#[>:fawn 01:<]< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[felinefractious]

🐱 British Shorthair

📸 Angela Savenko [Hermes Cattery]

🎨 Fawn Van

[alinktoana]

me: why am i so obsessed with rick owens lately?

my brain: i know why you're so obsessed with rick owens lately

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 — 𝐌.𝐒.

Synopsis: Cute moments on stream with you and your boyfriend, Matt.

Warnings: Fluff, PDA, established relationship, Matt being bf as fuck.

A/N: Based on this request

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

00: Streaming…

It was such an intimidating thing to you, thousands of people watching, analyzing your every move. What if you said the wrong thing? What if you just got too overwhelmed and wanted to leave? 

Matt was the biggest sweetheart. It took months for you to get comfortable with the idea and he was okay with that, he was just so excited to make the step, build memories on camera with his fans…

01: Getting comfortable…

It was like highschool all over again, the one thing you fucking despised - icebreakers. 

The camera was already going. Matt had reassured you that you could tap out at any moment with a simple tug to your ear. You were fine, it was all gonna be fine. But, you couldn’t help but rub your clammy hands together, shifting your weight on the flimsy plastic chair.

“C’mon,” Matt encourages. 

The sweet tone of his voice soothes a bit of your nerves. He’s right here, there’s no reason to freak out. If anything, you were honestly excited. You felt warm. Being able to trust someone so much was just so… comforting. 

You move into the camera view. Matt helps introduce you while fans spit out a couple questions. It’s really not that bad, you kinda like it, the excitement and new energy feeling refreshing.

“-and sometimes when I take her back home to Boston with me, she pays more attention to Trevour! My fuckin’ dog-” 

Matt’s loud voice gets quieter as he sees you shift again in the chair. He knows it’s not the most comfortable, but you don’t know how to work all the controls and he’s not sure you would want to be front and center. Tugging on his ear and staring at you intently, he waits for your response. Did you not feel comfortable anymore? Did you need the stream to be over? 

You see his hand press on a button, the chat flooding with comments how they can’t hear anything anymore. “What’s up, sweetheart? Do you wanna be done?” he asks, his hand rubbing on your knee gently. 

“No, no,” you rush, staring down at his hand as you readjust yet again, “-just…this chair - hurts my ass.” 

Matt snickers at your comment. “Do you wanna switch?” he offers. 

“No, I feel like I’ll fuck up the set-up somehow,” you sigh. 

He nods understandingly, his mind twisting with ideas as his eyes light up with a realization. “Wanna sit in my lap?” 

You feel a blush crawl on your face. The chat was being nice, you couldn’t see an issue with the offer, so why not?

Matt smiles as he sees you slightly nod your head. He shifts himself, patting on his leg with a reassuring hand crawling around the back of your thigh and helping you get comfortable on his lap. “There we go,” he husks, rubbing the sides of your thighs before unmuting the mic. 

At least you’re comfortable. 

02: Cuddling…

You had streamed a couple times with Matt. Honestly, you loved it, it was fun, but neither of you were in the mood right now. Chris was. He was using Matt’s setup and playing Duo’s with Nick. 

“Fuckin’ - Nick, move your ass!” Chris seethes, biting into his lip with concentration. A slight tap on his shoulder makes his attention budge, he looks up to see Matt staring down at him with lazy eyes. 

“We’re gonna lay down, but can you wrap it up soon? Just gettin’ tired,” he explains, yawning as he feels your head rest on top of his shoulder from behind. 

Chris nods, trying to whisper-yell as the two of you get comfortable. Usually, PDA isn’t your thing, but both of you are just too tired to care, cuddling up as you pull Matt’s into your arms, cradling his face into your breasts while slinging your leg over his waist and playing with his hair. 

The chat is going insane, fawning over the cute display instead of giving Chris’s poor gaming skills any attention. Your eyes feel heavy, only drooping more and more each second. Matt’s snoring is quiet. The subtle notion of his hands clutching onto you in his sleep makes you wave in and out of consciousness until everything fades into a dream. 

Chris finally wins. Happily, he looks over to the chat, only to see them freaking out over the scene behind him. 

Scoffing, he looks over his shoulder with a jokingly disgusted facial expression, “It’s not that cute. I do that with Nick all the time guys.” 

03: Love - Hate Relationship…

Matt hates sharing your attention sometimes. He loves seeing you be a part of his life, but something about tonight had just irked him immensely. You were laughing at the chat more than you were laughing at him and that put a sour pout on his face as he kept getting grumpier. 

The ‘Mattitude’ was definitely showing. You couldn’t help but laugh and that was only making his frown deepen.

“You’re so mean,” he whispers, his forehead resting against the back of your shoulder as you sit in his lap - a regular occurrence that the fans absolutely adore being able to see.

Your body racks with laughter. Matt peeks over your shoulder to see you typing back in the chat, his jaw dropping with offense as he sees you figuring out the controls - unbanning the word ‘Mattitude.’ 

“Hey!” he exclaims, hugging your arms as he peels you away from the keyboard. “Alright, that’s it - streams over,” he announces, seemingly even more upset. 

But, Matt’s smile betrays him. The slight curl of his lips is apparent as he reaches to hit ‘End Stream’ - your contagious giggles making it impossible for him to stay mad at all. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” he says, cradling you in his lap like a baby, staring down at your face as he dips his head down to trace the tip of your nose with his. 

“Are you mad?” you ask, brushing your hand over his jaw as you feel the light scruff of his beard. 

Matt shakes his head, his lips starting to peck all over your face. It’s so warm - it’s so soft. 

“Never,” he whispers, smiling against your cheek as he lazily kisses the corner of your mouth. 

It’s absolutely adorable, a sight so full of love that it’s sickeningly sweet. 

At least that’s what the stream thinks. 

Thank god he accidentally missed the button. Now, you can relive the moment over and over and over again.

[acid-ixx]

〔00〕 — 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 : perfect perception

DIRECTORY: concept, chapter 00, chapter 01

it was always just you, and your family.

just you, your mother, twin brother, and grandfather. the puzzle is complete, there is no need for an extra couple of pieces to add on to your already satiated life. there is no need to work hard, or to endure painful endeavors to attain what you want; not when your family would complete it all for you.

it wasn't like you could, or should, complain, no? you have everything granted to you from when you were born. scarred hands, jagged figure, weary eyes; those aren't necessary for a person like you, who will always be sheltered, in both cozy blankets and loving arms. oblivious to the cruel world and pesting hands that claw on innocent beings like you.

a steady house life, a mother who shielded your innocence from all the bloodshed within the family's ordeals, who read to you fairytales, who had you sleep in her bed when you feared, when you foresaw what you thought were monsters under your bed. instead of inhibiting hatred for an heir who'd flinch at raising hands and the sound of clanging swords, she encouraged your meak demeanor and even spoiled tantrums. she runs her hands across your silky tresses, and kisses your forehead a thousand times if you'd even mention it in a passing moment. she dresses you in jewels, in velvety, silky clothes, and bathes you in toys and gifts you never seem to ask for. your little body sleeps on her chest, and listen the steady beat of her heart, calm and beating, all for you.

you teach her softness, and the joys of being a mother. a concept foreign in her eyes, raised opposite to you. she sees herself in you, and projects what should've been her childhood to her youngest twin child.

you have a twin brother, who, despite being born only a few minutes before you, was significantly older than you, both mentally and spiritually. from the moment he was taken into the world, his duty to take all your pain away and to become your very light was established. and like the warrior he is, he takes that daunting task and transforms it into motivation. he is your knight in shining armor, the prince who catches you when you fall, the one who braves your nightmares, the swordman to your royalty. he trains, all day and night, from such a young age to protect you from unnecessary dangers he understood even his mother fears you'd be subjected to. he does not complain, he does not find reasons to gripe; he takes the scars, the bruises, the punishments and missions all in stride. if it meant seeing you happy and unaware from all the cruelty of living; then so be it. as long as, by the end of the day, he comes back to your shared room to find your tiny form drawing a childish imagery of the little family you love and cherish.

you teach him compassion, vulnerability, and share with him the admiration for arts.

then there is your grandfather. a hardened leader, a monster to all those who serve, but an idol in the eyes of oblivious you. he justifies violence in the wake of achieving his goals, he doesn't tolerate mankind's treatment of nature and its animals, and takes the lives of those who dares oppose. but you are treated differently, like glass that shatters at the softest of hits. his words are sugarcoated and stripped down to the most infantine of comprehension, his eyes are soft every time he kneels to your level to gently request that you return to your room. ra's does not kneel, he does not plead, he does not stoop to those younger than him. but to you, naive and dewy-eyed, akin to a fawn hiding behind a mother's legs, he does. every week, he takes in various experts in the field of teaching to become your mentors in whatever passion you have. he is the foundation of your growth, and he prides himself in that regard.

from him, you learn your love of animals. from you, he learns of weakness, and defeat to such platonic desires.

with your little family, you are happy. you never have to find reasons to complain about food, clothes, or any luxuries their family, akin to royalty, could obtain. you have a family smothering you in affection, attention, to the point where all you have to do is smile at the slightest thing and notice how they melt to your whims.

you were never alone when you didn't want to, you were always guarded, safe, and constantly served.

as you should, as it always should be.

and it was a routine you were used to. you never complained, you never pondered beyond primitive knowledge, you had never desired for more, or wanted less. life was normal despite the strange arrangements with servants always being by your beck and call, or how your brother would always seem to come seeking you after another day of "hard work" your mother doesn't permit you to try, with gashes that litter his tan skin and usually sharp eyes, still fixed with a glare though softened once your arms come to coddle him as a reward.

he finds comfort in your hold. it never once registered within you his ever-growing strength and how his hold on you would always seem to to tighten whenever a potential friend would pass by.

yet you are loved either way, you are cared for. what more is there to ask when you have and always been the singular pearl dripping with grace, poise, and a softness beyond the brutish weapons swung within the training grounds your brother finds himself in.

you are loved by everybody: by your mother, by your brother, by your grandfather, and you're the necessary voice that calls out mercy for whenever a servant would be punished for maintaining a less than satisfactory performance when it comes to serving you. you're the light of reason beyond instictive swings of the sword and the impulsive raise of a voice demanding for battle to settle a deal; biting your lips in disappointment every time your mother attempts to punish a small mistake a servant would do right in front of you.

although certain voices in the hallways find your presence... unsavory, out of place, or they simply pity you; whispers filtering through the kind words everyone else never withdraws from you— nonetheless, they'd have no choice but to obey your childish whims, to smile at you, to be kind and diligent to your emotions.

everything is perfect.

yes, yes it is. an undeniable fact within the factions of your heart. you ignore the subtle strain within your chest, the way the emptiness becomes blatant, and the misunderstood desire for something else... something greater, far beyond the honor of your current family; and replace it with temporary joy.

a joy that softly smiles at the piling gifts, a joy that teaches itself to be good, to be grateful, and to dismiss the ever-changing spotlight you have for your family.

to ignore their hushed whispers whenever your small, eight-year old form with wide eyes, holding a toy between your chest, inquire about what they're discussing with that requires such... strained air and ridged poses.

to ignore their careful words, their gentle hands that pats your hair, that beckons you to come to a different room, and the irritation and bubbling tantrums paired with the heat that wraps your boiling thoughts and clenching hands.

you ignore, and try to neglect that growing ache that insurmountably never passes.

even if you lay in bed every night, unable to sleep, gaining consciousness slowly but surely after another day passes.

you ignore, and dismiss, and it all becomes a cycle that you ought to never break, to never rupture with childish curiosity and the thirst for wisdom.

... because everything is perfect.

everything is perfect. like the candlelight beams of the moon dancing through victorian styled windows, fluttering past the curtains to kiss your resting body every night you lay sleeping on a king-sized mattress, surrounded by soft, cotton plushies and silky, cool blankets as your brother coddles you; your head laying on his chest like routine.

it is perfect like the gardens of flowers all planted with your favorites, an array of colors harmoniously dancing to the sway of traversing winds and bumbling pollinators.

it is perfect like the daily hustle and bustle of your servants, buzzing through wide spans of hallways with their voices mingling through busy air and the wafting scent of a new delicacy your mother ornately chose for you to try.

everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

until the illusion of completeness, of unity and satisfaction were shattered like the bones of your brother's opponents, powderized to mere dust.

until you take notice of the hollow piece in your heart, until your servant mentions a father (a word so foreign, so similar to mother... but different all the same) in mere passing when you two had conversed whilst they were tying your shoes.

at first, you didn't pay a mind, proposing to yourself that you'd ask your mother instead after you've finished your daily assignments.

but then, unlike every other time where you dismissed, ignored and forgot— you began to ponder.

the word, the meaning, its possible etymology and every historical relationship it might've contained; a lesson your brilliant mentor taught you, one that served as a paveway for curious, little you, to investigate.

a trait you're sure nobody really tackled within your family.

if that is so, then where does your stubbornness, your drive to seek answers, come from?

you try to solve the puzzle pieces, ones you thought were never present in your life, your mind wracking through stored memories of a young, prying individual like you; until you came to a conclusion.

does it possibly come from a... father?

father...?

father?

father.

... your brother, too, said the same word.

when he was tired and beat from his training, when all he wanted was a singular hug, whose hands were stained with dripping ichor and knees bruised from hitting upon rocky ground. his emerald eyes were seeking your presence, and you find how his delirious state, itching for calm after another stormy trial of missions, was abnormal; unlike you who flinched at the dizzying scent of blood.

too mature, now you've noticed. a presence that exudes superiority, that takes the lives of those who rebel, that punishes anything less than perfect; that only softens, whose shoulders only sag when he takes in your presence within the same room as him— traits too foreign in the midst of a brother the same age as you.

so when you denied him of oasis, when your young brain was too scared, too worried and all the more wishing for answers on why he always comes back bleeding and injured, rejecting his offer for you to come closer— he all but seethes, and instead sighs; watching your quivering lips and the igniting fight in your eyes, a shaded mixture of your mother's and his.

"you're exactly like what mother told me. stubborn like our father when inconsolable... but i love you too much, akhi/akhti, to care for your lesser."

he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes gleaming under moonlit glow as he looks at you, emotions too miscellaneous beyond the swirling pools of green that always keeps a watch on you.

sometimes, he feels less like a brother and more of a knight. sometimes, you wish to rebel and instead dig deep into what's been happening to your brother these past few years, shaped by experience you never once caught yourself transpiring through. sometimes, you wish he doesn't treat you like a glass ornament.

sometimes, you wish you had a normal family.

as much as his words were sweet, as much as you would've felt warmth at the mere affection and exception he holds you in regard to his heart, even if he takes your body in his arms prior to your previous rejection, all but melting and rocking your body to sleep; a common method he utilizes to make you feel drowsy, and to eventually forget the blood on his sheathed sword and sinful hands once your eyes drift to a close—

you still reflect upon his words even if weeks had already passed by after that incident, even if he must've thought your somnolence was enough to dismiss whatever was the 'grammatical' mistake he'd mumbled that night was a product of fatigue after a long day of work.

... because despite being the perfect family, despite the love and care they foster within your heart; washing off the beating emptiness in your chest was harder than any injuries you've obtained after momentary clumsiness.

at least you knew when those scars were incurred, at least you had people to comfort you through the tears that escaped through your eyes.

but this immaterial emptiness has long since festered within the confines of your caged soul.

it beckons you to choose rebellion, it traps your thumping heart and tightens its hold on it, snaring it in a pit you couldn't crawl yourself out of.

desire drives you further away from delusion, from the foundations of weaved lies and rose-tinted picturesque perfection.

and you began to crave satiation to at least mend the missing puzzle piece in your heart; piece by piece, stitch by stitch.

who is your father? what is a father? why did dami told me i'm like... our father?

as you sit alone in your bed, toys long forgotten, alone with only the cool breeze fluttering by your window to accompany you. the questions begin to grate at your mind, yet all you do is bring your knees closer to your chest, lips dry at the forgone isolation you put yourself through after a cycle of endless thinking.

"momma will be here soon," you mutter to yourself. your voice, meek and highly pitched, young and cradling childish curiosity; it breaks at the seams when your fingers bring itself to touch and wipe away at wet cheeks and tender, aching eyes.

dami was right; you are stubborn like your father.

because even if they try all necessary means to shroud your life in seclusion from reality— you don't easily back out of a losing fight.

even if the tears you shed from the lack of progress were insurmountable, even if you knew you were at a physical disadvantage shall push come to shove where you'd have to fight your dearest brother, even if it means struggling against the invisible shackle your beloved family locked you in.

because your perfect perception of your fucked up family has long since dissipated from the moment your servant and your brother mentioned a foreign word.

a simple word, a small mistake, yet acting as a newer path of life that long since diverged from the only way you knew how to live.

and you still wish to solve the mystery of your forlorn emptiness.

will you give up just so easily? would the tears you shed all become mere depression?

no, not even as you sit in your too-huge bed, with no clue on where or how to start a hopeless journey; too young to plan, too little to fight, too tenderhearted in the views of your family.

even then, your red, rubbed raw eyes seek to look back on your first hint from within the room

a dictionary was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, thrown haphazardly, opened to a certain page that highlights words closest to 'father'.

you crawl, with sore arms and wobbly legs, to retrieve the heavy, hard-bound and gold-encased dictionary, lounging on your bed with a damaged spine.

your fingers return to traverse multiple pages yet again—

stubborn, impatient and impulsive.

earlier, it came to you in the form of realization that the dictionary your mentor assigned you to read had a missing word cut precisely with a blade and replaced with an unintelligible one.

earlier, you realized just how much your perfect family was only perfect because they've hidden the truth from you.

earlier should've been years ago, earlier should've never been swept off the rug so easily. but what could an eight year old like you do? you've none of damian's talents to quickly learn, you're raised differently. it is only now you wish you weren't so gullible.

and as your fingers strum against pages, near to ripping out expensive paper, tears unceasing, lips bitten 'til bleeding— you learn, and you grow beyond simple comprehension.

motivation, and the drive to uncover all things unsaid, even if the end would result in something negative.

through them, you'll soon learn of spite, of anguish, and bitter contempt.

but for now, you're merely left alone, with only a mantra of words all circling back to dami's words; so many questions left unanswered.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: honestly don't know half of what i wrote + i don't like this as much as i wanted it to come out. this went through multiple revisions with an added fact of me trying to discern why my writing style keeps fluctuating 😭 guys please comment about what you think of this. if this flops, i'm gonna quit writing LMAO. this is a bit more formal than my usual style (re: again & again) because i wanted to capture the regality of the al ghul's family partly told through the perspective of a child.

taglist: @th0rn118, @obsessedwithromance @rogueofbullshit @ch1cky-093, @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd, @confused-they @biiibs01, @ghostdoodlen, @earlqurl, @chericia, @herebyaccident0, @ilovemyhusbandnanami, @mintynilla, @lilyalone, @anonymousdisco, @plsfckmedxddy, @maria-figueiredo, @143637-hrrm, @neerathebrightstar, @jsprien213, @realifezompire, @sammytheotakunerd, @sh4rk-k1d, @confused-they, @peptox, @lillian-morningstar.

[misaligncd]

"mhm," mumbled fawn, unable to stop herself from grinning," just missed you." though she quickly found herself gasping as she continued to sink down. her eyes nearly fluttered shut as she moaned helplessly. her body was so eager as she felt inch after inch pushing inside of her. a slight pout appeared on her face as they coaxed her gaze to remain fixated on their face," so good," she choked out, feeling how messy she already was. one of her hands shot up to push her hair back as she felt her hips being coaxed down. only for their cock to be pushing inside of her faster and faster. a string of moans escaped from her as she eagerly tried to bounce up and down. her arms locking around their neck.

"you're entire shift? thinking about my cock splitting you in half?" they teased, biting down on their bottom lip as they watched her sinking down onto their length. they let out a long breath and found themselves grunting a little. "that's it... take what you need, pretty girl. make sure to look me in the eye, though." they kept their grip on her chin, other hand moving to her waist as they rocked their hips upwards. after the show they got? they wouldn't hold back. they guided her hips down as pushed their hips up, slamming their cock up into her pussy faster and faster with each thrust.

[fawniswriting]

Faithfully Yours Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Summary: Marrying the King of Asgard is one of your duties as a princess, even if your affection belongs to another. When tragedy falls upon your kingdom, the life as you knew it is lost. With Sir James Barnes by your side, will you finally be able to prioritize your heart, or will there be even more things at stake?

Warning(s): historical royal AU. forbidden love (princess x knight/royal guard). mutual pining and yearning. SLOWburn (not even kidding, it's a slowwwwburnnn). fake marriage. mentions of arranged marriage. loss of family member(s). depictions of battle, explosion, violence, injuries, and death. jealousy. angst and fluff. eventual smut (18+ mdni) (pls check warnings in each chapter for more detailed info)

Hi everyone, my name is Fawn! This is the masterlist of my royal!AU Bucky series. I hope you like the story! And if you do, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog!

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Chapter 01 | Fire and Blood

As the princess of your kingdom, marriage has always been a mere duty to fulfill. You’re well aware of your impending matrimony to the King of Asgard, so why does the rumor of Sir James Barnes’ betrothal trouble you so?

Chapter 02 | Sword and Ribbons

Following a near escape, you and Sir Barnes must configure a plan of survival, even if it means ignoring the taut tension between the two of you.

Chapter 03 | Dagger and Thread

Your journey continues, though multiple unexpected hindrances force you and Sir Barnes to keep changing course. After one of you finds yourself in trouble, an intimate moment is shared.

Chapter 04 | Candles and Hearth

To be added.

.

.

.

To be continued.

[chrrific]

HE WAS A JOCK AND SHE DID JAZZ ─── A LEE HEESEUNG WRITTEN SERIES

𝓁’H𝑖STO𝑖RE ─── lee heeseung; campus heartthrob and most cheered on basketball team leader in the history of seoul high. girls fawning over him and practically screaming and fainting in joy over him sparing them a glance was normal to him; he loved the attention. while you, oh you were a completely different case. a popular jazz dancer in the school, famous for her sharp lines and fluid movements. as well as a well maintained repertoire as the top student in your year. however, heeseung had a problem; he was failing english. it’s not like he was bad at speaking it, he was just not amazing at grammar, so to speak. (he was lost the second you asked him what an adverb was, if you know what i mean). and you, you just so happened to be passing english with flying colours. such flying colours that your English professor put you up for the task to get his grade up by the end of the semester. what could go wrong? A — you got done with the task of betting his grades up and go back to your normal life or B — you got tangled in a web of lies, an awkward situationship and a… crown?

𝓹airing b-ball jock! heeseung x jazz dancer! 𝑓. reader 𝒘𝒄 mentioned in each chapter. ─── somewhat strangers to lovers he fell first she fell harder typa thing >< angst fluff ୨ৎ 𝓵 ’avis lots of tension + angst + kissing — more tba & will be mentioned in each chapter.

featuring: heeseung + all of enha ahn yujin (ive) shin ryujin (itzy) myung jaehyun (bnd) uchinaga aeri + yoo jimin (aespa) && more tba!

series taglist ( open / send an ask, comment, or dm to be added ) — @erehkinnie30 @rairaiblog @heebear @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia @heesexual74 @heeaara @mheretoreadff @wonuziex @right-person-wrong-time @strwbrryh00n @mellowgalaxystrawberry @tami1992x @bywonyo @annoyingbitch83 @nct-sticker-127 @mwahvvis @m1ksso @riribelle @firstclassjaylee

perm. taglist ( also open / do the same above to be added ) — @liya07v @strvvy-anniee @flufflights @eunandonly @hannamoon143 @irasvr @ateez-atiny380 @amoressb @ikeulove @gudkc @mrsjohnnysuh @sol3chu @nerdywitchcrown @sol3chu @puma-riki

check out some more of my fics here at my masterlist

characters : 𝑖. da b-ball homies 𝑖𝑖. y/n’s prehistoric human jazz troupe

episodes :

01. whats an adverb?

02. “she’s mental, im tellin’ ya”

03. LAPD, open up

04.

05.

06.

07.

more episodes + episode names tba. [ch names subject to change]

mick’s 注記 ─── ackk my first series of the year !! hopefully I get the motivation to continue it, because that has happened with a lot of other series.

[222col]

— AM I MAKING YOU FEEL SICK?

fawn!reader x rafe cameron

summary: the camerons were new to town, but your father had sworn you away from rafe. only when your compulsions grow to hard to ignore during your fathers service one sunday, do you finally meet the real rafe cameron

cw .ᐟ cannibalism, blood, gore, mentions of murder, religious themes

01. — AM I MAKING YOU FEEL SICK?

your daddy had warned you away. warned you away from most, but him in particular. the cameron's were fairly new to town, a different breed of family compared to what you were used to. must have come from a place where people knew their name.

you never knew why they arrived here, but they did. started coming to church, wheezie joined the youth group you helped your mother run, sarah apart of the older girls that joined you on camping trips in the forest behind the church. but him? he was another entity completely.

rafe was a puzzle you couldn't solve. you knew you shouldn't even want to. a stern shake of the head from your father the first time you attempted to introduce yourself to him was enough to force you to keep your distance.

with the secrets you kept, you weren't in a place to judge. that would go against your teachings, too. but his eyes looked to hide a multitude of horrors. you could only hope your own didn't show the world the torture you were forced to endure. the crimes you couldn't stop yourself from commiting, the nightmare you were living in.

he was the closest you had felt to someone like you. being near him was the nearest you'd felt to comfort in the acts you'd carried out. somehow, he felt like you, in another body.

you had no proof, of course. that rafe was an eater. but something about his eyes, the clench of his jaw, the crack of his neck, he was hiding horrors— you knew it.

he was an outsider in town, never interacted with the locals. he was barely seen outside his house, only in church when his father forced him on a sunday. they looked like they were playing house. playing happy families.

running quickly out of the church, the smell of sweat and the cut on your brothers knee flooding your senses. a look of disapproval from your father, as you mumble a sorry through your retches. breathing erratic, trying to calm your senses.

the cigarette sat between his teeth, hand guarding the flame as he lit the stick. foot resting against the wood, the hymns sung within the walls muffled as rafe exhales the smoke. "fucks up with you?" he mumbles, his voice making you jump.

you swear you can hear his heartbeat, eyes blown as you look up to him. you can't speak, near enough drooling as his scent hits your nose. must look a mad-woman, eyes daring to roll back into your head.

"look like you wanna eat me, or somethin'," he grumbles, smirk threatening his features. the cigarette meets his lips again, as your eyes meet his. "god, i do." you breathe out, unable to lie in the state you were in.

you hadn't eaten in weeks, could be months. and he was everything you'd been sworn away from. his flesh looked like heaven, with enough meat to keep you fed for months. he was no longer a boy, no longer a human in your vision, but your next meal.

too close. everyone you knew, everyone you loved were too close. the battered, rotting walls of your father's church were the only distance between you and them. but you couldn't stop. couldn't draw yourself away from compulsion. you were lunging before you could halt.

the material of his shirt pulled, shoulder exposed as your teeth bit into the flesh. blood dripping down onto the white cotton, collar stained with his own fluid.

he didn't scream. didn't shout. barely pushed you away. rafe almost let you. a piece of him within you before he stopped you. his pupils as blown as your own, he wasn't scared. but in that moment you realised, he wasn't one of you, either.

that's what scared you. he wasn't an eater. but he let you eat.

his hands stayed clutching your shoulders, creating the space between you, but keeping you there. he wasn't letting you run, wasn't running himself. he looked almost envious.

you had a reason to kill, to feed, to take what you needed. he could sense it within you, this wasn't a choice, but a compulsion— a part of you, you were born with his need. rafe wasn't so lucky.

when he killed, it wasn't for substance. wasn't to eat, to take what he needed. no, rafe killed to take away. he killed for want, to watch the life drain, to feel the power of choosing who lived and who died. he got to play god.

his compulsions weren't biological in the way yours were, weren't a case of saving himself by eating. his impulses were purely psychological, egotistical even.

his eyes cast down to his shoulder, still bleeding, missing flesh. the idea of it all made his blood run hot, excited him, in some fucked up way. rafe looks back to you, to the blood dripping from your mouth, his blood upon your lips.

"teach me." he whispers, the words repeated like a mantra. mumbles of 'teach me, teach me' fall from his lips until they meet yours. he's not soft, not gentle. his tongue slides over your lips, not asking for entry, but tasting himself.

you can still taste his flesh on your tongue as he kisses you, unable to stop yourself kissing him back. adrenaline too high to rationalise. "teach me how to be like you." he mumbles, words escaping him like a prayer.

you should tell him no, take off running into the forest and never look back. leave your town, leave the church and learn to fend for yourself. but he's here, before you, begging for acceptance. for an excuse, a reason to give into his impulses.

and you were before him, a devil in disguise willing to give him just that.

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

꒰ taglist ꒱ @khartalks @funkycoloured @bluestrd @appleaali @donteventry-itdude @gublerstylesobrien1238 @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @lvve-talks @soft-starr @shahabaqsa0310 @imperishablereverie @pinkpantheressluver @sweetestfaiszts @cokewithcameron @h3nt41sarchive ( to be added )

[misaligncd]

vacations weren't something that fawn took that often. probably because of what had happened on the last one she had gone on. fawn had to be talked into going on this trip. a girl's trip had been what they called it! she knew that she should try to have a good time and get to know the girls she was working with now, more. that was how she found herself on the beach, having a few drinks before deciding to take a dip in the ocean. plus it wouldn't hurt to get tan given she danced on a stage most nights under some intense lighting.

she barely realized that someone was speaking to her. she had been looking out towards the water. though she felt eyes on her which had made her turn. her stomach instantly dropped at the sight of a familiar face," um, hi." the last time she had seen him, she had made a swift and quiet exit from his hotel room. her eyes widened at his words and she didn't know if she should apologize or not," i can't say that i do since only done it..once." instantly she wished she could clap her hand over his mouth but not too many people were close. the blonde crossed her arms before taking a few steps towards him," do you just say whatever comes to mind? i know that i probably shouldn't have snuck out that night but i was-i was nervous okay?" plus there had been a surprise nearly a few months after that but she wasn't about to share that information with him.

open to ﹕female muses

plotline ﹕your muse and colin hooked up once in a foreign city, thinking they'd never see each other again, with her sneaking out the next morning before he even awoke. however, your muse is now on vacation in the small beach town where he lives and he'll do anything for a second taste. maybe she fell pregnant from that one night, or snuck out because she was scared. all variations are okay and age gaps are welcome!

muse ﹕colin barnett

it couldn't be... right? he looked towards the water with his surfboard under his arm, watching the girl splash around with her legs in the water. immediately he was drawn to her, remembering the taste of both her lips and her pussy on his tongue, as well as the way she'd come undone with him inside of her. without really thinking, colin stuck his board in the sand, running his hand through his hair before he set off into a jog down the beach, towards the crashing waves. it wasn't until he was an arms length away that he slowed down, running his eyes over her bikini-clad body and biting down on his lower lip in appreciation. as though she felt his presence behind her, she turned and colin crossed his arms across his chest. "well look who we have here..." he started with a cock of his brow. "... miss houdini. do you make it a habit of sneaking out of men's hotel rooms at five o'clock in the morning?" he asked with a bit of bitterness lacing his tone. it had been a while but she still looked good enough to eat and colin had every intention of doing just that. "i mean, i'd have thought that after i made you cum four times, that i'd have at least earned the right to breakfast." the waves lapped at his naked feet, his chest bare as he'd been on his way into the water when he'd spotted her, but his eyes were locked on hers.

[berryqueercc]

Yeaaaa this one is even longer than the blushes one. But I like facepaints for the use of my aliens I make so of course it's going to have the most.

Anyway this is a bunch of facepaints I like, things I recategorized as facepaints, and things I created, in my colors.

These work for all ages, frames, genders and occults.

Otherworld Swatch

Duotone Swatch

Galaxy Swatch

Gradient Swatch

Download and Originals below the cut!

[Google Drive P1] [Google Drive P2]

In the order above:

#1-3 - My favorite DAI Vallaslins converted #4-15 - A couple of my Andromeda Facepaints. #16 - Thunder Facepaint by Brainstrip #17 & 18 - Dots Facepaint by DecayClown #19-21 - Spots Facepaint by DecayClown #22 & 23 - Bat Lady Blush by EvilQuinzel #24 - Data Eyeliner by EvilQuinzel #25 & 26 - Cupid Eyeliner by EvilQuinzel #27 - Mermaid Blush by EvilQuinzel #28-30 - Cyberskull Blush by EvilQuinzel #31-33 - CyFi Neuromancer Blush by EvilQuinzel #34 - Snow Eyeliner by EvilQuinzel #35 - Stargaze Eyeliner by EvilQuinzel #36 - A facepaint part of a set I started and never finished. #37 & 38 - Circuit Spots by iyaS #39 - Starpop Blush A by J3LLYFISH #40-42 - Starpop Blush B by J3LLYFISH #43 - Starpop Blush C by J3LLYFISH #44 & 45 - Eyeshadow N10 by Jul-Haos #46 - Fallen Marks by KikuruAcchi #47 - Runes by KikuruAcchi #48 - Runes Of The Forest by KikuruAcchi #49 - Constellation And Stars by LaraBliss #50 - Saiiia Face Tattoo by Lisaminicatsims #51 - Myshuno Glitter by Networksims #52 & 53 - Alien Dot Markings by pastelsims #54 - Alien Facepaint V6 by Reevaly #55-63 - Petchy Alien Spots TS2 Conversion #64-69 - Petchy's Alien Spots by Glowing a-la FutileFairytale #70-72 - Alien Facepaint V4 by Reevaly #73-75 - Alien Facepaint V5 by Reevaly #76 - Alien Facepaint V7 by Reevaly #77 - Alien Facepaint V8 by Reevaly #78 - Anjos V2 by Reevaly #79-80 - Belle Blush by Reevaly #81 - Butterfly Blush V3 by Reevaly #82 - Dots V1 by Reevaly #83-84 - Dot Blush V1 by Reevaly #85 - Biium Blush by Reevaly #86 - Dot V7 by Reevaly #87 - Dot V8 by Reevaly #88 - Dot Facepaint V9 by Reevaly #89 - Fae Paint V1 by Reevaly #90 - Fae Paint V7 by Reevaly #91-93 - Facemask Halloween by Reevaly #94 & 95 - Gudrun by Reevaly #96 - Halloween Mask V1 by Reevaly #97 - Halloween Mask V3 by Reevaly #98 - Neon Blush V1 by Reevaly #99 - Neon Blush V2 by Reevaly #100 - Neon Blush V3 by Reevaly #101 - Neon Blush V5 by Reevaly #102 - Neon Blush V6 by Reevaly #103 - Spring Tulia by Reevaly #104 - Xintus by Reevaly #105 - Error 404 not found. #106 - Face Glitter by SmallFoxie #107 - Demon Blush by Taty #108 - Fantasy Tattoo 01 by Taty #109-111 - Fantasy Tattoo 02 by Taty #112-114 - Fantasy Blush 01 by Taty #115-117 - Fantasy Blush 02 by Taty #118-120 - Fantasy Freckle by Taty #121 - Fantasy Blush 05 by Taty #122 - Fantasy Blush 09 by Taty #123 - Mermaid Blush by Taty #124 - Tribal Blush by Taty #125 - Tribal Blush 02 by Taty #126 - Tribal Face 04 by Taty #127 - Tribal Face 05 by Taty #128 - Tribal Face 06 by Taty #129 - Tribal Face 07 by Taty #130 - Tribal Face 02 by Taty #131 - Tribal Blush 03 by Taty #132 - Lots A Dot by KatDashes TS2 Conversion #133-135 - Thessia Spots by Kiinu TS2 Conversion #136 - Constellation Freckles by PascalCurious TS2 Conversion #137 & 138 - Stargaze by Tealeaf TS2 Conversion #139 & 140 - Fawn Tattoo V2 by UnidentifiedSims #141 - CyFi Cosmic Crush Eyeshadow by Willeekmer #142 & 143 - Pride 24 by Willeekmer #144 - Honeybee Eyeshadow by Willeekmer #145-147 - Simply Spots by Xyliax #148-149 - Trapping's Beneghalis TS2 Conversion by Weepingsimmer

[wonubby]

GOL PARI JOON ! - K. BAKUGO

chapter 01: he's so gorgeous

SYPONOSIS - at U.A, y/n is known as Gol Pari, the untouchable flower fairy. admired by all, wanted by many, but she rejects them all without hesitation. yet, the only one she desires is katsuki bakugo, the one guy who doesn’t care. and y/n isn’t used to being ignored.

CONTENT WARNING - swearing, suggestive jokes, reader is harrassed, bakugo being bakugo, reader fawning over bakugo's biceps

TAGLIST - @windyremedy @kenmacantakemeaway @y4r-3 @raytoebiter @nikisgfff @anything4yoongi @bluejaylo @amenabiii

WORD COUNT - 532

translations: joonam - my life, azizam - my dear, eshgham - my love, pesaram - my boy (i didnt really know how to say this bc my farsi's a bit rusty but..)

previous - masterlist - next

minutes ticked by as y/n impatiently waited in the bathroom, arms crossed, foot tapping against the tile. where the hell was her knight in shining armor?

this wasn’t new—being attractive came with its fair share of annoyances, especially in a hero school. usually, she had her friends around to keep things from escalating, but luck clearly wasn’t on her side tonight.

some guys just had no shame. it was almost comical how the same ones who claimed to "like" her turned into the biggest creeps when rejected. honestly, being a pretty girl was exhausting.

a sharp, familiar voice cut through the air.

"oi, freak. the fuck do you think you're doing lurking outside the girls' bathroom?"

y/n’s shoulders instantly relaxed. bakugo. finally.

the guy outside barely missed a beat. "huh? oh, hey, man! my girl’s in there. just waiting for her to finish up."

liar.

bakugo’s eye twitched. "you’ve got five seconds to beat it. if i ever catch you hovering around here again, i’ll blast your sorry ass to hell. got it?"

his gaze darkened as he recognized the guy—the same idiot who always left y/n chocolates like he was some tragic romantic lead.

a shaky breath. a muttered, "you got it." and just like that, he was gone, scurrying off like a kicked stray.

pathetic.

"hey, brat. you can come out now. he's gone."

the second the words left his mouth, y/n flew the door open, immediately wrapping her arms around him.

"kats! thank you so much. i was starting to think i'd have to sleep in there," she mumbled into his neck, her grip firm as his hands instinctively rested on her hips.

bakugo, caught off guard, stiffened before quickly pushing her off with a grunt, cheeks tinged pink. "tch, whatever. you needa get your fanbase in check, joonam. can’t be the number one hero if the only one i’m saving is you." bakugo teased, saying the nickname mockingly.

y/n grinned, hearing the endearing pet name slip from his mouth. "don't tell me you're getting soft on me, kats. you know how i love my men all hot-headed and mean." she stretched out the word "love," batting her lashes up at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

scoffing, bakugo turned on his heel and walked off without another word, but she didn't miss the way his ears burned red.

not that she could even be annoyed at him at his impudent behaviour. how could she, when he looked like that? the black compression tank clung to him like a second skin, every defined muscle practically carved beneath the thin material.

pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, y/n let out a small chuckle, shaking her head before heading back to her dorm.

where, of course, she wasted no time filling the girls in on their little interaction.

"c’mon, jirou, you just don’t get it! who cares if he’s nasty or mean? he’s sooooo gorgeous, i just want to—"

"y/n, i beg you, do not finish that sentence!" jirou groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "i can't sit through another rant about how oh-so-sexy his biceps are or, god forbid, what you think his reproductive organ looks like."

y/n smirked. "we all know it sits at a solid 8.4—"

a pillow flew straight into her face.

"SHUT UP!" both mina and jirou screamed in unison, leaving y/n in a giggling fit.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience S2:01:~The Ouran Host Club is back in Business!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: It's the grand re-opening of the host club but some news threatens to sabotage the host club as we know it ➼ what to expect:  "The only problem with your little plan is that there is no future where i would be jealous of Tamaki" ➼ warnings: n/a ➼ S1:25 | S2:02

"You know Tamaki we never officially declared the disbandment of the host club, why are we holding a big re-opening when we never really closed?" You raise an eyebrow, staring at the flapper dress in front of you.

"Because y/n, everyone loves a party, and we have great cause for party, have I ever needed an excuse?" Tamaki smiles, squeezing you shoulders. "Besides, the moment that you brought up the idea of having a great gatsby themed event I couldn't resist"

Tamaki floats and spins across the music room "I mean the circumstances are perfect”

You raise an eyebrow at the sight, laughing “I am glad that you see so much light in the two of us nearly being basically kidnapped back to Europe”

“Yes but nearly is the operative word dear y/n"

"Sure...did you at least get me some shoes to match?" a smile starts to creep in behind your questioning gaze. "And a tiara"

You sigh, biting your lip as you star at the bejewelled dress "Okay I may see some pro's to throwing this party"

Tamaki scoffs, "Please you were in agreement the moment I came in here with Feather boas" You purse your lips "Possibly"

"Unfortunately, a 'great gatsby' party as you two call it is unavoidably costly, we're still recovering from the costs of the Ouran fair" Kyoya mutters from a table nearby.

"Kyoya" Tamaki whines, elongating the a, "It's a grand re-opening"

"Just think about all the potential new guests Kyoya, a party such as this is costly but also unignorable, it will be a worthwhile investment I'm sure" you chime in, picking up the dress in front of you.

"Fine..." he grumbles "Just don't bankrupt us in the process"

The door creaks open, revealing an out of breath Hikaru and Kaoru, a newspaper clutched in hand "We have a problem"

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The Ouran Host club is back in business!

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"This is ridiculous" You mutter, throwing the newspaper against the table as you sit back down at one of the tables. "It certainly is a low blow but I guess it is to be expected from them"

It was clear in black and white 'THE NOT SO SECRET ADMIRERS OF THE HOST CLUB REVEALED, THE GIRLS WHO WOULD RATHER FAWN OVER MEN THAN GO TO CLASS, More on page 2'

It is sneaky, it is low, it is misogynistic, and it has the newspaper club all over it.

"This is bad; our guests come here to enjoy themselves free of judgement, hence why we never publish photos with them in it. That is compromised now, a lot of our guests will be put off by this"

There has always been some degree of anonymity in the host club. To know who attends you have to also have been in the host club at some point. A lot of girls found comfort in that knowledge and it is clear.

Tamaki paces up and down the room, worried that the host club may not even be able to reopen.

"This is the school newspaper we are talking about, there probably haven't been that many people who have read it" Haruhi points out, the twins sigh.

"If it was any other issue than that probably would be the case, but a copy was left on everyone's desk and it is literally front page." Hikaru points out.

"I see..."

"What would they get from printing this though?"

"Simple, they know that it will deter guests, name and shaming, it's clear that they still hold a grudge against us...luckily the announcement of our engagement took some ammo out of their hands"

Tamaki heads towards the door to the music room, stepping out into the hallway "Tamaki?"

Tamaki B-lines for a couple of girls out in the hallway, a couple of regular guests of the host club. "Ladies, good afternoon" he switches to his normal overly cheesy self.

"Good afternoon...Tamaki" The girls reply half in awe and half in nervousness. "Can I expect you mademoiselles at our grand re-opening? It is going to be the biggest party we've thrown ever"

"Oh....well we'd love to Tamaki but...I um- we are..."

"We're busy, sorry" the girls hurry off, eyes darting around to make sure that no one was watching.

"Oh..." Tamaki deflates, dragging himself back into the music room. "It's over....the girls...are gone..." he gives up just as he gets into the room, resigning himself to laying limp on the floor.

"Tama-chan! It's okay! We can sit and eat this cake, that will make you feel better....and then we can figure it out" Honey runs over, perilously carrying a plate with strawberry cake on it.

"Tamaki relax, this is the newspaper club we're talking about, we've dealt with them before we will deal with them now" you crouch down infront of him.

"Umm y/n? I hate to break it to you but it's already been printed, it's already been done" Hikaru slides in, you motion for him to cut it out. You sigh "Yes but considering recent events involving a private police force and international corperate politics i think we can handle three guys with a chip on their shoulders"

You stand "Let's go down and talk to them, Komatsuzawa is a coward it won't be hard to scare them off. Also incredibly stupid to print this" The rest of the host club nods, storming out of the music room.

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"Ah, l/n, I figured that you would be paying us a visit sooner or later" Komastuzawa smiles from his desk as you all enter the newspaper club. "If he knew we would trace it back to him why would he print that article?" "Surely he can't be that self destructive" the twins mutter among themselves.

"I knew you were obsessed with us Komatsuzawa but this is a new low even for you"

"I don't know what you mean Miss l/n, we are just sat here celebrating our newspapers new found success...I don't know if you heard but its all anyone can talk about" Komatsuzawa clinks a glass of what you are hoping isn't champagne with one of the other club members.

"I don't know if you've noticed but they're only talking about your newspaper is because of us"

"Even if that wasn't the case just because they are talking about it doesn't make it suddenly popular" the twins step forward.

"Nethertheless, they are still talking about it, and even better none of those poor girls you manipulated will go near any of you now"

"They are talking about you because they are scared, using fear to get popular is not the way to do things, talk is just talk they won't like you" Haruhi speaks up, looking at the newspaper club with pure concern that this was their genuine view point"

Tamaki sighs, still deflated and being propped up by Kyoya and Mori.

You bite the inside of your cheek at the sound, stepping forward "Okay, if you had printed a false article about any of us that would be one thing. But printing photos you have taken of random girls shaming them for how they spend their free time is something else entirely. Congratulations though, you have made yourselves more unpopular than ever. Enjoy being the hot topic for today, because when this blows over the newspaper club will be done for"

Komatsuzawa's face contorts into a strange smile that makes you concerned "What exactly are you planning on doing about re-opening your club now though? Without any guests that will be a very empty party"

"And yet somehow it will be more full than this sorry excuse for a celebration, leave our business to us, I'd worry more about how to save your own face"

You turn back around "Lets go these guys aren't worth our time."

"But y/n? We're just going to let them get away with it" Hikaru questions "Of course not, but i'm also not going to stoop down to their level. I've got a plan for that, for now we have a pr crisis we need to fix"

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You sigh through sipping your coffee as you all sit in the music room debating on how to fix this issue. "I can't believe them, they really need to shut down"

"How do we convince a group of girls who do not want to risk being seen with us...to risk being seen with us" Hikaru leant back in his chair, pursing his lips.

"Yeah it's not ideal I know" You take another sip "But there must be something, we've put too much effort into this re-opening to give up now"

"And money" Kyoya chimes in from next to you, sat typing away at his laptop. You roll your eyes "Yes and money"

"Maybe we could buy those camera repellent scarf things to hand out in case one of those guys sneak in to take pictures again" Haruhi suggests, trying to mime out what she means. "Oh those ugly things" Hikaru's face contorts in disgust "I'd rather not"

"I don't think they work on phone cameras either, it also wouldn't solve the issue of them being spotted entering the host club in person"

"Put them in disguise?"

"Or have them wear sacks over their heads?"

"Or give up" Tamaki mutters, head pressed against the table, pouting, tracing his finger against the surface.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward in your seat "Say that again?"

"Give up? I can't lie i didn't think that was your style y/n-" "-No, it isn't...maybe we are over complicating this...we don't need fancy scarves or have them wear sacks on their heads....we just need to change the party theme"

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The turn around of the appearance of the central salon was a stark contrast from your original vision of the re-opening party. Instead of fountains and flapper dresses, there was a string quartet and colombina masks.

But, it was all worth it, because the Masquerade at midnight ball had managed to entice the regulars to come back.

"I miss when you used to be on my side for club financial decisions" Kyoya grumbled from the top of the stairs, looking over the party with you "Relax...we'll do the Great Gatsby party at some point, none of the money we spent on that will go to waste...also changing themes to a masquerade ball was a necessary evil, look around, we're more popular than ever"

Kyoya looks out across the crowd, it is true, this must be a new record for host club event attendance. The theme change has undoubtedly been a success.

"I suppose...I must admit you do have a strange affinity for ball gowns" when you come to think of it this must have been at least the seventh time that you have found yourself accidentally in a ball gown due to the host club antics "Shhh, i'm trying to get Tamaki to secretly fund the wardrobe of my deb season"

Kyoya raises an eyebrow "I didn't think that being a debutant was your thing" You roll your eyes "It isn't, i've never quite understood it, but my Nonna is desperate for me to do it, and my mother always used to talk about taking me out to shop for a dress for it so I'm sure I can stomach the rest of it" you laugh a little.

"Wait...does that mean I am going to have to do it too, don't debutants usually have dates?"

You smirk, a devious idea entering your head "I'll certainly need A date, doesn't have to be you, I was thinking of asking Tamaki...you know...since I know how much you hate those types of events"

Kyoya pauses "I know what you're trying to do" You sneak a glance at him "Do you?"

"Mhm"

"Is it working?"

"The only problem with your little plan is that there is no future where i would be jealous of Tamaki"

Your chin raises, staring him up and down, knowing that is a bold faced lie, you know the stories of when Kyoya and Tamaki first met.

"Oh really?" You step away, slowly heading down the stairs "then you'll raise no issue in my asking for his next dance-" you get cut off by Kyoya grabbing your wrist, lightly tugging you back to him "Now I didn't say that" You laugh, retuning to your place on the stairs, overlooking the party.

"You never did say what you were going to do with Komatsuzawa, in full honestly I am surprised you didn't inform him that you are considering buying up his fathers company"

"I didn't tell him because for one I am still in two minds on that one, and for two that would make me like him. Komatsuzawa uses his power and fear against people, i do not unless it is necessary and deserved" You follow his gaze over the scene of the ball.

"Besides, there was a much easier solution"

"Pray tell?"

You smirk, head tilting to the side "I just showed the article to Renge"

Next time on patience....'How to melt a frozen heart!'

'Kyoya-Senpai has come down with a terrible flu which has made him extra grouchy! And y/n has her work cut out for her, because the host club has decided to pay them a visit all next time on Patience!

We'll see you then!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja @meme848 @mistyhydrangeagarden @nanaloverz @hyuninslutbbgirl @rebel-author-chick @voyager1fan @bubbabobabubbles @haowonbins @justtryingtosurvive02

[misaligncd]

her eye brows arched up as she realized already how things were going to go. sometimes she wondered if he grew tired of their song and dance," i'm not playing at anything noah," she shot back," oh so you remember how long it was? shocking." she was starting to question her sanity and his. after all they hadn't been together for a good few months. the blonde was refusing to open the door further or budge a single inch," yes, your date! did it ever occur to you that this is one of my nights off from the club so i'm attempting to catch up on things?" she had no idea if he even kept track of her schedule which wasn't exactly predictable," i don't think i'm the one pining since you are the one at my front door."

a noise of disbelief sounded from his throat, shaking his head as he cocked it to the side, "stop playing me like a fool. have you forgotten we dated for over a year? i know you, fawn." all the tell-tale signs were there, her seeming annoyance simply a defense mechanism, but noah knew it wouldn't take long before he had her in the palm of his hand. he rolled his eyes right back at her when she flipped a bird at him, the smirk on his features growing bigger by the second. "my date? you're one to talk. where's the line of men out your door? did they finally realize you were still pining for your ex?"

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 26. together

chapter tags/warnings: a very broken marriage. heavy angst. at least i am not gege. mai and maki and megumi as an iconic trio. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. corruption. 

word count: 4.8k

notes: thank you for the overwhelming reception from the last chapter! work has been consuming my life, sadly, which is why this chapter took longer than i anticipated. gr. in this upcoming piece, though, my main focuses are the character development in y/n as well as explanations from toji himself. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

A large, warm hand massaged the delicate stretch between your thumb and forefinger. 

Gently. Leisurely. Daintily. 

Vanilla and cinnamon notes entered your lungs with every inhale, a velvetiness akin to everything you imagined clouds to be like if brushing against your cheek, the comforting sensations bringing back nostalgic memories from the carefree times your heart longed to return to. 

Was this Heaven? you wondered in this dark and dreamy daze.

You would not mind staying in this state eternally if that meant the promise of peace and quiet forever.

A voice, not from yourself, dispersed your thoughts.

“Suguru, what are the chances she won’t ever wake up?” 

Wake up?

Oh, so you were just asleep.

“Shut up, Sukuna,” another person quipped, this tone more leveled and coarser than the last. “Don’t say shit like that.”

The first person, who must be Sukuna then, chuckled lowly to himself. “Oh, who would’ve thought? Choso is having a soft spot?” he marveled with great interest, “Since when did you care so much about—”

But a third voice interrupted the banter. “She’s awake.”

After a long struggle, your eyes fluttered open to see a crowd gathered around you. Immediately beside you was Suguru Geto. He had been the one nestling your hand, but he practically didn’t look like himself with the concern etched into his brow, replacing the cheerfulness in his typical visage. Behind him stood Sukuna and Choso. The former grinned with fierce satisfaction, while the latter…scowled at you?

To be fair, Choso always scowled at you.

“Good evening, gorgeous.” Geto greeted with a melancholic smile, giving you another squeeze, firm and encouraging. Like a true gentleman, he helped you sit upright, his other hand reaching over your head to brush aside some stray strands by your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Exhaustion, meanwhile, rattled you to the bone.

You were weak, your movements fragile, almost like you were a fawn in her first hours of life. You blinked rapidly while taking in the new environment, only to quickly recognize the gray and cream colors in your surroundings. Back at Toji’s apartment was where you found yourself, with the familiar spiced floral scents from the flickering candle nearby confirming that this was the master bedroom. 

Given the dull throb by your temples, you frowned.

“What—?” your voice came out as a hoarse rasp. “What happened?”

The trio traded looks at each other with communicative eyes.

In the end, Choso tucked his hands into his front pocket and took the initiative to speak. 

“You were in the Zenin residence with Mai and Maki, remember?” No, not really.“Got into an argument with your husband. Started having a panic attack. Collapsed. Puked.”

Oh…

Recollections from your last conscious moments flooded your head like a tsunami: the screaming, the crying, and the fighting. Loud, angry, bitter fighting. 

Fighting for your dignity. Fighting for your heart. Fighting for your life. Goodness gracious. As much as the memories sucked all life from you, you instead felt completely…numb. 

After all, you had already been dead on the inside. You were too worn out, both physically and emotionally, to react. Everything that you had to go through since your wedding had brought you to your wit’s end, and this recent altercation with Naoya Zenin was truly the icing on the cake. 

When you caught sight of yourself in a nearby mirror, you could hardly recognize yourself. Your expression, glum. Your lips, chafed, Your face, pallor. Absent of any other color than an ashen hue. 

“How…did I get here?”

“Mai and Maki got worried and called Toji, who told them to bring you here,” Sukuna answered this time. “You’re lucky the girls reacted fast, else we would have sent you to an emergency room. Suguru even stopped his shift at his clinic to watch over you.”

“I—,” you sighed, lost for words and dropping your tired gaze to the floor. Dealing with inner turmoil to this degree was more than what any sane person could handle. All efforts towards your happiness were in vain anyway, as the cosmos conspired to make your existence one neverending nightmare. Everyone else had their ambitions and shit to deal with, but here you were as an absolute nuisance to the people who should not be otherwise pestered, and you were ashamed for the unnecessary trouble that you had caused. “Gosh, this is embarrassing.”

“We are so sorry!” 

Unexpectedly, the apology came from a girl’s voice, and you had to turn around to see three familiar teenagers by the bedroom door. 

Just last week, you would never have imagined ever seeing Mai, Maki, and Megumi together. Yet, here you were, watching the twins and their—technically speaking—nephew (cute) standing side-by-side, twiddling their thumbs in their nervous corner (also cute). 

Flustered and prepared for admonishment, Mai bowed her head at a slight angle as she hurriedly explained, “We don’t…We don’t mean to put you in an awkward position. We just didn’t know what to do. Maki and I were worried when you fell to the floor and started throwing up. We…We should’ve asked for your permission on who to call for help. But we didn’t know who else to phone, so we ended up dialing Toji. Now, we’ve put you in a weird spot and that is all our fault—”

“Do not apologize. That was the right thing to do.” The comment came from yet another person, and when Sukuna and Choso stepped to the side, who you saw at the room’s furthest end was none other than Toji Fushiguro himself. 

He had taken a seat all the way by the wall, with one leg thrust over the other in a relaxed but kingly sort of manner. With his sleeves rolled up, his forearms bled to his wrists with ink, and the emeralds in his sharp gaze gleamed as he stared pointedly in your direction. 

Of everyone in the room, his countenance appeared the most composed, but you could feelhim reading through the emotions present on your face. He inclined forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm. 

When he noticed the slightest shift in your posture too, the tiny scar by his lips flexed along with a smile.

“So, you’ve figured me out, hm?”

Easily, you could sense all seven pairs of eyes in the room (the four therapists plus the three teens) landing on you. The sudden attention rendered you nervous. Even if you chose silence as your response, the entire room, the entire planet, and perhaps even the entire galaxy could speculate your answer through your expression alone.

After a long while, you breathed out, “You didn’t tell me that you were a Zenin.”

The elephant in the room had to be addressed obviously, and you were not shy to confront the situation head-on.

While you did not intend to sound accusatory, your tone came off as such anyway. How could you not, when you had essentially been misled for weeks? Sure, Toji probably did not want to be badmouthing the Zenins to the very person (you) who had been recently married into the family. But, by withholding the fact that he and your husband were cousins, Toji had created much unnecessary anguish including the current limbo that your marriage was in right now. 

Meanwhile, that same man pressed his nails into his chin in contemplation. 

“I am not a Zenin, though,” he eventually corrected in a domineering voice, all austere in his throne. “At least, not any longer. I took my first wife’s last name years ago. I go by Fushiguro now.” Curt, direct, and pithy. Toji wasted not a syllable. “Everything worked out though, I guess. Naobito cut me off from the Zenin clan earlier this year. Gave me ten billion yen and told me to get lost, so I did.”

Toji always kept his private matters to himself, but with everything that he had gone through, you were struck by his poise, as if being expelled from such an influential household had been a high-school breakup he had gotten over long ago. 

Nonetheless, you wondered if he missed that other life, and you brought your knees toward your chest.

“So,” how should you put this, “you’re not upset?”

Toji scoffed immediately.

“Upset?” A bitter grin spread off his lips. “Why would I be upset? That household is a trash dump. All my life, there were no choices for me to make when my uncles and granduncles decided everything already,” and he began counting with his fingers, “my teachers, my classes, my extracurriculars, my friends. Everything. I was only a puppet to bring honor to the family name, bring in money for the company.”

Listening to his sonorous voice, you rested your cheek onto a knee.

"I see."

His story was depressing, and from conversations with in-laws such as Mai and Maki, you knew that he was not lying, either. Coming from nobility as well, you were also aware of the pressures that came with the people who boasted their 'old-money' statuses, but the Zenin household had always been notorious for being miserable. 

Toji had said so before in a prior discussion, how ‘family isn’t family for something like the Zenins’ because both politics and business took precedence.

Then, he went on.

“Some people would kill to have my problems, but I did not want that life, you know? Around the time I started college, I decided that I wanted to make judgments for myself and be my own distinct entity, but that made people upset. Privileged. Entitled. Ungrateful. Whatever. My family members called me many things as a young adult when they figured I did not want to be their pawn for my whole life, with the only person who understood me for many years being my best friend in university.”

Megumi’s mom.

Toji nearly appeared to be an altogether different person whenever he spoke about his first wife. The chartreuse in his eyes would stir with both sorrow and fond reminiscence as he thought about the Mrs. Fushiguro you would never get to meet, his closest confidant whom he lost to the cruel separation brought by life versus death. She must have been someone whom he valued a lot—a person who completely transformed him—as Toji had discarded his last name (which was Zenin, of all things) for hers.

‘He truly loved my mom,’ Megumi explained before. 'He had given up everything.’

Thus, fate could truly be unfair.

The loss and pain Toji must have endured, a topic Megumi had alluded to in his discussion with you before.

Not to mention, the expectations, frustration, and suffocation that came from the clan's elders, too. Experiencing the intense atmosphere in the Zenin household firsthand allowed you to empathize with him. Given the stark differences between him and your lawful husband, there was no wonder Toji did not wish to deal with his older relatives' high-strung conventions.

But, if he had been suffering so much… 

“Why did you care so much for what your family thought?” you asked, disregarding the look that the three teenagers by the door exchanged with each other. “Toji, you went to university in the United States. You had a wife and son at a young age. You went from a business background to a licensed therapist, so why did you not—”

“Leaving is difficult when you’re the family heir and the corporation’s CEO.” 

The expression that you then returned was blank.

Huh?

His words triggered something in your head, so you repeated after him.

“Leaving is difficult when,” and your voice trailed off, “when…you…are the heir and CEO.”

Heir. CEO.

Zenin.

Toji.

Naoya.

But Toji’s older.

‘Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.’

Sheer realization slapped you hard across your face. No way.

“Toji,” you began after letting the revelation sink into you a while later, but your voice barely eeked above a mumble, “so you were once the successor to the Zenin household and company?"

The man in question did not respond, but the silent affirmation from the six other onlookers was an answer in itself.

Yes.

In hindsight, you wanted to say you had always seen the possibility. Still, you never fully registered this until now: the thoughtfulness in his strategy, the sophistication in his speech, the charisma in his leadership. 

Previously, Toji had impressed you with how much he knew about the Zenin Corporation’s market share in the Asia-Pacific or the firm’s outsized influence on the international stage. Yet, most (including yourself) would not guess that someone like Toji Fushiguro—your tattooed and brawny sex therapist (plus single dad)—had once been heralded as the indisputable inheritor to the proud lineage and conglomerate. 

That had been your mistake. 

Toji was more than what people made him out to be, which reminded you to never assume anything superficially about someone—a remark he had once made. For good reason, because he had been referring to himself all along.

You could almost visualize Toji Fushiguro as the seasoned executive he had once been in light of this new information: his black strands slicked into a side part, his charcoal blazer freshly pressed, his leather oxfords newly polished. 

Maybe because he was more mature or maybe because he was simply older, but Toji appeared more fitting for the important roles in the Zenin household compared to the man presently poised for succession. 

Consequently, you must also ask, “Then, how did Naoya end up in your seat?”

Sukuna and Megumi shared a glance.

Choso grimaced, and Suguru kissed his teeth.

Meanwhile, Toji ran a lone finger down his jaw, following the lines from a tattoo. 

“Let me give you some context, sweetheart,” he offered, now brushing his chin as he spoke. “For the last—let’s say—few hundred years, the oldest male in each generation became the leader in the Zenin clan. Is the rule stupid? Yes. Should there be more criteria in evaluating a potential heir aside from birth order? Also yes. But nothing has stopped this before because the Zenins, as you know by now, are a family built on antiquity and tradition. So, when I was born as the oldest male in my generation and Naoya had come in second place...” 

Toji did not have to finish his sentence for you to figure out the rest.

Despite the demands that came along with being the next family head, Toji must have been esteemed as nothing short of a crown price among the Japanese elite, with seniors in the Zenin household utilizing all their resources to prepare the once young and starry-eyed boy for taking over such an influential role. Naturally, his enviable position would spark jealousy, even from those whom Toji deemed related to by birth.

Including his very own younger first cousin.

Toji frowned in exasperation.

“Your husband is one childish and jealous brat, but Naoya Zenin has been like that for as long as I have known him. To claim the heir and CEO titles, he acquired the trust from myself and my colleagues by working with us in sex therapy, only to stab us all in the back. He’s a liar. A total manipulator.” 

And, from personal experiences, you knew that those words could not be more true.

At this point, Toji sank his handsome face into his immense palm. 

“Well, now Naoya Zenin has everything he wants but is still an incompetent asshole. The whole enterprise is hanging by a thread. The entire clan cannot fucking stand him. What’s crazy is that his father Naobito is not doing anything about this, and I cannot tell if that is because the old man is giving his son free passes or because he has finally gotten senile. With Naoya's pettiness, though, the father-son duo have done everything to erase my name from the family, even going as far as to dismiss the executives that I brought onto the management team to undo my legacy.” 

When Toji glanced up to cast his gaze forward, you then suddenly understood that the three other men in the room were more than just his fellow board-licensed colleagues.

You recalled Toji’s words in the Teyvat meeting room.

‘I recruited these guys right when they completed their undergraduate degrees, around the time I just opened my therapy office,’ and the puzzle pieces clicked into place from the realization that sex therapy had not been the only thing that Toji had worked with them on—Sukuna, Choso, and Suguru had been executives at the Zenin Corporation reporting to Toji, too. ‘We’ve been working together since, for the past four years.’

Discerning these revelations from your expressions, Toji added in confirmation.

“I had selected these three to oversee the Zenin Corporation’s operations with me,” he said, and you remembered the same conversation in which the men discussed their University of Tokyo studies while Toji listed their previous roles. Sukuna, Economics. “Sukuna, Director of Investments and Real Estate.” Choso, Mechanical Engineering. “Choso, Chief Engineer and Supply Chain Manager.” Suguru, Biology. “Suguru, Healthcare and Innovation Administrator.”

Arguably the most consequential divisions in a conglomerate that spanned numerous sectors, with each department bringing in yen by the billions every year.

‘These guys have treated me like family more than my blood-related kin have.’

Learning this about the four therapists added to your fascination. 

For you, the discovery was like uncovering a hidden treasure trove. To imagine everything that the four—as one cohesive unit—had gone through together at the top of the corporate ladder: scrutiny from the media and stakeholders, impromptu meetings that demanded make-or-break decisions, and immediate responses to industry trends and regulations. 

Only for them to be cast aside by no one other than your husband.

In the end, this all made sense.

Now, you understood why the therapists were once incredibly demeaning and belligerent toward you. How could they possibly sympathize with the woman married to the man who had taken virtually everything from them? 

Heck, if you were in their shoes and had no further context, you would hate yourself, too.

Only now were you hearing their perspectives, and you were grateful that—compared to several weeks before—they trusted you enough to open up. 

At last, all you could do was sigh and mutter, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

Sukuna shot back without hesitation, which stunned you given how he had been the one who mocked you the most. Yet, a scintilla of kindness flared in his fiery eyes, so you continued with your tone softer and quieter.

“I feel terrible.” Such vulnerability in front of so many people at once went beyond your comfort zone. “For the unfairness Naoya had brought upon you all, and how I…I can’t change anything. I can’t do anything. All I am is…useless.”

“No, you are powerful,” Suguru interjected this time. “Your husband relies on your public image to keep scrutiny off him. He needs you. He’s been demoralizing you for months because he knows the ball will always be in your court, and never his.”

His words made you stop.

“You truly think so?” you asked.

“Yes.” 

Choso, who replied, seemed honest. 

He was honest. 

He might throw you off from how aloof and stoic his attractive face would appear, but Choso was not a liar.

Bringing your feet off the bed, you slowly swung your feet. 

“I…am surprised you all even want to talk to me.” 

Toji tugged at his dress shirt’s collar and flashed his ink-covered muscles underneath. “What makes you think that?” 

His pointed question made you realize how much Naoya had been fucking with your mind, blaming and villainizing you at every chance, thus devolving you into a spineless worm feeling remorse for every little thing.

Shrugging, you tossed your gaze to the side. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “You could have avenged yourself by now. I am Naoya’s wife and Naobito’s daughter-in-law. There had been a thousand chances for you to do something horrible to me: to hurt me, blackmail me, spread dirty rumors about me, but…you haven’t.”  

“Why would I do that?” Toji replied instantly and candidly. Rather than appearing offended by your judgments, he started giving you that look again whenever he had his therapist hat on—the one where he would tilt his head at a slight angle to gauge the sentiments painted across your face. “I could have chosen to be bitter and vengeful for the rest of my life, but I am grateful for what I have. Why let a toxic bunch impact my life? I already told you how that household is an absolute fucking hell. I'm glad I have found an out. At the very least, my son would not have to deal with the crap from my young adult years because you know who is the oldest male in the generation after mine?”

Megumi. 

All gazes now fell upon the younger Fushiguro, who tried to casually shrug the attention off. 

Who cares if I was second-in-line to leading perhaps the most prestigious family in Japan? his nonchalance wanted to convey, but his ears turned pink anyway.  

Toji continued, “Then, of course, there are some people whom I care about a lot.” Using his head, he gestured to the twins. “These girls are the best aunts to my son that I, as a father, could ever ask for. They’re only one year older than Megumi, but Mai and Maki used to go on playdates with him on the weekends, walk him to school every morning, and cook him breakfasts over the holidays. The twins even helped my son take his first steps. There is this one photo we have in the library—I don’t know if you have gotten a chance before to see it. But there’s Mai and Maki, each holding one of Megumi’s little hands back in his chubby toddler days and—” 

“Dad!” a very flustered and irritated teenage boy finally had to say. “This is not the time to talk about that picture!” 

Next to him, a proud Mai and Maki coo and tease their grouchy nephew, poking at his puffed-up cheeks and ruffling his uncombed hair. 

“Aw, is someone a little embarrassed?”

Smiling at the little banter from the trio, Toji did not let them distract him from his conversation with you. “What I’m trying to get at is…life’s too short not to enjoy the happy sides of it,” but his eyes glazed with rue nevertheless, “Now is the perfect time to focus on your well-being. Take a look around this room. A lot of people want to see you leading a fulfilling life, Y/N. A fulfilling life for yourself, not for anyone else. Not for me, not for anyone in this room, and certainly not for your husband. Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—should hold you back from pursuing your health and happiness.” 

While you assumed that your best times were over, Toji reminded you those good days can be brought back with the right attitude. He had a point. Why should you allow your marriage to hinder you from connecting with people whom you care about, working towards the passions that brought you purpose, and feeling the love that you deserve? 

Instead, you should seek every sunrise and sunset as an opportunity to live better and without regrets.

As you ruminated on this different mindset, a sudden knock from the door cut your thoughts short.

Who…

Like you, most others looked around blankly, but Toji ordered from his seat, “Let him in.”

Mai, who stood closest to the entryway, obeyed. 

Once she unlocked the door, the room fell silent save for the footsteps of the man walking in, his soles creating soft echoes on the linoleum floor. Overhead, pale lights revealed the lines etched on his exhausted face, the worry that sat heavily on his chest. 

“Mister Daisuke,” someone eventually acknowledged out of respect.

Your father did not hear the greeting as he searched the room, his sullen gaze darting from face to face until he found you. His shoulders fell from his overwhelming relief. Still in a suit after a long workday, he stumbled forward feebly. 

“You’re alright,” he whispered between steps, scarcely audible. 

He crouched toward the floor once he approached you, and when Suguru transferred your hands into your father’s, you noticed the unstoppable quiver from the latter even as you gripped him tightly in an attempt to stop the tremor. 

His skin was tough, weathered by his additional decades in life. But, in his palms, you found the familiar tenderness that had comforted you since you were a little girl and, in his gaze, you noticed the sadness only found in the despair of a heartbroken parent.

“Thank goodness, you are okay,” and before everyone, tears slipped past his eyes, “I was terrified. I was so scared. When Toji called to tell me you had thrown up and collapsed, do you know how afraid I was?” 

You glanced over at the said therapist, reminding yourself that—if Toji had been the CEO before Naoya—he must have worked very closely with your COO father up until recently. For your father to know exactly where you were and walk in with this expression suggested that the former colleagues had had a lengthy conversation about your circumstances. A part of you wanted to be angry. Why drag your father into this worry? But a larger part of you had always wanted to reveal to him the wretched months that had gone by and longed for his support. 

And now, he was here.

The older man took a shuddering breath and brought his fingers to your cheek, holding and cradling you like he would never get to do this again. 

“I can’t lose you,” he lamented. “I have lost enough in my life already. I cannot lose you, too. I just can’t. Why have you not told me the truth? If you were not happy with Naoya, why have you not told me sooner? Did you think I would place my loyalty to the company over my own child? I feel so guilty and broken to hear about what you have been going through.”

Frankly, you felt just as broken, too. 

In fact, seeing and hearing your father weep like this shattered you. As devoted as your father was, his front never failed to be unwavering and strong. Even when your mother’s death left a significant hole in his heart, he bit back his grief. Scars from your mother’s untimely death scarred his heart, wounds that never healed and would stay with him until his last breath, but he rarely expressed his suppressed sorrow. 

All for your sake. Because you were his one and only daughter, his one and only child. 

So now, for him to see you in such a sorry state was crushing his whole world that had become you.

“Dad.” You helped him wipe his tears away, just like how he had always done for you. “I didn’t want to make you disappointed. I didn’t want to make you sad. I…I just wanted to protect you.”

“No,” he responded firmly. How could a loving father accept the possibility that his daughter would even think about placing him before herself? “Protect yourself first.”

You looked up when you sensed two more approaching individuals and found Mai and Maki with doleful smiles.

“We still have something to return to you, Y/N.”

In your left palm, each girl pressed one ring—the first which promised a future forever and the second which symbolized an infinite unity. 

You stared at the jewelry as your chest remembered the waves of happiness, excitement, hope, confusion, betrayal, and pain. 

So, so much pain.

Your father, who would not miss the solemn undertones in your gaze, squeezed your hands in his. 

“My dear daughter,” he started, and you could tell he could no longer bear to see you suffer any longer, “what are you planning to do?”

Your throat turned dry.

Any possibility seemed like a viable solution, a means for a desperate escape. 

For months, you should have prepared yourself for this very question, but now that you were confronted with this reality for the first time, you did not know what to say. 

You had clutched onto the false hope for your troubled marriage to be sorted out. Escaping your dreary matrimony had once been too far-fetched of an option given an impending cold war between your families, which you would never wish upon the stars to happen. Therefore, even as you found yourself stuck on a stifling dead end, you did not exactly prepare for the next steps for the occasion you found Naoya Zenin’s mistreatment too much to bear.

However, times have changed.

Your allies and enemies have changed.

Most of all, you have changed.

Therefore, with all the universe’s possibilities at your fingertips, one particular option stuck out. 

“I’m going to file for a divorce.”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: So many things. To see us freak out at the idea of a divorce during the beginning of the fic, up to now, where we suggested the option out of our volution. Also, the much-needed heart-to-heart conversation between Toji and us, and how that really shows a slow maturation in our relationship with him (and everyone else)! Let me know what you think, and see you next chapter!

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[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Niconico Premium Exclusive ☽ 10th Anniversary Sadistic Radio Mini Drama Translation ☽ Fireworks by the Sea in the Otherworld

Original title: ドS吸血ラジオ ～Resurrection Night 10th Anniversary 朗読ミニドラマ～ 「あの世浜辺で見た花火」 Voiced by Midorikawa Hikaru (Ayato), Toriumi Kōsuke (Shuu), Konishi Katsuyuki (Reiji) English translation by @otomehonyaku Click here for the audio (mini drama runs from 01:10-07:20)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This mini drama was performed live during the DL 10th anniversary event on Niconico back in 2022! During the introduction, the voice actors were talking about how happy they were to perform together again instead of alone in a recording booth, which was really wholesome. And honestly, having the three brothers fawning over you... oh my (♡´𓋰`♡) Thank you to @otomeheroines for requesting!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

01:10 [Fireworks go off in the distance.]

Ayato: These fireworks are huge! And they’re spherical! Awesome! Actually, why are they spherical? You don’t know either, do you, Pancake?

Reiji: They were invented by a famous pyrotechnician from the Edo period (1). This should be common knowledge.

Shuu: [To you:] Hey, you. Don’t act all impressed by the fireworks and tell us what’s going on here.

A: Yeah! You invited me to watch the fireworks with you. Why’re there three of us here?

[You explain the situation.]

A: Huh? You invited all three of us? I know nothing ‘bout that.

R: Me neither. [To you:] If anything, this should be attributed to your thoughtlessness. Did you just decide to invite the general public to our date?

S: This is some bullshit. If this is a quadruple date, I’ll pass. I don’t care about these children’s antics.

R: Why, Shuu, heading home already?

S: Yeah. Not only are the two of you bothering me, but the fireworks and Ayato’s yapping are so loud that I can’t hear my music at all. I’ll go home and sleep.

A: Great, that’s one rival down! And she has no eyes for Reiji, anyway. Pancake’s all mine! 

R: How regrettable, Ayato. It is quite pathetic for you to be under the impression that she chose you.

A: What? You pickin’ a fight with me?

R: Who knows? [To you:] Either way, I prepared iced tea for you. Could I interest you in drinking it with me on that hill over there?

A: Wow, Reiji, you’re just doing however the fuck you please, huh? That’s totally like you.

S: Hold on. If the two of you paid attention earlier, I haven’t said a word about letting you do with her as you please. Don’t misunderstand.

03:29 R: [To Shuu:] Well, well. I thought you were going home, but it seems as though you lust after her after all.

S: I changed my mind. Even if I tried to sleep, I’d have nothing to lay my head on if she’s not there.

R: She went through all this trouble just to watch the fireworks. There is no way she would go home with you without having properly seen them.

A: I know, right? Shuu, you know jack shit ‘bout the minds of women.

S: What? I know enough but I don’t bother telling you about it. I’ll play along with your provocations, though.

A: Well then, you’d better prepare to lose. I’ll prove to you all right here that I’m the best.

04:12 [The scene changes. The boys are going to try and appeal to you.]

Ayato: Bet you’re enjoying making us fight over you, huh, Pancake? You’ve no right to refuse me. Just be a good girl and become mine. You can tell me ‘no’ all you want, but you know full well how your body responds to my fangs.  Be honest and tell me you want me so badly it hurts. I’ll have you in ecstasy before you know it.  So choose me, Pancake.

[Ayato kisses you.]

Shuu: Heh. You have no composure at all, Ayato. What’re you doing, trying to lead her on like that? [To you:] You know you’ve been head over heels for me from the start. I won’t let you get away now. So just be a good girl and confess your love. Lose yourself in me. I’ll make you feel so good you won’t be able to think about anything else.

[Shuu kisses you.]

05:20 Reiji: [To you:] You have a strange talent for winding vampires around your finger. I’d say you are a femme fatale. I wonder how far you will go to tempt us. What does it take to satisfy you? I have lived for many, many years, and yet this is the first time someone has pulled at my heartstrings like this. However, I am not used to being at the receiving end of such temptation.  I shall have you at my mercy next. 

[Reiji kisses you.]

05:56 A: Hah. You’re both way too subtle. I’m the clear winner!

S: Come on. There’s no way she’ll be swayed by such childish words. It’s clear that she’s going to choose me.

R: She cannot make a proper choice if you keep pressing her like this. 

[To you:] Please, answer according to your true feelings.

A: [To you:] You can’t live without me, and I’m no good without you either. You know that, right?

S: [To you:] You’re at fault for making me crazy about you. You’ll be a good girl and take responsibility, won’t you?

R: [To you:] I cannot accept any other outcome than you ditching those two for me. We have spent so much time in each other’s company. Does that not count for anything?

A: It’s Yours Truly, right?

S: You choose me, right?

R: I am the only viable option.

[You make a run for it.]

06:50 A: Huh? She’s running away!  Hey! Slow down, Pancake!

S: Don’t think you’ll get away after leading me on like that.

R: Good grief. How very unladylike, running across a sandy beach like that.

[You keep running as fireworks go off in the distance…]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(1) The Edo period is a period in Japanese history that ran from 1603 until 1868, characterised by the Tokugawa shogunate (the military government) which was centred in Edo. Edo is the former name for Tokyo, which was the de facto capital of Japan in this period as opposed to Kyoto, which was the historical seat of the Emperor (and therefore the official capital) until 1868.

[fawniswriting]

Fire and Blood

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

This is Chapter 01 of the Faithfully Yours series.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Summary: As the princess of your kingdom, marriage has always been a mere duty to fulfill. You’re well aware of your impending matrimony to the King of Asgard, so why does the rumor of Sir James Barnes’ betrothal trouble you so?

Word Count: 5000-ish

Warning(s): historical royal AU. forbidden love (princess x knight/royal guard). slowburn. mention of arranged marriage. jealousy. panic attack. depictions of battle, explosion, and violence. angst

Hi everyone, my name is Fawn! This is the first chapter of a royal!AU series I'm writing. I used to loveee royal!AU and haven't read any in a while, so I decided to write one myself. I'm planning to update the series at least once a week, but since I just landed a new job (yay!), we will see if the schedule would work on my end. Don't forget to comment, like, and reblog if you like this story!

The barren stonewalls flutter against the unusually loud chatters inside the castle hallways. Murmurs of the long-awaited spring festival and the seasonal price of crops fill the air, although above them, talks of the impending royal wedding have seemingly taken precedence. You play impervious to their eagerness as you walk down the corridors with your maids-in-waiting by your sides, giving the people an agreeable nod while acting oblivious to the subtle sly smiles thrown in your wake.

“It seems that my upcoming wedding has truly become the talk of the town,” you remark.

“Can you blame them, Your Highness? Our beloved princess is soon to be the Queen of Asgard. It’s set to be our country’s strongest alliance in history! The people ought to celebrate,” Yelena responds.

“Moreover,” Natasha adds, “everyone is excited to finally see the King of Asgard himself in the flesh. His Majesty’s reputation surely precedes him.”

“Speaking of His Majesty,” Yelena hums cheerily, “will Your Highness truly not tell us anything about him at all?”

“I told you, Yelena. You will have plenty of time to get to know His Majesty once he arrives for the wedding.”

“But that is not for at least another month!”

You fix a sharp glare at Yelena’s direction, silencing the woman while earning a soft laughter from Natasha.

“If His Majesty takes even longer than that, we could very well have another wedding here before his arrival,” says Natasha.

The corner of your mouth tilts. “Do you already have a prospective groom in mind, Natasha?”

“I was not talking about me, Your Highness.” Rounding up a corner, you are met with a group of workers carrying ancient artworks and sculptures. They bow in respect at the sight of you, and you give them a dismissive wave to send them all on their way. “I was talking about Sir Barnes.”

At the mention of that one specific name, your steps falter.

In the tiniest bit of seconds your composure is lost, the train of your dress has somehow caught between the stone floors and the sole of your shoes. Yelena grabs hold of you before your face could plummet against the ground, helping you back to your still unsteady feet. When your head lifts, both Natasha and Yelena are appraising you in an equal mixture of confusion and worry.

“What happened, Princess?” Natasha asks.

“Forgive me. I was a little distracted, I reckon.” You brush the dust off your dress and continue on your way. “What was it about Sir Barnes you were saying, Natasha?”

Natasha eyes you in a slight skepticism but proceeds to answer, “Sir  Smith was looking for him. Have you not noticed his absence today?”

You refrain from replying. You cannot possibly admit in front of your whole entourage that not only did you notice Sir James Barnes' absence, your head has also been preoccupied with the thoughts of his whereabouts ever since you left your chamber this morning. His presence as your royal guard is hard to miss, for you have grown accustomed to having his face being one of the first you see at the start of your day. It's a constant you greatly cherish.

“What did Sir Smith want with him?” you inquire, unable to quell your soaring curiosity.

Natasha's voice drops to a whisper, “The housekeepers claim that Sir Smith is looking for a potential match for his youngest daughter!”

Yelena gasps. “Miss Dolores?”

Your skin prickles. You know the young Miss Dolores. Or at least, you know of her. Although she is not a member of the court, her father's position within the royal guard, along with her elder sister's recent nuptials with a renowned baron, have resulted in an exceptional boost to her prestige. She is young and beautiful, with an impeccable reputation to go with it. The perfect woman of every man's dream.

“I must say, they do make quite a good pair together, do they not?” Yelena notes.

You try to fight off the sinking feeling in your stomach, alongside the image of Sir James Barnes—valiant and tall—next to a dainty Dolores Smith. Yelena's observation is correct: the two do make quite a good pair. It's a knowledge that leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Soon, the gloomy castle walls give way to a blue sky and a tapestry of half-finished grandeur. In the heart of the castle garden, stone fountains stand dry, awaiting water from nearby springs. Marble statues, veiled in white sheets to protect them from the weather, loom like silent ghosts among freshly turned soil. The air smells of damp earth and fragrant flowers, all evidence of the lavish restoration set to complete just in time for the King of Asgard’s arrival in your kingdom.

You step gingerly over a pile of bricks, spotting your older brother, the Crown Prince, leaning against a wheelbarrow as though he were a commoner. His own entourage stands not too far behind. 

“Tell me, Brother,” you begin, “is this your grand contribution to Mother’s vision? Supervising that pile of gravel?”

The Crown Prince straightens with faux offense. “Supervising is an art, Dear Sister. Someone has to ensure the gravel does not rebel and pose a threat to the kingdom.”

You laugh heartily, bumping his shoulder with yours as you claim a place next to him. “You are doing a fine job, truly. That gravel has not moved an inch.”

“Your mockery wounds me.” 

The two of you stand in silence as you watch the bustling scene before your eyes. Gardeners and laborers alike scamper to set up flower beds and plant various shades of gardenias, roses, and hyacinths. The garden is a long way from what your mother, the Queen, has surely envisioned, but you know without a doubt that by the time the Asgardian royal court arrives at the castle, this garden would rival even the legendary courtyards of far-off kingdoms.

A moment passes before the Crown Prince speaks, “I heard chatter from the servant quarters. Is it true? About Sir Barnes and Sir Smith’s daughter?”

“Words do travel fast in this place,” you ponder. “And yet, I always seem to be the last one to come upon them.”

“I am afraid that is entirely on you, Sister. If only you would accept my invitation to visit the kitchen every once in a while.”

“And watch you make eyes with every young scullery maid on the staff? I would rather surrender my soul to the Gods.”

“I shall let you know, they are wonderful companies, perhaps even better than the Gods.” You chastise your brother with a roll of your eyes. “But earnestly, how are you feeling?”

“About what?”

“Sir Barnes. The engagement rumors.”

Your chest burns. “I fail to understand what the correlation between the rumors and my feelings is, Brother.”

“You know very well what the correlation is!” your brother exclaims incredulously. “You may be able to fool everyone else, Sister, but you cannot fool me. I was there. I have watched you and Sir Barnes since we were all children. Back when he was still Jamie to you, and you were—”

“Stop.” The edge of your voice shatters like ceramics on stones. It takes every part of your being to stop your hands from trembling, to keep your limbs upright when all your body desires is to crumble into pieces above the damp soil under your feet. “What are you doing?”

“Sister—”

“I am to be married in a month, Brother. The King of Asgard himself is preparing to journey to our kingdom as we speak. You know what this matrimony means for us, for the future of our people. I have a responsibility to ensure this union, or have you forgotten?”

The line on your brother's jaw tenses. He casts his eyes on a faraway speckle beyond the clouds. “You chastise me of responsibilities, Sister, when I know all too well about it. It is my whole life. Our whole lives. I am not asking you to escape your duties. We are not the sort of people who possess such luxury. I am merely asking you to be honest with yourself, to listen to your heart for once.” The Crown Prince turns to you and takes a deep breath. “You have the rest of your life to be the Queen of Asgard. You do not have to live it full of regrets.”

Your brother gives a comforting squeeze around your shoulder before leaving the castle garden with his entourage. In his absence, his words echo louder in your head, forcing you to ponder whether his advice actually holds any avail.

Lady Brunhilde moves leisurely throughout the library, perusing the towering shelves filled with rare books and ancient scriptures. You sit at the head of the long table in the center of the room, pen in hand, working through the list of questions on Asgardian political affairs that she has prepared. Across the way, she plucks a tome from the Astronomy section, idly flipping through the pages before settling against one of the window nooks, where the sunlight catches the metal plates of her armor, sending fleeting glimmers all across the room.

You were first introduced to Lady Brunhilde two winters past, several weeks after the wedding date was ordained. She is an apprentice of the Valkyrie—Asgard’s elite order of warrior-maidens—stationed in your kingdom alongside her instructor at the residence of the Asgardian ambassador. It was King Thor himself—your betrothed—who appointed her four months ago to school you in the knowledge of Asgardian laws and politics. Before Lady Brunhilde, a governess was sent to teach the subject of Asgardian science and health, while the previous one was responsible for handling the subject of Asgardian history, culture, and arts.

Moments pass, and you find yourself staring out of the window as Lady Brunhilde examines your work. From this vantage in the library, you have an unobstructed view of the field just outside the castle walls. The distance has rendered people into the size of grains, but you can still make out the shapes of children playing and running on the grass, their laughter lost to the wind. The sight tugs at both your lips and your heartstrings.

“Twenty for twenty,” Lady Brunhilde announces at last, closing your work parchment with a satisfied nod. “Not too bad, Your Highness. At this rate, we may well have our final lesson by week’s end.”

“You speak nonsense, Lady Brunhilde.” You shake your head, though the teasing lilt in your voice stammers. “I still need you here, at least until His Majesty himself sets foot in our humble kingdom.”

“Not too long from now, then.”

You bite your bottom lip and look away, refocusing on the children playing a ball game on the distant field. The reminder that your wedding is fast approaching has your heart galloping faster than your beloved horse, Sparrow. You pray to the Gods in heaven that Lady Brunhilde does not notice your unease.

“I shall take my leave, then,” Lady Brunhilde declares. “I will see you tomorrow, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for today, Lady Brunhilde.”

The guards at the entrance push open the heavy doors, allowing Lady Brunhilde to pass through. One of them follows to escort her out of the castle, leaving you alone with the remaining knight. You recognize the young man beneath the armor—Peter Parker is his name. Knighted only last month, he spent years as a squire under Sir Anthony Stark, a general within your father’s army. 

“You.” Arising from your seat, you surround the long table to approach the young knight. “Sir Parker, is it?”

“It is, Your Highness.”

“Relay a message to everyone—I will not be dining with my family tonight. I shall remain here, in the library, and I am not to be disturbed,” you proclaim. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The doors close softly behind him, and at last, you breathe a sigh of relief. Your shoulders are ten pounds lighter, and the hush that settles over the library is a balm to the searing pain in your temples. Moments of solitude are very few and far between in your world, and the rare times they do come, you make sure to use it to your full advantage.

Accompanied by one book after another, you let time slip away until the sky outside dims into a dark abyss cluttered with stars. Your nose remains buried in a tale of forbidden love—of a sailor entranced by a mythical siren—when a sudden knock shatters the silence in the room. Before you can instruct them to come in, the doors swing open, revealing the tall, handsome figure that has been clouding your mind for the better part of the day.

“Your Highness.” Sir Barnes inclines his head in greeting.

It has been no more than a day since you last saw him, and yet, the sight of James Barnes right in front of your eyes—so near yet so unreachable—arouses something in the depth of your chest. Your heart calls out to him. Your fingers, as if possessed by their own will, ache to trace the lines of his face, the freckles scattered like constellations across his skin. In a perfect world, you would have taken him straight into your arms the moment he stepped into the library. In a perfect world, you would tell him that you missed him, that you are glad he has returned to your side.

Unfortunately, this is not one of those perfect worlds.

“I have not seen you today,” you murmur.

“I had personal matters to attend to, Your Highness. My sincerest apologies.”

The book in your lap closes with a dull thud. You set it atop the towering pile on the table, rising to your feet to snuff out the candles you lit up earlier. 

“Is it true, then? About you and Sir Smith’s daughter?” Without the candles’ flame, half of the room is now encompassed in darkness. You angle your face towards the moon outside, chasing for its light. “Are you going to marry her?”

A silence stretches between the two of you, ponderous and unyielding. You brace yourself as you turn back, staring at the statuesque man whose face is now swallowed by the darkness. There is no way of discerning what emotions he is wearing on his countenance—what he is thinking. Then again, James Barnes is not exactly a man who wears his heart proudly out of his sleeves.

“Princess—” his voice is thick, heavy, “—I have come to escort you to the dining room.”

“I informed Sir Parker that I would not be dining tonight.”

“Your family is expecting you.”

A humorless laugh escapes your chest. With every echo of your step, you erase the distance between you and Sir Barnes, close enough until you can make out his sculpted jawline despite the darkness. “I shall be retiring to my chambers. Do not follow me. That is an order.”

The castle hallways fly in a blur as you rush out of the library. The spring wind flickers against your skin, guiding you through the maze of corridors that forge your home. You take the grand staircase in a careless sprint, each step barely landing beneath you, until at last, your foot misses one altogether.

You have fallen down these stairs once before, when you were but fifteen. The injury kept you in bed for half of summer. It was easily the longest, most agonizing several weeks you ever spent in your entire life.

As your body tenses, you prepare yourself to suffer the same fate once more—only to find the impact never comes. Instead, your feet remain planted on solid ground, your hands hanging onto something sturdy, clutching for dear life. Your breath catches as your eyes lock with another pair in blue, dark in the center but light as the ocean as they expand. Sir Barnes is gazing at you in fervent, his arms tightly secured around your waist, studying your face in an unreadable intensity that sets your pulse ablaze.

You wrench yourself from Sir Barnes’ embrace with a firm shove towards his chest. “What do you think you are doing?” He stumbles back two paces, drawing that maddening distance between the two of you once more. “I ordered you not to follow me.”

“Apologies, Your Highness, but I cannot do that,” he mutters, eyes fixed upon the ground. “My duty is to ensure your safety. In order to do that, I must remain by your side. Always.”

A scathing scoff escapes your lips, cutting through the stillness of the night. "Duty? Is that what you call it?” 

Sir Barnes stiffens, but you press forward, unwilling to let him slip away behind his armor of stoicism. "You speak of duty as if it binds you to me, as if it dictates your every move. And yet, you were gone for the better part of the day. Absent. Unaccounted for." He remains silent, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps I should ask again. Were you truly occupied with personal matters, or were you simply tending to more pressing obligations? Such as, say, securing a future with Sir Smith’s daughter?"

You regret the accusation the moment it flees your lips. It tastes sharp and acrid, laced with something bitter and dangerous. Fingers curl into your palms, sharp nails branding crescent moons into your skin. You struggle to understand this anger—where it stemmed from, why it was there in the first place. It froths inside you at the sight of James Barnes, at the image of him together with the young and beautiful Dolores Smith.

The weight of Sir Barnes’ stare anchors you in place, his silence louder than any retort he could have given. The tension between you thickens, stretching taut like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

And yet, he does not snap.

Instead, after a long, unbearable pause, he exhales. "What would you have me do? Tell me, Your Highness. How can I make amends?" His gaze never wavers, piercing through the darkness and the venomous red consuming your thoughts. "Tell me what I must do, so that you might find it within yourself to forgive me."

Your breath stutters, but before you can summon a reply, he adds, "I will do anything, Your Highness. Anything, save for leaving you. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever."

He takes a step closer. Not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel the gravity of his presence, to sense the warmth radiating from him despite the chill of the evening. “I swore an oath to protect you. Not only to the King and to the kingdom, but also to myself,” he utters, soft and careful, as if reciting a sacred vow. “I will always keep you safe, even if it means standing where I am not wanted.”

The silence that follows is nearly suffocating. But underneath the thickness, it conveys a great deal of unspoken admissions. Things you do not dare name, things that sparkle in the profound blue of his eyes. His oath lingers in the air, tethering you to a truth that you never asked to bear. And despite the frustration and the confusion, you feel the formidable wall around your heart beginning to wane, its sharp edges softening.

Your lips part, the beginnings of a response forming. “James—”

A crash. A resounding, erupting boom.

Somewhere in the distance, people are screaming.

You blink.

The distant shouting is increasing in magnitude, although their cries have mangled with the shrieks of something eerily similar to metals being torn apart. It doesn't register immediately. It’s too far and too foreign. Something that does not belong here, in the safe haven you call home.

Then, the walls tremble.

Your stomach plunges as a low, daunting vibration rattles through the stone beneath your feet. Chandeliers sway above your head. A tremor jolts through the castle’s bones following a faraway explosion, deafening and shuddering, as real as if it has originated inside your own bloodstreams.

The realization hits you like a lightning strike. 

This is not some misheard noise or some late-night disturbance that will be dealt with by the guards. This is real.

The castle is under attack.

Before you can form a single word on the tip of your tongue, Sir Barnes is already moving. His expression has darkened, his stance shifting instantly into something solid and unrelenting. He grabs your wrist, not harshly, but with unshakable purpose.

"Stay close,” he adjures.

You do not resist, not because you understand, but because your body is moving without your mind’s consent. You stumble after him as he navigates the halls with urgent precision. Shouts ring from left and right, north and south, somewhere beyond and inside the corridors. Footsteps, too many of them, thunder against the ground. The pungent scent of smoke slithers into the air, creeping into your lungs like a deadly poison eager to take claim of your life.

Your mind struggles to catch up.

This is home. These halls, these walls—they were the silent witnesses of your journey since birth. You know every crevice, every nook and cranny, every secret alcove where you once hid from your governess as a child. This place has always been a sanctuary, a fortress untouchable by the outside world.

And yet, there is fire.

Yet, there are screams.

Yet, your feet are racing over the stone floor, the thumping of your heart loud and erratic as your body shrivels under the clutches of fear.

A gasp tears from your throat, and suddenly, the simple act of breathing has become a chore. The walls are closing in. The corridors are too long. The air reeks of fumes and the rotting smell of death. A phantom shackle wreaths itself around your ankles, locking your body and halting your steps. Sir Barnes notices your lack of movement and stops, so abruptly that you nearly collide into him.

"Breathe," he orders, his voice as stern as it is calm. "We do not have time for this. Look at me."

You try to follow his command, but the world around you is tilting and morphing into something entirely incomprehensible. You claw at the curve of your neck, yanking at the invisible garrote that seems to have expelled the air straight out of your lungs. The voice inside your head is screaming, crying out for help, begging to be let out of this heinous nightmare.

Before your legs can give out, you finally feel it—warmth.

Sir Barnes’ hands are pressed against each side of your face. They offer solace to your icy cold skin, sturdy and rough from years of labor and exertion.

"Listen to me," he says, pinning you in place with the resolute look in his eyes. "You are safe. I am right here, and I will not let anything happen to you. But you need to breathe, and you need to move. Do you understand?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, silently giving him a meek nod.

"Good. Now follow me. In," he instructs, taking a long breath before exhaling, "and out."

You force yourself to comply. In and out. Breathe in, and then breathe out. It’s not perfect, not nearly enough to settle the storm raging inside you, but it’s enough to finally make you move. 

Sir Barnes does not waste another second. He guides you towards a particular section on the wall where he presses a specific stone before twisting one of the wall lanterns to an angle, triggering the hidden mechanism. The wall splits with a groan, revealing a narrow passageway devoured in a total state of darkness.

"Inside," he commands.

The secret passageway smells of dust and humidity. Something brushes your arm as you enter, possibly a cobweb or a bug, but you are too distracted by the ringing in your skull to care. It is quieter here once Sir Barnes seals the entrance, even if the rumble persists throughout the walls and the ground. With his sword drawn at his side, he leads you deeper into the hidden passage, traversing the path with only the help of the small lantern in his hand. 

Eternity seemingly passes before the exit finally appears. Sir Barnes pushes the concealed door ajar using his shoulder, just enough for you to slip through. You hurriedly sprint past him to chase the outside air, only to regret it soon enough when the horrific scene that greets you promptly stops you dead in your tracks.

Flames lick at the edges of the courtyard, lighting up against the night sky in streaks of gold and red. Soldiers clash, the clang of metal against metal as their swords strike one another. Shadows weave between the chaos—some friend, some foe, all indistinguishable amidst the madness.

"We have to keep moving,” Sir Barnes avers. His strong fingers around your wrist are the only thing keeping you from slipping into another bout of panic.

The two of you glide along the edge of the battle, tethering yourself to the shadows where every inch of movement is shrouded by the night. A few paces ahead, you see the stable looming through the thick haze. You dart inside without thinking, every part of your body trembling as you gravely reach for support around a wooden beam. Behind you, Sir Barnes is locking the entrance, keeping the stench of blood and combat safely out of the perimeter.

“Sister?”

The familiar sound of your name echoes throughout the vicinity. You whip your head, seeing your brother emerge from the dark corner of the stable with Sir Steve Rogers, his royal guard, standing by his side. 

“Brother,” you croak out.

The Crown Prince wastes no time to pull you into his embrace. He scans your entire body once he withdraws, shoulders deflating in relief when he ensures that every part of you is unharmed.

“We don’t have much time,” Sir Roger interjects. “The northern gate is compromised. We need to take the southern course through the woods.”

“The woods?” you repeat. Immediately, worry gnaws at you. The woods are not for the faint of heart, with its treacherous terrain full of thick undergrowth and uneven paths. There is a reason why they have become the setting of many spooky fables in your kingdom.

“It is our only option,” your brother affirms. “The main roads will be crawling with enemies. We will not stand a chance.”

As you nod, Sir Barnes works quickly. He leads Sparrow and his own horse out of their stalls, tightening the saddles and securing the reins on each of them. “We ride fast and keep to the shadows,” he proclaims, grazing his fingertips with yours as he hands you the reins.

“Wait.” You stop in your tracks and turn to your brother. “Mother and Father?”

Your brother stills. 

The stable is eerily quiet save for the distant screams beyond the castle walls. You watch your brother’s throat bob as he swallows hard, his grip tightening around his sword.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice thick with restraint. “We were separated in the Great Hall. I tried to go back, but the enemy was closing in. I don't even know if they—”

He stops himself.

The ground beneath you sways as a rush of horror and disbelief surges through you. As much as you want to bury yourself hiding from it, you know that you cannot afford to do so right now. Instead, you take a deep breath, mount your horse, and turn to your brother, “We will find them. I will look for them myself.”

The Crown Prince nods, placing his reassuring hand on top of yours. “We will find them,” he repeats, squeezing your hand with determination. “But first, you must get yourself to safety.”

Moments later, you find yourself riding into the night, plunging into the depth and darkness of the forest. The sounds of battle keep fading behind as the surrounding trees extend higher, their skeletal branches scratching at the sky. The four of you ride in silence, every passing hoofbeat a reminder of the urgency pressing against your ribs. Sir Barnes leads, your brother close behind, with Sir Rogers taking up the rear.

Just as you are about to let out a relieved breath, something suddenly catches your attention.

A snap.

The sound of a branch breaking underneath deliberate footsteps.

Sir Barnes pulls his horse to a sudden halt. Your pulse hammers uncontrollably in your throat as you follow behind, trying to listen for something beneath the eerie stretch of silence that surrounds the group.

Right in front of you, the Crown Prince curses under his breath. “We’re being followed.”

Sir Rogers draws his sword. “What do you want us to do, Your Highness?”

Your brother stops to think. When he finally makes a decision, it’s one that makes your heart drop in horror. “I will stay behind,” he declares. “Sir Rogers and I will hold them off.”

“What?” You twist in your saddle to face him. “No! Absolutely not!”

“Listen to me,” he instructs, reaching for your hand. “If they catch us now, none of us will make it out alive. But if we split up, you will have a chance.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You must.” He squeezes your hand, and for the first time since this night began, his expression softens around a rueful smile. “I’ll come find you, Sister. I promise.”

“Please—”

Your voice is lost around a stifled sob, but your brother is already releasing his grip around your hand, not giving you a chance to protest, to persuade him to rethink his decision. You watch helplessly as he angles his horse towards the direction of the castle, his sword drawn and ready at his side. 

Before he rides off, he casts one final look at Sir Barnes. “Take care of her,” your brother commands.

“With my life,” Sir Barnes avows.

The next thing you know, you are being spurred forward, further away from your brother and the battle that will decide his fate. All you can do is look back, watching as his figure grows smaller in the darkness, until the thick cover of the forest finally swallows him whole.