#Collection: Regrets & Revelations

[prythianpages]

A Light That Never Goes Out | Azriel

Azriel x Rhysand's sister (reader) | The aftermath of Azriel kissing you in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares.

warnings: angry Rhys, angry High Lord, brief mention of Tamsand, mating bond snapping

word count: roughly 3K, around 3.5K if you read the bonus scene

a/n: This is a part two to this but can be read as a stand alone. I had fun writing this but I worry this sounded better in my head. I was tempted to turn this into a crack fic bc of this trending tiktok sound.

Azriel kisses you, consequences be damned. His hand slides from yours to the nape of your neck, drawing you closer. You kiss him back with the same intensity, years of longing and love pouring into this single moment. Your mind and thoughts tangling with his, the bond between you surging with emotion. Desire and hope. He’s still in disbelief that tonight was the first night he told you he loved you.

But in truth, Azriel had been telling you all along—in every glance, every touch, every kiss that held more than words ever could.

Azriel’s shadows recoil as the two of you pull apart, breathless. The Court of Nightmares had faded away, the two of you lost in each other. It’s just you and him, as it is meant to be…Until the distinctive footsteps of your father approaching echoes throughout the ballroom. Your eyes are wide, too many emotions swirling within their depths. 

But Azriel is relieved that regret is not one of them.

“Azriel.”

The High Lord’s voice is calm and collected but the fury flickering in his violet eyes is unmistakable. He stands no more than two feet away, the authority radiating from him as cold as it is absolute. Beside him, Rhysand watches, his expression unreadable. 

Your father lifts a hand, wisps of darkness and starlight spilling from his fingertips. The orchestra resumes under the silent command and driven by some invisible force, the guests resume dancing and drinking. As if nothing had happened. 

“Come with me,” your father says, his tone leaving no room for argument. His command is directed solely at Azriel. “I’d like to have a word.”

 You try to hold on to Azriel, to keep him close, but he slips his fingers from yours, bowing his head in quiet submission to your father. Without another word, he follows after him. And though his command had been directed solely at Azriel, the weight of the situation falls on the both of you. 

So you step forward, determined to follow after them. But just as you step outside the ballroom, Rhysand grasps your arm, forcing you to a stop.

“You stupid, foolish…,” his voice trails off in frustration. “What have you done?”

You spin on him, eyes flashing with anger as you yank your arm out of his hold. “What have I done? What about what have you done? Planning marriage alliances behind my back? Like I’m some pawn on your chessboard?”

Rhysand’s gaze softens for a brief moment. “Y/n, I–”

“No.” You interrupt sharply, starlight beginning to swirl from the fingertip you point at him. You don’t want to hear his excuse, whatever justification he thinks will make this right. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cassian and Mor making their way toward you, slipping through the dancing couples and out of the ballroom. 

The starlight seeping from your fingertip glows brighter, ready and poised to attack. However, it’s your words you speak into his mind that make the blow instead.

“You know, if you love that runt from Spring so much, why don’t you marry him yourself?”

Rhysand’s eyes widen, his brows furrowing as the meaning of your words hit him. The revelation that you know his secret. Where he’d sneak off to some nights. Why the scent of crisp rain and earth lingered on him when he’d return. You and Azriel had pieced it together after Cassian had mentioned that his book on Illyrian training and methods suddenly went missing. Given your secret, you and Azriel had kept that information to yourselves, waiting for the moment Rhysand would feel comfortable to tell you himself. 

It takes him a moment to regain his composure, for his gaze to harden again. His lips curl into a snarl–a warning.  “Y/n.”

He leans in forward but you take a step back and winnow away, only one thing on your mind. Finding Azriel.

**

The walk to the High Lord’s private office in the Court of Nightmares is silent but the sense of foreboding is nearly deafening. Azriel is tense, his shadows quiet and burrowing into his leathers. Too many possibilities and consequences storm through his mind, each one more damning than the last.

Does he regret kissing you in front of everyone? No.

That kiss was the first honest, uninhibited thing he’d allowed himself to do in years. It was freeing, exhilarating to be able to show everyone, especially the sons of Spring and Autumn that you were his and he was yours. He could face death for this—for touching the High Lord’s daughter. For kissing you so openly, so brazenly, in front of the entire court.

But why? Why should it be so wrong for him to love you? Because of his birth? The scars of his past that marked him as unworthy? He’s served loyally. Bled for this court.Tortured for this court. 

He’s watched from the shadows as lords and sons, full of false charm, have circled you like vultures, eyeing you as nothing more than a prize to be claimed.  And yet, when he—who knows you, who cherishes you—shows his love, it is considered a crime.

It isn’t fair. But Azriel has never been afforded fairness. 

The heavy doors to the High Lord's office swing open with a wave of his hand, and Azriel steps inside. The air is thick with tension, and every muscle in his body tightens. The High Lord gestures for him to sit, but Azriel bows his head, respectfully declining. Standing feels safer. Less vulnerable. He wonders if his refusal will anger the High Lord further, but the single shadow curling at his ear reports no rising fury.

He can feel the weight of the High Lord’s gaze—it’s heavy, scrutinizing, like the cold press of a blade against his skin. He keeps his eyes forward, even though his heart pounds in his chest. If there’s punishment to be had, Azriel will accept it.

The High Lord moves to his desk, positioned beneath an oculus, where moonlight spills through and dances across his features. He gazes up at the starlit sky as if searching for answers—or perhaps, waiting.

“Normally, this is the part where people like you should be begging for forgiveness, for a way to rectify your mistake.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “I haven’t made a mistake.”

“No?” The High Lord’s gaze snaps back to him, piercing as if he could peel away Azriel’s very skin to lay bare his soul. Azriel wonders, for a brief moment, if your daemati powers had been inherited from your father. Could the High Lord see into his mind, his thoughts? Have kept this power to himself all these years as a secret weapon? 

“You sound so sure of yourself,” the High Lord continues, his tone sharpening. “Tell me, how long has this... affair been going on?”

“For decades.” Azriel admits, knowing that there was no use in lying. The truth was already written in the way he kissed you, in the way he looked at you as you broke away from the kiss.

“For decades?” The High Lord repeats, his expression darkening, violet eyes narrowing. “You took my daughter’s first dance tonight of all nights.”

Azriel’s silence says everything. Both of them aware that Azriel had taken more than dances, more than a kiss.

“You’ve taken her innocence. You’ve ruined her…” The High Lord continues to seethe in that cool, unnerving tone.

Azriel’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for his dagger. Not to defend himself, but because it’s his only comfort in moments like these.

But this is not a battle to be fought with daggers or swords. This is a battle of love, of politics, of status. One he’s had no training for yet one he’s willing to fight. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fight against all odds.

“Whether she marries Spring or Autumn, she will become a lady of the highest esteem and forge a strong alliance with my court. Laden with all the riches and wonders only a High Lord can offer. What can you offer? You don’t even have a proper last name to give her, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel swallows thickly, the weight and shame of his low-born status crashing into him like the violent current of Illyria’s river. It feels like he’s sinking under it, drowning in it. He knows he can’t offer you what any son of Spring or Autumn could. He had reminded you of that—again and again. 

It’s as if you can feel his doubts creeping back in, the poison of guilt and worthlessness seeping in. Your presence—soft, warm, and steady—enters his mind. You bring forth the memory you had shared with him moments ago on the dance floor again.

“I can’t give you much,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours, his lips hovering just over your own. “But I can give you everything I have.”

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you had replied, the words echoing now in his mind, like an antidote to the venom of doubt. That’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all—

“I asked you a question, Azriel.” The High Lord’s sharp voice cut through the memory, yanking him back to the cold, oppressive reality of the Court of Nightmares. “What can you offer in exchange for my daughter?”

Azriel’s knees buckle beneath him before he even realizes it. He drops to the floor, bowing his head low. His shadows stir, swirling around him in a frenzy, urging him to stand. To stop him.

“My life.”

“Your life,” The High Lord muses. He lets out a dark, humorless chuckle. “You love my daughter enough to give your life for her?”

“Yes,” Azriel says, his voice firm and steady, even as his shadows coil tighter around his arms, trying to pull him back from this path. But he stays rooted to the floor. His life, his soul—it all belongs to you anyway. What was it worth, if not to protect you? To be yours?

The High Lord’s eyes narrow as he studies the swirling shadows, dark and restless, wrapping themselves around Azriel’s form. Shadowsingers are rare. Their power is precious. They can see and hear things others can’t. The only known living one kneels before him now. 

Despite his low born status, the Shadowsinger had also proved himself a formidable, Illyrian warrior. A Carynthian. It’s why he appointed Azriel as the Night Court’s spymaster.  

And now this powerful and strong male is offering his life.

To have a Shadowsinger as his spymaster is rare, a gift in itself. To have Azriel’s loyalty, his strength, his skills bound by magic for life. A weapon of mass destruction, at his beck and call. No room for betrayal, no worry over him leaving his court for another.

 All in exchange for your hand in marriage? 

Now, that sounds like a deal.

He lets out a thoughtful hum, voicing his consideration. He could give Azriel a title, raise him from his bastard status. At his will, darkness begins to rise from the floor. The power of the bargain hovers in the air between them, ready to etch itself into both their skins. 

 Azriel finally lifts his head, meeting the High Lord’s eyes with no fear. Only the light of determination. He is willing to give his life to your father if that’s what it takes to be by your side. 

The cloud of darkness begins to separate, its dark tendrils moving toward him, the binding magic poised to seal his fate, to chain him to this bargain for the rest of his life.

But before it can touch his skin, before the deal can be made, a bright light erupts in the room. A sharp hiss escapes the darkness as it recoils, retreating back into the shadows where it had come from. Azriel’s own shadows seem to shudder in relief.

Both Azriel and the High Lord’s heads snap toward the source of the light. You stand at the doors, your eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, your hands glowing with pure, raging starlight.

“No!” you cry, the word trembling on your lips as you step forward, the glow around you growing even brighter. 

Your eyes lock with Azriel’s and something tightens in his chest, crawling up his rib cage. It’s sharp and breathtaking. His hand grabs at his chest and yours does the same. 

”He will not be your slave,” you say, turning to your father with the same determination flashing in your eyes. “There has to be another way.”

The High Lord’s features morph into a scowl. “Another way? My star, he is a bastard—”

“I love him!” 

That tightening in his chest finally snaps and Azriel’s breath catches. He feels that light in your eyes, perfectly reflecting the one in his. It sears into his soul, as fierce and unrelenting as the starlight glowing from your hands.

Your father doesn’t notice the shift in the air, the change in Azriel’s posture, in his chest. Or in yours.

“You think that means anything?” 

Azriel’s shadows whisper a warning into his ears, of an oncoming raging darkness. Different but similar to the High Lord’s. He barely hears his shadows, too focused on you, on the bond thrumming between you. His mind is consumed with you. 

Mate. Mate. Mate.

“You and mother—” you begin.

“Do you think your mother and I love each other?” The High Lord interrupts sharply, his voice cold and cutting. He breaks out into a laugh.

Azriel snaps out of his trance. Anger flares within him at the shock, the devastation that takes over your features. He watches as you shrink back slightly, his instincts roaring to protect you from any harm, whether verbal or otherwise. 

Because he’s your mate. Because he loves you.

 “You think I would marry your mother, a low born seamstress by choice? What your mother and I have is different. It’s complicated. A special bond.  One that gave me Rhysand and you and–”

A sound like thunder crashes through the room, reverberating off the stone walls as darkness swells in every corner. One moment, Azriel is on his knees. The next, he’s slamming into the cold marble floor, the force of Rhysand’s power pinning him down. Tendrils of Rhysand’s darkness coil around Azriel’s form, fighting with the shadows that instinctively rise to defend him.

“How long?” Rhysand's violet eyes blaze as they burn into Azriel.

“And I am beginning to think you both are nuisances to my existence rather than gifts...” The High Lord mutters followed by an exhausted sigh.

“How long have you been fucking my sister?” His words are a snarl as he slams Azriel harder into the floor, advancing toward him with clenched fists.

“Rhysand!” You let out a cry, rushing to the two males to separate them.

Your brother whips around, his anger igniting into something fiercer at the sight of you. “Stay out of this!” he snaps, his hand raising. He’s too angry, too heated. So much that he doesn't even notice the force of darkness he aims your way.

Rhysand’s magic hits you hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A choked gasp escapes as you stumble backward, struggling to keep your footing. A burst of bright sapphire explodes from each of Azriel’s siphons, a deep and low growl rumbling from his chest. He breaks free from Rhysand’s magic, standing to his feet. His wings flare behind him, shadows swirling like a storm.

The look in his hazel eyes is nothing short of feral, dark and ancient, a fierce and possessive glint that makes Rhysand falter and surprise flash across the High Lord’s features.

You fall to the ground with a thud, palms scraping against the stone and pain flaring in your hands. Rhysand turns toward you, the anger that had been simmering in his violet gaze immediately dissolving into guilt and regret. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t touch her.” Azriel growls, standing in between you and your brother, his shadows forming in an additional protective barrier. Some shadows flutter toward you, helping you stand and bringing you to Azriel’s side. Your hand instinctively seeks Azriel’s, fingers curling into his and you squeeze it, letting him know you’re alright. 

“By the Cauldron…” the High Lord’s voice comes out in a low murmur, his gaze darting between you and Azriel. His eyes narrow as he finally notices the subtle shift in the air, in your scents. The scent of a bond. 

“You two are mates,” he says, tone laced with resignation. Because even he, a High Lord, is not above going against The Cauldron.

It feels like a punch to the gut for Rhysand. His best friend and his sister. Fate’s inevitable design had been right under his nose all along. “What?” Rhysand breathes in shock, chest still heaving from the exertion of his magic.

Azriel’s hand tightens around yours. His gaze softens as he turns to you, the fierce protectiveness from earlier easing into something gentler. And when your eyes meet again, it’s there—the unmistakable light of the mating bond. It shines bright and steady between you. Just like your love for each other does.

 A light that never goes out.

bonus scene

Once the shock of the bond had worn off, the High Lord excused himself, muttering about damage control. “Spring will be the hardest to deal with,” he had said.

Rhysand’s body tensed as his eyes found yours. But you’d only given him a small, reassuring smile. Though it is something you would like to talk about, his secret would remain safe with you.

Your father would soon announce the bond to the Court of Nightmares, already making plans for a grand mating ceremony. You’d much rather have something private, intimate. But a public celebration seemed like a small price to pay for the lifetime you’d get to spend beside the male you loved.

Rhysand turned his gaze back to Azriel, his expression still unreadable. “You never answered my question,” he said, voice calm but edged with something darker. “How long?”

Azriel hesitated before answering, unlike the way he had with the High Lord. This was his best friend standing in front of him. The one he grew up and trained along with, survived the brutality of the Blood Rite with. Rhysand was like a brother to him and he went behind his back for years.

 “A decade.”

“A decade?” Rhysand blinks in surprise. 

A whole decade of secrecy. Of Azriel sneaking around with his little sister. It all made sense now. Why Azriel became more reserved, more private. Why Azriel no longer indulged himself with the pleasures of the females at Rita’s or the Illyrian camps like he and Cassian did. Why you spent more time at the Moonstone palace, instead of the House of Wind, where you had grown up and been raised by a handful of Priestesses. It hadn’t been to learn about the politics of the courts but to be closer to Azriel.

And then, with no warning, Rhysand swings.

The hit lands squarely on Azriel’s jaw, so swift and unexpected that neither you nor Azriel’s shadows had seen it coming. Azriel takes the blow without protest, silently commanding his shadows to stand their ground and not fight back. 

“Rhys!” you snapped, your brows furrowing into a scowl. 

Rhysand huffs, shaking out his hand from the impact. “That’s for going behind my back,” he says. He pauses for a second and then, he lets out a low chuckle. Full of disbelief and relief.

“I’m still angry at both of you,” Rhysand admits, and Azriel lowers his head, bracing for more. “Not because it’s you—though I’ll admit, seeing you together is... strange. But because you kept it from me for so long, putting both of your lives at risk.”

Then Rhysand’s voice softens, his gaze following. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

Azriel lifts his head back up in surprise as Rhysand holds out his hand.

 “You’re a good male, Azriel. Better than most. And I know you’ll protect her. Love her in a way no one else can.”

Azriel stares at Rhysand’s outstretched hand before finally clasping it, the tension between them easing. Your chest warms at your brother’s sincerity.

The sound of footsteps, heavy and hurried, echo through the stone walls. They grow louder with each passing second and moments later, Cassian and Mor appear at the entrance of your father’s study. Cassian braces himself against the doorframe and Mor leans on him, their chests rising and falling rapidly.

It’s clear they’re winded from the endless stairs they must’ve taken to reach the floor of your father’s private study. It was located between the Court of Nightmares and Moonstone Palace, warded so that only those of his bloodline could winnow directly inside.

Their eyes dart between the three of you. 

“What did we miss?”

a/n: hope you enjoyed! here’s a little HC (idk what to call it?) of Rhys’s sis & Az if you’re curious 💙

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry, @tothestarsandwhateverend, @tulipbite, @kylaisra, @stressed-reader

[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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@autumnboo126

@kpopgirlbtssvt

[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.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

[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...

[chxrrysangel]

Week Two

Treat | Nanami Kento - brat taming

A/n | I feel like I lowkey made him a little too mean. But idk…I kinda don’t wanna change it 🤔 also this was like 450 words longer than it should’ve been. Oops

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

You could feel Kento’s sharp gaze drilling a hole into the side of your head as you chatted with other guests. You were being naughty, something you reveled in as he struggled to keep his composure.

Events with his colleagues like banquets or fundraisers bored you half to death; pretending to like snobbish people who threw away their money was a hard task to accomplish.

But your husband always made it up to you after hours of roleplaying as his arm candy. Whether that be gifts or mind-blowing sex, there was always a reward at the end. But tonight you were more impatient than usual.

It started off innocent enough, just light touches as you moved across the ballroom. Every now and then you looked at him with a certain hunger in your eyes, each time being met with a “not now, my love.”

Kento was a gentleman through and through, holding open doors for people and helping old ladies across the street. Kindness was imbedded in his DNA.

Unfortunately for him, you wanted to play.

As slyly as possible, you slipped off one of your heels and grazed your foot along his. He looked across the table at you, issuing a silent warning. You smiled coyly, uncaring about potential consequences.

Your heel rubbed softly against his leg, innocent enough that you could get away with it for a little longer. But then you climbed higher, watching his jaw tick in your periphery as you continued conversing with the woman next to you.

Finally, you reached exactly where you wanted to. It was a dance between the two of you, clear warnings as you slowly pushed the boundaries and Kento’s patience.

He was rock hard under the span of your foot, not that he showed it on his face. The first graze against his tip surprised him, trying to cover it up with a cough. You dared not look across the table, pretending to know nothing of it. He grabbed your ankle, a mistake on his part. Your foot was in the perfect position to rub directly against his length, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers.

As quietly as he could manage, you could feel his hips circle against you, yearning for more friction. So you stopped. You smiled at the people you were deep in conversation with, lips twitching as you reveled in having the upper hand.

This went on for some time, casually bringing him to the edge only to stop when it felt convenient. He was pissed, you could tell. You almost pitied the man he was speaking to, trying so hard to have an intelligent conversation while Kento was on the verge of cumming over and over again.

By the time the plates from the third course had been collected, Kento was already saying goodbye to his colleagues and just short of dragging you out the room. He was polite enough, shaking hands and kissing cheeks like some candidate running for office. But he refused small talk, grabbing your coats and rushing the two of you out to your car.

You were in trouble and it felt so exciting to realize.

The drive home was unbearably silent. Your adrenaline rush during dinner settled into nervous anticipation for what would happen when you got home. Regret slowly lodged itself in your abdomen.

You were absolutely fucked.

“Kento, I’m—,” you tried to apologize while you had the chance. He put his hand up, silencing you immediately.

You watched nervously as he crossed the foyer, wringing your hands and biting your lips raw.

“You had one responsibility. Just one.”

He lodges his fingers in your hair, a firm grip as he pulls you closer. You yelp in surprise, but say nothing in protest. You knew better than that.

“Yet there you were, acting out like a fucking brat and trying to make me cum under the table.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

He tightened his grip on your hair to the point of pain, too blinded by sexual frustration to stay gentle. He guided you down to your knees before letting go. You watched as he undid his tie, slowly undressing as you were forced to only watch.

He sat on the edge of the couch, tapping his thigh in a very familiar motion. It made your heart drop. You quickly crawled over to him, begging for forgiveness and promising to be good from now on.

“You had the chance to be good. But you wanted to be a brat. So, this is your punishment.” He was stern and cold, so different from his usual self. You really did it this time.

Begrudgingly, you leaned over his legs to make it go as quick as possible.

“We’re doing ten. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

He didn’t count down like you expected, instead immediately slapping the globe of your ass. His rings singed your skin, increasing the pain triple fold.

“What do you say?”

“One.” You tried your best not to moan, knowing he might start over.

“That’s my girl.” His large hands smooth over your skin before delivering a second smack, harder than the first.

“Two.”

By the sixth hit, you were trembling and wet beyond belief. Your cunt shined with arousal in the dimly lit room, making Kento grin.

“Look at you, getting turned on by a punishment. You just can’t help but be a whore, can you?” he remarked condescendingly.

His fingertips brushed against your slit, pushing inwards upon reaching your clit. You knew it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch for a shred of relief from the ache between your legs.

His tongue clicked in disapproval, you were basically begging for more punishment.

“You just don’t know when to quit do you?”

You were afraid to answer, which you quickly realized was the wrong choice. He smacked your ass again, the pain causing tears to pool in your eyes.

“No sir, I don’t.”

“Well that just won’t do.”

Much to your surprise, Kento switched tactics. His fingers continued to rub against your slit before pushing two fingers into your pussy. He curled his fingers just the way you liked, and you couldn’t fight the whimper that escaped your lips.

“New game. You don’t cum before I say so. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

You would probably fail, he knew that was more than likely. But the desire to be fucked into the mattress tonight mattered more to you than breaking the rules.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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. 

[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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[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."

[cityzenshark]

Family | Chapter 24 - Hearts and Sparks

Homepage | Book One: Family | Book Two: Unity | Book Three: Belonging

Synopsis: The townspeople of Witwicky help the Maltos in return for saving their town.

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Robby is transferred to the ICU as his conditions worsens. The doctor finds his symptoms to be a combination of sepsis and something that seems to be energon poisoning but isn’t. After he leaves, Robby tearfully confesses to Dot how terrible he had been since moving to their new home and apologizes for putting the Terrans in danger and for lashing out at her. Dorothy hugs her son, crying herself, and forgives him. Robby wishes the cybersleeve to come off. Later, his old friends come to visit him, including Stevie. What Robby said to Stevie still hurts but Stevie hates to see him deathly ill even more. Robby apologizes to him, and the two old friends made up.

       At the town’s capitol building, Alex and Mo is invited by the town Elders to discuss if the town’s old legends are related to the Core, the Emberstone, and the cybersleeves so they might be able to help solve the family’s issues. Mo hesitates to tell, then the shaman reassures her by telling her about Witwicky’s Mountain Spirit and Her stonemen offspring. If the ‘stonemen’ had been previous Terrans, they are records of something similar to cybersleeves on their ancestors who had lived with them. Later, Alex and Mo exit the capitol building to find Mo’s friends and their families waiting for them with charity they had collected for the Malto’s.

“It’s the least we can do after you saved us from Grimlock. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t seen the Terrans before that evening.”

“...You’ve seen them before?”

“Yep! Since your first day of school here, actually.”

“What... Why didn’t any of you say anything?”

“You seem scared for them, Mo. We didn’t want to stress you out, so we decided to wait for you, Robby or Mr and Mrs Malto to say something.”

“The revelation could’ve been better...”

“Hey, Mo, it’s over and done. You and your family saved this town and now it’s time for us to help you.”

       Back home, the Terrans have separated counselling sessions with therapists.

Hashtag has hers by the waterfall. She talks about her trauma and worries how humanity would welcome after what she did in Philly city because – mind controlled or not — she’s still responsible for the damages. Nightshade has theirs at the edge of the cow paddock. They express how ashamed they feel from their lack of understanding to their siblings’ feelings even when the cyberlink was still intact yet hates it so much. Jawbreaker has his at Mrs Belle’s silo. He feels embarrassed to be afraid of his older Terran siblings and shares his guilt for triggering Grimlock’s PTSD. Thrash has his in the bunker. He expresses the burden he feels for not just being the big brother but also being the first of his kind in a world hurt by the senior Transformers-kind; how he wishes the Terrans to never be involved in fixing the Cybertronians’ mistakes.

Meanwhile Twitch has hers in the woods where she and Robby went Wak-Wak hunting. Twitch refuses to admit her wrongs as she tries to convince her therapist how her actions were right, while the latter is wrong and bad for disagreeing her. Her therapist shares his personal story where he let his anger get the better of him. His actions got an innocent bystander killed. While he was in the right that time, the bystander is a victim, and he will forever be responsible for their death. Twitch’s decision to help Bumblebee and Brawl herself was indeed right, but the price was not worth the city’s destruction or it being the world’s first impression on the Terrans. Worst, Hashtag’s innocence is now unbelievable for an unforeseeable future.

Realisation finally dawned on Twitch, followed by immense regret. She wails loudly. Alarmed by her cries, her Terran siblings rush to her. Twitch hugs Hashtag by her neck and sob “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, little sister!!” Though confused, Hashtag hugs her back and their brothers join in. The therapists give them some privacy, feeling relieved and glad for them.

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