#I was right there between them but she ignored me

[lisasmuts]

Unforgettable

Rosie x male reader

4.6k words

( Photoshoot filled with cum shoot )

(A/N - on the request of @matthewwwsblog, although please ignore mistakes and flaws made it while being sickk🤧🤧🤧.)

On a busy street as Rosie was walking down it, a the stranger suddenly kissed Rosie with growing fervor, his hands roamed her curves, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from her. The passion between them palpable, and he could feel the tension building in Rosie. Reluctantly, Rosie broke the kiss, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“My, My. You’re a certainly hungry fan,”

She purred, her voice dripping with seduction. With a playful wink, she hugs him, her hands roaming his masculine figure.

“Well then, mr. stranger.”

Rosie said, her Australian accent adding an extra layer of allure to her words.

“Why don’t we take this back to your place? I’ll be glad to be all yours for the night.”

She reached out a hand, silently beckoning him to follow as she sashayed the streets, her hips swaying with each step. The anticipation was palpable, and he eagerly cope up with Rosie and then lead the way, eager to indulge in a night of passion and pleasure.

As soon as they reached his home, Rosie’s pent up desire could no longer be contained. The moment the door closed behind them, she jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. Rosie’s lips crashed onto his in a hungry, passionate kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth with fervent need.

Breaking the kiss, Rosie gazed up at him with lust-filled eyes.

“I can’t wait anymore,”

She growled, her voice dripping with raw want.

“Start fucking me, now!”

Without another word, Rosie swiftly removed her clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. She then hooked her fingers into the waistband of his shorts, yanking them down with urgency.

The two lovers were soon a tangle of naked limbs, their bodies pressed together as they gave in to their carnal desires.

As the passionate night drew to a close, he finally reached his climax, filling Rosie’s eager body with his hot release. Rosie’s eyes widened with delight as she felt him pulsing inside her, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.

“Mmmm, that’s what I needed,”

She purred, nuzzling against his chest.

Just then, Rosie’s phone began to ring. Reluctantly pulling herself away from his embrace, she checked the caller id and her face lit up.

“It’s my manager!”

She exclaimed, quickly answering the call.

“Hello? Yes, yes of course, I’ll be there. Thank you!”

Ending the call, Rosie turned towards the stranger, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I have a photoshoot for skims today! I need to get going, but I had such an amazing time with you”

She leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before begrudgingly starting to gather her clothes. Rosie’s body was still flushed from their lovemaking, and he could see the satisfaction radiating from her.

Few hours later, Rosie stood in front of the vanity mirror inside her spacious photoshoot van, admiring her reflection. The tight, white dress she had chosen clung to her curves in all the right places, accentuating her slim waist and toned legs. As she turned this way and that, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of confidence and pride.

“Wow, I look absolutely stunning.”

She murmured to herself, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. Reaching for her phone, Rosie snapped a few quick mirror selfies, capturing the way the dress hugged her body in all the right ways. Slipping the phone back into her purse, Rosie took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the upcoming photoshoot. She knew the skim team would be expecting nothing less than perfection, and she was determined to deliver. With her radiant beauty and impeccable fashion sense, Rosie was confident she would knock this shoot out of the park.

Rosie’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the van door. Taking one last look in the mirror, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door, ready to face the day’s challenges with her signature poise and grace.

Upon reaching the skim photoshoot set, Rosie was informed that she would need to change into the pink outfit instead of the one she had initially chosen. A slight look of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly composed herself.

“Alright, everyone, please look away while I change.”

Rosie announced, her voice carrying an edge of authority. As the crew dutifully turned around, you one of the camera operators couldn’t resist sneaking a peek, your eyes hungrily roaming over Rosie’s figure as she began disrobing.

Rosie caught the sly glance and a mischievous smile played on her lips. Deciding to put on a show, she slowly peeled off the tight white dress, deliberately drawing out the process and ensuring that you got an eyeful. Once she had changed into the pink outfit, Rosie struck a series of alluring poses, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places.

“Alright, you can all turn around now,”

Rosie called out, her tone dripping with a hint of satisfaction. As the crew faced her once more, Rosie couldn’t help but a feel of surge of power, knowing she had successfully caught you in the act and turned the situation to her advantage.

As the crew began the photoshoot, Rosie seized the opportunity to tease you subtly. Between poses, she would steal glances in your direction, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous gleam. Whenever the remaining’s back were turned, roise would seize the chance to wink at you coyly, her full lips curving into a coy smile.

At one point, as the crew adjusted the lighting, Rosie discreetly ran her hands down the sides of her body, caressing the curves of her hips in a way that was clearly meant for your eyes only. She arched her back slightly, pushing out her chest in a way that accentuated her ample bust, all the while maintaining a professional demeanor for the camera.

Throughout the shoot, Rosie continued to find subtle ways to tease and entice you, her actions just subtle enough to avoid detection by the rest of the crew. It was clear she was relishing the opportunity to put on a private show, her gaze locked with yours as she exuded an aura of sultry confidence.

After the completion of the shoot, she heads towards back.

As Rosie sashayed back to her vanity van, she discreetly slipped a folded piece of paper into your hand. Your heart raced with anticipation as you unfolded the note, revealing Rosie’s private vanity number and a tantalizing invitation. Unable to contain your excitement, you quickly approached the crew head and requested a brief break, citing a personal matter.

With a nod, the crew head granted your request, allowing you the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Your feet practically carried you to Rosie’s vanity van, the anticipation building with each step. Reaching the door, you took a deep breath and knocked, eager to see what delights awaited you inside.

The door swung open, and there stood Rosie, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Without a word, she grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you inside, the door slamming shut behind you. The two of you were finally alone, free to indulge in your desires without prying eyes.

Rosie’s teasing gaze pierced through you as she chided you playfully.

“Tsk tsk, someone couldn’t follow my simple instructions earlier, hmm?”

Her voice dripped with a sultry tone that sent shivers down your spine.

Before you could even stammer a response, Rosie pulled you into a searing, passionate kiss. Her soft lips molded against yours as her tongue danced with yours in a heated exploration. Your body responded instantly, craving more of her touch.

Breaking the kiss, Rosie gazed at you with hooded eyes, her voice low and seductive.

“Fuck me, y/n. I can’t wait any longer to have you ravage me.”

Without waiting for your reply, she captured your lips again, the urgency in her kiss leaving you breathless and aching with desire. You knew in that moment you were powerless to resist her allure. This was going to be a photoshoot full of unbridled passion and pleasure.

Rosie hurriedly sank to her knees, her fingers deftly unfastening your belt and lowering your pants and boxers. Your eager cock spang free, bouncing against her face, and she let out a delighted laugh.

“Oooh, someone’s excited,”

She purred, biting her lip seductively.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to love getting destroyed by this cock.”

Without further delay, Rosie parted her lips and took your throbbing length into her warm, wet mouth. She began bobbing her head back and forth, her tongue swirling and caressing your shaft. Her hands worked the remainder of your cock that couldn’t fit in her mouth, stroking and teasing you relentlessly.

The sensation of her skilled mouth and deft fingers was overwhelming, and you knew this was going to be an unforgettable experience. Rosie was clearly intent on fulfilling her promise to ravage you, and you were powerless to resist the allure.

As Rosie’s skilled mouth worked your throbbing length, you could feed the intense pleasure building within you. However, you held back, not wanting to be too rough or cause any harm to the famous idol. But Rosie had other plans.

Between hungry sucks, she gazed up at you with hooded eyes, her voice dripping with filthy words.

“Come on, y/n…. don’t hold back. I want you to ravage me, to use me like the plaything I am.”

She punctuated her words with a particularly hard suck, her tongue swirling around your sensitive tip.

“Forget that I’m some big idol. Right now, I’m just your dirty little slut, begging to be used,”

Rosie panted, her hands stroking your shaft in time with her bobbing head.

“So stop holding back and give me what I want. Destroy me, y/n!”

Her lewd encouragement and wanton display of desire were too much to resist. Throwing caution to the wind, you gripped Rosie’s hair and began thrusting into her mouth, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure.

As you surrendered to your primal urges, you began to fuck Rosie’s mouth with reckless abandon. She relaxed her jaw, allowing you more room to thrust your throbbing length deep into her throat. Rosie’s skilled ministrations were relentless, her throat constricting around your cock, sending waves of exquisite pleasure through your body.

Sensing your impending climax, Rosie hummed around your shaft, her eyes practically begging you to release your load deep inside her.

“Is it okay if you cum in my mouth, y/n?”

She managed to gasp between thrusts.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. With a guttural groan, you felt your cock twitch and pulse as you erupted, filling Rosie’s throat with your hot, thick seed. She swallowed eagerly, milking every last drop from you as you rode out intense waves of your orgasm.

As the last drops of your seed drained into Rosie’s eager mouth, she lapped them up hungrily, savoring every last taste. With a tantalizing flourish, she opened her mouth wide, showing you the fruits of her efforts – not a single drop remained.

Rosie’s eyes sparkled with wanton desire as she took your softening cock back into her mouth, gently cleaning it with a series of slow, sensual sucks. Her gaze remained locked with yours, silently communicating her insatiable craving for more.

“Mmm, you taste so good, y/n.”

She purred, her voice dripping with filthy delight.

“I could drink your cum all day long. But I’m not with you yet…”

Releasing your shaft with an audible pop, Rosie rose to her feet, her movements lithe and graceful. Reaching down, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her short, slowly peeling the fabric away to reveal her glistening, dripping pussy.

“Now, it’s your turn to satisfy me,”

She breathed, her hips swaying invitingly.

“I need you inside me, y/n. Make me your dirty little plaything.”

Rosie’s eyes widened slightly at your hesitation, as you reminded the time left that is 5 minutes, but she quickly reassured you with a mischievous laugh.

“Don’t worry, y/n. I can pleasure you so much that you’ll be done in just 2 minutes.”

She teased, her voice dripping with confidence.

Your brow furrowed at her mockery, and before she could react, you brought your hand down in a firm slap against her ample ass cheeks. Rosie let out a surprised gasp, but her eyes sparkled with excitement as you aligned your throbbing cock with her glistening dripping pussy.

“Look at how much you’re dripping, you dirty little slut,”

You growled, positioning yourself at her entrance.

“And for a stranger’s cock, no less.”

Rosie whimpered needily, her hips bucking against you.

“Then stop teasing and fuck me already, y/n.”

She begged, her voice laced with wanton desire.

With a feral growl, you gripped her hips and thrust forward, burying your entire length inside her tight, welcoming pussy. Rosie cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain as you stretched her beyond her limits, setting a relentless pace that left her breathless.

“I tell you bitch, I won’t be done in 2 minutes,”

You warned, your fingers digging into her flesh as you pounded into her without mercy.

“Get ready to be thoroughly used, you insatiable whore.”

As you pounded into Rosie’s tight, welcoming pussy, she cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Her filthy comments spilled from her lips, spurring you on.

“Yes, y/n! fuck me harder, ruin me for anyone else!”

Rosie begged.

“I’m your dirty little slut, use me however you want!”

Your grip on her hips tightened as you drove into her relentlessly, determined to thoroughly satisfy your carnal desires. Rosie’s cries of ecstasy echoed through the confines of the vanity van, her body writhing beneath yours.

“That’s it, y/n! destroy my pussy, make it yours!”

She moaned, her eyes alight with wanton need.

“I can’t get enough of your cock, it feels so good!”

Your primal grunts and the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding filled the air as you chased your shared release. Rosie’s insatiable hunger only fueled your own, driving you to new heights of passion and depravity.

As the sound of a subtle knock on the vanity van door reached your ears, Rosie’s eyes widened. She quickly shouted,

“I’m coming!”

Before turning to you.

“y/n, we need to finish up the shoot first. But I just can’t get enough of your cock,”

She panted, her voice dripping with need. Rosie hastily began redressing, her movements hurried yet graceful.

Unable to resist, you delivered a hard spank to her ample ass, leaving a clear handprint on her flesh which left out of her dress. The fabric of her outfit strained to contain her curves.

“See, you haven’t even come close to finishing me off. And it’s been what, five minutes? Stupid slut.”

You mocked.

Rosie let out a breathless laugh.

“That’s okay, y/n. It just means I get to enjoy your cock even more times,”

She purred, winking slyly.

Growling, you spanked her other cheek, imprinting your hand mark on her other ass cheek.

“That’s right, you filthy public use whore. This body belongs to me now.”

Rosie shivered with delight, her eyes sparkling with wanton desire.

“I can’t wait, y/n.”

She breathed, before slipping out of the van to return to the photoshoot, leaving you aching to ravage her again.

As you returned to the set, the crew head quickly directed you back to your photography duties. Rosie, ever the professional, carried on with the photoshoot seamlessly. However, in the midst of the session, she would subtly wink in your direction, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Rosie’s expressions grew increasingly provocative, her gaze smoldering as she mouthed filthy words that only you could see. She arched her back, her movements dripping with wanton sexuality.

Though the rest of the crew remained oblivious, you could feel the heat of her desire radiating towards you. Rosie was putting on a private show, teasing and tempting you with her shameless display of lust.

Your fingers tightened around the camera, struggling to maintain your composure as you captured her alluring form. The anticipation of what was to come once you were alone with her again was nearly unbearable. Rosie had awakened a primal hunger withing you, and you knew there would be no resisting her seductive siren’s call.

As the photoshoot wrapped up, the crew head granted Rosie a brief 5 – minutes break. However, the idol had a more salacious idea in mind. Beckoning you over, Rosie led you to a chair and table area, out of direct sight of the crew.

Discreetly, she slid her hand under your pants, her fingers wrapping around your cock in slow, sensual strokes. You couldn’t help but moan softly at her touch.

“You’re loving this public setting, aren’t you?”

Rosie teased, her voice dripping with wicked delight.

“The risk of getting caught….”

She let out a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling.

“I have to admit, I’m loving it too. My pussy is dripping just thinking about it.”

Your breath caught in your throat as she continued her tantalizing ministrations, the threat of discovery only heightening the thrill. Rosie was clearly intent on pushing the boundaries, her insatiable desire overriding any concerns. This was going to be a daring and unforgettable encounter.

As the crew head’s shout echoed, Rosie’s pace quickened. Her strokes grew faster and more urgent, her grip tightening around your throbbing length. Sensing your impending release, she hurriedly freed your cock from your pants and engulfed it in her warm, wet mouth.

Rosie’s skilled tongue swirled and caressed your sensitive flesh as you erupted, filling her mouth with your hot, thick seed. She swallowed greedily, not spilling a single drop, her eyes locked with yours the entire time.

The risk of discovery only heightened the intensity of the moment, Rosie’s wanton hunger fueling your own. When she had drained you completely, she pulled back, licking her lips with a satisfied smile.

“Mmm, delicious as always.”

She purred, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Now hurry, I have to get back before they start to wonder where I am.”

With a final, playful wink, Rosie rose from her seat and sauntered back to the set.

Upon finishing the next shoot Rosie got a long break, you both hurried to her vanity van.

As soon as you and Rosie hurried into the vanity van, the urgency of your desire took over. Without hesitation, you pinned her against the wall, swiftly removing her delicate pink outfit. Rosie’s eyes gleamed with wanton anticipation as she gazed up at you.

“Get ready, slut.”

You growled, your voice dripping with primal hunger.

“Now you’re done for the rest of your shoot.”

With a feral roar, you thrust your throbbing cock deep inside Rosie’s welcoming pussy, immediately setting a punishing, brutal pace. Her cries of ecstasy spurred you on, the threat of discovery only heightening the intensity of your coupling.

“Yes, y/n! Use me, destroy me!”

Rosie moaned, her nails raking down on the vanity wall.

“I’m your filthy slut, your plaything to use however you want!”

The obscene sounds of your bodies colliding filled the confines of the vanity van as you ruthlessly claimed Rosie’s willing form. Her insatiable desire matched your own, driving you both to new heights of carnal bliss.

As you continued your relentless pace, Rosie’s cries of ecstasy grew louder. Between gasps, she admitted,

“Yes, y/n! I have such a praise kink. I need you to tell me how much of a filthy slut I am!”

Growling with primal desire, you obliged, your words dripping with lust.

“That’s right, you dirty whore. You love being used as my personal fuck toy, don’t you? Your greedy little pussy is made to be ravaged by my cock.”

Rosie shuddered with delight, her walls clenching around you ass you brutalized her. She moaned wantonly, urging you on.

“Yes, y/n! I’m your insatiable slut, your personal cum dumpster. Destroy me, make me yours!”

Your pace grew even more punishing, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the van. Rosie’s praises only fueled your animalistic hunger, driving you to claim every inch of her willing body.

Your grip on Rosie tightened as you continued your brutal assault, your words dripping with dominance and depravity.

“That’s it, you filthy slut. Take my cock like the greedy whore you are. Your needy little pussy was made to be stuffed and stretched by my thick shaft.”

Rosie’s cries of ecstasy grew more frantic, her walls clenching around you as you ruthlessly claimed her body.

“Yes, y/n! I’m your insatiable cum dumpster, your personal fuck toy. pound me harder, use me until I can’t walk straight!”

Your primal grunts and the obscene sounds of your coupling filled the air as you chased your shared release. Rosie’s wanton need only fueled your own, driving you to new heights of carnal bliss.

“Good girl, take every inch of my cock. You’re such a dirty, cock-hungry bitch – my dirty little slut.”

Rosie’s eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling with unbridled pleasure. She was completely at your mercy, reveling in the humiliation and degradation you heaped upon her.

Rosie’s shameless pleas for harder, faster pounding only served to stoke your domineering lust. You sneered down at her, your grip tightening painfully on her hips.

“Look at you, you filthy slut. Is this what you crave? To be used and abused like the cheap whore you are?”

You spat, your hips snapping forward with brutal force.

Rosie’s eyes rolled back, her mouth agape in a wordless scream of ecstasy.

“Yes, y/n! treat me like the dirty cum rag I am! I need your cock to ruin me!”

Your lips curled in a cruel smirk as you mercilessly pounded into her quivering pussy.

“That’s right, beg for it you insatiable cock-hungry bitch. You’ll take every last inch until you can’t walk straight.”

The van echoed with the obscene sounds of your coupling, Rosie’s wanton cries only spurring you on to new heights of depravity. You would leave her a trembling, used-up mess, a testament to your dominance.

As you pounded into Rosie’s quivering pussy with relentless force, she suddenly cried out,

“y/n, I’m going to cum!”

Without hesitation, you growled,

“No, you don’t. hold it in, slut.”

To your amazement, Rosie’s body immediately obeyed your command, despite the desperation written across her face. Her walls clenched around you, fighting against the impending orgasm, yet her mind was at war with her traitorous flesh.

“No, please! I need to cum so badly!”

She begged, her voice laced with frustration. But her pussy remained stubbornly clamped down on your thrusting cock, denying her own release.

You let out a triumphant laugh, marveling at how completely you had conquered Rosie’s body.

“Look at you, my little cum-hungry whore, trying so hard to disobey me. But your body knows who its true master is now, doesn’t it?”

Rosie whimpered in defeat, her eyes glistening with tears of unfulfilled ecstasy. She was utterly at your mercy, her very orgasm now subject to your command. This was the true extent of your dominance over her insatiable desires.

For the next one or two hours, you relentlessly pounded into Rosie’s quivering pussy, your command over her body absolute and unwavering. Despite her desperate pleas and shamelessly begging to be allowed release, you denied her every time, edging her mercilessly.

Rosie’s eyes glistened with tears of unfulfilled ecstasy, her body trembling with the strain of holding back her orgasm. Yet she remained powerless to disobey your orders, her very climax now subject to your whims.

“Please, y/n! I need to cum so badly,”

She whimpered, her voice laced with frustration.

“I’m your dirty slut, your personal cum-hungry whore. Let me have my release!”

You merely laughed, reveling in your total dominance over her.

“Not a chance, you filthy bitch. Your orgasm belongs to me now. You’ll take your pleasure only when I say so.”

Rosie’s cries of anguish only fueled your triumphant ardor, driving you to claim every inch of her defeated form. She was utterly at your mercy, her body betraying the very desires of her mind.

“Look at you, my little slut, so desperate to cum. But your traitorous flesh knows who its true master is. You’re nothing but a receptacle for my cock now.”

Rosie whimpered in submission, her pride shattered by your cruel words and unyielding control. She was yours to use and abuse as you saw fit, her very being consumed by your primal lust.

As you continued your relentless assault, Rosie’s entire being seemed to well with pride at being your plaything, your personal receptacle for pleasure. She cried out shamelessly.

“Yes, yes, yes, y/n! I’m your slut, your whore, your toy to use however you want!”

Begging you to go harder, she moaned wantonly.

“Please, y/n. I need more! Fuck me like the desperate cum-hungry bitch I am!”

Your cruel laughter only spurred her on further.

“Look at you, so desperate to cum, yet you beg for more,”

You taunted, even as you obeyed her pleas, fastening your pace. Rosie’s screams of ecstasy grew louder, more primal, as you ruthlessly claimed her body.

Heedless of who might hear, Rosie’s wanton cries echoed out of the vanity room, a testament to your total domination over her.

As you felt your own climax approaching, you gripped Rosie’s hips tighter, your voice low and commanding.

“Listen up, slut. On the count of three, you’re going to cum for me. And when I do, I’m going to fill you to the brim with my load. Understand?”

Rosie’s eyes widened, a fresh wave of arousal washing over her.

“Yes, y/n! Please, use me, make me your broken toy!”

She cried out.

“One…”

You growled, your thrusts growing more erratic.

“Two…”

Rosie’s walls clenched around you, her body trembling with unbridled need.

“Three!”

You roared, your cock pulsing as you emptied yourself deep inside her quivering pussy.

Rosie’s orgasm crashed over her, her body convulsing as she squirted uncontrollably, drenching the both of you in her sweet release. She had become your well and truly broken plaything, reduced to a quivering, overflowing mess by your unyielding dominance.

As you continued to release wave after wave of hot, thick cum deep inside Rosie’s quivering pussy, she let out a breathless, ecstatic exclamation.

“y/n! you’re breeding me so good, filling me up with your potent seed. I can feel it coating my insides, claiming me as your personal fuck toy.”

Rosie’s body trembled with unbridled bliss, her walls clenching rhythmically around your pulsing length. She reveled in the sensation of being utterly dominated and claimed, her womb eagerly accepting your virile offering.

“Yes, use me, own me! I’m your insatiable whore, you cum-hungry bitch. Flood my womb with your fertile load until I’m dripping with it.”

Your relentless thrusts continued, determined to maximize the amount of your seed deposited within her fertile depths. Rosie’s cries ecstasy echoed through the vanity van, her body shuddering with each new surge of your potent release.

As you withdrew your throbbing cock from Rosie's well-used pussy, a torrent of your potent seed burst forth, gushing out in thick, uncontrollable streams. Her own orgasmic release coincided with yours, her body convulsing and shaking as she collapsed onto the vanity van floor, squirting like a broken fountain toy.

Rosie’s cries of ecstasy filled the air as she reveled in her utter defeat, her mind and body consumed by the primal aftermath of your relentless coupling. She moaned your name over and over, her voice laced with a mixture of bliss and exhaustion. This was a moment Rosie would remember for a lifetime – the shattering of her pride, the complete subjugation of her being to your unyielding dominance. Her very essence had been claimed, her role as your personal fuck toy cemented in the most carnal of ways.

As she lay there, trembling and spent, Rosie knew that this photoshoot would be forever seared into her memory - a testament to the power you wielded over her insatiable desires.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 5

Summary: A celebration of Amarantha's victories in Illyria reveals just how bad the Empire has become.

Content Warnings: Blood and Descriptions of Injuries; Crucifixions and Mentions of Torture; Slavery

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4

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Sleep is elusive. I find myself staring at the ceiling, watching the cream colored walls change colors as the sun slowly begins to rise. 

I have to be the worst mate in history. Well, my Father murdered his mate, so maybe a close second. Even if Rhysand did reach into my head and use me to brand them, I’d still held that iron, hadn’t fought it like I should have. Now, I can’t even say I made it right by getting them the hell out of here! I’m now actively giving them ways to stay, not just in the Empire, or in the arena, but in the middle of a game with my Father they can’t possibly hope to win. I should have pressed the issue harder. I should have ignored their call and waited til morning when Anise had found passage out of here and hauled them onto the ship. I most definitely should not be calling for a tailor as soon as the sun is up to make sure they’re fitted for clothes for this stupid parade. 

I’m tempted to think Rhysand has found a way to make me do this for him, but I know he can’t reach me this far. The tether in my chest that links me to them feels strained from being so far away. It’s as if it’s a living thing beneath my skin that knows there’s too much distance between us. 

Anise worms her way back into my room as I dismiss the tailor and tell her to send the healer my way for a report on the injuries the Illyrians finally let her treat once I’d left their room last night. 

“I found what you were looking for,” she says as she shuts the door. I expected her to find an excuse not to do what I’d asked, especially after she’d given me the royal inquisition about what I’d been doing once I came back through the secret entrance last night. But her emerald gaze sweeps conspiratorially over my empty room, even as she hands me something that smells like a contraceptive tea.

I try to pass it off on my bedside table. “You know I don’t need this.”

“Drink,” she sits herself on the edge of my bed with a sigh. “Can’t have a boat disappearing into the Wastes while you grow with child.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Anise!”

She shrugs, “I suppose your Father would kill it anyway.”

“Get to the point, Anise.”

“Drink the tea first.”

To appease her, I pinch the bridge of my nose to avoid the awful smell and force the amber colored liquid down my throat. 

“There’s a merchant ship that takes the long way around the Wastes to reach the Human Lands. Passage can be acquired for a hefty fee.”

“Not a problem,” my stomach rises in my throat and I have to take a moment to let it settle before finishing the tea. 

“There is a matter of it only being available for another three days before it’s gone for six months.”

That complicates things. How am I supposed to convince them in the next three days that they need to be on that ship?

“Thank you for looking,” I pass the, now empty, cup back to her. “I will need you on standby. Hopefully, I can find a way to convince them to get on board before it’s too late.”

Anise chews on her wooden thumbnail. “There’s a rumor, around the house, that they’re insurrectionists, is that true?”

I push the curtain blocking the bathroom aside. I might as well change and prepare for the parade now. If I give myself enough time, maybe I can slip back into the secret passage and strategize with my stubborn set of mates on how we handle today. I don’t like going into this blind, and I certainly don’t like having to be responsible for their well-being knowing that they’re just winging it. 

How have they managed to get this far?

“More or less,” I say as I slip my sleep clothes off my shoulders. I frown at my reflection in the mirror. Too thin. Too pale. I need to get back into training; I need to get some color back into my face. All my clothes hang a little too much off my shoulders. Mother would have never let me hear the end of it if she knew how long I’d wasted away in this house over her. She hated mourners. Hated having an excuse not to be on top of training, in every area of life. 

“And what-” Anise comes to stand in the doorway, frowning at the outfit I’ve chosen for the day. She snatches it out of my hands before I can put it on and comes back with something cobalt instead. “-do they have on you?”

“I don’t follow?”

“What are they using against you to get you to do this for them?” She fusses over the loose fabric, lining the seams up along my shoulders, tucking in loose bits of cloth here and there, slipping other strands through a golden belt around my waist. 

“You think they have some kind of leverage on me?”

“I think this is unlike you. I think you’ve been a shell of a person locked in a dark house for months and months and suddenly now you care about parties and parades and those gods-awful Games. It is strange. I think I should send for a Healer to look at your head.”

I let her fidget and fuss so she has something to take the edge off her anxiety. “I went to plenty of parties and parades… before…” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. 

“You went for her, because she forced you too, this is different. You keep insisting there is nothing sexual happening, yet you drink the tea and sneak into their rooms and won’t tell me what’s going on.”

I turn away from the mirror to look at her, reaching for her gnarled hands. “They’re good males, I just want to help them, is all. Father doesn’t exactly smile on simple favors.”

She huffs, “Your heart has always been bigger than your head.”

“I feel… kind of like I’ve been asleep for a long time and when I woke up I didn’t recognize who I was in the mirror. I’m just trying to find myself again.” It’s the closest to the truth as I can get. “I’m sorry that I’ve worried you.”

She frees herself from my grip to touch my cheek gently. “Just promise me that you will be careful. If anything were to happen to you…”

“I promise.”

She nods then takes my shoulders and spins me back to face the mirror. “Good, then let’s fix this awful hair of yours!”

Better to have her focusing on making me presentable than all the possible dangers we have to face just by leaving the room. I feel terrible, leaving her in the dark about it all, but I can’t tell her the truth, not yet. It is too soon; it leaves too much to chance. I still have hope that I can find a way by the end of the day to convince them to get on that boat and then she will never have to think about it again. The worst will be behind us.

--

I may have underestimated just how bad this was going to be.

For one thing, I didn’t anticipate Amarantha showing up at the front gates before I had a chance to slip into the Illyrians’ room. Let alone bring a whole entourage of slaves and guards, all painted in her colors and dressed for the parade. The sight of her in my sanctum makes me want to start hurling things at her head, but I manage to keep a poker face as she dismounts from her chariot, pulled by a white horse with a speckle of gray across its glossy coat. One of Father’s prized war horses; a gift from a battle years ago. 

“General, you honor me with this surprise visit,” the words taste like bile. Why is she here in my place of refuge? She’s never bothered to venture this far away from the Capitol before. 

She glances around warily, like something might pop out of the sprawling gardens and bite her. “I came to check on your progress.”

“How kind of you.” I intentionally don’t draw attention to the path that leads to the guest house. “Would you like some refreshments? You must be tired from your journey.” The last thing I need is her poking around. 

“No. We need to be on our way. I assumed you’d need help leading your new pets out.”

“Not at all. I have everything under control.” Bitch.

She grins but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Good, then let’s get moving, shall we? Don’t want to keep your Father waiting.”

This is all happening a lot faster than I anticipated, but I will have to make the most of it. Her being here means they were right last night, I really had thrown Father off his game. Now he’s trying to compensate by sending her to feel out how I’ve managed this far. I keep my shoulders back as I tell one of the guards to bring the males out. I must remain in control. 

I must keep my well-trained mask of courtly manners in place.

That’s a lot harder when the second curveball of the day comes hurling my way: I’d sent my tailor with an order to find my mates suitable pants, boots, and tunics. We weren’t going to have the time for anything fancy. With a few more hours I might have been able to find armor suitable for a Gladiator to wear out in public. A moot point one way or the other, because they wouldn’t have worn it. Not one of them is wearing the outfit I selected. In fact, I’d barely call the swatch of fabric adorning their bronze skin clothing. It’s closer to a toga, one half of the beige fabric pinned over their left shoulders, draping down in gentle waves down their waists, where it eventually falls to their upper thighs, one side slit nearly all the way open. It leaves half their tattooed chests bare, the swirls of tattoos on stark display. There’s so much open across Rhysand’s ensemble that I can very clearly see the curvature of his ass if he’s standing in any direction that’s not looking at me directly. 

It is an effort to keep my jaw off the floor. What the fuck are they doing?

I don’t know if the guards attached leashes to the gorsian collars around their throats or if they did that themselves; at this point, it wouldn’t surprise me.

“I’ve underestimated you, Highness,” Amarantha says.

The words might as well have been spoken by a fly, they don’t even register. I can’t stop staring at them, at the miles of bare skin and muscle on display. Ember did a good job putting them back together last night, the bruises fading, the smaller cuts and scrapes nothing more than a swatch of fresh skin. Rhysand’s arm is still bandaged, as are Azriel’s wings, but they do not drape on the floor today. They all stand ready, heads high. The posture feels like a challenge; they should be defeated, they lost the battle, they’re chained here to me, but they don’t look it. They command the space around them.

I feel a flash of pride when I look at them. Even with all my training, I’d never be able to be this confident. Despite all their losses, they haven’t given up.

“I might have to challenge your claim on them,” Amarantha says, her gaze lingering too long on Rhysand for my liking.

Something ugly and possessive rears its head inside me and all I see is red. My hands ball into fists at my sides as my powers flare in my palms. Keep it together! Keep it together!

“And miss the parade in your honor?” I say as sweetly as I can. “My Father would be so disappointed.”

She sneers at me, perfectly white teeth flashing, “Wouldn’t be much of a challenge for me, would it, Highness?”

I’ve never shown anyone the full extent of what I’m capable of; it would be too dangerous to unleash that much power on the world. It won’t do me any good now to try and boast about what I keep hidden beneath my skin. “You’ve done enough fighting, save the challenges for your Attor.”

She huffs as she climbs back into her golden chariot. 

It’s not really a victory, but it is the best I can hope for. Time will be the only thing keeping her in check today. If it wasn’t for the parade, she might be tempted to keep pushing the issue, and as much as I’d love an opportunity to shove a blast of obsidian power through her chest, I have bigger issues to deal with. I can’t let her get in the way of the plan. 

My mates watch the exchange closely. Azriel hovers a little closer than someone supposed to be shackled to me should. His shadows are missing. Hidden somewhere, maybe behind his wings to avoid detection, or the sunlight, but the intensity in his gaze reminds me that there isn’t anything happening he isn’t aware of. 

Rhysand gives me the subtlest of nods as the stable boy brings my own horse out. Anise must have sent them for me; she’s undoubtedly watching from the window. I have never been more keenly aware of how many sets of eyes are watching my every move, which is saying something, considering I’ve never left this house without a squadron of guards or some form of chaperone. Every breath I take feels like it’s being monitored, which is unfortunate, because the next issue of the day becomes the moment I realize the guards left with the wagon yesterday and I don’t have any other horses. How am I supposed to get them all the way across the Capitol?

I’m out of my element. It’s one thing to freeze in front of some guards who don’t know me well enough to see the panic in my eyes, it’s entirely another to in front of Amarantha, who can smell fear like a fucking bloodhound. She won’t stop grinning at me either, like she’s a cat watching a mouse creep slowly up to a baited trap. We’ve just started this, I can’t already fail!

The invisible force that is Rhysand slips right into my mind again as panic freezes me in place. My body moves for me, tethering the leashes in my hand to the saddle of my horse. 

Amarantha’s grin falters.

I am not making my mates walk behind me the entire time! This, somehow, feels worse than the brand!

 But I can’t fight his grip on me. My shields were low enough, I’d forgotten to enforce them, he’d slipped right in and taken control just like he had yesterday. I can’t do this!

“You can,” that silky smooth voice is like a caress against the inside of my skull as he moves me into the saddle of my horse. 

I can feel Cassian’s glare between my shoulderblades, as if he’s imagining exactly where he’d drive his sword. The tether that links us feels even more frayed than it had yesterday, as if someone is taking a knife and swaying it away fiber by fiber. Worse, that someone is me. 

Rhysand brushes a mental hand down my spine and my whole body trembles as if it had been physical. “It’s all right. You’re just doing what we asked you too.”

Amarantha starts moving, the grin now a full scowl. This is not at all how she thought this morning would go. I’m grateful she’s so distracted by the failure that she isn’t paying attention to the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. This is beyond cruel and unfair!

“We’ve endured a lot worse than this,” he explains as he uses me to get my horse moving. 

The collars around their throat rattle as they get yanked along behind me and I think I might never get that godsdamned sound out of my head as long as I live.

“When we lost that battle in Illyria, they kept all of my soldiers chained together, naked and bleeding in the snow. They made them watch as they burned our cities to the ground, with their families locked inside the Temple.”

Revulsion rolls its way through my stomach, as I flick my gaze to Amarantha; she’s always been a monster, she’s never bothered to hide it, but I’d never known the gory details. Father praised her for doing whatever was necessary to win, I knew that involved a lot of shed blood, but I’d never seen the true cost of her victories.

Maybe I’d never wanted to see. It had been easier to just keep my head down and accept that this was how the world I lived in worked. I’d been too terrified of what might happen if I challenged it; hell, I’d been too terrified of what would happen to even look at it. It had always been easier to turn and hide from it, withdrawing into myself where the monsters couldn’t reach me. How many people have I hurt by turning a blind eye?

“Amarantha made Cassian pick which of his men would live. Five out of every group of ten to be taken as slaves. The other five to be crucified. She did it in waves, five for every city we stopped at for supplies. Five to be a warning to the other Courts. Until we came to the Arena; then the question became which of us would fight and die. He chose us, so that, at least, the rest of his men may find a chance to escape.”

Rhysand won’t loosen his grip on me enough to let me turn in the saddle to look at them. He probably thinks I’ll lose my nerve if I do. My chest aches for them and what they’ve had to endure on the way here.

“If you hadn’t stepped in yesterday, Hybern would have killed Cassian and Azriel.”

“But not you?” His hold on me is not so strong that I can’t, at the very least, talk back to him. The connection soon becomes soothing, instead of like fighting against adamant. As time goes on, I can begin to feel the distinction in the tethers that link our souls. While they are still thin, and tangled in the heart of it, there is a glittering, starlight lined piece that leads me to him, and the connection feels like it builds on top of itself little by little as we go. Maybe the bond is not, totally, unsalvageable.

“I caught a glimpse in Hybern’s head. He was too far away for a good look, but I saw enough. At least for a little while, he wants me alive. I don’t know why. I assume to make a bigger display of my failure than Amarantha has already made, but I can’t be sure. I think that he might have let me live yesterday and killed them as punishment for speaking out. Judging by the way Amarantha’s acting today, I think that she expected to get me as a prize afterwards.”

My teeth clench involuntarily at the thought.

“I know that what I’ve asked of you is uncomfortable. It will be a hard role to play, but it is not without advantages.” Despite Cassian’s misgivings during their argument last night, him and Azriel had seemed to be in agreement that they needed me for this. If I cannot spare them entirely from pain, at least I can keep them out of Amarantha’s claws. A tiny victory, but still a victory. 

The road ahead of us is long, physically speaking the trek into the city is several miles, and figuratively because there’s a lot of hoops to jump through and masks to wear and angles to work. This will not be an overnight endeavor. That ship with their freedom quickly feels like its slipping out of my reach. 

“But are there not advantages to leaving while you have the chance?” There is nothing but a long, winding road lined with hills of rolling wheat between us and the outskirts of the city, I might as well make my attempt now.

“Not if it means abandoning my people.”

Stubborn male. 

“This will be your Empire one day, do you not feel responsible for the people within it?”

As the sun continues to climb, so does the temperature. Sweat begins to bead its way across my hairline.

“It will not be my Empire,” I counter; especially considering what I had bargained to ensure their freedom. “My Father doesn’t think I know it, but he added a clause to his will that states, in the event of his death, my husband will take the throne.”

Through the mental connection, I feel him stiffen behind me.

And maybe because I’m desperate for any possible chance to push them towards that ship, I add, “And make no mistake, my Father has already chosen which male to pawn me off to.”

Anger flashes its way across the bond. A sign, I should think, that he at least knows there’s something there. 

“He would leave you no choice?”

The question is laughable. For all the terrible things my Father has done, he truly thinks he’d still care about my consent in any aspect of my life? “He pretended for a while that I did, but his displeasure was always made clear. Not that it matters, now. I’ve already agreed to marry whoever he wishes.”

A growl works its way down the bond between us. “Why?”

“Did you think he would spare your lives for free?” A low blow and I know it, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how Cassian had called me a spoiled little princess who’d never felt the effects of this Empire. My suffering has been nothing compared to theirs. No life time could ever compensate for that kind of torture. There is no contest here. But I am not immune to my Father’s whims either and I need them to understand that this is not the better option. They need to be on that ship. And if they feel the bond at all, if there is any push to be near me, I need to use it to get them to see how dangerous it is to be around me. I can shield them a little bit. I can stand between Amarantha. I can stay my Father’s hand on occasion. But it will not last. Nothing lasts long against them. 

Rhysand is silent for a long time. Long enough that I feel his grip on me slip away, allowing me to turn my head and watch the three of them. They’re keeping pace easy enough, even with the bandage around Cassian’s thigh and the added weight of the bandages around Azriel’s wings. But it’s their eyes that catch my attention: Glazed over like they’re not seeing me at all. I’ve seen that look before, when the twins reach into someone’s head. The collar must limit his ability to reach out to more than one person at the time. He’s withdrawn to speak with them instead.

I keep my shields down, waiting for him to come back, praying to the Mother that it worked, that they’re at least, reconsidering this foolhardy notion of theirs. 

Amarantha’s men must have cleared the streets on their way down here, usually, the twisting pathways of hard packed earth are crowded with carts and beasts of burden as they tend to the budding wheat stalks, but there are none. It is a strange silence, there are usually workers singing in between the rows as they weed and water and remove pests from the grounds. No birds sing. It’s as if the whole area knows a red-headed predator walks among them.

I find myself studying her, careful not to let the rage I feel at the thought of what she’d done to my mate’s rises back to the surface. Silence has always been dangerous for me, it gives me too long to think. And right now, all I can think about is how easy it would be to blast her in the back of the head with the dark ether that prowls beneath my skin. One of her slaves carries her helmet, the dark horse hair plume billowing in the warm summer breeze. None of her guards rides close enough to block the blow. Sure they’ll be an issue afterwards, but they won’t be able to save her.  She’d be nothing more than a blood stain in the rode.

And then what? What would it help? It can’t erase what she’s already done to them. Even if I could take out the guards and we all made a break for that ship, Father would never let it go. He’d blame them, probably lie to the people and say I’d been kidnapped or brainwashed into doing it, and then he and everyone in the Empire would hunt us down until we were dragged back or killed. They’d never have any rest. No, I need to get them to get that ship and I need to find a way to make sure that no one comes looking. 

My head hurts. This is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. There’s a lot more pieces to play than just moving them onto a ship. I resist the urge to rub my temples. How could someone’s life become so incredibly complex in less than 24 hours? 

Rhysand finally returns, his arrival a brush of night kissed shadow that contrasts the summer heat. “Why did you agree to help us?” His voice sounds farther away, it must be a tremendous effort to keep this up for so long around that collar.

“Because I didn’t want to be like him.” That is as close to the truth as I will allow myself to admit to anyone. 

His mental hand brushes down my spine, caressing, soothing. I close my eyes for the briefest of moments to savor it. I should not let myself indulge it. I should push it away before he has time to understand why it means so much, but I can’t. I really am a broken, selfish thing, but I can’t push him away like I should.

“Has he given you a time frame for the marriage?”

“No, but I’m sure he will soon.”

As we crest a hill, the walled edges of the capitol finally come into view, Father’s crimson banner billowing from the parapets. As we draw closer, I can start to see another banner hanging from the great, stone walls: Amarantha’s familial crest, emblazoned on a black banner, the great beast in the center, edged in crimson. The shape of the crest always bothered me. The edges were never smooth and even, like someone had put too much ink on the pen, letting it bleed. Maybe that was the point. Amarantha’s whole family line had clawed its way to power by shedding someone else’s blood. 

It’s jarring to see her banner hang next to my Father’s. No one has that kind of power in the Empire. Not even my Mother had the sway to earn a banner in her name, no matter the exploits she’d brought within the Capitol’s walls.

My stomach twists. 

“Then we may need to rush our plans a little.”

I pretend to fiddle with something in the saddle so I can look back at him. Sweat drips down his forehead, trailing lines down his exposed chest. There is nothing short of sheer determination etched into every line of his face.

Beside him, Azriel keeps pace, shadows peeking out from behind his wings in agitated waves. A look that would be intimidating on its own, but only worsened by the promise of violence in his eyes.

So much for making the ship.

“Don’t be rash and do something stupid,” I retort, as the sound of trumpets draws my attention off of them. There’s a cluster of horses and people waiting up ahead. As we draw nearer, I can start to make out the familiar faces of Father’s Praetorian Guards. Then Brannagh and Dagdan, atop their auburn steeds, bought at a hefty price from the Autumn Court. And finally, in his own golden chariot, pulled by a prized war horse, a golden laurel wreath atop his salt and pepper hair, stands my Father.

I swallow the lump in my throat. 

“I mean it, Rhysand,” I snarl when he doesn’t answer me. “If you do something stupid now he’ll kill all of you. No pleading on my part will save you.” 

I’m suddenly not sitting on the horse anymore, the world around me spinning and twisting and the trumpets and horns starting to play along the roadside sound like execution bells. My stomach rises in my throat; heart echoing to an octave that sounds like beating drums. I can’t see them, I can’t see the parade of people assembling all I can see is my Mother in those awful, dull gray robes, stripped of all the finery she always adorned herself, walking right to the executioner's block in chains.

“Breathe.” I must have been holding my breath because the memory comes to a grinding halt before I can rewatch her head roll off her shoulders and Rhysand is back in my head, gently shaking the memory from my grip. 

“It’s over. You’re all right. Take another deep breath for me.”

My horse won’t stop moving and I swear my Father doesn’t blink the entire time he watches us approach. That slate gray gaze, so similar to my own, is empty and cold and it pierces through me like an ice pick. 

“We’re not doing anything today, remember? Just observing. We need to see what we’re up against.”

I have to fight every instinct not to turn and look at him. I need to keep my head up, I need to not look like I’m going to throw up all over the floor. I cannot ruin this. 

Father’s mood shifts when he turns his attention to Amarantha, and smiles. “General,” he calls out, the horde of people surrounding him parting so he can move to greet her. “I see you had no issues on your way here.”

“Dick,” Rhysand hisses as I sit there getting ignored. 

“Please, just stick to observing. I can’t…” I shake off the memory as best I can, embarrassed that I showed him in the first place. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

The bond flickers with understanding, a moment of shared grief passing between us. I don’t know what else he has lost, but the emotion that flits between us is enough to show me it’s not mere pity. “Don’t worry, there’s not going to be room to do anything in this crowd,” he assures. 

And he’s right, starting at the open gates is a whole crowd of people, all waving flags and streamers and cheering. The whole city is packed against the main road, held back by a thin barrier or red tinted magic. Every house in the Capitol has to be empty. Someone has thrown roses down onto the road, the perfume so strong I can smell it from here.

Behind us, more beings begin to arrive. I note some of Amarantha’s commanding officers and a few Senators. A couple of the Lords who have bent the knee and submitted to Father’s reign follow. 

Amarantha stands a little straighter as they approach, preening under all the attention. 

A steward with a very long scroll shuffles around in the chaos, trying to organize everybody into rows, his shrill voice echoing above the crowd with a little help from some lesser magic. Drummond has been in the service of the Empire since my great-grandfather was Emperor, he’s gotten pretty good at getting people to listen to him. 

We’re quickly organized into sections, with Father and Amarantha in the front and everyone following in line behind them by rank and station. There is a large gap in between where Father and Amarantha ride and where I sit with my mates, just ahead of the other nobility. My birthright keeps me close to the front, but the gap between me and them is noticeable. I am not a part of their inner circle, I’ve only ended up ahead of they’re favored elites because I have the face of the Illyrian rebellion chained to my horse. It is not as if I want to be close to them, in fact, the distance helps me breathe a little easier, but the space between my Father and I has never felt so visible. We are two ships on opposite sides of an ocean. Mother used to whisper, when she thought I couldn’t hear, that the Goddess had cursed him by giving him me. Not only was I not the son he’d prayed for, I was not even a daughter he could benefit from having. He’d tried to hide that from his closest confidants, it’s why he allowed the River House. It kept me close enough to not become a problem, and far enough away to hide his shame. It used to bother me, now I can’t help but wonder if perhaps there was a reason I’d never belonged here. Maybe the distance had given me the eyes I’d needed to see my mates for what they were. If I had been born different, if I had become someone like Brannagh or Amarantha, would I have ended up here?

My musings are interrupted by Dummond as he side-steps Cassian, giving the General a far wider berth than necessary as he looks back and forth between his scroll and us. “Hmmm, should be a enough room I suppose?” He mutters, pen furiously scratching in the margins of what looks to be a very well filled out list. 

Cassian’s wings suddenly unfurl behind him, as if he’s stretching his arms, the great, leathery membrane catching the early afternoon sun, as the spiked tip catches Dummond in the back of the head hard enough to make him drop the scroll.

The aging elf gives a yelp of surprise as he skitters after it like it’s made of gold. “Gods-damned Illyrian brute!” 

“Cass,” Rhysand warns as the guards shift in our direction.

“What? My wings were cramping,” Cassian counters, looking smug, even as he snaps his wings shut behind his large body. I could watch him do that all day. If I’d had the supplies, I’d attempt to paint the way the sunlight reflects the hints of red and blue, highlighting all the scars that map their way across his wings. How many battles do you have to fight to have scars like that?

Dummond scurries past us to intercept a caravan of wagons, keeping his precious scroll clutched tight to his chest this time. He’s always been a little skittish--who isn’t around my Father?--but today looks like it’s worn down his nerves. I can practically hear his knees shaking as he directs the wagons down the little path that converges on the mainroad. The closer it gets, the louder the sound of rattling chains becomes.

Grief consumes me, so hot and heavy the three of them might as well have screamed themselves hoarse down the bond simultaneously. It is an effort not to grasp at my chest, as if they’re pain is a physical wound I can hold in my hands. I don’t need to see what comes our way to know what it is, but their arrival plays out in slow motion ahead of us. The wagons are all built to be moveable cages, walls of gorsian stone bars holding in too many bodies to count. There’s a padlocked door at the back of each and when a guard swings it open, a jumble of winged bodies tumble outward. Chains clank and rattle and male after winged male gets shoved into even lines ahead of us. They’re all a mess of blood soaked bandages and dirt; the number of wings more twisted than Azriel’s had been is too high to number. Once a wagon is empty it is directed out of the way and another takes its place, just as full as the last. There has to be at least a hundred Illyrians, all shackled and beaten ahead of us.

Dummond stays a healthy distance from them, counting down the numbers on his list to ensure they’re all in place. Not that it would be necessary, none of them fight it. Most stand with their heads to their bare chests--gods above half of them are still naked! 

Rhysand has withdrawn himself from my head again, but I can still feel his pain down the bond just as well. These are his people, and he can’t save them from this.

Cassian’s pain soon turns sharp as a blade, rage pulsing down the bond. 

I wish I had the words to comfort them; the power to make this all stop, but I am as helpless as I always have been. No words will soothe this offense.

How could Father do this? 

Dummond carries on as if he is organizing cattle. The guards use the butts of their spears to keep any male that moves too far from the group back in line. Their force is excessive. The blow knocks the already beaten males into each other, causing a domino effect that brings a third of the Illyrians down into the dirt. I can’t make out the words, but I can hear the whimpers of pain; hear the coughing and wheezing that comes from untreated injuries and illnesses that only come when too many people are crammed together for too long.

There isn’t enough time to process the full scope of what’s happening before a set of trumpets starts blowing from the city’s outer walls. Shit it’s starting!

It’s like a bad dream as the procession begins to move, Father and Amarantha first. There are mages positioned down the fairway, their hands outstretched towards the sky as they weave colorful ribbons of magic like streamers above our heads. The bands move in time to the music, flashing in Amarantha’s colors first, then Father’s. Small children throw more roses into the street as the Emperor and esteemed General make their way into the city.

“All hail the Emperor!” Roars the crowd. “All hail Amarantha the Conqueror!” 

Conqueror. The Illyrian captives are forced to follow after them, shuffling on bare feet and boots that are falling apart across cobblestones that have to be burning as the sun continues to rise across the cloudless sky.

There are small children in attendance, sitting on their parents shoulders, waving miniature versions of Amarantha’s crest. This feels like the most heinous part of the whole ordeal; are we to encourage this brutality in our children? They let their toddlers throw roses and dance along to the music, enthralled by the light show that flashes overhead as the procession moves through the city. 

Dummond makes sure to leave plenty of room between the last row of Ilyrians and us, as if they’re scared to let them get too close to Rhysand. As if, the mere proximity of him might incite an uproar all over again. 

At this point I’d welcome it. I’d happily watch the whole procession go up in flames.

Power rumbles through my veins and I’m forced to tear my gaze away from the crowd to keep anything from escaping out of my skin.

“Steady,” Rhysand warns as we inch closer to the front gates. The crowd continues to cheer and celebrate ahead of us as the procession follows the path to the Imperial Palace several miles into the city. It will be a long road ahead of us, yet it feels like it’s been happening for ages.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry is not strong enough an emotion. No sorry’s will ever be enough.

“Do you see why we need your help?” He counters as a wisp of Azriel’s shadow crawls up my shoulder and dives beneath my hair. The little ether of power slithers like a snake up around my ear, hidden under my hair, observing with a gentle hiss. I wonder if he’s using it to see what’s coming ahead of us.

The road up ahead makes me wish he wasn’t here to see any of it at all. Being on the horse gives me a vantage point, lets me see around the corner we take to get to the heart of the capitol. The crowd has thickened even further here, bodies pushing up against the magic barriers, chanting and shouting to be heard. Except, the closer we get, the clearer the jumbled words become. As Amarantha’s chariot passes through, the noise soon turns from cheers and celebration to boos and curses. It’s the first hint that something is about to go terribly wrong and I feel my powers once again flair in defence.

The shift in the crowd is not the worst of it, even when they start hurling rotting vegetables and rocks at their captive entertainment. Blood splatters as someone gets hit in the head, nearly knocking down a whole row of males in the chaos.

I don’t even have time to flinch before Rhysand is once again holding me in place in the saddle. This time I’m not sure if it’s my nerves or his. The bond bleeds like an open wound between us, agony dripping into my consciousness.

More of Azriel’s shadows cluster beneath my hair, sitting like a snake, coiled and hissing as we go deeper into the city. This crowd will easily become a mob given the slightest provocation.

“Traitors!” The crowd shouts. “Send the Illyrian dogs back where they belong!”

The guards keeping the Illyrians in line don’t do anything to quell the crowd, letting rotting tomatoes and hearts of moldy lettuce get hurled like projectiles at a group of wounded males too beaten to fight back.

My stomach sits like a rock in my throat.

The deeper we get into the city, the worse it gets, and not just because there are more people here, but because, as we draw up to the center of town, there are crosses along the walkway, all holding a male with wings nailed to the cross beams. 

The males in the front of the line freeze at the sight. One of them wails and falls to his knees, only to be forceable hauled up by the Praetorian. 

“Crucify the lot of them!” The crowd roars.

“Send the bastards back to the arena!”

A rock comes hurtling towards my head so fast I don’t even have time to shield, my only saving grace Azriel’s shadow that goes flying out in front of me to catch it and let it fall to the ground beside me. Rhysand won’t turn to let me thank him; won’t let me do anything but keep my eyes straight ahead of me. Not even when I hear the sound of something hitting one of them.

I’d cry if I had the ability, but he seems to have locked that away from me too. I feel like a statue as we continue forward, slowly crawling towards the Imperial Palace, unable to move or react. Even as we pass closer to the bodies, blood still dripping from open gashes across their tattooed chests. Some of the males are, mercifully, already dead, but the street is long and the number of them soon becomes hard to track when you can just make out the ones still gasping for air. This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever seen the Empire do.

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to find my Father, waving cheerfully to the crowd ahead of us, as if this is some sort of game. How could one man be so cruel? 

“Remember how I said you could ask me about that boat today?” Rhysand says, but his voice is strained. I can feel his pain as if it is my own and I don’t know how he, or any of them, is even upright. It’s debilitating. I feel it crawl into every crevice of my being. My muscles fight the hold he has on me to try and curl up into a ball to avoid it. 

“Still think it’s a good idea?”

Like he can feel my gaze, the Emperor turns to catch my eye, one brow furrowed as if in question. For the first time in my life, I don’t shy away from the appraisal. Pain has walked alongside me my whole life, it has been a companion I have learned to hold hands with. But this? Having to live with the knowledge that these are wounds inflicted on my mates because no one has stood up to the Empire?

I’ve accepted a lot of shitty things in my life. I looked the other way when I couldn’t. But no more.

This ends. 

And it ends with me.

“No. I don’t.” I snarl.

I can feel Rhysand’s grin through the bond. “Then welcome to the Rebellion, Princess.”

--------

Tag List:

@sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

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@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime

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@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd, @urfunnyvalentin3, @mack234-blog1, @kissesfromnovalie

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@marrass, @lia-h-r, @celestialzdiviner, @daughterofthemoons-stuff

Thank you all for your patience I know this chapter took me a little longer than usual to write! <3 As always, if you want to be added to the tag list let me know =)

[tsumuus]

when he sees me

katsuki bakugou x reader, blind date, first date, fluff, ooc?, based on this drabble, probably my longest written fic(around 2300-2400 words, but like thats a lot for me😭)

main masterlist | bnha masterlist

You’ve never considered yourself the romantic type.

Not for lack of curiosity, but because the idea of romance felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. Sure, the view was breathtaking, but one wrong move and you’d plummet into the unknown. Relationships demanded too much- a risk of losing control, of exposing parts of yourself no one else had seen, only to have it thrown back in your face.

That’s why, despite Mina’s relentless campaigning to set you up with her “perfect guy,” you resisted.

“C’mon, he’s not like other guys,” she insisted one afternoon, her golden eyes sparkling with determination.

You sighed, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. “Mina, you’ve said that about all of your friends. And let’s not forget how the last one ended up being obsessed with his ex.”

Mina laughed. “Okay, fair, but this guy is different. He’s… grounded. Straightforward. No games, no fluff. I think you’d actually like him.”

“You’ve said that before too,” you teased.

Her pout was almost convincing. Almost. “Just trust me. One date. If it’s horrible, I’ll never bring it up again. Deal?”

You hesitated, weighing the risk of one awkward evening against weeks of Mina’s pestering. Reluctantly, you gave in. “Fine. One date.”

The restaurant was warm and inviting, its soft lighting casting a cozy glow over the wooden tables and shelves lined with potted plants. Mina had texted you the details earlier: 7 PM, party for two, under your name. She’d been oddly tight-lipped about who your date was, insisting she wanted it to be a surprise.

You were still skeptical, but a small part of you was curious. Maybe Mina was right this time. Maybe.

You arrived a few minutes early, hoping to gather your thoughts before meeting your mystery date. The host greeted you with a polite smile and led you to a small table near the window.

“Your party hasn’t arrived yet,” they said, pulling out your chair.

“Thank you,” you replied, sitting down and scanning the menu.

Minutes ticked by. You started to wonder if you’d been stood up when the door opened, and a blond man walked in, his sharp crimson eyes scanning the room.

You froze.

Even from across the restaurant, you recognized him. Katsuki Bakugou, pro hero and household name, exuded an aura that was impossible to ignore. He wasn’t wearing his hero costume, but the fitted black sweater and dark jeans were somehow just as striking.

Your heart sank. There’s no way he’s here for me.

But then his gaze landed on you, and he started walking over.

“You’re the blind date?” he asked, stopping in front of your table.

You blinked up at him, stunned. “You’re…”

“Katsuki,” he said, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down. “Guess we’re both surprised.”

It took you a moment to recover. Of all the people Mina could have set you up with, this was the guy she’d chosen? Pro hero, explosive temper, and notorious for being brutally honest? It didn’t make sense.

“Uh, yeah,” you finally managed. “Nice to meet you.”

He gave a small nod, studying you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat.

The first few minutes were… awkward. He wasn’t exactly a conversationalist, and you weren’t sure how to navigate the situation. But as the evening went on, you began to notice things you hadn’t expected.

For one, he wasn’t as intimidating as you’d imagined. Sure, his words were blunt, but there was a surprising warmth behind them. He listened when you spoke, his attention unwavering. And when he talked about his work, there was a passion in his voice that made it impossible not to be drawn in.

“So, you’re friends with Mina?” he asked at one point, breaking the silence that had settled between you.

“Yeah. We’ve been friends since middle school,” you said. “She’s been trying to set me up for years. Guess she finally got her way.”

He snorted. “Sounds like her.”

You smiled, relaxing slightly. “What about you? How did she convince you to do this?”

“Didn’t take much,” he admitted. “She said you weren’t annoying, so I figured it was worth a shot.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “High praise.”

“It is,” he said, smirking.

Despite yourself, you laughed. The more you talked, the more you realized that he wasn’t what you’d expected. Beneath the sharp edges and fiery reputation was someone who was honest, genuine, and… kind. In his own way.

When the night ended, he walked you to your car. The cool evening air was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the restaurant, and you found yourself wishing the night could last just a little longer.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d like this whole blind date thing, but… you’re not bad.”

A small laugh escaped you. “You’re not bad yourself.”

His lips quirked in the faintest of smirks. “See ya around?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the weight of your fears pressing down on you. But then you met his gaze- steady, genuine- and you felt something shift.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “See you around.”

That night, as you lay in bed replaying the evening in your mind, you realized something strange: you weren’t overthinking it. You weren’t second-guessing every word or analyzing every gesture. Instead, you felt… calm.

For the first time, the idea of letting someone in didn’t feel like a leap off a cliff.

It felt like the beginning of something you didn’t want to lose.

You didn’t expect him to call.

Even though the night had gone surprisingly well, you told yourself not to get your hopes up. He was a pro hero, after all- someone whose life moved at a pace so fast it felt impossible to keep up. People like him didn’t have time for something as fragile and delicate as a budding relationship.

Still, the memory of his smirk lingered, sharp and vivid in your mind. The way his crimson eyes had softened ever so slightly when he teased you- so subtle you wondered if you’d imagined it- made it impossible not to replay the evening over and over.

Three days passed. You told yourself to move on, to not dwell on what was probably just a casual dinner for him. That is, until your phone buzzed with a text.

Katsuki: Hey. You free for dinner this week?

The message was so short, so him, that it took you a moment to process it. Your heart stuttered, and you stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity. Was this real? A small, incredulous laugh bubbled out of you. You couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Should you reply right away? Wait a few minutes? Was it too eager to answer so quickly?

Finally, with a shaky breath, you typed back:

You: Yeah, I think I could be convinced. When were you thinking?

The pause before his next reply felt like forever, but when it came, it was so straightforward you had to smile.

Katsuki: Friday. 7. Same place.

Simple. Confident. And as you stared at the message, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

The first couple of dinners were... awkward, to say the least.

It wasn’t that Katsuki made you uncomfortable- far from it. But there was something about the way he carried himself, the unwavering intensity in his gaze, that made you hyperaware of every word you spoke. He wasn’t a conversationalist, either. The silences between you felt heavier than they needed to, filled with the unspoken tension of two people trying to figure each other out.

He wasn’t oblivious to it. One evening, while you sat across from him in a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, your fork hovering over your plate, he tilted his head and raised a brow.

“You gonna stop acting like you’re walkin’ on eggshells around me, or do I need to pry it out of you?” he asked bluntly, his tone laced with teasing, though his crimson eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

Your fork clinked softly against the plate as you set it down, caught off guard. “I’m not walking on eggshells,” you retorted, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

His lips quirked in a knowing smirk. “Yeah, you are.” He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Just say whatever’s on your mind. I’m not gonna bite.”

There was something disarming about the way he said it- gruff but sincere. His words loosened something inside you, and before you realized it, you were laughing, the tension in your shoulders melting away. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Don’t see the point,” he said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “It’s more fun when people are just themselves. So, quit overthinkin’ and just talk to me.”

It was easier said than done, but something about the way he said it- direct, no room for doubt- made you want to try. And so you did. Hesitantly at first, testing the waters with little anecdotes and random thoughts. But as the night went on, the words flowed more freely. You told him about your day, about things that annoyed you, things that made you laugh. And Katsuki listened.

Really listened.

He didn’t interrupt or interject with meaningless comments. He just let you talk, his eyes steady on yours, nodding here and there or throwing in a dry remark that made you laugh despite yourself. By the time the check came, the air between you felt lighter, less strained.

When he walked you to your door that night, hands shoved into his pockets and that familiar scowl softening just a fraction, you realized you were looking forward to the next time you’d see him.

Things between you shifted after that. Slowly, in small, subtle ways. Dinners turned into late-night conversations that carried over into texts throughout the week. Katsuki wasn’t the type to blow up your phone with messages, but when he did text, it was always something meaningful- or hilarious, though he’d never admit he was funny on purpose.

One night, he called out of the blue.

“Look outside,” he said gruffly, not even bothering with a greeting.

Confused, you walked to the window. Sure enough, there he was, standing on the sidewalk with a bag slung over one shoulder, his free hand holding up his phone.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, laughing as you opened the door and stepped outside to meet him.

“Thought you could use a break,” he said, holding up the bag. “Brought food. Don’t argue, just eat.”

It was simple, thoughtful gestures like that- the way he remembered little things you said, like your favorite snack or how you liked your coffee- that caught you off guard. He wasn’t trying to impress you; he was just... himself. Honest, genuine, and surprisingly caring in ways he’d never admit aloud.

The night it all came to a head was unplanned, much like the way your relationship had unfolded. You’d been feeling restless all day, the kind of itch beneath your skin that no amount of pacing or distractions could soothe. Katsuki must have noticed when he stopped by after work, because instead of sitting down like usual, he grabbed your hand.

“C’mon,” he said simply, tugging you toward the door.

“Where are we going?” you asked, though you didn’t resist, letting him lead you out into the cool night air.

“You’ll see.”

He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t push, curious despite yourself. He walked with purpose, his hand warm and solid around yours, guiding you through streets you didn’t recognize until you reached a quiet rooftop overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking- glittering lights stretching out as far as the eye could see, the hum of distant traffic a soothing backdrop.

“Wow,” you breathed, stepping closer to the edge to take it all in.

Katsuki leaned against the railing, watching you instead of the view. “Thought you might like it,” he said after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

You glanced back at him, your chest tightening at the way he looked at you. “I do. It’s beautiful.”

He stayed quiet for a beat, his gaze dropping to the ground before meeting yours again. “You’ve been outta it lately,” he said, his tone careful. “Figured you needed to get outta your head for a bit.”

The words hit harder than you expected. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the weight of his attention- his care- making it hard to speak. “Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered, though the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

The silence stretched, comfortable now, as you both watched the city lights. But something was shifting between you, unspoken but undeniable. You felt it in the way he stood closer than before, his shoulder brushing against yours. In the way his crimson eyes softened when they met yours.

“Katsuki,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “why do you... do all this? For me, I mean.”

He stiffened slightly but didn’t look away. “Why wouldn’t I?” he said, his tone defensive, like the answer was obvious. “You’re important to me.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Your breath caught, and before you could stop yourself, you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He stared at your joined hands, his expression unreadable, before squeezing back.

“You’re important to me too,” you said softly, the words carrying more weight than you expected.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the glow of the city, something between you clicked. There were no fireworks, no dramatic declarations, but as Katsuki leaned in, his forehead brushing gently against yours, you realized you didn’t need them. This- his warmth, his presence- was more than enough.

[httpwintersoldier]

『sweet little thing p.4 | b. barnes x reader』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: it's very long, I don't even know how many parts it's going to have summary: what happens when the guy you have a crush on happens to have a dad, who is older, hotter and rougher? 『 part 1 』 『 part 2 』 『 part 3 』 『 part 4 』

fluff ; angst ; smut

As you stood in front of your university's building, it suddenly looked a lot bigger and a lot scarier. You had no idea if Andy had told everyone else about what had gone down over the weekend, but you felt exposed already.

Each step forward was dreadful, you walked in autopilot. The blur in your vision and the ringing in your ears were such that you didn't even notice your group of friends calling for you. It was only when Jas walked over to you that you snapped out of your hypnotic state.

"Y/N? Is everything okay? We were calling for you..." She asked, searching your face.

You forced a smile and awkwardly laughed.

"You were? My bad, I was distracted." It wasn't a lie, you were distracted, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

Your friend frowned a little, but if you were making up an excuse then it was because you didn't want to talk about whatever you were going through, so she just let it go and brought you over to the place they were sitting at.

Anxiety started building up within you and you couldn't breathe as you approached the group - you didn't know if you were ready to face the consequences of your actions...

Thankfully, Andy hadn't arrived yet, and, from the way they all greeted you and spoke normally, it didn't seem like Andy had told them anything.

Being around your friends eased your mind and body, and, after a couple of minutes, you had forgotten about the reason why you had been so nervous.

That is, until the reason arrived.

"Hello, everyone."

You froze in place. The only available seat was next to you, which was fortunate, because at least you wouldn't risk making accidental eye contact with Andy.

Everyone greeted the friend, you included. He wasn't in a great mood, and everyone noticed - Andy was usually bright and chirpy from sunrise to sunset, however he seemed gloomy and tired, it was very unlike him.

The group ignored whatever was going on for as long as possible, but the conversation wasn't flowing and, at some point, the tension spread through the group and became unbearable.

"Okay, I can't pretend anymore, what the fuck happened between you two? Why is there such an awkward atmosphere in here?" Jas finally asked.

It was obvious, from the change in behaviours that came from the two of you, that you and Andy were the source of it all. The question was genuine and simple in Jas' mind, however she didn't know the Pandora's box she had just opened.

"Did you fuck or something? Was it terrible and now you can't face each other?" One of the guys joked, only furthering the awkwardness.

The friend to his right smacked his arm, but it was too late. Andy's body tensed up and he scoffed, glancing to the side.

"It wasn't me she fucked."

The statement hit everyone like a truck. The whole group wondered what that meant, but from the context clues, they picked up that you had gotten with someone close to him. Your hands balled up in fists and your world started spinning as cold sweat ran down your back.

"Whoa, what does that mean? Did one of you-" One of the guys started, pointing at the two other men at the table, but he was cut off.

"She fucked my dad."

The table went silent. Shock and disbelief painted on everyone's faces, and your anxious eyes skimmed every single one of them, looking for the least bit of sympathy.

"What?" One of them busted out, not fully convinced that he had heard correctly.

"Y/N, did that really happen?" Jas asked, trying her best to sound understanding in face of the situation.

You couldn't look at her. You looked at your hands, still balled up in your lap, and nodded.

"Like once, or?..." Another punch to the man's arm.

"Dude!" One of them called out his friend's ridiculousness and lack of awareness.

"What?! Like you're not asking yourselves the same!" He defended.

"I..." All eyes were on you, you could feel them, you could feel Andy's sorrow and hatred, as well as everyone else's curiosity and confusion "I didn't mean to do it, I don't think he did either. It just sort of... happened. And we kept in contact and..."

You were tying to be as broad as possible with the details, as to not hurt Andy (or disgust him), but he still stood up abruptly and began walking away.

"Andy! Wait!" Courage shot through you as you went after him and grabbed his wrist "I'm sorry, I really am, please... Believe me."

He turned around to face you, his crystal eyes covered with a layer of tears.

"What do you want from me? Forgiveness? Understanding? Well, I can't give you either of them. I liked you- fuck, I still do! So I'm sorry if I can't sit back and support you and... and my dad. So please, leave me alone. Maybe one day I'll get over it, but not right now, not in the foreseeable future."

You slowly let go of his hand, and a little sob escaped his lips. Not a single word was uttered as he turned around and began walking away.

You slumped back on the seat you had been sitting in, surrounded by your friends.

"I should go check on him..." One of the guys said, as he stood up and followed the way Andy had gone.

The others didn't follow, as they knew the boy would feel overwhelmed by too many people crowding him in such a vulnerable moment.

You felt Jas softly place her hand on your back, and you could see from your peripheral that she had told the other two boys to take leave as well. They patted your shoulder as they walked away, their boy-ish way of saying "good luck".

"You know what the worst part is?" You asked Jas, unable to look her in the eye.

She didn't respond, simply letting you air out whatever it was you needed to air out.

"I don't regret it. And if I somehow went back in time, I would do it again." You started "It felt like I was being pulled to him, I couldn't think of anything that didn't include him, and when we finally got together... it just felt so right."

You stopped for a second to catch your breath and wipe the tears. You lifted your head and looked at Jas, that had nothing but a pitiful expression on her face.

"It's fucked up I-I know, especially when I liked Andy. When I started going to his house I was so excited because that meant I was getting closer to my goal, but then I saw Buck- Mr. Barnes, and my world was flipped upside down. I can't pretend I don't know him, and I can't go back and pretend I don't feel like this, not when I see him whenever I look at Andy."

Your friend sighed and shook her head - what a mess. She wrapped her arm around you and squeezed your body, in a show of support.

"I'm not gonna sit here and pretend it's not fucked up to sleep with your friend's dad, especially when that friend likes you, but I'm also not going to pretend you're a villain for following your heart. It's a really complicated situation, Y/N... I really don't know what to say."

"I just... I feel sorry for Andy, but it's not a situation that I want to stop. Bucky is such a great person."

There was a small silence between the two of you, and it was clear Jas was itching to ask something.

"Am I allowed to ask what happened? And how it happened?"

"Holy shit, sweetheart... Rough day?" Bucky asked, as he kissed the top of your head and walked into your house.

"That bad, huh?" You chuckled, closing the door behind you "I guess I look like how I feel..."

You stared at how his biceps flexed as he removed his jacket and tossed it on the couch. When he turned around and saw your eyes fixated on his build, Bucky chuckled. He gently grabbed your hand as he walked to the couch, and pulled you down to his lap. The man's large arms wrapped around you, and his thumb drew shapes on your thigh as you got comfortable.

"You said we needed to talk, everything okay?" There was a glimpse of worry in his eyes, and a hint of concern in his voice as he asked that.

"My group of friends know about it..." You simply said.

Bucky's grip on you tightened at those words, and his body stiffened.

"Are you okay? What did they say?"

You sighed and turned to look at him.

"They were perplexed, mostly. And confused. I don't blame them for that... Things were a bit tense the rest of the day, the group was pretty separated, I don't think anyone knows how to feel about the whole thing."

"They didn't give you a rough time?"

You shook your head negatively.

"I think I'm the one giving myself the hardest time, it's weird. I feel guilty, but I would still have done it if we turned back in time." Bucky smiled a little at the confession, and kissed your temple lovingly. "How about you? How's Andy treating you?"

Bucky sighed, there had been a lot of that going around you recently.

"The first day he didn't sleep at home, I don't know where he slept and I was worrying all night, but if I called he wouldn't have picked up, and if I texted he wouldn't have replied, probably would have pissed him off more... He sleeps there now, at least, I try to talk to him but he's still hurting..." The man paused and swallowed, trying not to cry "I broke his trust, I know it's going to take time, but fuck, it hurts. I can't imagine how he's feeling, and it sucks not being able to be there for him 'cause I'm the source of it all but I haven't felt this way about someone in a long time. I feel like a damn school boy around you, Y/N."

Tears gathered in your eyes as you got to see the vulnerable side of someone like Bucky - a big, strong army man that almost looked mean and cold when you first saw him. You pulled his head against your chest and pet his head.

"His anger towards you will pass, you didn't know he liked you. What I did was worse, I knew exactly what he wanted, and I took it from him."

"His anger towards you will also pass, Bucky..."

He looked up at you with those beautiful eyes, now tear-stained and pain-stricken. The sight was a beautiful tragedy... You wiped away his tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

"How can you be so sure?"

"You're his dad, that bond is a lot deeper than some girl." You joked, with a small laugh.

"I don't think you realize just how special you are, and how much the simple thought of losing you hurts."

You and Bucky had spent too much time crying and thinking about all of the things that had gone down the past weekend, so when his army pal hit him up and asked him if he wanted to go for a drink, he found it to be the perfect escape for the night.

He didn't want to leave you alone, but you insisted that you'd need a long shower (and some makeup) and that it would take time, more time than you wanted him to wait, so you assure him you were fine and told him you'd meet him there.

Admittedly, you felt uncomfortable walking into the bar, it was a stereotypical "manly" place, with a pool table, chairs that dated back to before you were born, and no sight of a drink that wasn't a beer or a whiskey. You weren't dressed appropriately, you figured, as your little red dress (that you had worn to tease Bucky) was drawing a lot of attention.

You spotted "Mr. Barnes" near the bar, talking to two men and walked over to him, avoiding the stares and comments from the random men around you.

"Come on Buck, she's what? Twenty? What do you even talk about? What do you even have in common?" The tall, blonde man that Bucky was talking to said.

You held back a smile and placed one arm around Bucky's waist. He hadn't seen you coming, since his back was facing the door, but the man's face instantly lit up when he looked found that the person touching him was you.

"I'd say we have some... tastes in common, so to speak." You said, with a smile, winking at the blonde that instantly went red.

Bucky smirked at the dirty joke, and his expression was one of pride. One of his hands tapped your butt lightly, as if saying "good job", and you smiled.

You didn't take the man's comment in the wrong way, you were sure he was just looking out for his friend, but it did kind of hurt your ego that he thought you were some airhead with no real content to herself just because of your age.

"Y/N, that's Steve, my best-friend, we were in the army together," Bucky began, hinting at the tall blonde in front of him, whose face was red with embarrassment "and that's Sam. I don't like him, but he's always around."

"Real nice, Buck." Sam said, making Bucky smile faintly, a smile that he discreetly hid by taking a sip of whiskey.

"I'm sorry about my comment, miss."

"That's okay, sir," you said, mocking how proper the man sounded "I know there's a big age difference between us, but I like the guy."

Steve smiled softly, still embarrassed he'd been caught in that situation, but glad you hadn't taken offense to the comment.

"What are you drinking, sweetheart?" Bucky asked you, and although he was talking to you, his gaze was everywhere but on your eyes.

You had no idea how many drinks he had had before your arrival, but he didn't even try to hide his hungry gaze as his eyes fixated on several parts of your body.

"Espresso Martini?" You asked.

"Ooh she's a fancy one. I don't think they do anything here that mixes more than two drinks." Sam joked with a laugh.

"Didn't think so either," you laughed "but it was worth a try! I'll have a vodka redbull, then."

"Comin' right up, sweetheart." Bucky said, and turned to the bar to order.

"So, he told us how you met..." There was a hint of awkwardness in Steve's voice as he said that.

"Not under the best pretext, no..." You replied, nervously fixing your hair "It's a little awkward as it is, but I'm hoping for a good outcome."

"Sounds like you're here to stay." Sam chirped in, with a suggestive face.

"I sure hope she is!" Bucky's voice was lower than usual, his eyes were half-lidded and his cheeks were a pretty pink colour.

The man pressed a kiss to your temple and circled your waist with his arm as he handed you your drink. You giggled at his roaming hand and stared at him.

"How many of those have you had?" You asked, pointing at his cup.

Bucky looked at his drink and shrugged. You and his friends shared a laugh at his state - it was obvious that Steve was also not at 100% capacity, and Sam walked towards the same state, you'd just have to catch up to them.

You hadn't eaten much before leaving the house, as you didn't want Bucky and his friends to wait for you for too long, so a couple drinks (mixed with the fact that the bartender had been going 50/50 on the vodka and redbull quantities) had you in the same state as the trio.

Your body leaned against Bucky's for extra balance, and the latter didn't mind the closeness at all. The four of you were having a fun time, laughing at the old war stories and anecdotes from the young James Barnes and sharing stories, when a group of four men approached you.

"Hey there princess, how about you ditch the fossils and come hang out with us, we can show you a real good time."

They looked out of place in the bar (although so did you) - they wore different polo shirts and tight jeans, too tight for their own good, you reckoned. They weren't too tall, but their muscular build certainly asserted dominance.

You could feel Bucky's body tense behind you, and you could see from your peripheral how the three men sized up the other men with their eyes.

"I don't... I don't think I will."

"What? You want to spend your night with grandpa?" The tallest of the trio, a bald man with tattoos on his arms, scoffed and walked towards you, placing his arm on your shoulder.

He didn't even have time to continue his sentence, Bucky slammed down his drink and gripped the man's hand. The male forcefully removed the other guy from you, twisting his arm behind his back and kicking him in the back of the leg, causing his knees to buckle.

"I believe she said no, Caillou." Bucky growled through gritted teeth.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, old man?! Think you can fight?" Another one of them asked, pulling Bucky up by the collar of his shirt.

Before a third one could join in, Steve let go of his drink and stood in front of the man.

"Going somewhere, pal?" Steve asked, with a small smirk that displayed not happiness, but adrenaline.

"Come on, I wouldn't want to scratch up your pretty face." The other male mocked, patting Steve's cheek lightly.

Bucky's best friend simply laughed, before punching his opponent, whom stumbled back. He then threw another punch to the side of the man's face, the side that was not covered by his palms, and delivered a blow to the man's stomach, which sent him stumbling back.

"I wouldn't worry about it." Steve mocked back, looking at the man, crouching on the floor while holding his torso and face.

Bucky kept the guy that had touched you on the floor, but two others were on him. He punched and kicked, but it was a 2 versus 1 situation, and so Bucky got handed some devastating blows.

"I gotta get new friends..." Sam said, upon seeing the scene, before downing his drink in one go and stepping forward into the fight.

All you could do was stand there and watch, with a horrified expression and hands over your chest, as your boyfriend and his friends became a mess of flying wrists and arms.

Your head was spinning and you didn't know what to do, but one thing was for certain: seeing Bucky fight so wildly to defend you and your peace... it was hot.

"I'm really sorry guys... I didn't mean to cause all that." You apologized sincerely.

"Are you kidding?" Bucky scoffed "Those guys had it coming."

"Yeah, plus, it was kind of fun." Steve agreed, much to your surprise "I wish we hadn't gotten banned from the bar but..."

"I wish we hadn't gotten beaten up." Sam chimed in, making everyone laugh.

After being kicked out of the bar, none of you was in a decent state to drive home, so you just decided to walk - to sober up and calm down. Bucky noticed how your heels were dangling from your hands, and as his eyes dropped to your feet, he realized you had been walking barefoot.

"Come on, get on my back." He said, as he knelt down to make it easy for you.

"What? You can't be serious, Bucky, you're all beat up." You told him, eyeing his state.

"Wasn't an offer, sweetheart."

After that it was hard to stop the fire from spreading through your body. The boys kept on talking, but you could only focus on how close Bucky's body was to yours - your chest pressed against his back, his arms tangled with your legs, and your thighs gripping his waist.

"The state of your face, Bucky..." You complained to him, as you knelt between his legs, holding his face in one hand and the first aid kit in the other.

There was a small gash on his bottom lip, cuts on his jaw and forehead, and a bruise was already forming on his cheek.

"I've had worse." The man joked, hinting at the fact that he had served in the army, but you didn't laugh, you were too worried about his state "Come on, sweetheart, it's not that bad."

You looked at him with a serious expression, conveying how worried you were for him, and climbed on his lap, so you could work on "fixing" his face. You opened the first aid kit and began scolding him.

"Bucky... You can't get into fights every time some asshole hits on me..." You told him, as you applied some medicine to his cuts.

The man hissed at the stinging sensation on his lip.

"If I can't do that, then what do I have to give you?" He was smiling, but there was a glimpse of sadness in his eyes.

You put down the cotton swab and the bottle of medicine and looked into his eyes.

"What does that mean, James?" You asked, with eyebrows furrowed in sorrow.

Bucky sighed, and his hands ran up and down your thighs, before giving them a squeeze.

"You heard them, sweetheart, I'm old... I'm holdin' up pretty well but-"

You shut him up with a kiss, before he could say anything else.

"You're not old, Bucky. Let's start with that, you're talking as if you're some decrepit thing, you're beautiful. You do realize that I'm not exactly lacking when it comes to options of young guys, right? If I cared about age I would have a pretty wide catalog in the university I go to, you are just what I was looking for, just what I needed - and I didn't even know I needed you before I met you."

His eyes were full of emotion, and he couldn't express any of them. The only thing he could do to paint an image of what he was feeling was grab the back of your head and bring you forward, locking your lips in a tender kiss. You had never experienced such feelings in a kiss before, and the two of you had kissed many, many times. There was sorrow, sadness, gratitude, admiration, and love.

One of his large hands brought you closer, as if you were still too far away for his liking. As your kiss deepened and his tongue became more creative, your hips rolled against his, feeling his already hardened cock under you. A strained moan was muffled by your lips, and the two of you pulled away.

"I'd love to fuck you right now," he began, slapping your ass and grabbing your cheeks in the middle of the sentence "but my whole body is sore..." The man lamented.

Biting your lip, you undid his zipper and pulled his pants down slightly, just enough so you could comfortably pull his cock out from the confinement of his underwear.

You climbed down from his lap, spreading his legs gently so you could fit in between.

"Tonight, I'll take care of you." You told him, as you gripped the base of his cock and teased its tip with your tongue.

"Fuck..." He muttered under a sigh of relief, as he momentarily threw his head back against the wall.

You lips slid up and down his shaft and his tip hit against the back of your throat. As you hollowed your cheeks and pressed your tongue flat against the base of his cock, you felt Bucky gathering your hair in his fist, a makeshift ponytail so he could see you as well as possible.

His hips thrusted slightly, following your movements. You could tell he was holding himself back. Bucky's chest rose and fall, and a plethora of groans and curses left his lips.

You looked up, curiosity getting the best of you, and it was the most beautiful view. Bucky's mouth was agape, his eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, and his eyes had a dark veil of ecstasy. As his pupils met yours, he muttered another curse under his breath.

"Don't look at me with those eyes, pretty girl, or I won't last."

You pulled away from his cock, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

"Let's pick up the pace then." You teased as you stood.

You pulled your dress up just enough to remove your panties and got back on his lap. No preparation was needed, as his state alone was enough for wetness to spread between your legs.

The man just watched as you gripped his cock and easily slid down his shaft. Your moans mixed and bounced off the walls. Bucky's hands gripped your ass and you gripped his shoulders as you began to move up and down.

His eyes traveled down your body, focusing on the red dress that had been teasing him all night long.

"Fuck... you and these pretty little things you like to wear... I wanted to fuck you over the counter of that bar the second I saw you..." Bucky said in your ear, kissing the spot directly under it.

That incited a loud moan from you, as you picked up the pace. Bucky's body worked in sync with yours, his hips snapping upwards and his big hands forcing you down on his cock - any pain or soreness from the fight was long forgotten.

You could tell from the look in his eyes that he was near, his clouded vision and clenched jaw were all too familiar. You held him against your chest as he buried himself deep in you one last time. You could feel his cock twitch within you, spilling his cum.

Bucky held the back of your head and caught you in a deep kiss, exchanging a million silent words.

You stared at the man standing on your porch and your heart began beating on your chest. You parked your car and exited the vehicle, that took no longer than five seconds, but it felt like hours as thoughts ran through your mind - why was Andy at your house? Why was he waiting for you?

The week that had passed was filled with awkward silences and tense conversations, so much so that the group had pretty much divided itself to prevent the weird atmosphere that had ensued - you'd sometimes hang out with one half, and then you'd hang out with the other. You felt bad for your friends, it felt like they had to take turns to spend time with everyone...

"Andy... Hi." You greeted, trying to hide the nervousness "Do you want to-"

"Do you like him? Do you have feelings for him?" He was cutthroat and went directly to the issue, to the core of the reason why he was there, as Andy didn't seem like he wanted to spend a long time in your presence.

The question was deafening, it was something you hadn't even admitted to Bucky himself, it was something you knew the answer to, but you had never voiced it out loud.

You took a deep breath and looked at Andy.

"I do." Your voice was firm and determined, as if it had been something you struggled with, when in reality coming to terms that you did have feelings for a man like that was the easiest that you ever had to do, but admitting it to his son, your friend... that was rough.

There was sorrow in his eyes as he heard the answer. Andy pressed his lips together in an understanding smile as he slowly nodded.

"Why?"

You thought you had heard wrong. Was he asking "why" you had feelings for his dad, "why" you had done it, "why" your feelings for Andy had come to a halt...

"What?"

He sighed and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Why do you like him?"

"I mean..." You swallowed thickly and licked your lips, there was no way to word why you had come to like Bucky so much without being cheesy "He's always on the forefront when it comes to protecting me, even when I was just your friend to him, he went out of his way to get rid of a group of guys that were harassing me. He's really kind, he treats me well and although he has this rough exterior he's really sensitive and loving." You paused and look into Andy's sad eyes "He cares about you, very much, and he feels really sorry..."

"I know he does... That's why this is so hard for me. I would've expected it if he was a deadbeat who didn't give a shit about me, but he's always been there, he's always been my best-friend and now... I still love him, I don't think I will ever not love him, but it was an unexpected blow." Those words were hard for Andy, you could tell.

His voice was breaking and cracking, as if he had to physically pull them out of his throat.

"I came down here because I wanted to know... I needed to know if you and my dad were just a fling or it was an actual thing." The boy struggled with his words, and so did you, wanting everything to be as broad and un-specific as possible.

"Is it better that I like him?" You asked, unsure if that was the answer he was looking for.

Andy shrugged. The boy himself was not sure what answer he was searching for, and what outcome would be best.

"In a way it's better that you actually like him, because then you weren't just crewing up things between us for a one night stand, but in the long run it might hurt me more. I-I don't know..."

"I'm sorry, Andy..."

"Yeah, you've said that, you and him." He said, with a cynical chuckle, which struck you deeply "I'm not saying I will never forgive you, I eventually will, you were a good friend to me, but right now I can't be the bigger person and just forgive you both."

"I can wait." You said with a small, sympathetic smile.

Andy just nodded, and bid you a silent goodbye. There wasn't exactly closure, and it wasn't the conclusion you had hoped for (or expected), but it was better than nothing.

You stood on your porch, watching as he left, thinking about what had just happened, and trying to process what it all meant.

"Hey."

You snapped your head in the direction of the very familiar voice.

"Bucky, hey! Andy just left, actually." You told him, as you pointed towards the direction his son had gone in.

"I know, I got here a while ago, but it didn't seem like a conversation I should be a part of."

"So you were nearby... waiting?" You realized.

"Yes." The man responded simply.

"So did you hear..."

You hoped the answer was negative, you prayed it was negative.

"I did."

Oh. What a nightmare. You had just indirectly confessed to him, he had heard you tell his son how much you liked him. It was too soon, you hadn't been together for long, and it wasn't something you wanted him to know yet.

"Oh... It's okay if you don't feel the same, I mean it hasn't been a long time so I get it but-"

"Don't do that." Bucky interrupted your rant, with a serious tone.

You had been averting your gaze, too nervous to meet his stare, but at that sentence, you looked up into his eyes.

"Do what?" You asked.

"Act like you're somehow not enough for me to feel the same. Act like what we have isn't special, and act like I wasn't obsessed with you from the very start."

Bucky stepped forward and cupped your face with his hands.

"There's no use in denying what we feel, Y/N, and time doesn't fucking matter because a day with you feels like a second, it's never enough. So don't focus on the days we spent, let's just focus on the days we have ahead, okay? The sooner we start our journey, the more time we will have to enjoy it, together."

You were too choked up to respond, you could only wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss.

"Fuck me like you want to make me yours forever." You whispered, looking straight into his eyes.

Bucky instantly grabbed your thighs with his hands, making you wrap his legs around his waist as he hurriedly carried you inside of the house.

For the first time, when he laid you on your bed, he took his time. He removed his clothes first, and then slowly peeled your off of every item you wore, taking in your curves like you were a piece of art at the Louvre.

He kissed the skin between your breasts and played with them softly, before trailing his lips down your body, eyes locked on yours drinking your every expression. The man kissed the inside of your thighs, taking his time before eating you out. His tongue tasted you hungrily, and, although he tried taking his time, Bucky's desperation showed - he couldn't get enough of you.

"Bucky please..." You begged, unable to wait any longer.

He listened to your pleas instantly, locking your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue, before slipping into you so easily that it felt like a puzzle coming together.

This time, he didn't let you go. He held you close and looked into your eyes as he fucked you, listening to your every command, to your every noise like it was music.

And, when the two of you came in sync, promises of staying together forever came out in unison.

"minors dni" banner credit - @cafekitsune

taglist: @bookofriverr ; @starfly-nicole ; @deafening-roar-of-angry-students ; @blackhawkfanatic

Thank you so much for the support 🩷 I haven't proofread it yet, sorry for any mistakes

[blbyena]

boyfriend!mark x reader , friend!jaemin , coffee date

Fluff - 2,293 words

-

You're at a café with mark and jaemin, and the waiter has a crush on you...

It’s a rare free afternoon, and you, Mark, and Jaemin decide to grab coffee at a cozy little café. The place is warm and inviting, the scent of roasted beans and sweet pastries filling the air as you settle into your seats. Mark sits beside you, scrolling through the menu, while Jaemin is across from you, lazily stirring his iced americano.

A young waiter, probably around your age, comes over with a shy smile. “Hey, welcome! What can I get for you?”

You glance at Mark, who’s still busy looking at the menu, before turning back to the waiter. “I’ll have a caramel latte, please.”

He nods, then hesitates for a second before speaking again, his voice softer this time. “Good choice. But, um… I feel like someone as sweet as you would probably like it extra caramel-y, right?”

You blink, caught off guard by his tone, but before you can respond, Mark’s head snaps up so fast you think he might get whiplash.

“What?” Mark blurts out, staring at the waiter like he just heard the most unbelievable thing in the world.

Jaemin, snorts and looks between the two of them, already amused.

The waiter, clearly flustered but still trying, nervously chuckles. “Uh, just saying… I can make it extra sweet for you.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh at Mark’s face. His eyebrows are raised so high they might disappear into his hairline, and his jaw is slightly open, like he’s struggling to process what’s happening.

You can feel the energy shift immediately. Mark leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and scoffs under his breath. “Wow.”

You thank the waiter politely, trying not to make it more awkward, but as he walks away, Mark turns to you, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Are you—did he just—” He gestures toward the waiter, eyes wide. “Did he really just flirt with you right in front of me?”

Jaemin, always one to stir the pot, smirks. “He definitely did. That was bold.”

Mark shakes his head, looking personally offended. “No, because what was that? ‘Someone as sweet as you’? That’s actually insane.” he says, mimicking the younger boy.

You giggle, nudging him playfully. “Aww, are you jealous?”

Mark scoffs again, but the way he grips his cup a little tighter gives him away. “I’m not jealous,” he grumbles. “I’m just… shocked. Like, the audacity to flirt with my girlfriend while I’m literally sitting right here.”

Jaemin, absolutely loving this, leans in. “To be fair, you weren’t paying attention. He saw an opportunity.”

Mark shoots him a glare. “Not helping.”

You, feeling a little playful, decide to tease him further. “Well, maybe he just thought I looked cute today.”

Mark lets out a dry laugh. “Oh, I know you look cute today. But that’s not the point.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping as he stares at you. “You didn’t even shut him down.”

You grin. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, I only let my boyfriend call me sweet’?”

Mark pauses, eyes narrowing. “Yes?!?.”

Jaemin bursts into laughter, and you can’t help but giggle too. “You’re ridiculous,” you tease, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

Mark huffs, still sulking a little, but when the waiter returns with your drinks, you feel Mark subtly scoot closer, his knee knocking against yours. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he slides an arm over the back of your chair—casual yet very obvious—makes his message crystal clear.

When the waiter places your latte down, he gives you another shy glance. “Hope you like it,” he says softly.

Before you can even respond, Mark beats you to it. “Oh, she will,” he says smoothly, his voice just a little too firm.

The waiter blinks, glances between you two, then quickly nods before scurrying away.

Jaemin, nearly choking on his drink from laughter, claps Mark on the back. “You’re so dramatic.”

Mark ignores him, turning to you with a victorious smirk. “What? I was just making sure my girlfriend enjoys her drink.”

You roll your eyes, laughing as you take a sip. “Mmm, extra sweet. Just how I like it.”

Mark watches you for a second before leaning in, his voice lower now, teasing. “You do know I’m the only one allowed to make things sweet for you, right?”

Your heart flutters, but you play it cool, sipping your latte. “Mmhmm, of course.”

Mark leans even closer. “Good,” he murmurs,

eyes locked on yours. “Just making sure.”

You stand up from your seat, brushing crumbs off your lap as you head toward the counter to grab some napkins. Mark watches you go, still pouting slightly from the waiter’s earlier attempt at flirting with you. Jaemin just smirks, sipping his drink, clearly enjoying how riled up Mark is.

As you wait for the napkins, one of the café employees—a girl this time—approaches you with a sheepish smile.

“Hey, sorry if this is random, but… my coworker over there,” she subtly nods toward the waiter who had taken your order, “thinks you’re really cute. He was too shy to ask himself, so he wanted me to see if you’d be down to give him your number or socials.”

You blink, taken off guard, before letting out a small laugh. “Oh, that’s cute, but I actually have a boyfriend.” You glance back toward your table where Mark is still sulking, completely unaware of the conversation happening right now. “I’m really not interested."

The girl nods, smiling. “Ah, gotcha. No worries! I’ll let him know.”

You grab the napkins and make your way back to the table, still giggling at the absurdity of the situation. As soon as you sit down, Mark glances at you, still brooding.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, voice flat.

You slide the napkins onto the table and lean in, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re never gonna believe this, but one of the workers just came up to me and asked for my number.”

Mark’s face drops instantly.

Jaemin, who was mid-sip, actually coughs from laughing. “No way. Again?”

You nod, still grinning. “Apparently, the waiter from before was too shy to ask himself, so he got his coworker to do it for him.”

Mark just stares at you, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. He leans back in his chair, running a hand down his face before crossing his arms again, looking even more sulky than before.

Jaemin cackles. “Bro, your girlfriend is a magnet today.”

Mark ignores him, his jaw clenched as he looks at you with an expression that’s half disbelief, half pure frustration. “So let me get this straight… Not only did that guy flirt with you right in front of me, but then he actually sent someone else to try and get your number?”

You bite your lip, stifling another laugh. “I mean… yeah, basically.”

Mark scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s insane. I—I don’t even know what to say right now.”

You reach for his hand, trying to soothe him. “Baby, relax. I told them I have a boyfriend, and I’m not interested. I shut it down immediately.”

Mark doesn’t look convinced. He lets you hold his hand, but he doesn’t squeeze back, still sulking hard. “Yeah, well, it’s not you I’m mad at,” he mutters, glaring toward the counter like the poor waiter just ruined his whole day. “It’s them.”

Jaemin, still thoroughly entertained, grins. “You should go up there and ask him for his number, just to even it out.”

Mark shoots him the most unimpressed look. “Not funny.”

You giggle, leaning closer to Mark, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Come on, don’t be mad. I only want you.”

Mark exhales through his nose, still not looking at you. “Mhm.”

You pout, leaning into him more, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Baby…”

He sighs, shifting in his seat, but still refuses to look at you. “Not talking to you.”

You grin at his childish response and decide to push your luck. You nuzzle against his shoulder, kissing the corner of his jaw this time. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Mark groans, turning his head away from you, but his ears are visibly red. “I hate you.”

Jaemin snickers. “Lies.”

You giggle, sliding your arms around Mark’s waist now, pressing yourself against him. “You don’t hate me. You love me.”

He exhales sharply but doesn’t pull away. “Whatever.”

Jaemin leans back in his chair, watching the two of you with pure amusement. “This is better than the coffee.”

Mark finally glances at you, his pout still in full force. “I swear if one more person flirts with you today, we’re leaving.”

You smirk, kissing his cheek one last time. “Okay, okay. But for the record, I love when you get all jealous and pouty like this.”

Mark groans again, but this time, when you squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

As the afternoon winds down, you and the boys finish up your drinks, chatting lazily about random things. The café is quieter now, the warm glow of the setting sun spilling through the windows.

Just as you’re about to get up, the same waiter from earlier approaches with a small, shy smile. He quickly tidies up your table before glancing at you. “You can pay with me at the counter whenever you’re ready,” he says, his tone light but clearly directed at you.

You don’t respond, just nodding slightly while keeping your focus on your phone. Meanwhile, Mark—who has been tense this entire time—grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers, and pulls you up with him. You hold onto his bicep with your free hand, leaning slightly into him as you walk toward the counter together.

The waiter is still smiling at you as you approach, but you don’t return it, pretending to be distracted. Mark, however, doesn’t pretend anything. He tightens his grip on your hand, jaw clenched as he glares at the guy.

“I’ll pay for her,” Mark says flatly before you even have the chance to reach for your wallet. His tone leaves no room for argument.

The waiter hesitates for a second, then nods, punching in the total while Mark pulls out his card. You keep your eyes on your phone, but you can feel Mark’s lingering annoyance in the way he stands so close to you, his presence practically shielding you from the guy’s view.

As the transaction processes, Mark glances down at you, his tone shifting into something softer, more familiar. “You warm enough?” he asks, adjusting his stance so you’re even closer.

You glance up at him, smiling a little. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Mark hums, looking at you for a second before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. It’s casual, instinctive—like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

That’s when the waiter finally puts it together. His eyes widen slightly, realization dawning on his face as he looks between you and Mark. “Oh…” His voice is quiet, awkward. “I—I didn’t realize you two were… together.”

Mark doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Yeah,” he says simply, sliding his card back into his wallet. “We are.”

The waiter swallows, clearly embarrassed now. “Uh—sorry about earlier, man. I didn’t mean to—”

Mark just exhales through his nose, finally looking at him with an unimpressed expression. “It’s fine,” he mutters, though his face says otherwise.

You, still holding onto Mark’s bicep, decide to break the tension before things get more awkward. “Have a nice day,” you say politely, giving a small nod before turning back to Mark. “Let’s go?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm protectively around your waist as he guides you toward the exit. Jaemin—who has been silently enjoying the whole thing—follows behind, barely holding back his laughter.

Once you’re outside, Mark lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “I swear this was supposed to be a chill coffee date.”

Jaemin finally cracks, laughing. “Chill? Dude, I haven’t seen you this worked up in months.”

You giggle, squeezing Mark’s hand. “At least he apologized?”

Mark huffs, clearly still a little annoyed. “Yeah, after watching me kiss you.” He pauses, then mutters, “Should’ve done it sooner.”

Jaemin whistles. “Next time, just kiss her as soon as we sit down. Establish dominance.”

Mark gives him a deadpan look, but you can’t help but laugh. “Noted,” you tease, leaning into Mark’s side.

Mark sighs, finally shaking off his sulky mood as he tugs you closer. “Whatever. As long as you know you’re mine.”

You smile up at him, squeezing his hand. “Always.”

[girlsworldillusion]

Scream for me little lamb

Ghostface!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Summary: You don't know him, you haven't even seen him before. Yet this cruel killer is in your mind, entangled like a parasite. For just one night you want to get rid of this feeling - to get rid of him. What's the worst that could happen?

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Word count: 5k

Author's Note: This story contains themes that may be disturbing or triggering for some, such as: DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS, BLOOD, MURDER, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, THREATS, AND SEX. Your health (mental and physical) should always be your priority, if any of these themes are too heavy for you to handle I beg that you ignore this post. To those who choose stay, I wish you a good read!

The reader suffers from some emotional issues. But who doesn't, right?

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

Come on, it’ll be fun, she said.

You urgently need to relax, she said.

It’s just a quiet night, what’s the worst that could happen? She said.

Quiet night my ass, you think.

“Come on, pumpkin, you’re not even trying!” Your roommate scolds you, shouting too close to your ear, causing you to flinch with a uncomfortable grimace. “There’s life outside the dorms, you know? Is it really that much of a challenge to just enjoy the party?” Her pout is exaggerated enough for anyone in the room to see, even with the shitty stereoscopic lighting in the place.

“Hey, just try, okay? Smile, drink more, find someone cool to flirt with a little. I don’t know, do something other than just studying nonstop! Please try to have fun!” The liquid in the red cup clutched between your fingers nearly spills onto your clothes with the not-so-subtle push she gives you, her shrill, excited voice echoing louder and louder in your ear, managing to accomplish the impressive feat of overcoming the already criminally loud volume of the music playing on the speakers.

"Your idea of ​​fun is very different from my idea of ​​fun." You say, a good few decibels below her tone, grudgingly sipping another sip of your sickly sweet drink. "Ugh, this is horrible!" You wince at the syrupy, artificial taste of alcohol on your tongue, the bridge of your nose wrinkling in disgust - the exact same reaction as the last four times you've had a drink. Mako notices it too, if the wry laugh that leaves her lips is anything to go by. But what in the world is this anyway? And why in the hell do you keep drinking?

"Here I am, just trying to be a good friend by getting you out of that depressing cave you call a dorm to bring some action and joy into your life to, you know, expand your horizons, and you pay me back with complaints and boredom? That hurts, pumpkin, really hurts!" She's a total drama queen and your completely unimpressed expression makes it clear.

"Seriously, gaslighting now?" You roll your eyes so hard you think you can feel them in the back of your head.

"Don't blame a girl for trying!" She holds up her hand in a peace sign, another unrepentant smile on her lips.

You shake your head in denial.

"Anyway, I still find it really weird that they're throwing a party so soon after those students were killed." Your voice drops lower, looking out at the noisy crowd with a frown of disgust.

She snorts, knowing full well that something like this was coming.

"Look, I'm sad about what happened too. But it's okay to relax once in a while, okay? Shit, you're young, single, and hot as hell. You should be enjoying your life. We can't let some weirdo with a death god complex stop us from having the best time of our lives!" Your friend gestures wildly with the hand that isn't holding her glass, the alcohol in her system making her even more giggly and reckless than usual.

She exchanges 'Rated: M' glances with a buff guy across the room - a popular member of the football team and one of the hosts of the party, you recognize - winking provocatively as she shrugs her shoulders to show off her breasts, being completely and embarrassingly open about her naughty intentions toward him tonight.

"Come on, you can't honestly tell me you don't think any of these frat guys are good enough to eat in one bite."

There’s a hint of reprimand dancing on the tip of your tongue, an almost natural instinct to tell Mako exactly how selfish she’s being right now, insensitive even, with everything that’s happened recently. You weren’t close or even knew those students directly, it’s true. But they were still students at your college, faces you saw every day among the masses. They were people who had been around for a short time, walking and breathing. And then they weren’t anymore. Their young lives were taken away before they could know exactly what they wanted to do with their futures, who they were going to be in the grand, merciless scheme of things.

You don’t feel comfortable celebrating when there are parents at home crying over their children whose bodies have barely cooled underground.

But Mako was right about one thing.

The idea of ​​living in daily fear of a man you had never seen in your life was draining every bit of spare energy from you. This mysterious killer had managed to disturb you, making you constantly paranoid, scared, and fearful. You spent your days looking around, suspicious of everything and everyone, with the electrifying feeling that at any moment he could jump in front of you and make you his newest victim. He even controlled your schedule. Because of him, you barely left the dorms anymore, always declining your friends' invitations with lame excuses. Not that you were a social butterfly before this, but this was a completely different level of seclusion - high even by your standards.

The thought that this man, who probably didn't even know you existed, was dictating the way you lived your own life was disturbing, to say the least.

You looked around, uncomfortable at how everyone was shouting, dancing, smoking, laughing, singing loudly - acting as if nothing had happened. As if three college friends hadn’t been brutally murdered a few days ago. It’s wrong, and your whole body screams it. It’s not respectful, it’s not safe. And yet, for some reason beyond explanation, you seem to be the only one terrified; the only one who’s actually having your life changed to avoid becoming a statistic.

And in that moment, with that realization in mind, Mako’s words make some sense. You don’t want to give this psychopath that kind of power.

“God, is sex all you think about?” That’s what you choose to say after a long pause, sighing in boredom at the nothing less than shameless winks your friend is giving the guy through her eyelashes. The guy, surrounded by his usual horde of friends who are just as scoundrels as he is, is returning Mako’s advances with double the intensity and lack of decorum; splaying a large hand over his jeans, right where the bulge of an admittedly sizable erection is, grinning at her like a mediocre porn star. Any more obvious than that and they’d be fucking right here on the floor, in front of all these people.

That, coupled with the creeping onset of a growing headache with each deafening beat of the speaker and the unstoppable chatter of the students around you, is making you more anxious than usual. The mass of bodies squeezing against each other to the rhythm of the music is so thick that you can barely tell one person from another; the smell of alcohol, shared sweat, sex, and cheap weed makes you wrinkle your nose every few minutes.

For socially stunted people like you, there were few things as overwhelming as a frat party roaring at the top of its lungs.

“Hey! Don’t blame me for this, blame those thirsty youthful hormones.” She shrugs as she speaks, tilting her head to slyly wrap the straw between her lips and suck on some more of her drink, her catlike gaze dancing indecisively between you and the guy from the football team.

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but feel a bit tinge of envy at her easy, playful attitude, the way she could just tune out her problems and enjoy the ride. She’s at home here, you notice; a natural in her habitat. This is normal for her — just another night amidst the noise and blatant flirting, playing with lewd looks that by itself carry more sexual activity than you’ve experienced in months.

Mako has always been your antithesis; bold and vibrant, seeing a bright and fun side to every situation — no matter how fucked up it was. Always trying to color the monochromatic palette of the world with the eccentric catastrophe that is her personality.

You, on the other hand…

Suffice it to say, your way of seeing the world is far less optimistic.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation for a second, already knowing that you’re going to regret your next decision.

But you were already here, right? And she said it would be fun. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try and enjoy it.

You sigh deeply before changing your expression, looking up at an expectant and anxious Mako, practically bouncing on her feet as she awaits your decision.

"So...you think I'm hot, um? Tell me more about it." Your lips stretch into a forced smile as you awkwardly shake your hips in that stupid Sailor Moon costume she forced you to wear, trying to have even a fraction of the blissful ignorance that naturally flows from your friend. You want to enjoy the ride. Even if the base boost of the music is threatening to tear down not only the walls of the frat house, but also the ones in your skull.

Mako's loud laugh assures you that you've managed to make her happy.

It's like she said...

What's the worst that could happen?

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

"No, no, no, not now..." You get your answer about two hours later, with your hands resting on the bathroom counter of a random suite upstairs, staring at your helpless reflection in the mirror.

There is some kind of purple LED in place of the conventional bulbs, flooding the entire bathroom with low lighting typical of a gaming room or something, a fact that only serves to make you even more distressed. The nuances in light and dark shades of violet almost mockingly highlight your blatant desperation in the mirror's reflection.

It is true that the intense blush on your cheeks and the bridge of your nose and the skin damp with sweat could easily be justified by those drinks and every attempt at electrifying dance and involuntary contact with countless heat bodies in the cramped party room, as well as your unstable breathing and disheveled hair.

But the way your hands are shaking violently where they’re flat on the granite, or the way your heart trapped in your ribcage seems to swell until it threatens to burst, and how your throat is tightening to the point where you’re choking on tiny, fragile wheezes…

These symptoms speak of something else…

You’re about to have a panic attack on irrefutable evidence.

God, how long has it been since you’ve had one of these? A year? Maybe longer?

It doesn’t matter. Fuck, it doesn’t matter now!

You sigh a thin, impatient sound between your teeth, the strands of hair on the side of your face trembling along with your entire body, your hand letting go of the edge of the sink to palm in anguish the space between your breasts beneath the garish purple lace of your costume — where your heart feels like it’s being crushed in a tight fist.

Could it have been the deafening beat of the music? Has your seclusion for so long left you so unprepared to deal with something like this? Or could it have been the incessant chatter of the students? Maybe the sheer number of people crammed into this godforsaken frat house that was clearly not designed to hold so many at once? Could it just be a consequence of your obsessive neurosis about him?

"97..."

You're falling. Or maybe flying?

"89..."

Floating in time and space. Deaf to anything but the terrors of your own mind. Reciting decreasing prime numbers like your therapist had taught you, a conscious effort to control and distract your collapsing nerves and the painful pounding of your heart.

"Fuck...fuck...83 -, ugh!"

Your eyes squeeze tightly together, unwilling to face your ravaged reflection in the mirror any longer, your head spinning in denial. The walls are too close, the floor too far beneath your feet, your own skin too tight around your flesh.

"79," you force the number from your lips, force your breath out in shallow puffs, cold sweat trickling down the back of your neck.

The thumping music downstairs is a bit muffled now, though the party is as lively as ever - but up here you feel your world shudder and crumble beneath your feet. 

But you'll survive. You always survive.

Keep breathing...just keep breathing -

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

"7..."

You've been counting prime numbers for longer than you can keep track of right now, but somewhere along the grueling hell that is imploding in your own mind, your voice has regained a bit of strength. Your fingers are also shaking less, you notice distantly.

With a pained sniff, you look up at the mirror as you feel you've regained a fraction of control of yourself, taking in the humiliating image before you.

Your gaze is dull and tired. Your nose and cheeks are redder than before, your skin sticky with sweat that's now almost dried. Your whole body still trembles slightly in the aftermath of the panic attack, and the hair around your face is messier than before from all the times you pulled it in the middle of the crisis. You're a mess, undeniably. But you feel less like shit now than you did a few minutes ago, and that should count as some kind of bittersweet victory in your book of failures.

With a tug, you pull the long white gloves off your hands to turn on the faucet, letting the water run down your cupped palms to spray a little on your face. The cold water on your overheated skin makes you sigh.

This is the kind of person you had become, isn't it? Someone incapable of going to a simple frat party without having a damn panic attack. How pathetic.

"That's it, no more parties for you, young lady." You mumble as you dry your hands and cheeks on the fluffy towel hanging next to the sink, silently praying that your shaky legs will cooperate on the walk to your dorm on the other side of campus.

Mako wouldn't much like knowing that you were already leaving, but you'd like it even less for her or any of your friends to know about your little meltdown in the upstairs bathroom. It was bad enough that you had no control over it, you didn't need to see the pity reflected in her eyes when she found out, only adding to your humiliation.

Poor little broken thing, she would think.

Maybe you could just slip away without being seen and text her when you got dorms to say you were okay, leaving her questions to deal with later. You had already handled more than you could handle tonight, she would understand eventually. Not that she would notice your absence for a while, busy as she was swapping saliva and other bodily fluids with that guy.

Your phone vibrates abruptly on the counter and you jump at the unexpected noise, blinking rapidly at the letters on the screen.

Unknown Number.

With a eye roll and a still-racing heartbeat, you decide to just ignore the call, as you usually do every time an 'unknown number' pops up. Honestly, who still makes calls these days when you have a messaging app that works just fine, thank you very much? But whoever is behind that call doesn't feel the same way, and soon your iPhone's screen flashes again, bright as a beacon in the purple bathroom lighting, the device moving a few inches across the counter with the vibrations. You sigh and ignore it once more until you're done, but it vibrates again on a third try. And a fourth, when the last one doesn't work.

On the fifth try, you pick up your phone and answer with an exasperated huff, summing up your mood perfectly.

"Hello?"

The person on the other end of the line has the audacity to let out a sigh of relief - dramatic even, you might say, upon hearing your voice.

"There she is. For a moment there I thought you weren't going to answer, princess." The voice that greets you is soft, laughing, a satisfied and calm masculine purr.

"I tried. What do you want?" You answer sullenly, not in the mood to deal with this probable pervert who has nothing better to do with his life than to disturb random people late at night. You were never the brightest star when it came to social chess, and you certainly wouldn't start being so soon after your first panic attack after so long without any episodes. You were out of practice. Your head throbs, your nerves are frayed, your voice is fragile, the muscles in your body ache from the time you spent tense and trembling during the crisis. You just want to go bed.

"Easy now, little girl. I just want to know if you're okay." He hums, oblivious to your irritation.

You know he clearly hears the disdainful snort that leaves your lips. Before you can respond, however, he continues with the sentence that would change your life forever.

"That was really bad...are you sure you're better now?"

You blink at the mirror, your brows furrowed in irritation and headache. You know you should just end the call, not entertain any malicious intentions from this stranger. Yet, you find yourself answering before you even realize it.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your panic attack, love. That was a big one, hm? I thought it would never end." He hums nonchalantly, as if discussing his favorite ice cream flavor, and you part your lips at your reflection, a warning shiver settling at the base of your neck and slowly making its way down your spine.

"Um," you swallow uncomfortably, subtly glancing up at the walls and tight corners of the bathroom, looking for possible openings or hidden cameras. You had the bad luck to walk into some weird, perverted frat nerd's room, is that it? "So you're at the party too. Having fun time?" You shrug in the mirror, trying to sound blasé about what he said, but your voice is noticeably shakier than you’d like.

There’s no reason to be nervous, you try to reason with yourself when your visual scan doesn’t point to any apparent cameras. This guy probably just saw you hurrying up the stairs and is curious about your delay in returning to the party, that’s all. Although it’s still weird, since you made sure to hide in the privacy of the bathroom before your meltdown was actually noticeable to any prying eyes.

And how the hell did he have your number anyway?

"Oh yeah. Having a great time." The man answers, the lightheartedness in his voice fading to a deeper, darker tone at the end, though the smile in his voice is clear - mocking, even through the call line.

"By the way, I loved your costume. Which Sailor are you?" He prompts, returning to his airy tone, and you entertain once again the urge to just hang up on him, your already severely damaged nerves not quite able to handle the load of honest, and pointless, curiosity in the stranger's husky voice. The abrupt change in intonation makes your headache throb more by the second.

"Uh, Sailor...Mars...I guess?" You shrug, unsure why exactly you bother answering, the tip of your index and middle finger on your other hand coming up to massage your temple in slow circles, eyelashes resting on the top of your cheeks as you squint tiredly. Honestly, you're not sure if your answer is right. Having barely time (or interest, to be honest) to assess the costume before tonight - when it was shoved rudely in your face by a Mako determined to bring you to this party. You don't trust your knowledge of Sailor Moon, or any anime for that matter, to confidently answer the man's question. But...yeah...you think you might be right.

"It looks so cute on you, sweetie." He purrs on the other side; sickeningly sweet, sweet as molasses. And that's what makes you straighten up in front of the mirror - his voice suddenly sweet. Your eyes become fixed, a small hitch in your breath; suspended, alert, waiting for his next words. "I've thought so since you arrived at the party. So cute and so fucking pretty. Tiny and pretty in that silly costume."

"W-what? Who's...?" You swallow uncomfortably, but he interrupts you.

"So pretty, and so lonely too. Always lonely, aren't you sweet girl?" The way he says it, confident and calm, as if he’s absolutely certain of what he’s saying, as if he knows you. You squirm, agitated and raw, but you clench your fist at your side.

“And how would you know that?” You want to sound sharp, but you know your voice betrays how much he’s upsetting you.

“Oh, I can see that, princess.” He breathes, followed by a low hum, stretching out an enigmatic pause until your fingers are trembling around the phone. “I see how you’re always alone; misfit and scared, like a little deer hiding from the glare of headlights to avoid being caught. Isn’t that what you do, love? Trying everything to get away from that airheaded friend of yours and others equally idiotic, burying your nose in some book in the quietest part of the library so you don’t have to talk to anyone. Your hiding place, isn’t it?” He laughs with clear disdain and you feel your vision blurring, the discomfort in your stomach worsening with each word he utters.

But he doesn't stop there.

"I see how those beautiful eyes are always brimming with emotions, emotions that you deliberately refuse to share with anyone, no matter how much they insist that you open up. It's interesting how you have social options, but you choose solitude every single time. Not that that's a complaint, of course. Solitude suits you well, sweet thing."

Your breathing is faster now, loud enough for the stranger on the other side to hear, but you don't care about that. All you can think about is the information the man spewed into your ear.

He knows where you retreat to escape the incessant noise of the world around you, he knows the walls you've built around yourself, the emotional blockage in opening up to anyone - your complete unwillingness to do so. He’s not just talking about the color of clothes that you usually wear around campus — a quirk that anyone could notice and use to scare you at a time like this. No, it’s not that simple. He’s talking about intimate things, about feelings; things that only someone who lives with you could say.

The thing is, you’re not an idiot. A self-imposed hermit with anxiety issues? Of course yes. But not an idiot. You understand enough about human psychology to know that every word that comes out of this stranger’s mouth is a threat cloaked in a teasing, sugar-coated tone. And the fact that he’s telling you personal things isn’t coming from some bizarre attempt to initiate a social interaction with you, but a demonstration that he knows exactly who you are. The game is blatantly in his favor, because he knows you, but you have no idea who he is. He holds the power here, and he’s making that clear to you.

"Are you okay there, princess? You've gone so quiet on me sudden." His voice snaps you out of your trance once more, eyes flickering rapidly to your horrified reflection in the mirror.

"W-who are you, a fucking stalker? How the hell do you know this things about me?" He laughs at the false bravado in your voice, your discomfort obvious and clear to him, no matter how much you don't want it to be.

"Nah, more like a secret admirer, I'd say." He answers you matter of factly, the acidic smile on his lips bleeding through the line. "Secret not for long, of course." There's a hint of suspense in it, something ominous that lingers in the silence that follows, as if he's purposefully fermenting you in his dark insinuation.

That's it, you need to hang up.

"Don't call me again or I swear I'll report you to the police, idiot." You threaten with a venomous sigh. A bluff, of course. There was no way you could make a minimally consistent complaint when you not only had no information about who this crazy man could be, but there wasn't even a real number registered for that call that could serve as evidence in a future police report. Unknown Number, that was all you had to work with. He knew that too, judging by the amused laughter buzzing on the other side of the line. You still hear it clearly when you pull the phone away from your ear to click the red icon on the screen, ending the call.

You're shaking when you look up at your reflection in the mirror, the woman in front of you staring at you with wide eyes and a scared face, the rush of raw adrenaline in your veins making your body vibrate like a power cable.

She said it would be fun.

Mako said it would be fun.

You shouldn't be here tonight if it weren't for that damned promise.

The prospect of change wasn't appealing to you; safety was appealing. Habits and routine were appealing. Habits and routine kept you healthy, safe. Nothing outlandish ever happened in your life, and you almost preferred it that way — if there were no surprises, there would be no disappointments, no risks, no panic attacks.

You weren’t supposed to be here tonight, and there was no other explanation than the folish notion that some cosmic misalignment had occurred and you were stuck right in the middle of an anomaly.

You try to take a deep breath, the discomfort in your chest indicating a possible second wave of panic approaching. No, no, not again. You just want to leave, you want to get out of this damn house and back to the safe confines of your dorm room before any more horribly improbable things happen to you tonight.

Rationally, you know that leaving the bathroom doesn’t seem like the most sensible option, especially when the stranger on the phone has offered you clues that he’s lurking outside. But all your scared, adrenaline-fueled mind can process at the moment is the urgent desire to get away from this place as quickly as possible. And that’s why you take one last deep breath, offering one more look at the forlorn woman in the mirror before quickly grabbing your gloves from the counter and turning to open the bathroom door, walking out without looking up as you unlock your phone with trembling fingers to text Mako.

"Ouch!" You gasp as you hit your forehead on something solid as soon as you step out, your phone dancing between your hands with the impact until it falls to the floor with a loud thud, along with your white gloves. Your instinctive reaction is to bend down to pick it up, already fearing possible damage to the screen, a damage that you certainly couldn't pay at the moment, but the tip of a black boot immediately appears in your line of vision, kicking your phone into the bathroom with a rough blow.

"Hey, what's your problem?!" You growl, looking up, your neck craning to glare at the rude idiot in front of you.

However, the indignation dies on your tongue and your heart sinks in your chest when the empty eyes of a masked figure stare back at you.

It's a costume party, of course, and the guy is in costume. There's nothing really suspicious about it. Nothing you should think twice about.

But when your eyes slide to what he holds between his fingers; the blade of an intimidatingly large kitchen knife, dripping thick liquid in fat crimson drops onto the floor, the smell is ferrous and acrid and so unmistakable; so strong that not even the smell of cheap weed and wet sex that seems to be embedded in every square inch of this frat house is enough to cover up that odor. Blood. Human blood. Dripping and heated.

And you just know.

You know it's him.

God knows how many days (fucking weeks) your hyperfocus has been on this man. The search bar of your browser and social media was full of questions about him, hunting like a detective in the safe solitude of your dorm room, eagerly searching for any clues to his identity. Nothing but "tall masked man" was what you came up with, no matter how hard you tried. His victims didn't live to tell the tale and the few, rare glimpses of him were too vague to confirm anything.

It’s insane the idea that you could tell it was him when there was barely any information about who he might be or what he looked like, but you know — you just know.

He stands there, relaxed and unfazed as you study him with growing horror, as if it were the natural thing to do — as if he’d been waiting all along for you to open the door so he could enter. And then the masked figure takes a casual step into the bathroom, the easy confidence in this simple act foreshadowing his ease in overpowering his victims.

You swallow hard, backing away slowly as you lock eyes with the killer’s empty mask holes. The notion that there’s no way out of the room becoming painfully obvious to you. The man takes up the entire space of the exit; the width of his shoulders spanning almost from one side of the doorframe to the other, his long legs slightly apart to fill any gaps.

The only way out of here would be if you stepped over him; and that wasn’t going to happen.

So much for a fun night.

(Part II in progress, if you are interested.)

[moxiepower2]

Nevermore theory based on RnF’s latest post!

I think the eyeball in the center is both a reference to both the Old Man with the pale blue eye from “The Tell-Tale” Heart AND Ligeia’s eyes from “Ligeia”

(1/3) First of all: Ligeia’s Eyes

The coloring of the eyes doesn’t quite fit with the art in the post (Ligeia’s has black eyes) BUT I find it hard to ignore the star and dream imagery used when it’s VERY present in “Ligeia”.

The narrator (the husband) studies astrology and is DEEPLY in love with the darkly beautiful and intelligent Ligeia. She is described almost like a vampire with long raven hair, ivory skin, and a wild appearance. He is especially fascinated by her unusual large black eyes which he compares to the “twin stars of Leda” and describes them as “luminous orbs” (this last part also reminds me of the “orbs” from the 1st episode btw).

Ligeia later dies of illness, telling the narrator of her deeply love and reciting a poem about the unfairness of mortality on her deathbed. In his grief, the narrator becomes addicted to opium and later remarries Lady Rowena whom he doesn’t love. He ignores her, preferring to find comfort in “opium dreams” during which he has vivid visions of Ligeia.

Two months into his new marriage Lady Rowena also falls ill and is rendered into a state of half-slumber. Rowena also often has fits and starts crying out in her sleep leading the narrator to believe that some “phantasmagoric influence” is haunting Rowena in their bedchamber.

The narrator’s sanity/accuracy is honestly questionable before the “haunting”. He has a bad memory and doesn’t even remember MEETING LIGEIA OR HER LAST NAME?? The narration given is honestly pretty dreamlike itself as it’s hard tell what’s real or not between the husband’s opium addiction, bad memory, and debatable sanity.

At the end of the story, Lady Rowena dies and according to the narrator, her dead body turns into Ligeia. The corpse awakens the next day as newly risen and alive Ligeia who has seemingly defeated death.

“Here then, at least," I shrieked aloud, "can I never --can I never be mistaken --these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes --of my lost love --of the lady --of the LADY LIGEIA."

(What a very sane human being as per usual in Pow stories. Also, this went on a bit long sorry)

(2/3) The Old Man

Hang in there with me, this part is much much quicker to explain!

So, Tell-Tale Heart. I think this is a Poe story everyone pretty much knows. Guy is seemingly driven to madness out of fear of his old neighbor’s pale blue eye. He secretly watches the Old Man while he’s sleeping and later murders him and stuffs the body parts under his floor. When the police later arrive at the house, our narrator believes he hears the sounds of the Old Man’s heart and confessed his guilt.

Some imagery: Not much star imagery but definitely some of dreams/sleep. Much like Ligeia, the narration is definitely dreamlike. The Narrator is unreliable/insane so it’s hard to tell what observations he makes are actually real. The Old Man and the Narrator struggle with nightmares. A good chunk of this story is spent with narrator as he watches the Old Man sleep every night for a week.

Also, the eye in RnF’s post is a SINGLE PALE BLUE EYE. (Yeah, this last one is definitely surface-level evidence but I don’t think it’s without merit)

That’s pretty much it.

(3/3) How does this all connect?

The main reason I think that this new art piece connects to Ligeia AND The Tell-Tale heart is largely due to THESE GUYS

That’s right, Deans Merry and Mourn.

The Tell-Tale Heart

Awhile back I made a post theorizing that Annabel is connected to The Tell-Tale Heart due to the heart imagery surrounding her character (such as her spectre design). In the reblogs, me and @muzetrigger discussed more detailed theories (off-topic but @muzetrigger made a VERY convincing argument that Annabel Lee might play the role of the Narrator)

One of the topics that came up was the possibility of the Deans representing the character of the Old Man. @blacknedsoul-blog made a post a while back “I Think the Deans Are Fucking Lovecraftian Gods” (highly recommend) which pointed out that the Deans’ white/black heterochromia could be a reference to the Old Man’s cataract-ridden eye. Upon a closer look, it’s even possible that their white eyes are actually a very very pale blue.

I would also like to add on to this theory by pointing out that much like the Old Man’s Eye drove the Narrator to murder and madness (though unwittingly), the Deans are driving the students to those very same things by forcing a bunch of already traumatized people to participate in a death game.

Ligeia

Earlier in this post, I mentioned that the husband from Ligeia compared her eyes to “the twin stars of Leda”

These TWIN stars, Castor and Pollux named after a pair of TWINS from greek mythology are widely known as the “Heavenly TWINS” and form part of the constellation Gemini. Hmmmm….

A few more similarities to Ligeia:

The Deans also have the ability to get in people’s heads and MESS WITH THEIR MEMORIES. In Ligeia, the Husband is completely consumed with thoughts/visions of Ligeia for most of his waking and sleeping hours. He is seemingly unable to focus on anything else and this continues even when his new wife Lady Rowena is dying. As mentioned before, the Husband also has a memory problems and can’t remember meeting Ligeia or even her full name, just that he loved her. This is not unlike the memory loss of all the students at Nevermore Academy, particularly Lenore & Annabel Lee.

By the way, have a mentioned how interesting this panel from the Bell Arc is? It’s very suspicious the we glimpses of the eldritch forms of the Deans and their Pale Blue Eyes right before Annabel Lee experiences a flashback of hearing the news of Lenore’s death. Not to mention they are physically lowering Annabel INTO THE MEMORY. Its almost like the Deans are the ones took the memories in first place and are just “returning” them or part of their job is being responsible for guiding students to their memories. HMMMM……

Not to mention they spend most of their time in DREAMLAND, a special dimension where you can relive past memories and even reach those whom you unable to speak with. Like say… a certain French man who’s UNCONSCIOUS in a brick wall.

Also, I seem to recall there’s definitely some night sky related imagery with these two. Especially when we are getting glimpses of their spectrey/eldritchy side.

Lastly, let’s go back to the Deans’s heterochromia. They both each have one BLACK EYE and together that makes a pair.

Also, I might be reading into this WAY too much but, take a good close look at the black eyes. In each, you’ll notice there’s a small white pupil. Kind of like a a single bright star in the black night sky. Two twin stars.

[kermdoeswriting]

Mutual Loathing

Jazz has never quite loathed anyone like she loathed Jason Todd.

And that was saying something considering the number of annoying people she has met both in life and in death (from the Ghost Zone, of course).

Jason was different compared to all of them. He was on a whole other level.

The guy was obnoxious and loved being right.

It was something she learned quickly ever since she had corrected him in their shared Lit class one time. After that, Jason had been relentless in making sure they were always arguing.

He always had to have the last word, looking at her with that stupid toothy grin plastered onto his face if she didn't have a smart remark to bite back with.

She wasn't sure if it was his ego or his need to fight with anyone he deemed worthy compared to him or whatever hellish trauma he went through, but she didn't care.

If there was one staple part of Jazzs core, it was that she was competitive and would not hesitate to crush you to get to her academic dreams.

Jazz was beating him to the deans list one way or the other, and he would have to deal with it!

Still, even with being competitive, Jazz tended to stick away from Jason Todd as much as she could unless she couldn't.

The one time she couldn't, being assigned together on a final project for said Lit class, Jazz had assumed it was dumb luck.

Now though?

Now Jazz was cursing out any god that would listen because she knows somehow it was also their fault that she's staring at that exact same guy whos been avoiding her and their shared project as Dannys new General and Fright Knight.

Jazz with a pinched nose in disgust: You've got to be kidding me-

Jason without missing a beat, groaning loudly: Not even in the land of genuine dead, can I escape you.

Jazz ignoring his comment: Is this where you've been going the entire time?

Jason: What I do outside of class is none of your business, Nightingale.

Jazz, defensive: It is when you've been avoiding me and our group project due on Monday! I'm not losing my scholarship because of some rich fruitloops, kid!

Jason with an eye roll: You're so dramatic you're not gonna lose your scholarship

Jazz trying not to wring his neck: How would you know!?

Danny deciding to finally interrupt them: Uh, can someone catch me up here?

Jazz and Jason in unison: Shut up Danny!

Jazz immediately after, pointing a finger at Jason: Wait, don't tell my brother to shut up!

Jason with raised eyebrows, channeling his inner drama nerd: Your BROTHER????

Immediately both start arguing all over again.

Tucker whispering to Sam and Danny: Something tells me we made a mistake-

Danny's holding his face in his hands in despair and nodding.

Sam snorts with her arms crossed, eyes flickering between the two, amused: No shit, sherlock

_________________________________________

Or basically

Jazz has the absolute misfortune to meet her younger brothers new Fright Knight, General of the realms. She thinks he's a regular asshole until it turns out he's actually the same asshole that's been paired up with her for a group project at uni and had been avoiding her since it started.

She hates this guy. He hates her, too.

[httpvomitello]

Carrying More Than Your Love *⁠.⁠✧

sirius black x f!reader

Summary: Life with Sirius takes a new turn when you discover you’re pregnant.

(part 1)

The sun was warm, streaming through the sitting room window onto the tea set you had so carefully arranged. The cottage smelled of freshly brewed Earl Grey, and the table was adorned with mismatched cups, biscuits, and a small bouquet of wildflowers. You had spent the morning preparing, wanting everything to feel perfect—not just for the tea party, but for the moment you planned to finally tell Sirius the news.

He had no idea you were pregnant yet, and as nervous as you were to share it with him, you’d thought including your closest friends—James, Lily, and Remus—might soften the blow and make the moment more joyful.

"You’ve been fussing all morning, love," Sirius teased as he sauntered into the room, eyeing the setup. "What’s the occasion? Planning a wedding without telling me?"

"Don’t be ridiculous," you said, shooing him toward the door. "Everyone will be here soon. Go make yourself presentable, Sirius Black. You’ve got biscuit crumbs on your shirt."

He raised an eyebrow but smirked, heading toward the bedroom with a lazy wave of his hand.

When everyone arrived, the cottage filled with the familiar warmth of laughter and chatter. Sirius and James were already deep in a Quidditch debate while Lily and Remus sipped their tea, both throwing amused looks at their bickering friends. You sat quietly, your hands nervously twisting the hem of your dress as you tried to find the right moment to break the news.

Lily noticed your unease first, leaning over to whisper, "Are you alright, love? You’ve been awfully quiet."

You nodded, offering a tight smile. "Just... nervous, I suppose."

Before she could press further, Remus set his cup down and tilted his head, his gaze sharpening as he looked at you.

Then, out of nowhere, he smiled.

"Congratulations," he said warmly, his voice cutting through the room like a spell.

You froze, panic flooding you as all eyes turned to him.

"Congratulations for what?" Sirius asked, his grin faltering as he looked between you and Remus.

"For the baby," Remus said, his smile widening. He turned to Sirius, clapping him on the back. "I never thought you would be the first of us to be a father, mate."

The room went completely silent.

"What?" Sirius asked, his voice cracking slightly. His wide gray eyes snapped to yours, his expression a mix of confusion and shock.

You opened your mouth to explain, but before you could get a word out, Sirius’s face went pale.

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, swaying on his feet.

"Sirius?" James said, concern lacing his tone.

But before anyone could stop him, Sirius’s knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor in a heap.

"Sirius!" you cried, jumping to your feet as James and Remus rushed to his side.

"Merlin’s beard," James said, kneeling next to his best friend and shaking his shoulder. "Sirius, wake up! Don’t tell me you fainted like some Victorian damsel."

"James, for goodness’ sake," Lily scolded, though she was clearly trying not to laugh as she crouched beside you.

After a few tense seconds, Sirius groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at the circle of worried faces, his gaze finally landing on you.

"You’re pregnant?" he croaked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, biting your lip as tears welled in your eyes. "I am. I was trying to find the right moment to tell you..."

He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, that explains why my legs stopped working," he muttered, giving a weak laugh.

James burst into laughter, clapping Sirius on the back hard enough to nearly knock him over again. "You fainted, mate! Absolutely priceless. I’m never letting you live this down."

"James," Lily hissed, but even she was smiling.

Sirius ignored them, his focus entirely on you. He stood shakily, brushing off James and Remus’s attempts to steady him, and crossed the room to take your hands in his.

"You’re having my baby?" he asked again, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

"I am," you said softly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his gray eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. Then, without warning, he let out a laugh—loud, joyful, and utterly Sirius.

"You’re amazing," he said, pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, his lips pressing against your temple as he whispered, "And I’m going to be the best dad this little one could ever ask for. I swear it."

From behind you, James quipped, "Better start practicing, mate. Step one: work on not fainting."

"Shut it, Potter," Sirius shot back, though his grin never wavered.

[rabbidbunwy]

Hello!! I'm not sure if your request are open... but may I request a Yandere Sonic with fem reader, where reader ignores/avoids Sonic (maybe because she was weirded out on him idk) and Sonic doesn't know why she keeps avoiding him and since he has a romantic interest on her, he often tries to impress reader and it just doesn't work on her, and to top it all up reader is very friendly towards everyone including Shadow and when it came to Sonic she just goes silent throughout the whole thing. Maybe she also notices his weird behavior towards her too.

Sending loves to youu!! 🫶🏻🤍🤍

-Light anon

Sonic is in love with you but are you with him?

Contents:Yandere!Sonic[ x fem!reader-scary? [Sonic bheaviour]-begging-obssession-mention of stalking

Is it underlined that Sonic and reader were friends before but Sonic bheaviour changed trough the course of time.

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

P.s: [edit]man i never wrote something like this ever lol,i hope i hitted all the points you wanted as this is my intake in how Sonic would be and react as yandere+ i apologize that it tooked so long,i never wrote a yandere char. x reader,so sorry for the stand by

P.s.s:of course my request are open,just read my bio, i will also post it here: Request : open read rules here

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia @satorkive @ponderingmoonlight @galaxylover46 @dreamcastgirl99

Sonic was feeling annoyed and frustrated as he watched you yet again interacting with someone else…this time with his "rival", Shadow. It was almost like you were avoiding him…no…YOU WERE avoiding him. Every time he tried to approach you you would find a way to avoid talking to him, and it was starting to drive him crazy.

Sonic sat on the sidelines, fuming with jealousy as he watched you and Shadow converse, their body language and the way they spoke making it clear that they were quite comfortable with each other. Sonic's eyes darted back and forth between them, trying to catch any hint of something more than just friendly banter.

And then you laughed at something Shadow said, a genuine, carefree laugh that echoed through Sonic's ears like a sharp pang in his heart. He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. He was used to being the one to make her laugh, not Shadow…never Shadow.

As the conversation came to an end and Shadow walked away, Sonic found himself unable to hold back his anger any longer. He stormed over to where you were standing, seething with jealousy and confusion. He stopped in front of you, his emerald eyes blazing with a mix of annoyance and hurt. "Why are you avoiding me?" Sonic demanded, his voice betraying a hint of desperation.

You looked at him, taken aback by his confrontational tone. "What…?" you said, your expression puzzled. "I'm not avoiding you." Sonic bristled at the denial. "Don't lie to me. Everywhere I go, you're always there with everyone BUT me. What's going on?" He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on you intense and searching.

You took a step back, feeling uncomfortable with Sonic's aggressive demeanor. "I don't know what you're talking about…" you said, your voice wavering slightly. Sonic's eyes narrowed, not believing your words for a second. "Oh really?" he said sarcastically. "Then why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you manage to slip away right before I can even get a word in?"

You swallowed feeling scared "it's just you're weird" you spoked with fear "you're acting weird lately" Sonic recoiled as if he had been slapped. "Weird? I'm acting weird? That's rich coming from you." He crossed his arms, his annoyance only growing more intense. "I'm not the one who's been avoiding me like the plague. You act like you don't even know me anymore!" "i did at first…but then you changed,you keep..following me…and you try to push everywone away from me Sonic"

Sonic's eyes went wide with surprise at your words. "What?!? I-I'm not trying to push anyone away from you! I just…I just-" He found himself at a loss for words, unable to refute your claim. Had he really been acting that way? He thought he had just been trying to be closer to you…

Sonic's mind raced, trying to justify his actions. "I just…I just care about you okay? Is that so wrong? To want to spend time with the person I care about?" He felt something unfamiliar welling up inside him - something akin to desperation.

"Not if you keep following me,pushing people away" you spoke with determination "you ARE a stalker Sonic,don't try to deny it"

Sonic tried to protest, but the words died on his lips. You had him there. He had been following you like a shadow, watching your every move, and pushing away anyone who dared to get too close to you. He took a step back, his shoulders sagging as he finally admitted to himself…he was stalking you.

He felt ashamed and embarrassed, unable to meet her gaze. "I…I guess I have been acting like a stalker" he admitted quietly. "But…but it's just because I care about you! I don't want anyone else to be close to you…I want you all to myself…"

You looked at him, your expression a mix of pity and anger. You had suspected that Sonic had some…unhealthy feelings towards you, but you had never thought it would get this bad. "Sonic…you can't just follow me around and push away everyone else in my life. That's not love, that's obsession."

Sonic flinched at you r words, knowing deep down that you were right. But he couldn't help the twisted, possessive feelings that had taken root in his heart. "But…but I can't help it. I can't stand seeing you with anyone else but me. I can't stand the thought of anyone else holding you, or touching you, or…or…." He trailed off, the jealousy and possessiveness consuming him.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity in his eyes, his obsession becoming more apparent with every word he spoke. "Sonic, you have to stop this. It's not healthy. It's not normal. It's not love." You took a step towards him, your voice firm yet tinged with concern. He looked up at you, desperate and pleading. "How can I stop it? I've tried, but every time I see you with someone else, or even just talking to someone, I feel like I'm going crazy. I feel like I'm dying inside." His voice broke, revealing the vulnerability underneath his obsession.

You took another step closer, your expression softening just a little. "Sonic, listen to yourself. This isn't love. It's possession. It's obsession. You're not even seeing me as a person anymore. You just want to own me, to control me." You reached out a hand, hesitating for a moment before touching his shoulder. "And that's why i don't love you and i never will"

Sonic felt like he had been punched in the gut. Those words stung more than any physical blow ever could.

He recoiled at your words, looking at you with wide, pain-filled eyes. "No…no, you can't mean that. You…you have to feel something for me. I know you do. You just don't realize it yet." His voice cracked, the desperate pleading in his voice tinged with denial.You shook your head, your expression hardening. "No, Sonic. I don't. And I never will." The finality in your voice hit him like a sledgehammer. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You were denying him, rejecting him, saying you didn't felt anything for him…

Sonic's world seemed to crumble around him. He had never expected this, had never imagined that you would outright deny any feelings for him. "No, no, no. This can't be happening. You have to love me. You have to." He took a step towards you, reaching out to grab your arm, his desperation growing more erratic.

You stepped back, pulling your arm out of his grasp. "Sonic, stop. You're scaring me." You backed away, putting more distance between yourselves. "You need help. You need to see that this isn't normal." You looked at him with a mix of sadness and fear in your eyes. Sonic froze, stunned by your words. He had never seen you look at him like that before.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but his mind was racing and his heart was pounding. "No, I don't need help. I just…I just need you. I need you to love me." He felt the tears streaming down his face, the desperation and despair becoming too much to bear.

You looked at him with a mixture of pity and frustration. "Sonic, listen to yourself. You're not making sense. You can't force someone to love you, no matter how hard you try. And this…this isn't love. It's obsession and control. It's not healthy, for either of us." You kept your distance, your voice firm.

Sonic slumped, the fight leaving him as the full weight of your words settled upon him. He knew you were right. He knew he was being irrational and obsessive. But still, he couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of desperation and heartache.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with tears. "But…but what am I supposed to do? I can't just…just let you go." He sounded like a lost child, vulnerable and confused. "do i look like i care? you putted yourself into this mess Sonic" you spitted coldly

Sonic flinched at your cold tone, the words cutting deep into his soul. He was used to you being friendly and polite, never this cold. It was as if you had turned into a completely different person.

He looked up at you, his expression a mix of pain and confusion. "I…I didn't mean to. I just…I just wanted you to love me. I didn't mean to become this…this obsessive and possessive. I never wanted to hurt you." His voice cracked, the tears flowing freely down his face now.

You shook your head, your expression hardening even more.

"You think that makes it any better? You think that excuses your behavior? You've been stalking me, pushing away everyone who even dares to look in my direction, but you didn't mean to? That's bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You just didn't care about how it would affect me." You took a deep breath, your voice cold as ice. Sonic's ears dropped, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. He had no answer to your accusations. He knew you were right. He had been reckless and selfish, prioritizing his own desires over your feelings and well-being.

He looked up at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

"But I…I didn't want to hurt you. I never wanted that. I just…I just wanted you to be mine. I didn't think about anything else." His voice was small and broken, his usual confident demeanor shattered.

Your expression softened just a tiny bit, seeing the pain and remorse on his face.

"But don't you see? That's exactly the problem. You were so focused on possessively holding onto me that you didn't care about my feelings. You didn't care about what I wanted. You only cared about what you wanted. That isn't love Sonic. That's selfish and controlling." Your voice was still cold but not entirely without sympathy.

Sonic could only watch as you walked away, your words and the coldness in your voice sending a fresh wave of despair coursing through him. He wanted to call out to you, to beg you to stay, but he knew it was futile. He had messed up. He had pushed too far, and he had lost you. He slumped down to the ground, his head in his hands as the weight of his actions and the emptiness he now felt settled over him like a cold blanket.

[casscainmainly]

can you dive more into bruce’s dislike of cass’ femininity?

Sure!! To preface this, gender and Cass is a really nuanced topic that has a lot of interpretations, all equally valid. This is just my own interpretation, and is mainly situated in early Batgirl (2000). I also recommend reading my gender and sexuality posts for Cass' persepctive on her relationship with gender. But since I've gotten a couple questions about it, I'll cover specifically Bruce's evolving opinions on Cass' gender here.

Beginning

From Batgirl #1, Puckett establishes Bruce's view of Cass: she is like him. Both Barbara and Bruce (and Cass herself) acknowledge this, and it allows Bruce to understand Cass in a way Babs doesn't. This isn't gendered yet, but the seed (that Horrocks will pull on) is there - Bruce closely associates Cass with himself, meaning he focuses on the ways they're similar and ignores the ways they're different.

This similarity is comforting not just for Bruce, but for Cass as well. They are equals - they have similar fighting abilities, philosophies against killing, ways of expressing themselves, etc. She doesn't have to hold back, not with him. Both of them wanted her to be 'like him'.

Bruce does not want Cass being taken "away from [him]". "You want me to think she's like you," he tells David Cain in #5. His biggest fear is Cass being like someone else, and not like him.

The Threat of Stephanie Brown

This recurring motto - 'you're not like them, you're like me' - crops up again when Bruce talks about Stephanie in #38. I've discussed how this makes Cass think she lacks something in femininity, but for Bruce this is him drawing a line between Steph and Cass. Steph is a 'girl', treated like one by Bruce: incompetent, not to be taken seriously, belittled. But because Cass is 'like Bruce,' she can "never" be like Stephanie. Cass being like Stephanie challenges not only Bruce's views of both women, but also his own highly cherished belief that him and Cass are the same.

Steph's feminine presence threatens Bruce and Cass' relationship, kicking off a series of issues where Bruce desperately tries to suppress Cass' gender and sexuality.

Vacation

When Cass encounters Tai'Darshan (a boy love interest) and lets him go, Bruce agrees to send Babs and Cass on a vacation. His motivations are extremely murky: Babs implies it was a set-up to get Cass into action again (justified by a panel of Bruce evilly smirking), but a panel right after has Bruce looking sad:

From #40: "You don't really give a damn about Cassandra, do you?" The juxtaposition between these two panels - one with Bruce (sans mask) smirking, and the other with Batman brooding - suggests he does care about Cass, but he struggles with how. For the first time he's realising that Cass isn't like him, that she's a girl with all that girlhood entails, and it frightens him. The cowl (Batgirl) allows him to ignore what's underneath, but Cass is coming through more and more.

But when Babs mentions Kon, the struggle goes out the window.

Thi anger is funny in a girldad way, but it goes to show how much he cannot stand the thought of Cass exploring her sexuality. It's not just that he doesn't want his little girl to date - it's that somehow, Cass embodying her girlhood will separate her from him forever.

Loss

Babs explicitly points out Bruce's feelings in #42. Though she couches it in non-gendered terms ("school, a job"), it's no coincidence that it's specifically a gendered thing - "falling in love" (with a boy, Kon and/or Tai) - that Bruce is reacting to. So far Bruce has threatened Cass away from Stephanie (her first female friend), Tai/Kon (love interests), and has repeatedly expressed dissatisfaction in Babs (Cass' mother figure). He tries to limit any relationships that allow Cass either feminine solidarity or expressions of her femininity.

Bruce sees girl!Cass as fundamentally opposed to Batgirl!Cass. Batgirl is like him - Cass is not. She's "distracted. Unfocused. Unreliable..." That last adjective is super interesting, because it frames Cass' explorations of gender as an insult against him. Cass becoming more girl-like is making her "unreliable" to Bruce, making her harder to trust.

"If you've got better things to do than being Batgirl, Cass, just say so." This can be read as an ultimatum, but also as a genuine question. He's asking if she wants to be like him (Batgirl), or go her own way (Cass). When she picks Batgirl, he tells her "no more trips to Kansas." To be like him, she must give up her explorations of gender/sexuality.

Firing

In the aftermath of a trip to Tai's hometown (during which he dies), Cass grows increasingly distant to Bruce.

Bruce finally realises that Cass is not like him - that her differences, most vitally expressed in her girlhood, means she needs something different from him. "She no longer tells us what she's doing..." Bruce still associates Cass exploring her gender as disloyalty to him and his symbol, but this time he acknowledges that maybe that disloyalty is a good thing.

Then we have maybe the most interesting part:

Bruce's "I wouldn't know" is a response to Babs' second dialogue, but it's interesting to read his words as also a response to the first. Because Bruce wouldn't know what it's like to give into hormones, to "have sex, take wild risks, misbehave". Of course he's had sex, but his life is so consumed by his mission that Bruce has limited opportunities to explore his gender. In a way, Bruce's repression of Cass' femininity reflects his repression of his own gender exploration.

The Fight

In #50, Cass and Bruce get into a fight, during which Babs questions whether Cass is trying to "kill" or "kiss" Bruce. In the broader context of their gender struggles, this fight is the culmination of Cass and Bruce figuring out their gender expressions and sexualities. I'm reading this not as a romantic kiss, but as a symbol of sexual release - of defying sexual and gendered repression.

Bruce finally explicitly asks Cass who's she loyal to, and Cass points to the Bat. For Bruce, this choice symbolises that Cass is still loyal to Batgirl/Batman, but also her own person; he finally understands how Cass is like him, but also unlike him, and that her (gender) difference doesn't make her any less able to wear the symbol.

This fight is often analysed from Cass' perspective, but it was clearly important to Bruce, too. It was the turning point in his treatment and understanding of Cass - after this point, their relationship never hits the same lows again, and Bruce starts treating her like her own person (cultiminating in the Batgirl (2008) adoption). In Gabrych's run, Bruce leaves Cass alone and doesn't stop her from searching for Shiva, a huge difference from the way he previously handled her feminine relationships and soul-searching.

Ending

So I guess to say Bruce hated Cass' femininity (which I wrote in a previous post) is an oversimplification; it's not purely misogyny (though that was a part of it), but his longing for her to be exactly like him that caused him to try to repress her gender/sexuality. Her femininity was a marker of difference, a sign she was not completely subsumed in him and his symbol. However, Horrocks' run also shows how Bruce changes and grows, learning to accept Cass as his wonderful daughter.

I hope that answers your question!!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

The fandom can't make up its mind on what's supposed to be a joke and what's supposed to be serious because the show can't either half the time. It's a tonally disjointed mess that wants to have absurd over-the-top humor as well as a plot and moments of drama, romance, and angst that demand you see the characters as people and feel for what they're going through. Except you can't do that without also treating the dumb bullshit in a somewhat grounded way. Like, you're still dealing with the same characters. You can't just go "Oh, that? Let's ignore that!" the moment it's no longer convenient to you. You've opened this can of worms and now you have to sleep in it. So, every character flip-flops between two different versions of themselves depending on what the writers need in any particular scene.

This is not to say surreal humor can't be used right alongside characters you're supposed to empathize with, Teen Titans (not Go) did that and it worked. It's just that the absurdity can only come from the setting (Mad Mod, Mother Mae-Eye, pretty much anything Control Freak is in) or from designated joke characters (Date With Destiny). Teen Titans never had the main characters acting in clearly absurd ways as the butt of a joke unless those characters were brainwashed somehow, because the writers knew that would ruin any of the more grounded moments they wanted to write. The writers of Miraculous missed the memo on that one.

I don't disagree. A perfect example is Derision where the show takes all of the bad jokes about Marinette's crush and decides to take them seriously as if you can possible take them seriously without making Marinette come across as unhinged and dangerous. You can't, which brings us to the topic at hand: how do you even begin to understand these characters when the show is constantly making character-breaking choices?

My approach - and the approach I recommend others take if they're going to keep watching the show - is to focus on the characters' cores and reject anything canon does to violate those cores. I don't argue for this stance because I love the characters so much that I only want the good things to count. I take this stance because, if you don't, then the characters fall apart. There is no way to make them work as fully realized characters while embracing every choice canon has made. Miraculous has massive characterization issues that go well beyond the humor.

For example, Adrien has multiple moments of terrible behavior that are played in a serious manner such as the moment in the episode Frozer where he tries to start a fight with Ladybug in the middle of an akuma attack because she wouldn't accept a rose from him earlier:

Setup

Ladybug: I can't accept this rose from you. I told you already. I'm in love with someone else. Cat Noir: I know, M'lady. But if he weren't here, would things be different between us? Ladybug: Well, you know, I can't even begin to imagine him not being here. I'm sorry, Cat Noir. I really gotta get going, and you better do the same. (Swings her yo-yo to head back home; Cat Noir is sad, looking downwards, with one petal of the rose falling.)

Payoff

Ladyice: Cat Noir. We need to set up a trap for whoever turned the city into a giant ice rink. (throws yo-yo) Icecat: (bitterly) My feline instincts prefer to track and observe before I attack. You go your way, I'll go mine. Ladyice: Please don't tell me you're mad at me about the rose. Icecat: There may be a certain chill now between us. Ladyice: I get it, but we should really focus on saving Paris right now. Icecat: We don't always have to do everything together, after all. It's not like we're a couple. (skates away)

There's no way to argue this off as a bad joke. While Adrien has every right to feel hurt, those feelings don't excuse him acting like a pouting child in the middle of an akuma fight. It doesn't excuse him acting like this at any point! Ladybug is not a villain for telling him no. She wasn't even mean about it!

I clearly fully agree that Adrien looks awful and selfish here, but I'd still argue that it's not something that should be used to define Adrien's character if your goal is to tell the "ideal" version of Miraculous. "Ideal" being the version that canon seems to be going for based on the overall picture we can sort of make out if we back way, way, way up and look at the extremely abstract picture canon is clumsily painting.

Unless canon is going to do something monumentally stupid, Adrien is Marinette's endgame romantic interest. It's also clear that there is no plan to cut him from the team. He's going to be Chat Noir for the rest of his life or at least well into his adulthood. This means that he is supposed to be a good hero who deserves his miraculous just like he's supposed to be a charming and cute romantic lead. These are the two things I keep in mind when trying to shift through canon to figure out what writing choices I should fully embrace and what writing choices I have to either ignore or treat as true flaws that get an actual character arc. In my book, either approach is fine because most of the characters are deeply flawed at this point and you can't give them all arcs without bloating the story to nonsense levels.

My goal with this approach is never to say, "oh, that moment shouldn't count in terms of how people feel about the character." It's more, "that moment goes so hard against who this character is very clearly supposed to be that I can't take it into account if I want to tell the kind of story that Miraculous is trying (and clearly failing) to tell."

As an example, let's list off Adrien's worst behaviors. The things that make him look terrible:

He sucks at communicating his needs and feelings, leading to multiple moments where he gets mad at Ladybug for things she's totally unaware of

He has quit or considered quitting without warning multiple times and only one of those was because of something he did "wrong" (NYC Special)

He puts his feelings before the safety of Paris on multiple occasions, even going so far to purposely miss akuma fights to see what happens

He is incredibly pushy about his crush, often ignoring Ladybug's feelings on the topic by continuing to bring it up even after she asked him to stop

There have been multiple instances where he almost cataclysmed multiple people in a fit of anger

His love for Ladynette isn't strong enough to let him break free of things like akumas and nightmare dust even when he's looking her in the eyes making him a pretty crappy romantic lead

People will argue that some of this behavior makes sense for his character because of the abuse that canon has technically introduced, but that the writers seem blissfully unaware of. I don't disagree with that argument, but that doesn't change the fact that none of this is acceptable behavior for a hero and Adrien is a hero who keeps doing these things. A sad backstory doesn't give you the right to behave poorly without consequences.

At the same time, if I fully embrace these elements of canon, what I get is an Adrien salt fic where he loses his miraculous for good while Marinette finds her real true love or even just a non-salty fic where Adrien leaves for his own meatal health and gets replaced by someone who can handle being a hero right now. Canon's not writing either of those, so the only way to engage with these flaws while enjoying canon or aiming for the same end goals as canon is to say, "I guess this doesn't count" or "I guess I need to tone this way down and work through it via a character arc" or even "I guess that was just a bad joke maybe?"

That is the essence of what I mean when I call myself a writing salt, character sugar blog. It comes from looking at canon and seeing that there's simply no way to embrace the worst moments and the best at the same time. We're not dealing with a coherent plot and/or complex characters. We're dealing with a nonsense plot that will warp the characters to bizarre shapes to make random ideas work even if those idea go wildly against canon's end goals.

As an example, Glaciator and Frozer should not exist in the same universe or, at the very least, something should explain why Chat Noir randomly changed his stance on Ladybug's crush from acceptance to pushiness. As is, the pieces don't fit together. The behavior is too contradictory. Remember, this is how Glaciator ends:

Perhaps Ladybug will love me someday. I mean, like, I love her. I have to believe. In the meantime, her friendship is the best gift of all.

Where did this version of Adrien go? Why did he regress in Frozer? There's no in-universe reason. It happened because the writers weren't ready to let the love square date or grow close, but they also wanted the love square to cause drama, so Adrien ends up looking terrible just like Marinette ends up looking terrible when it's her turn to cause love square drama. Her terribleness takes a different flavor so it can be hard to realize that this is a systemic issue, but that's what it is. It's deeply frustrating, but it also clearly stems from cheap writing and not quality characterization.

This is also why my stance is that canon as a whole only supports my Doyalistic core-character analysis style of approach. The writing is too poor quality to do Watsonian analysis where you embrace the full picture and try to put it all together. The closest I'll get to Watsonian analysis is pointing out how much the writing botches a Watsonian take by showing you all the way the writing contradicts itself, twisting into a nonsense pretzel of frustration where the payoffs never satisfy! (See the season four rant for an example or anything where I talked about Chloe's supposed damnation arc.)

There are even characters where canon is such a total mess that you can Doyalistically argue for two separate takes! Gabriel is a perfect example. He is all over the place and his ending was so poorly handled that you can make strong arguments for writing him as a cold-hearted villain or a sympathetic villain without the end result feeling like it spits in the face of canon because both takes maintain his one core element: villain.

That's the big thing I keep in mind when I look at the characters and the lore and the plots and try to come up with versions that the average fan would like. I don't think that there's one true version of any of these things, but I do feel comfortable saying that there are versions that will very clearly only appeal to people who are salty about a specific thing that canon did poorly. That's not who I want to appeal to in my adaptions, so while I'm not going to argue that those takes have no backing in canon, I will argue that those takes are not supported by canon as a whole. Embracing them requires you to take the worst parts of canon at face value while ignoring what canon is clearly trying to do with the overall story.

I get the appeal of that, but it's not fun for me because that approach feels like rolling around in the mud with the pigs. I don't want to sink to canon's level! I want to have fun! That's why I talk about how to make canon into its best self, not its worst self. If you want its worst self, just go watch the actual show. I will be shocked it if disappoints you.

[putschki1969]

Hi Puts, I saw dramas news. TBH i'm totally disagree with all of those idea about "sides" "betrayal" etc concepts. From my perspective as an asian there's big difference in culture stuffs. Everyone of them, YKJ as well are just one musician. (Being able to live without messing with JP train rush hour are blessing enough LOL). they pursue nothing more than Arts. I think they has much less "self" concept nor "possession". I believe YKJ expect Kalafina's songs to be 気働き as well. :D

Hi there!!

I am not sure I completely understand what you want to convey with your message but I think I am getting the gist of it so I can hopefully provide a suitable response.

I also received a reply from @toshiroukajiura on THIS POST. It's very similar in nature to the above ask so I thought I'd include it here and just answer both in one go.

Your assumption with Yuki is so sad. Yuki kajiura is not a manager. Remember that. Hikaru is under a different management. And Kajiura invited Hikaru a lot of times. Kajiura is a soundtrack composer. Remember that.

All right, let's go...〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→

All of this sounds like the two of you are trying to make excuses for Yuki. I don't know why you would "disagree" or consider it "sad" when I am simply pointing out the reality of things. Despite me saying that I wasn't sure if I could be unbiased, I think I've actually made quite fair assessments of the situation, especially in the above post. I tried my best to remain rational and look at everything from an objective point of view. Yuki Kajiura is not infallible and certainly not exempt from criticism, there's nothing wrong about pointing out certain problematic behaviours.

Common themes among those coming to Yuki's defense seem to be

that this is just a cultural thing that cannot be changed and is horribly misunderstood.

that Yuki wouldn't ever do anything petty like this because all she cares about is her art/music.

that she couldn't possibly be pulling the strings because she is in no position to do that.

I would argue that you are mistaken on all three accounts.

Re 1) Yes, their actions are indeed heavily influenced by cultural peculiarities, there's no doubt about that. None of the things we see them do are out of the ordinary for the Japanese entertainment industry. But just because these things are rooted in culture, doesn't automatically make them okay or provide an excuse. The non-confrontational approach with an emphasis on shunning, avoidance and denial, the continuous attempts at keeping things under wraps and sweeping all possible issues under the rug, the passive-aggressive behaviour towards each other with no direct insults but lots of subtle and targeted mini-attacks. Basically mean-girl tactics up to eleven. Very toxic, unhealthy and counterproductive.

This is the essence of the feud between Team Space Craft and Team Yuki. And yes, I keep calling it a "feud" for a reason. It is not a natural thing that should just be shrugged off as harmless. It is a long-lasting dispute between two parties fueled by wounded pride and fragile sensibilities. I have no doubt that Team Yuki was wronged at some point in all of this and I am sure that Team Space Craft has also felt slighted on multiple occasions but throughout all these years, both parties have just stubbornly kept this feud alive, unwilling to make any concessions that would finally resolve it. So yeah, even though I wish it wasn't the case, there are clearly "sides" in this feud and certain associations are seen as "betrayal" and get reprimanded as such. To deny this would just be ignorant.

Re 2) I used to think that Yuki prioritised her craft beyond anything else but recent events (in combination with some of her past decisions) have led me to believe otherwise. She basically abandoned Kalafina (arguably her best artistic project) all those years ago when she decided to leave Space Craft and follow Mori. Was it her prerogative to leave? Of course, she surely had her own interests in mind and thought it was for the best (it probably was, at least for her personally) but the fact remains that Kalafina and its members have had to bear the brunt of this decision and their interests have mostly been ignored. It must have been very obvious to Yuki that her departure would mean an end to Kalafina. With the girls not willing to continue the group without her but also unable to just follow her and revive Kalafina under Yuki's new management, they were faced with a dead-end and forced to make very hard decisions. So we know that the Kalafina project and its members did not mean enough to Yuki to try and arrange herself with the higher-ups at Space Craft. If we assume that all the rumours from back in the day contain at least a grain of truth, then Mori and Yuki did not leave because of some inconceivable or unforgivable thing being done to them, it was mostly petty stuff. For this reason, it is still baffling to me that they couldn't have found a way to navigate around their issues. While I would not expect the execs at Space Craft to have art and the interests of their employees as their first priority, I had hoped that Yuki at least would've felt a stronger commitment to those things, especially considering that the Kalafina project was her baby and the girls gave everything to bring her vision to life. But alas, that wasn't the case.

And even now when she claims that she's tried so much to make a Kalafina reunion possible but sadly with no success, I cannot help but wonder what exactly it was that she could have tried. It probably wasn't a proper attempt at reconciliation. Because let's be real here, I am sure Space Craft are difficult to deal with and they certainly have a bunch of outrageous demands but what could they possibly want that Yuki wouldn't be able to give them? They used to work together just fine with shared rights, shared revenues, etc. I find it hard to believe that something similar can't be recreated now (with different parameters and a little effort from both sides). Yuki is at the top of her career whereas Space Craft have pretty much reached the bottom of the barrel. Why not just be the better person, take pity on the petty old guys at Space Craft and give them what they want? There's no way that Space Craft aren't willing to negotiate something, I mean, at this point they have no other choice. They are probably not smart enough to know that they shouldn't be greedy with their demands in their lousy position but then again, their future existence is most likely contingent on Yuki making large concessions so I kinda understand that they would have rather audacious demands. My interpretation of all of this is that Yuki deliberately decides not to reach out to Space Craft due to being petty herself. If your pride is wounded, you will do a lot of things out of spite, even going as far as to sacrifice your own project.

After Keiko's exclusion from YKL, one has to once again wonder, what is more important to Yuki. Her craft and the quality of her music or her wounded pride? As I have explained in previous posts, I believe that this was mostly Yuki's decision and just a natural progression of the usual shunning process. I am willing to be proven wrong on the matter, maybe it turns out that Space Craft actually have entrapped Keiko in a super restrictive contract but for the time being, more signs point towards Yuki being behind this exclusion. Meaning, she would rather let go of the backbone of her music, instead of finding a solution with Space Craft.

By the way, I was never trying to insinuate that Yuki was completely indifferent to the members' problems. I think she does care about them, at least to some extent. We've seen her provide support on some occasions to Keiko as well as Hikaru and she has given them work opportunities but most of that was actually in her own interest so make of that whatever you will.

Re 3) I think some people may be underestimating the power she currently holds. Even back in her Space Craft days, she was left to her own devices and was pretty much given free creative rein by her manager Mori. She may not have been in charge of all organisational decisions but aside from that, she didn't have to deal with any restrictions. After leaving Space Craft, she founded "Fiction Junction Music", her very own management company. She is the head of this company so in a way, she is in fact a manager and more or less her own boss. Looking at the credit pages, FictionJunction Music is always listed as Yuki's management alongside Highway Star so we can assume they have some sort of shared management arrangement. When you check the Highway Star homepage, you'll notice that Yuki isn't listed under their regular clients, she is listed as "partner artist", this implies a peer to peer relationship. It's fair to come to the conclusion that she is the one who calls the shots when it comes to her activities and that the agency is merely there to help with formalities or to find some new jobs for her. Do they get a say in her decisions, yeah, probably but Mori strikes me as the type of guy who would gladly support Yuki's wish to exclude Keiko for aligning herself with Space Craft.

[maaxverstappen]

feel free to ignore this if it’s not what you’re after but in honour of your new chirlie status, maybe some touch starved choscar? as a prompt? <3

i would absolutely love to ring in my new chirlie status with some choscar!!

i fear i went a little tame and platonic with the prompt, but any more and it would’ve turned into a full plotted fic I’m afraid.

“Charles, hi,” Oscar stutters out a little shocked when he sees him enter the quaint little bakery.

Charles pushes his dark black sunglasses off his nose whilst he peers right at Oscar, before removing them all together with a warm, open expression.

“Oscar!” Charles beams. “What are you doing here?”

Oscar holds up the paper bag filled containing a banging chocolate croissant. “Just getting some breakfast, mate,” Oscar answers, a little confused to be stating the obvious.

Charles laughs and touches Oscar’s upper arm. It’s fleeting, barely even a whisper of contact made between Charles’ warm hand and Oscar’s tense arm, but it lights up every nerve in Oscar’s body. A million little zaps from the detonation site all down his body.

A shiver escapes him, too late to pull it back.

“I see that,” Charles says, having missed the odyssee that took over Oscar for one split second. “In Monaco, I mean. Visiting Lando?”

“Ah no, moved here a few months back. ‘S a rite of passage, eh?” Oscar smiles sheepishly.

The queue in front of Charles has dissipated, it’s just one younger girl in front of him. Oscar hopes she doesn’t know who they are.

“Guess it is, mate. Let me know if you need any tips, yes?” Charles says, patting Oscar’s shoulder to step past him, towards the cashier.

“Yeah, no, sure,” Oscar stutters after him, conversation clearly over. He stands there a second longer before the bell above the bakery’s door jingles and snaps him out of it.

*

It happens again a few weeks later.

Oscar’s been in the game long enough to be comfortable with all the bells and whistles of the weekend. Knows what to say in interviews, what part of the truck to occupy, and who to stand next to. But a badly timed unlaced shoe means he’s last on the truck for the driver’s parade, and the road to safety looks treacherous.

Just as he’s contemplating how to get past Max and towards the front of the truck without getting sucked into a conversation, the vehicle starts moving and Oscar stumbles—right into Charles.

Oscar makes a startled noise as he steadies himself, helped by Charles grabbing him by both of his arms this time to help him up.

The trip is almost enough for the touch to pass him by unbeknownst to him. Almost, that is.

It’s like in the bakery. He’s wearing a jacket, but it doesn’t do anything to hide the feeling of Charles touching him, gripping him like Oscar’s life depends on it. Which, in all fairness, is not a bad assessment given the fact they’re on a moving truck going around a hairpin.

“You alright?” Charles asks once Oscar has found his feet. He’s still holding onto Oscar.

Oscar swallows around the feeling and gives Charles a weak smile. “Yeah, thanks, mate. Could’ve broken my arm or something.”

Charles drops one hand but keeps the other on Oscar, moving it up towards his shoulder.

He drives around in death traps, for heavens sake, and Charles touching him is what gets him feeling like this; like his nervous system is both regulated and deregulated all at once. It’s calming and makes him feel at ease, but it’s also causing his heart to race and a flush to rise to his cheeks.

“Well,” Charles laughs, “we wouldn’t want that, would we?” He squeezes Oscar’s shoulder as he says it, and Oscar laughs with him, if only to hide the whine that’s threatening to escape.

[tikosblogg]

I have request 🩷

So it's always Noah who comforts reader when she feels under the weather, so can you please write something with a lot of fluff about the reader comforting Noah when he's having a burn out or just not feeling okay?

Also love your writing, please keep it up

I GOT YOU

Warning: talks of anxiety, depression, fluff

A/N: picture the chair being a big comfy leather chair not the one in the pic 💀

My sock covered feet padded softly against the hardwood floor as I carefully balanced the mug of tea in one hand and a plush blanket in the other. It was late—almost embarrassingly late, considering I’d been dozing off during my Netflix binge just moments ago—but something about tonight felt off. The apartment was too quiet.

Noah’s absence was hardly a new experience for me; he was always out recording, performing, or traveling with Bad Omens. And sure, the noise of the city glimmered faintly in the distance, but the silence settled heavy tonight. Like it was breathing. Like it wasn’t silence at all, but worry disguised as it.

I found him exactly where I’d expected—in the home studio.he was slumped back, in his leather chair, an old lamp glowing softly cluttered by notebooks, pens, and the occasional can of Red Bull. He was noticeably exhausted, looking smaller than the man everyone saw on stage. Brown hair falling into his eyes, tattoos peeking out of his large hoodie, he just sat there, staring blankly at the computer screen.

His guitar rested on the carpet nearby. Untouched.

“Noah?” I said softly, stepping farther into the dim light. He didn’t react. Not at first, anyway. But then he sighed, long and slow, the kind of sigh you let out when you’ve been holding up the universe, piece by fragile piece, and it’s finally starting to crack around you.

“Hey,” he croaked hoarsely, lips quirking, but not enough to make it a real smile.

“Hey.” I set the mug and blanket down on the edge of the small coffee table in the middle of the room, before walking to him. I crouched beside his chair, slowly resting my hand on his arm. His brown eyes—those beautifully expressive eyes that always melted the coldest parts of me—were heavier tonight. Cloudy. They didn’t meet mine.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

The corners of his mouth twitched again. “I’m fine.”

“Noah.” I squeezed his arm, gentleness lacing my grip. “Don’t ‘fine’ me right now. You don’t look fine.”

He took another breath and leaned his head back against the chair, exposing the tattoos running up his neck. I counted the seconds of silence between us before he answered. “It’s just…everything right now. It’s too much. The album, the tour dates, the interviews—trying to balance all that while still…being enough for you.”

The admission made my chest tighten. He glanced down at me then, barely, as though he were afraid admitting the void to me would somehow make it worse. The showy mask of a rockstar had completely slipped, and in this moment, Noah wasn’t the powerhouse lead singer who owned every stage he stepped on. He was just…Noah. My Noah.

“You are enough,” I told him firmly, quickly, like I needed to stitch those words into his skin before his mind could deny them. “You’ve always been enough for me. Always.”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly, a bitter chuckle slipping past his lips. “You say that, but I’ve been holed up in here all night ignoring you. You didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t sign up for the burnout or my hours of writer’s block or me being a shitty boyfriend—”

“You’re not a shitty boyfriend,” I interjected. “You’re having a hard time, and I know how much the band and the music mean to you. But that doesn’t change how much you mean to me.”

His eyes closed for a moment, the faint quiver of his bottom lip catching my attention. There was exhaustion in his every movement, his every breath. The weight of his world was so much heavier than he allowed anyone to see.

Instinctively, I straightened up from my crouch and threw my arms around his shoulders. He stiffened at first, but not because he didn’t want the hug. No, I knew Noah. He stiffened because he didn’t think he deserved it. His hands hovered for a second before he finally gave in, melting into me, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice raw, wrecked, but laced with gratitude.

“Don’t be.” My fingers found his hair, threading through the strands slowly, almost absentmindedly. “You don’t have to do this alone. You know that, right?”

He didn’t respond, but the way his grip tightened around my waist was answer enough. I could have sobbed right there, hearing the suppressed sadness seep into his every inhale. The man who poured his soul into lyrics, who captivated the world with his voice, rarely allowed anyone to witness the cracks in his armor. But tonight, he let me. Tonight, he let me hold him together.

After a while, I pulled away just slightly to cup his face in my hands. His stubble brushed my palms, and I couldn’t help but savor how familiar and grounding the sensation was. “Let me take care of you tonight, okay?”

He let out a weak laugh, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Y/N, you’re always taking care of me.”

I shrugged. “And I plan to keep it up. Sit tight.”

I stood up before he could protest, grabbing the blanket and tea I’d brought over earlier. When I draped the blanket around his shoulders, he actually smiled—a real one this time. Not the weary, halfhearted thing I’d seen earlier.

“Tea?” I offered, passing him the mug.

He quirked a brow. “Since when do I drink tea?”

“You don’t. But you’re going to now,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s chamomile. It’ll help you relax.”

“You drugging me?” he joked faintly.

“Noah Sebastian!” I scolded, unable to keep the grin from pulling at my lips. “Just drink it.”

He chuckled softly, and the sound eased something in my chest. The storm brewing behind his eyes hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it was quieting down. Bit by bit.

“Better?” I asked after a few sips, watching the tension start to unravel in his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he murmured. Then his gaze shifted to mine, unwavering and softer than I’d seen all night. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For staying. For putting up with me.” He paused, the barest hint of vulnerability flashing in his expression. “For knowing when I need someone, even when I don’t know it myself.”

My heart ached in the best way. “Always,” I told him, resting a hand against his cheek again. “You’re stuck with me, Noah. Like, tattoo-level stuck.”

He chuckled again, this time with a little more ease. His free hand covered mine as he leaned into my touch. “Good. Because I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/N.”

That was when I knew he was going to be okay. Tomorrow might still bring more weight to his shoulders, but for tonight, I’d carry some of it with him. He wasn’t alone—and I’d never let him forget that.

As the rain began to patter gently against the windows, Noah set his tea down, tugging me back against him on the big leather chair. Curled into his side, I pressed a kiss against his jaw.

“I got you,” I sighed.

And for the rest of the night, that was all he needed to hear.

[yourlocalchronicdaydreamer]

@maraudersgirlsprompts • day 12: yield • Marylily, background Wolfstar • 949 words

It all started when Sirius asked Mary out.

“You know what would be a great idea, McDonald?” he’d asked her as she worked on a sketch for Care of Magical Creatures. “Us going on a date”.

“Shouldn’t you be asking Remus that?” she’d replied, not even bothering to look up as she added labels to the mooncalf.

Sirius sighed, looking over to the other side of the common room, where he was studying with Lily. “I don’t know if he likes me back though, and I don’t want to muck things up between us. I mean, you heard that rumour that he and Lily like each other, right? I thought if they saw us go out, their reactions might … make things clearer.”

Mary had heard that rumour. Far too many times. And Lily had said it wasn’t true, but … she still didn’t like it. At all. Suddenly Sirius’s plan sounded far more appealing.

Remus and Lily were doing their Arithmancy homework in peace when Peter forced himself in between them, pushing their books back so he’d have their full attention.

“What?” Remus asks.

Peter grins. “What would you two say if I told you that Mary and Sirius were currently agreeing to fake date to see if it would make you two jealous because they’re worried that the rumour that the two of you like each other was true?”

Remus raises his eyebrows at Lily to communicate something like ‘why would that possibly make you jealous, Ms I Don’t Have a Crush on Mary McDonald?’

Lily raises her eyebrows back: ‘well, why would it make you jealous, Mr I Don’t Have a Crush on Sirius Black?’

Peter watches the exchange between them, confused. “Okayyyyy…” he says. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

They both grin at him, silently coming to a decision. “Yes, thank you Peter,” Lily says, kissing Remus on the cheek as he takes her hand in his. “This has been very helpful.”

So now Mary and Sirius were fake dating to make Remus and Lily jealous, Remus and Lily were fake dating to annoy Mary and Sirius, Peter was finding the whole thing hilarious, and James and Marlene were too deeply immersed in quidditch tactics to notice any of it was happening.

“Okay, this has got to stop,” Peter says to Remus and Lily after two days, when the divide the whole thing has created in their friend group has started to make it a bit less funny. “Can’t you just tell them you know? And then you can actually date who you want to date?”

“No,” says Lily firmly, head resting on Remus’s shoulder. “We will not yield to them. They started this by trying to make us jealous, so they can fix it themselves. Besides, we’ve been pining for them for long enough while half the castle asks them out. We’re entitled to enjoy them pining for us.”

“But they can’t fix it, because they don’t even know what you guys are doing,” Peter moans. “They think you two are actually dating.”

“Sounds like a them problem,” Remus shrugs.

Peter sighs. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Pssst, Mary,” Peter whispers, trying to get her attention during History of Magic. She ignores him, focusing on her notes, so he throws a paper plane onto her desk. She unfolds it, frowning.

Peter: you need to ask Lily out now

She scribbles an answer and passes it back to Peter, and they go back and forth like this a few times.

Mary: she’s going out with Remus

Peter: no

Mary: what do you mean no? have you seen them lately?

Peter: they know you guys are fake dating. they’re fake dating to get you guys back

Mary looks up at him, mouth wide open. “What?” she mouths.

He grins, and nods towards Lily sitting in front of them. “Ask her out,” he mouths back.

“Lily, I like you.”

“Lily, will you go out with me?”

“Lily, you’re the only person I ever want to be with and thinking you were with Remus was killing me.”

Mary sighs, resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall in frustration. She’s been up in the dorm for the last ten minutes, rehearsing what she could possibly say to Lily. It’s infuriating - she never gets nervous like this when it comes to romance - but she supposes Lily is the exception. Has always been the exception.

“You know, I liked the last one,” says a voice from behind her.

Mary whirls around to see a very self-satisfied redhead standing in the doorway. “How long have you been there?” Mary groans, feeling the blush creep up her cheeks.

“Long enough,” Lily grins, moving closer. If she didn’t find it extremely attractive, Mary would hate how confident Lily is right now compared to the nervous mess she is.

“So…” Mary says.

“So.”

“Lily Evans,” Mary asks, hands caressing the lightly-freckled cheek of the other girl. “Will you go out with me?”

“But I thought you were dating Sirius; whatever will people say?” Lily says in a fake-scandalised voice. Mary rolls her eyes.

“That was never real, and you know it.”

“Does this mean you admit it?” Lily asks smugly, leaning in closer. “You yield?”

Mary rests their foreheads together slowly, reveling in their comfortable proximity. “Yes, it does.”

“Good,” Lily smiles as she kisses Mary, then pulls back before Mary can have time to fully register what happened. “See you at Hogsmeade tomorrow. Does Madame Puddifoots at 11 work for you?”

Then she leaves the room, leaving Mary to process the fact that she just kissed Lily Evans and now has less than 24 hours to prepare for their date.