#Shadow and Bone Master List

[amiramorozova]

Darkira (Aleksander Morozova x Amira Silina) pt. 9 Puppy Shadow

A soft knock on the door echoed through Catalina's house, signaling General Kirigan's return. Amira opened the door to find him standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Amira," Kirigan began, "I was wondering if you would join me for a stroll in the city. I would like to know my soulmate better."

Amira, with a hint of defiance in her gaze, agreed to the invitation. As they ventured into the heart of the city, where the lively atmosphere enveloped them, Amira couldn't help but notice the watchful eyes that followed General Kirigan's every move.

Kirigan led Amira through narrow alleys and bustling marketplaces, his keen eyes observing everything around them. They stopped at a quaint cafe tucked away from the bustling crowds, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enticing them.

As they sat in the outdoor seating area, Kirigan initiated a conversation that delved beyond their Grisha abilities. He asked about Amira's childhood, her dreams, and the experiences that shaped her into the person she was today. Amira, though willing to share, maintained a subtle defiance in her responses.

"I've had my share of challenges, General," she remarked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But I don't let them define me."

Kirigan, undeterred, continued to unravel the layers of Amira's past. The defiance in her tone only seemed to deepen his intrigue. The night unfolded with shared stories, laughter, and a connection that was both reluctant and undeniable.

As they strolled through the city, Amira's defiance softened into a guarded curiosity. She found herself captivated by Kirigan's tales of ancient Grisha history and the struggles he faced. Yet, she remained determined not to let him completely unravel her secrets.

On the rooftop of a building, with the city lights sparkling below them, Kirigan gazed at Amira. "Amira, there is more to us than just our Grisha powers. I am glad to have this opportunity to know you on a deeper level."

Amira, her defiance giving way to a glimmer of vulnerability, met his gaze. "General Kirigan, don't mistake my openness for complete surrender. There are parts of me you will never know."

The night in the city had not only unveiled secrets but also showcased the defiance that fueled Amira's spirit, a spirit unwilling to be entirely consumed by the enigmatic General Kirigan.

He chuckled a little and kept walking with her "You will find I have patients to discover what those things are..we have all the time in the world.." He said 

Amira didn't want to give him any clues but she knew he was also right..he had eternity..they had eternity to know one another. 

As they walked though, Amira stopped when she heard the sound of puppies and she went over to where they were. She saw a group of puppies that was blonde, brown, white and one black one. General Kirigan was not usually around animals except horses. 

"Do you want one?" He asked her as she looked at him. 

"I wanted a pet when I was younger..Sierra and I would always talk about what we'd get." Amira said as she was still wearing his necklace. 

The man in charge of the puppies was going to shoo Amira away when he saw the General and changed his mind as he looked at her. "Which one do you like young miss?" He asked her 

Amira looked at the group of puppies as she thought about it before she picked up the black puppy and felt the puppy lick her cheek as she laughed. Aleksander was a bit surprised but he gave the man payment for the pup. He had a feeling he'd be rewarded in the future for doing this for her. 

As they walked she held the puppy who relaxed in her arms, he questioned what her moves were going to be now that she was a pet owner and he'd paid for this puppy. 

When they returned to Catalina's house, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek in appreciation surprising him. "Thank you for the puppy..Good night General." Amira said 

They went separate ways that night and for a few days he had to figure out what he was going to do. 

Amira had gone to the market to get puppy supplies for her new puppy she named Shadow with her grandmother Catalina. She'd gotten her food, supplies and a leash along with a collar. She loved that she had the opportunity and when a month passed and Aleksander came back to see her. 

Amira was outside with her dog that had grown a bit and she was laughing as the dog was a great companion. Nico was watching her making sure no one was going to harm her and when he arrived Shadow barked. 

"Seems you've been training her well." Aleksander said as Amira looked seeing the General. 

"Yes, I have and Nico has helped." She said as she knew she had merely three months left here in her Grandmother's care before becoming his permanent guest. He nod as he walked over and kissed her hand.

TagList: @lifeisingrey​,  @houseoftoomanyfandoms​, @mizelophsun11​, @budugu​ , @wheresthesunshinesblog

[six-of-crows-hyperfixation]

Master List

Tumblr: six-of-crows-hyperfixation

AO3: Talking-Crow

* * * * *

When Crows Blush (Office AU) 💦

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul (Soulmates AU; Famous AU; Social Media AU) 💦

Nothing But a Broken Wing (Massage with a happy ending) 💦

Like a Throne (They discuss face-sitting) 🍓

I dreamed we were criminals (Domestic AU) 🌼

So Right (Trans AU) 💦

Bedroom Walls (Collage AU; Ninej POV) 💦

💦 = E rated

🍓 = M rated

🌼 = G rated

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

❥ Fem Reader

❥ Warnings; cursing, teasing, dirty talk, praising, soft! dom Tamaki, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy sex, pussy eating, fingering, vaginal sex

Note; for the lovely anon requester, I super loved writing this, I love Tamaki — the soft dom version of him hits the spot.

Tamaki is, more often than not, tightly wound into a ball of nerves. Not to say he hasn’t gotten any better at being able to handle the reigns of his anxiety, because he certainly has.

It’s just, there’s always a small undercurrent of unease lingering in his belly. Making his pulse thunder, fingers shaking with unrestrained adrenaline each time he gets interviewed after a villain beat down.

He’s ashamed to admit that even when he’s with friends the unsettling sensation remains, albeit minutely. It creeps across the back of his mind, lurking in the shadows at all times.

That is, unless he’s with you, and now, with your baby girl too. Funnily enough, his hands were as steady as they’d ever been when he first held his little girl.

His heart didn’t race, he wasn’t choking to death on butterflies— okay well, those things were happening. Just not in an oh my god the sky is falling type of way. It was in an oh my god I love my family so much I’m gonna throw up scenario.

Tamaki was drowning in his feelings for the two of you, so much so that he definitely did burst into tears.

Tamaki’s sweet little Chiyoko is two years old now, and don’t get him wrong, he’s happy. But fuck — he’d be remiss if he didn’t admit he’s starting to get that itch again. The one that clouds his mind and turns his thoughts into a one track mind of I want a baby, I want a baby, I need to knock her up NOW —

Tamaki just really longs for another little one to raise, someone to teach how to be better than he ever has been. Another person he can completely be himself with, who he’ll love unconditionally. He’ll always strive to give his kids a better world than the one he grew up in.

Although, if he’s being honest, what really severed the pathetically thin thread that was left of his patience was when he came across what must’ve been the 10th pregnant woman while out on patrol today.

All Tamaki could keep picturing was you. With your belly so cute, so swollen and so so round with his baby.

An image involuntarily pops up behind his eyelids. It’s of your pretty face, your lower lip pushed out so sweetly in a pout, tits obscenely spilling over the top of your bra. Tamaki swallows, throat dry as cotton as he works to keep a steady pace while he walks the streets.

His cheeks are burning, a bubblegum pink flush taking over his skin. He can feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck, all the way up to the pointy tips of his ears.

Tamaki frantically pulls the hood of his hero costume further down to obscure his face as his mind sharply turns down a much filthier path.

The vivid image and memory of you riding his cock when you were six months pregnant makes the muscles in his stomach clench in anticipation. He remembers how unbelievably tight your pussy was, how he was able to place his hands possessively on your belly as he gawked at the way you used his cock to make yourself cum.

Fuck, fuck, fuck — he craves the satisfaction of putting another baby into you so badly his balls ache.

His heart stutters when he realizes his cock is rapidly thickening against his inner thigh, hot and full.

Tamaki then urgently speed walks back to his hero agency as if he’s leaving a trail of fire behind him, because he’s pretty sure the stretchy spandex of his hero outfit is not going to hide his humiliating boner.

Later on that evening, after your daughter has fallen asleep, you find yourself with your hands bound to the metal slats of your headboard. A soft, smooth, silky material caressing your skin, and binding your wrists together above your head.

Your skin seems to be stretched too tightly over your bones, entire body flushing white hot as Tamaki traces the pads of fingers feather light over your bare breasts.

You’re both naked now, and he’s been playing with you for what feels like a lifetime. He’s been teasing you relentlessly as his thumbs delicately circle your nipples until they pebble up. Your pussy throbs in response.

“Tama,” you whine lowly, arching your spine as he grips your left tit playfully. You push further into his touch, craving so much more from your husband than he’s giving you. You twitch as his other hand traces your lower belly idly.

“Hm? Is this not enough for you my goddess?” Tamaki teases you with a soft voice, punctuating his words with another rough squeeze to your tit. He makes sure to pinch your nipple in between his fingers this time.

You bends your knees and let your thighs spread open even further to fit his lithe frame as you let out a breathy sigh.

“Fuck no, it’s not enough Tamaki,” you complain, irritation lacing your voice as you strain against the silk that ties you down. Goosebumps litter your arms when rests his warm palms over the bumps of your ribs, fingers splaying out just under the swell of your tits.

“No? My, that’s a bit bratty of you,” He reprimands, warm breath tickling over your skin as he presses a kiss to your sternum.

“Baby,” you say, asking for his attention. You tilt your head down to stare at him with wide eyes. “Please I want your mouth so bad.”

Slender fingers dig into your ribs, forcing a squeak out of you as it tickles you. Tamaki only hums, pressing a line of kisses down your soft belly, lowering himself onto his own as he makes his way to your pussy.

“Here?” Tamaki asks innocently before he kisses the sensitive area of your hip bone, sucking on the skin a little. Your hips twitch, trying to move his head to your pussy — which is starting to ache, puffy and slick from being so turned on.

“No,” you whimper, fingers curling into fists, nails digging into the flesh of your palms where you’re still tied up. Tamaki places his hands on the underside of your thighs, easily pushing them open further for him.

“Oh, so you must mean here?” He giggles, dipping his head to kiss the inner part of your thigh, close to the seam that connects to your groin. He nips at the skin there sharply, making you gasp.

“You know that’s not it Tamaki,” you huff, wiggling in place, frustratedly tugging at the silk yet again. Your shoulders start to ache and you have the insanely strong urge to tangle your fingers in his soft, purple hair.

Taking action, you maneuver your legs until you can rest your thighs over his shoulders, heels ready to dig into his upper back. He instinctively wraps an arm around your thigh.

He uses the other hand to brush his fingers through the small patch of curly hair you left above your clit. His cock twitches looking at it because it’s basically a neon sign pointing him straight down to your pretty pussy.

“I’m not quite sure what you want then baby,” Tamaki sighs, pretending to be disappointed. “Ya know, only good girls get what they ask for. You should use your words better, don’t you think?” He remarks thoughtfully, pinching your clit between his thumb and fore finger, trying to bite back his smile. One of his canines pokes out over his bottom lip.

“Tamaki!” You hiss, pressing upwards towards his mouth. The hero wraps both his arms around your thighs, halting your movement completely. “Fucking—Tamaki, please baby, I want you to eat my pussy,” you reluctantly beg, teeth grinding together in frustration.

“Oh! I see, why didn’t you just ask me in the first place? Such a good girl though, using your words,” Tamaki replies happily, brushing his warm lips over your clit when he speaks, and you could strangle the man right now.

His slick tongue is so close to your clit you have the urge to rip apart the silk tie and shove his face into you.

“Tamaki I swear, if you don’t — oh,” Your complaint is cut short. Your jaw falls open, fists clenching tightly when your husband’s tongue finally parts the lips of your pussy. Leisurely, he swirls circles into your clit, forcing a rush of warm shivers down your spine as he kitten licks at you.

“Oh my god Tamaki,” you keen, voice thick with pleasure. “Please don’t stop,” you plead, thighs threatening to suffocate him as you cross your ankles over his back.

He rewards you by sucking your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue up and down occasionally. He teased you for so long before that you’re already starting to feel an ominous knot tighten up behind your navel.

“Tama I wanna, oh!” Your breath hitches. “Fingers, want your fingers in my pussy, please!” You blurt urgently, tugging painfully at your restraints.

You squeeze your eyes shut when Tamaki hums, smoothly freeing himself from one of your thighs.

With no resistance, he slips his two middle fingers inside, stretching you just the way you needed him to. He thrusts and curls his fingers at a steady pace, never letting up the suction on your clit. His tongue teasing just under the hood and turning you in a pile of mush.

“Just like that, Tamaki please, I wanna cum,” you say desperately, tilting your head to look at him again and meeting his gaze. His eyes are half lidded, pale skin flushed. He’s so pretty it physically hurts.

The knot of your orgasm tightens frighteningly fast. Not to mention, just the sight of Tamaki between your legs is overwhelming.

The base of your skull digs into your pillow as the water balloon pops, your orgasm gushing through your limbs like heated honey.

Your mouth opens in a silent o shape as your entire body goes taught. Your back arches off the bed, pussy acting as a vice while you cum around Tamaki’s fingers. He makes sure to move fluidly with your hips as you roll them against his mouth.

Your husband pulls his mouth off your over sensitive clit with a pop, fingers still fucking the life out of you.

“Look at you, such a good girl, cumming on my fingers so sweetly,” Tamaki coos. His pink tongue pokes out to lick his shiny lips, moaning huskily at the taste.

After a few seconds, your body begins to melt back into into the mattress below. Your thighs releasing the death grip on his head. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, watching Tamaki push himself up with one hand, settling back on his haunches as he slides his fingers free.

“You’re too good at that,” you laugh, chancing a peak at your husband’s hard, leaking cock.

He’s got such a pretty dick. He’s thick and pale, sticking straight out, a pale pink at the tip. It twitches a few times under your praise, precum making the tip shiny. Saliva gathers in your mouth as you imagine licking him clean and swallowing him whole.

Tamaki smiles shyly down at you like he’s read your mind. To distract you, he rolls his thumb over your puffy clit, making you wince.

“I know you want to suck my cock, but I need to be inside you baby. Want me to untie your hands?” He asks lovingly, running the knuckles of his clean hand over your cheek. You nod, humming softly.

“Please,” you laugh, tugging on the silk for emphasis. He chuckles gently in return, leaning over to untie your wrists.

As he does, the warm, spongy tip of his cock glides through the mess he’s made of your pussy. Massaging your clit, and making you both moan. The weight of his cock making you feverish.

Tamaki’s eyes are intense as they stare into yours. He lets you free, hands hovering nearing your face. You pause, flexing your fingers, allowing the blood to flow through your veins. You can feel the tension smoldering deliciously between you both, about to blaze.

Hands plant themselves on either side of your head, and then Tamaki’s suddenly smashing his against yours. He tilts his head to the side as his lips meet yours over and over.

Your fingers finally weave through his soft hair, tugging on it roughly. He lets his sharp canines catch on your bottom lip in return, easily swallowing the moans he’s dragging out of you.

Tamaki breaks the kiss, sitting back on his heels. Your hands fall limply to your sides when he moves away. He places his palms on your inner thighs, pushing them wide open. You let out a sound of protest, lower lip jutting out. He bites the tip of his tongue, looking amused.

“Don’t pout my queen, I know what your pussy really wants,” he says, lightly slapping your clit. You jolt in surprise, fingers fisting the soft material of the sheets.

“Yeah — okay, please fuck me,” you agree, feeling sweat bead up in the hollow of your throat.

“I’m gonna stuff you to the brim princess,” Tamaki says, voice airy but eager. He uses one hand to keep you spread, the other gripping the base of his shaft as he pushes the tip of his cock inside you His jaw clenches at just how tight, how perfect you are.

“I know Tama, c’mon, I want to make you a daddy again,” you urge him, wolfish grin pulling at your lips. Tamaki pauses, blinking at you in surprise with a rapidly forming blush. Said man raises an eyebrow, slipping the rest of his cock in without any warning. It punches a strangled sound from your lungs as you grip your pillow for leverage.

“My queen’s got a filthy mouth,” Tamaki croons, hooking your knees over his elbows — effectively folding you into a pretzel as leans forward, hands braced by your shoulders this time. “It’s hot,” he giggles. The glare you level him with holds no heat behind it.

He wiggles his eyebrows as he pulls his hips backwards halfway, before thrusting forward smoothly and filling you completely. You grip his shoulders, head falling backwards into the mattress. His cock is so so good.

“You feel amazing,” you tell him with a moan. The glide of his cock inside you is fucking perfect every time, splitting you open just the way you love.

“Yeah? Your pussy fits me like a glove princess, it drives me crazy,” Tamaki pants, warm breath ghosting over your face. He’s drinking up your reactions as if he’s never had a drop of water in his life.

“Mmhmm,” you whimper, hanging onto his muscled forearms now. “Harder,” you tell him, your face scrunching up as your eyes flutter shut. All you can focus on is the way he slides in and out of you, carving out a space for himself.

“Yes baby, you take me so well. You’re so pretty like this,” Tamaki praises low and smooth like butter. He gives you what you want, curling hips up slightly so he can hit your g-spot spot dead on.

Your nails create crescent shapes in his forearms, spine rising off the bed as much as you can in this folded position. Your blood is buzzing, eyes rolling so far back into your skull you’re afraid they’ll get stuck.

“Tamaki!” You sob. “I can — oh my god, feels like you’re in my guts.” Your legs flex over his elbows, his strength keeping you pinned however he chooses.

“It’s called a mating press for a reason baby,” Tamaki huffs a laugh, his eyebrows pinching together as the sound of his pelvis smacking your ass pushes him closer to the edge.

Tamaki makes you cum this way multiple times. Enough to make you see stars, hearing going fuzzy as you notice your hips start to ache. Then you’re begging him to cum inside you— making his cock jerk excitedly.

“I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to see you cum on my cock like this princess,” he says, as if in awe of the very sight of you.

Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer as he starts throbbing repeatedly, the way you’re suffocating him makes his brain mushy.

“Tamaki,” you murmur, hands reaching up to frame his face. “Cum inside me,” you demand, bringing his face down to kiss his jaw.

“I can’t wait to see your belly stretched with my baby again, you’re such a good mama,” he coos softly, turning his head so you can kiss his neck. You lick a stripe up his neck, tasting the salty sweat there and he groans. “Fuck, m’gonna cum, you’re made to take my cock, made to give me babies,” Tamaki babbles, thrusting shallow and desperate.

The tiny, rhythmic squeezes of your pussy are enough to push him over the edge, because suddenly he’s shoving his cock inside you entirely. The curly, coarse hair at his base tickling your skin.

Tamaki’s cock twitches relentlessly, stuffing you with small thrusts until he’s sucking in air through his teeth when he gets overstimulated.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hugging him to your chest as Tamaki drops your legs. You sigh in relief, feet tingling as you crack your toes. The two of you catch your breath for a moment, hearts thundering.

Eventually, your husband rises, forcing you to drop your hands to the bed once again. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he pulls out of you slowly, admiring the sticky, white cum coating his cock.

He groans as he tracks the way his cum trails out of you. Before he can think better of it he drags a thumb over your pussy, gathering a bit of it and wrapping his lips around his thumb to suck it off.

“Tamaki!” You gasp, mildly scandalized and cheeks burning furiously from the nasty sight.

“I wanted a taste,” he says nonchalantly, pulling his thumb from his mouth with a wet pop.

A startled laugh slips from your lips and then Tamaki is infected with it, laughing along with you. You both giggle as he lays down on his side, facing you. He places a hand on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his, resting your hands on your sternum.

“You’re lucky we didn’t wake up Chiyoko,” you scold him, halfhearted in your attempt. He just smiles, eyes shining as he laughs.

“I would’ve put her back to bed,” Tamaki appeases, squeezing your hand playfully. You hum, content enough with his answer to relax and enjoy the post orgasm glow.

“I can’t wait to be pregnant again,” you admit in a hushed voice, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’ll be just as beautiful as you always are,” Tamaki whispers so sweetly it’s tooth rotting.

The two of you bask in each others company for a bit longer, daydreaming about the baby you hope you’ve just you created before you do anything else.

[diamonddaze01]

the old man’s bucket list

pairing: chwe hansol x f!reader | wc: 5.2k genre: uni!au, best friends to lovers | rating: pg warnings: use of recreational marijuana a/n: happy birthday vernon thank you for making my day // thank you to @ylangelegy and @gyubakeries for beta-ing!

summary: “So, anything you wanna do before you turn into a pile of withering bones, grandpa?”

The city hums softly around you, the crisp night air swirling between the two of you as you sit side by side on the roof of Vernon’s old car. Its engine has long since fallen silent, but the smell of gasoline still lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of weed. Your fingers curl around the joint, passing it back and forth, the brief flare of orange light casting shadows across your faces in an almost ethereal way. Time seems to slow, the hum of the city and the occasional creak of the car blending into a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.

It’s a tradition you both started in your second year of college, when you’d caught him smoking on the roof late one night. He'd expected you to reprimand him, maybe even call him out for being reckless, but instead, you’d just pulled the joint from his hands and said, “Scoot over.”

And just like that, it became your thing. Now, seven years later, you always show up at his door the night before his birthday, joint and lighter in hand.

Vernon’s voice breaks through the comfortable quiet, low and hazy. “Dude,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke, watching it drift into the night. “I’m gonna be old this time tomorrow.”

You glance over at him, catching the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind of uncertainty that comes when you realize you're edging toward something big, something real. His shoulders are slumped, and for a moment, you see the exhaustion that usually lies beneath the surface—the weight of years of late nights, papers, and the impending future of PhD deadlines.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your voice light, teasing.

He sighs, the sound more wistful than you expect. “I’m gonna be 27. And in a few months, I’ll have my PhD. We’ll be real adults. We’ll be... OLD.” His eyes meet yours, a little panicked, as if the weight of the statement just landed fully in his chest.

A burst of laughter escapes you, the sound of it floating through the night like a breath of relief. “So, anything you wanna do before you turn into a pile of withering bones, grandpa?” You nudge his shoulder with yours, just a touch, but it’s enough to make him smile, to make him breathe out a little easier.

He scoffs, but the joint dangles from his lips, his hand reaching for it again as he takes another drag. You watch, your eyes following the movement of his fingers, the way his knuckles flex slightly as he holds the joint. There’s something intimate about the way he moves, so effortlessly, and the thought catches you off guard.

When Vernon speaks again, he sounds so serious, his voice grounding you back to the moment. “Uh, I wanna TP a house,” he says, eyes narrowing like he’s formulating a master plan.

You can’t help it—laughter spills out of you, louder than expected. You shake your head, still giggling. “That’s your big dream before you’re old and crusty?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but his lips are twitching into a grin. He smacks your arm, a playful jab, but it’s warm, like the flicker of the joint between you. “I’m serious, though. And I wanna crash a wedding, visit all seven continents, and... eat something with peanuts, just to see what happens.”

Your brows furrow, suddenly serious. “No. You’ll die from an allergic reaction, and I don’t need that on my conscience.” You swat at his arm for good measure, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

He pouts, mock-annoyed, but the playful glint in his eyes tells you it’s just for show. “Fine, but I’m putting it on the list anyway.”

You pull out your phone, and open a new note, tapping out the title the old man's bucket list. You wait, glancing at him expectantly. Vernon continues, adding more ridiculous things to the list, each one more absurd than the last. You smile, tapping the screen to close the note, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you.

But then, without warning, you’re up, pulling him to his feet. “Get up,” you say, your voice firm but playful. There’s something about the way the night feels that urges you to keep going, to make something out of the time you have left, to fill it with all the little things that make it memorable.

Vernon groans, the sound half-laughter, half-whine. “C’mon, I’m not in the mood for... whatever this is.”

You’re already pulling him, not giving him a chance to protest. “Get up, Vernon.” The tone is more insistent now, and he lets himself be dragged into motion, half-stumbling behind you as you tug him toward his apartment. He flops onto the couch with a sigh of exaggerated defeat, his body melting into the cushions like he’s been carrying the weight of the world all day. You’re barely inside the door when you march into his bathroom, grabbing the rolls of toilet paper from the cupboard. You march back out, the paper in hand, eyes twinkling with a plan that only you would think of.

“What are you gonna do with those?” he asks, eyebrows raised, his voice still laced with curiosity.

You glance at him, your grin widening. “Jihoon lives next door,” you say, as if it’s the most logical explanation in the world.

Before Vernon can even register the words, you’re already out the door, racing across the yard with toilet paper in hand. It’s only when you reach Jihoon’s front door that he catches up, blinking in disbelief. Without a second thought, you toss the first roll, watching it unfurl over Jihoon’s door like it’s the world’s strangest Christmas decoration.

Vernon laughs behind you, and the sound of it feels like a weight lifting from your chest. You reach back, grabbing his hand, and together, you hang the rest of the rolls on Jihoon’s doorstep, like you’re the most natural pair of pranksters this side of the universe.

But Jihoon? He’s never asleep, not even at 1 AM. The door creaks open, and he blinks at you both, confusion written all over his face. Before he can even say anything, you’re already pulling Vernon, laughing as you both run back toward the apartment, your fingers tangled together in that unconscious way that feels too comfortable for just two friends.

The laughter doesn’t stop when you get back inside, the kind of genuine, effortless laughter that makes everything feel lighter. And somewhere in the midst of it all, Vernon’s hand finds yours again, his fingers brushing against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s warm, comforting, and as you pull away, he realizes how easy it is to fall into that space between being friends and... something more.

You grin at him, your voice a little softer now, playful but with an undercurrent of something deeper. “Wear a suit tomorrow.”

And just like that, you’re gone, leaving him standing there, wondering if maybe, just maybe, there’s something more to this madness between you two than either of you are willing to admit.

The next morning, Vernon’s eyes feel heavy, his head clouded from last night's antics, but he’s still half-smiling when he opens his door. He’s expecting the usual—more ridiculousness from you—but nothing can prepare him for what he sees.

You stand there, wearing the most gorgeous dress he’s ever seen you in—something long, flowy, and undeniably elegant. The soft fabric cascades down your body in a way that makes his heart skip a beat. You look... stunning.

Vernon blinks, his voice caught in his throat. “W-What... why do you look like that?”

You smirk, stepping forward, giving him a playful glance. “It’s part of the bucket list, grandpa. C’mon, we’re going to a wedding.”

Vernon’s jaw drops slightly, and his face turns a little red as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “Wait, what? We’re crashing a wedding... in that?” He gestures to your dress, still processing that you, his best friend, are suddenly this vision of... graceful.

You’re already out the door before he can form a proper sentence, the heels of your shoes clicking against the pavement in the early morning quiet. Vernon follows, still dumbfounded. It’s one of those mornings where everything feels like it’s moving faster than he can keep up, but he doesn’t mind. Not when you’re this... this.

A few blocks later, you pull up in front of a random church, your grin far too mischievous for its own good. Vernon stares at the building. He’d probably be a lot more freaked out if he weren’t still too stunned by how incredible you look in the dress, but he’s also starting to realize just how far you’re willing to take this.

“You sure this is... okay?” he asks, half-laughing, half-worried. “I mean, crashing a wedding? Isn’t that, like, illegal or something?”

You wink at him. “We’re fine. Trust me.”

Before he can argue, you grab his hand, pulling him toward the doors of the church. Inside, everything looks beautiful, from the soft, delicate flowers decorating the pews to the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. The couple at the altar is oblivious to your presence as you slip in quietly, eyes gleaming with excitement.

You both slide into a back row, but the air feels electric with anticipation. Vernon’s not sure if it’s the ridiculousness of the situation, the fact that you look like you belong in a fairy tale, or the overwhelming tension that’s suddenly buzzing between you two, but he feels his pulse quicken.

You’re barely in your seats before the vows start. You nudge Vernon, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think they’re actually gonna stay together?”

Vernon turns to you, shaking his head slightly. “I’m pretty sure they don’t even know we’re here.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at the happy couple. Then, with a grin, you lean in closer to him, your voice dripping with mischief. “You think they’ll notice if I shout ‘I object!’?”

Vernon’s eyes widen. “No,” he says urgently, grabbing your arm. “You are not doing that. We are not doing that.”

“Oh, come on, it’d be hilarious,” you tease, not at all deterred. “Besides, I feel like I’m in the movie. This is the part where I stand up and ruin everything.”

Vernon’s panicked gaze darts to the altar, and he places a hand over your mouth just as you start to open it to object. “I swear to God, if you do this, I’ll... I’ll...”

“What?” You smirk, your voice muffled by his hand. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

But he doesn’t let go, his grip firm as he leans in closer, whispering. “The worst that can happen is we get kicked out, fined, or thrown in jail, and then you’ll ruin my entire day because we’ll be banned from this city.”

You laugh, muffled by his hand, but there’s a gleam in your eye that tells him you’re not backing down anytime soon. Vernon doesn’t even have the energy to fight anymore. Instead, he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "I swear you’ll be the death of me."

The vows continue, and you sit back, still chuckling to yourself. Vernon, exasperated, looks around, suddenly realizing just how out of place the two of you are. You’re both in the back row, too over-the-top for this humble little ceremony, but he can’t help but feel a little lighter—just from the absurdity of it all. With you by his side, nothing ever feels as serious as it should.

Finally, the ceremony ends, and you can’t help it—before Vernon can stop you, you leap up, grabbing his hand. You both make a hasty exit, laughing the entire way out the door, the sound echoing in the empty church. Vernon’s laugh is the best part of the whole thing, deep and full, and it sends a rush of warmth through your chest.

Once you’re safely out of sight, you both pause to catch your breath. Vernon is still laughing, his face flushed with the thrill of the moment.

“You’re insane,” he says, shaking his head.

You grin. “Yep. And that’s why you love me.”

He just rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “Alright, alright. What’s next on this bucket list of yours?”

You hand him a crude, hastily made "boarding pass," the kind that’s probably seen better days—ripped corners, hastily scribbled with a sharpie. "You said you wanted to visit all 7 continents, right?" you say, practically beaming with pride.

Vernon looks down at the ticket, his lips pressing into a thin line. He knows he should probably laugh, but there's something in the way your eyes shine as you hand it to him that makes his heart skip a beat. “This is your idea of a boarding pass?” he asks, trying to keep the smile tugging at his lips under control, though he can’t help it.

His gaze lingers on the ticket for a moment longer, the words "ALL 7 CONTINENTS: YOUR TRIP BEGINS NOW!" written in big, bold letters like you’re daring him to go along with it. And despite the absurdity of it all, he feels an inexplicable warmth bloom in his chest.

"Yep," you answer, already bouncing toward his apartment door with an exaggerated pep in your step, totally oblivious to the way he's looking at you, half-amused, half-enchanted. "Now, pack your bags. We’ve got to see the world."

When you finally make it back to Vernon’s apartment, he stops in his tracks, frozen in the doorway. His eyes scan the chaos in front of him—his sanctuary, his personal space, now overtaken by your well-meaning, insanity.

Vernon’s apartment has been transformed into a bizarre, mismatched world: cut-out penguins taped to the walls like some half-hearted tribute to Antarctica, and a jungle of fake plants—thank you, Joshua—cluttering every available surface. The idea behind it makes his head spin, and his first instinct is to laugh, but there’s a part of him that just feels... soft in the center. You did all this for him. For him.

His chest tightens at the thought.

The living room? Completely unrecognizable. Bright blue streamers drape over every chair and shelf, like the ocean swallowed the place whole, and scattered photos of Venice—Venice—are carelessly strewn about in what could only be described as a misrepresentation of Europe. A stuffed kangaroo sits in the corner, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Vernon feels his face flush, certain he might just evaporate into the air at this point.

"Seriously?" he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of incredulity and something else he doesn’t know how to name. He stands at the edge of the room, eyes wide as he takes it all in. “Where the hell am I supposed to sit?”

You cross your arms, that signature grin of yours never fading. "It’s a very culturally immersive experience," you say, your tone so genuinely sincere that he can’t help but snort out a laugh.

Vernon blinks, still trying to make sense of it all. “Yeah, except this doesn’t look like any continent I’ve ever seen,” he complains, flopping down onto the couch, his eyes still glued to the stuffed kangaroo as if it’s personally offended him. “What continent is this supposed to be, huh?”

You gesture around the room as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Australia, obviously.” You pause, eyes narrowing in mock thought. “Okay, maybe just the kangaroo part. But the jungle’s definitely from there.”

Vernon sighs deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s a mix of exasperated and... something else—something a little closer to fondness. He glances around the room again, his eyes landing on an inflatable globe sitting in the corner like it’s part of some weird interactive exhibit. It’s as if the world itself is laughing at him.

"Okay, okay," he groans, his voice muffled as he settles into the couch, practically sinking into the cushions in an effort to escape the madness. "What the hell did you do to my kitchen?"

You walk past him, an easy laugh falling from your lips. "Oh, you’re going to love this." You swing open the kitchen door, revealing an entire North Pole setup. His fridge has been transformed into some sort of igloo-like thing, fake snow covering every available surface. And there are more penguins than he’s ever wanted to count.

He stares at it for a moment, then looks back at you with that fond exasperation he can never quite mask. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Your eyes meet his, and for a fleeting second, he catches a glimpse of something deeper—something that makes his stomach flip. You’re grinning, the light in your eyes so full of life, and for the briefest moment, he wonders how he got so lucky to be the one you’re sharing all this with.

"You asked to see the world," you say easily, leaning against the doorframe. "You’re welcome, Vernon. The world’s right here, in your living room."

And just like that, his heart feels too big for his chest, like it might burst at any second. The world’s right here. All because of you.

Vernon rubs his temples, knowing full well that the chaos you've brought into his life isn't going anywhere. He’s resigned, but there’s a tenderness in his gaze as he looks at you. “I think I might actually melt into the floor,” he mutters, his voice a little softer than he intended.

You sit beside him, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh, come on. You’re living the dream.” The way you say it is so light, so carefree, but Vernon hears the underlying sincerity in your voice. And for a moment, it’s all too much—too good to be real.

“I didn’t even get a heads-up about the stuffed animals,” he says with a mock scowl. “I thought this was a serious bucket list item.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, leaning into him and nudging him again. “Now, let’s check off some more, hm?”

Vernon looks at you then, really looks at you, his eyes softening as he lets out a sigh. "What’s next, then? Antarctica next door?"

You whip out your phone with a grin, tapping away at it. "Actually... now we’ve got a road trip to take. Remember that whole ‘see all 50 states’ thing on your bucket list?"

He groans but doesn’t protest. In fact, his heart’s beating a little faster than he’d like to admit as he watches you bounce around. He wishes he could say the words that have been stuck in his throat for ages, the ones that would make this whole ridiculous situation realer—I love you, you know. But the moment always seems to slip away before he can say it, like some elusive thing just out of reach. You grab his hand and drag him back out to your car, and the words die on his lips before he can say them.

"What are you dragging me into now?" he asks, half-laughing, half-dreading whatever you've come up with this time.

You stop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Well, I had to convince some people to help us with this little idea," you say, voice dripping with sweet, sweet sarcasm.

As if on cue, Seungkwan, Minghao, and Mingyu appear out of nowhere, each of them holding huge posters of American landmarks. They're dressed in ridiculous outfits to match the theme, some of them in matching ‘I <3 NY’ shirts, others with neon-colored fanny packs, clearly ready to be part of your insanity. Vernon blinks a few times, not sure whether to laugh or scream.

"Wait... you're seriously making them walk around the car with these?" Vernon asks, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"Yep! That’s the plan!" you reply, already hopping into the driver's seat with a satisfied grin, completely unfazed by the absurdity that surrounds you.

Seungkwan shrugs, doing his best to strike a dramatic pose with the Statue of Liberty poster. "It’s for the art," he says flatly.

Minghao waves his own Yellowstone National Park sign with an exaggerated flair, practically in a full tourist getup. "I’m just here for the free snacks," he mutters, earning a chuckle from Mingyu, who’s got the Grand Canyon poster, looking as serious as possible.

Vernon, his hands on his hips, can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. "You people are out of your minds." But even as the absurdity sinks in, there's a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe it’s because he’s a little bit in love with how much you’ve thrown yourself into making his ridiculous bucket list a reality. Or maybe it’s because you’re dragging him into this whirlwind, and honestly, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

"Let’s get this show on the road," you say, revving the engine and pulling the car into gear.

"God help me," Vernon mutters under his breath, but the softness in his voice betrays the hint of a smile. "You’re insane."

"But you love me," you reply easily, your eyes dancing as you give him a sidelong glance.

Vernon shakes his head, but there’s a certain warmth in his gaze, the one that says he’s been in love with you for a while now, even if he’ll never admit it out loud. "Yeah, yeah... You’re lucky you’re cute."

"Good thing I know it," you tease back, your grin widening.

As you drive off, the posters still held aloft by your friends, Vernon finally lets himself sink back into the passenger seat. The road ahead is uncertain, and the bucket list items are absurd, but somehow, everything feels right with you by his side. Even if he can’t say it yet, a piece of his heart already belongs to you.

"You’re really dragging me into all of this, huh?" he asks softly, more to himself than you.

You shoot him a playful wink. "We’re just getting started, grandpa."

And with that, you hit the open road—toward the next absurd thing on his bucket list, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Vernon’s heart beats just a little bit faster.

Vernon learned long ago to not question you.  By now, he’s learned that resistance is futile. If he fights, you’ll just drag him along anyway. So instead, he sighs, settles into the passenger seat, and lets you drive him to God-knows-where, watching the scenery blur past in streaks of gold and amber as the sun dips lower on the horizon.

He only starts to get suspicious when you pull onto a dirt road, the hum of the city long behind you. The sky stretches wide and open above the fields, the last traces of daylight painting everything in soft pinks and oranges. It’s beautiful. It’s suspiciously beautiful.

"Okay," he finally says, shifting in his seat. "Where are we going?"

"You’ll see," you reply, that usual mischievous glint in your eye.

Vernon raises a brow but doesn’t push. He just watches as you drive deeper into nowhere, the road narrowing until you finally pull off into a clearing. There’s nothing but rolling fields around you, bathed in the fading light of sunset. No city lights, no noise, no people. Just you, him, and the sky.

"Alright," Vernon says slowly, stepping out of the car and stretching. "This is either a really elaborate set-up for a birthday party or the part where you murder me."

You snort, popping open the trunk. "Guess you’ll have to wait and see."

And then—before he can even begin to process—he watches as you start pulling out the single most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen.

A comically large telescope.

Not just any telescope. He recognizes it immediately.

"Wait. Is that Seokmin’s?"

You grin as you struggle to set it up. "Yep. He was in his ‘astrology era’, remember?"

"Astronomy," Vernon corrects, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head. "He still says it’s not a phase."

"He says they’re basically the same thing," you reply, adjusting the telescope’s stand. "Which is wrong, but whatever. I borrowed it for the night."

Vernon snorts, but something warm tugs at his chest when he notices the rest of your setup. A blanket is spread out over the grass, weighed down by a half-unpacked picnic. You even brought pillows—like you planned for the two of you to stay here for a while.

"You really thought this through," he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck.

You glance up at him, and for a moment, there’s no teasing in your expression—just something soft, something open. "Well, yeah," you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You said you wanted to go stargazing."

And just like that, something tight in Vernon’s chest loosens.

It’s strange. He’s always been the type to keep things close, to let feelings sit in his throat, unsaid. But with you, everything is so effortless, so natural. Even when you’re dragging him on ridiculous adventures, even when you’re borrowing absurdly large telescopes from friends who definitely did not consent to this specific use—being with you has never felt like work.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t. Instead, he sits beside you on the blanket, listening to the quiet hum of the wind as the first stars flicker to life in the sky.

You nudge him toward the telescope. "Go on, look."

Vernon leans in, adjusting the focus until the blurred lights sharpen into something breathtaking. A thousand tiny pinpricks of light, stretching endlessly into the dark.

"Cross it off," you murmur, passing him your phone.

He takes your phone, stares at the list that has been slowly dwindling in size all day. He stares at stargazing for a long moment before finally pressing the checkbox.

You grin. "So? Worth it?"

He looks at you, at the way the stars reflect in your eyes, at the way you’re just watching him like you’re memorizing this moment.

Something about it makes his throat go dry.

"Yeah," he says softly. "Worth it."

For a while, neither of you say anything. The air between you is heavy with something unspoken, something real. But for once, Vernon doesn’t feel the urge to fill the silence. He just lets it settle, lets himself exist here—under the stars, beside you, with the whole world stretched out before him.

And in the distance, his phone vibrates.

Seokmin.

SEOKMIN [9:32 PM]: tell me ur respecting my telescope. photos NOW.

Vernon chuckles under his breath. You peek open one eye, already reaching for your phone.

"Should I send him a blurry one just to piss him off?" you ask, smirking.

Vernon shakes his head, but the laughter comes easily now. "You’re evil."

"But you love me," you reply, grinning.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches as you type out a response, as your face glows faintly in the light of the screen.

Something about it—about all of this—makes his heart ache.

Maybe he’ll say it. Maybe he won’t.

For now, he just lets himself enjoy the now. The stars above. The warmth beside him. The possibility of everything still waiting to come.

And with that, he leans back, staring at the sky, listening to your laughter carry into the night.

The stars have shifted overhead by the time you make your way back to the car, the air cooler now, crisp with the quiet hum of crickets in the distance. The field stretches wide and endless around you, bathed in soft moonlight. Vernon watches as you rummage through the trunk, muttering something under your breath before you emerge, cradling something vaguely lumpy in your hands.

He squints. "What... is that?"

You grin, setting it carefully on the picnic blanket. "A vaguely peanut-shaped cake."

He stares at it. "I—why?"

"For the plot," you say, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And because I know you would complain you never got to eat anything with peanuts in it, so this is the best compromise you’ll get."

Vernon exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You really did all this for me?"

"Obviously," you say, rolling your eyes before settling beside him, pulling a lighter from your pocket. A single candle stands at the center of the cake, flickering to life as you shield it from the gentle breeze with your hand.

"Now make a wish before the wind does it for you," you tell him, voice lighter than the moment actually feels.

Vernon hesitates, gaze flickering from the candle to you. The glow reflects in your eyes, turning them impossibly warm, impossibly bright. He swallows.

He doesn’t know how to say it—how to explain that he doesn’t need a wish. That you’ve somehow managed to take a list he thought about years ago, half-joking, half-dreaming, and made every absurd little thing real. That without him realizing it, somewhere between the wedding-crashing, the zany decorations in his apartment, and you pulling off ridiculous crap just to make him laugh, you’ve become the thing he never even thought to write down.

The only thing that’s ever really mattered.

He closes his eyes, breathes in, and blows the candle out.

When he opens them, you’re already smiling at him.

And suddenly, everything tilts.

Because in that moment, with the stars stretched wide above you and the warmth of your gaze steady on him, Vernon realizes that if he doesn’t say something now, he might never get the chance again.

"So, grandpa," you tease, nudging him, trying to pull him back into the lighthearted rhythm you always fall into. "Ready to become a pile of bones? Accomplished everything on your list?"

He frowns. Shakes his head. And only feels mildly bad for the way your shoulders drop just a little, your teasing smile faltering for the first time all night.

"There’s one more thing," he murmurs softly, setting the cake aside between you.

You blink, tilting your head. "Huh? I thought we—"

But before you can finish, he reaches for you—loops an arm around your waist, pulls you in without hesitation. His other hand comes up to your face, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek before he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. He lets his fingers linger there, his touch impossibly gentle.

You smile now, smaller, softer, your voice barely above a whisper. "What’s the last thing, Vern?"

His heart hammers against his ribs.

He doesn’t answer. Just leans in, slow but certain, closing the space between you. And when his lips finally meet yours, he swears the whole world tilts again, but this time, it doesn’t feel so dizzying.

This time, it feels like something finally settling into place.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, his voice unsteady but sure when he finally speaks.

"I think," he murmurs, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle against your waist, "I was supposed to fall in love with you a long time ago."

You blink, your breath catching in your throat.

He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "But, uh. I think I got distracted by how annoying you are."

A scandalized gasp escapes you, but he’s already grinning, ducking his head to catch your lips in another kiss before you can hit him.

And for the first time in his life, there’s nothing left unchecked.

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

[revelboo]

Do you have a master list, if not are you going to make one?

I don’t have one, but I’ll look into how to do that tonight on my desktop, because that would probably be helpful 😄

Bad Idea Pt 4

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• At some point the singing fades away and his helm dips to study the human hanging limply from his servos. He can still feel the beat of its heart, slower now with unconsciousness as its sides expand against his grip with its breathing. Strange little thing. Strange, too that he misses the sound of its voice now. It’s not like he hasn’t heard lovelier sounds, but there’s something about the rawness in this creature’s singing that fascinates him. The desperation.

• It’s easy enough to move through the shadows to his quarters. Not exactly hiding his prize, but familiar enough with his companions to know delicate things won’t survive their attentions. Not for long. The human is silent long after he’s shut the door behind him and he shifts it between his servos, tipping its head gently to the side with a tendril so he can study it.

• You’re caught in a vice that shifts against you on the verge of bruising. Making it hard to breathe. Something grips your chin and forces your head back and you blearily struggle. Eyes opening to find it’s still not over. Big and pointy is the one squeezing your rib cage hard enough to be uncomfortable as it uses a tendril to manipulate your head. Gasping and swearing, you slap at the tendril and try to wriggle free. A low, hum of almost-sound lifts the hair at your nape in a cold rush. It’s the feel of a silent speaker alive with power but no sound. Electric as it steals your breath.

• Those little clawed graspers at the end of its tendril seizes your wrist before you can rear back to smack at it again and you freeze. Slowly, so slowly, it’s head tips as it stares at your arm in its grip like it’s trying to reach a decision. Making you uncomfortably aware of how small your arm is compared to all of it. How easy it can break your bones if it wants to. So when it just lets go and lowers you onto a huge flat surface, your knees fold under you, hands shaking, because you can’t believe you slapped it. Or that it isn’t retaliating.

• That panicked confusion of raw emotions is welling up again, screaming through his processor. Overwhelming. Reaching out, he gently prods it with a servo, expecting it to lash out again. Instead, it all but throws itself sideways to avoid his touch. That chaos grows, a wave poised to crash over him and drag him under. Careful. Slowly. He leans closer, its little face illuminated by the glow of his visor as he gives them that simple command again.

• It wants you to sing again. Nerves unraveling until you’re shaking, you just want to cry. Or scream. Had it taken you as some weird little songbird to amuse itself with? A pet? “No,” you whisper, chin lifting even as your eyes burn. You can see your own haggard face in that screen as it pulses the music note icon a little bigger. More insistent. Those weird metal tentacles move fitfully around it, one huge finger at the end of that long arm lifting as if to touch you and then just hovering a foot from you. Shaking. It’s huge, pointy head bows, that music note flashing. It’s shaking all over like it’s… in pain?

• Drowning. He’s being pulled under in that strange, indecipherable tide of emotion and quicksilver, alien thought. Pain staggering and unexpected burning through his processor until he’s paralyzed, frame shuddering with the need to break free. To stop the onslaught by force. To crush the source before he comes undone.

• The touch of the human’s hand on his servo lights through him, intensifying that unwanted connection he can’t shut out. Nearly crippling him. Helm lifting to see it staring up at him with something like sympathy. And it sings, calming itself. Freeing him from that darkness.

Previous Next

[kabr0ztrousers]

OUGH that bugfic was plenty dark, thank you for your excellent work 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

also had another idea! fem!reader somehow finds herself as the stress-relief chew toy for an all male clan of Gnolls 👀 they were cast out by the matriarchs of their previous clans years ago, so they haven’t fucked in ages and are super pent up. she has a bad time at first, coming to terms with the fact that she belongs to them and she’ll never know the taste of freedom again, but eventually they break her, and she wouldn’t leave her new masters for anything in the world. if you have any ideas or alterations in mind, go wild!! i’d love to see what you come up with!

Kabr0z Writes episode 67: Chew Toy

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Noncon; kidnap; group sex; impregnation; knotting; corruption;

A/N: There's currently 42 requests in the queue, mixed in with the odd miscellaneous ask I'm not sure what to do with 😁

As always, please direct any requests to my ask box and they'll get written when they hit the top of the list

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Cultists raided the caravan. You were about 3 days out of Baldur's Gate headed south along the Sword Coast to Candlekeep when they attacked. Most of the group were captured, awaiting god knows what fate if you don't find a town with an Adventurer's Guild desk and get help. With any luck, the dirt road you're walking will lead to civilization and not some lost city or long-forgotten tomb

Hell, if you did find one of those, there's an even to good chance you'll find a party of adventurers there anyway. It's not like adventuring parties are hard to find, there's normally at least four per tavern.

The road came to an end at a cave. Because of course it did. You sighed and steeled yourself, this is precisely the kind of place you'll go to find a fighter, cleric, mage and/or rogue looking to seek fortune and fame. All you had to do was take those first steps into the scary cave.

The cave smelled of blood, and rotting meat. Not necessarily a bad sign. Nor were the wooden stakes driven into the ground in places, or the gnawed bones lying around. If anything that raised your hopes, an empty cave is just a cave, this is positively bait for a team of idealists hoping to make their name.

You went on, keeping to the shadows as you snuck in. This place defi isn't a goblin cave, there's no cookfires. Not an owlbear, there's too much worked material. A cackling, barking laugh answered your question.

Gnolls. Hyena-people, as big as an orc.

Sure enough, around the corner you saw a couple of gnolls wrestling. As big as the stories said, dressed in rags and furs, flint axes lying forgotten on the floor as they tried to grapple one another into submission.

Ok, some gnolls, but no heroes to beg for help. Not ideal, but at least you hadn't been seen. You stepped backwards, turning for the cave mouth. And stepped straight into a gnoll behind you.

The canine brute grabbed you and barreled forwards, yipping in excitement "Girl-thing! Yes! Yes!"

The others looked over to him, the two who were sparring broke from each other, the larger pawing over to you "Not us. Not replace. Need mother-leader"

The one holding you tore off your skirt "Not mother-leader. Woman. Fertile. Make new."

The big gnoll inspected you, sniffing your hair before grabbing a fistful and pulling it back to push his face into yours. He smelled of rotting meat and matted fur, an undercurrent of thick musk wafting from him "Have to do. Hold girl-thing. I go first."

The big gnoll grabbed your tit, squeezing hard and making you gasp. You tried to struggle and squirm against the grip of the one behind you as a clawed hand rubbed your folds. Wetness spread over your lower lips even as you tried to stop it. You were at odds with your body, praying to the gods these gnolls wouldn't get to have their way with you as your cunt invited him in.

"Girl-thing is ready." The big one put his slimy hand to his nose, sniffing it "Smells good. Bear lots of pups"

A blunt object pressed up against your cunt. You closed your eyes, pretending you were anywhere but here as it slipped in, the gnoll growling with satisfaction as he sank into your loins.

He sped up, grabbing you off the scrawny one, holding you up by your hips, arms under your knees, keeping you open.

He pressed you against a wall, pounding into your soaking cunt, the sound of your pussy being violated almost drowning out your sobs as you felt the leaking cock pushing up inside you.

You cried out as he hilted himself in you, the knot at the base of his cock expanding to trap you together as he stuck his tongue down your throat. His cum started to fill you up, the heat spreading through you as you stayed locked together.

He was still humping, even as he panted and spurted, the thick knot sending waves of pressure through you, bouncing between your cervix and your entrance. You could feel it pressing up against the inner parts of your clit, forcing against your g-spot. Your legs started to shake, your abs clench, and your hands grip the rough fur of the gnoll railing you as you came to your first wailing orgasm.

He howled as your pussy clenched and squeezed, milking him inside you. You didn't want to enjoy it, being fucked by this stinking brute, but you couldn't help but let a moan escape your lips as you humped into him, grinding your hips against his.

The knot popped out of you, the alpha gnoll dropping you as the next stepped up, the scrawny one this time.

He turned you onto your front, lifting your hips as your face ground into the dirt. No need for foreplay this time; your slobbering, open cunt welcomed his cock as he started thrusting. He was a little smaller than the first, but not by much. If he were a human, he'd still be considered amazingly well-endowed.

Your hand moved on its own, rubbing your clit as he fucked you, your hips rolling and waving against him as your mouth opened to allow whines and gasps of animal lust escape you. Again, a knot swelled up inside you as the second load of hyena-man cum pulsed into you. Your toes curled as you rubbed yourself harder, cresting the peak of another orgasm.

You ached. Your pussy was raw and punished, stretched and twitching as the second knot pulled from you and the third one took its place. You didn't even have enough energy now to moan. You just lay there, hindquarters presented an dripping cum as beast after beast took their turn on you. By the time the last male had pulled out, the alpha was ready for a second helping.

Round and around they went, filling you with a mix of potent cum, taking out their frustrations on you. By the time they were done you couldn't move, sprawled drooling and leaking on the cave floor, short breaths and sporadic twitching the only clues to your continued life.

Gnoll cubs come fast, within weeks of daily treatment you were already visibly pregnant. The pack was gentler with you now, you smelled like them and they could see you were carrying their young.

By the time you were halfway along, the former alpha was curled at your seat. Your hand idly scratching behind his ear as you watched your pack spar and bring home the hunt. They still hadn't figured out how to maintain a cookfire, and teaching them which wood was good for burning was tricky, but they just need a strong woman's hand to guide them.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know there's a reason you came here... It doesn't matter now.

You've got a pack to lead.

####################################

Sorry this one was late! Shit happened last night and left me in no mood to write, so we're getting another Sunday double-bill.

Also meant I could put my whole pussy into this one, so to speak, so not all bad.

I was gonna have this one ending worse for Fem!Reader, but it felt better to invert the power dynamic at the end (plus I love gnolls as a player race in D&D and their equivalent in PF2e so I wanted to make them a little nicer)

[artists-ally]

{Show Me Where It Hurts} Azriel x Reader x Xaden Riorson

Sooooooo I had a thought. And then this happened. That's all I'm gonna say. Just two shadow daddies doing unspeakable things. Title inspired by this song. Enjoy!

Word Count: 7,238

Warnings: ACOTAR x Fourth Wing, alcohol, smut, MMF, Oral (m and f receiving), DP, dom/sub vibes, use of the nickname "pet", bondage, shadow play, degrading, spanking, choking, spitting, unprotected sex.

Tagging: @needylilgal022 @librafairy @cyrygher @agent-anna @thelov3lybookworm @blessthepizzaman @bubybubsters

Summary: After a miserably failed night out, you decide to head to a local bar to drink away your sorrows. Two males, one of them being your Court Spy Master, the other a stranger, approached you.

~~~~~

“Are you kidding me?” “I understand your frustration but-”

“My frustration?” I shouted, eyes wide. “What do you mean he did book a reservation?”

“There has been no reservation made under that name. I am truly sorry, Yn. But it looks like he may have… done it on purpose?”

“No,” I shook my head. I could not fathom being stood up let alone whatever this was. “No this cannot be right. I-I spoke with him this morning, he said that our table was reserved for tonight.” The hostess offered me a kind look as the realization slowly settled in my bones. “Oh my gods… he set me up.”

“If I were you,” the pretty Fae came around her stand and took my hands in hers. “I’d find a way to forget about that damned male. He clearly is undeserving of you or your kindness. I wouldn’t sweat it, a pretty one like you won’t go unnoticed for very long.”

I tried to smile, but a grimace was the best I could do. “I feel like such an idiot. Thank you for all your help…” I paused to look at the little tag on her black tunic. “Jasmina.”

“My deepest apologies, Yn,” Jasmina waved as I exited the restaurant and the bitter Velaris air nipped at my bare shoulders. 

What a fucking lame excuse for a male. How dare he stand me up on a date? He was the one practically begging on his knees to ask me. I should’ve known better. Males like him do not like females like me. 

In an attempt to not let the night–or the fierce outfit I put together-go to waste, I went a couple streets over to a tavern. It had a nice ambiance and a surplus of good liquor. The dark, rustic interior greeted me with a ploom of warm air and the scent of cheap ale and wine. 

After hanging my coat on the rack at the front, I weaved through the rather crowded space to hopefully snag a stool at the bar. I was lucky enough to get one at the end, only one person to my left and the wall to my right. 

I just sighed. What a shitty day. I had spent a few hours getting read, and for what? To be made a fool? To be embarrassed? I shouldn’t have to pay the consequences for something I didn’t have control over. I swear to the gods that if I ever see what’s-his-face again I’ll put my fist through it. 

“Evening, milady,” the polished man behind the counter said. He had a thick beard and a mustache that curled up on the ends. He had a thick accent too, probably from somewhere in the hills. “Celebrating tonight?” “More like mourning,” I huffed, bracing my chin on my palm. 

“Terribly sorry for your loss,” his eyes softened. “Oh,” I gave a chuckle. “No, not a death. I just came in from what was supposed to be a date. Turns out I was set up and he wasn’t going to be coming.”

The male scoffed. “The boldness from some of the males in this city.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What can I get for you?” He asked, wiping a few glasses down and setting them atop a stack.

I looked at the board behind him, the list of crafted beverages going on and on. “Maybe something sweet?”

“Do you like cherries? Passion fruit, pineapple maybe?”

“Cherries are wonderful,” I sat up a little straighter. “I honestly couldn’t care less about what alcohol is in it. You had me at cherries.”

The male smiled, “I shall put in an extra just for you, darling.”

“Thank you,” I smiled and watched him get to work. 

The tavern was far more crowded than I expected for a weekday. There were more people than tables and chairs to accommodate them. Some even sitting on the tables. But the hum of voices and clinking glasses was the type of ambient sound that could put me right to sleep if I laid my head down. 

I felt incredibly comfortable and safe here. Not that I didn’t other places in the city, but something about being here was… calming. People were enjoying themselves, and it was like I was the only person in here with a scowl on their face. 

The crack of billiards had my head turning the other way as I saw a group huddled around a green velvet table with colored balls scattered around. I recognized one immediately as our High Lady. And right beside her was the High Lord. 

“This is called a cherry sour. It is made of distilled vodka and lemon. I added some cherry syrup to give it a little extra sweetness for you,” he said, placing the drink in front of me. 

“It looks lovely.” I smelled it and it was strong. When I took a sip, it was like my brain blew up. The most strange combinations of flavors, yet somehow it all worked. The brutal burn of the alcohol mixed with the bitter lemon and sweet cherry made my stomach burn. “I see the High Lord is in tonight.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “he is here with the High Lady and a few of their courtiers. The commanding general as well as the Morrigan. And the shadowsinger is here… somewhere. He was with another male when he walked in.”

“I have visited other Courts before. I have never seen any of their High Lords step foot outside of their palaces to so much as wave at their people let alone live amongst them like Rhysand does.”

The craftsman nodded in agreement. “He is not the traditional Lord our continent has come to know, and that is what makes him a vital part of our city. He’s our founder. He built our sanctuary not for us but for himself, too. It is only fair that he dines and plays games where he chooses.”

“Have you ever met them?” I asked curiously. 

“Of course, they are here a few times a month. Morrigan and Cursebreaker’s sister are in here more.”

I glanced again, finding a few more heads now joining them. The general, Cassian, was in conversation with a shorter male, his brown hair glistening in the overhead light. He had a tattoo on the side of his neck and it disappeared underneath the collar of his black shirt. 

At first I thought it to be the shadowsinger but it wasn’t him. His hair was too light. The more I looked, the more I realized that he looked a little out of place. He had darker skin than either of our Illyrians, and he didn’t have wings. For just a second he turned his head and I caught a glimpse of a scar on his face. Above his left brow and below his eye.

He was very pleasant to look at. 

“I will be back, I need to break up some ice in the back,” the bartender spoke generally to the crowd. In a second he was out of sight and out of mind. I could not stop looking at this male. 

The curls in his hair looked soft and fluffy and I really wanted to run my fingers through them. Though he was shorter than the general, he was at least a head taller than me, if not a half more than that. Whoever he was…

That couldn’t be the shadowsinger, could it? From all that I’ve heard of the illusive male this did not match any of the descriptions. He was just as tall– if not taller– as Azriel, but the hair… It was too light. And now wings. No shadows. Our High Lord can summon his wings, maybe the others can as well? Plus, I’ve heard that the scars the shadowsinger has on his hands are rather brutal. This male didn’t have any scars on his hands that I could see.

The air around me cooled and I shivered, wishing I had brought my jacket with me. It was like a door just opened and a draft seeped in around me. Up my legs and around my ankles. 

To not appear creepy I looked elsewhere, not finding any of the other males in the room as interesting as the one with the brown fluffy hair. There was a couple sitting in a booth across the room, very clearly struggling to keep their affection tame. Another was dancing together and I became painfully aware of just how awful my dating life had been. 

I threw back the rest of my drink, just as the bartender returned and ordered a few shots of something stronger. Much stronger by the smell of it. The warmth of it spread through my arms and fingers and the room seemed to get a little rowdier. 

“Before I pour another, milady, I would just like to ask if you have a safe way to get home,” he asked kindly. 

I smiled at the tenderness in his voice. “Yes, I live right down the way in the set of townhouses by the Sidra. Two minute walk.”

“Excellent.” Another shot was placed in front of me. 

I kept sneaking glances at our High Lord and Lady. They looked so magnificent. Like a true emperor and empress. And they looked so happy to be together. Not with just themselves but with the general and whoever this other male was. Perhaps someone from Illyria?

Again, the whole no wings thing was throwing me off. 

Wait, where did he-

“Excuse me,” a deep, rough voice said from beside me. My eyes met the most beautiful set of eyes I’ve ever seen. A dark, almost black color with flecks of amber and gold. It was the male I had been gawking at for the past half hour. He had an accent like I’ve never heard before. “I am Xaden.”

I stared at his extended hand for a moment before shaking it. “Yn.”

“Yn,” he practically purred. “A very beautiful name.”

It was hard not to blush. “I don’t mean to sound rude but are you-”

“Hey, there you are. We were just about to start another game did you…” The Spy Master of the Night Court stopped right beside him. His hazel eyes locked with mine and my stare darted between the two. The two very attractive, tall, muscular males in front of me. “Hello there.”

“This is Yn,” Xaden introduced me. “I was just about to ask if I could buy her a drink but I think you had a question for me?”

All thoughts leave my brain. Just above the shadowsingers shoulders lay his wings, and curling around them were those infamous shadows. The most lethal male on the continent stood two feet from me. And he was looking at me like… I didn’t let myself finish that thought. 

I cleared my throat, “I was going to ask where you’re visiting from. You have a very… foreign accent.”

Xaden smiled a little and I thought I’d collapse on the ground. “I come from Navarre. A place far from here.”

“I’ve never heard of Navarre,” I said truthfully. But if males like him came from there then maybe I need to visit. 

“It’s not entirely accessible,” he folded his arms across his chest. His very muscular and sculpted chest. “I am just visiting a friend.”

I looked at Azriel, who, much to my surprise, hadn’t taken his eyes off me. I shifted in my seat. “You two are friends?”

“Only recently,” Azriel spoke and I felt his voice crawl down my spine. “Xaden here is the closest thing to me that his puny world has to offer.”

“Puny?” Xaden’s eyes went wild. “Take away your wings and siphons and see how well you do as Basgiath. I doubt you’d last five minutes on Sgaeyl in a basic flight maneuver.”

“Basgiath? S-Sgaeyl?” The names were so weird in my mouth. 

“Basgiath is the name of our War College. And Sgaeyl is my dragon.”

His what?

“Riroson here thinks that I couldn’t mount and ride a dragon. I’d like to see you take on the Bogge or a Naga with those tiny daggers of yours,” Azriel broke his gaze away from mine to take a sip of whatever was in his glass. “Pathetic.”

“You have a dragon?” I most certainly didn’t hear him correctly. “But they’re-”

“Not where I’m from, they’re not. See, we don’t have magic like you do here in Prythian. Back home, we have to study, bond with a dragon, and then we get the ability to channel their power. Mine just so happens to be shadow-wielding. Apparently this one could feel it across our world and tracked me down. He’s been teaching me for a few years now.”

“And somehow you still can’t manage to winnow,” Azriel rolled his eyes playfully. 

“Some of us haven’t had centuries of practice, asshole,” Xaden retorted. If I had known anything about Azriel, I fully expected him to flatten out this Xaden guy. 

“You’re not Fae?”

“No offense, but who would want to live forever?” He shrugged. A valid response. It was only then that I saw the roundness of his mortal ears.

Azriel grumbled a curse. “I apologize for him. He is cranky after his long flight here. I’m Azriel, I’m not sure I introduced myself.”

“I know,” I forced myself to look anywhere but his gorgeous face. Easily the most attractive Fae I’ve ever seen. 

“Are you here with anyone? I saw you walk in about an hour ago and haven’t seen you talk with anyone,” he asked. He saw me walk in? “If my night had gone any better than yes, I would be here with someone. But, instead, he had other plans and never showed up for our reservation.”

Both of the males stood completely silent. I watched Azriel’s eyes narrow, his jaw clench. “Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I could feel that bubble of emotion rise up in my throat, pricking my nose and eyes. “He’s just some nobody I was seeing. His loss.”

“Biggest fucking mistake he’ll ever make,” Xaden scooted in closer, leaning his forearms on the counter. “What were you drinking? Next one's on me.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you but I would like to wake up in the morning without any regrets. A water will do,” I smiled sweetly at him and he returned it without a second thought. 

I felt Azriel move closer to me and I could just barely see him in my peripheral vision. I tried not to look. It was so hard. All I wanted to do was look at him. Then he was closer. A lot closer. His arm across the back of the stool I was sitting in. 

Oh gods his scent.

“For you,” Xaden slipped a cool glass of water in my hands. “To you, Yn.”

I blushed as I knocked my glass with theirs. 

“Not to impose, but I would like to know more about this asshole who stood you up tonight. Because clearly he’s not right in the head for leaving you. Especially when you look so good.”

I couldn’t help the flush that spread down my neck and up my ears. “I don’t know, we met over the weekend and he asked if we could go on a date. I said yes. And I think what makes it even worse is that I was looking forward to it. I was excited to get all dressed up and go out for the first time in months. Now I just feel like a fucking idiot for getting my hopes up and wanting to-”

“Hey.” Xaden’s finger pulled my chin to look up at him. “You are not the problem. That mother fucker has another thing coming if he thinks he could’ve ever given you what you need.”

I’d like to focus on the latter part of that statement, but all I could think of was his face– inches from mine– and his other hand at my knee. My heart thrashed and I was so still I wasn’t sure if I was breathing or not. 

“I think you’re scaring her, Riorson,” Azriel said from behind me. Then I became aware of just how close he was to me. He practically spoke right against my neck. A hand brushed at my right shoulder and I shuddered. 

“If you’re willing, we’re offering.” Xaden has this gleam in his eye and a smirk on his lips. 

I had to sit up a little so I could start seeing clearly. “I-I’m sorry ‘we’re’?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Xaden grinned. “But, if you’d like to erase this guy from your thoughts, all you have to do is show me where it hurts. I promise I can make it all better.”

Is he asking what I think he is? I looked at Azriel who had the same look Xaden did. Full of mischief. 

“You… You can’t be serious.” They were playing games with me. They have to be. There’s no way that our Court Spy Master and whoever this guy was from Navarre were willing to share.

“Az?” Is all Xaden said. 

Fingers brushed my hair over my shoulder and tucked it out of the way. I gasped when Azriel kissed down my neck. I think I’m shaking, though it could just be my pulse beating so wildly through my veins that it feels like I’m shaking. But I definitely can't feel my fingers anymore. 

Xaden stepped in a little closer and blocked most of my view of the rest of the bar. “May I?” He held out a hand. I swallowed and nodded as best as I could with Azriel gently nipping at my throat. Xaden quickly placed his mouth on mine.

I got lost in him. In both of them. All the bells and whistles in my body were going off at once. I’ve never done anything like this before. I had two of the most attractive looking individuals in the world right here. Both kissing me. 

In a few seconds Xaden pulled from my mouth and Azriel went with him. I was suddenly so cold and needed them back exactly where they were. My thighs clenched together. 

“What do you say, want to take out all your anger, your frustration and disappointment, on us?” Xaden asked softly, right into my ear. The way he pulled it between his lips made it very difficult to say no. Not that I wanted to in the first place. I’d be a fool to say no. 

I nodded eagerly. 

Azriel clicked his tongue and made me look at him. “Need you to say it, Yn.”

“Yes,” I said without a second thought. “Yes.”

Both of them chuckled. “Let’s get out of here.”

As we made our way down the street, both of the males on either side of me, I was burning with desire; every so often– about every three or four steps– one of them would have to pause, spin me around, and kiss me until I saw stars. They ‘just couldn’t help it’.

Not that I minded. 

“Apologies if the place is a mess,” Azriel said, unlocking a door. It looked vaguely familiar, and when I looked up and across the street, I realized why. 

“Hey, that’s my place right there,” I smiled, looking at the small rose bushes lining my little walkway. 

“Would you rather go there instead? No pressure if you do,” Xaden’s hands went down my sides and hips as he spoke. 

I nearly collapsed onto the floor. “No, no this is fine I don’t think I can wait.” “Impatient, are we?” Xaden murmured into my hair. 

“Well,” I blew out a breath as he nipped at my ear. “I’m not exactly dreading being taken to be by two males.”

“Hopefully we won’t ruin you for any other lovers.”

Was it bad that I hoped they would? 

The door gave away and it was flooded with Azriel’s scent. A mixture of Xaden’s too, but it was hard to differentiate them. His was far more subtle than the shadowsingers. They guided me inside, lights coming on along the halls and overhead. 

“Have you ever…” Xaden trailed off and I flushed a deep red. 

“No, I’ve never done this before.” My laugh was a pathetic attempt to hide my nerves. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you,” Xaden grinned and gave my mouth what it wanted most. His tongue was hot against mine and I pressed as close to him as I could get. For a moment I couldn’t see or hear anything, and then we were in a bedroom that seemed far too massive for this little townhouse. 

I looked around; a massive bed was standing right before me, dark curtains over a door that led to a balcony. 

“Did we just-”

“Winnowing,” Azriel explained, pulling me out of Xadens arms and into his own. “This is far easier when we have room. Like Xaden said, we’re gonna take care of you. Any time you feel uncomfortable just tell us to stop and we will. We do this at your pace, you control it.”

Weirdly enough, my heart ached at the tenderness in his voice. But my body did not want to be in control. It wanted everything but. “And what if I said that I didn’t want to make any decisions. That I just wanted to feel and nothing else.”

I saw Azriel look up first, then felt Xaden press against my backside. I was squished between them and I thanked the Mother that I never went on that date tonight. But they looked at each other. 

Azriel grinned. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I need it.”

“Aww, you’re that desperate already?” Xaden pulled me into his body, one hand gripping my face to make me look at him, the other wrapped around my stomach. “We haven’t even touched you yet, pretty thing. Haven’t even tasted you.”

“What are you waiting for?” I have no idea where this boldness is coming from. 

Xaden stepped away from me and laid at the top of the bed. “Come here, then.”

No turning back now. 

I crawled to him on my hands and knees. The dress I was wearing did nothing to hide my ass any longer. Xadens hand reached out, and when I was close enough, he grabbed me by my throat and pulled me into his lap. Pulled my mouth on his. I let out a very pathetic noise. 

His other hand made me sit right on his cock and I could feel everything that was waiting for me. I moved my hips in a circle and he let out a breath, his dark, almost gold flecked eyes looking at me with hunger.

The bed dipped and Azriel pulled my hair back so I looked up at him. “You don’t have to be ashamed if you want to scream our names while we fuck away the pain, Yn.”

I nodded, wanting to twist so I could kiss him but Xaden firmly planted my hips to his. “I didn’t tell you to stop moving, pretty thing.”

I obeyed him. It was such an odd angle; to have my head thrown all the way back but my hips moving. It made it hard to breathe. 

“I think she’s getting impatient, Riorson,” Azriel said as if I wasn't even there. 

“Yeah I can feel how wet she is.” Xaden curiously slipped a hand between my legs, a few fingers trailing the crease of my thigh. “You really are impatient, aren’t you?”

“Please…”

“Please what?” Azriel pulled my hair harder. “Come on, use your words, Yn. Don’t be shy.”

I whimpered. “Please touch me, Xaden.”

“How can I resist when you ask so nicely.”

Azriel released his grip and Xaden lifted up my hips, pulling down my thong. His fingers were cold against my pussy. I shivered. His fingers were so long. It took everything in me to not fuck myself on them. The shadowsinger remained behind me and slipped the thin straps of my dress off my shoulders. 

“Arms up.” Azriel commanded. The dress was lifted off my body and I felt very exposed. But soon enough he was against me, his hard chest against my back. “Kiss him.”

I burned red at the tone of his voice. But I kissed Xaden with enough force to make him bite my lip, catching my tongue between his teeth next. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my chest to his. I jolted as he brushed my clit and he let out a dark chuckle, doing it again and again. 

“So easy,” Xaden muttered, pushing me on my back effortlessly. I watched as he stuck his two fingers in his mouth. “Fuck do you taste good, pretty thing.”

His massive hands spread my thighs apart after he threw my underwear somewhere in the room. Those brown curls felt just as soft as I imagined. I didn’t care if I was being desperate, I needed his mouth between my legs. The first pass of his tongue made me go limp. I let my head fall back, my knees parting even further. 

My body welcomed him as he explored, tongue flicking, hands bruising my skin. Fingers brushed my chest, so faintly I thought I might’ve imagined it. Azriel had gone somewhere, but I was too focused on Xaden to care at this moment. When I looked down, those were not fingers playing with me, but rather tendrils of shadow circling around.

“What the-”

“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay Yn,” Azriel said from my right, standing further in the room. He was undressing, the fighting leathers he had been wearing folded neatly on a desk. His wings were... dear gods his wings were massive. “It’s just me. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Pleasure and fear coursed through me at the same time. My brain and body were on fire with emotions as I watched them drift and encase my body. They were cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the boiling temperature of my skin. As I watched, I settled. It was quite fascinating. 

A sharp smack to the inside of my thigh had me looking at Xaden. “Focus on me.”

I nodded and I became aware of just how close I was to my release. I panted and writhed, itching for something to grab onto. Something to touch and yank-

My hands were above my head two seconds later and I was dragged to the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” Xaden shouted and another wave of fear crashed through me. “I was in the middle of something.”

“Well, it’s my turn, Riorson,” Azriel gritted his teeth, taking himself in his hand. “You can still have her legs for now. But I need to feel her mouth.”

Were they fighting for me? For my body? I smiled. So wide it hurt. I obediently opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, enticing him further. In tandem, I spread my legs as wide as they could go for Xaden. 

“You’re so well trained, pet.” Azriel wasted no time forcing his cock down my throat. I couldn’t breathe, but that’s how I wanted it. He thrusted in slowly, stopping when he was all the way, then pulled back out. “You take my cock so well, Yn. I’m so proud of you.”

“If you think her mouth feels good, wait till you get inside her pussy. She’s so warm and tight.”

I moaned around Azriel, knees fluttering off the bed as Xaden sucked my clit. The shadows continued to writhe around my nipples and I felt so exposed. I couldn’t keep still. My legs trembled and I felt that coil in my stomach clenching and clenching. I wanted Xaden’s cock between my legs more than his tongue, but I couldn’t tell him that with Azriel down my throat. 

“Do you think she can take both of us?” Azriel asked, brushing a hand across my cheek, then it gently wrapped around my neck. I choked hard enough for tears to streak down my face. 

“Hmm,” Xaden hummed around me and I thrashed. “Well, that was adorable. As for fitting both of us? It’s possible. Probably gonna hurt. Don’t worry, he’ll work you open on his cock so good you won’t have a choice but to take both of us.”

“We don’t want to hurt her, Riorson,” Azriel cupped my cheeks. “Unless you want us to, pet?”

I nodded immediately. He pulled out and I heaved for fresh air, eyes glossy as I looked up at him. “Don’t be gentle.”

The way Azriels’ eyes darkened should have made me afraid. Instead it filled me with a primal desire. The force of his hips was brutal. The slight salty taste of his skin was intoxicating. I gagged around him with every press of his tip at the back of my throat, tears burning down my face. 

Without any resemblance of a warning, my release barreled through me and I shook, legs kicking out as Xaden continued to tongue fuck me until I saw stars. He kept going. He didn’t stop. 

I tried to get him to ease, to let up but my hands were bound at my sides. That same cool feeling sliding around my wrists as it did my chest. It was so much. Already too much. 

“Alright, she’s had enough,” Xaden finally pulled away from my throbbing cunt, caressing my thigh and the bruises there. His chin glistened with my cum, and he didn’t let any of it go to waste as his tongue dragged over his lips. 

“I’ll tell you when she’s had enough. Get back up on the bed. Strip.” With a more than heavy shove, Azriel sheathed himself inside me one last time, held just long enough to make me panic for a breath. “Good girl, Yn.”

I hiccuped a small sob, already teetering on my breaking point. Azriel sat me up and pushed me down on my hands and knees. In front of me was Xaden. His very hard cock straining up. The shadowsinger’s hand fisted in my hair and I was forced to take his cock down.

“Stay right there, pet. Don’t move. You came without permission. Since you decided to be so greedy, you’re gonna get Xaden off while I punish you.” A merciless hand smacked my ass hard enough to make an outline of his hand. “Got it?”

I nodded around Xaden’s cock and yelped when another smack came down. Xaden groaned, his sculpted abdominal and chest flexing. One arm was behind his head, the other on my head. He was far more gentle than Azriel was, but I could see his control slipping as he thrusted up in time with Azriel’s hand on my ass. 

“Fuck she feels good, Az,” Xaden praised, cupping my cheek. “And you look so pretty full of my cock. Gods I can’t wait to be in that pussy.”

I squeaked out an embarrassing noise when Azriel dragged his cock through my cunt, coating himself in my release. Just the tip of him had me stretching and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to block out the sting. With a snap of his hips, he slid in deeper and deeper and deeper-

“That’s it, pet. Take all of my cock. Good girl, Yn. Good girl.” His cooing made it impossible not to cry out around Xaden. As Azriel pulled back, slowly, he grabbed my hips and took me with him. I scrambled to try and keep Xaden’s cock in my mouth, but I was too far away now. 

“Look at how desperate she is for you, Riorson. She wants your cock soooo badly she’s fighting me for it.” Azriel ran his nails down my spine. “How about we play a little game, pet. When I pull out of you, you have to keep your mouth on him or else you get a smack. How does that sound?”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Xaden. He had a flush to his cheeks. The same primal hunger I had in my eyes. There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to have him come down my throat. A sharp crack rang through the room and I screamed. 

“I want an answer. Now.” Azriel demanded, yanking me up and forcing me down on his thick cock. 

“Yes yes yes,” I babbled. “Please let me make Xaden feel good.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg like that,” Xaden mumbled, dragging me back down to him by my wrist. I wrapped my lips around him and worked up and down. He was just as big as Azriel. But the shadowsinger was bigger. 

Azriel’s hands on my hips hurt almost as much as the hand that smacked me. I’m sure it was bright red and swollen. Every time he thrusts into me, he forces my body back into him. A few times I was pulled off of Xaden and I got punished. New tears running down my face after every one. 

“F-Fuck Az stop doing that,” Xaden growled out. “I barely have her for two seconds before you’re ripping her away again.” His two hands gripped the sides of my head, forcing me all the way to his pelvic bone. “Now stop holding back and fuck her like you mean it.”

“Think she can handle that?”

“Of course she can, look at her. Split open wide on our cocks, taking them like she’s been doing it for years. She’ll be fine, won’t you, pretty thing?” I nodded, blinking up at him. “See, she wants it. Such a good fuck toy. Such a good pet.”

“If you can’t, say so now, Yn,” Azriel gripped at my hips to pull Xaden's dick out of my throat. “Well?”

“D-Don’t… don’t hold back.” Gods my voice was raw. “Please don’t hold back. I need it.”

“See? Now go, I’ve been on the edge for the past ten minutes,” Xaden said rather impatiently. 

I could not have prepared myself for the force of Azriel’s thrusts. Or the grip Xaden had on my head. I thought my neck was going to rip from my shoulders with how hard I was being pulled in opposite directions. I only got a breath every two or three drives of Azriel’s cock. 

Both of them were a whimpering mess. Xaden especially. I prayed to the Mother that these walls were thick enough so no one would hear us. 

Minutes ticked by and I became a limp mess. A mere boneless thing for Azriel and Xaden to play with. My arms were trembling beyond use and my legs and toes were numb with euphoria. I couldn’t keep myself up any more. 

“Fuck, Yn,” Xaden panted, hips bumping into my nose every time he snapped his hips. “Gonna come.” I just let all my weight fall onto him, letting him go deeper and deeper down my throat. “You’re such a good girl, Yn. Such a good fucking girl.”

Azriel shoved his cock as far as it would go, forcing me to take all of Xaden’s cum down my throat in one go. I didn’t even get to taste it. Xaden fucked into my mouth, hands firm on my head as he continued to spill. I dared a glance up and I saw shadows, slightly different than Azriel’s, caressing his shoulders. 

How the hell did I get so lucky?

I was pulled off of Xaden and I was completely limp. “What do you say to Xaden, pet?”

“Thank you,” I stuttered out as Az continued to fuck me. 

“Good girl. Now clean him up so he can take my place.” On my own accord, I picked my heavy head up and lapped at his cock, gently cleaning him with tiny flicks of my tongue. Up and down and up and down. He tasted so good. Salty and tangy. “Still got more, Riorson? I forget you humans can’t reset as quickly as we can.”

“I have stamina that’ll put you to shame, Illyrian.” Xaden had a devilish grin on his lips. “My turn.”

Xaden’s hands wrapped under my arms, guiding me off of Azriel. I tried to get my legs to move, but it was a useless effort. I could barely think let alone tell my body what to do. 

“Easy, Riorson. I know you’re eager. And trust me, you should be. Fuck is she tight.”

Xaden let out a teasing noise, pumping a few times to get himself hard again. “Aww I bet she is. Gonna take my cock next, pretty thing? Yeah you are, and you’re gonna take Azriel's, too. Come on, sink down and- yes just like that, yes Yn. Good girl.”

Riding him made this so much easier. He was far stronger than I was and helped me rock back and forth. It was wonderful stimulation for my clit, too. For a few minutes he bounced me up and down, filthy praises spilling out of him like it was his job.

“I told you,” Azriel’s voice was right up against the back of my neck. “Worth the wait.”

“What if I told you I didn’t want to share her anymore?” Xaden sucked on my nipple and rubbed my clit at the same time. 

“Too late for that, Riorson. She’s all ours, aren’t you?” I felt the press of Azriel’s cock against my hole and jumped. “Relax. It’ll hurt if you don’t.”

I nodded, getting lost between the two sets of hands–the two sets of lips and tongues and teeth. I was one with the stars, completely suspended in a place I didn’t know but I sure as hell didn’t want to leave any time soon. I tried to remain still as Az slowly–very slowly– pushed in bit by bit. I was reduced to nothing but mumbling noises and begging whines. 

“Should’ve asked Cass if he wanted to join us so she could have something to do with that mouth of hers,” Xaden blew out a breath. “Need something to suck on, pretty thing?”

I just nodded, too overstimulated to speak. I just needed. I don’t know what I needed but I needed it. 

“Gods you really are such a good pet,” Az pulled my head back. With a firm grip on my jaw, it fell open and he spat in my mouth. The shock of it damn near pushed me over the edge. My eyes crossed and my vision blurred as he stuck his fingers in my mouth for me to suck. 

It took several minutes but then I was balancing between both their cocks, vibrating with energy and a need so deep I knew the second they would move I’d come. And I’d keep spasming around them as they did as they pleased. 

Hands expanded every inch of my body. “Ready?”

“Mhmm,” was the best response I could get out. Xaden pulled me towards him, then slowly pushed me back onto Azriel. Then Az slowly pushed me onto Xaden. I was weightless in their hands, practically being held up by them alone.

“You are doing such a good job, my pet,” Azriel pulled out his fingers, gripping my throat. “So tight and wet. That’s it, just relax. Let us take you, Yn.”

“She’s being so good, don’t you think she deserves a reward, Az?” Xaden plucked both of my breasts.

“Of course she does.”

My ears were ringing. Sweat soaked my hairline. I could feel Xadne and Azriel’s pulse against my own, and I swore I could’ve felt them all sync up for a beat or two or five. Endless shadows swirled across my skin, hands fighting for leverage on my hips. I knew I’d be marked and bruised in the morning.

“I got her here, you take care of her down there,” Azriel instructed. Both of his hands cupped my chest, pinching brutally. Xaden snaked his hand between our fronts and just barely grazed my clit before I was coming so hard my vision blacked out. 

I screamed, throat burning with pain as I writhed and begged for nothing and everything. I cried out over and over as they continued to push me. Lips and tongue slid over my throat, Xaden’s forcing its way into my mouth to swallow my screams. 

Azriel bit down on my shoulder and snapped his hips a few times, trying and failing to suppress his moans. It came from deep in his chest and it rumbled through me. “Gonna take my cum, pet?”

I couldn’t respond. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get words to form. 

“Give it to her, Az. She needs it,” Xaden said for me. “Don’t worry, pretty thing, Az is gonna give it to you. Just be patient.”

His hips worked into me, fucking me onto Xaden. With one hand wrapped around my throat, the other on my side, Azriel came inside me, the thick, bitter scent sending my mind spiraling. His thrusts didn’t stop, even as Xaden warned him he was close. 

Azriel stilled then, panting hot against the back of my neck. “You’re clenching so hard, pet. Such a good job at keeping it all inside you. Now do the same for Xaden. Let him fill you up, Yn.”

Xaden was far less controlled, those shadows over his shoulders whipping wildly as he fucked up into me hard enough to touch places he hadn’t yet. With a handful of movements, Xaden brought our hips flush together and he strained his neck, baring his teeth into the air. 

His noises would’ve been enough to set me off again had I not been so previously spent. 

It could’ve been hours that I laid between them, their cocks still buried inside me as they stroked my skin, stroked my hair and kissed me lazily. 

______

“Yn.” A gentle press of lips to mine. My eyes fluttered open and Xaden’s face became clearer. “There she is.”

“She awake?”

“Mhmm,” Xaden kissed my forehead. “Feeling better?”

I wiggled my toes to see if the feeling had come back. I just nodded, snuggling in deeper to his chest. “Yeah.”

“Good good,” he wrapped his arms tighter around me. “You were so good for us, Yn.”

“The best,” Azriel seconded, and a warm body pressed up behind me. “You were pretty out of it for about an hour. We cleaned you up as best we could with you mumbling about how much you loved to please us.”

I flushed in embarrassment, putting my hands over my face. “Cauldron damn me.”

“It was quite adorable,” Xaden murmured, prying my hands from my face. “And you were incredible.”

“So fucking incredibly,” Azriel agreed, tucking in close behind me. I carefully flipped over, looking at the shadowsinger. “You did such a good job.”

“It was easy when I had you two doing all the work for me,” I smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “Still cannot believe I just did that.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Absolutely not.” I squashed down that possibility the second their hands had been on me. “It was perfect.”

“Don’t feel pressured to answer, but Xaden visits every so often to Prythian. When he comes back, how do you feel about doing this again?” Azriel asked cautiously. “If you would like some time to think about it then-”

“Yes.” Why would I ever say no to being worshiped? “Absolutely yes.”

Both of them chuckled, Xaden molding his body to fit mine, arm laying across my stomach. “Told you we might ruin you for anyone else.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 5

In which you can't stand to be away from Max any longer

Warnings: descriptions of a crash, swearing (maybe?) Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!Reader Word Count: 2.5k words (tiny note from me: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the lovely feedback and comments. It's truly reinforced my desire to publish the novel I wrote this summer so I've started working on my edits for that<3 you all are such lovely human beings.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Master List

“FP2 is about to start, ma fille.” Your mother says gently, wiping her hands on the dish towel she was holding. “Do you want to watch?” 

You look up from your computer, heart squeezing a bit at the thought of watching anything racing related right now. It’s race weekend in Zandvoort, the first race weekend back after summer break and also Max’s home race. You were supposed to be there for him and your brother this weekend but instead you were at home, in Monaco, with your mother. 

You hadn’t gone to Croatia with your family, much to your mother’s dismay. She had tried to talk some sense in you, despite Charles’ protests. She had been absolutely livid with her son when she found out what he had done, how he had broken up something that was making you so happy. But in the end, Charles had won and you had skipped the entire thing, opting for a few weeks spent in London with a some college friends instead. 

You had been miserable the entire time. 

Meanwhile, in Belgium and then Italy, Max had spent the break equally as miserable. The thought of losing you before you had even really gotten started just ripped him further in pieces. He had respected your wishes though, staying away despite every bone in his body screaming at him to show up at your door and not leave until you realized you two were the real thing. No, he couldn’t do that. If he had learned anything about you in the months that you had been together, even just in secret, it was that you were stubborn and wouldn’t budge on something that you felt strongly about. He had seen that look in your eye the afternoon he walked out of your apartment. He knew he had to be patient and wait for you to come to him, otherwise he risked losing you forever. 

Seeing him on the TV earlier this morning before the first practice session of his home race had sent your heart racing. You missed him so badly. More than you had thought possible. You could tell he was just as miserable as you were just by looking at him. Dark circles cast shadows under his eyes and he looked exhausted, not well rested like the rest of the drivers coming off a four week break.

It broke your heart. 

But every time you thought about going to him, something that skittered through your mind, your brother’s words echoed in your head. You weren’t strong enough. You weren’t good enough. You couldn’t handle it. Max was using you to get back at Charles. Those thoughts flew through your brain at such a speed that the idea of going to him was out of the question. You simply didn’t feel brave enough. 

“You’re going to put it on even if I say no, maman.” You say with a sad smile. 

“Oui, bien sur.” Yes, of course. She replies with a smile, patting you on the shoulder as she passes by to pick up the remote control, switching on her F1TV app on her TV. 

Your mother knew everything that happened, having gotten both sides from both of her babies. She had tried to remain impartial but at the end of the story, she had wanted to strangle Charles. He was being a stubborn idiot, everyone knew it but no one could seem to get through to him. She had never seen you so heartsick before, noting that every time Max was shown on TV earlier during the first practice stint that you perked up a bit, paying more attention to what the commentators said when he was discussed. She knew, just like Max did, that you wouldn’t be moved on this until you were ready though, so she kept her opinions to herself, determined to support you in whatever way you needed. 

Your mother really was a saint among women. 

Will Buxton’s face popped up when the coverage started and you sat, pretending to work on your laptop as you waited for the cameras to show Max. You didn’t care about Charlie, not at all. You weren’t sure how you were ever going to forgive your brother after all he said that afternoon, but currently, you weren’t interested in discussing anything with him. 

“Max seemed to have a good session earlier.” Your mother comments, trying to gently open the door to talk about the man you were so clearly head over heels with. 

You hum in response, quietly watching the coverage. On the screen, the cars are all on the track now. Max seemed to be struggling this session though, despite the smooth start he had earlier. The back of the car kept kicking out on the corners, and the speed just wasn’t there. 

“I’m fighting this thing every step of the fucking way, GP.” He growls over the radio. The sound of his voice in distress sends cold shivers down your spine. 

“Okay, we’ll figure it out. Give it a few more laps to sort itself out and then come back in, yeah?” 

“Sure, why the fuck not.” He snaps. 

You give your mother a look, eyebrows raised. He doesn’t usually get this snippy with GP this early in the weekend unless something was really off with the car. 

“Oh this isn’t going to be good.” You mumble, closing your laptop so you can focus on the TV. 

“And just like that, all the progress that Red Bull made in FP1 is erased. Max seems to really be struggling out there this afternoon.” Will Buxton says as Max slides around a corner. 

“Come in next lap, Max and we’ll get this figured out.” It’s Christian on the radio this time and you know it’s bad. Christian only comes on the radio when GP has had it with the driver and needs someone else to reign him in. 

But Max doesn’t get the chance to get into the pits. As he dives into the next corner on the track, his back end kicks out yet again but this time Max isn’t able to save it. His front tire hits the grass on the inside of the turn, causing him to lose all grip and control over the car, sending the car careening off into the fences on the opposite side of the track. The navy Red Bull car slams into the safety barrier at such an intense speed, you hear yourself scream before you can get your emotions under control. 

You and your mother are on your feet, hands cupped over your mouths as you wait, breathless, to hear that he’s okay. It’s not a messy crash, only bits of the front wing are scattered about the track, but it was the speed at which Max went into the wall that concerns you. 

“Maman.” You whisper, voice cracking in panic. “Oh, maman, he has to be okay.” Panic sings through your blood, desperate to hear his voice over the radio. Heart hammering in your chest, you take several steps closer to the TV, as if getting closer to it will provide you with a better view. 

Next to you, your mother puts a calming hand on your shoulder, giving you a squeeze. You both have seen nasty crashes before, it’s something that you almost expect every weekend but when they do happen, it’s still a shock to the system. You can’t bare anything happening to Max before you’ve had a chance to reconcile. 

Tears spring to your eyes thinking about the last time you spoke to him, how you pushed him away when he so desperately wanted to be there for you. How he had stayed when even your own brother had abandoned you, bruised ego being more important than his own sister. 

“Max, you okay?” GP’s voice rings out over the radio. 

“Ye-yeah, I’m okay.” Max grunts. 

A wave of relief washes over you, a welcome cool splash that calms some of your panic. You stumble back towards the couch, collapsing on the cream cushions, chest heaving as the adrenaline seeps from your body. “Oh my God.” You whimper. 

“He’s okay, ma fille. He’s okay.” Your mother murmurs into your ear, sitting down next to you, wrapping you in a gentle hug. 

“I need to go see him.” The words are out of your mouth before you even have a chance to consider what you’re saying. 

*********************************************************************

Six Hours Later

Max couldn’t recall the last time he had a worse start to a weekend than this. He knew why, of course. It wasn’t the car, even though the car was absolute shit but he’s usually able to overcome a shit car and perform better than the rest of the field anyway. That’s why he’s Max Verstappen. No, the weekend started off so poorly because he had been so distracted. He’s never gotten into the car this distracted and distraught before and it cost him this afternoon during the second free practice. He had binned the car straight into the wall because the only thing he’s been able to think about for the past three weeks is you. 

His entire body hurts as he gets out of the car that evening. He had tried to stay with the mechanics and engineers while they put the car that he wrecked back together. They were going to take a grid penalty for working on the car after curfew, so his weekend was fucked either way. But as the clock approached 11pm, Christian had finally pulled rank and sent him back to the hotel to get some rest. 

It was simply the last place he wanted to be though. A quiet hotel room with nothing else to do but think about what had happened today and how fucked he was if he couldn’t get his shit together before Sunday? No thank you. He wanted nothing to do with that. He had considered telling the driver to take him to whatever the closest bar to the track was but he knew Horner would have an absolute conniption if he did that. So instead, he decided to behave and had let the driver take him back to the hotel. 

Thankfully, there aren’t any fans waiting as the driver pulls up to the front doors of the hotel. It’s late and most everyone is already back in their hotel for the night, resting up for the last practice and qualifying tomorrow. Max is thankful for that, so he doesn’t have to see anyone. The lobby to the hotel is quiet as well, only the night concierge and front desk clerk on duty. 

His steps are soft as he shuffles across the white and gold marble floor towards the elevators. To his left, there is a group of chairs and couches gathered for people to sit on while they wait and he’s surprised to see that there’s someone there, settled in a couch facing away from him. As he gets closer though, the hair that tumbles down around the woman’s shoulders sends a squeeze of pain shooting through his chest. It’s the color of your hair. Fuck, Max, get your shit together, he chides himself as he walks past the figure. 

And then, time stands still for a moment. The person sitting on the couch turns and Max swears he’s completely lost his mind. He’s now conjuring up images of you out of thin air. 

Or his he?

Your heart hammers in your chest when you hear the foot steps sound across the marble floor. You hadn’t really thought of anything beyond getting on the jet and getting to the Netherlands as quick as you could so when you landed, you were somewhat panicked that you didn’t have a plan. A quick call to Lando Norris of all people had solved that problem quite quickly. He had told you exactly where Max was staying but that he was still at the track so there was time to surprise him. 

“Maxie.” You sob, tears pouring down your face at the look of utter confusion and bewilderment sitting on Max’s face. 

“Liefje?” 

You nod furiously as Max finally snaps into action, closing the distance between the two of you with just a few strides. He’s captured you up in his arms, crushing you to his body in a fierce hug, before you’re able to say anything else. 

Home, your body sighs. 

For the first time in weeks, you feel settled, the quiet sense of belonging etching itself deep in your bones the moment you find yourself in his arms. 

“Did you really come back to me, liefje?” Max’s voice is strained, raspy with emotion. “Are you really here right now?” 

You nod vigorously against his neck, burying your head there as you draw in a deep breath. He even smells like home. “I could never leave you, Maxie.” You can’t stop the tears, they just keep falling. “I saw you go into the wall earlier and the first thing that crossed my mind was ‘I never told him I loved him too.’” 

Max nearly loses his grip on you he’s so beside himself. For several long seconds, Max just stands there, clutching you to his chest. He knows he should probably put you down, that your emotional reunion is causing a scene but he can’t quite convince his arms to let go. Almost as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear again if he lets you go. 

Max does lower you to the ground after managing to convince himself that you are really here and you won’t disappear but he doesn’t take his hands off of you. One hand goes to your waist, the other frames your face as he stares down at you. “Ho-How did you get here so fast?” 

“Maman called up the pilot that Charlie uses and he happened to be in Nice. Lando told me where you were staying and I took an Uber here. I didn’t know what room you were in though, so I had to wait.” 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Max takes your hand, leading you towards the bank of elevators. He had one thing on his mind: he needed you alone and he needed to touch every fucking inch of you to convince himself that you were real. 

“I’d wait forever for you, Maxie.” You sigh, stumbling into his arms as the elevator doors ding close. 

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @jovialpainterunknown @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland

(leave me a comment or message if you want to be added!! <3)

[amiramorozova]

Darkira (Aleksander Morozova x Amira Silina) pt. 2 1st army camp

Amira's pov

Growing up was easy, ten years went by like it was nothing and I trained to become a powerful Grisha..and I had my own best friend Nicolas Stark. My twin sister was crushing on Nico but then I was his best friend. So when we left and went to first army camp, it was seeming to go fine. I got into Cartography and he was a Corporal tracker..we just happened to get the same unit which was fine.

As we arrived, I got out of the vehicle and walked with Nico as we were walking in camp..it wasn't going to be easy but we would make it work. As we walked, I felt a nudge and then looked seeing Alina..I'd know my cousin anywhere but her friend didn't remember me. Alina and I exchanged looks as we both knew what we were..but the look on Alina's face was like..she'd forgotten..

Alina, have you forgotten? I thought

I wouldn't be surprised if Alina tried to deny being a Sun Summoner, where I embraced it. She did run off to who knows where..as Nico and I did some learning we were in the 37th regiment and Alina and Mal were in the 36th Regiment which was fine. For months I got to stay by Nico's side which was great for me as I honed my skills in the mean time.

When we were in line to get meals, Nico and I would joke around as we got the meal and then went and sat down. Some thought I was Nico's girlfriend but he put them in their place saying we were just good friends..and it was true. I was old enough to get my grisha soulmate mark anyday, soulmate mark can vary anywhere between the initials of the grisha they're meant to be with or their power symbols. I hadn't received mine yet but I hadn't met mine yet it seemed or maybe I had but was not old enough to know then.

Then I saw Alina having trouble with the cook, it annoyed me how they treated her differently for being half shu. I went to get up but Nico pulled me back down. "Mal will handle it..besides we all know not every ravkan accepts shu, half or not." Nico whispered as I nod in agreement. Yet, I went to my tent later and got some snacks I did have and found Alina sitting alone as I dropped it in her lap and sat by her.

"You seemed to have done well for yourself..but you haven't been practicing.." I said as Alina looked and tried to hand it back. "I don't want your charity cousin." Alina said but I insisited. "You have to eat Alina, this whole thing is stupid.." I said as we had to watch Grisha training.. "You should be there..training with the Grisha." Alina said quietly as I laughed a bit. "Oh yes, training under the man who my father dispises the most in this world..I did meet him ten years ago..the General." I said as she looked shocked and I looked at her. "He showed up after you disappeared..he's not bad looking at all Alina. Yet, he never came back to try to test me or Sierra." I said

Alina just seemed speechless but she knew she'd been tested and she got out of it..She ate some of the snacks. "They're talking about going into the fold again..another skiff crossing. " Alina said as I nod knowing about that and took a sip of a drink I had. "They're choosing tomorrow the ones who are going on the skiff..let's hope it's not one of us." I said before getting up and leaving her to eat as Mal came to Alina.

I didn't feel like celebrating or anything so I went to bed and that morning was when I heard the sound of a carriage approaching and then felt the tingling feeling on my neck. "hm" I said as I got up and got ready like usual going to breakfast hall and sitting with Nico..It was Nico who noticed as he waited till after we ate. "Amira, your neck.." He said as I looked at him and then moved my hair over it..

My Grisha soulmate is nearby.. I thought

Aleksander's POV

The carriage ride from the little palace to the first army camp was quite long, I knew there was a lot to do and little time to do it as I knew checking on the Grisha was top priority..as the carriage entered first army grounds by the fold. I felt that feeling on my wrist and this time I looked seeing two symbols..one didn't intrigue me but the other did..Sun. I knew this happened ten years ago when I visited the Silina family so I knew then, it was someone related to Catalina that was my Grisha soulmate. A Sun Summoner, and from the looks of it also Tidemaker..my mind went to Amara's daughters, after all being the Generous General I was back then I did let Amara leave to be with her own Grisha soulmate so perhaps this was the saints rewarding me.

Could it be that a Grisha would sneak into first army? Pretend to be something they're not? I thought

As I got out of the carriage when it stopped, I headed to my tent first as I'd decided to bring Aiden Nikitin with me. I was going to let the squaller visit his family but seemed his half sister may be closer than I thought. I got things ready and go over preparations for tomorrow before I'd decide to investigate the grisha in hiding. After that was settled I went to the first army General.

"General Kirigan, is there something you need?" He asked

"Do you have any soldiers with the last name Silina here?" I asked

"One, Amira Silina. She's a Cartographer in the 37th Regiment, she's around here somewhere." He said

Amira Silina..and that is the name Aiden said is his half sister..so that means she's here among humans. I thought

"It has come to light that Ms. Silina, may be Grisha. Her family is well acquainted with 2nd army's grisha trainer. Have someone find her and bring her to my tent tonight." I said as he nod and then I walked away.

Amira's pov

I looked at Nico still panicking a little when I saw his color...black. I knew then that I was on limited time to figure out my situation. I could only hide for so long before he knew, if he didn't know already. Nico followed my gaze seeing the General.

"General Kirigan.." Nico said

"My time is up soon..so after the picking with the skiff, let's throw a small party with your friends and my cousin and the other cartographers. Make it the best before he finds me.." I said

Nico didn't seem to like this but then he moved my hair "AM" He said wondering what that meant but I wouldn't say..not here. I moved my hair back and knew it was only a matter of time.

I get tonight only...if he doesn't drag me to his tent tonight.. I thought

TagList: @lifeisingrey​,  @houseoftoomanyfandoms​, @mizelophsun11​, @budugu​ , @wheresthesunshinesblog

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Dandelion

pairing: pedro pascal x pop star best friend

trope: friends to lovers

word count: 1,566

song: dandelion by ariana grande

Pedro had mastered the art of playing it cool.

Press junkets. Film premieres. Award shows. All a breeze. He could handle intense directors, press rumors, even the chaos of a Star Wars Comic-Con crowd. He knew tonight would be hard. Not because of the flashing lights or the thousands of screaming fans echoing through the stadium. Not because he hated crowds or being in the spotlight.

But he could not, for the life of him, handle you.

You weren’t just his best friend. You were the one person who could disarm him with a single glance. The woman he’d been in love with for years, secretly, hopelessly, completely.

And now here he stood backstage at your sold-out concert, dressed in all black, trying to blend into the shadows, knowing you were about to perform your brand new song the one you told no one about. Not even him.

Then he saw you step out onto the stage.

Pedro’s breath caught in his throat.

The black corset. The thigh-high boots. The soft curls falling over your bare shoulders. You were a vision. Confident, untouchable. Every inch of you was a tease like something he’s never seen before had taken over your body and was staring right at him.

The beat hit. You gripped the mic with one hand, dragging it sensually toward your lips. And then you sang:

“Mean what I say, say what I mean

Not one to play, I am as you see

I give my word…”

Pedro’s heart stopped.

“These other boys, they’re one in the same

I’m tryna say, I want you to stay…”

You were looking right at him.

Your voice was seductive but soft laced with truth. With confession. You moved like every lyric came from deep in your bones, like this wasn’t just a performance but a revelation.

“I got (got)

What you need

I’m thinking you should plant this seed

I get this sounds unserious

But, baby boy, this is serious…”

Pedro shifted uncomfortably. His jaw clenched.

Because he was bricked up. Bad.

And not just because you looked like sin wrapped in velvet.

Because he knew without a doubt that this song was about him.

“And, yes, I promise

If I’m being honest

You can get anything you’d like

Can’t you see I bloom at night?

Boy, just don’t blow this

Got me like ‘what’s your wish list?’

You can get anything you’d like

I’ll be your dandelion, mmm…”

His mouth went dry.

Your body moved like temptation. The sway of your hips, the flick of your wrist, the way your fingers dragged up your thigh it was hypnotic. And your eyes never left his.

“You like how I pray

The secret’s in me

‘Cause, boy, come what may

I’m here on my knees…”

Pedro groaned. Actually groaned.

He had to adjust himself behind the curtain. Your lyrics, your voice every damn movement was driving him insane.

And it wasn’t just sexual. It was emotional. Personal. Like you had cracked your heart open in front of the entire world but only he could see the real message.

“These other flowers don’t grow the same

So just leave it here with me

Let’s get dirty, dirty…”

His knees nearly buckled. Jesus Christ.

“Boy, just don’t blow this

Got me like ‘what’s your wish list?’

You can get anything you’d like

I’ll be your dandelion, mmm…”

When the last “mmm” hit, Pedro was already moving.

You didn’t even have time to step offstage before you felt a hand on your wrist, pulling you gently but firmly behind the curtain.

Pedro.

His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, breath ragged. He looked at you like he’d just seen heaven and hell in the same five minutes.

“You wrote that about me,” he said hoarsely.

You tilted your head, a small smile forming. “Took you long enough.”

He ran a hand through his curls. “You… you meant every word?”

You stepped closer, voice soft but sure. “Mean what I say. Say what I mean.”

He groaned, grabbed your waist, and kissed you like he’d been starved for years. His hand tangled in your hair, yours slid beneath his shirt, desperate to touch, to claim.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead to yours. “You’re evil for doing that on stage.”

“You liked it.”

“I’m in love with you.”

You smiled. “Good. Then plant the seed.”

Pedro blinked. “What?”

You smirked. “Your words. Or mine, technically.”

He kissed you again. And again.

And from that night on, he could no longer play it cool. Not when the world knew that dandelion was about him and he’d never let you float away again.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears, adrenaline still coursing through your veins when Pedro pulled you into your dressing room and shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t need to.

Because the second the lock turned, his hands were on you urgent, hungry, reverent. His lips crashed into yours with a force that nearly knocked the air from your lungs, and you melted into him like you’d been waiting your entire life for this moment.

He spun you, your back pressed to the vanity, the cool edge digging into the backs of your thighs as he stepped between them.

“You don’t get to do that,” Pedro murmured against your jaw, peppering kisses down your neck, “look like that, sing like that, and stare at me like you own me.”

You smirked, breath hitching. “I do own you.”

His grip on your hips tightened. “Yeah. You do.”

Your lips found his again, and this time it was slow deep. Messy. Tongues dancing. Teeth grazing. He kissed you like he was starving, like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And then he pulled back, just far enough to look you in the eye.

“You meant that song.”

“All of it,” you whispered. “Every word. Every line.”

His hands slid down, fingers brushing the hem of your corset dress. “You want me to show you what it did to me?”

You nodded.

But he needed to say it. So he leaned in, voice hot against your skin.

“I’ve wanted you for years, cariño. You don’t know what it did to me hearing you say it. Seeing you own it like that on stage like you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I was,” you admitted softly. “I was afraid you didn’t feel the same.”

Pedro’s mouth crashed into yours again, rougher this time his answer written in the bruising press of his lips, the way his hand slid up your thigh, the reverence in his touch.

He kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, down to the top of your chest. He dragged his nose along your skin like he was memorizing your scent. Then he dropped to his knees in front of you.

You gasped as he pulled you toward the edge of the vanity.

“Pedro—”

He looked up, his eyes dark and reverent. “I told you. I’ve got everything I need. Right here.”

And then he kissed the inside of your thigh.

Your head fell back with a moan.

The lights above the mirror flickered softly, casting golden halos around both of you. His hands gripped your thighs as he leaned in, worshipful, slow, savoring every second because he wasn’t just here to take.

He was here to devour.

Your hands scrambled for purchase behind you, knocking over makeup brushes and compacts, but neither of you cared. The only sounds in the room were your gasps, the whisper of his name, and the deep, quiet hum of a man finally tasting what he’d dreamed about for years.

And when you finally came undone beneath his mouth, shuddering, trembling, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to earth he kissed your thigh, then your stomach, then stood slowly, reverently as if he was afraid to break the spell between you. But the look in his eyes was something different now. Wild. Tender. Completely undone.

Your lipstick was smudged. His curls were a mess from your hands. Neither of you cared.

He cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You know I love you, right?”

You blinked, your chest heaving. “Yeah?”

He smiled softly, forehead pressed to yours. “Yeah. Always have.”

You grabbed his shirt, pulled him close again. “Then don’t wait anymore.”

He kissed you slow this time. Deep and warm, his hand sliding over your back as you clung to him like a lifeline. The world outside the door didn’t exist. Just you and Pedro. Your bodies pressed together, the air thick with heat, love, and everything that had gone unspoken for far too long.

Eventually, he whispered, “Let me take you home.”

You nodded. “You’re already home.”

He kissed you again, then helped you off the vanity, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your flushed cheeks. And as you both stumbled out of the dressing room into the quiet of backstage, hand in hand, there was only one thing Pedro was certain of

He would never hear “Dandelion” the same way again.

Because it wasn’t just a song.

It was a confession. A promise. A beginning.

And this?

This was just the start.

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack: – gojo satoru chapter 1: udon

contents: gojo satoru x reader, slice of life, fluff, tw!ptsd, gojo being annoying, gojo calls you babe

summary: reeling from your last mission, gojo irritatingly persuades you to make udon. you reluctantly learn to appreciate his company while gojo unexpectedly gets to know you better.

wc: 3.3K

“his presence was so lively that he couldn’t help but take up space even in his silence. you weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the udon comforting you or his presence.”

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

the dark shadows of the halls welcomed you as you dragged your tired body towards your room. resting your head on your closed door, you try to ease the fresh guilt in your mind after having to wake ieri at this ungodly hour.

sorry ieri.

you make a mental note to pick up something for her this week as a thank you.

ever since your recent promotion, the higher ups have gotten increasingly comfortable sending you out on longer missions. this one was a doozy – 3 weeks, the longest you’ve ever been away. Shirakawa was beautiful albeit too quiet, the chaotic cacophony that made up Tokyo was more comforting to your ears. It was a long and arduous 3 weeks, multiple curses with multiple people involved – you were nearing your limit and were ready to be consumed by your fluffy bed. exhausted. running on empty. you felt like your body was going to give out, exhausted by even the thought of having to shower. but deep down, it was the slow growing hollow feeling in your bones that you were concerned with. you were worried that it would devour you from the inside out until there was nothing left of you.

your head pulsed against the your still closed door, groaning softly as you superficially attempt to calm your irregularly beating heart. it was a new rhythm that you were strangely getting more and more acquainted, you were almost thankful for the noise – it was a reminder that you were still alive. you were even grateful for your audible panting for if it got too quiet you could still hear the screams of helplessness, see the massacred bodies, feel the adrenaline spikes accompanied by the burn of your lungs and –

the bandaged wound on your side jolts alive, a reminder of your service – your duty. a promise. growing pains sucker punch you back into the darkness of reality. glazed eyes glance down at your whitening knuckles, gripping the door knob.

breathe. nothing can hurt you, you’re safe. just breathe.

the rustle of an opening door shakes you out of the corners of your messy mind.

“well, well, well – look who’s still alive! how was the mission, babe?”

just fucking breathe.

you groan in annoyance.

ugh babe? ugh. not this. not right now. what was he doing up at this hour?

gojo’s voice was too cheerful, his taunting smile was too sharp for your dulled senses. you didn’t have the stamina for this right now.

“m’ not in the mood, gojo,” you mutter, voice foreign to your own ears. the hollowness threatened to spill into waking reality. opening the door with a click, you quickly turn your weary body away from the tall, lanky boy. wanting to hide yourself from him, you retreated into to the familiar darkness of your room. but before you could shut the door, an irritating foot stops the final barrier from closing.

“i’m hungry.”

you stare at him like he grew two heads – finally something to accurately represent his gigantic ego. what was he playing at? dark glasses slightly down his slender nose and unphased gojo takes a quick peek at your inscrutable stare, meeting it with a cheeky smile before speedily waltzing into your room and diving aggravatingly onto your neatly made bed.

“uuuuughhhhhhh gojo – oh my god – can you not – “

eyebrows furrowing, you run a hand through your unruly hair in irritation. you were home for a mere hour and you already wanted to strangle him – a new record. with someone blessed with six eyes, he truly couldn’t see a thing. blind to the little things, too preoccupied focusing on a bigger picture…and that bigger picture right now was to annoy you.

gojo had a playfulness that was usually more tolerable– but not tonight. tonight you were nearing a cliff and gojo was shoving you closer and closer to the edge of insanity.

he whines your name. “i said, I’m hungry,” he repeats stretching his long legs out, making himself comfortable on your bed.

“okay, so that’s my problem – why?” rolling your eyes as you walk deeper into your room, switching on the bedside lamp. a warm light illuminates the room, simultaneously emphasising your fatigue while radiating gojo’s mischief. his loose t-shirt rides up slightly as he picks up the pink bunny plushie on your bed – a gift from geto for your birthday.

“come with me to the convenience store?” he holds the bunny’s hands together in a begging motion, “pleasepleasepleaseplea–“ voice pitched up two octaves.

“no. go by yourself!” you huff as you rummage through your dresser finding some soft shorts and a baggy t-shirt before sitting on your bed, making sure to keep your distance from the white haired intruder in your room. you stare at him irritatingly, testily bouncing your knee up and down.

“but I want someone to come with me!” the bunny says with a hand on it’s hip, the other pink plush arm moving a long ear out of his face impatiently.

“then go wake up geto!” you snap. he whines your name as he aggressively hugs your bunny plushie.

“he left for a mission yesterday… and anyway I want you to come with me. c’mon just this once? I know you must be hungry. I can hear the ol’tummy grumbly grumble from hereeeeee.”

gojo’s pale face pouts with a frown at your silence. “c’mon look! you’re making Bun Bun sad, look at him – he’s crying!” gojo moves the bunny’s little hands over its face, the plushie’s sweet little body hunched over.

god damn. Bun Bun was actually crying. shit, you had to act fast.

irritated you rub your eyes, your headache was slowly building to a peak and your patience was running dangerously thin. if you didn’t stop him from whining, you’d just have to kill him.

“uuughhhh why don’t I just cook for us? I have shit in the fridge I think?,” you counter, desperately trying to find a way to stop his grovelling instantly.

he hesitated, considering your offer.

you exhaled in relief, enjoying the sweet, sweet silence. the joy of the almost absence of gojo.

but it was over too soon. “huh. I didn’t know you were the cooking type,” gojo counters with a questioning expression on his boyish face. he shifted slightly snuggling into your fluffy pillows.

“yeah, sure. I can cook,” you mumble, massaging your temple. you were not really paying attention to what he was saying, you were busy trying to convince yourself that this was the better option than murdering satoru gojo.

gojo impatiently uses one of your bunny’s stumpy pink arms to annoyingly paw at your cheek while you were in thought. “…so is that a yes to food?”

when did he get so close? ugh.

you slap his arm away, abruptly standing, stomping your way towards your bathroom.

“...babe? I said, is that a yes to food?”

wincing as you move to unbutton your uniform jacket aggressively, exposing a flimsy tank underneath you turn to him.

you watch as gojo’s bright eyes stare at your healing wound briefly before taking in your figure, gawking at the sight of your chest before a cocky smile paints his pale face, his ears going slightly pink.

“oOoOoh do you need me to help undress–“

“get out.”

“but what about – “

“fine- fucking fine! just leave – now.”

his lanky body springs up from your bed in victory. gojo gently lays down your bunny on the bed whispering “see Bun Bun? I knew we’d win. I always do.” kissing the top of his little head, before swiftly walking out of your room with a bright smile, “meet you in the kitchen!”

shaking your head as you into the bathroom, you turn on the shower faucet and can’t help but notice the growing silence in his absence. looking into the mirror before getting into the shower, you were surprised to find the ghost of the smallest grin on your face as well.

you walk into the kitchen with wet hair and comfy clothes to find gojo rummaging through the fridge. his tall frame hunched over, inspecting a jar of kimchi while he was humming what you recognized was the digimon theme song. the light of the refrigerator illuminated his firm, muscular body while you noticed that his eyes were now free from his usual dark glasses. his stark white hair tousled more messily than usual, courtesy of the habit that you recognized was from gojo running his hands through his hair.

joining him at the fridge, you ignore the warmth radiating off his body, and bump your hip to shove him out of the way. you hear his amused scoff and feel his judgey eyes on you. undaunted by his stare, you rustle in the fridge to find what you need.

placing a bundle of green onions and udon on the kitchen counter, you begin to fill a small pot with some water from the sink. you eye gojo expectedly, his hands deep in the pockets of his shorts, his head tilted curiously watching you.

was this asshole expecting you to do all the work? this fucking guy.

you jut out your elbow poking his firm side as he dramatically pouts at you, whining your name. you roll your eyes and place the pot on the stove.

“grab the dashi, mirin and soy sauce in my cupboard. then add some of each to this pot once the water boils,” you directed stiffly, beginning to finely chop the green onions.

perhaps mercifully sensing your quickly depleting energy, gojo dutifully returns with the ingredients and wordlessly does what you instructed. as he stirs the dashi, soy sauce and mirin into the broth, you add the udon, stirring with chopsticks separating the noodles carefully.

gojo begins rambling on about the increasing price of his favourite convenience store cake roll and how it’s still worth it because “…the Hokkaido whipped cream on the inside totally justifies the price increase. it really makes a difference, it’s so much richer, and that texture?! mmmpfffffhhh, it’s so fucking good, babe…”

you scrunch your nose in disgust at his overly enthusiastic moan.

gross. dude it’s just food.

“gojo, stop with the babe.”

“ehhh! what?? why? that’s you,” he pouts, moving one of hands on his hips while stirring the pot absentmindedly.

“i never agreed to that! anyway, I thought that was what you called geto,” reaching over, lowering the heat of the stove.

“nah, babe – suguru’s baby. you’re babe. big diff.” he explains leaning closer to you, eyes waiting for your challenge. but before you could argue, he was off rambling about his favourite cake rolls once again.

“… did ya hear that they were going to come out with a few new flavours? I know, crazy right? matcha and sesame!! wonder if it’ll be better than the original, i mean it’s hard to beat an icon. say… d’ya remember that one time – wait were you there that time? … or was it shoko? nah, it was probably shoko, I would’ve remembered if you were with us, babe. anyway, this one time I ate 6 of the cake rolls in one sitting and suguru – hey! are you listening to me?”

gojo cant help but drink in your appearance- were you paler than usual? your frame slightly swayed from exhaustion while you gently stirred the udon, staring into the bubbling broth mindlessly. your hair was still damp from your recent shower and you smelled slightly of lavender and vanilla. you smelled sweet, he wouldn’t mind smelling like you. he noticed how you’d favour your left side due to the wound, slightly wincing if you turned... it must have been pretty bad if shoko couldn’t heal it fully outright. but what worried him most was your almost unfamiliar eyes. you clearly weren’t listening to him, eyes dull, unfocused - there was no one there. usually your eyes were bright, full of life like when the early moon would illuminate the waves of the ocean. subtle and peaceful at first glance but vibrant and beautiful at a second glance. what he liked best was there was a sliver of rebellious glee in your gaze. a fleeting instance of chaotic delight. he caught a glimpse of it when you and shoko brainstormed lies to tell yaga to get out of training so you both could get that new blush in shinjuku, or when you finally pinned suguru for the first time after trying for months. gojo couldn’t help but be curious about your elusive nature. but currently your eyebrows furrowed like you were thinking about some that physically pained you, consumed by the chaos within.

“… uh hey – maybe you should sit down, babe. you don’t look so good right now..”

“oh now he’s concerned.” you quip. it didn’t take six eyes to see that your body was slowly reaching its limit. scrunching your eyes shut, tossing your body onto the nearest chair with a sigh. you weren’t in the mood to argue any longer.

he cringed slightly before softly protesting “hey. i knew you were fine - ”

“uh huh. don’t forget to add the green onions on top.”

“oh so bossy! but don’t not worry, I like-”

“gojo, can you like.. not be yourself for just 10 minutes? my head is killing me right now… please?” you interrupt his yapping, placing your pounding forehead on the table.

gojo snickers as turns his back from you, gently stirring the bubbling pot. he carefully places a bowl of steaming udon topped with green onions in front of you as well as a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. saying your thanks, you dip your spoon into the soup, swirling the clear broth. you watch the green onions float to the top. gathering the broth in your spoon, you almost groan as the warmth of the broth gently eases the pounding of your head while the light saltiness satisfyingly leaves a warm trail of comfort as it slid down your throat. glancing over at gojo curiously, you watch as he blows on his steaming noodles pinched between his chopsticks, slurping loudly before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

pretty tasty, eh?

you and gojo eat in silence, the slurping of noodles enough of a conversation between you. admittedly, it was nice being in his company when he was quiet. his presence was so lively that he couldn’t help but take up space even in his silence. you weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the udon comforting you or his presence.

you’ve had udon like this before - just a few day ago a cute little grandma in Shirakawa made you the very same dish in her home. you could still feel her pleased smile as you complimented her cooking for the first time, the rasp in her voice when she protested when you helped her clean up, the warm touch of her wrinkly hands when she brushed the hair out of your face, the smell of her cozy house on fire, her blood staining –

putting down your chop sticks with more force than intended, you push the rest of your unfinished bowl towards gojo, his large hands instantly accepting the bowl without question. you feel the brush of his warm fingers against your cold shaking ones against the smooth porcelain of the bowl. hesitating at his touch briefly, you move quickly to creating more distance between the two of you.

“… where’d you learn to cook like that?’’ gojo questions through a mouthful of udon, unshaken.

“it’s just udon, gojo. it was really simple.”

“yeah.. but just because something is simple doesn’t mean it isn’t good! your mom teach you?”

“mnm, something like that. I’d used to watch my mom cook when I was younger. she hated cooking but begrudgingly learned because she had feed us. I guess she saw it as her duty as a mother.” you mused eyes closed.

“well, that’s stupid. she could have just bought food or hired a chef or something if she really hated it, couldn’t she?”

you huff in amusement, “you’re such a brat, y’know?”

“i’m just saying!! you shouldn’t have to do things that you don’t want to do.” gojo exclaims, putting down his spoon beside his second empty bowl.

“i mean, she did hated it. absolutely hated it but…her love for us was just stronger than her hate of the task. she learned our favourites and adjusted recipes to our liking, even though it would’ve been more work for her.”

“sounds like a dedicated woman.”

“she was, yeah. did … your… uh mother cook you dinner when you were a kid?” you realised you didn’t know anything about gojo’s family. you heard about his clan – the strength, power and influence that his family had – but you realised he never spoke about his family. his mother or his father, anyone at all. did he have any siblings? was he like his family? was he closer to his mother or his father? did he have his mother or father’s eyes? by name he was gojo, a part of a prestigious, ancient family but by spirit maybe… maybe he was just satoru.

oh god. imagine if his whole family was like him. your eyes narrow at the thought.

he hums thoughtfully, fiddling with his chopsticks, picking at the abandoned green onions in the bowl. “nah, the chef would make food for us, that was always good. but… my mother… she did make me dango one time.”

“is.. that your favourite dessert?”

“when she made it, it was.”

a silence fills the room, a thoughtful silence. when you dared to look into his eyes. there was something there that you didn’t recognize, the blue in his eyes was softer, more vulnerable. the usual mischievous spark behind his smile was missing, replaced with a forlorn thoughtfulness that you never associated with gojo.

this.. was new. you rest your heavy head on your palm and sighed. maybe there was more to gojo than cockiness, bravado and sheer power.

“Is that why you like cooking? reminds you of her?” gojo asks breaking the pregnant pause, drumming his fingers on the table.

“...babe? babe, you really gotta work on your listening skil-“ he peers across the table at your slumped figure, mouth slightly opened, breathing slowed with your head on the table.

gojo leans across the table to take a closer look at your face. it was a rare sight seeing you so defenseless, unshielded by your protective barriers you would put up around everyone. but even in sleep you still looked troubled, brows furrowing slightly. what was going on in that head of yours? gently, he touched the crease in between your eyebrows and chuckled when your face instantly relaxes to his touch. he smiles.

you could smell the blood sticking to your uniform, the screams of the villagers, their mutilated bodies beneath your feet as a disembodied hand reaches to grab your throat, squeezing painfully -

you jolt awake with a gasp, your soft comforter crumpling beside you. a thin sheen of sweat decorated your forehead. clammy fingers combing through your messy hair to self soothe.

you were in your room. you were safe. the sunlight across your wall indicated that it was probably early afternoon. you were alive.

but how.. how did you get here? did gojo.. carry you? ugh, god that’s embarrassing.

you put your head in your hands, groaning at the awkwardness. you reach on your beside table to grab your phone but you notice that Bun Bun was leaning against your lamp, posed to hold a hastily scribbled note with familiar handwriting:

thanks for the udon, babe xxxxx ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

beside the note was a cake roll.

rubbing the restlessness out of your eyes you wondered how someone who talked so much could make your busy head so quiet. scoffing at his antics, you smile.

a/n: gojo would 100% die for Bun Bun. woo hoo! it's here – thank you for all the support and love so far 🥺💓 -- head image credit: Poco's Udon World dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

[winchesterwild78]

The Arrangement

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, infidelity, arranged marriage

A/N: Sorry I’ve been away for a while. Been dealing with life, the NJ convention and end of the year craziness. I hope to be back more. I’ve needed to write. This story will be in several parts. It’s just a crazy rollercoaster ride of a story that popped in my head. It’s full of angst and heartbreak, but I think it’s a good one. 

This is not real like and doesn’t depict it. It’s FICTION! No disrespect to Jensen or his family. 

Minors DNI 18+

The ornate invitation, thick with gilded script, felt like a death sentence in my hands. Jensen Ackles. The name shimmered, famous and impossibly handsome, but carried the weight of a life not my own. Our families, both prominent in the entertainment industry, had orchestrated this. Not for love, but for PR, for image, for damage control after some whispered scandal I wasn't privy to. I knew, even before the ink dried on the pre-nup, that this would be a loveless marriage. It broke me before it even began.

The wedding itself was a blur of flashing cameras and forced smiles. Jensen, polite but distant, barely met my eyes. He had a girlfriend, a beautiful actress whose name I’d only seen in tabloids, and he made it clear she wasn't going anywhere. My heart, still foolishly clinging to the hope of connection, ached with a dull, constant throb.

The honeymoon was a cruel joke. A sprawling villa in Tuscany, designed for romance, became a monument to my solitude. Jensen spent most of his time on calls, or away, presumably with her. I explored ancient cobblestone streets alone, ate gourmet meals across an empty table, and cried silent tears into opulent silk pillows.

Back home, in the house that was now ours but never truly mine, the loneliness deepened. Our lives were separate, intersecting only for public appearances, where we’d play the part of the happy couple. But behind closed doors, a chasm yawned between us.

Then came the nights when the chasm wasn't enough. He started bringing her to the house. Not subtly, not sneaking around, but openly, as if daring me to protest. I'd hear their laughter echoing from the living room, her sweet voice mingling with his deep rumble. My stomach would clench. My breath would catch. And then, the undeniable sounds of them, just doors away. Sharing what should have been our marital bed.

Those nights, the guest room became my sanctuary, my prison. I’d lie awake, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, the cold air seeping into my bones. The irony was a bitter taste: I was married to a man who shared his bed, his life, his love, with someone else, all while I was a phantom in my own home.

The old house groaned around me, a symphony of settling timber and whispering drafts. It was sometime in the dead of night, the kind of hour where shadows played tricks and silence felt heavy. I couldn't sleep, not with the faint, unsettling sounds from the master bedroom echoing in my ears. Pushing myself from the lonely expanse of the guest bed, I wandered to the kitchen, a phantom in my own home.

The moon, full and indifferent, poured silver light through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the cold air. I leaned against the counter, the cool granite a small comfort against the heat of my shame and sorrow. A single, silent tear tracked a path down my cheek, then another, and another. My throat ached with unshed sobs, a physical manifestation of the crushing weight on my chest. I hugged myself, as if to physically hold my breaking heart together.

"Can't sleep?"

The voice, deep and startling, shattered the quiet. I flinched, my eyes snapping open to find Jensen standing in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the softer light of the hallway. He was dressed in sweats, his hair mussed, looking more human and less like the polished celebrity I was forced to call my husband. My breath hitched, and I quickly swiped at my face, a pathetic attempt to hide the evidence of my grief.

He stepped further into the room, the moonlight catching the slight furrow in his brow. He saw it, of course. The streaks on my cheeks, the redness around my eyes, the tremble in my lower lip I couldn't quite control. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face – surprise? Discomfort? Pity? I couldn't tell, and frankly, I didn't want to know.

"Are you... okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost tentative.

The question hung in the air, mocking me. Was I okay? Married to a stranger, living in a gilded cage, my husband sharing his bed with another woman while I cried myself to sleep in a guest room. No, I wasn't okay. Not even close. But I couldn't say any of that. The words were trapped, choked by the lump in my throat. I just shook my head, a slow, desolate movement, and another tear escaped, tracing a path I was too tired to wipe away.

His question, "Are you... okay?" was a cruel echo in the vast, silent kitchen. How could he even ask? Did he truly not see the shattered pieces of me scattered across this cold floor, illuminated by the unforgiving moonlight? My feelings were a tangled mess, a suffocating knot of humiliation, despair, and a raw, aching loneliness.

Humiliation burned brightest. To be caught like this, exposed and vulnerable, by the very man who was the architect of my misery. He had a girlfriend, a beautiful, vibrant woman he openly loved, and here I was, his supposed wife, a tear-stained ghost in the middle of the night. Every cell in my body screamed in protest at the indignity of it all. I felt like a pathetic cliché, the discarded wife, and his mere presence amplified that feeling to an unbearable degree.

Then there was the despair, thick and heavy like the night air. This wasn't just about a bad marriage; it was about the death of a dream I hadn't even realized I held. The dream of a partner, of connection, of warmth in a shared life. That dream had been suffocated before it could even breathe, replaced by this barren reality. Each silent tear was a drop of pure sorrow, mourning a future that would never be.

And the loneliness. Oh, the profound, desolate loneliness. It was a physical ache in my chest, a hollowness that no amount of grand house or expensive wedding could fill. To be so close to someone, sharing a name, a home, a public facade, yet to be utterly, completely alone in my pain. He was standing right there, looking at me, but he might as well have been a million miles away. His question, though perhaps well-intentioned, felt like a chasm opening between us, highlighting the vast, unbridgeable distance.

There was also a tiny, desperate flicker of resentment. Resentment that he got to have it all – the fame, the woman he loved, and the convenient PR marriage – while I was left with the wreckage. Resentment that he seemed so oblivious to the devastation he had wrought, or perhaps, simply indifferent.

I couldn't speak. The words would have come out as shattered fragments, choked by tears and anger. So I just shook my head, a silent acknowledgment of my brokenness, hoping that in that simple gesture, he might grasp the immensity of what I was feeling, even if I couldn't articulate it.

He stood there for a long moment, watching me, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. I braced myself for something – an apology, an explanation, anything. Instead, a soft, almost melancholic smile touched his lips. It wasn't a genuine smile, not one that reached his eyes, but a fleeting, distant expression that offered no comfort, no understanding. He didn't say a word, just held my gaze for another beat, then slowly turned and walked back into the shadows of the hallway, his footsteps fading as he ascended the grand staircase.

The click of the master bedroom door closing was a definitive, brutal sound. It was the final nail in the coffin of my shattered hope, a punctuation mark to the end of any illusion that he might care, even a little. The air in the kitchen, already cold, seemed to drop several degrees.

A ragged, uncontrollable sob tore its way from my chest, hot and violent, unlike the silent tears that had preceded it. It was a primal sound of raw pain, of utter desolation. I crumpled against the counter, my knees giving out, and slid to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself in a desperate attempt to contain the torrent of grief. The moonlight, once soft and ethereal, now felt like a spotlight on my humiliation, my brokenness, my profound, aching loneliness. He had seen me, truly seen me, and offered nothing but a hollow smile before retreating to the arms of the woman he loved. And that, more than anything, was the most painful truth of all.

The next morning, the kitchen felt strangely quiet, the early light doing little to dispel the lingering chill from the night. I was nursing a mug of lukewarm tea, my eyes gritty from lack of sleep, trying to construct some semblance of normalcy for the day ahead. The taste of the tea was bitter, a fitting parallel to the taste in my mouth. I had scrubbed my face raw, trying to erase the evidence of last night's breakdown, but the ache in my chest remained.

Then I heard it. The familiar murmur of voices, growing louder as they approached the kitchen. My heart hammered against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate to escape. I gripped the mug tighter, my knuckles white. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

The double doors swung open, and they stepped in, bathed in the gentle morning light. Jensen, looking impossibly put-together even in a casual t-shirt and jeans, his eyes a little tired but otherwise betraying nothing. And beside him, she. Her name was Isabella, a cascade of sun-kissed hair and a smile that seemed to radiate genuine happiness. She was dressed in one of Jensen's shirts, too big for her, making her look endearingly rumpled and utterly at home.

They were laughing about something, a shared intimacy that felt like a physical blow. Isabella leaned her head on Jensen’s shoulder, her fingers absently tracing patterns on his arm. They looked like a couple in a magazine spread, effortlessly beautiful and deeply connected. The air crackled with their comfortable presence, a stark contrast to the brittle silence that usually surrounded me.

Jensen’s gaze flickered to me, a brief, unreadable glance before it slid away. Isabella, however, offered a bright, almost apologetic smile. "Good morning!" she chirped, her voice warm and friendly, making the knife twist deeper. "Did you sleep well?"

The question was innocent, yet it felt like a barb, a cruel reminder of my lonely night. I managed a tight, polite nod, unable to force words past the lump in my throat. I watched as Jensen moved to the coffee machine, his movements fluid and familiar, while Isabella went to the fridge, their morning routine already seamlessly intertwined. They were playing house, in my house, in what was supposed to be our home.

Isabella's bright "Good morning!" and her innocent, "Did you sleep well?" twisted the knife deeper. Did I sleep well? The words echoed in my mind, dripping with bitter irony. How could I sleep well when my husband was in the next room, sharing our marital bed with another woman? My throat tightened, a wave of nausea washing over me. Every fiber of my being screamed at the injustice, the sheer audacity of their blatant happiness in my space. The humiliation was a physical ache, a hot flush that spread across my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to shatter the idyllic scene they were creating, to expose the sham of our marriage. But the words caught in my throat, choked by a cocktail of despair and fury.

I forced a tight, brittle smile, a mask I'd perfected over these six months. "Good morning," I managed, my voice barely a whisper. My gaze, however, found Jensen. He was pouring coffee, his back to me, seemingly oblivious to the radiating pain in the room. This was it, the perfect moment to remind him. The only leverage I had in this twisted arrangement was the carefully constructed public image we presented.

"Jensen," my voice, though still quiet, held an edge of steel. He paused, mug in hand, and slowly turned to face me. His eyes, usually so expressive on screen, were unreadable. "Don't forget," I continued, making sure my voice carried, "we have that interview later today. The one about 'our journey' and 'our wonderful first six months of marriage.'"

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. Isabella, who had been reaching for a fruit bowl, froze, her hand hovering in mid-air. Her bright smile faltered, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she quickly composed herself. Jensen's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his eyes, for a fleeting moment, met mine with a sharp, cold glint. The unspoken challenge was clear between us: We have a show to put on. And I was just the unfortunate co-star. 

Part 2

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The Dress and the Dirt

Remmick x Black Fem OC

Chapter 2 ← Previous | Masterlist | Next →

Summary: In Saint-Domingue—what the world will one day call Haiti—on a plantation named Bellerose, silence is survival and obedience is currency. Solène has learned to keep her voice low and her head bowed under the weight of slavery. But one night changes everything.

Haunted by the scent of something sweet and rotting, wrapped in a dress that doesn’t belong to her, she steps into the darkness—away from his house and toward something older, deeper, and burning quietly inside her.

As ancestral warnings echo in her ears and rage simmers beneath her skin, Solène begins to understand that the fire they spoke of isn’t just a metaphor—it’s legacy. And it’s waking up.

W/c : 4.6k

A/N: I’ve been itching to write a fanfic for a while now, but honestly, nothing really sparked that deep creative pull—until Sinners came out. I fell in love instantly. I watched it twice in one week (no regrets). The plot, the characters, the setting—everything just clicked.

What really pulled me in, though, was how much room there is to explore without feeling boxed in. It feels like a universe begging for more stories, and for once, I didn’t feel like I'd have a horde of die-hard fans breathing down my neck for taking creative risks. So here it is—my spin on the world of Sinners.

This is just chapter one of... well, I have no idea how many. I’m going with the flow and seeing where it takes me—and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Heads up: This story explores some heavy and intense topics like slavery, violence, and death. There are also scenes involving sexual assault, manipulation, and explicit smut later on. If any of that feels overwhelming or triggering, please take care of yourself while reading. Thanks for being here and sharing this journey.

Tag list: @avidreader73

Days passed like smoke — thin, choking, gone before she could name them. The work never stopped, and neither did Solène. She moved through the cane fields faster than usual, arms swinging in rhythm, not out of duty but desperation. Every swing of the machete was a prayer she didn’t dare speak aloud. She had to keep moving. Had to keep her hands busy, her breath steady, her thoughts locked away — because if she let her mind slip, it would go straight to the sick house, to the shadowed place where they had taken Manmi Rénette. Where she might already be dying. Or worse — suffering.

Some days, Solène wondered if death wouldn’t be kinder. At least then, Manmi would be free of the pain, free of this place, free of the overseers who measured a woman’s worth in stalks cut and skin unbroken. But it would still feel like losing a mother. Another one.

And outside the walls of grief, the world was changing.

There were whispers again louder now, sharper. Not just ghost tales and night creature stories passed to hush children. These were different. These were the kind of whispers that moved in drums and flame and the teeth of old gods. They said revolt had taken root near Cap-Français. That enslaved men and women were gathering, hidden in the mountains, waiting for the right moon to strike.

They said names again. Names like Boukman. Like fire. They spoke of revolution. They spoke of freedom.

Revenge

And in the middle of it all, another name slipped through the rows like smoke: nightwalker. A pale figure without a shadow. Blood on his mouth. Death in his wake. Chickens, goats even pigs were found dry as bone by the riverbank or buried shallow like secrets. And the more the dead livestock piled, the more the masters panicked.

Patrols doubled overnight. Lanterns flickered past the quarters long after curfew. Rifles slung low. Voices are rough. Suspicion sharper than the machetes they passed out at dawn. The overseers didn't just look for rebels anymore they looked for proof. And when they found none, they invented it.

Every escaped chicken, every stolen egg, and every shadow that lingered too long was blamed on the slaves. Or vodou. They started beating at random again. Said the drums brought spirits. Said the herbs they used for pain were curses. Said if a chicken went missing, it meant someone was praying wrong.

One boy was whipped until his back split just for spilling feed.

Two women caught near the river after dark were dragged back bloody, accused of “feeding something that doesn’t sleep.”

Solène said nothing. She just cut.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

She was back in the cane field. Alone. The sun had vanished. No bell, no call. Just rows and rows of sugar stalks swaying without wind. The green was too dark. The silence too heavy.

She turned to leave, but the path behind her was gone — swallowed whole. No quarters. No fence. No light. Only cane. Only the sharp crack of something moving between the rows.

“Manmi?” she whispered.

No answer.

Only the soft sound of rustling. Then bones snapping. Wet. Slow. Like something chewing.

She moved, feet sinking into the mud. But with every step, the field stretched wider. The stalks towered higher. The sky folded in on itself clouds thick with ash, stars bleeding red.

And then, she saw her.

Manmi Rénette. Standing crooked at the edge of the path. Eyes white. Mouth open, but no breath came out. Her arms hung limp at her sides, skin sunken, lips cracked.

“Child…” the old woman rasped, but the voice wasn’t hers. It echoed like a hundred voices stacked into one. “…you waited too long.”

Solène tried to reach her. Tried to run. But her legs sank deeper with every step. Mud rising to her knees. To her waist. Hands grabbing her ankles — hands with no flesh, only bone and ash.

And then the cane behind Manmi moved.

Split open.

A figure stepped out.

Tall. Pale. No shadow. No face.

Just eyes like coals under snow.

It didn’t walk. It glided. Closer. Closer.

She tried to scream but choked on sugar. Her mouth filled with it — thick, sharp crystals cutting her tongue. Sweetness turned to rot.

“Open the door,” the nightwalker whispered.

It didn’t have a mouth, but she heard it.

“Let me in.”

Manmi’s body fell forward like a cut doll. Solène caught her—but the weight was wrong. Too light. Too dry.

Her hands came away red. But not wet.

Ash.

She woke with a gasp, fists clenched around nothing, skin slick with sweat. The fire had burned down to coals. Most of the hut was still, the others lost to their own battles in sleep.

But Solène’s heart raced like it had no master.

She sat up slowly. Looked toward the door.

Outside, the cane shifted.

But the wind was dead.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

By noon, the sun was a cruel god overhead, and the field buzzed with heat and hunger. The bell rang for chow, but Solène didn’t follow the others toward the kitchens.

The dream from the night before still clung to her—wet and choking.

It had felt too real.

She couldn’t keep pushing the thoughts down anymore. Couldn’t keep pretending that Manmi wasn’t fading—one breath, one hour at a time.

Before she could stop herself, she was moving—quick, purposeful—toward the big house. Toward the white porch that watched the estate like a vulture watches the dying.

“Solène!” a voice hissed behind her.

Ti-Jean.

He dropped his bowl, half-running after her, catching at her arm. “Qu’est-ce que tu fais? You can’t go up there—”

But she jerked free. Her jaw set, eyes glassy.

“I have to,” she said. “I have to.”

He stared at her like she was already gone.

She didn’t look back again.

Heads turned. Spoons froze midair. Some whispered her name, low and alarmed.

Overseers shouted.

Boots scraped dirt.

But Solène didn’t stop.

She had fire under her ribs and iron in her limbs.

Up ahead, the Lady of the House sat in perfect stillness, shaded by her perch of lace and sugar-white wood. She looked carved out of cold marble—pale skin untouched by sun, lips like a pinched ribbon. Two house girls flanked her, fanning her in silence. A glass of lemon water sweated beside her, ignored. A single grape, uneaten, glistened on her plate.

She didn’t look up at first.

Not until the noise crept too close.

When her gaze finally lifted, cold and sharp as shattered glass, Solène was already there—on the porch, at the steps.

She fell to her knees.

“Please,” Solène choked out. “Please, just let me see her. Just one moment—”

Her hands gripped the edge of the woman’s skirt—lace delicate as spider silk—and her forehead bowed to the wood.

The Lady’s body barely shifted, but something in her face twisted. Not surprise. Not concern.

Revulsion.

She looked down at Solène like she was a stain. A smudge on her clean white world.

The overseers paused at the bottom of the steps, uncertain whether to act or watch.

Solène’s chest heaved with restraint. Her fingers trembled against lace. She stayed bowed, but her voice held.

Lady Bellerose finally sighed, a sound too elegant to be real.

“Mon Dieu,” she said, voice dry and slow. “Toujours le théâtre avec vous.”

Always the theater with you.

Her accent was sharp, aristocratic. The kind Solène had been taught to mimic—by force, by proximity, by blood.

The fans stopped.

Even the breeze dared not move.

“I beg you,” Solène whispered. “Je veux seulement la voir. Just… to see her.”

The Lady tapped her cheek, pretending to think. Then she leaned forward, just enough for her perfume to hit—a cloying garden of roses and rot.

“She’s in the sick house for a reason,” she said, her tone turning to blade. “She’s dying. Let her.”

Then softer, so no one else would hear:

“Or is it your father you expect to find there?”

The words punched the breath from Solène’s lungs.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But her nails curled into her palms.

The Lady’s smile barely flickered. “Je vois ses yeux quand je te regarde,” she said. I see his eyes when I look at you.

A pause. Then, colder: “C’est dégoûtant.”

It’s disgusting.

She said it like a curse. Like a confession. Like she’d been waiting to say it for years.

Solène looked up slowly. Her face was calm, but her stare was fire beneath ice. For a second, neither of them moved. Neither breathed.

And in that terrible stillness, the hate between them pulsed like a heartbeat.

Not loud.

But undeniable.

Then the Lady waved her hand.

“Ramenez-la. Back to the fields. Double her quota for the week.”

The overseers surged forward.

Solène didn’t resist. She didn’t scream.

But as they dragged her down the steps, her eyes stayed locked on that porcelain figure sitting in the shade dripping in lace and power and something uglier than either.

Rage roared in her veins.

And somewhere behind that rage, something darker stirred.

She thought of the thing in the cane.

The one that moved without sound, fed without mercy.

They called it a demon.

A curse.

A nightwalker.

They said it hunted the weak.

But lately… it hadn’t touched them the ones who laughed while children bled and wore cruelty like silk.

So she wondered, bitter and breathless:

If it feeds on the wicked… then why not them?

The night air hung thick wet with heat, swollen with silence. Too still. Too watchful.

Solène hadn’t meant to return. Not really.

But her feet had memory where her mind had doubt. They led her past the kitchens, past the cane, through the dark like they’d done it before.

The sick house crouched at the edge of the fields like a secret everyone wished would die quietly. Tucked far from the big house. Closer to the stink of manure than to lace and lemon water.

She moved like smoke barefoot, dress lifted above her ankles, the dirt still warm beneath her soles.

She pressed her back to the wall, breath held tight in her throat. Just a peek. Just to see if Manmi was still breathing.

A crack between two warped slats let lamplight spill through, thin and flickering. Inside: a tangle of bodies, damp sheets, groans too soft to carry. A foot lay still on a cot dark, thin, unmoving.

Then, a murmur. Raspy. Familiar.

“Manmi…”

Solène leaned in, forehead nearly touching the wood.

Just one more second.

A breath.

A blink.

Clang!

She’d backed into a pail. Metal against dirt. Loud as thunder in the hush.

“Hey!” a voice barked.

Then more angry, sharp. “Arrêtez-la!”

She didn’t wait.

She ran.

The night ripped at her. Cane stalks slashed her legs, branches tore at her face. Her breath came in ragged bursts. Behind her—boots pounding, dogs barking. First low and uncertain, then wild.

She veered toward the river. She could smell it now—mud and blood and something older than either.

But the dogs were faster.

A jerk hard, sudden as teeth caught her dress. She hit the ground hard, her chin cracking against stone. Pain bloomed, white-hot, across her skull.

They were on her.

Laughter rang behind the barking thick with French and cruelty.

“Bon chien! Attrape-la! Attaque!”

Her arms thrashed. Her legs kicked. One of the dogs bit deep into her calf. Another snapped at her shoulder.

Then everything blurred pain, breath, dirt.

And that’s when she saw them.

Eyes.

Two of them.

Not human.

Not dog.

Just above the waterline—floating, glowing, red.

Watching.

They pulsed once.

Twice.

Then gone.

And before she could scream, before her thoughts could catch up to her mouth—

Something took her.

Hands wrapped around her arms and yanked her back into the dark.

The barking vanished.

So did the laughter.

And then, all at once, the world.

Water struck her face like a slap.

Cold. Sharp. Cruel.

Solène gasped awake, coughing, lungs seizing before her mind could catch up.

The sun was a white wound overhead, burning through her skull.

She tried to lift her hand—shield her eyes, touch her face, anything—but pain came first.

Then weight.

Then iron.

Her wrists were chained, rubbed raw, pulled tight above her head and locked to a thick post sunk deep into the dirt. The metal bit her every time she moved, biting deeper when she stilled. Her shoulders ached from hanging. Her chin throbbed from where she’d hit the stone. Every inch of her pulsed with pain—but not like labor pain. Not the ache of long days and hard work.

No, this was sharper. Designed.

Her mouth was dry. Her tongue thick. Her thoughts, slower than molasses.

A voice nearby cut through the haze low, amused, in French.

“Elle bouge enfin...”

“She’s finally moving…”

Another snorted. “Regarde-moi cette garce. Toujours vivante.”

Look at this bitch. Still alive.

Two overseers lounged near the porch, drinking from tin cups, half in shadow. Watching her like a joke.

The White House loomed behind them clean and bright as ever. A lie in lace.

She blinked hard, trying to remember.

The river. The dogs. The whip of air as something pulled her away

The eyes.

Red. Watching.

She didn’t know if they were real. If the thing in the cane had spared her… or simply returned her like a broken toy.

Either way, it had left her here.

A warning.

A question.

And then—

“Crunch.”

Boots on gravel.

Slow. Deliberate.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Monsieur Bellerose.

He stepped into view like a sermon: measured, cruel, wrapped in shadow. The sun crowned his head like a halo, but his eyes were colddark, familiar, bitter.

Solène forced herself to meet them.

There was recognition in his stare. Not warmth. Not guilt. Something twisted.

She saw herself in his face—not in features, but in shame. The kind of shame men turn outward.

His jaw tightened. His fingers twitched behind his back.

Then, with a single flick of his hand, he summoned the rest.

They dragged her forward. Not far. Just enough.

She braced for the whip.

But it wasn’t for her.

It was Manmi.

Solène’s body jerked forward despite the chains. “No—”

Too late.

They brought her out like an animal. Like trash.

Manmi wasn’t walking. She wasn’t even standing. She was dragged.

Her skin once glowing with life, full of pride, laughter, fight—was now yellowed and paper-thin. Bruises sprawled like paint beneath the skin. One eye was swollen shut. Her lips cracked. Her breath came in shallow wheezes, and her body barely held together beneath a torn, soiled dress.

One overseer held her by what little hair she had left. Another kicked her forward.

She crumpled at Solène’s feet.

Not knelt. Collapsed.

Then they yanked her upright again, forced her to look at her.

Solène’s chains rattled as she tried to reach her.

“Manmi…” Her voice cracked like glass.

And that’s when Bellerose spoke.

His voice was calm. Measured. Sick with control.

“You think there’s something in you that makes you more than them?”

He stepped forward, each word a nail driven slow.

“Some blood that lifts you above your place. That makes you free.”

A pause.

Then softly, like a whisper meant to cut:

“Let this remind you.”

The whip cracked.

It tore across Manmi’s back with a sound like thunder breaking bone.

Solène screamed.

Another crack.

Then another.

Manmi’s body convulsed, but she didn’t cry out only gasped, as if the air itself wouldn’t let her scream.

Solène thrashed, wrists bleeding against metal. “Please no hit me!” Her sobs were hoarse, broken. “Hit me, not her—”

But the blows didn’t stop.

And Bellerose didn’t blink.

The yard watched in stunned silence. The enslaved stood frozen. Some looked away. Others knelt. A few murmured prayers into dirt.

Even the dogs had gone still.

The whip sang its cruel rhythm.

And Solène shattered with every note.

Her knees buckled.

Her voice gave out.

She wept until there was nothing left.

The day dragged like a curse.

The sun crept across the sky, inch by inch, like it enjoyed the watching. Like it fed on pain.

Manmi didn’t move. Not once.

Her chest stayed still. Too still. Her lips parted just a little, like a prayer had gotten caught there and never made it out.

The flies came first—buzzing, bold. Then the birds.

They pecked at her dress. Her arms. Her skin.

I kicked at them when I could. Shouted until my voice cracked. Cried until my throat burned. Sometimes they scattered. Most times they came right back—like they knew she was already leaving.

But I didn’t look away.

Couldn’t.

Didn’t deserve to.

This was my fault. Mine. She was the one bleeding.

And I was the one still breathing.

The chains had numbed my arms hours ago. I couldn’t feel my fingers. My body hung heavy, useless. Like I was already half-dead too.

Hunger stopped mattering.

Time stopped meaning anything.

The sun finally sank, dragging the light with it. The sky bruised—rust-red, then purple, then black.

Still she lay there.

Birds at her feet.

Blood cooling on her back.

And me, strung up like a witness to my own crime.

Thinking only one thing, over and over again:

It should’ve been me.

The days bled together after that. A blur of sweat and silence, of eyes that wouldn’t meet mine and whispers that carried like smoke.

When the sun dipped each night, silence fell like judgment.

And the dark? The dark crawled in like guilt.

The chains rubbed my wrists raw, and every part of me ached—but my chest... my chest was the worst. It felt hollow. Like a house with no roof. No doors. No walls. Just open and broken, wind howling straight through.

Some nights, I wept.

Not soft tears. Not the kind you could hide in your hands or blink away. No, these sobs cracked me open. Loud. Ugly. The kind that make your ribs hurt. The kind that feel like dying.

And when there were no more tears left—when my throat was scraped raw and the stars had turned their backs—I sang.

A song Manmi taught me. And her mother taught her. A lullaby, small and slow, meant to calm storms and restless babies. A song that felt like home, once.

But from my lips, it came out cursed.

Dry. Cracked. Ragged at the edges, like grief had burned all the sugar out of it.

Still, I sang.

For Manmi.

For her mother.

For the spirits.

For whatever waited just beyond the trees.

And I swear—every time, he came.

The nightwalker.

I never saw him full, not all at once. Just flashes. A shadow where there shouldn’t be. A shape that didn’t belong. Red eyes glowing low in the cane like coals that refused to die.

Watching.

Waiting.

Every time my voice carried into the dark, I felt him pull closer.

And maybe… maybe I wanted that.

Maybe I wanted him to come for me.

They said he fed on the weak.

Well, I was weak.

So why not me?

I sang louder.

I dared him.

Take me.

Take me like the others.

Take me and end it.

But he never did.

He just lingered. Always at the edge never stepping closer, never striking.

Just watching.

Like he knew something I didn’t.

Like he saw something in me I couldn’t.

And maybe that scared me more than death.

They came for Manmi on the third day.

The sun had just risen, and the birds hadn't yet begun their song. A few of the older women came quiet, slow baskets in their hands, cloth folded over their arms. They didn’t speak to me.

Didn’t have to.

Their eyes said everything.

Some wouldn’t look at me at all. Others did just long enough to carve the shame into my bones. They didn’t blame me out loud.

But silence can blame just fine.

They wrapped her body with care, hands trembling. One woman Agnès kissed Manmi’s forehead before covering it. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until I choked on it.

They didn’t let me touch her. My arms still chained. But as they carried her past, one woman paused.

She looked me in the eye.

And for the first time in days, someone spoke to me like I was still human.

“She’s with the lwa now,” she whispered. “She’s free.”

I nodded, but the words rang hollow.

Because I was still here.

Still breathing.

The overseers finally released her, their grip rough and unyielding as they dragged through the grounds.

The earth seemed to echoed beneath their heavy boots, every sound a reminder of her captivity. Solène’s body ached, but her spirit—if it still existed—was fraying at the edges.

They pulled her toward the White House, her father’s domain. Monsieur Bellerose wanted to see her after the punishment—like always. The cruel ritual that followed was etched into her mind: a bath first, to wash away the grime, the sweat, the traces of resistance.

At the bathroom door stood Marie, waiting. Her eyes, usually steady and calm, flickered with something Solène had never seen before—hurt. It was subtle but unmistakable, like a shadow crossing her features.

Marie’s hands moved with care, the usual briskness softened into something gentler, more deliberate. Every stroke of the cloth over Solène’s battered skin was tender, as if scrubbing too hard might break what little remained of her.

And then, in the stillness of that moment, something inside Solène gave way. The walls she’d built around herself crumbled, and tears she’d kept locked away flooded free.

Marie stopped, surprise flickering in her eyes. Without a word, she reached out and embraced Solène, holding her tightly like the fragile, broken person she truly was.

For the first time in so long, Solène felt something she thought was lost human.

The dining room was set—silverware gleaming, dishes laid out with a cold precision that mocked the warmth it was meant to inspire. At the head of the table, Monsieur Bellerose waited, his posture rigid, eyes sharp and calculating. He watched Solène as she entered, his gaze a careful, measured weight, like one testing a fragile object for cracks.

Without a flicker of emotion, he began the conversation as if nothing had happened.

"La récolte se passe bien cette année," he said smoothly, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip of wine. "Les champs produiront assez pour satisfaire les surveillants."

Solène’s blood boiled with every word, every calculated syllable. But she was too tired too drained by the endless cruelty to fight openly. All she could think about was Manmi, the image of her soft hands, her quiet strength. Manmi was her anchor.

As he ate, the cold clink of silverware against china filling the heavy silence between them, Solène’s hand slid beneath the table, closing tightly around the handle of a knife. The metal was cool and heavy in her palm, grounding her rage with each tightening grip.

From the corner of the room, the servants glanced her way, unease flickering in their eyes. But Monsieur Bellerose remained oblivious, his focus locked on his plate, his conversation a thin veil over the tension crackling in the air.

Just as the surge of fury threatened to break free just as Solène’s fingers clenched harder around the knife there came a sharp knock at the door, slicing through the silence like a blade, interrupting his words and stealing the moment.

Solène’s fingers trembled as the sharp knock shattered the heavy silence. Slowly, she came back to herself and reluctantly set the knife down on the table. Her father’s eyes narrowed, fixed on her with a confused, almost suspicious gaze as if trying to read a secret written across her face.

Before he could say a word, a second, more urgent knock echoed through the room, sharp and demanding.

Monsieur Bellerose’s jaw tightened. Without hesitation, he nodded toward the door. "Entrez." Come in.

The door creaked open, and an overseer stepped inside swiftly. He leaned in close to Monsieur Bellerose, speaking in a low, urgent tone but not low enough for Solène to miss the last chilling words.

"Une autre plantation, pas très loin d’ici�� elle a été brûlée… par une révolte. " Another plantation, not far from here… it has been burned… by a revolt.

The room seemed to still, the weight of the words settling like ash in the air. The cold clink of silverware was replaced by a sudden, oppressive silence. Solène’s heart hammered in her chest, each beat echoing the growing danger outside these walls.

Monsieur Bellerose’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on his wine glass as the fragile mask of control threatened to crack. The whispered news was no mere rumor it was a spark threatening to ignite a fire that could consume everything he had built.

Solène felt the tension coil tighter around her, the knife still lying on the table but now forgotten. The taste of fear, anger, and something else hope? mixed in her throat.

By the time Solène finally left the house, the moon was already high, casting pale silver light over the land. A single lantern swung gently in her hand, its flickering flame barely piercing the thick night. The path back to her hut was familiar but heavy beneath her feet—she barely had the strength to walk.

Still, she allowed them to guide her. Past the rows of cane fields, past the huts where others slept or kept their own quiet vigil. Finally, they came to the place where the dead were buried—a small, sacred grove marked by worn stones and clusters of wildflowers that bloomed defiantly even in the darkness.

Manmi was there, waiting as she always was, a silent presence in the moonlight.

At once, Solène dropped to her knees, the earth cold and rough against her skin, staining the hem of her dress with dark dirt. The grave was simple but sacred—a mound of earth shaped and blessed in the Haitian tradition. Here, the ancestors were honored with care: stones laid to mark the boundary between the worlds, offerings of sugar, rum, and vibrant flowers left to guide the spirits home.

Her cries broke free then—a deep, wrenching sound that came from the very core of her being. It was not a gentle sob but a raw, trembling cry that shook her whole body, the kind of cry that makes your stomach turn sick and your limbs shake as if your soul is breaking apart. This was the cry of profound grief, of a pain so ancient it felt like it belonged to the land itself.

But even as the tears fell, Solène pulled herself upright. She wiped the dirt and tears from her face and began to whisper a prayer—one she had learned as a child when her own mother had passed, a prayer from the old lands, carried across the ocean and woven into her blood.

A prayer for strength. A prayer to the spirits. A prayer to the lwa, the guardians of life and death.

“Bondye m’ ap rele ou, ede mwen, ban mwen fòs pou m kenbe…” (“God, I call to you, help me, give me strength to endure…”)

The old prayer wrapped around her like a shield, steadying her trembling heart against the weight of sorrow and fear—the very prayer the French colonizers had tried to erase, but which lived stubbornly in the hearts of those who refused to forget.

Just as Solène’s prayer faded, footsteps cracked through the silence. Her breath caught as a figure stepped from the shadows.

His eyes gleamed cold and unreadable. Without a word, he raised a hand, steady and human, and pointed toward the distant cane fields where faint flames flickered like warning beacons.

The message was clear: “Beware. The fire comes.”

Solène’s heart hammered, but she held her ground, locking eyes with him for a tense moment. Then, just as silently, he melted back into the darkness.

When the night returned to stillness, it was not peace that followed—but the promise of something coming.

[hxney-lemcn]

The Show Goes On — Berial (AFK Journey) x gn! reader

summery: you find yourself in the clutches of a jester who just wanted to have some fun. (un)fortunately for you, you seemed to have peaked his interest.

tw: uhhh Berial straight up kidnaps reader 💀 (this is not a yandere thing tho. Just crazy people shit). mentions of death/dying.

a/n: Berial simps have some food. Idk what possessed me when I wrote this but enjoy.

wc: 2.5k

Master List

The moon shone brightly over the town, casting dark shadows around every corner. Lights dimly lit up the main streets, guiding you on your way home. You had decided to cut through an alley,  something that you typically did to cut your travel short. Yet, as soon as you stepped foot into the dark alley only being lit up by the moon, you heard bells chime behind you. You paused, heart accelerating.

There were rumors of a Hypogen monster that lurked in the shadows. That if you heard bells to not look behind you or you would be doomed. How the screams of its victims were silenced before they could even let out a peep. You thought they were tales parents told to keep their kids from sneaking out at night, but at the moment it felt all too real. Taking in a deep breath, you tried to regain your composure, it was a silly rumor, but the way your hair stood on end had you stay cautious. 

You continued walking, trying to ignore the giggles that now accompanied the jingles. Your head twitched, instinct begging you to just take a peak at what was making noise, but you forced your head to stay forward. Your pace grew faster, as the end of the alley came into view. Every fiber in your bones told you you’d be safer in the light (silly humans always thought that). 

Just as you were about to step foot out of the alley, relief briefly flowed through you, only for that hope to be snatched just as quickly. Dark glove clad hands tugged you back by your shoulders, that giggling voice now right next to your ear. You couldn’t stop the shriek that tore from your lips as an inky dark face came into view. It donned a jagged grin, you could barely comprehend what you were currently witnessing. It had no lips, its jagged mouth reminding you of a jack-o-lantern, except jack-o-lanterns were meant to ward off evil. It seemed to lack any eyes, as there were no pupils or iris’, just pure white that was tinted purple. 

Its giggles turned into full blown laughter as it continued to drag you back into the inky blackness. You struggled, unsure what it wanted with you, but clearly it was nothing good. Your stomach dropped when you were suddenly picked up and were flying. You ceased your struggling, suddenly very aware that the hypogean could easily drop you to your demise. That seemed to amuse it all the more as its impossibly wide grin widened. 

Then, like it hadn’t just kidnapped you, set you down on your now wobbly legs. You placed your weight on a nearby wall, slowly taking in your surroundings. It wasn’t Esperia, that was for sure, which made your blood run cold. The two of you were in an area that you could only describe to look like a void. Dark, purple tinted clouds curled in the distance, the only ground being the weird estate like structure you were currently in. It hurt your mind wondering just how this place existed, and the hypogean seemed all too pleased by your expression. 

“You are tonight's winner!” The being exclaimed in a flourish. It twirled before falling into a dramatic bow, but instead of just taking off its hat, it took off its entire head. You blinked, bewildered as its eyes blinked up at you. It paused, as if waiting for you to clap, and you couldn’t hold the laughter that flew past your lips in surprise. The entire situation was absurd, and if you didn’t laugh you might actually cry. 

Your reactions seemed to make the entity even more jolly as it swiftly put its head on backwards. Only to twist it into the correct position, causing you to chuckle once more. It seemed to thrive on your ‘enjoyment’ (you didn’t find much joy in this situation) as it was more enthusiastic than before. 

“I knew you would be an interesting human,” It preened, every movement exaggerated as if to entertain. “As tonight’s winner, your prize is to witness a show put on by the great Berial himself!” The bells on his uniform chimed gently as he floated up, arms wide open along with his wings. 

You watched with caution, unsure of what was to become of you. Just what did Hypogeans find entertaining? Didn’t they enjoy the anguish of people? Spilling blood and finding joy in tears? It clearly found joy in your fear earlier, but strangely he seemed to enjoy your amusement as well. What would happen to you after the ‘show’? Is that when he would dispose of you? Perhaps you were the last act, to be messed with until you could no longer cry nor bleed.

“Now take a seat and let the show begin!” Berial (you assumed) exclaimed, whisking you away into a room that held a stage. One lone seat laid before it, and the jester gently pushed you into it. 

Every act had you on the edge of your seat. He would take a classic magician trick and have some dark twist. It took out a magician's wand, and with a flourish, it turned into a bouquet. You hadn’t seen magicians before, your only exposure being that from books, so it was all new to you. You merely worked at a tavern, hence why you were walking home so late in the first place. So at first, when he presented you the bouquet, you had forgotten for a split second that this was a hypogean you were dealing with, stranded in the middle of the definition of nowhere. Hesitantly you reached for the bouquet, the flowers were breathtakingly beautiful, and when your fingers wrapped around the base, bugs started to crawl out of the flowers. You screamed out of surprise, dropping the flowers and pushing yourself as far as you could into the surprisingly comfortable chair. 

Berial’s laugh rang out above you as you tried to steady your breathing. Once again it found your fear hilarious, and you halfheartedly glared. He laughed so hard his head rolled off his head, and you watched as it rolled past you, descending into an inky shadow. Its glowing eyes seemed to be seared into your eyelids as you swore you could still see the glow after you blinked. Your attention turned back to Berial’s body as it furiously patted where it’s head once hovered (you noticed it never fully connected with the rest of his body). 

You watched curiously as his hat appeared in one of his hands. He reached into his hat, pulling out miscellaneous items. Your amusement grew as the items grew to be more ridiculous. You lost it when it pulled out a gleamtail, the squirrel-like animal looking around confused, your gentle laugh filling the silence. That seemed to be the goal of that act, as he finally pulled his own head out of his hat, plopping both back where they belonged. He bowed again, and this time you did clap, a small grin tugging at your lips. The longer you watched, the more comfortable you became, and the less scary the entity before you seemed. Its acts grew more and more ridiculous, with a scare or two in between. 

Yet every show must come to an end. Berial was bowing once again after cutting a shadow creature in half and pretended to have lost its lower half. You clapped, finding yourself enjoying the company of such a strange being, only for the curtains to finally close. The show had been going on for so long that you forgot that there was going to be an end. You felt yourself tense once more, unsure what was going to happen next. Was this it? Were you going to die? He had all his fun and now it was time to get rid of you. You anxiously stayed in your seat, eyes scanning your surroundings. The grandiose room was dark, the lights that lit up the stage were gone and it was hard for you to see much of anything. 

“Boo!” Berial popped out suddenly in front of you. You flinched back, his long nose nearly poking your own. His glowing eyes and mouth were the only thing lighting up your surroundings. Giggling lightly, it pulled away, the rest of his body blending in with the darkness. 

“You are such a fun human,” It giggled, hands holding its face in what seemed to be fake adoration. “I’m tempted to keep you around.” This seemed to be your way out. Even if you actually had fun, you didn’t want to stick around for too long. Hopefully you could convince him to let you go.

“W-wouldn’t it be more fun to bring me back to Esperia?” You asked, feeling a bit intimidated with his eyes solely on you. “To try and catch me off guard?”

“My, and you’re so smart for a human,” Berial clapped. “Hide and seek does sound fun.” Before you could fully comprehend what he just said, you picked you up from your seat again. He flew you both back where you came, and you had to squint as the sun shone overhead. 

…

That was how you found yourself with a Hypogean popping out at you when you’d least suspect it. It was weird, as you thought he’d lose interest in you the second he was gone, but he continued to surprise you. Sometimes as you’d walk to work you’d feel like something was watching you from the shadows, and now you had a reason to worry. 

Yet it never seemed like Berial actually meant you any harm. Its giggles trailed after you warmly, its scares becoming more playful than scary, sometimes it would even sweep you into an impromptu dance to a song only it could hear. You found yourself looking forward to your next meeting, eyes trailing to the shadows, watching for any hint of a disturbance within. 

Your coworkers had started to avoid you when they could. The sound of bells that used to be associated with the night had now started to be associated with you. Quickly you found yourself to be ostracized, people whispering about you just out of hearing range. You started to feel comforted in the jesters presence. He never failed to cheer you up (or scare you), and he found himself spending more time with you as well.

Typically Berial found people boring. They always reacted the same. Scream, cry, plead for their life. That wasn’t fun. And although his perception of fun was a bit…morbid, he couldn’t help but find you interesting. He hadn’t met anyone who actually laughed at his jokes, who didn’t scream when he tipped not just his hat but his entire head. You were a strange and fascinating human, and Berial found himself wanting to spend more and more time with you, seeing if he could make you pull an expression he hasn’t seen before. 

He found himself growing fond of you, something he didn’t think he could even feel! How strange you were for pulling these feelings out of him. It wanted more, its hunger insatiable, wanting to explore those odd feelings. The way it felt warm and fluttery at your laugh, or how its nonexistent heart jumped at any contact with you. Oh, and the way your eyes lit up when it would imitate you, and how silly you were when you would play back. No one had ever tried to entertain the entertainer before! 

That was how you found yourself in your current situation. The jester weighed you down as it laid its head in your lap. It made you slightly curious if you could pluck his head up just as he can to himself, but you felt it might be a bit rude if you tried (or maybe he’d like that, it was hard to tell). Instead, you found yourself brushing your fingers through his hair, his top hat resting on top of your own head. He seemed to preen under your touch, his jagged smile as wide as ever, he looked like the cat that got the cream. His tail had wrapped around your waist, and you were slightly curious why he seemed to be so affectionate. He was already odd for a Hypogean, but this was just adding to it. 

“Is something the matter?” You asked, fingers trailing down to his dark skin. You half expected your hands to ghost through him as his skin seemed to blend in with the shadows. 

“Never been better,” It said with a content sigh. You felt yourself heat up at the implication. Was it really so happy to be in your presence? Receiving your affection? You felt even warmer when it nuzzled its face closer to your hands. “What do you humans call this feeling again? Love?” You spluttered, flabbergasted at what just transpired. Love? Is it serious? Can a Hypogean even love? And a human no less. 

“H-huh?” You asked, eyes wide as you stared down at it. 

Suddenly, he broke out laughing and you felt your heart clench, “I’ve never seen you look like that before! Oh the hilarity!” Of course he doesn’t love you, he’s messing with you. He’s trying to get a rise out of you. And suddenly you found yourself wanting to leave. No longer did he seem warm like you had thought, but instead the cold monster he truly was. You shuffled, trying to push him off of you, but he stayed firm in his place. For someone so bouncy and light looking, he really could be heavy when he wanted. 

“Now now,” Berial continued to giggle lightly. “No need for the dramatics. Do I seem like someone who’d tell such jokes?” You only raised an eyebrow and he broke out in laughter once again. “Ah I suppose you have a point, dear. But truely, I would not joke about such things with you.” You wearily watched him as he sat up and turned to fully face you. Lifting up his hands, he gently grabbed your cheeks and squished them, causing you to send him a lighthearted glare.

“You are a strange human indeed,” He muttered, and a strange seriousness filled his tone. “What do you say, human. Do you feel the same?” Once again you felt your guard rise, unsure if this was another of his jokes or if he genuinely meant what he said. Although his smile seemed permanently imprinted into his features, the ends of his mouth looked softer, smaller. 

“Maybe,” You muttered to the best of your ability as his hands continued to squish his cheeks, your eyes couldn’t seem to look away no matter how hard you tried. 

“Then I must turn that maybe into definitely!” Berial exclaimed, jumping up with a flourish. 

“How are you going to do that?” You asked wearily. 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” And with that, he disappeared with a wink.

Just what have you gotten yourself into?

[slytherin-pen]

A Lover’s Wrath

pairing: Lucien x Nesta

word count: 2.4k

warnings: canon typical violence, female rage, injury cleaning, Lucien’s abs make an appearance, hurt/comfort

a/n: written for day 5 of @sjmromanceweek “favorite trope”. i’m not sure if female rage/revenge is considered a trope, but hurt comfort definitely is so i added both. i hope you enjoy your feast, my children 🫶🏻

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The scent of blood hung thick in the air, metallic and pungent. The bond in Nesta’s chest tying her to Lucien practically screamed at the recognition it was his blood. Nesta wove through the trees, each step deliberate, silent. The Autumn Court woods were dense, their ancient branches curling like skeletal fingers, but she didn’t falter. Not when she was this close. She trekked through the woods in the Mortal Lands alone to find her sister—she could do this to find her mate—and this time, she would not fail.

She had been fuming when she heard Lucien had been taken. He’d gone on a mission to the Autumn Court alone to meet with Eris—a foolish mistake, one she would berate him for later—and she could only assume that on his way back is when he was caught. Or so she hoped. Killing the Autumn Court heir wasn’t on her list of things she’d like to do, but she wouldn’t hesitate if he had betrayed Lucien. All she knew was that she had been anxiously waiting in the house for his return when Tamlin burst through the door giving her deja vu of the day he took her sister.

“Lucien’s been taken,” he’d growled, dropping a sloppily written, crinkled ransom note at her feet.

Once Nesta had snapped out of her stupor, she’d hastily read the note. Autumn Court rebels had taken Lucien thinking he’d be a carrot to dangle over High Lord Beron’s head. Nesta would have laughed at the absurdity of it, of their stupidity to think Beron would care about his exiled son if she wasn’t so furious. Eris had magicked the note to Tamlin before Beron had a chance to see it, knowing Nesta and Tamlin were the only ones who could help him. All of Eris’ plans ‘would be ruined’ if Beron caught him snooping around the court trying to find Lucien. The next time Nesta saw the eldest Vanserra, she’d strangle him for his selfishness.

But that was a matter for another time. Now, she was a wolf prowling through the woods for her prey. All those times she’d been scolded for her sharp claws and teeth blew away like ash being carried by the wind. She didn’t care if she was a bitch or a monster, she was Lucien’s. She’d be damned if she didn’t use every weapon at her disposal to save him.

As Nesta crept through the trees, she heard voices.

“That beast of a High Lord should be here soon.”

“Do you have the crossbow ready?”

“Yeah, we’ll shoot him down before he even has a chance.”

Nesta nearly snorted. Tamlin wasn’t coming, something about the treaties between High Lords being precarious and crossing borders uninvited could lead to a war that Spring had no chance of winning at the moment. That was fine. Nesta was much worse than the beast they were expecting.

She approached where the males stood, their faces nothing but shadows, the only light from the full moon. She felt her power thrum, knew her eyes were glowing silver, and her magic was buzzing at the prospect of bloodshed. It had been waiting for this moment, for Nesta to finally unleash it outside of training with Lucien. She’d practiced her aim on trees and had mastered how much to allow to the surface near the river so Lucien could dunk her in when she overheated. She was ready. These males were not.

Silver flames burst from her hands, charring the first male until he was nothing but a pile of bone dust.

“What the-“

She stepped out from behind the trees. Let them see her power, her rage. Flames covered her hands up to her elbows. It was cold, it felt like the death she was about to deliver to every Fae that laid a finger on her mate.

She aimed another blast. Another pile of dust.

The third male held up the crossbow, arms trembling with fear. Her magic preened at that. Reveled in it.

“Where is he?” she demanded, voice void of any emotion. As if it wasn’t her that was speaking but something older.

A wet splotch appeared on his pants, slowly spreading down his legs. “I’m not telling you. We need him to bribe the High Lord.”

Nesta tilted her head, sizing up her prey. “The High Lord isn’t coming, you buffoon. Your friends are dead. Are you really going to die over a mission you’ve already failed?”

The male dropped his crossbow and sunk to his knees. With the added light of her flames, she could see how pale he was. The scent of fear permeated the area. “Okay, okay, he’s that way,” he pointed West, “please don’t kill me.”

She laughed, low and dark. “Oh, you silly male. You were dead the second you touched my mate.”

The male paled further, but he was dead before he had the chance to scream.

She stood there—surveying or appraising she couldn’t quite tell—the damage she’d done. Then she strode off in the direction the male had pointed.

A dilapidated hunting lodge came into view, and the bond hummed.

Lucien was here.

She pushed open the rickety door, grimacing as it nearly fell off its hinges. The room reeked of animal carcasses, mildew, and blood—his blood. Her throat tightened as she spotted him, shackled to a chair, golden skin marred with bruises and a gash along his temple.

Lucien barely lifted his head at her arrival. His red hair was matted, and one eye was swollen, but that metal eye of his still widened with awareness. Recognition.

“About time,” he rasped, a smirk ghosting his cracked lips. “I was beginning to think you’d take this as your chance to get rid of me.”

Nesta’s fingers curled into fists. “Shut up.”

His smirk faltered just slightly, and he gazed into the silver flames roaring in her eyes. She crouched in front of him, channeling the flames to her palms, just enough that she was able to break the chains. The moment his arms were free, Lucien slumped forward, and Nesta barely caught him before he hit the ground.

He hissed in pain as her hands steadied him, but she didn’t let go. Couldn’t. He was warm beneath her touch, warmer than he should have been, fever burning at the edges of his exhaustion.

Nesta swallowed, her voice quieter now. “Can you stand?”

Lucien’s good eye flicked up to meet hers. For once, there was no teasing, no amusement—only relief. His voice was softer than before, almost hoarse. “I think I’ll manage.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at the stubborn male. But when he staggered, she slipped his arm over her shoulder without a word, bearing his weight. Lucien didn’t fight her, just let out a quiet breath, pressing his face briefly against her hair.

She ignored the warmth curling in her chest. Ignored the way her pulse stuttered as she helped him out of that wretched place, his fingers gripping her just as tightly as she held onto him.

When they made it to the border between Autumn and Spring, Lucien had just enough energy to winnow them straight to their house.

Once inside, Nesta laid him down on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Lucien groaned and she brushed some of the bloodied strands off his face. His beautiful face, now marred by the damage those males caused him. She had half a mind to find a way to bring them back from the dead just so she could kill them again. Slowly.

She shook her head. She needed to tend to his wounds, not have murderous fantasies. Just as Nesta turned to head into the bathing chamber for a healing kit, it plopped down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Another matter to be dealt with on a different day. The house had come alive at some point in the last few weeks. The windows opening near her reading chair just the way she liked in the afternoon. Dinner was magically prepared for them when they came home late from council meetings. It had freaked her out at first, at what her magic was capable of without even trying, but this time she was grateful.

She distantly heard the sound of a bath being drawn in the bathing chamber as she plucked a cloth and disinfectant tonic out of the kit. Yes, he’d need a bath too.

“Are you not going to scold me?” Lucien croaked.

Nesta huffed as she turned to him, kneeling down by his head. He hissed as she dabbed the soaked cloth on the wound on his forehead. “I’m not a total monster. I’ll save it for tomorrow when you can argue back, because you have hell to pay for that stunt, Lucien Vanserra.”

He chuckled, then winced. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from my formidable female.”

She humphed, but couldn’t hide the heat spreading on her cheeks.

Lucien raised a trembling hand and swiped his thumb over her jaw. “You came for me,” he whispered.

“Of course I did,” she snapped, then cleared her throat. Softer this time, she said, “Of course I came for you.”

Blue met russet, and it was like a thousand words passed between them.

I was scared.

I know.

You came for me.

I always will.

I love you.

I love you too.

Then her eyes snapped down to where she was placing a bandage on the gash on his chin. She turned back to the kit, grabbing the tonic for fever.

“Here,” she murmured. “You need to take this.”

Lucien held her gaze again as she gently cradled the back of his head to lift him enough that he wouldn’t choke, then brought the vial to his lips and poured it down his throat.

His eyes glossed over, swimming with emotion she couldn’t quite place. Then he cleared his throat and it disappeared. “I’ll need help in the bath,” he smirked. “Bruised muscles and all.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Yes, the big baby will need help in the bath. Shall I grab your rubber ducky?”

Lucien snarled light-heartedly and pinched her ribs.

She yelped and swatted him away, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Careful, Vanserra. You don’t want to pick a fight you can’t finish.”

Lucien smiled, the most him thing she’d seen from him since he returned. Like the sun peeking out from behind storm clouds. She couldn’t help but smile back.

She moved his legs to fall off the side of the couch, then slung an arm over her shoulder. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

When they made it to the bathing chamber, they both paused. They had been taking things slow. Nesta found herself tolerating his endless flirting, appreciating his closeness and affection, but they had yet to see each other naked.

“I can wash myself,” Lucien whispered.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d come in here to find you drowning—“ she paused. “Unless it’d make you uncomfortable.”

Lucien shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Nesta scoffed. “You may be an attractive male, but bruised and battered is hardly my type. This is simply a necessary evil.”

“A necessary evil?” Lucien questioned with a raised brow.

She swatted his chest, then apologized when he flinched. “That’s enough out of you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grinned.

Nesta slowly started untying the front of his shirt, helping him lift it over his head before tossing it in the corner. They held eye contact as she sank to her knees, a blush creeping up Lucien’s face. She glared at him but found her face felt warm too. She undid the ties to his pants, pulling them down over his muscular thighs. She swallowed, staring at the floor as she helped him step out of the pant legs, Lucien’s hand firmly gripping her shoulder for balance.

She gracefully rose from the floor, keeping her eyes on the wall to the side of him until she stood upright again, tossing his pants into the pile. She held his hand as he lowered into the bath, sighing as the hot water embraced him.

She grabbed the stool by the sink, placing the vase of flowers on the counter before situating the stool by Lucien’s head. The bubbles covered his bottom half, but her eyes roamed over the planes of muscles across his chest. Lucien coughed, and she looked up to find him smirking like a proud male, and she quickly yanked the washcloth off the side of the tub before dousing it in the water.

Nesta meticulously scrubbed every inch of him. From the blood on his face to the dirt under his fingernails. Lucien was leaning back against the tile with his eyes closed, unconsciously twirling the end of her side braid. When she finished the top half, she handed the cloth to him while she went to work on his hair. She cupped her hand at the top of his forehead to prevent any water from pouring over his face as she drenched his hair with a cup the house provided.

Lucien moaned when she started massaging shampoo into his scalp, and Nesta smirked to herself as she used her nails lightly.

“Wicked female,” he muttered.

“You like it,” she retorted.

“Undeniably so,” he said.

She ran her fingers through the ends of his hair as she applied conditioner, letting it soak for a minute before rinsing it out. The tub started draining itself as she grabbed a towel off the rack and promptly wrapped it around his waist as he held on to her shoulder, and then her hand as she led him to the bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed as Nesta went through his wardrobe, grabbing loose linen sleep pants, deciding he needn’t bother with a shirt. She pulled them over his feet, then turned around as Lucien dropped the towel to pull them up to his waist.

He scooted back until he reached the headboard and lifted the covers over himself while Nesta busied herself behind the dressing divider putting on a nightgown.

She crawled in on the other side of the bed and removed the pillow that usually separated them. “Is this okay?” she asked.

Lucien nodded and pulled her into him, resting her head over his heart. “Thank you, Nesta. For everything.”

Nesta pressed a lingering kiss to his chest, to his heart, and intertwined their fingers beneath the covers. He returned it with a kiss to her head, whispering into her hair, “I love you.”

She squeezed his hand once before his eyes shut, and Nesta found herself lying awake all night listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

taglist: @tele86 @viktoriaashleyyx

[faerouzia]

Kingdom: At Grim’s End

I payed the iron price: VIIII (part 1)

Pairing: prince!seonghwa x darkfae!fem!reader

Au: strangers to lovers | third age au

Genre: fantasy, horror

Warnings: +21 (MDNI), gory scenes, disturbing depictions of creatures, angst, fluff, all you can imagine SMUT, mentions of dark magic, death,suggestive themes, betrayal, slow burn, fear

Summary: The land of Aurora, split into several kingdoms, after a war that raged for over 400 years, falls weary of the dark reigns bestowed by the Evil Queen of Darconia, Morana. With half the kingdoms bound to her will, the last rivalling kingdoms join forces in hopes to end the queen’s exploitation of ancient magic and the plan of using dark arts and the blood of the most powerful king’s and creatures to solidify her power. In the midst of unforgiving circumstances, Prince seonghwa of Halazia and the last of her kind, a decent of the phoenix fae fall in love, but at a great cost.

Chapter playlist

Word count: 10k

Series master list

The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension that crackled like the whisper of an impending storm, as Queen Morana prepared her kingdom for my impending arrival. She stood before the grand window, adorned with the bones of fallen soldiers dating back a century, her silhouette a dark specter against the ominous crimson moon that loomed in the night sky. The time for subtlety had passed; now was the moment to unleash her nefarious fantasies upon the world, to ensure that the very essence of light, which threatened to pierce her shadowed realm, would be extinguished forever.

“Gather the iron chains,” she commanded, her voice a low, sultry hiss that slithered through the vast chamber like a serpent. Goblins and ghouls, clad in dark armor that glinted like obsidian, moved swiftly to obey her orders, their expressions a mix of reverence and grim determination. The gravity of their queen’s intentions was far beyond their understanding; it was a promised sanctuary they so desperately craved, a sanctuary that drove them to obey her every command, a sanctuary where all hell would wreak havoc upon the souls of the unforgiving. They understood that, in order to catch a fae, one must seize a weapon capable of turning the tide of the looming war.

As the guards scurried to gather the iron-cut chains, Morana’s mind raced with wicked delight, her eyes darkening with every malicious thought, her smile a maniacal testament to her wicked obsessions. She envisioned the trap she would set, a cunning snare designed to ensnare the fae in a web of iron and shadow, rendering them utterly powerless before her.

The crackling of machinery and the grunts of the guards filled the room to capacity, creating a cacophony of impending doom. “Prepare the nets,” she instructed, her voice dripping with dark promise. The guards worked diligently, their hands deftly weaving the chains into intricate patterns, forming a net that would ensnare the unsuspecting fae, to ensnare my very form. Morana watched with a predatory gleam in her eyes, her heart racing with the thrill of the hunt. She could almost taste the blood, the victory that awaited her, the sweet satisfaction and sensation of the fae’s power flowing through her veins. She would become unstoppable.

“Summon the iron fairies,” she commanded, her voice chilled with authority. The guards nodded, their expressions grim as they continued to work, the sound of clinking metal echoing ominously through the chamber. Only the prevalence of darkness was her end goal, and with the help of the iron fairies, their ancient enchantments would be the key to ensuring the capture was successful. As the final touches were made to the trap, Morana stepped back to admire her malevolent handiwork.

Twelve guards returned, each bearing glass cages that held the iron fairies captive. The grotesque manifestations of twisted metal, the iron fairies’ bodies resembled jagged shards of cold iron, their eyes glowing with a malevolent light that reflected the darkness of their power. Possessing the terrifying ability to drain the magic from fae and other mythical creatures, these iron fairies could sap the vibrant energy that sustained their victims with a mere touch, leaving them weak and vulnerable. Yet, beneath the surface of their twisted forms and corroded chains lay spirits still capable of compassion and hope, waiting for the day when they might reclaim their place—not as harbingers of doom, but as steadfast allies in the preservation of the realms they once loved.

In a ritualistic display, the twelve guards held the glass cages above their heads, and with a synchronized motion, they dropped them, shattering the force that had held the fairies captive. The fairies loomed toward the iron traps, surrounding them as they began to work their dark magic. Every hymn, every chant glistened in the ears of those within the room as they strengthened the traps, weaving a tapestry of iron and shadow that promised to ensnare the light.

In stark contrast to the chaos unfolding in the throne room, Mingi sat in his dimly lit chambers, a sanctuary that had become a prison of his own making. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, illuminating the turmoil etched upon his face. Guilt and regret gnawed at his insides like ravenous beasts, each thought a dagger piercing deeper into his conscience. He had once been a hopeful soul, a boy yearning for purpose, but now he found himself drowning in a sea of despair, suffocated by the weight of his choices.

Mingi’s fingers trembled as they traced the intricate patterns of the wooden table before him, a futile attempt to ground himself in the present. Memories flooded his mind—images of the queen’s cold smile, the way her eyes sparkled with malevolence as she reveled in the suffering of others. He had pledged his loyalty to her, believing he could make a difference, believing he could protect those he loved. But now, he felt like a traitor, a coward who had turned his back on the very essence of goodness.

“Why did I ever join her?” he whispered to the empty room, his voice barely audible above the crackling of the candle flame. “What have I become?”

The walls seemed to close in around him, the air thick with the stench of regret. He could still hear the echoes of the fae’s laughter, the vibrant energy that had once filled the air now replaced by a suffocating silence. He had watched as Morana’s dark ambitions unfolded, as she twisted the very fabric of their world to suit her desires. And in his heart, he knew he had played a part in it—a willing participant in her malevolence.

Mingi’s thoughts spiraled into a tempest of self-loathing. He recalled the moment he had stood by her side, the thrill of power coursing through his veins as he had watched her command the iron fairies, those wretched beings that drained the magic from the innocent. He had felt invincible then, but now he was left with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal.

“Is there no redemption for me?” he lamented, burying his face in his hands. “Can I ever atone for the lives I’ve helped destroy?”

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room, mirroring the turmoil within him. He could almost hear the whispers of the fae, their voices a haunting reminder of the light he had forsaken. They had trusted him, believed in him, and he had failed them. The weight of their disappointment pressed heavily upon his chest, a constant reminder of the choices he had made.

Mingi rose from his chair, pacing the small confines of his chamber, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He longed to break free from the chains of his allegiance to Morana, to reclaim the light that had once filled his heart. But how could he? The queen’s influence was a dark cloud that loomed over him, suffocating any flicker of hope that dared to emerge.

“Perhaps I can still make a difference,” he mused, his voice trembling with uncertainty. “Perhaps I can find a way to stop her.”

The thought ignited a spark within him, a flicker of determination that had long been buried beneath layers of guilt. He could not change the past, but he could fight for the future. He could seek out the fae, warn them of Morana’s plans, and perhaps, just perhaps, find a way to redeem himself.

With newfound resolve, Mingi moved to the window, gazing out at the darkened landscape that stretched before him. The moon hung high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the world below. He could feel the weight of his choices pressing down upon him, but he also felt the stirrings of hope—a fragile, flickering flame that refused to be extinguished.

“I will not be a pawn in her game any longer,” he vowed, his voice steady and resolute. “I will fight for the light, for the fae, and for the redemption I so desperately seek.”

As he turned away from the window, Mingi felt a sense of purpose begin to take root within him. The path ahead would be fraught with danger, but he was willing to face it. He would confront Morana, challenge her darkness, and reclaim the light that had been lost. No longer would he be a prisoner of his own making; he would rise as a warrior, a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in shadow.

With determination coursing through his veins, Mingi set to work, gathering what he would need for the journey ahead. He would seek out allies, forge new bonds, and confront the darkness that threatened to consume them all. The time for regret had passed; now was the time for action, for courage, and for the unwavering belief that even in the depths of despair, redemption was possible.

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Seonghwa sat at the edge of his bed, clad in gleaming armor that reflected the dim light of the elven palace. The intricate designs etched into the metal glimmered like stars against the night sky, yet they felt heavy upon his shoulders. His sword lay beside him, its blade sharp and ready, but his gaze was fixed on his hands—bare and trembling. Confusion swirled within him, a tempest of emotions that left him feeling lost and adrift. The shock of the magic that had emanated from his fingertips earlier still lingered in his mind, a haunting reminder of the power he had barely begun to understand.

He flexed his fingers, recalling the surge of energy that had coursed through him, a force both exhilarating and terrifying. What did it mean? Was he truly capable of wielding such magic, or was it merely a fleeting moment of desperation? The questions gnawed at him, each one more insistent than the last, as he struggled to find clarity amidst the chaos.

In the adjacent chamber, Mr. Kim and Hongjoong sat in tense silence, the weight of the impending battle hanging heavily in the air. Mr. Kim was preparing to accompany Seonghwa in Hongjoong's place, a decision that had not come lightly. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the kind that lingered in the spaces between breaths.

“Are you sure about this?” Hongjoong finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, the fear of losing his father evident in every syllable. “I should be the one going with him. I can’t just sit here and—”

“Hongjoong,” Mr. Kim interrupted gently, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You know this is for the best. Seonghwa needs someone he can trust by his side, and you have your own responsibilities here and that is to stay safe. We can’t afford to lose you both.”

“But what if something happens to him?” Hongjoong’s voice cracked, the weight of heartbreak evident in his tone. “What if he needs me, what if you need me?”

Mr. Kim’s expression softened, his heart aching for Hongjoong, whose youthful face was marred by worry and despair. “He will be fine. He’s strong, and he possesses the magic within him. And I’m as strong as a boar. Trust in that.”

A part of Hongjoong longed desperately to be with Seonghwa, to stand resolutely by his side as they faced the encroaching darkness together. But the harsh reality of their situation loomed large and oppressive, leaving him feeling helpless and trapped in a suffocating web of duty and fear. “I just… I wish I could be there for him, and for you, Father. Please allow me this once to go. Please, Father,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper, trembling with emotion.

“That, I cannot allow, lad. Not now, and most certainly not ever,” Mr. Kim replied, his voice a stern assurance that brooked no argument. Hongjoong’s composure shattered, tears welling in the corners of his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. “I’d rather have you living as a fatherless son than be the one who dies,” he cried, his voice cracking under the weight of his anguish.

Mr. Kim’s stern demeanor remained unyielding, silencing Hongjoong’s cries with the gravity of his words. And with that, he pulled his son into a warm embrace, the kind that spoke volumes of love and sacrifice. Tears threatened to fall from Mr. Kim’s own eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to Hongjoong’s temple, a silent acknowledgment of the pain they both felt. No words were exchanged; only the soft, heart-wrenching sobs of Hongjoong’s pain filled the air, echoing the deep bond between father and son as they faced the uncertainty of the future together.

Meanwhile, in another part of the palace, Yeosang stood before the assembled guards, his presence commanding and resolute, a beacon of strength amidst the uncertainty that hung heavily in the air. The tension was palpable, a thick, suffocating fog that wrapped around them as he prepared them for the battle ahead. He could feel the weight of their collective anxiety pressing down on him, a reminder of the stakes they faced. “Listen closely,” he began, his voice firm yet imbued with an undercurrent of urgency that resonated with the hearts of those before him. “Today, we march into the heart of darkness. Lives will be lost, and success is no guarantee. But I need you to understand this: if your hearts are filled with fear, you will falter. Fear will be your greatest enemy on this battlefield.”

As he paced before the ranks of soldiers, he observed their faces—a tapestry of determination interwoven with trepidation. Each expression told a story of sacrifice, of loved ones left behind, and of the uncertainty that loomed like a storm cloud over their heads. Yeosang felt a swell of emotion rise within him, a mixture of pride and apprehension. He understood the gravity of the moment; he felt the weight of their hopes resting on his shoulders. “We fight not just for ourselves, but for our families, our friends, and the very essence of our realm,” he continued, his voice rising with fervor. “Remember why you stand here today. Remember the faces of those you love. Let that love fuel your courage.”

He could see the flicker of resolve igniting in their eyes, a spark that began to push back against the shadows of doubt. Yet, beneath that determination lay an undercurrent of fear—an uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of their resolve. Yeosang felt it too, a tight knot in his stomach that threatened to unravel his own composure. What if they were not strong enough? What if they failed? The questions loomed large, but he pushed them aside, focusing instead on the strength of their unity.

“Together, we can overcome the darkness that threatens to consume us,” he urged, his voice steady and unwavering. “We are not just soldiers; we are a family bound by our shared purpose. Each of you carries the spirit of our ancestors, the legacy of those who fought before us. Let that spirit guide you, let it remind you of the power that lies within each of you.”

As he spoke, Yeosang’s heart swelled with determination. He could not allow fear to take root in their hearts, nor could he allow it to take hold of his own. He had to be the pillar of strength they needed, the unwavering leader who would guide them through the storm. The faces of his comrades, filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty, fueled his resolve. He would not let them down.

“Now, let us stand together as one,” he declared, his voice ringing out with conviction. “Let us face the darkness with our heads held high and our hearts ablaze with courage. We will fight for our future, for the light that still flickers in the shadows. And when the battle is over, we will emerge victorious, not just as warriors, but as the guardians of our realm.”

With those words, Yeosang felt a surge of energy ripple through the ranks, a collective heartbeat that pulsed with newfound determination. The uncertainty that had once threatened to overwhelm them began to dissipate, replaced by a fierce resolve to stand and fight. Together, they would face whatever lay ahead, united in their purpose and unwavering in their commitment to protect all that they held dear.

As Yeosang’s impassioned words hung in the air, a knock echoed through Seonghwa’s chamber, shattering the fragile spell of his tumultuous thoughts. “Seonghwa,” Mr. Kim called gently from the other side of the door, his voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of anxiety. “It’s time to leave for Darconia.”

Seonghwa took a deep, steadying breath, steeling himself against the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him as he rose to his feet. He opened the door to find Mr. Kim standing there, his expression a mixture of concern and unwavering support, etched deeply across his features. “Are you ready?” Mr. Kim asked, his voice low and steady, yet tinged with an undercurrent of worry that mirrored Seonghwa’s own.

“I suppose I have to be,” Seonghwa replied, forcing a brave smile that didn’t quite reach the depths of his eyes. The truth was, he was terrified—terrified of the battle ahead, terrified of what he might lose, and terrified of the weight of expectation resting upon his shoulders. “I just… I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Mr. Kim stepped closer, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of uncertainty swirling around them. He placed a reassuring hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding him in that moment. “You are stronger than you realize. Trust in yourself, and trust in the magic that flows within you. You have the heart of a warrior, and that is what will carry you through.”

Seonghwa nodded, though the knot of fear in his stomach remained, a relentless reminder of the stakes at hand. “What if I fail?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with vulnerability and doubt.

“Then you will learn, and you will rise again,” Mr. Kim replied, his tone unwavering, a steadfast beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. “But you won’t be alone. You have your friends, your family, and me. We will face this together.”

In that moment, Seonghwa felt a swell of gratitude for Mr. Kim’s unwavering support, yet the uncertainty still gnawed at him. He could see the worry etched in Mr. Kim’s eyes, a reflection of the deep bond they shared—a bond forged through trials and tribulations, yet now strained by the looming specter of war. The thought of failing not only himself but also those who believed in him weighed heavily on his heart.

With a final nod, Seonghwa steeled himself and followed Mr. Kim out of the chamber. As they stepped into the grand hall, the sight before them was both awe-inspiring and daunting. An army of a thousand men stood ready, their armor glinting in the dim light, faces set with determination and resolve. Yet, despite the impressive display of strength, Seonghwa couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough. The enormity of the task ahead loomed like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over his heart.

He stood before the assembled warriors, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the weight of responsibility he felt. “Today, we stand together against the darkness,” he began, his voice rising above the murmurs, infused with a fervent urgency. “We may be outnumbered, but we are not outmatched. Bravery is not the absence of fear; it is the resolve to fight despite it. We fight for our homes, our families, and our future. Let that be our strength!”

The soldiers responded with a roar of approval, their voices echoing through the hall, a powerful chorus of defiance against the encroaching shadows. Seonghwa felt a flicker of hope ignite within him, a spark that pushed back against the fear threatening to consume him. Yet, even as he spoke, he could feel the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, a reminder of the fragility of their situation.

As Seonghwa stood before the vast assembly of warriors, preparing to rouse them with words of courage and resolve, a distant unease gnawed relentlessly at the edges of his mind. His thoughts, though cloaked beneath his stoic exterior, repeatedly drifted to me. The memory of my earlier presence in the palace, my composed yet haunting gaze, lingered like a fragile flame amid the encroaching darkness.

Yet it was me sudden departure that unsettled him most profoundly. The way I quietly slipped away into the shadows of the morning, leaving behind an echoing silence that felt heavier than any battle cry, sent a chill stabbing through his heart. That absence, that whisper of retreat, sparked a torrent of fears he dared not voice aloud.

What if she’s in danger? His mind spun scenarios fraught with peril—ambushes, traps, or worse, the queen’s insidious magic ensnaring me. If something happens to her… if I lose her now… The thought was unbearable, twisting painfully through his chest like a jagged blade.

He clenched his fists at his sides, the weight of responsibility pressing down harder. Could he protect not just his people, but the woman who had become his anchor amidst the chaos? The uncertainty clawed at him, gnawing at the very core of his resolve, threatening to drown the hope he tried so fiercely to nurture.

In the depths of his mind, Seonghwa wrestled with the worst — imaginations of her captured, broken, or lost to the shadows. Yet, beneath the fear, a fierce determination blazed, ignited by the ember of his love and unwavering loyalty.

I cannot fail her. Not now. His heart beat steadily against the growing storm of doubt. The looming battle was not just a test of strength, but a trial of his spirit—a crucible that would define the fate of all he held dear.

As his voice rose to rally his comrades, Seonghwa carried within him the fierce promise to find me, to protect me, and to face whatever darkness threatened their fragile world — together or apart, but never without hope.

As he looked out over the faces of his comrades, he saw not just warriors ready for battle, but friends and family—each one carrying their own fears and hopes. He knew that together, they could face whatever lay ahead. They would fight for their realm, for each other, and for the light that still flickered in the darkness. And with that thought, he took a deep breath, ready to lead them into the fray, even as the knot of anxiety twisted in his gut.

In that moment, Mr. Kim stood at the periphery, his heart heavy with a mixture of pride and fear for Seonghwa. He felt the weight of his own emotions, the uncertainty of what lay ahead for both his son and the realm they cherished. The bond they shared was a source of strength, yet it was also a reminder of the stakes involved. He wished he could shield Seonghwa from the horrors of war, to protect him from the pain of loss and the burden of leadership. But he knew that this was a path Seonghwa had to walk, a journey that would shape him into the warrior he was destined to become.

As the army prepared to march, Mr. Kim’s heart swelled with a fierce determination to support Seonghwa, to be the steadfast presence he needed in the face of uncertainty. He would stand by his side, no matter the outcome, ready to face the darkness together. And with that resolve, he stepped forward, ready to follow his son into the unknown, united in their purpose and unwavering in their commitment to protect all that they held dear.

Hongjoong stood at the edge of the palace grounds, his heart strung with a pain far beyond comprehension as he watched Seonghwa and the army prepare to leave. The sight of his friend, clad in armor and radiating determination, sent a wave of anguish crashing over him. Each beat of the drums echoed like a funeral dirge, a haunting reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead. He felt helpless, a mere spectator to the unfolding tragedy, and the weight of his own inaction pressed heavily upon his chest.

As the soldiers marched forward, a sense of determination suddenly flooded within him, igniting a spark of resolve that had been buried beneath layers of despair. I cannot stand idly by while they face the darkness alone, he thought fiercely. The thought of Seonghwa and the others risking their lives without him was unbearable. He had to do something—anything—to help.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Hongjoong turned to the guard left to watch over him, a young man named Jisoo. “I need to get to Yeosang’s library chamber,” he said, urgency lacing his voice. “I have to find out everything I can about Morana and her dark magic.”

Jisoo hesitated for a moment, concern flickering in his eyes. “But, Hongjoong, it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care!” Hongjoong interrupted, his voice rising with fervor. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I need to understand what we’re up against. Please, help me.”

Seeing the fire in Hongjoong’s eyes, Jisoo nodded, and together they made their way through the winding corridors of the palace, the air thick with tension and anticipation. As they reached Yeosang’s library chamber, Hongjoong pushed the heavy door open, revealing a vast room filled with ancient relics, stone-carved passages, and towering shelves lined with dusty tomes. The atmosphere was charged with the weight of knowledge, and Hongjoong felt a shiver run down his spine as he stepped inside.

He moved quickly, his heart racing as he began to sift through the scattered books and artifacts. Each item seemed to pulse with a dark energy, whispering secrets of the past. Horrid scenes unfolded before him in the pages of the texts—tales of Morana’s rise to power, her insatiable hunger for control, and the devastation she had wrought upon the realms. The descriptions made his skin crawl, but he pressed on, determined to piece together the fragments of her dark legacy.

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I soared through the twilight sky, my wings unfurling like silken banners against the deepening dusk. Above me hung the crimson moon—an ominous, blood-red orb that overshadowed the waning sun, casting an eerie, unnatural glow over the world below. The air was thick with tension, crackling around me like the whisper of an approaching storm, and with every beat of my wings, a shiver ran down my spine. Today was the day the Grim’s War would erupt, and I was certain that the fate of all I loved rested heavily on my shoulders.

The wind tore through my hair and feathers, wild and unforgiving, matching the tempest that churned within my heart. Beneath me, the landscape twisted into a grotesque reflection of despair. The vibrant colors that once painted Aurora had dulled, drained by corruption and fear. In the distance, the dark palace loomed—a monstrous silhouette etched against the blood sky. Its jagged spires clawed desperately at the heavens, a herald of the nightmare held within.

Each moment drew me closer to the place of dread, the locus of Morana’s dark power and the prison holding my captured kin. The intoxicating scent of molten decay tainted the air, a vile mixture of rot and anguish that clung to everything—suffocating and thick like smoke from a funeral pyre. The tormented cries of the fae echoed faintly in the distance, carried on the bitter wind. Monstrous forms prowled below: ghouls with pallid, corpse-like flesh and eyes burning with vile hunger, goblin guards clad in jagged black armor that shimmered with cruel intent. Their footsteps thudded against the cracked earth, an ominous rhythm to the symphony of devastation.

I landed silently behind the cavernous palace, my heart pounding with a mixture of determination and dread. The castle’s oppressive walls towered over me, wrapped in a shroud of shadow that twisted and writhed under the blood-red moon. Staring beyond the shadowed clouds that cloaked the ruined kingdom, I could feel the pulse of dark magics—a living heartbeat of malice that radiated from Morana’s throne.

Cautiously, I slipped through the folds of darkness, each step measured to leave no trace. The crimson glow cast long, sinister shadows that clung to me like a protective veil as I moved among the twisted ruins and thorned brambles. My senses sharpened—every breath of wind, every faint rustle of rotten leaves made me tense—but my resolve remained steadfast. I could not flee. Not now. Not when my people’s lives hung in the balance.

Then, carried on the cold night air, a sound reached me—a familiar, haunting chant. Deep and falsetto voices wove together in a mournful harmony, echoing softly from a chamber outside the heart of the palace. My chest tightened as my soul resonated with the sound. They were calling for me—the captured fae, my kin, imprisoned and desperate.

The chant stirred something ancient within me, a siren’s call that beckoned me forward through the twisting darkness. I moved closer, the echoing voices guiding my path like a fragile beacon through shadowed halls and shattered towers. The air around me pulsed with expectancy, the weight of years of suffering condensed into their plaintive song.

I stood at the edge of the palace grounds, my heart heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions as I watched the army prepare to march into the unknown. The air was thick with tension, and the distant sound of drums reverberated through my chest, echoing the dread that settled deep within my soul. I felt a profound sense of helplessness wash over me, a stark contrast to the fierce determination that had once defined my spirit.

As I gazed at the figures clad in armor, my thoughts drifted to the words of Queen He-Ra, the wise and formidable ruler who had once guided me through the trials of my youth. “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it,” she had often said, her voice a soothing balm in moments of uncertainty. Those words echoed in my mind now, a haunting reminder of the strength I needed to summon in this moment of despair.

But the memory of my mother, a gentle yet fierce protector, loomed larger in my heart. I could almost hear her soft voice urging me to be brave, to stand tall in the face of adversity. “You are stronger than you know, my dear,” she had whispered, her eyes filled with unwavering love and belief. The warmth of that memory clashed painfully with the cold reality of the present, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek, a silent testament to the weight of my fears.

And then there was Seonghwa. The thought of him, standing resolute and determined as he prepared to lead the charge, sent a jolt of conflicting emotions through me. I admired his bravery, but it also filled me with an overwhelming sense of dread. The idea of him facing the darkness without me by his side was unbearable. \The bond we shared was a fragile thread, woven through years of friendship and unspoken love, and the thought of losing him sent a wave of panic coursing through my veins.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fought against the rising tide of despair. I could feel the shadows of doubt creeping in, whispering insidious thoughts that threatened to consume me.  What if I never see him again? The questions spiraled in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

But amidst the chaos of my emotions, a flicker of determination ignited within me. I remembered the strength of my mother, the wisdom of Queen He-Ra, and the unwavering spirit of Seonghwa. I cannot let fear dictate my actions, I resolved, my heart pounding with newfound resolve. I had to do something—anything—to help him, to protect him, and to stand against the darkness that threatened to engulf us all.

With a deep breath, I wiped away my tears, steeling myself for the challenges ahead. I would not be a passive observer in this battle; I would fight alongside them, armed with the love and strength that had been instilled in me by those who had come before. The echoes of Queen He-Ra’s words rang in my ears, a rallying cry that urged me to embrace my own courage.

As I turned away from the sight of the departing army, I felt a surge of determination course through me. I would find a way to join the fight, to stand by Seonghwa’s side, and to confront the darkness that threatened to tear us apart. With each step I took, I felt the weight of my fears begin to lift, replaced by a fierce resolve to protect those I loved, no matter the cost.

Mingi moved through the dimly lit corridors of the palace with the stealth of a shadow, his heart pounding in rhythm with the urgency of his mission. The guards, clad in their imposing armor, stood like sentinels at their posts, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. But Mingi was a master of evasion, slipping past them with practiced ease, his movements fluid and silent. He felt the weight of their gazes, but he remained undetected, a mere whisper in the night.

As he approached the heavy door of the prison, a sense of foreboding washed over him. The air was thick with tension, and the faint sounds of distant echoes reverberated through the stone walls. He paused for a moment, steeling himself for what lay beyond. But just as he reached for the door, a figure emerged from the shadows, blocking his path.

Before him stood a fae like no other, my magnificence striking and ethereal. my wings, resplendent and onyx, shimmered with an otherworldly light, each feather a kaleidoscope of black, silver and off browns that seemed to dance in the dim light. Mingi felt a rush of awe mixed with trepidation; this was the Phoenix, a creature of legend, known for my power and grace. The very sight of me sent a shiver down his spine, and he could sense the raw energy radiating from me, a force that could wipe the entire surface with a single flap of my wings.

A surge of determination welled within him, igniting the flickering flame of his unwavering loyalty to Morana. Yet, he fought against the instinct to bow to her presence, to submit to the power she exuded. Instead, he took a cautious step forward, his footsteps deliberate and measured, each one echoing in the stillness of the corridor.

To his surprise,i had already turned to face him, my piercing gaze locking onto his with an intensity that made his heart race. There was a moment of silence, a palpable tension that hung in the air between us. I felt a mix of curiosity and wariness; who was this mortal figure, and what was he doing lurking around the queen’s land, untouched and unscathed?

“Who are you?” i asked, my voice melodic yet laced with an edge of authority. It was a question that demanded an answer, and Mingi could feel the weight of my scrutiny upon him.

“I am Mingi,” he replied, his voice steady despite the flutter of uncertainty in his chest. “I seek to...help you.”

I regarded him with a mixture of intrigue and caution, my wings folding gracefully behind me. “judging by your sudden enquiry of assitence, i reckon you're either one of us or you're the queen's...assistant”

He met my gaze, the determination within him solidifying. “I am willing to risk everything for the sake of Aurora. I will not shy away from the part i played to unleash the darkness that lies ahead.”

A flicker of something—perhaps respect or recognition—passed through my eyes, and for a moment, Mingi felt a connection, a shared understanding of the burdens they both carried. But the moment was fleeting, and the weight of their circumstances loomed large.

“Very well,” i said, my voice softening slightly. “But know this: the path you choose is fraught with peril. Trust is a fragile thing, and the shadows of this palace hold secrets that could unravel even the strongest of bonds.”

With that, i stepped aside, granting him passage to the door of the prison for him to lead the way to my caged kin. Mingi felt a rush of gratitude mixed with apprehension as he moved past me, the weight of my words echoing in his mind. He knew that whatever awaited him behind those heavy doors would test not only his loyalty to Morana but also the very essence of who he was.

As he pushed the door open, the darkness beyond beckoned him, and he stepped into the prison, ready to confront the ensnared lives that lay hidden within the depths of the palace.

Whispers were exchanged within the dimly lit prison, where cages filled with shimmering crystals from across Aurora glimmered like stars in the night sky. My eyes peered into the oppressive atmosphere, and in a split second, my ears met the haunting calls of the fae, echoing through the cold stone walls. I immediately flew toward the sound, my heart racing, as Mingi walked purposefully toward their bound forms, determination etched across his features.

"It's him—the one who freed her," one of the fae whispered, pointing toward Mingi with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Who were they referring to?

"Y/N," a deep, resonant voice called from a cage near the far right. As I walked slowly toward it, my heart pounding in my chest, I nearly dropped to my knees in shock. It was Dracarys, my mother's brother. It was as if he hadn't recognized me from a distance, but the moment our eyes met, he shook with relief, his voice trembling with emotion. "Y/N, you're alive!"

The fae's gasps filled the prison, a cacophony of astonishment that reverberated through the air, thousands of voices rising in unison, enough to alert the guards patrolling the corridors. Mingi quickly pushed his finger to his lips, signaling for silence as he heard the grunts of the guards passing by the door, their heavy footsteps echoing ominously.

When the grunts faded into the distance, the fae continued to murmur in hushed tones. I turned around, my half-teary eyes meeting Mingi's steady gaze. At that moment, I could not decipher the tumultuous state of my emotions, but I was undeniably grateful that he had risked his life to free one of us. "We must hurry, before they come back. I'll pull the lever to free them all at once, and then you all must fly before it's too late," he said, urgency lacing his voice.

As the lever turned, their cages opened gradually, the sound of creaking metal filling the air until no barricade separated them from freedom. The moment Dracarys stepped out, I leaped into his arms, overwhelmed with relief and joy. "I thought you... I thought..." My words broke as my throat tightened, and he only hushed my sobs, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting embrace. "We're all here. A few have been killed, but we're still here, Y/N," he assured me, his voice deep and full of warmth.

He let go of me, holding my shoulders firmly as his emerald eyes pierced into mine, filled with a mixture of concern and determination. "Now let's leave, child." I nodded, a nervous smile painting my face as hope began to blossom within me. As all the fae gathered, Mingi took the chance to free all the other creatures trapped within the prison's cold grasp. It was a sight to behold, a moment of liberation yet to be fully realized. It was all coming together... that was a thought I had only wished were true before everything had plunged into darkness.

As Mingi pulled the lever, the heavy doors of the prison creaked open, revealing the darkened corridor beyond. The moment the light from the prison spilled into the shadows, we were met with a chilling sight: an army of ghouls and goblins, Morana's guards, stood ready, their grotesque forms twisted and menacing, eyes glinting with malice. Above them, the queen herself floated in the air, her presence commanding and terrifying, the crimson moon cradling her like a sinister halo. Shards of her dark magic swirled around her, glinting ominously in the dim light, casting eerie shadows that danced across the chamber.

"Well, well, well," Morana tsked, her voice dripping with disdain as she regarded Mingi. "Another act of betrayal, Mingi? Not only did you free one fae, but now you've liberated the entire prison. How quaint." Her eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam igniting within them. "You truly are a fool to think you could escape my grasp."

I stepped forward, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and defiance, glaring at Morana with fierce intensity. My eyes blazed an angry amber, and in that moment, my wings spread slightly, a subtle yet powerful display of my readiness to take flight. I stood on guard, prepared to confront the queen and end her reign of terror once and for all.

Morana shifted her focus to me, a wicked smile curling her lips. "Ah, Y/N. I've been waiting for you to come. Patiently, I might add." Her voice was smooth, yet laced with malice, as if she relished the moment.

"Enough chatter," I muttered, my voice steady despite the chaos surrounding us. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on my shoulders, but I refused to show any sign of weakness.

Suddenly, one of the fae from behind me exclaimed, "Onward!" The cry ignited a spark of courage within the gathered fae, and with that, an army of flight awakened. Thousands of fae surged past the guards and Morana, their wings shimmering like a cascade of stars against the darkened sky. Fairies and friendly goblins joined the fray, running for their lives, their hearts filled with the hope of freedom.

Morana's guards, grotesque and relentless, trampled over the fallen creatures, their twisted forms reveling in the carnage. They lunged at any fae that dared to escape, their jagged teeth glinting menacingly in the dim light as they devoured the desperate souls who sought freedom. The air was thick with the acrid scent of fear and despair, a suffocating reminder of the stakes at hand.

In the midst of the chaos, I could see my fellow fae struggling to break free from the clutches of the queen's guards. Their wings beat frantically, but the overwhelming force of Morana's dark magic loomed over us like a storm cloud, threatening to snuff out our hope. The sound of anguished cries echoed through the air, a haunting symphony of desperation that fueled my resolve.

"Stay together!" I shouted, my voice rising above the din of battle. "We can’t let her divide us!"

With every ounce of strength I could muster, I rallied my kin, urging them to fight back against the encroaching darkness. The flickering light of our magic intertwined, creating a shimmering barrier against the queen's relentless assault. We would not be extinguished; we would rise against the tide of despair.

As I soared through the chaos, dodging the queen's dark tendrils, I could feel the weight of our collective fear and determination propelling me forward. The war had only just begun, but I was ready to face whatever horrors lay ahead, united with my kin in our desperate fight for freedom.

The guards circled the castle from above, their grotesque forms silhouetted against the crimson moon, waiting for the queen's command to unleash their deadly trap upon the fae, including me. The tension in the air was palpable, a thick fog of dread that clung to us as we fought against the encroaching darkness. I could feel the weight of their malevolence pressing down, a reminder of the peril we faced.

With every ounce of my strength, I summoned a fiery force that surged from my palms, a brilliant blaze igniting in the darkness. The flames roared to life, burning a portion of the guards at the entrance, their anguished cries echoing through the chaos. The fire created a momentary opening, a right of way for the creatures desperate to escape the clutches of Morana's tyranny.

"Go! Now!" I shouted, urging my fellow fae to seize the opportunity. They surged forward, a wave of shimmering light against the backdrop of despair, their wings beating furiously as they clawed at the skies, dodging the queen's relentless strikes.

Morana's fury was palpable as she unleashed her dark magic, tendrils of shadow lashing out like serpents, seeking to ensnare any who dared to defy her. The air crackled with tension as the fae danced through the chaos, their movements graceful yet frantic, each one a testament to their determination to survive.

In the midst of the turmoil, a distant sound began to rise above the clamor—a powerful army approaching, their shimmering armor clicking as their steps treaded the ground with purpose. The horns and trumpets filled the air, a clarion call that resonated with hope and defiance. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and I could feel the energy of their presence surging toward us, a beacon of light in the encroaching darkness.

As Seonghwa and the others drew near the palace, their eyes widened in disbelief at the chaotic scene unfolding before them. The skies were filled with a dazzling array of fae, their wings shimmering like a constellation of stars against the darkened backdrop. They darted and weaved through the air, a flurry of vibrant colors and desperate determination, while below them, goblins and ghouls surged across the ground, their grotesque forms a stark contrast to the ethereal beauty of the fae.

It was a battle of millions—thousands of creatures clashing in a desperate struggle for survival, an entire kingdom embroiled in chaos. The air crackled with the energy of magic and the sounds of combat, a cacophony of shouts, roars, and the clash of steel that reverberated through the night. Seonghwa felt his heart race as he took in the magnitude of the conflict, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon him.

"Look at them," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe and dread. "They’re fighting for their freedom."

Beside him, Mr. Kim clenched his fists, his expression a mixture of pride and concern. "We must join them," he urged, determination etched across his features. "We cannot let them face this alone."

yeosang held his hand up, halting the troopas his eyes scanned the war that unleashed before them, his eyes focusing on one specifc figure...me.

"its y/n" he said, seonghwa's eyes widening in relief and fear as he heard my name. His eyes glistened in an iridescents as he held his sword tightly.

As they approached the edge of the battlefield, the sight of the queen hovering above, her dark magic swirling around her like a tempest, sent a chill down Seonghwa's spine. Morana's presence was suffocating, a palpable force that threatened to extinguish the flickering hope of the fae. He could see the desperation in their eyes, the way they fought against the overwhelming tide of darkness that sought to consume them.

At that moment, I flew toward them in haste, my heart pounding with urgency as I prepared them for the impending gore of the brutal battle. Though they were a small number, their efforts were desperately needed in this chaotic struggle. "Hold the line!" I shouted, rallying my fellow fae as we braced ourselves to face the oncoming storm of violence and despair. The air was thick with anticipation, charged with the acrid scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood, and I could feel the heat of the flames still crackling at my fingertips, a vivid reminder of the immense power we wielded.

With a fierce battle cry that echoed through the tumultuous skies, I soared into the fray, my wings propelling me forward as I joined the ranks of my kin. The time for fear had passed; now was the moment to reclaim our realm from the suffocating clutches of darkness. Together, we would rise against the queen and her merciless guards, united in our quest for freedom and the flickering light that still dared to shine in the shadows.

As the army of shimmering warriors joined the fray, the tide of battle began to shift dramatically. The clash of steel and the thunderous roar of unleashed magic filled the air, creating a symphony of defiance that reverberated through the night. We would not be extinguished; we would fight for our freedom, for our kin, and for the hope that had ignited within us all. The war had truly begun, and I was ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead.

"Prepare yourselves!" Seonghwa shouted, his voice a clarion call that rallied his companions as they readied their weapons, their expressions fierce and resolute. "We fight for the light, for the fae, and for the future of our kingdom!"

With a fierce battle cry that resonated with the very essence of our struggle, they surged forward, joining the fray as the cacophony of magic and steel filled the air around them. The ground trembled beneath their feet as they charged into the chaos, the weight of their purpose propelling them forward with unyielding determination.

As they entered the fray, Seonghwa felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins, igniting a fierce determination within him. He could see the fae fighting valiantly, their magic intertwining in a dazzling display of light against the encroaching darkness. The goblins and ghouls were relentless, their grotesque forms surging forward with a ravenous hunger, but the spirit of the fae was unyielding, a testament to their resilience and unwavering courage.

"Together!" Seonghwa shouted, his voice rising above the din of battle, a rallying cry that pierced through the chaos. "We will not falter! We will fight for our kin!"

With that, he plunged into the heart of the conflict, his sword gleaming ominously in the dim light as he fought alongside the fae, their magic and strength intertwining in a powerful display of unity. The battle raged on, a swirling tempest of chaos and courage, with the air thickening with the scent of sweat, blood, and the acrid smoke of burning magic. Seonghwa knew that this was only the beginning of their fight against the darkness that threatened to engulf them all.

As the clash intensified, the ground beneath them became a gruesome tapestry of fallen warriors, the cries of the wounded mingling with the battle cries of the brave. Each swing of a sword, each burst of magic, sent shockwaves through the air, a visceral reminder of the stakes at hand. The relentless tide of goblins and ghouls surged forward, their eyes glinting with malice, but the fae stood firm, their resolve unbroken.

In that moment, Seonghwa felt a surge of hope amidst the chaos. They were not alone; they were a force to be reckoned with, a united front against the encroaching darkness. The battle was far from over, but together, they would carve a path through the shadows, fighting for the light that still flickered in their hearts. Above it all, he was within her presence fighting along side her and her people.

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As they reached Yeosang’s library chamber, Hongjoong pushed the heavy door open, revealing a vast room filled with ancient relics, stone-carved passages, and towering shelves lined with dusty tomes. The atmosphere was charged with the weight of knowledge, and Hongjoong felt a shiver run down his spine as he stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of decay and forgotten secrets.

He moved quickly, his heart racing as he began to sift through the scattered books and artifacts. Each item seemed to pulse with a dark energy, whispering secrets of the past that clawed at the edges of his mind. Horrid scenes unfolded before him in the pages of the texts—tales of Morana’s rise to power, her insatiable hunger for control, and the devastation she had wrought upon the realms. The descriptions made his skin crawl, but he pressed on, determined to piece together the fragments of her dark legacy.

As he studied the ancient relics, he began to connect the dots. A stone tablet inscribed with cryptic symbols spoke of a ritual that could harness the very essence of fear, a power Morana had wielded to bend others to her will. Another artifact, a twisted dagger, was said to have been used in grotesque sacrifices to amplify her dark magic, drawing strength from the suffering of others. Each discovery sent a chill through him, but with each piece of knowledge, his resolve only grew stronger.

Finally, he stumbled upon a weathered scroll, its edges frayed and yellowed with age. As he carefully unrolled it, his breath caught in his throat. The words written in elegant script revealed the completed puzzle of Morana’s origins.

“Morana, the Shadow Queen, born of darkness and despair, forged in the fires of betrayal. Her power is bound to the blood of the fallen, and her heart beats in time with the suffering she inflicts. To defeat her, one must confront the shadows within and embrace the light of hope.”

But as he continued to read, a new horror unfolded before him. The scroll spoke of a dark force, a grotesque shrine that Morana worshipped, a name not to be uttered in the light of day. It was a malevolent entity, far stronger than Morana herself, feeding off the despair and anguish of the realms. The very thought of it sent a wave of nausea through him, and he staggered back, clutching his mouth in shock.

Jisoo, who had been quietly observing, noticed Hongjoong's sudden pallor and rushed to his side. "What’s wrong?" he asked, concern etched across his features.

Hongjoong, still reeling from the revelation, managed to stammer, "It’s... it’s worse than we thought. There’s a dark force, a grotesque shrine she worships. It’s a name not to be said, a horror beyond comprehension." He quickly turned the scroll toward Jisoo, revealing the chilling depictions of the shrine—twisted, gnarled roots entwined with skeletal remains, a monument to suffering and despair.

As Jisoo gazed at the images, a shiver coursed through him, chilling him to the bone. The grotesque nature of the shrine, with its macabre offerings and the palpable aura of dread, was beyond anything he had ever encountered. "This... this is a nightmare," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"We have to do something," Hongjoong urged, his eyes blazing with urgency. "We can’t let this darkness spread. We need to journey to Darconia and help them before it’s too late."

Jisoo took a deep breath, mustering the courage that surged within him. "You’re right. We can’t let fear paralyze us. We have to fight back."

Just then, a fae appeared at the window, her ethereal form illuminated by the flickering light of the library. Behind her, an army of creatures from Underland gathered, including the formidable Hendores, their eyes glinting with determination. Hongjoong sighed in relief as the fae introduced herself, her voice a melodic yet urgent whisper. "I am the one who was freed by one of the queen's assistants. I have come to gather the remainder of Aurora to defeat the queen once and for all."

Hongjoong wasted no time in sharing his findings with her, detailing the dark force that loomed over them. As he spoke, he could see the fae's expression shift, her eyes widening with recognition and horror. A surge of hatred, anger, and determination filled her as she absorbed the implications of his words.

"We cannot allow this evil to persist," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. "We must journey to Darconia at once and end the Grim's war once and for all."

With a newfound sense of purpose, Hongjoong, Jisoo, and the fae prepared to embark on their perilous journey. The weight of the darkness that threatened to engulf their world loomed over them, but together, they would confront the horrors that lay ahead, united in their quest to reclaim their realm from the clutches of despair. The battle was far from over, and the true fight against the shadows had only just begun.

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From her vantage point high above the castle, Morana's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, slicing through the chaos of battle. "Now!" she screamed, her voice echoing like thunder across the battlefield.

In an instant, iron nets and burning bearings rained down from the sky, a deadly hailstorm that engulfed hundreds of fae and creatures alike. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning flesh as Tundra fae, Mountain fae, and Arctic fae were caught in the inferno, their radiant forms reduced to ashes in mere moments. Soaring cries of agony filled the skies, a haunting symphony of despair that resonated with the growing darkness as the moon loomed larger, its light a cruel reminder of the horrors unfolding below.

As the flames flickered and danced, a chilling presence began to fill the atmosphere surrounding the castle. Serpents, grotesque and writhing, birthed from a power unknown, slithered through the air, their scales glistening with malice. A low, guttural growl reverberated through the air, silencing the crowd as they turned their eyes toward the source of the dread.

There it was—Morana's grotesque shrine had awakened, its form now larger and more terrifying than before, towering over the queen herself. The shrine raised its hands in praise, a grotesque mockery of worship, as the guards knelt at its spilled command, their faces twisted in fear and reverence.

I felt a cold wave of terror wash over me, a paralyzing dread that gripped my heart. But before I could react, i was ensnared by an iron net, the burning metal searing my skin as it wrapped around my form. Pain shot through my body, and i felt her power weaken with every moment, my wings shedding feathers like fallen leaves in autumn.

Morana's laughter echoed through the chaos, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Look at you, my dear," she taunted, her voice dripping with malice. "You thought you could escape? You thought you could defy me? This is your end, and it will be glorious!"

The shrine's voice, deep and resonant, filled the air, sending a wave of dread through the gathered crowd. "You are yet to die," it proclaimed, its tone dripping with sinister delight. "Your suffering will be a feast for the ages, a tribute to the darkness that binds us all. Embrace your fate, for it is inevitable."

As I was lifted into the air, the world around me began to blur, my vision fading as the pain consumed me. i could hear the cries of my fellow fae, the desperate pleas for help echoing in my ears, but they felt distant, like a fading dream.

"Y/N!" Seonghwa's voice pierced through the chaos, filled with desperation as he reached out for me, his heart racing with fear. In that moment, a surge of power erupted from him, an uncontrollable force that radiated through the air burning a couple of serpents in the way, his iridescent force weakening him as he fainted from the strain.

Yeosang came running to his aid, his features painted with the blood of the guards he had slain, a grim reminder of the battle's brutality. But as he reached Seonghwa, black smoke surrounded him, binding him to the ground as it emanated around him, lifting him toward the floating shrine.

The shrine's horrid fingers brushed across Seonghwa's slumbering face in satisfaction, a grotesque smile spreading across its twisted visage. "You will join her soon," it whispered, its voice a chilling promise of death and despair.

The scene was a heart-wrenching tableau of horror, a testament to the darkness that had descended upon them all. As my form was taken higher into the air, the cries of the fallen echoed in the night, a haunting reminder of the battle they continued to fight and the lives that had been lost in minutes. The war was far from over, but the shadows loomed ever closer, threatening to consume them all.

I payed the iron price: IX Pt.2

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 (𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂)

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