WOWWWWWWWWWW

ABSOLUTELY AMAZING WORK

cw: rook is down bad and unashamed, nakedness, bathing (together), kissing

Rook felt that he was born to worship.

His divine duty was incomplete, thus far, for he could show devotion to no one, despite fawning over them. A part of him refrained; a piece that never clicked into place, forcing him to wander in search of who he was truly made to serve.

Gazing upon your alluring flesh, presented like a blessed offering before him, a voice, angelic or otherwise, seems to whisper to him that this is his true calling.

Hands calloused from the handling of a bow smooth over skin that shivers at the touch. Rook rubs slow, gentle circles into your hips with his thumbs on either side of your sacred frame, savouring the dip of your flesh at his hand. He’s never felt so human.

The heat of your back against his chest, the two of you a mix of flesh and limbs, brings a heady feeling upon him, as though your skin seeps intoxication, making his head spin and his heart flutter at the contact.

The water ripples gently around you as you turn to face him, to give him his divine command. He’s ready for anything you would ask of him: to kiss, to kill, to die, to worship your body or merely the ground you honour by walking upon it. Everything he has, he lays before you.

As your touch smooths across his face, your thumb stroking gently at his cheek before trailing down to his damp chest, Rook feels you wash away all the others; anyone before you is pointless, the memory of their existence consumed and burnt up by your sweetened breath.

His breath catches in his throat when your honeyed lips ghost over his own. His gratitude is endless, silent vows of servitude echoing through his mind with each brush of your lips upon his throat.

He’s utterly compelled by your amorous touch, something euphoric stirring deep in his gut. There’s no choice, only something like fate stringing him up and pulling him along; falling inconsolably into your depths.

based on the hc that rollo is twsts version of french and rook isn’t

AGHAGHFFFJK AHHHHH OMGGGG WOWOWOWOW

sypnosis. a queen waits for the return of the man who promised he would always come back. her lover, who disappeared years ago chasing an adventure only he could see. the court demands a king, and suitors press in, but she remains unmoved, weaving a shroud of time until he returns. then, a challenge: whoever can string her betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes will claim the throne. the suitors fail, but the beggar steps forward, rook, disguised. the bow bends, the arrow flies true, and rook stands before her, alive, and home at last.

note. i was listening to “the challenge” and thought of rook, stupidly enough cause of the bow & i immediately thought of “rook would love this” but you get it ^^’’ !!! immediate apologies if it may seem ooc, or off grammar (unfortunately, english isn’t my first language)

𝕿He. . . loom stretches before you, a seemingly endless web of threads that twine and twist in complex patterns. It feels like an impossible task, one you can never quite complete. Each morning, your fingers move with purpose, the rhythmic motion of weaving pulling you deeper into the task, a desperate distraction from the ache in your chest. Each night, when the rest of the castle has drifted into slumber, you return to the loom to unravel the threads, as if in some way, that will erase the time that’s passed — the time that you’ve been forced to endure without him. They do not know. The suitors who fill your court like hungry wolves — bright smiles and velvet robes hiding the sharp edges of ambition — believe you are near the end, that soon, you will choose a new king.

But you are still his.

He left you years ago, chasing a challenge that only he could see. The great hunter, the man who had seen beauty in every fleeting moment, had sworn to return. His final words still echo in your memory: “Mon amour,” he had whispered, breath warm against your temple, hands pressing over yours. “I leave not for adventure, but for the promise of coming home to you. What is love, if not the patience to wait?”

But patience is cruel, and faith wears thin when it is constantly tested by the long silence between you. The world does not stop spinning while you wait for a man who might never return. You have held your breath for years, hoping against hope that the promise he left you would hold true, but as the days turn into months, and the months into years, you begin to wonder if perhaps the sea has swallowed him whole.

The kingdom stirs. The whispers grow louder each day. It has been too long. He is gone. A queen cannot rule alone forever, they say. And so they press closer, thousands of men draped in velvet and gold, smiles dripping with false sweetness, eyes gleaming with greed. They speak of duty, of stability. They speak of the future.

But what of the past?

The love you held for Rook is not something fragile that can be traded away. It is not a thing to be bartered like the throne you sit upon. And yet, the court grows impatient, the vultures circling, waiting for their moment to swoop in.

“Your Majesty,” one of them says, his voice smooth as silk, his hand lingering too long on the armrest of your throne. “The throne needs a king.“

“A nation without a ruler is weak,” another murmurs, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous than mere concern. “Choose, and we will grant you peace.”

Peace? How.. humourous. As if the love you hold for Rook could ever be bought, as if it were something to be sacrificed to ease their hunger. As if you are not the woman who has held the kingdom together, the queen who ruled with strength and wisdom while he was lost to the world. But they do not understand. They never have.

Still, they will not stop.

So, you buy yourself time. But, is it for yourself?

“I will choose,” you say, your voice steady, betraying none of the chaos inside. “As soon as I finish weaving this shroud.”

They believe you. And so, the cycle continues.

Day after day, you sit at the loom, hands moving with mechanical precision, the rhythm of the work a small comfort in a world that no longer makes sense. You tell yourself that you will be free once it is finished, that once you have completed the task, you can let go. But every night, you return to unravel the work of the day, pulling the threads free, watching the promise of completion slip away like sand through your fingers.

And unexpectedly, the storm will come by.

Huh, the weather today.. seems peculiar. I wonder.

You thought, the sky today looks unlike anything you have ever seen, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the sea thrashing wildly as though it too were in mourning. The wind howls, rattling the castle walls, and in the darkness of that night, something shifts in the air, a whisper, a possibility. Could it be—?

No.

But still, there is a flicker of something. Was it hope? Something that makes your pulse quicken, something that stirs in your chest and makes your breath catch in your throat.

You do not sleep that night. The next morning, the court is restless, but you do not care. Another suitor has arrived. You barely glance up at first, prepared for the same hollow flattery, the same empty promises they have all offered. Another face, another man desperate for the throne. And then—

“Your Majesty.”

The voice is low, rich, unmistakably familiar.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You lift your gaze, and the breath leaves your lungs.

There, standing before you in the grand hall, disguised as nothing more than a beggar? A tattered cloak hanging from his shoulders, boots caked in dust, golden hair hidden beneath a hood, is him.

Rook.

“Mon amour,” he breathes, and it is neither a plea nor a question. It is a vow renewed, a promise fulfilled.

The court does not understand why your fingers clutch the armrests of your throne, why your breath trembles in your throat. They do not understand the weight of this moment, the storm that has raged inside you for years, breaking now into sunlight.

But they will.

“A challenge,” you announce, your voice ringing out through the hall, silencing the murmur of voices. “The one who can string my betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes shall take the throne beside me.”

The suitors laugh. They know the stories of Rook’s war bow — the weapon only he had ever been able to wield.

The bow itself, was a testament to strength, a mark of kingship, a relic of a past only one man could claim. Crafted long before his reign, it was a thing of unyielding power, curved in a perfect arc. Only he can wield.

One by one, they step forward, pride on their faces, convinced that they, too, can master the impossible. One by one, they fail. The bow does not bend to their hands. The string does not yield. Each failure cracks their pride, their frustration mounting as they realize that they are not Rook.

And then, the beggar steps forward. The court erupts into laughter.

“Surely, Your Majesty, you do not mean to let this vagrant attempt—”

But you do not stop him. You do not move, barely even breathe as he steps forward, his hands brushing against the polished wood of the bow, a deep, knowing silence settling over the room.

With a swift movement, the bow bends. The string sings its familiar song as he draws it taut, the echo of it resonating through your very bones. You can feel the air shift, the energy in the room snapping like a taut wire.

The arrow flies.

The sound of it is pure. Sharp and true, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It whistles cleanly through each of the twelve axes, the force of it a declaration. A promise.

Silence.

And then, he lifts his head. The hood falls away.

Rook stands before you, golden-haired and smiling, as if no time at all had passed. As if he had never left.

You take a step forward, your breath catching in your throat, but you do not move too quickly, afraid that he might vanish as suddenly as he appeared.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it carries through the silence like a blade.

Rook’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with the same wild fire you remember. “Ah, mon amour,” he breathes. “But I am here.”

And then, he kneels before you.

The years between you crash down like a tidal wave, the weight of everything you’ve endured settling heavily upon your chest. You do not hesitate. You move toward him, your hands trembling as they find his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, as if memorizing the feel of you, the texture of your skin beneath his fingers.

“I should kill you for making me wait,” you whisper, your voice breaking with the ache of all that has been lost and found again.

“And yet,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “you have never looked more beautiful than you do now, in your fury.”

You let out a breath, half a sob, half a laugh. But it is enough. It is everything. You pull him to you, your lips crashing against his, desperate and alive, the years of longing melting into this single, fleeting moment.

The court watches, but you do not care. The suitors recoil, but you do not see them. There is only Rook. his hands in your hair, his arms around you, the warmth of him solid and real after all these years. When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours, and the world is suddenly right again.

“You came back,” you whisper, a question, a plea, a confession.

“Always,” he swears, his voice rough and raw. “I will always find my way back to you.” This time, you believe him.

That night, the castle breathes with a new kind of silence. The suitors have left, some in anger, others in shame, their ambitions shattered like glass beneath the weight of inevitability. The whispers of the court fade into the distant hum of the sea, and for the first time in years, you are alone.

But you are not lonely.

Rook stands before you in your chambers, no longer the beggar who had slipped unnoticed through the doors, but the hunter who had once stolen your heart with laughter and reckless devotion. He is older now —sharper in some places, softened in others — but when he smiles, it is the same as it ever was. Wild and knowing, like he has already mapped out every thought in your head before you can voice it.

And yet, for the first time since his return, he hesitates.

“You are staring, mon amour.” His voice is lighter now, teasing, but underneath it, there is something else. Something unspoken.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “You disappeared for years, Rook. Forgive me if I wish to confirm that you are not merely a ghost come to haunt me.”

His lips twitch. “And if I were?”

“Then I would curse you for eternity,” you say, stepping closer, until only a breath separates you. “And still, I would not let you leave.”

The teasing falters in his expression, giving way to something raw, something that makes your pulse thunder in your ears. His hands, calloused and sure, come up to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the curve of your cheek. “I was gone too long,” he admits, a confession, a wound.

“Yes.”

“I have no excuse.”

“No.”

His fingers tighten, the breath in his chest shuddering. “And yet—” He swallows, eyes burning gold in the candlelight. “Would you still have me, knowing that I am a man who loses himself in the hunt?”

Your breath catches. Not because you do not know the answer, but because he would even dare to ask.

You take his hand, pressing his palm flat against your chest, where your heart beats strong and steady. “You left,” you say. “And I waited. And I cursed you. And I wept for you. And still—” You inhale, exhale, let the weight of the years settle between you before crushing them beneath your next words. “Still, my heart knows only your name.”

Rook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but it is too broken, too relieved to be anything but the unraveling of something long-held. “Then it seems,” he murmurs, leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, “I have found my way home after all.”

He kisses you, it is not with the desperation of before. It is steady, certain. It is the promise he made you all those years ago, at last fulfilled.

© 2025 padf-0-ot . i only post in this app ^ᴗ^

Stop now I wanna write a crackfic with romance abt this RAHHHHHH

Do you think General Lilia Vanrouge would leave the head of your enemy at your door?? You know, as a courting gift??

He wants to court you but doesn’t know how. So he asked the two that are in a happy marriage (his first mistake) and Baul Zigvolt (his second mistake maybe).

Meleanor and Levan’s response: “The head of your enemy.” (One of them is messing with him and the other is serious.)

Baul Zigvolt: “Anything from the Great Right General will be valued!” (He’s being genuine)

And…he listens to them like a fool.

You wake up to see a box by your door one day. Lo and behold, a head!

[Like a cat, he has brought you a gift. Look! Hasn’t he done well? See how capable he is?? Lolol]

PART 2 OF "I LOVE YOU" IS GONNA BE UP TOMORROWWWW (I DONT THINK ANYONE'S GOANN READ THIS)

Edit: i dont know if ppl looked at this post but it's up guys

PLEASE I'M BEGGING Y'ALL, SEND ME REQUESTS PLEASE I GYATT TO WRITE BUT I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH BRAIN JUICE TO KNOW WHAT

(I'm working on a longer project right now and will announce it soon, but till then I want to write some other fics such as oneshots, headcanons etc.)

-Brownie

No words. I love this.

can you do malleus x y/n?

Do you?

Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader

TW: None, just fluff!

Malleus Draconia, the stoic Fae prince, and future ruler of the Briar Valley had always been a figure of intimidation. Since he was born, no one had ever dared to go against the prince. It was surely wonderful to be respected as such, even feared.

Yet, he couldn't help but feel so dreadfully lonely.

Everyone saw him as a prince, a man who would one day rule over all faeries, a man who who could kill in just a snap of his fingers.

A boy who was never invited to events, a boy who was feared so much that he never lived like a child. A boy who's name could cause thousands, if not millions, to cower.

Then why were you not scared?

Why was it that whenever you saw him, you smiled? Why was he always greeted as an individual, a friend, whenever he met up with you? Why did you trust him so easily?

Were you foolish or naive? He did not know, but what he did know was that you were endearing, a sort of light amidst his black and white world.

You had opened his eyes to what friendship was, what it was like to be cared for unconditionally.

Yet he was greedy. It was in his nature, after all, he was a dragon. He was a dragon who wanted to hoard this newfound treasure.

That treasure was you.

You weren't like his retainers, you never served under him. Nor were you like his followers, you never worshipped him. Then what were you?

The simple idea of someone so peculiar messed with his brain. He wasn't sure what category you were part of. You started off as "just a human" a very peculiar one, but still a mere human.

"Tsunotarou!" You'd say with that same goofy smile plastered on your face. Did you really not know what he was capable of, or were you just that brave?

Yet, whenever you said that name, reaching your arms out to engulf him in your embrace, he couldn't help but smile. The corners of his lips tugged to a grin, showcasing his sharper teeth as he returned the gesture.

He didn't know when nor did he know how it happened, but soon enough, you weren't just a human anymore.

You were his human, his peculiar human that he wanted more than just a friend.

He wanted to be more than "Tsunotarou".

His greed longed for your love, his greed longed for your touch, his greed longed for you.

"Child of man, what do you see me as..?" He asked, his voice deep as usual, his left hand cupping your face. He leaned down to your height, his lips awfully close to your neck.

"What am I to you?" He asked, his voice a whisper. The room seemed to go silent as you stood there, his free hand snaking around your waist.

What started of as a normal walk in the woods, turned into something more serious, much more intimate. The way his right hand snaked around your waist as the other one cupped your face, it was all so confusing, yet so fitting.

Fireflies seemed to dance around you, illuminating the dark night. The wind made the trees dance, the moon seeming a bit too dreamy than usual, as it made a pond nearby glow. The scene was right out of a fairytale, and it seemed as if he were a prince and you were his fated lover.

This was the first time he'd been so outright blunt with you, and so awfully close. Yet, it felt nice, the way his hands fit against you, the way his breath felt on you neck, and the way the blood rushed to your cheeks.

As he moved away from you neck, you looked up at him, your neck craning a bit. His emerald eyes looked into yours with something you couldn't explain, they were seeking an answer, they were longing for you.

"You're Tsunotarou, my friend..." You replied, your mind running a bit too fast for your liking as your heart skipped a beat. What was happening to you? You weren't sure what he was hinting at, what exactly was he asking, so you stated the obvious.

He wasn't stupid, he already knew this. He wanted to know more, what exactly he meant to you, what the possibilities were.

He pulled you closer, your face buried in his chest as he leaned down a bit so you could hear his words as clearly as possible.

"What if I want to be more than friends?" He asked, as the arm gripped around your waist tightened.

"You've given me the chance to experience friendship, something I am deeply grateful for. Yet, friendship doesn't soothe the longing in my heart." His words were careful, slowly reaching the goal he was aiming for.

"I want to be yours."

He let go of you slightly, allowing his eyes to look into yours. His grip loosened a bit as he waited for you to run off, for he may have made you uncomfortable. Yet you didn't, you simply stood there in his loosened embrace.

Your face was flushed, the usual childlike smile nowhere to be found. Instead, your face was red, an expression he'd never attained from you, an expression that he wished to see more of.

The fireflies still danced in the night, the moon glowing brightly, the trees swayed with delight, as you two stood there, relishing in the serenity.

"Do you long for me as much as I long for you?"

Note: Sorry for leaving at kind of a cliffhanger but I wasn't sure how far I was supposed to go and whether it was supposed to be wholesome or more heated. Please do give me more premises and ideas to write about, it would be greatly appreciated.

If you enjoyed it please interact with this post and.or follow me to support! If you wish to request something please read the pinned post first! Thank you!

Love at first sight

Tw: A few swear words (fucked up etc) but it's nothing intimate just a few curses people say when they're angry.

Love at first sight was something he didn't believe in, something he didn't want to believe in. Yet, life seemed to have other plans since he'd seen you.

He wouldn't deny how incredibly cliché it sounded if he ever dared say it out loud. But, he was so madly captivated by you that it was outright stupid.

He felt like a goddamn fool but he had to admit it, it was love at first fucking sight. The way you spoke, the way you looked, the way you acted, everything was just so pretty.

He didn't even notice it at first, the way you consumed his thoughts, living in his mind rent-free. His mind always seemed to wander off, memories of what you did today replaying in his mind. The things you told him, the things he overheard you saying to your friends, and even the songs you were humming. He remembered everything, no matter how much he wanted to focus elsewhere.

He wouldn't deny how annoying it was, the way you could entrance him so easily. His face would flush red whenever he saw you smile, elated when he got to sit anywhere near you, yet so incredibly nervous too.

It wasn't even funny looking at how oblivious you were, unknowingly making him act like a madman who's lovesick for you. He would say he hated it, yet how how could he?

After all, you were just so endearing that even looking at you from afar felt like a prize. And when he got to speak to you, there was no doubt that he was over the goddamn moon.

Still, his words would play so smoothly in his mind, a small cough before he spoke, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say. Yet, for some reason he was never satisfied because his words came out so idiotically. They were either too rough, mean, or simply rude. It was either him speaking arrogantly not that he meant to or he was stuttering mess, one who fumbled his words over and over again.

Yet, he would obviously never let you know that he fucked up his words, no matter how rude or dumb they sounded. He wouldn't admit how much of a loser he was, especially because you didn't seem to notice, smiling like usual. No, he wouldn't mess up a chance with you, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be a flustered mess after stuttering.

Still, he hoped you thought about him as he thought about you. He craved you so much, so mindlessly. He wanted you to be the same as him, for you to be down bad.

He'd never let you know, but he wanted your thoughts to be consumed by him, for you to constantly day-dream about him. He wanted him to be a distraction in your life, he wanted you to experience how annoying you were.

He wanted you to experience his love for you.

"Love at first sight"

Note: I'm sorry I haven't been posting often, i've just been so drained lately and schoolwork is taking up my time. It will take time to finish requests so I hope you all can be patient.

Still, feel free to request as I'll get back to it whenever I have the time and if it is something I'm willing to write. There is a post on my blog (I think it is pinned?) which goes into detail about the rules and fandoms I write about. If you have any questions regarding it, (want to request something but don't know if I follow the fandom/will write about it etc) just do it. Try asking it as a question first if you're unsure as I will get back to it, and if I say yes then I will work on the request (even though it will take time). Please feel free to leave comments on how I can improve or any grammatical mistakes (+ etc) I made throughout my writing. Any critical feedback is appreciated, as long as it is respectful.

Ps: Thank you for reading and please like/reblog/comment etc if you enjoyed!

TWST Rambles #2

7 reasons why me and you need Rook Hunt in our lives (someone get me this man rn)

Bro compliments the living macarons outta you. Not only will you know his compliment's aren't half assed, because of how elaborate they are, but he's also gonna compliment ur insecurities to the point where ur not insecure anymore.

Bro literally knows you inside and out (Let me be delulu and phrase "he is a stalker" in a pretty manner). You're craving your favorite food? He gotchu, he already bought it and cooked it. You're looking for a missing hairbrush? Don't worry, he just took it for a second to collect your hair, you can have it back now. Oh you're feeling down? He knows exactly what'll cheer you up a shirtless him poems and songs about how much he admires you in french.

He can be your bodyguard: Bro's a literal hunter so he's got a great physique and great aim, meaning, if someone's bothers you they prolly won't have a head by the end of the day. Not to mention how people won't bother you just by knowing Rook knows and adores you.

He's the master of making you feel loved and gorgeous. He's in pomefiore- he knows what's gonna help with self esteem, looks, and whatnot. Plus, you need a back-rub? He gotchu cause he prolly got trained for it. You want a spa-day? He's already in your room with all the supplies needed and a relaxing bath drawn for you to wind down in. Ignore the fact that he's gonna watch you bathe

Il parle français. Just that. Like why wouldn't you want a french speaking cutie-patootie stalker that adores everything you do? He is the dream prince charming but just a lil more quirky. He's just built different.

He's absolutely gorgeous. You need eye-candy? He is said eye-candy. Ignore the bob-cut, he just liked dora a bit too much

He's Rook Hunt. Period.