#that one chapter of tales of the masks

[siren-darkocean]

So we all know that one chapter in Tales of the Masks, the first chapter that screamed Kotahu energy

How come Kopaka didn't think to use his Kanoi Akaku Nuva to find Pohatu?

This has been on my mind for a while and I'm genuinely curious, like yeah I get panic and all but come on Kopaka

[ifyoucandaniel]

exactly one person asked and i’ve been DYING to make this, so here are all of my favorite long batman fanfics in general and for new readers @twisted-tales-told :)

cards on the table by @wesslan ! 69k, completed. this is one of my all time favorite fanfictions, it’s so funny and tim is a mastermind genius and a little liar <3 he basically pretends to be a fortune teller and gives scarily good predictions and advice by stalking the upper class and eventually gets involved with the batfam and has to maintain his lies while dealing with his issues :) 10/10, very found family, good angst, so much lying

Dark Matter by @mysterycyclone , 221k, ongoing. this is a batman fanfic rec, of course my bbg dark matter is going to be here <3 this is a MCUxDCU crossover where after infinity war (spoilers for that if you haven’t seen it!) peter parker gets sent to the DCU dimension with part of the soul stone and basically is haunted by the ghosts of the avengers while trying to survive in gotham and get back to his dimension. this is so well written i’ve read it at least three times, it’s still ongoing but trust me it is SO GOOD. i can’t properly describe it, but if you like spider-man and you are interested in batman, you’ll love.

Red is the Color of Sinners by @bluelotuswrites , series, 120k, ongoing, M. i want you to look me in my eyes when i tell you this is my favorite series on ao3. it is set after under the red hood and daredevil 3 where jason and matt meet in a church after jason loses his ability to speak following the events of UTRH. they keep running into each other both as matt and daredevil and eventually jason begins helping matt out with injuries and tech. it’s not finished yet, but there is something so compelling about their dynamic in this series as well as jason’s overall character and how he is portrayed. i’m a sucker for mute jason after UTRH and this series does so well giving him a fresh start and a place away from gotham to heal and build relationships. i cannot recommend enough.

buy back the secrets by @vinelark , 71k, ongoing, T. THIS!!! oh my god, so this is a timkon fic where kon still doesn’t know tim’s civilian identity, but whenever he’s in trouble tim calls for superboy which leads to them meeting without kon knowing. shenanigans ensure when kon starts spending more time with tim! it’s still ongoing but the author is currently working on the next part and it is so so worth the wait. chapter 4 ends on a cliffhanger though so be warned :))

Sales People Know (listening is the most important part) by Mayhem10, 77k, completed, T. this has the coolest urban magical realism ever. tim basically runs this magic shop that shows up places and people who need something find it in his shop :) it’s kinda a slow burn found family fic with magic themes and a smidge of angst!

Retrograde Motion by Lysical, 112k, completed, T. this is best de-aged kid fic ever. jason gets turned into a 7 year old and basically the outlaws, artemis and biz, join forces with the batfam to take care of him. but trust me when i say this is worth your time, it might sound tropey but in the best way possible!! and jason’s relationship with artemis is sooo important to me in this!

Hand in Unloveable Hand (a chokehold) by britishparty, 54k, completed, M. this is one of the best psychological torture/grooming fics i’ve ever read. pretty much what if while our taking photos of batman and robin, little tim gets kidnapped and black mask gets his hands on him and decides he’s the perfect size for a protege. years of psychological abuse and insane mind games ensue. also tim is a Badass™️

If He Had Come by bronwe_iris, 45k, completed, T. so i’m a little freak and i love the angst of arkham knight jason, but more specifically the aus where bruce saves jason before he becomes the arkham knight! this is an au where bruce finds jason and saves him from the joker after 9 months of torture and brings him home. focuses on his healing mentally and physically and rebuilding his relationship with his family

Banshee in a Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee), 43k, completed, T. veeeery good angst. basically what if tim couldn’t die? 43k of tim drake whump where he just dies a bajillion times and eventually his family notices <3

The Birds: Hatching a Family by Oceanera12, 81k, completed, T. this is like “what if the batkids weren’t adopted by bruce, but instead they were all foster siblings who can’t seem to stay out of gotham at night and batman happens to find them and decides obviously he can’t leave these kids to their own business, he has to stick his nose in it” and there’s some angst and heaps of found family

The Hellblazer’s Apprentice by @bluelotuswrites, 29k, ongoing, M. what can i say, im a simple woman, i love to see jason with literally any older male mentor :) basically in UTRH what if he took up an apprenticeship under constantine to learn magic to piss off batman! so good, i really love constantine so seeing him and jason interact in a long fic is so good. also ALL BLADES JASON TODD SAVE ME… ALL BLADES JASON TODD-

something in the static by bonerot19, 101k, ongoing series with three main completed works, T. this is a jason centric series where jason still lives in crime alley with his mom and dad and never stole the batmobile tires. it follows his life in crime alley with an addict mom and an abusive dad and one night when his dad is whaling on him nightwing finds him and the bats just can’t seem to leave him alone after that. steph is his neighbor and best friend also and their relationship is so good. this is a “what if jason took a different way home to the wayne’s” fic series and i love it so much <3

catch the asteroids that come your way by ThePackWantsTheD, 54k, completed, T. i don’t read a lot of ships in the batman fandom i’m sorry, but this kyle/jason one is sooo lovely. basically the two of them growing up together and falling in love and then dealing with the aftermath of A Death in the Family and finding each other again :) really sweet and nice!

hope you find something you like! i realized the majority of these are tim or jason centric, and i love them all dearly, but if anyone has any recs for long fics focusing on any of the other batkids lmk! and any other recs in general, i am a fiend for new fics

[itsphoenix0724]

All Things Vile (Eris x Reader)

Summary: A recon mission to the Autumn Court gets more heated than you intended. They say Autumn males fuck like they have fire in their veins-you guess you're about to find out.

Warnings: ROUGH SMUT (this is pure filth and I'm not sorry), kind of dark, oral (m!receiving) choking, bondage

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for him, been a while since I wrote in general since I'm adjusting back into my school life. Chapter 3 of MMOTI is drafted and will hopefully be released soon! But anyway here's a smutty Eris fic for all of you <3

The Autumn Court was ablaze in moonlit revelry. The scent of spiced cider and ale consumed the grove along with the smell of the blazing campfire. Fog weaved in and out of the shadow-drenched woods, urging the partygoers to follow its trail into the darkness. You could make out bodies against trees, males and females losing themselves in one another, as you jumped silently along the oak’s branches. It was a simple mission; Get in and get out, that’s what Rhys had said, and that’s what you fully intended on doing. Cloaked in darkness, mask pulled up to hide everything but your eyes, you found your target. 

A drunken blush stained his pale cheeks, and the blood-red silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned so obscenely low you could see the dappling of freckles along his chest in the firelight. His auburn hair was unruly; the waves held down only by the circlet of gold leaves that marked him as the firstborn son of Autumn. His lips were stained from the wine he was sipping and his eyes had taken on a seductive half-lid as he somehow fixed his burning gaze straight onto you. 

Fuck, Rhys was going to kill you. 

Eris stood from his chair in one smooth motion, prowling towards your spot hidden in the woods like a mountain cat, amber eyes burning. You jump down from your tree, weaving through the branches like smoke to try to lose the lordling who’s hot on your tail. Nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the sounds of footfalls echo through the dark wood. You just need to get to the border, Eris won’t have the gall to cross after you. You can see the green grass of Spring, the pastel pink of the cherry blossoms grotesquely clashing with the russet hues of the forest that currently surrounds you.

You can almost smell the sickly sweet air when a hand encircles your wrist like a hot brand.

The world tips and falls, the grass slipping out from under your feet as you’re dropped into a room, landing on all fours against a hardwood floor. Bands of fire wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the ground, not burning but holding you there. The tell-tale wave of nausea that means you’ve been winnowed somewhere quickly overwhelms you as you try not to heave onto the plush burgundy rug infront of you.

Eris has taken you to his room at Fir Hall, his private estate away from his life wrapped in court politics, you’re familiar with the home after many spy missions here. Your eyes fix on the Autumn Prince with a burning ferocity, and he does nothing but glare back down at you from where he looms above you.

“Well, well what has fallen into my trap,” He fixes you with a wolfish smile as he pulls down your mask, and your lips peel back into a snarl. “Hello Sweetheart,” he purrs as he tucks a loose hair behind your ears. “I’ve missed you, it’s very nice to see you again.” He tries to run a thumb over your bottom lip, but you snap your teeth in his direction like a feral animal and he wisely pulls his hand away. 

“Bite me,” you growl out as Eris crouches down until he’s at eye level with you. A hound cornering a wild fox, it seemed the hunter had won tonight as he lets out a laugh that leaves a burning caress down your spine. 

“Oh, I intend to.” He promises, stroking his hand along the back of your hair, pulling out the hair tie, and letting it fall around your face. “Now will you mind your manners?” He raises a copper brow, eyes dancing with amusement. The bond buried deep in your chest tries to wiggle free of its restraints, begging you to let it play with the other half of your soul. 

“Never,” you vow to him even as the mischief in his eyes turns to longing. This is torture denying yourself of him. 

But how could you not? 

Beron is still High Lord, if you were to tie yourself to him you would have to abide by his rules. You would rather claw your own eyes out. And if your family ever found out, if Mor ever found out, the shame and guilt would burn more than the roaring fire in the hearth. 

So you have this, you take every mission you can to Autumn and collect all the broken pieces and scraps that you can get. This is what you will allow yourself.

“I thought that would be the case,” Eris gets up and languidly strolls away from you, plucking the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. You watch with adept interest as his ring-clad fingers tighten around the crystalline glass, he strolls over to his bookshelf and plucks a well-loved novel off the dark shelf. 

Then the bastard settles himself into one of the plush armchairs and starts to fucking read. He ignores you as though you’re nothing more than a potted plant in the corner, he doesn’t even so much as glance at you, fully enraptured in his novel. A few minutes pass when you clear your throat. Eris deigns to look bored as he lazily turns his head toward you. 

“Yes?” He asks, propping the book against one knee and taking another sip of his whiskey. Your eyes track the movement of his throat involuntarily. 

“Aren’t you going to do something?” You push, urging him with your eyes as you lift your head through the curtain of your hair. You hope your gaze communicates everything you cannot bring yourself to voice, fearing your body will refuse to allow you air if you try. 

I love you, please don’t ignore me, I need you, play with me

He chuckles a dark sound and picks up his book again, pointedly flicking a page as the rubies on his hands glint in the firelight. 

“I’m not in the business of playing with unwilling toys,” Eris supplies, purposely staring at the fire instead of you. “Perhaps I should call Rhysand to collect you and tell him I don’t appreciate being spied on. Perhaps, he will never send you back here.” His brows scrunch in frustration but you both know that the threat is empty. It seems he is tired of your games. 

“What do you want?” You barely grind out, still refusing to relent to the signing inside your soul. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Princely bastard.” You practically spit, and faster than the blink of an eye Eris is in front of you, fisting your hair in one hand and tilting your chin to meet his smoldering gaze. 

“Are you ashamed of me?” He questions, and you can see the vulnerability dancing in his eyes. You shake your head as the fire binding your wrists recedes and you move into a more comfortable kneeling position, hands now bound in front of you. He soothes his hand along your cheek again as your brows knit together. You thought that the two of you had a kind of understanding. You had no idea where this was coming from. “I tire of this ruse, my love.” If Eris notices the mournful look in your eyes he says nothing. He strokes a warm hand through your hair, admiring your eyes in the firelight. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me huh?” The wolfish grin is back and you hum your agreement as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip again, pleased at your cooperation as he slides his finger into your mouth. He thrusts it into your mouth and as you teasingly run your tongue over the pad he lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core. 

He undoes the belt at his waist, pulling his cock out with his hand, and your mouth waters at the sheer size of him. 

“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he rumbles, pure authority and power radiating off of him. A glimpse at the future ruler he will become one day. You nod your enthusiastic consent as he grips the back of your head and thrusts into your mouth at a merciless pace. Your head empties as he hits the back of your throat, the hand cupping the back of your hair surprisingly gentle compared to the way he was brutalizing your mouth. “That’s a good girl, take me down your throat.” It spills out of his mouth like he can’t even control it as your eyes roll back in your head at his praise. Eris pushes your mouth all the way down to the base of his dick and holds you there for a few seconds as your nose connects with his pelvic bone. He’s relentless as he uses you for his pleasure and you think that he might bruise your vocal cords. 

He spills down your throat as your binds dissolve into nothing, leaving behind a warm tingling sensation where the fire licked at your limbs. 

You swallow what he gave you, opening your mouth in emphasis as whiskey eyes blow wide with lust. You’re drenched at the sight of his cock already stiffening again. He walks to the mountainous bed in front of you, making himself comfortable against the pillows. 

“Come here pet.” He growls fisting his cock in his hand and crooking his fingers with the other. You start to rise to your legs on sore knees, but you freeze when Eris tuts–holding his hand out to stop you. “No. I want you to crawl to me.” The order wraps around you like warm silk, voice sliding against your bones. You lower yourself back down to the floor, humiliation burning hot on your cheeks as you sway your hips in what you hope to be enticing. He stops you quickly and you look up at him from under fluttering lashes. “Strip. Slowly.” Your face burns even hotter and Eris can’t take his eyes off you as you rise, slowly undoing every single buckle on your leathers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving you entirely exposed to him before climbing onto the bed. His body is so warm against your skin as he draws your mouth to his, the burning taste of cinnamon whiskey floods your mouth. He dominates you even here, claiming you as his tongue wrestles with yours. The moan that slips out of you comes out scratchy from the abuse of your throat, and in a flash, you’re below him as he grinds his hips into yours. 

“Eris,” you whimper as his cock brushes against your folds. You need him to fill you to the brim, wanting him as close as possible. He shushes you gently as he bites at your pulse point, the only goal in his mind is to claim as he sucks dark marks into your neck. 

You’ll surely be wearing only turtle necks for a few weeks after this. 

His warm hands skate down your body, pulling and prodding at your sensitive nipples, letting out a dark chuckle as you whine at his ministrations. Eris mocks your moans as he rubs a finger at your center, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers. Finally, he slips a finger inside of you rubbing at the spot that makes you see stars. He knows exactly where to touch to get you to dissolve, his beautiful mate bending to him like water running through his fingertips. That ring-clad hand curls around your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm hands, and you keen as the pleasant dizzy feeling takes over your whole body. 

That feeling combined with the addition of another finger in your core sends you hurtling through gold-flecked oblivion.

He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and moaning as he relishes the taste of you on his tongue. Staring down at your shaking form with smugness in his eyes as he circles the skin of your inner thigh, enjoying the way the muscles quiver under his touch. Eris sinks himself into you, inch by tortuous inch until you can’t tell where your body ends and he begins. He strokes slowly and deliberately, bruising you with his intensity as your vision goes white with searing pleasure every time he moves his hips.

You want him to leave his imprint everywhere on your body, that unanswered bond begging you to never leave this bed again. Eris must feel it too, that golden thread wrapping around his heart begging him to keep you, to never let another male so much as look at you. That makes something ugly twist in his chest and he almost snarls at even the thought of another male near you as his instincts take over and he draws your legs over his shoulders to hit an even deeper part inside of you. Your walls are clenching and fluttering around him as his pace turns ravenous, all you can do is try to hold on as your nails scrape jagged lines down his back. Eris scrapes his teeth over your neck, then he moves down to your nipple biting down as you scream his name before giving the other one equal attention. 

“Who do you belong to pet?” He murmurs in your ear in time with a thrust that's so deep your eyes roll back in your head. “Who’s the only one that can make you feel like this?” You can barely give him anything but a whimper as he devastates your body, pinching your clit in a way that elicits a pleasure-soaked sob. “Scream it for me,” he punctuates it with a slap against the apex of your thighs. 

“Yours Eris, I’m all yours!” You scream as you orgasm, tears running down your flushed cheeks, Eris follows soon after you spilling himself deep inside of you.

He pulls out, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made between your thighs. He collapses onto the mattress next to you and pulls you to his chest, warming his hands with his power as he rubs slow circles into the small of your back. You look up at him and he’s taken aback at the vulnerability in your eyes. “Eris I-” you choke, unable to force the words you so desperately want to say past your lips. He shushes you with a kiss against your forehead. 

“I know,” he mutters into your hairline “I know.” You hold him tighter, blinking back tears as you lock the bond back down in its obsidian shackles,“I’ll wait an eternity for you.” It’s the last thing you hear before closing your eyes as you let him soothe you to sleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I trust everything went well?” Rhys asks, raising a dark brow at your form where you stand across from his desk. You subconsciously pull the dark turtleneck further up, the deep purple marks burning like a brand. You scrubbed yourself raw as soon as you winnowed yourself to your apartment, and you’re praying to the Mother that Rhys doesn’t even catch a whiff of Eris or the frankly copious amounts of sex. The thought of Eris enjoying it this morning, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck to make sure it really stuck, before crawling his way down your body to settle in between your thighs makes you triple-check that the steel of your mental shields was still in place.

“Nothing to report,” You rasp, voice destroyed after last night's events. The attempts to clear your throat are doing nothing to help you

“Are you alright?” Rhys questions, wringing his hands together on his desk as he shoots a concerned look. 

“Must just be a chill I caught in Autumn, those woods get cold at night.” You supply and he hums his agreement. 

“Well go rest, you’ve earned it. Perhaps you should see Madja for something to soothe your throat.” Rhys says and you nod your agreement, taking the cue for your dismissal. You wait until his office door clicks shut behind you to let out your sigh of relief, thinking of nothing but soft sheets and warm hands. 

You can only hope you get another mission there soon.

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 6

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The news of the rebellion made headlines, dividing public opinion. Some supported it, despising the tyrant king, while the majority dismissed it as futile, knowing the king's power was insurmountable.

However, the rebellion news quickly died when a new announcement captivated everyone's attention: the princess of Veridian was getting married to her personal guard.

It was a fairytale come to life. The official story painted a romantic picture of childhood friends whose bond blossomed into love as they grew older.

This narrative enchanted the nation and international media, drawing interest from all corners. People saw Bucky as incredibly fortunate—a commoner rising to become a royal consort, a prince. Suddenly, both of you were thrust into the spotlight.

You were accustomed to attention, but this was more intense than ever before. Now recognized by everyone in the country, Bucky found the newfound scrutiny overwhelming.

Since the wedding announcement, you and Bucky had been constantly busy with interviews and photoshoots. The flashing cameras and endless questions left Bucky feeling numb inside, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of his captured comrades.

Flashback Start

You had asked the king to show mercy to the rebels. Bucky vividly remembered the scene. Leonard was in the glasshouse, a place of enchanting beauty that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. It was a gift for his wife, your mother. The tyrant king had made it as beautiful as a painting.

One of the birds, an eagle, landed gracefully on Leonard’s shoulder—a symbol of wild freedom now tamed into domesticity, much like Bucky’s transformation from an idealistic rebel to a figure constrained by duty.

Leonard, his face a mask of composed authority, offered the bird a snack. “Sure,” he said, his tone icy and detached. “No more bloodshed since your wedding is coming soon.”

The way he said it lacked genuine comfort, but at least he had promised. "Thank you, father," you said, bowing before leaving with Bucky.

Flashback End

His mind replayed Leonard’s smirk as he promised no bloodshed. He clenched his fists, the weight of his comrades' fates heavy on his heart.

“Bucky!”

He snapped out of his daydream, looking around in confusion. “Huh?” He saw you, the royal tailor, and the tailor's assistant staring at him. Bucky had been too immersed in the harsh reality that the tyrant king knew his plot. He still hadn't had the chance to visit his comrades who had been caught.

“Are you tired?” you asked, coming closer and touching his forehead. Perhaps he was tired; since the royal wedding announcement, both of you had non-stop schedules, constantly talking to the media.

Today, Bucky was meeting the royal tailor for the first time to be measured for the wedding.

“Your Highness, we are honored to be part of this occasion,” Sergio, the senior tailor who the royal family always chose to make their clothing, said as he bowed his head. Since King Leonard's reign began, Sergio had only designed for the king and you. Now, there was a new person, and it was for a special occasion.

You nodded. “I’ll leave you three alone.” You took another glance at Bucky, noting his dazed expression.

After the door closed, the tailor started measuring Bucky’s body. “You have a wide shoulder, sir,” Sergio commented, running his measuring tape across Bucky's back.

Bucky didn't know how to respond to the compliment, feeling awkward and out of place.

“It’s fit for someone carrying a big burden,” Sergio added, his voice low.

Bucky flinched. Did the tailor know something?

Sergio continued measuring, his movements precise and professional. “I’ve been here since before the king was born. My only advice is to keep your head down.”

“Democracy is dead,” Bucky muttered, the weight of his words heavy with resignation.

“It died for me the moment we servants had to wipe the blood spatter from the castle walls,” Sergio whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bucky's throat tightened, his tongue feeling like lead. The tailor’s words struck a chord, a stark reminder of the brutal reality he was facing. He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself as Sergio continued his work, the room filled with a tense silence.

The assistant worked quietly, taking notes and handing Sergio various tools. Bucky’s mind raced, thoughts of his captured comrades and the looming threat of Leonard’s wrath gnawing at him.

He forced himself to focus on the present, to endure the moment, knowing that every step he took brought him closer to his goal of freeing you and the country from the king's tyranny.

After Sergio finished measuring, he looked Bucky in the eye. “Remember what I said,” he whispered. “Keep your head down.”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “Thank you,” he managed to say, strained but sincere.

As the tailor and his assistant left, Bucky stood alone in the room, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the upcoming battles.

But it seemed like the battle had come sooner. From the window, Bucky saw you in the garden, walking together with Duke Cassian.

You were wandering around the garden, trying to clear your mind. This was what you wanted, but why didn't you feel butterflies in your stomach? Bucky's attitude made you nervous, filling you with doubts.

Was this what people meant by cold feet before a wedding?

"Having second thoughts?"

You jumped as Cassian's voice broke the silence.

"Why are you still here?" you asked, a bit startled.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I can't leave until my uncle says it's done."

Both of you fell into an uneasy silence until he finally broke it. "I knew from the beginning it wouldn't work. In your eyes, there's only one person."

You scoffed. "It's obvious."

"But I kept my hopes up. If you need me, I'll be wherever you need me," Cassian said softly.

You shook your head, unsure of how to react to his vulnerability. "What exactly made you agree to this, even though you knew from the start it wouldn't work?" you asked, searching his eyes for answers.

"My uncle," he admitted, going quiet before forcing a smile. "You know my situation."

Right. You knew his story. Even though he held a duke title, his uncle, who was the illegitimate son, was the richest in his country. Both of you shared the same fate. The puppet master of your life was your father, and for Cassian, it was his step-uncle.

"If it doesn't work out with you, my uncle will find another princess from another country," Cassian said, resignation in his voice.

You stopped walking, a sense of hopelessness washing over you. "Will we ever get out of this?"

"If my uncle dies," Cassian answered without hesitation. "Can't you see we already share the same suffering? There's a connection between us."

Before you could respond, Bucky appeared between you and Cassian, his presence imposing. "Cassian," Bucky said, his voice steady but cold. "It's time for you to leave."

Cassian nodded, sensing the tension. "Of course. I'll see you later," he said to you, then turned and walked away.

Once Cassian was gone, you turned to Bucky, concern etched on your face. "What did my father say to you?"

Bucky's jaw tightened. "Nothing I can't handle," he replied, trying to sound reassuring but failing to hide the strain in his voice.

You reached out, touching his arm. "You can tell me, Bucky. We're in this together."

He took a deep breath, looking into your eyes. "He just reminded me of my place, that's all."

Your doubts grew stronger with every word. "I don't want this to be a marriage of fear and obligation," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Bucky took your hand, squeezing it gently. "I love you, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you," he said, his voice filled with determination.

But the look in his eyes told you there was more he wasn't saying. The seeds of doubt had been planted, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As you walked back to the palace together, the weight of the situation pressed down on you. You wanted to believe in Bucky, in your love, but the shadow of your father's tyranny loomed large, casting a dark cloud over your future.

👑👑👑👑👑

On the wedding day, Bucky stood in front of the mirror, his eyes locked on Veridian's royal army uniform. The intricate embroidery, the gleaming medals, the carefully tailored fabric seemed to shimmer with an unspoken weight. His heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat that matched the anxious tremors in his hands.

He was dressed in the very outfit that marked him as a symbol of honor and responsibility, but today, it felt like a shroud, heavy with expectation and fear.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. "This is the day we've been waiting for," he murmured to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words were meant to be reassuring but came out hollow, a weak echo of the tumult within him.

Every inch of the uniform felt like a reminder of the stakes at hand—the promise of a new life with you, intertwined with the shadows of deception and conflict that loomed large.

As he adjusted the gold-braided epaulets on his shoulders, something caught his eye. A single envelope lay on the table beside him, its presence an anomaly in the otherwise pristine room. Bucky picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly.

The envelope was plain, but the ominous red strokes that marked it were anything but ordinary. They looked like fresh blood, the stark color vivid against the cream of the envelope.

With a sense of foreboding, Bucky slid his finger under the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The words written on it were clear, but it felt like a dagger to his heart. “TRAITOR.”

The word seemed to pulse with a menacing energy, the red strokes bleeding through the paper as if tainted with a sinister intent. The simple, accusatory message sent a shiver down his spine. His mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. Who had sent this? How did they know? And most importantly, what did it mean for the ceremony about to take place?

His breath hitched as he looked at his reflection, realizing that today was not just a union but a stage for something much darker.

The uniform that had once symbolized his hopes now felt like a prison. The looming threat of betrayal overshadowed the day that was meant to be filled with joy and celebration.

With a clenched jaw and a resolve hardened by the weight of the message, Bucky tucked the letter back into the envelope and straightened his posture.

He knew that whatever lay ahead, he needed to face it head-on. Today was the culmination of years of waiting and planning, but it was also the beginning of a new chapter fraught with danger and uncertainty.

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[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Be Kind

But if you're gonna fight then do it for me (4)

Scarlet Witch x Witch!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Your Goddess defends you, transforming her into something different.

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, R calls SW Goddess, SW refers to R as pet, W calls R baby, R calls Wanda Mommy

A/N: The final chapter for these three. I loved them so very much and I hope you guys did too!

As a stray bolt of Doctor Strange's magic came hurtling towards you, you instinctively flinched, curling up into a defensive ball. But the Scarlet Witch was quicker. With a wave of her hand, she deflected the attack, her magic flaring brighter and more intense.

"Stay behind me, pet," she commanded, her voice distorted but unmistakably protective. You peeked up at her from your curled position, awestruck and terrified by her new form. The intricate, dark design of her mask and the raw power emanating from her made her look like a dark guardian, ready to do anything to keep you safe.

Doctor Strange hesitated for a moment, clearly taken aback by the Scarlet Witch's transformation. "Wanda, this isn't the way," he pleaded, trying to reason with her.

But the Scarlet Witch was beyond reason. "She is mine," she hissed, her voice echoing with power. "I will protect her at all costs."

With that, the battle resumed, even more intense than before. The Scarlet Witch's magic swirled around you, creating a shield that absorbed the impact of Doctor Strange's attacks. You could feel the heat and energy of the battle, but you knew that as long as your Goddess was there, you would be protected.

The battle raged on with neither side letting up. Spells clashed in the air, creating bursts of light and energy that lit up the field. The Scarlet Witch was relentless, her fury unmatched as she defended you. Eventually, realizing the battle was at a stalemate, she threw up a barrier and then summoned a portal.

With a swift motion, she picked you up effortlessly, her new form radiating both power and protectiveness. She hopped through the portal, taking you back home in an instant. You clung to her, feeling the warmth and strength of her body despite her fearsome appearance.

As you arrived back home, she held you tightly against her, her heartbeat quick and steady against your ear. Despite the distorted nature of her voice, you could hear the sincerity and determination in her words. "I won't let anyone take you from me, Y/N," she mumbled softly, almost to herself.

You nestled closer, feeling a mixture of fear and comfort. The Scarlet Witch, your Goddess, had fought fiercely to protect you, and in that moment, you knew that she would go to any lengths to keep you safe. The bond between you felt unbreakable, forged stronger through the fire of battle and the depth of her unwavering devotion.

You looked up at her, taking in her new appearance. Your hands moved up to cup her cheeks, feeling the black veins running down her skin, now pale. Her once beautiful crown was now a part of her face, and her eyes glowed red behind the barred mask. "I must be terrifying right now..." she admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

"No...you're my Goddess. You're always beautiful..." you whispered, your heart swelling with affection and loyalty. Without thinking, you leaned up and placed your lips on hers for the first time. The kiss was soft, a mix of love and reverence. When you pulled back, her appearance had shifted back to normal, her red eyes softening to the familiar green.

Your mind flickered to the thought of true love's kiss from all those fairy tales you were read growing up. Could it be that simple? The transformation, the intensity of her protective nature, all seemed to melt away with that one genuine act of love.

She looked down at you, her eyes searching yours. "You truly are devoted to me," she said softly, a smile playing on her lips. "I don't deserve you, but I will protect you with everything I have."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. "And I will always be here for you, my Goddess," you replied, snuggling closer to her, feeling the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heart. In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, the bond you shared was unbreakable.

==========

Following the battle with Strange, the Scarlet Witch decided it would be best to find a new spot to live. With her magic, it didn't take much for the two of you to move house. She packed up everything effortlessly, red energy swirling around the objects and neatly placing them into boxes. You watched in awe as the familiar surroundings of your old home were transformed into organized stacks, ready for the journey.

The new cottage was nestled deep in the middle of the woods, miles and miles from anyone else. It was quaint and charming, surrounded by towering trees and the serene sounds of nature. A perfect sanctuary, hidden away from prying eyes and potential threats.

As you arrived, the Scarlet Witch began unpacking with the same ease, her magic making light work of the task. You stood at the edge of the clearing, taking in the beauty of your new home. The air was fresh and clean, the scent of pine and earth filling your senses. Birds chirped in the distance, and the gentle rustle of leaves created a soothing background melody.

"Do you like it, pet?" she asked, her voice soft as she came to stand beside you. Her eyes were their familiar green, filled with a mix of determination and tenderness.

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. "It's perfect, my Goddess. Thank you."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Good. We'll be safe here. No one will find us." Her tone was resolute, a promise of protection.

Over the next few days, you settled into your new routine. The cottage was cozy, with a stone fireplace, wooden beams, and large windows that let in plenty of natural light. The Scarlet Witch had even created a small garden outside, filled with vibrant flowers and herbs.

Every morning, you woke up to the sound of birdsong and the warmth of the sun streaming through the windows. You spent your days learning more about your magic, under the watchful eye of your Goddess. She was a strict but patient teacher, guiding you through each spell with care. Your nights were filled with quiet moments by the fire, cuddled up with her as she read or simply held you close.

One evening, as you sat by the fire, you looked up at her, a question forming in your mind. "Scarlet, why did you choose this place?"

She glanced at you, a small smile playing on her lips. "Because it's far away from everything and everyone. It's peaceful. And it's a place where we can be ourselves, without any interruptions."

You nodded, understanding the deeper meaning behind her words. This place was more than just a home; it was a refuge, a place where you could both heal and grow together. As you leaned against her, feeling the steady beat of her heart, you knew that no matter where you were, as long as you were with her, you were home.

You hadn't seen Mommy in weeks while your Goddess had taken back over. Though your Goddess had become softer since the kiss, Mommy's absence was deeply felt. The contrast between them was stark; for two beings sharing a body, they couldn't be more different.

Your Goddess still held an air of authority, a presence that demanded respect and obedience. She was strict, yet not as harsh as before. She had rules and expectations, and while she allowed for moments of tenderness, there was always a reminder of her dominance. You were still her pet, a role you embraced with devotion and reverence.

But Mommy—Mommy was warmth and comfort, a sanctuary of unconditional love. With her, you felt like you could let your guard down completely. Her touch was gentle, her words soothing. She was nurturing, always ready to hold you close and whisper sweet reassurances. In her presence, you were more than just a pet; you were her cherished baby.

The days felt longer without her. You followed your Goddess's commands, practiced your magic, and did everything to please her, but the longing for Mommy's tender affection was always there. You missed the way she would stroke your hair, the softness in her voice, and the safe, warm embrace that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session of magic training, you found yourself sitting on the floor by the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames. The cottage was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves outside. Your Goddess was at her desk, reading an ancient tome, her expression focused and intense.

You dared to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. "Goddess, may I ask a question?"

She glanced up, her eyes meeting yours. "What is it, pet?"

You hesitated, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Will... will Mommy come back soon?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to your surprise, the intensity in her eyes softened. She closed the tome and stood, walking over to you. Kneeling down, she lifted your chin, her gaze penetrating yet kind.

"She misses you too, you know," she said softly. "But there are things I must take care of. Responsibilities and tasks that require my attention."

You nodded, understanding yet still yearning. "I miss her," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

She brushed a tear from your cheek with a gentle touch. "I know, pet. I promise she will return. And when she does, she will hold you and love you as much as she always has."

You leaned into her touch, feeling a flicker of hope. "Thank you, Goddess."

She smiled, a rare and beautiful sight. "Now, come. Let's get you to bed. You need your rest."

As she led you to your makeshift bed by her feet, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of anticipation. The promise of Mommy's return filled your heart with a renewed sense of hope and comfort, knowing that soon, you would be wrapped in her loving embrace once more.

=============

You sat by the fireplace with Nugget, using him as a makeshift pillow while the fire kept you warm. Your Goddess was on the couch, reading over a book. The soft crackling of the fire and the rhythmic turning of pages were soothing, and you closed your eyes, feeling a sense of peace and contentment.

What felt like only a moment later, you were gently awoken by the familiar sensation of her magic lifting you up. You opened your eyes to find yourself being placed onto her lap. Your once harsh Goddess had softened ever since you had kissed her. The change was palpable; her touch was tender, and her eyes, though still powerful, held a warmth that made your heart flutter. The two of you were settling into each other, finding a new rhythm that blended the lines of pet and cherished companion.

"Hi baby, did you miss Mommy?" she whispered in your ear, her breath sending shivers down your spine. A smile broke across your face, and a giggle bubbled up from within you, unable to be contained.

"Yes, Mommy," you replied, snuggling closer to her. The soft fabric of her sweater felt comforting against your skin, and her arms around you made you feel safe and loved. "I missed you so much."

Her fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, soothing and affectionate. "I missed you too, sweet girl," she murmured. "Every moment we spend together is precious to me."

You looked up at her, your eyes meeting hers. "You make me so happy, Mommy."

Her smile widened, and she kissed the top of your head. "And you make me happy too, little one. So very happy."

The fire crackled beside you, casting a warm glow over the room. Outside, the sounds of the forest provided a serene backdrop to this intimate moment. You felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over you, knowing that you were right where you belonged.

"Mommy," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Yes, baby?" she responded, her voice soft and reassuring.

"I love you."

Her arms tightened around you, and she kissed your forehead. "I love you too, my sweet girl. More than you can ever know."

===========

Six months had passed, and life had taken on a new, comforting rhythm. You now had a room of your own, a small shed outback that Wanda had transformed into a cozy art studio. It was a place of solace, a haven where you could lose yourself in the colors and strokes of your brushes. The shed was filled with canvases, some finished, others still in progress, and the smell of oil and acrylic paints lingered in the air.

Wanda had given you this space, recognizing your need for a personal sanctuary. You had always loved painting, creating beautiful landscapes and scenes that seemed to flow effortlessly from your mind onto the canvas. What started as a hobby had become something more profound. Wanda often referred to your paintings as prophetic, noting how events depicted in your artwork would later unfold in reality. It was as if you were capturing glimpses of the future without even realizing it.

Today, you were working on a new piece, a serene forest scene bathed in the golden light of dawn. The trees stood tall and majestic, their leaves a vibrant mix of greens and yellows, while a gentle stream wound its way through the underbrush. You lost yourself in the details, the brush moving with a life of its own.

As you painted, you thought about the changes that had come into your life. The once strict and imposing presence of your Goddess had softened considerably. Wanda and the Scarlet Witch had found a balance, coexisting in a way that allowed both to express their unique forms of love and care for you. You still followed the rules, still respected the boundaries set by your Goddess, but there was a tenderness now that hadn't existed before.

The door to your studio creaked open, and you turned to see Wanda standing there, a soft smile on her lips. She looked at the painting, her eyes filled with admiration and a hint of curiosity.

"Another masterpiece, I see," she said, stepping inside. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you, Mommy," you replied, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at her praise. "I love how this one is turning out."

Wanda moved closer, her eyes scanning the canvas. "It's peaceful. I hope it stays that way."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind her words. Many of your paintings had foreseen conflicts and challenges, but this one felt different. It was calm, serene—a welcome change.

"I wanted to create something peaceful," you said softly. "Something that reminds us of the beauty in the world."

Wanda placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "You've done more than that, sweetheart. You've given us hope."

You looked up at her, seeing the genuine affection in her eyes. "I just paint what I see."

"And what you see is a gift," she replied, her voice tender. "Never forget that."

You turned back to the painting, adding a few final touches to the sunlight filtering through the trees. Wanda stayed by your side, watching in silence. The bond between you had grown stronger, and you felt more at peace than you had in a long time.

As the day turned to evening, you and Wanda walked back to the cottage together, the warmth of her presence wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Life with your Goddess and Mommy was a delicate balance, but it was one filled with love, understanding, and a shared sense of purpose.

Inside the cottage, the fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room. You settled by Wanda's feet, leaning into her as she stroked your hair, the familiar feeling of safety and belonging washing over you. No matter what the future held, you knew you would face it together, drawing strength from the love that bound you all.

[senblades]

Hi :)

I love your art and your writing, and you have such a great grasp of these characters that I was wondering if you have any fic recs? Rating doesn't matter ;)

boy do I! (and ty for the compliment <3 <3 <3)

[cracks knuckles] alrighty:

The Dissapearence of Goro Akechi by Kupowonders - Probably my favourite fic ever, honestly- it's like. derailing the plot of persona 5 post-medjed thanks to the persona 4 accomplice ending years prior. (So, spoilers for p4 in that, too) it's. very good.

Marigolds by Colbub - Akechi gets ng+'ed to right when he started working for Shido, and has to take a good look at the future to come and be like "Aight how the fuck do I fix this". Fun times!

Daredevil, You've hit the wall by ez_cookie. Essentially, p5 Strikers but Sumire and Goro get to be in on the fun, too. And, there's a direct sequel currently being updated that's a similar premise for p5 Tactica. very very good stuff

A Tale of Two Tricksters by Zoe2k8 - Murder boyfriends! ...sort of? Angst! Angst and murder boyfriends! An oversimplification, obviously, but I'm not kidding when I say this fic is amazing and is also over a million words holy shit-

Throw away your mask by MollyPollyKinz - Another ng+ situation for Akechi, but this time the poor guy gets thrown all the way to 2009. You can imagine how well that goes (For the audience, less so for Akechi himself.)

The Crow Cries at Midnight by Dorked. hehe this one is very fun. Basically, a series of coincedencs causes Akechi to get thrown into the plot of persona 4. No time travel here! Just a grumpy 12/13 year-old Akechi trying to solve a murder mystery

The entire Tales of Chaos series by Eternalmomentss (The first one is called Like sand between your fingers) Very very good stuff! Something of a character study, I would say, of Ren and Goro. Plus, all the funky plot stuff that comes from trickster-typical bad luck and poor descision making. I really love this series hehe

uhh this post is getting very long I need to make this less wordy- lightning round?

Hunger for a life by Leonawriter - do you like vampires? I sure do! Mix that and the p5 plot and you get shenanigins. [evil laughter] a lot of shenanigins

Fishbowl by KivaEmber - Akechi has a terrible time in Maruki's reality. And I mean a terrible time

You have a beautiful smile underneath that mask by Saposaki - Akechi has a crush on Akira and Joker has a crush on Crow. No one is aware of the other's secret identity. Dramatic irony and hilarity ensues.

MASTERMiND by StumblingBlock - No Metaverse au where Akira really doesn't want to follow in the footsteps of his crime family, and fails miserably

Rose and Rot by SixteenJuniper - Read this!! I'm serious!! "A fun fantasy adventure" don't listen to Juniper. You'll be in tears by chapter two. (/pos, of course) (Seriously this fic is incredible)

Redressing the Balance by Convocated - ...almost a ng+? Ng+, in the sense that shuake are getting funky visions that are very quickly derailing the standard plot of p5r. This causes problems of the "Someone get the popcorn and maybe the tissues" variety

She's got a heartbeat full of lead (And she's aiming straight for the head) by Dots - This fic haunts me, often. In the best way possible, of course; but seriously, read it

Cracked into by SydneyHorses - Ren makes bad descisions and it becomes Akechi's problem. 2/2 timeloop, perhaps most notably featuring HaruGoro friendship! Love love love this fic

Okay that wasn't as "less wordy" as I intended but it'll do

Aaaand that's a wrap! Sorry for the long post.. and this is by no means all of the fics that I've ever loved (nor are the ones here in any particular order) but I swear we'll be here all week if I keep going HAHA

ty for the ask (and again for the kind words), anon! Hope this was helpful and to your tastes! (I... hope you like Shuake HAHA it's present in most of these- I assume you do, since you came to me (points at literally everything shuake I've made) of all people, but uh. Some of these fics are gen if it's not to your liking?)

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 5

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.4k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI, no smut. Protective Simon, Protective Johnny, Possessive Simon, brief mention of children, anxiety, Simon has a lot of feelings, relationship issues, angst, comfort, mention of assault, established throuple.  The three of you go shopping.

Simon does not like this realtor. He does not like the way she looks at you, like she’s looking down her nose, like she thinks you’re less somehow. He does not like how she appraises both himself and Johnny, like she’s trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle in her mind. He watches in disgust as she tries to touch Johnny, her fingers just missing his elbow, like he’s some sort of prized animal on display for her to take part of. He briefly fantasizes about scaring her, threatening her so she runs far, far away from his family in fear, never to bother them again.

In Simon’s defense, his emotional and mental state are currently sitting on a razor thin wire. He is volatile. He is anxious, and uncomfortable, and frightened. He watches your every expression; he tracks your every movement. He takes note of your inflection, your rhythm, the pitch of your voice. He tenses when he sees you standing next to an open door.

He is afraid if he turns around, or blinks too slowly, you could be gone.

And he already knows that if it were to happen, again, he would not be able to hold himself together like last time. He would not be able to keep both himself and Johnny upright. He would crack. He would crumble.

They would be lost.

Johnny approaches him from the east, from the formal dining room that has the floor to ceiling windows that you were so excited about. You peer from them, eyes darting down and up and all around, and he watches for the tell-tale sign of you feeling overwhelmed, the clench of your nails to your palm. When it doesn’t come, he rolls his shoulders, shaking a minuscule amount of tension free from his bones.

“What’d ye think?” Johnny slides a hand under his sweatshirt, across his ribs and then up, to his breastbone. His heart thumps hard against his palm, and Simon closes his eyes to draw a deep breath.

“I like it. Liked the last one too. And the one before that…”

“The realtor?”  

“She’s a right cunt.” He hisses, and Johnny chuckles.

“’M pure done in, I think.” Johnny opens his mouth onto Simon’s shoulder, and he feels the press, the points of his teeth through the fabric and his skin. His blood heats, and he turns his head slightly, just enough that their noses nearly touch.

“Behave.”

“Always behave for you, LT.” He pauses, watching you. “She likes this one more.” You’re looking down at the hardwood, inspecting the dark stain of a black-grey color that runs through the entire flat, pointing at something and asking the realtor a question. She answers you curtly, and Simon can tell from where he stands that the dismissal in her tone hurts your feelings. His fingers curl into a fist, and then you’re looking over to the two of them, something soft and hopeful written across your face. The light from the very tall windows streams down on top of you, shining onto your hair, your skin, your lips that are turned upwards in a timid smile. It reflects through your eyes, shimmering across your irises and swirling in the depths of their color, pulling them both towards you like they’ve been hypnotized.

It takes his breath away. It takes Johnny’s too, because he whistles out a low murmur that only Simon can hear.

“Bloody hell, Si. That’s our girl.”

“Close your eyes.” Johnny urges, and you chew on your lip nervously while you look between the two of them. “D’you trust us?” 

You nod. Simon tilts his head, regarding you silently, teeth clenched tight behind the mask. 

“You’re not gonna like… do something weird right? We talked about boundaries…” Johnny laughs, and then kisses your clavicle in the slow way that Simon likes, the slow way that Johnny touches him too. 

“No, love. We’d never cross your boundaries.” He tries to reassure you, but your gaze flicks upwards from where you’re sitting in front of Simon, like you’re waiting for him to say something. 

He nods. A burst of words builds up inside of him, a plea, a confession, a promise. He wants to tell you that you can trust him, that all he wants is to taste you, press his lips to yours, savor the breath of your moans and whimpers, promise you that you have nothing to fear. He wants to tell you he’ll take care of you, that he and Johnny will keep you, keep you with them, keep you safe, keep you happy. He wants to tell you all the things you’re not ready to hear yet. Wants to tell you you’re precious, so precious to them already. That you buried yourself beneath their skin, worked your way into their hearts. All without even seeing his face. With baring your body to him, but never pushing him to reveal himself. Never demanding anything from him. 

He says none of it, only nods. Only hopes. 

It’s enough, and he relaxes a fraction when you do close your eyes. 

Johnny’s palm rests across the bridge of your nose, effectively blocking your sight, and Simon pulls the mask away, folding it carefully before pushing it down into his pocket. He holds your chin between his fingers, tilting your face to expose your neck, the beating pulse under your jaw. 

When he kisses you, it’s effortless, and he tries to keep his head straight while your mouth and all its heat meets him equally and unafraid. 

He pulls on Johnny’s wrist, freeing your vision to reveal your eyes still clenched shut, your faith and trust on obvious display, your eagerness to do as he’s asked striking something sharp and pleasurable in his body. You’re so, so good, so sweet for them. So perfect. 

“Open your eyes, darling.” He instructs, and you frown, brows creased in confusion. He strokes your cheekbone with a thumb reassuringly before repeating himself. “It’s alright.” He promises, and you finally relent. 

When you do, and you finally see him, truly see him for the first time, your face breaks into a radiant smile, and it nearly stops his heart. 

“What do you think?” The realtor asks, and her eyes glitter when she glances at Johnny’s position over Simon’s shoulder, where he’s leaning with his hand still wrapped around his torso.

“It’s up to her.” Johnny inclines his head to where you’re standing in the kitchen, inspecting the cabinets.

“Hey, these are like the slow close drawers.” You say over your shoulder, pulling one out and then pushing it back in to show them, an excited grin pushing your cheeks up. The act of selling the old flat and getting a new one is not a cure all for what ails you, what ails them, but it is a step in the right direction. A step that will lead to the next, and then the next, until they’ve cut out all the rot that’s festered in your head. A step you have seemed to embrace wholeheartedly, even if Simon is having trouble letting go of his worries regarding how you’re feeling.

Breathe. She’s right here. You’re all together. 

“Come here, darling.” Simon implores, and you do so willingly, sidling over to stand in front of them, casually watching the realtor who’s lurking at the edge of the room. “What do you think?”

“I like it.” You nod, more so to yourself than to him or Johnny. “It’s… awfully big? But I don’t hate that about it. I mean, I’m not sure what we need with three, four bedrooms if you count the sunroom but I could turn one into an office so I could work from home more.” He feels Johnny’s mouth curve into a smile on his shoulder and he allows one to stretch across his face as well. You look between them hesitantly, and then your fingers curl into your palm. “Or, we could leave them both as spares, whatever you wa-“

“It’s what you want, darling.” Johnny emphasizes, beating him to it, and Simon nods his agreement. “We want you to have what you want. It’s your home.”

“Okay, yeah. Then… I like it. A lot.”

“What about an art room? Didn’t you have in your last flat?” You smile again, face bright and beaming.

“Yeah! That would be great.” You look over at the kitchen and its tall cabinets again before turning back to them. “And I love the kitchen. I think it’s more than big enough.” Simon agrees, and pictures you in the kitchen with them, sitting on the counter while Johnny cooks, half your body covered by a t shirt, feet slipped into too big socks. “But we’ll have to change the tub.” You frown, and Johnny rolls his eyes playfully before he pulls you into his arms.

“You sure about that love? Looked plenty big to me.”

“What? No… definitely not.”

“Definitely yes.” You scoff. “Don’t believe me, go check.” When you push away from him to do just that, Johnny leans his head on Simon’s shoulder as they indulgently watch you walk away.

“A lot of bedrooms.” Johnny whispers and Simon immediately shakes his head.

“Don’t, Johnny.” He admonishes.

“Ya never know Si. All our dreams have come true so far, ‘aven’t they? What’s one more?” Simon scowls at him. “Or two.”

“Johnny.” He warns, voice low. The last thing they need is for you to come around the corner and hear him indulging in his wildest fantasies, his whispered prayers that he’s only ever dreamed about in private, only ever told Simon about when he thought he might die in Las Almas.

Johnny’s quiet for a minute, and then sighs.

“You’re right.” He resists the urge to say I know, and instead leans in for a kiss, brushing his lips against Johnny’s, his mouth opening slowly, slick heat of their tongues against one another going straight to his head, sending blood rushing through his body-

The realtor clears her throat with an annoying, high-pitched cough, and Simon turns with a huff of irritation.

“We’ll take this one.”

“What’re you on about, LT?” Johnny’s hot on his heels, practically breathing down his neck while Simon tries to get free of his tac vest. 

“I said, fuck off Soap.” Get away. Get away, get away, go away. Go anywhere else. The mask on his face suddenly feels suffocating, the entire hall feels suffocating, and he pushes through the door to the tiny four walls that houses his bed so he can rip the skull free from his head and finally breathe. 

The door swings shut. Johnny stands just inside, just enough inside that the door can close, his body pressed between the edge of his dresser and the door frame. 

“Ghost.” Simon trains his eyes on the floor. Maybe, if he ignores him, he’ll leave. If he pretends he’s not here in the first place, he’ll take his bloody mohawk and charming eyes and beautiful face and get the fuck out of his room. “Simon.” Johnny presses, and it’s enough of a match on the gunpowder to set off an explosion. 

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.” Simon throws the mask at the wall, the sound of the hard-shell clattering to the floor while his lungs draw air in harshly. “I told you to fuck off, Soap. Now get the hell out of my room or-“ 

“Or what, LT?” Rage boils in Simon’s blood, hot, burning anger that sears him from the inside out. He steps closer to Johnny, closes the distance until his chest is touching his tac vest, the only barrier left between their bodies. 

He expects to see fear in Johnny’s face. Expects to bask in it, wants to relish in it. He wants Johnny to feel as he does, wants him to know the cold grip of fear around his throat, wants him to understand. He wants Johnny to know what it’s like, to be afraid of losing everything, even things he doesn’t have yet. 

He does not expect to see softness in Johnny’s face. Patience. Kindness. Adoration. He did not expect to step closer, as close as he could, and he did not expect to feel Johnny’s hand take his, the bare skin bleeding warmth through his glove, an intentional pressure pulling him in closer and closer until his face is a mere centimeter from Simon’s, and then a millimeter, and then just a breath’s distance away, the softness in his eyes unchanging, the understanding still as solid as it was a day, a week, a month ago. 

Simon does not expect to press his lips to Johnny’s. He doesn’t think Johnny expected it either. All he knows is one moment, he was nearing a rage filled blackout, and the next, his mouth is tasting Johnny and his honey sweet lips, their sweet, sugar like softness pressed gently against him, opening for him, letting him swipe his tongue behind his teeth and pull him in for more. It’s intoxicating, and more than he’s ever dreamed, more than he’s ever hoped for. 

“Eejit.” Soap hisses, but his mouth twists into a smile. “You’re a bleedin’ fool, Simon Riley.” 

“I know.” He agrees, because he must, and then takes Johnny’s mouth again, rougher, more demanding, before his hand finds the deadbolt and slides it into place. 

“It’s been a pleasure.” The realtor’s obnoxious smile grates on Simon, and he tries not to display his impatience while she speaks to the three of you. “If you’re ever in the market again, I’d love to do business with you.” She hands Johnny a card, but her fingers linger on his skin, and Simon beats back the urge to throw his body between them.

“Don’t touch him.” He snaps, the sharp crack of his tone whipping across the sidewalk to where you freeze with your eyes shuttered, lip tugged between your teeth. The realtor has the guts to look shocked, or offended, but Simon cares for none of it. In this moment, he does not care that she’s been discreet about the fact that they’re buying through a shell company, doesn’t care that she’s made last minute changes to accommodate them, doesn’t care that she’s shown every single listing that you marked down hastily this morning. All he cares about is that she keeps touching what’s his and hurting what’s his along with it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

“Ya didn’t.” Johnny agrees, and you watch Simon carefully from where you stand, until you’re wrapping a hand around his waist, and laying your head against his body.

“It’s alright.” You mumble into him, your face pressed against his arm, doe eyes peeking upwards, something calm, but unsteady, reflecting in your gaze. You’re looking to him for reassurance, for him to agree and say that yes, everything is alright, and he feels a small sliver of weight lift from his shoulders.

You’re still looking to him. You trust them. You’re still here.

Johnny’s head is in his lap, freshly washed strands of mohawk laying against the bare skin of his thigh, Johnny’s hand tucked between his back and the couch. It’s the afternoon, and you’ve been at work late, and both he and Johnny are eager for you get home. Their last mission went a few days long, and they only got in an hour before you had to leave this morning. 

You wanted to call in sick, but he had forced you out the door. All they’d be doing is sleeping anyway, he assured you. They needed to get caught up on actual rest.

When the front door slams, Johnny jerks upwards, an elbow supporting his weight, and Simon turns to where he believes he will see you walking past the kitchen towards them.

Except, you’re not. You’re standing in front of the door. Far enough away that he can’t read the expression on your face, but he instantly knows something is wrong. Uneasiness tugs at his gut and he shifts, pushing Johnny completely upright so they both can see you better. When he does get a better glimpse, his stomach completely sours.

You’re crying.

You’ve got a palm pressed over your mouth like you’re trying to hold it in, but you’re shaking, and tears are spilling down your cheeks.

He experiences a million emotions. Panic. Fear. Anxiety. Rage at whatever’s happened to make you feel this way.

“Darling?” He calls, standing behind Johnny, not even realizing that they’re both practically trying to vault over the couch to get to you, nearly stepping on top of one another.

He gets there first, and slowly grazes a light touch along your forearm. Your eyes are wide, and frightened, and he swallows the nausea that’s building up in his throat. “What is it?”

“There was a… a m-man.” You croak and his vision ebbs with darkness. He looks closer, and sees the red mark on your wrist, notices the way your work bag strap is torn at the top where its sewn in. 

“What happened?” Johnny’s already pulling your bag free from your body, but your fingers are twisted around the strap so tightly it looks like they hurt. 

“I don’t know,” you try to take a deep breath but fail, and Simon tries not to throw up. “Th-ere was a man. I thought he was homeless, and he looked sad… I- I thought he needed help but then he gra-grabbed me.” 

“Where?” Johnny presses and you try to explain what street it was, but Simon doesn’t hear anything you’re saying. He’s too busy staring at your wrist, staring at the torn strap of your backpack. Someone tried to hurt you. Someone touched you. He closes his eyes and counts his breathing, lost in trying to keep himself calm until he feels a hand on the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing a soothing circle into his skin. Johnny’s thumb. “She’s alright, Si.” He whispers, to which Simon nods, snapping his eyes open. You’re still standing in front of him, head tipped back, eyes wide. He steps forward without another thought and crushes your body to his chest, nose indulgently seeking your hair so he can breathe the smell of your shampoo in as deeply as possible. Johnny doesn’t let go of his neck, just rubs gentle touches into him while he holds you, the three of you moving closer and closer into perfectly aligned orbit until he’s settling you on the couch in his lap, Johnny tucked under his arm. 

Safe. You’re here, Johnny is here. You’re both safe. You’re both here. 

You’re exhausted by the time they get you into bed, your body limp and pliable, face sad and confused. 

“I thought he needed help.” You mumble into Simon while Johnny works on a cup of chamomile, and he holds you tighter, arms like a vice grip around your waist. 

“Shhh. I know, darling. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You sniffle, skin still raw from your tears, and he presses you into your body like he wants to consume you, hide you from the world, take you away from anything that could hurt you. Simon is a killer, but you and Johnny have turned him into something more. You’ve taught Simon he has the capacity to care for something sweet, something delicate. Given him and Johnny a chance to have something good besides each other, to love in a way they’ve only dreamt about. 

You sigh, and he strokes a finger down your cheek. A gesture softer than he’d ever thought himself capable of, before Johnny, before you. “Close your eyes. We’ll be right here.” 

It’s later in the evening when Simon watches a crack reopen like a wound that’s been freshly sewn shut, splitting free after being pushed or pulled too much in one direction.

It happens when his phone rings. You and Johnny are in the bedroom, packing items away into boxes, wrapping fragile things in newspaper and bubble wrap, the sound of your voices carrying on floating through the hall to where he sits on the couch.

The entire flat goes dead silent when everyone hears the ringer go off. You and Johnny appear from the room like you’ve been summoned, Johnny’s hand firm around your shoulder, your eyes desperate, seeking Simon for some kind of reassurance.

Simon doesn’t need to check the caller ID to know who it is. Only one person calls him after hours. Only one person has the right to interrupt his time at home, his time with his family.

Price.

[st4rtar0t]

Describing your love story in a poem 🪄

These poems belong to me and me only. If you're going to use them please give credits.

Please like and share to show your love and support

Pick a picture from below

Picture one

In a world where love was doubted, they stood strong,

Two hearts scarred by life, they'd been through so wrong.

Neither believed in love, for they'd felt its cruel art,

But fate had a different plan, to mend each broken part.

In secret they met, their love a hidden treasure,

Family reasons kept them quiet, a clandestine pleasure.

They faced the world's judgments, their love held the key,

For in each other's arms, they found what was meant to be.

Through trials and tribulations, they clung to one another,

Defying all odds, they knew love like no other.

And as time passed by, hearts began to mend,

Their love story grew strong, no need to pretend.

The day finally came, when they could stand tall,

No longer hidden in shadows, they broke down the wall.

Family and friends, once doubtful and wary,

Now embraced their love, a bond they'd no longer bury.

So remember this tale of love, both tender and true,

For even in darkness, love can find its way through.

No matter the odds or the trials they may face,

Love conquers all, with its warm, sweet embrace.

Picture two

In a world of noise, they found their space,

Two souls seeking solace, in a silent embrace.

Not themselves entirely, till they crossed the line,

From friendship to love, a love so divine.

Their journey began with laughter and cheer,

As friends, they stood by, year after year.

But beneath the surface, a connection did grow,

A love that was patient, steady, and slow.

Together they conquered, hand in hand they soared,

In the face of challenges, they were never floored.

Supporting each other, they reached for the sky,

Their dreams intertwined, reaching oh so high.

Boredom was a stranger when they were side by side,

In silence, in laughter, in tears they'd confide.

No judgments were passed, no masks to wear,

In each other's company, they found love's tender care.

Their love story unique, a treasure to behold,

Two souls finding peace, their hearts made of gold.

From friendship to love, they'd forever be,

An epitome of love, for all to see.

Picture three

In a world where love's path seemed twisted and long,

Two hearts, once broken, sang a different song.

They'd been through the hurt, the tears, and the pain,

But little did they know, it wasn't in vain.

Searching for love, they'd both been around,

But it seemed that true love couldn't be found.

Heartbreaks and lessons, they gathered like gold,

Each one a story, a chapter to be told.

Then fate intervened, brought them face to face,

In each other's arms, they found their safe place.

They looked in each other's eyes, and they knew,

All the heartaches before led them here, it's true.

Every tear they had shed, every lonely night,

Led them to this moment, everything felt right.

They held each other close, hearts finally free,

Grateful for the journey that brought them to be.

For all the past pain, they'd willingly pay,

To find this true love, to feel this way.

In each other's arms, they found their worth,

A love that was real, the sweetest on Earth.

[collectingavenuesmwue]

List of 100+ skk fics

I’m so sorry this is really disorganized 😭 I haven’t read a majority of these so I have no clue which are multi-chapters or one-shots 🙏🙏

GOOD LUCK GUYS‼️

This is how it feels to take a fall - forest_raccoon

Willful neglect - toucheslikethesun

I’ll always come for chuuya - anon

I was screaming your name through the radio - ElectricSplatter

A lesson in thorns - arkastadt 

When i awake - wildflowertea 

Because i’m not me without you - millelav 

For one day - StarshipDancer

A peer behind the mask - karmicMayhem 

Its easy if it’s you - lunarumbra 

Lie lie truth - StarshipDancer

i’ll bleed out for you - Starshipdancer 

Linger - iskendaris 

Six peculiar things about chuuya nakahara according to dazai - BlowingYourMind

Untainted memories - serenathea 

Narrow staircases - rutu14 

Picking a flower that blooms on the heart for you - burgundytshirt 

Home is where the heart is - setosdarkness 

360 degrees - setosdarkness

Dearest hatrack- xxalwayssofia 

This isn’t giving up no this is letting go - Erica45

Do i get my worthless reward yet? - World_Ender22 

Alexithymia - pitouchips  (I have a shrine in my head for this fic it’s so scrumptious)

When Humanity leaves - TheBloodySadist

The harder they fall - the_most_happy (This one is really cute)

Firefly - aetta

Everything had changed, yet the moon was still there -  fifi_writes

Going home - silaswastaken 

Without words - starshipdancer

Hide the truth - writingfromtheshadows

I’ll always come for chuuya - timeisdancing 

All my own - halfbloom (diphylleias)

Around we go (and back again) - zombiemarker

Bite your tongue - soupthatistoohot 

All the holes we had to breathe - airiena 

Deaths offers no absolution - Zairielon 

Like a piece of glass - kagshina 

Over every extinguished past - tucuxi

Silent sorrows/ loud feelings - foundmywei 

STORM - findmywei

Stay - the_most_happy

Clear skies - burgundytshirt

I’ll make a home in your gut because it’s somewhere warm to sleep - arahabakii 

Replaceable- timeisdancing

Run away with me - timeisdancing

I was never meant to last - timeisdancing

Lessons in kissing - timeisdancing 

The void is loud and wants tuna - mistflowerxuan 

The last string to sever - foundmywei

His dark eyes got a little lighter - blowingyourmind (This fic is so cute)

Seeing red - athenaistired

I’ll die in his cold, cold arms - venusdahlia (I LOVE this fic)

Id do it all again (and i will) -noomm9393 

Willful neglect - timeisdancing

Teenage nightmares commit atrocities - forever_wandering

Snow white and the huntsman - paranoid_fridge

One more time with feelings - Root (Fyki)

Doll parts - the_most_happy

If you refuse to listen i’ll say it twice, love of my life - olympiansally 

Sulfur and vinegar - jjmvge 

Rum-flavoured tales - blackoocat  (Ilove this fic it’s so cute)

30 kisses - setosdarkness

Partners - setosdarkness

Wet bandages - starshipdancer

Moving pains - cactusnamedbob

Realizations in a shared hotel room - setosdarkness

Only for you - StormDew2

A game of honesty - starshipdancer

For the rest of the hour - photography_tea

Selfish - Root(fyki)

Sleeping habits - purplesan

All these reckless night - feralrookie(ag_sasami)

So if you go too far i’ll be there - Kimisu

Cuddles for a god - gay._and_dying

You’re drunk (but i guess i’ll stay) - StormDew2

Comforts of the floor - smol_biblophile_firefly

This side of you - soukokuparadise

Come lie with my bones - nolongersorrows 

Slightly more human - bullshitzarry

The fire under his skin - blowingyourmind

The moments in between - hellcatspangledshalalala

Recovery - rutu14

Stab wound - sp1tl0rd

It starts with bloodshed - parasocialism

All that i can give for you - Bitterbutcute

A place like this - roadtosomewhere

Whispers in the dark - castielwho

Lend me your shoulder (i’ve never had someone to lean on) - scripted_suicide

I have died every night waking for you (all alone i have been waiting for you) - scripted_suicide

An attempt at intimacy - unc4nnycrypt1d

Hey look, the sky’s falling apart - saffroncassis (aww this one’s cute)

For the record - zombiemarker

A mouth to empty into - SERIES osamuchuu

Love is not a victory march - osamuchuu

Believe me darling, the stars were made for falling - communist_sasuke

Trust fall - insi

Even the darkness we’re watching is so beautiful - Nastyaex

Stay - neon_toad

Where are you? - doeinsinct

Run away with me - Anon

Stay the night - Shinkirou

Fool for loyalty, or some other word - osamuchuu

Under wraps - coffeebiscuits 

Nothing more important than you - stormdew2

The heat of your orange - etrevil 

Mors Vincit Omnia - themadtree 

The city where the wind blows - Raven_Rein (MY GOD THIS IS BEAUTIFUL)

ANY likeshining fics please they’re great

Dazai in 2010 - HyperNovva

Heartless - arkastadat

Inseparable - milwritescausewhynot

Turning pages - arkastadat

x - strawberry_wlw (skk as math equations this wa so cute)

When I awake - wildflowertea

So if I survive, then I’ll see you tomorrow - prettysicknasty

Can I help you? - Or the hilariously ironic yet accidentally romantic tale of the bookshop cashier who never read and the literature major who couldn’t stop - EuGrace

Brute - moved (liberateas)

Soul - roadtosomewhere

The (latte) art of seduction - prsnlenvy

Harvester of Sorrow - arkastadt

What is being human anyway? - why_cant_turtles_fly (PLEASE READ THIS GUYS PLEASEPLEASE)

[pinkthick]

Ephemeral Voices

Pairing: Human!Alastor & Female!Reader (He will love the reader but not in the way you think)

Human!Alastor & Human!Mimzy

Summary: Alastor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers "I do not know, my dear." he replied, extending a gloved hand towards her. “Care to find out?”

Notes: I do not know what I’m doing but enjoy 😭😭 (Credits to the artist @xixixixi1037 on Twitter)

Masterlist

Chapter one: May I join you?

In the dimly lit jazz club, the air hummed with the sultry notes of saxophones and the rhythmic tapping of drumsticks. Y/N sat at the corner table, her fingers tracing the rim of her whiskey glass as she lost herself in the melodies swirling around her. The ambience was intoxicating, drawing her deeper into the world of jazz.

Mimzy, her vivacious friend and a regular performer at the club, took center stage, her voice weaving through the room like silk. Y/N watched with a fond smile, admiring Mimzy's talent as she commanded the attention of the audience.

Amidst the crowd, a figure caught Y/N's eye. Tall and enigmatic, he moved with an effortless grace that seemed to defy the very essence of the music. His crimson suit gleamed under the soft glow of the stage lights, and his presence exuded an aura of mystery.

Alastor, that was his name, though Y/N didn't know it yet. He danced with Mimzy, his steps synchronized with the rhythm of the jazz. There was something captivating about him, something that tugged at the edges of Y/N's curiosity.

She took another sip of her whiskey, her gaze never leaving the pair on the dance floor. There was a story there, she could sense it—a tale woven within the threads of music and movement.

As the night deepened, Y/N found herself drawn closer to the stage, her heart quickening with each note that hung in the air. Alastor's presence loomed larger, casting a spell that seemed to envelop her in its embrace.

Mimzy's voice faded into the background, replaced by the sound of her own heartbeat as she watched Alastor's every move. His eyes, piercing and intense, met hers across the room, sparking an electric current that sent shivers down her spine.

Their gazes lingered, a silent exchange of recognition and intrigue. Y/N's pulse quickened, her mind ablaze with questions she couldn't yet voice. Who was this man, and what secrets lay hidden behind his captivating facade?

As the final notes of the jazz melody faded into the night, Alastor and Mimzy took their bows, their performance met with thunderous applause from the audience. Y/N remained rooted to her spot, her thoughts consumed by the enigmatic stranger who had ignited a flame within her soul.

In the hushed aftermath of the performance, Alastor made his way through the crowd, his eyes never straying from Y/N's as he approached her table. There was something interesting in his gaze.

"May I join you?" he asked, his voice a velvet whisper that sent shivers cascading down her spine. Y/N nodded, her voice caught in the swell of emotions that threatened to consume her. As Alastor took his seat beside her, the world around them faded into oblivion.

"I couldn't help but notice you were staring, dear," he remarked, his voice a sultry cadence that danced through the air. Y/N's cheeks flushed slightly, caught off guard by his direct acknowledgment. She laughed, a soft and melodious sound that echoed in the intimate space. "Wasn't everyone?" she replied, attempting to mask the fluttering excitement in her chest.

Alastor's smile widened, revealing a hint of charm beneath the enigmatic exterior. "Alastor. Alastor Hartfelt," he introduced himself, extending a gloved hand toward Y/N. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as she placed her hand in his, their fingers interlocking in a fleeting moment of connection.

"Y/N," she responded, her name rolling off her tongue with a grace that matched the jazz melodies still lingering in the air. "Nice to meet you, Alastor."

Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, his eyes betraying a curiosity that mirrored her own. "Are you here all alone?" he inquired, his voice a whisper that stirred the air between them.

Y/N shook her head, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Oh, no. I came with Mimzy," she replied, her words laced with warmth and affection for her friend.

Alastor nodded, a knowing glimmer dancing in his eyes. "Ah. A friend of Mimzy’s is a friend of mine, Miss Y/N," he remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

"She's a really good dancer," Y/N remarked, her eyes fondly following Mimzy's movements on the stage.

Alastor chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on Y/N. "She's one of the only people who can really keep up with me," he revealed, a note of pride in his voice.

Intrigued, Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Are there others?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Alastor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers "I do not know, my dear." he replied, extending a gloved hand towards her. “Care to find out?”

A spark of excitement ignited in Y/N's eyes as she accepted his invitation. Their fingers intertwined once more, and Alastor led her to the dance floor.

As the music enveloped them in its intoxicating embrace, Y/N found herself swept away by the rhythm of the jazz with Alastor as her guide. "I must say, Miss Y/N, you're holding up quite well," Alastor remarked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Y/N, breathing a little heavier, managed a breathless laugh. "I don't know how you're still doing this," she admitted, a playful glint in her eyes.

Alastor, the epitome of grace, chuckled softly. "Years of practice, my dear. It becomes second nature after a while." Despite her best efforts, the fast-paced dance proved to be more challenging than she anticipated. Y/N struggled to keep up with Alastor's effortless elegance, her breath quickening as fatigue set in.

She even stumbled occasionally, her steps faltering under the weight of the rapid movements, but each time, Alastor was there to catch her. “For someone who's not a usually, this is quite the workout." she quipped, attempting to catch her breath.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with mirth. "You're doing splendidly, considering," he complimented as he guided her through a series of spins with effortless grace.

As the jazz melodies reached a crescendo, their dance intensified, weaving patterns of connection between them. Y/N embraced the challenge, determination in her eyes, even as the fatigue started to set in. Alastor sensed her effort and, with a twirl, brought their dance to a graceful conclusion. They stood at the center of the dance floor, breathless but exhilarated. Y/N, her cheeks flushed, couldn't help but smile.

"I must admit, you have a unique charm on the dance floor," Alastor complimented, a genuine warmth in his gaze.

Y/N grinned, playfully rolling her eyes. "Maybe not as unique as yours, but I'll take it."

They returned to their table, the echoes of their dance lingering in the air. Mimzy, observing from afar, joined them with a knowing smile. Her voice cut through the lively chatter of the jazz club, her tone laced with playful concern. "Take it easy on her, darlin'," she chimed in, her eyes twinkling with affection.

Alastor turned to Mimzy with a charming smile, his eyes alight with amusement. "Of course, Mimzy. Wouldn't want to wear out my dance partner too soon," he replied, his voice dripping with playful banter.

Y/N laughed, sharing a glance with Alastor. "I was just trying to keep up honestly.”

Mimzy winked at Alastor. "Not everyone can keep up with this one.”

Alastor leaned back in his chair, a contented expression on his face. "What can I say, just pour me some whiskey, and I will be on the dance floor all night long."

Y/N chuckled, raising her eyebrows playfully. "A man of simple pleasures, I see. I'll remember that for next time."

Mimzy chuckled as she rolled her eyes "Well, well. Alastor, you're quite the dance enthusiast, aren't you?"

Alastor grinned, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Guilty as charged. It's hard to resist the allure of a good dance."

Mimzy smiled, pouring a glass of whiskey and sliding it across the table to Alastor. "You know where to find me if you need a dance partner. Now, enjoy that whiskey, darlin'." With a wink, Mimzy returned to the performance area, leaving Y/N and Alastor at the table.

As the jazz melodies continued to fill the air, Y/N reached into her bag, producing a pack of cigarettes. With a swift motion, she took one out, placing it between her lips, and lit it with a flick of a match.

Alastor, watching her with mild surprise, hummed, "Didn't take you up for a smoker."

Y/N exhaled a thin stream of smoke, her eyes meeting his with a knowing smile. "It's a bad habit, I know," she admitted, the smoke curling around her like a veil.

Alastor nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey. "We all have our vices."

Alastor observed Y/N, her features softened by the glow of the match and the ambient light as she nodded.

He noticed her gaze shift towards a clock on the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Something on your mind?" he inquired, curious about the sudden change in her demeanor. Y/N glanced back at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Just checking the time. It's later than I thought." Alastor followed her gaze to the clock, realizing that the night had indeed slipped away.

Y/N took a final drag from her cigarette before flicking away the ash "I should probably be heading home."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "So soon? The night is still young, my dear."

Y/N nodded, her eyes lingering on the clock for a moment longer. "True. It's just... I have an early morning tomorrow.“

Alastor, sensing Y/N's impending departure, smiled warmly. "Then allow me to escort you home," he offered, a gesture that held both politeness and genuine interest.

Y/N looked at him, touched by the offer. "That's sweet of you, Alastor. But it's not necessary. I can manage on my own."

Alastor chuckled, his gaze unwavering. "Consider it an old-fashioned courtesy. Besides, a gentleman wouldn't let a lady navigate the streets alone, especially at this hour. It's the least I can do after the delightful company you've provided this evening." He would know that.

Y/N couldn't help but grin at his charming demeanor. "Well, who am I to refuse such a gentlemanly offer? Escort away, Mr. Hartfelt."

As they made their way through the jazz club's exit, Mimzy waved them off with a wink. "You two take care now. See you again, Y/N!"

The city night enveloped them as they stepped onto the streets, the echoes of jazz fading into the background. Alastor's presence offered a sense of comfort, and Y/N found herself enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

As they strolled through the dimly lit streets, Alastor engaged Y/N in conversation, the night air carrying their voices in a gentle exchange. Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the whims of fate that had brought Alastor into her evening.

"Excuse my curiosity, but are you working at the jazz club?" she inquired, her tone gentle.

Alastor's eyes flickered with amusement, and he chuckled softly. "Ah, no, my dear. I'm just a patron who appreciates good music and the art of dance. Although, I must say, the idea of working at such a place is intriguing."

Y/N smiled, finding a shared appreciation for the enchanting atmosphere of the jazz club. "You seem like you'd fit right in.”

Alastor tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Perhaps. I work at a radio station. Mostly a podcast focused on dramas and comedy ," he confessed.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "A radio podcast? That's unexpected," she admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I would have never guessed."

Alastor nodded, his enigmatic smile never fading “I reckon you heard of ‘Ephemeral Voices’ from WWL.”

N's eyes widened with recognition. "Wait, 'Ephemeral Voices’? I've heard of that! I never connected the dots until now."

Alastor's smile widened as he took out a small card from his pocket, handing it to Y/N. "Well, now you have a face to put to the voice. Feel free to tune in whenever you like."

Y/N took the card, a mix of disbelief and excitement on her face. "I can't believe I've been listening to your podcast without realizing it was you." Alastor shrugged playfully at that.

As they arrived at Y/N's house, the night air took on a hushed quality, the city lights casting a soft glow around them. Y/N turned to Alastor with a grateful smile. "Thank you. You didn't have to come with me, you know," she expressed, the sincerity in her voice echoed in her eyes.

Alastor's gaze met hers, and he replied with a casual shrug. "I beg to differ. A gentleman wouldn't leave a lady to navigate the night alone. It was my pleasure."

Y/N chuckled, appreciating the chivalry that seemed to be second nature to him. "Well, I appreciate the company, truly. It's been quite an unexpected night."

Alastor's enigmatic smile lingered. "The best nights often are."

Y/N fumbled with her keys, her gaze lifting to meet Alastor's. "I suppose this is where we part ways," she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

Alastor nodded, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I trust you'll rest easy knowing you're home safe and sound.”

She extended her hand, which Alastor took with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Alastor.”

Alastor bowed slightly, a gesture that seemed to belong to another era. "The pleasure was mine, Miss Y/N. Until next time."

As Alastor bid her farewell, Y/N watched him disappear into the night and she entered her home, the door closing behind her.

She couldn't shake the smile that lingered on her lips.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

One of Us is Guilty; Epilogue (Final)

Azul is now gone, but the actual room is known. Perhaps they will live to tell this tale.

Characters; Vil Schoenheit, Jade Leech, Silver, Azul Ashengrotto, Cater Diamond, Rook Hunt

Content; Murder mystery, the ending of this tale

Content Warnings; Blood, injury, death, murder, kidnapping (aka dead dove content)

Word Count; 1.3 K

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue (Part 1) | Epilogue (Final)

Do not put my work into AI If you enjoy my writing, check out my masterlist

Azul was gone, in much a similar manner as Cater — the only evidence serving that he was there being the shattered glasses that now lay on the ground.

“AZUL!” Jade was too late though, and this was the most emotion that he had really shown that night; the bottled emotions finally coming to the surface. 

He knelt down and carefully picked up the glasses, paying no mind to the tiny shards that pricked at his skin through his gloves. Paying no mind to the pinpricks of scarlet that had begun to stain the white fabric. And he stared at the broken glass; in a way, it represented their night. Normal enough at first, but once you got too close, it cuts at you and makes you bleed… it hurts you. And Jade was hurting, he had been since he had found the Prefect’s body earlier that night. 

There was no time though; to mourn, to panic, to freeze. Time would come later, now was the time for action; to stop this here and now.

“Sorry,” Jade breathed, dusting himself off, and pocketing Azul’s glasses. “Are you both alright?”

Silver and Vil both looked at Jade, taking in the slight tremble of his hands as well as the pinpricks of blood that stained his gloves. The calm mask had slipped for a mere second, but they both knew that this affected Jade just as much as it affected them.

“None of us are alright,” Vil sighed, massaging his temples. “And you don’t need to apologize; it’s okay to not be alright… especially in this situation.”

Silver nodded his head in agreement. “If it were Malleus… I would have the same reaction,” he whispered. “You’re strong, Jade.”

Jade pursed his lips but said nothing, instead just offering them both a silent nod; he got the message, but he also knew this was neither the time nor place to lose control of himself. 

“But if the teacher’s lounge wasn’t the room–” Silver mused.

“The library,” Vil exclaimed, eyes widening at the realization. “Think about it; where was Rook at the beginning of all this? The library!” Vil calmed himself down though, since that outburst was quite unlike him. “And if Cater and Azul are being held there, that’s where they will likely be.”

Silver and Jade looked at each other before looking back at Vil, and they followed after him, hands on their pens; ready for the worst, but hoping for the best. Because hope was the only thing that they had now.

…

…

The library was brightly lit up, almost harshly so. And although it was bright, the brightness cast equally as dark shadows.

Rook was nowhere to be seen, and that was both reassuring and a cause for dread. If he wasn’t here, he could be anywhere — hiding.

“Stay together,” Vil murmured, taking the lead again.

Silver and Jade looked at each other, each of them taking to a side of Vil; Silver to his left, and Jade to his right. 

“MhmMMMMM!” 

Muffled yelling; at least one of them was alive.

Following the muffled sounds, Vil, Silver and Jade found themselves in a sheltered alcove of the library. And amongst the dusty books that rarely got any use was Cater, who was looking at the trio with tears in his eyes, and Azul, who was currently unconscious.

They were both alive. And while the trio felt tremendous relief that they were both alive, they couldn’t help but question why. 

Why did Rook spare them? Why did he kill Crowley? Why did he kill Crowley and Professor Crewel with magic, yet he slit the Ramshackle Prefect’s throat? Expired love potions caused some nasty side effects, but nothing to this level of violence and bloodlust.

Jade acted first though, cutting Cater free of his bounds first; using the broken glass from Azul’s glasses to cut through the ropes. 

Once Cater was free of the ropes, he ripped the gag off, taking it heaving breaths. “Get out,” he hissed, gripping Jade’s shoulders. “He’s planning something and you need to get out!”

Jade stared into Cater’s eyes and nodded, and took his hands off his shoulders before moving over to Azul. “We will, but not without both of you,” he said just loud enough that Cater could barely make it out.

Vil and Silver covered Jade as he cut through Azul’s ropes, and then carried his house warden like a bag of potatoes over his shoulder. Yes, he would be livid once he woke up, but this allowed Jade to carry Azul while wielding his pen, should he need to protect himself, Azul, or the group.

And right as they were about to cross the threshold of the library’s doors, they slammed shut, and all the lights died out.

It was a trap, but I already knew that. It was too easy. Vil thought to himself, and brought out his pen, illuminating their immediate area in a purple glow.

“Ah, leaving so soon?” Rook’s voice called out from the darkness, a breathy chuckle echoing off the walls.

Vil grabbed a book, and while the others were looking at him with shock — since now is not the time to read — he paid them no mind. “It seems that you caught us,” he answered, hoping that some banter would allow him to do what he needed to do. 

Give me a few minutes of time, please. Vil looked into the darkness, searching for that familiar face. “It is awfully rude of you though, to leave your guests in the dark. After all, you can only see the fairest of them all with proper lighting.”

Leave, get out now. Vil’s message got across though, and using the third-year’s distraction, Jade (still with Azul over his shoulder), Silver and Cater managed to slip through the door.

“Roi du Poison, what are you planning? Do you think I would be so foolish to accept anything from you knowing how your unique magic works?” Rook finally stepped out from the darkness, just enough to where he was faintly visible.

Vil quirked his brow at Rook and shook his head, “No, I know you well enough.” But do you know me when I’ve been backed into a corner? “And I know that the real Rook wouldn’t do any of this. It’s the duty of the beautiful to take responsibility for all of their choices. So — Take. Responsibility.” Vil hissed, his grip tightening on the book. 

Rook cocked his head, staring at Vil with empty eyes, the sclera still stained black. “Why does the cat chase the mouse, even though its food dish is full? Why does someone hunt, but not for food?” Rook mused, taking a few steps closer, not breaking eye contact with Vil.

Just a bit closer.

“For sport. For the thrill,” Vil tutted. “Was that what all of this was for then? For you to just have fun hunting down your professors and peers just because you were bored?!”

Rook stopped walking, just an arm's distance away from Vil. “No, it wasn’t fun; they didn’t know…”

Now.

Vil took a breath, stealing his nerves. “You trapped yourself, and you shall remain trapped until we find a way to fix this,” he placed a hand on Rook’s shoulder, and once Rook looked at Vil’s hand in curiosity, Vil pushed the book he was holding to Rook’s chest.

Remain trapped until we find a way to fix this.

And the book sucked Rook into its pages; a prison of paper. And Vil slumped to the floor. Out of relief — that for now, it was over — but also exhaustion. He was so tired.

And while, yes, Rook was now caught, he and the others still had far to go. With reporting everything that had happened. To figuring out how to free Rook and reverse the effects of the potion. To working through the trauma they all had lived through, since this whole ordeal definitely had taken its toll on all of them.

...

...

...

...

Fin!

Author's Note; Thank you to everyone who voted throughout the duration of this event. Without you, none of this would be possible. I hope that you enjoyed this event as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

[icantdothistodaybruh]

oh, are you familiar with the BoM side story? where arthur dreams of different characters in different fairy tales? i’ve become so! obsessed! with the snow queen versions of sebaciel. ciels outfit is so pretty on him!! but i love a ciel that left everything behind to stay with sebastian.. and sebastian, he’s been so lonely for so long that when he gets a pretty boy he can’t let him go. when someone tries to save him they not only get a “no” but get forcefully snow-blasted right out the door. they understand each other because no one sees the beauty in desolation like they do… so of course they stay isolated in a castle together.

there’s the panel where sebastian’s wrapping his coat around ciels whole body… sebastian acting so smugly to ciels rescuers… the line where ciel says he belongs to the devil… i could live here forever… please consider this cold angle of sebaciel

I AM! AND IT'S ONE OF MY FAVE EXTRAS OUT THERE!!

The implication that the whole dream was of Sebastian's doing (which he is very capable of judging by GWA) brings out such an interesting twist to it - we can see a glimpse of Sebastian's actual opinion on other characters! But I'm of course going to talk a little about Ciel solely for today hehe

I might be wrong since I only have ru and eng translation at hand, but the way Ciel talks about his heart being frozen and eye belonging to the devil makes me think of these acts as essentially same thing, especially given that he "adapted beautifully to the world of Ice" by Sebastian's words. I mean that his heart being frozen doesn't equal to death or inability to feel, but rather just that, adaptation and belonging.

Now I know it sounded far-fetched, but the reason It caught my attention in the first place was the mentioning of the heart at all. It's a dream made by Sebastian, the 'emotionless' and 'unfeeling' demon, with clear analogy to the contract built on power, revenge, and hunger for one's soul, or at least that is how it always was portrayed before. So why would his made up dream-Ciel suddenly bring a heart into equation?

You should've seen my face when I got to the chapter were Elizabeth escapes to rCiel. Call me delulu but it suddenly made so much sense when Sebastian started talking how "human hearts are mysterious, complex things" and "no matter if you are demon or god it is truly and utterly impossible to shackle another's heart." Before that I wouldn't even think he'd have any opinion on the matters of the heart, let alone it be a stated fact to him that he can't have it in a way he can own souls or bodies.

And so that man, in his made up dream, with a made up Ciel, made that Ciel say that not only his soul (eye) belongs to the devil, but heart too. Knowing for a fact it can't belong to him in reality. I'm speechless.

Also when I got your ask yesterday I thought I should make a fanart or a redraw of that scene, and once again, you should've seen my face when I found the page:

and if you don't know why I was so surprised I'll gladly explain with two more pics:

My head exploded.

Three pieces. Representing their change of masks and roles. Yet each is the same in it's core. And one of them is character's fantasy while other two his reality. I'm so done with this show.

...could it be that Arthur's dream made by Sebastian is yet another lie becoming truth?...

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter contains medical trauma in an emergency room, as well as pregnancy loss.

I was going to do my usual thing and post this tomorrow, but i felt too bad making yall wait so you get a one-two punch of pain today (on the bright side, and i promise this, things start to go uphill from here, if you could believe it <3)

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 16

[Prev] [Next]

The darkened operating theater’s focused silence was sharply interrupted with the sound of ringing coming from the phone tucked away in the circulating nurse’s back pocket.  It was very obviously from Law’s phone, but the entire surgical crew kept their heads lowered and honed in on their work.  It was quite difficult to break your stride when someone’s body was cut completely open and their beating heart was framed by a metal cage keeping the layers of fat and muscle from closing.  The nurse was checking oxygen levels of the patient and simply let the phone continue to ring.  No one said a word.

The ringing stopped.

Then it started again.

“Just let it go,” Law mumbled.  He couldn’t be bothered, not when he was quite literally inside someone’s heart.  A mitral valve replacement required just as much care as any other open heart procedure, despite being a relatively easy operation for his skilled hands.

The ringing stopped.  The nurse stepped away from the monitor and made a circle around the team, checking instruments, patient vitals, and needed materials.

Then the ringing started again.  This time, a few glances were tossed around the room by the attending surgeons and nurses, but Law kept his head down, neck-deep in his work.  The nurse pulled the phone out of her back pocket and assessed the screen.  Your photo and name were displayed.

“Doctor, it’s your wife,” she announced.

“End the call and text her that I’ll get back to her when I can.”

Following his instructions precisely, the nurse tapped the red End Call button, opened her doctor’s phone with his passcode from their previous go at this very situation, and navigated to his text messages, pulling up your conversation.  She had to suppress a smile at the photo that was set for your contact- a photo of you and what she assumed to be your dog, both grinning brightly at the camera.  She began to text.

Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse again!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he’ll call you back when he’s done!

She was about to put the device back in her pocket when it buzzed with another incoming text message.

Wifey

This is Law’s friend Shachi.  Idk operating room etiquette but his wife was taken to the emergency room from her job, im here with her and another friend.  Can you relay the message somehow?  Thanks.

The unsuspecting nurse felt her heartbeat grow anxious.  She herself didn’t really know how to properly announce that information to her supervising doctor, let alone the entire room of fellow technicians and nurses surrounding a patient with his chest fully exposed and heart cut open.

“Everything good?” the tired voice of the lead doctor called from his position, slightly hunched over the body under the bright lights and protective sheet.  He had stepped back only mere centimeters to let an attending nurse go in with sutures.

“Uhm…” the circulating nurse felt her palms grow sweaty beneath her blue medical gloves.  “It was one of your friends, your wife is in the emergency room, apparently.”

Law felt his blood run cold.  His head shot upward to look at the poor nurse who was now unfortunately involved in this, staring at her with wide, golden eyes below his magnifying hood.  He must have looked profoundly stupid partnered with his surgical mask and bright blue hair net.  “What did he say?”

“That was it, he just said to call him back as soon as he could,” she responded nervously.

“Doctor, the surgery’s almost completed if you–” one of his technicians began before being interrupted by the doctor.

“No, I’ll never leave the operating room until the procedure is finished.  Don’t worry about me, continue your focus on the patient.”  But for the first time in Law’s entire professional life, his focus was everywhere but the patient.  Why were you in the emergency room?  Why were you taken from work?  What in the world had happened?

Were you having another miscarriage?

No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring his focus back to the unconscious patient on the table in front of him.  He felt like a ghost out of his own body, merely observing his rigid frame standing amongst his colleagues, frozen in time and place, glued to the cold tiled floor.  Petrified.  Chills were creeping up and down his vertebrae, spreading out to the very tips of his fingers, making him wish he could run.  Run as fast as he could, run to the next building to where the emergency department was and run through every room to find you.  He needed to find you.

The surgery could not have ended sooner.  As soon as he was given the clear that the patient was in the recovery ward, he was sprinting with all of his might through the halls of the cardiac ward, out through the lobby, and into the bright summer sun that seemed to be mocking him in his frantic state.  His lab coat trailed behind him and passing nurses and patients jumped out of his way as he barreled down the bright sidewalk of the hospital complex, passing small bundles of blooming flowers that almost shook with how fast his feet were carrying him.  He felt like his heart might evacuate from his chest, or that he would surely lose his lunch with the stress of the unknown.

He rounded a corner and entered the emergency wing through a back entrance using his ID, sprinting to the nearest nurse’s desk barely catching his breath.  The young woman behind the counter, caught off guard by his sudden burst into the space, was staring at the man with wide, blue eyes, her fingers frozen mid-typing on her mechanical keyboard.

“T… Trafalgar.  Where,” was all he was able to gasp out as he clung to the counter catching his breath.  He never was much of an athlete.

The young nurse hurriedly picked through the screen of her computer monitor.  “Room 114.”

“Thank you,” he wheezed as he pushed himself off again, this time speed walking through the large corridors of the emergency room, not wanting to cause an issue with the attending doctors.  He passed by empty gurneys and folded wheelchairs, idle medicine carts and nurses chatting with one another, another ordinary day for them.  Room 114 seemed so far away.

Finally, the number appeared on the wall to his right.  The door was wide open, multiple bodies hunched over the bed.  Shachi and Ikkaku bolted upright from their chairs, mouths open about to speak to Law, but he pushed past them and into the crowd of nurses.

Your wrists were strapped to both handles of the bed you occupied, your eyes squeezed shut and an oxygen mask was forcefully strapped to your face, so tight your skin was visibly pinching through the hard elastic straps.  The hose extending from the mask and into an on-board oxygen monitoring machine seemed so foreign on your beautiful face.  A few heart rate electrodes were placed on your chest, picking up a well above average heartbeat.  Your feet were weakly flailing under the covers as multiple nurses had their hands on you, assessing your blood pressure, your oxygen, hands on your abdomen, your legs, your breasts.

Law saw red.

“BACK THE FUCK UP,” he shouted, finally drawing attention to himself from the surrounding nurses.  Hospital etiquette could fuck off for all he cared.  His wife had her wrists bound.  “GET AWAY FROM HER.”

“Doctor, please,” a man from beside your bed rushed forward toward the cardiac surgeon, placing his hands on his shoulders.  “Please don’t yell-”

“Why the hell is she tied to the bed?!” he demanded, every fiber of his being forcing him to maintain at least some level of composure.  Behind him, Ikkaku grabbed Shachi’s wrist and dragged him out of the room, not wanting to put their friend under any more stress.

“She was thrashing in the ambulance, we needed to restrain her,” the male nurse explained, attempting to push Law back from your bed.

Law looked past the nurse’s shoulder and screamed once more.  “I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER.”

A much larger male nurse stood up from his place around your bed.  When he stepped aside, his legs revealed a bright red biohazard container on the ground, a mere glimpse of the pants you were wearing that morning peeking into Law’s field of view.  

“Doctor, calm down or I’m going to call security,” the bigger man threatened, stepping toward Law and giving his shoulders a firm shove backwards.  He was built less like your average nurse and more like a basketball power forward, and the force of his hands against Law’s shoulders sent the black-haired surgeon stumbling backward.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he seethed.  “What kind of nurse ties a patient to the bed when they’re panicking, huh?!  Is that what they’re teaching you ingrates?!  Tying a panicking woman to a bed to keep her still?!”

He forced his way past the larger nurse, much to the man’s discontent, and pushed through the other employees surrounding your bed.  His first action was to loosen the straps of the oxygen mask on your face, giving your skin room to breathe.  His deft hands ripped the velcro blood pressure cuff off of your bicep, tossing it back to a nurse who had stepped away, shocked by his actions.  The oxygen monitor on your finger was next, followed by the restraint on your left hand, which fell limp next to your body.  Your wedding ring was missing.

“Where’s the ring?” Law asked, forcing the blood oxygen monitor into the hands of the same nurse who took the cuff from him.

“What ring?” the basketball nurse asked, visibly angry with the doctor’s intrusion.

“The wedding ring on her left hand.  Where the hell is it?”

A very small, meek voice piped up from across your bed.  “It was removed in the ambulance because the paramedic was afraid she’d hurt herself with it.”

“Hurt herself, or hurt you?” snarled Law referring to the confused gaggle of nurses that had come into contact with his wife, already fed up with whatever excuses they were giving him.  If he was more rational, he could argue that they were simply doing their jobs, but even from his standpoint, what they were doing to you was clearly too much.  “I want every single one of you out of this room, and I want an attending doctor here immediately.  I need one of you to find that damn ring and bring it back to me.  Don’t make me ask twice.”

A few nurses took the opportunity to scramble from the room, visibly frazzled by the surgeon’s fit of rage.  The two male nurses from prior, however, stood their ground.

“You’re not in our department, doc, I’m afraid we can’t take orders from you.”  The larger nurse crossed his arms over his chest in defiance as Law stood between your body and the man.

“Then take my directions as the family member of a patient.  Get.  The hell.  Out.”  If Law were to see himself, he’d have absolutely no idea where this authoritative side of him came from.  He was never one for verbal or physical confrontation, more used to shutting down and bottling in his feelings than displaying them outright, and never would he ever think to get in the face of an extended colleague, but now was not the time for rational thought.

The first nurse to put his hands on Law placed a hand on the shoulder of his fellow nurse, pulling him toward the door.  The larger man finally relented and followed his coworker out into the hallway and around the corner out of sight.  Silence had finally settled over the room and Law rushed to the other side of your bed to unstrap your right wrist from the metal barrier.  Your heart rate on the monitor was slowly starting to even out, but was still maintaining a fairly erratic pace.  His new position allowed him to get a glimpse into the red biohazard container that was improperly placed next to your bed.  Your pants, the ones you had purchased when out with your friends a few weeks prior and that you were excited to finally wear to work, were completely soaked with bright red blood.  The rest of your clothing was in the bucket, specks of blood on your socks, and the lower portion of your flowy summer shirt.  He shoved the bucket out of the way with the ball of his shoe, forcing down the nausea that crawled up his throat.

He placed his hand on your forehead, leaning over you, his face contorted in an agony that mirrored your own.  

Your eyes slowly opened, your body completely spent and exhausted.  He barely wanted to know what kind of ambulance ride you had endured that had rendered your usually-energetic and upbeat form into a shell of your former self.  Your irises were filled with sorrow, and your eyes immediately began welling with tears at the sight of your husband standing above you.  You gasped into the oxygen mask, almost choking on the breath of cold, spicy air that flowed through the hose and forced its way into your body.  Law was quick to pull the mask off, breaking every form of protocol he was familiar with.  He knew his outburst and actions easily risked his integrity as a high profile surgeon, but as he took in the sight of you, completely burnt out, humiliated, scratched up from the binding on your wrists and straps from the mask on your face, he couldn’t find the time to care about his integrity anymore.

Finally free from the confines of the mask, you sucked in a shaky breath, heavy, salty tears flowing down your cheeks like a waterfall.  You weakly reached a hand up to his, and he took it in both of his warm, calloused ones, clenching you tightly, funneling all of his love into you.

“Law…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out more like a croak.  He felt his heart shatter, splintering into toxic pieces of fiberglass that ripped at his flesh, that stung the soul and pierced the very heart he gave to you.  Your lips were violently quivering as your body shook with suppressed sobs, not having any more energy to scream.  All you were able to do was mouth the words, ‘I’m sorry.”

Law’s resolve shattered.  Whatever was left of his pride, his dignity, his status as your strong, unmoving, supportive husband, was fractured.  He crumpled above you, his legs shaking as his head fell to your trembling chest, his hands that held your own remaining close to his own lungs as the tears he had wanted to cry for the past two years of trying for a baby finally escaped from his eyes.  He sniffled, snot rapidly pooling in his sinuses as a result of his tears, but he continued to hold your trembling hand in his as he bit his lip so hard it stung, the scorching hot tears leaving his eyes feeling like trails of magma down his skin.  The smell of hospital sheets did not belong on you.  

The world seemed to implode in on your weak form in the hospital bed, your husband’s defeated body hunched over your own.

A crackled, broken sob exited his lungs.

[rayan12sworld]

💠💙Light of Stars (and the Destroyer)

By:Sanguis

Summary:

The marriage is supposed to be a punishment, a way to extend Wei Wuxian’s isolation. After all, Wangji has met the man (when they had both been boys, untouched by war); Wei Wuxian could hardly be asked to fit seamlessly into the regimented life of a Lan.

Yu Ziyuan is a formidable, cruel woman, Wangji decides then. She is also wrong if she thinks Wangji will play part in her cruelty.

(And Wei Wuxian, it seems, is so much more than meets the eye).

*

There is a tale of the Light of Stars and the Destroyer.

Chapter:1/1

Words:22,196

Status:completed

At Wangji’s side, Wei Wuxian has run out of patience. Wangji feels it in the shift of his husband’s stance, and squeezes Wei Wuxian’s hand. If the sect leaders are going to be deliberately obtuse, well then Wei Wuxian has never been one to pull his punches. Wangji should know. “You wanted to speak to the Yiling Laozu,” Wei Wuxian says, “so speak.” It takes them by the throat. Wangji looks at a fixed point ahead, but he still sees the statement ripple through the gathered clans, sees a few of them choke. Sees the smarter ones put one and two together to make three, connecting the young cultivator who had razed the fields of Qishan, laying waste to the Wen army, to the young man who had stood defiant in front of Jin Guangshan in his own palace, to the protector of the Wen remnants, to the thing that had settled in the Yiling Burial Mounds. Yiling Laozu. Yiling Laozu wed to Hanguang-Jun. (Wangji shouldn’t smile but he thinks the one to make it to Qi deviation first is Lan Qiren).

~~~

Ah, hostage?” Wei Wuxian says. “I don’t hold anyone hostage, least of all children. The boys can go wherever they please.” This is met with great disbelief, as if they can’t see with their own two eyes that the children aren’t restrained. A-Yuan is starting to feel upset, if the way he clings to Wei Wuxian is any indication, his bottom lip wobbling in a manner he has definitely learnt from A-Yu. The only thing that keeps him from crying is the gentle whispers from Wei Wuxian telling him he is being very good, and that he’ll only have to be good a little longer. “Jin Xuanyu, come to your father,” Jin Guangshan says, smiling like a reptile. Wangji almost laughs at the mere idea of it, that Jin Guangshan has ever been a father. Jin Zixuan looks uncomfortable enough at the idea, throwing a disparaging look at the man who had sired him, as if to say that Jin Guangshan has never been a father to anyone. “A-Yu,” Wei Wuxian says quietly but clearly, “go to your father.” This, too is met with silence. Wangji feels A-Yu shift against his leg as if having decided not to hide anymore, and his eyes widen when the child tugs at his sleeve. A-Yu says, “Baba, up!” It’s purely on reflex that he lifts A-Yu into his arms, the weight familiar. A-Yu, still shy and nervous, buries his face in Wangji’s neck. It’s where he’s most comfortable, and Wangji can’t help but settle a protective hand against A-Yu’s back. The gathered sect leaders and their disciples watch this whole thing, too stunned to even speak or protest. “Well,” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. It masks his surprise well, but Wangji had seen a flash of it. “That’s clear then. Let it be known that this is not Jin Xuanyu. It cannot be anyway, since I gave birth to this child and no one’s laid a hand on me except for Hanguang-Jun.” Wangji says nothing, not a word. His ears grow hot, but his expression remains completely smooth. He had done more, much more, than simply lay hands on Wei Wuxian, but that is something no one else is privy to.

~~~🤣🤣🤣

[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl @queenmendes @the-lil-spud @hotvillainapologist

[rookthorne]

The ancient game of cat and mouse, a fight for survival between a predator and their prey, wasn’t a new phenomenon — it had been practised for centuries and it was an art that very, very few perfected. For years you had chased the craving to find someone that had mastered the art of the hunt, and for Halloween, you had gone all out and visited a haven unlike any other. 

It was there that you found your match. 

Cloaked in nothing but black and shrouded in a sense of lethality, you would have to run from this shadow in an adrenaline fuel haze unlike any other. A chase for the ages, the very one you desired. 

And if he caught you, your world would end as you knew it.

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 》 Scare Actor!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑲𝑬𝒀 》 𝐅

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑺 》 Fluff, spicy tension/implied spice, consensual stalking, primal, knife play 》 Friends to lovers, first dates, Modern/Halloween AU

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 》 3 / 3

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻 》 12,036

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 》 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑺 》 I had a random spur of inspiration slap me across the face and it sent me into a whole new generation of ideas. 》 This is a multichapter fic (part of my Fright Night event). 》 All of these chapters would not have happened if it was not for @smutconnoisseur beta'ing or offering her expertise in this area, nor would it have come to fruition without @thevillainswhore and @duckybarnes1917's hype and encouragement — thank you three so much.

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑨 》 @smutconnoisseur

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑵 》 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 — 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 》 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑨𝑫𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 》 Oneshots

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── 𝐊𝐄𝐘 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

— 𝐀  = angst — 𝐖  = whump — 𝐈 = sick fic — 𝐃  = dark — 𝐃² = dead dove — 𝐏 = poly — 𝐊 = kid fic — 𝐅  = fluff — 𝐒  = smut

》 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝑩𝑬𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑬, 𝑩𝑬𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑫

𝐅 • 3.6k

Rumours and tales had been spread of a character at the local Halloween Park that painted them in such a haunting light — they were a predator that even the bravest spook and adrenaline seekers feared, always alluding that he was far too ‘hardcore’ to trifle with.  Luckily for you, a target had been painted on your back, and you were about to experience one of the hardest escapes of your life.

》 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝑩𝑬𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑲

𝐅 • 5.0k

The mask that covered the Soldat both embodied the character and hid the man behind it, the cloak of his character so effective it was a shock when he cornered and isolated you, to ask you out on a date. Stranger things had happened, that you were sure of.

》 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝑨 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑪𝑨𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑬

𝐅 • 3.2k

It had come time for the final chase. Halloween had loomed in the back of your mind, until the night finally came. The Soldat’s promise from your first encounter rang true as you prepared — a promise that terrified and excited you in equal measure.  Time would only tell, and you had to hope you were ready for the final hunt.

》 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅

The festive additions to Bucky’s Soldat costume had been a genius idea, you only had to work out the best way to bribe your boyfriend to go along with it, first.

》 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅

Bucky had more than one way to scare the living daylights out of you — it wasn’t just in his job description; it was in his nature.

》

》 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄   𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

》 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄  𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

》