#I regretted letting him play kingdom hearts

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was young we had this little blue Toyota truck. It was an absolute piece of shit, but it stayed in the family for ages.

It was really easy to steal and consequently got stolen several times. We always got it back though. Anyone could’ve stolen it, really. With no car jacking experience necessary anyone could drive off in it. Even you. This truck was like an excessively friendly lab, it would go home with anyone.

Foremost in ease of theft, neither door locked. But second and only slightly less easy: the truck would accept anything as a key.

My dad kept a loose saw blade on the dash to use as a key. The first time I saw him do it I was horrified that instead of a key the ignition answered to a loose bit of a power tool.

When my dad saw my expression he held up the saw blade and made an attempt to connect with the youth.

He said, “Look! It’s the keyblade!”

[bowieandqueen11]

Sanji And Reader Being Smitten With Each Other Would Include...

Request: Headcanons of sanji with a crush or s/o who is absolutely smitten? Like always glancing or looking at him. Probably got punched across a room in battle after admiring sanji. Literally always looks at him with heart eyes.

My love this is so sweet but honestly I feel like Sanji is exactly the same so I hope you don't mind Sanji being just as smitten with reader :)

Warning: slightly NSFW, mentions of smoking and mentions of blood/ injury!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @suuho.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

I mean look at Mr. Heart Eyes right here so let's just say that you're smitten? You're with the perfect man then because oh my goooossshh have you driven ZORO crazy with how infatuated the two of you are with each other. This poor swordsman has to spend 90% of his time barrel rolling you out of the way and diving in front of Sanji because you dopey dumbasses (affectionate in my case and derogatory in Zoro's) will just not. stop. gaping. at. each. other.

It all started when you agreed to escape the Germa Kingdom with your young princely friend; for many a year, since that fateful day he had literally walked face first into you while you were pretend playing pirates with some of your school chums in the marketplace, Sanji had been inseparable from you. Whether it was him sneaking out to find some solace in your welcoming home, or you trudging over the imposing walls of the palace so you could sneak down into the dungeons and hold a weeping Sanji's hand through the bar grates, you had been the one thing in his life since his mother's passing that had kept him sane.

And now here you were: worried eyes dampened by the torrential rain, but still peering over his face on that desolate rock the three of you ended up shipwrecked on. The whole eighty five days the two of you were stuck on that lonely side, with nothing but the unending stretch of unsultry gloam to keep you company, Sanji believed you were an angel sent to keep him safe. It was the way you shoved the crummy tins you had managed to shovel into your pockets while the ship was going down into Sanji's arms, shaking your head and pressing them further into his stomach as he began to protest. It was the lack of care you had for yourself, so intent you were with making sure he was doing as well as he possibly could: scooping murky water out of the crevices with your hands, just so you could run back and let it trickle down your fingertips and against his chapping lips. How some nights you hadn't slept a wink, too busy chasing away the growing whirlwind of seagulls that circled over your heads, diving down to try and peck at Sanji's burning legs. Making sure that he was tucked tightly under the overhanging edge of a crag, relinquishing the only bit of cover on this small island so Sanji could at least be a little sheltered from the constant downpour. Not only that, but you had even tried to comfort him: offering him a tired smile as you let your fingers shakily run through his hair and tuck away the stubborn curls behind his right ear.

He had held you against him then, as tightly as he could. Wracking with shivers, he couldn't quite figure out if it was due to the freezing cold wind that blew in from the North and snapped at his fingers, or the growing guilt that left him sniffling against your shoulder. It was so hard to focus on anything, with the sleet biting at his face, the imposing waves eating away at the stones beneath your feet. So he did the only thing his dispirited mind could still home in on: the one thing he would regret never doing, if he really were to wane away on this forsaken rock. He let his eyes flutter close, and he used the crash of lightening to mask his thundering heart as he tilted his head up and bashfully pecked your cheek.

For a moment, you thought it was just another hot splash of rain, until you caught sight of Sanji pulling away quickly and ducking his head in embarrassment.

'I-I don't know if we'll ever- well, I'm giving that kiss to you as a loan. I fully expect to get it back.' He managed to rouse some kind of meagre conviction in his hollow voice as he turned to watch your reaction; when he realised you weren't horrified, but instead were wide-eyed with shock as your pointer finger glazed over the wet mark left on your skin, he found himself hopeful for the first time in his life.

God, the two of you were both so gone. It was haunting, in its own beautiful way, as you gripped onto his hand and squeezed.

Far too many times has Zeff nearly blown the kitchen down with the amount of boiling smoke pouring out of his ears due to you two. It wasn't your fault that you had been assigned to the kitchen for your shift: Zeff should have known better, considering the exact same thing had happened yesterday... and the day before... and the year before that and so on, until your hand resembled more bandage than actual skin. You couldn't help it. It was just far too enticing- something so enchanting drawing your attention away from julienning your carrots to instead focus on the way Sanji's taut muscles rippled underneath his shirt as he sautéed. It was as if he had spellbound your eyes so they followed his form around, gladly taking in and making note of the idiosyncrasies you recognised from childhood: the way he still bites his bottom lip when he's really concentrating on stirring, the revulsion on his face as he absentmindedly unscrews a spice jar and takes a sniff, finding it to be oregano.

When you gash across your ring finger and start pooling blood onto the chopping board, though, is when the spell finally breaks and the shouting starts. 'Forth time this week!', he wags his finger at you. 'Forth time this week I've had to bloody throw out good equipment!'

'Was that seriously a pun?', Sanji asks, following on your heel like a swarming shadow as you hobble over to the sink. Zeff bites his tongue as Sanji shakes his head at him: this was an argument they had had far too many times. He had almost, almost resigned himself to the fact that Sanji would, and has, dropped the plates he was carrying to the floor with a resounding crash to run over and care for you. Thankfully, this was the perfect opportunity for Sanji to wrap gauze around your finger, before using an 'old fisherman's tale for healing grievous wounds' by peppering kisses against your knuckle to make you laugh.

Once, you were caught admiring him across your shared work station; the dishes stacking up to be washed were long forgotten as you spent ten minutes absentmindedly running your soapy sponge over the same plate, too busy letting your eyelashes flutter down to watch Sanji's skilful hands work. If you had let your gaze settle for just one more second, you would have seen Sanji raise his eyes to observe your face, lingering far too long on the rising curve of your Cupid's Bow. He bit his bottom lip, trying to stop the peach from flushing along his ears as he imagined how it would feel to swipe his tongue against your lips. When your eyes finally lock, the two of you end up so flustered about being caught that you both immediately go running off in different directions for your fifteen minute breaks.

It's not until the late evening, when everything is finally stowed away and only the late party-goers of the ship are still milling about by the bar that Sanji reappears. His head pops around the door like a surprised meerkat, rapping his knuckles against the office door and smiling as you kicked out the velvet stool next to you, beckoning him in. You drop the pen you were fiddling with when he magics the dish he had been working on earlier from behind his back, the heavenly aroma of your favourite childhood dessert overwhelming your senses as he settles next to you.

'I remember that this was your favourite, and-. Well, a sweet treat for a sweet treat, don't you think darling?'

You hum as you take the first bite, dragging the spoon along your bottom lip and throwing your head back in delight. Little did you notice the effect the warm, low vibration and sight of your plush lip dragging spit against the metal had on Sanji. He squirmed in his chair, swallowing thickly as he did his best to straighten his spine and look presentable: not like someone who was finding it harder and harder to hide the tingling feeling burning in his groin at the sight of you. God, just one noise and he was becoming undone.

He nearly cries out when you lean forward, so close he could nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours. God, does he want to. Instead he becomes slack jawed, eyes glazing over with pure want as you use your thumb and pointer finger to grip onto his chin. You tug down, opening his mouth and replacing the space with a fresh spoonful of his sweet dessert. He forgets how to breathe as he watches you glide the spoon out past his locked lips. It's only when you swipe away a little bit of cream left behind on his bottom lip line with your tongue, that he finally jolts. You just giggle, bringing the spoon back to your own mouth and sucking off the remnants of chocolate as Sanji does his best to stop his breath shuddering with soft squeaks.

His heart is about to spill out onto the floor: the trajectory of his life wrapped so firmly around the sweet twilight embrace of your tide that he would find it a pleasure to drown. You were his best friend. The love of his life. And he understands in that moment, with a realisation he could never unlearn, that he would go through every moment that led, every hardship, every bit of pain to get here again. He would do it all, if it meant he ended here with you.

But he only sighs and smiles fondly as you reach up to tuck that damn stubborn curl of hair back behind his ear again.

As soon as he made it back to his room, he slammed the door and fell back against it. With a hand thrown over his face, he groaned inwardly at how oblivious he had been. How much time he had wasted being afraid. But it was okay. He understood now. It had always been you. This. He was made more of you than he was of himself.

The next night, just after your shift, you find him leaning casually against the back door of the Baratie: his legs crossed out in front of him, watching the waves lap up serenely against the docks. His back rests against the shimmer of the bottle-green fish scales, making him seem almost other-worldly as the sun dips over his body. It fades from a warm yellow against his fringe, settling onto a melted honey running over his twirling cigarette, bowing with a crushed violet against his tapping heel.

You two have spent the last thirteen years endlessly circling each other's orbits without the eventual collide, that it didn't take long for you to find him. Tucking yourself against his shoulder, Sanji offers you a smile full of solace: an unspoken acknowledgement that he had been waiting out here for your arrival.

That despite all the hours and hours he had droned on about finding the All Blue, he wanted to be here with you - hell, he wanted to be anywhere with you. Even though he couldn’t find the right words to say it, still so unused to the daunting vehemence of requited love, it showed in the lift of his rose-tinted cheeks. In the flutters of the lines on his forehead. Sanji knew one thing in his life was certain, no matter how his future panned out: he loved you with every fibre of his being.

He grabs at your fingers, gently guiding them up to his lips. Pursing them, he places your fingertips around the mouthpiece and stares over the butt as he takes a final inhale, firm perch stopping you from getting away. As the stream of smoke floods out from the corner of his mouth, he allows you to pluck the cigarette away and toss it into the ocean.

'Y/n, I-', he starts breathlessly, turning his torso so he's giving you his undivided attention. He looks terrified - even more so when you quickly interrupt him by talking over his quivering confession.

'I have something to give back to you.' Your tone is so serious, Sanji's head bucks back in confusion.

'...Well, love. If you stole my apron again, don't sweat it.' He shoves his hands into his pockets, finding his courage draining away as you stare indiscernibly straight at him. 'Zeff has enough in the spare cupboard that we could dress up every Marine in a new uniform-'

'No, I mean- well', you shake your head and look up at the sky. 'I've been meaning to give it back for a long time now, but I guess delivery is pretty slow out in the middle of bloody nowhere', you laugh breathlessly, appreciating the way Sanji's worried eyebrow creases settle at the joke. You swear, golden treasures buried at the bottom of the ocean couldn't gleam as ferociously as Sanji's eyes do as he finally catches onto your meaning, his mouth dropping open.

His breath hitches in his throat, and his chin drops down to his neck in shock as you lean to your right and finally press your pliant lips against his own. Your fingers are quick to spread over his cheek, twirling through his loose curl once again as he falls against you; he almost crushes you with his full weight, but is quick to curve his spine and bow over you, little whimpers following his open mouth.

For a moment, as a thin trail of spit joins your brushing lips, Sanji has no idea how to react. Well, that is until he registers shock ripples delightfully lashing up his spine as you shove him back against the wall, his mouth falling open again in allowance for your tongue to lash in and fill the empty space: to suffocate his whines.

The look on the rest of the cooks' faces as the two of you come stumbling back in is priceless. The two of you really thought you had gotten away with it: if it weren't for the wall being shaken hard enough to rouse a Kraken from its slumber, and the slurred string of French curses and praises stuttering out of Sanji's lips and through the open door, you almost might have.

It's so worth it. Sanji just coughs into his clenched fist, fixing his lopsided tie and doing his best to use the flat edge of his thumb to try and wipe away some of the ruddiness from his swelling bottom lip. But when he slides his fingers in-between yours, a shy smile masked by a playful wink thrown back at you, do you know the two of you won't be able to keep your eyes (or your hands) off each other for the rest of the dining service.

When two of your 'charming' customers have a disagreement over their seating arrangements, you're too busy admiring how Sanji's thighs strain against his pressed trousers to see the trouble coming your way. It's only when one of them comes hurtling towards you and knocks you and your drinks tray ass over kettle that you become enraged. Before Sanji can even reach you to apologise, you've launched the customer off of you with a swift kick, managing to jab Sanji in the abdomen in the process. Doubling over, he falls on his face on top of you. I've got to be honest, neither of you are exactly complaining about your sudden arrangement. Once you've finished giggling and checking each other over, you realise that an inch lower, and short pant of Sanji's heaving breath against your breast and your lips would be brushing together.

The two of you would have turned into a tangled mess of heavy making out right there and then if Zeff hadn't come swinging out of the kitchen to see what all the ruckus was about.

Istg this poor man does his best to give the two of you jobs at opposite ends of the Baratie, only to nearly tug his braided beard out when a customer complains that their service is slow because, *surprise surprise*, the two of you are slacking off together. Either you're making heart eyes at him during as you wait in the main dining area, using any opportunity to grip onto the meat of his waist and slide past him with a poor excuse about 'needing to get clean menus' and making him shiver with a fresh rush of goose bumps, or he's finding you. Even when you were confined to working behind the bar, Sanji still manages to convince the other cooks that he so desperately needs the new delivery of brandy for his new profiterole recipe. Of course, he only does it so when he's on his knees lifting out the boxes, he can leave you a gasping, flustering mess. With clenched hands sending curls of shredded wood down on top of his hair, Sanji just presses his knees forward and pays no notice. He's too busy gliding his hands underneath your shirt, splaying them across your your back as he shoves his nose into your stomach. Although he's careful to stay hidden from the customers, he adores the sound of your clenched whines too much to stop himself. He rolls up the hem, ravishing you with a wet trail of kisses over the band of your trousers; his tongue runs welts over your skin as his teeth suck underneath your bellybutton, his left hand snaking down to rest on your leg so he can grip his thumb against the inner seam of your thigh.

It's only when the pad of his pointer finger presses a little too close to your clothed groin and you spill a drink over a customer that you both stop.

Once the two of you join Luffy's crew, you and Zoro seem to be the perfect team to drive Zoro up the wall. He likes you just fine, but you and waiter together being all lovey dovey makes him want to jump head first overboard.

What makes it even better is the fact that during the attack on Coco Village, you were too busy being proud of Sanji on his spectacular form and fighting technique that you and Zeff had spent years teaching him, that you don't notice one of the Fish-Men grabbing your collar. Before you can even gasp, you've been punched straight across the water and have knocked Zoro and three of the guys he was fighting down like a speeding bowling ball.

From then on, Zoro sleeps in the Crow's Perch and nowhere else. If he's not being knocked down, he's being left wincing as he trains with bruises gained from your elbow jabbed into his back. It's not your fault if you sneak in to cuddle in Sanji's hammock every night, and Zoro's face just happens to be inches away from yours. Sanji still has nightmares of your shipwrecked days from time to time, and just the pressure of your hand against his arm is enough to rouse him from whatever oblivion he was beginning to sink into. A warmth immediately spills through him as the two of you spend most of the night talking, reminiscing, sharing secret smiles between lingering kisses that leave the two of you giddy.

You're always up before him, letting him sleep in for as long as you can with a final, lingering kiss to his tense forehead. You wait for him in the kitchen, a warm cup of tea cupped between your hands, and a second one waiting for him on the counter as he sleepily wanders in to start breakfast preparations. It's become a comforting routine: you placing your head on your hand and talking idly as you admire him, keeping him company.

He knows, though. He knows what you're really waiting for. He happily obliges once the eggs have begun to sizzle, coming to rest on the bench in front of you. He grabs onto your back, pulling you onto his lap until you were straddling his waist. With languid blinks, he leaves soft kisses against the edge of your mouth as you grind against him, delighting in the hoarse groan that bobs his Adam's Apple. You tug the hair at the nape of his neck before scraping your nails over the skin apologetically, but what other way were you going to get him to open his mouth for you? Besides, the jumbled rush of French words that leave his mouth in a pealing string as you slide your tongue over his pulse point is the most heavenly sound in the world.

You're only disturbed by the sound of Luffy's yawn. For a moment, he just scratches the back of his neck and looks between the two of you curiously.

'Y/n, how come only Sanji gets a good morning hug! Can I have one too!'

'No!'

[moonflower91]

Where You Go, I Go

"He's afraid of me."

"Yes," Saerah hummed back, her fingers running softly through the ends of his long silver hair. "He's an old man now. Short of time, patience and temper. Like as not to lash out. Daemon has spent his life at war -- in the Stepstones, with his brother, even poor Rhea Royce to a degree. Now, likely the biggest war looms on the horizon, and he did not draw first blood."

“The folly of the young, as grandfather said. Smarter to wait than draw first blood.”

She fixed him with a sidelong look. “I shall say naught, for to insult Daemon for his recklessness, is to insult my love.” Aemond only rolled his eye, and settled further down her body to rest his head in her lap. 

"I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day."

"I know. You did not leave me intending to kill anyone, nor did anyone expect such a little fool to be the bearer of Rhaenyra’s business. You left me intending to make a marriage offer." She said it softly, stroking his hair, but he could hear the fire behind the icy tone in which  she spoke.

"That work is done now, Saerah."  He all but grumbled, turning his face into her lap.

"Yes, yes it is. Anyway, Daemon is full of bile and pride, but he is beholden to Rhaenyra. I can only imagine how burned he feels, to be reined in like a mad dog. Especially by her—not only his young wife, but the one whom Viserys chose over him.”

"You believe that whore would stop him from winning the war for her?"

Saerah thought for a moment. “To a point. She has ruined herself forever now with Jaehaerys’ slaughter. Mayhaps she takes pause now to act an innocent. But as her losses pile higher, I think it will make her desperate.”

“We fly with larger dragons and possess a larger army, with some of the best military minds in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye. She and Daemon will die for Helaena and Aegon’s boy. Imagining how I might kill them has caused me  such dark thoughts of late. I’m frightened of them because I know I truly desire them.”

“Tell me.” He said, turning his head to look up at her.

She could not meet his eye, and stared out, watching the flames in the hearth. “I would burn all of her bastards alive, perhaps making her watch. And then, I'd keep her alive for a long while, to let her wallow in her agony, and have Daemon ripped apart by dogs. His limbs thrown into the filth of slums he once lorded over.”

Aemond scoffed. "You've thought about it quite extensively."

"What else can I do all day, trapped here in the Red Keep but think of ways to make them suffer?" Saerah did not enjoy the idea of murdering children, even if it was in vengeance. But that little child, sleeping in his bed, who loved stories and ponies and playing with his mother's long hair...to be butchered, to die in fear and pain…

Her fingers tangled in her brother's hair, heart speeding because it felt just. Almost. But she knew her pain and grief drove this feeling. It would not be justice, she knew. But how she longed for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s agony to sate the burning ache of her family’s suffering and grief .

"I was terribly lonely without you here, Aemond. If you leave me again, I shall follow you on Vexxa."

“And leave Helaena here? Alone with naught but her fears? With her broken heart?”

“Helaena has Mother beside her. And Jaehaera.”

“Whom she can hardly look at without running away in tears. Jahaera and the boy looked just alike.” Like we did , he thought. When they were very small, Alicent once told them, they’d looked so alike no one could tell them apart. Of course, that had changed as their personalities grew. 

“I am a selfish creature, then, for I will still follow.”

“I am selfish then, too, for I would let you.”

[buckysunshine]

lost in the fire – house of the dragon

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader, Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (tho no threesome)

Warnings: Smut (18+) ! A/B/O dynamics (just the heat aspect there’s no official alphas or omegas), Unprotected sex, Bareback riding, Public Sex, A little dub-con (the heat making her decisions for her), Incest (Uncle and niece, Step-dad and step-daughter). You have been warned!

Even though this is pure smut I can’t help myself and wrote in romance. AKA I’m a sucker for intimacy and pining. 

Synopsis: The Targaryens is a special kind of house. The reason for their advancement stems from a family secret. Unfortunately for you, the mystery comes to light in the most wretched circumstance – while in captivity. 

(Basically reader goes into heat while in imprisonment by the Greens. Reader is a Strong bastard, but won the genetic lottery of inheriting silver hair. Daemon is not the reader’s biological dad! But Aemond is her uncle.)

Word Count: 4.4K

masterlist

Your visits to King's Landing were rare. The few times you went, you were always accompanied by your brothers or Daemon. As the only daughter, your mother, Rhaenyra, is awfully protective of you. Though, you understand your mother's protectiveness. The Greens weren't exactly kind to your family the time you lived there, especially now that you're just unofficial visitors to the palace the moment your house left for Dragonstone.

But this time, you went alone, and the one time you did by the Gods would have it – you were captured and taken as prisoner. 

It was your fault, really. It has been a while since you've met with your grandsire. You shared a special bond with the man. To everyone else, he was king, but to you, he was just your old man who enjoyed telling his stories for hours at a time. Until he got too weak to speak. The last time you saw him, he wasn't well, and it broke your heart to leave so soon. You wished to say your goodbyes before it was too late.

So you left on dragonback unescorted, only intending for a short visit. You had an inclination it was soon, but not this soon.

Now you're trapped and alone in King's Landing. A tool for the Hightowers to bargain with your mother. The only thing keeping you sane is the secret trips Daemon managed to sneak in every fortnight. 

"Princess."

Daemon ascends in his black cloak. He sheds it to greet you with a soft smile as always, and as always, you embrace him. You savored his presence. He had to travel in secret, leaving Caraxes behind, making the travel time painstakingly longer. Your rendezvous with him are the only time you experience affection in isolation. Something you regret taking advantage of. 

Daemon knew the secret passages hidden in the Red Keep, and the only place he could safely meet with you was a hidden chamber deep within the kingdom's walls at night. 

"Please tell me you're here to take me away now."

He pulls back from your embrace to cup your face in his hands. You frown at the familiar apologetic look he gives you.

"I'm sorry, princess. As per your mother's orders, it is not yet time."

Dismay spikes in your chest at the thought of being trapped here for other days at a time. Rhaenyra has kept you here for her plan to take back the throne. You know it hurt your mother more to leave you here, but with the persuasion from her council, her plans now involve you and your stay in King's Landing. They somehow turned your imprisonment into an unexpected advantage.

When news broke of your capture, war nearly broke out. It took great effort from the council, your brothers, and even Queen Alicent ensuring your safety to hold your mother and Daemon back from burning King's Landing to the ground. You trust your mother; deep down, you know she would never let harm come to you. And as her kin, you would do anything to support your mother's claim to the Iron Throne, even if it meant playing the role of the lonely prisoner.

"I've brought letters from your brothers." Daemon fished them from his satchel, offering them to you as a small comfort.

You fight back tears as you read the letters. Not a day passed when you didn't miss your brothers. Worry crept into your heart about their safety, especially now with the brink of war. You cherish every written word, for they always end up burned and destroyed to eliminate any trace of evidence. 

You flip through the papers until you reach a picture.

Daemon peers over your shoulder, chuckling at the appearance of the illustration. "Little Joffrey wanted to send you something as well. His writing still needs improvement, but he did his best with a handmade portrait just for his sister."

You clutch Joffrey's portrait of Tessaryon, your dragon. Ever since you've been captured, they have kept Tessaryon chained in the Dragon Pit, never to be seen again. 

The hole in your chest grows deeper each day, and it finally rips through you in salty tears.

Daemon comforts you, rubbing circles on your back. "Shh... I know, princess. If it were up to me, you would be long gone here and back home already. Even burn this place while I'm at it."

Amid your tears, you laugh at his constrained threat, and the sincerity gives you comfort. Daemon holds you a little while longer. Despite your want to stay like this until his leave, the need to speak about the growing concern that's been troubling your mind breaks your resolve.

Speaking of, you peel yourself away from your step-father, gathering the courage to speak on it.

Immediately, he senses your apprehension. "What is it?"

You clench and unclench your fists before finally muttering, "There's something wrong with me. Something's not right."

Daemon advances toward you, and instinctively you take a step back. His face dims at your retrieve. "Are you hurt? Do you need the maesters?"

"No, no." You shake your head, wincing at the thought. "All I need is my mother. I need to go back." 

Daemon sighs, uncertainty dreading down on him. "I can't help you if I don't know the problem, princess."

Chewing on your lip, you contemplate the best way to say it without painting yourself in the worst picture possible.

"Something is burning inside me." You begin to speak despite your voice coming out shaky. You rest your palm on your stomach to steady yourself. "Mother told me about it. If the fire inside me grows brighter than I could take, then I am to run to her. It's happening, Daemon. I feel it inside me, and I don't know how long I could hide it."

Your voice breaks at the last sentence. Head hung low, you dare peek at your step-father's expression. You fear it would hold fear, disgust, or even pity, but it only kept concentration and calm. If it was a mask, you could not tell.

He was quiet for a while, fingers toying with Dark Sister. Finally, he breaks his silence with a question. "What do you feel?"

"Hot." was your immediate response. Even now, you feel your temperature burning.

"And what more?" He adjusts his weight, hips shifting. 

Now you're the one who doesn't speak. If Daemon knew the extent of your symptoms, he would surely leave immediately.

"Tell me."

His tone was urgent but careful. The look he fixes on you is something you don't recognize anymore.

You swallow down your fear. "I feel hungry… for something I do not know."

"This hunger, show me where you feel it."

Unsure of what exactly he meant, you touch your heart. "Here." Then came next was your neck, "sometimes I feel it here," and lastly, your touch travels south to your core, "but I feel it most here."

Your hand only hovers over your clothed core, but even that is enough to produce slick. The thing you've been trying so hard to avoid for days now. 

"You're in heat." 

Daemon speaks decisively, taking slow, cautious steps toward you. "Chosen women in our family have them. It's nothing to be afraid of. Those who experience them birth the best of us. From them came our family's greatest kings, the most fearsome warriors. Your heat is a blessing."

With every word he speaks, your mind spins with the revelation.

He settles right in front of you, a distance smaller than usual. He reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. "It's been decades since the last one. We thought they died out, yet here you are."

Confused about your purpose, you ask, "Then what do I do?"

"Do whatever you want." He drops your hand. "Whatever you think would help."

Daemon assumed you would use your fingers to alleviate the burning in your core. He'd watch and make sure you were doing it right. 

But what he did not anticipate is you taking his face in your hands.

Heeding his advice, you did the one thing you'd been craving for weeks. You touch his face. The feel of Daemon's skin gave you a sense of relief. The fire burning inside made you hungry for touch, and the skinship immediately made you feel better. 

Your eyes flutter close at the contact, ease setting in your bones at the feel of him.

Daemon's breath hitched at his throat, but he did not pull away. "That helps?"

You faintly nod. The relief was nice, but it didn't last long, and soon you were craving something more. 

Taking notice, he presses his temple against yours. A loving gesture he thought to be innocent. It was his little way of showing his affection.

You open your eyes and come face to face with Daemon's, and you’re overcome by the itch to touch more. Delicately, your thumb strokes his cheek, tracing his eyelid, which closes at your touch, the slope of his nose, and his bottom lip; you find yourself lingering at his lips.

"Princess…"

"Do whatever you want. Whatever you think would help."

And you did, so you leaned in to kiss him. Stunned, he tugs away, but you wrap your arms around his neck, blocking his escape. You slip your tongue inside, yearning to taste him, to feel him.

Daemon presses back until your back hits a wall, but you cling to him, kiss unbreaking and never heaving. His arm slams leaning on the wall, and the other finds its way to your waist. Any fight he had before dissolves at your determination, your heat affecting him as well. 

He bites your lip, from tasting your mouth to your neck. He licks a stripe underneath the slope of your ear. "Feel it here too?"

You nod feverish, back arching to give him more access. Impatiently, you grip Daemon's hair, take his hand, and lead it where you need it most.

Taking the hint, he ruffles your dress up, and soon his fingers slip inside your undergarments. You're a mewling mess now, moans escaping your lips willfully. He circles your soaked bud considerately, causing another strip of slick to wet your thighs before finally sinking inside you.

You hold on to his shoulders, legs shaky. He plunges his fingers in and out your cunt, and embarrassing sounds of wet flesh fill the empty chamber. You moan with every prod. 

With your release nearing close, you decided to reach for the stars – and you grope his cock. 

A decision that proved to be a mistake. 

With your touch, Daemon withdraws his fingers inside you and pulls away.

You cry out at the ruined climax. You were so close, and now you're back to zero.

Both breathing heavily, Daemon's actions still. His hands remain frozen. Confused, you lean in to kiss him again, but he only pulls away. You don't understand. He remains hard and, until now, willing to bed you, but now he can't even look at you.

Instead, he grabs your wrist, and you wince at the tight grip. He puts them at your eye level. "Use your fingers to help you with your heat. Like what I did."

He led them to your mound, urging you to try yourself. Hesitantly, you touch yourself, trying your best to mimic how he did it. It helped, but it was nothing to how Daemon's fingers worked for you. 

Frustrated, you whine, pulling out. "It's not enough. I need you, Daemon."

You reach to touch him again, but he backs away, putting distance between you. Your heart breaks at the space. Did you do something wrong? He turns his back on you in an attempt to collect himself.

"Daemon?" you called out, concerned.

He let out a mountain of curses in high valyrian before facing you again. He flips his black cloak back on his head. 

"Come." He holds his hand out, and you take it immediately. He starts walking, and shortly, he's picking up the pace, and you try your best to keep up.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer. Soon you're somewhere away, but it wasn't somewhere new. Dread filled you at the sight of the familiar door.

"No. I'm not going back, not right now." You stop in your tracks, refusing to enter the room once more.

"You were gone too long. It's time to head back." 

Daemon opens the secret passage to your chambers – your prison. You resist, but he tugs you along anyway. 

He settles you on your bed. "I will return soon. For now, use your fingers to get through your heat. Do not leave your room. Do you understand me?"

He spoke with such force you felt fear of being left alone again. You frown, not responding and not looking at him, either. 

You know you don't have the luxury of time. Daemon's treading a fine line; you could be caught any moment now. 

In distress, he grabs your neck. "Do you understand me, princess?"

Shocked, you nod, tears swelling up again. Daemon's resolve softens at the sight, guilt weighing his heart down. He’s a fucked up mess now.

He removes his hands from you and gently wipes the fallen tears away. "The next time I return, I'm taking you with me." 

He sealed his promise with a kiss on your temple, and just like a flicker, he was gone. Disappeared within the walls of the castle.

You lie there dumbfounded, abandoned in the dark. The throbbing between your legs grew more prominent with the unfinished business. 

He really left you.

The disbelief turned into frustration and shame and soon festered into anger. You knew your fingers wouldn't be enough this time, and you'll be damned if you let Daemon tease you for nothing.

Despite his warnings, you leave the bed and wander the halls looking for the man. At this point, Daemon would be by Blackwater Bay about to board his boat, and getting through the hidden passages would only get you lost, so you settle on getting there through the main route. 

The darkness of the night cloaked your disheveled state, and your bare feet masked the sounds of your hurried steps. 

Frantic and mind clouded by lust, you find yourself in the godswood occupied by a lurking patron. You hardly noticed the figure hiding in the shadows until you collided with its solid chest.

You wince at the impact, holding out your hands to steady yourself. 

"Y/n."

The familiar deep voice reels you back into the present. Aemond stands tall with his hands clamped against his back, as usual, face annoyingly stoic. His intimidating stance makes you feel small in the dark.

"Uncle." You manage to greet back, caught off guard by his presence.

You should have known better. In addition to the dozen guards watching your every move, Aemond took it upon himself to personally keep you in your place. Always looking, constantly checking.

Despite his constant presence, you find it hard to look your uncle's face in the eye. The one eye is usually filled with contempt, but at this moment, it searches your face with intrigue and skepticism until it strays down to your bosom.

"Pray tell where are you off to at this late hour? And in such a rush, you forget your indecency." He tsked mockingly. 

Your face turns warm, and you quickly cover up your exposed flesh with silver hair. In your haste, you carelessly left your quarters with only your night shift, the thin fabric barely covering your figure.

"I… could not find sleep. I fancied a walk. That is all."  

You don't look at him as you say it. If you did, he'd see right through you. Instead, you stare off in the distance with your arms crossed, a piss attempt to somehow protect yourself.

He hums at your answer before stepping forward, invading your space. 

"You're lying." 

Without warning, he raises one hand behind his back and grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. You gasp at the sudden contact.

He leans in, sneering. "If you're going to lie, at least have the decency to say it to my face, or don't say shit at all."

You grasp his arm, clawing to get away from him. "Release me." You grit out.

"I'll ask you again. What are you doing?" His grip on you only tightens. It irritates you greatly that he can keep you captive with just one arm. "What is it that you're planning? Is your traitor mother here to get you? Planning to take the crown, hm?" 

You continue to struggle against him, concern increasing at the realization that the wetness between your legs is growing from the harsh touch of Aemond's skin.

Thinking fast, you recall Jacaery's training. You flip Aemond's elbow and quickly follow it up with a shove. And just because you're rarely presented with such an opportunity, you also hit his nose with your head. Hard. 

He stumbles, startled at the ambush. Still, a hint of a smirk plays at his lips.

You manage to get away, glaring at the imposing man. "Trust me, the crown is furthest from my mind right now." 

Before your mind is wholly overturned by your heat, you turn to flee, but with swift feet, Aemond seizes you. 

"You're not leaving."

He pins you against the large tree in the middle of the garden, wrapping his hand around your neck to keep you in place.

And with that, you all but lost control.

A moan escapes your lips. The pressure of his palm on your neck, coupled with his body weight leaning against yours, is enough to give your touch-starved body pleasure.

Aemond freezes at the sound, the noise echoing in the quiet garden. Bewildered, he pulls back to study your face. At this point, your eyes are fully dilated, breath coming uneasy and legs clamped tighter than a mangled knot. 

He presses on your neck once more, and unwillingly you let out another needy moan. 

"You're in heat." He realizes, disbelief painted on his features.

"Yes." You hissed out. "So either you do something about it or let me go find someone else who will."

For a moment, his perfectly practiced mask falls, and his grip on you loosens. Just when you thought you'd be free, he slots his thigh between your legs, pinning your bottom against him.

"Aemond." You gasp at the sudden pressure. You grip his thigh, unsure if you want to pull it away or ride it.

He leans down to take in your scent. "I thought they were only legends. A child’s tale. I read about them, the things the heat does to the woman and the greatness that comes after.” He presses down more, and you almost buckle to your knees. "You're never going to find someone who can properly take care of this, sweet niece."

Daemon. The thought grows more distant the more Aemond floods your senses.

With both hands, he lifts your face towards him. 

"Allow me the honor." He whispers, breath fanning your face. 

The pressure was too much to bear, and you couldn't take it anymore. You make a move and lean in to take his mouth into yours. He receives you immediately, tongue already slipping inside to greet yours.

Like him, his kiss is unrelenting.

Panting, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer. His mouth traveled down to kiss your jaw, settling on tasting and nipping at the skin of your neck. Your back arch at the sensation.

You pull away just enough to mumble in a daze, "take me to bed, Aemond."

He lifts your legs to wrap around his hips, and you revel at the feel of his cock straining hard against his breeches. You nearly humped him right there and then.

You expect him to carry you into his chambers, but he turns the other way and settles you down to the ground underneath the shadow of the evergreen. He discards his coat and lays it beneath your back, protecting you from the sharp prickle of the grass.

He leans back to take you in. 

You lay there sprawled open to him. Only illuminated by the moonlight, you look ethereal. Your silver hair shines despite being scattered on the earth, and your skin glows with fever and anticipation. You look unworldly. Inhuman. Like an unclaimed dragon. 

Aemond had never seen something so captivating.

"What are you…." You reach up to feel him again, desperate for his touch.

His hands caress your legs, lifting your night shift further until your bottoms are exposed to him. He grips your inner thigh, blood pumping with excitement.

"No time. You need release now."

His slender fingers find you, and he plays with the wetness he finds there. Aemond's manhood nearly bursts at the feel of your supple skin. He wastes no time exploring your heat. You whimper at the intrusion, grateful for the sensation but yearning for more, for something bigger. 

He leans down to kiss you once more. "Patience, dōna mirre."

Before you know it, he dips down, head in between your legs and mouth on you. You stifle a scream that would surely wake the entirety of King’s Landing. Aemond groans against your cunt, mouth lapping at the continuous flow of sweet nectar. A taste no man could resist, driving anyone to addiction. It did not take long for you to reach your first release of the night. 

Aemond only ascends when you push his head away, skin still sensitive from fighting his incessant tasting.

He makes quick work of his trousers, taking his cock out. He strokes it as he watches you come down from your high. Slender arms cover your face, chest heaving at the impact of your release. 

Gently, he brushes a nipple, and instantly, it hardens.

"Gods."

With a tug, he reveals your breasts, ripping away at any fabric that dares cover you from him. You yelp at the quick removal, skin shivering at the cold air. While he's distracted by your naked body, you take the opportunity to take hold of the flesh poking your thighs.

He groans at your touch, hips thrusting for more. 

"So needy."

You bite your lip, wanting more. "Please, uncle."

He leans back, gaze fixed down to where his cock slides between your folds, slick coating every inch of him. "Is this what you want, sweet girl?"

"Yes, yes." You preen desperately. 

He remains sliding his cock on your glistening pussy, bud nearly aching at the little friction. He could do it. Slide right inside you so easily. With your wetness he wouldn’t have to fight any resistance. Just tight slick heat waiting to swallow him. 

But even with the sheer desire radiating off him, you sense a hint of hesitation holding him back.

"Aemond?" You call out to him, concerned.

His gaze snaps back to yours, face suddenly serious. "Once I break your virtue, no husband will take you. No husband means no allies. No allies mean no crown. Is that what you want?"

He speaks sense, and you should likely listen for your own good. But you find it hard to comprehend the future ahead of you. It might be your heat making you delirious, but all you want is now, and all you want is Aemond.

You take hold of his hand, placing a tender kiss on his palm. "Then wed me. Make me your wife," 

Aemond's heart sputters at the proposition. Everything his family has been building for would come crumbling down if he said yes; the war he's been fighting for would be for nothing, but all that didn't make the offer any less appealing.

You sense the pause your words had on him, so you continue speaking. "or just fuck me and forget me. Aōha iderennon, issa prince. "

With a curse, he makes his choice. He presses at your entrance, plunging deeper until he's satiated inside you. "Fuck." 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as satisfaction finally seeps into your bones. Aemond's thrusts start slow and careful but soon gain momentum, until he's relentlessly pumping into you.

Aemond lifts your leg to hook to his hips, pulling you closer. Holding each other, your hands never leave his skin. His back, his behind, his hair. You were always touching him one way or another. He rests his weight by his arms, face buried in your neck. 

"Aemond.." you moan his name, wanting to see him, you lift his face from your nape.

For the first time, you faced him, and his eye held no contempt. Your breath is taken away at the sight. The once harsh lines of his face turned into something delicate, and the fixed frown he wore every day no longer tainted his handsome features. At this moment, he is beautiful.

You trace the prominent scar, mindful of his trauma. You remember the night it happened so vividly, and never would have thought it all would lead to this.

He flinches at your touch, head rearing back. He was still within reach, so you coax him back by stroking his jaw instead, coupling it with a flush of your hips and light kisses. He relaxes, and this time you reach for his eyepatch. You lock gazes with him, silently asking for permission. You wanted to see him in all his vulnerability. 

He only closes his eye, face stilling to let you remove the leather. And with a flick of your wrist, the veil falls to the ground.

In all his glory, you see Aemond Targaryen for who he is. 

The wounded eye was stripped of any skin on his left eyelid, leaving a bright shining sapphire eye in its place. You heard rumors of the one-eye second son and his sapphire eye. Only a few saw it; the majority that didn't deny its existence, but the ones that did spoke of its haunting beauty. 

But you did not see it for long. With only just a few seconds, Aemond hides his face back into your neck. 

Flashes of insecurity pierce Aemond's heart. He's never been this intimate with anyone, and he certainly did not foresee it to be with the sister of the man that maimed him. He's starting to fear he'll find himself far in the deep end, unsuspecting of the waters he plunged into. He plans to make you cum quickly, determined to distract you from his shame.

But you don't allow it. With a shift of your weight, you roll over, pinning him against the tree's bark. Now you're the one on top, and you hold his shoulders down, making him look up to you. Aemond's throat dries at the sight of you mounted on top of him.

“Y/n-”

"Look at me."

The power in your voice makes him obey. Once your eyes lock, you search for a hint of trust, and once you're sure he's not to pull away again, you start riding him. You roll your hips, moving to hit the spot inside you. He supports you with gentle touches on your back and tweaks to your nipples.

Aemond watches in awe, letting you chase your climax. In your state, he is clearly reminded that like him, you're a dragon rider. A rightful Targaryen. You move like you ride a dragon — confident, strong, and in control. 

It makes his cock hard.

Your movements grow frantic, the familiar high nearing close. Aemond starts meeting your thrusts, cock plunging deeper at the new position. You feel your cunt produce one last slick of wetness before constricting around him, body spasming with pleasure. Aemond quickly followed, capturing your mouth in one last kiss before finishing inside you. 

Satisfied, the fire inside you subdues, and you feel your body grow light, at ease. Exhausted, you fall into slumber. 

Not Aemond. 

He lays there with you in his arms wide awake. He clutches you in an embrace, shielding you from the nearing sunrise. If he could stay there buried inside you for the rest of his days, away from the war, all the scheming – he would. But reality is creeping up on him, and he's reminded of his choice.  

"Make me your wife, or just fuck me and forget me. Aōha iderennon, issa prince.”

Aemond has yet to grow old and wise, but even then he knew one thing – even if he tried, he could never forget you. He could conquer the earth and back, claim the mightiest dragon on land, and win the greatest of wars. In the end, he knows you'll still plague his mind, body, and soul. 

So he made a choice, and this time, he let the Gods decide his fate. 

-

dōna mirre - sweet thing

Aōha iderennon, issa prince - your choice, my prince

Fun fact! Tessaryon is inspired by Tessarion, the goddess of music, arts, knowledge, healing, plague, prophecy, poetry, beauty, archery, and booty — A god of old valyria.

[odasantiago]

The Ocean at 21:00

After Zaros was crowned and became king, Earis was shunned away. Never to be seen again, after a couple years, the King of Serulla gets an update.

M!Earis, Post-Noble Trials, Semi-Angst(???)

The Noble trials were finished years ago, Zaros has been the king for 6 and a half years. It felt like yesterday that the crown was placed on his blond head, while Earis smiled at him for the last time.

He’s fought battles, went through the hardships of being the new royal family, regretted many of his decisions, had beautiful banquets inviting the common folk and royalty to eat together, all the sorts.

Something he didn’t think about though, is how painful ruling is. The public would yell and shout, and the work would build up until there was sleep-less weeks, with no one there to help him, hell, even listen to him. The only days he’s enjoyed being king, is going on missons.

These missions let him get some fresh air from the responsibilities waiting for him on his desk.

This time, his mission was to go to the kingdom of Lsmena, to provide insight of trading matters..transportation stuff…blah blah blah.

This kingdom was known for its rich history with music and the arts, mostly performance arts near the water. Since the whole kingdom is surrounded by water, having lovely townsfolk, perfect weather, and a amazing range of rare flowery. It somehow felt like a vacation for Zaros, all things considered.

Stepping onto the dock, with 2 guards behind him, his red and black coat flowing behind him akin to a blaze. Walking pridefully, seeing the view of the beachside town.

The kids where playing games, girls in pretty, Greek-style outfits we’re practicing their dances next to the water, the houses were a light brown, and Zaros smiled. Today was going to be a small break, finally.

He walked up the hill, gliding towards the urban area of Lsmena.

Everything was going fine, until he saw a flash of man with long black hair and two large scars on his face standing next to a building, talking to a brown-haired woman with porcelain like skin.

Could.. could that’ve been Earis?

And.. who was that woman?

WHO was that woman?

He zips his head backward, with a bit of a fumbled expression.

No, it couldn’t have been him, they haven’t seen each other in almost 7 years! Maybe, Zaros was just being delusional and missed Earis a bit too much. It was just a couple striding along the Oceanside. Nothing to see there.

They treaded on. It was only a while until him and his guards get on the Carriage they had transport them to the castle.

After hours spent looking at the scenery, they made it to the officials, and they had a meeting. And even more hours were wasted from there.

Tired, Zaros told his guards to get them a decent inn to stay at, and he’ll explore more of the city. The guards obligee, and off he went. For some reason, he felt a nervousness in his heart.

For the most part, he DID just wanna explore and see the flowers, but he was tugged by the nervousness of chance, what if that was Earis?

Shaking his head, he decided to entertain himself by seeing the gardens that the city had to offer.

Walking down yet another hill, the lights were beautiful, highlighting the cool breeze that went along with it, colored in hues of red, yellow, and pink. Some of the residents bowing down to him, realizing who he was, or offering him a drink. He was too tired to care.

Although, his eyes drifted to a couple holding hands, the same man with long black hair, all let down, with that woman again. A rush of alertness rushed into him.

There was a decision that ruler Zaros had to make.

Reveal himself to his old friend, or have him notice Zaros?

His feelings skyrocketed, and he tapped the man on the shoulder.

“I apologize for the hinderance, but you look like someone I knew..”

Before he could finish, the old friend turned to Zaro’s direction. It was him. His scars, pretty lips, dark eyes, and beautiful skin. His hair was down, flowing with the Lsmena air. The woman next to him gave Zaros a puzzled expression.

Earis started to speak, “…Ruler Zaros of Serulla?” With wide eyes and a puzzled expression.

Zaros felt a weight on his heart, he took off his crown to be one to one with his old friend.

“Earis! It has definitely been the wait worthwhile since I’ve last saw you.”

The other man smiled, that didn’t use to happen before.

“Zaros, it is definitely humbling after seeing you, the years do go by, I admit.” Earis calmly said.

Zaros felt lighter, “Alas, what have you been dabbling in? A new place, rich villages?”

For some reason, he forgot all the reasons why the man standing infront of him brought him so much pain, which is the reason being they didn’t banter like they used to.

Earis responded. “None of the sort.” He chuckled. “Here, allow me to introduce you, Ruler of Serulla, my wife. Apollonia!”

Zaros heart dropped.

He felt a unruly feeling in his soul, seeing Earis with someone else. It’s instinct, at this point. He must’ve gotten with her because of her looks.

Apollonia was a woman of great beauty, her gorgeous wavy brown hair with big eyes. Freckles spiked on her face, smooth skin and happy demeanor. What people known her for though, was her personality, her personality was accepting—loving, and always wanted to help someone out. Married to Earis for 4 years now. She used to live in Serulla in her childhood, and she knew Earis on a deep level before moving to her home kingdom.

Zaros thought, as their introductions and conversation grew on, Earis is a coward. That man told him that one day, he’ll come back and they could rule together, that he found himself within Zaros and “there just couldn’t be another,” it was a lie. All of it. Blasphemy.

Being Ruler usually swayed what he says, which is happening right now, but he let a simple sentence slip while staring at Earis.

“Was all of it a lie, my friend..?!”

They all went silent. Zaros realized what he said, and realized the people watching him, his heart started to pound and world felt like it wasn’t any different than it was 7 seven years ago.

It felt automatic, like all the years of sleepless weeks finally caught up to his feelings.

“You run off to this.. island.. and find a lady like HER? You left me alone. Alone to rule! You know that everyone knows that you humiliated yourself by not winning the games, but I have you mercy.. just for one time.. and I am left alone standing. Looking at this!” The blond adult.. adult child, spat. He felt pensive, aggravated, and envious in the worst ways.

Earis stopped. Gripped his wife’s hand harder, and said, very quietly. Very calmly. Like a ballerina on a the stage, or.. akin to the lowest key of the piano.

“Don’t ever talk about my wife. Ever again. She is the love of my life, the woman I’ve known since I could play piano, the woman that helped me through everything, my whole life…

“She’s better than you could’ve ever been. Goodbye, my eminence.”

Apollonia looked at him with worry and they lock arms, looking at him with such a love and affection that it caused Earis to smile. Earis sighed, looked at her and they walked off. His wedding ring blinged in the lights of the city.

It was tense. Awkward.

Dreamy, and the taste of selfishness in the air.

Zaros felt, for the first time, that maybe his Earis was right. Maybe, all he does is ruin things for himself. For everyone. That train of events that just unfolded before that street was selfish and unproper. All because his little heart was broken by the boy he doesn’t know anymore.

It’s almost like, he’s become the thing he swore he would never become.

Thanks for reading! Idk if many ppl will read it because Earis is usually gender-neutral, and he’s male in this story, but whatever y’all wanna imagine hehe

[moinstar]

(Nightbringer timeline)

"You don't have to fake it when you're with me."

"Hmm?"

Diavolo looks at Moin solemnly. Oh. That look is all too familliar. He knows something. But since he doesn't exactly know her in this timeline, given that it's been a month or two that she's been staying, she played the innocent card.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about..., Lord Diavolo."

It still feels like a lump stuck on her throat. She rarely addresses his name because she fears that he would be weirded out to suddenly call him casually. She tries to remind herself every waking day that he wasn't the demon whom she swore her life to and that this wasn't the home she belongs. She touches her horns absentmindedly, silently reminding herself that she's an anomaly.

'You can't forget, Moin. He's not "him".'

He gently places his hand above her head and ruffles it. Seeing her disheveled look and confused expression, Diavolo laughs.

"I'm telling you to relax when it's just the both of us. You always seems so hard on yourself and you're always on guard whenever you're around everyone."

"I always have to be. Now that everyone knows I'm not a demon, if I let my guard down, I might risk my life being defenseless. I know I'm a sorcerer too like Solomon but I always fear that I might regret leaving without saying goodbye."

Her thoughts drift back again to the day she misfired one of her spells and blinded her right eye. It was a long time ago. She remembers crying about missing them. Whenever she gets hurt, the brothers would come rushing by her side, tending her wounds and comforting her. But that day she was alone with Solomon and she missed her second family the most.

"As long as I am ruling Devildom, no harm will befall on you. I can now promise you that."

Their eyes met and with his determined gaze, she knew that it was the same expression he made when he promised her the same thing back on her timeline. Ah. He's still the same kind demon that she fell in love with. Her heart aches for longing but she still feels relief.

"Now that I've proven that I'm the Crown Prince and the future Demon Lord, I will see to it that you're safe under my care. And... I'm happy that you were beside me to witness that." He smiles shyly as he rubs the back of his head.

Moin looks up at him fondly and Diavolo could tell that she feels strongly to him. What he doesn't understand is when he approaches her and thinks that they grew closer, she seems to take a step back and draws an invisible wall around her. He couldn't help but to be curious and the mystery that surrounds her leaves him wanting and pushing for more.

"Would it trouble you if I ask you more about yourself?"

Her smile slowly disappears and for some reason, it pained Diavolo to see this. He wanted to be close but she wouldn't let him. He wanted to hold her and make her feel safe with him but it's always a never-ending cycle of push and pull. He feels helpless against a human despite being the strongest demon in all of Devildom. Just what have this human done to him that makes him feel this way?

Moin looks away and hugs herself, there was only silence but her eyes are looking at somewhere far away.

"Why do you want to know more about me? Is it for the safety of your kingdom?" she looks at him with a glimpse of sadness in her gaze. "Or is there something more?"

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the third part of our angst rec list for you to check out! You can find part one here and part two here. The fics on this list are all amazing, so please be sure to read them, give them kudos, and leave a comment for the author. If you enjoy our rec lists, please like this post and reblog it to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Please, Don’t Say You Want Me | Explicit | 9,320 words

Prompt 496: ABO/royalty AU. Where Omega Prince Louis is forced to marry alpha King Harry by his father for the benefit of their kingdom. After the wedding, Harry lets Louis know that he didn’t want a mate and to not expect a relationship from him. Since they are already mated, Harry has to officially reject Louis’s omega to break ties. This practice is so taboo that he doesn’t know the omega has a maximum of a year left to live after rejection. As time goes on, the omega gets weaker and weaker.

2) All This Delusion In Our Heads | Explicit | 15,088 words

After Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can't take it anymore?

3) Dandelion Heart | Explicit | 17,563 words

After his sister’s death, Louis is granted full custody of his 4-year-old nephew, TJ. It isn’t easy, but with the help of TJ’s other uncle, Harry, they learn to make it work.

4) Death Wish | Explicit | 22,067 words

Louis hates vampires, he lives his life trying to kill as many as he can, night after night, year after year. He hates them. Then why the fuck is he kissing one? Again. “I mean it, Harry.” Louis says, into his mouth this time. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

5) The Games We Play | Explicit | 23,448 words

Louis is a political lobbyist who chose his career over his personal life a long time ago and has never regretted it. Then he met Harry.

6) Bloom | Explicit | 24,887 words

When they first meet at Harry’s flower truck, Harry falls hard but Louis’ unavailable. Only before long, Harry reignites a spark that Louis thought long forgotten.

7) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28,000 words

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

8) The Road Not Taken | Explicit | 30,393 words

The one where Harry returns back home for the holidays after a successful debut album, leaving Louis to unwrap gifts as well as old complicated feelings. Cue: hometown holiday hookups, overbearing siblings, and a disastrous New Year’s Eve party. A 'Tis’ the Damn Season' inspired AU.

9) Compass To The Soul | Teen & Up | 31,439 words

Harry Styles, alpha, is 1/4 of the perfect pack, and 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time touring the world with his best friends and family. Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

10) Like The Stars Above | Explicit | 33,759 words

Louis has a witchy little secret that is slowly ruining his relationship. When that secret comes out, it turns out that he has a lot more to worry about than just losing the love of his life. He might lose everything.

11) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34,589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

12) Just A Pretty Boy | Explicit | 35,614 words

The alpha in front of him wasn’t only tall, but used every inch of his body to look even more threatening. He looked as shocked as Joseph felt, in his eyes he could clearly see horror and anger mixed into an odd and painful mix. It was as if he just watched a ghost or a monster from a nightmare come to life.  “Louis…” he said with a low voice. It wasn’t a question, he was calling Joseph by that name.  The crease between Joseph’s brows deepened. “Who?” Louis and Harry were married until, one day, Louis passed away in a tragic accident. Years later, he is found alive and with a thousand questions plaguing his mind. The most important ones; was his husband involved in his disappearance? And, how long did it take Harry and his best friend to fall in love after his supposed dead?

13) Best Colours For Your Portrait | Explicit | 37,717 words

Louis bites his lip in, his eyes leaving Harry's face, they are cast low as he takes a deep breath before sighing, "In solitude, I felt the liberty you spoke of." "But," The omega glances up, his eyebrows twitching as he brings his face closer to Harry's neck to overpower the alpha's scent with his scent, "I mostly felt your absence."

14) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41,041 words

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

15) Letters To June | Explicit | 41,150 words

It's 1915, Europe is in the middle of the Great War. Omega Louis decides to join the Letter Home Project to become someone’s penfriend. Through this he meets a lovely soldier who hasn't got anyone else to send a letter to. Along with his letter, comes a picture of the most handsome alpha Louis has ever seen.

16) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42,207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

17) This Glass House | Mature | 43,072 words

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

18) Oubaitori | Explicit | 48,822 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

After a year away, Harry comes back to his hometown ready to shoulder the responsibilities that come with being a Styles. However, an unforeseen return will greatly setback his plans as he finds himself confronting ghosts of the past, his prejudice, and a torrent of feelings he thought were long-buried. In the midst of a battle between protection and progress, trust that was once broken will try and pierce through walls of convictions he built around himself, leaving him grasping for power he is unsure he even wants. Meanwhile, Louis merely tries to save his family and make the next day better than the last. As he faces his past wrongdoings and the scars they left, chances will be granted to him - either to repair what was once broken or finally find closure. Torn between the desire to defend himself and the fear of the truth being rejected, he will learn peace comes from honesty - and that sometimes, what appears to be the easiest solution simply was the most coveted one.

19) Untamed Hearts Align | Explicit | 55,795 words

For as long as Louis has known her, Lady Margaret Tomlinson has had two aspirations for the remaining years of her life. The first was to out-dress the Duchess of Kent at every soirée and gathering. The second was to marry off her omega nephew to the most honorable – and highly ranked – alpha suitor she could find. He does not expect for her to arrange a marriage between him and the crown prince, and he certainly does not expect to fall for him. Everything changes when Harry disappears.

20) If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow) | Explicit | 55,916 words

Harry looks so intensely into Louis’ eyes it’s as though he’s reaching in and touching his very soul. “I never thought… I never… I’ve been searching for so long, Louis, but I never gave up. I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop trying,” Harry says, bottom lip trembling as he strokes the backs of Louis’ knuckles. “I just knew that if you were out there, I’d find you somehow.”

21) Of Lost Things | Explicit | 57,980 words

Louis comes with a familiarity Harry has never felt with anyone else before. After their fateful meeting, their chemistry became undeniable, and soon after, Harry had felt like he hit the jackpot when it came to finding the person he would spend the rest of his life with. But all relationships come with their own unique problems, and Harry soon realizes that their relationship is no different. When their problems go from unordinary to nearly bizarre in nature, he takes it upon himself to find an answer to their troubles. What he stumbles upon are terrifying coincidences between his and Louis’ story, and the ill-fated mythological couple, Orpheus and Eury. But it’s all they are; just coincidences, ones that feel as frighteningly familiar as Louis. Except… what if none of this is a coincidence? What if everything Harry has always seen as fiction is true, and myth—or rather, history, is about to repeat itself?

22) But We Have Promises To Keep | Mature | 62,608 words

Note: This fic is the fourth part in a series. We'd recommend reading the other fics first, though none of them have smut.

Maybe, Louis thought, from the beginning to the end, he had always known exactly what he wanted. He had always heard it, a quiet song in his head never giving up, because it had never been a thing apart from who he was. Someone who wouldn’t stop. Someone who could walk out into the dark, seeing nothing, having little, and still looking. The undeniable, terrifying, gorgeous truth was always going to be this: that he had a heart, and that that heart wanted to live.

23) Sink Into Your Sunlight | Explicit | 79,601 words

Louis hadn’t forgotten about Harry as much as he tried. It wasn’t due to the strange nature of their meeting, more so the magnetic pull he somehow had on Louis. He couldn’t fathom why this complete stranger stayed in his mind as much as he tried to stop it. Any time his phone sounded his heart skipped a beat at the thought of it possibly being Harry. In all honesty, it made him feel sort of pathetic. Gay guy falls for straight guy, what a cliche he had become.

24) The Rose Of Whitechapel | Mature | 100,180 words

Jack the Ripper AU. Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past. When their paths cross, truths are revealed, and perhaps hearts are mended... A darkness is brewing, and it's finally come to collect on the promise it was made.

25) Our Endless Numbered Days | Explicit | 120,815 words

“Harry?” whispered Louis, his mouth dry, his nose pressing against the other’s warm skin. “Mh?” Harry’s humming was gentle, his fingers lightly caressing the younger boy’s arm, his chest steadily rising and falling beneath Louis’ cheek. A couple of seconds passed, and Louis looked up at him in the darkness of the cave, barely able to make out the expression on his face. When he tried to inhale deeply, his breath hitched. He struggled to find the words to tell Harry what he was thinking about. Another couple of seconds passed, and Louis listened to the reassuring beating of the prince’s heart beneath his cheek. He couldn’t. “Nothing,” he whispered, his voice weak. I think you’re half of my soul.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[wish-incorrect-quotes]

I’ve seen a few people mention how much Simon looks like he could be the son of these two, and while I don’t know if the timelines work enough for it to be possible, it’s a fun concept just to think about. So here’s some ideas I had about how it might play out:

Basically, Lady Tremaine spends awhile hoping that Anastasia’s whole “falling in love with a commoner” thing is just a temporary inconvenience, and eventually she’ll be able to push her daughter into a more respectable marriage with a proper nobleman. But as soon as she finds out the baker proposed and Anastasia accepted, Tremaine pretty much immediately disowns her, and Anastasia loses her access to the family title and money.

By this point, Cinderella and Anastasia have a much better relationship, so Cinderella offers to use her newfound royal status and try to undo Lady Tremaine’s decision, but Anastasia ends up telling her not to bother. The more time she spends with the baker, the more she finds herself enjoying the simple life. Even if she now has to worry about earning a living, it’s amazing how much easier life feels when she doesn’t have to face her mother’s pressure and expectations, or go through royal balls where she's expected to be better than everyone else but always seems to fall short. Just peaceful days, helping her husband bake bread in the little village where people are always kind and friendly. And before they know it, the two of them are welcoming a baby boy into the world, who’s nearly the spitting image of his father, but with his mother’s red hair and his grandmother’s green eyes. Not that Lady Tremaine has any interest in meeting the boy, if Anastasia would even allow it.

As Simon grows up, he eventually gets curious about how his parents met. Anastasia can be a bit overprotective, and she tries to leave out the most unpleasant parts, but she’s happy to tell him all about how she loves her new home and family so much that she’s never regretted leaving behind a life of luxury for them. Simon, however, can’t help but think that the story sounds unfair. It’s not that he really cares about having a title or attending fancy balls, but it doesn’t seem right to him that his mother had to lose everything because of who she loved.

Eventually, this leads to Simon getting his heart set on becoming a knight, because it’s about the only way someone can work their way into a more “noble” rank. And if his mother has a knight for a son, it could get them all a lot closer to the life she had before. He doesn’t mention why he’s so keen on knighthood, since he doesn’t want his parents to feel guilty and tell him not to go through so much trouble for their sakes, so they figure it’s his own dream and do what they can to support him. But the problem is, he’s not any good at it. He has plenty of strength, but he’s very much a gentle soul, and when his heart isn’t in it, he just can’t seem to develop any talent with a sword and shield.

He’s discouraged for awhile, until he starts hearing rumors of a foreign kingdom with a sorcerer king that can instantly give people what they wish for. And since he isn’t getting anywhere on his own, he starts to become more and more convinced that this is his only chance. He knows how much his parents love their bakery, so he tells them he wants to try striking out on his own for awhile now that he’s getting older. Anastasia and the baker are both more than a little worried about the thought of their son going off to find work somewhere far away from them, but Anastasia remembers what it was like having a controlling mother who didn’t care about her own dreams, so she decides they should let him go if this is what he wants.

So Simon sails to Rosas and soon finds work in the castle, hoping that maybe working close to the king will help his wish get granted faster once he’s old enough to give it away. Thought he finds out before long that things might not go quite as smoothly as he expected based on the stories he heard. There’s a lot more people who have been waiting a long time than he expected. But everyone’s always praising the king, so if he's enough of a good and loyal citizen, surely he'll get his wish granted, right? Plus, he’s been making some great friends in the castle, and he enjoys being able to put in a good day’s work with them, so he can’t complain.

Then he reaches his eighteenth birthday, eagerly gives the king his long-awaited wish, and… is he supposed to feel this tired all the time? Everyone always talks about how wonderful it is, how it’s a real weight off. But he doesn’t feel lighter, he feels like his eyes are always heavy, and he's too exhausted to even feel like himself most of the time.

And then that’s how we get to the events of the movie. I guess Magnifico’s lucky that Simon wouldn’t want to worry his parents and would keep sending letters making it sound like everything was fine. Because Anastasia might have softened over the years, but she definitely still has a temper, not to mention a royal stepsister to turn to, and I’m sure she wouldn’t just take it quietly if she learned some distant king had caused her beloved son to lose all his energy and joy for life.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Hello hello! I'm here with a request for a Brienne/female Reader fic if it tickles your fancy.

Brienne is Reader's personal guard, and is tasked to escort her to her future husband for her marriage. Problem being, Brienne is in love with her, but being the honorable soul she is, she would never let it show.

Luckily, Reader has a crush on her as well, and the time they spend together while travelling makes her fall even harder.

Angst! Jealousy! Drama! Happy ending!

Hopefully they end up running away together to a faraway land.

Love and War Part 1

Brienne x fem!reader

Warnings: Arranged marriage, light angst

A/N: Ofc it tickles my fancy! I'm combining this ask with another one that will be used in the second part:) I hope you like it<3

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair.

Slamming the door to your bedroom, you rush to your bed, sobbing. You knew you were betrothed since birth, but it never settled upon you until this year. You had only just met him months ago, and now you’re being forced to marry him for…advantage? Whose advantage? Certainly not yours.

“It’s for the good of the kingdoms!” 

Your father’s voice rang in your head. What else was there to do? You couldn’t run away, a search party would be sent out before you could get a mile away. You thought about all of your options and the biggest sacrifice you’d have to make came to your mind: Brienne.

Such confusing feelings lied with her. How your chest fills with butterflies when you simply think of her, but refusing to accept it as a feeling of love. But the way she stood by you, vowing to protect you and keep you safe from all harm–her loyalty, her honor, her empathy–all swayed you from feeling like this was an innocent friendship. But how would she be able to protect you from this? From a man ten years older than you whose only job is to create an heir to his throne.

A knock on your door drew your attention away from the window. The door opened and a woman entered. Brienne stood in the doorway, her hands fidgeting in front of her. “Your Highness? The carriage is ready.”

You turned around and smiled softly at her. “Thank you, Brienne. I’ll be down shortly.”

With a curt nod, she left the room and closed the door. You stared out the window at your reflection and took a deep breath. Within the past month, you had been fit for a wedding dress, forced to help plan this occasion, and now, in the coming days, you’d be tying it all together. Writing it in ink. Etching it into your headstone.

The carriage ride to the sea port was quiet. When the horses stopped, Brienne exited immediately, assisting you as you got out. You always liked how her hand felt in yours. 

In your cabin, you sat up in bed, reading in the light of a candle. Your shoulders were tense and your chest was filled with anxiety for the coming days, but when Brienne entered, the both of you having agreed to stay in the same room, your demeanor changed. Your heart rate seemed to slow, your breathing evening out, and every problem on your mind seemed to vanish. 

“I spoke to the captain,” she said as she began to unlace her armor. “We should be docking in two days.”

You found it hard to not stare at her–those perfect curves, the long legs, and–

“Your Highness?” 

You were brought out of your trace, “Sorry…Erm…alright. Thank you.” You turned your attention back to your book but looked up once again. “Oh, and, Brienne…please, call me Y/N.”

Watching as the ship sailed on the open ocean, Brienne looked to her right. There you were, doing the exact same thing. Watching. Waiting. Only your waiting was for a future you never wanted. 

Guilt raked her mind. How could she have feelings for a woman–a princess–that she swore to protect? And how could she protect this woman when she was being shipped off to marry a man she had only just met? The honorable side of her, the one that valued her status as a patron and abettor, the one that was all work and no play, told her not to do it. 

Don’t tell her. You’ll only regret it.

But the other side, the one that was carefree, the one that wanted to seize the moment in the grasp of her hand, the one that wanted to hold this woman tight in her arms at night, told her the opposite.

When you get off this ship, it’s over. She’ll be ushered off to another palace. You’ll never be able to voice your feelings.

It tore Brienne apart.

In the cabin below deck, you ate dinner in the quiet company of each other–nothing felt more right than this moment.

“It’s true,” Brienne laughed. “My father was so butt-hurt after it.”

You took a sip of wine, trying not to spill it from laughing at Brienne’s stories. “His poor self was beaten by his thirteen-year-old daughter in a sword fight. Any man of high ranking would be hurt over that.”

Brienne smiled softly as she cleaned up both of your plates. “He was definitely peeved, but he told me he was proud.”

An hour more of conversation passed before it fell silent. Brienne looked at you, her eyes giving away that she was deciding between something. Moments later, she decided. “Your Highness, I hope…I hope you don’t think me imprudent, but…”

Your hand reached across the table to take hers, smiling fondly. “Brienne, how many times will I have to ask you to not call me ‘Your Highness’? We’ve become too close for those formalities now.”

A light blush formed on Brienne’s cheeks and she hoped desperately that you wouldn’t be able to notice. “Erm…Your–” She paused. “–Y/N…You don’t want to get married, do you?” You stared blankly at her before your face changed–sorrow, dread? Brienne couldn’t tell. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this–it’s not my place. But, like you said, we’ve become close. I don’t think you should marry the prince. I only want you to be happy, and I don’t think you’ll b–”

“No,” you said. Your voice was low, and something in you flipped. “Of course I won’t be happy. I’m being forced to marry a man I don’t love, Brienne.” You stood from your chair and looked down at her, growing angry at the whole situation. “And it’s not like I can just run away! You tell me I won’t be happy? Of course I won’t be! I’d give everything to run away from this!” Tears were now choking your words and you didn’t even think before saying the next ones. “I would give everything to run away with you!” 

“What?” She was stunned. Had you truly just said that? 

“I’m–I’m sorry,” you muttered, hands clasped over your mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Brienne stood slowly, never breaking eye contact with you. She rounded the table and took your hands from your mouth. “No,” she whispered. “I’m glad you said it.” Her thumbs wiped away your tears and she smiled before kissing you lightly on the lips. “But now, it’s made everything more painful, my darling.”

You stood in your bedchamber, the room bustling with maids preparing for the wedding ceremony. That was it. You’d never see Brienne again. She was down in the village, staying at a boarding house and waiting to hear the wedding bells ring. 

With one last check from the maids, you were escorted to the sept. You waited behind closed doors, your heart pounding in your chest. You could do it. You could leave. But before you could make up your mind, the music in the hall was starting, and the doors were opening. 

You walked down the aisle, making sure the bouquet hid your trembling hands. The man you were to marry stood beside the Septon, his hands folded in front of him and his lips in a straight line. Guests stood in the pews, most of them having never met you before. If only Brienne were here. No. Perhaps it was a good thing she wasn’t here. It saved her the suffering of having to watch you be married off to a practical stranger.

Climbing the stairs, the man grabbed your hand to assist you–it felt nothing like Brienne’s. You flashed him a smile, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to him. The pair of you stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand, and the Septon began. 

As he spoke, your mind drifted elsewhere–to the night on the ship, to Brienne’s lips on yours, to her hands holding your body flush against hers in bed, to her fingers touching every part of you, to the words of ardor that you both spoke in the heated hours of the night. You couldn’t live without this woman.

You were drawn back into the moment by your name. “And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take this man to be your wedded husband? Do you promise to love, obey, and worship him? For richer, for poorer? In sickness and in health?”

Your mouth opened, but no words escaped. Brienne. Her arms holding you close. Her light kisses across your bare skin. Her kindness. Her empathy. Her loyalty. Her capacity for love despite experiencing everything that she had. All you could think about was Brienne.

Your mouth opens again and you look between the Septon and the man who held your hand. “I–I…don’t.” Gasps could be heard around the room. “I’m sorry…I can’t..I…”

Not knowing what to say but knowing that, after this, nothing will be pretty, you dropped the bouquet of flowers, turned, and ran. Down the aisle, out of the Sept, running through the crowd that stood waiting outside, you didn’t stop. Your dress skirt was bunched up in your fists and onlookers watched in shock as you flew past in search of Brienne.

You finally made it to the boarding house she had told you she was staying in. 

“Morning, day, or night, I’ll be here for you.”

Bursting through the door, you go up to the counter, asking for her room number, and when he gives it to you, the keeper gives you a funny look as you hurry up the stairs. Without hesitation, you knock on the door, hoping and praying that she wasn’t out. When the door opened, you threw yourself around her neck, pressing your lips to hers.

Brienne pulled you in and shut the door. Between kisses, you sobbed out, “I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t leave you! I couldn’t!”

She kisses you hard and holds you in her arms, hand cradling your head. “I know…Everything will be okay. We’ll leave. We’ll go far away where they can’t get you. We’ll live, and we’ll be happy.”

Happy.

Nothing would be the same now. But, at the thought of being with Brienne for the rest of your days, any war would be worth fighting.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

How would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise react to their SO asking for a divorce, to which after he airs his opinion on the matter, the SO says "I just want to divorce so I can marry you again!"

The idea of divorce would initially trigger a range of strong reactions from the different Ganondorfs and Demise, given their personalities and possessiveness. However, the twist in the request—that the SO just wants to marry them again—would catch them off guard and soften their responses. Here's how each of them might react:

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Stunned Disbelief

Wind Waker Ganondorf would be taken aback by the request for a divorce. Given his history of loss and longing, the idea would stir deep-seated fears of abandonment.

Opinion: "Divorce? You think you can simply leave me? I would not allow—"

After the Twist: Softened Amusement, Gentle Acceptance

When the SO reveals their true intention, a wave of relief would wash over him. He’d let out a deep sigh, shaking his head with a rare, genuine smile.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he’d say, his voice softer. “If that is what you wish... then we shall be married again, but don't think I’ll let you go so easily.”

His reaction would be one of gentle amusement, as if amused by the idea but willing to indulge in it for their sake. He might even secretly appreciate the gesture, seeing it as a chance to reaffirm their bond.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Rage and Defiance

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf would react with immediate anger and disbelief. The very idea of his SO wanting to leave him would trigger his possessive and controlling nature.

Opinion: “Divorce? You dare speak of leaving me? I will not allow—"

After the Twist: Relieved but Stern

When the SO reveals the real reason behind their request, he’d feel a mixture of relief and exasperation. His fierce expression would soften, though he’d still maintain a stern demeanor.

“You think this is amusing, do you? Testing my patience?” he’d say, though there’s a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Fine. But know this—I will make you regret ever wanting to leave in the first place.”

He’d agree, though he’d ensure that their second marriage is even more binding, with no room for doubt about their commitment to him.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Cold, Controlled Fury

Twilight Princess Ganondorf would react with cold fury, his eyes narrowing as he processes the request. He’d view it as a betrayal, something he would not tolerate.

Opinion: “Divorce? You are mine. You do not simply walk away from me.”

After the Twist: Mildly Amused, Relieved

Upon hearing the twist, his expression would shift from anger to something softer, almost amused. He’d let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the tension in the air easing.

“You have a strange way of showing your love,” he’d say, his voice gentler. “But if it means I can bind you to me once more... then so be it.”

He’d take the opportunity to make their second marriage even more meaningful, viewing it as a chance to reinforce their connection.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Fiery Outrage

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf would react with immediate outrage, his temper flaring at the very suggestion of a divorce. His first instinct would be to assert his dominance.

Opinion: “You would dare speak of divorce? You belong to me. There will be no—”

After the Twist: Playful, Amused

When the SO reveals the true reason behind their request, he’d be caught off guard, his anger quickly dissipating. He’d smirk, finding the situation amusing.

“So, you think you can play games with me, do you?” he’d say with a playful edge. “Very well. If you want to marry me again, I’ll make sure it’s an event you’ll never forget.”

He’d go along with it, seeing it as an opportunity to outdo their first wedding and make it even grander, ensuring that they never doubt his commitment.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Intense, Silent Anger

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf would react with intense, silent anger. The very idea of a divorce would strike a deep nerve, challenging his sense of control and power.

Opinion: “Divorce is not an option. You are bound to me, now and forever.”

After the Twist: Relief, Followed by Deepened Affection

When the SO reveals their true intention, his anger would fade, replaced by a rare moment of vulnerability. He’d let out a relieved sigh, his expression softening.

“You have an unusual way of showing your love,” he’d murmur, pulling them close. “But if it means marrying you again... I will gladly do so.”

He’d agree, seeing it as a way to deepen their bond and reaffirm their commitment to one another, ensuring that their connection remains unbreakable.

Demise

Initial Reaction: Explosive Fury

Demise would react with explosive fury at the suggestion of a divorce. His possessive nature would not tolerate the idea of separation, and he’d make that very clear.

Opinion: “Divorce? You belong to me, for eternity. There will be no escape.”

After the Twist: Surprised, Relieved

When the SO reveals the real reason behind their request, he’d be momentarily stunned. The idea of being tricked like this would both irritate and amuse him.

“You dare toy with me?” he’d growl, though there’s a hint of relief in his voice. “Fine. If you wish to marry me again, then so be it. But do not think I will forget this.”

He’d agree, though he’d make it clear that such games come with consequences. However, deep down, he’d appreciate the gesture, viewing it as a reaffirmation of their eternal bond.

Summary: Across the board, the initial reaction to the idea of a divorce would be one of anger, disbelief, or possessiveness, given the nature of each Ganondorf and Demise. However, the twist in the SO's request—that they want to marry them again—would catch them off guard and soften their responses, leading to a range of reactions from amused acceptance to playful retaliation. Each would ultimately agree to the request, seeing it as a unique opportunity to reaffirm their bond and deepen their connection, albeit with their own unique twist on how they handle the situation.

[reidsaurora]

"I Choose You" ~ S. Reid

Summary: What happens when the lowly stable boy, Spencer, and the royalist of princesses, Y/N, fall in love?

Pairing: Stable Boy!Spencer Reid x Royalty!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,830

Content Warning: explicit language, slightly suggestive if you squint, minor character death sorta, mentions of food, time period appropriate sexism/classism i guess (Reader is expected to get married to a prince), a mild mention of ✨️manure✨️

Genre: Fluff, maybe a lil angsty in some parts buy mostly fluffy

Originally Written: 02/24/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

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"𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞." - 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧

I knew it was a selfish, spoiled, first-world problem, but I needed to get out of that kingdom, and fast.

I sprinted through the halls, one thing on my mind—hopping on my horse and riding somewhere far away from this hell hole. I heard my father yelling, "Y/N! Get back here!" but I didn't care. The exit was in my sights. Freedom.

My heels dug into the mud, my dress surely had dirt on the ends, but I couldn't have cared less. I flung the door to the stable open, holding my breath as I tried to find Willow's saddle.

"Hey, slow down. It's not as if the castle is under siege," a familiar voice chuckled behind me.

I took a deep breath before turning to face him, slightly regretting it as I breathed in the horrid smell of manure. Though, I needed it in order to face him with proper composure "Hi, Spencer."

With the same soft eyes he always had, he looked me over, noticing my distress. "What's wrong?"

My shoulders settled as I realized it was just the two of us. I could be as honest as I wanted to with Spencer, and he'd always accept it. Much unlike my parents.

It was always like that with Spencer. Sure, he was just the stable boy and I was royalty, and if they ever found out I was the slightest bit kind to Spencer, they'd most likely put me on house arrest. But there was always something about him, something inviting, like you wanted to tell him your life story and let him analyze it for you.

So, I did what I always did when I heard that soft, inviting voice. I answered. "Father's brought in prospects again and he's angry that I haven't chosen anyone yet."

"Again?" he said, nearly laughing in disbelief. "You'd think His Majesty would figure out your plan by now."

"My plan?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow. "OK, stable boy, just what plan do you speak of?"

He tapped a finger against his chin, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought. "Hmm, your plan to hop on your horse and ride into the sunset, going to a faraway country and starting a bakery."

"A bakery?" I nearly choked in bewilderment. "I don't even know how to prepare my own tea! Could you imagine me attempting to bake breads and muffins?"

"Ooh, I got it!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together and playing up the satire. "You're going to start your own tailor shop!"

I giggled, shaking my head. "Who's going to teach me to sew? You?"

Deadpan, he answered, "I do know how to."

I scoffed, my hands flying to my waist. "You do not."

He nodded, looking away from my face and down at his twiddling fingers. "My mother taught me. Before she got too sick. That way I'd know how to fix my buttons after she was…"

I swallowed hard, a touch of sadness panging in my heart for him. I already knew about his mother, the way she'd gotten sick and left him orphaned. It was the whole reason he'd come to the castle, so he'd have just enough money for food on the table, or in his lunch pail rather.

The sound of my mother calling, "Y/N!" startled us from our thoughts, her sudden shouting frightening me to the point of an irregular heartbeat. She was approaching the stables fast, and by the tone in her voice, it was clear she wasn't happy.

"Come on!" I whispered, grabbing one of the saddles from where it hung and shoving it into Spencer's hands, our fingers brushing against each other's for only a millisecond.

His face might as well have had "panic" inked across it. "What are you doing?"

"Buying us time," I answered, struggling to hold my dress out of my way as I climbed onto Willow's back. "You can take Father's horse, since he's apparently getting too old to ride it anyway."

He tossed the saddle onto Copper's back, throwing himself up onto the stallion with ease. Curses upon all men and the fact that they don't have to wear these stupid dresses.

"Y/N, get down from there!" Mother called as she burst through the doors and saw us, but it was too late. Spencer and I had already started off, laughing as we raced away from the stables.

His hair blew in the wind, a wide smile sitting on his lips, the first I'd seen in a long time. "Where to first, M'lady?" he chuckled, speeding ahead of me.

I scoffed but couldn't help myself from giggling at his childish behavior. "Hey!" I shouted, racing to catch up to him. "I was thinking," I laughed as I passed him, watching as his eyes widened, "Paris! Or maybe Rome!"

"Don't you think it's a bit far for the horses?"

I took a deep breath of the fresh spring air, something I hadn't smelled in months, it seemed like. "We'll just have to find a way to manage."

Soon enough, we were all out of breath, deciding to stop in a beautiful field of wildflowers, overlooking lusciously green hills and valleys.

We hopped off our respective horses, tying their bridles to a nearby tree and collapsing into the flowers in a fit of giggles.

"We should do that more often," Spencer got out, his chest puffing with exasperated breaths.

"What? Run away from my parents? Believe me, if I could get away with it, I would."

"You could."

I rolled onto my side to face him, propping myself up with one arm. "What?"

"You could totally run away and do what you want. You could be a baker, a seamstress, a teacher, an author, or whatever you'd like. You could do it if you tried."

I looked him over, suddenly feeling the urge to kiss away the pout on his perfectly plump lips. I swallowed hard and shook away the thought immediately. "You sound like you speak from experience, stable boy."

He shook his head. "I'm just saying. You have the status. You could leave if you wanted."

"Believe me, I couldn't abdicate the throne if I were the last person on earth. Somehow, even if both my parents were gone, they'd still find a way to tell me all the things they expected of me."

I wanted to press on, to ask why exactly he was so passionate about the subject, but held my tongue. A proper lady always knows when to speak and when to bite her tongue, my mother's voice echoed in my mind.

Spencer turned onto his side to face me better, propping himself up on his surprisingly thick bicep. Why was I noticing it? "M'lady-"

"Y/N, it's Y/N. You of all people will never have to call me M'lady, Her Royal Highness, or any of those other stupid titles."

"Y/N," he clarified, looking a bit like he'd just licked a postage stamp. Must've felt strange falling out of his mouth. "I'm just a stable boy. It's all I'll ever be. But you can do whatever you'd like. You're royalty, for heaven's sakes! Anyone who didn't allow you to do what you want could be burned at the stake."

My face softened as I watched his expression change to one of grief. He was regretting his decision to become a stable boy after his mother died, I had realized. I sighed, lying down flat beside him and looking up at the cloudy sky. "Well, what do you really wish to do?"

He exhaled, lying down beside me. It was like that a lot, I'd noticed. When I moved, he moved. And when he moved, I moved. Like gravity. "I'd like to go to college. Learn how to read, specifically Latin. Oh, and learn about math. And rhetoric. And anything they'd teach me, really."

He let out a deep breath, basking in the afternoon air, I presumed. "What would you do?"

Kiss you. And hold your hands. And run away with you. "Um, I'm not quite sure."

"Come on. There has to be something in that beautiful brain."

My head shot up, my eyes widening in confusion at what he'd just said. "Beautiful?"

He blushed, his cheeks burning red. "Well, it doesn't take a scientist to see you're beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful, Spencer?"

The heels of his hands dug into his eyes, hiding his embarrassment-ridden face. "And this why you can't go to college, Spencer," he mumbled. "Too stupid."

I slapped his dirt covered chest, realizing that it was the second time in one day that I'd touched him. I liked it. "You aren't stupid! You know how to keep the horses alive. I wouldn't even be able to keep myself alive if it weren't for maids and cooks."

I pulled his hands away from his face, his deep hazel eyes burning an ever so pleasant hole right through me. "Did you really mean it? Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and suddenly I could think of multiple other places I wanted his tongue to be. "I do. I think you're the prettiest girl in the whole kingdom. Possibly even the whole world if I knew what it was like."

Suddenly, the cool air of spring burned right through me and I found myself unable to resist the brunet stable boy I craved so much. "Do you really wish to know what I'd do if I could leave?"

He nodded, looking up at me through long, soft eyelashes.

I tossed myself over him, my dress falling around the both of us. "I'd grab your hand," I started, slotting my left hand in his right, "and I'd run away with you. Go wherever you want. We could sail to America and join Vaudeville. We could go to Greece and become olive farmers. We could go to China and study philosophy. I don't care. As long as I could be with you."

His face softened once again, his thumb swiping soft lines on the back of my hand. "Is that why you never say yes to any of your father's prospects?"

I nodded, thinking Fuck it, before leaning down, allowing my lips to glide into his. It was just as pleasant, just as sweet, as I'd always imagined. His hands moved to my waist, settling on the taut material of my now dirty, mud-spattered dress. I tried to pull away first, but his succulent lips chased mine for another kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth for a split second. I already craved more of it as soon as his mouth pulled away from mine.

"I would never say yes to one of those pompous, pampered, pretty-haired pricks. I want you. Out of everyone in the world, you are the one I'd choose."

His hands darted to my cheeks, pulling me into his swollen, red lips once again. "You want to know something, M'lady? I choose you, too."

"𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐈 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞." - 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐤 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐚

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Aaaahh, I'm so excited to finally post this!!! Idk why it's taken me so long to post but I am so excited to finally be posting it! As always, a huge thank you to Georgia for beta reading this and helping it reach its fullest potential! I love you so so so much!!! 🫶🏻

This was written for @imagining-in-the-margins's monthly challenge, which was themed "Damsel/Dude in Distress" this month! I am so excited to finally be participating in another one of these! I obviously went with the Royalty!AU prompt, but it was actually quite hard to pick a prompt because they all intrigued me a lot!

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☆𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒☆

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Enneagram time with the Links!

I'm gonna type the Links from LoZ games I've played, might do Linked Universe too at some point. Anyway! I am too tired to explain the enneagram properly, but essentially it is a personality system that consists of nine different types. They're sorted by their core motivations and fears, and how they respond to the world in relation to that. Check out more info about that here!

Here's a list of the nine types

Okay, personality dweebs, let's do this!

Skyward Sword Link - Type 9, The Peacemaker, for sure. This boy just radiates type 9 energy. Laid back, doesn't seem particularly bothered by much of anything but when he is bothered, oh boy does it show. Is called "lazy" and a "daydreamer," yet he doesn't show traits of actual laziness. The teachers don't lament his lack of work. He's airheaded and unfocused, but he isn't lazy. Has strong feelings, you can see from how expressive he is. He's very empathetic, patient, and kind.

When type 9s are under stress they gravitate towards the more negative traits of type 6 - constantly anxious (always running too late), distrustful or reclusive (can't tell anyone else on Skyloft what's going on).

Link just... I can't put it into words, he just is type 9. As for his wing, I'd go with a 9w1. This Link isn't particularly assertive or looking for challenges, he's far more introverted, has a strong sense of duty and probably prefers the safety and comfort of routine.

Ocarina of Time/Majora's Mask Link - Type 1, The Reformer. His sense of duty, his position as Hero of Hyrule, his need to help the world and protect others literally dominates this man's life - and death!! It's clearly important to him as he imparts this ideology to his descendant, the Hero of Twilight. He sticks around as a stalfos to continue his legacy, to train the next generation because his greatest regret was not ensuring the continued protection of Hyrule and ensuring others fulfilled the duty of the Hero as well. He is quiet, reserved, logical, and incredibly intelligent - of all the games I've played, OoT dungeons are the hardest, and this dude figured them out when he was nine.

Type 1s under stress devolve into the negativity of type 4s, they're emotional, they think no one can understand them, they're isolated and just different, ring a bell anyone? This dude is so displaced in time I can't blame him for feeling disconnected from everyone else and bitter about it. He definitely had a phase like this in his adolescence, I'm sure. And when type 1s are growing and at their best, they have the sense of spontaneity and adventure of type 7s, which seems on par with his I'm-going-break-this-horse-out-of-the-stable-by-jumping-over-the-fence-with-her-during-a-race moment.

His wing would probably be a type 2. He has a very kind heart, even if he doesn't express it well, bless him.

Twilight Princess Link - Type 2, The Helper. Compassionate, putting others first always, having a strong need to defend, assist, and nurture others. This Link is a gentle soul, through and through. Until you put him on a battlefield of course, because wow he is the most ferocious Link of the bunch. And that's a thing with 2s! When under stress they are aggressive and overbearing like 8s!

The entire village relies on this guy before he ever even starts his journey. He's already being a hero to his own people, and it has nothing to do with leading or fight, it's just that he goes out of his way to help others. He is so caring and tender and loving, he whittles away at Midna's sharp edges until she warms up to him too.

His wing would probably be a type 1 because he seems very focused on helping the individual more than the group. He's a local country boy who thinks small scale, has a sense of duty to others specifically instead of a sense of building achievements and success.

Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Link - Type 6, The Loyalist. Committed, security oriented, responsible, anxious. Sounds a lot like our boy, right? His anxieties dominated his life prior to the Calamity until his amnesia wiped those away. Committed? Dude, have you ever seen him leave Zelda's side? This is him to a T. Notably, when 6 is in a place of healthy growth, they act more like a relaxed, laid back 9, which you 100% see in Breath of the Wild. The contrast between Link under pressure prior to the Calamity and Link without the world making demands of him is huge. He and Sky Link would be chill besties is all I'm saying. Type 6s and 9s tend to be good friends.

Did I happen to mention that type 6 is filled with self doubt? This boy doubted his ability to be the Hero so much he let the world decide how he should act because he was convinced he would screw it up.

His wing is definitely a 7. 7s are spontaneous, wild, rambunctious, adventurous, and don't plan a second beyond the moment they're living in. He is absolutely a 6w7.

Summary!

Sky: 9w1 Time: 1w2 Twilight: 2w1 Wild: 6w7

[cr-another-kingdom]

Sugar Note Cookie

Made of low-fat sugar, and accidentally stirred in full-sugar sprinkles, Sugar Note Cookie was baked and showed the world his attempts at rock 'n roll! Of course, he's not perfect like any Cookie is, yet he yearns to be as good as Rockstar Cookie. Maybe he'll get inspiration with more sugar...

psst! theres more under the cut!

Quotes  ;

General

The show must go on.

Have you listened to Rockstar Cookie's newest album?

I will play this guitar, forevermore..

I prefer to listen to music most of the time.

Rock is my jam... and other music genres, I guess.

The names Sugar Note Cookie, uh, please don't forget it.

I'm still an up-and-coming musician...

My parents always told me I was musically talented.

One day I hope to meet Rockstar Cookie himself...!

Have you heard of this other musician lately? Parfait Cookie, I believe...

I don't see myself being as popular as other musicians.

Tired 

Bleeeh ...

Daily Gift

Here's a tune you'll like ...

Tap

Hello.

Do you want to hear a chord I just thought of?

Woo...!

Rockstar Cookie is my inspiration...

I want to be just as good as that Cookie...!

... ♪ ♫…

I want to run across the world to share my tunes... (Like hint)

Bright stage lights scare me... (Dislike hint)

Gift

Too sugary... but it's my favourite. (Given 100% Sugar Sprinkles)

Now every Cookie can hear my tunes... sick! (Given Breakout Ticket)

Bwah! Too bright...! (Given Gray Sugar Crystal)

Woah... Rockin... (Given Golden Royal Dough)

Thank you. (Neutral)

KINGDOM ;

Epic - Middle - Support

Made of low-fat sugar, and accidentally stirred in full-sugar sprinkles, Sugar Note Cookie was baked and showed the world his attempts at rock 'n roll! Of course, he's not perfect like any Cookie is, yet he yearns to be as good as Rockstar Cookie. Since debuting with some of his 'tunes', he's managed to catch the eye of quite a few Cookies—including Rockstar Cookie himself! And with the energy, will it really shine upon his heart and give him the courage he needs?

GACHA PREPULL  ;

Hello, everyone!

GACHA  ;

I'll play these tunes thousands of times..!

WISH  ;

If it will help me get better...

LOADING SCREEN  ;

Please don't make me regret this!

My melody can support us all!

I'll take em' head-on...!

Don't do anything too rash, okay?

Be careful! Please?

SKILL  ;

Hear my melody!

VICTORY  ;

Huh? Just like that?!

I hope my idol is proud of me...!

I did the best that I could!

DEFEAT  ;

Blehh...

... Maybe next time we'll rock...?

If I was just a bit better...

KNOCKOUT  ;

I failed...!

PROMOTION  ;

My dream is to be as great as Rockstar Cookie...

I could never truly preform any of my... 'Music'.

I still hope that I can get better!

This calls for a victory song!

Wow... have I gotten better...?!

ASCENSION  ;

This time...! with more courage!

Let's do this one more time...!

This calls for a victory song!

I still hope that I can get better!

I'm not perfect, but it doesn't hurt to try...!

LEVEL UP  ;

I've never had this before...

Sugary... Just like my dough...!

I think my Tunes just got better!

... Could I have some more, please...?

Is this what Rock Spirit is? Amazing...!

Too sugary... Almost like that one ingredient, ha ha!

I can be stronger for that special Cookie now...

Yayy...! I'm stronger now!

KINGDOM  ;

... Hello!

Just like you mean the whole world to me... ♪ ♫

Other Cookies have heard my Tunes...?! Wow...

Rockstar Cookie is my idol! I strive to be like him in the music industry...

My music? Oh, I call them Tunes instead.

♪ ♫ !

My body can live off of just sugar! Kind of cool, right?

Um... Wanna hear a chord I made?

Uh...! Have you heard Rockstar Cookie's new album?

... You're a Coconut, right? Haven't seen one for myself...!

Awawa... I can't believe Rockstar Cookie liked my song..!

COOKIE INFO  ;

I could never share my... 'Music'... to the world.

I dropped out of school for my Tunes!

New Cookies make me anxious, he he...!

My dream is to be like Rockstar Cookie...!

I used to be in the music club, then I learned about Rockstar Cookie's songs.

The spirit of rock...!

I admit, I'm not the best at much, he he..

I never leave my home without my full-sugar sprinkle toppings!

First day out of the oven... I showed my attempt at Rock 'n Roll!

I'm not gonna JUST rock out—I'm gonna EMBODY it!

Battling Alongside Rockstar Cookie  ;

R : Are you ready to ROCK?!

SN : Don't do anything rash, okay?

R : I know you've been waitin' for it!

SN : I'll play these tunes thousands of times...!

R : Let's hit the stage!

SN : I'm not perfect, but it doesn't hurt to try...!

[u-n-lucky-being]

𝔐𝔲𝔡𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔅𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔰

Part 1: 𝔚𝔥𝔬 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢

INFJ x ENTP

Tags: f!INFJ, m!ENTP, ft. m!ENTJ, ENTJ is an asshole in this one (sorry to all my ENTJ who are not machiavellian tyrants <3 love you all), lovers to enemies (kinda), kingdom setting, there’s an insurgence, kind of historical fiction (…I think? I’m not sure how this genre is called), angst, betrayal, threats of torture, threats of murder, mentions of murder, threats of rape (nothing explicit, I promise), mentions of violence, mentions of war, curse words are used, I’m bad at tagging, this was supposed to be a oneshot but I think it will end up having at least three parts :’) hurt no comfort (comfort in the next parts), I don’t know what else to add, please tell me if I should add anything else.

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: INFJ had been stupid enough to trust the wrong person, and now was paying the consequences. Not only was her life at risk, but also the entire cause she had been fighting for. All because she allowed herself to be fooled by someone’s lies… but, perhaps there had been some truth in them. For ENTP everything had gone according to his and ENTJ’s plan, except for the fact that he now regretted everything. Willing to right his wrongs, he decides to start a new, riskier plan.

(Part 2: 𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢)

(Part 3: 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔢 𝔴𝔢r𝔢)

(Part 4: 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢)

A/N: Ok, so this started as: “Oh, people suggests using the MBTI cognitive functions to built a more realistic character” went into “Haha some people has turned the MBTI stereotypes into characters; how cute”, then “And they ship them? I mean, weird ig, but ok…”, to “;-; why am I getting invested in these ships?” and somehow ended up here :D (Seriously after the biggest writer block of my life my brain decided to pull an allnighter to plan out and write THIS?) Just wanted to clarify that this is based on the MBTI stereotypes and tailored for the role I assigned them in this story, so please don’t feel offended if you happen to have the same MBTI as any of them but would never act like them. The same thing about shipping- I’m just shipping the stereotyped-characters. With all of that said… I have NO idea how I ended up with this angsty mess but… hope someone out there will like it I guess. English is not my first language so I apologize if anything sounds funny. Feel free to leave any feedback, as it is very appreciated.

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There she was. Vulnerable, defeated, humilliated, but above everything else: hurt.

As she laid in the cold floor forced to kneel to the king, she realized that she really did not care about the bruises on her body, nor the ones on her ego- but the ones on her heart seemed hard to ignore.

ENTJ laughed softly as he rosed from his throne, slowly approaching her “Are you sure that this one is the one who has been causing us so much trouble? She doesn’t really looks like it.”

To INFJ the voice that replied sounded as cold as the floor under her. “She is the one. I made sure to confirm it myself.” said ENTP; though she refused to raise her head to see him, she could hear the familiar smirk on his face.

Stupid. She had been so stupid. She had been the perfect spy because she was able to enter into any fortress while being a fortress herself; she gained anyone’s trust easily, but she trusted no one.

Except that she let him in. She trusted him.

For what? He played her at her own game and now…

Whatever had happened to her or would happen to her did not matter, not really, but the future of those who had depended upon her was at risk because she failed.

She would not fail them twice.

“How many days do you think it would get to break her?” asked ENTJ while she heard his steps getting closer “Two? Three days on the torture chamber?” ENTJ’s feet suddenly appeared in her eyesight and she lifted her head to look at him in the eye. Defiant. She felt pathetic, weak and dumb but as hell she would show it to him.

He laughed again, “Oh, she’s fierce nonetheless.” Taking her chin forcefully with his hand to look better at her face, he added “and pretty too. I could even think of different ways to make her scream other than torture.”

She swallowed hard and turned slightly paler at that last part; his grin widened “What is it, love? Are you more scared of the promise of pleasure than that of pain?” he chuckled letting go of her chin only to place his hand with more force on her neck “Perhaps we might actually consider a different form of interrogation for this one.”

INFJ felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She would rather death. She would rather the most painful torture than what this man infront of her was implying.

A sharp metal sound suddenly broke the silence, and though she could not move her head to see what had happened the voice ENTP quickly followed said sound.

“Pardon me. So unusual of me to be this clumsy.”

ENTJ eyes swiftly moved from her face towards the place where she knew ENTP stood. After what seemed to be a silent conversation between the two, the first one scoffed “Yeah; unusual” and let go of her neck, finally allowing her to breathe again. He had not been using enough force to block her airways, but pure terror had stopped her from breathing at all.

After the man returned to his throne, he looked at the girl on the ground once again. Despite of the slip of fear she had just had, she took once more the mask of cold defiance she had initially borne. ENTJ smiled almost sarcastically at that.

“We will attempt our usual route of interrogation first. If that doesn’t work… I might have to get creative.” this time she didn’t let it show how those words shook her to the core “Take her to the cells.”

And after that simple order two pair of hands that she had known to be behind her forced her to her feet and took her out of the room. As they did she cast one glance at the person who had put her on this position.

He looked back at her. Those eyes she had loved were now the most horrific sight she could find in this whole castle. She had truly believed that he loved her back, that he understood her as much as she had known him, that she had finally found someone to rely on. But now, she knew that he had lied, that she had not known him at all, and that she betrayed herself as much as he betrayed her by daring to let her guard down.

Her heart still ached, but it wasn’t because of his betrayal. It was because the person she had known, had loved, had given her trust to, was but a fantasy. This man that was looking at her, she did not know. She definetely didn’t love him, and now was wise enough to know better than to trust anyone. This man had handed her to her death, and perhaps worse things than death, as if she was nothing to him; but at least she could say that this stranger was nothing to her as well.

Once his face had been gone from her sight she repeated those last words as many times as she needed until every part of her body, mind and soul believed them.

That stranger was nothing to her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He was not used to the intoxicating sensation of fear.

He had felt fear in his life and for his life, of course, it was a common thing to have under the commands of people like general ENTJ. But for him, those were rare instances; as if he had always been too brave or too stupid, and had somehow become almost inmune to it.

Almost.

“So, are you gonna explain yourself or do you want me to guess what was that back there?”

They were in ENTJ’s chamber. The royal chamber. Five years ago they had seized power from the last king (may he rest in pieces) as general ENTJ had convinced himself that he had not been fit for the throne and that what the nation needed was a stronger and ambitious leader who actually dared to be the change this nation needed. Many believed him to be right, ENTP being one of them. The financial situation from before was enough to move sufficient men and women towards their cause, which ultimately lead to their success.

But of course, there were those who were against this. Their motivations of various kinds. Many of them guided merely by the fact that this new political climate did not benefit them; very few others talked about justice and laws and actually meant it. Whether caused by the first or second group, the whispers that called ENTJ a tyrant began spreading soon enough. Nonetheless, it didn’t really matter, as it had been easy to keep them all under control, one way or another. At least, until a group of rebels began causing them trouble two years ago.

And that’s where ENTP’s and INFJ’s stories intertwined.

ENTP made sure to act as he usually did. Carefree, witty, slightly smug. And that was his exact expression when he answered to his commander and king “What? About my slippery hands?”

“As if I was stupid enough to fall for your bullshit.” Despite ENTJ’s calm expression he could tell he was not calm at all. “You dropped the same knife I gave you after slitting the old king’s throat. Tell me, honestly, could you really consider such thing as an accident?- Should I be worrying that one of my trusted circle is threatening me?” despite his tone remaining neutral, ENTP could hear the warning behind it, telling him to be careful of what he was about to say next.

ENTP chuckled softly and threw himself over one of the chairs of the room. Relaxed. He needed to be relaxed. “Fine. I admit it. I dropped the knife on purpose. Though it being that especific knife, was not.”

Now it was ENTJ’s turn to chuckle. Whether he believed that last part or not was out of ENTP’s knowledge. “So, I was right.” he uttered “Tell me, did you felt jealous of me touching your little pet?”

His expression remained as carefree as always, but ENTP could feel the ice slowly expanding through his chest. “You got me wrong, my friend.” He spat “It was not about who you were touching or who you were threatening. It was about what you were threatening her with.” ENTP sat a little straighter and allowed some of the ice within him to come out as he said “We are not the type to do such things. Have you forgotten? Or maybe power already started to mess with that head of yours?” Though a smile remained carefully placed in his face, there was nothing warm or friendly about it “Perhaps you are starting to believe those who call you a tyrant.”

“Perhaps you are forgetting who we are dealing with.” the King replied back as coolly. ENTJ turned his back to ENTP and began examining the papers that laid over his desk, “That girl has been informing about every move, every decision, every plan, that we have made for the last years. She is the reason we have been dealing with so many issues. She is the reason that pathetic group of insurgents became an actual threat to us. She is the reason we have been unable to move forwards with our plans of expansion. And she might be the cause of our downfall if we are not careful now.” His voice slowly grew more bitter as he spoke. “In case you also forgot, we might not be tyrants but we aren’t fond of playing by the rules; are we?” he asked rhetorically turning to face him once more, “Even when their little insurgence is not half as capable as they believe it to be, we still need the support of our neighbor nations if we want to keep our own afloat; at least, till we are strong enough. They might have not turn against us after we took the power, but if they realize that we are not as fond of following their dear proceedures and codes as they are, they might. If proof of some of our moves gets leaked, we are done. We cannot let that happen before we are ready.” He declared vigorously.

ENTP did not overlooked how ENTJ insisted on talking in plural. The message was clear: if ENTJ could be considered a tyrant, so could he. And if ENTJ would go down, so would him. “But you already got the girl locked up.” he pointed, attempting to return to his more casual attitude “She won’t be an issue any longer. There’s nothing to fear. So I still don’t understand the reasoning behind your threats.”

The commander actually laughed at that, though there was not any trace of joy found in it. “You, my friend, can be very smart. But sometimes you are just as stupid.” He proceeded to explain, “First, and the most obvious reason, is that she still holds valuable information. Information that not even you could get out of her. Names, hiding spots, plans, perhaps there might even be another rat between us; she will know all of that.”

“So your justification of becoming worse than an animal will be to get information out of her.” ENTP retorted; the same ice from before threatening to come out once more.

ENTJ almost laughed again, “You fool. It is not about what we actually do to someone. Is about what they fear we might do.” he smiled almost simpathetically to him “Don’t trouble your mind, I won’t lay a finger on her. But, I need her to fear I might if she refuses to cooperate during the interrogations.”

Whatever kind of relief the first part of that sentence might have given ENTP was quickly extinguished by the last. He knew what interrogations in this castle were. Even before they took power, their nation had always been known for the severety of its treatment towards those who dared to act out of line. That’s something that the revolution took advantage of when they first raised: they were the first group in decades that dared to publicly go against the crown despite of the possible consequences; in the eyes of the people they were brave and determined, and in the eyes of their enemies they were indomitable and impredictable. Once they had become the ones in power, ENTJ decided to use such reputation in his favor, so he continued with the tradition.

There were lines they won’t cross, of course, like what he had just been complaining about to ENTJ; but that didn’t mean that the route towards those lines was not a painful, bloody one.

And his imagination had already started to turn against him by imagining INFJ in each one of the probable scenarios he knew would happen. The same fear he had constantly been in since she had officially become a prisioner, slicing him inside out. Not even the times he had feared for his very own life could compare.

But, relaxed. He needed to appeared relaxed.

“Very well then, its good to know that my friend is still a man and not a beast.” He forced himself to appear curious rather than terrified “But what is the other reason?”

ENTJ smiled slightly more earnestly at him than he had been doing during their whole conversation “I need her to make an example out of her- and just killing her won’t be enough. Like I said in the throne room, I need her to break.” The commander approached a little chess set he had placed on a small table, and took one of its pieces in his hand. “She is the first important player we’ve caught from the insurgent group. You yourself know firsthand how much they relied on her. Even the leaders. If we just kill her, they will make her a martyr; that would be like adding fuel to a fire. But,” slowly he placed the piece back in its place “if we show them that we can turn one of their stronger players into a mere shell, ready to crack under any pressure,” he grinned and looked ENTP directly in the eyes “we will finally begin to crush that rebellion to death. If we manage to display her publicly in absolute despair, that same despair with spread across the other rebels and begin to kill their cause inside out. After that, we can kill her.”

'Make an example out her' he had said, but by that he had meant to make a show out of her misery.

Fear. He was still not used to this sensation and he hated it. Just like he had started hating the man infront of him with every particle of his body. Just like he had hated himself since he brought this upon her.

ENTP knew that he was no innocent; he had done as much if not more of the pulling of the strings behind the curtains during their rise to power. And ENTJ was right; they had not exactly been too ‘correct’ in their ways. But, he had always believed that the ends would justify the means. That what they have done wrong could be righted by the good that it would cause eventually. Nevertheless, time passed and ENTJ and the rest of his followers had just become more cold, more bold, more vengeful- at first justifying themselves saying that it was necessary measures to ensure respect, then blaming the insurgeance and the need to end it for their merciless acts.

And the worst part was… there were still no results. The economy remained in shambles, crime rates kept going up, the people was still miserable, and now more than ever fear ruled over everything. But either delusion or actual curruption kept them settled in their ways, while still predicating the same speech that had first convinced people to put their trust upon them.

He had remained blind to it all during most of it- or well, perhaps not blind but unwilling to see the truth. Unwilling to see what power was turning their cause into, a cause that he was sure had began with good intentions. He lied and convinced himself that eventually things would turn right.

But after getting to know someone from the other side- someone who taught him that fighting fire with fire would never not lead to just more smoke and ashes, and that the only way to right a wrong was to make it right to begin with… He could now see.

Yet, it had been too late at the moment to keep it all from coming to this. And he feared that if he took a misstep right now it might become to late to keep INFJ from encountering the fate ENTJ had just described for her.

After staring at ENTP for a few seconds ENTJ added “But… it seems I’ve misjudged how possessive you’ve become over the girl.”

Sometimes it surprised ENTP how easily his insides could go from iced bitterness to scorching rage. It also surprised him how good he could be at feigning indifference. He scoffed “As if. I already told you I don’t have any particular interest on her. She was fun to toy with, nothing else. She’s yours to do as you please.”

ENTJ continued staring him down, as if trying to get the truth out of him. But, after a while he simply nodded and said “Very well then. That’s good to hear, because I figured that she might be more compliant if you are in the room during tomorrow’s interrogation.”

His heart sunk in his chest, but he did his best to remain on his role “I doubt that’ll work. If anything her hate for me might make her harder to work with.”

The king sneered “Oh, does that means she is fond of me?”

ENTP replied “Her hate towards you is… general, my dear commander. As if she hates you, but not you, but rather the idea of you. But me,” he smiled smugly despite how those same words he was about to say cutted deeply through him “I am a personal issue.”

ENTJ turned to his desk once again, “Maybe you are right; but I’m actually relying on those strong feelings for you. Whether that’s love or hate or both, strong emotions always make someone easier to manipulate.” He moved his face only enough to look at his subordinate directly in the eyes as he said “You will be there tomorrow.” It was an order, not a suggestion, so ENTP knew better than to argue against it.

“Fine, we’ll see if your plan works tomorrow.” And with that he rose from his chair and turned to the door.

The only thing ENTJ said before ENTP could leave the room was “They always do.”

It was already nightfall when he finally found the opportunity to go into the cells without being noticed.

Since he had left his commander’s chambers he could barely think of anything besides the girl that was trapped inside those walls. He needed to come; to warn her of what would take place tomorrow, and what could come afterwards.

But also, because he needed to see her.

He saw her laying down on the floor; perhaps asleep, perhaps unconcious. Ice ran through his veins at the prospect of the second. He rushed to take out the keys he had stolen from the guards and went inside. The sound of the cell’s door opening immediately made her jump- so asleep it was then.

ENTP could tell that she recognized him as quickly as she saw him. She became almost unnaturally still, her eyes becoming stone cold, just as they had done the only time she had deigned to look at him in the throne room. He hated that look; he could have dealt with the expected looks of hatred, of anger, of betrayal, anything that indicated what she thought of him. Anything that could be taken as the residue of what she once felt for him.

But that look- it killed him. It was as if nothing had ever been there.

Though he admitted to himself that it would have been better for her if it had been that way.

He looked away from her eyes and dared to look at the rest of her. She lied on the floor, reclined against the same wall she was shackled to. Same clothes he had saw her wearing just yesterday's night, right before it all went to hell. But now they were torned, dirty- and bloodied. If he had to guess, she could barely keep herself up. Bruises covered her from head to toe. Despite that he had not been who caused them himself directly, he knew he was responsible for every one of them.

She had fight all the way into her capture. She only stopped fighting when she saw him standing side by side with the king, a fake grin on his face as the words left his mouth “Your Highness, I present to you: the spy”.

It pained him beyond anything he could express to see her like this. He was the first to move, advancing towards her to try to examine her wounds. But, of course, he should have thought better than to act without saying anything before, as she tensed and tried to move away from him before he could reach her.

For her, he was no longer someone she could trust. He was the enemy.

“I won’t hurt you” was the first words that he could think to say, raising his palms up as if that could somehow prove his words to be truthful.

She laughed bitterly “You expect me to believe you?”

Fair. It was fair from her, but right now there was no time to explain or argue with her. “No, but right now I just want to help, alright? Please let me-”

“Fuck off!” she yelled moving as far as she could “Help! Anyone hel-”

He launched himself towards her, pressing her against the wall as gently as he could while his hand covering her mouth to keep her from alerting the guards of his presence. If anyone realized he was here, all of their hopes would be lost.

INFJ began trembling, her eyes panicked while she struggled to push him away.

His heart sank in his chest. She was terrified of him. And she had every right to be. What used to be a playful act, a flirty situation, a moment of closeness, now could only be considered a threatening situation for her in every aspect.

ENTP backed away slightly, giving her as much space as he could without risking her to cause a scene.

“I won’t hurt you. I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but please listen. Just once.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Part 2: 𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢

Part 3: 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔢 𝔴𝔢r𝔢

Part 4: 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢

[searchingforserendipity25]

More precious was the light in your eyes. ao3.

Many thanks to @welcomingdisaster and @outofangband for inspiration on how to tackle the 'dusk' prompt!

The first woman of the Edain Daeron loved was a milkmaid and cow herder late in her years, all wispy age-streaked braids and fat arms

He sought out her shadow rustling in the aldar leaves, in the laughing of a hidden brook. Running, leaping, whenever he thought he caught her scent of starlight on mossy ground - like a hound sniffing for its mistress, like a madman gathering thorn-scratches and losing the course of the years.

It was not madness, though it sounded mad, and foolish, and pitiful. 

There were tales told of him. Because even the oldest forest and the darkest waters were no longer unpopulated, and mortals bred fast and grew covetous, there were made old trees thorn down; it happened at times that he would leave a meadow for a time, and find it turned into a hamlet on his return, or a town.

His heart grew hard as stone, inside him. In the worst winters, when there was much cold to be fought in Mannish homes, and fallen elms and firs and birches were too many to name, Daeron thought only bitterly of Lúthien's escape. Lúthien's Choice, a choosing of cruelty, a renouncing of the true face of the world.

He withheld his songs from her, as if she heard him in truth; and gathering himself in a cold cave or hollow stump, his sleep was thin and unhappy, with no memory of spring.

Regret came with the first thaw; but then, like always, it was too late to find any solace, any satisfaction. Lúthien was in the forests, at times; but she never did turn to look back, to see if he kept to her tracks.

The first woman of the Edain Daeron loved was a milkmaid and cow herder late in her years, all wispy age-streaked braids and fat arms, pail carried steadily on her head even as she let out her loud graceless laugh.

Before her narrow cabin she set a basin, and a handful of seeds; in this way she had small wood birds near her house often, and some of their pretty singing.

It was a kindly trade; that it had brought her an elf as skittish and fond of fennel seeds as any sparrow did not daunt her in the least. In the evenings he came, sometimes, by her door; she played a flute, a small and ugly thing, not well and not badly.

Daeron had forgotten. The songs of others were lovely still, in their way; even the ones Lúthien had never heard.

Soon enough she she set him to fixing the thatch roof and mending the crane mechanism in the water pump- also gathering new rushes for the floor.

"As thou art a wood-sprite, and stands sense that rushes are sweeter for thee," which was true enough; he brought new smells into the damp shelter of her house, a little green wildness.

He did as he was told out of bemusement, and surprised himself in accepting her bowls of gruel, her warm blankets, her warm legs wrapped around him upon a straw mattress, a grass mound, the shade under the tall chestnuts where the cows grazed. 

"Look at this mad thing," she said, tripping rough fingers up his ribs to test if he would quiver, running them through his hair - picking off bits of dead grass, shreds of ivy. "I knew there were birds that turned into spirits in the woods, but most birds are much neater than this!"

She laughed at his indignation, and pressed him down, and laughed further at how he did quiver, nose against her bosom, mouth opening with kisses.

Reluctantly, in fits and starts and incidents, he came to know their ways.

The first winter he spent in a human village was an error; the second there was a plague, the sixth it was razed by the neighboring kingdom - or might have been. If not for Daeron singing terrors out of the mists; if not for the growing of briars sharp as daggers, and wild barking in the wild.

Melian's teachings were in him still, half-dormant; and if he told none whom it was that kept danger away, still his lover teased him while plucking briars from his hair, and grew even more shameless about sending him off to scare away wolves and bears and annoying tax-riders with his mighty powers.

Lúthien's choice grew less repellent to him, in time. But he would not have chosen as Lúthien might have, after all. 

He could only be himself, one of the Quendi; the last of them, he thought, perhaps.

He stood by the mounds where roses grew from his lover's bones. Her laughter, gone thick with age and then silent, was a biting grief, a cutting thing; and he had to be glad for it, too, for he had not thought to grieve a thing besides Lúthien, and it was good to love, after all, even a thing that died.

O, but it was bitter! A long winter of the heart, and a winter that always came back.

That much Lúthien had taught him, and his cow-herder; and the forests, too, where saplings grew in the place of old giants, and shrubs ate away even the roots of Ents.

This relinquishing come no more easily, not more easily was he at peace with it. Still he knew then it would happen again; many times, perhaps.

He swept the house, brought in new rushes, and left the cows grazing, and filled the basin, where sparrows and jays and plain nightingales came to sate their thirst. Some winters he went onward, deeper into the forests, to scare the wolves, the bold mountain lions, the king's riders.

But the house was his now, and the roses were not as stout as niphredil, and wanted tending.

-

It was not madness. Daeron saw her in every flower that bloomed at dusk, the sweet haze that rose over the world in the first days of spring. Lúthien was there.

He saw her, now. Not at first, when he was younger, and caught in grief and regret such that no consolation could be found.

He saw her in the small pale flowers that were not niphredil. He saw her in the lined faces of old women weaving by the hearth during the long winters, and in the maids dancing round the summer bonfires. In all things mortal, in all blue twilights; and he loved Lúthien the better for it, in time, with a love that was an aching sweetness, not the last of its kind.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Night Nurse - Ch 6

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

VI.

On their way through the lobby they found themselves intercepted by Winston, who presented Helen with a small red box, the sort with gold trimmed corners that usually would contain an expensive piece of jewelry. With wide eyes she accepted it, shooting John a look of bewilderment, wondering if there was some Underworld ritual happening she didn’t grasp.

John, however, had an idea of what it might contain. He nodded for her to open it, and she found a little black transmitter with a button. It had a clip and would be easily concealable anywhere, from a pocket to under her clothes. She let out a little sigh of relief, slipping the box into her purse. “Thank you, Winston. I appreciate it.”

Graciously he nodded. “My pleasure, and my regret that it may be necessary. But then, we are all villains within these walls, Miss Helen. I fear you are an angel of mercy walking amongst devils.”

John barely repressed an eyeroll at Winston’s dramatization. It didn’t mean he was wrong, mind, just…so…Winston.

“I’m not that angelic,” she countered with a little smile, and a sidelong look at the assassin at her side that spoke volumes. It was frightfully telling, earning John a raise of eyebrows from the Manager. John simply returned the older man’s gaze, betraying nothing, even while his heart did a frantic drumroll in his chest.  

 “I have no doubt you’re just full of surprises,” said Winston, his words heavy with double meaning as he looked between she and John. John got the sense that Winston was trying to communicate something else, but as usual, it went over his head. “I fear that device will only serve you here on the Continental grounds. Out there, you must fend for yourself.”

“Understood. I truly appreciate your accommodation. I know I’m not as dangerous as all of you. I’m afraid I’m a healer, not a killer.”

Winston’s stare settled on John once more as he said, “Give it time.” Leaning in closer, the Manager lowered his voice nearly to a whisper. “You might ask yourself, Jonathan, why the little bear would so seemingly foolishly provoke you. For Mikhail Medvedev is not, in fact, as stupid as he looks.”

John’s eyes narrowed to slits, a look that was sharp as obsidian. “Do you know something?”

“I know only what I am seeing played out on my stage.” He waved to indicate the entirety of his beautiful kingdom, the luxuriously appointed lobby and everything beyond.

“Uh huh.”

Helpful, as usual.

“He certainly could not challenge you out in the open.”

John lowered his voice, unable to conceal the thread of heat in his tone. “But he didn’t challenge me. He went after her. I feel like it was dumb luck I intercepted the...” He paused, choked by rage all over again as he thought about it. When he could speak again, he settled for, “Shake down,” though it hardly encompassed the intended offense.

He thought about how he had tossed and turned that night after Helen had left him for another patient, unable to rest, unable to sleep. As though he’d known a signal would arise, that she would need him. It was ridiculous, of course. There had been no real specific indications. He wasn’t fucking psychic. Perhaps just filled with dread for what seemed inevitable, in a hotel filled to the gills with predators.

“Like it or not, it is widely known among us now that the Nurse came into our world because of you, and that she possesses your favor. You think it can’t be considered an indirect attack on you? Tarasov’s most feared assassin?”

The thought made John’s blood run cold.

Fucking politics.

“You think the Medvedevs are moving on the Tarasovs?”

Winston shrugged. It was as good as a yes. He wasn’t supposed to favor one crime family over another, but Managers were human, and prone to their preferences. What John maybe didn’t realize, was that he himself bore more of Winston’s favor than Viggo or any of the other Tarasovs.  

It wasn’t that John cared, really, for the well being of the Tarasov Bratva. Viggo was a business associate. Friends...were a rare beast in their business. True friends were goddamn unicorns. The Tarasovs paid him well enough, but what worried him most now was not war, but that Helen seemed to have landed right smack in the middle of it.

“God dammit.”

Winston tilted his head in acknowledgement to John’s assessment.

“I sense you have a day ahead of you, Jonathan. I will leave you two to it.” He nodded, and took his leave, crossing the lobby to greet another assassin newly arrived.

Despite Winston’s warnings, John wasn’t sure he should raise the alarm just yet. Going to Viggo with this might prove premature.

Maybe he would get the opportunity to just kill Mikhail, his two mountainous heavies, and sweep it all under the rug.

The Tarasovs and the Medvedevs had coexisted for years. A bloody power grab smacked of a plot thought up by the meathead youths hungry for glory, not the older men who were already rich, powerful, and managing nicely to stay out of prison and enjoy their ill-gotten gains living lives of luxury. Wars drew unwanted attention. Federal attention, that couldn’t be bribed away so cheaply as the local talent.

John nodded to himself, answering his own internal dialogue. Helen watched him, her expression solemn. “It’s ok, John. Whatever you need to do…”

“No,” he said. “We’re still going to have our day.”

“Are you sure?”

He appreciated that she thought that maybe he shouldn’t run off to Jersey with a possible war on the horizon. But nothing was certain. He imagined what he would actually say to Viggo, if he tried to warn the boss now. So there’s this woman I like, and Ivan’s son may or may not have tried to have his way with her. Then we glared at each other over breakfast. Then I put him in his place with the direst of insults.

Yeah. That wasn’t going to fly.

“I am.” Then it occurred to him, “If you still want to go?”

She gave a little snort, a sparkle of laughter in her eye. “Good one, Mr. Wick.”

He just couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning upwards at that. She was fearless, or, dare he think it…she felt safe with him. “Can I take your bag?” He gestured at the carryall she had slung over her shoulder. 

“Thanks, you’re sweet, but maybe you should keep your hands free?”

For guns, or whatever might come their way, he realized.

“You really are perfect,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Her eyes glittered like goldstone, and she sidled a step closer, smoothing her hand down his tie. Every nerve in his body came alive with that small, seemingly innocent, touch. “Remember you said that when you get to know me better.”

He didn’t think he could ever think of her as anything but perfection.

“Well…I think I’m adding blades training to your lesson plan today. If I ever forget, you can remind me.”

She paused at that, but only for a moment, a ripple in a pool there and gone. “Well, I’m already pretty good with a scalpel. Just saying…”

Her smile was the sun, bright, beautiful, and lifegiving. He was such a goner for this woman. They had to get out of here, before he really embarrassed himself.

“Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

He offered his arm, and together they bravely, or very foolishly, dared to leave the sanctuary of the Continental for the big bad city beyond.

***

“John. What. The hell. Is this?”

These were Helen’s words as the valet roared up in John’s 1969 Mustang Boss 429. She was grinning like a fool as she said it though, so he didn’t take terrible offense.

“My daily driver?”

“Oh my god.” The heavily tattooed valet looked between them and his colleagues on the steps, simultaneously interested and anxious about this interaction.

No one talked to John Wick this way.

Little did they know, John Wick was loving every minute of it.

She ran a hand lovingly down the hood, appreciating the machine’s vintage lines. It was sleek, predatory, but stylishly subtle with its deep gray and matte black paint job, the dark racing stripes on the front. Like it knew it was the meanest motor on the road—it didn’t have to be vulgar about it.

“You know what. I take it back. It’s so you.”

John had always found the art of automotive pinups fairly ridiculous. The back room of Aurelio’s was plastered with scantily clad, implausibly proportioned women suggestively positioned over cars. He’d never understood the point. Wasn’t the car sexy enough? Yet now, seeing Helen leaning against his machine in her street clothes, just that shapely green sweater, a short brown leather jacket, and indigo washed jeans—he was starting to understand. Desire overtook him like wildfire from his head to his toes, and he found he wanted to christen the hood of this car with her beautiful long legs wrapped inextricably around him.

The thought made his every hair stand on end, an uncomfortable flush blooming beneath his collar.

“I’m glad you approve,” he finally got out in an attempt to cover the raucous churning he felt inside, his voice gone rough with this unhelpful inner dialogue. He held the passenger side door open for her, and she would never know the feat of self-control it took not to grab her up, as she brushed past to situate herself down in the passenger’s seat.

He took her bag to throw in the trunk. But before closing her door he couldn’t resist leaning down towards her, his arm on the roof, an eyebrow raised. “So, do you like to go fast?”

She inspected her nails, playing along with a knowing little smile. He knew then that he hadn’t fooled her a bit. That she saw everything with those intelligent amber eyes, and he’d never been so glad to feel so exposed.

“Honey, I’m not the one who’s been taking it slow here.”

Their eyes met, her gaze hitting John like a bullet to the heart. He clutched at his chest with a conspiratorial little smile, wishing he could keep this perfect moment in a bottle. A moment with a woman in which they were both perfectly happy. Was it really possible?

His long-ingrained cynicism tried to quash this feeling under its thumb, but this strange new sense of joy resisted.

It seemed like anything was possible, with her.

He didn’t quite burn out as they left the Continental, but the roar of their departure won grins from the red-suited valets who stood on the sidewalk before the hotel. 

Truth be told, downtown Manhattan wasn’t actually the best place to drive fast, the constant stop and go of traffic and stoplights getting in their way. Helen didn’t seem to mind, curled up in the seat next to John, surveying the city going by through the windshield. Though technically she possessed a car, she rarely drove it, letting her little sister use it for the transport of art projects and her circle of wacky bohemian friends.

Helen had been a caretaker since she was practically a child herself, to her little sister, and her mother who was often incapacitated. This new sensation of being taken care of was a heady thing, and not just because her protector was a tall, dark, and handsome mafia assassin with the soulful eyes of a poet, and the long-fingered hands of a musician...

She was staring at those hands on the steering wheel, and the gear shift, painfully aware that it would have been such an easy thing for him to reach out to her in between changing gears. A part of her wished he would, and yet, it was achingly sweet, how respectful this man was. Most men would have tried to bed her by now, would not have resisted the pull of their chemistry, no matter the consequences to her or to him. Since that first night, when he’d been weakened by injury and unwilling to stand against her as she bull-dogged her way into his world, he’d been so careful not to further entangle her.  

As much as she despised him, maybe she owed Mikhail Medvedev a thank you for bringing John closer to her. It was a dangerous thing, perhaps. Not because of John Wick’s reputation or his involvement with the Tarasovs. Because, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to let him go.

“Can I ask you a question?” she posed as they paused at a seemingly unnecessarily long red light.

“Sure.”

“Did you ever find out who was shooting at you on the subway?”

John blinked, looking over at Helen from behind his dark aviator glasses. It felt like all that had happened a lifetime ago. The incident officially had been swept under the respective rug, any pertinent surveillance video erased with the offering of a gold coin, and the truth was… “No.”

He hadn’t even looked into it, really, past ensuring the cleanup. The occurrence of people trying to kill him was so frequent he’d damn near forgot about it. He’d had a couple of time-sensitive contracts to prioritize completing, and getting Helen settled at the Continental, and…he definitely shouldn’t have just let it go.

She nodded, not seeming to judge him for it. But he could tell the wheels were turning in that brilliant brain. “Is there a chance…it has to do with this Medvedev-Tarasov thing?”

There was a very good chance of that, looking at the separate pieces now, and Winston’s cryptic little warning disguised as idle gossip.

“Yeah. I’ll look into that.”

The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed, although also, ridiculous. The Medvedevs wanted to waste him, The Baba Yaga, so they sent some punk? Who did they think they were dealing with?

But then…he had behaved rather foolishly, making a pattern of taking the subway at the exact same time on a weekly basis. It had almost been asking for someone to at least try for it. 

Helen seemed to be thinking about the vehicle of their first meeting too. “John, what were you doing on the subway all those times, if you have a car like this?”

What, indeed.

Torn between not wanting to lie to her and not wanting to admit the truth just yet, that he’d been drawn to her like a moth to a flame, or from a different side of the coin, that he’d borderline been stalking her, and then nearly got her killed, a silence drew out between them. John glanced in his rearview, checking his surroundings out of habit.

He was almost relieved, when he beheld a black Mercedes G Wagon, the same that had been behind him for several blocks and several turns. He would have bet a fistful of gold coins that Igor or Alexei was behind the wheel.

“Are you buckled up?” he asked quietly, his eyes fixed on his mirror. Were they just following to try to spook John, or would Mikhail be so audacious as to give orders for them to attack here in the middle of Manhattan in the middle of the day? He was afraid the answer might be yes.

Goddamn kids.  

“Yeah. Why?” Bless his brave girl, but there was only a hint of worry in her question.

“Because we’re about to burn some rubber.”

Rather than telegraph with her turning silhouette in the window that they were on to their tail, she calmly examined her own side mirror to look back.

“Is it Mikhail?”

“Not sure,” answered John honestly. “Probably just his soldiers, though.”

“Who the fuck do these assholes think they are?”

John’s mouth twisted into a tight-lipped smile, inexplicably delighted by her cursing. Angry Helen was surfacing, and maybe his wires were a little crossed, but he still thought she was fucking hot.   

“Only one way to find out.”

The light turned green, and he made a sudden right turn without signaling. When the G Wagon swung madly to follow, he knew they had a tail for sure. “Hang on.” The Mustang’s engine roared as he shifted, and the car took off like a shot. They wove in and out of traffic, the less maneuverable Mercedes struggling to follow.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Helen, gripping the door handle as John wrenched the wheel, downshifting for traction, skidding into a left turn down a smaller street.

The Mercedes nearly tipped trying to follow. The Mustang barely slipped between a brick building and an oncoming box truck. The truck slammed on its brakes, causing a pile up, conveniently blocking the way to the street. They left a snarl of horns and yelling motorists behind them in the dust.

No one did road rage like New Yorkers, God Bless.

“Holy Shit!” exclaimed Helen with wide eyes and a huge smile, turning to watch the kerfuffle behind them quickly disappearing through the back window. Her laughter was like balm for his soul, and John found himself grinning.

 “Your first car chase, I presume?” he asked, looking over with an oh-so-pleased smile.

“I thought that was just New York driving?” she tossed back with a smirk, settling back into her seat again, seemingly unphased. John couldn’t help but feel a swelling sense of pride for how well she took the stress of their madcap car ride.

“Oh no.”

The sight of the G Wagon turning onto their street ahead put a damper on the atmosphere of joy in the car.

“Get down,” instructed John. The passenger in the G Wagon, Igor, brandished a black pistol, and Helen sank down as far as she could in her seat.

Igor squeezed off a couple rounds. John swerved, and the shots went wide.

“Are they actually shooting at us in broad daylight?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Yeah.”

There wasn’t really anywhere to go but forward. No way to turn around quickly, no alleys to cut down.

Rather than slow down, John shifted, the growl of the engine echoing his rage. He knew that having Helen in the car with him made everything sharper somehow. The stakes were higher. He never wanted to die, but he’d long ago accepted the inevitability that someday someone would get lucky, and it would be lights out. He didn’t really believe in anything beyond that.

But Helen was here, and he had to survive.

“Hold on.”

“John?”

“Stay down, honey.”

Ducked down in her seat, she couldn’t see, but she certainly knew they were barreling down the street at breakneck speed. Her eyes were the size of saucers, and he hated himself for scaring her.

This had to end now.

With a flick of his wrist John steered into the Mercedes’s lane, challenging the expensive SUV head on. He could see Alexei at the wheel, his dour expression set in grim determination for this game of chicken. Igor, however, was another matter, clearly not such a fatalist as his partner, gesticulating wildly in his seat.  

“John!”

She was peeking just over the dash, unable to keep herself from looking.

He did not answer, his focus on the obstacle before him. Rather than shooting at the oncoming Mustang, Igor was shouting at Alexei, grabbing for the wheel.  

At the last minute, the G Wagon chickened out, swerving madly, a turn so sharp it kicked up on two wheels before skidding into a parked car on the street. There was a magnificent crash, and the Mustang roared on, switching lanes just in time to miss an oncoming taxi cab.

“Holy shit!” Helen sat back up in her seat, watching the carnage as they sped away. Then, to John’s surprise, she laughed, a deep belly laugh that sent warmth from his heart to his toes. “That was fucking awesome.” Her eyes shone like stars, her thick russet curls waving wildly about her face. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly as in that moment, the adrenaline from the chase rushing through his veins. These were the moments that made life worth living for John—who knew it would be made so much sweeter, with a woman by his side? 

This woman, his hindbrain corrected.

Everything was sweeter, with this woman by his side.

<<Chapter 5 Chapter 7>>