#[[ Full of Sorrow Full Of Grace ]]

[siriusbx]

To anyone who knew Sirius well, they knew that he did care about his blood relatives...at least some of them. He just didn't like to talk about them. Meda being the only exception that. But he never spoke about his parents, his other two cousins and he certainly never spoke about his brother. Despite that though, there hadn't been a day that had gone by since he left that Regulus wasn't in his head. Sirius knew exactly what he had left his younger brother with. He had tried to contact him, though not recently, and assumed that the notion wasn't mutual, because he never heard back. He knew roughly where Regulus was, and that he too had left Grimmauld place, thanks to Andromeda. That was another area Sirius had alot of guilt... Andromeda was probably the best part of their family, she didn't deserve to be constantly in the middle of what Sirius had created. Sirius had gone back and forth about going back to the area he knew Regulus stayed in, he'd been before.... He'd caught sight of his brother and then left. He'd been in his amagius form that day, though he wasn't this time. Muggle London was so odd to Sirius, it felt so different and alot busier, it was more difficult to get a good sense of smell on anyone, even in his padfoot form. He crossed a really busy road, and paused, sensing that someone was watching him. As Sirius looked ahead, his eyes met with his brothers. It had been years since he had locked eyes with Regulus, he wasn't even sure what he was feeling in that moment.

@littlexking

[seafarersdream]

Heck yeah Freddie Fox!!!!what if reader plays Gwayne and Alicent sister, but their chemistry is sooooo good that the creators had to cut their scenes together because "they're Hightowers, not Targaryens"🤣🤣🤣and the cast are having the time of their lives with that

Me and the Devil (Freddie Fox x Y/N)

Y/N L/N, who stars as Lady Eleanor Hightower, has an absolutely electric chemistry with her on-screen brother, Freddie Fox, who plays Ser Gwayne Hightower, much to the amusement and exasperation of the HOTD cast and crew.

TW // Strong language and profanities, incestuous undertones, sexual tension and innuendos.

The sun was rising behind the walls of the Red Keep, casting long, creeping shadows over the Outer Courtyard. Lady Eleanor Hightower, clad in the deep, grieving olive of her house, stood with an air of weary grace beside her sister, Dowager Queen Alicent. Her face was a picture of calm, though her eyes were heavy with the sorrow of loss and the weight of recent weeks.

“Do you think he’ll bring that dreadful horse again?” Eleanor asked, her voice soft but dripping with that sharp edge she never quite lost, even in mourning.

Alicent’s lips twitched, but she held her composure. "If he does, I’ll have it stabled outside the walls. I’m not having that beast piss all over the courtyard again."

The rumble of hooves on cobblestones drew their attention. The gates opened, and a column of knights in shining armor, bearing the sigil of House Hightower, entered the courtyard. At their head was Ser Gwayne Hightower, his helm tucked under one arm, revealing the tousled auburn hair and devil-may-care grin that Eleanor had grown so used to seeing—when he wasn’t hiding it behind an arrogant smirk.

“Well, well, look who it is. The fairest blooms of Oldtown,” Gwayne drawled, striding over like he owned all Seven Kingdoms. “Alicent, you’re still holding up the realm with that iron fist of yours. And Eleanor…” His eyes trailed over her, lingering just a fraction too long, “Looking every bit the grieving widow. Tell me, how does it feel to be free of that hideous arsehole, late Lord Hastwyck? May the Seven forgive him.”

Eleanor shot him a withering look, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “About as good as it feels to watch you strut around like you haven’t been fucked in months.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ellie,” Freddie retorted, still in character, his grin widening. “Thought all that mourning might’ve taken the edge off your bite, but clearly, I was wrong.”

Eleanor arched an eyebrow, a smirk that could rival his playing on her lips. “And you, brother, seem as full of yourself as ever. Did the trip here inflate your ego even further?”

Gwayne grinned wider, flashing teeth. “Careful, little sister, or I’ll think you missed me.”

Alicent, tired of their verbal sparring, interjected. “Gwayne, you’ve arrived at an important time. Ser Criston Cole has replaced our father as Hand, and there is much work to be done.”

Gwayne’s grin faded into a sneer. “Ser Criston Cole? That jumped-up cunt of a knight? What, are we that desperate, we’re pulling nobodies out of the arse-end of the Kingsguard now?”

The crew, who had been trying to keep it together, finally lost it. Laughter rang out across the courtyard, cameramen shaking their heads as they tried to stay steady.

“Cut! Fucking hell, cut!” Geeta Patel called out, struggling to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She stepped forward, waving her hands as she approached the trio. “Alright, Freddie, Y/N, that was... Jesus Christ, that was incredible. But you’re not Jaime and Cersei Lannister, alright? You’re Hightowers. That kind of sibling chemistry doesn’t fly in this family. Tone down the ‘let’s fuck each other senseless’ vibes, okay?”

Freddie turned to Y/N, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Hear that, darling? We’re too bloody hot for Westeros.���

Geeta rolled her eyes, but she was smiling despite herself. “I swear, you two are going to give me aneurysm. Just... try to remember you’re siblings. No more of that smoldering shit. The Hightowers don’t do what the Targaryens do, alright?”

Freddie put on a mock-serious face, hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear to be the picture of brotherly love. No more dirty looks, no more—“

“Smoldering looks, you tosser,” Y/N corrected, elbowing him in the ribs. “And good luck with that.”

The crew was still giggling, a few members openly impressed. “Honestly, we haven’t seen chemistry like this since Game of Thrones,” one of the grips muttered, shaking his head. “It’s fucking unreal.”

As Geeta returned to her chair, giving notes to the crew, Freddie leaned in closer to Y/N. “Honestly, how are we supposed to act like siblings when you keep giving me those eyes?”

Y/N shot him a sidelong glance. “You mean the same eyes you’re giving me right now? Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Freddie chuckled, his voice low enough that only Y/N could hear. “Well then how about we really give them something to talk about?”

Y/N swatted at him playfully. “Behave yourself, Fox. Or I’ll tell Geeta.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Before Freddie could fire back, Geeta’s voice rang out again. “Alright, enough banter, you two. Places! And for fuck’s sake, remember—you’re Hightowers, not Targaryens or Lannisters!”

Freddie straightened up, slipping back into his role as Ser Gwayne, but not before giving Y/N one last, devilish wink. “For now,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Y/N fought to keep her expression neutral, but the corners of her mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. She shot him a look that promised retribution later.

As the cameras rolled once more, they slipped effortlessly back into character, their banter sizzling with that same crackling chemistry that had the entire crew both laughing and marveling at just how damn good these two were together—siblings or not.

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On a different day, Geeta Patel was giving final instructions to Olivia Cooke and to Fabien Frankel. “Alright, Olivia, Fabien,” Geeta began, her tone calm. “This scene is all about the farewell. Criston, you’re asking for Alicent’s favor before you leave for war. This is a significant moment between you two. We need it to be subtle, yet powerful. Got it?”

Fabien nodded, his expression serious. “Got it, Geeta.”

Olivia smiled. “Ready when you are.”

Geeta gave them a satisfied nod and turned to the crew. “Okay, everyone, positions! Let’s make this one count.”

As the cameras rolled, Criston Cole approached Alicent with a grave expression, his armor gleaming in the dying light. He bowed low, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “Your Grace,” he began, his tone respectful, yet carrying an undercurrent of something deeper.

Alicent looked at him with those sharp, knowing eyes, giving him a slight nod. “May the Seven guide you, good knight,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “And lead you not to shadow and death.”

Criston bowed his head even lower, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I thank Your Grace for her prayers,” he replied, his voice filled with reverence.

Alicent turned as if to leave, her gown sweeping the stones with a soft rustle. But before she could take more than a step, Criston’s voice called her back. “And I would request,” he said, his words halting her in her tracks, “that Her Grace grant me her favor. That her Lord Commander may go into battle with her blessings… in his heart.”

The scene hung heavy in the air, the tension thick between them as Criston’s plea echoed through the courtyard. Alicent hesitated, her hand brushing against the delicate fabric of her sleeve as she turned back to him, her eyes locking onto his. There was a moment of silence, a breath suspended in time, as everyone waited to see what she would do.

She finally reached into her sleeve, pulling out the small, delicate handkerchief embroidered with her initials. The camera zoomed in, capturing the intricate details, the way her fingers trembled just slightly as she held it out to him. “Take this,” she murmured, her voice carrying a subtle tremor, “as a token of my favor. Return victorious, Ser Criston. And know that you carry my thoughts with you.”

Criston bowed his head, taking the handkerchief. “Your Grace,” he replied, his voice rough, “I shall return with your favor in my heart and the victory of your cause in my hands.”

The scene was supposed to be the focal point of the episode—an understated farewell between the Dowager Queen and her paramour.

Or at least, that was the plan.

In the background, Eleanor and Gwayne were supposed to be having a far simpler exchange—just a quick farewell between siblings, nothing more.

The moment the camera panned to them, what was meant to be a brief, subdued farewell exploded into something far more dramatic.

“Eleanor, my sweet sister,” Gwayne declared, sweeping her up in an exaggerated embrace, his voice loud enough to carry across the courtyard. “How will I ever endure the horrors of war without your smile to guide me through the darkness?”

Y/N played right into it. She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with fake tears. “Gwayne, you reckless fool, you’d better come back to me—or I swear I’ll hunt you down myself.”

The crew exchanged glances, trying desperately to keep their laughter in check as the two continued to ad-lib their way through what was supposed to be a simple goodbye.

Gwayne placed a hand on Eleanor’s cheek, his expression one of melodramatic intensity. “If I do not return, tell the world I died with your name on my lips.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone from the crew muttered, barely audible over the sound of snickering.

Geeta Patel, perched in her director’s chair, pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “Cut! CUT!” she finally called out, though her voice was tinged with reluctant amusement. “Freddie, Y/N, what the bloody hell was that? You’re supposed to be siblings, not star-crossed lovers.”

Freddie turned to Y/N with a grin that could only be described as wicked. “Sorry, Geeta, got a bit carried away there. Can you blame me? Look at her—who wouldn’t fall madly in love?”

Y/N smirked, not missing a beat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Fox. It’s called acting.”

Geeta threw up her hands in defeat. “I swear, you two are the bane of my existence. How am I supposed to get a serious scene out of you when you keep turning everything into a bloody pantomime?”

The crew was struggling to keep it together. Even Olivia, standing nearby as Alicent, was biting her lip, trying to stay in character despite the ridiculousness happening behind her.

Freddie chuckled. “Geeta, darling, I think what we’re doing here is revolutionary.”

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, though she was clearly enjoying herself. “What he’s trying to say, Geeta, is that we’re just too damn good together. Maybe it’s time to change the script.”

“Or maybe,” Geeta retorted, her tone playful despite her frustration, “you two could try actually sticking to the script for once. I’m pretty sure HBO isn’t paying you to improvise a Lannister-style farewell.”

Freddie turned to Y/N, pretending to consider it. “What do you think, Eleanor? Should we behave ourselves this time?”

Y/N gave a mock sigh, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her costume. “I suppose we could try.”

Geeta couldn’t help but shake her head as she gestured for the crew to reset. “Alright, let’s take it from the top. And this time, keep it in your pants, Hightower freaks.”

Cameras rolled once more, the scene resumed, with Criston and Alicent taking center stage as intended from the start.

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The camera opens on a sleek, modern studio set, the familiar logo of Max glowing softly in the background. Y/N and Freddie are seated side by side, relaxed and comfortable, both dressed casually but stylishly—Y/N in a chic blouse and jeans, Freddie in his usual mix of sharp yet slightly rumpled attire.

The interviewer, a young woman with a cheerful demeanor, smiled warmly at them. “Thank you both for joining us today. Why don’t we start with some introductions?”

“Hello, everyone! I’m Y/N L/N, and I play Lady Eleanor Hightower on House of the Dragon,” Y/N says, her voice smooth and confident as she introduces herself.

Freddie chimes in right after. “And I’m Freddie Fox, and I play Ser Gwayne Hightower, Eleanor’s incredibly charming, dashingly handsome older brother.”

Y/N snorts, nudging him with her elbow. “You forgot modest, Freddie. Always so modest.”

The interviewer laughs, clearly enjoying their banter. “It’s great to have you both here. So, as you know, House of the Dragon has a massive fandom, and one of the things they love to do is theorize and create ships outside of the canon. They really get invested in the chemistry between characters—and, let’s be honest, between the actors as well.”

Freddie and Y/N exchange a look, both trying to suppress knowing smiles.

The interviewer continues with a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, naturally, people are starting to wonder—could we be seeing the next Kit Harington and Rose Leslie? You know, screen partners turning into real-life partners?”

Freddie, never one to miss an opportunity for a bit of fun, suddenly turned in his seat, getting down on one knee in front of Y/N. With an exaggeratedly serious expression, he took her hand. “Y/N, dearest Lady Eleanor, would you do me the immense honor of becoming my wife? I promise to annoy you, to steal your snacks, and to outshine you in every single scene we ever do together.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, placing a hand over her heart as if genuinely touched. “Oh, Freddie, how could I ever say no to such a heartfelt proposal? But I must warn you—I take up all the covers at night, and I’m not above hiding the remote if you try to switch to football during one of our movie nights.”

The interviewer is cracking up now, along with the crew behind the cameras. “I didn’t expect this, but I’m loving it! You two are absolutely priceless.”

Freddie stood up, still holding Y/N’s hand, and they both gave a bow to the camera. “Well, you know," he says, turning back to the interviewer, “it’s all about keeping the fans on their toes. Can’t make it too easy for them to figure out what’s going on, right?”

Y/N grins. “Exactly. We like to keep things... interesting.”

The interviewer, still grinning, leans in. “So, should we start planning the wedding, or...?”

Freddie looked thoughtfully at Y/N, tapping his chin. “Well, we’re thinking of something small. Just us, a couple of dragons, and maybe a White Walker to officiate. Keep it intimate, you know?”

Y/N nodded sagely. “Very exclusive. Only the crème de la crème of Westeros.”

The interviewer shakes her head, thoroughly entertained. “Okay, okay, I think we’ve just given the fandom even more fuel for their theories! On a serious note, though, it’s clear you two have incredible chemistry. What’s it like working together on set?”

Y/N smiled warmly at Freddie before answering. “Honestly, it’s a blast. Freddie and I just click, and I think that shows on screen. We’ve got a great rapport, and it’s always fun bringing these characters to life together.”

Freddie nodded, adding, “Yeah, we give each other a lot of shit, but that’s part of what makes it work. We trust each other, and that allows us to really push the boundaries in our scenes—sometimes a bit too much, according to Geeta,” he added with a wink.

The interviewer wraps it up, still chuckling. “Well, it’s been an absolute blast talking with you both. Can’t wait to see what chaos you bring to House of the Dragon next season.”

As the camera pulls back and the lights dim, Freddie and Y/N share a quick, conspiratorial glance, knowing they’d just given the fandom more than enough to talk about—and probably a few new fanfics to write as well.

When the interview dropped on the internet, the fandom absolutely exploded. Social media was flooded with clips of Freddie’s mock proposal, and the internet lost its collective mind.

Fans were dissecting every moment of the interview, from the playful banter to the way Freddie had gazed up at Y/N during his over-the-top proposal. The comments sections were filled with fans declaring that they were “shipping” the two even harder now, some even demanding that someone should cast them both in a romcom.

Amid the chaos, Y/N decided to fan the flames a bit more. She posted a cheeky selfie on Instagram, looking effortlessly stunning as always, with a caption that read, “The coolest of the Hightower siblings.”

It didn’t take long for Freddie to jump in on the fun. He reposted her selfie to his own Instagram story, adding the caption, “THE future Mrs. Fox.”

The internet went into overdrive. Fans were tagging each other, sharing screenshots, and even their House of the Dragon co-stars started chiming in with their own comments, playing along with the joke. The whole thing had taken on a life of its own, and it was clear that Y/N and Freddie had become the fandom’s favorite new obsession.

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During a press event, when Rhys Ifans, the man behind Otto Hightower, was asked about his thoughts on Freddie and Y/N’s antics, his face split into a wide, unabashed grin.

“Well, as Otto,” he began, dropping into character with a serious tone, “I have to say, it’s a major fucking ick. Completely inappropriate! Gwayne and Eleanor getting all... cozy? That would make Otto want to strangle someone. He’d be straight to the quill, penning some strongly worded letters to sort that shit out.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, knowing exactly how Otto Hightower would react to such scandal.

“But as Rhys?” he continued, his tone shifting to one of genuine enthusiasm, “I’m all in! I mean, have you seen those two together? The chemistry is off the bloody charts! If they don’t end up getting married after all this, I’ll be sorely disappointed. They’re perfect for each other—on and off the screen.”

His lighthearted comment sent the room into a ripple of laughter, with everyone loving the idea of Rhys being a secret shipper of Freddie and Y/N.

Within hours, his quote—“Ick as Otto, but fuck yes as Rhys!”—became the battle cry of the fandom, plastered across memes, gifs, and fan art that flooded every corner of the internet. It wasn't just spreading; it was detonating.

The whole situation exploded into a full-blown phenomenon, with fans practically canonizing Rhys as the unofficial president of the Freddie and Y/N ship. People started tagging him in everything, from wild fan theories to NSFW fanfiction, with captions like “Rhys would approve” or “Otto hates it, but Rhys lives for it.”

It was unhinged, chaotic, and utterly glorious. Rhys’s endorsement didn’t just add fuel to the fire; it threw in a grenade, making the whole thing go nuclear.

[reignpage]

First Friend

Your daughter has an imaginary friend. 

The doctors, all six of them, explained that it’s normal for toddlers to have an over-active imagination, in fact, it’s a good sign. She must be really smart. And when the top paediatricians in the country tell you all is well, who are you to argue?

‘She’s only four, she’ll grow out of it,’ your mother-in-law says. 

And you’re inclined to believe her; she’s done this before, after all. 

Warm and welcoming, you never turn her away when she shows up at your door unannounced multiple times a week with various gifts: cookies, banana bread, baby clothes, groceries, and tonight, a bottle of wine. 

‘How are you?’ Her eyes are full of worry, and right as you open your mouth, she clarifies, ‘How are you really?’

You tell her you’re fine, that your daughter’s a handful and she’s the best distraction around. The woman doesn’t seem to believe you, instead she wordlessly pours you another glass, and you watch the red liquid swirl as if entranced. 

She’s been the greatest support you could ever have; radiating comfort, grace, and kindness, you know she’ll be a much better role model for your daughter than you will ever be, because no matter how hard you try, you can’t ever seem to replicate that patient smile she always has. 

‘My son loved you very much.’

You gulp the blood-red liquid down. 

Most times she doesn’t dare mention him, and you assume it was because it was just as painful for her as it is for you, but now you know it’s because she’s walking on eggshells, worried you will snap. 

It’s laughable, really. A woman with a variety of health problems, fighting a losing battle with time as evidenced by the wrinkles that map her face, is worried about you. She should worry about herself, if she knows what’s good for her.

Guilt starts to gnaw at you; you shouldn’t think about her like that. She’s been nothing but kind, picking up the pieces that you’ve left to fester, and taking charge every time you’ve stumbled. 

She may be your greatest supporter. 

She’s also the most painful reminder of what you stand to lose as a mother. 

Looser and calmer, you feel your inhibitions slip with every glass. your mind starts to wander, about a past life, and a man long gone, and everything that could have been. This always happened at night, when your daughter’s asleep, all the chores are done, and all that’s left to do is to watch the lights flicker in silence. 

‘I’m worried the imaginary friend’s a cause of, I don’t know, trauma or something.’

You hadn’t meant to say that. 

You aren’t supposed to say that.

She sighs. 

‘She’s too young to remember.’

That isn’t true, you almost say, but you don’t. She wouldn’t be able to bear it — her hands are shaking with both the burn of the loss and the coldness of the time ticking away in the distance. It’s likely she believes that as much as you do, maybe she repeats that mantra as often as she can, the way you do, and maybe she needs to believe in that, in something, to ease the sorrow. 

You don’t get that relief. 

Because you know your daughter has been affected by the sudden loss. Psychologically tainted. The doctors disagree but you’re a mother, you know these things. 

Otherwise, how can it be possible that she calls her imaginary friend something you’ve never taught her, something she never got to learn?

‘Dada Kenny.’

[velarisdusk]

Slip into something daring and explore the courts this October. Don't be shy—knock on the doors of your favorite characters. Will you uncover a dark, twisted secret, or indulge in a sinful treat?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: this is my first ever kinktober!!! ideally, i'll be posting every day from october 1st through 31st, but i'm in school full-time so we'll see lol. these will vary in length, but will all be relatively short this is all 18+ (duh) so please mdni! taglist is closed! enjoy!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

solo days (not reader insert; only 2 lol) will be denoted with a ☾

01 Sweet Surrender — Praise | Cassian

02 In the Wake of Absence — Caught Masturbating | Lucien

03 Before the Dawn — Edging | Tamlin

04 Unveiled Pleasures — Virginity | Rhysand

05 Whispered Echoes — Begging | Nesta

06 Shadows of Need — Mommy Kink | Azriel

07 Dreams of You — Wet Dream | Cassian ☾

08 Floral Reverie — Thigh Riding | Tamlin

09 Night's Cold Embrace — Dacryphilia | Rhysand

10 Twisted Silk — Bondage | Azriel

11 Fallen Grace — Degradation | Eris

12 In the Firelight — Size Difference | Cassian

13 Gentle Remedies — Medical Play | Elain

14 The Crown's Command — Boot Worship | Eris

15 Indelicate Distraction — Distracted Sex | Azriel

16 Searing Retribution — Impact Play | Cassian

17 Bound by Flame — Cum Plug | Eris

18 In the Stillness of Want — Orgasm Control | Rhysand

19 Held in Silence — Cockwarming | Cassian

20 Made for Him — Dollification | Azriel

21 Strings of Devotion — Pet Play | Eris

22 When the Stars Bear Witness — Cuckolding | Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel

23 The Weight of Expectation — 24/7 Scene | Cassian

24 Breathe in the Quiet — Predator / Prey | Azriel

25 In the Glow of Serenity — Somnophilia | Lucien

26 Murmurs of the Abyss — Mind Control | Rhysand

27 Garden of Eden — Tentacles | Tamlin ☾

28 Breathe Out Your Sorrows — Captivity | Azriel

29 Echoes of the Unruly — Monsterfucking | Tamlin

30 Lament of Control — Dehumanization | Rhysand

31 Subjugation — Fuck or Die | Lucien, Rhysand

[cakewritez]

𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊.. 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄? PT.1

An: FLUFF. I NEED FLUFF. IM TIRED OF SEEING DOOMED RELATIONSHIPS I NEED FLUFF. Not proofread!!

s: it's over. You don't have to sing, you don't have to dance. It's all over. Your free. // rounds are out of order

cw: slight asphyxiation on Ivan's part CUZ ROUND 6 WAS.. something !! kinda suggestive?? Mentions of blood, [I literally do not know how to tag warnings] also I have not watched any theories so this is what I got from watching the series :^

☆ You can't believe it, you're free. No more idol shows, no more competitions, no more death defying stages tugging on your heartstrings fighting the ones you love. Speaking of love, your lover. Are they okay? Did they make it out? ☆

𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍..

Ivan had his match against Till, the crowd and the atmosphere was dizzing. The lights shined brightly on the two as they sang, the tension as Ivan glanced at the score rose higher and higher. The end of the song approaching as, the lights went off. Soft mummers of the crowd arose as they talked amongst each other on what happened.

The lights came back on, with the two nowhere to be seen. A missing icon appeared on the giant board as footsteps could be heard rushing, leaving the stage.

Mizi and Hyuna successfully got there on time. With the last few ticks of the clock left to go, the girls had removed their collars and earpieces.

Ivan wiped the blood from his mouth as his other hand was placed to the side of his side, it was a minor injury. That's what he told himself.

You squirmed past Mizi and Hyuna, making sure Ivan was okay. Your hands and eyes payed immediate attention to his face. Your hands were already on both of his cheeks, checking the remainder of blood that stayed over after he wiped it off. "Ivan! Are you alright? Did they get you?" You asked worriedly, as your eyes darted towards his frame.

He gave you a soft smile for a moment and caressed your face with his normal hand. “I'm fine, it's just a scratch.” He mentioned.

You grabbed the bandages and started to wrap his waist, earning a hiss from the taller man in front of you. Your bodies missed each other's touch, longing for these moments where you only had each other. No stage, just you and him.

The wound on his side would heal eventually, it wasn't that deep.

Ivan's hands grabbed your face, one of his hands were placed on your jaw while the other rested on your throat. He gave it a squeeze earning a shocked gasp from you, as he took that opportunity to kiss you. His approach was quick and swift, catching you off guard. It wasn't enough to choke you, but it was enough where you could still breathe.

Ivan kept kissing your lips, harder and desperate. Like he was going to lose you, not like you almost lost him.

Ivan let you go, his eyes dazed and full of content. After you regained your breath, he pulled you into a tight hug.

“I missed you so much. I have you all to myself. My black sorrow.”

𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋..

Till had fought against Ivan, the stage blinding his view of the aliens. Those creatures he hated so much. He wanted to be free, to escape from the chains he had been held in all his life. His saving grace, his light, his muse. You. He had to get back to you.

His drive was wavering, the exhaustion settling in. Hell, he didn't even know if you had won or lost.

Till had to continue.

Halfway through the performance, the lights flickered as smoke filled the stage. The aliens cheered, thinking it was part of the show. The roars of the crowd made the perfect cover to hide their footsteps.

Hyuna and Ivan dragged Till behind the stage, taking off and destorying the collar and earpiece.

You were pacing around in a safe room as Mizi waited for the signal that everything went as planned.

After a minute, the signal went off. Till was held up by Hyuna and Ivan. Exhaustion took over his body, his eyes lacked any light. He was free, but what was that freedom without you?

You rushed to his side at the sight of him, you scanned his figure to make sure of no injuries. Till's eyes shone brighter at the sight of you, he gave a weary smile and pulled you into a tight hug. You were alive. So alive, and real. He missed you.

You were with him till the end.

Thanks for reading !! ♡ I kinda lost motive but pt.2 will include Mizi and Luka !! ((o(^∇^)o))

[st4rtar0t]

How will your future spouse describe you to their family and friends?

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Picture 1

(you might be attracted to pile 2)

Your future spouse will speak of you with a deep sense of admiration and respect. They will describe you as someone who is dedicated, hardworking, and constantly striving to grow and improve. To them, you are a person who puts their heart into everything they do, whether it’s your work, your passions, or your relationships. They will be proud of your determination, and they’ll often speak of how much they admire your focus and drive. They will also say that you have a sharp mind, someone who is quick, intelligent, and unafraid to speak up. You are not one to hold back when it comes to what you believe in, and you have a curious spirit that is always eager to learn and understand more about the world. Your future spouse will see you as someone who inspires others with your energy and clear sense of purpose. Yet, they will also acknowledge the times when you have faced struggles and hardships. They see the strength it has taken for you to rise above your challenges, and they admire your resilience. To them, you are not defined by your wounds, but by the way you have learned from them and grown stronger. Your journey, with all its ups and downs, is something they deeply respect, and they’ll often talk about how proud they are of your ability to endure and keep moving forward. At the same time, there is a softness about you that they will cherish. They will describe you as someone with a warm, nurturing heart, full of compassion and empathy. You have the ability to make others feel safe and understood, and this gentle side of you will be something they speak of with great fondness. To them, your kindness and emotional depth are rare gifts, and they will often share how much they treasure the love and care you show, not just to them, but to everyone around you. Most importantly, they will see you as a light in their life. You bring joy, warmth, and positivity, even on the darkest days. They will describe you as a person who has a way of making everything brighter, who reminds them of the beauty and goodness in the world. To their friends and family, they will say that you are their source of happiness, a beacon of hope, and a reason to smile. In their eyes, you are both strong and gentle, wise and playful, someone who makes the world a better place just by being in it.

Picture 2

(You might also want to read pile 1)

Both pile 1 and 2 have similar energy

Your future spouse would describe you as someone who carries a sense of completeness and grace, as if you bring everything full circle. To them, you are a guiding light, shining brightly even in the darkest moments, offering hope and a vision of what’s possible. They see you as someone who has a rare kind of strength, a quiet resilience that inspires not just them but everyone around you. In their eyes, you are honest, clear, and sharp-minded. They would tell others that you have a way of seeing through confusion, cutting through doubt, and speaking truthfully, even when the truth is hard to face. There is a wisdom about you that they deeply admire, a sense of purpose and understanding that sets you apart. You aren’t afraid to stand by your beliefs, and that consistency brings a sense of calm and stability to their life. They see the depth of your heart, knowing that you carry your own struggles and pain, yet you still manage to move forward with grace. They would share how you’ve faced difficult moments, yet instead of letting them break you, you’ve allowed them to shape you into someone even stronger. To them, this makes you both beautiful and deeply human, someone who knows the weight of sorrow but still chooses to hope and love. Your future spouse would speak of you as a person who brings balance and meaning to their life. You make them see things in a clearer light, helping them understand themselves and the world around them in a way they never did before. You have a kind of gentle wisdom, mixed with an unyielding strength, that they feel honored to have by their side. In their words, you are not just a partner but a presence that brings hope, truth, and a sense of purpose. They would share that knowing you has been a journey, one that has taught them more about love, resilience, and the quiet power of enduring through life’s storms. To them, you are a reflection of both strength and tenderness, someone who stands tall in their truth and yet, remains deeply compassionate.

Picture 3

Your future spouse will describe you as someone truly unique, a soul that carries a blend of lightness and depth. They'll tell their friends and family that you have a creative spirit, someone who sees beauty and possibility in the world around you. Your imagination knows no bounds, and it’s this quality that draws people to you, making them see the world through a new lens. They’ll speak of your transformative nature, how you have the power to change not only yourself but also the lives of those around you. When things seem stagnant or heavy, you bring a sense of renewal, a fresh perspective that breathes life into any situation. It’s as if you have the gift of turning difficult times into opportunities for growth, always finding a way forward. To them, you are not just a partner but a guiding light. They'll often mention how helpful you are, always ready to lend a hand or a kind word when someone needs it. They’ll describe you as someone who naturally nurtures and takes care of others, even when you sometimes forget to care for yourself. Your willingness to support and uplift those around you stands out to them, and they admire this selflessness deeply. At times, they might say that you have a tendency to neglect your own needs, getting so caught up in helping others that you forget to give yourself the same care. But it’s this very quality, this deep sense of empathy, that makes you so special to them. They will likely describe you as carefree, someone who doesn’t let life weigh them down too much, yet possesses a wisdom that runs deeper than what meets the eye. To them, you are more than just a lover; you are a soulmate, a friend, someone who understands them in ways others cannot. They will speak of how effortless it feels to be around you, how your presence brings them peace and comfort, as if you’ve known each other for lifetimes. And they will always smile when they mention how you bring a sense of joy and adventure to their life, a feeling of friendship that goes beyond the ordinary.

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[needfantasticstories]

“Many places I have been

Many sorrows I have seen

But I don't regret

Nor will I forget

All who took that road with me”

-The Last Goodbye by Billy Boyd

This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja, after 86 chapters, 300k words, and 10 months of joy, laughter, tears, heartbreak and love, has finally reached its end. 

Adjuration is a tragedy that is nothing short of an act of love. That much is clear in the passion and dedication put towards the story, the characters, and the message Freyja is trying to convey. This fic will teach you about love. About death. About the inevitability of existence and why despite knowing it will all come to an end, there is still meaning in trying and hoping and loving each other. In loving yourself. You will laugh, you will cry, you will hope and you will despair as you read this story, but you will not be able to put it down.

It’s hard to say goodbye to something that has been so important to and loved by so many people. So we won’t. Instead, we will say thank you for this incredible journey and the community this fic has built. For the friendships that have been made and the endless inspiration you have given us. Thank you for wanting to tell a story, and for letting us join you around the campfire to listen.

Thank you.

(If you like Linked Universe and haven’t yet read Adjuration, see below for spoiler free reviews of this fic and artist credits.)

This is an Adjuration is the kind of story you fall in love with, the kind of story you think keep thinking about long after you put it down. The kind you keep finding hidden details in after you think you’ve got it figured out. 

The characters are distinct and people with their own voices, motivations, relationships and histories. You’ll have your favourites but love them all. They influence how you’ll see the characters in everything else. 

It’s full of moments where everything clicks and everything before is recontextualised in a way that’s so satisfying and make the whole story very re-readable. A time travel story where all loops are already closed, where you can know but not yet understand what will happen. It’s long, complex, and beautifully, meticulously planned and detailed. It’s clever and considered, funny and heartbreaking. 

A story that whispers ‘it matters’ over and over. It is worth it to love, it is worth it if it doesn’t last forever, it is worth it to give someone a little more time, it is worth it to fight. It’s about loving others and your world and finding grace for yourself. 

It’s loss and tragedy and the cruelness of fate. It is the sacrifice and the breaking. 

Full of heart to both fill yours and break it in the best possible way. 

It’s about love. Always.

By @toyouhellohowareyou

Sometimes, it’s hard to explain to others why art moves us.

I could tell you This is an Adjuration will make you cry, laugh, and sit at the edge of your seat in anticipation. And it’s probably true - I did all of that as I read, often with a coffee in one hand, early in the morning as I got ready for the day. 

But that’s not the reason why I’m writing this.

The real reason is how it followed me during the rest of the day.

You see, at a certain point I realized this isn’t a story about Links going on adventures. Well, it does feature Links, and they do go on adventures, so let’s talk about that for a minute.

The first thing that caught my attention about this book was the characters. Each individual is unique, interesting, and exciting to follow. Not only are the Links individually compelling, but one thing that stands out in Adjuration is how the relationship between each Hero and their own worlds matter, and these connections shift, evolve, break and grow as the plot progresses.

Freyja does an incredible job of bringing together impactful storytelling with humor and heart. This is an Adjuration starts with an interesting premise, and then twists and turns in directions you wouldn’t expect. It’s rich in thought-provoking moments, soft joy and intense action, blended in with carefully crafted time travel and magic.

Adjuration sucked me into the world it builds, combining believable characters with fascinating stories, an unnervingly devious antagonist, plot twists, and lovingly crafted details that slip unnoticed until you’re surrounded on all sides. It made me cheer for characters I feel as if I’ve known intimately for years, made me worry for their safety as I would for that of a loved one, kept me hunting for hints and hidden references, pulling on a thread to try to find the end only for it to twist and loop into itself and show me a completely new side to the story.

Yes, This is an Adjuration is a fanfiction piece that explores the winding river flow of the Legend of Zelda timeline and how the stories of each Hero merge into each other. It also stands out for its heavy emotional content, and it doesn’t shy away from angst and hurt.

But to me, Adjuration is an epic journey that taught me how the choices we make, make us in turn. It’s a tragedy that deals with pain and healing, and it bares naked the non-linear nature of grief. It’s a celebration of the things that make us unique, of our flaws, an essay of the impact of little acts of love. Indeed, it’s a story about love.

I can tell you now, This is an Adjuration moved me. It still does. It has a special way to surface in my mind in unexpected ways at seemingly random times, from something as simple as tossing an apple core, to watching a lightning storm in the distance, or finding a picture of an old friend.

And every time, without fail, it makes me think about love.

By @sunny-porridge

This is an Adjuration is a wonderfully and beautifully crafted story about love, loss, and choice as the various incarnations of Link come together and travel through time. Freyja seamlessly weaves a tapestry of setup and payoff across different timelines and loops, in the best-constructed time travel plot I’ve ever seen on page or screen. Even at its surface, Adjuration is an emotional rollercoaster involving tragedy and the soft moments that make that tragedy worth it. But the deeper you look, the more meaning you can pull from every chapter of this amazing work. This work has made me cry, squeal with delight, and think more deeply about its themes all while having an absolute blast reading it. So in summary: READ IT. READ IT. READ IT NOW. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT.

By @life-in-winter

While I love that every chapter is emotionally enthralling, with carefully woven, visceral tension you crave in any good story, yet Adjuration is more than that, and you feel it in the careful weave of each character and plot point. Nothing is lost or unanswered. It's the kind of story that, by the end, makes you stop and take a hard look at your own life. Are you appreciating the now? Are you savoring joy? Are you so wrapped up in fear that you can hardly take care of yourself? Do you know who you are?

This story is more like an external experience. It's riding atop a tsunami. How do you handle that ride, Link?

There aren't enough words to describe how amazing this fic is.

@needfantasticstories

Artist credit

Legend: @gia-d

Hyrule: @bittirsweeteer

Time: @toonblade

Sky: @noorahqar

Warriors: @whitewinterstar

Wild: @weavingstarlight

Twilight: @bluury2

Wind: @thewitchdoctor39

Four: @lunaopus

Red: @peepthatbish

Blue: @glowingmin

Green: @winterfen

Vio: @waterfallstream

Shadow: @deleetrix

Wolfie: @linkiscool333

Fierce Deity: @awildsilver

Ravio: @lele5429

Malon: @tooner-tastic

Dink: @passerinesoncaffeine

[bamgyw]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ the second night ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

the spiritualization of sensuality is called love: it is a great triumph over christianity. - friedrich nietzsche

warnings: +18 getting hornier. pillow,, humping,, heh. a tiny bit of voyeurism as well? fingering. and a lot of male yearning we love that, we love a desperate man. a/n: team we made it to the smut. the hand kissing bit is kind of victorian. jane austen, even. but. i don't care. i’m not 100% happy with the outcome so it might get a little edited in the (distant) future, but nothing fundamental. this is a part of a longer work ♡ go to the beginning here

"i am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses."

beomgyu stumbled upon that quote within the pages of a stolen copy of a book by nietzsche. he had always found himself more drawn to the destructive lunacies of clinically depressed germans than to the saving grace of the holy scriptures. there was no self-pitying in the bible, no self-indulgent sorrow to hold on to.

he had found that book, thus spoke zarathustra, in soobin's room, tossed in the trash. it looked almost new, so he took it out of curiosity.

"why are you throwing this away?" beomgyu asked.

soobin shrugged. "it's a good read if you're a happy person," he said. "but if you're miserable, it'll rot your brain. more spiritual talk and petty self-help in there than in the bible."

but beomgyu quietly took the book without soobin noticing, and he carried it in his back pocket ever since.

he had no intention of reading it from cover to cover, but sometimes he would flip absentmindedly through the pages, fixating on some passages. and that one specifically had reminded him of you. his new meaning. the rose he found in the darkness.

during the day, beomgyu usually roamed aimlessly around the town, drifting along with the rhythms of his headphones. that was pretty much the sum of his daily human activity since he quit college.

it was all he knew how to do, and often felt like all he was good for.

as he walked through the town, the familiar sounds of honking cars, distant sirens, and murmuring conversations mixed with the music in his headphones. the air was thick with the scent of seawater and the faint, sour smell of industry. it was a crummy town, sordid. each step felt heavy, purposeless, leading him nowhere.

he had a few favorite spots he liked to hang around - the port where the boats came in, or the grimy industrial estate where the addicts gathered. they all knew his dad pretty well. and maybe if they knew beomgyu was the son of the man who supplied them with their shit, they'd treat him better. but that's a secret he kept to himself.

instead, he joined in on their petty fights, easily swayed by whatever side fit his mood that day. he was better at fighting than them, but the victory was hollow. he was younger, his body was not rotten –not completely– and he had full motor control over his limbs. but he got pleasure from winning, anyway. he liked to exert some control over someone else for once. 

still, that day he didn't walk to any of his usual spots. he had been feeling a sorrow less violent, an ominous need for silence. his feet, barely in conversation with his brain, dragged him to the town's small church.

he had never really stopped at the church before, just passed by without giving it much thought. but now, standing there, he realized it was probably the most beautiful building in town.

every other construction felt fake, in plastic and plasterboard, but the wooden church had been crafted by the artisan hands of a carpenter and build up by a community. it seemed to be lovingly nursed, too. though the church meant little to him, it was obviously fundamental to others.

when lost and adrift, beomgyu would wander, getting into fights and ruining himself. but under similarly pitiable conditions, others came to the chapel like it was a second home, sometimes safer than their own. beomgyu wished he had something like that, too.

the building was small, but cute. surrounded by a little forest of old camellia trees, its walls painted a crisp white. it was an old building, but it was thoroughly taken care of. the air was different, cleaner, carrying the earthy scent of the camelliae and the faint fragrance of blooming flowers.

beomgyu liked how the wooden cross crowned the roof, marking the building, never allowing anyone to go astray. it must feel good, he thought, to have some guidance like that when you don't know where to go. a flower in the desert, a light in the darkness.

he knew he was being stupid and overemotional. he had never believed in all this religious stuff, and he never would. his relationship with god, if there even was one, was mostly based in resentment. if god was real, he could've treated him better.

and still, he didn't dare to enter the chapel out of some reverential respect he didn't even know he was capable of. so he just stood there, staring at the chapel, feeling small.

he took a deep breath. his cheek still burned where you had kissed him the night before. he really was going out of his mind.

"i want her so bad. and i think she might want me too." he prayed. to the church, to its wood, to the camellia trees, to the sky –he didn't know, he didn't care. "please let me be with her. please don't hurt her because of it, or shame her, or kick her out or whatever it is you do with sinners. i promise it’s not a bad thing. it’s so much purer than you think." he said.

no one answered, of course. there was just silence. some ruffling of the leaves because of the breeze, maybe the trebling chirp of a bird, but no answer. he felt like an idiot.

praying sucked, he ratified. how could you even make sure you were being listened to? it was emotional manipulation, playing with one's hope. feeling down and disappointed, he left.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

entering soobin’s house again would have felt like torture, were it not for the certainty that you lived there, too.

soobin never really left the house. he only went out to go to class in the mornings, and he still chose to skip as many as he could. not because he wasn't a good student, he was disturbingly accomplished. he just disliked the people.

every day, soobin locked himself in his room and studied relentlessly. he was determined to make something of himself and leave his stepfather’s house behind. he had a plan. beomgyu didn’t know the details of this plan—soobin never shared it, fearing it might be jinxed if spoken aloud—but it was clear that soobin believed hard work could get him out of that miserable house.

beomgyu thought that rhetoric too optimistic, alienated from reality. but still, he had some admiration for him. unlike beomgyu, who wallowed in his own misery instead of changing his situation, soobin searched for solutions.

beomgyu sometimes found him too sickly and rancorous, but he still looked up to him for his willpower. not that he would ever admit that to soobin.

so when beomgyu got to the house, certain that soobin would be there, he gave him a call. it was a code they had. soobin leaned out of his bedroom window, and threw down the keys for beomgyu to catch so that he could make his way in. 

as beomgyu climbed the creaky wooden stairs, he realised that the usual thrill and allure of sneaking around that house he had felt at night was dimmed in the daylight. he hated the smell of that place, too. the air inside was stuffy, filled with the faint scent of old wood and something slightly medicinal.

as he reached the top floor on his way to soobin’s room, he passed by a closed door. pristine surface, painted white. he knew immediately. a pink mother-of-pearl crucifix hung on the wood.

he stood in front of it, his heart quickening. inside that room lived his little bird, trapped in an evil cage. his angel, his obsession. he gladly would’ve shattered the door with his own hands. let his knuckles bleed, let the splintered wood stab into his fingers. he just wanted to take you away and set you free.

at first he maintained a cautionary distance. he feared that if he got any closer, he would actually do it. but then he saw the little plaque under the cross, in sterling silver, shining when the light hit it. he approached to read what it said.

"the lord is faithful. he will establish you and guard you against the evil one." it said.

beomgyu scoffed, a bitter smile curling his lips. like some metal plaque could protect her, he thought. he's the only dangerous thing in her life. that superstitious fool.

he found it bitterly amusing, to the point of feeding his ego. some cultures hang garlic on the doors to keep away the vampires and the witches. your daddy had hanged a nacre cross to keep choi beomgyu away from you.

he let his hand reach for the crucifix. he traced his fingers over it, middle and index. all the doors had a crucifix of their own, but yours was the only one that wasn't a choppy piece of wood, crude and utilitarian. his thoughts wandered as his fingers brushed over the cool, smooth surface. he must be aware of how pretty she is, beomgyu thought.

as he did, a noise startled him. he jolted away from the door, retreating as far as he could. only when he saw it was just soobin coming out of his room did he catch his breath.

“you were taking too long,” soobin said, his expression gloomy. “i didn’t like it.”

“you care for me that much?” beomgyu asked, a bitter grin spreading across his face as he walked up to him, hands in his pockets.

"well, i let you into my house, didn't i?" he asked, accusative.

"you did." beomgyu replied. “it's not versailles, but it’s cute. lots of quirky decorations.” he shrugged, poking at the crucifix that hanged on soobin’s door, tilting it slightly. "it's like a theme park."

"eveything’s a joke to you." soobin replied. he seemed distrusting, his chest filled with something he probably shouldn't say. but he did, anyway. “you need to forget about her."

“what are you talking about?” beomgyu raised his tone, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes, quickly masked by anger.

“i know you. you’re going to let your impulsiveness ruin everything for all of us. it won’t end well.” soobin said. “she's not like one of those girls you used to pick up at private schools. if you want to manipulate your way into someone's pants, choose someone else.”

beomgyu’s anger flared. how dared he imply those were his intentions? how dared he assume he had any other purpose than caring for his angel and godsend grace?

he took a violent step towards soobin, who flinched slightly but held his ground. “you think i’m dorian gray or some shit?” beomgyu retorted. “you're just pressed because i'm not a pussy like you, restraining yourself to please that maniac. but whatever happens, it won’t be because i forced myself on anyone."

“she doesn’t know what she wants." soobin said. "she’s confused and love deprived.”

“and you’re a patronising asshole,” beomgyu snapped back. "who are you to say anything?"

“you’re playing with fire. if you wanna be a psychotic masochist, fine. but don’t drag others into your mess. get yourself hurt if you want, but leave us out of it.”

“us?" beomgyu asked with a wicked grin. "she's an adult. she can make her own choices. and if your stepdad wants to mess with her because of it, it´ll be over my fucking dead body."

“is this how you repay me for letting you stay in my house?” soobin asked, a mix of hurt and frustration in his eyes.

“thing is," beomgyu began with a cynical laugh. "this isn’t about you. you shouldn’t be this bothered,” he said. “and if you are, maybe you should check yourself and see if you’re acting like your stepfather.”

soobin’s knuckles turned white, but he took a deep breath and held it in. “just. don’t do it." he said through gritted teeth. "it’s not worth it.”

but beomgyu grinned wickedly. he had one last bombshell, one last thing to get soobin fuming. “i’ll let you know if it's worth it or not when i have your sister go dumb on my cock.” he said, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction.

he shouldn't have said it.

instead of getting angry, as he had intended to accomplish, soobin smirked, too. it was unsettling. beomgyu got a ghostly feeling about it.  "what is it?" he spat out.

soobin inclined his head slightly towards the room with the mother-of-pearl cross—the room of his little bird. beomgyu turned just in time to catch a sliver of a prying eye, peeking through a barely open door. your eye widened when it met beomgyu’s gaze, then you vanished, the door slamming shut.

shit. beomgyu's heart raced, his breath hitching.

soobin smiled, a hint of triumph in his eyes. "consider her warned."

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

late at night, thoughts of you consumed beomgyu’s mind. he knew he had fucked up. he knew that now you probably thought he was a creep and never wanted to see him again. his mind raced, replaying the words he wished he could take back.

he could’ve played his cards right. go slow, ease you into it. but he wasn't that sure now. the uncertainty gnawed at him, twisting his insides with each passing thought.

soobin's room felt even stuffier than the night before, the air heavy and oppressive. the walls seemed to close in on him, making it hard to breathe. the need to see you pressed down on his chest, but lingering doubt kept him glued to the mattress.

a lone fly buzzed around, its annoying droning echoing through the room and fraying his nerves. each pass it made seemed to grow louder, amplifying his sense of confinement, maddening him.

his mind wouldn't shut up about you. you had struck him as someone who knew how to watch your back. he recalled how cautious you had been around him the previous night, like a dog used to being beaten flinches at the sight of a stick. but your eyes had never left his. not for a second. they seemed innocent, but not naive.

he liked that, he thought. that you were like him, smartened up by your environment. but he liked the innocence too, so much. an untouched you, drowning in chasteness and self-restrain.

uncaressed belly, uncaressed thighs, uncaressed sweet pussy. he could make you feel so good. that was all he could offer, all he could give you. he had nothing else.

he knew he should let the thought go. that he should start wrapping his mind around forgetting about you. but it was late, and he was tired, and the only picture that lingered in his mind was a pearl choker and a rosary over a tender neck.

with soobin's steady breathing beside him, perhaps even asleep, beomgyu lay staring at the ceiling. images of you fluttered behind his closed eyelids, all imaginations of his lovesick mind. illicit, probably, but fated.

he thought of your pretty lips whispering praises meant for him, kissing his cheeks, his jaw, the curve of his neck. he wanted to know the taste of your mouth, the softness of your touch.

had you even been kissed yet? with a father as twisted as yours, it seemed unlikely. beomgyu wanted you to never have been kissed. he wanted to teach you how to do it himself. eat your mouth out, nibble at your lips and press them gently. but not hurt you. that was new. 

he would start slow, so that you’d want more of him. then he'd deepen the kiss, his grip on you tight, giving into whatever you asked for, never letting you go hungry. the tingling started, the blood pumping.

pause. he thought as soon as he became aware that he was getting hard. his rational mind tried to assert control, to rein in his desires. you loser, just by thinking of kissing. be cold-minded. a voice told him. actions have consequences. 

the voice sounded a little like him, but it was surely an imposter. if it wasn't impulsive and hot-blooded, then it wasn't choi beomgyu. 

"i just want to apologise." he lied to himself as he sat up all of the sudden.

he slipped out of bed, his bare feet padding softly against the cool floor. he moved slowly, mindful of the creaking floorboards that threatened to betray his movements.

but a subtle rustle, not caused by him, echoed in the quiet room. the soft shuffle of fabric against skin. soobin was awake, and he had wanted to let him know. but beomgyu couldn't begin to care.

as he closed the door behind him, trying to make as little noise as possible, a sudden thud reverberated through the silence. "shit!" he cursed under his breath. another door in that corridor slammed shut with a resounding roar.

someone left a window open. air currents cause noise, beomgyu mused as he made his way down the dimly lit corridor, his steps quickening with purpose. tomorrow night, he thought, he would make sure all windows were closed before going to bed.

as he travelled the shadowy corridor, he got a chill. he kept hearing the ruffling of fabric, a doorknob twisting, steps against the wooden floor. a shiver went down his spine, but he told himself to forget about. it was all in his head.

he refused to let the silent threat your daddy stop him from seeing you. that liar, that imposter, that self-proclaimed god keeping everyone hostage in his castle of authoritarianism and indoctrination.

when he got to your door, the mother-of-pearl crucifix halted him like a policeman. it seemed more commanding now than it had earlier. it was stupid, he thought, how the night enhanced every feeling. 

the cross regarded him and he regarded the cross. “i just want to apologise,” he told jesus christ. “i said something stupid earlier today, and i wanna make better.” he tried to convince him.

it was just a symbolic plea. a desperate attempt to absolve himself of guilt, to make him feel less lustful, less like a pig. to find redemption in the eyes of a higher power. 

he thought about what soobin had said, about god, about your father, about right and wrong. maybe he wasn't as smart as he thought. maybe he was loosing the game and they were all making him go insane for good.

he debated whether to just turn back after the thought came to him that you didn't even want him there, anyway. how could you want him at all, after just one meeting where all he received was rejection?

sure, he got a quick kiss in the end, but it didn't outweigh the pulling away, the uncertainty, the avoidance. what was he worth, really? nothing. not even worth enduring a scolding from your dad, let alone the weight of guilt. he was making a fool of himself. better leave now before anyone got hurt for nothing.

but as he turned to walk away, his heart heavy and ready to toss aside, he heard a noise from inside the room.

a whimper. it was so faint he was sure his febrile mind had made it up. that he was so schizophrenically in lust he had made you escape that sound in his brain. a whimper. a sweet soft whimper. 

he tried to make sense of it by convincing himself that he heard you crying. he even allowed his sense of self-importance to fuel thoughts of bursting into the room and offering you his shoulder to cry on. to cuddle you, to comfort you.

but when he heard it the second time, his breath caught. this time it was a moan, unless his yearning mind was deceiving him. he pressed his ear to the door. he clearly heard a trail of soft muffled moans. restrained, but just so lewd to his feverish self. his face burned, his cock twitched.

index and middle finger reached slowly for the doorknob. they brushed over it, hesitating. maybe it was locked. and maybe that was for the better. the hand wrapped around it, twisted it slightly. it was open.

holding his breath almost to asphyxiation and in the most silent motion he had ever performed, he peaked in. 

god existed, he found out. his mouth went dry. like a bird in the clouds, surrounded by snowy plush blankets, he saw his little dove making herself feel so good against her pillow.

facing away from him, your legs draped on each side of it. your hips swayed, heavy and slow, as you tried to suppress the soft whimpers your throat escaped.

beomgyu pressed his lips together, teeth sinking into his lower lip until almost drawing blood. the messy nightdress, one delicate strap slipping off your shoulder. how the the silken fabric fell over your ass, not letting him see but inviting him to find out.

he wanted to see your doll face twisting in pleasure so desperately. to have you take in his cock and use him to fuck yourself so sweetly like that. only one door was stopping him. the door with the pink mother-of-pearl crucifix.

as though hypnotised, he quietly entered the room.

but when the door closed behind him with a click, you whirled around, eyes wide and breath catching in your throat. he froze in panic, too, as he saw how frightened you seemed. what the fuck were you expecting, you disgusting perv? came in the voice in his head.

your instinct was to retreat like a scared spider, flitting towards the head of your bed. fluffy white pillows framed your trembling body, with only a glimpse of your leg peeking out. your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, almost to an unhealthy degree, as you tried to cover yourself.

beomgyu took a cautious step forward, his obsession with you feeling safe in his presence outweighing how turned on he was. "please," he whispered, desperation in his voice. "don't be embarrassed." he said. or be. you're so adorable, all flustered like this.

"i… i'm sorry," you stuttered, your words hesitant.

beomgyu raised his eyebrow, an endeared chuckle escaping his lips. "you're sorry?"

"i shouldn't have… i…" you struggled, avoiding his gaze and pressing your hands to your head in frustration. anxiously, you began to hit your head with the heels of your hands. "i'm so pathetic."

without hesitation, beomgyu rushed closer, wrapping his hands around your wrists in the world’s softest handcuffs. "not at all," he murmured softly, his voice soothing as he attempted to coax your frightened gaze to meet his own.

quietly, almost reverently, he knelt at the edge of the bed, perching himself over the mattress like a praying supplicant.

he was so fucking hard, his blood boiling inside his pulsating veins. scorchingly, painfully. his hands trembled a bit on your wrists as he struggled to contain himself, like the scorpion resisting the urge to sting the frog and drown them both.

“i loved seeing you like that.” he managed out, eyes fixated on yours. “i’m the pathetic one, i sneaked in here like some creep. i... i'm so sorry about what i said earlier today. i was mad at soobin, trying to get under his skin. but i'm kinder than that. i can be, for you. you shouldn’t be scared of me. please.” 

"i’m not." you said.

"good," he said. "i want you to trust me."

"i think... i think i do."

beomgyu took one of your hands, already entwined with his, and raised it to his lips, planting a delicate kiss on the back. you didn't pull away, though a slight flinch ran through you. his voice, soft and concerned, cut through the quiet, "is this alright?"

you met his gaze, his eyes looking up at you dilated and pleading like a puppy's. you nodded silently, allowing him to continue.

he pressed his lips against your skin a few more times, the wet sounds his mouth made filling the room. with a heavy breath, you took in every detail of his gentle kisses—the way his plump lips pressed and nibbled at your skin, how slow, almost ritualistically.

"what were you thinking about?" he asked, his voice a muffled purr against your skin.

"w-what?" you stammered, trying to buy time as your mind raced to come up with a lie less embarrassing than the truth.

"you were so pretty like that just now, all spread out like a good girl...” he murmured softly, "tell me what got you like that."

you stalled. with an achingly slow movement, you mirrored his action. you brought his hand to your mouth, and brushed your lips over it. barely touched, almost imperceptibly.

a shiver down his spine. a sting to his heart. he watched you in awed stillness, his watering mouth half-open. then you whispered, "you."

"fuck, i– i want to do so many things to you. if you'll let me." he said. a blush crept across your cheeks as you instinctively tried to shy away, but his fingers beneath your chin guided you back to meet his gaze. "what did i do to get you like that? was it because of what you heard me say?" he asked.

"because of everything." you replied.

he moved up from the floor with deliberate slowness, each motion purposeful as if he were approaching a skittish forest creature, determined not to scare it away. cautious, he inched closer, finally settling beside you on the bed. "tell me." he said. "i wanna hear."

"you're smarter than daddy," you began to say, your voice mumbled, as you gazed at him, his features so close you could count the flecks of gold in his eyes. "daddy thinks he's god's chosen one, but you keep outplaying him. so what does that make you?"

"a hellhound," he replied with a cynical smile, drawing even nearer.

"no," you said softly, shaking your head in disagreement. "you're good. and you're sweet to me." with tender care, you brushed his bangs, your fingertips delicately tracing the contours of his face like a child exploring a new toy. you lingered over his brows, his long lashes, the graceful curve of his cupid's bow, and the strong line of his jaw. "and you're… really pretty."

an impulse like a mighty wave of devotion pushed beomgyu to cup your face, his thumb tracing delicate lines over your skin as he asked, voice barely more than a whisper, "have you ever been kissed?"

"yes." you nodded. though there was a flicker of fear in your eye, like he would've been disappointed at that lack of purity. but if he did, he said nothing.

"show me how you do it." he urged, his words a gentle plea as he drew closer, his breath mingling with yours.

you leaned in painfully still, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you. but just before your lips met, you paused. hesitated. this changed everything. but beomgyu met your gaze unwaveringly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret or doubt. then, with a soft smile, he encouraged you forward.

you brushed your lips against his, ever so slightly. it was a trembling little touch. chaste. when you pulled away, beomgyu's eyes remained fixed on you, half closed and drunk in longing.

he gently pivoted the hand that had cupped your face, trailing its back along the curve of your cheekbone to finally rest it at the nape of your neck. "so pretty," he whispered. "why are you so scared?"

"i don't want to disappoint you," you mumbled softly.

beomgyu's response was immediate, a fervent shake of his head. "never," he insisted, his voice a husky plea, "you're doing so well. please, kiss me again."

with trembling fingers, you reached up to his neck, your heartbeat a wild rhythm in your chest. you nestled his upper lip within yours. a little more intensely this time, but still experimental, like you were gingerly trying to color within the lines.

beomgyu was gone. you were so soft and plush and just so scared to do anything wrong. he lingered, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. "they're mine now," he said in a low growl.

he took over, giving you a deep wet kiss. unrestrained, heavy like a lion’s roar. as you moved your lips together, beomgyu demanded more and more, leaving you breathless. one of his hands rested on your thigh, tentatively stroking, fondling over the skin, as if to soothe you, to tell you everything was alright.

he tilted his head, seeking depth in your mouth. one of your hands traced up the length of his chest and reached his neck, which you squeezed tightly as you felt his mouth opening yours to let his tongue in. you tensed. he noticed. “do you like that?” he asked, breath heavy.

“i... yes."

and so he did it again. another painfully lusty kiss that left your lips soaked and swollen. you escaped a moan that he loved so desperately, making him bite on your lower lip, drawing another embarrassingly whiny whimper out of you. after a softer peck, he outlined the bitten skin with his tongue.

he devoured your lips again, eating out your mouth. he slipped his tongue back into your mouth to circle yours, playing with it; then he pulled back, as if urging you to follow him. he wanted you to try yourself.

his hand on your thigh moved to embrace your waist, fingers poking into your skin. you felt firm, secure. in the middle of the unbridled kiss, your tongue ended up in his mouth. so soft. my good little girl. he let out a grunt of satisfaction. happy with his reaction, your instinct got you to hold on to him tighter, trying to find a closeness that was impossible in that position.

he got frustrated at it, too, his groans turning into hummed pleading moans against your lips. for a painful second, he pulled away to say, "let me watch you fuck yourself, just like you were when i came in. please." he said. "would you be comfortable with that?" he asked. 

you nodded slightly, though you weren't even sure you were telling the truth. they were irreconcilable, avoiding embarrassment and giving in to the aching sensation in your pussy the moment he spoke those words.

he stretched his arm out toward the pillow, gently offering it to you, observing as you knelt on the bed and retook the position he had found you in. he helped you through it, caring for you with caresses and soft kisses, but he went back to seat at the edge of the mattress, gnawing lightly on his lip with anticipation. you didn't want that, you realised. you wanted him close.

you reached out your hand for him to grasp, "what is it, baby?" he asked, tending to you with gravity.

you guided him towards you, maneuvering him to recline half-seated against the bedhead. he caught on to your intentions and leaned in to give you a gentle peck before allowing his hands to settle on your hips, helping you in adjusting the pillow beneath you.

now on all fours, with him facing you, he noticed you wanted to say something, the words lingering on your lips. "is everything alright?" he asked, his hand tenderly caressing your arm.

you stammered a bit before shyly asking, “can you keep on kissing me?”

he smiled fondly. he would never in a million years be able say no to you. “of course, my angel.”

he drew nearer, his proximity warming you up. having him there like that, you didn't need to support yourself on your arms- instead, you found yourself instinctively clinging to his neck. with a mellow kiss and his hands firmly securing their hold on your hips, he led the start of the back and forward motion.

the first reactions the rubbing of your clit against the fabric drew out were subdued, mere soft moans and gentle breaths mingling with his the plush of beomgyu’s lips. but with his grasp pressing you down, those initial movements evolved into more intense and profound ones.

he let one of his hands abandon your hips to entwine his fingers in the strands of your hair. the louder your moans got, the tighter his grip on it. he was so hard, with no escape for it. but he liked the pain, the desperation. "you sound so beautiful, fuck–" he breathed out. "but i'm gonna feel so much better than that."

the promise echoed in your mind, getting you to let out a crying plead, "p-please, beomgyu..." you moaned out, as you fumbled with your hand to find his.

"you want me to help you out?" he asked, almost like it was a privilege.

"mhm," you whimpered with a sheepish, frantic nods.

"cute." he breathed out. his face was flushed and burning hot, his cock ached uncomfortably, but he spartanly focused on his little angel’s pleasure above anything else.

he wrapped his arms around your waist and took you to his lap, where he held you tight. "are you comfortable like this?" he asked, placing a a soft peck to your forehead.

"yes." you answered, embarrassingly. you were wet to the point of dampening your inners thighs, and you were mortified to have him see, to even stain him. but he'd notice soon enough.

he grunted as he kept on kissing down your face. your temples, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth, your ridiculously tasty lips. he held on to your waist for dear life with one of his arms, but allowed the other to travel down, slowly and deviantly towards your virgin pussy.

"you're soaked, my baby." he breathed out. you would've felt self-conscious at the exposure, but you saw in his eyes how bad he liked it. how starved and aroused he seemed when he began to caress your wet cunt with his slender fingers.

his cold touch startled you at first, making you hold on to his neck tighter. you were too sore, too sensitive. "don't be scared. i'm gonna take such good care of you," he said. "i promise."

tentatively, he stroked over the surrounding area of your aching centre, index and middle finger touching softly over your wetness. he performed circling motions in your clit, taking his time. getting to hear you. “b-beomgyu, you—god—you feel really good…”

he learned that when you liked something he did, you'd shower him in desperate soft pecks, like a puppy licks your hand after you pat its head. he wanted to see you react further, he wanted to try it all. he spread your pussy with both fingers and pressed forcefully against your throbbing clit with a third one. startled, you clutched his hair so firmly you feared you might have hurt him.

as by instinct, your thighs twitched from the overstimulation and seemed to want to close around his hand, but he didn't let them. he shushed into your lips with a soft "shhh," soothing as the seashore before leaning in for a honeyed kiss. he traced patterns against your cheek with his nose after pulling away. "its alright. you're doing so fucking well."

he let you catch your breath, but not for too long. he quickened his pace, your moans getting too loud, wept out and filthy enough to horrify all the saints in the house of god. it became a duel of you trying to suppress yourself and keep it quiet, and beomgyu trying to get everyone in the house to know how good he was for you.

to restrain the growing sound of your moaning, you buried your face into beomgyu’s neck, trying to muffle your voice against his body. but he huffed into your ear, "don't hold back. only you and me matter, no one else."

"i think i–" you whimpered into his ear, choking on your own puffs. the pleasure crept up on you, becoming too strong to bear and making your whole body shudder against his. "beomgyu, please..." you cried out.

he saw how close you were, and quickly thought if he should or should not stop it. tease you, edge you, have you go on all night. he could do so many things, he ached so much to do them all. but as he saw your pretty face so desperate to cum, how needy and palpitating, you were, he decided he had all the time in the world.

his movements quickened, each motion filled with urgency and strength. his veiny, strained forearm bore the weight of the world as he got you to your peak.

you came with a stifled cry but you muted your voice against his neck again. he wished he could've heard it in its full, piercing clarity, but he understood. you were so sheepish, his perfect little girl.

he didn't pull his hand away immediately, instead letting you feel his warmth for a little longer as you trembled against his chest. "my baby, you did so well," he whispered into your ear, his voice a soothing balm as he gently cradled your body.

now that the tension had drained from your limbs, you found yourself collapsing against him, your body limpy and worn out. it was then that you noticed the bulge in his pants. "beomgyu…" you murmured, your voice heavy. "teach me how to help you out."

"forget about me," he replied with a gentle smile. "i just wanted to get you to trust me tonight. to show you how good i can make you feel." 

you gazed at him, cherishing his handsome features. his cheeks were flushed, too, and his eyes so gentle. you couldn't help but cup his face in your hands, drawn to him. but as you leaned in to kiss him, he stopped you faintly, saying, "wait. don't kiss me. i want you to have something to look forward to, so you'll be excited to see me again tomorrow."

"you'll come back tomorrow?" you asked, your eyes lighting up with hope.

“i couldn’t stay away even if i wanted to,” he replied. but as he said it, he noticed a flicker of guilt crossing your face. gently, he brushed a strand of hair away from your reddened cheek. "how are you feeling?" he asked softly.

your gaze darkened slightly. "like i shouldn't have done it," you admitted. "like daddy saw everything."

"i'm… sorry," beomgyu said, his voice full of consternation.

"no, it's not your fault. those thoughts aren't real. i can make the guilt go away, in time," you reassured him. "but i like it when you hold me. that's real. i… like you. a lot, i think."

beomgyu didn't even know what to say. he struggled to understand how this could be wrong to any human religion or faith since the dawn of time, because to him this felt like heaven. he held you in his arms, all flushed and a little tired, your lips swollen like ripe cherries from the kisses he had given you. this was fucking nirvana for all he cared.

he deeply regretted his no-kissing rule, and he sought to end it immediately. he leaned in, but you stopped him.

"no," you chuckled, "don't kiss me. i want you to have something to look forward to so that you're excited to come back tomorrow."

he smiled back at you, like an absolute fool. maybe he was in love, even if it only had been a day, whatever. but how could he not be when he had the cutest being in existence all to himself? "give me a gift before i go, then," he said. "something i can carry with me.

"what do you want?" you asked.

"this," he said, pointing at your rosary beads. with a gesture that felt almost ceremonial, you took off the pendant and placed it around his neck. as you did, he couldn’t help but stare at your lips. "can’t i kiss you just a little?" he pouted.

you shook your head with a soft giggle. "your rules," you reminded him. "be stronger."

“fine. have it your way.”

he smiled, but it quickly vanished as you remembered him; “you should go. or soobin will know.”

he nodded, eyes filled with disappointment. the moment you lifted yourself off his lap, detached yourself off of him, an intense wave of pain surged through both of you. like a limb had been atrociously ripped off your body.

but just as he was about to leave, you grabbed his wrist, halting him. “beomgyu, wait,” you called out, rising to your knees to meet his gaze.

you pressed a gentle, lingering kiss on his cheek, just as you had done the night before. the softness of your touch sent a shiver down his spine. as you pulled back, beomgyu instinctively leaned forward, craving more. but you placed your index finger against his lips, stopping him. “you’re so weak,” you teased with a playful glint in your eyes.

he smiled ruefully. “i am,” he admitted with a sigh, the weight of reality settling back in. he really had to leave. “good night,” he murmured.

stepping out into the dark, the world felt colder, and his eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness. he lingered for a moment, leaning his back against the door, not wanting to leave just yet, but his head bumped against something.

of course.

he turned around to regard the crucifix, holding the one you had given him in his hands. same color, same material. a bittersweet smile played on his lips. “she was so good,” he told jesus christ. “and i think i made her happier, just a little. i feel a little happier too. i told you, it was much purer than you think.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ so. i really struggled through this one. lemme know what you think.

[ahqkas]

♯ TOO SWEET ; mattheo riddle

❛ i take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at 3, you’re too sweet for me ❜

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! in which mattheo recalled the two times you were too sweet for him (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! consummation of alcohol, lovesick mattheo, fluff, angst, a lot of my hcs for mattheo’s past (i wrote him the way i see him), lmk if i missed smth !!

NOTES! this is purely my view on mattheo’s character bc the hc i wrote suit him sm 😿😿 reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated <3

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

ONCE A MAN FALLS IN LOVE, he finds himself drawn to not just the physical beauty of his muse, but for the essence of who the person truly is - their quirks, intelligence, kindness, and their unique way of seeing the world. Every interaction, every shared experience, every memory he brings, adds another layer to his adoration towards the love of his life.

His love for them is evident in the little things - the way he watches them when they aren't looking, the small gestures of thoughtfulness, the silent support during their dark moments of life. It's in the way he listens, truly listens, to the hopes and dreams, fears and frustrations, always eager to offer his thoughts and ideas. This love manifests in his desire to be their anchor in times of storm, their cheerleader in moments of triumph, and their person in all the in-betweens. It is a love that values their independence and individuality, recognizing that they are their own person with their own journey, and yet, he longs to be a part of that journey, to walk alongside them and share in their joys and sorrows of life.

Mattheo Riddle was no different.

He marvels at your kindness, your sweetness, and the light you bring into his life. You are his muse, his inspiration, a spark of the goodness that stands in stark contrast to his own perceived flaws and insecurities he feels deep inside himself. He sees you as an angel, a pure and radiant being who somehow chose to share your life with him, despite his own imperfections and inner demons.

He sees you as an angel in a human form, who chose to live among the devils, just so he could feel the heavenly touch for the first and last time in all eternity.

He often wonders how he, with all his rough edges, hidden scars, and a past life without a happy memory, could be worthy of your love. He feels like a monster, haunted by past mistakes and burdened by the weight of his own fears and failings. You, on the other hand, are everything he aspires to be - kind, compassionate, and endlessly forgiving. Your presence in his life is a constant reminder of the beauty and grace that he lacks, and yet, your love makes him strive to be better, to rise above his darkness and become someone worthy of your affection.

In his heart, he knows that your love is transforming him, helping him to heal and grow. Your existence is a light that dispels his inner darkness, a reminder for him to cherish that even monsters like him can be loved. He clings to this, that your love is making him a better man, one day at a time.

01. THE PARTY

The Slytherin common room was full of shadows and flickering lights, transformed into a wild moment of freedom for the night. The music, a thundering beat that echoed off the stone walls, could be heard from miles away, yet no professor or ghost visited the common room to cancel the party. It was as if the ancient castle itself had granted this one night of freedom to its most cunning and ambitious students. The rhythmic thrum of bass notes and the infectious melody of the latest wizarding hits filled the air, blending with the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.

Bodies moved in a hypnotic dance, swaying in sync with the music. The students had discarded their usual aloof demeanors and uniforms, lost in the euphoria and joy of the moment. Green and silver decorations adorned every surface, shimmering under the enchanted lights that hung from the ceiling like glowing jewels. Laughter rang out, high and clear, mingling with the deep, resonant hum of conversation.

In one corner, a group of seventh years huddled together, their heads bent close in a whisper, before erupting into loud laughter. Nearby, a couple twirled around each other, their bodies intertwining like dark waves, eyes locked in their private world amidst the chaos around them. The fireplace, usually a place of quiet contemplation, was now surrounded by students perched on its stone ledge, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the night and alcohol.

Long tables filled with food and drink stretched along one wall, bearing the weight of a feast other students could be jealous of. Platters of magical meals, charmed to stay warm, smelled of aromas that mingled with the scent of butterbeer and stronger beverages. Bottles of firewhisky and elf-made wine were passed from hand to hand, each sip fueling the atmosphere more and more as drunken the students got. The alcohol flowed freely, loosening tongues, transforming even the shyest students into party animals of the night.

The Slytherin common room had never felt so alive. Tonight, they were not just the students of Hogwarts; they were a family, united by their house and their understanding of what it meant to be a Slytherin.

Mattheo Riddle was one of those students who were enjoying themselves tonight. His breathing features were illuminated by the green lights as he leaned casually against a stone wall, a cup of firewhisky filled to the brim in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed perilously close to the edge with each of his slowed gestures, but Mattheo seemed unconcerned, clearly lost in the haze of alcohol. His dark curls, usually styled in the way that made uncountable amount of girls fall on their knees, now fell loose around his face as you watched from a close distance.

He was engaged in a drunken conversation with Theodore Nott, whose tall, lanky frame was the opposite to Mattheo's more athletic build. Theo's typically serious demeanor had softened, his features relaxed into a rare, genuine smile as he listened to Mattheo's ramblings with a giggle threatening to spill out from his lips. The two of them, often seen together, now looked like true brothers. It was almost scary how much they resembled family when they were drunk.

Mattheo's voice, rich and slightly slurred, carried over the music as he recounted a particularly outrageous story from his recent fight. Theodore threw his head back and laughed. It was clear to anyone how close those two boys were, drunk or sober.

"Can you believe he actually thought I was serious?" Mattheo snickered with a big grin stretching across his face, taking a swig from his cup, the whiskey burning a warm path down his throat. "I mean, I barely managed to keep a straight face!"

Theodore laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a menace, Riddle. One of these days, you're going to get expelled."

"Ah, but tonight isn't that night, mate," Mattheo replied with a slow wink, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To living dangerously and laughing in the face of consequences!"

They clinked their cups together, the sound barely audible over the throbbing beat of the music and you thought now was the best time to approach your boyfriend. 

Mattheo's brown irises scanned the crowd, catching a look of you as you pushed your way through the crowd of dancing bodies. The sight of you instantly brightened his expression and a genuine smile spread across his face. He felt a rush of emotions that the whiskey in his hand only intensified, each beat of his heart echoing with the certainty that what he held for you was pure love. The Slytherin straightened up, his posture shifting from the casual slouch of a carefree boy to the attentive stance of a man. Theodore noticed the change and a knowing smirk made its appearance on his lips as he stepped aside, giving the two of you a moment of privacy. 

"[Name]," your boyfriend called out, his voice full of warmth. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you came closer. "There you are, love."

You beamed up at him, your eyes reflecting the party's enchanted lights, making them look like twin stars. "Having fun, are we?" you teased and the tone of your voice carried a playful match that always managed to make his heart skip a beat. 

"Only now that you're here," he replied. The world around you seemed to blur as he gazed down at you, all the noise and chaos fading into the background. "You make everything better."

Drunk on both the whiskey and his overwhelming affection, the boy's usual reservations melted away. He held you close, his hands resting on your waist as if anchoring himself to your presence. When he was sober or feeling down at heart, his love for you was often hidden beneath layers of stoicism and insecurity, but now, in this moment of happy drunkenness, it shone through. 

He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips, enjoying the sweetness of the contact. "I'm so lucky to have you," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you, but I'm going to spend every day trying to be worthy of your love."

 “You have no idea what you mean to me. I look at you and . . . it’s like you’re the sun and I’m just a planet orbiting around you, soaking up your light,” he continued without a break. The boy wanted to get every one of his words out as fast as humanly possible. To show you his hidden feelings he wasn't able to tell you before. “You’re my everything, [Name]. I don’t know how I got so lucky. You’re so kind, so . . . good. And me? I’m just . . . I’m a mess, you know? A monster sometimes.” 

You shook your head lightly and took his hands into your own, enveloping him with your warmth. He was starting to get emotional, and you didn't need to have your boyfriend drunkenly mopping around. His mood changed like weather when alcohol got involved. “You’re not a monster, Mattheo. You’re human. We all have our demons.”

“But you,” he didn't allow you to finish your sentence before he spoke up again, his voice raw with sincerity, “you make me want to be better. For you. I see you, and I just want to be the man you deserve. I’m not always good at it, but I try. I try because you’re worth it.” 

You could see the glazed look in his eyes as he swayed slightly on the spot. He was rough around the edges, you couldn't deny the truth, but he was the sweetest boy when he managed to fall in love. Which wasn't exactly difficult, Mattheo fell in love easily. But when he did, it was worth everything. Mattheo was your sweet boy. “Love,” you said softly to him, your voice filled with gentle concern to the brim, “you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Maybe it’s time to slow down a little, okay?”

Mattheo blinked, giving you a lopsided grin, his expression a mix of boyish charm and pure happiness. “But I’m fine, [nickname]. I feel great. Better than great, actually. With you here, everything’s perfect.”

“I know you’re having a good time, but I don’t want you to feel terrible tomorrow. Let’s take a break from the firewhisky for now, alright?”

He pouted slightly, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were actually serious. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “But only because you’re asking me.” You chuckled softly at his behavior, threading your fingers through his and gently leading him away from the dancing crowd. You navigated through the common room, moving towards a quieter corner of the space where a plush couch sat, inviting you both in with open arms. The room’s enchantments cast soft shadows on the walls, the flickering lights creating a soothing atmosphere.

“Here, sit down,” you instructed as you guided him to sit on the couch. Mattheo obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a contented sigh. You sat beside him, your hand never leaving his. You took the half-empty cup of whiskey from his hold, reaching for a glass of water on the table nearby instead and handing it to him. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Mattheo took the glass, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. He took a long sip, the cool water a welcome relief from the heat of the alcohol he consumed. “You really do take good care of me, don’t you?” he murmured, his head resting against the back of the couch as he looked at you with a mixture of admiration and exhaustion.

“Someone has to,” you replied playfully, brushing a stray curl of hair from his forehead. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to have the job.”

As the night wore on, Mattheo felt a warmth spreading through him that was only partly due to the whiskey. It was the warmth of belonging, of being surrounded by friends who understood and accepted him, flaws and all. Despite his often rough exterior, he was deeply grateful for these moments, these stolen hours of joy in the corners of the Slytherin common room.

02 - THE MARK

The past has a profound power to shape a man, especially when that past is influenced by suffering at the hands of a father. 

For Mattheo Riddle, his family history was the darkest shadow of all the shadows that clung to him, a reminder of the pain and fear that had molded his entire life. Raised in a home devoid of warmth, where love was a foreign concept and cruelty was a daily reality, Mattheo had learned to build tall and thick walls around his heart. A shield to protect him from more hurt that would come his way. 

The orphanage was a harsh place, stripped of the luxuries the boy had unknowingly been born into. It was a world of strict discipline and a poor form of affection. The caretakers, overwhelmed and underfunded, had little patience for a child with such a notorious legacy. Mattheo grew up under the weight of whispers and sideways glances, the infamous name "Riddle" ensuring he was never just another child. The women of the orphanage knew his father, having taken care of him when he was around the same age as his son. What a wicked child Tom was. Mattheo was different because of that, marked, and this awareness shaped his formative years in ways he could barely comprehend.

As he grew older, the whispers about his family name became more pronounced. The children at the orphanage were cruel. “Monster,” they called him, creating the very fears that nested within his own heart. He began to internalize these taunts, seeing himself through the lens of his father's sins. The idea that he could be worthy of love seemed more and more distant, more of a fantasy that had no place in his reality. But the same idea of letting someone see past his defenses, of allowing someone to love him despite his flaws, seemed not only impossible but dangerous. For how could anyone love a monster, especially one crafted by his own father?

Despite this, Mattheo yearned for something more. He longed for the kind of love he had never known, a love that was gentle and kind, that saw past his scars and accepted him for who he was. But every time he felt himself getting close to someone, the fear surged up, a wave of doubt and self-loathing washed over him and forced him to retreat behind his walls again. It was a never-ending cycle.

Hogwarts had saved him. 

Mattheo Riddle’s first steps into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were met with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and apprehension. For the other students, he was a figure of whispered rumors, his infamous last name carrying with it a weight of fear and fascination. They had heard the stories of his father’s dark acts, of the legacy that haunted the halls of the castle like a ghost. But for Mattheo himself, Hogwarts represented a new beginning, a chance to escape the personal hell he called the orphanage and create his own path. The boy was no longer just another orphan. Here, he could be anything he wanted to be.

He wasn't deaf. The young boy could feel the weight of his father’s name bearing down on him like an invisible burden. And he wasn't blind either. He saw the way the other students looked at him, their eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and suspicion. They didn’t openly taunt him as the children in the orphanage had done, but he could sense the whispers and the wary glances that followed him wherever he went. For Mattheo, however, their fear was a source of power. He reveled in the attention, in the way his presence commanded respect, even if it was tinged with fear. He was finally someone. 

He excelled in his classes, his natural talent and restless ambition setting him apart from his peers. But it was on the Quidditch pitch that Mattheo truly came into his own. Flying high above the castle grounds, he felt a sense of freedom unlike anything he had ever known. With every twist and turn of his broomstick, he left behind the weight of his past and embraced the thrill of the present, making him feel like a bird. 

Six years had passed since Mattheo Riddle first walked through the grand doors of Hogwarts, a hopeful and determined young wizard with dreams of greatness he was so sure he'd achieve. But now, as he entered his sixth year at the renowned school of magic, the world around him had shifted irrevocably. The return of Lord Voldemort two years prior had plunged the wizarding world into chaos, and with it, Mattheo’s life had been destroyed once again.

Even among his fellow Slytherins, Mattheo felt like an outsider, a traitor to his own house and everything it stood for. He had once prided himself on his ambition and cunning, on his unwavering determination to succeed at any cost. But it didn't matter anymore. 

Mattheo sat alone in the quiet atmosphere of the Astronomy Tower, his gaze fixed on the night sky that sparkled with millions of stars. Each twinkling light seemed to mock him, making fun of the darkness that now stained his soul even more than before. His fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket tightly, as if seeking some comfort in the fabric, but finding none.  

 On his left forearm, the Dark Mark burned like a brand upon his skin. It was a mark of shame, of betrayal, and every time he looked upon it, he felt a sickening sense of disgust and self-loathing. He had thought that by aligning himself with the Dark Lord, his father, he would finally be able to escape the shadows of his past, to prove himself worthy of the name Riddle and his father's presence. But now, he realized that he had only succeeded in plunging himself deeper into the deep hole. Even the orphanage was better than this. 

The footsteps behind him shattered the sweet silence, echoing off the stone walls of the tower. Mattheo tensed, his heart racing as he turned to face the intruder, steeling himself for whatever judgment or punishment awaited him. But as he turned, he was met not with the accusing glare of Filch or the triumphant sneer of a rival, but with the concerned gaze of a familiar face. It was you, with your eyes filled with worry as you approached him slowly, as if he'd disappear if you were a bit louder. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you alright?”

No, he wasn't alright. But he would be caught dead sooner than having you worry about him like that and more. 

He forced a tight-lipped smile, attempting to mask the emotions raging within him. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining the facade. “Just . . . thinking.”

You stepped closer, taking a seat on the ground beside him. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Mattheo. I know something’s been troubling you lately. You can talk to me.”

You were his angel, full of that purity and light he adored about you in a world darkened by his own sins. He longed to confide in you, to unburden himself of the guilt and shame that had consumed him since he had received the Dark Mark. But the fear of your rejection, of you seeing him for the monster he believed himself to be, held him back. It would shatter his heart, to see the pained expression on your face. 

“I . . .” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the words, "there's something I need to show you." With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Mattheo finally mustered the courage to reveal the truth to you. For months, he had carried the burden of the dark secret alone, pushing you out and shutting you down in an attempt to shield and protect you from the darkness that was his father. But now, as he sat before you, his heart and his soul laid bare, he knew that he could no longer hide from the truth. The boy reached for the sleeve of his jacket, his fingers fumbling as he pushed the fabric up to reveal the twisted lines of the Dark Mark etched upon his skin. The sight of it made him recoil, a wave of shame washing over him as he exposed his deepest, darkest secret to the one person he had sworn to protect.

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in the mark, your palm flying to your mouth in disbelief. For a long moment, there was silence between the two of you, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing and the distant hum of the night owls. 

“I received this a few weeks ago," Mattheo confessed, his eyes avoiding yours. "When he decided I was good enough for him."

He felt your gaze on him, eyes searching his face for answers. He could see the confusion and concern written in your expression, but beneath it all, he saw something else - a flicker of understanding and acceptance that filled him with both hope and fear. How can someone be so good to someone like him? "I've been living with the Malfoys ever since," he continued, the words tumbling out in a rush as he struggled to explain himself. "But it's not what you think, [Name]. I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a part of his plans, to be branded as one of his followers. But I had no choice. He made me do it."   

Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke, and he felt a desperate plea for forgiveness in his chest. He needed you to understand, to see past the mistakes that consumed him and into the depths of his soul where his love for you burned bright and true. The thought of losing you hurt him more than the Cruciatus curse ever could. 

“Forgive me. For shutting you out, for pushing you away. I was scared, I was ashamed . . . but I can't bear to keep this secret from you any longer. You deserve to know the truth, even if it means losing you forever." 

Your heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of sorrow as you gazed upon Mattheo, your sweet boy, sitting there before you with tears in his eyes and the weight of the world upon his shoulders. In that moment, all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and shield him from the pain and darkness that threatened to consume him. With shaky hands, you reached out to him, fingers brushing against the mark of his father's followers etched upon his skin. The sight of it filled you with a fit of fierce anger, but beneath it all, you saw the boy you so dearly loved - a boy who had been shaped by his past but who was so much more than the picture of his scars. 

"Love," you whispered into the dark, taking his face into your hands and wiping away those tears that managed to escape his control, "there's nothing to forgive. Nothing in this world could ever tear us apart, not even your father or that mark."

In that moment, Mattheo knew that he would do anything for you, that he would move heaven and earth to ensure your happiness and safety. You were his light in the darkness, his angel in a world filled with demons, and he would cherish that for the time being his heart swelled at the thought of you. You were simply too sweet for him and you knew that Mattheo’s struggles were far from over, but for tonight, that was enough.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified.

[findingavoiceif]

Intro post:

Step into the shadows as an Elyn, a creature feared and hunted for your dark, mysterious origins. After narrowly escaping the brutal grasp of your former master, you find yourself in a world that views your kind—Elyndras—as beings of nightmare: demons with unsettling, untapped powers.

But in this land where terror and superstition reign, your journey is just beginning. Thrust into an unpredictable adventure of treachery, harrowing dangers, unexpected sorrows, and moments of tender love, your path twists in ways you never imagined.

Forge bonds with one of four unique companions, each with their own secrets, desires, and hidden wounds.

Tell me, creature of the night... Will you reclaim your power, your voice, your freedom?

Features:

Choose your name,gender and parts of your appearance.(Some of the mc's features are locked to fit their heritage)

Romance one of four companions or maybe...5?

Trigger warnings-

Finding A Voice is rated 16+ for violence,self-harm,hunting of an entire species,assault,language and fade-to black scenes.

Love interests:

Quill Riviera – The Charming Bard

Quill’s got that effortlessly cool vibe—shoulder-length auburn hair streaked with dark highlights, usually tied half up, half down like he didn’t try but somehow nailed the look. His light brown eyes glimmer with mischief, though his right eye is a little clouded from an old injury, and his full lips always seem to be curled into a teasing grin. Freckles dust his nose, and he’s got a small gap between his front teeth, giving his smile a touch of imperfection that just adds to his charm.

Underneath his confident exterior is something darker, though he keeps it hidden well behind sarcastic jokes and playful arrogance. His tan skin, slender hands, and lean frame are decorated with piercings—hoops and studs running up his pointy ears, an eyebrow piercing above his sharp, teasing gaze. You’ll catch a glimpse of a burn mark on his left hip if he ever lets his guard down. Despite the mystery and flirtation, Quill’s a bard at heart, working part-time at the inn, always ready to spin a story or play a song. But don’t let his facade fool you; there’s more beneath the surface.

Pierre Blanchet – The Cold Commander

Pierre cuts an intimidating figure—a tall, athletic knight with flawless bronze skin, dark red eyes that he’s always been self-conscious about, even though they burn with a fire few can match. His curly blonde hair is cut short and shaved at the sides, making him look every bit the battle-hardened warrior he is. A small mole beneath his nose and a permanent shadow of stubble give him a rough, no-nonsense appearance.

Despite his role as Knight Commander, Pierre’s introverted nature and quiet insecurity make him seem distant, even rude at times. He doesn’t let people in easily, but those who get past his defenses see the man beneath the armor—stubborn, loyal, and fighting his own inner battles. His large hands grip a sword with ease, but they fumble when it comes to opening up to others. If you can break through his walls, though, you’ll find a heart worth fighting for.

Celeste Dupont – The Witch of Warmth

Celeste is the type of person who draws people in with her warmth, even though her pale skin and sharp grey eyes might make her seem icy at first glance. She keeps her silky black hair tied up in a messy bun, and no matter how chaotic it looks, it only adds to her effortless elegance. Her lips are always painted a cherry red, and a small scar on her bottom lip hints at the fact that there’s more to her story.

As a baker and healer, she’s as likely to serve you a fresh loaf of bread as she is to patch you up after a tough battle. A rune tattoo graces her palm, a subtle sign of her Valdranna heritage—an immortal witch with powers as ancient as they are mysterious. With her hourglass figure, dark eyeliner, and a nose ring that looks like a simple dot, Celeste balances the mystical with the everyday. She’s your boss, your best friend, and maybe something more if you’re lucky enough to win her heart.

Ash Valdaryn – The Sickly Royal

Ash is the reason this whole adventure started, their deep violet skin standing out against the pale world around them. Their lavender hair, soft and wavy, falls just past their shoulders, and they dress in flowing, feminine clothing that complements their elegant, yet slightly fragile build. White eyes gaze out from beneath small, curling horns on their forehead, giving them an otherworldly look that is as captivating as it is delicate.

Ash’s health is failing, which is why the journey began in the first place—to find a cure for the illness that threatens to take them away. Despite their condition, they insisted on coming along, determined to be part of the adventure. They may look fragile, but there’s a quiet strength beneath the surface—a will to live, to fight, to hold on. And though they may be royalty, with all the expectations that come with it, Ash’s soft voice and gentle demeanor make them someone you’ll want to protect... even though they’d never ask for it.

[bonesofapoet]

Lucanis Dellamorte was not fucking good at this.

He should look away from you, stationed resolutely at his side. Any minute now, his eyes would slip to focus on the other side of the room, or out past the trees swaying in the distant breeze. Except now, the candlelight has flickered to illuminate you in a bright wash of amber light. Every trace of lingering shadow is chased away by the brightness, flame still swaying faithfully to a tune only known to fire.

Your hands were gentle as they worked under the dim light. Calm. Methodical. There was a pattern to how you did things. It was something he itched to ask about, but knew better than to pry about a past not offered willingly.

He still hasn't looked away when you further disinfect the slash on his forearm, or when you glance up at the sharp inhale he allows himself to express at the sting. Eyes meet in the dark, over blood and salve and a cavern of things he wants to say, thinks about saying, imagines endlessly, ruthlessly about doing -

Only, he doesn't. Can't. Wouldn't know where to even begin, should he learn that you've carved your own well of sorrows, your own deep pit full of longing for the assassin constantly in your midst. And yet, before you gather yourself to do what Lucanis simply, genuinely cannot, because - Maker. Who is he, to look away from such a beauty that rivals Andraste herself?

Your apology is soft, accompanied by a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. He promises to forgive you, but only if you swear to him that he won't lose a limb under your questionable care. The laugh that follows is enough to stop his heart. He feels a small smile of his own reveal itself, and you linger like this, until the golden moment shatters.

Before you turn back to changing his dressings (at your deepest, most incredible insisitence) he saw something new in your eyes. A fresh expression graced your features, captivating as they are on their own. Something that, if he didn't know better, resembled a resigned sort of heartache.

The candle flickers once more, in time with the finishing steps of your task. You gather your materials, and Lucanis still cannot fucking look away, Maker what is wrong with him - but then you're standing, bidding him a good night and trying to slip back to your own space without incident.

He reacts instead of thinks - his hand taking your wrist just before you move out of reach. You turn back, praying he won't hear the way your heart picks up speed, or the hitch in your breath when you bring your eyes to look at him. His voice is quiet when he speaks, smooth in contrast with the rough war of shadow and light the candles impress upon him. Thank you. He clears his throat, seems unsure what to say next. Sleep well.

You're accutely aware of his fingertips on your skin. The burn is hot and fierce and soft and Maker it's too much.  Of course. Your response is quick. A little strained. Anytime, Lucanis.

He feels you slip through his grasp and watches you leave, wondering what, exactly, it is you think of him.

(your wish is my command, @torrick17 here's more Lucanis 🩶<3)

[endangeredrandomfanfics]

"A Mother's Defiance"

Masterlist

Summary: Agatha x Rio x Reader Where in the scenario Nicholas never happened but the reader did and Agatha beg Rio not to take them, based on the episode 9 of Agatha All Along -Chapter I

A/n: I'm weak for Agatha and Rio being mother's

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

The forest was silent and heavy with mist, as if nature itself had drawn a veil over this secluded place. Agatha stumbled through the dense thicket, her hand pressed firmly to her belly, her breaths shallow and rapid. She could feel it—the heartbeat within her growing faint, slipping further from her grasp with every painful step.

“Please… stay with me…” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur against the rustling of leaves and the cold whisper of the night air.

Ahead, the shadows seemed to twist and shift, growing thicker and darker. A familiar presence manifested from the haze—a tall, cloaked figure who moved with an ethereal grace, as quiet and inevitable as the night itself. Agatha’s breath hitched. She knew who stood before her without needing to look up.

Rio. Her love, her partner, her solace… and the very embodiment of death itself.

The two women locked eyes, and for a fleeting moment, all the memories they had shared seemed to pass between them—years of devotion, secrets and laughter stolen in dark corners, and promises whispered under starlit skies. But tonight, there was no warmth in the gaze Rio held; her face was calm, but her eyes carried a sorrow too deep to fathom.

Agatha sank to her knees, her fingers trembling as they clutched her abdomen. “No…” she whispered, her voice cracking. “No, not them.”

Rio stepped forward, her hand reaching out as though to steady Agatha, but then she hesitated, her fingers hovering in the cold night air. “Agatha, my love,” she said, her voice gentle yet unyielding, as steady as the ticking of a clock. “You know why I’m here. You knew this day would come.”

A sob escaped Agatha’s lips, and she doubled over, cradling her belly as though she could shield the fragile life within her. “Please,” she gasped, looking up at Rio with eyes full of tears and desperation. “They haven’t even had a chance… our child, our hope… they haven’t even seen the world yet.” Her voice trembled. “Don’t take them away from me. Not yet. Please, my love, not now.”

Rio’s expression softened, and she knelt down beside Agatha, her face a mask of quiet anguish. She reached out, her hand cupping Agatha’s cheek with a tenderness that betrayed the sorrow in her heart. “You don’t know how much it pains me to do this,” she murmured, her voice laced with grief. “If there were another way, I would take it. But the balance must be kept, and I am bound to my duty, even if it means…” Her voice broke, and she turned her gaze away, struggling to keep her composure. “Even if it means taking this from you.”

Agatha’s face crumpled as she grasped Rio’s hand, pressing it desperately to her face as if she could hold onto her love’s touch forever. “Then break the rules,” she whispered fiercely. “Just this once, my love. You’re Death, yes, but you’re also mine. I’ve risked everything for us. I would give my life, my soul, anything… just to keep our child safe. Please…”

Rio closed her eyes, a single tear tracing down her cheek. Agatha could see the conflict tearing her apart, the war between duty and love waging a fierce battle in her eyes. “To defy the laws of life and death…” Rio whispered, her voice as fragile as glass. “It could unravel everything. It could destroy us both.”

Agatha shook her head, her grip tightening as she looked at Rio with all the fierceness of a mother’s love. “Then let it,” she replied, her voice fierce and unwavering. “If it’s a choice between losing you or losing them, then let it be me who’s lost. Just don’t take them, my love. I beg you.”

Rio’s composure wavered, her face contorted with pain. She glanced away, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the night. “You know that I cannot deny you… not when you look at me like that. Not when you call me by that name.”

Agatha felt a flicker of hope, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Rio’s. “Please, my love,” she whispered, her voice filled with raw, aching desperation. “Save them. For me. Just this once.”

Rio’s shoulders slumped, the weight of her choice pressing down on her like the weight of the entire world. She reached up, cupping Agatha’s face in her hands, her thumb brushing away a tear. “If I grant this mercy… it will be borrowed, not forgiven. The debt will come due, and one day, I will have to return.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “When that time comes, nothing will stay my hand.”

Agatha’s tears streamed down her face, but she nodded, her voice breaking as she promised, “Then we’ll cherish every moment until that day. I’ll guard our child… with everything I have. Just give them a chance, my love. Please.”

With a deep, shuddering breath, Rio closed her eyes and began to murmur ancient words, a language older than the stars. The forest seemed to tremble, the shadows rippling as if in protest. Agatha felt a surge of warmth spread through her, and the faint heartbeat within her grew stronger, vibrant, a light against the darkness.

A gasp of relief escaped Agatha’s lips, and she sank into Rio’s arms, her sobs turning to laughter as she held her love close, clinging to the miracle that had been granted. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she buried her face in Rio’s shoulder. “Thank you, my love.”

Rio held her, her own tears falling silently as she pressed a kiss to Agatha’s forehead, a promise and a farewell all in one. “This life is borrowed, Agatha,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow. “One day, I will come to collect the debt, and no power will hold me back.”

Agatha pulled back, looking into Rio’s eyes with fierce determination. “Then I’ll protect them. I’ll protect us… no matter the cost.”

Rio’s fingers lingered on Agatha’s face, a final touch as the shadows began to pull her away, her form beginning to dissolve into the mist. “Until we meet again, my love,” she whispered, her voice carrying a promise of eternity. “Remember… I am yours, in life and in death.”

As Rio’s form faded into the night, Agatha clutched her belly, feeling the steady heartbeat within—a heartbeat saved by a love stronger than fate, bound by a debt that would one day come due.

The forest, now quiet, seemed to close around her as Agatha remained kneeling in the wet earth, her body trembling as she tried to catch her breath. The moment of peace didn’t last long.

Suddenly, an ache seized her body, sharp and overwhelming. She gasped, clutching her stomach, her eyes wide with fear. Her body, which had been so still just moments ago, seemed to come alive with the force of the contractions. The pain was unbearable, worse than anything she had felt before. It was as though her body was splitting in two.

“No… no, not now…” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she stumbled to her feet. The night air felt suffocating as her legs gave way beneath her. She dropped to the ground, pressing her hands against the earth, the sharp pain cutting through her like a blade.

The forest held its breath as Agatha cried out, her body betraying her with every agonizing wave. She could feel it now, the child within her, pressing against her, trying to force its way into the world. Their child. Her child.

Her tears mixed with the rain that had begun to fall, the forest around her alive with the sounds of her struggle. She gritted her teeth, her nails digging into the earth, willing herself to hold on, to keep fighting for the life within her. “You can’t… you can’t go… not yet,” she gasped, her voice broken.

With every scream, with every tear, the child within her fought to be born.

And then, with one final, overwhelming push, the pain shattered, and the cries of a newborn filled the air.

Agatha collapsed back onto the ground, her arms trembling as she pulled the tiny, fragile life into her arms. She held them close, feeling the warmth of their tiny body against her chest, their heartbeat a steady rhythm in the quiet night. She breathed in their scent, her heart swelling with a fierce love.

“You’re here…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re finally here, my love.”

The baby nestled against her, their cries fading into soft whimpers as they settled in Agatha’s embrace. She rocked them gently, her tears of joy mingling with the rain. For a moment, everything felt still. The world seemed to pause, and she held her child—her and Rio’s child—close, savoring the sweetness of this moment that had almost been taken from her.

And though the night was dark and the forest whispered all around her, Agatha felt a profound sense of peace. “I will protect you… with everything I am, my love. No matter the cost.”

________________________________________

A/n: Shall I turn this into a series?👀 Following the events of WandaVision and Agatha All Along???

[m0llygunn]

i wish i had met you earlier (eddie munson x reader)

cw: depressing pillow talk and comfort idk, reader was sad and lonely an: a nod to the only boy ive ever loved who coincidentally became the only man ive ever loved. we grew up together and i still wish i had met him earlier. wc: 1k

“I wish I had met you earlier,” you whisper.

“Earlier?” he smiles, nose scrunching at the silliness, not knowing the depth of your sentiment. 

“Yeah,” you smile back. It’s hard not to do— to smile, when his eyes are so soft, and his lips are that plump, just kissed colour, and your body still hums from the evening behind you. His lashes flutter the slightest bit, blinking away your flattery with a bashful roll of his eyes. 

“You’d be sick of me already if we met earlier,” he lightly huffs, cheek squishing further into the softness of your shared pillow, crooking his smile. 

If the lights were on, you’re sure you’d see a flush suffuse across his face. It would highlight the curvature of his cheeks that accompany his boyish simper, and it would emphasize the winsome rounded tip of his nose. When he blushes like that, your heart always adds an extra beat into its rhythm, one that lives for him. You can picture it so clearly, your heart flutters all the same— that’s not the point of this though. 

“I wouldn't be sick of you,” you promise.

“No?”

“I'll never get sick of you.” 

Tactile as always, he draws his affection over your features, trusting his touch to communicate what he feels. His fingertips dance over your cheek bone, daring to grace close enough to your eye to feel the very tips of each silken lash, flittering with every reflexive blink. He feels the fan, every feathery gust of air, and it affects him in magnitudinous ways— feeling any part of you is like that, a full-hearted reminder that you are here. You are here and you are his. 

His palm settles to your cheek, fingers curving just below your ear, cradling the edge of your face. His own version of a promise, he shares his warmth and oath-taken heart through his touch.

“When would you have wanted to meet?” he asks curiously, blinking his own thick lashes at you as his gaze meets yours. 

“Just before high school.”

He smiles widely, “you answered that quickly,” he says, thumb tracing once over the hill of your cheek and back down.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” you smile back. You lean into his touch and he draws his thumb across again. You close your eyes for a moment and he does it another time. 

“Why?” 

The softness inside you hardens momentarily at the question. Swallowing thickly, you also know the answer, but it doesn’t come out as quickly. It gets stuck to the roof of your mouth, stuck to the tip of your tongue. His eyes encourage your honesty, and on the sole notion of knowing him and knowing his heart, you trust him with this part of you.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so lonely.”

His thumb glides across your cheek and you watch as his eyes give way to his realization that it wasn’t a light hearted question for you. It wasn’t just pillow talk like it was supposed to be.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so sad,” you continue, trying to smile.

“You were sad?” His brows turn up, worry lines settling in. It’s a sorrowful look he gives you, not pity, but a softness, a grief, a regret. 

For a split moment, you think that maybe you should lie— make it all go away. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t, not with him. Not when his hand is so graciously connected to you, and the warmth of his bare chest radiates into yours, and your shared pillow smells like your shared shampoo, and the sheets smell like the laundry soap you picked out together, with hints of your lotion and his body wash scattered throughout like every kiss you’ve ever shared here. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t— especially not when you love him and he loves you. 

“I was so sad, Eddie.” 

You muster a smile, but it betrays you, trembling just under your lower lip. The corners of your mouth remain pointed high, but it’s not a smile, not with the way your lips purse tightly, holding back what your eyes cannot. Your lash line fills, but less than a few side fallen tears survive the heavy blinks that draw them back inwards.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, thumb tracing under your eye this time. He pulls you forward with the lightest touch, a gentle encouragement, and a purposeful reminder that he’s here. He's here and he’s yours. 

One day you’d like to explain it all, but it’s a hard feeling to understand. You’re not sure if it’s wholly a feeling to begin with— it’s more like a ghost. A haunting of all the feelings that used to exist. It washes over you in fast moving gray clouds, settling into your chest like heavy smoke in your lungs, lingering only long enough to remind you of how it was. Just enough to make you sputter, but not enough to hold the bleak weight of it all once again.

Breath coming out heaving and choked, Eddie’s palm glides to the back of your neck. His thumb presses soothingly into the tensed and taut muscles, and as soft as air he breathes a whispered apology against your lips— a simple ‘sorry,’ but it translates to so much more when he holds you like he does. 

Sorry for bringing it up. 

Sorry for the ghosts in your lungs. 

Sorry for the years of you that died all alone with nobody to mourn them. 

Sorry that no matter how many flowers you bring to their grave, they still come back, just like this, to haunt you.

Sorry— breathed against your lips and into your lungs, filling you with the gift of a life with him in it. 

“It’s not your fault,” you answer.

“I know,” he replies.

“I’m still glad I met you when I did,” you say. 

He looks into your eyes, steady gaze sincere with a tender adornment. Entirely loving, but his usually gladness is hindered by the gravity of the moment. He moves in closer to you again, lips just barely brushing yours as he speaks. 

“I wish I had met you earlier,” he whispers.

———

ty! <3

[frost-queen]

Married off (Reader!Targaryen x Jacerys Velarys)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer , @slythetic

Summary: Reader is promised to Jacerys, her cousin whom she can't stand. Thinking he is too snobby. When you have to share the bed, you set up a number of rules for Jacerys to uphold. Yet you are the one to break it. At diner jabs Jacerys at you by exposing your snuggling up to him. Something that is laughable to your brother Aemond. Ending with asking what a kiss is like.

Alicent handled you with fury. Holding you firm by the elbow, pulling so hard it didn’t matter to her if you could keep up or not. With haste she rushed through the corridors. She came to a stop near her quarters, throwing the door open. In a split second you saw your brother Aemond at the other end of the hallway.

Staring down at you. Something serious yet frightful in his expression. The glance was brief as you got shoved into the room. Alicent closing the door firm behind you. Her expression tense with shock. – “What kind of attitude was that?” – she called out in anger. Her expression calm yet full of violence.

“The one he deserves.” – you spoke back with frustration. A slit second later shot Alicent’s hand across your face. Leaving a throbbing pain in your cheek. In shock, you stared at your mother with trembling knees. She composed herself by pacing back and forth. – “I have told you numerous times Y/n. Your marriage to Jacerys Velaryon is final.”

“What about what I want?” – you dared to speak back. Already taking a deliberate step back so she couldn’t hit you again. Her expression darkened as you knew you should’ve kept your mouth quiet. Lowering your head, you presented her with a humble apology. – “You will marry Jacerys tomorrow.” – she made clear with a point. Alicent grabbed for the door, opening it once more.

“Don’t make me drag you.” – were her final words before leaving you with a slamming door. The sound making you jump out of your skin. As her footsteps died out, you sunk to the ground. Sobbing quietly in your hand. For all the people your mother could marry you off, she chose your cousin.

The one you found snobbish. There was not one bit you liked about him. Frightened you lifted your head up when the door opened once more. Your brother Aemond entering. His expression stern yet with remorse. – “Sister.” – he spoke nearing you.

He sunk to his knee, holding his hand out to you. – “Don’t.” – you told him, slapping his hand away. Aemond’s expression faltered to sorrow and pity. Taking a deep breath, you moved your hands over your face to your hair. Bringing yourself back to your senses. Without his help, you got back up with poise and grace.

You left the room, leaving Aemond behind. Blindly you followed the corridors leading up to your chambers. Looking at them with anew eyes. For you would never lay eyes on them again. After the marriage you would move over to the Black’s side. To be closer to your cousin… husband. This was the very last night in your room. A goodbye, you didn’t want to say. You wanted to stay here forever.

For now it felt like your mother has just given you to the enemies on a silver platter. A marriage forged between her and Rhaenyra in a way of peace settlement. You knew it was just a scam. To keep the good image up of peace whilst in the dark, shadows kept fighting with fire and blood. It was good for the land to see two sides united by one.

The morning quickly came as your chambers were swarmed with people. Dressing you for your marriage. Making sure you looked your best. Between the dressing and hair fixing, you grabbed for the wine. Needing the support of your good friend wine to get through this day. If your brother Aemond hadn’t banished all wine from your chambers, you would’ve been drunk.

“That is well enough sister.” – he would say, plucking the glass from you. You shot him a glare for the steal. – “Oh come on Aemond.” – Aegon responded in annoyance. It made you turn to your brother, sitting down in a chair with his feet up the table. – “What are you here for?” – you called out, wondering what your brothers were even doing here. 

“The spectacle.” – Aegon answered all smug. You turned to glare at Aemond. – “Precaution.” – he told you. Rolling with your eyes, you ignored them. Bothered that they have ripped you from pleasure.

So just a bit tipsy, you rolled up for your own wedding. Everyone was waiting inside as you stood waiting just outside. The heavy doors opened to the throne room as it made you suck in a breath. All eyes were turned on you.  Up front stood your cousin. Jacerys. Slowly turning round as you neared.

A smug smile on his face as it made you roll your eyes at him. You hated how he was gleaming at this. Taking great pleasure in it. Approaching the iron throne, you nearly tripped over your own feet as Jacerys reached out and grabbed you. – “Are you alright cousin?” – he asked with worry. You immediately elbowed his grip off you. – “Don’t touch me.” – you told him, keeping your voice down.

Straightening your posture, you kept your hands in front of you. Feeling a slight tug on your dress, you looked down. Seeing that your cousin was holding a bit of your dress between his fingers. As if he needed to keep you in place. Rolling your eyes again. Half of the speech you didn’t hear, too tipsy to even pay attention to it. Instead your eyes were fixated on the iron throne. The muttering dying out.

After the wedding, you rushed back down the throne room. – “Y/n.” – Jacerys would call out, upholding his smile to the others. With a bit annoyance, he began to hurry after you. Out of the throne room, you were already detangling your hair. Needing this spectacle of yourself off. – “Y/n.” – Jacerys called out catching up with you. He noticed the direction you were going as he took a hold of your elbow.

“Let me go!” – you insisted upon, pushing your arm back. He moved his hands up in defence. – “Look all I want to say is you are going in the wrong way.” – he said.  – “No I’m not, I’m going…” – you responded loud catching yourself make the mistake. Jacerys quirked his eyebrow up. You were heading for your quarters that no longer were yours.

“It’s this way Y/n.” – he reminded you offering you his arm. Rolling your eyes with a scoff, you brushed past him. Your cousin coming after you like an excited little dragon. Jacerys opened the door for you as you walked in. Hair completely detangled, no more braids and hairclips. Your eye fell on the single bed in the room. It suddenly felt real that you had to share the room and bed with him.

You rounded up to the bed as Jacerys followed you from the other side. – “Do you want to lay down?” – he questioned as you pulled the covers back. Taking a pillow or two with you. He frowned confused seeing you back away from the bed. – “No, just making my bed.” – you told him. Jacerys laughed confused. – “But… but your bed is right here?” – he gestured at the grand bed. You shook your head, throwing the pillows on the ground.

“I’m sleeping on the floor.” – you told him looking around for a blanket. Jacerys neared, pulling you to a stop by your arm. – “You can’t be serious about sleeping on the floor!” – he called out with concern. – “Oh but I am cousin.” – you responded pushing his hand off. You continued to search for a blanket to ease your new bed.

“Y/n, just lay in the bed.” – he’d tell you. – “The floor will be cold at night. It will get your muscles sore. You might even be frozen to death on the floor!” – he listed up in a panic. – “And you care because?” – you answered with a glare. – “I am… I am… your husband.” – he responded making you laugh loud.

Your laughing made him swallow ashamed. He didn’t like you ridiculing him. You threw a blanket on the floor, adjusting your new bed. – “Y/n please. Just lay in the bed. I…I command you to sleep in the bed!” – he ordered out, trying to sound like his uncle Daemon. It made you quirk your eyebrow up. – “You command me?” – you repeated mockingly. Jacerys swallowed nervously when you approached him.

“Please…” – he begged rubbing his hands nervously. You turned on your heel, coming to sit on the floor. Immediately you felt how hard and cold it was. Jacerys watched you closely. It took you about two minutes and a bit more nagging from him to finally give in. – “But there are a set of rules!” – you made clear throwing a pillow back in the bed. Jacerys nodded. – “Don’t touch me and don’t come near me!” – you threatened.

Jacerys held his hand up with a boyish snobby smile. It made you throw the second pillow at him. To your annoyance you crawled into the bed with him. Jacerys making sure there was enough space between the both of you. – “Is this good enough?” – he asked, looking at you. – “Do shut up.” – you said looking up to the ceiling. You didn’t want some small talk. Not with him.

“Goodnight Y/n.” – Jacerys said as your response was to roll over. Turning your back to him. Jacerys looked nervously at you, making sure he respected your boundaries. Soon his eyelids felt heavy as sleep took over. You had never been a restless sleeper. Somehow you were tonight. Perhaps it was the wine or the nightmares of your wedding.

Making your sleep anything but peaceful. Tossing and turning. You were used to sleep in an empty bed. Yet now there was an obstacle in your way. You had bumped against it a few times in your tossing and turning. Till you settled, bumping against a shoulder. Somehow in your dreams, your arms slapped over the person’s body. Making yourself snuggle closer to him. Hauntings fading away as the world became peaceful to you.

Your eyes opened to the sunlight. Body moving with the movement of breathing. The beating of a heart against your ear. Something felt off, yet you didn’t react to it yet. Needing a few more moments to try and understand what was different. The warm touch underneath you that felt like…skin. Eyes shot wide open, pushing your upper body up.

“Morning my wife.” – Jacerys said moving a hand behind his head. Annoyed you slapped your hand on his chest, rolling back to your side. – “What did I say!” – you told him, pulling the blanket with you as you stepped out of the bed.  Jacerys came leaning on his elbow, looking over at you. – “It was you who snuggled up to me. You didn’t follow your own boundaries.” – he told you.

Feeling suddenly flustered, you quickly turned around so he wouldn’t see. You disappeared behind the screen to get dressed, dropping the blanket by the screen. Fully dressed you re-appeared. – “Did you have a good night sleep Y/n?” – Jacerys asked looking all smug. – “Shut up.” – you bit at him annoyed. His response was to chuckle teasingly.

You waited for Jacerys to finish dressing up before going to diner. Jacerys wanted to hold your hand, but you moved it out of reach before he could take it. Nearly everyone was already seated as the two of you entered. Your brother Aegon raising his glass to you. – “How was the wedding night?” – he asked teasingly. Alicent shot him a glare for even wanting to discuss such a matter over diner.

Both of you remained silent, sitting down. – “Are you well sister?” – your sister asked sitting beside Aegon. You hummed quietly not wanting to react much to it. Aemond seemed to keep a close eye on you. Alicent and Rhaenyra giving each other a glance from across the table. Daemon rolling his eyes at the silence. Aegon moved closer, lowering his voice.

“How was it? Did you come?” – he asked his cousin as you dropped your knife in a deep protest. – “We kept it civil.” – Jacerys responded politely. Aegon’s expression horrified with disbelieve that he didn’t take advantage of it. – “What did you do then?” – Aemond questioned giving him the side-eye.

Jacerys cleared his throat softly. – “We just… snuggled.” – he responded as your knife clattered onto your plate in shock. It made the entire table look at you. You shot a glare at Aemond suddenly laughing. – “So sentimental suddenly sister.” – he laughed out. You tried kicking him from underneath the table, but you couldn’t reach him.

“Well I think it is rather sweet.” – Helaena said. Looking across the table, you saw the others smile warmly at you. Perhaps there was a bit of a glare with your mother, but it was subtle. – “I couldn’t wish for a better wedding night.” – Jacerys proclaimed leaning in closer to you. Leaving a quick kiss on your cheek that he stole before you could protest. Stunned by the sudden touch, you couldn’t help but get flustered. Quickly hiding it by looking down. Aemond kept laughing having the time of his life.

After diner returned Jacerys and you back to the chambers. You sat on the bed, arms crossed. Jacerys looked at you, sighing loud. – “Are you really that bothered?” – he questioned coming to stand in front of you. – “It was just a joke Y/n.” – he said tapping your forehead playfully.

Blinking surprised the sudden thought popped in your head. Perhaps it was connected to his touch or not, but you got pulled back to the moment he had kissed your cheek. Making you wonder more about it. – “What is a kiss like?” – you blurted out, making Jacerys quirk his eyebrow up. – “Well…I can’t explain it… I can only show you.” – he answered scratching the back of his head nervously.

“If you like of course…” – he finished. You slowly nodded. Jacerys took a deep breath, placing his hand against your cheek. It made you gasp soft, looking frantically around. – “It’s alright Y/n.” – he whispers to you whilst leaning down. Closing your eyes, he closed the gap between the two of you. Kissing you.

------------------------------------------

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[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 3 - Dragonstone

Word count: 3k

When Daenys opened her eyes again, she found herself back in bed. From the light beginning to filter through the window, she assumed it was already dawn. Glancing around the room, she noticed her mother sitting beside her, eyes fixed on Daenys’ hand as it rested on hers. Ser Criston stood guard by the door and was the first to notice she had awakened.

“There she is, Your Grace,” he notified Alicent. The queen looked up immediately, relief washing over her features.

“Oh, thank the Gods,” she whispered, placing her palm on her daughter’s forehead to check for a temperature. Daenys watched her, feeling a bit confused.

“What happened?” she asked.

“You fainted. From the anguish, the maester said,” Alicent informed, her lips a tight line.

“A dragonrider since you were nine, and I have to be scooping you off the floor like a damsel in distress,” quipped Ser Criston, making Daenys chuckle. The queen didn’t react.

The memory of the previous hours made Daenys’ smile fade. She couldn’t remember much, but the important bits were impossible to gloss over: Aemond had lost an eye at the hands of Lucerys Velaryon, whose brother was now her betrothed. A tight knot in her throat made her believe she might choke, but Daenys was able to speak anyway.

“What Father and Grandsire said. Do I really have to…?”

“Yes, sweetling,” Alicent confirmed, eyes full of sorrow.

At her mother’s answer, tears welled up in Daenys’ eyes, and when she spoke again she sounded half her age. “But I don’t want to.”

Alicent didn’t respond. Instead, she just held her daughter’s hand again, unable to meet her gaze.

“Is it— is it something I’ve done, is that it? Is Father cross with me?” Daenys asked, anxiety starting to bubble up in her chest again.

“Your father isn’t punishing you, Daenys…” Alicent assured, visibly tired. She had probably spent the whole night without any sleep.

“Then isn’t there anything you can do?” Daenys questioned, her voice high-pitched as she tried to speak between whimpers. “I know I misbehave sometimes, but I can change, Mother. I— I’ll marry Aemond, no one will want him without the eye but I would, I can be a good wife. And I’ll ride Silverwing less if you want, and I’ll study more. I’ll be good, I— I can be good.”

Alicent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. She felt powerless, unable to calm her daughter since there truly was nothing she could do to change Daenys’ destiny. She recalled feeling equally vulnerable many years ago, in her youth, as her father commanded her to marry the king, to give him children, only to terrorize her with their impending deaths right before leaving her alone in a place where she did not have any friends; not anymore, at least.

Everywhere in the world they hurt little girls.

The queen rubbed her forehead, perhaps in an attempt to appease a migraine that was beginning to spread. When she looked up again, her eyes showed no sign of tenderness, only determination. As she spoke, Otto Hightower’s words came out of her mouth.

“I suppose you’re old enough to learn about sacrifice, what it really means; sometimes we must do things we dislike, especially women in our position. Do you think your sister wants to marry Aegon? Do you think I—” she cut herself, but Daenys knew exactly what she had meant to say. “When Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne, your brother Aegon’s very existence will be a challenge to her position. This means he could be put to the sword, as could Aemond,” she explained. Daenys had to make an effort to hold in a sob. “This betrothal… It may not seem like it now, but in the future, when you’re older, it could mean the difference between life and death for this family. When a man loves his wife, he… he would be willing to spare his enemies if it saves her from heartbreak. Jacaerys is young now, but he won’t stay a boy forever, and neither will you.” Alicent put a hand on her daughter’s cheek, but this time it didn’t comfort Daenys. Instead, she felt even more entrapped by her family’s scheming. “If you do your duty well, if you manage to make him love you, then… no one would have to die.”

Responsibility fell on Daenys like a stone. 

In her younger years, she had never even imagined herself marrying someone that wasn’t Aemond. As the king’s third daughter, not much was expected of her in terms of alliances with other Great Houses, as she offered little value in that regard. Now, however, it seemed that she had become her family’s strongest asset to secure peace between the two factions beginning to form. 

“I don’t want Aegon to die,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“I know, my love,” Alicent replied with a sad smile that reflected the look in her eyes.

Daenys swallowed. “You say I must make him love me, but… what if I never love him?”

The queen took a deep breath as she raised from the chair. Bending over her daughter’s body, she kissed the girl’s forehead.

“Then you will love the children he gives you, and that shall be enough.”

______________________________________________

Watching her family sail away across the bay caused Daenys a kind of pain she had never experienced before. After trying to keep a stiff lip as she said goodbye to her siblings and other members of the royal court, it was in the solitude of the lookout that she finally allowed herself to cry for her family. At the foot of the crag, Silverwing wailed as she watched the other dragons return home.

“I figured I would find you here.”

Daenys tensed immediately, not needing to turn around. She knew who it was.

“You were very brave, you know?” Rhaenyra said, finding a place next to her sister but keeping her distance. “Goodbyes are always painful.”

Daenys couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken to Rhaenyra. Their relationship had always been strained, despite living in the same castle. Whenever Daenys showed any interest in getting close to her half-sister, her mother was quick to nip it in the bud. Over time, this led to Daenys feeling nervous whenever she found herself in Rhaenyra's presence, as if something horrible might happen as a result of a simple conversation.

“Will I be allowed to ride my dragon?” the girl asked, eyes still fixed on the ship as it got further and further.

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I might try to escape,” she replied simply. A small smile tugged at Rhaenyra’s lips, but Daenys didn’t see it.

“You’re not a prisoner, Daenys. You can visit your family as much as you’d like,” the woman explained.

This new information perked Daenys’ interest, her eyes finally meeting Rhaenyra’s.

“Then why must I go with you now? Why can’t I stay with my family until it’s time?” she asked, and it angered her that she could already feel her eyes welling up with tears again.

Rhaenyra breathed through her nose, trying to find the right words.

“I suggested to Father that it would be better for the two of you to become friends before you are to wed. I wouldn’t want my son to marry a stranger.”

Daenys’ gaze turned back to the horizon; she couldn’t see the ship anymore. The girl held back her tears. 

As she bitterly accepted the fact that her family was truly gone, Alicent’s words resonated in her head: This betrothal could mean the difference between life and death for this family. When she looked back up at Rhaenyra, she wondered if the woman in front of her would be capable of putting her brothers to the sword. The kindness in her eyes made it difficult to fathom, leaving Daenys to ponder whether it was truthful, or just an act.

“I’m upset about Luke hurting Aemond. It was a horrible thing to do,” Daenys blurted out after a moment of silence. 

Rhaenyra cast her gaze downward, as if ashamed. 

“I know. It was… a confrontation that should have never happened. Both parties made mistakes last night,” she said. It bothered Daenys that Rhaenyra would compare a paternity rumor with losing an eye, but she understood what it would mean for her claim if the realm knew her sons were no true Velaryons. “But you need to make an effort and leave it in the past, or else you’ll spend the rest of your life reliving what happened.”

This betrothal could mean the difference between life and death for this family.

Daenys nodded. “I will try.”

Rhaenyra smiled sadly at her sister, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, her thumb rubbing softly at it.

“This time together will help both of you, you’ll see,” she assured. “It is a great opportunity to get to know each other. You might find you have more in common than you think.”

“Doesn’t he hate me?” Daenys asked. “I haven’t always been kind.”

Rhaenyra smiled at the girl’s question. She knew something Daenys didn’t. 

“He doesn’t,” she simply replied.

_______________________________________________

Days turned into weeks after their arrival at Dragonstone—a place Daenys had visited hundreds of times on dragonback, but never with the intention of staying. She was given her own room, near Rhaena’s, as it had been decided that Baela would stay at Driftmark after the tragic death of Ser Laenor, the last living child of Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys.

Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding had been a strange affair. The speed with which it had taken place, only a day after Laenor’s death, left Daenys with a feeling of uneasiness, wondering how it was possible to move on so quickly from such a tragedy.

Despite her initial efforts to please and fit in, she found it increasingly difficult to adapt to her new life. Each morning presented a bigger challenge than the last, until Daenys reached the point where she couldn't even leave her bed, sometimes for the entire day. She had completely lost her appetite, and once overheard the maester telling Rhaenyra that she might get sick if she continued this way. She had promised her half-sister that she wasn’t doing it on purpose and that tomorrow she would try again, but every time tomorrow came, Daenys was unable to keep her promise.

At night, she dreamed of her mother’s hands stroking her hair, of Helaena’s warmth next to her when they shared the bed during cold nights, Aemond’s stories that he seemed to never run out of, and even Aegon’s unfunny jokes that always made her roll her eyes.

That night, however, something was stopping Daenys from finding sleep: she could hear Silverwing’s song, calling for her rider to fly with her again. The girl hadn’t visited her dragon in weeks, something unprecedented since they had bonded two years before, which contributed to her feeling guilty and miserable in equal measure. 

Unwilling to continue tossing and turning, she decided to finally leave her bed in search of a solution, hoping that the cover of night would spare her from encountering anyone.

The corridors of the Dragonstone castle were dark and sinuous like a dragon’s throat, and the lack of windows in the impenetrable fort made Daenys feel like she was being swallowed as she made her way downstairs to the kitchens. There, she found two kitchen maids: one old and gray, the other younger, with a pointy nose and wondering eyes that pierced hers as soon as she crossed the threshold. Daenys froze like a deer sensing a predator.

“I… Can I have some warm milk? I can’t find sleep,” she requested.

“Of course, Princess, but you shouldn’t come down here; it’s not a place for a girl of your station,” the younger one said, as the older woman poured milk into a pot over the hearth.

“It’s no bother,” she began to say, but was quickly cut off by the older woman.

“We must insist, Your Grace,” she said. “If Princess Rhaenyra finds out you’ve been here…”

“She won’t find out, because I will say nothing of it, and I would assume neither will you,” Daenys stated, the dim light in the room helping hide the pink of her cheeks for speaking so boldly. Taking a step forward, she propped herself on a wooden stool, her girlish legs dangling back and forth.

After sharing a look, the women provided what Daenys had requested: a glass of warm milk with honey that would put her to sleep right away. They watched her as she drank, perhaps wary of the young princess not liking the beverage, and smiled with relief when she thanked them for it.

She was making her way back to her chambers, already drowsy as the warmth of the milk soothed the tightness of her chest, when she heard voices coming from what she knew were Jacaerys’ quarters. The door was ajar and, as she got closer, curiosity getting the best of her, she identified the second voice as Rhaenyra’s.

“—I just thought it would be different,” Jace was saying, distress tinting his voice.

“I know, my love. I did warn you not to get your hopes up too high, imagine how you would feel if this had happened the other way around. I am sure you would also feel quite miserable in King’s Landing without your brothers, or without me.”

Afer a moment of silence in which Daenys feared she had been caught, Jace asked, “Do you think she’ll ever stop hating me?”

“I don’t think she hates you, Jace. She’s just scared, and sad, and confused… but hate is too big of a word.”

“But you heard what Maester Gerardys said. If she continues like this, she might die. And it would be my fault,” he stated. He sounded on the verge of tears, and guilt settled on Daenys like a kick in the gut.

“He did not say such a thing, dear, you’re exaggerating,” his mother refuted, trying to calm him. “What the maester said was that she might get sick, which is true, but I would never allow the situation to get to that point. If she cannot find the strength to get better, I will send her back to King’s Landing.”

Daenys’ heartbeat quickened when she heard that, but Jace’s words didn’t even let a smile form on her face.

“You cannot,” he blurted out immediately. “Please, Mother, you promised. You’ve seen the way they treat her. They either ignore her, or punish her for every single thing her siblings do.”

“I know, my love, but it is not your duty to save her. Not for now, at least…”, the woman said. “Daenys is a tough girl, Jace.”

“But she doesn’t need to be tough here. No one would mistreat her if she would only— if she would only let us—”

“I know, sweet boy,” said Rhaenyra.

Daenys felt a strange surge of defensiveness at the mention of her family, but a little voice inside her head—her rational side, perhaps—told her that, deep down, she knew Jace was right. Despite how hard she tried to make it seem like she did not care when her family mistreated her, she did. She cared deeply and suffered for it, and the fact that Jace seemed so genuinely upset about it was as confusing as it was endearing.

When Jace spoke again, his voice sounded muffled, as if he was now in his mother’s arms. Daenys wondered what it would feel like to be hugged by Rhaenyra.

“She said sorry for Ser Harwin. At Lady Laena’s funeral.”

A beat.

“That was a very kind thing to do,” Rhaenyra said. “She wouldn’t have said it if she hated you, would she?”

“No,” Jace said. “I suppose not.”

_______________________________________________

Daenys saw genuine delight spread all over her handmaiden’s features when she came into her chamber the next morning to find her already up and ready for a much needed bath.

When she entered the dining hall everyone was already there, ready to break their fast. Her cheeks lit up in shades of pink as they welcomed her, the sincerity in their cheerful comments warming Daenys’ heart.

“What an honor it is that you’ve finally deemed us worthy of your company, Princess,” said Daemon, kindly pulling Daenys’ chair for her to sit on. Another might have found the comment as an ill willed one, but Daenys knew that was Daemon’s way of expressing affection while keeping his facade. 

“Leave her be, husband,” warned Rhaenyra, her tone relaxed. With a kind smile, she put her hand on her half-sister’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetling.”

Jace smiled at her and, to her own surprise, Daenys smiled back.

The breakfast went by smoothly, and Daenys ate her weight in duck eggs, blood pudding, bread with butter and honey, and the most delicious blackberry cakes she had ever tasted. She even licked her fingers when she finished, and the sight made Luke laugh so hard that the milk he was drinking came out of his nose.

After they all had finished, Daenys excused herself from the table.

“I would like to ride my dragon, if you don’t mind, Princess,” she told Rhaenyra. “I will stay close. Won’t fly further than Massey’s Hook, I promise.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “You don’t need my permission, sweetling.”

Gathering all the bravery she thought she possessed, Daenys asked for something else.

“Can Jace come?”

Rhaenyra raised her brows slightly, clearly surprised at the girl’s sudden change of attitude.

“Mother doesn’t let me ride Vermax that far…” said Jace, embarrassment turning his cheeks a bright red.

After a glance at Daemon, Rhaenyra breathed through her nose.

“Well, perhaps an exception can be made on a day such as today,” she said.

Jace’s face brightened up immediately, and he shot up from his chair to join Daenys. Luke protested as the pair left the hall, whining as he demanded the same exception be made with him as well, but Rhaena managed to convince him that archery training was equally as exciting.

As she watched the children go, Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief. 

_______________________________________________

Across the bay, in a dimly lit room within the Red Keep, Princess Helaena muttered to herself.

“The tears of a dragon cannot extinguish the flame destined to set the world ablaze.”

_______________________________________________

Aaaaaand we've reached the end of childhood! The next chapter will take place after the 6-year time jump, aka, the kids will all be as old as they are right now in the show, more or less.

I hope this was a good enough introduction to the different dynamics between Daenys and the other characters!

If you liked this, let me know in any way! :)

Series Taglist: @void21, @burningwitchobject, @hellish-idiot