#......why on earth would Vi have it

[lepusrufus]

I'm sorry to be the party popper on main but the badge Vi has is absolutely not the Sheriff badge

It's the same kind of badge Caitlyn herself had in season 1, as an officer

As opposed to the ones Grayson and Marcus had when they were Sheriffs, which is round and attached directly to the uniform on the chest

Though interestingly enough Cait doesn't have any badge visible so maybe we're gonna get to see how exactly she becomes Sheriff

[serpentandlily]

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: smut (minors dni), fluff, angst, misogynistic language/beliefs, violence

A/n: I hope this part is good enough for you guys to forgive me for being a week late!

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Part VI

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To your disappointment, when you woke up the next morning, Eris was already gone—the sheets cold on his side. You let out a sigh and got up, blinking the sleep from your eyes. It was only then you realized Willow and Ivy were fretting around the bedroom, the wardrobe doors thrown open and piles of dresses on the floor.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

Your handmaidens jumped in shock at the sound of your voice before Ivy turned to face you. “Oh, Lady, you are awake! Lord Eris requested we pack an overnight bag for you.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?” 

They both shared a glance before shrugging but they couldn’t hide the smiles on their faces. “We can only guess, my Lady, but he did not tell us anything.” 

“Did he at least tell you where he’s taking me?” You sighed but they both shook their heads.

“No,” Willow grumbled, “Which is why we’re struggling to pack. We have no idea what you’ll need.”

But Ivy just smiled brightly. “We’ll just pack a bit of everything. That way you’ll be ready for whatever it is he wants.” 

The look in her eyes told you she knew exactly what Eris wanted and your cheeks turned red. You let out a huff of air before falling back down on your pillows. 

“Oh no, Lady, you mustn’t fall asleep again. We are to escort you to the stables in an hour's time. Willow will run you a bath.” 

You let Willow help you get ready, your mind on Eris and what he had in store for you. Willow dressed you in a long burgundy gown that had a corset styled bodice that clung to your frame and a flowy chiffon skirt. Tiny roses were embroidered along the lighter side panels of the skirt. 

Luckily, it wasn’t long before your handmaidens were presenting you to your mate who was waiting for you at the stables. 

Eris was staring at you with an intensity that had your face full of color. It wasn’t until the two of you were left alone that his infamous fox-like grin spread on his face. He was dressed finely in dark brown breeches with riding boots and a tunic embroidered with small leaves along the seams. 

“Would you like your own horse this time, bunny?”

Right, you did technically know how to ride a horse now. But you shook your head. “May I ride with you?”

“Who am I to deny a lady her request?” Eris purred, extending a hand out to you. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you took it, letting him pull you close so he could lift you onto Marigold, the horse. 

He strapped the overnight bag to the horse before he lifted himself up behind you, wrapping his arms around your body to take the reins in one hand and pulling you back against his chest with his other. Your cheeks turned pink and you let out a content sigh as the warmth from his body combatted the crisp morning air. 

Marigold started her trot into the woods and it was silent for a moment before you spoke. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," Eris teased.

"I don't like surprises," you pouted.

"No?" Eris's breath tickled the tip of your ear. He moved your hair to one shoulder, granting him access to your throat. He pressed a kiss against the sensitive skin there causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Well, that's too bad, bunny. You're getting one." 

You were smiling without realizing it, so honed into the places Eris's body met yours. The morning birds were chirping, the leaves rustling in the chill autumn wind. It was enchanting. The Autumn woods were quickly becoming a sanctuary for you and your mate. You hadn't felt this happy in a long time. 

You asked Eris an endless amount of questions about the Autumn Court, his brothers and family, and his life during the horse ride to wherever he was taking you. The sun began to set, sending streaks of golden light through the openings in the leaves. It wasn’t until you saw smoke curling around the tops of the tree, that you realized you were nearing your destination. 

Soon, a small cottage nestled between the tall trees appeared. Moss and ivy clung to the outer walls, blending it into the earthy flora surrounding it. A path made of fallen leaves led towards the front door, flanked by wildflowers in various colors. The babbling of a creek met your ears as you squinting to see through the sunlight filtering in through the canopy of trees above. 

“What is this place?” You twisted your head to look up at Eris. 

“One of my personal residences,” Eris answered, staring wistfully ahead. “One few know about.” 

As you drew closer to the cottage, Eris guided Marigold to a stop. He slid off the back, keeping one hand lingering on your waist.

“And you're sharing it with me?” Another secret Eris was willingly divulging to you. He had no idea how much it meant to you. He gave you a charming grin as he helped you down. 

“There is nothing I wouldn’t share with you, bunny. What is mine is yours,” he said. He kissed the top of your head before guiding you into the cottage with a hand on your back. 

As you stepped over the threshold of the hidden cottage, the scent of aged timber and a faint hint of herbs and spices greeted you. A snap of Eris’s fingers had the wood in the fireplace coming to life. Furniture made from weathered oak and mahogany filled the room, now illuminated by the warm glow of a crackling fire in the stone hearth. A plush armchair was nestled beside the hearth, a stack of books on top of it.

In a corner of the room, a spiral staircase wound its way upwards, disappearing into the shadows above. An opening straight ahead showed a peek of a kitchen. You spun as you walked forward, taking it all in before turning back to find Eris staring at you with a small smile. 

“I come here when I need a break from my father and duties,” Eris said, surprising you once again with his candidness. “And I needed to come here today so I didn’t murder my brother for slipping that breeding tonic into your drink last night.” 

Your eyes widened. “Reid?” 

Eris nodded, his jaw clenching. “He claims he did it only to embarrass you a bit at dinner but then my mother sent you away. He says he had no idea that you’d run into those guards.” 

You rubbed your arm, looking down at the floor as the memories of last night flooded your mind. “And you believe him?” 

“I unfortunately do. That doesn’t mean he didn’t face any…consequences for his little prank,” Eris said as he walked towards you. He slipped two fingers under your chin and made you look at him. “But I want you to know, bunny, that nothing like that will ever happen to you again. Do you hear me? I will not let anything happen to you. I don’t care who I have to kill to ensure that.”

“But Eris—”

He placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. “No. No buts. I was blessed with the gift of fire and I will burn down this whole world with no remorse if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Do you understand?” You opened your mouth to rebuke his words but Eris shook his head. “I don’t want to hear any objections. They will change nothing. Just a simple yes or no, bunny. Do you understand?” 

You searched his amber eyes for something, not even knowing what you were looking for. But you knew what you found. A heavy resolve, a promise, a need to protect. And you realized in that moment that you felt all those things as well. You swallowed, audibly. 

“Yes,” you whispered. “I understand.” 

Eris grinned. “Good.”

“So, why have you brought me here, my Lord?” You asked in a teasing tone, lightening the mood. 

“I brought you here to have a break from the suffocating nature of my court,” Eris answered, guiding you further into the charming cottage. 

“Well, I appreciate your consideration, my Lord.”

“Oh, back to formalities, little bunny?” That fox-line grin bloomed on Eris’s face. “I thought we moved past that last night.” He stepped closer to you, brushing some of the hair away from your face. Your cheeks turned red again causing Eris to chuckle, “Oh don't look so embarrassed, bunny. You seemed to quite enjoy having my affections.” 

Butterflies danced in your stomach. His scent was too enticing, the power that seemed to burn all around him all encompassing. Your face was on fire, your heart too. But he was right. You had enjoyed last night. You had wanted his lips on you, his hands on your skin. That hadn't changed. Even now that the breeding tonic had worn off. That craving for his touch was still there. 

"I believe you made me a promise last night, my Lord," you replied with a slight smile, toying with the laces of his tunic. 

“I did,” Eris growled and took your hands in his. “I intend to keep it.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. The look in his eyes caused another wave of desire to crash into you. Unfortunately, your stomach decided that was the time to make itself known. A small rumble sounded and you nearly cursed at it. But Eris chuckled and stepped away, to your disappointment. 

“Come, bunny, I had the cook prepare us a light dinner,” he said, leading you to the kitchen.

Dinner consisted of an array of cheeses and breads, along with dried fruits and nuts. You were glad it was so light because you had more of an appetite for the male sitting in front of you than the food on the table. The sentiment seemed shared considering the lingering touches and heated looks Eris had been sending you. By the end of dinner, he looked quite pleased with himself for riling you up, sitting in his chair like it was his personal throne. Eris waved a hand and the dishes and plates disappeared in a blink of an eye. 

You sat frozen in your chair as he eyed you, drinking the last of his wine from his goblet. His gaze was enough to set you on edge, predatory but it didn't frighten you in the slightest. In fact, it made you come alive. He set his glass down before standing, making you hop out of your chair. If you had it your way, he'd toss you over his shoulder again like he did the first time you'd met and carry you straight to the bedroom. But instead, he leaned against the kitchen cabinets and beckoned you to him.

You'd never felt more like a bunny than in this moment. Like a hare about to be caught in a trap. 

As you stepped close to him, he brushed the hair out of your face, hooking it behind your ears before taking your cheeks in his hands. His touch was so warm, so comforting. Who cares if this was a trap? If this was the fox you were to be ensnared by, then so be it. 

“I need you to understand something before we continue down a path I know I will never be able to return from, bunny,” Eris began, his amber eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Whatever happens tonight is your choice. If you want to go back to the manor, I will take you. If you just wish to sleep, that is what we will do. Anything you don't like, just say the word and I will stop without question. Do you understand?”

A moment of silence passed as you processed his words, the care he was spelling out for you. Your hand fell on his chest, lingering over his beating heart. One you now knew was good—at least for you. And you realized it was never the fox that had ensnared the bunny but rather, the other way around. 

Because this Eris, the one standing before you now, was entirely reserved for you and you only. 

“Eris,” you whispered.

“Yes.”

“Kiss me,” you breathed out. “Please.”

“You'll never have to beg me, bunny,” Eris purred before finally pressing his lips against yours. 

The kiss became heated fast, leading the two of you to stumble around the cottage until he was pushing you up the stairs. You giggled, taking your skirt in your hands to rush up the steps. You barely made it through the threshold of the bedroom door before you were grabbing Eris by the lapels of his shirt and pulling him into a frenzied kiss. He groaned, eagerly kissing you back as he kicked the door shut behind him. 

Your hands slid down to the buttons of his shirt, feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. But Eris pulled your hands away from him before breaking the kiss. You whined at the loss of contact, lips swollen and breasts heaving with pants. 

“Not so fast, bunny,” Eris said with a wave of his hand that had every single candle lighting in the room. 

You gasped as the room came to life, as the light illuminated the large four-poster bed covered in dark red, velvet sheets and fluffy pillows in all shades of Autumn. A small hearth warmed the room and textured fabrics hung from the ceiling embedded with faelights that gave the room a hazy and comforting atmosphere. 

“Come here,” Eris rasped, holding out his arm. 

Your heart fluttered as you took it, letting him draw you close. He spun you around and moved your hair to one shoulder before his hands drifted down to the laces on the back of your corset. His nimble fingers began to expertly unlace your corset while he pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder. You let out a breath at the feeling of his warm, soft lips against your skin. 

You reached back to help him with the ties, too eager to wait, but he ripped your hands away. “Relax, little bunny,” Eris purred. “Let me do all the work.” 

Your heart started beating faster.

“Okay,” you whispered. 

Eris smirked against your skin, satisfied with the response.

He finished unlacing the corset and your dress dropped to the floor, pooling around your feet and leaving you in just your underthings. You were nearly shaking with anticipation, your breathing heavy as he lightly brushed his knuckles down your spine, causing you to shiver. 

Eris leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Get on the bed.” 

“I thought you were doing all the work,” you teased.

“You’re right,” Eris smiled before he picked you up by the hips and tossed you onto the bed as you squealed, letting you fall on the soft cushions. 

He prowled towards you with a grin, unlacing his own tunic and tugging it off. Your gaze fell to his chest, his muscled abs. Your breath caught in your throat. Eris already looked like a God but he was built like one too. 

Eris’s eyes roamed your body, his hands fisting like he was restraining himself.

You held your breath as he slowly hovered over you, his eyes searching yours for a moment until he found the certainty he was looking for. And then he kissed you again and your body came to life once more. Sparks skittered down your skin, crackling with energy.

He kissed his way down your jaw, your throat, all the way down until he was scraping his teeth against your pebbled nipple still hidden under your bra. You gasped before slapping a hand over your mouth. 

Eris’s eyes shot to yours and he growled, “My one and only rule tonight is that you let me hear those noises, bunny. Do you understand?”

You gulped and pulled your hand away from your mouth, nodding your head though your cheeks turned pink. 

“Good girl,” he purred before continuing on, leaving a trail of kisses down your exposed stomach until he pressed a kiss to the dampened spot on your panties, right between your legs. You breathed out his name, so on edge. 

“Gods,” Eris groaned. “You smell absolutely divine.” 

You might be a virgin but you weren’t completely naive when it came to sex. You had certainly read enough romance novels to prepare you for this moment. But you hadn’t expected to feel like this—to feel so utterly captivated by Eris, aching for his touch. 

“I want to see all of you, bunny,” Eris murmured, his amber eyes drinking you in. He toyed with the straps of your bra as he gave you his famous grin that made him look all the more fox-like considering the absolute hunger in his gaze. “May I?” 

“Yes,” you said, breathless with butterflies ravaging your stomach. The desire for your mate ate away any embarrassment you might’ve felt otherwise. 

His grin grew, his elongated canines exposed. Eris slowly pulled the straps of your bra down your arm, the silky fabric moving softly against your tingling skin. And then his hands were beneath you, arching you up slightly so he could unhook your bra. 

He gently pulled the garment off of you, tossing it to the floor. 

“Beautiful,” Eris groaned, his hard cock pressing against your thigh told you just how true that statement was to him. 

Shyness started to creep in and you quickly covered yourself with your arms, blushing bright red. Eris tsked and moved your arms away. “Don’t be shy, bunny. It’s just me and you here.” 

Just you and Eris. Just you and your mate. His words eased you and you felt your body soften underneath him. His large hands caressed you as he kissed his way down your neck until he finally took one of your breasts in his mouth. 

You hissed, your hands flying to tangle themselves in his hair. He grinned against your skin as he continued his ministrations, making you feel hot with need. You whimpered as his cock rubbed against you.

“Please, Eris,” you begged, not even sure what you wanted or needed. 

Eris sat up, his hands sliding to your waist. “Is my bunny ready for something more?” 

You nodded, eagerly, squirming under him. He hooked his fingers around your underwear. “Lift your hips for me, babygirl.” 

Your heart swooned at the new nickname. 

“Gods,” Eris groaned as he finally peeled off your final piece of clothing, baring you fully. “Gods, you are so beautiful.”

You felt…vulnerable as he drank in the sight of your bare body laid before him. Your toes curled at the predatory look in his eyes. Something about the dominance, the control he held over you in this moment made every rational thought leave your mind—his scent of crackling embers and cinnamon was intoxicating.

Eris leaned over you again to run his hands over every soft curve of your body. His hand drifted back between your legs, gently caressing your throbbing core. You whimpered, bucking up into his touch. 

Eris smirked against your lips. “Is my little bunny ready for me?” 

You swallowed harshly while nodding your head. 

He pressed a kiss to your neck before whispering, “I need your words, bunny.” 

“I’m ready, Eris,” you whimpered. “Please, don’t stop.” 

“I already told you that you’d never have to beg for me,” he murmured. He kissed his way down your neck, his body sliding down yours. Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” You didn’t want to wait any longer, already going crazy with want. But he didn’t stop. 

“Relax,” he purred. “Let me take care of you.” 

He pressed a kiss to your stomach. 

“My little bunny,” he murmured against your skin. 

Another kiss to the spot between your hips. “My babygirl.” 

And then he was kneeling on the floor, hooking his arms around your thighs and yanking you to the edge of the bed. You gasped, raising on your elbows to look at him. He kissed the back of your knee, tickling you, before he moved his way up your thigh, leaving love bites along your skin. 

“I need to taste you.” His voice was full of hunger, lust, as he left marks all along your thigh—sucking and biting the soft skin. 

You gasped as he ran his tongue up your slit, grasping the bedsheets in your fists. The books you read always made this act seem hot but feeling it was something else. Desire flooded you, leaving you panting for air. 

And then Eris was devouring you…devouring you like you were the sweetest fruit he’d ever tasted. You tossed your head back against the pillows, crying out his name in pleasure. 

“Eris,” you mewled. “Gods.”

Eris’s own hand slipped down to rub himself through his pants at the sound of your cries. His other hand rose, replacing his mouth to rub circles on your clit.

“I’ve got to get you ready for me, bunny,” he whispered, his finger toying at your entrance making you squirm with need. You weren’t sure what he meant by that until a single finger slowly slipped inside of you. 

You moaned at the feeling, your back bowing off the bed. Eris slowly pulled his finger out before thrusting it back in you. You couldn’t help your hips from grinding down in rhythm with his thrusts. 

“That’s it, babygirl,” he praised. He gave you a few more thrusts before he slowly started to add another finger. You hissed at the feeling of being stretched, sucking your breath in. “Breath, bunny. You’re doing so good.”

Another thrust had you finally relaxing, the slight pressure replaced with hot pleasure. You moaned his name as Eris continued to fuck you with his fingers, his mouth sucking on your clit again. He didn’t stop. Not even as your moans came out as pleas, as his name fell out of your lips over and over again while he pushed you over the edge, your vision going black with all the pleasure as you orgasmed. 

Still, he continued to devour you, causing you to writhe, overstimulated with pleasure. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, pulling slightly as you cried but Eris merely growled, “I’m not done yet, bunny.” 

You weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. You ultimately decided it was indeed a blessing as he brought you to your second orgasm with his tongue and fingers far more quickly than your first. You were gasping for air as he made his way back up the length of your body, smiling with satisfaction at how unraveled he had made you. You couldn’t help but grab Eris’s face in your hands, marveling at his striking and cruel beauty. 

“You’re never escaping me now, bunny,” he growled, running his nose up the column of your neck and groaning at your scent. “Now that I’ve got a taste of you, I’m never letting you go.”

“I don’t want you to,” you murmured, your heart beating in your chest. 

“Good,” he answered, kissing you and letting you taste yourself on his lips. His hand was back between your legs, stroking your still sensitive core. You moaned into his kiss, your hips thrusting up against him. 

He grinded his hips down, rubbing his hard cock against you and you gasped, breaking the kiss. The unbridled hunger in his gaze had your heart racing as he stared down at you. “Do you still want this, bunny?”

“Yes,” you whispered, quickly. You were sure you’d go insane if he didn’t fuck you at this point. He sat back on his haunches and began to unlace his pants. His hard cock sprung free from its constraints and your eyes widened as you glanced down at it.

Eris tossed his pants somewhere behind him, chuckling as he noticed you observing him. By feeling alone you’d known his dick was big but seeing it now, you felt slightly intimidated. You sat up a bit and reached a hand out, lightly stroking him with curiosity.

Eris groaned, his hips twitching into your touch. He gently pulled your hand away, resting over you with one arm next to your head. “You can explore later. I need you. I can’t wait any longer.” 

You nodded, swallowing with anticipation. He stared directly into your eyes as he guided himself towards your entrance, pausing one last time to allow you the chance to stop. But you placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him into a kiss instead. Eris kissed you, hungrily. His tongue parted your lips as he devoured you. He lined himself up before slowly starting to push into you. He wasn't even an inch in before he felt the resistance. He kept you locked in a kiss as he pushed farther in, stretching you out to the point of pain. 

You cringed slightly at the feeling, pulling away from his lips with a hiss. But the way Eris stared down at you with so much reverence and care comforted you. Still, you grimaced as the pain increased, as the stretching felt more like he was tearing you in half. 

You hissed again and Eris peppered kisses to your face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

You shook your head, unable to tell him to stop apologizing. He grunted as you dug your nails into his biceps while he continued to thrust in slowly. “Fuck, bunny, you’re taking me so well.” 

His praise caused your heart to flutter, making you relax more until he was seated all the way. He groaned, glancing down at where both of your bodies were now connected. Your grip on his biceps were still tight as the pain started to soothe into a warmth that began to spread throughout your body. 

“Breath for me, babygirl,” Eris whispered, kissing your jaw. You nodded, eyes squeezing shut. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in your breath. The exhale of air from your lungs made your body soften fully and soon the pain was overwhelmed by the pleasure of having him inside of you. You moaned out his name, trying to let him know you were ready for more. 

“That’s it,” Eris groaned, feeling the tension leave. He slid out only a fraction before pushing back in—just enough to make you whimper. He brushed some of the damp hair from your forehead with a tenderness that had the bond in your chest aching. 

You were desperate for him to start moving and you realized he was waiting on some cue from you—some sign that you were ready for him. But talking felt impossible right now, your brain empty of all thoughts except a need for your mate. You lifted your hips, your breath catching with the movement. Eris grunted at the feeling of you around him. 

You breathed out his name again and that seemed to finally snap his restraint. Yet he was still gentle as he pulled all the way out of you before slowly thrusting back in. Your back arched at the new feeling. You finally released your grip on his biceps, stringing your arms around his neck instead. 

Eris began to move faster, deeper. One of his hands slid down your thigh, guiding you to hook it around his hips. The new angle caused him to hit a spot inside of you that had moans spilling from your lips. Eris kissed any part of you he had access to—your cheeks, your lips, your ears, your neck. His lips were hot, warming your skin as if you were standing next to an open flame. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful.” 

His thrusts into you had you sliding against the silk sheets, had your breasts bouncing and your core throbbing around him with pleasure.

And he was watching you the whole time with a devotion that had you breathless. His whiskey amber eyes so focused on you and your pleasure, like it was all that mattered to him in this moment. His rhythm quickened, his strokes faster and faster as you spiraled underneath him—coming undone completely. 

It was overwhelming in the best possible way. Your bodies together as one. The feeling of the mating bond singing in your chest. The bliss of finally sharing yourself with someone you were falling in love with. Someone who held you like you were his entire world. Someone who saw all the unseen parts of you—the parts no one else had cared to look at. 

The culmination of everything had fire licking its way down your body, warmth spreading through your veins. Each thrust had a new wave of pleasure crashing into you. Each kiss had your heart beating to the tune of his. You were his in this moment—heart, mind, body and soul. And he was yours. Your fox. Your mate. Your Eris. 

Your vision went white as you toppled over the edge for a third time, screaming his name as you were consumed by his fire. Eris cursed as he rode out your orgasm, his pace growing sloppy as he lost himself in the feeling of you. He pounded into you, over and over again. You were mindless as you lightly grasped his cheeks, staring into his beautiful face—your body still in its state of bliss. 

“Mine,” he grunted. “You are mine.” 

“Yours,” you agreed. “And you belong to me.”

Those words had more of an effect on him than you could ever imagine. He groaned your name, his jaw tensing before he cried out and gave one final thrust inside of you that had the entire bed shaking. His forehead fell against yours as he climaxed, shuddering and panting for air. 

You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other for who knows how long. Just you and him. You and Eris. Nothing else mattered right now. Not his father or his court. Not your sisters or your mysterious powers. No conflict, no war, no pain. Nothing but the two of you and the eternal flame that connected your souls. 

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You should've known that the euphoria wouldn't last for long. The universe always had a way of making sure the highs were met with the lowest of lows. So when you returned to the Forest House with Eris the next day and were summoned immediately upon arrival to the throne room, you were not surprised. Still, a lead weight dropped in your stomach. Eris had staunchly tried to argue that you could remain within his chambers while he dealt with the matter but the guards had been adamant that the High lord had requested both of your presences. 

He held your hand tightly in his as you walked into the throne room together. Beron sat on his throne, Seraphina on her smaller chair to the side of him. Eris’s three brothers stood at the bottom of the dais—each of their faces unreadable. Reid’s face was covered in bruises and you winced, knowing it was your mate that was behind it. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to feel bad. Not after what he had done to you. 

Eris had glamoured your scents, not wanting to give his father any ammunition to use against you. The Gods knew how traditional the Autumn Court was. Beron would be displeased to know you had sex before your mating ceremony. Would likely use that as an excuse to do who knows what.

“Father,” Eris said, dipping his head in a faux show of respect. 

Beron glanced at his son before looking at you, expectantly. You dropped Eris’s hand and curtsied like you’d been taught. “High Lord.” It was enough to have him look away from you and back to his eldest son. 

“In the time you’ve been absent,” Beron started, holding his hands behind his back. “I’ve learned of a few…events that have transpired in this court. Namely the death of three of my best guards and the disfigurement of one of my sons.” 

Eris scoffed, straightening his cuffs. “Reid will heal.” 

You tensed, noting the anger in Beron’s eyes. 

“That may be so,” Beron replied. “But my guards will not.” 

“They deserved death for what they did,” Eris growled. “They attacked my mate.” 

“And by whose word is that?” Beron asked, his tone chilling. “Were there any witnesses of this alleged attack? Or did you simply take the word of a female over three trained, professional guards—guards who have protected you your entire life, son?” 

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Eris snarled, stepping forward. 

Beron merely tilted his head, staring down at his son. “Any other witnesses?”

“You don’t believe your own son?” Eris questioned, causing Beron’s eyes to narrow.

“Not when his actions seem far too…uncharacteristic,” Beron said. “You are not known to attack others, Eris. I expect far more restraint from my Heir. Now, answer my question. Are there any other witnesses?” 

Eris stood up straighter, unwilling to back down. You swallowed harshly, your eyes darting between Beron and your mate. “Her two handmaidens were witness as well.” 

Beron chuckled, mirthlessly. His dead eyes lacked any amusement. “Two lesser fae? As if they are known for speaking any truths. Please son, you humor me greatly.” 

“So you refuse to take me at my word,” Eris scowled. “Yet also refuse to hear from the two witnesses who saw the attack, as well. What is it you want?” 

Flames licked the shoulders of the High Lord, a show of his growing ire. “Watch your tone when talking to me, son. What I want is justice for the guards who have lost their life over something so…trivial.”

“Trivial?” Eris scoffed. “You think it’s trivial that they—”

Beron held up a hand, silencing his son. “I wasn’t finished. Do not interrupt me again or there will be far greater consequences.” 

Eris moved in front of you, blocking his father’s view. You were nearly shaking with dread, nausea swimming in your stomach. Where was Beron going with this?

“As I was saying,” Beron continued. “I seek justice for the guards who are now dead. Punishment for your mate’s lack of decorum that resulted in their actions which led to their deaths. For that, she shall receive ten lashes.” 

The room fell silent except for a small gasp that came from your lips. Ten lashes? Ten lashes all because his guards had attacked you? That was….that was insane! Your lip quivered. Eris glanced back at you for a second, his face pale before his expression hardened into rage. He turned back to his father, glaring.

“I am her mate,” Eris declared. “And according to Autumn law, allowed to take her punishment as mine.”

The fact that he wasn’t trying to argue with his father told you that it would probably be no use.  

“Is that what you want?” Beron looked pleased, as if he knew this would be the outcome to his sentencing. You felt ready to puke. How could a father be so eager to hurt his own son? Just how twisted was this male?

“Yes.” Eris’s voice didn’t waver or soften. 

“Eris,” you whispered in horror, stepping forward. You couldn’t let him do this—couldn’t let him get whipped on your behalf. Neither of you should be facing this punishment. It was both cruel and unjust. But if someone had to take it, it had to be you. 

Eris turned to look at you with a stern expression.

“Don’t speak,” he ordered, his voice so harsh you nearly flinched but you knew his anger was not directed at you. You knew he was just doing what he could to protect you. “Go to my chambers and stay there until either I or your handmaidens come to collect you.” 

“She is not going anywhere,” Beron spoke up. “You are allowed to take her punishment but she is ordered to stay and watch. She must understand what it means to be a part of this court. Must understand what her actions have caused.”

“Father,” Eris’s voice was slightly pleading for once but Beron held up his hand again.

“Another word and it will be fifteen lashes instead.” 

Eris’s shoulder fell and he quickly schooled himself, nodding. You took a sharp breath, your eyes welling with tears. You wanted to reach for him but two guards grabbed you by the upper arms and held you in place. You watched as Eris began to unbutton his shirt, tossing it to the ground before falling to his knees at the bottom of the dais. 

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

You were going to be sick. 

You choked in fear as Beron summoned a whip made of fire in his hands, coming to stand behind his son. You tried to break free from the guards’ hold but it was impossible. Tears slipped down your face.

“Don’t!” you cried out. “Please, don’t hurt him! I’ll take them. I’ll—”

“I said another word and it would be fifteen lashes instead of ten,” Beron growled, his cold eyes darting to you before they looked back down at his son. “Your mate just caused you another five lashes, Eris.” 

No. No. No.

Your eyes darted around the room, looking for someone who might put an end to this. Who might stop this. But it was Finn who caught your eyes and gave you a small shake of the head, his lips pressed in a fine line. You were heaving, horrified. You had made things so much worse already. So much worse. 

No one was coming to stop this. No one was coming to save Eris. No one ever had. 

You stood frozen as the first crack of the whip echoed through the big room, striking Eris’s back and ripping through his flesh. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the whip rose again, the flames dancing in a menacing way. Another strike had more tears blurring your vision. By the third strike, you had fallen to your knees, retching. 

You couldn’t even see Eris’s face, but you knew it was contorted in agony. You tried to send comfort down the mating bond, comfort and love and anything else, but it was met with a wall of flame that blocked you out. That only had more tears falling down your face. Even in his agonizing pain, Eris was still protecting you. 

Memories of last night flooded your mind. The joy, the elation, the love. The time spent together wrapped up in each other like nothing else mattered. The secrets the two of you had shared beneath the covers. How had you gone from that to this? 

Your heart shattered with each strike. Your soul was aching as you sat there, watching in horror as Eris’s blood began to pool on the tiled floor. You had caused this. This was all your fault. All Eris had done since the beginning was try to protect you. And this is how you had returned the favor. The worst part of it all was knowing he wouldn’t even blame you at all for this. Not even for the five extra lashes you had caused. 

By the seventh strike, your own pool of vomit lay around you. 

Eris didn’t even cry, barely moved at all. It was haunting and it made you realize that this was not the first time this had happened to him by a long shot. How many times had his father punished him like this in his lifetime? How many scars lingered underneath his skin—only hidden by the unnatural healing of the fae? By the fifteenth strike, you knew the answer to be far too many. 

The guards finally let you go once Beron had finished and left the throne room, taking his wife with him. You scrambled to your feet, darting towards Eris but Liam caught you by the arm with a grimace. “You won’t be able to carry him. Let us take him to his chambers.” 

You were forced to watch again as both Liam and Finn heaved Eris’s near unconscious form up between the two of them. You trailed behind them, tears soaking the collar of your dress. The walk to his chambers seemed to take an eternity. Eris groaned as they fumbled him through the door. 

“Get him to the bath,” Reid murmured, causing you to jump in shock. You hadn’t realized that even he had followed. 

You darted ahead of them, starting to fill the basin as they dragged your injured mate into the bathing chambers and slid him into the tub. Eris grunted in pain as the water splashed against his wounds, staining it red. You muffled your own cries with a hand. 

“Father won’t allow him to be seen by a healer,” Finn whispered to you. “Can you take care of him from here?” 

You nodded your head, speechless. 

“He has some cooling salve and bandages under the sink,” Finn said, nodding his head towards the sink. “Come find me if you need help.” 

The three brothers took their leave after that, leaving you alone with your mate. You pulled out all the supplies Finn had mentioned, falling to your knees next to the tub where Eris sat, his knees drawn to his chest and his head resting against them. 

“Eris,” you finally whispered, stroking his hair. “Eris, I am so, so sorry.” 

“S’not your fault,” he mumbled, tiredly. 

You wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and scream and rage. But it was more important to take care of him right now. So you slowly set to work, apologizing each time he flinched as you cleaned his wounds. Your heart ached as you helped him out of the bath once you were finished.

“Come on,” you murmured. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

You helped him strip off his wet pants and underwear before laying him down on the bed on his stomach. You pulled the sheets up to his waist, leaving his back untouched. You kneeled on the bed next to him, taking out the salve to start spreading it over the wounds. 

Eris let out a sigh as you started applying it and your heart cracked in your chest as he slowly drifted to sleep, his body finally giving out. You cried as you smeared the salve over the burns before bandaging them gently. Once you were done, your head dropped to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried to his sleeping form. “I’m so sorry.” 

You don’t know how long you sat there, crying over him. But at some point, you finally sat up and wiped your face dry. Beron might’ve forbade any healer from helping Eris, but you had learned a thing or two from Elain about some plants that might help. Plants that the two of you used to mash into a paste and give to Feyre for all the blisters and calluses she would return home with when you were living in that small cottage. Plants that you knew you had seen during your ride in the forest with Eris. 

With that in mind, you gathered yourself before setting out to collect some, leaving Eris asleep on the bed for now. 

Luckily, you were able to sneak from the Forest House without anyone seeing you. You hid amongst the trees, plucking the plants and bundling them in your skirt. When you were confident that you had gathered enough, you started making your way back to the Forest House but you didn’t make it very far before you were interrupted. 

Shadows seemed to grow between the trees until a very familiar face stepped from them. You gasped in shock as Azriel materialized right before you, his hazel eyes staring directly at you. 

“Y/n,” he greeted, cooly, looking over your form like he was looking for any injuries before meeting your gaze again. 

“Az…Azriel? What are you doing here?”

“We’ve figured out a way to get you out of this mess,” he said, taking a step towards you. “Come, Feyre will explain to you once we’re home.” 

You mirrored his step backwards, eyes going wide. You didn’t want to go home…in fact, you knew in your heart that Velaris was no longer home to you. Home was…Home was Eris. You shook your head at him, trying to form the words to tell him you weren’t coming. 

“N-no,” you finally stuttered out. “I-I can’t go back. I don’t want—”

“Like I said—it will all be explained once we get back,” Azriel cut you off, moving quicker than you and grabbing your arm causing you to drop your skirt. All the plants you had gathered for Eris fell to the ground. “Let’s go.” 

And then you were engulfed in shadows, the Autumn Court disappearing from view. And all that was left in your place was a pile of healing plants for your injured mate—for Eris who would go on to wake up alone. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 6 | spy!Bucky

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

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

Lori was spinning around the room, singing with a mischievous grin on her face, "Aunt is a nasty girl, yeah, she's a nasty girl," mimicking the moves from a viral dance she must have seen online.

You rolled your eyes, wincing slightly as Bucky gently cleaned and treated the wound on your arm. He glanced at Lori with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Meanwhile, Henry, sitting nearby with a puzzled look, watched Lori's performance unfold. "What on earth is she doing?" he asked, clearly baffled by her antics.

"She's making fun of me," you replied, sighing as you glanced over at your niece. Lori continued her exaggerated dance, clearly enjoying herself.

Bucky, focused on wrapping the bandage around your arm, muttered, "She's not nasty." His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of tension in his eyes.

Lori suddenly stopped dancing and sprinted over to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Tell me more about your ex!" she demanded, her curiosity getting the better of her.

You noticed Bucky’s hands falter for a moment as he tied the bandage a little tighter than necessary, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. "He's not my ex," you corrected, your tone firm but tinged with frustration.

Lori giggled, clearly enjoying teasing you. "Yeah... right..." she drawled, drawing out the word as she smirked knowingly.

You shook your head, exasperated. Your niece, always with her head in the clouds, had now latched onto the idea of some dramatic romance after discovering that you had encountered someone from your past.

And that someone was the very reason you were sitting here now, with fresh bandages and a sore arm. Lori’s song and dance were just her way of processing the excitement of what she imagined to be a grand love story, not realizing the pain and complexity it actually brought.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

24 hours ago

"What you said is pointless because we don't have the data," you replied, frustration lacing your tone.

Henry shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that might be true, but I know where they hide it."

A groan escaped your lips, and you brought a hand to cover your face. "I hate where this is going."

"Why?" Lori asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.

Bucky leaned forward, his expression serious. "You want us to steal it," he stated flatly, already seeing the direction Henry was headed.

Henry chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Steal is such a strong word. I prefer to think of it as... liberating the truth. Recovering what's rightfully ours."

You shot him a skeptical look. "Liberating the truth? That sounds like something straight out of a heist movie."

Lori’s eyes widened with excitement. "A heist? Oh, this is so cool! Can I help? Please, let me help!"

Bucky gave her a wary glance. "This isn’t a game, Lori. It’s dangerous."

Lori bounced on her toes, her enthusiasm undiminished. "I know, but I want to be part of it! I can do it, I promise! You said I was a good actress, remember? I could be the distraction or, like, the tech whiz or something! Whatever you need!"

Henry grinned, clearly amused by her enthusiasm. "See? The girl’s got the right attitude! Nobody would suspect someone like her to be involved in espionage."

You sighed but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Alright, alright. If Lori wants in, then we’ll find a role for her. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you, Henry."

Lori clapped her hands, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! This is going to be awesome! I can’t wait!"

Henry clapped his hands together, his smile broadening. "That's the spirit! Now, let's get to work. We have some planning to do."

At Charity Event

The grand lobby of the company was abuzz with activity. Children laughed and played, their faces painted with bright colors. The "Make It Together" charity event, hosted by the company’s CEO, had drawn a large crowd.

Both of you are planning to steal data from a CEO known for holding everyone’s dirty secrets. This CEO also loves to host charity events at his company to enhance his public image and boost his business.

Dressed as a happy family, you and Bucky played the part of doting parents, while Lori, full of youthful enthusiasm, easily fit the role of your daughter. Henry, blending in with the crowd, kept a vigilant eye on the situation.

Henry knew about the vault because he had been there when the CEO proudly showcased it and placed the secret data inside.

As you and Bucky moved toward the restricted areas, you leaned in close, whispering urgently, “If things go south, remember—no matter what happens, save Lori first. She’s the priority.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in concern. “I don’t think—”

You cut him off, your voice firm but laden with emotion. “This is my only request, Bucky. Please.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “I understand. But I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too.”

As you and Lori approached the vault with Henry’s directions, Bucky positioned himself by the entrance, watching for any sign of trouble. You worked swiftly with the digital key cracker, trying to stay calm despite the tension.

Inside the Vault

The vault door opened with a soft click, revealing rows of safety deposit boxes and data drives. Lori, playing her role perfectly, had successfully distracted the guard, allowing you and Bucky to enter unnoticed.

“Got it,” you whispered, retrieving the data drive from its place on the shelf. “Let’s get out.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite double agent.”

You froze, hearing that familiar voice filled with spite. Standing in front of you was Romeo, your former colleague. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes locked on you with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

“Romeo,” you said, trying to remain composed. “What are you doing here?”

Romeo’s smirk was a blend of flirtatiousness and anger. “I didn’t expect to see you here, especially not with him."

Bucky stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t have time for this.”

Romeo’s gaze flicked to Bucky, then back to you. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you chose another. I’m just curious—did you miss me at all, or was it all just part of the job?”

You kept your tone even, but the past echoed in your words. “It was always part of the job, Romeo. Nothing more.”

Romeo's eyes flashed with a mix of fury and betrayal. He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with contempt. “Of all people, you choose to work with him? The most wanted fugitive and the worst traitor?” His tone was laced with disbelief as he gestured toward Bucky with a sharp, accusing finger.

Bucky stepped in, his voice firm. “Well, she chose me.”

The words hit Romeo hard. His face contorted with anger. “Oh, so that’s it? You’re just going to flaunt it in my face? How charming. I always knew you had a talent for stealing—both hearts and secrets.”

Lori, watching from a distance, could hardly believe the scene unfolding before her. She stayed silent, her eyes wide with excitement and curiosity. This is a LOVE TRIANGLE!

You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Romeo. This isn’t about us anymore.”

Romeo’s anger flared. “I guess some things never change. You always had a knack for making everything personal.”

Before you could react, Romeo lunged, reaching for the data drive. Bucky moved to intercept him, but Romeo’s partner appeared, grabbing your arm and twisting it painfully.

“Gotcha,” the partner sneered.

You struggled free, delivering a swift kick to his side. The fight erupted in full force as Bucky and Romeo grappled, exchanging blows. You managed to push back your attacker, but Romeo drew a knife, aiming it directly at Lori.

Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of her, taking the hit to your side. Bucky’s eyes widened in horror. “Y/N!”

You gritted your teeth, trying to stay upright. “Get Lori out of here!”

Bucky fought off Romeo and his partner with renewed determination, eventually knocking Romeo out cold. He helped you toward the exit, Lori’s worried face visible in the doorway.

Henry, who had been monitoring from outside, was already pulling up in the getaway car. “Get in!” he shouted.

Bucky helped you into the back seat, and Lori followed closely. The car sped away from the building, leaving the chaos behind.

As the adrenaline began to wane, Bucky pressed a hand to your wound, his face a mask of concern. “Hold on, we’re almost clear.”

Lori, her face pale but determined, asked quietly, “Aunt, are you okay?”

You managed a weak smile despite the pain. “I’m fine, Lori. Just a scratch.”

Henry glanced back through the rearview mirror. “Was it worth it?”

You held up the data drive, the evidence of the CEO’s wrongdoings. “We got what we needed.”

Henry grinned, relieved. “Then let’s get out of here before more agents show up.”

The car sped into the night, leaving the confrontation and the chaos of the charity event behind. You leaned back in your seat, clutching the drive tightly. Despite the pain and the narrow escape, you knew you had accomplished your mission.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Present Time

Lori was still buzzing with excitement, peppering you with questions about Romeo. Bucky, visibly agitated, clenched his jaw and avoided eye contact, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Henry was in the other room, trying to uncripted the drive. He took a drag from his cigar but suddenly erupted into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. The sound echoed through the room, making him look vulnerable.

Lori quickly sprang into action, grabbing a glass of water and handing it to Henry with a concerned expression. “Here, drink this,” she said softly.

Henry accepted the glass with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Lori watched him closely, her concern deepening. “How long have you been sick?”

Henry looked up, surprised by her insight. “How did you know?”

Lori pointed at the medicine in his bag, her voice carrying a tone of familiarity. “I used to help my mother take care of my father when he was sick. I remember most of the names of the medicines he used.”

Henry was impressed by her knowledge. His gaze softened, though his eyes still held a trace of sadness. “I just found out,” he admitted. “My life is now just counting days.” The doctor didn’t tell him, but he knew. That’s why he doesn’t want to die miserably in the nursing home.

Lori’s expression reflected a deep empathy, recognizing the bitterness in his words that mirrored her own father’s struggles. She glanced at the cigar and whiskey near Henry, then met his eyes with a gentle resolve.

“Do what you love while you still can,” she said quietly.

Henry chuckled, a bitter but appreciative smile playing on his lips. “I will.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

As Bucky finished treating your wound, the dim light from the room cast soft shadows across his face. He looked up, his expression serious yet tender.

“You’re in the danger zone, James. Why did you try to find me?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern.

Bucky’s gaze locked with yours, filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart ache. “I realized that knowing I can’t be with you forever is haunting me.”

You studied him, feeling the weight of his words. The room seemed to shrink around you, making the moment feel intensely intimate.

Bucky continued, his voice hushed but resolute. “I know I’m a bad person. I’ve lived my life constantly looking over my shoulder. If I die tomorrow, at least I need you to know how I feel. I don’t want to leave this world with regrets.”

You felt a lump in your throat, a mix of frustration and tenderness. “You’re a fool, Bucky.”

He let out a soft, bittersweet chuckle, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I know.”

“That’s why I liked you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between you, carrying an unspoken promise.

Bucky’s smile grew, and he reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve always liked you too. Even when I didn’t want to admit it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. You could see the vulnerability and longing in his gaze, and it mirrored your own feelings.

Slowly, he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours. “If we make it out of this, let’s promise to take whatever chances we can get. Let’s not waste another moment.”

Your heart raced as you closed the distance between you, sharing a kiss that spoke of all the unspoken words and emotions that had built up over time. The kiss was both tender and passionate, a release of all the feelings that had been pent up for so long.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and Bucky’s eyes were filled with a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s fight for a future where we can be together,” he whispered.

You nodded, your heart full of resolve and affection. “We will.”

As the romantic moment unfolded, a sense of quiet intimacy enveloped you and Bucky. But that peace was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a soft chuckle. Both of you turned, your sighs of frustration mingling with the realization that you were being watched.

There, peeking around the edge of the door, was Lori, her eyes wide with curiosity and amusement. You and Bucky exchanged a knowing glance, recognizing that your private moment had been intruded upon.

"Lori!" you called out, your voice a mix of exasperation and embarrassment.

Lori’s face broke into a playful grin, and she quickly darted away, her laughter echoing down the hallway as she ran.

Bucky shook his head with a chuckle, the tension from the moment melting away. You couldn’t help but smile at Lori’s antics, feeling a sense of warmth despite the interruption.

Bucky turned to you, his eyes softening with affection. “Well, at least she’s in good spirits.”

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[ohnoitstbskyen]

Do you think Riot will make more seasons of Arcane in different regions post-s2, make more shows with different names that are set in the Arcane universe, or secret third option?

Yes and no.

To start with, yes: Arcane has been by far Riot's most mainstream successful media project ever (even outstripping K/DA), and there is literally no way in hell that the company isn't going to want to keep milking it until it is as dry, stale and withered as the PROJECT skin line.

So I predict that, absolutely, we will see new seasons of shows set in the League of Legends universe, probably animated, and hopefully with some of the extremely good animation partners Riot has managed to cultivate over the years.

The ARCANE branding is incredibly valuable now, and I wouldn't put it past Riot to do something stupid like name a show set in the Freljord ARCANE: True Ice or something unbearably stupid like that, even though the name relates extremely specifically to the setting and story of Piltover/Zaun and the Vi/Powder/Viktor/Jayce character group.

On the other hand, Riot might be the company on earth I trust the absolute least to effectively capitalize on and carry forward a success in creative arts that can't be monetized with skins and event passes.

Riot has an absolutely astounding history of tripping on their dicks when it comes to telling stories about their characters, in no small part due to its leadership quite simply never valuing storytelling as an end in itself. If it doesn't sell cosmetics or drive Engagement™ with the core League of Legends product, good luck getting Riot management to spend a fucking dime to make anything real.

Passionate people inside the company have to go to war, every single time, to make anything good happen. Legends of Bilgewater, the Spirit Blossom visual novel, the Marvel comics collaboration (RIP), Riot Forge, and very much Arcane, were absolute passion projects pushed over the line by people who literally put their jobs (and in many cases their health) on the line to make them happen.

Alex Yee and Christian Linke are old hands at Riot with a lot of clout, a lot of friends at the company, and a lot of goodwill to cash in, and if that hadn't been the case, there is literally no way in hell anything like Arcane ever gets made.

The behind-the-scenes documentary Riot themselves produced obviously goes out of its way to let Riot leadership suck themselves off about how much they contributed and how much they believed in the project, but make no mistake, they would have axed Arcane on the spot if there wasn't creatives fighting pitched battles every other day to keep it alive.

This is true of K/DA as well, by the way, there was a lot of internal resistance at Riot to that project - and to Star Guardians, and to Heartsteel. Anything cool Riot has ever made? Just assume that someone internally was shitting on it in meetings and trying to get it shut down.

Which is why I am intensely worried about Arcane in the long term. Not so much about Season 2, since it is mostly being produced by the same group of people, as far as I know, but that project is also going to be absolutely besieged by C-suite jackoffs trying to worm their names into the credits, making themselves Stakeholders™ and offering Feedback™ and voicing Concerns™, and I don't envy the showrunners the battles they are going to have to fight to keep these vultures away from the product.

But I am fucking worried about whatever Season 3 becomes. I am fucking worried about what happens the moment any of the key creatives behind the first two seasons resign, or get headhunted to new jobs. I am worried what's going to happen when Riot decides that the showrunners are "being difficult" and standing in the way of what leadership wants to do with the now very valuable ARCANE branding, and either corporately mandates them into roles of diminished influence or just outright fucking fires them (it'll be publicized as a mutual decision of course, it'll be publicized as a much celebrated retirement or "it's time to move on to new adventures").

Riot is a company with absolutely infinite capacity to fuck up a perfectly good thing for absolutely no fucking reason except some kombucha-chugging, suit-jacket-over-a-graphic-tee-and-sneakers-wearing, keeps-his-job-despite-multiple-sexual-harassment-allegations-because-he's-bros-with-the-C-suite, motherfucking "I am a player so I know what the players want" platitude-spouting "themes are for book reports"-ass Silicon Valley libertarian piece of shit decided he knows better than the artists whose work are the reason he takes home six figures a year.

[mollysunder]

Lunari Heritage in Zaun

This is gonna be a reach, but from the little we've seen of Vi and Jinx's mom and younger Silco, I'd guess they were both from the same ethnic group.

In a place like Zaun, where the people are left with scraps, any piece of jewelry sticks out. Vi's mom and Silco are both wearing similar pieces of jewelry. Silco's bracelet could likely be fitted as a necklace since it twice wraps over his wrist. Neither are wearing anything of high quality, but the necklace and bracelet in their respective pictures seem decently maintained if not worn. That's when I thought, these are probably heirlooms.

In fact they looked pretty similar too, but in smaller scale of the princess's own pendants. I wouldn't bring this up if it weren't for the fact that Piltovans prioritize elaborate art-deco aesthetics, the more elaborately geometric the better (Councilor Shoola). So you would assume even the simplest jewelry would be a square pendant or a straight line. But no, big plain circles, and then I remembered we saw that before, on the princess Ambessa killed. Big bronze circles.

And when we look at young Vi , you notice that she's wearing jewelry too. A simple necklace with a green (it looks green) gem. And I realized that the princess's necklace was also adorned green gems.

I'm pulling from scraps, but it's interesting that small things these Zaunites have to adorn themselves (though not for long with the time skips) are similar versions if not simpler version's of the princess's.

At first I thought this meant that many of the cast were actually of Ionian descent. But then in the Princess's scene a thought kept coming back to me, "Why is Mel wearing purple?". Mel, a skilled diplomat from a young age, typically wears the main colors of the nations she hosts and is hosted by. White for Piltover, Black for Noxus (Ambessa), and always with her signature accents of gold. So if Mel followed her mother to Ionia ,where green is a culturally significant color, why purple? It's because Mel and Ambessa weren't in Ionia, they were in Targon fighting the Lunari.

The Lunari are Rakkor tribal people in the Targonian region who worship the moon, and are persecuted for it by the Solari, the religious order that worships the sun. While technically Mt. Targon is influenced by Mt. Olympus and Greek mythology aesthetic, that's more the case for the Solari. Overtime the Lunari aesthetic has been mixed it's originally nomadic culture with East Asian influences. The prominent colors of the Lunari happen to be turquoise, silver, black and purple. It was such a little thing to remember but it made me see connections I hadn't thought about.

Suddenly everything starts to connect. The bronze coins represent the 3 moons that exist in Arcane's Runeterra. How do we know there are 3 moons, because the Valdiani piece Jinx stole was depicting their planet. In the Valdiani there are 3 orbits circling the Earth, meaning 3 moons (or satelites). Now the engraving on the gold of the princess's necklace makes sense, because it's supposed to resemble the gates at the peak of Mt. Targon. The pendant itself is shaped like the mountain with the gates fitted at the top.

Frankly, it works for the Princess to have been Lunari and waves of descendants of the Lunari to arrive in Piltover and end up in Zaun. In Arcane, Piltover was created as a safe haven to escape the Rune Wars 200 years from the start of the show. Even after the Rune Wars ended the shipping port has likely seen waves of migrant labor and refugees from the ongoing crisis that occur in Runeterra (*cough*Noxus*cough*). It's likely that many of the current generation of Zaunites are of mixed heritage of the various fleeing people's.

It creates a whole new dynamic of the ways in which Piltover's laws, their Ethos, strips the people of Zaun from their identity and reducing them to tools for the mines. Magic is inherently a part of religious ceremonies and religion in general in Runeterra, especially for the Lunari. How do you practice your religion in a place that has banned the means by which it's conducted? There must have been more people like the Lunari who didn't have a problem with their magic, their problem was that they were being persecuted.

The remnants of family keepsakes brought over as communities fled were clung to as best as possible especially as they had to let go of part their spiritual identity. But even that doesn't seem to have lasted either. Vi doesn't keep her necklace, her mother is dead, so lost is her necklace, and we never see Silco wear his bracelet. They could have been stolen, or at best, hidden for safe keeping, maybe Enforcers get suspicious at the hint of mysticism and suddenly they want to talk.

Finally, maybe a little less related, it is interesting how prominent Piltovans and Zaunites take on day and night aspects. The sun shines over Piltover at their best, begins to set at times of uncertainty. While in the cover of night with moon above, the strongest Zaunites strike hardest. One more thing, it is interesting how Arcane's Jinx has taken on darker tones of purple rather than stick with neon pink. I always have to go back and look at a reference to remember that her pants are purple-er than I recall.

Update: I wanted to include that the large doodle Jinx made on her cup actually looks similar to the Lunari's sigil. And the sigil remains on the cup into the timeskip, also the center moon is made smaller within the crescent like in the necklace. I also noticed Jinx's cup later has more violent bomb imagery around it.

Update 2: With the final season approaching I'm noticing this is getting some attention again. I would like to say that if I could write this from scratch again I'd say it's more likely the princess is from Ionia now, which doesn't up end the Lunari theory.

Previous League canon confirms the Lunari faith does have ties to Ionia. A good portion of the Lunari are Ionian in descent, and Diana, their aspect of the moon (essentially their demigod), currently lives in Ionia. League even created skinline for Ionians blood moon worshippers, an edgy offshoot of the Lunari faith. It's all very interesting and a bit complicated because Riot loves to drop plot points in the lore and never come back. I'll try to clean something up for a longer explanation later. What's crazy is the Medardas are still the aggressors because Noxians and Solarians, which the Medardas are both, terrorize Ionians and Lunaris respectively.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

NOBODY'S SON, NOBODY'S DAUGHTER (VI)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VII

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.0k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking & stalking behavior, creepy men, talks of death, weapons, toxic modeling standards, food issues, dead animals, talks about gore, symptoms & descriptions of dissociation, scars and mentions of intense medical procedures, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you. 

Nikto stands in the bathroom connected to the library—at the very end of that train car-like set-up of your loft rooms. His fingers move to the straps of his Kevlar, peeling them off as the loud tearing sounds echo in his ears. 

He can hear you stumbling about in your room, too. Getting ready for bed. Blinking, Nikto grunts as he thinks over your comment from when you first showed him around. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his head since you’d said it. 

Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you.

The man’s vest is taken off, hitting the floor in a heap. Next follows the clips of his thigh holster, and the belt buckle in the loops of his pants. Each joins the pile with a slap of material. 

“Brain damage,” Nikto grunts. 

It wasn’t something he should be worrying about—in fact, it was at the very bottom of the long list of things that even mattered. First was your safety, then the identity of this pathetic individual who was infatuated with you. But it stuck with him nonetheless. 

He’d never had to look after someone with this affliction before. The stumbling; the shakiness. But he’d gone through worse. Yet, at the same time, it was far larger than just his assignment. In his own way, Nikto was…appreciative that you seemed to at least listen to him most of the time. And you were easy to talk to. 

There was a sort of kinship there, as well. In broken things. Maybe that was why he felt himself growing to you.

Striped down to nothing but his mask, the Russian glimpses himself in the mirror and stills. He was always struck by it. 

How something could be so brutally ugly.

Scars ran so tightly over his skin that it was indented like a fissure in the earth. Pieces boldly sliced away and chunks missing. The muscled bulge of his stomach was cut up—thighs with such horrors as cigarette burns and the remnants of tattoos that were carved away like hog’s flesh. That’s what he was, Nikto knew. A hog tied to the ceiling and ready to be butchered. 

He looked at himself now like he was through the lens of a movie, like the ones he would watch as a child—it was far away from him, the edges blurred as his reflection shifted; another being entirely. 

A hand comes up—his hand—and it presses into the material of his mask, large fingers shifting over black coloring as the pale blue of his eyes stares back. None of it felt real. Nikto’s head tilts, but he does not feel the bones in his neck move, only the acknowledgment that they had to have. 

The dark ink of the tattoo over his back peaks itself into existence, the starting of obsidian over his shoulders. Nikto shifts his top half as if seeing it for the first time, unblinking eyes taking in the visage of a snarling bear locking gazes with him. At the side of his left shoulder, the sigil of his old unit burnt his skin. 

“New,” he utters, voice tiny and hoarse. “Gotten after.”

He already knew that…why was he repeating it like he had forgotten sitting in that tattoo shop’s chair? Nikto’s eyes clenched shut, hand coming back up to his masked head and pressing over it. 

He was not beautiful, and no one would ever call him such. He didn’t want them to because it would always be a lie.

With a low growl, his fingers grip his mask and rip it off of his head. 

The thing slaps against the marble of the counter, hitting with a hard clack of the coated synthetic fiber, sliding over the top until it hits the toothbrush cup and causes it to fall on its side. 

Nikto can only stare at the person in the reflection as the sounds swirl in his ears—a world away. 

There’s so little of him left that he recognizes that it scares him. 

Grinding his jaw, Nikto’s pale eyes slip down the length of the damage. His dark hair is cut close to his head, strong bones in his nose and brow above the deep sockets of his eyes—the glare of black and blue bags gives way to his lack of sleep. The wideness of his cheeks leads to a sharp chin; a square face overall. 

But the marks. 

The hyperpigmentation.

Half of a Glasgow Smile peels the flesh back like a tear in paper, and a line is sliced staring at his right ear and curving in a half-circle down to his jaw. Into his hairline, three ragged cuts that had been very badly cauterized to stop him from bleeding out, the hair never able to grow back properly. His neck is the same—a red scar the size of his forearm wrapping from behind and crossing it, little slivers breaking out like a tributary. 

He still wasn’t sure how he survived that one, but then again he hadn’t in the long run.

Nikto’s heart had stopped after all.

There’s a knocking at the door, and the man flinches violently—head twitching to the side. 

“Nikto?” Your voice is muffled by the wooden barrier, and the Russian’s breath is ragged before he blinks away the distance in his expression. “...Are you alright in there?” 

He clears his throat, feet shifting over the plush purple rug you had on the floor as his fingers twitch with tight nerves. But your voice distracts him, fractured brain slowly coming back into focus. 

“We are fine,” his voice is harder than he intends. More snappy. 

Nikto’s eyes find your shadow under the bottom of the door, your feet moving and re-setting as they usually do. He sees you pause. 

“Alright,” your voice calls. “If you need anything, just ask me.”

He watches you stand there for a few seconds longer before your shadow moves back and disappears. Torn ears twitch to your receding weight, eyes beady like a feral dog’s. 

Nikto’s bare body is frozen until he finds himself moving to turn on the water to the hottest setting, stepping into the stream with a hiss and a snap of teeth at the burn. He only turns it hotter. Thinking. Wondering. 

Brain damage.

—

“I can never see color,” you say into the air bluntly, watching the man tie his shoes. He freezes. “Just thought you should know.”

Your eyes see Nikto blink, a silent moment passing between you two before he looks up slowly, brows pulled in and lids crinkled. 

“...Что?” 

Something swirls in his vision, a deep intrigue and another that’s harder to name. Hidden. Kept under lock.

“I can never see color,” your voice reiterates, trying to put on a show that the only reason you were saying this was because you wanted to—a sign of trust. 

In reality, it was a stepping point. 

A small test even if you felt your face heating—growing hotter by the second. “Same accident that caused my brain damage.” You smile softly, motioning a hand to your head. “Even if I find my soulmate, I won’t be able to tell. Weird, huh?”

It was two hours after your phone call with Yaromir and Galina, and there wasn’t much to dwell on from the two. You’d talked about DNA, Sergi, and why no one was taking your claims seriously. 

All they chose to tell you was that they needed more to build a case off of. Galina was still trying to get DNA samples, and without that or a large break that gave you any idea about who could do this, you were in the dark. All they had was a partial fingerprint on one of the plastic bags. 

Excuses were all you got by the very frustrating end, and your hope had dwindled on every pause over the line, your phone on the coffee table and Nikto watching silently as he placed breakfast in front of you with a firm hand. He’d been quiet today, even more so than usual. You’d even given him more tea last night, though the cup was once more washed and set back by morning. 

And he was stiff too. Tense. 

Today, you made a firm decision to go back to AMA—not because of your shift. You had no intention of staying in that building even if you knew you should; this was a quick visit. You needed to discuss a large gap in your schedule with the CEO, one that had only shown up in the small hours of this morning. 

You really hoped the explanation wasn’t because you were being fried.  

Nikto is still, watching every beat of your pulse and how your fingers play with themselves in front of you. His chest is frozen, eyes unblinking as the paleness of them is similar to a knife’s edge. In your internal fight, you hadn't noticed how long he’d just been watching you…dead to the world of the living. His gaze was so intense once you did realize, that you cleared your throat softly as an awkward uncomfortableness built on your expression. 

Perhaps today wasn't the best time to test your theory.

The man’s fingers twitch, he stands up to his full height, and then moves into the elevator without a single sound. 

Your heart gets stuck in your throat, blinking as you make a confused noise. 

“Nikto?” You turn after him. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Calling, your feet shift over the rug of your entrance, seeing the void of white as he stands with his hands behind his back and his covered face diligently forward. No words. “I thought we were past the whole lack of speaking thing?”

A chill moves up your spine slowly, and it’s enough to hide away the reason you’d mentioned your affliction in the first place. He was…so stiff again. Enough so that you partially wondered how this person could be the same that had cooked you dinner last night and barked his feral laugh into the chilled air. 

What had changed in one night?

Nikto’s eyes were more of a void than the blackness of his Kevlar. 

Apprehensiveness growing, you move and grasp at your jacket with a twist to your lips, slipping it on softly. No sentences being spoken, you shift into the elevator and stay to the far left of him, taking out your keys from your purse and slipping them into the metal. 

With a jolt, the thing begins moving slowly. 

“Y’know,” you awkwardly laugh. “It would be nice if you responded. I just told you something important to me. I mean,” your anxiety makes you backtrack with a very fake laugh, eyes glancing to the side. He hadn’t moved; was just staring at the space ahead of him. “It’s obviously none of your business,” you wave a small hand, being sly in your word choice. “But I want to be transparent with you about everything going on, especially with how I don’t know if you see color or not. It’s a disadvantage on my part and I—”

“I see color.” Is the monotone, dead response.

I know that. 

“Oh. Good,” you try to smile shakily, hand jerking as it hangs at your side with a low simmer of a pounding pulse. A shimmer of excitement runs through your spine. “That’s good, Nikto, I’m glad that you do. So, if you don’t mind me asking, who’s your s—”

A low growl. “I do not want to.” 

Tension overtakes the small area and your wide eyes stare unabashedly in shock. All eagerness utterly ceases to exist. 

“Excuse me?” You push out your utter confusion, shoulders moving higher.

Surely he didn’t mean he doesn’t want the gift of seeing color. 

No one would ever say something like that. Ever. Even those who’ve gone through Soulmate Psychosis have never stated they didn't want to see the shades and hues of the leaves—the sky or the earth. How the clouds looked when the sun was getting low. Purples and blues, colors you’d only ever be able to try and understand knowing that it would be impossible.

And what did this mean for you? You’d been banking off a confession, but this wasn’t the kind you’d expected.

“It is useless to me,” Nikto avoids your gaze. “Неуместный.”

“I have to disagree,” you stutter, slightly shifting your body to tilt his way. The crafted plan in your head is thrown to the wind. “Nikto, we’re talking about color here. Soulmates. The…the person you’re supposed to be destined to be with—how can you say that? Don’t you remember how the world looked when it was all black and white?”

A low snarl echoes, pale eyes jerking your way as a head snaps. 

“Достаточно!” You suck in a fast breath as the elevator dings, both of you arriving at the ground floor, doors rolling back to the open lobby. “We do not need you speaking to us on such things.” Nikto moves forward, your nose almost bumping into his chestpiece as the scent of rotten wood infects you. Your body takes down a swift breath, head snapping up to watch. “You know nothing!” His face is right above yours, looming, nearly bending your spine over. “Spoiled girl with pretty face—thinks she knows what she wants, yes?” The Russian scoffs, speaking low as your hands clench at the assumption. “Keep this to yourself.”

He turns and stalks away with a hostile grunt, leaving you blankly staring at where his face used to be, the image of his Kevlar mask burning in the back of your mind. A knife of hurt gradually takes place between your ribs, breeding until your lungs are ruthless in its clutch. 

This wasn’t what you had expected.

Nikto glares at Isaak, who had watched with wide eyes and a loose jaw, and not moments later, the doorman quickly averts his gaze to stare at nothing on his desk. The Russian’s pulse is roaring inside of his breast, mind troubled. 

Brain damage. Can’t see color. 

Halfway to the parked car, Nikto’s mind returns to him and he slams his fast feet to a stop. Blinking, as if something in him had changed at that moment, a second of confusion leaked into his hidden expression as he said nothing. Waiting. 

At the small, hesitant movement of shaky feet coming closer, his shoulders slowly tense. 

You come up behind Nikto and shift past, taking the car door in your hand and opening it. Moving inside, you close the barrier to the chilled outside morning with a definitive slam. Darkness, for a moment, enshrouds you. 

Face unyielding and pulled with guilt, you get a small queasiness in your stomach as the seconds pass in the vehicle. 

Maybe you’d been too forward, but Nikto’s response had been…well, explosive. And his comments about color? Who in their right mind would say that? 

“That makes no sense,” you whisper, hand coming up and rubbing at the scar on the back of your head. The one you dreamed would disappear in the small hours of the night as a teenager, remembering the beep of hospital machines and the plastic taste of the tube shoved down your throat. 

Doesn’t want to see color? Your mouth sucks down a shaky breath. I’d trade anything for only three seconds.

The world outside of the windows is gray as Nikto pops the driver's side door open, bending low with a grunt before sitting into the seat. He doesn’t apologize as he shoves the keys into the ignition—starting the engine. The car rumbles to life. 

Maybe you’d been too forward.

“You think?” You whisper to yourself under your breath, tearing your eyes away from the Russian man, grabbing and clicking in your seatbelt. 

Socially, you had grace—were used to carrying it to those horrible parties and events. But talking about more personal matters was another thing entirely from work-life. From designer clothes and when they came out, shoes, and makeup. Sex and alcohol. Everyone at AMA speaks with vanity, and you were included. You knew you were beautiful, you’d been told and retold with every pluck from your eyebrows and spread of lipstick over your mouth; ruthless petting like a cat or a doll—there was never any doubt about that. 

You could speak beauty, but you can’t speak about real love. Call you hopeless, but that was really all you ever wanted. 

Love. Romance. Care and concern. It was addictive to you in every sense—and you just kept coming back for a hit of what you couldn’t have. You’d warned yourself after Yefim, but it hadn’t even taken a month before you had found another man to fixate on; the body of the previous stuck still in your nightmares.

But there was that sliver of something in your gut every time you stared at Nikto; something that didn’t add up. You weren’t deterred—weren’t put off. There was something deeper there that you just had to get to the bottom of first. 

There had to be something he wasn’t telling you about why he can see color.

“If I upset you,” you ease out, tongue like lead and your eyes stuck outside the moving vehicle. Your hands tighten over your seatbelt in small intervals, for a moment mute of what to say. “I’m sorry, Nikto. I was just curious, I won’t pry into your personal matters again; you have my word. Just like talking about your mask.” 

“Good,” Nikto’s hands flex over the wheel. It’s all he says, and even then it’s curt. 

Small-like, you mutter, “Also…thanks for breakfast.”

It had been a small and incredibly healthy—buckwheat porridge. You’d eaten the entire thing with fruit on top and never even glanced at the yogurt in your fridge. The man’s eyes had been sneaking glances the entire time you had brought the spoon back to your mouth, but you weren’t sure if it was to make sure you were liking it, or if you were eating in general. 

It was his job to hover, though. 

Nikto doesn’t respond to your thanks, but his shoulders slightly loosen a bit, eyes blinking from the view of the mirror. 

With a sigh, you keep your mouth shut and sit in silence for the rest of the ride, pulling at loose threads from your jacket pocket. Your fingers tap something firm from the inside, and you pause, blinking down at the dark fabric. 

Your brows furrow, but whatever’s inside will have to wait, because Nikto pulls up to the sidewalk and parks the car with a huff. Like before, he opens your door when he’s outside. 

“Your investigators will come for any package,” he explains as you shuffle and stand, fixing the collar of your coat and glancing his way. It’s like he hadn’t just snapped at you minutes ago—that numb sheet was over his head once more. “You will not take them.”

There seems to be a moment where he waits for confirmation, raising a brow into the cold air that you can only partially see. 

You clear your throat and look away down the street. 

“Sure,” you say. 

…Had he really called me spoiled?

Nikto glares at you, jaw clenching under his mask. He looks you up and down quickly without moving his head, skin tight and scars pulling. Your words in the elevator had… aggravated him, even if he can’t pinpoint why. 

You were messing with his head—and that is an already very broken thing. Yet…your questions weren’t pointless. He knew you’d ask them sooner or later, like a fox to a trap, it was only a matter of time. 

He should have expected this, and while cruelty is his nature, he can’t be that to you. The Russian had snapped too violently in the lobby, and it wasn’t your fault. Even with moments of relative calm, he knew that to be fact. But Nikto was a brooding creature—he picked only between missions and guns to be his avatars. Emotions were a loser’s game, and he would not lose at anything so long as he was living. Nikto was a bloody victor holding the remnants of a fresh kill. Nikto was as much a bear as the one printed on his back.

Pale eyes close, a low snarl stuck in the back of his throat. 

You blink at the arm that gets held out to you. 

“Grab it,” the man doesn’t give away anything; his eyes are ahead and his voice is low like your ability to understand his sudden change.

Every five minutes this Russian was switching between anger and relative tolerance of you. Your brows lightly rise on your forehead, wrinkles forming on your flesh.

Your quivering hand raises and slots itself through his left arm softly, head tilting. 

“As much as I appreciate it,” you speak as he helps you up the curb with a firm pull, side-eyeing you. “I can manage. I’ll ask if I can’t.” A tentative smile. “Last-minute mascara is most of what I trust you with besides the food.”

“There will be less of the former in our future.” He grunts as you shut the door behind you. “We have no plans to do such things.”

“You said that about cooking,” you tease, falling back into seamless flirting, trying to get the man who had cooked you supper back into his skin. “I didn’t know you’d be such an attentive roommate.”

Those light orbs stay pinned to you for a long moment, twisting in like a knife with only a glint in the circles of his blackened pupils. 

There’s a click of the car locking, and the Russian is all but dragging you forward. Chuckling under your breath, you follow as well as you’re able through the front, feet only stumbling for a moment before you can lean your weight to the side and rely on Nikto to keep you straight. It helps, you admit, though he’s a bit more stiff than Aly.  

Your hand rests on his bicep, fingers moving to spread over the hard material and sensing the sinews of his flesh writhe at the action. Nikto huffs under his breath, rolling his shoulders to dispel tension.

Your scent is wafting into his nose like he’d put his head into a tank of ambrosia—your perfume addling his senses, shaming him like a venomous snake being held by a dove.

By an angel. 

“Останови это.” 

You blink and turn to him, humming. “What was that, Nikto?”

The man is tense again, eyes snapping about as he pushes at the front door to AMA, your own nerves becoming apparent, yet, having your distraction here to pull you away from that. 

“Nothing,” he monotones. “Where are we going.”

“Upstairs,” you sigh, walking past the front desk as the women look on in confusion when you don’t stop by. They hadn’t expected you to come in, apparently. It was your job. As you pass pictures and paintings in the hallways, you slowly begin to speak. 

“What color is that one,” your finger points to the frame on the far left. It was a dark shade that moved into a lighter one—Ombré.

Nikto’s feet slow, his attention moving from ahead of you to the side for a fast flash. Gruffly, and feeling his chest tighten at the sensation of you freely touching him above the corrupted flesh, he responds in a clipped fashion. “Blue and Green.”

You hum lowly. “Light blue?”

“Нет. Light green to dark blue.” 

“Oh.” You tilt your head at it as you pass, peeking over your shoulder.  It wasn’t like you could really understand that, but…a small smile pulled at your lips as you turned back forward.

Nikto blinks at it from the corner of his vision, narrowing his eyelids momentarily like a wolf. 

“... We do not understand the fascination with it,” he grumbles. “Color.”

“I don’t want to upset you,” your head shakes. “We don’t have to talk about it—”

“I do not like losing my temper at pointless discussion.” You’re interrupted, and you feel your lips part not at the behavior, but the tone at which he takes. A strange firmness that bleeds into conviction. “It was an…error in my judgments.”

It’s only when you steer him lightly to the right hallway to the elevator that your lips move into a smirk, leaning into him even more. Nikto’s eyes flash with surprise, darting down. 

“Was that an apology, Big Guy?”

“No,” he scowls under his mask, but his body is gaining heat to it. “An observation of character.”

“I think you just apologized to me and don’t know how to admit it,” you move your face close to his just as he had to you in the penthouse, nose brushing the canvas of the lower half of his face covering. You hear his breath hitch, his large frame going still and yet not pulling away. Your matching feet continue to move. 

He seems to lean closer, even, or was that just a trick of the light? 

Your lips release a chuckle, your face begins to burn and your veins pump oxytocin that Aly would be intrigued to learn about. 

You pull back after a bit too much staring into his eyes, saying breathlessly, “I’m more flattered that you think I’m pretty, Nikto.”

His large sigh is all you hear, hand releasing his arm for a moment to push the elevator’s button to the top floor of the building, chuckling under your breath. 

Nikto grumbles but responds with nothing more than a twitch of his fingers when your heat leaves him, motioning his arm again when you come back over. The sudden lapse in your pressured fingers made his spine straighten.

Kliment Fedorov’s office floor is large—very large. It takes up the entire top of the building and his influence seeps down to the very bottom like blackened oil. You’d been here before, as well as seen it from video calls, and while you could have talked to your manager about the gap in your schedule, the fact was that the man was quitting on you. 

Dead birds in plastic bags were a bit too much.

It left you only able to go to the top for any clarification until a new manager could be hired. 

“When we’re in there,” you comment to Nikto, hand going back to touch him. The Russian blinks slowly, fighting how his body wants to sag. “It’s probably best if you don’t speak, okay?” 

Pale eyes narrow, head tilting to the side.

You sigh at the movement, placating him with an explanation. “It’s not that I don’t trust your judgment, but Mr. Fedorov is,” your voice trails off. “He’s very lofty if you get what I mean.”

“Lofty?” Nikto prompts as the elevator continues to move upwards. He seems confused by the word in English. 

Your free hand raises and gestures vaguely before you twist your lips and end on a simple, “Arrogant.” 

“Ah, да,” the large man utters. “I am not a stranger to such, yes?” 

It’s strange how the two of you can just slip past the small arguments that pop up—or, more of the one-sided breaking points and the prodding comments. His words didn’t bother you, and that was different; if your mother had snapped like that, it would be a different story entirely even if you, ultimately, would have let it pass like the rest. 

“Do you really think I’m spoiled?” 

But you did tend to linger on things. 

Before there’s an answer from Nikto, who grunts under his breath, the main door opens with a small ding. Sharing a glance, you shake your head with a quirk of your lips and walk out with a tiny pull at his arm. 

You lean and whisper, “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

Nikto doesn’t like how his heart constricts like there’s a vice around it—eyes snapping back. He holds back a flinch.

From there it’s checking in with the secretary and being waved in by her hand, already talking to someone else on the phone and typing away on her computer. You hum under your breath, and Nikto feels your hand jerk. He glances over as the doors get closer, calmed down at least for now. 

“You are worried.”

“Only a little,” you mutter, brushing down your jacket, feeling that bulge of something in the pocket. 

“Do not be.” The masked man looks forward after studying the layout of the floor—where the emergency exit was and the most efficient places to take cover. 

Easy for you to say, you huff. Nikto had a very stiff way of comforting people. 

And then you’re knocking on the door, and a voice is telling you both to enter.

—

“Lovely Seraph!” The CEO’s bald head is as shiny as you remember it, and those fly-like eyes are beady enough to make it seem like they move through you instead of at you. “Welcome, come, sit!” 

A hand is waved from behind a large mahogany desk, a round face nodding quickly as you smile although it’s not entirely real.

“Mr. Fedorov,” your voice is light and airy—a fake tone of elegance. It comes easily. “It’s so good to see you again. I hope everything is well?”

“Ah,” he laughs, Nikto helping to guide you along even if the room is sparsely decorated beyond potted plants and a large rug. “It is going well, my dear. Very well.” 

Eyes slip down your body, past your modest clothes. Something moves behind Fedorov’s expression, shifting. Nikto is a firm brick beside you, only letting you leave when the chair is in front of you. You slide him a thankful glance and slip away, grasping the side of the seat and moving into it with little trouble. 

“My dear, I hadn’t expected to see you in last year’s collection.” You blink, eyes darting down to stare at the shirt you wear—it isn’t anything fancy or eye-catching. But it was expensive. 

“Oh,” stuttering a moment, you try to play off a suddenly tight laugh. “M-my apologies, Sir. It must have slipped my mind this morning—”

“I will send the newest to you, don’t fret,” Fedorov smirks. “We can’t have one of our best ladies wearing rags.” 

A spike of anger levels itself at your throat like a knife, and Nikto, who had moved like a shadow to stand at the far wall with his hands behind his back, feels his pupils constrict. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you clear your throat lightly, looking to your guard quickly. “I don’t need any more presents, Sir, I promise.”

“Nonsense.” Kliment dismisses you, splaying his hands from where they rest on the desk. “You’ll enjoy them. Very nice collection this year. My gift to you for your success here.” You shrivel in at his next comment. “Your last photoshoot was…just exquisite, my Dear. Those white tones look heavenly on you.” 

Swallowing down saliva slowly, you shift your thighs and let your arms circle your waist, feeling naked as gray eyes move your frame. 

But you can’t say anything. 

“Thank you, Sir,” you push out tinily. Nikto’s temper flares from across the room, eyes sparking up in a deep display of rage. He goes to take a step forward, not even knowing what he’s going to do, but, as if sensing this, your eyes snap over and you level him with a mute command. 

Nikto’s boots still, the heel only half raised. 

You twitch your head in a fraction of a shake, and he’s settling back to the wall with a glare and a hard clench to his hands. A growl is trapped in his esophagus, and you’re surprised that Kliment hasn’t gone up in flames because of it. 

“Of course!” Fedorov laughs. “I personally arranged your schedule. I know what’s best, hm?” 

“I was here to ask about that, actually,” you try to move the subject on, feeling dirty as Nikto silently fumes. “The gap starting in two days? I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure what that meant and I wanted to come in personally and ask.”

Fedorov’s expression sours, scowling. “Those investigators. Messing with my work—won’t let you come in, Seraph, see. Horrible people think we can’t put up with silly little boxes and mail.”

You shakily take an inhalation and chuckle, lips twisting down and eyes dead still. 

Silly little boxes. What would he do if he got a box full of dead birds or a bomb? Then again, he never would—he’d have someone else open it for him.

The CEO continues with his hand moving to grab papers from his side, sliding them to you slowly as you look down at the material with curious eyes, seeing shiny gray signatures and large looping words. The realization is as rapid as a knife to the neck.

Party invitations.

Your heart drops, bones like steel inside of your flesh. The room is suddenly far too small.

Not this again. Fuck no, not this. 

“I took the liberty of confirming your attendance since you can no longer be here all the time—you’ll be doing,” fly-eyes glint. “... crowdfunding, if you will. You remember what to do. You used to be our best seller for investments.” 

“Sir…I,” you fight the bile in your throat, the world swirling. Not again. I tried so hard to get out of it. Fedorov doesn’t care.

“It will also get you out of the main city spotlight!” He smiles. “I’ve emailed you the bookings and hotels—clothes to be sent.” Arrogant lines on his face. “The dresses.”

Fedorov smiles as you stare blankly, lips slightly parted; your fingers curl in to try and stop the shaking. 

“But!” You flinch at the loud exclamation, and this time, Nikto does take a step forward, hand brushing his Beretta without your knowledge. “That’s all I have for you today. The two days you have to yourself to pack and get ready, yes?”

What could you say to this?

You can’t say you won’t do it—you’d be out of a job and out of a stable income. Your mother would only say it was your fault, and that would be the extent of her help; with the stalker…you had to admit being away was the best, but doing parties again…

It made you want to shrivel up and die.

“If that’s what you think is best, Sir.” Fedorov shakes his head, chuckling and sending a layered smile that peels his skin. 

“I do. I know what the company needs—and what it needs is you, my lovely Seraph. Our angel from the heavens,” he smirks vilely. “Sending us down precious money instead of bread. You’ll do well away from the building for a while. Let things cool down, you see.” 

And thus it’s settled with a meaningful look and a passage of papers, your quivering hands taking them up, not missing this time, and trying not to strangle them in your palm. 

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper, not at all thankful. Your mind already runs to times and dates—small talk and comments about your ailments. The explosion and the stalker are going to be hot topics. You would be mobbed. 

But that was exactly what the man wanted. 

“Quickly now, go home,” Fedorov motions. “Be safe—remember to limit your food, Seraph.” A glance is sent to your stomach. “Have you been following your diet?”

“We need to leave,” Nikto speaks up in a sharp bark. “Сейчас.” 

You see the CEO look over quickly as if forgetting someone else was here when looking at you. His face moves into a hard sneer at the sight of the large man. 

“And who is this?” 

“Nikto,” you explain quickly. “He’s my—”

“Yes, Girl, I know who he is.” Kliment’s voice is low. “Keep him on a tighter leash. Dismissed.” 

You nearly stumble when getting out of the chair. 

A hand grabs at the small of your back, pushing you forward quickly, though not unkindly. Nikto’s face is rigid under his mask, lines hard and eyes narrowed. Over his shoulder, he throws a heated glance at the man at the desk, but all he does is smirk like a crocodile. If he were any lesser, he’d have no problem getting into Kliment’s face—Nikto knew the man would pose no challenge to him, he couldn’t even shine a light. 

“Nikto,” you utter, putting a hand to his side. 

The Russian re-focuses, attention returning. 

Your feet skid, shoes slipping at the force he guides you along until you’re back out the door and walking back to the secretary. “Slow down.”

Immediately, Nikto’s hands leave you, and you come to a swift stop with a deep breath in your mouth. Hands out, you shake them for a moment and try to calm your heart. 

“Thank you,” you say under your breath, hand moving to rub the back of your skull. “You, uh,” trying to lighten the suffocating air, you blink at his chest. “But I told you not to speak.”

“What was that?” He growls. “You let people speak like that to you?” 

“It’s not that serious.” It wasn’t anything he could change. “He’s arrogant, I told you.”

“He’s—”

“Why do you care,” you stare at him, suddenly defensive. “It’s my job—just like yours, I can’t lose it.”

Pale eyes sizzle. “That is different.”

You laugh despite yourself. “It’s really not.” Shaking your head, you brush past him slowly, gaining back your senses. “Even if I want it to be, this is all I’ve got going for me.”

Shadows walk beside you, keeping a close eye as the secretary doesn’t look up from her work as you both pass. “It is causing you to be stalked, Whelp. It is not sane to stay.”

You’re silent at that, taking Nikto’s tactic of steel lips and a dead stare ahead. 

Beauty was all you had. He could never understand that.

“We have two days.” Uttering in the elevator, you sigh. “Even if I don’t like it—it’ll get us away from AMA. That’s the most important part, and one that even I can’t argue with.”

You don’t want to go to the parties. Not even an ounce of you was eager for it. For what was expected. 

Nikto’s hands go to grasp the top of his vest’s collar, hanging as he thinks. The Russian can’t snap at you for that, it was true. Getting away was good, but it meant he had to memorize more floor plans and re-learn routines. No matter, he could adapt if it came to that. 

He hums to himself, blinking. 

“Very well. That I agree with.” Nikto pauses. “But I do not like that man. Like…” he snarls, “bald snake.”

A shocked snort exits you, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. Silence settles for a bit between you two as you process everything. Your teeth bite at your lip, leaning toward him delicately.

“...I was thinking frog.”

Nikto’s eyes spark, looking down at you from behind the black smudge of his sockets. 

“That is better.” He comments. “Да. Frog.” You both lock eyes and you feel your lips pull in a small smile, your face losing a sliver of that fear that moves in your DNA as of late. The truth comes out as vulnerability.

“...Do you think it’ll work?” Your question makes him stare, head tilting. 

“What?”

“Leaving.” The elevator nears the ground floor. “Do you think it’ll stop him?”

Nikto had said he would never lie to you. 

“I do not know,” he speaks slowly, feet shuffling as his shoulders roll. “Do you?”

“I don’t know if I need to worry about the stalker more,” you chuff without any amusement, “or the parties I have to go to.”

Curiosity moves in his pale orbs, swirling at your confession to him. Nikto stores it for later, humming as the door opens and he moves—sticking out an arm that you easily loop with your own. 

He walks slower, now, lips open as he hesitates for a moment. As your face is far away, expression open to the world, the Russian eases out, “I do not think you are spoiled, yes? I should not have said such things about your character. Do not apologize to me for it.” 

“Everyone loves apologies, Nikto,” you joke even as your heart swells—heat coming up your neck. “It’s human nature to believe you’re not in the wrong. There’s no need to—”

“I do not like when you apologize. So do not.” He walks you forward. “Stand your ground. Speak freely.” 

“That usually hurts people’s feelings,” you state in an utterance. 

It’s a good while before Nikto answers you, and when he does you glance over to find his eyes already looking at you—but the makeup is wrong, it isn’t as dead as they always seem to be. 

They were nearly soft if that was even possible. Hidden behind a half-lidded layer of darkness. You blink, feet almost stumbling as you lean into his arm. 

Tell me, your mind begs this beast. This monster who never shows a sliver of his face—who holds scars more numerous than you can even imagine. You don’t even know why you want him, and that scares you. Tell me I’m yours. 

“Then those people are not worthy if they can not handle the truth,” Nikto grumbles, shifting his head away. 

The connection is broken.

You focus on the way you hold his arm as you both walk past the front desk, taking the weight and heat of it in little by little until you have to hold back a shiver. Even stretching your fingers, you couldn’t grab around the entire thing—much like it would be fruitless to try with his thighs. Even his waist would be difficult. 

So consumed in the thoughts of Nikto, slowly taking you over, you both walk past the front desk swiftly. 

Only when you see the flash of a square object do you begin to slow—Nikto was having none of it.

“Do not.” His arm shifts out of yours, and you startle before his limb loops your waist, nearly stapling you to his side. 

“I didn’t even move to it,” you huff, looking up at him, frown over your lips. 

“You were thinking it,” he grumbles, pale eyes sliding like water over your face. “Stay.”

“Woof, woof,” you sarcastically utter. 

You can feel the tension in him—in you. 

And then you push open the front door, and the box is left on the counter without another glance.

TAGS:

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[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XX

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Mentions of injuries, marriage, and... Huh, that's it.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX

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

“Did you know [name] rejected a marriage proposal from the Zen'in?”

Satoru almost spat out the tea he was drinking upon hearing Ieiri’s words. Then he did his best to put on his nicest smile.

“And I thought you didn’t like cracking jokes, Shoko.” He laughed, but in reality, he could not find it funny.

“I wish I were joking,” she said taking her own cup to her lips.

Seriously, it’s not funny.

Why the Zen'in? Who among the Zen'in? Who was idiotic enough to…?

“I’m not sure of who exactly or why. All I gathered is mostly gossip,” Shoko went on, not allowing any more questions to form in Satoru’s mind. “But what I do know is that the rejection was not taken kindly.”

Of course, a rejection would not have been taken kindly by them, but it still puzzled Gojo, and by the look his friend had on her face, Shoko felt the same way. Was it even allowed to reject anyone from the Zen'in?

You did not come from a renowned sorcerers’ clan, for that reason you probably had no one who would fiercely push you into an arranged marriage, but it was also why it did not make sense that anyone related to the Zen'in had taken a special interest in you, someone who virtually had not a strong presence in the jujutsu world.

“When?” Satoru asked.

“Weeks ago, maybe more,” his companion stated.

Maybe around the time they started coming back with more wounds than explanations.

That led Shoko to the second half of her theory. Whoever you had made angry, had enough connections to keep stepping on your heels while you were out completing missions.

Shoko started digging into it after the last time you had come to her back from a battle. Your injuries had been bizarre for the simple routine mission you had told her you were going on that night, and after seeing the report of your mission, she noticed the curse you had fought had been misclassified. “That happens sometimes, it’s unfortunate it happened to them,” Ijichi had said, unaware that those misfortunes had been happening a lot with the missions assigned to you as of lately, as Shoko herself realized after looking at all reports from your missions of the last couple of months.

It could be someone from the higher-ups, but if I told that to Gojo, he might just go and kill them all.

Ieiri took a look at him. Judging by the thin line on his lips, he was in deep thought. Contrary to what Shoko had been expecting, she had surprised him, at least as much as one could surprise Gojo Satoru.

You did not tell him that either, huh, [name]?

“Don't think much of it,” Shoko said in an attempt to pull Gojo back to Earth, "[name] did not tell me anything, but if someone is holding a grudge and trying to do a number on them, I think...”

“I won’t let it happen,” Satoru’s voice sounded definitive. "I won't let anything happen to them."

I hope so, Shoko thought.

***

“Honey, I’m home!” Satoru cheerfully exclaimed upon crossing the door to your apartment.

You rolled your eyes in the kitchen. He had been doing that almost every evening when he came to visit you after work, and such visits had not been scarce either.

At this rate, the neighbors are really going to think he is living here.

“That smells good,” Satoru whispered in your ear, one of his arms already wrapping around your waist.

“You are just looking for a free meal.” You laughed and looked at him. “Why don’t you set the table?”

He nodded and was quick to leave your side to do as requested.

As you sat to eat together, you could not help but smile at how domestic it felt to have Satoru dinning with you any other night, even if he would sometimes leave for work or to sleep at his own place, it felt as if he was installing himself in your life more intimately.

You both talked about your day, your students, and overall, what you would be up to the following day. However, Satoru had left out his conversation with Shoko form earlier. As much as he wanted to know the details of what happened with the Zen'ins and ask why you had not said a word to him about it, he did not want to push for an explanation yet.

Maybe you had been coerced into not talking about it, or maybe you were trying to keep everything still given that the child Satoru (often with your help) was kind of looking after was also related to the Zen'in clan, and that had created discord between them and the Gojo families in the past.

The more Satoru thought about it, the more it appeared to him that the Zen'ins were trying to bug him with the idea of a marriage. He had always considered you family after all, and of course he would never allow his family to fall into a Zen'in’s claws.

***

It was unfair.

It was unfair how good Satoru looked after a shower.

He had taken a quick shower after dinner and changed into the spare clothes he kept at your place.

You were sitting in the living room trying to watch TV, but the man that had just walked in and taken his seat next to you was distracting.

“Like what you see?” he asked without looking at you as he browsed the channels on your TV.

When had he grabbed the remote? And why had you not realized you were staring at him?

“I… Don’t be ridiculous.” You turned your reddened face away from him and stood up. “I’m taking a shower.”

Satoru smiled as he watched you march away. He knew he was good-looking as a fact, but what he truly enjoyed was having that effect on you. It was only fair in his opinion; after all, you had the same effect on him.

Satoru looked at the screen in front of him but did not feel like watching anything, so he turned it off and walked to your room.

He heard the water running when he passed by the bathroom door, and he assumed you were still in there, so he went right to your bed. He sat down and that was when he noticed the drawer of your bedside table had not been closed properly.

He had no intention of snooping, but the cover of the book inside caught his eye, so he took it.

Pride and Prejudice.

Satoru observed it. It was a used copy but in pretty good shaped. His first thought was that you must have obtained it from a secondhand store.

Why would they put the book in the drawer and not on the shelf with the rest of their collection, though?

Satoru knew you read a little bit of everything, but he did not know you were a fan of romance, let alone of Austen, but he would not have teased you for it... Or maybe just a little.

He opened the book on the first page and the hand-written dedication under the novel’s name seemed to answer his question as it read:

"My affections and wishes are unchanged." – I.H.

Satoru immediately knew whom those initials belonged to.

He closed the book and threw it back into your drawer as fast as if it had burned him.

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

Note: This part was initially going to be longer, but at some point, it got divided into two parts. Oh, well... I should get a breather for a couple weeks now that the semester is over, so hopefully I can upload that not too far away in the future.

Thanks for reading!

Next: Part XXI

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski @rosellerinfrost @catowru @bi-narystars

[atopvisenyashill]

king bran

so i’ve lined up my theory on how bran will be king in harrenhal but i was a little lax on details about king bran foreshadowing. there’s the “bran in harrenhal” stuff i’ve outlined which includes-

bran’s connection to the weirwoods & the magical connection the isle of faces has

the whent connection

bran being a metaphorical heir to robb by ruling over the lands robb was born, fought, and died in

the importance of harrenhal as a symbol of both the wasteful excess and hope for the future

but why king bran specifically? well…

ATTEMPTED SLAYING BY THE KINGSLAYER

for one thing, bran is our introduction to the entire series (barring the prologue, rip to 3 icons). he introduces us to the brutality of this world, to the themes of justice, kingship, leadership, to the Others, and to magic. that very important lesson about how the person to pass judgement must swing the sword, and must be sure that the life they're taking is one that deserves to be taken? That comes to us not through Jon, or even Arya, but Bran:

Yet our way is the older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.

That last sentence in particular is a belief that really sticks in all the kids heads as they go about their journeys, and it is through Bran that we learn it.

But in his second chapter, Bran also introduces us to jaime, cersei, and the main plot twist of the first book which kick starts the war of five kings. before he's pushed from the tower, this is all we know about Jaime-

He’s blonde, he’s named Jaime, and he killed the king.

Then the first thing he does is attempt to slay Bran.

AEGON VI AND THE PISSWATER PRINCE

What’s most interesting to me regarding King Bran foreshadowing is that the story of how Bran survives the sack of Winterfell is very similar to Varys & Illyrio’s story of the pisswater prince. Here is Tyrion’s summary of it-

"And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne…

and some reminders about Bran, helpfully color coded-

It was not Bran we killed. It was not Rickon. They were only miller's sons, from the mill by the Acorn Water. "I had to have two heads, else they would have mocked me… laughed at me..."

Three times he had sworn to keep the secret; once to Bran himself, once to that strange boy Jojen Reed, and last of all to Coldhands. "The world believes the boy is dead," his rescuer had said as they parted. "Let his bones lie undisturbed. We want no seekers coming after us. Swear it, Samwell of the Night's Watch. Swear it for the life you owe me."

“Hodor must stay with Bran, to be his legs," the wildling woman said briskly. "I will take Rickon with me." “We'll go with Bran," said Jojen Reed. "Aye, I thought you might," said Osha.

Another interesting thing about Bran, the Reeds, and Aegon VI here-

“He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire."

I swear it by earth and water," said the boy in green. "I swear it by bronze and iron," his sister said. "We swear it by ice and fire," they finished together.

BRAN, THE REEDS, AND THE FISHER KING

Now first of all, quick rundown with more color coding. The Fisher King is a character in Arthurian legend, involved in a story with Perceval and the Holy Grail (so you know we’re already cooking here bc Holy Grail stories are baller). The Fisher King is the last in a long line of kings tasked with guarding the Holy Grail. He is injured at some point, usually in the groin, and is rendered barren by the wound, and his land is a barren wasteland where nothing will grow because he is connected to the land. Only when a prophesied hero comes seeking him will the Fisher King be healed. Perceval, of course, comes seeking him, heals him, and gets the Holy Grail.

Now some of the beats of that story should sound familiar-

Thousands and thousands of years ago, Brandon the Builder had raised Winterfell, and some said the Wall. Bran knew the story, but it had never been his favorite. Maybe one of the other Brandons had liked that story. Sometimes Nan would talk to him as if he were her Brandon, the baby she had nursed all those years ago, and sometimes she confused him with his uncle Brandon, who was killed by the Mad King before Bran was even born. She had lived so long, Mother had told him once, that all the Brandon Starks had become one person in her head.

He was going to be a knight," Arya was saying now. "A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?" "No," Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. "Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king's council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother's Faith and become the High Septon." But he will never run beside his wolf again, he thought with a sadness too deep for words, or lie with a woman, or hold his own son in his arms.

The stone is strong, Bran told himself, the roots of the trees go deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me, he thought. I'm not dead either.

What was he now? Only Bran the broken boy, Brandon of House Stark, prince of a lost kingdom, lord of a burned castle, heir to ruins. He had thought the three-eyed crow would be a sorcerer, a wise old wizard who could fix his legs, but that was some stupid child's dream, he realized now. 

No," said the pale lord. "That is beyond my powers." Bran's eyes filled with tears. We came such a long way. The chamber echoed to the sound of the black river. "You will never walk again, Bran," the pale lips promised, "but you will fly."

Now what’s interesting is in twoiaf we learn about some ancient rulers called the Fisher Queens-

From such we know of the Fisher Queens, who ruled the lands adjoining the Silver Sea—the great inland sea at the heart of the grasslands—from a floating palace that made its way endlessly around its shores.

The Fisher Queens were wise and benevolent and favored of the gods, we are told, and kings and lords and wise men sought the floating palace for their counsel.

And what do you know look at who Bran is traveling with-

“My father taught me. We have no knights at Greywater. No master-at-arms, and no maester.” “Who keeps your ravens?” She smiled. “Ravens can’t find Greywater Watch, no more than our enemies can.” “Why not?” “Because it moves,” she told him.

Jojen Reed was thirteen, only four years older than Bran. Jojen wasn't much bigger either, no more than two inches or maybe three, but he had a solemn way of talking that made him seem older and wiser than he really was. At Winterfell, Old Nan had dubbed him "little grandfather."

When they died, they went into the wood, into leaf and limb and root, and the trees remembered. All their songs and spells, their histories and prayers, everything they knew about this world. Maesters will tell you that the weirwoods are sacred to the old gods. The singers believe they are the old gods. When singers die they become part of that godhood.

I like to say this about Theon, when he sees Bran's face in the weirwood and thinks, "The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name." that this is partially true - Theon is beloved by the gods but what he doesn't realize is that the old god he is beloved by is in fact Bran Stark. When the old gods weep for Theon and Jeyne, it is Bran weeping for them! So similarly, the way the Fisher Queens in their moving castle were thought to be beloved by the gods the Reeds in their floating castle are beloved by the gods because they are beloved by Bran. This reinforces Bran's connection to the Fisher King imo - just as the old greenseers and singers/cotf are quite literally connected to the land because they have become part of the the weirwood hivemind, Bran has this same connection to the land.

AND what’s more is that the Fisher King story is likely to trace itself back to a Welsh story, of a magical King who gives his sister's hand away, only to learn that she is being mistreated, and musters a host to go save her. During a battle, the King is mortally wounded by an injury in his foot, and as he dies he tells his men to cut off his head and take it to London so he can protect their people from invasion, and for several years after he "dies" his head continues speaking. If that also sounds familair, do you want to know what that man’s name was?

Bran the Blessed.

MELISANDRE'S VISION

Now staying in the realm of magic, we also have this very interesting passage from Melisandre, emphasis mine-

Show me Stannis, Lord, she prayed. Show me your king, your instrument. Visions danced before her, gold and scarlet, flickering, forming and melting and dissolving into one another, shapes strange and terrifying and seductive. She saw the eyeless faces again, staring out at her from sockets weeping blood. Then the towers by the sea, crumbling as the dark tide came sweeping over them, rising from the depths. Shadows in the shape of skulls, skulls that turned to mist, bodies locked together in lust, writhing and rolling and clawing. Through curtains of fire great winged shadows wheeled against a hard blue sky. A face took shape within the hearth. Stannis? she thought, for just a moment … but no, these were not his features. A wooden face, corpse white. Was this the enemy? A thousand red eyes floated in the rising flames. He sees me. Beside him, a boy with a wolf's face threw back his head and howled.

THE REGENCY OF AEGON III

So warning this is part parallelism and part prediction

The Dance of the Dragons was done, and the melancholy reign of King Aegon III Targaryen had begun.

As he was still but ten years of age, the new king’s first act was to name the men who would protect and defend him, and rule for him until he came of age.

This was a council of which Septon Eustace heartily approved, “six strong men and one wise woman, seven to rule us here on earth as the Seven Above rule all men from their heaven.” Mushroom was less impressed. “Seven regents were six too many,” he said. “Pity our poor king.” Despite the fool’s misgivings, most observers seemed to feel that the reign of King Aegon III had begun on a hopeful note.

So many lords, both great and small, had perished during the Dance of the Dragons that the Citadel rightly names this time the Winter of the Widows. Never before or since in the history of the Seven Kingdoms have so many women wielded so much power, ruling in the place of their slain husbands, brothers, and fathers, for sons in swaddling clothes or still on the teat.

The smallfolk of the Seven Kingdoms speak of King Aegon III Targaryen as Aegon the Unlucky, Aegon the Unhappy, and (most often) the Dragonbane, when they remember him at all. All these names are apt. Grand Maester Munkun, who served him for a good part of his reign, calls him the Broken King, which fits him even better. Of all the men ever to sit the Iron Throne, he remains perhaps the most enigmatic: a shadowy monarch who said little and did less, and lived a life steeped in grief and melancholy.

There is also a big focus on the “tax policies” aspect of the story through these two child rulers. Much of Aegon’s regency centers around him butting heads with his guardians while Bran’s ACOK arc sees him as the ruling Stark in Winterfell and learning how to lead with mentors in Maester Luwin & Ser Rodrik Cassell. EYE also think it’s interesting how both Aegon & Bran get some focus on having a lil gaggle of companions around. Aegon has Gaemon, Jaehaera, Viserys, Daenaera, and Larra Rogare, while Bran has the Big Walder, Little Walder, Rickon, Jojen, and Meera. They both feel like very similar groups of kids that are thrown together & running amok with adult supervision that is more lax/not coming from their parents.

There's also just like, a lot of parallels between Baela, Rhaena, Jacaerys, and Aegon with Arya, Sansa, Jon Snow, and Bran. There are several good breakdowns of the Sansa/Arya parallels as well as the Jace/Jon Snow ones, so I won't dig into that here, but I think when you put all this together what you have between Bran and Aegon III is-

Two boy kings who will have a long regency

Both orphaned due to a brutal succession war

Both referred to as "broken" - aegon by munkin, and bran referring to himself

Younger - but not the youngest - brother coming into his seat after his older brother is killed

Both have names that are important in their families & frequently re-used - and in fact both share a name with their uncle

A very rare "winter of widows" where most of the houses are ruled by women due to all the men being dead and their heirs being babies is coming up in the main series

This anti parallel of Aegon being a very melancholy person & Bran being known to be “quick to laugh and easy to love.”

As for his relationships, we have-

His bastard born brother With Some Secret Paternity Going On, who is likely not going to be in the running for King at the end of the war (hopefully um, Jon Snow actually lives unlike poor Jacaerys)

His oldest brother dying at 16 during the war

One sister who is more adventurous and "tomboy"ish, who is associated with ships and travel

Another sister who is more ladylike, who has a largely political arc in the Vale

Both sisters are likely to take leading roles as political players in the aftermath of the war - I do suspect we will get some sort of “Hour of the Wolf” parallels here, just before or after Bran is crowned

SOME CHOICE QUOTES TO LEAVE OFF ON

Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know. - Bran II, AGOT

Ahead he glimpsed a pale white trunk that could only be a weirwood, crowned with a head of dark red leaves. - Jon VII, ADWD

[theaceace]

I know that canonically (show-wise, at least) St Hilarion's worked to cover up Charles' death, and nothing was ever really done about the disappearance of Edwin and the other boys, but even so, do you think the school has a reputation for being haunted??

I'm imagining Niko following various ghost-hunter groups online, especially when the agency doesn't have many cases going on, and occasionally the boys will mirror hop over to an interesting-sounding location, and they'll even get a real case as a result

So when she tells them that one of the teams is planning to investigate St Hilarion's (either it's been closed for a while or they have special permission to go during the summer holidays), Edwin and Charles steel themselves and decide to go, in case there are other ghosts there that need help ('can't imagine a worse place to be trapped for the rest of my afterlife' says Charles, who has been to literal hell. Edwin, who spent 70 years in literal hell, agrees)

So they go, with Niko and Crystal as moral/emotional support, except when they get there they realise they've fucked up and are there on the same day/night as the ghost hunters. They could come back some other time, but what if there really are ghosts here that are suffering? No one wants to take that chance, so Crystal uses her powers to convince them that she and Niko are there for work experience, or are friends of a friend, or are here to replace one of the tech guys who called in sick

Both Charles and Edwin are tense and uncomfortable returning to the place they died - Edwin had gone there after he escaped Hell because he didn't know where else to go, but they've built themselves a home now with the agency. This isn't like before, when it was the closest place to familiar he could find. Charles, meanwhile, feels colder and colder the longer they're there - his hair is wet, there are bruises flaring and spreading, and a faint rattle in his chest that would have become pneumonia if he'd lived long enough

But they need to be sure there aren't any other lost ghosts stuck here that need their help crossing over, so they keep going

(maybe, as a consequence of a door to hell being opened in the school, there are unusual happenings, maybe there's still a place where the line between earth and hell is very thin, maybe there's some fragment of a demon left behind, and they can do something about it)

Anyway, the most important thing is that Charles, either accidentally or in a fit of pique at the whole situation, knocks something over just as one of the paranormal investigators is asking for spirits to make their presence known. In fact, this happens repeatedly - the boys move things, change things around, their presence is detected somehow with the equipment. Crystal and Niko are doing their best to distract the team and ruin as much of the footage as possible, and at least once the boys do something on purpose, maybe because someone is being a creep to the girls (and yes, they both know that Crystal and Niko are more than capable of taking care of themselves, but this way scares the asshole more and is also funnier), and then also to fuck with their readings

Anyway, it's coming to the end of the night, the problem has been identified, and whaddaya knows, of course it's in the attic where they both died. This is fine, why wouldn't it be fine. They get started, draw some (invisible, ghostly) runes and start working their magic when, of course, the paranormal investigators turn up, because this is thought to be the most 'active' area of the school, and the body of a schoolboy was found here in the 80s

Yeah, they try to contact 'any of the boys who disappeared in 1916' and Charles. It would be fine if they weren't so irritatingly loud, Edwin's trying to concentrate, and Charles is now shivering and dripping wet, but they managed to ignore the team right up until they start speculating that Charles was killed by one of the angry spirits from 1916

At which point, Charles - half visible, clearly enraged, looking very much like the half-drowned and frozen kid he was, like a proper ghost - tells them to fuck off already before they get hurt, they don't understand anything, and how dare they give a shit now when it's too late

Which is, of course, the exact moment Edwin finishes the spell, and causes some sort of a magical rebound that fritzes the cameras for a second, throws furniture around, and knocks them all flying. When the cameras start up again, they catch Edwin kneeling by Charles, holding his hand, and softly telling him that it's ok, it's over, they can go now. Charles sniffs and smiles and knocks their foreheads together and says yeah, let's get out of here, and together they fade from view

The investigators think this means gay love can pierce the veil of death and save the day that now that the truth of their story is known the ghosts have moved on, and it's all thanks to them! How beautiful, how wonderful, how affirming! Perhaps one of the boys from 1916 tried to help Charles, and when that didn't work, they both stayed to try and protect other people from these violent spirits, and now their unfinished business is finished! It's so tragic and touching story

Charles and Edwin, who are putting their tools back in the backpack, roll their eyes and smile at each other

On the way out, Charles swipes the memory cards from the cameras, Edwin inscribes a couple of sneaky runes on various pieces of equipment to fuck with it, and Crystal uses her powers to make sure they all remember a couple of details differently, so later they won't be able to agree on a bunch of stuff

The episode they were trying to make can't be released, their social media posts about the experience are full of details that don't match up, and fans are bitterly disappointed

Crystal and Niko watch the footage Charles stole with Jenny and the Night Nurse back at the agency. Jenny turns it into a drinking game. Charles does a dramatic reading of the posts with added commentary while Edwin pretends he's not laughing. They buy t-shirts of the paranormal investigators and wear them ironically. They leave anonymous comments

Just. The dead boy detectives having to work around ghost hunters, in a world where ghosts definitely, tangibly exist

[rubyvhs]

remedy (vi) — sam winchester

> prev, masterlist

summary: just when you thought things were getting easy between you and sam — tags: underage!reader, 22 year old!sam, med student!fem!reader, cursing.

“Why do you have so many nicknames for me?” Sam looks up from his book with a frown, still comprehending your question, and you can’t blame him, it came out nowhere. 

It’s only been a few days but you’ve spent the night with each other, though to be fair you’re both mostly studying. You figured it’s a good way to keep him next to you instead of Lily and you’ve always loved study dates. But it hasn’t all been so easy— Jess doesn’t approve of freakin’ Sam Winchester, like, who else would you approve of if not this man? 

In other news, Sam has been shutting you down everytime you brought Dean up and you don’t want to push him so he’s been getting away with it even though you can clearly see how bad it’s eating at him. 

“What?”

“Nicknames. You use lots of them.”

“Such as? Sweetheart?” He has to know how sensual it is when he says it. He has to.

“You use lots of other ones too. Why?”

“I don’t know, I want to see what fits you and what you like, I guess. Do they bother you?” You raise an eyebrow at him and it might as well have been you calling him a fucking idiot. Hate them? You’ve never been so flustered in your life from one person but every single word out of his mouth makes you want to lean in and kiss him. Which you can technically do.

“Was just wondering.”

“Well, which one do you like best?” He questions with a smirk, he knows how unnerved you get. You’ve gotten plenty of nicknames from other people, but most of them are just your own name twisted around, this is something that’s reserved for… lovers, you guess. Couples? Whatever.

“All of ‘em. They all sound good coming from you.” He raises an eyebrow in question and you shrug, sitting down on the bed next to him, “maybe I like some more than the others. Just a little, though, but I want you to call me whatever you like.”

“Tell me which ones.” It’s the way he doesn’t hesitate that makes you speak up even when everything in your body is begging you not to. 

“You know which ones,” it’s a little bit teasing, mostly nerves, but you move closer to him. It seems to be the only position you’re willing to kiss him in, with you on his lap. You really should try to change it up. 

“If you don’t tell me which ones I’m gonna have to start calling you honey-pie.” You gasp, a hand on your chest in offense.

“You fucking wouldn’t! Sam, I think I’d actually throw you out.”

“Of my apartment?” You nod absolutely. “Sure you would, baby.” Okay, that’s the one. The one that makes your heart flutter and eyes fall to his lips and makes things jump inside of you. It’s sweet and hot and so so possessive. 

“Whatever.” It seemed to be your usual ‘conversation ender’ around Sam. “Anyway, I’m done with studying. Bored. And done.”

“Which one?”

“Bored.” He nods and puts his book on the nightstand, some old classic he’s reading for a literature class, not that you understand why on earth he would increase the work-load on himself, but he does. He loves it apparently, and this one was free, too, so. When he’s done you’re immediately straddling him, smiling down at him and enjoying the fact that this is the only time you’re taller than him.

“What are you doing?” He asks teasingly. You’re about to answer when it hits you all at once. Does he think this is sexual? Surely not, you’ve done it a thousand times (a couple) and you’ve only ever made out. But it is ten at night. Still, so what?

You’re about to shake your head when you feel his lips on yours, unrushed and perfect. The way he’s been doing every time you get in your own head. When he pulls away, you’re chasing after him, basically, “Never anything you don’t want, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, though it comes out a little like a whine, then push him against the headboard again, your lips on his. Sam sucks on your bottom lip, making you squeeze your eyes shut in a silent moan that he swallows.

And then. You’re grinding against Sam, involuntarily. You’ve never done it, never felt like this, never felt so—

“Sam— Sam, wait,” He lets out a small laugh as you push him away. You’re sure your hair’s not obedient at this point and you’re only slightly sweating and off balance, but that’s the least of your worries.

“You want me to wait? You’re the one moving.” He says fairly, lazy and relaxed. It’s a long way from how he panicked everytime you pulled away only a week ago, which is heartwarming considering you’ve also gotten better at holding yourself back. Everything is easier now, less strained. Okay maybe it’s just the making out, everything else is still new and unknown to you.

“I know, I know, just— I’m scared…” 

“Hey, come on, I wouldn’t do anything you don’t—”

“That’s not it. I just don’t wanna do it, you know, wrong.” He shakes his head swiftly, sitting up.

“We’ve been doing this for a week and you haven’t messed up once, what makes you think now’s any different. You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He steals the breath from your lungs— not enough to make your worries disappear though.

“Sam,” you pull away, a little breathless, “I didn’t mean, kissing or whatever, I meant. The whole way.”

His eyes widen dramatically, leaning down to whisper, sarcasm lacing his words, “you mean sex?” Like it’s a secret and you roll your eyes, slapping his shoulder.

“Asshole.” 

He uses your arm to bring you back in for a kiss, “we already said we’d wait.”

“I don’t know, Sam, there’s been lots of waiting happening, don’t you think?” Even if you’re right (which you are) Sam’s staying true to his word. He said it would happen when it was the right time, when you’re comfortable enough not to be insecure about it (though that’s probably never so…), and when you’re sure it’s something you want to give to him. 

Which— seriously? Longest list ever. 

He’s about to remind you of his boring list again when— yeah, that’s a window opening. The one in the living room. Okay. This is okay. No big deal, Sam’s here and he probably knows what to do in cases like these… right? 

When you look over at him, he’s already carrying you off his lap to get out of bed, shushing you with his finger over his lips silently before opening the door, looking outside. This is some movie—level type shit, right here, you’re not dying because he’s deciding to take it slow.

“Sam—” He shushes you, sternly this time, with the glare and everything. Which freakin’ terrifies you because up till now you were only overreacting in your head, but very calm on the outside, now you’re shaking on the outside too.

He departs the room so you’re alone with a possible killer in the— “Dean!” 

Oh thank God. 

You let out a breath you were very much holding for dear life before stashing your phone (your finger was on the emergency contact), and opening the door as wide as it goes to greet Dean. Except you get Sammy on the floor, a snappy remark from Dean you can’t hear, then they switch sides.

“Guys… should I leave?” You hesitate, frowning at the pair. Dean look up at you then fucking winks. Sam’s never scrambled off his brother so fast, you’d guess. They’re both off the floor quick, Sam helping Dean to his feet before he saunters to you, that same smirk from the first time glued to his (pretty) face.

“Hey, sweet—”

“Why are you here, Dean.” Sam asks loudly. States loudly? It’s not quiet, that’s for sure.

Dean clicks his tongue with a look that says, ‘I’ll come back to you’, before turning around. He does something, another expression Sam gets with no words and shakes his head, but ultimately nods. 

Great. Another silent conversation you’re not apart of. This is getting real good— “Hey,” Sam steps over to you, a hand on your lower back as he leads you back to his room.

Anyone else think this is getting real fucking repetitive?

“Sam, what’s going on?”

“I’m leaving. With Dean, tonight.” 

Sam’s room is the exact same from when you two were having your moment, lights turned down low the way you like it, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so romantic. Neither does his docile tone. 

“I don’t want to stop seeing you anymore.”

“Beautiful, every part of you.”

“I want to be with you.”

And the best liar’s award goes to… 

“Hey, baby,” You give him a look, one that screams ‘are you on fucking drugs right now’, and he shakes his head. “Not— just till next week. I’ll be back before next week, I promise.” Oh. 

“You said if you leave you wouldn’t come back.”

“I thought that would be the case but,” he leans closer, his dimples, oh-so-beautiful, with that smile, eyes glinting, “I have something to come back to.”

And you’d be deceiving yourself if you say that it doesn’t calm your heartbeat to hear it. You don’t want to be easy, you want to stand your ground, and tell him there’s no way— but wouldn’t you be as bad as Dean, then? Not letting him do what he craves? Whether it’s law, or being a good brother/son, who are you to dictate that for him? All you have is to be there for him through it.

“And— and we’ll keep in contact?” He agrees feverently, his hands landing on your hips to draw you in. 

“No way I’m going to stay for that long and not call you. You said you trust me, right?” 

“Right.”

“So trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” He pinched your hips and you let out a yelp, he made sure to capture the moment by stealing a kiss, deepening it immediately. Like he doesn’t want to keep telling you how he feels through words, they’re too little, too underwhelming, not enough to explain what he feels for you. 

And you hope, with everything that you fucking are, that that’s what that kiss meant.

When you disconnect, his eyes, if nothing else, serenade you. And you’re sitting on his bed watching him pack with such little disdain, it’s comforting. Even when him and Dean drive you home in the impala, even when you kiss one last perfect time with his promise of next week you’re still composed.

Even when you tell Jess.

“He— what?” She shrieks, her arms crossing in front of her chest. She’s not even angry at him for leaving you. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“He’s coming back, jess—”

“Yeah well I come back after every summer vacation, still tell everyone I love them before taking off.”

You shrug, partly agreeing with her but honestly? The fact that you got to kiss him seconds before he took off is enough for you to forgive anything else he’s ever done. Except Gen jumps into the conversation, holding up her phone, reading out loud his ‘hey, Gen, I’m out of town for a few days, love you.’

And Jess is freakin’ seething, it’s actually kind of funny. Gen is rapidly regretting her decision to share with the class and is soothing her girlfriend when you get another text. Thankfully your phone’s on silent so it doesn’t alert both girls, but you feel it vibrate and open the message.

Sam: hey.

Sam: Did you tell Gen and Jess?

You: yeah, why?

Sam: because I don’t wanna tell Jess.

Sam: I can imagine how funny she’s being right now that I said bye to the both of you but not her.

Sam: don’t want her to worry though.

You: asshole.

You: in an affectionate way.

Sam: I’ll text you later, baby.

Maybe he should leave more often if he’ll be this tender and caring with you. You take that back. Because you’d still be on his damn bed talking, kissing, maybe even going a little further if Dean fucking Winchester hadn’t interrupted you. 

You were talking about something really important, just for him to, what? Break in! Like a lunatic, no less. But you’ve gotten over it already, new problems, new overthinking material. 

You’re thankful for the nights with jess and gen, considering you haven’t been close with them these past few days, always with Sam, sleeping over at his, which is surprisingly easy considering you lock yourself in a room of your own after spending half the night on his bed talking or studying. 

But thankful, nonetheless. You needed some alone time. And when you wake up Sam sends you a text, just good morning and when you respond it doesn’t go further than that, you don’t mind. You’re glad to know he’s alive everyday till he decides to come back home. Which is why when he calls two days later, you on your stomach with some assignments in front of you, you answer like he’ll hang up in a second if you don’t. 

“Sam Winchester. Who would’ve thought, you do know how to use a phone!” It’s a tease, he’s honestly been incredible with keeping you updated, but it’s good to know he meant it when he said he’ll call.

“How’s our favorite doctor?”

“How’s our hotshot lawyer?”

“Good. Better now that I’m talking to you.” He says, exhaling like he just sat down on his bed and you let out a laugh.

“Stupidest thing you’ve ever said. Hands down.”

“Oh, shut up, you love it.” You do. “How’s school?”

“Fine. Jess said you’re missing important classes. How’s Lily taking it, her partner up and leaving?” He doesn’t answer, just groans like she’s been making his life miserable, though you wouldn’t know. Okay maybe you’re a little bitter about him leaving.

“She’s texting non stop, but I get it— just wish she’d believe that I’m out of town. She probably knocked on my apartment door I swear to God.”

“Gen would’ve known.”

“She’s staying at the apartment?” He questions, and you hear— Dean. Dean is in the background, shouting something about a… woman called Constance. And you’re muted. Great. “Sorry,” he says over the static after a long thirty seconds. “Gen, why’s she not over at yours?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t wanna leave the apartment empty, I guess. Jess is over at yours more often than not, though, if that makes you feel any better.”

“So you’re alone.” You shrug, then remember the obvious, and mumble something about studying. This whole call has been dull the second he spoke. There’s something going on, and it has nothing to do with Gen or Jess or the apartment.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” Everytime sam takes a pause before he answers, or say ‘baby’ in that low voice, full of so much emotion, or shakes his head before he’s even spoke a word, your heart drops for a second. First it was age, then experience, then leaving and now— God, whatever this is. The only reason you’re not always assured with sam is because you have to hold your breath in anticipation when he open his mouth.

“It’s nothing, I’m just— this case is taking longer than I thought.” 

They’re called cases, now? What has America come to? “Okay, what’s wrong with that? Is it like… too infected?” 

He stutters and it forces you to shut your eyes in agony, just stop. Just stop and say what you mean or you might actually throw the phone.

“Yeah, something like that— I gotta stay for another week.” You huff out a breath, sitting up immediately, another week? 

“It’s only been two days! How could you possibly know you’ll need to stay another two weeks?” If your voice is slightly raised, it isn’t because you mean for it to be. In fact, you’re trying with everything in your soul to breathe before you speak but he’s making it so difficult. You feel like you’re being… played or— something is going on and it sucks. 

“Look it’s connected to another state and we’re—.”

“You’re what? The only exterminators in the country? Sam what the fuck kind of exterminators are that important, huh?” Suddenly, you're no longer concerned about the volume of your voice, “I swear to god, I just— just give me something, anything, sam! Tell me something I can believe. You promised it'll only be a week.”

He says your name like it’ll stop you from lashing out, and you can just imagine him with his head in his hands over the edge of the bed, or sprawled out on it, a palm pressing into his forehead. Either way he’s stressed and any other day you would’ve tried to be there for him, he’s your friend above all else, but he’s lying to you. “I can’t just— it’s a family thing, okay?”

You scoff, already feeling the tear running down your cheek. Whatever. Fine. You weren’t naive enough to think you’re close enough to be considered anything other than his girlfriend, if you were even that. You’ve never had sex, you’ve only been dating for a week, known each other for a month. You know what? Maybe this is going a little too fast. Maybe this is just—

“No, no, stop it. Please. This isn’t it, okay? We can have fights without ending it, right? Right?” 

Right. He’s right. He should be right.

Is he right?

“Tell me the truth.”

“I… am. Kind of. We’re not exterminators for the bugs type of thing— more like bears and other wild animals. Wolves.” So. Much. More. Believable. 

You’re in Med school for fucks sake, does he think you got there with your good looks? He can’t be for real. “That’s a lie.”

“It isn’t, I swear.”

“Your promise, your swearing, whatever, doesn’t mean that much right now, Sam.” Even with how mad you are, you know that’s not true, he’s always been true to his word, and you get that this was out of his hands, he can’t help it if there’s an extension of the ‘case’. But it’s as low as you can go. “Whatever. You hunt bears, where’s your dad?”

“He’s, I don’t know.” The way he says it, so heavy with exhaustion and worry, even you can tell it’s as truest raw as it can get. “Me and Dean are looking everywhere. He left us this thing, his journal—”

“Journal?”

“He’s old school. Wrote where he’d be next in it, we just want to find him, then I’ll come back, I have to finish the year.”

“Yeah. And your LSATS. They’re in one month starting tomorrow.” 

“Yeah… I know.” And for some reason, you feel like a dick for being so assertive. Sam doesn’t sound like himself at all, and sure a part of it was probably from him lying to you, but you can still sense there’s something else. You’re done asking for tonight, though, he doesn’t need questions, he needs comfort. You get that, more than anyone. But one last thing—

“Why the hell would you lie to me about something like that, Sam?” Your question isn't accusatory like most of the conversation was, it’s lighter, and seems to flow between you and Sam easier. 

“Didn’t want you to worry. What me and Dean do is dangerous, and we kind of seek out these things to hunt them down— only if they’ve hurt someone.” That’s sweet, no matter how moronic it is. His intentions never were malicious, with you or other people.

“Right. That’s petrifyingly risky.” 

“Petri—” He chuckles, “Yeah, Shakespeare, what else?”

You scoff affectionately, “Not the point. Just… honesty, okay? That’s all we have, it’s all I ask.” 

You can feel him nodding, and you can feel yourself mirror his actions. You’re not even— you’ve only known him for a month and somehow he’s the only man you’ve ever seen yourself have a future with. How? How does he do this to you? Hypnotize you and pull you in, while still being your safety net. It’s comfortable, it’s passionate and God you’re so into him. 

“Yeah, baby, honest. Tell me about your day.” If the grin on your face means anything it’s that you’ve never felt like this before, and you might never again with another man.

Sam: morning.

You: hey, how are you?

‘Mornings’ never usually open up to conversations, just a way of reassurance, but it’s been a couple of days since you’ve last called each other and you’re life’s pretty tame right now, why not initiate the conversation?

Sam: hey, i’m okay, what about you? 

You: I’m fine, just studying.

Sam: oh, want me to leave you for a bit?

You: no, no, I’m done already. 

You: I wanna talk to you.

You: when are you free?

He usually opts to call at night, between ten and twelve before he has to go to sleep and it’s usually just half an hour, maybe an hour if he’s not too tired. He doesn’t say much about Dean or his Dad but at least you get some of him.

Sam: I can call you tonight.

You: okay, stay safe.

Sam: you too.

But then ‘tonight’ comes and it’s as silent as it was the night before, except last night you didn’t have a promise of a call. And you’re not even mad, you’re just worried— not worried enough to throw your dignity to the floor and call or text him yourself— but still pretty worried. 

It’s only eleven, maybe he’ll call later? 

He won’t. He doesn’t. But he texts good morning. The next damn day there’s a ‘good morning’ text right under your previous texts making plans to call.

So, like the petty person you are, because that is one trait you are not afraid to let shine, you don’t text back. You have classes all day, anyways, and it’s the last day before the long weekend, so it’s busy enough as it is without having to talk to Sam. Which you don’t have to worry about because he doesn’t want to talk to you anyways.

Except when he decides to talk to you. Except when he decides to text you at ten at night two days later, after not getting a response from you;

Sam: can we talk?

part seven: all my habits came back around.

title: it’s ok, I’m ok by tate mcrae — (baby, don’t get it twisted)

can you tell I wouldn’t die in a horror movie with her finger on the emergency contact? one thing about me is I will not write a horror movie bitch no matter what the plot is, she will be calling the police/her mum the second there’s a sound‼️‼️

I’ll make a master list for remedy since I think there 2 chapters left maybe. this one is pretty cute to prepare you for the next one which is just angst at its finest. THEN THE LAST CHAPTER WHAT. okay I won’t get too excited since I’m not sure when I’ll be posting them yet but I hope you enjoyed this.

and I’ll fix the format for the rest of the chapters so that they’re like this one since this is the one I decided on. If u wanna be tagged comment or send me a message!!

tag list:

@angzls @chxrrybomb22 @pinkpantheris @ang3ldool @iloveragdollcats 

@oohjana18294 @user-2538484747490203746579403 @wattpaduser200 @s0urw00lf @ashlynyyyyy

@strabarrybat @anu-piyakya97 @tranquilitybasegrunge

[kasagia]

Dancing with the devil VI

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!royal! reader Summary: Paul Atreides returns from the dead and you must once again consider whether it is really worth it to follow the path he offers you. You also analyze your feelings towards a certain Harkonnen. And you are afraid of what you might conclude from them. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART V ~•♤♤♤•~ PART VII ~•♤♤♤•~

"So the Harkonnens attacked your family on Arrakis, and you... you're the only survivor? And you came here on a smuggler's ship with some Fremen who believe that you are their messiah who is to provide them with a better life, freedom and independence?" You make sure, summarising everything Paul has told you over the past few hours.

"In a nutshell." He confirms and nods at you. You watch him carefully. His complexion isn't as porcelain as it used to be. He's more tanned, has a few wrinkles, and his eyes… you can see from them that he's been through a lot.

"Amazing." You sigh, sending him an incredulous look.

"And you ended up engaged to Feyd?" He asks carefully, poking at the stones with a stick. He doesn't meet your gaze. You don't know why, for fear of reading something in your eyes, or of realizing that he's been gone so long, that things have changed so much when he was away.

"In a nutshell." You nod, swallowing as reality hits you with the words he says. You really were engaged to Feyd. And was about do become his wife. FOR REAL.

"Not so amazing... or is it?" He asks carefully and stares at you uncertainly.

"Of course not!" You snort, shaking your head at his absurd question. "I would never… not with HIM. Not after what they did to you and your family, Paul. You're… one of my oldest and dearest friends. You're all I have left." You say and garb his hand in a strong grip.

Paul lifts his eyes to meet with yours. You stare at each other for a moment, and he turns his attention to absentmindedly drawing circles on the back of your hand. He lowers his head and shifts his thoughtful gaze to the ring on your finger.

"Well... I remember times when you wished to be his wife."

"It was... a long time ago. Very long." You say, swallowing hard and unconsciously digging your nails into his palm. Paul doesn't make a sound, he just gently repositions your hand so you don't dig your nails into his anymore.

"You never told me what happened. I mean... I suspect a few things, especially since you and Irulan stopped being so friendly and start to passionately hate each other..."

"I... don't like to talk about it. I never told anyone about what happened then." You sigh, remembering what happened reluctantly. But if you were to confide in anyone, it could only be Paul.

So you start your story.

Caladan had never felt so... cold before. Once it was one of your favourite places on earth. Now as you walked the halls of the palace, you feared for the future the Bene Gesserit witches, the Atreides, your parents, the Emperor, and the Harkonnens had planned for you Caladan isn't anymore such... stunning.

You didn't want to marry Paul. Not when your heart had long since been stolen and molded by someone else entirely.

"Practicing the art of stealth?" The raspy voice right next to your ear sent shivers down your spine. Your body involuntarily tenses as Feyd wraps his arms around you from behind and drags you into one of the palace's side passages. You wonder how the hell he even knows about it, since he's barely been here in the first place. "You were avoiding me, my deadly sweetness. Why?"

"I wasn't." You answer with a sort of confidence, but Feyd knows you perfectly well. He knows you're lying. You don't even know why you bothered to tell him a lie.

"Is it because of the Atreides? I can kill them, the Baron plans to break the peace treaty between us soon anyway."

"Feyd!" You hiss at him and punch him in the arm, giving him a reproachful look. You look around, making sure no one has heard you or will, and continue without looking at him, because you feel like the moment your eyes meet his you'll break down in his arms. And then Feyd would kill hundreds, if not thousands. "No. It's not them. Partially. And I don't want to get you in more trouble than you already are. It took your uncle a long time to get over you killing one of the nobles who… wanted too much from me. And I know, I know. He deserved it, I'm not questioning that, just the way you handled it, but we've talked about this before. Back to the main topic. Yes, I've been avoiding you because I… I… I just don't want to make it harder if they decide to… marry me off to Paul."

The silience that comes after your confession is killing you. You imagined in your head a variety of scenarios. In the worst of them, you are losing him completely.

You wonder if it wouldn't be better for all of you. After all, you and he had always been from different worlds, connected only by one small event in your past that made you care about each other. Eventually, you had to grow up and face reality. You didn't belong together. You never did.

And yet, despite the odds, despite all reason… you had developed true feelings for the young Harkonnen. Your mother would kill you if she knew how vulnerable you had allowed yourself to be towards a man. Not to mention that that man was Na-Barony, heir to Giedi Prime.

You are torn from your dark thoughts by his rough hand, which gently cups your cheek. You hold your breath as he leans towards you, his nose brushing against yours, his forehead resting against yours as he inhales the same air as you. Your heart beats like crazy as you think that he might kiss you, but to your great disappointment, he doesn't. He looks into your eyes, as if he wants to convince himself that you mean anything but leaving him.

"The only prophecy that I accept is that you are supposed to be mine." A soft growl leaves his chapped lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his other hand shaking uncontrollably as the thought of never again being as close to you as he wanted it to be crosses his mind. He couldn't let you go. He wouldn't let you go.

If necessary, Feyd would burn Caladan to ashes, slaughter House Atreides and Corrino, and his own, if it meant he finally got what he truly desired. Someone's willing company, closeness, affection. He was too addicted to your softness to let you go completely. He was too drunk on the sweetness of your scent and innocence to let anyone desecrate it. He was too addicted to you to let anyone rip you from his arms.

"So what are you gonna do? You can't just claim me." You say, swallowing hard. The tension between you grows, the heat from his chest somehow seeping through his black armor, his musky scent mixed with a hint of smoke and metal overwhelming you.

"Can't I?"

Your heart beats faster at his question. The fact that he was practically asking for your permission made your head spin. How easy it would be for him to just give himself over to you. How easy it would be to just let him snatch you away and claim you as his in front of the world. But you knew the consequences. You knew how much he would pay for this. And the last thing you wanted was to cause him more pain and suffering than he had already experienced.

"You know it is not that easy."

"It is that easy. All you had to do is say yes."

"They won't let us do that." You shake your head as if that would dissuade him from that stupid idea. Although… you can't say you're not tempted to just run away with him, far away from here...

"I'm not asking their permission, I'm asking yours. Respect that. I could as well take you here and now. Take you to a ship to Arrakis and make sure we don't return to court without my heir in your womb."

"Thank you for your great grace and not treating me like one of your whores." You mock him and take a step to move away from him, but Feyd grabs you tightly by the arms and presses you against the wall with his body, preventing you from any form of escape.

"Don't try to argue with me. We both know you're more than that. As well as the fact that my idea captivates you as much as it captivates me."

This effectively silences you. It was true. You wanted this. Some twisted part of you did. But you knew perfectly well that you couldn't just refuse to marry Paul and decide otherwise. No matter how much you loved your prince from Lankiveil and wanted to be with him.

"Even if... even if I want it… it doesn't matter. They'll probably marry you off to Irulan. You'll be emperor and soon you'll forget about me. Those are the facts. We should stay away from each other."

You don't give him time to respond. You shrug his hands off you and run away from him. Tears gather in your eyes, but you try with all your might to keep them at bay. You run until you find yourself in the palace gardens.

Dark, black storm clouds stretch over Caladan, a cold wind blowing against your trembling figure. You kneel on the wet grass, and, not caring about the dirt on your dress, you put your hand to your mouth and let out a silent scream. The water soaks your hair and soaks into your clothes, but you don't move an inch. All you can do is cry, fooling yourself that the water running down your cheeks is rain as you bite your fist to keep from making any sound.

Paul is the one who finds you. And bless his sweet soul, he doesn't ask you any questions. He simply scoops you up in his arms and leads you back to the palace, obediently ignoring your quiet snorting. He knows exactly which corridors to lead you through so you don't have to run into any of the servants, and he returns you to the safety of your chambers with the promise that he'll be back to you soon.

In your hopelessness, you can't move, can't force a single coherent thought from your mind that doesn't involve Feyd. And with every tear that's shed, every tremble in your chest and sniffle, you realize that you don't care about anything but him. So you stand up and practically run to the secret passage in your room that connected to his guest chambers.

You wonder what you're going to tell him, how you're going to convey that you've changed your mind, that he can really do whatever he wants with you, just so long as you're his, just so long as you don't have to be apart any longer.

You couldn't; you didn't want to live like that. Not without him. Never without him. And you were terrified at first that he had such a huge influence on you, that you couldn't see your future without him, and that he was able to bring you to a state of mind where you didn't care about anything but him. But if you had to burn in his embrace to finally feel content and happy, then so be it.

But your determination falls apart when you reach his chambers. Everything falls apart.

"You never loved her, did you?" Irulan’s question rings in your ears. You hold your breath in shock, staring through a vent in the wall as she idly plays with the material of his shoulder armor.

"Y/N was… a lovely distraction."You feel his words tearing at your heart. Part of you doesn't believe what he's saying, doesn't want to believe what he's saying. But the other…

"It's quite pathetic. How fate has turned. You know, I used to think you were… a psychopath. Reckless. Dumb. But I can say that those traits fit her a little better now than they do you."

"I have to admit that I had a lot of fun breaking her and shaping her for my pleasure." You freeze in place. Completely.

He couldn't have meant it… but what if he did? What if he was really just playing with you this whole time? What if he really saw you as entertainment, someone to keep him company until he became emperor and could enjoy all the perks that entails?

"Will you have this much fun with me too?" Irulan whispers seductively against his lips, her hand falling to the back of his neck as she pulls him closer to her.

"Even more, my princess." Feyd responds with a growl, and with that, he kisses her like he kissed you not a few hours ago.

You take a few steps back in shock until you fall through the wall behind you. You put your hand to your mouth for the umpteenth time that day, stifling a cry of despair, and close your eyes, completely blocking yourself from what is happening in the room in front of you. You take a few calming breaths and retreat back to your chambers. You lock the passage carefully, making sure several times that no one will be able to get through it and sit down on your bed.

You reach over to your nightstand and pull out a sheet of paper, an inkwell, and a pen. You write, ignoring the ink staining your fingers, not noticing when Paul arrives with tea and biscuits for you, but you gorge yourself on the food like a week-starved man when the last word finally moves from your head to the page. You let him read what you’ve written, staring at him expectantly.

"Lady Whistledown?" He just asks, raising an eyebrow at you as he reaches the signature at the bottom of the page. You nod, placing your cup of tea on the bed.

Two important words from today—the day a completely new version of you was born. Whistle—from the whistle of the wind heard in the mysterious passage, which you still had in your ears when you saw Irulan and Feyd. And down. Complete collapse, the bottom you reached today and from which you promised to bounce back. If they... if he thought you were a pathetic little doll... what worse could happen to you? You couldn't make a bigger fool of yourself than you already had, wasting so much time on him.

"I want to make a difference. Something new. Something no one expects."

"Certainly no one would expect this… and especially not from Irulan. Who is this mysterious lover?" Paul asks curiously, to which you only smile mysteriously.

You take the notes you wrote in the heat of the moment from him and put on your coat to… seek advice on distributing them around the palace before dawn.

"Nobody important." You state, gathering all the confidence you could muster. You lean in and kiss him with the exact same intensity and desire Feyd had kissed Irulan with moments ago.

And though the guilt grows inside you, forming a lump in your throat, you don't break the kiss. You had to adapt to the new circumstances.

Even if the memory of Feyd's lips will always stick in the back of your mind.

"You were together then?!" Paul asks in shock, and you just nod, playing with a stick in the dying fire. "And you told him you didn't want him, and then he and Irulan…"

"You sound like you're about to start defending him."

"No. No. I… I want to understand. If you loved him… why did you run away from him and... start this Lady Whistledown thing?"

"I… I don't know why I ran. I just did. It's not like your parents and mine, the Emperor and the Baron, would let us change anything about how they arranged our futures." Paul nods. He places his hand on yours, making you look up at him.

"You know… he always seemed more human when he was around you." You barely hold back the tears, but you manage it. You nod in thanks and pull him into a hug. He tenses, but after a moment he manages to relax in your arms and hugs you back.

"Maybe it's better that we didn't get married. I guess we're better friends anyway."

"Maybe." He agrees, tightening his grip around you. You sit there for a moment, holding each other, when suddenly the stone doors of the bunker slide open.

You pull away from Paul as if burned, glancing back the way you came. You shove the torch and weapon into his hands and push him deeper into the cave.

"You need to get out of it. Use the emergency exit. We'll contact each other somehow when I get back to the palace. For now, wait in your hideout. I... I promise you they'll pay for what they did to you."

Paul looks at you with gratitude in his eyes and disappears before you can say anything. You sigh and run your hand through your hair nervously, grabbing the small dagger you carried with you everywhere. You hide in the shadows, listening carefully for the intruder's footsteps.

When you see movement in the darkness, you attack. You push the intruder against the wall and put your dagger to his neck. You freeze as your gaze meet a Feyd's blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" You hiss at him angrily and step away from him, making sure that no part of your body is touching his.

He presses some buttom on his armour, causing a small ball of light to fly out to illuminate the room. He looks around, not giving you an answer yet, as he carefully and suspiciously examines the area around him.

"I should ask you this question." He mumbles and finally turns his accusing gaze to you. You sigh and roll your eyes at him.

"Irulan?" You ask, knowing full well that only she could tell him the location of your secret hideout. "Of course. It is alwasy about her, isn't it?" You mutter to yourself and walk over to the extinguished campfire, ignoring the Harkonnen following you.

"We should come back before they notice that we disappaired." He suggests, but you completely ignore him in favour of building a fire.

He doesn't like it. That's why he suddenly rips the kindling out of your hands and kneels in front of you, putting him at your height. You pull away from him, feeling awkward having his face so close to yours.

"What for? My reputation is already ruined."

"Just because someone wrote..."

"Lady Whistledown is not someone!" You shout, turning your furious gaze back at him. The small glow of the light ball highlights the sharp lines of his jaw even more. You curse him for how disgustingly distracting he is and take a deep breath before continuing. "We both know how... society react to her paper. They will believe everything she wrote."

"Or he." He corrects you thoughtfully, to which you just snort, even more furious.

"Please. It can't be man."

There's a deep silence between you, broken only by your breathing. You try your best to keep a poker face and not give him away in any way how close you are to Lady Whistledown's true identity. But, luckily for you, he seems to be interested in something completely different.

"Why did you run away?" The question is as uncomfortable for you as if he were pestering you about Whistledown.

You swallow and look away from him, mentally reminding yourself like a mantra that it was he—his kin—who killed the Atreides. And he almost killed Paul. Paul, who, despite everything, had been a great support to you when Feyd was gone.

"Maybe that's my thing?" You say, trying with all your might to maintain your hostile attitude.

He didn't deserve anything more; hell, he didn't deserve anything you gave him. You should be thinking about how best to get rid of him, how to kill him, and how to get out of this unwanted marriage to a monster who was once the most precious person on earth to you. But all you can do is be furious at him for not being able to just love him—exactly the way you want to.

"What happened to you?" He asks, furrowing his hairless brows, accusing you of suddenly returning your hostility towards him with redoubled force.

"You! It's always you, damn it!" You scream at him angrily and punch his chest. Feyd stares at you in shock as your dam breaks and you unleash all your pent-up emotions from years past on him. "For 5 fucking years I've pined for you while you fucked your three pets! And probably a ton of other women! You're a disgusting monster who's only good at killing and destroying other people's lives! I hate the influence you have over me and my life! I hate that after everything you've done to me, Paul, and hundreds of others, you have the nerve to stand in front of me and beg for my love, for any feeling other than the disgust I should have for you and your house! I hate you! I hate you with every fiber of my being as much as I love you and it's killing me! So stop it! Stop your sick games and tell me that all of this, all of we went throught is just one of your sick plans to ruin my life! Say fucking something!!"

You are perfectly aware that you are behaving hysterically, that with every cry and hitting at him you are only sinking deeper in your pitifulness and coming off as pathetic, but you can't take it anymore. You can't stand that you love him and hate him at the same time, that you want to burn him to ashes and at the same time immerse yourself in the feeling of his strong arms around you. You are simply tired of fighting with the whole world and with yourself at the same time.

And Feyd, surprisingly, holds you through it all as you fall apart against his chest.

He gently tangles his hand in your hair and pulls you close. You rub your nose against his neck, inhaling his scent and crying quietly as he whispers soft, sweet nothings to you.

Your heart swells with love as you hate him even more for being so sweet and protective towards you.

But you don't want softness. No. Softness won't throw out all the thoughts you have, it won't make you finally feel the blog's emptiness.

So you stand on your tiptoes, digging your nails into his bald head as you pull him in for a kiss.

Feyd groans in shock at your actions. At first, he responds to your kiss instinctively, digging his fingers into your waist and pulling you close to him. Your tongues fight for dominance, and you feel your lungs burn from lack of breath. But you need more. So much more.

Your fingers themselves find their way to the buckles of his armour.

You undress him with a strange skill, and he's too focused on the feeling of your eager mouth on him to realise what you're doing. But when the pads of your soft, delicate fingers touch his skin, he wakes from the frenzy you've put him in.

He pushes you away from him. He breathes deeply, heavily, standing with his chest exposed to your hungry eyes.

"Y/N... wait..." He blurted out, not believing that the words were really leaving his mouth as much as you were. He hadn't imagined that he would be… reluctant and resistant when you initiated anything between you, but if anything, he didn't want to use you in such a state…

"I don't want to." You growl at him furious and move closer to him. Feyd groans when your mouth falls on him again and you loosen the ties of your dress.

You guide his much larger hand to your breast and knead it, making him harden in his pants at the mere touch of you. And fuck he wants more. He wants more so desperately. But he shouldn't. He shouldn't be using you like this.

“Fuck the hate for you out of me.” You demand, not beg or ask, against his mouth and slide your hands along his chest and abdomen to the button of his pants, which do nothing to hide the bulge that grows with every touch and gasp you make. "Make me forget about everything."

And Feyd is just a man, after all. A man who has given in to his desires for years and has never fought them. So after making sure that you want it too, he grabs you hard by the hips and lifts you, forcing your legs to wrap around his hips.

Feyd groans, laying you down by the fire, on stones that are still a little warm from the fire that died down. He tears the remnants of your dress from you, running his tongue along the column of your neck and to your bare breasts.

He sucks on one of your nipples, nibbling on it every now and then out of pure desire to see you howl and scream under his touch or to feel your fingers dig a little harder into his back. He needed to feel you close. He needed to know you weren't going anywhere. He could give you a reason to stay. Like he should have all those years ago.

"Feyd…" You moan softly as his fingers travel to your other breast and play with your nipple. Feyd hardens at the thought that one day, maybe, his children will be the ones to receive your beautiful breasts. And fuck, he's going to make sure of that.

He moves his mouth lower, tracing colors, a red-purple trail of hickeys across your breasts, the valley between them, your stomach, your hips, your thighs, to the place that interests him the most. He growls, nuzzling your wet core and inhaling your scent. He licks once, kittenishly, gently, just enough to get you impatient and savor you before he lunges to devour everything your sweet pussy has to offer.

Your moans and chants of pleasure make Feyd work you even harder, wanting to bring you to a sweet, blissful climax at least twice before he obediently fucks anything other than him out of you.

Feyd exactly feels the moment you're about to come. You dig your heels deeper into his back, your thighs gripping his head as if in some kind of trap, you shake under the thrill he's giving you. He looks at you and can't help but smirk possessively as he watches you, eyes closed, fall apart under his tongue, crying out of pure pleasure and relief.

He wastes no time. Feyd climbs over you, encouraged by your hands as you pull him down on top of you. He rests his forehead against yours and kisses you lazily before, with your help, he gently enters you. He stops when he sees you close your eyes and clench your teeth to keep from hissing in pain. He holds you protectively in his arms and slows your hasty movements. Ironically, he's the one who wants to slow down. He takes no pleasure in your pain and doesn't want to see you suffer. He wants to see the same look of blissful pleasure on your face from moments ago. So, to your protests, he slows down and presses his lips to your neck, sucking little raspberries as his fingers return to your swollen cunt, playing with it as he slowly conquers the deepest parts of you.

And it feels so fucking right and good. For both of you. You hold him tight, your nails digging into his abalaster skin as you draw his black blood, as he pushes himself inside you up to his balls.

You bite your lip, and he growls when he sees you trying to make the sound he has rightly earned sound. He kisses you with such fervour that you barely notice he has begun to thrust into you. His pace gradually increases until it is so fast that you don't register when he leaves you empty and when he completely fills every space in you. All you know is that you are one in this moment. You and him. And it feels so damn good. His lips mark every inch of your skin he can get to, just as your nails leave scratches on his back. You mark each other completely, as if either of you will forget what is happening between you now.

The moment you feel like you're going to fall apart you try to hold back, to come with him, but Feyd won't let you. He thrusts into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, forcing you over the edge.

The force of his thrusts increases, stimulating your orgasm as he drinks in the sight of you beneath him, overwhelmed with pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, the scream of his name, and the way you dig your wonderful nails deep into the skin of his neck make him come. Your wet walls clench around his aching length as he kisses you one last time with everything he has, wanting to make sure your swollen lips, the hickeys on your body, and the pleasant ache between your legs remind you of how perfectly you both fit together. Hoping you won't run away from him the moment you get the chance.

He clings to you like a frightened little boy, afraid that when the fog of lust lifts you will come to your senses and pull away, push him away, to declare once again your great hatred for him.

But you don't. True, you gently push him off of you and snuggle into his side, completely exhausted, both emotionally and mentally, but you don't walk away completely; you don't throw insults.

Feyd believes that it's only and exclusively because you're too tired to do so.

Without a word, he pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms tightly around you, making sure to cover you with his black paladin first. You fall asleep quite quickly in his arms, allowing him to relax a little too. Feyd places his lips on the top of your head and presses a long kiss there.

"I've never played with you, little swan. It's always been… real. The realest thing I've ever experienced." He mumbles, his heart pounding faster than ever before with his confession. Even though you’re too deeply asleep to hear him, Feyd still finds it nerve-racking to admit it out loud.

For now, he falls asleep with you in his arms, enjoying the small truce between you. He just wonders how long it will last before you decide you hate him too much to even consider touching him.

Taglist for Feyd: @avidreader73 @aleemendoza2425-blog @peggyao3

Taglist for DWTD: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran @hueanhdang @barnes70stark @forgedfromthestars

@toertche

@emzzlyy

[elsfairy]

ᥫ᭡ HOLD ME WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH ─ 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓

Violet hasn’t been able to trust herself with anyone since coming back from Stillwater. She kept to herself, and only spoke to people when she really needed to, but other than that, she avoided any type of friendship and form of romance that she could. Simply to protect her feelings, emotions, vulnerability, and trust.

When she arrived home, it was different. Of course, everything was going to be different, she’s missed out on so many things over the years from being confined in a small space to looking at the same 4 walls for such a long period of time. She didn’t have that strive in her to find the people who knew what she looked like, what she sounded like, or who loved her. She wanted to seal herself off, not let anyone in and know her, the real her again.

What was the point of trying so hard to build up that relationship with someone when people would either hate you for ‘leaving’ or for completely falling off the face of the earth?

How would she gain the trust of those who cared & loved her again?

No one tried to search for her when she left, so why should she search for that little part of the care that was still there before she was gone?

It was simple, really. She couldn’t.

Vi felt like she didn’t deserve that second chance, because she pretty much became a ghost. 

Until she spotted you the second she found herself cramming her way into the very crowded Last Drop.

To her, you were like a shining star. A star that couldn’t be brought down no matter how many rude customers you had to endure, or had to throw out. You were still fuckin’ smiling your way through your job. Had to break up a fight between two idiots arguing over something so pointless yet so big to them? She felt weak in the knees that you were still so polite and kind towards the two strangers. Wasn’t feeling the best? Vi envied how you pushed through without complaints. You were that light energy she didn’t even realize she was looking for until you had looked at her, waved her over and simply poured her a drink with a soft, gentle “on the house”

Simply & constantly believed that she didn’t think she deserved that second chance right?

You could see how.. disconnected she felt even though Zaun was is her home. Sure she would sit there and listen to you talk about what your day consisted of, and if anything exciting had happened but she wasn’t fully there. It was always like her body and brain weren’t even on the best terms because while she was there with you, it was like her soul had left and she was just.. a broken shell and had nothing going for her.

Over the weeks of getting to somewhat know the Violet you’ve heard about, you truly did realize how much she turned off at the mention of friends she once knew, or walked off at the mere mention of Powder. She didn’t wanna hear about how she let them down, nor did she want to relieve the pain she felt knowing she couldn’t protect them hard enough as so many would put it. Talking about it only made her feel shitter and want to crawl deeper into the dark pit she can never seem to fully crawl out from.

Realistically, it didn’t take her that long to open up to you, nor did it take her long to finally have her trust put into someone that she knew would keep it. Of course she was still skeptical if you were there to stay, but not having someone she could call for advice, or to just sit there and listen to her, drained her. Her social battery without being very social was killing her and to know she finally had you, someone she felt safe with to call somewhat home? That meant more to her than you’d ever know.

The time window was small, but big enough whenever she needed you. She needed you like butter needed bread. She needed you like paper needs glue. If you weren’t around, Violet would panic. Not because she felt harmed or scared of Zaun, but more or so was scared to be left alone with the thoughts only you knew about. The ones that slither in at random times of the day. Ones that crept up on her when she finally felt at peace for just a second. Your bright smile, those star shining eyes kept all of those horrendous thoughts spiralling through her mind, at a distance.

She may not have been around you for long periods of time, but she trusted you.

She might be scared to let you know of all the sacred stories she has to tell, but she believed you.

Violet believed you when you once on a cold night, whispered those 4 soft words; “I’m here for you”

That’s how one night she felt like she world was slowly closing in on her, she felt like breathing wasn’t an option because she simply couldn’t feel her heartbeat due to the feeling that all those thoughts, all the trauma, and the feeling of being alone, attacking her any given chance. Which is the same night she somehow turned up at your small apartment, drenched from the rain, teeth chattering as she just looked at you with those soft, big doe eyes, and eye bags that were darker than your usual cup of tea. It wasn’t until you heard how tired she sounded, that you could feel just how broken she felt.

“You’ve given me all this attention that I don’t think I deserve, you’ve helped me heal slowly and you’ve been there when I thought I lost everyone so I'm begging you, just for tonight… no talking, no thinking, can you just hold me instead? please i just need you to hold me.. because I’m scared I’m forgetting what being held felt like”

Right now she’s not okay, but as time goes on she will heal and you’ll be there every step of the way. Even if that means holding her every single night while she cries her heart out to you, and you’re there listening. She’ll knows she will be okay, with you by her side.

Her home.

[serpentandlily]

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny Part VI Teaser

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny Part VI Teaser

Eris x Archeron!Reader

a/n: here's a lil sneak peek at the next part of this series ^^

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

To your disappointment, when you woke up the next morning, Eris was already gone—the sheets cold on his side. You let out a sigh and got up, blinking the sleep from your eyes. It was only then you realized Willow and Ivy were fretting around the bedroom, the wardrobe doors thrown open and piles of dresses on the floor.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

Your handmaidens jumped in shock at the sound of your voice before Ivy turned to face you. “Oh, Lady, you are awake! Lord Eris requested we pack an overnight bag for you.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?” 

They both shared a glance before shrugging but they couldn’t hide the smiles on their faces. “We can only guess, my Lady, but he did not tell us anything.” 

“Did he at least tell you where he’s taking me?” You sighed but they both shake their heads.

“No,” Willow grumbled, “Which is why we’re struggling to pack. We have no idea what you’ll need.”

But Ivy just smiled brightly. “We’ll just pack a bit of everything. That way you’ll be ready for whatever it is he wants.” 

The look in her eyes told you she knew exactly what Eris wanted and your cheeks turned red. You let out a huff of air before falling back down on your pillows. 

“Oh no, Lady, you mustn’t fall asleep again. We are to escort you to the stables in an hour's time. Willow will run you a bath.” 

You let Willow help you get ready, your mind on Eris and what he had in store for you. Willow dressed you in a long burgundy gown that had a corset styled bodice that clung to your frame and a flowy chiffon skirt. Tiny roses were embroidered along the lighter side panels of the skirt. 

Luckily, it wasn’t long before your handmaidens were presenting you to your mate who was waiting for you at the stables. 

Eris was staring at you with an intensity that had your face full of color. It wasn’t until the two of you were left alone that his infamous fox-like grin spread on his face. He was dressed finely in dark brown breeches with riding boots and a tunic embroidered with small leaves along the seams. 

“Would you like your own horse this time, bunny?”

Right, you did technically know how to ride a horse now. But you shook your head. “May I ride with you?”

“Who am I to deny a lady her request?” Eris purred, extending a hand out to you. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you took it, letting him pull you close so he could lift you onto Marigold, the horse. 

He strapped the overnight bag to the horse before he lifted himself up behind you, wrapping his arms around your body to take the reins in one hand and pulling you back against his chest with his other. Your cheeks turned pink and you let out a content sigh as the warmth from his body combatted the crisp morning air. 

Marigold started her trot into the woods and it was silent for a moment before you spoke. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," Eris teased.

"I don't like surprises," you pouted.

"No?" Eris's breath tickled the tip of your ear. He moved your hair to one shoulder, granting him access to your throat. He pressed a kiss against the sensitive skin there causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Well, that's too bad, bunny. You're getting one." 

You were smiling without realizing it, so honed into the places Eris's body met yours. The morning birds were chirping, the leaves rustling in the chill autumn wind. It was enchanting. The Autumn woods were quickly becoming a sanctuary for you and your mate. You hadn't felt this happy in a long time. 

You asked Eris an endless amount of questions about the Autumn Court, his brothers and family, and his life during the horse ride to wherever he was taking you. The sun began to set, sending streaks of golden light through the openings in the leaves. It wasn’t until you saw smoke curling around the tops of the tree, that you realized you were nearing your destination. 

Soon, a small cottage nestled between the tall trees appeared. Moss and ivy clung to the outer walls, blending it into the earthy flora surrounding it. A path made of fallen leaves led towards the front door, flanked by wildflowers in various colors. The babbling of a creek met your ears as you squinting to see through the sunlight filtering in through the canopy of trees above. 

“What is this place?” You twisted your head to look up at Eris. 

“One of my personal residences,” Eris answered, staring wistfully ahead. “One few know about.” 

As you drew closer to the cottage, Eris guided Marigold to a stop. He slid off the back, keeping one hand lingering on your waist.

“And you're sharing it with me?” Another secret Eris was willingly divulging to you. He had no idea how much it meant to you. He gave you a charming grin as he helped you down. 

“There is nothing I wouldn’t share with you, bunny. What is mine is yours,” he said. He kissed the top of your head before guiding you into the cottage with a hand on your back. 

As you stepped over the threshold of the hidden cottage, the scent of aged timber and a faint hint of herbs and spices greeted you. A snap of Eris’s fingers had the wood in the fireplace coming to life. Furniture made from weathered oak and mahogany filled the room, now illuminated by the warm glow of a crackling fire in the stone hearth. A plush armchair was nestled beside the hearth, a stack of books on top of it.

In a corner of the room, a spiral staircase wound its way upwards, disappearing into the shadows above. An opening straight ahead showed a peek of a kitchen. You spun as you walked forward, taking it all in before turning back to find Eris staring at you with a small smile. 

“I come here when I need a break from my father and duties,” Eris said, surprising you once again with his candidness. “And I needed to come here today so I didn’t murder my brother for slipping that breeding tonic into your drink last night.” 

Your eyes widened. “Reid?” 

Eris nodded, his jaw clenching. “He claims he did it only to embarrass you a bit at dinner but then my mother sent you away. He says he had no idea that you’d run into those guards.” 

You rubbed your arm, looking down at the floor as the memories of last night flooded your mind. “And you believe him?” 

“I unfortunately do. That doesn’t mean he didn’t face any…consequences for his little prank,” Eris said as he walked towards you. He slipped two fingers under your chin and made you look at him. “But I want you to know, bunny, that nothing like that will ever happen to you again. Do you hear me? I will not let anything happen to you. I don’t care who I have to kill to ensure that.”

“But Eris—”

He placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. “No. No buts. I was blessed with the gift of fire and I will burn down this whole world with no remorse if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Do you understand?” You opened your mouth to rebuke his words but Eris shook his head. “I don’t want to hear any objections. They will change nothing. Just a simple yes or no, bunny. Do you understand?” 

You searched his amber eyes for something, not even knowing what you were looking for. But you knew what you found. A heavy resolve, a promise, a need to protect. And you realized in that moment that you felt all those things as well. You swallowed, audibly. 

“Yes,” you whispered. “I understand.” 

Eris grinned. “Good.”

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

[queenlucythevaliant]

the stories are true

i. Caspian’s nurse told him a story about a dwarf and a talking badger who were best friends.

ii. As Dwarf and Badger returned from a long walk through the wood, Dwarf noticed that a button has fallen from his jacket. Dwarf and Badger retraced their steps in search of the missing button, and together they found five buttons, none of which were Dwarf’s. Dwarf grew angry (as Red Dwarves are wont to do), and eventually returned home in a rage, only to discover the missing button sitting on his threshold. In apology to Badger for the afternoon wasted (and for his temper), Dwarf sewed all six buttons they had found that day onto his jacket and gave it to Badger for a gift.

iii. Caspian did not understand what a talking badger would do with a dwarf’s jacket, but such mysteries of life were best left to grown-ups, like his nurse.

iv. She told him other stories too: centaurs that had conversations with the stars. Giants that built and guarded bridges. A naiad who made a basket of reeds so perfect that it could hold the wind. They were light, almost frivolous sorts of stories: the kind that make good sense to a child.

v. When Nurse left, there were no more stories. Caspian invented his own sometimes, and whispered them to himself while he played with his toys. When his aunt caught him at it, she struck him.

vi. Doctor Cornelius's stories were not like the ones Nurse had told. They were solemn, grand tales that sounded almost like they might have really happened. In his stories, there were two kings and two queens who ruled Narnia together.

vii. Caspian imagined King Peter like a high tower, all straight lines and immovable might. He knew better now than to tell the stories where he might be overheard, but at night he whispered them to himself as he sank into sleep. King Peter, who was like a tower, went off to fight the Giants in the north. Queen Lucy and King Edmund sailed over the sea on a ship to another country. The water was blue like the sky, and it glittered. Queen Susan kept a light burning at home.

viii. Part of Caspian was afraid of not telling the stories. They were like strangers’ hands reaching out to him in darkness. He was afraid of not reaching back, of letting those strangers fall away into the pitch black night.

ix. On the castle’s highest tower, Doctor Cornelius threw back his hood and declared himself the blood of Old Narnia. The stories are true, he said.

x. All of them? Caspian wanted to ask. What about the naiad's magic basket? If dwarves were real, then why shouldn't the old Kings and Queens be real too? And if King Peter was real—if his stone-heavy feet had really trod on Narnian earth— then why shouldn't every fanciful thing he'd ever heard be just as true too? It made Caspian giddy to think.

xi. The night Caspian’s cousin was born, he fled the court with Queen Susan’s horn hanging from his saddle. It made him think of lights in windows as he rode away from the only home he’d ever known.

xii. When he woke, he found himself gazing into the faces of Dwarf and Badger from his nurse’s stories. They were arguing over what to do with him, but Caspian thought, absurdly, are you missing any buttons today?

xiii. They went about the next day, issuing invitations to the Great Council on Dancing Lawn, and Caspian put out his hand to greet centaurs and fauns, talking Mice and talking Bears. Each one of them reached back. No wonder Caspian woke the next morning half-convinced he'd been dreaming.

xiv. King Peter was real too, and there was King Edmund at his elbow. Caspian greeted them, inclining his head and saying in a voice that only trembled a very little, "Your Majesty is very welcome," and it felt like carving his name on the bones of time.

xv. And soon he knew that King Peter really was a tower, facing Miraz with the kind of stalwart might that Caspian had been imagining for years. Queen Susan was a light in the window: her horn had called them all home.

xvi. And Aslan. Aslan. Wonder of all wonders, he was real too.

xvii. Caspian said farewell to Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy, and it felt like reaching out across the planes to a world he would never see, except for a few minutes— but that wouldn't be for many years yet.

xviii. In the end, Queen Lucy and King Edmund sailed over the sea on a ship to another country. King Caspian was with them.

[seneon]

♰ ARCH!VED VI ￤ VEIL OF DEATH, GROOM¡ULQUIORRA¡!

ABOUT. in which, the warmth leaves your skin as you are to be wedded to the dead. set in corpse bride¡ au. romantic fluff. wc of 1400.

NOTES. sigh i love corpse bride i love ulquiorra i i i

marriage is a scary thing, isn't it? especially when it comes to marrying a man whom you do not have any idea his soul existed. you only knew his name— a label that speaks for his entire existence.

you're in this wedding gown, all gorgeous and dolled up in sparkles and purity. all of these fanciness just to exchange a few words of a vow that would tie your souls together for eternity until one leaves the face of the earth to unite with death.

you'd rather die than to commit your life to a man you don't even know how he looks nor do you know what he sounds like. to make your feelings solid, you don't even feel a speck of emotion towards him. love does not exist in your vocabulary. at least, love for this unknown man.

to have an unknown man press his lips onto yours doesn't sound appealing at all. if anything, you'd rather stain your pure white dress a shade of pure blood red.

well, not like it matters anymore.

when the entire church disperses in a state of panic at the missing bride, you're so far away. far away from civilization, far from the church, far from all the people who are blood-related to you. far away from your marriage and your groom.

venturing into a forest that looks rather morbid and cold, you didn't spare a second thought to seek solace in this cold place where your dress is all tattered and torn in places. there's a log that fell on the ground, and you took your seat there to bury your face in your hands.

your feet are sore, it hurts. it burns all over the soles. the white heel you wore is so aggravatingly beautiful that it could strike you as a form of beauty is pain. running in them however, is another tale.

crystal tears flowed down your cheeks to stain your makeup, a perfect compliment to this melancholically morbid forest where colours don't seem to exist here. it's all silent tears and solemn sobbing of the broken hearted.

cold fingers then reached out to graze your warm and dampened cheeks, your gaze immediately held up high to lock themselves in emerald eyes.

“why are you crying?” the man asked, his voice monotonous as if he had lost all life in them. and his face… they were so pale that they almost seemed perfect and angelic.

there's streaks of green that fall down from the corner of his eyes to cascade down his cheeks. they were like unspoken tears that have dried up, and you wondered why it's imprinted on his face.

without ever getting lost in those beautiful emerald eyes, you sniffed once, then twice, before you replied to this unknown man. “i don't want to be wedded to him.”

him who, the man with pale skin does not want to know nor will he pry into your life. all he knows is that you are a living human with a beating heart. a soul who wandered into the land of the dead while still breathing the remaining oxygen from the land of the living.

but does he want to tell you what you have gotten yourself into? there's finally a bride in front of him. you're so beautiful too, one of a kind. ulquiorra cifer is just a groom who happens to inhale the land of the dead’s air the moment he met with death on his wedding day.

he's in the same situation as you, having a refusal to marry a woman he simply did not want to marry. thus the murder he had to face in the denial of his supposed marriage.

well, it doesn't matter. ulquiorra knelt and lifted the bottom of your wedding dress just a little bit so it revealed your feet. “it must hurt, running around in these things,” ulquiorra comments, voice still lacking any tone or life in them as his long and pale slender fingers move to take off your heels for you.

“i’ve been running in them,” you whispered and wiped your tears, watching as this mysterious man took off the other side of your heels. then, his cold fingers gently massaged the parts where it is brimming with a rosy soreness.

“does it feel better now?” he asked you after a few minutes into the working magic of his cold fingers. emerald eyes shifted to look into your eyes. you nodded, feeling an odd sense of comfort washing all over you from his simple little gesture of helping you out your heels.

this mysterious man stands up just to take a seat next to you after carefully setting your heels aside. no matter how lifeless and cold as a corpse he looks, you could still feel a hint of warmth that lingers around.

“are you sad?” you asked him as your eyes scanned all over his facial expression, unsure of what chaos hides behind that stoic façade. he shook his head in response. “i do not feel sadness. all i know of is emptiness.”

“how nice... i want to be empty as you,” you gently swung your sore feet back and forth on the steady log. “i don't want to feel sad anymore.”

ulquiorra follows your gaze as you reach towards the empty night sky. the moon wasn't as bright tonight. it seemed to reciprocate your melancholia and kissed the night as dark as it could get.

“you do not want to feel empty, woman. it is not a nice thing.”

“then it's not nice for you,” your gaze shifted to rest on him. “i’m y/n. i ran away from the man whose name i’m supposed to inherit later on.”

“ulquiorra cifer.”

“how did you find me out here anyways?” you asked ulquiorra who looked around the morbid forest. “i heard your cries and your pain. they tug at my soul to beg for a rescue. at least, that is what i think it is. i am a groom. a runaway, just like you are.”

your eyes widened at his revelation. to meet a groom in the middle of a forest during the dead of night on your wedding day really strikes you differently.

“can… can i ask why you ran away? i mean, if that's okay with you obviously. i don't mean to poke into your life.”

it was silent for a few moments, before the groom looked at his hands. his long, pale fingers that tried to grasp onto the last living aspect. all that effort and yet he still couldn't reach.

to tell you that he does not breathe nor does he live feels like a crime he'd be guilty of. though, he doesn't really quite understand what feeling guilty is like. he just knows it's a heavy feeling that weighs in one's heart from all the textbooks that he has read.

“i consumed poison and it took my life right before i said my vows,” his fingers curled into a fist before he rested them on his lap. “i refused to marry that bride, and it resulted in my death.”

“is that why your fingers are cold?”

ulquiorra nodded and you took his fingers to lace them with yours, wrapping your warm fingers around his ice cold ones. this caused the doomed groom to look up at you, invisible shock plastered all over his face.

“it's okay. i’ll provide warmth for you.”

his emerald gaze burned at the sight of your hands holding his. he could feel your warmth enveloping him where it seeped through your touch. it's such a foreign feeling… such a desirable feeling that he didn't know he has been craving for all this time in this colourless land.

a newfound feeling blossomed in him through the warmth that you gave him, and he tightened his grip on your hands.

if there was anyone that ulquiorra would marry, it would be you. it's not so soon that you'd remain alive and breathing here. it's only a moment of time where you would feel the comfort of this morbid air that would kiss your corpse a cold salutation.

until then, ulquiorra simply has to hold your hand and feel your warmth leaving him while he awaits your death. all just so he could finally put a ring on your finger to marry you.

©SENEON 2024 ♰ D!ED, D3AD, G0NE. DO NOT REPOST OR ALTER. OR ELSE THE BATS WILL COME FOR YOU.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 3,146

Warnings | +18, yandere, smut, Stockholm syndrome, body worship. pussy worship, pussy eating, tongue fucking, fingering, breast/nipples worship, explicit language and descriptions, vaginal sex, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, manipulation, obsession, this is not for minors

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Here is the eighth and final chapter of Happy Ending ❤ The idea of publishing the last chapter of this story excites me, I was really pleased to hear that you enjoyed it and there will be surprises coming for you! I have already prepared drabbles for Happy Ending and a spin-off about Jimin, I really hope this will make you happy ❤ Please write to me if you would like to be added to the taglist of the spin-off ❤

And I apologize for the errors that there will be in the chapter, it has been a difficult week 😭❤

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @douknowbts, @aiiselle90210, @fewercascade , @mageprincess7, @m00njinnie, @get-that-brain-working, @whipwhoops

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

When Y/N reopened her eyes, it was now past twelve o'clock. She stood up, recognizing Jungkook's bedroom, becoming aware of what had happened a few hours ago, her cheeks blushing at the memory of how she had held him in her mouth until he had fully climaxed, had she been good? Well, she had never given a blowjob in her life, but copying those same videos and drawing from her previous hard readings, she must not have been that bad. She got out of bed, determined to take a shower as well as brush her teeth. Not that she minded the taste of cum, she had already noticed that it didn't bother her from that time on the couch, but it still wasn't a pleasant sensation after hours of good sleep. She washed herself thoroughly, feeling a strange discomfort between her legs, it was like a sense of dissatisfaction pulsing right in the center of her heat, she tried to pleasure herself under the hot water, but the image of Jungkook giving her pleasure on the couch could not drive it away, she swallowed, fully understanding what her body was communicating to her. She wanted Jungkook, only he knew exactly what points to hit and where to reach. She bit her lips undecided whether or not to ask the boy for a little help, got dressed with that doubt in her mind and went to the kitchen, but she did not find him, the boy was not present in the living room either, and she with wide eyes ran to his office.

He was there most of the time and, to her relief, she found him there that time as well, from the open chink she saw the boy hunched over drawings, the tall, powerful figure rekindled that intimate desire, which she found inexplicable. Why on earth did he have that powerful effect on her? She decided to enter at a leisurely pace, stopping just behind him. Obviously with a job like his, over the years Jungkook had learned to sense a person's presence well in advance, which was precisely why he was not surprised to see her there; he turned with a smile. "Are you hungry?" Y/N squeezed into her shoulders, approaching the desk. She looked carefully at the drawings that Jungkook was evaluating, read at the corners of each sheet the name of each of her classmates, tightened her lips and with a nimble, quick gesture tossed that useless block to the side, they were not works of art, there was no love in those lines, Y/N knew this, she always heard her classmates complaining that they could not play during drawing hours, just as she heard them praising Jungkook's beauty, yet discrediting his lessons. "Wasted," they would say, "With that body he would look great as a team coach," they continued.

They did not appreciate Jungkook's work and talent, but she was different, that's why she was his. The boy studied the girl's attitude confusedly, "Is everything okay?" Y/N felt great, she was no longer thinking about her studies or those two who called themselves parents, she was fine. She was fine with Jungkook and only that mattered, every flap of her mind was about the boy in front of her. She longed for him, she wanted him, she loved him. With those thoughts in her mind, she jumped over the desk, positioning herself right in front of Jungkook, who watched with surprise at the girl's actions. She was wearing a low-cut sweater and white shorts that day, leaving the rest of her legs uncovered, legs she swung briskly before smiling. "Yes, I'm hungry," she said, Jungkook nodded, already ready to get up to prepare something for her - he still didn't trust her to put a knife in her hands, Jimin's experience had been shocking enough not to follow suit - but Y/N leaned over to pull the chair, and consequently the boy, closer to the desk. Jungkook tilted his head, then a light bulb went off and he threw himself against the back of the chair, licking his lower lip. "What would you like to eat?" he asked her, playfully.

Y/N shook her head, "In truth I would have another kind of hunger, something that sees you eating me," she clarified bluntly, by now she understood that with Jungkook she would no longer have to mind explicitly requesting far more intimate attention. The latter's fingers closed over the cleavage of her sweater, pulling downward to expose her full, soft breasts, still enclosed in her pearl-colored bra. "And how should I eat you today, sweetheart?" he murmured, leaving a moist kiss on the portion of her breasts that protruded briskly without restraint. Y/N trembled, her intimacy already on fire from mere words. Jungkook went up the column of her neck with soft, sweet kisses, reached the earlobe, which he took between his teeth and nibbled, before pulling and whispering, "Should I be sweet and slow?" with one hand he untangled the bra hooks, immediately crept underneath, cupping one soft breast, the girl trembled, squirming when one of her peaks was teased, "Or does my little girl want something more brutal and fast?" he pressed firmly against the nipple, rubbing his mouth against the tip as it plumped.

Y/N threw back her head, holding onto her elbows, "S-Sweet... and slow, please" she sighed, Jungkook hummed, sucking the tender little button, he broke away slightly to blow hot air on it that made the girl shiver, Jungkook realized how sensitive she was and sadistically pulled the nipple lightly between his teeth, watching ravenously as the girl's fingers tightened between them. "My little girl wants to be treated like a princess," he crooned, "You're right, it's not yet time for you to find out what a whore you can become under my command," he growled and Y/N's intimacy tightened at his words. He undressed her by throwing her sweater to the floor along with her bra, leaving to his own will that divine feast, which he found himself adoring by holding her still by the hips, while with his lips he took to tormenting her other nipple, pushed it against his palate crushing it over and over again, heedless of the fingers that pulled at his silky locks, he breathed in the scent of her skin as he swallowed his own spit, trying not to drool around her sensitive flesh. With his mouth busy pleasantly torturing the young woman's breasts, covering them with kisses and signs of love, he reached down with his hands to unbutton her shorts, Y/N timidly helped him in the task, and soon that garment was slipped off her legs.

Jungkook began to knead through the fabric of her panties the tender folds of her burning pussy, pushed two fingers against her clit, aroused felt the little pearl pulsing under his fingertips, and pulled completely off her chest, biting eagerly at her hips and then lower and lower, getting to where he was really expected, Y/N lay fully on the desk, watching Jungkook's head between her legs with glazed eyes, throwing them back at the boy's first lick, she trembled so much that Jungkook had to spread her legs wider. With her panties now on the floor, Jungkook took care to lick her swollen clitoris again slowly, feeling on his taste buds the flavor of each velvety inch. He found her pussy incredibly soaked, which did not, however, prevent him from spitting between her folds, making the stretch even smoother and wetter for his tongue, which gathered its essence before sucking that throbbing pearl into his mouth, caressing it occasionally with his tongue.

Y/N felt herself lost in a whirlwind of forbidden sensations and overwhelming emotions, she spread her lips wide in search of air, thrusting her pelvis more and more against the boy's voracious mouth, who pushed his tongue deep into her tight, wet slit, touched a particularly sensitive area with the tip that made Y/N stiffen, who moaned louder, speechless. "J-Jungkook, faster, please!" she exclaimed, watching him from her obscenely spread legs, but the boy smiled, before licking her folds once more, focusing occasionally on her increasingly charged and aching clitoris.

"Oh, no... you said sweet..." he left a kiss on the folds, "... and slow..." he finished, lightly penetrating her entrance with a finger, slowly pumping between the moist walls that fluttered and tightened as he passed. Y/N felt like crying; she did not think Jungkook was so sadistic in bed. "Jungkook, don't do this to me," she cried painfully, the boy seemed to think of an answer, continuing to stuff her entrance by adding another finger, which made the stretch more difficult because of the tightness of the young woman. "Will you let me go on?" he observed the distraught figure of the girl, lying on his desk with her head turned upward, nervously biting her lips. Y/N did not understand what he meant at first, then slowly came to it and did not know what to answer. "But...I've never done that," she murmured, hissing at the hot tongue that returned to make her legs tremble, striking the swollen pearl in quick tongue strokes, she squeezed the young man's head between her legs, trying to prolong that pleasurable torture, but Jungkook pulled away.

He longed to be her first and only man, knowing he had a virgin in his hands teased his animal side, which roared with pleasure. "I could introduce you to a pleasure you don't even imagine you can achieve, Y/N," he said seriously, the girl thought about it, "So you want to come like this?" in asking, he sucked violently on her swollen clitoris, encircling it with his tongue lasciviously causing her to scream, "For me it would be no problem, love... but would you allow me to introduce you to something that will unite us inextricably?" the rough, dark voice hit the girl's belly, she felt herself ignite more. The idea of joining him in a more intimate and close way appealed to her, although she harbored much fear about it; she knew it would also be painful. "Will you make me feel good?" she chirped shyly, and Jungkook melted into a smile, nodding. "I will always make you feel good, my beautiful girl." At that point she made her decision, agreed to take that extra step forward, defeating her fear. Jungkook stood up, taking her in his arms with unprecedented ease, Y/N looked at him confused. "The bed I think is more comfortable as the first time," he justified himself, kissing her forehead. He carried her to what would effectively become the bedroom of both of them, laying her in the middle of the mattress, between the sheets that already smelled of them. Together.

Jungkook began to undress, that was the first time the girl saw him completely naked, she wordlessly admired the tattoos that crept around his arm, and then noticed the toned and smooth muscles, his swollen lips thanks to her juices stretched into a sly smile when he also shed his jeans and underwear, showing her once again the perfect shape of his legs and his already taut and swollen cock, although the boy paid no attention to it, watching attractively the girl's soft and more downsized body, which looked like a tender little thing in comparison to him. He climbed on all fours on the bed and crawled toward her before stealing a kiss from her, entwining their tongues and tasting their flavors, Y/N distinguished a spicy note on the man's tongue, which she guessed was just his essence, Jungkook tenderly encircled her by one hip, while with his other hand he went back to teasing her folds, trying to make her relax again. "Look into my eyes, Y/N," he murmured on her lips, the girl did as he told her, losing herself in the night sky of his incredibly sweet irises, "I'll try to go slow, okay? It will only hurt a bit at first," he told her and she nodded, resting her head between his neck and shoulder, focusing on the erotic sensations of the man's fingers in her pleasure center.

Jungkook encircled her clit with his thumb, squeezing it gently before caressing the delicate pearl, retrieved some liquid pleasure from her tight slit in order to spread it over the bundle of nerves, lubricating and softening the delicious rubbing, Y/N moved her hips against the hand, moaning at the pressing pleasure that expanded to the tip of her hair, moments later Jungkook penetrated her entrance, parting her walls in a slow and pleasurable stretch, adding a third finger shortly afterward that made the girl frown. It didn't hurt, but it stung slightly, Jungkook left soft kisses on her neck, trying to distract her. He succeeded, felt her relax, and his fingers gained speed as the girl's moisture increased along with her arousal. Small sounds rhythmically came out of her throat, her eyes closed to focus on the sensation as best she could, not missing the way Jungkook's thumb still rolled slowly over her stiff clitoris. Jungkook reached to touch a slightly more elastic spot, he realized there he had to stop, she was ready enough to take him without too much pain.

He brought his fingers out of her intimacy and Y/N suddenly felt empty. She saw him move away to stand between her legs already wide open for him, the boy observed the girl's slick folds licking his lips, his cock moved involuntarily at the sight and accompanied him between them, sliding easily he touched her clitoris with the moist tip, insisting over and over again on that spot to make the girl tremble once more, she felt the center of her pleasure contract obscenely.

Jungkook finished his little game by pressing himself one last time, when he pulled away a long trail of cum connected the girl's sex to his sensitive cock, hissed pressing against the soggy slit, gently and slowly penetrating it, tenderly enveloped him, and his hips contracted feverishly. Y/N immediately felt the substantial difference between the young man's fingers and his cock, and to say that the boy's fingers were also much longer and thicker than the girl's! When he pushed further, the woman's walls continued to envelop him like a glove, Jungkook had to block himself by gritting his teeth, he could have come there and then without much ado, Y/N for her part felt a strange mix of sensations. She felt pleasantly full, small waves of pleasure also joined the slightly burning stretch that Jungkook left when he resumed moving in small thrusts, he went deeper and she arched reflexively, shocked by the intimacy of the union, she tightened around him moaning, the knowledge that she had him inside her in a way that another woman could only have dreamed of excited her more than anything else and now accustomed to his presence she pushed against his hips, communicating to him that he could go further.

Jungkook took a breath before pulling out to the scarlet tip, then back in again with a vigorous thrust, the girl felt something inside her flake and split, she let out a small scream immediately stifled by the boy's lips, which resumed thrusting without giving her any more time to be able to register the pain, he furrowed the soft and warm walls in the grip of unheard of pleasure, they were so close that Y/N felt the boy's pubes touch hers, a burst of pleasure stronger than the others left her gasping, she broke away from Jungkook's lips to embrace him in despair, pain and pleasure combined to create a strange, bewitching spiral, and the more his cock sinuously penetrated the elastic entrance, cradling the walls with gentle, frenzied thrusts, the more pleasure she felt increased, releasing charged jets that shocked her body. The thrusts increased in speed, Jungkook felt drops of his own sweat slip from his body to join the girl's, he scrutinized her distraught face and found her enchanting in her fucked and desperate state, she was crying and he knew it was not from pain, she was experiencing sensations so unfamiliar that her brain was not yet able to comprehend the extent of them, she was crying because that was her only outlet and Jungkook felt himself tensing painfully at the sight, he changed angles slightly and Y/N widened her eyes.

"Oooooh ... fuck, fuck, fuck!" she exclaimed shamelessly, Jungkook realized with amusement that he had found her most sensitive spot and rotated his pelvis in order to strike that area one more time.

"Yes? Is this where you want me?" he asked not recognizing his own voice, simply repeated the action and the girl nodded vigorously. "Yes! Oh, please... yes, yes..." Y/N went so far as to claw his back to clarify the concept, "Don't stop! Oh God!" He felt her stiffen, squeezing him in a tremendously pleasurable grip that made Jungkook's hips stutter, Y/N felt him all the way to her belly, her walls throbbed violently, and Jungkook took the opportunity to pinch her clit one last time, leaving her to explode in a hard, intense orgasm that left her trembling like a pudding on the bed. The boy continued with his increasingly voracious and direct thrusts, his heavy balls pulsed hitting the girl's buttocks uninterruptedly, this triggered a devastating orgasm in him that made him moan breathlessly, he came inside her flooding her walls, the girl's pussy violently contracted once again, willingly welcoming his cum and his last sloppy thrusts, finally he collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily over Y/N, she was still too out of it. "Y/N?" he asked, the girl tried to open her eyes. "Mh?" "I love you," he said with his heart in his throat, in love and kidnapped. Yes, kidnapped. She had kidnapped him and not the other way around. Y/N let go of a lazy smile, "I love you too, Jungkook," she replied, finally fulfilling Jungkook's dream, she touched the boy's face affectionately, "You kept your promise, with you I feel protected and happy," she found herself moved, continuing to caress him. Jungkook kissed her hand gently. "I will destroy anyone who tries to hurt you," he whispered with a serious look that left the girl interjected, "I will stop at no one, my love." Y/N felt a strange chill pervade her, but she mentally shook her head, telling herself there was nothing wrong, smiled at Jungkook and kissed him, dragging him with her between the soft sheets with a giggle. He thought back to the elderly neighbor, to the words of that now distant day, gosh, she was so right. Yes, that was the something new she had been waiting for, the happy ending she had been waiting for her whole miserable life. "I love you."