t been his world in a long time. His permanently furrowed brows have relaxed, and finally his face appeared peaceful. You were glad. Even if you sobbed quietly for him to come back, you were glad.
All that was left was to wait.
You waited.
You waited for death.
Your gray hair swayed with the breeze one fateful morning. Something clicked within you, something about the peace that morning made you smile an all knowing smile. What’s with the shit-eating grin, you could almost hear Levi ask you.
That night, neighbors and former comrades surrounded you, their children in another room to spare them the pain and grief that came with death. You were glad that they didn’t have to see you. At a young age you had been a witness to countless deaths at the hands of titans and the world, let them salvage their innocence for a bit longer.
You were in delirium. You were drifting, memories and glimpses of your life flashing before you, it all felt so real. Your parents, the scouts, the war. The most prominent moments though were the ones with Levi. It was then you realized that you had almost forgotten what he looked like before his injuries. You had almost forgotten what he sounded like before illness overtook him.
Captain Levi Ackerman. A symbol of hope.
Levi. Just Levi. The man you had fallen in love with.
You smiled fondly as you felt the tendrils of your mortality begin to blur; the feeling of peace filled you, it felt like falling into a deep sleep. And the peace continued to lull you, leading you to nothing and infinity all at the same time.
You wandered, away from the cries of the world, and suddenly, a silence.
Then, you saw him. Your face broke out into a beaming smile.
“Levi,” you called out to your lover, your feet moving automatically to reach him.
There he was, his vision clear, his limbs intact, not a single layer of exhaustion on him. His face broke out in a small smile and he called out to you; you felt whole again.
There he was. Waiting for you.
More Posts from Tomriddleslovergirl and Others
how love poems urged tom riddle to confess
summary: You wondered if reciting love poems with Tom Riddle was a good idea, because he started sending you notes with love poems written in them.
"Lang Leav is the best for hopeless romantics," you stated, your lips quirking up slightly. You fell into a comfortable pace walking alongside Tom Riddle through the corridor.
He hummed contemplatively. "Perhaps. Why do you say so?"
You shrugged. "One day I looked at you, and it suddenly occurred to me how beautiful your smile was."
You tried to ignore how Tom looked at you attentively when you started reciting and continued, "I heard music in your laughter... I saw poetry in your words."
You met his eyes for the last sentence. Funny. It seemed almost accurate saying that to a man like Tom Riddle - to Tom Riddle himself.
You looked away and started recalling another poem. "There's more," you said, changing your tone to a more excited one.
You and Tom both stopped at a staircase, standing behind multiple students who were also waiting to go to the first floor.
"It was a quiet love, a tacit love," you started, looking up at all the other staircases moving above you. "It came without prelude or preamble."
The staircase you were standing on started moving and you stumbled slightly, but Tom was quick to grab your arm. You noticed how rather than helping you stand closer to the railing, he pulled you closer to him instead.
"Thank you," you whispered as he nodded. You continued and looked up at him, "We never said the word love, we didn't have to."
As the students in front of you finally moved, you and Tom still stood where you where. A corner of his lips curled up slightly as his eyes fluttered. He always did that whenever he was feeling strong emotions about something, you noticed.
He placed his hand on your back and gently gave you a push to urge you to start walking. As you both descended the stairs, he said, "They're very impressive. I can see why you like them. I cannot say I agree that she is the best though."
You smiled nonetheless. You loved that about him. He was always so positive about your interests and what you liked, despite disagreeing with you about them at times. It was almost funny, considering this was Tom Riddle, who can be very critical sometimes.
"Who do you have in mind, Tom?" you asked, looking up at him and hoping that the way you said his name came off as natural.
He hummed thoughtfully. "You are the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told."
Both of you came to a stop in front of the library's wooden door. None of you made a move, as you were looking at him and he was gazing somewhere, recalling the poem in his mind.
"You showed me how a love like ours..." he paused and gazed at you. "...Can turn even the darkest, oldest realm into the happiest of homes."
Your heart jumped. You blinked and looked at the library door, finally opening it.
"There is another one," Tom said from behind you and closed the door after you.
You glanced at him, wanting him to continue as you both walked towards where you both usually sit together. It hit you, at that moment, the chemistry you had with him. You both had your own go-to table and for Merlin's sake, you were reciting love poems to each other.
You wondered why he hadn't said anything, but it seemed like he wanted to settle down first so you kept quiet as you sat in front of him as usual. You placed your notebook in front of you and prepared your quill in your hand, then you looked at him curiously.
"I don't hate you, I love you," he started, all while holding your gaze.
Your heart skipped a beat once more. Your heart was always doing exercises with him around. You forced yourself to hold the eye contact, because if you looked away, it would be very obvious then.
He's simply reciting a poem! Like how you did earlier! Calm down.
"But loving you is killing me," he said and leaned back to his chair. "So this is goodbye even if I don't want it to be."
Your eyes blinked softly. "Nikita Gill."
He nodded and smirked. "Who's the hopeless romantic here?"
You gasped with feigned shock. "I simply have read these arts before."
He laughed and you suddenly recalled the poem you read to him earlier. You heard music in his laughter.
"That would make you one as well," you joked. "You read love poems?"
He tilted his head, and you tried to ignore how his curls moved along. You tried to ignore how you wanted to softly brush his hair back with your fingers. "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't," he said smoothly.
"Regarding Nikita Gill, I think one of the first ones I read was The Girl Who Was Afraid To Be," you mused, tapping your finger on your chin.
"Lovely," he commented. "She speaks to me fondly of passions and talents, pianos and stars, then stops short and apologises for speaking at all."
He had a playful smile on his face and you rolled your eyes, yet you had a smile on your lips as well. This man would be the death of you.
"Don't even try to test my memory," you remarked. "I remember that it was guitars not pianos."
He chuckled and looked away. "It seems like I overestimated my memory."
You wanted to run away and hide. He was clearly lying. You of all people knew how amazing Tom Riddle's memory was. You wanted to run away and hide, because you knew that he knew very well you played the piano and you loved astronomy.
You wondered if reciting love poems with Tom Riddle was a good idea, because he started sending you notes with love poems written in them. Of course, they were from Lang Leav and Nikita Gill. You would find them between the pages of book you brought with you, in the pocket of your robes and sometimes he would just slid the note towards you on the table in the Great Hall. Sometimes, he would walk past or towards you and simply put the note in your hand. It was the closest you would ever get to holding his hand.
The first time you had received it was during your Transfiguration class. You took out your notebook, only to find a handwritten, handwritten love poem between the page where you had last written on and a new page. The handwriting was very familiar and you knew very well who it was from. Of course, he had to sign off the note with TMR.
Anything Else
I want to plant a seed in your mind, some tiny particle of thought that bears a remnant of me. So little by little, day by day, you find yourself thinking of me, until one morning, you will wake up and realize you can’t think of anything else.
TMR
Since then, they just kept coming.
In your pocket...
To Love You
It feels bittersweet to love you, as though time has already run its ruinous path and everything good is over before it begins.
It feels perilous to love you, like a dust scorn swallowing up the sky or a comet skimming the stratosphere.
But it is an honor to love you. Like the snow drifts giving way to spring, I will hold you for as long as I can.
TMR
The one he had slipped into your hand so easily...
Eros
If time were governed by Eros, I would stay in your arms forever. If time answered only to lovers, I would never leave your side. The seconds pass by slower when I’m staring at the clock. And you wonder why I can’t take my eyes off you.
TMR
After reading this one, you recalled an interaction you had with him in the past.
"You stare a lot, don't you?" you had asked him out of the blue, after catching his eyes once again.
He didn't look ashamed at all. "In general?"
"In... general," you confirmed reluctantly, because of all the times you looked at him when he was looking away, he never actually stared at others much. Why was it that with you—
"Force of habit," he said smoothly. "Do you find it uncomfortable?"
"Not uncomfortable, merely curious," you chuckled.
"I stare at what I find interesting," he said, so casually.
Was he saying he found you interesting? This was Tom Riddle, you shouldn't get your hopes up.
"A lot of interesting things around," you joked, going back to writing your notes.
A few seconds passed, until he said, "Not exactly."
You chose to ignore that for the sake of your heart, and started a new topic for your conversation.
Then, the latest one he had given you.
A Timeline.
You and I
against a rule,
set for us by time.
A marker drawn
to show our end,
etched into its line.
The briefest moment
shared with you—
the longest
on my mind.
TMR
Your sighed lovingly upon reading the note. You were so doomed.
You recalled the playful look in his eyes when he had slid the note towards you earlier in the Great Hall. His slender hand slowly coming into your view with a note below his fingers and stopping right in front of you. He had tapped the note before pulling his hand away.
You had looked up at him and he raised an eyebrow upon meeting your eyes, with the smile on his face growing wider. At that time, it seemed as if the world around you was muffled. The conversations your peers were having around you and the clinking of forks and spoons. All becoming quieter simply because your eyes had met Tom Riddle's enchanting ones.
The briefest moment shared with you—the longest on my mind.
You had long accepted how you felt about him. You would never say out loud that you loved him, though.
Your eyes widened in realisation. Love.
What Does Love Feel Like?
One day you will meet someone
who will see the universe
that was knitted into your bones,
and the embers of galaxies glow to life in your eyes.
And you will finally know
what love is supposed to feel like.
You grinned to yourself before ending the note with the initials of your name. You cannot wait for him to get a taste of his own medicine, lovingly of course.
The following day, Potions class was starting and you quickly walked over to Tom's table. He paused his conversation with his partner and looked at you expectantly. You said nothing and simply pulled his hand up by his wrist before sliding the note into his hand gently.
You looked up at him and smiled, before turning around to go back to your table.
Once again, you wondered if what you did was the right idea.
He wasn't replying to your note at all.
Sure, you both walked past each other several times, sat very close to each other in the Great Hall and talked in your classes. Sure.
However, it had been a while since your last library date and these library dates were the only times you would have private and genuine conversations with Tom. You weren't even sure when your next one could be.
It was almost silly, but you felt as though he was becoming... distant.
Maybe, you had overstepped. Then again, you were just doing what he did. Plus, if you were to talk about overstepping, you were sure both of you had overstepped a thousand times already. The table at the library that was only for you both, being alright with touching each other but not with anyone else, silly inside jokes that are too in-depth for anyone to understand and the way you treated each other differently than everyone else. The way you talked to each other. The words, the looks, the touches—
Most importantly, you could not forget the way he said I love you.
"But loving you is killing me, so this is goodbye even if I don't want it to be at all."
You sighed. You were overthinking this again.
Tom Riddle was driving you mad, and you could only hope you were doing the same thing to him.
Plus, it had only been two days since your note. You were really just overthinking.
You were just pushing him out of your thoughts when you sat down at your table in the library. You were hoping to see him, but at the same time, you were hoping not to see him, because you just tried so hard to get him out of your head.
Tom suddenly pulled the chair in front of you and sat down. No books, no quill — just him. He was also staring at you intently and you could almost see the gears turning in his head.
"Hello there," you greeted and raised an eyebrow at his behaviour.
"Hello," he replied, looking conflicted. "What Does Love Feel Like? — Do you agree with that?"
"Of course," you replied without missing a beat. As if you had wanted to talk about this for a long time now. Of course you did. "I wouldn't give that to you if I didn't agree with it."
You basically just confessed to him in some way, but then again, both of you were literally reciting and sending love poems to each other.
He parted his lips to speak, then he closed them again and you tensed. He was really conflicted, wasn't he?
"Are you okay?"
"You're the one—" he said and stopped himself as he looked away briefly. He turned back to you and continued, "You're the one that sees the universe knitted into my bones and you're the one that sees the embers of galaxies glow to life in my eyes."
You stared at him in shock as warmth spread throughout your body. You slowly placed down your quill and chuckled nervously, "You're the one whose laughter I heard music in, whose words I saw poetry in."
He then smiled, so widely and even looked relieved which startled you even more.
You were... confessing to each other.
You had fantasised many confessions between you two and none of them were normal at all. You hadn't expected your confession to go this way, but you had expected your confession to be this way.
Of course your love confession with Tom Riddle was through love poems.
You were pulled out of your trance when Tom stood up from his seat. You were about to question him until he stood beside you and gripped your chin gently. He gazed down into your eyes so lovingly that you might melt, and you knew you were looking at him the same way.
He leaned down and finally—finally, his lips met yours.
He pulled away, just a few inches from you. "Now I can finally give you all the poems I've written about you."
You blinked softly, startled once more. He wrote poems about you.
"I love you too," you whispered.
He froze, before letting out a soft laugh. He placed his hand on your cheek and caressed it with your thumb. "I really meant it when I said that," he said, sounding like he was suprised with himself.
"I know. I know now," you said, before turning your head to kiss his palm and you just enjoyed how his expression faltered, how he was slowly becoming more vulnerable.
He leaned down once again and you closed your eyes, feeling the familiarity of his lips on yours. You found that his kiss was so much more poetic than those love poems.
ao3
is that hyperpigmentation?
arcane characters x reader
basically what the title says, you draw the arcane characters à la hyperpigmentation 😍 i needed smth silly to work on to get me out of my writing rut, hope you enjoy :p
content: gn!reader, reader is their partner (could be seen as platonic/child reader but i think most of, if not all, the hcs allude or explicitly call reader their partner - sorry!)
Jinx
she LOVES it
as an artist, engineer, overall creator she can really appreciate the more wacky expressions of art
she does a whole art critique (barely a critique tbh) and pretends to be some stuffy piltie talking about the genius and emotion behind the artwork
“ya know, toots, i’m reaaallyyyy enjoying what ya did with that…um, splodge? on my face there. yeah!”
she draws her own version but this time it’s a portrait of you
you swap them and have a cute little date where you colour the pictures in together and add details in the background
by the end, jinx’s workshop is covered in glue and glitter and paint and powder and also for some reason silly string
jinx even makes frames from scratch so they can be hung up - they’re probably the most nicely presentee decoration she has in her place
Ekko
you slide the portrait of him over to his side of the table in silence
he looks down absently and has to do a double take
“this is…me?” he asks hesitantly with his eyes widened like a deer in headlights; a look you rarely ever see from him - you nod and confirm his fears
“we have one tree down here. paper’s expensive. remember that.”
walks away and goes about his duties helping the firelights and though you suspect he might be upset, he did take the picture with him
feels so guilty about his reaction he almost sacks himself into a wall as he rides his hover board
later that night he apologises and makes a show of sticking the picture on his bedroom wall (in the corner he can barely see of course)
Vi
she’s been in prison and seen some interesting tattoos but this takes the cake
spends a good ten minutes staring at it whilst rubbing her chin as if that’s gonna make it look better
asks you if this was the rough draft
she’s smooth though so she basically tells you she hates it but in a way that you don’t even realise - you’re too busy being seduced to notice
“i love how wild your imagination is babe 😍”
vi keeps the picture and shows jinx; needless to say, this portrait becomes famous
kids all through the lanes have a challenge where they find all the weird faces jinx spray painted everywhere
vi pretends to act dumb as if she doesn’t know how jinx got ahold of them but you both know what happened LMAO
Caitlyn
she laughs in your face
she probably just had an argument with her mum over being an enforcer so she really needed this to lighten her spirits
teases you over it but accepts it gracefully because she’s a kiramman and those manners have been engrained into her
keeps it in her room as a joke and everything’s seemingly ok
except she can’t stop looking at it
and then looking at her reflection in the mirror
starts to question reality because she knows there’s no way she looks like that but if so, why would you draw it in the first place 😭
then she enters the mad stage and she confronts you about this thing called negging she discovered
it’s a loooooong night but don’t worry it ends in lots of laughter and giggles
she understands it wasn’t serious and was just projecting her stress onto the picture
but then this starts a new tradition where you two draw daily doodles of each other; sometimes with stupid faces, other times as animals, whatever you two are feeling really
Mel
the woman was too stunned to speak
no, she’s literally speechless for a good minute or two as you hold it out for her
she eventually takes the portrait from your hands but does it in a way where you’d think it was going to explode the second she touches it
she tries her best to smile and be graceful about it, years of etiquette training being tested but even this is a bit excessive
she finds a way to dodge actually having to tell you it looks bad but also dodges telling you that it looks good too - she’s a lot of things but she’s not a liar 😭
she’s incredibly diplomatic
the very next day she’s introducing you to an absolutely fabulous painter who just happened to make an impromptu visit but has just enough time to run a session (or multiple) with you!
how serendipitous is this!
never again will she receive a portrait from you like hyperpigmentation
Jayce
“oh wow this is for me?”
you handed this to him in the busy academy building in front of SOOO many people and now his face is red
his teeth are gritted, hand rubbing the back of his neck and if you look closely there’s even beads of sweat dripping down his forehead
you’ve got this man stressed out
takes like 20 minutes trying to tell you that he’s not too sure if this is exactly his style
internally he’s crying for help because he just wants to get out of this situation
he loves you don’t get it wrong but this has never happened to him before and it’s not like they’ve got a guidebook on this stuff
eventually admits defeat and accepts the portrait
it’s probably in the break room and although he isn’t particularly fond of it, he won’t stand for anyone saying mean things about what you made
that is until you tell him it was all a joke in the first place and you never thought he would actually accept it considering how shitty it was
yeah, he allowed everyone a ten minute free for all where they could slander the picture after that
he is gonna give you silent treatment for all of an hour before he can’t stand it anymore and he asks you not to pull pranks like that on him again with tears in his eyes 😭
Viktor
viktor is chronically ill AND chronically overworked
gonna be real, he sees the portrait and doesn’t even think anything of it
like, he’s so sleep deprived that he’s constantly squinting and so to him, it low-key looks like him
you even got his beauty mark right too! most people forget that detail!
it’s only after a good few weeks of having the picture on his bedside table and actually, finally, getting eight hours of sleep that he properly looks at the picture and
who the fuck is that
but at this point it’s too late, it’s already in a frame next to the bed you two share and there’s no way he can discretely get rid of it without you noticing
stages an accident where his cane “accidentally” happens to slip and somehow punt the picture frame right out the window with surprising accuracy
he gives you those puppy dog eyes and tells you how sad he is but that he’ll survive so don’t worry!
can’t even feel guilty about the situation because the moment the portrait is gone he stops having nightmares
Silco
another one who is speechless
if you were anyone else, he would’ve berated you so badly you would want to quit by the end of it
unfortunately you’re someone he loves so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place
the thing is, he really does appreciate that you went through the effort of drawing a picture of him since it reminds him that perhaps his love isn’t as one-sided as he fears
so he really does want to have it framed and put up on his desk so he can stare at it whenever he misses you
the problem is that even though one of his eyes is fucked up he can still see how butt ugly the drawing is
plus the fact that if he has meetings his business associates are gonna see it and that’s gonna be a tough one to explain
rather not lose out of business because his partner decided to be picasso for a day
silco ends up compromising by having you draw a teeny tiny version he keeps in his wallet instead :3
the bigger version stays in a locked compartment of his desk drawer, he doesn’t want to risk sevika seeing it
Vander
vander does NOT care what it looks like, he loves it
you could literally scribble on a page, say “that’s you” and he’s tearing up at your thoughtfulness
it’s going on the fridge asap and it’s staying there too
he’s gonna show it to everyone with such pride in his voice
sure, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking at and maybe you drew his body hair a bit liberally but you made it so that’s good enough for him!
when he shows it off, most people say aww what a cute werewolf and ask how old his kid is
the light leaves their eyes when he tells them, chest puffed out, that his fully grown adult partner did it and that it’s actually a portrait of him
whether you made it as a joke or not, expect all of your friends, your friend’s friends, those friend’s friend’s friends…everyone to have seen it
Sevika
sevika tells you it’s ugly straight away <\3
rolls her eyes as she listens to you explain all the reasons why she should like the drawing
she does nawt care
wants to act unbothered but deep down she’s a bit insulted
however she doesn’t like sein you upset so she kisses you to distract you from the fact she hates the drawing
sevika is an incredibly considerate partner so now she knows you like art, she takes it upon herself to buy colouring books and art journals that you two can fill out together
this is how you find out she’s a god at drawing and you find it sweet how she takes you under her wing
if something’s bad she’ll tell you but it will always be constructive criticism and before you know it your portraits actually look decent
she’s smug knowing she helped you get to that point
little do you know she kept your abhorrent portrait of her and she looks at it every so often to see how far you’ve come
she’s a softie deep down
AU!mylo
he says he likes it but that’s just because he wants to hit
also is a bit pretentious so you could hand him a really bad painting and he’ll try and act like he “gets it” even if there’s nothing to get 😭
this WILL make him doubt his looks constantly
he’s confident for sure, more than he should be at times, but now he’s got that image in the back of his head
aura down and now he’s even WORSE at flirting god save this man
will go around asking random people if he looks like the guy in the portrait because he’s not going down without a fight
he needs to beat the allegations one way or another‼️
AU!claggor
genuinely too nice to decline it or say it looks bad
doesn’t know what exactly it’s meant to be even though you already said it’s a portrait of him
too focused on his plants to worry about it too much, it’s just something that makes him chuckle every now and then
he will conduct a mini interview on why you made it look the way it did
he looks all serious as he nods at your answers
deep down he just wants to understand how your brain works
masterlist
Pairing: yandere!Tom Riddle x gn!Reader
Synopsis: no one can take you away from Tom, not even Death itself
Warnings: yandere themes, obsessive behavior, non-sexual nudity, dark forces, mention of death and bodies, reader’s gender not specified
You felt weird. Your ears were filled with buzzing white noise, mind racing but also completely muddled up. You inhaled sharply, searing pain surged through all of your body at the feeling of your lungs expanding. It felt like your insides were set ablaze all at once. Rattling cough tore through your throat, filling your mouth with the some thick slime-like substance that you quickly spat out, gulping desperately on cold air in fast shallow breaths.
From what your overwhelmed senses could tell - you were laying down on some kind of flooring - which felt more like bare stone. You struggled to get yourself into sitting position, hard cobbles dug into your flesh painfully, causing you to shiver violently from both cold and discomfort.
You cracked your eyes open, blinking rapidly a few times to get the same sticky slimey stuff out of your eyes. It was very dark around- or was it your unstable state? Heavy steps could be heard, coming in your direction; your body tensed impossibly more, head snapping in direction of nearing man(?), hands roaming the ground underneath you, trying to find something - anything - to defend yourself with.
- Shhhhh, dearest, it’s just me. You’re safe, - a familiar voice spoke soothingly, your body relaxing at the dear sound of it.
- Tom? - you whispered, eyes flickering in all directions haphazardly, trying to distinguish male’s slim figure in thick darkness.
Tom fell to his knees next to you, muttering quiet ‘Lumos’, dim ray of light coming from the tip of his wand blinded you temporarily. You heard some soft shuffling before a thick woolen cloak was wrapped tightly around your shuddering frame.
You managed to crack your eyes open, finally being abele to look around. You peeked down at yourself - your body looked raw - as if you spent hours emerged in hot water - skin was a bringt pink color, extremely sensitive to the smallest of touches - just like an infant in first minutes of its life. You were completely bare, some weird slippery substance was covering every part of you, cooling your body down unpleasantly.
Your eyes wandered up to Tom. His face was gaunt - cheeks looked as hollow as ever; dark eyes you loved so much were unusually sunken, dark purplish circles you knew he got from sleepless nights were laying underneath them; his beautiful lips were chopped and pale, lacking their usual plushness; lush shiny waves of brown hair laying so elegantly on his forehead now looked bleak and brittle. Tom looked ill - as if he was struggling from protracted ailment. But even despite his miserable -you could’ve never thought of using this adjective for describing Tom Riddle- appearance, his eyes were sparkling maniacally, like diamonds in finest of the jewelry.
- Tom, what happened? I don’t understand… - you inquired quietly. Your throat felt way too tight, making your voice sound shaky and weak, and you struggled to get words out. You felt Tom wrapping his arms tightly around you, bringing you to his chest in a tight embrace.
- Everything’s all right now, my love. It’s okay, you are safe with me, - Tom muttered more to himself, rocking you from side to side gently.
You took a look at your surroundings - it looked like you were inside of a huge dark cave of some sorts, rough wet stones were forming walls and ceiling of the cavity, you could hear water dripping down the stalactites all around, hitting the rocks underneath with loud echoing sounds. What caught your attention were deep involute lines carved deeply into stone ground, forming an intricate designs all around you, slightest red glow was still visible emanating from them.
There were dead bodies laying all around. About a dozen of men and women, some of them you recognized as Tom’s devoted followers, were splayed around what seemed to be a transfiguration circle. There were no injuries nor blood on them visible. In fact, they looked fully normal if it wasn’t for their dull eyes and looks of absolute horror etched on their lifeless faces.
And then suddenly pictures flashed before your eyes - Tom’s face, still full of health and youthful beauty, covered in grime and blood, was gazing down at you, his eyes sparkling with shiny tears. What was that? Why was he crying? And then, like in some kind of drunken haze, you looked down at yourself - a huge crimson blotch was growing bigger and bigger on your robes, saturating soft cotton fabric in warm sticky blood. You looked back up at Tom - he was full on crying now, babbling “don’t leave me” and “please, don’t die” over and over again, trembling hands pressing down onto your chest, trying to stop the blood flow.
What was he talking about? Why would you die? You tried to say it, to console your silly boy, reassure that there’s no way you would leave him - but no sound came out of your throat, no matter how hard you tried. Your mouth filled with sickening metallic taste of your own blood, black clouding your vision rapidly.
And now you remembered. Those were your memories - your last ones - before you died.
But how was this all possible? Here you were, blood and flesh, warm and breathing and surely alive, in welcoming arms of your lover.
- Tom? What have you done?.. - horror mixed with shock slowly crept up your back, all the way to your chest and throat, making it even harder to breath than before.
- Nothing will ever hurt you again. I won’t let that happen, I promise, - Tom uttered next to your ear, his body shaking with soundless sobs as he held you even closer to himself,
- I will keep you safe, away from all dangers. You will know no worries nor fears. It will be just the two of us, in our perfect world we’ve always dreamed of. Forever.
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gotta love how qimir kills both of osha's only other potential love interests, and then asks her, in the sultriest, deepest, sluttiest voice he can manage, why she loves people who "can only go so far; who can't go as deep as [she] can."
like could you be any more desperate and pathetic... he may as well scream look at me instead!! if those losers were options at all then surely im a decent candidate!
not to mention that he force heals osha, lets her wield his saber, feeds her, doesn't even FLINCH at her trying to kill him. and those thumb caresses? yeah he wants her to love him so bad.
saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?
'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]
-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-
⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)
⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)
𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾
♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.
He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.
Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.
His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.
A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."
A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.
Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.
"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"
He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.
"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.
𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅
♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.
Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.
"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.
Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.
It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.
That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.
We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.
"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."
𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿
♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.
She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.
When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.
She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.
This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.
"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"
Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.
Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.
"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.
𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿
♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.
That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.
"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."
Yeah, he means business.
Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.
Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.
"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."
Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.
He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.
"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.
You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.
𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅
♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.
Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.
At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.
If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.
That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.
Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.
She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.
“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."
It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.
Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.
Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.
A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.
“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”
It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.
𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁
♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.
Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.
It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.
Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.
And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'
When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.
"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.
He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.
If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.
"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'
Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.
While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.
Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."
𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁
♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.
In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.
He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.
Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.
He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.
If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.
"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.
Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.
But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.
By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.
We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.
"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.
Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.
You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.
𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅
♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.
At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)
As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.
"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."
These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.
This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.
"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"
If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.
When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.
𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸
♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.
Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.
He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.
Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.
"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.
But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.
He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.
It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.
In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.
I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.
When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.
"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."
𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁
♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.
He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.
You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.
If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.
"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."
He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.
In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.
When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.
He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.
"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."
Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.
Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.
"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."
𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁
♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.
It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.
No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.
Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.
Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.
"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."
Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.
He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.
He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.
He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.
"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."
And he plans to show you that he's right.
𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅
♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.
She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.
I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.
Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.
A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.
Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.
"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."
It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.
If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.
Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.
"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."
𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅
♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.
He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.
If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.
He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.
And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.
Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.
"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"
Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.
He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.
"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."
𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁
♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella
Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.
He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.
He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.
He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...
He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.
"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.
He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.
"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!
CONCEPT: Tom Riddle comforting you.
"If they dare touch a hair on your head, I'll fight to the last breath." — Hand in Glove (The Smiths)
TOM RIDDLE holding you so, so close—his arms wrapped around you as he hums. If you weren't feeling so terrible, you would notice his slender hands moving in a seemingly calculated manner as he strokes your hair. But as you continue to sob into his chest, you can't help but lose interest in your surroundings. In his arms, you feel wanted—a stark contrast from the usual treatment you get from others.
TOM RIDDLE frowning, his stern gaze focused distantly on the empty hallway. He hates seeing you cry, that is for certain, but he can't pinpoint exactly why. Why, in Merlin's green Earth, has he taken a liking to you?
TOM RIDDLE shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts. When you briefly look up at him with your tear-stained eyes (perhaps concerned about how heavily he's breathing), his heart cannot help but flutter. Right then and there, he realizes: he has to protect you.
TOM RIDDLE holding you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head. As he grits his teeth, he thinks of all the curses he could potentially use against your tormentor.
TOM RIDDLE smirking, reminding himself of just how powerful he is—how much better he is (and, by extension, you are, too) than everyone else. He's eager to defend what is his; he is not afraid to get his hands dirty just to keep you pristine.
After all, who would suspect the perfect Slytherin prefect of doing such heinous things?
"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader
SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k
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Ivar is tired.
Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.
The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.
Ivar is also angry.
As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.
Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.
He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.
His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.
Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.
"Who is she?"
Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:
"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."
"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."
"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.
The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.
And then appears he.
A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.
You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.
When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.
They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.
Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.
The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?
The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?
It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.
"I believe this belongs to you."
Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.
At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.
"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.
"And why should I keep it?"
The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.
"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."
Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.
The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.
"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.
You wish you knew the answer yourself.
"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."
Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.
"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."
"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."
"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.
Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.
"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."
The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:
How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.
But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:
"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"
Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.
"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."
Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.
I wanna overpower myself in my drs but I also wanna be a damsel in distress and IDK😭😭
⋆⭒˚．⋆ Ｄｉｄｎ＇ｔ Ｍｅａｎ Ｔｏ Ｓａｙ Ｉ Ｌｏｖｅ Ｙｏｕ ⋆⭒˚．⋆
⋆｡‧˚˚ Yandere!Acolyte Men x Reader ˚˚‧｡⋆
⋆ ˚｡♡ 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝐿𝓎𝓇𝒾𝒸𝓈 ♡ ˚｡⋆
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽☀︎☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
✩彡 Master Sol - Bittersuite | استاد سول
I can't fall in love with you.
He's choking on his guilt again. Scorching memories reciting hymns of fire and black smoke. He can not love, he can not pine, his romances always end in doom. End in bitter blood drenching stars and ghosts scattered across solar systems. Sol can not love you, he must not love you. You're safer out of his reach.
L'amour de ma vie.
He wants to be the one, etching galaxies across your heart and spilling stars into your bones with every kiss. Your smile dips his world in midday pink, all roses and sun blooms. Your voice trails after him, haunting halls and abandoned training rooms. Your name sticks inside his throat, sticky caramel abrading his tongue to be let loose. Love of his life.
Love so bittersweet.
There are other universes, he likes to think, where his mistakes are little and he has the right to hold you in his arms. You call out to him during missions, all epithets and formality, he longs to hear to say 'Sol'. just 'Sol'.
Longs to kiss you in the dark where his memories can't reach him. You're so bittersweet…
"(Y/n)…"
⭒⭒✮ Yord Fandar - Halley’s Comet | یورد فندار
I don't want it.
He chews on the thought of you, sour under his tongue. He watches you parry under the stars, saber humming orthodox hymns. He can spill lies from his lips like coronal rain. But the confession never sticks, he shouldn't want this, want you.
And I don't want to want you.
In his dreams he's more honest, leaving a galaxy of love bites across the vast expansion of your essence. Kissing the dark corners of your eyes and sucking tenderly on the pearls of your spine, open-mouthed when he reaches your nape. Curling fingers in the nebula of your hair. You sing his name so freely it has him seeing stars.
But you're all it takes to break a promise.
He kisses you, against the temple wall, drinking in your devotion like elysian ichor. The stars in your eyes explode, whispering tenets between each breath. He feels the force reverberating between your bones, holy, ethereal. This is wrong, fundamentally, spiritual, he doesn't want to want you…But he has to.
"I, I need you."
༻｡｡☾ Qimir - Bossa Nova | قیمیر
Love when it makes you lose your bearings.
His love is an asteroid field, cataclysmic and labyrinthine, always dodging bullets aimed point blank at tattered hearts. He's always caught wondering who's truly lost. You or him. Swimming through wandering stars and pretending it's just a force-willed romance. But love doesn't lie to keep one compliant. Caging you between quasars and stella novae.
Some information is not for sharing.
"Eyes down, you've not yet earned to see my face"
You obey, little lamb that you are. Eyes tracing the ebony of his boots. He wonders if he should tell you, grasp your chin, and force his mask off. Shatter your world with his eyes. But you're too cute like this, pining after your master and playing little lovers with Qimir. It's torture most sweetly, he traces the crown of your hair with metal instead of lips, whispering sabbath shibboleths into your head. His love is red in every way.
A lot can change in twenty seconds. A lot can happen in the dark.
The cave is pitch dark, hidden from prying moonlight. It's in the dark that Sith revel in the dark that they renew. Qimir knows some things can only be confessed in blood. That's why he pushes the jagged edges of stars between your lips. Apex of your throat in hand forcing you beneath him. You giggle stardust as he marrs your bones, kissing cuts and open wounds. He lets his mask slide off, to the tune of your heartbeat. Savoring its clank and all it entails. Your shock and fear taste delicious on his tongue as does your fruitless struggle. He kisses you again all passion and possession. He likes you better when you taste of horror and shattered realities.
"You belong to me..."
✧࿐ Torbin - Birds of a Feather | توربین
We should stick together.
You pull him through the temple, laughing as you run away from another angry master. Torbin follows lovestruck, he sees peace in your eyes, in your smile. Hears it in the candance of your voice. He kisses your knuckles when you beat him at saber practice and passes you heart-shaped sticky notes during lessons. He wants to be here with you forever. Together in an eternal blush.
I'd never think I wasn't better alone.
He whispers your name between breaths, kissing each syllable. He traces your face in the stars, cursing the remote planets he's been sent to. He misses you, but the phrase is never quite worded right, his master can never know, never understand the rhyme behind his eagerness.
Home, home, home. He repeats the words with frantic reverence. Home is where the lights paint you in their heavenly glow. Where you hold his hand and kiss fireflies across his cheek. Home is you, it's always been you…
I'll love you 'til the day that I die.
You trace the scar across his eye, dejected. Torbin kisses the hollow of your palm, basking in your presence. He made it back to you, that's all that matters. Not the witches or the massacred planet. Not the disappointment of his master or Sol's new apprentice. You're the only thing that matters to him, the only thing that has ever mattered.
"Stay with me forever my love."
Happy final week of the Acolyte!! It's been a great 7 weeks ~💜
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She/her. Requests are OPEN for Tom Riddle and Aemond Targaryen! Rude=Blocked.FREE PALESTINEReality shifter, writer, and reader.
241 posts