#but I heard this topic is frowned upon

[lauras-happy-place]

So here’s my take on Him (PPG):

He’s the devil, we all know that and that’s why the viewer can’t know his real name, cuz it’s a a children’s cartoon. And as the devil himself, he isn’t female nor male. He’s both and neither, cuz he isn’t human nor from our world. I think when he’s calm, he puts on a feminine side, because usually calmness (niceness) used to be associated with being feminine and rage was associated with being masculine. He has a “he” pronoun, because we all know the “true nature” of a demon/ devil, which is evil and angry (masculine traits in old media). So “him” fits much better, because that’s what he “truly is”. He just hides under his feminine mask (as the devil would hide his true identity and seem charming).

He wasn’t supposed to be a queer caricature. (That’s not a fact, but I want to see it that way.) He was meant to represent an evil hiding under a disguise (like old cartoons usually did). However the community claimed Him because of his traits and because he’s a super cool villain. And a FRICKING icon. And I think people will forever view him as a queer character, so we might as well embrace him.

[frost-queen]

Effecting herbs (Reader!Bridgerton & Bridgerton siblings)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic  , @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22 , @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers   , @merlieve   , @queen-of-books  , @glimmering-darling-dolly   ,@denkisclown  , @wildieflower   ,@meyocoko    , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl  , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampthing07   , @melsunshine   @panhoeofmanyfandoms  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat ,@rosecentury   ,  @imagines-by-her   ,  @evilcr0ne   , @vviolynn    , @niktwazny303   ,@avada-kedavra-bitch-187  , @markive-m  , @lovesanimals0000

Loud stomps on the stairs alarmed your coming. Gregory and Hyacinth standing still on the upper floor. They were making their way downstairs, but paused near the stairs, having heard your loud footsteps. With each foot you stomped louder to make it clear. Dress pulled up slightly to not trip over the hem. With bloated cheeks, you were mumbling under your breath. Hyacinth and Gregory made way for you to let you brush past them.

Once out of reach, Hyacinth turned curious to her brother. – “You think she’s in a mood?” – she asked receiving a glance of her brother that stated the obvious. The two younglings rushed down the stairs to the drawing room, eager to know any gossip that would sure be attached to the appearance of your mood. You knew exactly what door to pick, knowing it would allow you to ramble.

You swung the door open, startling two of your brothers. Benedict and Colin. Stationed across each other, a small round table in between. Porcelain cups for each. Colin looked over his shoulder with a curious frown. You had pressed your back against the door, exhaling loud, slouching a bit through your knees.

“Calling hours already over?” – Colin questioned. – “Has it been productive?” – Benedict asked. Removing yourself from against the door, you paced around them. – “I’m sensing some negativities.” – Benedict spoke with a waving gesture at your aura. It made you groan loud with a hard stare at him. Colin was about to gesture to spill your heart when you already begun spewing your frustrations. – “What is with men?” – you called out. Benedict responding with his body language at your question.

Cup in his hand as he pulled his shoulders up. – “Have… have none been of your liking?” – Colin asked. – “Liking?” – you repeated loud, followed by a puff. – “Is it something about me that makes me attract the most uninteresting of men? Am I that dull-looking?” – you wondered about yourself starting your irritations. – “Were there no interesting topics to discuss?” – Colin wondered, having no clue which men had called upon the house for you.

He had no interest in joining, leaving it all to Anthony and mama to do so. Perhaps they had required his assistance, surely now with two daughters debuting. – “If you call being compared to a bird a topic.” – you answered sarcastically, taking a hold of one of the chairs, to both their side.

Benedict snorted loud, unable to stop himself. Colin sighed disappointed in his brother’s silly response. – “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” – Benedict said waving his hand around. – “Y/n has Anthony not assisted you in the matter?” – Colin wanted to know as your eyes fell upon the tea on the table. – “What are you two tea-gathering about?” – curious what made them decide to share a tea together around four. Colin chuckled nervously, moving his hand over the table to let a little sack disappear.

“Nothing.” – Colin said moving his hand under the table. Benedict leaned a bit more back in his seat, looking with one squinted eye at you. – “Perhaps you need to loosen up? Get that rage out of you.” – he suggested with half a smirk. – “No!” – Colin made clear with a point at Benedict to not suggest what he was thinking. Benedict sighed soft with a roll of his eyes.

“I was merely teasing. I would never let her…” – he began hinting subtly at the tea he was still holding untouched up in his hand. – “A long-wattled umbrellabird he compared me with. What even in heaven’s name is that?” – you outed with frustration plucking the cup of tea from Benedict’s hand. – “Y/n no!” – Colin called out as Benedict lunged forwards, wanting to grab the tea from you.

You took a sip from the tea, tasting it funnily in your mouth. – “I’m not sure whether it was an insult or not!” – you said lowering the cup a bit. Colin cupped his hands underneath it wanting to take it from you as you moved the cup to your lips once more. Benedict wincing in discomfort as he watched you drink the entire content in one breath. Colin took the cup of tea out of your hands, staring inside.

With a soft gulp, he turned the empty cup to his brother to look upon. – “Dear God.” – Benedict breathed out, wiping his hand down his face. – “What?” – you called out confused to your brother’s absurd reactions. Benedict shoved his chair back, coming to stand by you. – “How… how are you feeling sister?” – he asked touching your arm. Colin gave him a slap against his arm.

“It does not take effect so quickly.” – he said between clenched teeth, outraged by the outcome. – “How am I supposed to know?” – Benedict countered throwing his hands up. – “Why did you drop the entire content in the tea?” – Colin shout-whispered trying to keep his composure. – “Why didn’t you stop me?” – Benedict responded in sheer panic. – “I tried!” – Colin made clear with a loud voice.

Your sudden giggling made your brothers look upon you. – “God she is giggling.” – Benedict said, letting his head fall back, scrunching his nose. You started giggling more, shuddering with your shoulders. Colin noticed the blush appearing on your cheeks. He pointed it out with a gesture, looking annoyed at his brother. – “Mend her!” – Benedict let out pushing you a bit in his direction. Colin caught you, looking with wide eyes at Ben.

“What? I can’t mend this?” – he answered as you interrupted him with more giggles. – “It was your tea, you mend her!” – Colin pushed you back to Benedict as you spun into the arms of your brother. – “Benny…” – you said rubbing your cheek against his, arms tight around his neck. – “I wuv you Benny…” – you said dozily as Benedict tried to get you off him. He managed to push you off as you spun dizzily against Colin, making him catch you by your arms.

“It were your herbs!” – Benedict breathed out, pulling his shirt more down. Colin gasped loud at his accusations. – “For you! Not for her!” – he shouted pushing you a bit to the side, so he could see his brother clearer. The hem of your dress caught underneath your shoe as it send you flat down. Falling with a loud thump to the ground.

Your brothers turning their heads worriedly at you. You got back up, flapping your hands against your side, bits of your skirt fluffing up. – “I am quite alright.” – you told them, standing a bit wobbly on your heels. It made them both almost jump at you to restrain your balance. Giggling again. Colin pinched his nose-bridge. – “Anthony cannot see her like this.” – Benedict spoke as a wave of fear washed over him.

If Anthony knew, he’d punish them so gravely they would not see daylight for numerous years. – “Mama!” – Colin gasped out fearing her reaction too. – “Perhaps… perhaps it wouldn’t be as terrible as we think?” – Benedict responded calmly yet at the brink of fearing his poor nerves. A soft ‘whee’ sound came from you. Patting your hands in the air as you twirled around. Dartling around like a butterfly. Benedict’s first response was to slap his palm against his forehead. Colin gaping at the effects of the herbs visible.

They turned back to each other, to continue their bickering. – “How are you going to keep this quiet from mama?” – Colin stated keeping his voice down. – “Me? You mean us!” – Benedict made clear, as Colin had as much blame for it as him. – “You poured it in the tea!” – Colin argued keeping his voice low. – “You brought the lavender herbs!” – Benedict finished.

Colin sighed loud, turning his posture to you. – “Y/n come.” – he said… apparently at a blank wall. Blinking confused and rapidly. Benedict’s eyes widened. – “Where is she?” – he called out in a panic, ducking down a bit to look lower to the ground. – “She has not shrunken!” – Colin shouted annoyed. Benedict straightened his posture. – “Oh really!” – he let out sarcastically ready to throw hands at Colin for being so humouring in such a dire time. Both froze hearing something in the hallway. – “You don’t think?” – Colin started as Benedict feared the same idea.

Pushing each other out of the way, they ran out of the room into the hallway. Benedict gasped loud seeing you on the floor. Clearly having tripped. Colin hastened himself over, pulling you up by your arm. – “For goodness sake Y/n, sober up.” – he whispered in your ear. You let out a hiccup in response. Chuckling amusingly afterwards. The opening of a door made the three of you stare and freeze like deer. Francesca left her room, holding music sheets in her hand.

Eyes glued on the notes scribbled on the papers. – “Francesca!” – you called out, throwing your arms up. It made Colin loose his grip on you. Before he could hold you back, you ran up to your sister. Startling her as you cupped her cheeks, pressing a thick and deep kiss on her forehead.

Benedict made haste, pulling you off Francesca. – “She… she is very excited to see you.” – he said nervously, keeping you behind him. Francesca blinked slowly trying to process the sudden kiss attack. – “Y/n no!” – Colin called out as you had freed yourself from Benedict, running down the stairs. He hastily went after you, groaning at the annoyance of this cat and mouse game. – “Sister! Come back!” – Colin shouted in pursuit. Benedict had smiled sheepishly at Francesca before hurrying after Colin.

“Keep her away from the drawing room!” – Benedict spoke in a panic. – “Keep who away?” – To their dismay turned Anthony up. Appearing as if he sensed something was off. Colin took a hold of your elbow, pulling you closer to him. – “No one… who?” – Benedict answered nervously to his brother. – “You. You said keep her away from the drawing room. Who?” – Anthony wanted to know, already moving his hands to his hip. – “Who?” – Benedict repeated to confuse Anthony.

“You!” – you called out loud with a point at your brother. Colin gave your arm a pull, scowling you for drawing attention. Anthony’s stare was tentative. Observant to say the least. – “What is with her?” – he questioned seeing you get distracted by your own skirt, watching it twirl at your ankles.

Benedict came standing in front of his view, hands up. – “Nothing, why?” – He asked moving his hands under his armpit. Anthony sensed something off, pushing him out of the way. – “She is testing the swiftness of her skirt.” – Colin interfered to say something. Benedict looked questionable over to him.

Colin pulling his shoulders up as it was the best he could think off. Benedict hurried over to the two of you, grabbing you by your arms to push you away. – “Come sister, your dress is most perfect for a sketch of mine.” – Benedict grinned sheepishly over his shoulder to Anthony, hoping he would not find it suspicious. It took Anthony a few thoughtful seconds before shouting Benedict’s name.

“Hurry!” – Colin called out, pushing you harder as they started running to get away from Anthony. There was clearly no fooling Anthony. – “She needs to sober up and very soon!” – Benedict warned Colin. – “I know something.” – Colin huffed out, running through the house with you.

Colin opened the door to the cleaning room. He hastened himself to pick up a bucket and hurry back outside to fetch water. You hugged the doorframe hazily as Benedict moved you away from it. – “I don’t feel so good.” – you mumbled out, feeling lightheaded. Benedict held you by your arm, moving a small stool closer. Pushing you down to sit on it. You sat more to the side, as the stool tipped over, making you fall down.

Benedict pressed his hands worriedly against his cheeks. You did nothing but laugh hysterically. – “Y/n.” – Benedict groaned out, helping you back up. He sat you down as you booped his nose. Smiling high as the sky at him. You then smacked your hands against his cheeks, moving it around, squashing and stretching the skin on his cheeks out of pure amusement. – “Y/n stop that!” – Benedict let out, pulling your hands down. The first reaction from you while feeling this strangely was to cry. – “Oh… no, no, no.” – Benedict called out, not intending for you to cry.

He looked anxiously over his shoulder, begging Colin to hurry up. He began shushing you, wiping your tears away.  – “I’m sorry, sorry sister. Here.” – he took your hands bringing it back to his cheeks. – “You are allowed.” – he rubbed your hands against his cheeks in an attempt that you would continue, yet you just kept crying, not engaging.

“Please Y/n stop crying. I am begging you.” – he responded not wanting to alarm anyone else to this room. You cried even louder, ugly crying as if you were doing it on purpose. Benedict was at the brink of shutting your mouth by covering it up with his hand just to deafen your cries when Colin stumbled inside. A bit of water splashing over the edge of the heavy bucket he was carrying.

“Out of the way!” – he called out, moving the bucket up. Benedict’s eyes widened jumping aside as Colin splashed the water on you. A shower of cold water over you. The sudden shock making you jump up, drenched, sputtering out some water. Colin lowered the bucket out of breath. – “Are you insane?” – Benedict called out to Colin. Clatter teething, you rubbed your arms.

“Co-o-old.” – you stuttered out. Benedict shot Colin a warning glare before fetching you a towel. – “How are you feeling sister?” – Colin asked curious, trying to come closer as you slapped his hand annoyingly away. Benedict wrapped the towel around you. Still feeling a bit out of yourself, it was improving. – “Please don’t tell mama.” – Colin said as you shot him a dead glare.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[jyoongim]

Themes: posessiveness, slight yandere behavior, mentions of cannibalism, softcore smut,

After 7 years the Radio Demon is back!

But things arent how he left them…

Vox has taken it upon himself to be in charge of all things media

Radio has turned to Video

And Alastor’s little darling aint in her place…oh that just wont do

Your relationship with the Radio Demon was like a match made in Hell.

Alastor was a wild card by himself alone, but you? You never failed to keep him on his hooves?

You had been in the media world looong before Alastor popped up in Hell, having the title (ironic) Media Demon but somehow he managed to bring back the old themes that were once appreciated.

Not those podcasts or vlogs the youth were so prone to do

But things from the good old days.

Things that were considered ancient in the sense of modern tech.

Radio; Talk shows and actual live broadcasts.

Alastor and you quickly rose in popularity in the media realm [(you had a sneaky suspicion it was because he was terrifying and people honesty clung to an overlord’s word)]

You and Alastor had separate broadcasts, but you worked perfectly in sync with one another. Until one day…the Radio Demon disappeared, leaving you to run your show alone.

You did what you could, but the people seemed to miss the charismatic broadcaster as much as you and soon you were approached by Video.

“C’mon y/n, This will be a great improvement to your brand.” Vox smirked as you sipped the tea you were offered. You frowned. You were aware that media came in all formats but you enjoyed the ‘old’ way. “I dont know Vox, i prefer to be out of the camera’s eye” you said. Vox had been begging for years for you to join his team and claiming it would ‘boost’ your reputation. You didnt need a boost. You were THE Media Demon. If anything, you knew it would boost HIS popularity.

“Radio is so old-fashion, video is the future! You should be up to date with these things” he said. You grimaced “i am well aware of the trends, but not everyone likes this new savvy way, it is good to have a little variety”

Vox was getting annoyed.

Having you on the Vees would not only boost his claim to fame, but it would boost his power.

“The people would love to see the Media Demon in the public eye. You use to sing right? How about music production? You would kill sales with that voice of yours”

He was trying to butter you up.

Everyone knew you were a renown singer. A popstar once. You only showcased it a few times broadcasting when it was late at night and were in a mood.

Alastor loved to hear you sing.

“If you made videos people, your image can skyrocket” he continued.

You set your cup down, standing, having heard enough.

“I appreciate the offer Vox, but I will decline. I quite like stereo” and with that you left.

You made your way to the Hazbin Hotel.

To Alastor’s radio tower.

You sighed as you sat and stared at the station.

Maybe i should take Vox’s offer you thought as you collected your topics and put your headphones on.

You turned on the radio and did a count set

“How ya doin tonight folks? Its your favorite radio host and tonight you are in for a treat!” you gave the daily Hell gossip and opened the line for discussions. Letting out a laugh from a few of the responses you finally sighed “I have been offered the damning chance to retire from radio” you started. “I am sure you are all aware that I am fabulous of course, but i mean reverting to video can you imagine? And the audacity of Vox to even suggest just a thing. I think i do quite alright for a media connoisseur” you giggled.

As you chatted away you were unaware of the dark presence manifesting in the tower.

“Dial in im opening the lines to hear your opinions”

You listened in

“I think it could be good to switch it up!”

“Youre the Media Demon you could crush anything!”

“Y/n youre incredible!”

“Video kills the Radio star!”

You were about to chime in when a deep static like voice sounded

“I think you mean Radio killed the Video star”

Your eyes widened and spun around to see Alastor

“A-Alastor?”

His devilish smile sharpened as he pressed a button to cut the lines and removed your headphones “its been a while darling”

You couldnt help yourself as you launched at him for a hug.

You quickly recovered and let him go, stuttering “oh oh im sorry but w-what are you doing here? I-i thought you were gone”

Alastor grinned, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a kiss to it

“Ooooh mon cher i could never stay away from you”

You blushed.

Alastor pulled you into an embrace, his grip a little tight

“So what it is i hear of you forsaking radio?”

[ladysharmaa]

Kate mini version

Sharma!sis x Queen Charlotte's son

Summary: After the ball, everyone knows what happened between Y/n and Prince Charles. With the attention of high society members and the Queen, they face new obstacles as they fall in love.

part 1 part 2 part 3

Dearest reader,

The tone is abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it's my honor to impart to you.

Miss Y/n Sharma came to England after Kate Sharma's marriage to Viscount Bridgerton. In such a short time she managed to do something that no one else has managed to do: capture the attention of Queen Charlotte's youngest son, Prince Charles.

Dearest reader, this author finds herself compelled to share the most curious of news. It seems the two seemed to be quite close during the last dance, having danced together until Y/n walked away. But Prince Charles didn't take his eyes off the young woman for the rest of the night. Is a new romance brewing? Let's not forget that at the beginning of the season, her Majesty made her intentions clear of joining her youngest son with the princess of Austria.

In addition, Miss Y/n is here at her mother's request, living with her older sister, Kate Bridgerton, and her husband, Lord Bridgerton. Is it permanent or will she return to India? There are many mysteries yet to be unraveled.

On the other hand, the diamond of the season did not dance with any suitor, which may have made her Majesty uneasy. This author is left to wonder what shall her next move be, now that everything seems to be connected to the Bridgerton family.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"This is not good." Y/n muttered nervously, looking over Kate's shoulder to read the latest edition of Lady Whistledown. And to his greatest horror, she was the main topic. "How many people read this?"

"Too many." the older sister sighed, before placing the paper next to her and turning to Y/n who had her eyes increasingly wide. "Everything's fine. Most of the family has already suffered from Lady Whistledown's words and we support each other. And everything ended up being fine, the ton has short memory and will forget all about this by the next scandal."

"But what if they don't forget?"

"If they don't forget what?" a new voice intruded into the conversation.

Y/n let out a small scream, immediately recognizing Anthony's voice, and hurried to hide the paper behind her back. "Nothing. It's a beautiful day, I'm going to the gardens. Maybe hide there all day. Or all year."

"Y/n, no. You have to tell Anthony, he won't blame you for anything."

Bridgerton's eyebrows rose upon hearing that, turning to Y/n with a frown upon noticing her terrified expression. "What happened?"

"My apologies, Anthony. The last thing I wanted to do was associate the name Bridgerton with scandals. Lady Whistledown wrote about last night. About… About Prince Charles and I." She looked down, not wanting to see Anthony's disapproving look, and handed him the paper.

The minutes dragged on. To Y/n it felt like hours had passed. Long hours with just the silence in the room. Her heart was pounding against her chest and she tried to control the tears from reaching her eyes. Her head was running with different questions that only made her anxiety worse. Would they send her back to India so they wouldn't suffer any more from this scandal? She didn't know that dancing with someone could cause so many problems.

Just the thought of returning to her homeland, despite having loved growing up there, brought her great sadness. Her life was in England now. She adored her sister's family, having grown up close to many of them, especially Francesca and Hyacinth. And the truth is that she had enjoyed meeting Prince Charles. Y/n finally felt like she belonged somewhere.

She snapped out of these thoughts when she heard Anthony sigh. What was that? Disappointment? Anger? Sadness?

"Look at me." he said, but Y/n refused, knowing that as soon as she looked at the couple she would burst into tears. She shook her head, pursing her lips. "Y/n…"

"Please don't send me back to India."

"What?" the Viscount questioned in shock, almost not having noticed her from how quietly she spoke. He felt Kate hold his hand, looking sadly at her sister. "Y/n, look at us. We are not going to send you back to India."

"Really?" She raised her head shyly, her eyes red from holding back tears.

"Of course. You're part of the family. I haven't told you yet, but Mama sent a letter. Edwina had problems during the birth, so she's going to stay there until at least the rest of the year. You're going to stay with us. Here."

"Y/n, we would never send you away because of Lady Whistledown's news. You're a Bridgerton now." Anthony assured, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her smile upon hearing those words, although still small, released some of the stress that Anthony and Kate were feeling.

"Hey, Anthony, I was wondering— Oh, sorry!" Hyacinth entered the room, stopping when she saw the three of them and the tense atmosphere it was in. Then he noticed the sad face and the paper his brother was holding. "Is that from Lady Whistledown? What does it say?"

"It doesn't matter what it says. What did you want to tell me, Hyacinth?"

"Oh, I was wondering if we could go horse riding. I am so bored, Gregory is training and Benedict isn't paying attention to me." she pouted, causing Y/n to giggle and rush over to Hyacinth, intertwining their arms.

"Fear no more, I shall give you attention."

"Thank you, kind lady." Hyacinth laughed. "Please, Anthony, take us horse riding."

When he offered to teach Y/n how to ride a horse, the rest of his sisters were also invited, since the men already knew how to do it. As expected, only Hyacinth accepted with great enthusiasm while Eloise preferred to read and spend her time with her new friend, Miss Cressida. For her part, Francesca was never much for outdoor sports and Daphne was obviously busy with her husband and son. Thus, Y/n and the youngest Bridgerton both formed a special friendship, and were now a feared duo in the Bridgerton house.

"What do you say?" he whispered in his wife's ear, looking at the two girls who were giving them the best puppy dog ​​eyes. "I'm afraid I can't say no to them."

"I think it's a great idea." Kate smiled.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The four then ventured into the forest. Anthony and Kate were ahead, lost in their own world while Hyacinth and Y/n followed a little behind. The younger girl curiously questioned Sharma about the night of the ball, upset that she was still too young to attend one.

"I wish I had gone yesterday. Did you dance with someone yesterday? I tried to ask Francesca the same thing, but she wouldn't leave her room."

"Unexpected things happened. Francesca is just a little discouraged. As diamond of the season, she has a lot of pressure on her. And I… Well, I danced with someone."

"Prince Charles?! I saw you both when we went for a picnic, I think it was love at first sight." Hyacinth giggled.

"Sometimes I forget how good an observer you are. Yes, I danced with him." Before her friend could get too excited, Y/n hurried to add. "And I was naive, because although I enjoyed being with him, he has an enormous responsibility. I doubt people would want him to spend his time with me."

"Please, I think you are in love."

"What? Of course not, I barely know him. We just had fun dancing, but that must be over by now. I doubt her Majesty will let him dance with me again. Lady Whistledown made sure of that."

"If you say so. I, on the other hand, do not agree. Prince Charles has shown that he is interested in you. Or he would have danced with other girls after you. But he didn't."

"Well, maybe he was tired." Y/n shrugged, while Hyacinth rolled her eyes. They continued the walk in silence, enjoying the forest landscape.

“Girls, let’s do a race!” Anthony shouted, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. Y/n chuckled, knowing he had never met a family as competitive as the Bridgertons. But she was one now too, and she loved winning.

“Very well. But make sure you don’t get too sad when I win.” Hyacinth teased, despite being the one with the least experience riding a horse.

“We’ll see.” Kate joined the teasing.

The four positioned themselves next to each other, letting the man count down. Y/n grabbed the reins tighter, and as soon as Anthony finished, she let her horse run. For a moment they were all balanced, but Hyacinth quickly fell behind. The couple competed a little ahead, trying to reach a certain narrower entrance. So, with their attention diverted from her, she took the opportunity to step over a fallen tree trunk, arriving earlier at that entrance, continuing at the same pace.

She felt free on a horse. The wind hit their face, the landscape blurred from how fast they were going. Y/n petted the animal, feeling like they could conquer the world.

When she realized that the others had already stopped, as no one had yet reached her, she also slowed down so she could wait for them to catch up. They probably had to go back to help Hyacinth control her horse.

“That was impressive.” she heard behind her.

Although she felt a second of fear, thinking that an unknown man had found her alone in the middle of the forest, she quickly associated it with the voice of the person she least wanted to see at that moment. As such, she just closed her eyes and hoped it was just her imagination. But when he cleared his throat, she knew she had to face him. Finally, she commanded the horse to turn around, finding herself face to face with Prince Charles, who was also on top of a beautiful black horse.

“Prince Charles, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” she smiled shyly.

“You as well, Miss Y/N. I didn’t know you were so talented at riding. Did Lady Bridgerton teach you?”

“She and Viscount Bridgerton. And since then I haven’t wanted anything else.” she shrugged uncomfortably, both not knowing what to say. In this way, Y/n focused on the horse that the prince was riding, being shocked by its size. “Beautiful.” She looked at Charles, noticing his look of surprise and a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. “I mean, the horse— The horse is beautiful.”

“Of course.” he looked away, clearing his throat. “It seems we both had the same idea after the paper published by Lady Whistledown. A nice walk was exactly what I needed to get away from my mother.”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to interfere with your marriage with the Princess of Austria.”

“Her Majesty wants me to marry her. But I don't. You see, a beautiful, fierce, remarkable girl has already caught my attention. It may seem sudden, but she is constantly in my thoughts.” he looked intensely into her eyes. Out of nowhere, it seemed like it had become much hotter, her breathing coming in muffled.

“Oh… I—”

“Y/n! Where are you?” Kate's voice was heard through the forest, breaking the atmosphere that had formed between them.

“I’m here, Kate.” Y/n replied, closing her eyes in despair when she realized that she would have a lot to explain once they arrived.

She had already taken a risk with Lady Whistledown, and now they were alone in an isolated place… It's a good thing no one outside the family would see them, or the scandal would have become much more serious. A feeling of guilt coursed through her body again. She had promised Anthony that she didn't want to associate the Bridgerton name with scandals, and here she was doing exactly the opposite.

“Prince Charles, we can’t talk anymore. It’s not right.” she said before the others appeared.

“Why not? Because of Lady Whistledown? Ignore her, the ton will quickly forget about this.”

“You don’t know that!” Y/n exclaimed exasperated at how calm Charles seemed to be about this situation.

“I know that I want to be with you.”

“You are crazy!” she put her hand over her mouth when she realized that she had “insulted” a member of the royal family. “Apologies, Prince Charles. I didn’t mean that.”

“Call me Charles.”

“I take back my apologies.”

“Finally, we found you, Y/N. We had to go back because Hyacinth’s horse refused to move.” Kate appeared, followed by the others, stopping when she saw what was happening. She made a small bow, looking at them suspiciously. “Prince Charles, I didn’t expect to see you here. Especially with my sister.”

“What do you think you are doing?” Anthony wasn't as friendly as his wife, narrowing his eyes and approaching Y/n to stand slightly in front of her.

“Lord Bridgerton, I guarantee nothing happened. I was simply, like you, taking a walk when I saw Miss Y/n. We only talk about what Lady Whistledown wrote.” Charles assured, sending a comforting smile to Y/n, who was watching the two nervously.

“It was mere chance that we found each other. We can go back to the house now.”

Anthony signaled to Kate, who nodded. They had mastered the art of speaking with just their eyes, it still left Y/n quite confused when they did that. But this time, she understood perfectly. Lowering her head slightly, she followed her sister and Hyacinth home, while Anthony and Charles remained behind. Over her shoulder, she mumbled a quick apology to the boy, hoping he would understand what she meant.

When the women were out of sight, Anthony turned to the Prince , who appeared unaffected. “I hope you’re not trying to ruin my wife’s sister’s reputation. You know very well what the ton would say if they found you in this situation. And I guarantee you, you don’t want to duel me.”

“I agree. That's the last thing I desire. Miss Y/n would certainly never speak to me again. And I don't want that. Lord Bridgerton, we were just talking, and on horses for more. But, for all the respect I have for Miss Y/n and the Bridgerton family, I assure you this will never happen again.”

"It better not."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After a tense conversation with Kate and Anthony, they believed Y/n when she said it was a coincidence to meet Prince Charles, but that she understood the gravity of being alone with a man.

So, she spent a few days locked up at home, hoping that the scandal had already been forgotten. However, this isolation couldn't last forever, so she was forced to join the Bridgerton family on a walk by the lake.

She had her arm linked with Benedict's, Eloise beside her, while they listened to Collin's travel stories. He had seen so much, experienced so many new cultures, that Y/n just wanted to know more. Eloise, in turn, seemed envious that only men could have the pleasure of traveling alone wherever they wanted, and Benedict asked about the art of each country, something that Y/n barely understood.

However, Collin ended up rushing the end of the story, seeing a group of girls walking, giggling when they saw him. Eloise groaned in disgust, while Benedict shook his head, changing direction so he wouldn't have to watch his brother flirt. Y/n also went with them, not wanting to see that scene.

But she noticed that they had been stopped by Lady Wilson, whose daughter was participating in the season along with Y/n, Francesca, and Eloise. "Good afternoon, Lady Wilson."

"Good afternoon." she said. "I noticed you didn't go to the ball yesterday. I haven't yet had a chance to talk with Lady Bridgerton to know if everything is alright."

"Thank you for your concern." Benedict said sarcastically, taking control since Anthony wasn't around. "We had other matters to attend, but I assure you that we will be present at the ball tomorrow."

"That's wonderful news." the woman said with a fake smile. "In that case you will be able to see my daughter dancing with Prince Charles, just like yesterday. They form a beautiful couple, don't you think?"

Y/n had to control herself not to roll her eyes. It was clear what Lady Wilson was trying to do, but there would be no reaction from her. Eloise and Benedict looked at her from the corner of their eyes, waiting to know if Y/n needed them to interrupt the conversation.

"I don't know. I didn't see them together nor did I have the opportunity to know about it since Lady Whistledown didn't write about them. And we all know that she writes about everything that happens, and it seems especially important if the prince is interested in someone to court. Looks like we'll have to wait and see."

"Yes, we shall wait." Lady Wilson clenched her jaw. "I'm certain that the prince loved to dance with my daughter."

"If you say so. Please excuse us, we shall return to the rest of our family." Y/n said dryly, hurrying to walk in the opposite direction with the two Bridgertons behind her.

"Jealous, dear sister?" Benedict asked with a sly smile once they were far enough away from the woman.

"No. Why would I be?" Y/n pretended not to be bothered, but in reality the thought of Charles dancing with someone else didn't sit very well with her. But what could she be expecting, she had said that they shouldn't talk anymore and he had to get married this season. "I'm just surprised that Lady Wilson is so confident in her daughter with the prince when the Queen wants him with the princess of Austria."

"Hmm." was the only response she received from Benedict. Eloise, already fed up with just hearing about the season, changed the subject and Y/n was also grateful for that. The last thing she wanted was to think about the next ball.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"What are you going to do?" Hyacinth asked as she helped Y/n and Francesca get ready for ball. The two had already put on their dresses and now all that was left was the jewelry. Kate had already come to say that they would have to leave soon, smiling calmly when she noticed the nervous state of her sister who had changed her dress about five times already.

“About what?”

“About the prince, obviously.”

“I don’t know. I am a little confused. This is all happening so quickly. And the fact that Lady Whistledown wrote about us didn't help. But the truth is that when I'm with him, I don't know, I feel different.” Y/n tried to explain, but realized she couldn't describe her feelings in words. It was something foreign to her, but not unwanted.

“I know what it is. You like him.” the Bridgerton dropped onto the bed dramatically.

“But liking may not be enough. Don't forget that the Queen has a lot of influence on these things. And I wouldn’t want to piss her off, it would only hurt all of you.”

"You are exaggerating. Francesca, what do you think of this?”

“What?” the girl snapped out of her thoughts when she heard her name. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What are you thinking about?” Y/n sat next to her, taking her hand.

“I haven't had almost any suitors yet. And the ones I have seem incapable of having a conversation. What if I don’t find anyone?” Francesca revealed with a sigh, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Nonsense. Everyone would love to dance with you. In fact, I have a feeling you are going to meet someone today.” the Sharma said. “And for that to happen, we must leave and go to this ball. If you need to, we can stay together all night.”

“Thank you, but it won’t be necessary. I want you to have your chance with the prince.”

“After all, you were listening!” Hyacinth exclaimed, groaning as the two left the room and left her there. Now she had to wait until tomorrow to find out everything that was going to happen!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The ball was already full of people, from nervous mothers to innocent daughters who giggled when a suitor asked them to dance. Y/n and Francesca walked in together, both of them taking deep breaths and looking at each other in encouragement. They could do this.

While Francesca's nerves increased as she saw the Queen's eyes fall on her, Y/n's heart began to beat faster when she noticed Charles, who was standing next to his mother. However, he was not alone, finding himself in conversation with the princess of Austria. From what the Sharma could understand from the few moments in which she let herself focus on them, they seemed to be getting along well, sharing polite smiles.

"Maybe we shall get a refreshment first?" Y/n said, seeing that the family had already dispersed.

"A great idea." Francesca swallowed, nodding several times.

The two hurried to a corner of the room, sending a quick smile to the people passing by. Fortunately, no one engaged them in a long conversation, allowing them to mentally prepare themselves to face that night.

They stopped next to Penelope, who looked at the dancing couples with a sad look. "Are you alright, Penelope?"

"Yes, of course, Francesca." the redhead replied shyly, offering a small smile to the two girls. "You ought to take the floor."

"Ought we?" the Bridgerton chuckled humorlessly.

"Once one finds oneself on the wall, it is difficult to come off it. No matter what one does." Penelope looked down, pursing her lips.

"Better to be on the wall than to make fools of ourselves." Y/n she murmured, discreetly looking at the boy who had invaded her heart, still talking to the beautiful princess. Only this time, almost feeling her gaze on him, he glanced at her, showing what appeared to be a genuine smile. "This is so confusing."

"I agree. At least the wall doesn't ask me about what makes me tick." Francesca complained, still upset about the failed conversations from the last ball. The older girl looked at her understandingly, noticing that Francesca was more reserved. Maybe that was what made her rare, different from all the other girls.

"And why are you on the wall, Penelope? I'm sure there are lots of gentlemen here who would be more than willing to ask for your hand in a dance!"

"Oh no. Nobody wants to dance with me. Believe me." she replied with a slight blush, embarrassed that she didn't have any suitors when this wasn't her first season, unlike them.

"They must be blind, then. You are beautiful." Y/n confessed honestly, really confused that they let such an incredible person like Penelope escape. If she could, she would drag the redhead and Francesca to dance, but she knew it was against the rules.

The three fell into a silence, not uncomfortable, but as if they all had more to think about than trying to carry on a conversation. From the other side of the room, Charles watched Sharma as if in a trance, quickly leaving the conversation he was having to go to meet her.

However, he was interrupted by Charlotte who discreetly held his arm. "What are you doing? Must I remind you that you shall marry this season?"

"Why are you putting so much pressure on me with this. You have so many other children, but I'm the only one who has to suffer with this."

"Your siblings reproducing bastards for me to ignore. You are my last hope, son. I have made sure to give so many heirs to your father, and none of my children seem to be fornicating." she said. When she noticed that she was being too harsh with her youngest son, she sighed. "Bridgerton, Charles?"

"What seems to be the problem? You've already accepted many of their marriages, including naming two Bridgertons as diamonds of the season and ignoring the scandal between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Bridgerton." Charles controlled himself not to roll his eyes.

"Yes… But that was until my son was mentioned in the paper of Lady Whistledown because he was just interested in a girl. Especially when the princess of Austria traveled here just to meet you."

"And I enjoyed meeting her. But I enjoyed much more meeting Y/n Sharma." he admitted, his voice conveying the confidence he felt in those words. "She's the one I want. The one I'll follow to the end of the world if necessary. Don't make me marry someone else, mom, I want her. Just her."

"I believe the boy is in love." Lady Dandbury appeared beside them, looking at the boy with knowing eyes. Charlotte glanced at her from the corner of her eye. "The dance they shared was remarkable. The London Season is already terribly monotonous as it is. Therefore, these cases of passion make it more enjoyable. Don't you agree?"

"Indeed, Lady Danbury." Charles nodded, appreciating her help in convincing the Queen. "May I go now?"

Charlotte watched him for a few moments, noticing how he was restless, his body tilted towards Y/n. Almost as if he had no control over himself, unconsciously wanting to always be close to her. This wait was killing him.

The woman didn't respond verbally, just offered a small nod of permission, and her son was gone in the blink of an eye.

Almost running, the prince arrived next to Y/n, who continued to watch people dancing. She was now only with Penelope, as Francesca was taken by Violet to meet some suitors. Charles approached silently, placing himself in her line of sight and simply offering her a hand.

"What are you doing?" she whispered with wide eyes. Beside her, Penelope excused herself, giving the couple space. Not that they paid much attention, appearing not to have even heard her.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm asking you to dance with me."

"You don't give up, do you?" Y/n let a small smile appear, pretending to be upset by the boy's persistence. Inwardly, her heart was beating furiously fast. She didn't want to dance. She wanted to get away from there so she could be with Charles alone, the two of them talking all night.

But their moment was interrupted by Lady Wilson's daughter, who suddenly appeared and grabbed the prince's arm. "Prince Charles, you promised me a dance. Shall we?"

Y/n took a step back, trying to hide her sadness. Charles hadn't even removed her arm from his. This was a reminder that Charles was not yet hers, and with her indecision, that was becoming increasingly difficult. He had so many good options for marriage, why would he choose her? What made her special from all the others?

Trying to make sure no one saw the tears that threatened to appear, the Sharma decided it was best to leave for the rest of the night. Perhaps Anthony and Kate would believe she was feeling unwell and needed to go home.

But before he could move away completely, Charles snapped out of his shock, grabbing Y/n's hand to pull her closer while shaking the other woman's hold.

He clenched his jaw, upset at not being able to have a single moment of peace with Y/n. "My apologies, Miss." Y/n had to put her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement when Charles didn't remember the girl's name. "Right now, I would like to dance with Miss Y/n. So if you will excuse us."

"But—"

"What do you say, Miss Y/n. Shall you give me the pleasure of having this dance?" Charles asked quickly before the annoying girl spoke again. His attention was on Sharma, who was looking at him adoringly. Was this what people felt when they were in love? It felt like he couldn't breathe. In a good way.

"We shall… Charles." she laughed. Charles' mouth opened in shock, appearing to have frozen to the ground. In a playful way, she rolled her eyes, guiding him to the dance floor, which was now empty as people saw the two walk there.

Despite the nerves she felt, Y/n felt good with Charles, so she decided to ignore ton's opinions on this. The boy bowed as he offered her his hand, followed by a bow from Y/n, and immediately the music began.

"You called me Charles."

"A very good observation."

"You know, I thought Lord Bridgerton would kill me the moment I looked at you. It would be worth it." he twirled her around, loving it when he heard her little giggles. When she landed on the ground, her eyes found Kate and Anthony watching them, but instead of upset, they looked happy that Y/n was happy. "I must say that when you said we couldn't meet again, it hurt."

"My deepest apologies. How could I have said such absurd things?" Y/n said dramatically, noticing Charles' amusement.

"All is well now. As long as you promise to not run anymore. Even if Lady Whistledown or someone else writes about us. I promise I won't let anything hurt you or your family."

Y/n focused on his eyes. They were honest and had a glow of adoration about them. "What about the Princess of Austria?"

"As I also told her Majesty, I have no interest in her. My heart already belongs to you, Y/n. No one else can take your place."

The music was slowing down, indicating that it would end soon. The boy gripped Y/n's waist tighter, fearing that he would have to let go when he was enjoying savoring every moment of their closeness.

"My heart belongs to you too, Charles." she scrunched her eyebrows and Charles could feel his heart close to bursting. He wanted to marry her.

Instead, he controlled himself from saying it right away, knowing that he would have to talk to Anthony first and ask for Y/n's hand in marriage. Or he feared the Bridgerton wrath. For now, having Y/n in his arms was enough.

[fraugwinska]

Minors DNI - 18+ - Explicit Sexual Content - 4,6k words Attention: Mentions of fictional Witchcraft and Voodoo (I know this is a very sensitive topic, which is why I threaded very vaguely and lightly. I mean absolutely NO disrespect to either of those spiritualities)

Master of Puppets

You paced nervously through your room. The clock ticked the safe seconds away, the seconds Alastor where wasn't here. The seconds where Alastor didn't know.

He liked you, of course. At least enough to experiment with you, that much you could say with confidence. He had shown interest in the little witch inventor that joined the hotel, sharing the same proficiency in magic as himself. Although, unlike him, you had been an eclectic witch in your lifetime, and used more traditional western magic, whereas Alastor wasn't familiar with that, relying fully on voodoo practices he learned from the women of his family. So, you taught him and he taught you, and over the shared hours of lessons, discussions and practices, things got more and more... handsy. Until one day even the last gap between you was closed, and before both of you knew it you were sharing a bed more often than a book on sigils or rituals.

It was a mutual thing. You were insanely attracted to him, and he liked you well enough to indulge in activities he'd normally frown upon. Which made you feel special - It didn't soothe the nerves though, as you fumbled around with the little objects in the black carved box, making sure everything was perfect, before hastily slamming it shut when you heard knocks on the door.

"Yes?" you said, as if you hadn't been expecting him, as if your heart wasn't trying to leap out of your chest.

"Darling, it's me! May I come in?" you heard him say, and the door opening before you could answer. "I hope I'm not too early."

You turned around, giving him a shy smile after glancing at the clock on the wall. "You're right on time, as always."

"Punctuality is one of the only virtues I try uphold." He took a few steps towards you. "Is everything alright? You look nervous."

"Do I? It's... Nothing. I just have... I'm excited for something to show to you."

"Really?" He was intrigued, leaning in a little. "Well, now I'm curious. Is it the skinning spell you've been working on? I might have some test subjects in mind, if you are already finished."

You cleared your throat, feeling your heart beating painfully in your chest. "Not quite. I made something new, though."

"Oh?" he said, tilting his head to the side. "What is it?"

You fidgeted, not knowing how to start, how to ease him into it. He was a man that didn't appreciate if one beat around the bush, so better to rip the band-aid off in one violent, leap-of-faith-kind of way. You went to the black box, fingers trembling as you lifted the golden hatch, and before you could change your mind and call the whole thing off you scooped the small voodoo dolls out and held them out to him.

"I made these. For you... Us."

He was taken aback for a moment, not saying anything as he stared at the two little cloth figures, then down at you. They were intricately made replicas of you both, you had spent hours and hours sewing them, even going so far as to design and make identical outfits for them. He took both of them out of your hands, turning them slowly in his own, examining them with a frighteningly unreadable look.

"So you solely tried your hands on my profession I see. Why?" his eyes were boring into you, the smile on his face tight and tense, and you had to fight yourself not to stutter.

"I-I figured..." You swallowed hard. "I thought it could help us to... to be closer. More connected, in a way. And I thought you would like to... try this."

He blinked slowly, and the grin he wore stretched a bit further, the static getting louder in your ears. You were starting to think he didn't like it. You were starting to regret this.

"It is an unusual gift." His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity, but you still couldn't relax. "Quite a surprise, too."

"Is that good or bad?" you asked, and he chuckled softly.

"I don't know, darling. That depends on how it will be used." He holds up your miniature, his brows raised expectantly. "Tell me how it works."

"Uh... Well, it's more of a mix between your and my magic. T-they have some of my spells sewn into them, and then I enchanted them on your altar. All that's left to do is to tie a hair around the neck of it and offer a drop of blood, and... we will be able to feel anything that's done to the doll."

"Feel?" He cocked his head to the side, eyes gleaming with dark excitement.

"Anything." Your throat was dry, the words almost catching there.

"That sounds positively delightful."

Your heart did a flip in your chest as his voice lowered into a purr, his eyes fixed on the tiny you, the static rising around him. He was captivated, but also suspicious, and that didn't make your anxiety lessen one bit. More so as he found the red stain on your dolls chest and the shimmer of a hair around its neck. Your version of a peace offering.

"It seems this little thing is already prepared and ready to use, isn't it, dearest?" he hummed, looking at you, the smile stretching wide and showing his sharp teeth.

"Yes... if you wanted to... see how it worked first. To decide whether you want to give it a try."

He laughed, and the sound made you shiver. There was no humor in it, but sheer anticipation. Hunger. "Well then. Better not waste such a generous opportunity."

He sat his own replica down on the nightstand next to your bed, and settled down on the mattress, patting the spot next to him for you to join. You did, sitting as stiff as a board, your eyes trained on him as he looked down at your little doll. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, before running his fingers across the doll's body, and you gasped.

All your hard work evidently payed off - The touch felt eerily real. Warm, like the heat of his hands was spreading all over you, a soft caress up the middle of your stomach, a tickle around your waist. His fingertips traveled upward, pressing softly against your chest, and your breath stocked in your lungs.

"You've really outdone yourself with this one darling. So receptive..." Alastor's smile widened into a full grin, and the fact that he didn't need to touch your skin to see the blush creeping across your cheeks was one detail he seemed to particularly enjoy. The rough feeling of his claws grating against you was replaced with the hot touch of phantom lips, pressing gently against your neck as he pulled the small shirt collar aside, his tongue licking across the doll's shoulder.

The sensation almost felt out of place in comparison, making you fall onto your back with a gasp, into the soft covers of your bed, unable to maintain any sort of composure. Instead of feather light touches, his mouth felt way heavier on your skin than it should. Warm, wet... As he scraped his teeth along the little doll's neck, a low moan slipped between your lips.

"And what attention to details. It's almost a shame to ruin your hard work, but oh well."

His eyes stayed on you as he hooked a fingertip under the dolls garments, cutting it clean off of it, and even though yours stayed fully intact - what you were feeling was a whole different story. Your eyes betrayed you: Even fully clothed you felt the cool air of your room on your skin, you felt exposed, bare and utterly vulnerable. It made your skin break out in goosebumps and your lips part in an unstifled sound of arousal.

"Gorgeous, darling... Absolutely wonderful. A truly masterful piece of magic." The tone of his voice was tingling all over you, a mixture of warm affection and dark cravings. You had never been one to enjoy being praised by a man, but it made you close your eyes and squirm with absolute and desperate need when it came from Alastor. Mouth already open to say something, the words died in your throat, replaced by a high whine when you felt a wet sensation traveling over your stomach down to the inside of your thighs. Your eyes snapped open, finding Alastor's again, his irises practically glowing and locked on you as he ran his tongue all the way across the small body. Teasing. Playing. He narrowed his eyes and traced every curve with the same meticulous patience you knew him for, the sensation sending shocks of excitement and adrenaline through you as it circled the dolls skin, drawing closer and closer to the most intimate parts, until there was nowhere else to trail, nowhere else for it to run to. He stopped, leaving you flushed and panting and shattered next to him on the bed.

"My, my, sweetheart..." he cooed, poking the little doll in his hands into it's side with the softest touch, making you jerk into his side. "At this rate, this seems more like a gift for you than for me."

The blush on your face deepened and you averted your eyes. "...You're probably not wrong."

"No, I'd say I am absolutely right," he chuckled, shifting closer and tracing a hand up your body and to your throat in a smooth motion, and your body arched into the touch with the ease of a moth to flame. For a moment, he didn't move, resting his claws wrapped around your neck, his fingertips heavy on your skin. He seemed to weight his options, deciding on how to proceed. Finally, he leaned into you, bringing his lips closer to yours and when he spoke it was barely a whisper.

"I'll trust you to rectify this circumstance then."

Your eyes widened when he stood up, gently placing your doll down and switching its place with his own. You sat up, watching how he carefully plucked a hair from his head, wrapping it tightly around the neck of his miniature alter ego. It looked almost sinfully elegant and downright seductive, how his long fingers tied it tightly, before he turned back to you, his grin splitting his face in half. There was something in his expression you haven't seen before - hesitancy. It was only a second, but you still held your breath as it passed, and he chuckled as he bit his lip, dark, almost black blood dripping onto the chest of the doll in his hands.

"A rare occasion for me to spill blood. I hope you'll make it worth it."

You swallowed heavily and he grinned, reaching for your hand and gently putting the doll on your palm, giving you a stern, commanding look. "My turn."

You nodded as he settled himself on your bed, now stretching himself fully on the mattress. Lifting your other hand you carefully laid one finger on top of his dolls' throat, before drawing your fingers across and down, over its chest and its sides, making his form shiver and his ears twitch. As you undid the small coat and shirt, dragging your nail gently over the dolls abdomen, Alastor gave a resounding, pleased sigh. You stared at him in wonder of your own work, silently asking yourself if your touches on the fabric in your hands felt as intensified as his did on yours before.

With a spark of nervous excitement you followed a whim of insanity, a quick glance confirming Alastor had his eyes closed. He had never before allowed you to touch his ears - now, their artificial counterparts were at your fingertips, and with a racing heart, you drew a stroke from the base of his ear right across its entire length, all the way until the fine point. A loud, drawn-out groan filled the room and your cheeks burnt crimson when his back arched and his hands twitched towards you, the knuckles white as he clenched them into fists, a tremor going through his shoulders. The groan ended in a long whine, the eyes snapping open and locking right into yours, and your breath hitched as you saw the smoldering embers. His grin grew tighter, strained, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and the intensity of his gaze made your stomach drop, your whole body feeling exposed and naked despite still being fully dressed.

"Testy little thing. Always going for most dangerous experiments..." He shook his head as he exhaled slowly, his breath ragged and labored and in the soft illumination of your bedside lamp his neck was dusted a light pink. You marveled for a second, mesmerized. That was, until his tone dropped an octave, making your body snap back to attention, your nipples hardening painfully beneath your clothes. "How about another then, darling. You do that again..." His shadow tendrils shot out from nowhere, wrapping around your waist and thighs and lifting you over his face as you yelped and almost let the doll slip from your hands, the hem of your skirt pushed aside and heated core right above his watering mouth. "...while I do this."

With no time left for a reply, you felt your flimsy panties flicked aside and your body lowered onto his waiting tongue, all thought replaced by a sudden wave of blinding ecstasy. There was something truly addicting about the heat and hunger of his lips, the way they locked around your clit and sucked you down in the best form of torturous pain like life depended on it, his nails digging into your hips with force, while your brain was practically erasing every input but the burning sensation below. The doll in your hands, pressed to your heaving chest, was long forgotten as your head fell back and each swipe of his cursed appendix sent a shockwave through your spine. You groaned, you whimpered, and Alastor could taste the waves of delicious agony on his tongue. When he withdrew, the loss of his wet heat and the chill of the cool air against your slick folds made you almost break out in tears.

"Focus, dearest, on the task I gave you. Or do I have to repeat myself?"

The growl in his voice snapped you out of it and made you take a shaky breath before you finally composed yourself. Your fingers trembled as they grazed the tips of the dolls ears again, your movements almost trance like as your whole body yearned for it to return onto his lips. Alastor's brows furrowed, lips pursed for a second as you drew a slow, sensual line up the miniatures length, stopping and softly kneading at the pointed tip.

"Good girl." he murmured, voice breathy, and for a second you could have sworn you saw his eye twitch, though his grin stayed firmly plastered onto his face. His words sent an instantaneous warmth pooling in your lower stomach, and your chest fluttered as you tried to swallow down the intense elation that shot through your veins at those words - the same words Alastor used when you mastered one of his magical exercises, and although the praise was always flattering, in this context it felt downright lewd and utterly divine to be called that. When your hand lowered a bit, massaging the base of the dolls ears, Alastor's noises became low growls and deep purrs around the wet skin his lips devoured. The black vines on your waist and legs tightened their grip as well, pushing you deeper down onto his mouth.

You hadn't even registered what happened, but with a snap your top was ripped in the front, the clasp of your bra followed, and the familiar humming sound of his static made you squeal in surprise when his voice was suddenly much louder, his tongue shoved into you as far as he could go and his shadows ripping your clothes off at lightning speed. With both hands stroking, massaging and pulling the dolls ears now, the pure pleasure hitting you was almost too much, but as much as your hands ached for the real thing, to run your nails over the red fluff and trace the soft curves and edges of the dark antlers growing on the sides of his head, all you could do was imagine, with all your fingers on the dolls soft material instead and moving furiously up and down its head, to do exactly the same thing.

Alastor growled underneath you, the sound deep and rumbling, sending vibrations through your trembling thighs and against your sensitive skin, and it sounded so much more desperate and disoriented than you had ever heard from him before. Had you been looking down, had you been able to see anything beyond the mind-shattering pleasure, the wide blown pupils and the unfocused gaze in the glowing red irises, you might have wondered why that was - Alastor's control was slipping, and his smile finally was showing that.

In an instant your body was turned and placed on your back, your limbs shaking in the grip of his shadows and body utterly at the mercy of the tall red man leaning over you and undoing his bow tie with the rapidity and precision of a professional magician. His hair had gotten a little ruffled in the process, and his red shirt hung open and wrinkled against his skin.

"A compelling exercise indeed, my dear." he spoke, the rasp in his tone and the ragged breath accentuating his words. With a swift movement his jacket joined the shirt and harness that already had been thrown onto the floor somewhere, and then the shadows were back and prodding against the soaked cloth, the only thing left around your hips. They snuck into every slit they could find, exposing more and more of you, while their owner's gaze hungrily devoured every bit of exposed skin. The stretchable fabric made for easy work, but you had the distinct feeling they wouldn't have needed it at all as the shadows literally dissolved every thread they encountered. Alastor reached for your replica again, seemingly collecting himself and catching his breath.

"You are quite talented, and it'll be a joy to discover what other marvels your mind can come up with." His claw dragged down over the dolls' hips, one set of real, the other set of simulated hands following it a millisecond after, right along your bare and barer sides, sending waves of anticipation down the inside of your thighs. In an instant, two very corporeal, long fingers were back between your folds, knuckle deep into your seeping core, and Alastor chuckled lowly at your surprised whine, the smug and devious purr rumbling in his chest as he took note of every twitch your body made to the tune of his strokes. "But I think it's about time to return the favor though, don't you agree?"

Still stroking that sweet spot inside of you with his fingers, the hand that held your puppet glowed in bright green, and in between your moans and pants your wide eyes can't tear themselves from the strange symbols that appear around it, swirling and sparkling. You've seen Alastor perform magic countless of times, have watched and marveled at every spell he cast and his flair for the dramatic was only matched by the elegance of his every motion. But this? This was something else. The nonchalance with which his fingers pumped in and out of you, working meticulously, tactically, teasing you and working you into a mess with such a proficiency while he traced symbols with his free hand and the script, the raw power of it, the surge you could feel radiating from him, all that and his unflinching composure drove you mad with both desire and fascination.

The light and the symbols faded, and in his hands - the puppet, similar yet not quite. It felt off, almost lifelike, the fabric more skin-like, and with a gasp, you saw..

"Let me now see, if my own little contribution can be counted as an improvement, my little witch."

If someone asked you later on what had actually happened, you couldn't have said a single word - it was too salacious, too outrageous, too much outside of what you had ever expected from Alastor. How could you ever recount the way he pulled his throbbing cock out with his free hand - thick, dripping with precum and inhumanly beautiful. How his fingers were guiding your tiny copy to align with its tip, while he never left your eyes, smile almost manic.

He made holes. And seconds later, when he slowly pushed the doll onto his length, with his fingers still buried deep inside you, you knew that they worked. Oh, and how they worked.

"Oh m-my... god..."

It was heaven and hell. Bliss and torture, the feeling abhorrently delicious. The magical connection allowed every ridge, vein and vibration of his cock to transfer perfectly through the dolls body to you, making you shudder and keen at the intensity, the sheer tightness, and simultaneously Alastor groaned - a broken, rugged sound, loud enough to make you glance up with misty eyes from your debauched position. Your insides clenched hard around his fingers and the ghost of his cock, your toes curling as you whimpered, a picture perfect representation of how utterly sinful he looked with his dark lashes resting on his red cheeks, eyes shut and the mouth agape as his chest was rising and falling, breaths coming hard and labored.

He noticed your raptured gaze, looking down at you through hooded eyes, his smile positively obscene.

"Mh, I like the way you pray on me instead of one of your silly deities, darling. But you can call me Alastor."

And oh, how it felt, when his hand closed tightly around the little voodoo doll that was stuffed so full of him. You arched your back and writhed against the firm hold the tentacles had on you, pressing your knees against the pillows as he pulled his drenched fingers out of you, bringing them up to his face to lick them clean. He groaned at the taste, closing his eyes and making an effort to concentrate, his control crumbling in tiny pebbles around you, and his hips started to snap, sheathing the miniature you further on his cock, thrusting in increasingly fast paced movements. A string of whimpers escaped you, his name spilling throughout them like a mantra, as you were unable to do much more but twitch, shake and tremble as his ministrations came faster, harder, and Alastor let his head fall back, baring his neck and swallowing.

"You're so-" He groaned, squeezing your dolls body, forcing it closer against him and sliding it off and back on at an excruciatingly slow pace, your moans climbing and escalating with every inch that moved through the magic veil and in and around your sopping center. "-goddamn perfect, perfectly made for me." Your body didn't know how to react anymore, you stuttered incoherently, everything full with his praise, with this cock that wasn't there but was, the heat that shouldn't have been possible to fill you but did. You felt every bit of skin and fur and sweat and the realization only dawned on you when it was already too late: That you were about to come harder than you ever did, and that Alastor was losing his mind just from watching your reactions to his assault on your doll.

"S-So tight and needy. What a perfect... little... toy you are." If they were meant for you below him or the doll in his hands - you didn't know. But the panted words and almost dirty, explicit praise spilled from his lips in a flurry, every syllable seemed strangely calculated, aimed like a dart straight into you and tearing down all defenses as your pussy twitched helplessly around the sensation of being stretched and fucked open on the image of his cock. When he chuckled and sank your doll to the base, grinding your little figure against him so the head of his cock poked and prodded you where it had never reached before, you all but screamed his name as you came, and your pathetic cries pulled a harsh string of groans and grunts out of the demon towering over you, his breathless cursing and rambled obscenities underlined by the vicious snaps of his hips as he used your simulacrum like a glorified sex toy. His nails pierced the outer layer of the doll as your walls constricted and contracted around the thick nothing as he finished you and himself off into the realm of oblivion.

Everything went white for a moment and when your senses returned, Alastor was carefully cradling you into his arms, the little replica sitting next to his own on your bedside table, their heads almost tenderly leaning on each other. He was gently raking his claws through your damp, disheveled hair, placing little kisses down the back of your neck and on the thin skin behind your ears as he mumbled silent praises against your skin. He kissed along your jaw, gentle as anything, a soft thumb grazing along your lips, cheeks and your temple as he traced the lines of your features until he found the pulse on your neck. The cold touch of his lips was a nice contrast to the hot breath, and you moaned softly at his affectionate gesture.

"It's never a disappointment with you, love, quite the contrary." He hummed, scraping his sharp teeth almost teasingly along the crook of your neck before kissing it, covering your skin with static electricity. "What a marvelous surprise you prepared for me, my dear, truly magical." His lips pressed into yours in a rare kiss, and you leaned back into his naked embrace and smiled, the giddy feeling of accomplishment spreading in your belly and mixing in beautifully with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"I'm glad... you liked it."

"Oh, that is hardly the phrase I would use," Alastor chuckled as he pulled back, making you blush as his red iris glowed dangerously. "But you, my dear, will have a little work to do, seeing as I'm positively spoiled after this gift. You have no idea of the things I'm thinking about, all the possibilities of what we can accomplish if we put both our minds – and magic - to it."

Alastor pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing his chin and cheeks across your scalp and shoulders, coating you with a generous amount of his scent as if to mark you before pulling the blankets up and covering the two of you as his arms locked around you possessively, letting you settle against his chest as he hummed a melody you didn't know. But you knew him well enough to know that it was a clear sign of him being absolutely pleased and content.

You smiled, his good mood infectious, and as you glanced to the two dolls that sat together like a matching pair, stripped of their clothes and as close together as you and the real demon were now under the sheets, it made you feel like the cat that ate the canary. The cat had been fed by Alastor, sure. But he had also had his fill and then some, and really... that was all that mattered to you.

[cvnt4him]

No wait wait… this came to me at 11:00 pm-

Izuku asking his best friend for tips on flirting, so she shows him, getting all close and backs him up against the wall, and figures she’s going too far, and starts to back off, but Izuku just ends up kissing her. I’m gonna write this as well, but I wanna see your version!

:)

You got it candie<33

You and izuku were studying for whatever you could, just talking and joking around chatting about whatever topic happened to pop up between the two of you. A small silence fell upon you two, it wasn't an uncomfortable one just one that happened on its own.

Something had clearly been on izukus mind all day, it seems whatever it was had poked it's head back into his mind. A small frown painting his freckled face. He stopped studying and just started fiddling with his pen, twirling it around his fingers with a sigh.

He sets his pen down and turns to you, wide eyes staring at you pleadingly. You turned slowly to face him with a small grin and a scoff, why'd he been looking at you like that? What was going on behind those big big eyes of his?

“ may I help you?”

He whined in response. Izuku was known for getting easily embarrassed, he turned as red as a strawberry sometimes. You had an effect on him that seemed to always fluster him, whether it be just a look or the way you touched him. He liked it and wanted to learn.

“ how do you .. like, how do you uhm..”

“ uhmmmmm??”

“ f- flirt? I... guess?”

That was a complete surprise. Your eyes went wide as you like jumped back like you were stunned. You hummed biting both of your lips and furrowing your brows. A small pout formed on izukus face, he whined once more a small blush creeping onto his baby-like cheeks as he gently punched you in the arm.

You were one of izukus closest friends, he held you near and dear to his heart. None of his other friends flirted like you though, you always had much more of an effect on him than others. He wanted to learn from you, for educational purposes of course.

“ what uh..— why?”

“ huh?”

“ just.......why.”

His eyes darted from side to side with a confused and still bashful expression on his face. what did you mean?

“ I... don't follow.”

“ like. ugh— WHY, do you want to learn how to flirt??”

His eyes widened before he looked away, blush raging across his cheeks. He murmured something underneath his breath, you hadn't heard him but completely guessed.

“ oh— ITS A GIRL ISNT IT!”

He perked up, his face and ears completely red as he turned to you before slamming his head on the desk, you gasp dramatically then laugh maniacally standing and jumping all around. Izuku hadn't had many crushes before, he hasn't even had a girlfriend. To think this 22 year old man has never had a girlfriend, it's shocking because he's a very attractive guy he's literally the kind of guy every girl goes online complaining about wanting. He's a walking green flag.

You sat back down slightly out of breath with a wide smile on your face, izuku peeked up before trying to hide his face again you grabbed him by his cheeks and made him look at you, his eyes widened as he looked you directly in your eyes.

“ you wanna learn how to flirt — I'm gonna teach you.”

Izuku gulped before calming himself, a small blush was still present sure but the intenseness had gone, his cheeks were still warm as you taught him the basics. Small things like holding eye contact, giving compliments which he was very good at.

“ what uhm... aboutlikemakingout..”

You stopped talking and turned to him. You hadn't exactly heard what he said, it was all smashed together and incoherent. You turned your head to the side slightly and hummed.

“ uhmmm. what!!”

You say with a faux smile, he couldn't look at you just fiddling with his fingers and stalling not wanting to repeat himself. He was nervous but craved to learn.

“ just.... what about...like.. kissing.”

“ huh?”

“ kissing.....”

“ bro what.”

“ k- kissing!!”

He exclaimed loudly. Hiding his face in his hands with a groan. You blinked at him with no expression, was he seriously getting bent out of shape over learning how to kiss? I mean sure it's kind of embarrassing kissing someone when you dont know how but, seriously?

“ zuku, that's what you were so nervous about? dude that's easy. just like pucker your lips n’ kiss. that easy.”

“ n-no but like.. urgh. I mean like.. making out? I guess? how do you just like keep it going...”

The way he looked at you, his eyes searching for something. You could tell he craved for something more.

You hum and think. Most of the time when you've made out with people the only thing on your mind is.....nothing! who thinks about things when they're making out?!

“ it's simple really,”

‘is it.’ Izuku thinks to himself.

“-all you really do is kiss. if you aren't sure about the mechanics of...well, anything, just let them take the lead.”

That seems easy enough but little did you know; he's petrified! He doesn't know how to kiss anyone. It's never happened to him before!

The frown that came onto his face was so sad n silly you couldn't help but smile. You clear your throat and think. ‘Is there any other way you can help him?’

Just as you were about to propose an idea, izuku speaks up.

“ can you..kiss me?”

The shocked face you made nearly made him cry. He whimpered and quickly looked away covering his mouth, he could not believe he just said such a thing.

“ i- I'm sorry I didn't mean it! Y'know what- let's just forget about this!”

He was quick to stammer an apology, instantly springing up and gathering his things to leave.

“ wait wait wait, hey stop!”

You quickly grab him and pull him back down to you. He was shaking in your hands.

“ hey, it's okay. really... sure, I can..kiss you.”

You give him a half smile and speak softly to him. He sniffled he wished you didn't speak to him like this, he wished he hadn't just embarrassed himself. He feels as if you feel pressured to do so because he said something as stupid as that.

You sounded so unsure it broke his heart.

“ you don't have -”

“ I know. I want to.”

He gasped lowly and looked in your eyes before gulping down. A red blush rushing to his freckled face. He had a wobbly expression that was quite weary, it fit exactly how this poor thing felt.

You ushered him closer so you could grab either side of his face, both of your hands finding themselves in his cheeks. You give him a small smile, this one more comforting and welcoming. As if you bear no judgement.

He bites the skin on his lip before you move your thumb and pull his lip from his teeth. His lip was quivering and you could slightly feel the roughness of it. He had a biting habit, normally doing it when he was stressed nervous or thinking. So y'know, all the time.

His breaths were uneven and jittery, he fiddled with his fingers and his eyes stayed locked onto you, he let you do anything you wanted to him. anything.

With a final sigh you move in slowly craning your head slightly to the side as you leaned in, izukus eyes widened and frantically moved across your body before squeezing shut. He whimpered lowly underneath his breath as your lips finally gently landed onto his.

To describe his lips would be; rough and quite plump yet pillowy/doughy. He had no idea what he was doing but all the more reason to help him learn!

You held his face closely and began pulling him deeper into the kiss. To help him of course! Not because you wanted to or anything! That would be.. ridiculously ridiculous.

His breathing slowed down yet his heart was still racing, practically beating out of his chest. His hands had stilled in his lap as he was completely taken away by the kiss.

You opened your mouth in the kiss which caused him to do the same, taking your advice to heart. He let you take complete control and just copied what you did.

Unintentionally you let your tongue swipe against his bottom lip causing him to jump a little. It startled him and he didn't know what to do with this. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't hot though.

Your tongue seemed as if it had a mind of its own diving into his mouth and dancing with his. He didn't know what he was doing but he played along with it. A groan let his mouth as he felt your tongue against his. It was so....weird yet enticing.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want more.

You could tell by the way he was heavily breathing through the kiss and occasionally through his nose that somehow he was getting breathless. You pulled away and let him catch his breath only for him to take a singular breath before pulling you back in, grabbing you by your thighs and pulling you into his lap.

Izuku held your hips tightly, his scarred hands gripping you like you were a cure for his illness. He wanted more, he was already so drunk off of what little you gave him. He needed more.

But just as you two were getting comfy a knock came to the door. Causing you to jump back and break the kiss again. He groaned in annoyance. His first time kissing someone gets interrupted. How lame

You were about to speak before izuku put his large hand around your mouth.

“ dont. maybe they'll go away.”

You look at him with wide eyes before slowly nodding. He kept his hand around your mouth though, just to ensure you didn't let out a noise.

You both waited for a couple of minutes before the sound of footsteps fading was heard momentarily.

Izuku removes his hand and sighs heavily.

“ well that was... something, huh?”

“ yeah...”

Izuku seemed quite disappointed the ‘lesson’ had to end.

“ so. whaddya think? how was your first make out session?”

fucking amazing. He wanted that shit to never end. He wanted to hold you closely once more and feel your soft lips on his. He wanted you to take his breath away and more.

“ it was cool!”

Yeah. ‘cool’.

“ it uhm, was very informative.”

“ yeah?”

“ mhm! although, tongues feel......weird.”

“ yeahh..”

You both blankly stared at one another before bursting into laughs.

You just hoped that this wouldn't cause any problems for you two in the future. It shouldn't though! Right?

AN: this is very old. I've only now finished it because I had the time.it's been a while since I've written anything, ik this isn't kinktober but I will be out with ‘wardrobe malfunction’ soon so don't kill me pls

[akixa]

Throughout || GunxF!Reader

At this point I'm just writing what I just dream...

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄, ⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂

⊹₊꒷︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹⊹₊꒷︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹⊹₊꒷︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹⊹₊꒷︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹

As the wife of Yamazaki Yuzuru, the heir of the powerful Yamazaki Syndicate in Japan, you are also known as the White Ghost. The news of your marriage to Gun Park came as a shock to many, as there was no prior announcement of the wedding, leading to speculation and surprise within your social circle.

Your relationship with Gun dates back to your childhood, as you both have known each other since the age of 10. Despite being the same age, Gun exudes a sense of maturity, and the strong bond between you has only grown over the years. He has always been a constant presence, following you wherever you go, and at school, the two of you are inseparable. While others may view you as mere classmates casually discussing homework and projects, in private, Gun demonstrates his affection by gently patting your cheek, kissing you on the forehead, and secretly placing a small flower on your bag.

As you settled into the rhythm of high school, you never expected to encounter Gun again, especially since he attended a different school and lived further away. However, one day, as you sat in your classroom, Gun casually strolled in with a vibrant bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand. Placing it delicately on your desk, he swiftly made his exit, leaving a faint blush lingering on his cheeks unnoticed by you as you marvelled at the beautiful blooms.

As time drifted by, you found yourself perched on the school rooftop engaged in deep conversation with Gun. During this exchange, he unexpectedly broached the subject of accompanying him to Korea, as he had been presented with a job opportunity there. After careful consideration, you concluded that you were committed to completing your college education in Japan, where you were already in your third year, and would soon be graduating. Beside you, Gun nodded in understanding as you pondered the potential outcome of his departure for Korea. Uncertain about how you would fare without him, an unsettling feeling nestled deep in your thoughts.

As you were lost in thought, he suddenly noticed a frown forming on your face. Worried that he might have upset you with his question, he gently reached out and softly brushed his fingers against your cheek, guiding your gaze to meet his. Cupping your face tenderly, he proceeded to caress your cheek with gentle affection. You were looking into each other's gaze.

“Once you go to Korea, will you come back to visit here?”

“Of course.”

He holds you so gently in that moment, forgetting everything except the moment you feel a soft touch on your lips, feeling your heart melodies match with Gun’s heartbeat as you slowly close your eyes and feel the embrace of each other.

As you strolled down the dimly lit hallway, the rhythmic tap of your footsteps reverberated off the walls. It had been five long years since you had lost touch with Gun. Upon completing your studies, you made a life-altering decision to venture to Korea in search of him. Stepping foot in a new country was an overwhelming experience, and it was filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Despite exchanging letters for a year, Gun remained silent, never acknowledging any of your heartfelt attempts to reconnect.

Currently, you are walking through the hallway of the HNH company, searching for a meeting room for a gathering of distinguished members. Due to your expertise in the field of marketing, Charles Choi hired you to make a favorable impression, and you have been working for him for a month.

As you arrive at the meeting, you already see Charles Choi sitting while typing on his laptop, next to him is his daughter Crystal doing something on her phone; and next to her is a pink-haired guy. You last heard that guy is a famous Korean idol. Lastly, on the other side of the table is a blonde guy talking to a pink guy who's not interested in the topic.

Upon your arrival, a blonde guy notices you entering the room, and in the blink of your eyes, he suddenly appears in front of you.

“Well, hello there, sugarplum. I'm Goo Kim, and it is a very pleasure to meet a beautiful lady.” Goo grabs your right hand and kisses behind it, making a smooch sound.

You look at him unimpressed and slightly disgusted, but you forcefully put a fake smile on your face and introduce yourself to him.

“Hello, I'm (name); it's nice to meet you too.” Smiling at him, you quickly retreat your hand and wipe the kiss away. Goo tries to take a closer look at your face, making you step backwards to bump into someone behind you.

You feel a soft hand touch on your shoulder, pulling you closer to them.

“Your bad breath will suffocate her, Goo. Back away.” A deep voice came out of nowhere. You look behind to see a black-haired guy with sunglasses on with scars between his eyes. You feel possessive toward this guy. How intriguing this is.

As you keep looking at him bickering with Goo. You took a chance to look underneath the sunglasses and noticed a UI eye was already looking down at you. Surprisingly, you only know one person who has black eyes and white pupils and is a Gun.

A cough from Charles signals you three to take a seat and start the meeting now.

After a meeting, everybody left the meeting room except you, and the sunglasses guy filled up the silence between you two. Your eyes widen as you look at the guy in front of you now, back pressed on your chair, a large hand gripping your shoulder, not too harsh to create a bruise.

“Thought I will never see you, Gun.”

Gun removes his sunglasses, showing off his UI eyes. Looking down at your small figure.

“You… Why are you here? ”

“What else? I'm also here to work.”

“Work here? If I were you, I would leave this place already for safety reasons.”

“Then why wouldn't you? And why are you not sending letters anymore? Don't you want me anymore..?”. You look at him with teary eyes. Feeling unpleasant through your chest when you see Gun's irritated face.

He let out a deep sigh and tenderly brushed away the tears that trickled down your cheeks. In that moment, his gentle touch made you feel as though you were being enveloped by the same warmth and care as you did many years ago.

“Believe me or not, but I did send you letters back. You are the one who didn't send it back to me.”

“What do you mean? I didn't get any… Don't play with me, Gun; you know I hate games.”

“I'm not joking.”

“Then how come you didn't visit me? You said you would...“

“I did, but work caught me and is your safety too. If I visit you, the enemies of mine will come at you and take you away from me. I was glad to know your position is safe, but the place you are working at is in danger.”

“Oh,...” As you looked down, a pang of guilt washed over you as you found yourself questioning Gun's true feelings for you. However, as you gazed back into his eyes, you were met with a warmth, adoration, and unmistakable love that instantly dispelled your doubt. The guilt in your chest gave way to a fluttering feeling of excitement and hope as your mind wandered, envisioning a future filled with happiness and love shared between the two of you.

He gave you a small smile as he leaned down to kiss you on your forehead before leaving the room all by yourself, a blushing mess.

“See you tonight, sweetheart.”

And that night in Gun’s apartment is the best moment together with him, tangled around on the bed, lips crashing together, exploring bodies, and whispering about how you two miss each other. Another year with him again.

As the years passed, both of you still worked for the same company. But Gun is busier than you being the bodyguard for Charles and his daughter and finding a next successor for him. The only time you two can see each other is at night at home, and on his day off, he sometimes spares time for you to get smooches, dates, cuddles, or anything in the short time with him.

When Gun received the news of your retirement, he rushed to his apartment to discuss the matter with you. However, he was left speechless when you revealed that you were pregnant. In a moment of shock, he stood still, unable to find the right words. You gently tried to get his attention, but then he slowly embraced you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to his chest. He held you with tenderness and affection, expressing his emotions wordlessly.

He is completely open to the idea of starting a family with you. In fact, he was overjoyed to embrace fatherhood and is now contemplating proposing to you at an earlier time, envisioning a little version of you both happily playing around the house. Speaking of homes, he even expressed interest in adding a larger, more luxurious residence to the list of potential purchases.

In this new spacious house, you find yourself cradling your daughter as she peacefully sleeps on your lap while you immerse yourself in the pages of a captivating book. Surprisingly, your daughter bears an uncanny resemblance to Gun, except for her eyes, which mirror your own as you gaze at Gun with affection. It's truly heartwarming and endearing.

Behind you, you hear footsteps approaching you. Gun see and your daughter having a comfortable time. You gesture at him to keep quiet, pointing at your daughter, who is still sleeping on your lap. He quietly made his way to you, kissing you on your forehead and his hand caressing your daughter's cheeks, sleeping figure.

"Her cheeks are plum."

"You mean she's cute."

"She is. She seems tired. What did she do all day?"

"Running around here and there." You let out exhausted sighs, making Gun chuckle at his daughter's behavior. Admiring you and the life you both created together. He glimpse at your ring finger the small diamond on the middle shining brightly reminding him that you are his wife and no one else.

“Tell Goo to stop stealing our daughter to sell drugs.”

“Will do.”

He kiss your forehead as you three proceed your evening together cuddling.

Ꮺ .

[dlwritings]

November 6, 2024 | Rafe Cameron

masterlist found here

pairing - Rafe x reader word count - 1,827 warnings - political talk, anti-T*ump rhetoric A/N - Who would've thought the shit show state of our world would inspire me to write again. I know for a lot of us everything feels really broken right now, and I know it may seem silly to some, but for me, writing feels like healing, even if it's just something like this. So here you all are. Rafe probably votes red, but here's a world where he doesn't. Also, if you're a T*umper, go ahead and unfollow me. I can't have any of that in my life. I'm so serious.

summary - The results of the 2024 election hit you pretty hard, and you end up taking your rage out on Rafe. Turns out, Rafe's hopes for the future looked a lot like yours.

You and Rafe didn’t talk about politics. You knew better than to broach the topic with him, because you weren’t naive. One glance at him and anyone could guess how he voted.

But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

The two of you had been dating for about six months, and for the most part, it was smooth sailing. It was gossip fuel for most people on the island for a few weeks -you being a pogue and Rafe being … who he was- but like most drama in Kildaire, it didn’t stay at the forefront of people’s minds for long before another thing came and stole back everyone’s attention.

And the thing on everyone’s mind right now was the election. The election that had you donned in blue on your way to the polls, a huge smile on your face as you filled in the bubble that would make history. Hope filled you in a way you were sure it never had before.

Until the next day.

Waking up and opening social media to see the results had already come in was enough to break your spirit completely. How could this have happened? How could the country have failed so many people?

Then again, how had you been so naive to believe in the possibility of any other outcome?

You shut yourself off from the world for most of the day. You went to work and gave polite smiles and nods to your coworkers as needed, but you did your best to spend the majority of your time locked in your office, alone. You didn’t dare to open social media, knowing every MAGA post from the bigots of the Figure 8 would bring tears to your eyes.

It wasn’t until you were at home on your couch that you decided to brave Instagram. Before scrolling through your feed, you added a black screen with a simple blue heart to your story and wrote the words, When we fight, we win.

You thought it was harmless. A simple story that showed your feelings without being overly dramatic. The last thing you wanted to do was act irrational by doing something crazy like storming the capitol. Because that would just be insane.

Unfortunately, the people who followed you saw it as anything but harmless. They saw it as an opening to send you the most heinous, revolting messages you had ever read. Your notifications blew up within minutes, and some of them were so borderline terrifying that you locked your phone and threw it across the room, once again leaving you in a puddle of tears.

You heard your front door open, and you cursed to yourself. In all the chaos of the news, it escaped your mind that it was Wednesday, and Rafe always brought pizza to your apartment on Wednesdays. You had once mentioned in passing that you liked a pick-me-up halfway through a week, and Rafe took it upon himself to provide you with that. Normally, it was one of your favorite parts of the week. Today, Rafe was one of the last people you wanted to see.

“Babe!” he called out upon his entrance. “I got your favorite!”

You met him in the kitchen, and by one look at your face, Rafe’s own expression dropped. “What’s going on?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. “I think you should go.”

“What?” he said, dropping the pizza on the counter and walking over to you. With each step he took toward you, you took one step back. He stopped quickly, a frown painted on his face. “What’s wrong, baby?”

The words made something snap inside you, and your fists clenched at your sides. “What’s wrong?” you repeated. “What’s wrong? How about fucking everything, Rafe! Everything’s wrong, and you not seeing that is part of the problem! You are part of the problem!”

Rafe was, in a word, flabbergasted. He ran through the past 24 hours, trying to think of something he had done wrong, but he was coming up short. “Okay, I’m-” He let out an exasperated laugh. “I’m trying to understand, but you’ve got to give me something more here. What did I do?”

“You-” You let out a huff of a breath and ended up speaking through gritted teeth. “You and your stupid fucking MAGA Kook friends voted for a convicted felon to run our country! You voted for a man who wants to throw away my rights. You voted for a man who has raped a multitude of women and brags about it!”

Rafe’s eyes were wide as he held his hands up and shook his head. “Hang on-”

“No, Rafe!” you shouted, pushing him back as he tried to get closer to you again. “For the entire time we’ve dated, I’ve danced around the talk of politics, because I knew better. I knew a rich ass white guy from the south would vote for another rich ass white guy to run our country, but I guess I naively thought it wouldn’t matter. That the poor guys would get a win for fucking once this time. For once I thought the good guys would win and that a white man would have to face the consequences of his actions. But you-” You laughed bitterly. “You of all people know that privileged ass white men never ever have to face the consequences of their actions.”

You were hitting him where it hurt, and you knew it, but you were hurt. You and every woman like you had been holding in years of pain and hurt, and for you and many others, today was the day it was all going to come out.

“Baby, if you just let me-”

“Let you?” you laughed incredulously. “You and your fellow MAGA guys have clearly shown me I don’t have to let you do anything anymore.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, unlocked it, and shoved it in his face to show him all of the nasty messages you were receiving. Things like, “Your body, my choice,” “whomp whomp go make me a sandwich,” and “Guess what? Men win again” had flooded your DMs, and while you didn’t know it, Rafe was clocking every username and making a very specific list in his head.

“So maybe you can understand why I’m angry, Rafe,” you said, taking the phone back out of his hand and putting it in your pocket again. “I thought I could cancel out your vote, but I guess I forgot that meant you could cancel mine.”

“Ba-”

“I want you to leave, Rafe.”

“But I didn’t-”

“Fucking, go, Rafe!” you shouted. “Let me be angry and let me be alone!”

With a clenched jaw, Rafe gave a short nod. “Okay,” he whispered. “Fine.” It looked like he wanted to say more, but he refrained, instead turning around and heading out the door, leaving you in a mess of tears.

The next day, you called off from work. Maybe it was dramatic, but you didn’t care. You knew if one person even looked at you in a way you didn’t like, you’d lose any composure you had, and you couldn’t afford to lose your job for yelling at your boss.

You had the full intention to stay in bed all day, but the relentless knock at your door around 10AM proved that to be impossible. You felt some sense of relief, knowing it at least wouldn’t be another political petitioner.

Instead, perhaps just as unfortunately, it was Rafe.

You let out a heavy sigh. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He held out his hand which had a coffee cup in it from your favorite shop. “I went to your work, but your boss said you were sick,” he said. “I bought you coffee.” You took it, but didn’t say anything -just looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Anything else? “Can we please talk?” he said.

“I don’t know what there is to say, Rafe,” you sighed. Still, you stepped aside and let him in, not wanting your neighbors to bear witness to whatever argument was about to ensue. “I know we’re different -I’ve always known that- but I don’t think I can handle being this kind of different anymore.” You plopped yourself onto the sofa, expecting Rafe to sit next to you. Instead, he crouched in front of you so he was just slightly looking up at you.

“Baby, I didn’t vote for him.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock, and you felt tears instantly pool in your eyes.

“What?” you whispered.

“Yeah, of course I didn’t vote for him,” he said. He reached up to turn around the hat he was wearing backwards to reveal a Harris-Walz cap, and you let out a noise that was a mix of a gasp and a little laugh. “I know I’ve fucked up before baby,” he said. “And in other elections, yeah, I usually vote red. But this-” He shook his head and squeezed your knees. “This is different. And I know that. And I’d be an absolute moron to think that tax cuts for me are more important than basic rights for you.”

You moved to kneel on the floor next to him and held his face in your hands before leaning forward to place a soft kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, you kept your forehead against his. “I was so mean to you yesterday,” you whispered. “I didn’t-”

“It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve,” he said. “I know that I am living in a world that was pretty much tailor made for me. And I know I should be in fucking prison for all the shit I’ve done, and so should he. And I know that none of what I’m saying right now changes the bullshit I’ve done, but I figured I should at least use all this fucking privilege I have and try to help people who don’t have it. Because you-” He paused to press a kiss to your lips. “-have taught me so much about being a good person. And I’m not going to vote against that.”

“I wasn’t a good person yesterday,” you mumbled.

“You were reacting to an unfortunately historic event,” he said. “You had every right to lose it. And you can keep losing it, and I will be by your side for every minute of it, okay?”

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. “Okay.”

He smiled back and nodded. “Okay.”

You and Rafe decided to spend the rest of the day together, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting in the quiet. When you suggested putting on a movie, Rafe agreed. He let you choose, no complaints, and watched as you searched for the Barbie movie. You cried at all the usual parts, sometimes a bit harder than normal, but Rafe understood.

It is literally impossible to be a woman.

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

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[platinumshawnn]

A Union of Ice and Stone | Cregan Stark — pt i

prologue (prev) | pt ii (next)

Synopsis: “I hope to be able to establish a union between our houses, one between the East and North. Our fathers were friends in their youth, even closer in their later years…they would have wanted for us to be friends, too.”

Content Warning(s): adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content.

A/N: it’s here and I don’t even know what to tell yall 🤺

Word count: 8.3k

inspiration playlist

 She had never met him. 

 She had heard the stories, of course, the whispers and telltale's of Stark men and their fierceness and  prowess in battle. She had heard stories as a girl of the young Cregan Stark, who had ascended to lordship at the tender age of ten-and-three and though his reign had been slow to come into effect after a lengthy power struggle against his uncle, he had risen fully to power just a few years later -- she had heard of his reputation as a stoic, stern man who was the very embodiment of Northernmen. 

Her father had spoken of him on several occasions in front of her to her brother, fascinated by him and the stories that followed his reign in the north. She recalled the roll of eyes her brother gave every time his name came up at the dinner table, eager to change the topic and deflect to something more worthy of his attention; anything that did not include the boy he had complained he was certain their father would have preferred as a son. Arrnold was never quite as gifted in swordsmanship and had never had a way with the horses -- he managed to just get by with a dagger, but not much else -- nor was he great with people and did not do well in positions of power as he was easily tipped into an internal battle between his pride and ego. It was not as though their father was disappointed in him, but Lysara assumed that just as any father would have preferred, he would have liked for him to share more similarities to that of the young Stark. 

 She had sank into the scalding hot water of her bath as soon as it was poured despite the outcry from her handmaiden who insisted she wait until it had cooled enough to her liking, wincing as she stepped into it and brushed her off; her skin reddening upon submerging into the water that reflected the flames of the fire that was carefully tended to by house staff to ensure the room was kept to a tolerable temperature. Every nerve stung and screamed for mercy as she had sunk in until the water lapped at her shoulders, her hair sticking to her spine as she had sat upright and scrubbed at her skin until she no longer could and cried out at how sensitive and raw every inch had become -- her face scrunched up and tossing the cloth out of the tub to the floor with a wet splosh. It was only once the water had grown cold did she remove herself, seeking her robes and allowing her handmaiden, Ophelia, to comb out her hair and braid it down her back; the long ends of her hair resting at the base of her spine. 

“My lady,” Ophelia gasped, her fingers gently touching her shoulder that peaked out from beneath the fabric of her robe as she sat in the stool in front of her, “What have you done to yourself?” She asked, her voice laced with concern. 

She did not reply, rather she frowned and brought a hand up quickly, touching to the same spot and wincing, “I…I suppose I was a bit heavy-handed.” She confessed, her voice quiet. 

She heard a soft ‘tsk’ of her tongue, grateful that despite her confinement, Jeyne had at least spared Ophelia's presence -- the only thing she had that tied her to the outside world two days later, “Shall I have the Maester bring firemilk to soothe them?” Ophelia asked, her voice soft and sweet. 

“You needn’t worry, Ophelia,” She assured, gently pushing her hand away when the girl attempted to scan the back of her neck by moving the smooth silk away, “It is only a little scratch…it will be fine in the morning.” 

“It is more than a scratch,” She stated, releasing the fabric, “here, disrobe— I can take a look, Ser Alfred can summon the maester…” “Please do not fret, Ophelia, it is fine,” She quickly said, pulling away from her abruptly and standing; her hand covering the back of her neck, “We mustn't give Lady Jeyne any more reason to worry than she already does.”

Her hand slid from her nape, resisting the urge to wince at how sensitive the skin had become and reaching for Ophelia’s hand with a tight smile, “I promise you I will be fine,” She quietly lied, “She has enough to deal with as is, yes?” 

Ophelia’s light eyes reflected her scepticism, narrowing and visibly still wary as she slowly nodded after a moment — she could see through her after several years of working one-on-one with Lysara; Ophelia knew her better than most. She knew when she was being sincere, and she knew when she was lying, not that she was any good at it — she knew how to pick up on the tone and the way she chewed the inside of her cheek, clenched her fists behind her back, and grit her teeth until it physically pained her whenever she was stressed; there was no hiding anything from her, Lysara knew that. However, Ophelia knew her limits and did not push. 

“Tell me, is Lord Stark still here?” Lysara asked, stepping closer and lowering her voice to a whisper. Her eyes darted towards the door while her chin lowered, where she knew one of Ser Herrold’s men was posted at all times — there seemed to be no hour where there wasn’t someone hovering over her these days, someone’s gaze on her. It was suffocating and slowly, with each passing day that she was confined to these walls, she found her sanity ticking away bit by bit, leaving only a thread remaining. 

Ophelia stuttered for a moment, her frown deepening, “I…I don’t think I am supposed to speak to you about that, my lady.” 

“By whose order?” 

Her eyes lowered, “Lady Jeyne…she worries it will only further distress you and add to your condition,” She explained, eyeing their conjoined hands. 

Her words resembled a rehearsed script, as though she had been specifically instructed on the matter in the event that she asked. She had to suppress the twitch of her eyebrow, feeling the little muscle beneath it beginning to give way to her annoyance as she brought her hand to gently massage it with a fingertip, “And what condition might that be?” She asked, drawing out the word for emphasis. 

Again, she stammered, evidently confused as it seemed to dawn on her that the gap had not been filled during her conversation with her Lady cousin, “I…I’m not sure, I suppose.” 

She forced another tight smile, “Ophelia, I appreciate your worry but you needn’t fret over me. I am not some delicate flower that needs protecting,” She reassured, her hand giving hers a gentle squeeze. The two women were quiet, the silence between them only filled by the faint sound of orders from men being barked across the court and the restless whinny of horses that trotted in with supply. Her eyes drifted towards the windows that had been left open to let some air in, a cool, spring breeze wafting through the room; a commodity she was grateful for as she drew in a deep breath and exhaled it, her shoulders rising and falling with that very breath. Her eyes closed briefly, releasing Ophelia’s hand to draw back toward herself. 

“Is there any truth to them?” She asked suddenly, her eyes lowering again and avoiding hers as though she feared she had overstepped as Lysara looked at her, “Were you with Gareth Royce?”

She blinked rapidly twice, hesitating, “He is merely a childhood friend,” She answered. 

Again, there was a look in her eye that suggested she knew the truth -- she knew she was lying, but was not bold enough to say anything more on the subject. Ophelia sighed, her shoulders slouching with the action and looking towards the door for a moment, “He is still here,” She admitted. 

“Your cousin has him set up in the west wing of the keep,” She quietly muttered, looking up at her, “He left yesterday before dawn with some men, I'm not sure for what…but he is due to return today. There have been meetings for the past two days regarding his presence.” 

She frowned, “Is there any word yet of his reason for coming?” 

She shook her head quickly, “Not yet, but I heard the young squire boy, Tommen, speaking…there has been word of Criston Cole’s men heading west, slaughtering lords and their men,” She explained, words rushed with anxiety, “I suppose he assumes if he threatens violence, it will turn support in favour of Aegon II. His men have been spotted near Rook’s Rest…” 

“Open the gates!” 

Her head whipped towards the window, the two women exchanging a look of wide eyes and a confused curiosity as they rushed towards the overlook — the gates creaked, echoing throughout the yard as they were slowly pulled open by the guards who stood post, the two women leaning over the ledge to watch from the balcony that overlooked. A few men stumbled in first on their horses, a series of shouts following them as they ordered their horses in thick accents that Lysara struggled to understand — she had heard the northernmen speak once before as a young girl but it had been several years since. She strained to catch a glimpse, bent at the waist and gripping the railing with a tight grip, scanning the men that poured through the gates. It felt as though there was more than ‘some’ men, but then again, her companion had not specific to the number — she watched the two dozen men come hurling through the gates, followed by the massive slab of a man who was enveloped in furs, his mouth moving in a low order that she was begging to hear. 

Her eyes narrowed, shielding her eyes from the sun that blurred her vision as she scanned the yards. She assumed as much that this was the man she’d heard whispers of throughout her childhood — that this was the imposing Warden of Winterfell, hardly a man grown but already possessing such power and influence it surprised her. 

He appeared much younger than she had envisioned. 

His horse moved forward a few more paces toward the front steps before halting, his hands raising in a sharp jerk on the reins to pull back as she suddenly noticed that he was greeted by the imposing presence of her cousin. Jeyne waited patiently, allowing him an opportunity to dismount before descending the stairs and approaching him. Her eyes had turned to focus on the large blade that was strapped to his back, swinging with each movement as he sauntered towards her, his hand coming up to steady it by the strap and coming to a halt in front of her cousin. The interaction was brief and tense despite his civilities to lower his head in a curt bow before exchanging what she assumed were short pleasantries of his journey and welcoming him back — it stunned her that despite the striking appearance that was hard to miss, Lysara did not understand how she had missed him the first time he arrived. 

She watched as they spoke, turning to sweep their gaze across the gardens that made up the front yards, Jeyne gesturing for him to follow her lead down the path and away from the doors — she leaned into the railing with her hip, turning to face them fully and lifting her chin, “We shouldn’t be here,” Ophelia suddenly said in a harsh whisper. 

“Just…one more moment,” she said, her head turning slightly to glance at the girl beside her. She looked down again, eyes following the path they took. 

He appeared as distant as ever, his expression blank and unreadable as he looked at her cousin briefly before turning to look ahead with disinterest; he did not look as though he wanted to be there, and under ideal circumstances, Lysara assumed he wouldn’t have been. His presence this far south perplexed her — the vale and the north had long shared similar values and beliefs, loyal to their oaths and how they served their people; but she saw little reason and could not conjure up any rational explanation that would bring him to their door — though the war had left the entire realm in stuck in a place of fear and uncertainty, forcing everyone’s hand into unusual positions that they normally would not have found themselves in. She could only imagine how warm he was underneath the thick layers of pelt this far south. 

 His head nodded in response to something Jeyne said, stopping then and facing her — his mouth moved again and if she strained enough, she could hear the low mutter, but his words still did not reach her, “I believe he has a son,” Ophelia quietly confessed, “a young tot.” 

“He’s married?” She asked, looking back at her. 

She hesitated, mouth pursing, “His wife died in childbirth, my lady.” 

She withdrew a sharp breath, lips parting and lifting her chin, “Oh…that’s rather unfortunate,” she muttered. 

She paused, an uncomfortable feeling settling over her at the news that she reeled from, her head turning reluctantly to look down again. His head moved to look right as they spoke, circling the garden and absentmindedly taking in the view and turning it into a one-sided conversation, while his attention focused on watching his men round up their horses, his gaze briefly glazing over some house staff that offered assistance. He looked out of place among the green of the vale. 

She could vaguely make out the purse of his mouth, a grimace-like smile as he nodded to a young maid who stepped out of their way, a basket in her hands filled to the brim with herbs. The girl’s head lowered as they passed, only lifting again to resume her brisk walk through the yard once they were a foot away and even then, her head turned to look back over her shoulder to give them a final glance. Lysara found it fascinating how easily he could draw attention to himself without even trying, muchless without being aware of it. She couldn’t blame them — the servants, the councilmen, who ogled him like he was some fascinating, yet terrifying creature — he truly was a sight to behold; the embodiment of Northerners, adorned in furs and self-assured as he carried himself with confidence. He seemed to exist in his own world, paying little mind to the one that surrounded him as his head turned to look ahead. 

She rocked back on her heels, pushing away from the window finally and retreating towards the step that approached the balcony a few feet behind them. Ophelia stood over her as she slowly sat on the floor, watching as she folded her hands into her lap and restlessly fidgeted with her fingers, picking at her nails — her hands clasped together, her eyes resting on a freckle between the knuckle of her forefinger and middle.  

Ophelia watched her cautiously before stepping closer, her voice gentle but firm, “My lady, you shouldn’t dwell on this,” She glanced between Lysara’s fidgeting hands and her downcast gaze, worry etching into her expression.

Lysara’s lips thinned, her thoughts in turmoil. Her mind should have been fixed on Gareth, on the risk she’d taken, sneaking off to meet him and defying her cousin's orders. But now, her attention drifted to the presence of Cregan Stark—the cold, stoic Warden of the North—whose sudden arrival cast a shadow over everything. His disinterest in the south was obvious, yet here he was. His mere existence raised questions that begged answers, and it gnawed at her more than she cared to admit.

She looked back at Ophelia, her voice steady but tight, “I know, but I want to understand why he is here,” Her gaze flickered toward the doors again that opened to the balcony, catching the glimpse of his broad shoulders as he moved out of view, his figure towering over Jeyne’s slight frame, “Does it not frighten you?” 

Ophelia shifted uneasily, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirts, "Perhaps it's for a matter of alliances," she ventured, lowering her voice, "The war has changed everything... people are seeking security where they can find it."

Lysara nodded slowly, her eyebrows arching with a dismissive flick, though the pit in her stomach told her there was more to it than just alliances. Her cousin was ambitious, calculating—and the way Jeyne had prevented her involvement in matters was something that left her both wary and furious. Lysara’s gut told her that whatever had brought Cregan Stark to the Eyrie was bigger than just a simple visit, a thought alone that made her nauseous with anxiety as she stood up; her hands brushing over her thighs and smoothing out the robe that fell to her ankles. 

“That does not answer my question,” She said, turning her head to look at her, “are you not frightened by this war? With your own brother already put to death in battle…”

Ophelia’s mouth had opened, ready to reply but hesitating, a pained look crossing her features. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes casting downwards as she seemed to weigh the question — she did not want to rehash old wounds, but rather, prove a point. His presence was not one to be taken lightly — however, her expression caused a wave of guilt to wash over her as she sighed, stepping toward her and dropping her hands to her sides, “I’m sorry, I do not mean to remind you of what has been lost and use your grief as a pawn of my own use,” she quietly said. 

Ophelia stilled, stiff as she forced a tight smile in her direction with glossy eyes, blinking rapidly to suppress the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes, “I know.” 

She did not know how to further express her apologies in a way that would mean something. She felt she had already stepped too far, in the direction of reopening a wound that had yet to heal, unintentionally inflicting her pain. Instead, she moved forward, taking a step to close the space between them and bringing her hands to her cheeks, a bold gesture as she held her face between her palms; her thumbs brushing her cheeks. Ophelia forced a pained smile, her gaze lowering as she leaned forward and pressed a light, comforting kiss to her right temple. 

She lingered there for a moment, only withdrawing as their silence was disturbed by the harsh, unwelcomed sound of her door slamming open suddenly. Her hands pulled back, still hung in the space that Ophelia created between them as she stepped back quickly, their heads both turning to find as Ser Herrold emerged from the doorway — his expression a look of confused wariness, his eyes landing on her outstretched hands. It was then that his expression morphed into something of disgust, a second young knight at his side, “By gods, what are you up to now?” He asked, walking forward and further into her room, his left hand at his sword on his waist, “Must you stain this Houses’ reputation further by fraternising with not one, but two traitorous commoners?” 

Ophelia stumbled back, Lysara’s head turning to watch as she steadied herself against the bench that knocked the back of her knees with a clatter. She tugged the robe around her to fix it as Ophelia quickly shuffled forward to use her body to shield hers, her back to her front as she moved in between them, “You really shouldn’t barge in on a lady as she dresses,” She snapped, dismissing his comment, “It’s rude and improper.” 

A second quiet handmaiden entered the room with her head down as she approached the two women, beginning to gather her dress and hold it up in front of her as an effort to providing her modesty despite the circumstances, “Hardly anything you haven’t already flaunted for all of the realm,” He spat. 

“You would do well to remember your place, Ser Herrold,” She shot back, hands tugging the robes off her shoulders and smoothing out her shift. The two women quickly worked to slide the dress over her head and on, anxiously glancing back towards the knight who had yet to remove himself from the confines of her room, “What do you want?” She snapped suddenly, growing increasingly uncomfortable with his presence. 

“Your cousin requested your presence for supper,” He finally said, his words stiff as though he was physically pained by the suggestion. 

“How kind,” She quipped, scoffing a bitter laugh. 

Ophelia worked to pull the dress down her legs, straightening the skirts and doing up the lace behind her neck as Lysara turned around and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, “It is, considering the council would rather you be locked away for the rest of your life like your traitorous brother,” he explained, fist clenching at his side, “I among them.” 

The final comment had been a mutter — as though he meant to show some degree of restraint and quiet himself; as though he had remembered himself suddenly but it did not stop the improper gaze that bore into her shoulders, silent as she fumbled to fix the bust of her dress and adjust her hair down her spine, the two women at her feet fixing the dress around her feet. Her head turned to look at him from the corner of her eye. 

“Must you hover and watch everything I do?” 

“If you could be trusted, we would not be here,” He readily snapped, “I will be escorting you down to the hall to meet Lady Jeyne and Lord Stark.” 

She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise at the idea, rigid as she hesitated in her movements as she gave one last tug on her neckline, “I’m sure one of your men could handle a single woman just fine,” She huffed, withdrawing from the coverage her women provided. She fixed her sleeves as she approached him, ready to brush past and out the door, but his hand found her upper arm and yanked her back towards his side, “I can walk just fine.”

Ophelia had attempted to follow at her heels but was stopped by his sharp stare, holding up his free hand at her, “Ah-ah, not you— you are to stay here.” 

They shared a brief look, Lysara’s head slowly turning to look up at him, “Do you think I would have you bolt off and lie to my men again?” He asked, his head lowering to speak so closely she flinched at the feeling of his breath on her neck, “I will not have you making false promises, seducing my men like the witch you are.”  

Of all the knights in the Eyrie, Lysara had found his presence to be the most unsettling — ever since she had been a child, she could recall memories of the utter terror he had instilled in her; terrified and cowering behind her father’s back whenever he had entered a room. She recalled a brief moment in her youth when she had felt comfortable with him, enough that as a child, she had almost considered him to be a friend — but in her adolescence, she had noticed a sudden shift. A new hostility that had appeared overnight, and suddenly he was no longer a sense of comfort, but rather something she tried her absolute best to avoid — she felt as though it was the opposite for him, however, seeking her out instead to look down upon her and belittle her at every turn or opportunity he could find the excuse of. And yet again, she found herself being manhandled by him, dragging her like a spoiled child on display through the halls as she was pulled out of the room quickly before she could even process the movement; her eyes anxiously glancing around her to watch as the house staff lowered their eyes as they passed. Her face burned in embarrassment as she grabbed her skirt to lift it out of her path, barely avoiding tripping over her own feet in attempt to keep up with his pace — despite her obvious struggle to match his pace, he jerked her forward when she fell behind a few steps too many, stumbling onto the first step of the stairs that descended towards the front entrance. 

She’d yet to see anyone of importance, neither her cousin nor the Lord Stark himself despite her prayers that one would appear before them in that moment and intervene like some saviour sent by the gods, her eyes briefly lifting from her feet to scan the entrance, lit by the midday sun that streamed in through the front doors. It would have been a beautiful day, with the soft breeze, and the gentle chirp of birds that filled the fields. Lysara would have spent her day in the yard, reading, and basking in the day until the early signs of dusk began to blanket the Eyrie — she would remain out of the way of the council and guards who hovered, away from trouble and otherwise distracted from the worrying thoughts about Gareth that had haunted her for two nights. But instead, she was forced towards the grand hall where the only noise was the soft hum of chatter between her cousin and the stranger she had only heard of through stories, their voices slipping under the doors as she caught her breath. 

The doors were soon opened upon her arrival, her head turning to look back towards the room that stood, towering before her, “My Lady,” Ser Herrold announced in greeting, releasing her arm with a subtle shove forward, “Lady Lysara, as you requested.”

Jeyne remained seated, staring at her with a slow blink, her expression blank. To her right, Cregan stood to greet her, hands planted against the table as they all fell silent. 

Lysara froze under her cousin’s gaze, heaving for air as her head quickly dipped with the curtsy she offered, her eyes pinned to the floor at the edge of her shoes, “Thank you, Ser Herrold,” Jeyne said after a beat, “Come, join us.” 

She turned to look behind her where the second knight who had been quiet stood, his eyes catching hers for a moment. His head lowered in a single subtle nod, averting his gaze. 

Her eyes timidly lifted back in front of her, standing upright and blinking rapidly. She could feel his eyes on her even without turning to face him, bearing into her as he sat back in his chair — Ser Herrold’s feet shuffled from behind her, following closely behind as she reluctantly entered and approached the seat closest to her cousin; the hair on the back of her neck prickling with anxiety as she let out a quiet sigh, each of his steps masking the sound of hers with the heavy clank of his armour, “Tell me, Lady Jeyne,” Cregan suddenly said, his voice a smooth, low rumble that was thick with accent, “Do your men make a habit of manhandling women like children do toys?” He asked, his index finger tapping against his chalice as his gaze had darted towards her.

Her gaze had followed their movements as Lysara approached, hearing as the knight came to an abrupt stop, “No,” She stiffly replied. Her hand lifted in a subtle wave to dismiss the knight who scowled, begrudgingly backing towards the furthest corner he could hide himself in, “Ser Herrold is just an overly cautious man.” 

She noted the evident edge to her tone, her eyes fixed on him with a narrowing of her eyes -- she wanted for her to see his behaviour and acknowledge it for what it was. See him for the bully he was and say something; offer some sort of punishment or scolding, but she was silent. Her mouth twitched, like words were on the tip of her tongue and threatening to breach the surface as her chin lifted, glancing between him and Lysara once -- somewhere, she knew she could have pieced it together. She could see something. But instead, she was silent and lowered her chin. 

Lysara looked over her shoulder as she leaned into her chair by her hands, sliding it out enough to slip into it and sit, her eyes finding the annoyed expression of the knight. Her attention only shifted at the sound of his chalice being set down from across the table after a slow sip, “He’s a funny way of showing it,” Cregan muttered. 

Her hands smoothed over the lap of her dress, allowing a servant to bring forward a flagon of wine and offering it to the cup in front of her — she nodded encouragingly as her nerves seem to ramp up, rearing its ugly head in her face as her stomach churned, the room silent aside from the sound of the drink being poured, “Thank you,” Lysara quietly said, dismissing the girl who had come forth. 

 “Lady Lysara has a history of sneaking off and getting herself into trouble, My Lord,” Ser Herrold said aloud. 

Her eyes lifted, her hands stuck to her lap as she met his gaze; a shade that resembled the stormy grey skies that hung over the Eyrie in the spring, his expression plain of any trace of emotion — utterly still as he stared across at her, unflinching and unwavering as his eyes flickered in the direction of the man who spoke. 

 “I was not speaking to you,” He said, his head turning just enough to crane his attention towards him with his sharp tone, looking at him from the corner of his eye. 

She felt a swell of self-satisfaction for once as his mouth snapped shut, stunned and humiliated as his face flushed, “My sincere apologies, my lord, I only meant…” 

“And yet you continue,” Cregan interrupted. 

Lysara reached for her cup, bringing it to her mouth to conceal the smile that threatened to make its appearance, smug as the guard cleared his throat and nodded with his head lowered, “She is a woman, not a war criminal, Ser Herrold.” 

She noted the subtle irritation in his voice as he reached towards his plate, picking a grape that had been placed there and plucking it from the dish — he eyed it for a moment, “Do you care for more wine, Lord Stark?” Jeyne asked, her right hand rising to wave forward the girl who hovered with the flagon, watching as she hurried forward readily to refill his cup. 

He dropped the grape back on the plate and covered his cup to stop her, his mouth pursing into something that could have resembled a stiff smile in the direction of the girl who meekly nodded and withdrew again. The silence that befell them again was one of tension that could have been cut through with a knife, her gaze darting to her cousin. She swallowed. 

“Lord Stark here was just telling me about his journey here,” Her cousin suddenly said, reaching for her knife and fork, beginning to cut into the duck on her plate. Her cousin shared a look with her, looking between her and the Lord who was quiet, her head slightly turning as a young servant boy brought forward a plate of duck for Lysara. 

“Might I too ask, to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” She softly asked, her voice hoarse as she absentmindedly picked at her nails in her lap. The thought of food was nauseating, her left hand lifting to cover her mouth for a moment, suppressing the shudder that fought to rip through her. 

“He marches towards the West I believe,” Jeyne answered. 

“Oh?” 

His gaze had flickered towards her cousin, mouth pressed into a thin line that was a telltale of his annoyance — irritated by the trend of speaking above or for him, “On behalf of the heir to the iron throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen— I have two thousand men who will soon go to battle under her command along the Lakeshore. I only mean to lead them there in three days' time,” he quietly explained, looking at her, “there they will meet the Kingmaker and his men, at which time I plan to return to Winterfell, where my duties are.” 

Lysara’s breath caught in her throat as she met Cregan's gaze, the weight of his words settling heavily between them. The room seemed to shrink, the tension building like the thick storm clouds gathering outside. Jeyne, ever composed, set down her utensils, a calculating look crossing her face.

“The Kingmaker,” Lysara repeated slowly, the name spoken with a mix of reverence and disdain, “You speak of Criston Cole, yes?”

Cregan nodded, his eyes still locked on hers, “Yes, my lady.”

Jeyne leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes observing the subtle exchange between them. “And so you come to the Eyrie for what, Lord Stark? To gather more men? To seek counsel?”

Cregan’s gaze finally broke away from Lysara, shifting to Jeyne, “I come to ensure that the Vale remains loyal to its oaths. To remind House Arryn of its duty to the realm and to secure safe passage through your lands.”

Jeyne's lips curled into a faint smile, her tone measured, “The Vale is loyal, Lord Stark. You need not worry about that.”

Lysara dropped her hand to her lap, feeling the undercurrents of power play between them. She could sense Jeyne’s mind working, considering the implications of Cregan’s words. The Vale’s loyalty was unwavering, but it was not without its own interests.

“I trust that it is,” Cregan replied, his voice steady, though his eyes flicked back to Lysara, as if searching for something in her expression, “But it is not only loyalty that concerns me.”

Jeyne raised an eyebrow, “Oh? And what else?”

Her gaze lowered to the dish in front of her, the scent of its content wafting towards her nose as she let out a slow, steady breath through parted lips. In the edge of her vision, she watched as his hand clenched into a fist, relaxing after a moment, “You and I share commonalities — both in our loyalty to our houses’ and duties, the way we lead,” he said, words short and clipped, “I hope to be able to establish a union between our houses, one between the East and North, one that could benefit us both.” 

She reached out to collect her fork and knife as she listened, one ear attentive to his every word and slowly cutting into the meal in front of her. The pause in his statement prompted her to glance towards her cousin who had taken a break from her task, seemingly weighing his words. 

“Despite the circumstances of my visit, I hope that my presence is the first step in that very direction,” He added. 

Her gaze lingered, trying to gauge her reaction as she took a piece of the duck between her teeth, watching as the corner of her mouth twitched. She let out a short hum, forcing a thin smile in his direction and lifting her chin, a breath being exhaled through her nose as Jeyne gave him a nod, “We would be greatly honoured to be allied alongside your house, Lord Stark.” 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She had dreaded the moment supper was done — as soon as it was over, she knew she would be back within the walls of her room for however long, until things blew over and Jeyne had forgiven her, and finally allowed her to return to being a contributing member of society. She would go insane, memorising every crack in the wall, every chip in the floor, and only come out for the necessities. 

Dinner came and went quickly, silent enough that she could hear every drag of Jeyne’s utensils against the plate as she ate, setting her nerves on edge. Every so often, she caught a pair of eyes on her, grey and bored as he occasionally picked at the fruit on his plate — she assumed the only reason he stayed as long as he had was for the sake of respect and decency, only excusing himself once Jeyne was finished. 

She walked behind them, close on their heels as they departed the hall, her hands folded in front of her and flicking her attention between them. There was a low hum of discussion that passed between them, polite pleasantries regarding dinner and ensuring Cregan was comfortable with his accommodations; despite her cool demeanour, Jeyne never failed to play the hospitable host. She had taken after her father that way. Gracious enough to treat her guests with warmth and open arms, but cautious and calculated enough to always be a step ahead. 

“I do hope House Arryn is as much home to you as Winterfell while you are with us,” Jeyne said with a finality to her words, ceasing her walk as they neared the hall that split between the stairs to their wing and the west hall. Her hands clasped in front of her, “Should there be anything you require, please…I would like to see to it that you have everything you need.” 

His head turned to look down the hallway, giving her a slow nod in reply. Jeyne’s shoulder nudged hers as she let out a breath, turning to look at her and raising her eyebrows, “We will let you get settled then, Lord Stark. Lysara?” 

Her eyes flickered between him and her cousin once, watching as she was dismissed with a subtle tilt of her cousin’s head, Ser Herrold’s hand readily prepared to pull her back to her chambers — his fingers wrapped around her elbow as she gave a curt nod to her cousin. 

Cregan turned his head back, “Actually…” He said, his eyes falling to Herrold’s hand, “I was hoping Lady Lysara and I might go for a walk.” 

As his eyes lifted to meet hers, she noted the lack of room for objection as he spoke, his tone lacking something of suggestion and rather, an order that she felt no reason to argue against. She saw the look of confusion in her cousin’s eyes as she stepped away from Herrold’s grasp with a slow, drawn out breath, “Of course,” She replied. It was then that the thought crossed her mind to look at her cousin again, gathering her skirts and imploring her approval, “unless you require my presence, cousin…” Her words were slow and cautious, her voice soft as Cregan extended an elbow to her. 

Jeyne hesitated, her left eye twitching, “No, I do not.” 

She accepted his elbow, her hand sliding around it as she stepped toward him; the heat of Ser Herrold’s presence still radiating from behind her. She heard him step forward as Jeyne turned and began to ascend the stairs, while he instead followed her steps, Cregan’s head turning just enough to eye him from the corner of his eye, “We do not require a chaperone.” 

His mouth opened, prepared to argue, but silenced as Jeyne spoke from the stairs, “Ser Herrold,” She firmly called to him, “I think we shall see Lady Lysara and Lord Stark first thing in the morrow, yes?” 

She could see his annoyance, clear as ever in his face as he let out a huff, staring at the pair of them; though even she looked closely, in his eyes, she could see a twinkle of fear when he found Cregan’s cool gaze, wavering for a moment. Her male companion, in contrast, was calm and collected, unfazed as he held his stare for a moment before Ser Herrrold broke it by turning away. His feet carried him up the stairs ahead of Jeyne, her own softer ones following his after one last glance to Lysara, her stare sharp with an unspoken warning. 

A silence befell the hall as she retreated, her men at her side and following her up the stairs, giving them not one last look before they disappeared from view, leaving her alone in his presence. It was then that she finally exhaled a breath, a sigh of relief and relaxed, her head lowering to look down at her feet, “We do not have to go anywhere, if you do not wish it,” Cregan quietly stated. 

She looked up at him, startled by the softness of his voice, “If you would rather be abed, I will not force you to keep me company.” 

His eyes darted to look over her head and up the stairs where her cousin had retreated only moments earlier, before looking down at her again. She frowned in obvious confusion, “Do you not wish to walk?” 

His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile at the left corner as his lips parted, a low breathy sound that resembled a laugh leaving him. His eyes lowered, “Only if you wish,” He said, lifting his gaze. 

“If you did not wish to walk, then what…” She asked, her voice drifting off, “what did you want?” 

“To be rid of Ser Herrold,” Cregan plainly admitted. 

Lysara blinked, digesting Cregan’s words. For a moment, her confusion melted into something warmer—an unexpected sense of freedom. Her hand remained loosely tucked around his arm as they stood there, the hall’s silence pressing down on them.

“You wanted to be rid of him?” she repeated, half in disbelief.

Cregan’s lips twitched again, a flicker of amusement, “Aye. His hovering becomes tiresome. I’d hoped for a moment without his shadow looming over us.”

Lysara’s gaze flicked toward the stairs where her cousin had disappeared. The subtle pulse of power in his voice caught her off guard, reminding her that Cregan Stark wasn’t just any northern lord. 

“I see,” she finally said, her voice steady, “Well, you’ve succeeded. Ser Herrold won’t trouble us tonight.”

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Lysara found herself searching Cregan’s expression, but his face remained impassive, save for the glint in his eyes. She felt the cool air settle around them, and the moment stretched longer than either expected.

“Shall we walk, then?” she asked, feeling the weight of his gaze on her.

Cregan inclined his head slightly, “Only if you wish, my lady.”

Lysara hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded, gently tugging at his arm. Together, they turned and began to walk, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridor. The tension lingered in the air, but there was something else too—a quiet understanding, forged in the absence of prying eyes. The court was silent beyond the soft rustle of her skirts and the echo of his boots as they paced the halls, lit by the sinking sun that was slowly retreating behind the horizon, her eyes turned out over the fields that seemed to stretch on forever -- her mind had wandered in the silence, reflecting on the past few days, her fingers pressing into his forearm. 

She was grateful he did not force conversation, or feel the need to fill the space between them with meaningless conversation. For the first time in days, she was comforted by the silence that allowed her to sort through her thoughts without any unnecessary interruptions. 

Her thoughts wandered to Gareth, the image of his face burned into her memory as she forced him into the bush. His look of despair, helpless as he crouched and waited -- she wondered how long he was trapped in the bush before it was safe. Had he followed them? Or had he turned and sprinted back to his house as soon as it was clear? Had he tried to write to her since? Her injured ankle throbbed at the thought.

She hoped that he was safe at the very least. 

“I apologise if my visit has caused some tension between you and your lady cousin,” He stated. 

A cool breeze blew through the windows of the corridor, her mouth turning up in a melancholic smile as she turned her head away from him. Her right hand swung beside her side, brushing along the skirt of her dress as she let out a deep sigh, “It is not your presence, you need not apologise.” 

There was a pause in their conversation, his eyes following hers to the still yards, “I only mean to establish a union between our houses,” he continued, “our fathers were friends in their youth, even closer in their later years…they would have wanted for us to be friends, too.”

“Did you know my father well?” 

She turned to look up at him, watching as he gave a stiff nod, “I knew him enough to respect the man he was,” Cregan said, his voice low and thoughtful. “We met during a few councils, exchanged words on occasion… He spoke of you often.”

He paused, his eyes searching hers as if gauging how much to share, “But no, I did not know him well enough to claim a close bond. I only wish I had,” His tone softened.

She let out a laugh, a huff of air through her nose as she withdrew her hand from his elbow and planted her palms against the windowsill, leaning into it by her waist. Her chin lifted, breathing in the fresh air, any remaining tension that had settled into her bones melting away with the familiar sounds of the vale. Her head lowered after a moment, recalling the memories of her father and their many conversions— a lifetime of discussions and jokes they had shared. She tried to pick through the conversations over supper in which he spoke of the Lord Stark and his young son, “Were you close with my brother?” She suddenly asked. 

She heard a low chuckle, short and resembling a choked snort as he briefly looked away, his attention turning down the hall they had come from, “We…met briefly,” He replied, his voice quiet; turning to face the window she had placed herself in, mirroring her position to look outwards, “I would not say we were close, however.” 

She craned her head to look at him, trying to make sense of his reply and his tone— there was an edge to it she could not quite put her finger on, but it was clear to her nonetheless that he was not keen on the subject of her brother that piqued her curiosity. Her mouth opened, wanting to press further, but she settled on stopping herself before she overstepped.

 Cregan’s eyes shifted to scan the court they looked over, House Arryn’s high walls obstructing the view she knew was beyond the high walls that fenced them in — luscious fields of soft grass and beautiful flowers she’d loved picking as a girl on the other side of it. It was as though he sensed her eyes still on him, turning to look at her and raising his eyebrows, a moment passing between them that was filled by a comfortable quiet; filled only by the sounds of the bugs that chirped with life from the yards. 

There was a subtle shift in the air around them, suddenly aware of the little space that existed between them as her gaze reflexively lowered to his chest where her attention landed on the familiar sigil of his house. The outline of a wolf, proud and powerful. Cregan moved, a small and subtle action, as his right hand planted against the windowsill beside hers; the heat he naturally radiated felt against her skin, even through his gloves. Her breath hitched, clearing her throat as the air caught there, nearly choking her. 

“You know, he spoke very highly of you,” Lysara admitted, redirecting their attention as she withdrew her left hand from alongside his to rest against her ribs, cradling her side. 

“Your father?”

She looked up again, offering him a polite smile, “I think he always hoped my brother would share your likeness,” She said, pausing before speaking again, “Arrnold didn’t take to swordsmanship.” 

There was a hint of a smile, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he gave another small nod, “I do recall.” 

Again, she noticed, there was a hint of his knowing of her brother. She blinked, “How…” 

“My lady,” A young voice interrupted, greeting them. She turned away from the window, stepping away from his side and finding the guard who she quickly recognised from earlier. The young guard who stood a few feet back, bowing his head as he then seemed to notice Cregan’s presence, “My lord…I apologise for my intrusion.” 

He had been present with Ser Herrold in his task to drag her to supper. She stiffened, awaiting his next words, “A letter has arrived by raven,” he explained, Lysara’s confusion evident as he stepped forward and presented her with a neatly rolled scroll, struggling to recognise the gold seal that closed it. 

“Who is it from?” She asked, eyeing it. 

The guard looked behind her, looking at Cregan who idly stood by, hesitating to answer. His words were slow and quiet, low enough that even she could hardly hear him, “I…do not know, my lady.” 

She let out an annoyed sigh, breaking the seal and beginning to seek out any identifying details. Her gaze darted up one last time as the guard began to retreat, his stare lowering from hers as she narrowed her eyes at him; she looked over her shoulder at Cregan who had turned to face her, witnessing the interaction with a shared look of scepticism. She moved slowly, unravelling the parchment to reveal the letter inside, allowing the guard to leave with no interference, her head inclined to the side as her eyes scanned the messily scrawled writing. 

Lysara,

My love.

I am safe, hidden beyond reach. Meet me in two days' time at midnight, where the trees meet the stream. I must see you. 

GR

TAGLIST: @beebeechaos

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 7

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Brief suggestive content. Angst, anxiety, self loathing, relationship issues. Darling is her own tag/warning. Panic attack, eating related issues, fainting. Emotional hurt/comfort, fluff. Established throuple. It's better when they're here.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Kyle grins in response, and then pulls you in for a hug. His face is full mirth, his cheer warming you from the inside, and you embrace him in return. 

“’bout time they bring you out here. No reason to hide you away all this time.” Something nervous, a light giggle, slips out from between your lips, your eyes rolling in an exaggerated fashion. Johnny's hand flexes against the base of your spine. 

“Gaz.” Simon sighs, and he barks out a laugh before turning back to you. 

“Try not to let these two bore ya to death.” He whispers, before giving them both a nod and ducking down the hall. He makes absolutely no noise, feet silent against the floor, practically disappearing before your eyes, shadow here then gone, presence felt, and then void, all at once.

“He’s nice.” You look up at the two of them. Johnny chuckles, amusement scrawling across his lips and cheeks as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

“Don’t let him fool ye.” He quips and you frown, confused.

“Gaz is… very, very good at his job. One of the best there is, I’d say.” Simon explains gently, and then your stomach sours, because you remember.

What they do. What their jobs are. Why you’re even here in the first place. You’ve never asked for in-depth detail or explanations, but you’ve heard enough, know enough, to know.

He turns the lock and pushes their door open, giving you a view into their room, a short hall that expands out to something that looks like a college dorm, except maybe a bit bigger. It’s got all the similarities though, cinderblocks and an old, tiled floor, singular window and a bit of an odd smell.

“So, this is your room?”

“Aye. We’ve got a big bed, mostly thanks to Si, and a little more space than everyone else on this floor but, this is it.” It’s sparse too, no pictures or personal items, nothing that looks like or resembles them except…

There’s a bulletin board, hanging on the wall above the bed. It’s empty, save for one thing, a photo that’s been stapled to the cork.

It’s of you, this photo, you under a white sheet, smiling at Simon, who’s behind the camera, with just the shadow of Johnny’s hand along your upper arm. It was taken last year, you can tell, because you recognize the style of your hair from that time, and you stand there for too long, staring at it, mouth partially hanging open, breath held in your lungs.

Nothing in this room that reflects them, or their home, or each other… nothing. Except for a photo of you. 

“Darling?” Simon murmurs, and his chest presses against your back, thumb and forefinger stroking along the back of your neck. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. I… I’m alright.”

“So, like… what is that you guys do?” The question lands to a silent reception, both of them exchanging looks in front of you, almost like you’re not even in the room. You feel awkward, and self-conscious, while they seem to have a silent debate with their eyes.

“We’re in multi-national special ops unit.” Johnny provides, and your eyebrows crease as you process. A what? A multi-national what? You laugh, until you realize their faces are deadly serious.

Wait. Are these guys in the fucking military? 

“Special ops, like… the military special ops?”

“Kind of.”

Oh. 

Fuck. Your cheeks feel hot, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or the topic you’ve stumbled upon, but you swallow loudly as you process it. 

You’re not exactly a huge fan of the military. Not like you really know anything about it, just that most of the wars your own country has been involved in for the last twenty years revolve around oil and imperialism, and all the dudes who serve are abusive and predatory. Assholes. Creeps. 

Or at least, that’s what it’s like where you’re from. 

“She didn’t like that.” Simon murmurs from behind the mask, and Johnny grimaces. 

“Alright?” He hums and a small noise gets stuck in your throat, like you want to say yes, want to say no, like you’re not sure what you want. “We travel a lot, for work. So, we’re not always around… that’s where we’ve been the last few weeks. Working.” The words make your heart skip a beat, and you nod, still processing.

Not always around… not always around. 

So they really aren’t planning on making this a thing, then. The thought stings with bitterness against your tongue, and you shove it away. 

 When you don’t say anything in response, Johnny sighs, and reaches for your hand, fingers curled against your palm in your lap. “How did we get on this subject anyway? We’re supposed to be havin’ some fun.” He smiles, big and warm, sending butterflies spiraling through your stomach and up your spine. 

Simon’s gaze never strays from your face, and his brow furrows, like he’s reading you, or piecing you together. The scrutiny makes you shiver. 

Why are you worrying about it? This is only like the third time seeing them, anyway. You’re getting too attached. You’re getting ahead of yourself. You’re just having fun. That’s all it is. 

“Right.” You quip, and then pull your drink towards you before rising from the chair. Your skirt is short, and you realize it’s probably too short when you see Simon’s jaw grinding behind the mask as you turn your body, edge of the fabric brushing against the back of your thighs. His gaze is heavy, it’s hot, and you remember the image of him looking up from between your legs the other night, lower half of his face buried in your cunt, still hidden from view without the scrap of fabric. “So… should we get another round then?” You hold your empty drink, ice clinking against the glass, and Johnny chuckles before standing in front of you, a hand on covetously laying on your waist as his lips brush your cheek. 

“’ll get them, love. You sit.”  

The bed is very, very warm. You don’t even need the duvet and sheet that you have pulled around your shoulders, your hips, but you snuggle down into them farther, breathing in the scent of Johnny’s shampoo, of Simon’s skin.

It all whirs around you in some soft, soothing scented lullaby, and you allow yourself the indulgence, closing your eyes again even though you’ve only just woken from the nap that you slipped into when they left for a meeting.

You’ve managed to trap their body heat beneath the blankets, and you wiggle around until you’re facing the other side, staring at the bulletin board, your own face frozen in time staring back at you.

You look different. You look like you’re in a haze of contented bliss, a peaceful state of happiness, safe and secure, tucked between the two of them without a care in the world.

Why did it change? Who changed it? When? How? 

The questions echo as you piece through the last few months in your mind, trying to place where the original seeds of darkness sprouted from, to find where the murky thoughts and feelings really came from, their roots, their birth.

This process, this seeking, makes your hands shake against the sheets. It makes your legs twitch, feet rubbing against each other while your chest tightens. Dread, panic, shame, all twist and turn through your mind, pinpointing your weaknesses and failures, exposing you to yourself like the fool you are.

They’re trying. Are you? 

You don’t need the answers, not truly. You know where the blame lies. You know what happened. You know the part you played; you know the parts the guys played.

You stare at the wall and try to count the patterns in the concrete, willing your brain to focus, willing yourself to pull up, pull out, put your head on straight. The sound of blood rushing in your ears is deafening, loud enough that you think someone may hear it down the hall. May hear you, succumbing to yourself.

It feels like drowning.

They could pull you out. Simon could fix it. They could make it better. 

But would they? Could he, now? When nothing is the same? 

The memory from leaving the hotel ripples across your heart like a familiar melody, acid burning in your calves as you blink and shudder.

Simon, holding your nape, Johnny, holding you to him in the elevator, in the car.

“Stay with us darling. Stay here. With us.”

You wonder if it will ever be the same again.

You hate this one as much as the last. 

Your mouth pulls into a frown, hands resting on your hips as you stare at the canvas in front of you, rotating your head from left to right, like that will make you see it better. Like that will bring it into focus. 

The colors are wrong. They don’t harmonize, they don’t crest and swell together like you had envisioned. They don’t blend in a cacophony of floral silhouettes like you saw in your mind. 

Instead, they look like a storming sea. Darker hues overpowering the light, like thunder through daybreak. 

Maybe you could fix it? Or maybe, you should just abandon this technique. Maybe you could-

There’s a knock at your door. 

It’s not light, or gentle, but firm, ringing out in rapid succession and you jerk. 

Who could that be? You’re not expecting anyone until- 

Oh. Oh no. Oh god. Oh no, no no. 

Your eyes dart frantically around the art room before you're shoving the two brushes from your hands into a tray and tripping out into your living room. 

“Oh my god.” You gulp out loud to no one but yourself, the person who has spent the last three, possibly four days in a haze, a painting binge, trying to escape the stress of your job, of life, of this… thing that’s going on with Simon and Johnny.

Trying to escape yourself. Your thoughts. Your feelings. 

Your flat expresses it well. You think, possibly, it could appear like it had been ransacked. Your clothes are everywhere. Draped over your tiny loveseat couch, shoved between cushions and pillows. Two-day old toast sits on your kitchen counter, accompanying two, three, four coffee mugs that are filled with varying levels of liquid. Your uneaten dinner from last night sits on a plate next to the trash can, your oats from the other morning sit cold in the sink. 

A prescription bottle that hasn’t been touched in four days, lurks on the kitchen counter with a handwritten note taped beneath it: 

“You HAVE to, or you’ll regret it.” 

Another knock sounds at your door, thumping followed by the sound of your phone vibrating next to the stove.

Your left sock has a swipe of chartreuse across it. Your overalls are tacky with dried paint. You can vaguely feel your hands touching your hair, your neck, hovering above where your heart hammers. 

You can’t let them see you like this. 

They’ve never seen you like this. 

This is supposed to be light. It’s fun. It’s… not real. They’re not with you. They cannot see. 

You take a deep breath. 

Maybe you can pass it off. You can… say you’re sorry for the mess, that you’re sorting through things for donation. And you don’t have to lie about painting. That will explain the clothes. 

You take a breath, and then open the door to find Johnny on the other side, happily smiling at you, mohawk shining in the light of the hall. He looks you up and down briefly, and you freeze, waiting. 

Waiting for him to say something nasty, something hurtful. Waiting for him to reprimand you for failing, to accuse you of being useless, helpless. Waiting for him to tell you he doesn’t have time to deal with this. That you should be better, do a better job of taking care of yourself. 

“- and he’ll just be a minute, but we’re so excited, been thinkin’ about ye all week. We had such a good time before we left, really loved sharing those days with you.” What? You blink. He cocks his head. “Love? Y’alright?” 

“Yeah.” You answer, voice monotone. Somewhere, trapped beneath layers and layers of the worst pieces, you’re screaming. You’re aching. You’re desperate. 

“This all paint?” He motions to the splatters and stains, and you nod robotically. “I remember, you mentioned that last time… that you paint. I uh, draw sometimes.” Of course, he draws. Because he’s beautiful, and perfect. He rubs his neck almost sheepishly before raising an eyebrow at you. 

Oh. Right. 

“D-do you… want to come in?” You offer it meekly. Please say no. say no, say you’ll wait out in there, say you don’t want to. 

“Sure, thanks.” Fuck. He steps by you as you motion, brushing against you closely, close enough that the butterflies flutter and you can feel the heat of him. “This is cozy, yeah?” He gestures to your flat from the kitchen, and you nod again. On autopilot.

All you can see is the food, untouched, uneaten. Evidence of your struggle. A water bottle that’s full to brim. The coffee cups, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to wash. All you can feel is your own skin, dry around your mouth, your nose, and oily everywhere else, your dirty clothes heavy against your body. You can feel your teeth, your tongue, unbrushed, unclean in your mouth, jaw clicking while your grind your molars. 

You shouldn’t have let him in. He’s going to see. He’s going to hate you. Hate this. 

The room spins. 

“Hey,” There’s a hand, on your arm. It’s big and soft, and sweet and you blink again. “Darling.” There it is. That pet name. That nick name. That name that’s quickly becoming your own. The one that makes you feel warm, safe, cherished. The one that makes you feel like this is something more. 

You hate it. 

You love it. 

“What is it?” Johnny’s handsome face peers down at you, concern worrying across his brow. 

“N-nothing.” You try to lead him off, but your breathing stutters through your nose, and he looks alarmed. 

There’s a new knock at your door, heavy and quick, and you both turn to look just as Simon is filling the door frame, half of his face hidden with the black mask that he always wears. 

He watches you. Like a predator. His eyes flick from you, to Johnny, to the kitchen… the living room. 

It's like there’s a train sitting on your chest.

“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He says softly, clicking the door shut behind him. As soon as it’s secure, the mask comes off, and he’s focused on you, eyes not leaving your face, moving closer and closer until he’s upon you and Johnny, huge hand coming to hold your elbow. “What’s going on?” He murmurs, but it’s not for you. Even if it was, you cannot answer. There’s a train sitting on your chest, after all. 

“Ah dinnae ken.” Johnny answers immediately, while his palm works up and down your arm in a calming pattern. 

“Darling?” Simon cups your cheek. Ever since he showed you his face, he’s been… like this. Intuitive. Too intuitive. Too keen. Like he already knows. Like he’s been waiting. 

“I-“ you try to tell him it’s nothing. That you’re tired. All of your lies flit through your head, the stories you wanted to concoct to explain everything away but nothing comes out. Not even your breath. 

The room spins again, but this time so does your head. The floor feels like it’s tilting, or maybe it’s your feet that are off balance. You’re not sure. You feel light though, like your legs don’t even exist. Like your knees aren’t real.

“Shite.” Johnny swears, and lunges, hands darting out to catch you before the world goes black. 

“Are you asleep?” There’s a whisper, like a soft touch, against your ear. It’s enough to prickle, enough to crack a smile across your lips, and you press your face into the blankets while strong hands shift your hips.

“I dinnae, might be.” Johnny hums, stroking fingertips down your ribs. It tickles, forcing a breathy giggle from your mouth that’s met with another’s, lips moving with yours while you melt away in a pile of partners and pillows.

“How was the meeting?” You whisper. Simon cradles you to his back, warmth bleeding through his shirt to your skin, and you shimmy closer, pressing hard until you’re flush with him, Johnny watching the two of you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Standard.” Simon answers. “Thought about you the whole time.” He kisses your cheek, arm reaching for Johnny who obliges, nestling himself against your chest. You focus on them, taking long, deep breaths, keeping yourself above water, keeping the murky depths at bay, for now.

It’s better, when they’re here. It’s always better, when you’re together.

“Thinkin’ about ye asleep in our bed, bare cunt on our sheets enough to drive me mad.” Johnny groans, fingers skating across your hip bone. You’re not wearing underwear, just a giant sweatshirt, one of theirs, though you’re not sure who’s.

Lust roars to life between your legs, desire, want, has you clenching, but you try shove it away.

It’s too much, too soon. You’re too… off center. You’ll lose yourself. 

But they’re here. They’ll put you back together. Simon won’t let you fall. 

It’s not a good idea. 

You want it. You want them. Need them. 

The back and forth makes your head hurt.

“I- I’m not ready.” You blurt, and he freezes, pulling his hand free immediately but you grab onto it, desperate to have his touch, to feel him.

Guilt burns in your heart.

“Of course, darling.”

“I’m sorry… I want to I just-“

“You never have to apologize.” Simon rumbles and you shake your head.

“I know but, I feel bad. Guilty.”

“Look at me.” He urges, and you shift, all while clutching Johnny’s hand in yours. “We love you. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about. We will be here when you are ready, but there’s no rush.” He strokes a thumb across your cheek, and you lean into it, eyes slipping closed. “I think I’d be more worried if you were ready to jump right into sex, after everything.” Johnny hums his agreement and presses a warm kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s take a nap then?” He suggests, and you pull his arm to your chest, rocking between the two of them until you’re effectively sandwiched, comfortable, and secure, just the way you like it.

The way you dream about it.

The way you can only hope it might be, from now until forever.

[starb3rrys]

Can u do the chuuya and dazai version of the post you just posted plz :)

Hello! This request is referring to the "Love's Reassuring Embrace" one shot, just to add some context! It’s basically the characters comforting you when you feel unworthy of them. I hope you enjoy this small part two of it. \(OvO)/

⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ

Love's Reassuring Embrace *+Part 2+*

Slight Angst —> Comfort

TW: Mentions of body dysmorphia, Self Doubt

Ft. Chuuya, Dazai || Part One

⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ

Chuuya

Chuuya is a proud man who isn’t afraid to show off what’s his, that includes you- his lover.

From countless precious gifts to extravagant dates at 5 star restaurants, he makes sure to shower and pamper you with anything and everything his money can buy.

Countless people around Yokohama envied you, just think about it! You were an extraordinary individual that caught the eye and affections of one of the port mafia executives.

At first, you began to feel confident- proud even. People would praise your beauty and admire your sense of mannerism, some even seeing you as inspiration and strived to follow in your footsteps in hopes to one day reach your achievements.

Unfortunately for you, every good thing must come to an end.

“I seriously don’t get what executive Chuuya Nakahara sees in such a plain individual.”, the sneaky comment filled with bitterness found its way to your ear as you passed by two lower rank workers.

Your steps faltered and you quickly fixated your gaze at the individuals with the full intent to snap back. Yet your words were cut short as you saw almost everyone’s eyes on you, their gaze filled with judgement as they looked you up and down.

Their eyes trailed from your legs to the expensive promise ring decorating your neck.

All of a sudden your body felt warm, your face feeling hot and your palms becoming damp as your mind swirled with self conscious thoughts.

“What is it? Wait- what did they say? Do I have something on me? Plain looking? Nono they couldn’t have possibly- Is there something on my face, why are they staring like that?”

Just as your mind began to fabricate irrational scenarios a loud and stern voice rang through the main lobby.

“The hell is wrong with you all? Is this what I pay you scum for, to gawk at my lover? Get back to work.”, as soon as the crowd heard the familiar harsh voice they all dispersed and ran off, leaving you standing utterly in a trance.

A familiar touch snapped you out of your thoughts as you turned and were face to face with your boyfriend.

Chuuya saw your somber expression and raised an eyebrow, wondering what happened. “Well you look upset, the hell happened?”, his question remained unanswered as you avoided the topic.

He decided not to push it and hung his arm around your shoulders as he led you to his office.

As you two walked you couldn’t help but look at him and wonder woefully if what the lower rank workers said was true.

“Just look at him…he is a port mafia executive, one of the strongest ability users the world has ever seen. He is handsome, rich, confident, proud, and admired by all…maybe they were right, how could he be with someone so plain?”, your mind spiraled. Your once bright and confident smile was now reduced to a sad frown.

Chuuya took note of your quietness and found it rather unlike you. Usually, you would spend hours upon hours talking to him about any event that went on in your life. He always payed close attention and loved the sparkle that shined so brightly in your eyes as you talked about the most unimportant thing. Chuuya could care less if the topic of conversation was relevant or not, he just liked hearing your voice…a voice that now- was crucially missing from his day.

He stopped walking as he noticed you looking at your promise ring with a doubtful look. His brows furrowed and he immediately questioned you again, looking into your eyes with concern and sternness. “What exactly did those assholes say to you?”, his voice demanding.

You knew you couldn’t lie to him so you told him everything they said. Your hands fidgeted with the promise ring as your voice trembled.

He immediately cursed out and condemned them all to hell. He cupped your cheek and told you to not listen to the words of envious low lives.

His words were full of determination as he reassured you he loved you, every breath you took was like a drug to him. Your voice was beautiful, your eyes were unlike any others, and your delicate mind should not stump itself with the opinions of irrelevant people.

He gently kissed your lips and wrapped his gloved hands around you…quietly whispering praises against your skin.

You were his everything, you weren’t plain- you were extraordinary. If he could, he would choose you over and over again…

Dazai

Dazai, in short words, is very handsome- and he knows it.

He was trained from youth to easily sweet talk his way into getting anything he wanted.

And luckily for him…he managed to capture the most precious thing he wanted, your heart~

His love for you knows no bounds and he does everything to show it.

Late night talks, special dates, flirty texts, and constant “I love you” reminders.

You were sure of yourself, he worshipped the very ground you walked on. He was the most loyal and loving man you knew.

Yet who knew one simple comment would be enough to shatter the illusion…

“Oh to not be taken by such a lovely woman, pity” Dazai said dramatically towards a waitress, Clearly intending to tease and bring slight jealousy out of you…an innocent joke really.

Yet the only thing that sly comment brought out of you was insecurity. Your mind spiraled with questions and comparisons as your eyes drifted to the busy waitress.

Your eyes scanned her up and down, maybe he was right…she was lovely.

Days passed and all that filled your mind were negative criticisms of yourself and praises towards the waitress.

You began to recall any previous interactions your boyfriend had and blatantly blew them all out of proportion/context.

Afternoons were spent grabbing and pulling at your skin from your stomach to your back, hating any and every part you could grab as you felt nothing but flaws.

You began to subconsciously miss meals out of self loathing, hobbies were now shredded down to just hours upon hours of scrolling through social media as your mind grew dimmer.

Worst of all, anytime you looked at Dazai your heart ached, maybe he would be happier with someone worth his time and affection…

Dazai is a very observant and intelligent individual, so your frowns and quiet glances did not go unnoticed.

He observed your behavior and easily connected the dots…

Guilt and dread instantly filled his expression as you broke and confessed just how much of an impact that seemingly innocent comment had on you.

He held your hand and listened intently as you explained how you felt; the negative thoughts, the missing meals, and worst of all…the pure unworthiness you felt of his love.

Dazais words matched his eyes, full of sincerity and sadness as he apologized and reassured you he did not mean anything nefarious with that idiotic comment. His hands held onto your waist, gently soothing you as he spoke.

To him, your tears were earth shattering…how could he have so naively hurt his most precious jewel? His perfect love? His one and only…

⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ ⊹ ᮫࣭﹆ֹ

Hello! I’ve been gone for like- 3 months.

A THIRD OF A PREGNANCY?!

Anyways, Star is back and I PROMISE I will try to get back on track with my writing.

On a side note: I wrote a lot for Chuuya, I wanted to change up the headcannons a bit and make it a little more story based (I hope it was okay).

Either way, I hope you all enjoyed these headcannons? Love you all so much! <3

[numinously-yours]

Choose a bird: How to be the best version of YOU

Thank you to those of you who messaged. I appreciate both your ideas AND your patience. I really thought things were settled down when I asked for your thoughts and then they ramped right back up. But here I am!

Choose a bird from above for a free reading. Today's topic: how to be the best version of yourself. I asked the cards three questions:

What does the best version of yourself look like (to you)?

What steps can you take on your journey to your best self?

How can you avoid getting caught up in others' perspectives?

Your choices are below! Like, reply, or reblog if it resonates, and tag your group if you feel inclined :)

Group 1: Aibo Tarot

What does the best version of you look like? Three of Wands

The best version of you is someone confident standing on their own. You may be dependent on other people for your happiness but you want so badly to be happy on your own. There is a fear that if you start your own journey that you won’t find other/more people that make you feel comfortable and safe.  I have a sense that the people you surround yourself with are simply fine, but they also don’t make you feel empowered to do your own thing or speak your differences. There is a lot of keeping the peace because that’s easier than being alone. It doesn’t mean these people are bad friends or negative influences necessarily, but you know there could be something more. You are longing to find that. You are longing to find yourself, too.

What steps can you take in the process? The Tower & The King of Pentacles

It’s time to create your own tower moment. It may sound counterintuitive since the Tower represents upheaval and chaos. Typically, it’s not something someone is excited to bring upon themselves. But, I think in your case, it’s going to be more beneficial than detrimental. You have to burn some bridges. You have to have some falling outs. Yes, moving forward from your comfort zone is going to feel weird as hell. It’s going to feel scary. You may be worried that ending friendships or setting boundaries was a bad idea, but it is all for the sake of becoming the best version of you. Trust me.  The reversed King in particular is asking you to “give yourself permission to break free and do something different.” Just as a phoenix, your tower will rise again from the ashes even stronger than before.

How can you avoid getting caught up in other’s perceptions? Moonlight, Four of Cups, The Magician

The visual for this pull is below because it was kind of a fun way for the cards to drop 😊 I asked this question and the first card fell: Moonlight in reverse. This moonlight card is specific to this deck, so it doesn’t necessarily have the same meaning as The Moon does in tarot. The first phrase that came to me when I was looking at the card was “turn that frown upside down”. Because the card doesn’t have a traditional meaning, I wanted to shuffle one more time for cards that DO have trad. meanings. These are the two that came out – in this order! THE FROWN IS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN! What does this mean in execution, though?

Recognize the power you have in creating your own life and stop dimming your light. I know that it takes work to feel confident in spaces where you feel small but it is worth the practice! The more you execute your power, say yes to yourself, and make yourself heard the easier it will get. Not only easier in doing it but easier in believing it, too.

Group 2: Delos Tarot

What does the best version of you look like? Two of Cups

For you, I think to feel like the best version of yourself, you are wanting to be in a space where you can create and maintain meaningful relationships. It’s not that you lack relationships, but they feel a little surface level or superficial. You want to feel that SOMETHING, and you want to bring that something to others. You may have your own personal goals when it comes to relationships – wanting a work bestie, wanting a romantic relationship, wanting a strong relationship with a sibling, etc. But overall, the ability to form these relationships as a whole is really what you long for.

What steps can you take in the process? The Devil reversed

My first thought “quit thinking you’re the devil!” lol When in relationships, you focus on your negative qualities. You are always thinking of how you can bring more to the table rather than focusing on what you already DO bring to the table. You tend to psych yourself out when you get close to forming the bond that you crave. An actionable step you should look into taking is working on your shadow self. There are a lot of websites with lists of shadow work questions that get to the root of these types of fears. Shadow work makes you think of things in a different perspective. It could help you determine WHY you shut yourself off at certain times. It helps identify triggers in relationships so you can sense them when they appear and know how to deal with them. Then, I know this is easier said than done, but you gotta push through the discomfort, too. Perhaps your relationships fade when you’re right on the brink of vulnerability. Instead of ebbing backward, take that leap into the unknown. It’s the only way you’re going to get passed that piece.

How can you avoid getting caught up in other’s perceptions? King of Swords rev. and Strength

I know it’s way easier to say online but finding the courage to just be yourself is honestly going to be the best thing you can do for yourself. I feel that you may preemptively get caught in what you THINK others’ perceptions are of you before you know their true perceptions. I know you KNOW what your inner truth is, but you deserve to understand WHY it’s your truth. You have a lot to contribute to relationships and having this better relationship with yourself can also contribute to gaining courage to just be yourself. Doing that shadow work can be really good for you in that growth, too Each time you seem caught up in someone else’s perception, ask yourself why you’re caught up in it. Is it actually an accurate depiction of who you are? Are you trying to protect yourself before anything scary actually happens? Find the strength to be rational because it’s gonna change your mind set a LOT. 

Group 3: Everyday Tarot

What does the best version of you look like? Ace of Swords

The best version of yourself, group 3, is someone who is continually growing. You want to be open to expansion, ideas, spontaneity, and adventure. You may feel a little stuck right now. I definitely think you have the excitement and adrenaline inside you, and you’re ready to let it out. You’re not longing for motivation or inspiration, you’re longing for an outlet for the motivation and inspiration already inside of you.  You may wonder, “how do I explore new opportunities if I don’t know where to start?” “How can I continue growing when people and places around me aren’t growing?” Let’s find out!

What steps can you take in the process? The Devil reversed & The Queen of Pentacles

Let go of unhealthy attachments and nurture yourself if/when you feel guilty for doing so. Part of what keeps you feeling a bit stuck is not wanting to leave anyone behind. You care a lot about a lot of people and want them to experience this growth with you. They’re not quite ready though. YOU being ready doesn’t make you better than them, it just means you’re in a different place. Accepting the unknown that lies ahead is also important for you, group 3. No matter how ready you are, moving forward (likely on a solo journey) is scary! It’s like jumping off the high dive. You just…gotta do it. Lastly, as you move forward onto fun adventures, remember to keep some sense of practicality – this means being aware of what might be TOO much right now, but also knowing that you can do hard things.  

How can you avoid getting caught up in other’s perceptions? King of Wands reversed

Stop setting unrealistic expectations for yourself! I think this really speaks from that last bit of steps you can take. Being practical also means believing in yourself and your amazingness. I feel this extends to knowing you’re capable of being in these people’s lives while still going out and expanding your boundaries. It doesn’t have to be either/or, it can be both. The perceptions you’re caught up in currently might be self-created. People around you might not have even considered the thoughts you think they have. Stop yourself in your tracks if you find you’re going down a road of worry. These people are proud of you and WANT you to succeed. They also think it’s pretty neat that they’re friend is so cool 😉<3

[pumpkin-bats]

What's Important - Daiki Aomine x Reader

a/n: The poll has spoken! And tbh the results genuinely surprised me. Since Aomine and Akashi tied, I’m gonna do them both! KEEP IN MIND THAT ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP. Thank you. I hope you all enjoy!

summary: He shows up for something important to you that you thought he'd skip.

contains: sfw topics, a bit of personal space invasion, gentle above the neck touching, gender neutral terms for the reader.

wc: 1k+

It wasn't a date or an anniversary, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't feel equally as important.

The thing that set you on the path for your particular set of career goals was a very specific internship. Ever since your third year of college began, you've focused all your energy and efforts towards trying to get said internship. And you had to learn the hard way that it was a high competition, low acceptance, and extremely difficult to qualify for type gig. Yet you made it.

You'd gotten the news earlier that morning as Daiki was getting ready to head out. In your excitement, you'd nearly burned your hand on the stove.

Thanks to your blatant level of enthusiasm, you ended up explaining the situation to your boyfriend before you could accidentally launch an egg at his face trying to silently contain yourself. And with some huffing and puffing, you both settled on plans to celebrate later in the evening.

At the time, you were too blinded by the pure, utter joy that overcame you that you'd forgotten. Now, as you sit on the couch with food spread across the coffee table along with a few other things, you remembered.

The thing is, Daiki isn't the most... timely person. Not to say he didn't treat you well, he did, he just has an issue with showing up to certain events on time, if at all.

The both of you met in your second year of high school. Things started as a tentative friendship, bordering on arch enemies, before it developed into something more around your third year. And over the years you learned a thing or two about his track record in terms of attendance. Namely, how he'd built a bad habit of skipping basketball practice or any other event he deemed unimportant.

As much as you'd like to say it was something you didn't have to worry about anymore, he still had a tendency to miss or skip out on plans the two of you have made. You'll never forget how one time, during the earlier parts of your budding relationship, he bailed on a date for something he refused to specify. That was also the first time you had your first major fight.

All that to say, as the seconds ticked by and it became a good half hour or so past the agreed upon meetup time, you realized this might just be one of those events he deemed unimportant.

You held out hope, but it was a brittle thing. After all, you knew that getting the internship had a bigger effect on you than it did him. Still... you waited a bit longer.

When it was creeping toward a full hour after what you planned for, you slowly stood up and shuffled forward to start putting the food away. It was when you reached for a large bowl of chips, fingertips barely grazing over the rim, that you heard the lock to the front door click before the telltale squeak of it opening.

"Hey, practice ran late so-" You stand there, arm stretched out in midair, staring like a deer caught in the headlights at your boyfriend who'd just stepped into the living room. A towel was slung loosely over the back of his neck and he'd been using one end to scrub at the back of his hair, but paused when his eyes met yours.

"Why do you look so surprised? It's just me." He asked, lowering the towel and raising a brow at your frozen figure.

"You're back," you answered, quite dumbly in fact.

"I live here. And we have the whole-" he gestured vaguely at everything you'd set up and had yet to put away, "Celebration thing for you internship thing."

"Yeah, but... you're actually gonna celebrate it with me." His brows furrowed, a frown creeping onto his face at the baffled way you said it.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, well, no, because I thought- I just-" it took you a second to kick your brain back into gear and unfreeze long enough to spit out a coherent sentence. "I didn't know if you really would. Not to be rude but... you don't have the best track record when it comes to going through with plans."

"What?" His expression soured for a moment, voice dipping low and biting. It lasted for all but a second as he clearly forced himself to relax. 

Daiki stepped into the room, dumping his bag on a nearby chair before moving closer to you. His steps were heavy but they didn't thunder as he approached you. A faint smell of sweat drifted from him and you're suddenly reminded of how, despite his complex with the sport since high school, he continued to play and practice.

"I'm here, aren't I?" In a few strides he stood toe to toe with you, your neck aching from how far back you had to pull your head in order to look up at him. "No way I'd miss something you talked my ear off about all morning."

"That's because it means a lot to me."

"That's why I'm here."

There was a moment where the two of you stared at one another in silence. The deep blue of his eyes glinted under the lamplight, sharp enough to cut. His gaze was intense enough that you needed to fight the urge to take a step back. It felt like electricity snapping and dancing across your skin with the way it prickled under the full weight of his attention.

To help diffuse some of the charged energy in the room, you let a nervous chuckle slip out and poke playfully at his stomach. Though it clearly did nothing when it felt like poking straight concrete.

"I thought you'd say something like 'the only one who can tell me when to do things is me.'" You chuckled weakly at yourself,  pitching your voice a bit lower to mimic his voice. His eye twitched and it's all the warning you get before he moves.

His fingers reached out to glide along your jawline and settled gently on your cheek. Not a caress, but similar enough to it that your breath hitched at the touch. He bent down to be as level with you as his monstrous height allowed him to be. 

There was no escaping the oceanic chasm in his eyes, swallowing in the sight of you and holding you firmly in place. A soft smirk played at his lips when he leaned in close, nose nearly brushing yours.

"The only thing that's more important to me than me, is you."

{Fin!} Thank you for reading ^o^/

[lancermylove]

First Kiss (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: Dorm leaders x gn!Reader

Warning: None

Prompt: Where and how you have your first kiss with him.

———————————————

The two of you were in the botanical garden, and while Leona slept on the grass, you studied his handsome features.

To get a better look at him, you leaned your face close to his, assuming he was in deep sleep. The next moment, you felt his hand on the back of your head, and his eyes shot open.

Before you could register what was happening, Leona pushed your head down and met your lips.

His kiss was on the hungrier side, but there was a gentleness to it as well.

He didn't break the kiss until you were out of breath.

Leona stared into your eyes and smirked. "Is that what you were hopin' for, herbivore? Don't go starin' at men like that."

You and Malleus were out on a night walk through the area around Ramshakle dorm.

You were talking about your favorite topic, and Malleus quietly noted the fire in your eyes and the passion in your voice. He thought you looked adorable and couldn't control himself.

The prince stopped walking, wrapped an arm around your waist, turned you around, and gently pulled you closer to him.

Your eyes widened when you felt his soft lips pressed against yours. Malleus' eyes were open as he didn't want to miss a single expression on your face.

His kiss was gentle but held passion.

He didn't kiss you for too long as Malleus didn't want you to run out of breath.

After pulling away, he smirked playfully. "You are adorable."

Riddle and you sat in Heartslabyul's garden, enjoying a freshly baked Strawberry Tart while you talked about how Ace and Deuce were giving you a hard time as usual.

You were so focused on ranting that you didn't focus on how you ate the tart.

At first, Riddle frowned slightly when he saw the cream from the tart smear on your lips. He thought about reaching over with a napkin and wiping it for you, but that would be a waste of good cream.

So, Riddle leaned over the table and pressed his lips softly against yours, using the tip of his tongue to lick the cream off your lips.

You immediately froze, but Riddle broke the kiss quickly. "(Y/n), you should not eat so-"

He was about to lecture you but stopped when he realized what he had just done.

Riddle's face turned bright red, and he quickly covered his mouth before turning his face away from you. He dearly hoped that none of his dorm members saw that.

Azul heard you giggling with the twins from his office. He couldn't understand why you liked them so much, but out of curiosity, he walked out of his office to hear your conversation.

Upon seeing Azul's unhappy expression, Jade excused himself from there, dragging Floyd along with him.

You turned to look at Azul, who was half glaring at you, and before you could say anything, he took hold of your chin and pressed his lips against yours.

His kiss was intense and passionate.

He didn't release you until you were out of breath.

Azul looked into your eyes with his face still close to you and whispered sharply. "Stay away from them. They are dangerous."

Before you could react, he turned his back to you and disappeared into his office.

As you scanned the beautiful desert of Scarabia, Kalim sat behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. You assumed he was also taking in the marvelous view, but Kalim studied your face with a soft smile.

"(Y/n)."

When Kalim called your name in the sweetest voice possible, you turned your head towards him. In the next moment, you felt his lips pressed against yours.

His kiss was playful and sweet.

Kalim didn't kiss you for long, but it was enough to make your heart race out of control.

After he pulled away, Kalim rested his chin on your shoulder again with a wide smile. "(Y/n), I like you a lot and can't wait to introduce you to my family."

Vil was doing your hair for the special NRC event in the evening. When he stepped in front of you to get a better look at how the hairstyle came out, Vil saw you looking at him with admiration.

He tried not to focus on your expression, but when you gave him a cute smile, Vil couldn't resist.

He looked into your eyes, hooked one finger under your chin to tilt your head up, and captured your lips in his.

His kiss was soft and romantic.

Vil pulled away before you ran out of breath.

He whispered in a smooth and alluring voice, "If you continue to look at me like that, you shall be in more danger than you realize."

You cheered Idia on as he played a PVP game. Though he wasn't a fan of loud noise, he didn't mind you cheering him on.

It didn't take long for Idia to win, and the moment he did, you threw your arms around him and gave him a congratulatory hug.

Idia froze, his cheeks and hair turning red, but when he saw how close your face was to his, he was drawn to you.

He leaned closer to you and pressed his lips against yours.

Idia's kiss was more of a quick peck, but it was enough to convey his feelings for you.

As you stared at him in shock, Idia pulled his hood over his face so he could hide his embarrassment.

———————————————

➣ Twisted Wonderland [1][2]

➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

[1d1195]

Traditional III

I think this is a little bit of a slow start for this series, and I apologize for that, I'm still kinda setting up some background pieces. I got a few big plans ahead here. I hope you like it. You can find the first two parts here: Traditional

Warnings: slight 18+ topics mentioned (like you have to squint to see them)

“Do...you expect...more from me?” She asked quietly. She didn’t meet his gaze as she asked. Harry saw the way her cheeks turned pink as she spoke.

"I would love t’do more with you of course. But m’not an animal. M’not going to make you.”

“You kind of pay me to do that though,” she reminded him still not fully looking at him.

"M’not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. I just want to spoil you.”

Harry was quietly but almost assuredly in love. There were hundreds of reasons not to be. First and foremost, she was his intern. Maybe not his directly...but at his company, nonetheless. There were so many issues with falling in love with someone that was subordinate to him. But here he was. The second reason was of course that he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with someone he was paying money to for the arrangement agreed upon.

But how could he not? She was the most adorable thing he had ever laid eyes on. She was so kind and intelligent. The way her nerves seemed to amplify while she was at dinner with him versus the confidence she exuded when she shook his hand was unbelievably cute. He thought of all the things to be nervous about, it would be working at his company. But apparently, spending the evening with someone who already wanted to be in her presence was the kind of thing to get someone so cutely riled up.

The second he heard her voice say Styles Incorporated he was done for. He wanted it to be her last name—he didn’t care about how ridiculous the sentiment was. Hearing her say his last name sounded so perfect in her voice he practically melted. The moment he saw her in person was like trying to balance himself on a tightrope. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. But he was the boss of the company she was interning for, so he had to pretend he was just meeting her. Like he didn’t just scour her interest profile and all social media looking at her cute little being.

Hey beautiful. What are you up to today? Do you want to come over? I make really good Ramen.

Oh, I’d really like that! She answered almost instantly. Harry smiled excitedly at the prospect of seeing the sweet girl in a few minutes. But...I’m building my furniture with Louis and Eleanor :(

Harry frowned. He didn’t want her to build her cheap furniture. He didn’t want her buying cheap furniture. But he wasn’t going to make her return everything she already bought...and he wasn’t going to make her skip out on her friends...as much as he wanted her to. Oh. Don’t you mean you and Eleanor? He remembered what she said good naturedly about her best friend.

No literally, lol. Yes. Me and Eleanor, you’re right. She sent a laughing emoji and Harry wished he could hear her laugh out loud. He loved her light little giggle that he got to enjoy at dinner the other night. He didn’t get to see her today at work, but he wished he did. It was why he was asking her if she wanted to come over now.

While he was reminiscing about her, he missed the three little dots signaling her second reply. We were going to order pizza...if you like pineapple on your pizza you CAN’T come over but if you like GOOD pizza, then you can come and entertain Eleanor and I if you’d like.

He thought her humor was easily one of his favorite qualities about her. Have you tried it love? It’s not that bad.

Here I was, starting to like you...I’m not ordering it.

He chuckled at her response. I won’t make you...I’ll be there in fifteen?

I’ll see you then :)

Harry wasn’t really one to worry about what to wear, but suddenly he had no idea. What do you wear to help your employee, but also love interest, but also companion that he found off the internet to help build cheap furniture? He decided on a pair of dark jeans, a T-shirt, and some trainers he had lying by the door of his home. It occurred to him he was meeting her best friends and he thought that maybe he should have put in a bit more effort. It was only their second time together outside of work. Nonetheless, he was very excited and really looking forward to seeing her in her element.

*

“Louis,” she begged.

“I just want to ask him how many millions he’s worth. I don’t know why that’s an issue.”

She looked at Eleanor pleadingly. “Lou,” she said gently and then smiled kindly.

“Oh alright,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll behave. But I won’t like it.”

At that moment, her phone signaled she had a visitor waiting in the lobby. She didn’t know if it would be pizza or Harry, so she headed down with her wallet just in case.

As she descended the staircase the one floor, she seemed to have an epiphany that she was wearing a pair of leggings and a t-shirt she would typically wear to the spin class she went to once a year with Eleanor. She realized she was entirely underdressed to see someone as beautiful as Harry. More so someone that she was employed by—in more than one way. She doesn’t know what possessed her to invite Harry over to meet her friends and build furniture. But she did know. She knew because she already liked him so much.

“Wow, thanks, mate,” the man was stuffing the money into his pocket as Harry held the three pizza boxes in his hands. She imagined Harry must have given him a substantial tip. In her head, Harry probably didn’t walk around with any bill smaller than a fifty.

“Oh, Harry. You didn’t have to do that,” she said quickly hurrying over to the pizza guy and Harry. The delivery guy was someone that she had run into several times over the last few years since she loved this pizza place.

“Oh, hey lady,” he smirked at her. “Your boyfriend said he would pay. Figured it wasn’t an issue,” he shrugged. Her cheeks pinked at the word boyfriend directed at Harry and she bit her lip waiting for Harry to answer instead. She waved gently to the man exiting with the large tip and he winked at her over his shoulder. He gave her a thumbs up and she swore she could see him mouth the word upgrade.

“Not a problem, love,” he responded with an easy smile. “Just happened here at the same time.”

With pizza in hand, she awkwardly made her way back to the stairwell trying to calm her nerves. Especially since Louis never had a filter. Harry was professional and lovely. He paid her in more than one way, and he was about to meet her crazy best friends. She worried she was about to lose both sources of income in a matter of minutes. “Y’okay, kitten?” He asked quietly as she approached her door.

“Mhmm...” she hummed. “Nervous.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be,” he said it easily. “M’excited t’meet your friends.” Swallowing, she nodded and pushed the door open.

“How much do we owe you?” Louis called from the living room.

“Um...Harry paid, so you’d have to ask him,” she still sounded nervous as she kicked her flipflops off at the door and made her way through the little entry way.

“S’all set,” Harry said easily. Obviously. It was pizza, and he didn’t mind in the slightest paying for the four of them. He set the pizzas on the counter in the kitchen and turned to her friends spread about empty cardboard boxes and plastic bags. Her couch was pushed against the wall facing the TV and the new stand it sat upon. She had music playing softly in the background that echoed through the room from the TV. Eleanor was focused on the directions in front of her while Louis twirled the little wrench in his hand.

“Thanks, Harry,” Louis said and stood to hold his hand out. “Nice t’meet you. Heard a lot about you,” he smirked.

“Hi Harry,” Eleanor chirped leaving the directions to flutter back to the floor and gave him a hug. “Thanks for coming to help. Louis gets us distracted a lot.”

“Entertained,” he corrected. Harry chuckled.

“Looks like you’ve made a lot of progress,” he noted that the coffee table was also completed in addition to the TV stand.

“Miss Impatient over there couldn’t wait,” Louis said. “El and I are on dresser duty.”

“Shh,” she hushed as she was still putting out paper plates and getting some napkins to put beside the pizza. “The coffee table and TV stand were like three parts total.”

Harry chuckled. “Didn’t take you as impatient, love,” he said softly in her direction.

She ignored his comment. “Can I get you a drink?” She asked as if the conversation around her wasn’t happening.

“Oh, she hides it very well,” Louis told Harry.

“She’s not impatient Louis,” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “She’s independent.”

“Terrible really,” Louis murmured causing Harry to chuckle.

“Water is fine, kitten,” he finally responded as if he wasn’t causing the racing of her heart just by being there.

*

Louis and Eleanor left after two bookshelves, the dresser, and the night table were put together. Louis claimed exhaustion because he was old despite Eleanor and her doing most of the heavy lifting. After a grateful goodbye, she ushered them out the door, Eleanor whispering to call her later in her ear.

In her eyes, it was really starting to look and feel like home. Harry was extremely helpful and wasn’t irritated at all by the lifting or the tedious labor of putting together cheap furniture. Harry was in fact pushing the bookshelves into position. “Y’should really anchor this down,” he told her.

“Er...I don’t want to mess up the walls. They charge you a fortune for that when you move out,” she explained. Harry smirked at her knowingly.

“I’d like t’see them try.”

She snorted and pushed her boxes labeled books toward the shelves. “Sorry, I forgot,” she said. “You’re very...down to earth.”

“Thank you, love. I try t’be.” Harry was reading the titles of the books as he put them on her shelves. He thought you could learn a lot about a person based on what they read. She seemed to read a bit of everything which made sense. She appeared worldly and intelligent. Her choices ranged from psychological non-fiction to romantic novels set at Christmas time. There were several historical fiction books as well. “You read a lot?” He asked.

“I used to...” she shrugged. “I get really caught up in my schoolwork. When I have time in the summer, I can read two to three books a week but that’s only when I’m not stressed about other things.”

“I see.”

“Do you read?”

“Uh...a little here and there...but not too often. I should read more. I get very busy with the company and everything,” he explained.

“I’ve been trying to read for thirty minutes every day since...well...since I was staying with Louis and Eleanor. I turn my phone off and set a timer on the microwave and everything. Louis hated waiting for it to be over so we could watch our shows and stuff.”

“S’nice you have Louis and Eleanor,” Harry remarked. “I don’t know what I’d do without Niall.”

“They’ve been the best people in my life for so long,” she said with so much kindness, so much reverence for them, Harry felt his heart stutter just as a bystander for her love for the pair.

“How did you meet them?”

“Louis was my older brother’s best friend. Since before grade school. They did everything together. He’s like my own brother...and Eleanor has been in his life since they were in high school, she’s like an older sister to me, too.”

“Oh, s’nice. I didn’t know you had a brother.”

There was a pause. If Harry wasn’t so enthralled by her, he might have missed how brief the pause really was. But he watched her swallow as she broke the cardboard box down and set it to the side as she slid the next one in front of her to start placing more books on the shelf. Her eyebrows pinched together just slightly. “He died when I was in high school,” she murmured. “Louis and Eleanor haven’t left me alone since.”

Harry thought of his older sister Gemma. The thought of her dying was enough to break his heart. He was overcome with grief for the poor girl who just casually went on organizing her books. Harry wasn’t sure how she could remain upright. How she could continue living. Gemma was one of his best friends. The way she spoke about Louis and Eleanor with so much admiration...he could only imagine how much love she had for her biological brother. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “M’so sorry, love,” he said quietly.

She nodded, swallowed hard again. She didn’t speak for a few minutes. Harry just let her put her books on the shelf and he silently watched her as it was clear the grief while manageable probably hurt a lot at times like this. Her eyes glistened a bit and she shook her head. “You have a sister, you said?” She asked eventually.

“Yeah, she’s older than me, too. Her name’s Gemma.”

She nodded. “You should call her and tell her you love her,” she said quietly. “Often,” she mumbled.

Harry thought he would cry. “I will,” he promised.

They were quiet for a bit of time until all the books were neatly displayed. She stood up and cracked her neck side to side and put her hands on her hips. “Thank you,” she said finally. He shook his head.

“Not a problem, love.”

He was looking at her like she might break down crying. “Can I ask you something?” She wondered.

“Of course.”

“Do...you expect...more from me?” She asked quietly. She didn’t meet his gaze as she asked. Harry saw the way her cheeks turned pink as she spoke. The change in subject seemed so rapid but Harry didn’t know much about the grief she was feeling. It may have been over five years since it happened, but he imagined that coping with it was something that was still so prominent in her life. He wished he dug deeper into her social media. Wished that he searched her name in obituary searches or asked about her family earlier. It seemed like an entirely vulnerable way to bring it up and now she was stuck with him in her apartment where she probably felt completely exposed.

Hence her question. Taking a deep breath Harry wanted to tell her he would love to make out with her like a horny college frat boy. And yes, he had thought of bending her over this cheap furniture at least ten times since he arrived. But Harry liked to believe he wasn’t like most men on the website he found her on; he would never make her do anything she didn’t want to. He wanted her to be comfortable around him. Especially since he was kind of falling madly in love with her with every passing second. “I don’t expect anything but for you t’be yourself, kitten,” he said softly. “If our...relationship heads that way, m’open to it, of course. You’re beautiful, intelligent, kind, and funny. I would love t’do more with you of course. But m’not an animal. M’not going to make you.”

“You kind of pay me to do that though,” she reminded him still not fully looking at him. Her eyes darted to the pile of flattened cardboard boxes, and he watched the way her fingers kind of shook as she reached for other scraps of plastic and Styrofoam to put in the trash pile.

Tilting his head at her, he reached out and placed a hand over hers, stilling the shakiness and gave her a squeeze. It felt like heaven just to hold her hand. Harry felt so lucky he found her before someone else did. “M’not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. I just want to spoil you.”

“And help me build cheap furniture that you hate?” She asked with a smirk. She squeezed his hand back and Harry swore he could hear wedding bells in his head.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he practically groaned. “I would’ve bought you real furniture.”

She grinned so cutely, wrinkling her nose at him. “I bought a real couch and bed.”

“A miracle, it seems,” he grumbled looking at the particle board that seemed to bend a bit with each book she placed on the last shelf.

*

Harry felt he was floating he sat in his office. Spending the evening with her, even just building furniture, furthered how smitten he was with the angel he happened to find on the Internet. Over the last month they hung out several more times, not doing much of anything of importance. Some nights they went out and Harry bought her fancy meals and drinks (and her favorite desserts). Other nights they watched a movie on her comfy, stable couch while Harry wondered if her TV stand was going to fall apart under the weight of her TV.

In the meantime, she didn’t see much of Harry while at work. Most of the time she was in Niall’s office tending to his needs and learning the ins and outs of his job. From what Niall said and what he could see, she was a natural, of course. She was brilliant. “If m’not careful, she might take my job,” Niall chuckled rubbing the back of his head. They were meeting in Harry’s office going over his latest spreadsheet that was so much more organized than the last five years of spreadsheets Niall ever provided. As anticipated, it was all thanks to her.

Harry smirked and rolled his eyes. “You would be so lucky,” he muttered.

“You like this one,” Niall noted. Harry avoided his friend’s eye contact as he looked through the papers on his desk.

Harry nodded. “She’s good,” he shrugged.

“The others were good,” Niall replied, knowingly.

“Are y’snooping as my employee or my friend?” He asked without looking up.

“Best friend,” he qualified.

Harry shrugged again and thought about the pretty girl just down the hall looking adorable and being her perfect self. He hadn’t told Niall yet. But he wanted to. His only hesitation was making her uncomfortable. He didn’t think Niall would say or do anything, but...the idea of betraying her trust or making her feel inadequate at work made him feel like it could be the most horrible thing in the world. “She gets me tea,” he smirked.

“Honestly, I was shocked you gave her company card on the first day,” he chuckled.

Harry felt his eyebrows knit close together. “What?” He said simply.

Niall was seated across from him casually and he glanced at Harry almost curiously. He shrugged. “The coffee and tea?” He asked.

“I thought you gave her a card.”

Niall blinked in surprise. “Uh...no,” he shook his head. “I didn’t give her anything.”

Harry felt irritated. The kind of irritation he felt when she tried to pay for dinner. Or when she bought cheap furniture. Or any time she thought she was inconveniencing him. There was a knock on the other side of Harry’s office at that moment. “Come in,” he called.

“Oh, speak of the angel,” Niall grinned brightly. Harry stared at her, coffee, tea in her hand. Smiling kindly as she entered, she set the tray of drinks on Harry’s desk, and he watched her every movement.

“Talking about me?” She asked quietly. “Doesn’t sound good.”

“All good things, darling,” he promised.

“How do you pay for our coffee?” Harry asked bluntly, quickly, ignoring Niall entirely. He was miffed. In over a month of being here she had probably spent at least a hundred dollars a week of her own money on coffee for the three of them. More, if she went on behalf of other people. Which she was apt to do if anyone asked while in the same room when she asked Niall if he wanted something.

“Harry,” he said quietly. “Stop,” Niall rolled his eyes.

“Uh...I pay for it,” she admitted.

Niall blinked. “You pay for it?” He asked.

“Um...yeah...I thought—”

“Darling, that’s probably cost you a small fortune...s’not sustainable.”

Technically it was Harry buying coffee. But that’s not what he gave her money for.

“Really, it’s okay. I have—”

Harry was already pulling a checkbook out of his top desk drawer. He wrote her name and made it out for a thousand dollars before sliding it to her. She blanched seeing the amount. Oh, she was going to get an earful later. She just knew it. “Let me know if you need more,” he said simply. “Niall, can you please go get her a company card?” Niall stood taking his drink from the tray and headed for the door. He knew when Harry meant business. Literally and figuratively. This was one of those times. He didn’t fully understand why Harry was all up in arms about this, but if he was going to write her a check for coffee, he wasn’t going to question his friend’s reasoning.

“Wait, Niall...,” she said hurriedly. Her cheeks were warming, and her heart rate felt aflutter...like when Harry picked her up from her apartment and held doors open for her. “I...I just set up a tab with the Starbucks across the street. They give us a discount because I go so often. I just tip them and pay at the end of each week...it’s not this much,” she said quickly handing the check back to Harry. A look passed between the two of them and Harry looked away briefly before Niall caught it. He didn’t want him to be suspicious...he would tell him. Niall was his best friend after all. But he couldn’t do it in the workplace. This was a private conversation for sure.

“You set up a tab?” Niall asked. Harry stared at her with so much...annoyance. She could feel his irritation seeping through the air, and she truly thought she was going to lose both her jobs for this. It was just coffee and she had already told Harry she didn’t need as much money as he gave her. Coffee was the least she could do. “Why didn’t we think of that?” Niall directed his question to Harry.

Harry didn’t know either. His agitation disintegrated by the second as he realized she was much more brilliant than he gave her credit for—even for something as simple and lovely as coffee. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone. It made her look like she was in trouble with a school principal. Her fingers fidgeted with the pockets of her skirt and Harry thought about how he wanted to kick Niall out of his office and how much he would love to rip the skirt off her so he could have her all to himself. She was too beautiful, too smart. He was grateful he was seated behind his desk hiding his lower half. “Don’t buy coffee for anyone here with your own money,” Harry told her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh stop,” Niall said shaking his head coming back to her. He put a hand on her arm and gave her a gentle squeeze. “‘Thank you, darling.’ Is what Harry meant.”

“Yes. Thank you. Don’t do it again.” Harry didn’t fully understand what was happening to him regarding this perfect girl. Never in his life did he anticipate finding a companion online, spoiling her rotten, and seemingly falling for her at the same time. So much so that he was jealous of Niall. He wanted to yank his best friend’s arm out of its socket solely for touching her arm.

Unfortunately, she saw the way his eyes connected with Niall’s hand on her arm. She was definitely going to get an earful tonight.

--

taglist: @tpwkstiles @matildasatellite @jessitpwk @jerseygirlinca

[theyungihven]

Truth Or Dare ⁉️ ⁕ Hongjoong

HALLOWEEN EVENT

☆ pairing: hongjoong as Dracula x Human? Reader

☆ genre: mystery, fantasy, horror,

☆ warnings: mentions of blood, sacrifice, vampires and ghosts

☆ word count: 2.1k+

☆ synopsis : You and your friends dare to spend a night at the infamous Dracula's Castle but things go astray as one by one everyone goes missing and you come across the man rumoured to be Dracula.

“You gotta do this!” You hear your friends yell or more like discuss something in the secret hideout. 

The hideout is an abandoned laboratory where you sometimes work on illegal stuff. The discussions take place every day here where everyone in your friend group (it's just 2 people) gather to share about the current news (conspiracy theories) and rumours they heard around the town while you are busy building your prototype.

“Bro, I don't wanna die too early. First, fucking global warming, now this shit? Nah I'm out!” Claire shouts as she bangs the old lunch table discarded in the room. Well that's Claire, one of you two friends, being herself. You smile at her humour which strangely manages to entertain you.

“But they offered a reward of 250 grand, if we spend a night there and return alive.” You listen keenly to Kevin who explains the plan before you to decide to jump into their conversation. He's obviously got a strategy if he's pitching the idea, doesn't he? He has to!

“Alive? The fuck is going on there?” Claire yells  in terror as it laces her body manifesting itself in her tone which shivers and shrieks.

“Rumour says, it's Dracula, who was sleeping till last month in the villa.” Kevin whispers loudly as if he intended you to hear on their spill the tea session.

“Which shithead woke him up, for fuckssake?” Claire huffs and pushes back her chair. You hear the screeching of the rusty metal and make a note to check their safety because you don't want anyone to break their bones from falling off that thing.

“Someone from med school. They're missing apparently.” Kevin slurs his sentence as if he's making things up or masking up the important details. Cheeky little Bastard who's always up to something. Probably some anatomy geek must have gotten all curious to see Dracula in the flesh and fainted in there or lost his way.

“And now, we're going there to feed him?" Claire shrieks, whose voice sounds like a scared five year old upon seeing a clown which she is to be honest.

“No, obviously! To show whoever is hiding in there, that they cannot hide for long.” Kevin's sentence catches your attention and you think whether to join them or wait and hear more. Of course, you choose the latter.

“So... we're going to expose them?”Claire asks excitedly as if in hopes of going on a ghost hunting mission. They are her time passing activities and the ghost files is her favourite show. “What if it's a cannibal or serial killer?”

“Can you speak positively for once, Claire?” Kevin shrugs, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Sorry.” Claire says softly and the conversation stills, creating an awkward silence in the room. 

You finally decide to interrupt as you pull your chair to their table and make yourself comfortable on it. “So, what's the plan?” You say, chewing the strawberry flavoured gum and reading the expressions on their faces.

“See who finally decided to pay attention?” Kevin mocks you and you roll your eyes at his statement. 

“Does the area have connectivity? Comms? Anything?” You ask him, because he certainly has some information on this if he's even mentioning the topic but he has a tendency to hide things till after the disaster is done.

“Nope everything's dead. There's a strong magnetic field apparently…” He trails on his words, again and clicks his tongue.

“What in the Stranger Things?” Claire wonders with her mouth hanging open. 

“Shut up Claire! You’re watching too much science fiction.” Kevin yells at her, sending a stern glare at Claire who turns her head down with a frown on her lips.

“We gotta do it the pirate way.” you suggest calmly, leaning back on the chair and folding your arms.

“Pirates?” Claire asks, raising her eyebrow and leaning forward with enthusiasm.

“I forgot you had pirate blood for a minute.” adds Kevin and Claire acknowledges the fact with ahh. 

“So, if we don't have comms, drones and walkies aren't gonna work. We gotta get flares and some type of marker to make a path for entry and exits.” You say looking at the table and your friends exchange looks.

“A blueprint of the place!” Claire exclaims as if she has figured out the answers to one of the world's unsolvable riddles.

“It's not your fucking aunts house!” Kevin says loudly, giving Claire the ‘I'll murder you’ eyes.

“Yeah he's right. But the villa is not that big to get lost.” You mumble, moving forward and setting your arms on the table. 

“How do you know that?” Kevin gives you the sceptical look as if you're a notorious criminal with disgusting crimes.

“It was once our family property, that was a long time tho. Some feud happened and we lost it.” You confess and their faces have the funniest expression you've ever seen. Confused, surprised and wtf?

“You have a map?” Kevin yells in your ear and you retort meters away, squeezing your eyes close  due to the pain.

“Kinda, it's a tracing, rather than a map.” you say, rubbing your ear and a flicker of hope lights up on Kevin's face. 

“Atleast, we have something.” Claire mumbles as she shares a smile.

“Be at my house at 7, we'll discuss stuff there. That's it for now.”

***

“Listen, the Manor has two exits.” You explain, spreading out the old one dimensional tracing of the Manor and its illustrations.

“Didn't you say it was a villa?” Claire says, setting her hands on her waist as she stares at the floor plan.

“Can we kick her out?” Kevin suggests and the idea doesn't sound bad considering her level headed ass. 

“It's dangerously close to Yes, but what if I get bored? We'll need her.” You trail, spreading out the second floor plan of the Manor.

“Fair. So, Claire, just shut your mouth and listen. No speaking over someone.” Kevin says and shushes Claire who pouts, giving him the puppy eyes.

“Okay so the first exit is at the front, obviously for the people and the second is at the back for the goods.” You say with your finger tracing the main gate of the Manor and then the back gate. 

“Ohhhhhh!” Claire coos, and Kevin giggles at her reaction while he gets ready to smack her on head.

“Yeah. Shut your mouth before a fly lands in there. Anyways, moving on!” You say, thinking about your next sentence and Claire slaps her hand to her mouth. 

“Are we dividing up and going from two exits?” Kevin asks, and you look up at him, eyes diverting themselves from the map and landing on his face.

“Yes, you read my mind. You two will go from the front door to distract whatever is in there and I'll go with someone else from the back.”

“Is this someone else, late to the meeting?”

“Hey there!” A voice says and it is followed by the garage door smashing open with a thud, “Sorry I had soccer practice.” Yunho, your arch nemesis on friendly terms, says and shares an awkward smile.

“This is my neighbour, yunho.” You introduce him and drag him by his arm to make his tall ass body stand next to yours.

“Hello, very nice to meet you.” He waves at your friends with a bright smile and Claire gives him heart eyes at which you cringe. 

“You both are polar opposites!” Kevin comments and you feel heating rising on your cheeks.

“We get that a lot!” You and Yunho say at the same time only to meet each other's eyes the next second and shy away. 

“What did I miss?” Yunho says after clearing his throat as he glances in your direction. His golden blond hair falls over eyes and you observe the way his gaze flickers from your face and back to map.

“Whatever I said to you, last night.” You say, finding something to stare at besides his brooding figure.

“Okay then, I'm saved I guess!” Yunho says as he nervously chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The next phase of the plan is when I signal you, we move to the first floor. The highest is the second floor which has a library in the attic.” You say and it excites something in Yunho judging by the creepy smirk on his lips.

“Attics scare me!” Claire says, her voice shrieking with fear of the darkness.

“What doesn't scare you Claire?” Kevin says in a monotone as he turns his head in her direction.

“Him!” Claire points in Yunho's direction at which you can't help but sigh.

“Flirt somewhere else, lovebirds. We got shit to do.” You roll your eyes then go back to thinking about what to say next.

“How are you going to communicate?” Yunho asks, giving you his starry puppy eyes and you can't help but gulp nervously. What is he even trying to do?

“Well, I have a perfect device for that.” You say, distracting yourself from the tall and beautiful blonde beside you with a bright ass smile.

“Where?” Claire asks as if she's looking for something and fails to find it.

“Our friendship bracelets. They work with a higher bandwidth of 7GHz.” You say, pointing at the bracelet on Claire's wrist.

“7g WiFi?” Claire exclaims and you hear an audible sigh from Kevin, at which Yunho giggles and earns a glare.

“Yeah kinda like that.....i guess.” you mumble under your breath.

“Yunho doesn't have one, though?” Someone asks while your mind pulls you in a trance and you start to zone out.

“He does.” You say, almost mumbles as you start to slip into the fever dream.

“He DOES?”  They yell. 

AT THE MANOR

“You know what to do. On the signal, disperse. It's two taps, distinct and repeating 3 times. If anything goes down, the distress signal is continuous tapping. Light the flare ONLY if its a fucking emergency, and if we need to abort the mission.” You yell as low as possible while they listen to you attentively. 

“Yes sir!” Everyone shouts, tightening the strap of their backpack of supplies.

“Remember to mark your way up to the second floor. People get lost there.” You say and everyone exchanges confused looks. “It's a spell.” You remind them and they nod their heads. “Now, go. Meet you at the library!”

According to the plan, you and Yunho go through the back gate while Claire and Kevin from the front gate. The sound of the rusted iron screeching when Kevin pushes the gate echoes around the Manor and you curse under your breath. 

The way up to the first floor had been easy, then after the signal from the other team gave clearance, you decided to head to the second floor alone bidding Yunho a goodbye. It had been strange for a while, walking down the eerie, empty hallway with the feeling of something watching you the whole time. 

You stand in the middle of the never ending hallway, a ghostly whisper greets your ear and sends shivers down your spine. 

What in the fucking hell?? 

There's a ghostly touch on your arm, ice cold as it traces its finger down your warm skin. When you turn to face the monster, there's no one behind you. Then you feel it, a looming shadow over your shoulder but when you turn again, it's gone. 

So, you walk on because standing still is more dangerous. You choose to run when you see a pale face in the middle of the corridor grinning wildly at you which sends terror down your body. Your heart beats at an amazing speed as your breath shortens, adrenaline running through your body which initiates the flight mechanism because there is no way you're dealing with that demonic thing in this haunted mansion. 

“I've been searching for you for so long.” A voice echoes in the hallway or is it your brain playing tricks on you. Luckily you find the stairway leading to the second floor and run towards it but things take a turn when you realise, it is a trap. 

“I thought you were a smart girl.” The sinister voice echoes in your mind again as you walk away from the door that shut itself only to bump into something hard. Turning around you come to see the very pale face you had seen in the hallway but very clearly now. 

The man stands in front of you in his full glory, the navy uniform and wounds from the battle still decorating his lifeless body. “You traitor!” You feel a sharp pain in your chest and you look down to see a dagger pressed to your heart. “You'll repay the blood we shed that night, you vampire.” Everything goes black when he twists the knife and the last thing you see is a scared yunho trying to save you.