#Collection: Regrets & Revelations

[emeritusemeritus]

Charming Witches [Fred Weasley]

Title: Charming Witches [Fred Weasley]

Pairing: PregnantWife!Reader x Fred Weasley, background Hermione X Ron.

Timeline: Set after canon (Fred lives!)

Summary: Ron has an embarrassing issue and unluckily for him, Fred is the only one that can help.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, babies, established relationships. Sexual references throughout. Fred has a bit of a breeding kink- shock. Just a silly little drabble I couldn’t get out of my mind. Fred is a bit mean and sarcastic to Ron.

Word count: 1.6k

"You're, you know... well, sort of, um."

"You'll get there eventually Ronald," Fred jokes with a straight face, half listening to his brother's whispered fumbles whilst he pours himself and his wife a drink, not bothering to offer his youngest brother one. If Fred had even bothered to look at Ron's face, he'd have seen he was as pink in the cheeks as a bottle of love potion, his blush so vivid that he looked ready to erupt with a face full of dragon pox any moment.

Ron clears his throat, trying again, as he casts a nervous glance around the Burrow's kitchen, checking no one was hearing this. He didn't know why he'd chosen Fred of all people to have this conversation with, in theory George would have been a much better choice but he didn't have the same 'qualifications' as his twin, seeing that you and Fred had been together for absolutely years.

"Well, umm," he freezes under Fred's quick but glance, silently telling him to spit it out. "Well you and y/n, you're in sync aren't you... Sexually?"

Whatever Fred was expecting to hear eventually tumble out of his brother's mouth was not even close to the reality and he can't stop his eyebrows from shooting halfway up his forehead instinctively in disbelief.

"Did my very pregnant wife give it away?" He snarks, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of the beer he'd poured, openly enjoying the discomfort his brother was radiating. "That might have been your first clue."

Ron somehow looks paler underneath all the blushing and Fred is revelling in his ability to make his brother squirm.

"Well, yeah I suppose," Ron mumbles, beginning to get defensive and deeply regretting opening up to the trickier twin.

"Calm down Ronald," Fred says, "you and Granger having bedroom troubles?"

"No!" Ron bites back a little too quickly but his resolve breaks under a few seconds of Fred's probing gaze, arms folded in an unconscious power stance. "Maybe."

He's quiet again for a few moments and Fred is uncharacteristically patient whilst he waits for Ron to collect his thoughts.

"How many times would you say is normal, like in a week?"

"Don't know if there's a 'normal' Ronniekins," Fred says with a shrug. "Most days and twice on a Sunday?"

Though he hides it this time, Fred revels in the look of utter horror Ron's eyes convey and it's like he can see the cogs in his brain working on overdrive, emitting smoke as they crumble and break. Evidently, his answer was light years away from what Ron had hoped for. He knows that his wife being ready to pop at any second only helps Ron believe his words and he mentally thanks Godric Gryffindor himself for the overly fortunate timing.

"Don't think it matters mate really; as long as you're both expecting about the same." This time, Fred actually thinks he's being reassuring.

"She just wants to read all the bloody time, even in bed! It's like I'm a bloody afterthought."

"Have you even met your girlfriend?"

This time it's Fred who pauses when he meets the icy glare of his younger brother. He sighs and a slightly awkward silence falls between the pair as they both try to think of how to fix whatever was going on in Ron's mind, hoping that two head were better than one.

"You two alright?"

Ron jumps out of his skin when he hears your slightly concerned greeting upon seeing the two brothers, Fred especially, in near silence.

"Don't tell me you forgot I was here," you joke to Ron, walking over to Fred as he holds out your waiting drink. "Been your sister in law for five years! Plus the bump makes me pretty memorable," you add with a smile.

"I'll say," Fred says with a wink, the cheeky glint in his eyes ever more sparkling as he looks at your bulging tummy, unashamedly ogling your pregnant form. You gently nudged him, silently telling him to be quiet but as you do so, you catch a slightly glare aimed at your husband from Ron.

"Am I interrupting? " You ask outright, sensing tension.

"No," says Fred almost immediately.

"A bit," Ron admits, cringing slightly before he lets out a loud yelp, having been smacked upside the back of the head by his older brother for his disrespect. He grumbles slightly under his breath, absently rubbing the back of his head where Fred's hand had connected to him and let's put a deep sigh.

"You're a girl," he says, averting his eyes anywhere except directly on your own.

Fred snickers at Ron's feeble and clumsy attempt at starting the conversation but opts to take a long swig of his beverage to avoid anymore laughter spilling out, though his delight still shines through his eyes.

"Only when it's not a full moon," you jest, trying to slice through the awkwardness Ron is emitting.

"Forget it, you're as bad as he is."

"Firstly I'm offended," you say, reaching out for his arm gently as you feel his begin to pull away, ignoring your husband's opposition. "Secondly, yes I'm a girl... go on."

"Well," he pauses, gathering courage, long ginger lashes covering his shy eyes that still raise no further than your ankles, "say Fred suddenly didn't want sex."

"Wouldn't happen."

"Fred shush."

"Well... say suddenly he wanted to read at nighttime over having sex."

"Again, wouldn't happen."

"Fred!" You hush him again, this time more firmly.

"How would you go about trying to, you know, fix it."

You were certain you'd never seen Ron this vividly pink in the cheeks before, he looked like he'd been decorated up to display in Umbridge's office.

"That's the problem? Hermione wants to read instead of sex?" You ask, not really seeing the big issue, but trying to say it gently so that you didn't spook him.

He nods, "but it's all the time," he adds, justifying his gripe.

"Well," you say, lowering yourself into Arthur's seat at the head of the kitchen table only a few feet away, unable to stand much longer. "Play her at her own game."

"Eh?" The brothers ask in sync, their faces scrunched into an almost identical confused expression. You simply shrug.

"Make yourself less available to her, pull back a bit," you say, taking a sip of your drink to wet your lips. "Start reading in bed just like she does, act like you're not interested in just sex."

"So I act like I'm not bothered even though I am?" He asks, still not following what you're saying.

"Sort of," you say, trying to find a better way of wording it.

"Reading's always been her favourite thing to do hasn't it? Join in on it. I'd bet on my life that she has a fantasy of you in bed shirtless reading beside her. Stop making advances, let her come to you."

"That's actually quite clever," he says after a few moments of consideration.

"It's been known."

"Shirtless?" He asks with a frown, seemingly fixating on that point.

You chuckle nodding, "well you have to still appeal to her, you don't want it to just be a study session do you?"

"Right, right," he says with a nod, a slight smile returning to his face before it dramatically falls away in an almost comedic move.

"I don't have a book."

"What do you mean you don't have a book?" Fred says in a flabbergasted manner, earning a slight but unconscious raise of your eyebrow. Though you didn't comment on the irony of his words considering you couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him so much as skim the daily prophet.

"I don't really have one," Ron mumbles quietly, "unless my quidditch annual counts."

"It doesn't," you say firmly.

"So I need a book," Ron says firmly, as if he was cementing the plan in his mind, nodding along with his thoughts until he finally makes eye contact. "Thanks y/n," he says with a smile and a nod of his head before he walks away, a bounce in his step.

"Think it's actually gonna work?" Fred asks as you pry yourself out of the chair and walk to stand next to him as you place your empty cup in the sink.

You let out a little chortle and shrug, "well if it doesn't, at least Hermione can read in peace."

Laughter bursts out of Fred and he pulls you close, bump nestled between you as he delights in your words, realising you had absolutely no idea if the plan would work.

Later that evening when everyone was preparing to leave the Burrow after another wonderful family dinner, Ron pulls you and Fred to one side before he left, away from the eyes and ears of everyone else.

"Thanks again for earlier," he says, clearly feeling more at ease about his issue. You smile warmly in reply, happy to help.

"No problem little brother," Fred beams, as if it was him that had offered any advice.

"Oi Ron," you call out quietly to get his attention as he turns to leave. With a smile, you reach down into the bag on your shoulder and pull out an item you'd gleefully searched for in Fred and George's old bedroom after the conversation. "Just incase my advice doesn't work."

Ron frowns reaching for the item you were handing him, a frown that only deepens as he reads the title of the book he was now holding. Fred's laughter is sudden and booming as his eyes land on the once familiar item that had him cracking up laughing, realising instantly what it was.

Twelve fail-safe ways to charm witches.

"Oh piss off."

Taglist part 1

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[radioapplerevue]

Lucifer and Alastor becoming the guardian of each other's secrets.

Not intentionally, not at first. It starts with Lucifer, as he sees things that Alastor would really, really rather he not -- the angelic tint in his wound, the shackle around his neck. Some things you can't hide from the King of Hell, not if he bothers to truly look.

And unfortunately for Alastor, he's incapable of not drawing attention to himself. Perhaps more fortunately, Lucifer doesn't tell anyone. Alastor knows better than to think it's altruism. Surely, he's just keeping that knowledge to use against him later. It's what he would do. Blackmail, collateral.

The truth is, Alastor doesn't know quite as much as he thinks he does.

Alastor tries to claw back some sort of advantage. Lucifer is like his daughter -- powerful but softhearted, weak to a kind word or hint of praise. They clash, loudly and frequently, but over time the clashes become less vicious and turn more into a sort of game. A rivalry, a competition that is more tinged with "friendly" than not. How thrilling, to have someone who can match you word for word, blow for blow.

And sure enough, Lucifer begins to open up. And once he starts, it's hard for him to stop -- allowing Alastor windows into his soul, into his guilt and his sorrow and his regrets. Into the thoughts that drove him into solitude, surrounded by nothing but the empty gazes of thousands of rubber ducks. Alastor revels in this, this knowledge, this view into such weakness. Finally, he is balancing the scales, collecting the chinks in Lucifer's armor for the day in which he may need to slip a proverbial dagger into the gaps.

He doesn't realize, at first, that he's giving away more of himself. Hints into his own behavior, his own past, his own fears. Much as he may pretend, even to himself, that he doesn't have them... Lucifer's older than sin. He knows, more than anyone, that everybody is afraid of something. Alastor is no exception.

Alastor, who is convinced that he's cradling Lucifer's secrets close to his chest because he is saving them for the moment when they would do the most damage. Not acknowledging that such a moment could have come and gone many times already. Not listening to the small voice in the back of his mind whispering that he won't ever share these secrets, because no one else is worthy of them. No one else holds them.

The king's wounds belong to Alastor, and no one else. He isn't keen on sharing.

And Lucifer, for his part, guards Alastor's skeletons just as closely. Not because he intends to use them, no. He has no interest in such control. Instead if someone asks about them, he laughs, demurs, scoffs. Pretends ignorance.

After all, he understands pride.

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.13

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Ch. Notes: short

Summary: Fisk gains a new unexpected ally that deeply affects a member of the family.

An: Short filler Ch. but with a warning. Sorry for the mistakes, just wanted to get something out for yall. Also fear not, we will be getting the very essential "date" chapter soon, but first some world building yknow.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

With the way life had been treating you lately, the ups and downs, you felt as though this should be harder. You felt like there was a funk or depression that should be settling into your mind, but there wasn’t. There should’ve been anxiety building up, but all you felt was calm.

After the beating you suffered you thought you’d be more on edge. However as your body healed itself, you found yourself at ease. There was something smug about your survival. Perhaps it had to do with the blossoming relationship that you had been reveling in.

Throughout the years you had prided yourself on changing and morphing into someone with a tough exterior and an even stronger interior. While you never regretted becoming that way, you admit that in it you lost some of your personality.

You were so much more than a victim of the abuse you had suffered at the hands of your mother. As you grew, after separating yourself from her you were set on not ever being a victim again that you hid everything that you thought made you vulnerable.

Your likes and leisurely activities all of sudden seemed like weak points. The only one who was able to make you let your guard down was Pietro.

Now however, having Wanda and Natasha by your side, you find yourself on a path of rediscovery. You feel like you’re coming into yourself again. The women are the perfect models of work life balance and you think it’s everything you’ve been missing.

The can go into the office work diligently and complete their jobs, but also clock out and relax. The enjoy themselves and they enjoy you.

Wanda personally loves seeing you open up a bit more, after seeing how much of yourself you pushed down. Natasha finds herself collecting bits and pieces of information about you that she plans to commit to memory.

In the very back of your mind you think about how quiet the streets have been. You expected Fisk to brag about your beating just like he did with Dragos. However there had been no commotion, and the intel that you were getting didn’t indicate any attacks soon.

It was eerie and you would've dwelled on it in the past, but Natasha and Wanda reassured you that everything was under control. Natasha constantly let you go over her team strategies to show you she was utilizing the soldiers given to her.

They tried to keep you out of the office for your recovery, but you just found yourself working from home until your ankle was healed. As soon as you were able, you stepped back into the office.

While you had made nearly a full recovery, you could not say the same for Dragos. It pained you hear that doctors have reported a stagnation in his progress. Flora relied that certain doctors were starting to suggest pulling the plug as a feasible option. The entire family was adamant to oppose any talk of such actions.

“Baby?”

Your eyes leave your compute to see Wanda and Natasha entering your office.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Natasha speaks, “We were wondering if you wanted to grab dinner tonight?”

You nod, “For sure.”

Wanda clarifies a bit, “Like a date, Y/n.”

Your eyes widen a bit, but you nod excitedly at the prospect, “Even better, of course.

“We’ll go home, get ready and go from there?” Nat suggests.

“Can’t wait,” a small smile plays on your lips.

Everything about this has felt casual and you love that, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to have the typical romantic experiences. This would amongst the first few dates you three had gone on.

Pietro storms into the office breaking up the relaxed atmosphere they had been sitting in. The man looks like he is complete emotional distress.

“I need to talk to Y/n.”

His sister wants to question him, but with one shake of your head she pulls her wife out of the office.

“What’s wrong, Piet?”

He doesn’t hold it together much longer as he signals he needs a hug. You stand up quickly and wrap your arms around him. You feel his tears hit his shoulder and admittedly, your worry multiplies.

“Monica,” he says in his broken tone.

You rub his back soothingly, “What about her?”

He pulls away, “ Two months we lasted, Y/n. I had asked her to be official she said yes, but she’s ended things with me.”

“Oh Piet.”

He shakes his head, “It’s worse than that. She indebted to Fisk, Y/n. She owes him money and favors, she never told me because he’s never come to collect. But now, he’s cashing in.”

You frown deeply, “So she’s protecting you.”

“I need to be protecting her,” he grits his teeth.

You feel for your friend, you don’t believe you have the right words to bring him comfort, “ But you don’t know how.”

Pietro has a new fire in his eyes, “With a bullet in his skull. He’s tried to take everything from me. Papa, you, and now the love of my life.”

You knew the man could be hotheaded at times, and for once you knew he had every right to be. Yet, you couldn’t justify him doing something irrational.

“When the time comes, he will be dealt with,” you say.

Pietro shakes his head, “Nothings happened since your attack, everything is settling. This war will drag on and on if we let it."

“We can’t tear apart the city for no reason, Piet. It’s a bad look from us,” you try to reason with him.

“I know that, but it’s not what I want to hear.”

He slumps down on your office couch with his head in his hands. You sit next to him and rub his shoulder.

“How about we do something tonight, like old times? Something so that we can feel normal for once,” you suggest.

“I can’t even text her because what if she becomes a pawn in this scheme,” he sighs.

“ We’re hanging out tonight. To take your mind off of this, even if it’s only for a moment,” you speak sincerely to him.

He nods slowly in agreement, “Fine, but only because I don’t want to be alone and maybe I’ve missed you. Wanda too, I miss when timed were simpler.”

You get a little excited, “Tonight, me, you, Wanda, Natasha we can do something together. It’ll be reminiscent of old times.”

Pietro agrees and you let him stay in the office as you work. You texted Wanda and Natasha filling them on the details. They were understanding about having to cancel your plans. Natasha also took note of Monica as one of Fisk’s new allies.

The three of you brainstorm to come up with some plans to help your friend for the time being. The night still had promise and none of you wanted to waste it.

Unfortunately for you all, the air was about become ten times more suffocating and no one would see it coming.

Fisk knew you all would become complacent sooner or later, drop you guards prematurely. He was watching unfold and getting ready to strike again, however this time, he planned for the kill shot.

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[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

YOU LITERALLY SAVED MY LIFE

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing(s): Dark!JJ x Reader, Sarah x Reader, Rafe x Reader

Warnings: domestic abuse, physical abuse, strangling, gaslighting, alcohol, mentions of blood, toxic relationship, controlling behavior, trauma, rape, 18+

Summary: Y/n trusted JJ, who initially seemed to be the love of her life, but ultimately became the source of her deepest fears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 5 - Saved Me

After your surgery, despite feeling weak, you musters the strength to recount the harrowing details of the past few months to the female police officers. With Rafe by your side for support, you begins to explain what happened, starting from the night you had the Pogues over for drinks.

-

"We were all having drinks, and I remember feeling dizzy. Next thing I knew, I was falling down the stairs," you recounts, your voice trembling slightly. "At first, I thought it was just an accident, but now I realize he pushed me."

The officers listen attentively, jotting down notes as you continues, you recounting filled with pauses and deep breaths to steady yourself.

Then, on the night of Kiara's birthday," Jess continues, her voice gaining strength as she recalls the chilling events.

"I was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. JJ came in, and he was already angry about something trivial, like the thickness of the chicken. But it escalated quickly... he grabbed the knife out of my hand and showed me how to do it properly.” tears welling up in your eyes. 

“When he went to put the knife down he cut my arm and there was blood everywhere, he then yelled and said that was my fault. I yelled back at him and then he pushed me against the fridge and strangled me, then threw me in our room and locked the door”. You choke out, Rafe reaches out and gently squeezes your hand.

The officers take notes, their questions gentle yet probing, ensuring they capture every detail for the investigation. Through tears and trembling breaths, you reveal the worst part,

“It happened again on the poker night," you add, your voice quieter now, but no less filled with pain. “JJ invited some people over for a game and he made me wear this costume that barely covered my body, I received multiple comments and actions that were unwanted.

After the game, jj couldn’t pay what he lost, so he said they could have me. Which they did.” 

The officers' expressions darken with shock and concern. They exchange glances, their professional demeanor momentarily faltering at the gravity of your revelation.

One officer hesitates before carefully asking for more details, her voice edged with disbelief and sympathy. “They Raped me, and then after JJ did too.”

After recounting the painful details of the abuse you endured, your voice falters, your composure crumbling as emotions overwhelm you. Tears stream down your cheeks unchecked, your hands trembling in Rafe's reassuring grip.

"I... I just couldn't take it anymore," you whisper, your words choked with sorrow and fear. "I tried to ask Sarah for help, but she didn't believe me."

The weight of Sarah's disbelief adds to your anguish, intensifying the sense of betrayal and isolation you've felt. Rafe holds you tighter, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through this alone," Rafe murmurs, his voice filled with empathy and regret.

The police officers listen intently, their expressions reflecting a mix of sadness and resolve. They offer you tissues and a moment to collect yourself, understanding the immense courage it took to speak out despite the disbelief you faced.

"We believe you, and we're here to help," one of the officers assures you gently, her voice a reassuring presence. "You're not alone anymore."

-

Rafe draped a warm blanket over you before starting the car, ensuring you weren't cold during the drive. His thoughtful gesture brought a brief moment of comfort as he navigated through the quiet streets, his expression grave with concern.

Upon arriving at his house, Rafe walked around to your side and gently asked, "Do you need help getting out?" You nodded silently, feeling a wave of exhaustion and relief wash over you. Leaning on him for support, you stepped out, grateful for his steadying presence.

Inside the warmth of his home, Rafe guided you to a cozy spare room where he prepared a bed with care. "You can stay here," he offered kindly, his voice a reassuring anchor in the midst of your turmoil.

You hesitated, uncertainty clouding your thoughts. "I... I don't want to be alone," you admitted softly, vulnerability tingeing your voice.

Understanding flickered in Rafe's eyes, his expression gentle yet resolute. "Alright," he replied, his voice steady. "You can stay with me."

Rafe escorted you to his bedroom, where he carefully tucked you in, ensuring you were comfortable under the soft covers. The storm outside intensified, the wind howling like a vengeful spirit against the windows. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your eyelids, and soon, sleep claimed you.

In the dead of night, a sudden crash of thunder shattered the fragile peace. Startled awake, you bolted upright, heart pounding in your chest. Panic gripped you as you scanned the room, disoriented and terrified. In the dim light, a figure moved towards you, and you screamed in terror, believing it to be JJ.

Unbeknownst to Rafe, you had been sleepwalking, caught in a nightmare that blurred the lines between dream and reality. His heart clenched at your scream, rushing to your side with urgency etched into his features.

It's me, Rafe," he called out firmly, his voice cutting through the darkness. He reached for you, his touch gentle yet firm, as you recoiled in fear.

"Stay back!" you pleaded, voice strained with panic, mistaking his presence for another's malevolent shadow.

Rafe froze, hurt flickering briefly in his eyes before resolve hardened his features. With steady steps, he approached you, his voice a soothing melody in the storm.

"It's okay," he murmured softly, his hands carefully grasping yours. "You're safe with me."

Trembling, you searched his eyes, "I'm scared." Rafe's expression softened with empathy, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"I know," he murmured, his voice a comforting rumble against your ear. "But you're not alone anymore. I'm here."

——

Throughout the days, Rafe support anchored you through the lingering aftershocks of your ordeal. Whether it was sharing quiet meals together or simply sitting in companionable silence, his presence was a steady comfort.

One evening, as the sun dipped low over the horizon, the doorbell rang, shattering the quiet sanctuary of Rafe's home. Startled, you glanced at Rafe, a flicker of unease crossing your features. "I... I don't like being left alone," you admitted softly, a tremor in your voice.

Rafe nodded reassuringly, “Come with me,” he offered gently, his hand finding yours in a reassuring grip. Rafe reached for the door handle, his movements steady yet deliberate.

With a deep breath, he swung the door open, revealing JJ standing on the threshold.

"I heard you were here," JJ's voice was unhinged, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of JJ, fear clawing at the edges of your composure. Instinctively, you moved closer to Rafe.

"Y/n, baby, let's talk outside, away from this kook," he shouted. JJ moved to step inside, but Rafe blocked him with a firm push against his chest.

"You don't get to talk to her or even look at her. Now, get off my property," Rafe's voice cut through the tense air as he stood firm, his gaze unwavering.

JJ reached out again, attempting to grab your arm, but Rafe swiftly swung, his fist connecting with JJ's face. The blow sent JJ stumbling backward, his balance faltering.

"I thought I told you to leave, Pogue!" Rafe yelled, his grip on your hand tightening as he stood defiantly. JJ yelled defiantly, "Show me what you got, country club!"

Rafe turned to you urgently, his voice steady despite the tension. "Call the police and tell them JJ violated the AVO.” He released your hand as you hurried to grab the phone.

When you returned, chaos had erupted on the lawn. Rafe and JJ were locked in a fierce struggle, JJ’s punches were flying but none finding their mark. 

Moments later, sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer with each passing second. Blue and red lights bathed the scene as officers swarmed in. JJ's resistance was futile as they swiftly restrained him, leading him away in handcuffs.

As you stood there, shaken but relieved, one of the officers approached you with a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "He won't bother you again. He's going away for a long time."

Rafe returned to your side, pulling you into a tight embrace. His arms around you were both comforting and protective, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry for leaving you alone. I just had to give him what he deserved."

You leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence and the weight of the ordeal slowly lifting off your shoulders.

"I'm okay," you whispered, grateful for his support.

-

Six months later, Rafe surprised you with a beach date, the waves crashing against the shore as the sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson.

As you walked hand in hand along the water's edge, the weight of past events lingered in the air. Finally, Rafe stopped, turning to face you with a mix of nervousness and determination in his eyes. His voice was steady but filled with emotion as he spoke,

“Y/n, I... I love you."

Your heart skipped a beat, emotions swelling inside you as you looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and vulnerability etched on his face.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the depth of his feelings and the journey you had shared.

"You don't have to say it back right now," Rafe continued softly, his hand reaching to gently brush a tear from your cheek. "After everything you’ve been through, I just needed you to know."

Overwhelmed with gratitude and love, you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly but filled with certainty,

"Rafe, I love you too." Rafe gently cupped your face in his hands. Without another word, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours. 

"I want to thank you for everything. You literally saved my life that day," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as tears streamed down your cheeks.

Rafe's eyes glistened with tears as he held you close.

...The End...

[dreamingofnoreality]

I think the part I hate the most in Mockingjay Part 1 is how after the District 13 bombing, when theyre trying to film the propo, Katniss is like, "He's gonna kill Peeta if I keep being the Mockingjay!" because in the book, she breaks down for literally, and I mean LITERALLY, the exact opposite reason.

“Try the line again,” says Cressida. “ ‘Thirteen’s alive and well and so am I.’ ”

I take a deep breath, trying to force air down into my diaphragm. “Thirteen’s alive and so —” No, that’s wrong.

I swear I can still smell those roses.

“Katniss, just this one line and you’re done today. I promise,” says Cressida. “ ‘Thirteen’s alive and well and so am I.’ ”

I swing my arms to loosen myself up. Place my fists on my hips. Then drop them to my sides. Saliva’s filling my mouth at a ridiculous rate and I feel vomit at the back of my throat. I swallow hard and open my lips so I can get the stupid line out and go hide in the woods and — that’s when I start crying.

It’s impossible to be the Mockingjay. Impossible to complete even this one sentence. Because now I know that everything I say will be directly taken out on Peeta. Result in his torture. But not his death, no, nothing so merciful as that. Snow will ensure that his life is much worse than death.

Up until then, Katniss had been terrified that Snow was going to kill Peeta. It's during the bombing that she finally realizes that Snow would lose his leverage against her if he took Peeta out of the picture.

It’s on the third night, during our game, that I answer the question eating away at me. Crazy Cat becomes a metaphor for my situation. I am Buttercup. Peeta, the thing I want so badly to secure, is the light. As long as Buttercup feels he has the chance of catching the elusive light under his paws, he’s bristling with aggression. (That’s how I’ve been since I left the arena, with Peeta alive.) When the light goes out completely, Buttercup’s temporarily distraught and confused, but he recovers and moves on to other things. (That’s what would happen if Peeta died.) But the one thing that sends Buttercup into a tailspin is when I leave the light on but put it hopelessly out of his reach, high on the wall, beyond even his jumping skills. He paces below the wall, wails, and can’t be comforted or distracted. He’s useless until I shut the light off. (That’s what Snow is trying to do to me now, only I don’t know what form his game takes.)

Maybe this realization on my part is all Snow needs. Thinking that Peeta was in his possession and being tortured for rebel information was bad. But thinking that he’s being tortured specifically to incapacitate me is unendurable. And it’s under the weight of this revelation that I truly begin to break.

Peeta's death would mean she had nothing left to lose. But the idea that her actions as the Mockingjay would result in Peeta being tortured? THAT is what makes her fall apart, which is what the Rebels were afraid of happening and is what motivated them to finally arrange the rescue mission. They were very much aware that Peeta was intentionally being kept alive and tortured to punish Katniss and, aside from Finnick, they were all actively trying to keep Katniss from figuring that out.

“Cut,” I hear Cressida say quietly.

"What’s wrong with her?” Plutarch says under his breath.

“She’s figured out how Snow’s using Peeta,” says Finnick.

There’s something like a collective sigh of regret from the semicircle of people spread out before me. Because I know this now. Because there will never be a way for me to not know this again. Because, beyond the military disadvantage losing a Mockingjay entails, I am broken.

The movie just completely ruined it by having Katniss think Snow was warning her that he was going to kill Peeta. The whole point was that she realized Snow was NEVER going to kill Peeta. Death would have been a mercy, and Snow was not merciful. He was going to keep Peeta alive to torture him in response for everything Katniss did for the rebellion then stick him on TV to show her.

[mudandmire]

Contrasts

Azris Week - Day One: Contrasts

~~~ Hello hello! I found the Azris ship and the community this year and have absolutely been consumed by it. I love this idea, I love these two characters, and I love that there's so much potential between them and for them to feed and inspire such a wonderful community. I've never participated in the acotar fandom apart from this, and I'm so excited! Thank you so much to @azrisweek for putting together this event, I have had so much fun letting my brain run free like a dog off a leash with these prompts :D ~~~

Tell me

Azriel calls him tatlım, and Eris doesn’t know what it means.

It’s a secret, he supposes he can accept it—relate to it. Nooks and hidden corners itch and snarl with the weight of his own. An enchanted drawer he keeps in the washroom holds his greatest wonder and his greatest shame.

The journal weighs heavy in Eris’s mind. He traces back the parchment pages with intangible fingers during lulls in his father’s council meetings. The drone of bees, lazy and fat in the afternoon sun becomes the hushed whisper of a canyon gale through dried grass. The lines he inks, stroke by stroke, Azriel matches in full, thrumming strides. Words next to his are clean, unbroken, while Azriel’s remain thick, written in charcoal with smudges at the corners from where his fist has run over the line.

When it’s dark, a time when even shadows cannot creep and loom larger, Eris presses his own fingertips to those words. The smears of charcoal because Azriel had told him early on in their budding friendship when they were young that he can’t use quills.

“They're too thin, my hands shake too much.” A smaller version of Azriel speaks the memory into his mind. The whorls and pockmarks on his hands hidden between the gap of his thighs.

Eris had taken it as a challenge—and now he revels in it. Azriel is messy with his charcoal pencil, too free with his mistakes and smudges and it leaves Eris half a country away and entirely breathless.

‘Tell me what bothers you, tatlım.’ Azriel had written him earlier, the familiar scrawl of his heavy hand appearing stroke by stroke in the filled pages of Eris’s enchanted journal.

Two were made, Eris gave one away. He could not bring himself to regret it even if his life were on the line.

‘Tatlım?’ Eris had asked, his letters looped and coiled together in the way they get when he rushes, when he needs answers.

There was no sound save for Eris’s own steady pulse, the whistle of air through his nose as he waited for a response. And yet he could’ve swore he heard Azriel’s laugh, the breathy one, brush against the point of his ear.

The words appear in the space between one breath and the next: ‘Maybe one day, gach’lilit, I will tell you. For now, stop avoiding my prying.’

Eris places a hand on the rise of his chest. Holding in something that seems to be rising from his stomach to his throat and lands gently on his tongue like the orange and black patterned butterflies in the garden.

‘Tell me now,’ he begs, ‘and I will tell you whatever you wish, Azriel.’

‘Come back to visit me, sweetheart. That’s all I ask.’

It had formed a pause in their effortless back and forth. Eris wanted to—Azriel knew that. No, the issue wasn’t in Azriel’s plea, he knew just how much Eris longed for the little village in the Illyrian steppes. The stable in the field and the small, knobby kneed, black lamb that follows Azriel around like ducklings in the Forest House pond in spring. He misses the creeping, ruby red moss and the yellow and sage aspens that crop up from out of the golden plains like the jagged teeth of a cliff.

Most of all, most desperately of all, he misses Azriel. There is not one inch of his soul that doesn’t.

The inked tip of his quill hangs over the page, a knife poised for the final push. Through skin, muscle, bone, to the heart of everything—the rot that waits, festering under the floorboards of his adamant desire to run. It is one thing; it is also a collection of things Eris has stored like the most gruesome of trinkets, the most harrowing of trophies.

Because Azriel calls him sweetheart. He writes in his tongue letters of longing and punctuates them with words like tatlım, and gach’lilit. As much as Eris wants to stitch those given titles to his chest, he already has one.

Eris Vanserra. Heir of Fire. Son of Autumn.

Sweetheart. Tatlım. Gach’lilit.

He cannot have both. The heir who wears the crown, who feels it’s golden spiked thorns pierce the thin skin of his head knows this. Eris Vanserra was not born with room on his chest for titles other than this: his father’s son.

When his quill meets the page, a heaviness in his hand that wasn’t previously there, he knows Azriel already knows what he will write.

‘Soon,’ he lies, ‘when the festival of the summer sun comes, I’ll visit.' Eris Vanserra cannot flaunt about the wilds of the Night Court without purpose or reason. Even less if the hint of the reason is his desire to see an Illyrian male—but he can set out on inter-court business to strengthen alliances, break down information, and gather intel. Eris Vanserra cannot winnow straight from the quilts of his bed into the hay-strewn floor of Azriel’s stable.

No matter how much he wants to.

His chest pinches, a sharp point digging into the sensitive skin between his ribs when Azriel takes a minute longer to reply. The page remaining horribly empty with their spare words, their delicate dance.

‘Then I will just have to hold onto these words a little longer, besheirt. I wish for you to hear them in person, for they are as sacred to me as you are.’

Something cracks, folds then splinters and out pours a smile like evening sunlight through the painted colors of autumn leaves in the canopy. The tension building in his shoulders leaks down and pools around his feet, an unwanted puddle he completely forgets about. Eris may be an heir, a son of autumn, and child of a loveless, forced marriage; but he is also sacred. Something holy and divine by only the rights of Azriel, and Azriel alone.

Eris has his titles. The stitched corners of his heart taken up piece by piece, but he will forever play the game of keeping himself in between the two if it will let him keep Azriel.

He has his own titles to give him.

~~///~~///~~///~~

(Key for words:)

Tatlım - ‘Sweetheart’

Gach’lilit - ‘Firefly’

Besheirt - ‘Notion of a soul mate, but mostly means Intended in terms of spouse’

aH. Alright okay cool I'm so normal about them. This is a short little thing, and it doesn't follow canon lore lol sorry about that. I really loved the idea of contrasts because for me it's what first drew me to this pairing. At first it seemed like there were too many contrasts for them to even be compatible, and then through softening my perspective of both of these characters and their flaws (and no small amount of delusion in which we merely squint from afar at SJMs portrayal of these characters) I found that maybe these contrasts actually enhance their chemistry. what crazy imagine that.

[bonefall]

i was wondering, how different are BB!Windstar, BB!Riverstar, and BB!Shadowstar in Modern Starclan than they were alive? Esp compared to BB!Skystar and BB!Thunderstar.

Windstar is waaaaaaaaaaay different. Modern cats have completely forgotten that she was kind of a bitch. Of all the founders, I'd actually say that she's the most different. They de-girlbossified her.

Her revelation from Gray Wing the Wise was that she had a taste of battle and choked on it; ergo, she should expand her horizons. She spent the later half of her leadership doing just that, encouraging her cats to trade, forming alliances, and collaborating heavily with Shadowstar on technological advances. She was so loved that ShadowClan constructed a cairn at her burial-- a mound of stones around her body.

In life, she never lost her intensity. Though she took the revelation to heart, she often held grudges, took part in skirmishes against the others, and displayed a lot of bias within her heavily-hierarchical Clan. She could even be cruel and unfair in her judgements. Moth Flight personally experienced this in life, as The Wind Runner held her parentage against her before she'd proven herself useful.

In BB, Moth Flight is the daughter of Cloud Flight and Wind's terrible ex-mate, Branch. Windstar's kittens are Morning Awakener and Dustiest Muzzle.

(note: Names still might change. Park cat names are titles, three words at most, which are collected over their lives. Traditionally, a king bestows these titles, but in WindCo it's their parent. I feel like it fits her to have three kits called Big One, Middle One, and Little One tbh, lmao)

In death, these less savory aspects have been filed down by the sands of time. She's remembered as intelligent and jovial, loud and singsong. Her real build was lanky and wiry, but she's imagined to be as fat as a rabbit thanks to her trading and innovation. She gets associated with the matriarch doe that runs a warren.

(Gorselike Fur is depicted as harelike.)

The stories give her a king-like air to her. Most of the post-battle WindClan tales open up with her being approached in her camp, describing the kittens that took over after her death as 'heirs,' because the Wind Coalition didn't have deputies until Riverstar's death and a succession crisis.

In contrast, Shadowstar is actually the least changed founder. Her revelation was that she had failed to break her own legacy (remembered through history as failed to be compassionate, as her "legacy" of being the descendant of Broken Shadow is forgotten) and someone else would be broken for her. That turned out to be her nephew, Sun Shadow.

After winning a staring contest with One Eye, Sun Shadow won the right to become the God of the Sun. It is said that if someone else wins a staring contest with him, THEY will become the next god, so Sun Shadow defends his position viciously.

At night, he must rest, and his aunt is there to shelter him. This is why there is day and night-- as Shadowstar allows him to sleep in her embrace.

(Post-Lake there are actually arguments between River and Shadow "philosophers," who fight over if Sun Shadow is actually laying down to rest in Riverstar's embrace instead. Blood has been spilled. Average college professor discussion.)

So, as a patron, she's associated with shelter, safety, rest. Sanctuary. It's something that ShadowClan heavily values about itself at various points through history. So Shadowstar is seen as gentle, protective, and pragmatic. Someone who deeply regrets how she lost sight of the value of life, and will now fight to defend the cats under her charge.

Not all too different from who she was in life.

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

A Baldur's Gate 3 Reader Insert Fic by scarredwithcruelintentions

(crossposted on AO3 here)

Rated: E

Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/Reader

Current W/C: 37,694

Summary:

The memory of clawing his way out of his own grave was among the worst he'd collected over his long life. He'd never imagined being turned would lead to nearly two hundred years of enslavement at the hands of a cruel master; but then again, he'd never even imagined being turned in the first place. All of his days as a spawn had blurred together, so much the same as they were in their infinite torment and shadow.

Until, one day, they weren't.

He knew one thing for certain, though.

If he had to do it all over again, crawl from his grave and live another two centuries of endless night, he would without question.

For after the darkness, he would come to find the light. He would come to find you.

A/N: Hey everyone! I went into Baldur's Gate 3 completely blind, knowing nothing about any of the characters, story, or gameplay. And, of course, I was immediately drawn to Astarion with his striking beauty, heavy flirting and aloof cockiness. Totally let the horny rule my brain (because GODS DAMN he's hot) and pursued a romance with him. And then I learned more about his story as I progressed in the game, and I was completely disgusted with myself. See, I did to Astarion exactly what so many people have done to me: I looked at him as an object, as a pretty piece of arm candy that was happy to cater to my *ahem* more lascivious whims. My heart broke a little (okay, a lot) because I feel much the same way as him about being treated like a piece of meat, something to be consumed and discarded in one fell swoop. I recently started Cognitive Processing Therapy for my trauma, and because I really connected with his character and storyline, I was compelled to write an apology to him in the form of this fic. Equally, in turn, it acts as the love letter to myself in accepting and moving forward from my own traumas. As I'm sure you can tell by now, there is a lot of heavy and uncomfortable subject matter to come in this, and I don't blame anyone for needing to click away. The story is meant to be an exploration of relearning the full spectrum of human(oid) emotions, so it will be a bit of a rollercoaster. Big shoutout to my Skwid Sis for cheerleading and my best friend and partner in crime, Big Daddy E, for reading it out loud with me in character and helping me (try to) edit my unnecessarily verbose run-on sentences. I cherish you two more than words will ever come close to expressing, and just want to say thank you for being patient and understanding with me during this very painful and difficult process. And lastly, I want to thank you, the reader, for taking the time to share in my healing journey by giving this silly lil brainchild of mine a chance. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I've been enjoying writing it. :) Likes, comments and reblogs much appreciated! Will be updated weekly (unless, yk, I am particularly inspired to share)!

chapter 1: this is a gift

chapter 2: the hunted

chapter 3: a desperate revelation

chapter 4: a reflection in another's eyes

chapter 5: a lament for all things lost

chapter 6: ruination and regret

chapter 7: sorrowful lash

chapter 8: scorched earth and rebirth

chapter 9: the four tenets

chapter 10: the fungal crusade

chapter 11: arcane collaboration

chapter 12: of cursed shadows

[livwritesstuff]

Oh!! Follow up to the last one, what’s the most memorable vacation story for each of the family members? Or do they all collectively share one? Also hi! It’s been a min!! You’re doing great!!!

<3 <3 <3

I feel like Eddie’s favorite memories from vacations are from when the girls are little – like, babies little.

He remembers the first time they brought Moe to the beach. She had just passed the ten-month mark, and planning their trip to Maine was one of the first things they’d done when her adoption was finalized a few weeks earlier.

Their first morning in Maine, they woke up early and made the trek down to the little beach nearby. The sky was still hazy, the sand smooth and unmarred from the night’s high tide. Eddie remembers that Moe was dressed in an adorable yellow swimsuit and Steve had valiantly stuck a pink sunhat on her head even though she was pretty much guaranteed to yank it off as soon as the opportunity presented itself, and he remembers that Steve had walked with Moe down to the water, pointing out the seagulls and the shells and the lighthouse all the way down the coastline barely visible through the early morning ocean mist.

Steve put her down right at the edge of the tide, and she’s not quite walking yet so Steve’s still got his hands under her arms as he crouched down to watch Moe's reactions to the waves rolling in. She tried to pick her little feet up above the water at first, but after a moment or two she was squishing her toes in the sand and looking out onto the water with her face looking all inquisitive.

After a couple moments, Steve looked up at Eddie with a soft smile on his face and Eddie’s heart gave a panging throb in the best way because, fuck, his entire world rests within these two people, and he's so damn grateful that he gets to spend his life with Steve, watching their daughter explore the world.

He has that same kind of moment only a few years later with Robbie (who had goddamn hated the beach and there's a special delight in that kind of baby-indignation, as Eddie now knows) and again a few years after that with Hazel.

For Steve, his favorite vacation moments are the opposite – from the later years, when the girls are older, because he’d loved raising babies but the most exciting part of parenthood to him was watching the people his daughters were becoming.

They were hiking a fairly easy trail in Yosemite (because neither Steve nor Eddie’s knees could handle the tougher ones anymore, and even if they wanted to try, Robbie and Hazel’s whining would make it not worth the effort). The girls are a good few paces ahead of them, Hazel and Moe walking hand-in-hand while Robbie argues with them over what kind of bird they’d heard calling a few hundred yards behind them. They’re wearing swimsuits and shorts because Moe swears they’re gonna pass a lake at some point during their hike, and Robbie's got her old Converse on despite the entire family telling her she’d regret it immediately (and Steve’s pretty sure she does regret it at this point, even if she’s not letting on).

Steve didn’t know it, but he was having the same revelation that Eddie’d had seventeen years earlier – disbelief, in a way, at how wonderful his life is and how the vague notion of family that he'd had in his brain at eighteen years old is the life he's actually living now.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Lovers Say Goodbye | 5 - B.Barnes

Character: soft!dark Bucky x ex-girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds solace and love in an unexpected place, only to have his world shattered by a shocking revelation about the person he cared about.

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3, Chap 4, Chap 5, -

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to read all your comments. Thank you once again.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

The car's interior felt like a tomb. The air hung heavy and frigid, starkly contrasting the heat throbbing in your side. The three agents, faces in pale masks under the harsh overhead light, tried desperately to maintain an air of composure. Beads of sweat trickled down their temples, betraying the growing unease that gnawed at them.

"I took my job seriously," you said, leaning back in the plush seat, a predatory glint in your otherwise dull eyes.

"Chopping the body into smaller pieces wasn't just about convenience," you continued, a cruel amusement twisting your lips. "It minimized the amount of soil needed. A smaller hole meant less suspicion."

You spoke as if describing a recipe, a terrifying calm replacing the pain that should have been etched on your face.

Your words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. The young agent in the passenger seat swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing like a frantic fish. The driver's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel, his grip white-knuckled against the worn leather.

"And using the remains… well, let's just say the human body has surprising properties," you continued, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Compost of that nature makes for phenomenal fertilizer. That's why the roses in my shop always bloomed so spectacularly.

A collective shiver wracked the agents. The image you painted, of your idyllic flower shop fueled by a dark secret, was enough to curdle their blood. The line between professional and psychopath had blurred beyond recognition.

The quiet, unassuming agent they'd been tasked with escorting was a monster in disguise, and they were trapped in a moving steel cage with her.

They heard Agent ODIN is scary, but not this psycho.

"Most of the bodies I handled belonged to double agents," you mused, your gaze flickering to each agent in turn, a challenge in your eyes.

"Director Brandon always got his hands dirty through me, the silent cleaner. Now, after two years of his ungrateful service, he wants to dispose of me?"

The question hung in the air, a dark accusation that sent a fresh wave of terror through the agents. They were no longer just transporting an injured colleague; they were transporting a ticking time bomb, a weapon potentially more dangerous than any they'd ever encountered.

You leaned back deeper into the plush seat, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips. With a calculated movement, you crossed your arms, the gesture chillingly casual in the face of the horrifying confession you'd just delivered.

"So," your voice dropped to a low purr, "let me get this straight. You were sent to babysit me, not protect me." Your gaze flickered from one agent to the other, each flinching under your unnerving scrutiny.

The young agent in the passenger seat finally snapped. Fear had morphed into a desperate defiance. With a trembling hand, he whipped out his gun, pointing it straight at you.

"Don't move!" he barked, his voice cracking with a mix of terror and bravado. "We only follow orders."

You, however, remained undeterred. You'd anticipated this reaction, the hollowness of their previous assurances echoing in your mind. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, a theatrical display of disappointment.

"Three of you against one," you mused, your voice laced with a hint of regret. "Such a shame. Didn't you learn basic protocol? Always restrain high-risk assets, especially after they casually confess to serial disposal."

The young agent's face contorted in confusion, the trigger finger hovering uselessly above the gun. In that split second, you capitalized on his bewildered state.

With a lightning-fast flick of your wrist, you whipped out a small syringe from your pocket, the needle glinting ominously under the car's harsh light. It was a practiced movement, born from years of operating in the shadows.

"Because," you explained with a chilling smile, "right before you so rudely interrupted, I injected you both with a little… persuasion."

A wave of panic washed over the two side agents. Their skin flushed an unnatural red, a prickling sensation spreading across their bodies. Their breaths became shallow, gasps escaping their lips. The fear in their eyes was a stark contrast to the bravado they'd displayed moments ago.

You didn't waste another glance on their agonizing contortions. Instead, you turned your icy gaze to the driver, his grip now slack on the steering wheel. The fear was a tangible thing hanging heavy in the air.

"Let me out of the car," you commanded, your voice laced with a deadly calm. "And perhaps I'll consider letting you take your friends to the hospital."

The driver, paralyzed by a mix of fear and the poison's effects, could only nod dumbly. You offered him a small, humorless smile, a chilling promise of freedom hanging in the stagnant air.

A cold dread snaked its way down the driver's spine. The chilling words of their orders echoed in his head: "Make her gone, or I will wipe you and your family from this earth." He cast a terrified glance at you, your calm demeanor a terrifying counterpoint to the chaos within him.

"I'm sorry, Agent L/N," he choked out, his voice thick with a mix of fear and morbid defiance. "Let's die together."

Before you could react, the engine roared to life. The car lurched forward, accelerating at a terrifying speed. You swore under your breath, the truth sinking in like a lead weight. They weren't going to the safe house; they were eliminating you.

Panic surged through you for a fleeting moment, a stark contrast to the carefully crafted facade you'd presented. You lunged for the door handle, ripping it open just as the driver steered the car towards the looming darkness at the edge of the cliff.

With a sickening lurch, the car plunged off the cliff face. You managed to throw yourself out of the car at the last possible second, rolling across the hard ground as the vehicle exploded into a fireball below, a final, fiery testament to their desperate attempt.

Shoving yourself upright, you winced at the renewed ache in your side, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. You gazed at the smoldering wreckage below, a dark humor twisting your lips.

"Tsk," you clicked your tongue, a sardonic sound that echoed in the stillness of the night. "Is this how they repay loyalty?"

You surveyed your surroundings, a cool night breeze whipping at your hair. You were alone, stranded on a deserted road with a body – well, at least the agents thought it was a body – to your name. A laugh escaped your lips, a dark sound that echoed in the stillness.

"Going back might be a slight problem," you mused, resting your hands on your hips.

The truth is, you never came here. The story you told the agents before was a lie. You just wanted to scare them. And you didn't inject the other two agents with poison. It's just a thin pick that you always bring if you get locked up.

You never intended for them to believe you were a deranged murderer, just someone they couldn't control.

But the satisfaction of manipulation was short-lived. Now, you were stranded in the middle of nowhere, with a very real problem: how to get back to civilization without blowing your cover.

You scratched your head in mock frustration, the throbbing pain in your side a dull counterpoint to the burning adrenaline. "Do I have to walk all the way down?" you muttered, gazing at the long stretch of deserted road leading back to civilization.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a low rumble echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second. A pair of headlights cut through the darkness, momentarily blinding you as they drew closer. A sleek black sports car screeched to a halt beside you, the engine purring like a caged beast.

The driver's side window rolled down, revealing a face you both expected and didn't. Bucky Barnes, his expression a chilling mix of amusement and something akin to grudging respect, stared at you.

"Need a lift, sweetheart?" he drawled, the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.

You forced a strained smile and managed to mutter, "No thanks. I'll just jump," though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

Bucky chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine, causing your shoulders to tense involuntarily.

"How does it feel to be betrayed by someone you trust?" he asked, his voice laced with bitterness, his eyes piercing into yours, searching for a reaction.

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[monstersinthecosmos]

Ok, but

What about Armand and Santino?

Do you think Santino loved Armand, was he attached to him?

Gosh the thing is like, we don’t know shit from fuck about Santino at the end of the day?????

But we do have this little bit from when Armand is eavesdropping on Marius and Santino collecting the forensic vampire evidence: 

"I don't understand you," Santino confessed gently. "But if you think I never loved him, you are very very wrong."

I can tell you that I believe Santino loved him, and I’ll tell you why, but ultimately this is a blank space in canon so there’s not one answer.

It just feels to me that like, you can use what we know about Armand’s indoctrination into the cult to wonder if Santino went through something similar. And we have to ask like, how much of Santino’s warmth and kindness is sincere, how much of his faith is sincere, or how much is purely manipulation and trauma. 

But I think the structure of VC lends itself to assuming the best in people, and assuming love where it’s possible, so like. Yes I do believe Santino is sincere. I believe his faith is sincere. I believe he thinks he’s doing the right thing in the way he breaks Armand because maybe he went through the same. 

It's important to remember that purely evil characters are very rare in VC. People behave in ways they think are correct. Santino thinks he's doing the right thing.

And it’s a great sacrifice to send Armand away so quickly, trusting him that much. It’s like he’s denied himself the companionship of someone who might really truly understand him because so much of their belief relies on asceticism. Even if he didn't feel sentimental about Armand on a personal level, I have to wonder if he just admired him as a little prodigy.

Something else we know about Santino is that he had the hots for Pandora and was willing to throw it all away for her and she kinda shamed him for attacking Marius, and it makes me wonder how much it plays into why he came with her to rescue Marius from the ice. If it’s for a sense of atonement I have to ask like, does he mean personally for Marius for that one time, or for everything. 

Armand is similarly ashamed of his years in the cult and it’s like the biggest phase of his life that he barely talks about in his book because it’s too dark and painful. 

So I think there’s a sense that they both entered and exited the cult in the same way, and I get the sense that they already came with their own religious trauma as baggage which made them susceptible to staying in the first place. 

Armand says about Santino We keep a gentlemanly distance from one another and like, you can read into this however you want, but fuck if my brain doesn’t light up like a Christmas tree thinking about how it must be so painful to be around each other, how there must be such a deep level of mutual regret and empathy. Maybe Armand knows that whatever Santino did to him was repeating a cycle, and maybe it’s because Armand continued that cycle. Maybe he knows he’s hurt people as badly as Santino hurt him.

And they’re such a unique pair—how many more coven leaders are out there? And how many others have this direct link to either of them? It’s not some abstract concept of some other guy who also put time in—it’s that Santino directly shaped this for him. 

So yeah I mean.

"But if you think I never loved him, you are very very wrong."

There’s a lot here to think about and in the way Armand tends to deeply love everyone in his life who’s wronged him and doesn’t seem to give up on people, I just know they must love each other. And Santino must love him back. How do you not. Everyone falls in love with Armand. The night Santino found him must have been a revelation. 

[questionableratatouille00]

ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ (ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bath time with Bucky? On Valentine’s Day? Hell yeah.

Warnings: Handjobs (B receiving), bath sex, fluff, slight allusion to HYDRA trash party/non-con.

[Collection M. List]

“You did this?” You gasp, looking into the bathroom. There’s rose petals in the tub, which is filled with hot water. There’s candles placed around the room in specific spots so that there’s no fire hazards.

Your boyfriend nods, smiling gently. “All for you, doll.”

You press a kiss to his lips, smiling. “You’re awesome, Buck. I love you.”

He smiles, feeling absolutely proud of himself.

“C’mon, aren’t you gonna get in with me?” You chuckled, quickly stripping your clothes off of your body.

He nods, quietly doing the same. “You want me to sit in front of you or behind you?”

“Mmm…in front of me.” You smile. “So I can hug you.”

“Alright.” He nods, watching as you get in the tub. You spread your legs to the sides of the tub as he settles in between them.

You gently rest your back against the back of the tub, and Bucky rests against your chest. You wrap your hands around his waist, setting your chin against his shoulder.

“I love you.” He says after a moment.

“Aww, babe, I love you too. I think this is one of the best Valentine’s Days I’ve ever had.” You murmured. “Me too.” He sighed happily. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to the party. I know you wanted to see everybody.” He said after a moment.

Every year Tony had a Valentines party. You loved the damn things, but Bucky did not. And he was so willing to just bear it for you, but you could tell that deep down he wanted nothing to do with the event—or parties in general.

Loud noises, drunk people, large crowds? Yeah right.

So you didn’t go. And you were perfectly fine with that.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’d much rather be here in the bath with you.” You said.

“Are you sure? I..you were so excited to go. You love those parties.” He frowned.

“Yeah. But I love you more. I have no regrets. Period.” You expressed. You pressed a kiss to his left shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I love you too. With all my heart, dollface.” He confessed.

“You set up the little iPad in here. You wanna watch a movie?” You offered.

“Sure. What do you wanna watch?”

“How about the rom-com Valentine’s Day?”

“Sure, hon.” He set it up and the movie began.

You rested your hands on his thighs, rubbing circles into them with your thumbs.

You were distracted from the movie by a hitch in his breath.

“Babe?” You looked at him, adjusting do you could see his face better. And then your eyes trailed down and…oh.

“Shit, did I—my bad.” You moved your hands off his thighs, but he grabbed them, moving them back into place.

“No—it’s, it’s okay. I uh, I like it.” He murmured.

There was a complicated history with Bucky and getting an erection, one of which you knew most of.

Sometimes you’d be in ‘sexy’ situations and he’d get hard, sometimes he wouldn’t. You never minded.

Normally him getting hard without the explicit intention to have sex would make him uncomfortable, and he’d try and get out of whatever situation he was in. But not now.

“You sure?” You raise a brow. You want him to feel as safe and comfortable as possible.

He nodded quickly. “Mhm.”

You weren’t entirely sure what the vibe was here. “Do you want..do you want me to—“

“Touch me.” He said suddenly. “Yes. I want you to touch me. If you want to,” he added.

“I do.” You murmured against his shoulder. “Let me know if you need me to stop, yeah?” You breathed.

“Got it.” He hummed.

You trailed your hand down his abs, resting at his base. You gave his hard cock a slow, steady stroke as you rested your forehead against his shoulder.

You rubbed your thumb over his tip, and he sucks in a breath. You glide your hand back up his shaft, slowly settling into a rhythm he seems to like the best.

Slow and gentle touches turn into satisfying pumps at his aching cock. He even bucks his hips once or twice, and you revel in the soft sounds he makes.

“Fuck—I’m close.” He warns, his brows furrowed and his cheeks a gentle pink.

“It’s alright, baby. Just let go; I’ve got you.” You whisper gently.

And he does, letting out the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, doll.” He whispers out into the air. “I love you. So fucking much.”

You press a kiss to his neck. “I love you too. But we’re not done yet.” You grinned.

A/n: choices were made. Uhhhhhhhhh ok bye

graphics by @saradika-graphics

[aktyzine]

₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆CHOCOLATE EXCHANGE⋆★

Happy Valentine's Day from the ECLIPSE team! Thank you for your continued support of the zine! Please view the accompanying fanfiction below!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It feels almost silly to be wearing something so formal only to hang out at crase café. Toya went to the lengths of renting out the entire café space just for the two of them.

However, Toya left instructions for Akito to follow with a change of clothes.

Akito finds the prepared suit far too stuffy, but he would endure it for Toya. After placing his purchased box of espresso chocolate truffles on the table, Akito stirs in his seat with antsy hands.

It’s not long before Toya enters the cafe. The familiar ring causes Akito to perk up and offer Toya an awkward wave. Toya’s outfit matches Akito’s in motif and color, but he wears a hat on his head and his box of chocolates seems to be close enough as a professional’s.

Knowing Toya, though, it’s definitely homemade. Akito regrets that he didn’t make his chocolate by himself, but there’s always White Day next month.

Toya sits in the seat across from Akito and beams at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Akito. I can’t express my gratitude enough in words, but I always want you to know how important you are to me. Please accept this.” He holds his box up to Akito.

“You’re always so formal,” Akito laughs, but he takes it almost too eagerly. “Thanks, Toya. These homemade?”

“Yes, but please be assured that they are in prime condition.” Toya nods with a reassuring smile.

“Truthfully, it’s thanks to KAITO-san and the others for helping me make the best chocolate for the best partner, but think of it as a collective effort on everyone’s part.”

“Geez, now you make me feel lame that I just bought you some from the store…”

Akito clears his throat, trying his best to maintain eye contact. “Well, it’s still from a fancy chocolate store, so I guess that makes up for it.”

“Of course it does, Akito.” Toya smiles as Akito takes his chocolate. Akito slides his store bought box over to Toya in exchange. On the count of three, both of them tug at the ribbon and unravel their respective gift boxes. Eyes on both sides glint at the contents.

“Just checking, but…” Akito begins as he picks up one of the pieces of chocolate in his hand.

He rotates it between two fingers, inspecting it and all of its details. He takes a bite of it, letting the chocolate and orange filling melt onto his tongue. “Are these obligatory chocolates?”

Toya picks up a chocolate of his own, nodding at the aroma and reveling in the cocoa powder dusting his finger tips. “Akito, you know those aren’t obligatory chocolates. Unless you mean…?”

“Of course not! True feelings and all… well, thanks, Toya. This is super good.”

Akito finishes it off and licks his fingers. “I’ll return the favor on White Day… a whole lot more. Watch out.”

“Me too, Akito. I’ll make sure to make something even better.” Toya nods with some sort of new resolve in his eyes.

Akito shakes his head with a huff. “Just buy something, seriously. I can’t let you show me up next time…”

Toya laughs, popping his truffle into his mouth. After a thoughtful chew and a hum of delight, Toya smiles. “No promises.”

⋆｡°✩ THE END ⋆｡°✩

[hlstead]

spotlight

[son heung min x reader]

warnings: swearing

My heart raced as Son and I stepped out into the blinding camera flashes. We had been keeping our relationship a secret for months, savoring the precious moments together away from the public eye. But now, the secret was out, and the paparazzi descended upon us like a swarm of vultures hungry for a story.

"Who is she?" one photographer shouted, thrusting his camera in my face. "How did you two even meet?"

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. These questions were invasive, and they painted me as some kind of gold-digger, a girl trying to cash in on her relationship with a famous footballer. The reality was far from that.

Son, ever the gentleman, stepped closer to me, placing a reassuring hand on my back. "Hey, let's just keep walking," he said softly, his voice a calming presence amidst the chaos.

But the relentless questions continued. "Did you guys have sex to get his attention?" Another voice yelled from the crowd, causing my blood to boil. I clenched my fists, wanting to lash out, to defend our love, but Son squeezed my hand, urging me to stay calm.

We pushed through the sea of reporters, trying to make our way to the waiting car. The shouts and accusations followed us like a dark cloud. "Did you want fame? Is that why you're dating him?" a particularly nasty reporter asked, a sly grin on his face.

I couldn't take it anymore. I turned to face the relentless crowd, my voice trembling with anger. "No! None of this is about fame or money. We love each other, and that's all that matters!"

Son's grip on my hand tightened, and he shot me a loving, grateful look. But the paparazzi didn't let up. They continued their barrage of questions, trying to get a rise out of us.

Son's comforting presence beside me was the only thing keeping me from breaking down. He reached for my hand, his fingers interlocking with mine.

"Y/N, please don't let them get to you," Son whispered, his voice filled with concern. "They're just trying to provoke us."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. "I know, Son, but it's so infuriating. I can't stand the way they make me out to be some kind of villain."

Son's expression grew stern as he squeezed my hand. "You're not a villain, Y/N. You're the love of my life, and I won't let anyone tarnish your reputation."

"Hey, Son! Is your girlfriend always such a bitch, or is that just for the cameras?"

I felt a surge of anger rise within me, but before I could respond, Son grabbed the car's radio and pressed the button. "You have no right to talk about her like that," he growled, his voice filled with a dangerous edge.

The paparazzi on the other end seemed to revel in the confrontation. "Oh, look at the tough guy! Defending his little girlfriend. What's the matter, Son? Can't handle a real woman?"

My heart pounded as I watched Son's knuckles whiten around the radio. I knew he was on the verge of losing his temper, and I feared what could happen next.

"Son, please," I urged, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "Let's not give them the satisfaction."

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenched, and then released the radio button. The paparazzi's laughter rang through the car's speakers, but we remained resolute in our silence.

Minutes turned into hours as we finally escaped the clutches of the paparazzi. When the car pulled into the driveway of Son's secluded home, we both let out a collective sigh of relief.

Son turned to me, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I should have handled that better."

I shook my head, a small smile playing at my lips. "You were defending me, Son. I appreciate that more than you know."

He reached over and gently caressed my cheek, his touch warm and tender. "I love you, Y/N. I won't let anyone hurt you, no matter what."

[tinytinyblogs]

Is it hate or love?

Hate or love? Their mixed signals are driving you crazy.

(Ot8 skz reaction, non-idol, lil angst)

Hyung line Maknae line

💬I genuinely enjoy this one; it brings a smile to my face as I write. However, I must admit my mind is currently devoid of any ideas. If you have any requests, feel free to suggest, whether it's a one-shot or a reaction.

Stray kids masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry hornets, each flicker echoing the storm brewing within you. Another mountain of paperwork, another impossible deadline, another unwanted gift from Chan, the CEO who seemed to thrive on your suffering. He was an enigma, admired by the masses, yet your tormentor in disguise. You were done. Done with the endless demands, the relentless pressure, the suffocating feeling of being his personal pack mule. It was always you, drowning in work while others sat idle, their days filled with gossip and coffee breaks. Sleep was a luxury you barely remembered, your nights consumed by spreadsheets and reports. Enough. With a growl that surprised even yourself, you rose from your desk, sanity taking flight. His office, usually a sterile haven of power, became your target. No meek knock, no announcement. You barged in, the door slamming shut with a finality that mirrored the one building inside you. Chan, caught mid-keystroke, his gaze flew up, meeting yours. You held his stare, your emotions a tightly packed bomb, ready to detonate. "Shouldn't you knock?" His voice was a smooth, practiced drawl, but the surprise in his eyes was genuine.

But a voice, surprisingly gentle, stopped you in your tracks. "No," it said, and you whirled around to find Chan still seated, his gaze fixed on you. He seemed unperturbed by your outburst, his body radiating an unexpected stillness. "I wouldn't find another employee," he continued, his words a quiet counterpoint to the storm raging within you. Your questioning look, a blend of disbelief and lingering anger, seemed to crack his facade just a bit. "You're not quitting," he said, his voice losing its usual edge. "Take a week. Rest. Come back." You scoffed, frustration twisting your gut. "Chan, I'm done. All of it. What do you even want from me?" He leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. "Attention," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "Yours." The revelation hit you like a punch to the solar plexus. Attention? him, the man who seemed to thrive on stoicism and distance? "Wanted the attention you give everyone," he elaborated, his voice laced with a vulnerability you'd never heard before. "But no matter what I did, your eyes were always elsewhere." He glanced at his watch, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his face. "Go home, rest. I'll visit you after I finish my work today. We can…talk about it."

You slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the tense silence. Your legs took two determined steps forward, each one a declaration of your rebellion. "Yeah, I should," you spat, your voice raw with pent-up frustration. "But I'm done with formalities, Chan. Done with playing your game." He pushed his chair back, his full attention on you now. "The file, I presume?" You scoffed. "You know me too well, don't you? Always up to your neck in demands, yet blind to the idleness around you. I work myself to the bone, barely see the sun, while others twiddle their thumbs and collect paychecks." Your voice, once a whisper of resentment, now roared with righteous anger. You ripped the employee ID card from your neck, a tangible symbol of your servitude. "I'm done, Chan," you declared, flinging the card to the floor, its plastic clatter a punctuation mark on your declaration of freedom. "Done being your slave. Done with this charade. This isn't work, it's a prison, and I refuse to be your inmate any longer." The ID card's clatter echoed in the room, a final punctuation mark on your fiery declaration. "Find someone else to do your dirty work with a smile," you hissed, turning on your heel, ready to escape the suffocating confines of his office.

Minho

As the creak of the nursery door echoed through the silent house, your eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing Minho slumped on the bed. A fresh gash marred his usually stoic face, sending a wave of concern and exasperation washing over you. You tossed your untied hair back with a frustrated sigh, the loose strands framing your worried expression. "Are you out of your mind?" your voice was sharp, laced with disbelief as you approached him. Minho remained silent, his gaze distant, refusing to meet yours. It was oddly endearing, this uncharacteristic vulnerability, but the anger at his recklessness still burned inside you. "It's kinda fun to hear you fight because of me, isn't it, Minho?" you quipped, your eyes scanning the room for a first-aid kit. It stood sentinel beside him, a silent witness to his recent skirmish. "Since when do you care if anyone mocks me?" you challenged, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Weren't you the one who started it all?" Your words hung heavy in the air, accusation mingled with confusion. As you leaned in, gently tending to his injury, the air crackled with unspoken emotions. Minho, once an impenetrable fortress, seemed to soften under your touch, his eyes holding a depth you'd never witnessed before.

"I never start anything," he finally rasped, his voice rough with unspoken apologies. "I never made fun of you in front of anyone. I wouldn't." His denial hung in the air, tinged with desperation. You looked up, meeting his gaze, his eyes seeking yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Aren't they your friends?" you asked, your voice barely above a breath. "Didn't they just repeat the gossip you started?" Minho let out a heavy sigh, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, stopping your ministrations. His touch sent a jolt through you, and you instinctively looked up, drawn into the maelstrom of emotions swirling in his eyes. This simple gesture, this unexpected vulnerability, opened a crack in the facade he'd carefully constructed. And in that small opening, you glimpsed a truth that threatened to rewrite everything you thought you knew about Minho. What lay beneath the surface? Regret? Guilt? Something more? The tension in the room hummed like a live wire, charged with unspoken words and the weight of shared secrets. The air, thick with anticipation, waited for the next move, the next truth to break through the silence.

The air between you and Minho crackled with tension, as thick as the silence. His grip on your hand was like a vise, holding you captive in this charged space. "They're my classmates," he finally spoke, his voice low and tight, "but that doesn't mean they blindly follow my every word. Don't paint me as some villain, spewing lies and manipulating them. Stop assuming the worst." You yearned to pull away, to break free from his hold, but the intensity in his eyes pinned you in place. "Because you always act like one, Minho!" you countered, your voice rising in frustration. "This hostility, this constant antagonism toward me – why? Why do you harbor such animosity?" His gaze, once defiant, softened, a flash of pain flickered across his face. "Who said I hate you?" His voice echoed in the quiet room, bouncing off the walls, almost drowning out the distant school bell. "If I truly hated you, wouldn't these wounds be scars on someone else's face? Wouldn't I be far away from you, causing trouble elsewhere?" He looked at you, his eyes raw and searching. "No one," he continued, his voice dropping back to a whisper, "ever told me those things about you. Open your eyes, Y/N," he gestured to his injury, "see past the persona you've built for me. I'm not the monster you think I am."

Changbin

The lunch bell clanged through the bustling cafeteria, a jarring contrast to the turmoil brewing within you. The midday sun, streaming through the glass walls, felt like an unwelcomed spotlight on your skin, highlighting the insecurities the toxic whispers had planted. Your fingers trembled as you checked your watch, the numbers mocking your empty stomach. Lunch should be a joyous break, a chance to refuel and recharge, but the thought of food tasted like ash in your mouth. Every bite felt like a betrayal against the chorus of taunts echoing in your head, the unsolicited advice on your weight a constant weight on your chest. "What's with you?" a voice cut through your misery. Changbin, your perpetual shadow, loomed over you, his presence as unwelcome as the stale cafeteria air. "Forgot your lunch money? Or just another dramatic attempt at starvation?" His words were laced with a familiar bite, designed to prick at the raw nerve endings of your insecurities. You clenched your fists, the urge to lash back crackling in your veins. But you knew the futility of engaging, of feeding the flames of his negativity. "Go away," you muttered, your voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of laughter and chatter.

You turned your gaze towards the window, seeking solace in the blur of the bustling city below. The endless stream of people, each with their own stories, offered a strange comfort, a reminder that you weren't alone in this struggle. Changbin, however, remained a persistent fly in your ointment. "Eat something, you idiot," he rasped, his voice a touch softer than usual. "I don't want to lug your unconscious body to the nurse again." A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you met his gaze, his untouched lunch sitting accusingly between you. "Don't tell me you're on a diet, Y/N?" his voice was laced with concern, but it grated on your already frayed nerves. "Yeah, well, they keep reminding me how fat and ugly I am," you spat, bitterness clinging to your words like smoke. "Satisfied now? Go eat your lunch somewhere else." He didn't move, his stillness a stark contrast to your turmoil. Instead, he rose from his chair, his gaze unwavering. To your surprise, he didn't leave. Instead, he returned moments later with another lunch set, placing it gently in front of you. "Sometimes, you can be unbelievable," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Just eat whatever you want and be happy. Why let their words dictate your joy?" His words hung in the air, a gentle challenge to the self-imposed prison you'd built around your insecurities.

You looked at the food, the vibrant colors and inviting aromas a stark contrast to the darkness in your mind. The tension in the air had softened, replaced by something unexpected - a fragile truce. He sat across from you, his lunch forgotten as he focused on yours. "Beside," he mumbled, eyes glued to the colourful mountain of food on your plate, "you totally look fine in my eyes." His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the usual barbs and banter that defined your dynamic. You, the prickly defender, and him, the relentless challenger, had somehow stumbled into an unfamiliar territory - one where kindness was laced with gruffness, and concern masked by playful threats. It felt surreal, like waking up in a parallel universe where the sun rose in the west and Changbin, of all people, was complimenting your looks. "Beautiful as always," he added, his gaze meeting yours, a flicker of something... new... dancing in his eyes. It was a look devoid of mockery, devoid of the usual cynicism, and it made your stomach do a strange somersault. He waited, a silent encouragement for you to dig in. You hesitated, the familiar spoon feeling heavy in your hand. "If you skip a meal again, I'm not kidding, I'll make sure you eat something myself."

Hyunjin

The morning light, usually a welcome friend, felt like a harsh spotlight on your throbbing head. The ache in your body was a symphony of protests, each muscle groaning its disapproval at the mere thought of movement. A groggy groan escaped your lips as you tumbled out of bed, the world tilting precariously before righting itself. The fridge, however, refused to cooperate. Its barren shelves mocked your rumbling stomach, a cruel reminder of your impending grocery trip. You winced, the effort of just standing feeling like a Herculean feat. Then, like a bad penny, he materialized. Hwang Hyunjin, your resident thorn in the side, stood there, a smirk playing on his lips. "You look dead," he chirped, his voice somehow grating on your already frayed nerves. Ignoring him, you focused on putting one foot in front of the other, each step a battle against the leaden weight of your body. Hyunjin, however, wasn't done. A hand, surprisingly cool against your burning forehead, stopped you in your tracks.

"Street walking with a fever? Not your brightest move, dumbass," he drawled, his voice laced with a sardonic concern that only he could pull off. You swatted his hand away, a weak attempt at defiance. "Not claiming any awards for genius today," you mumbled, your voice thick with fatigue. "But starving is worse." Hyunjin's smirk softened. He could be infuriating, that was for sure, but even through the haze of your illness, you couldn't help but notice a flicker of something else in his eyes - maybe concern, maybe something more. Every step felt like a betrayal, your body screaming its protest with each groan. Yet, you pushed on, fuelled by a desperate need for the cool embrace of sheets and the sweet oblivion of sleep. Then, amidst the symphony of aches, a hand materialized, grabbing the very item you craved from the shelf. Another hand, warm and surprisingly gentle, nudged you closer to the checkout. You whirled around, expecting the worst, but instead, you found Hwang Hyunjin, the familiar scent of Hyunjin's cologne a sudden anchor in your sea of dizziness.

"You really gonna make a scene by collapsing in public?" he muttered, his voice surprisingly gentle. He pulled you closer, his arm a surprisingly strong shield against the encroaching crowd. His body heat, a stark contrast to your feverish chills, radiated comfort you couldn't deny. You stumbled a little, your vision swimming, but his presence, a steady anchor in the storm, kept you upright. "You don't need to care," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the supermarket din. You looked up at him, his face etched with a concern that made your heart skip a beat. He hummed, a low rumble that somehow soothed the storm raging within you. "I think so," he confessed, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you hadn't seen before. "But you always make me worried, and care." He squeezed your arm gently, the gesture both firm and reassuring. His gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment. His eyes, usually filled with mischief, held a depth you hadn't seen before. "Hurry up, I'll cook the meal. You should get your medicine, thank me later after you feel better."

©Tinytinyblogs

[cheynovak]

The shadowsinger - part 4  

Characters: Azriel x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:  Y/N, the niece of Lucien, has fled an arranged marriage, only to find herself hunted by her cruel uncle, Beron. Lost in the cold woods, she is discovered by Azriel, who is reminded of his own painful past. He brings her back to Velaris, but the journey is only beginning. 

Warnings: build up to smut – nothing to explicit (yet)  

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

With a determined stride, Lucien approached Azriel, his face a mask of controlled tension. Cassian and Mor noticed the change in his demeanor and exchanged curious glances, but Lucien’s focus remained solely on the spymaster. 

“Azriel,” Lucien said, his tone guarded but polite. “Could we have a word?” 

Azriel turned to face him, a flicker of surprise crossing his features but followed him outside. Lucien’s gaze fixed intently on Azriel, his voice cold and resolute. “I noticed how you were looking at Y/N,” he began, his tone clipped and laced with underlying menace. “I would like you to leave my niece alone.” 

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise at the bluntness of Lucien’s demand. He remained silent, struggling to process the weight of the accusation. 

Lucien’s voice grew sharper, fuelled by a mix of anger and hurt. “Isn’t it enough that you stole my mate, that your shadows blurred her mind? Now you want my niece, too?” 

Azriel’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing with frustration. “I didn’t steal anyone. And maybe if you had been there more for Elain at the beginning instead of just claiming her, she might have chosen differently.” 

The words were out before Azriel could fully think them through, and they stung with the rawness of truth and pain. The argument escalated, the two males raising their voices in a heated exchange. The crowd gathered outside, drawn by the commotion, their curiosity piqued by the escalating tension. 

Y/N and Elain, alerted by the noise, emerged from the house, their faces a mix of confusion and concern. As they joined the onlookers, Lucien’s anger flared. “Do you want a duel, Azriel? Is that what it takes for you to stay away from my family?” 

Azriel’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising to match Lucien’s. “So, you’d duel for your niece, but not for your mate?” Lucien’s face contorted with fury. “That’s the girl you want to soil this week with your toxic shadows, isn’t it?” 

The argument reached a crescendo, and Azriel’s frustration boiled over. His voice roared, a sound that was both powerful and guttural. “I don’t want Y/N! I don’t want to be with her! I’m trying to be a friend, nothing more!” 

The revelation hit the crowd like a wave. The shouting stopped abruptly as everyone turned to look at Y/N. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with pain and disbelief. She had heard every word, and the intensity of Azriel’s declaration pierced through her. She staggered back, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. 

Without another word, Y/N turned and fled inside the house, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Her heart pounded in her chest, the weight of Azriel’s words and the argument crashing over her like a relentless tide. 

Lucien’s face was a mixture of fury and concern as he tried to follow Y/N into the house. “Look what you’ve done,” he said, his voice low and trembling. 

Azriel's heart sank further with every word. He felt the weight of his actions more acutely than ever. As Lucien retreated, Azriel turned to face the inner circle, his gaze heavy with regret. He glanced at Elain, who looked at him with disappointment and concern. His shoulders sagged under the burden of their collective disapproval. 

The party had ended, and the once vibrant atmosphere was now filled with an uneasy silence. The inner circle gathered, each lost in their own thoughts about the evening’s events. Lucien returned to the group, his face grim. 

“Is Y/N here?” Lucien asked, his voice laced with worry. When no one immediately answered, he pressed, “She didn’t come home. Did anyone see her?” 

Rhysand, his face lined with concern, responded, “She probably went for a walk to clear her head. She didn’t seem to want to be around anyone. I’ve ordered Ar to stay put in case she returns.” 

Lucien’s worry only deepened. “She shouldn’t be alone right now. I need to find her.” 

Before Lucien could act on his concern, Azriel made a swift decision. His heart pounded with determination and remorse. He met Rhysand’s gaze and nodded curtly, “I’ll be out the room in case...” then turned and headed for his room. With practiced ease, he opened the window and slipped out into the night. 

The cold air hit him like a physical force as he launched into the sky, his wings catching the breeze. The familiar landscape of Velaris was illuminated by moonlight, but his focus was solely on finding Y/N. His senses were heightened, attuned to every shift in the wind, every whisper of movement. 

Azriel flew over the city, scanning the streets below. He saw the glimmer of lights from the city and the dark, quiet areas where people might go to find solitude. His heart raced as he searched, desperately hoping to catch sight of her. 

He remembered the spots Y/N had mentioned enjoying during their conversations—the quiet, serene places where she liked to retreat. One such place was a secluded garden near the edge of the city, often used as a refuge for those needing peace. 

As Azriel approached the garden, he slowed his descent, landing softly among the shadows. He approached cautiously, his senses on high alert. The garden was bathed in moonlight, the flowers and trees casting long shadows. The tranquility of the place contrasted sharply with the turmoil he felt inside. 

He spotted Y/N sitting on a stone bench, her silhouette barely visible in the dim light. Her posture was slumped, and she seemed lost in her thoughts. Azriel’s heart ached at the sight, knowing he had been the cause of her distress. 

He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. “Y/N,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice gentle. “Can I talk to you?” 

Y/N didn’t immediately respond, her head bowed. After a moment, she looked up, her eyes red and weary. “What are you doing here, Azriel?” 

Azriel took a seat next to her, maintaining a respectful distance. “I-I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you. What happened tonight—what I said—it was wrong. I didn’t realize how my words would affect you.” 

Y/N’s voice was quiet, trembling slightly. “You said you didn’t want me. It ok, you’re allowed to feel that way about me.” Still not looking at him. Azriel’s expression was filled with regret. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was angry”  

Azriel stepped closer, his heart heavy with the weight of his emotions. “The truth is, I care about you a great deal, and I’m sorry for everything that happened. I should have been more considerate of your feelings.” 

Y/N’s breath hitched, and she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability. “Care?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “I don’t just care for you, Az… I…” Her words faltered, a lump forming in her throat. 

Azriel’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know,” he said gently. “I do too.” 

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, and she struggled to process the depth of his confession. The moonlight reflected in her tears, casting a gentle glow over her face. Azriel reached out, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, offering her a tangible comfort amidst the chaos of her emotions. 

Y/N looked up at him, her gaze searching his face for sincerity. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you talked to me, why... why do you rather spend time with Elain?”  

Azriel shook his head, the weight of his own words pressing down on him. “No, it’s not you. It’s just…” He stumbled over his words, the vulnerability of the moment making it difficult for him to express himself clearly. “It’s just that I don’t know how to talk about this. How to say… I knew from the moment I took you in my arms and brought you back to Velaris that you would be both my strength and my weakness.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and emotion flickering across her face. “You feel it too?” 

Azriel nodded, his expression earnest as he took a deep breath. “Yes. It’s difficult to explain, but… I feel things for you that I’ve never felt before. I’ve tried to deny it, to protect you from it, but it’s been there all along.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened with confusion. “Protect me?” 

Azriel sighed deeply, a pained look crossing his face as he knelt before her, his gaze steady but full of vulnerability. “Yes, protect you. You were just betrothed and barely escaped with your life. Should I stride in and claim you then? Just like I blamed Lucien for claiming Elain, I didn’t want to put you in that position. I didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already had.” 

He paused, his eyes searching hers. “I wanted to give you space, to allow you time to heal and figure things out on your own. I didn’t want to pressure you or complicate your recovery with my feelings. I hoped that, when you were ready, you would tell me how you felt once the bond snapped for you.” 

Y/N's breath hitched as she processed his words, the complexity of his emotions finally coming into focus. She hesitated, then asked quietly, "What about Elain?" 

Azriel’s expression softened, his gaze steady and sincere. “I told her that day, the one you saw us in the garden. We talked, and she understands. She’s happy for me, for us. We both knew that if anything were to happen between us, Lucien would fight for her. But she didn’t want that, didn’t want any male to fight for her, well, not battle at least.” 

His voice was gentle, but the weight of his words was heavy, laden with the depth of his feelings and the clarity he’d found in them. 

Azriel reached out, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s hand. She felt the roughness of his scars, the marks of battles fought and won, yet he flinched slightly as she caressed them, a vulnerability exposed. 

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in the quiet night. The connection between them was undeniable, a pull that neither could resist any longer. 

Y/N leaned in slowly, her breath mingling with his, her heart pounding in her chest. Azriel’s gaze flicked to her lips before returning to her eyes, a question and a promise all at once. Then, with a soft exhale, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. 

Azriel’s hand tightened around hers, the other coming up to cradle her face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that belied the strength and power he possessed. It was a kiss filled with unspoken words, with all the emotions they had kept hidden for so long. 

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other, both breathing heavily, their hearts beating in sync. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Azriel’s gaze, and she saw the same mixture of vulnerability and determination reflected back at her. 

“Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. 

Azriel smiled softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” 

As Azriel pulled Y/N into his arms and took off into the night sky, she let out a surprised squeal, clutching him tightly as they soared above Velaris. The city below sparkled like a sea of stars, but all Y/N could focus on was the steady, powerful beat of Azriel’s wings and the warmth of his body against hers. The sensation of flying with him was exhilarating, freeing, and in his embrace, she felt safe in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

They landed softly on the balcony of the House of Wind, the grand structure looming quietly under the night sky. The house was still, everyone either gone or already tucked away in their beds. But the fire between them still burned, hotter and brighter with every passing second. 

Azriel led her inside, his gaze never leaving hers, and guided her to the couch in front of the dying embers of the fire. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap, his hands resting on her waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, and she could feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he was barely holding onto. 

“I forgot your gift,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough. 

Y/N tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes as he pulled out a small box and handed it to her. She opened it carefully, revealing a delicate necklace inside. The piece was simple but beautiful, the metal worn with age, and it shimmered faintly in the dim light. 

“It was my mother’s,” Azriel explained, his voice filled with emotion. “She made it herself. It’s not worth much in gold or jewels, but… it’s all I have left of her.” 

Y/N’s heart clenched at the sincerity in his words, at the vulnerability he was sharing with her. She looked at the necklace, then back at him, understanding the significance of the gift. Without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him again, pouring all her feelings into that kiss—gratitude, affection, desire. The kiss deepened within seconds, the passion between them flaring to life. 

Azriel groaned softly against her lips, the sound vibrating through her, sending shivers down her spine. He could smell her need, could feel the heat of it between them, and it only fuelled the fire in his own veins. His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, while her fingers tangled in the dark strands of his hair, holding him to her. 

The air around them grew thick with the intensity of their connection, every touch, every kiss stoking the flames higher. The world outside the walls of the House of Wind faded away, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms.  

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