#by then his only worry is burning through all his chaos energy

[ponderingmoonlight]

Wicked Games

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: From the second Ryomen Sukuna appears on the surface on earth again, you are bound to each other. Until the Shibuya accident. Until Sukuna gets confronted with the fear of losing you first-hand.

Warnings: angst to fluff y'all, enemies to lovers in a kind of rushed way, this made me think about doing a series with like 5 chapters and a slow burn enemies to lovers with Sukuna x curse!reader - how do you feel about that? <3

Inspired by this prompt:

You remember it as if it was yesterday. The night was cold and eerily quiet when you sprinted through the dark streets, your body buzzing with the vibrations of cursed energy.

The reports had come in just an hour ago: a powerful curse had manifested, and it wasn’t just any ordinary curse. The whispers and especially Gojo spoke of something ancient, something nearly forgotten. Something that had slumbered within the shadows of legends until now.

“Guess what, (y/n)? Megumi found something that might interest you”, Gojo jeered at you through the phone when you already felt it.

Ryomen Sukuna.

You had heard his name your entire life - a dark deity, a figure so terrible that entire villages had been wiped out by his bare hands centuries ago.

Since you were a child, you've been obsessed with him, the so-called "King of Curses." Not because you were drawn to the death and chaos he brought, but because of the mystery he posed. The idea that something so cruel, so powerful, could exist outside the boundaries of human comprehension. As a sorcerer, you committed yourself to understanding curses, to studying their origins, motivations, powers. And there was no greater paradox than Sukuna himself.

But now, he wasn't only a paradox anymore. Now he had returned. They had found one of his fingers. Apparently, someone had consumed it.

“I’m in the middle of souvenir shopping and guessed you wouldn’t mind stepping in and helping little Megumi out.”

"Normally I'd scold you but today...thank you, idiot."

Yuji Itadori, the boy who had swallowed Sukuna’s cursed finger, who brought Sukuna back into the world after centuries of slumber, stood right in your sight along with Megumi Fushiguro. But you couldn’t let yourself worry about the boys; your focus was on the curse now staring straight back at you.

Your fingers tightened on the hilt of your sword, the cursed energy crackling around you like lightning in the dark night. You had prepared your entire life for this moment. The countless hours of sickening training, the sleepless nights spent poring over ancient texts and scrolls, and the battles fought against nameless curses. All of it had led you here, to your first confrontation with the King of Curses.

As you reached the completely destroyed school building where the cursed energy was originating from, you could already feel it. The overwhelming, tyrannical weight of Sukuna’s presence. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, so thick it felt as though it was suffocating you.

You pressed on, despite the nausea building in your chest. There was no time to second-guess yourself. You moved swiftly through the corridors of the building, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. The cursed energy grew heavier with every step, your breathing becoming uneven when the spiteful aura grew stronger. And then, at the far end of the hallway on top of a roof, you saw him.

At first glance, it was a boy, a teenager no older than Megumi. His body was rigid, standing in the middle of that roof, shoulders squared as though fighting an internal battle. But the look on his face, the wicked smile stretched across his lips, told you otherwise. The way his dark eyes gleamed with wicked amusement confirmed what you had feared.

This wasn’t Itadori anymore.

This was Sukuna.

“Interesting...” Sukuna’s voice rumbled from the boy’s throat as his gaze locked onto yours.

His smile widened, predatory and cruel.

“What do we have here? Another little sorcerer, so eager to die?”

You held your ground, your body tense but steady. This was no ordinary curse you were facing. Every instinct screamed at you to flee, but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t, allow fear to take control. Your entire life had been building up to this.

“You’re not getting out of here,” you said, your voice firm.

“Not while I’m here.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. His eyes narrowed, taking you in.

“Brave words, but foolish. Do you really think you can handle me, girl?”

You didn’t respond with words, Instead, you shoved Megumi behind you and let your cursed energy flare to life around you, the air crackling with power. You moved swiftly, launching yourself at him, your blade drawn and poised for the strike.

But Sukuna was fast — faster than you had anticipated. With barely a flicker of movement, he dodged your attack, his grin never faltering. He countered with a swift punch, sending you flying across the air and crashing into the opposite wall. Pain exploded in your chest, and you gasped for breath.

“Is that all?”, Sukuna taunted, his voice filled with mockery as he stalked toward you.

“I expected more from someone who’s been chasing me.”

You coughed, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, but you forced yourself to your feet. Your body ached from the impact, but the adrenaline was stronger. You had trained for this. You wouldn’t go down so easily.

As Sukuna advanced, you focused your cursed energy into a powerful barrier, your eyes blazing with determination. You wouldn’t let him win. Not today.

“Let the boy go,” you demanded, your voice sharper now.

“I’m your opponent now.”

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed at the challenge.

“Bold. But you should know better than to give me orders.”

The battle was swift and brutal. Sukuna’s strikes were relentless, his movements impossibly fast and deadly. You could barely keep up, each of his blows a near-fatal attack. But through it all, you fought with everything you had, refusing to back down.

You’ve studied Sukuna your entire life. You knew his techniques, his fighting style, the cruel unpredictability of his power. But even with all that knowledge, facing him in person was something entirely different. His cursed energy was overwhelming, suffocating, a malevolent force that pressed against your very soul.

And yet, you stood your ground.

As the fight wore on, something shifted in the way Sukuna looked at you. What had started as amusement, as mockery, slowly turned into something else. Curiosity. Interest. Even a hint of admiration.

“You’re not like the others,” he jeered at one point, dodging one of your attacks effortlessly.

His eyes flickered with something dangerous, something… intrigued.

“You’re still standing. Most would have died by now.”

You spat blood onto the ground, your body screaming in agony but your will unbroken.

“I’m not most people.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound dark and throaty.

“No. You’re not.”

That was how it began. The first encounter — your first dance with death and the King of Curses. It didn’t end with your victory or his defeat. No, you knew better than to believe you could win against him in a single battle. But it wasn’t a defeat, either.

It was the beginning of something bigger.

After your first encounter with Sukuna, something within you shifted. Yuji Itadori regained control, but you knew it was only temporary. Sukuna wasn’t gone. He was still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for his next opportunity to take control. And when he did, you were there.

Every. Single. Time.

Every time Sukuna resurfaced, you fought him. It became a twisted routine, an endless game of cat and mouse where neither of you could claim absolute victory. You learned his techniques, his fighting style, and the nuances of his cursed energy. You pushed yourself harder, training longer, grew stronger. And with every battle, Sukuna’s interest in you grew as well.

He began to speak to you during the fights, taunting you, teasing you, but always with that glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. He never seemed eager to kill you, not really. In fact, there were moments, brief, fleeting moments, where he seemed to hold back, almost as if he was enjoying the challenge you presented.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked him one day, your voice strained after yet another brutal fight.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Sukuna’s grin was feral, his eyes glittering dangerously as he wiped the blood from his lips.

“Because you’re amusing,” he replied, his voice low and menacing.

“And because I’m not done with you yet.”

You hated the way his words sent a shiver down your spine, the way his gaze seemed to pierce straight through you. But more than anything, you hated how much you wanted to beat him, to prove yourself against the King of Curses.

As the months passed, you found yourself drawn deeper into Sukuna’s world. You fought him, studied him, and slowly but surely somehow began to understand him. He wasn’t just a mindless monster, not like the other curses you’ve faced. There was something more to Sukuna, something ancient and calculating, a mind sharper than any blade.

And Sukuna, in turn, began to learn more about you. He observed your fighting style, your strategies, your strengths and weaknesses. He pushed you, challenged you, forced you to grow stronger with every battle. There was a strange, unspoken connection between you: a mutual recognition of each other’s strength, a respect born from the countless times you’d clashed.

But there was something else, too. Something neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Something that simmered beneath the surface of every encounter.

You hated him. You despised everything he stood for, the chaos and destruction he brought into the world. But there was a part of you that couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him — the way his presence ignited something fierce and primal within you.

And Sukuna? Sukuna had grown attached to the thrill of facing you. You were unlike anyone he’d ever fought. Strong. Determined. Unyielding. It was no longer about crushing you under his heel. It was about keeping you close, about testing your limits and pushing you to your breaking point.

But neither of you were willing to admit what was truly happening between you.

You smile weakly to yourself, blood spilling from the corners of your mouth. Not even now.

The Shibuya Incident is chaos. The city is overrun with curses and the streets are filled with blood and screams. You dispatched alongside other sorcerers to contain the situation, but things quickly spiraled out of control. The curses were too many, too strong, and the collateral damage was catastrophic.

Your focus was on protecting your students, the young sorcerers under your care who had been thrust into this nightmare far too early in their training. You were always their protector, their guide, and you would do anything to keep them safe. But the battle was relentless, and the curses were closing in fast.

In the midst of the chaos, Sukuna reappeared, his presence like a dark shadow over the battlefield. He took control of Yuji once again, his cursed energy crackling through the air with terrifying force. You felt it the moment he arrived, your senses attuned to the overwhelming hatred that accompanied his presence.

You barely had time to react before you were caught in the crossfire. A powerful curse lashed out at you and you moved to shield your students from the blow. But the attack was too fast, too strong. It tore through your defenses, the cursed energy slicing through your body like a hot knife through butter.

Pain exploded in your chest when you collapsed to the ground, blood pooling beneath you. Your vision blurred, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You had suffered injuries before, but this… this was different.

This was fatal.

The world around you fades almost instantly, the edges of your vision go dark. You can feel your life slipping away, your body growing cold.

Out of all people, why does it have to be him you long for the most? Why do your eyes start watering by the thought that you'll might never see him again, that you were never able to feel his lips pressed against yours? Are you really so naive, so dumb? Fuck, you really fell for the King of Curses, the root of all evil.

But then… you hear his voice.

“Get. Up.”

Sukuna’s voice cuts through the haze of pain and exhaustion like a lightning strike. You blink, trying to focus, trying to understand what is happening. Is he really there? Are you hallucinating?

“Get up,” he repeats, his voice sharp and commanding.

But then you feel it. His hand pressed against the gaping wound in your abdomen. No, he's really there. It's really him.

“You’ve suffered bigger wounds. And if you don’t get up, I’ll destroy everything that’s left of this world.”

You force yourself to breathe, your chest burning with the effort. But your body isn’t responding anymore. The pain is too much. You simply can’t move. The only reaction you're able to build up is a weak smile.

Is this really how it ends? With another empy threat?

Sukuna growls, crouching down beside you. He can't let you die here. Not like this, not after this short time. There's still so much more he needs to show you, so much more he needs to say.

Before he realizes what he's even doing, his hands are on you, cursed energy flowing into your body, patching up the worst of the damage. It isn’t healing, not really - more like forcing your body to hold together for just a little longer. Just enough to keep you.

“Please…”

Sukuna’s voice is strained, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Please get up. Don’t die on me.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest as his words sink in. He’s asking you. Pleading with you...Not to die?

“Please don’t die on me.”

With his cursed energy coursing through you, you really feel your strength returning, your wounds slowly mending under his influence. The pain fades away, replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your body. You gasp for breath, your chest rising and falling as life surges back into you.

Did…Ryomen Sukuna save your ass? Your heart pounds so roughly against your ribcage that you feel like fainting all over again. This can’t be possible, right? You have to be dreaming. After all, Ryomen Sukuna is your greatest enemy, responsible for at least half of the mess here.

“I’m not… done yet,” you rasp, your voice weak but steady.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous paired with a hint of relief.

“That’s more like it.”

He helps you to your feet, his hand lingering on your arm for just a moment longer than necessary. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

"What, were you worried about me, dumbass?"

Faster than you're able to react, he grabs your arm again and pulls you in. When his lips press themselves against yours, you forget how to exist for a second. Out of instinct, you open your mouth, allow him to enter, close your eyes when your whole body starts to burn up all over again.

Oh, you imagined this more than once. How do his firm arms feel against your touch? Are his lips softer than his cruel words? Is Sukuna a good kisser?

A desperate moan escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, your arms now roaming all over his muscular frame.

This...this is so wrong. You shouldn't do this, shouldn't even dream about something like this. But as sudden as he appeared, he's gone again, leaving you with nothing but your swollen lips as a proof for what just happened.

Are you actually going insane?

Bonus:

After Shibuya, things changed between you and Sukuna.

The battles continued, of course. The fights, the challenges, the taunts, the unnecessary deaths and killing  - none of that stopped and you still hate him with every fiber of your being for all those horrible things he did. But there is something else now, something that neither of you can ignore. The second Sukuna saw you lying there in a pool of your own blood on the edge of death, he started to realize it.

You aren’t a simple enemy for him anymore. You are his obsession.

Sukuna’s possessiveness over you grew, but so did the strange, unspoken understanding between you. You weren’t just another sorcerer to him anymore. You were his: his opponent, his challenge, his equal. And though neither of you would ever admit it out loud, there was a twisted sort of affection in that.

And you?

You’ve found something unexpected in the King of Curses. Not love, not really, but something close. Something raw and powerful, a connection without any logic and reason.

You didn’t know where it would lead. But you knew one thing for sure:

As long as Sukuna was in this world, you would be right there with him.

And that was enough.

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr

[superstarcherrycolagirl]

we’ll be alright

“fine line” by harry styles

benny cross x fem!reader / 1.2k words

idea: you get hurt, but benny is an absolute wreck

tw: assault, fighting, gore, angst, crying, happy ending

notes: ya’ll when i tell you my thumbs, hands, and arms are burning cause i’ve been COOKING!! i was craving some angst (i love to suffer) so way not make this beautiful man suffer!! that final seen on the door steps had me weeping so i needed to write something similar to that SO HERE IT IS :))) (p.s i kinda need some kathy ideas)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

the baby blue ice pack created a weird sensation against your left eye and the side of your face. numb was what it was, but you couldn’t really think straight at that point.

sitting on the edge of the bed with kathy beside you, rubbing her hand up and down your back, it almost lulled you to sleep. but the medicine you took and the exhaustion you felt might have also played a part in your sleepiness.

that fight was never meant to happen. those young kids should’ve never been let into the bar. johnny kicked himself for not literally kicking them out the moment they walked in. the kid with the buzzed head should’ve never gotten so close to benny with you behind him, and benny should’ve known you were behind him and not with your girlfriends before he dodged his swing, so you’d never be served that harsh punch to your sweet face.

in the split moment the whole bar went quiet, your faint slow breaths filled the air. you were in shock, touching your face to see blood on your hand. that kid stacked his punching rings on that night. when you looked up from your hands to the kid in front of you, your eyes watered and threatened to spill, that’s when chaos broke loose. but thank god you can’t remember any of that right now. you cried so hard on kathy’s shoulder the entire ride home, thanks to danny for driving you back in his car, that you think you can’t cry anymore.

you jerked awake due to the loud knocking at your apartment door, kathy settling you down first before standing up “i’m gonna go grab that sweetheart and i’ll be right back. stay right here for me babe” she left your bedroom calmly, hearing her boot cladded footsteps taking a left turn and and marching down the hallway

you heard muffled voices through the walls, then moments later you heard a second pair of footsteps stomping down to your door. or was it 3 pairs?

“got some energy left in you babe? you got some company” you looked up at kathy, but you couldn't see the people with her. so you took the ice pack off your face, a vivid mix of purples, red, and blues plastering the left half of your face, and looked up. benny had finally come home and johnny was stopping by!

“who is it kat- oh my gosh! you guys are alive!” it’s like a flip switched in your brain as you got up from the bed and stumbled a bit to get to them. “lord i can’t imagine what it was like in there! are you guys alri-” that’s when benny grabbed onto you and pulled you into his chest. tight. “hi honey! i’m so happy you’re here! did everything clear up? are you okay?” you asked sweetly. you were quite lethargic in your state, so you couldn’t pick up on how thick the air was due to how worried everyone was about you. not until you listened to benny’s breath stutter and tiny whimpers leaving his mouth.

he’s crying.

you tried to pull away from him to look up at him, but he wouldn’t let you go. he wasn’t gonna let you go, not after tonight’s events. you didn’t know what to do, why was he crying? you could only hold him, rubbing your right hand in circles on his back. sooner or later, your left arm extended and reached out abruptly. kathy was confused at first, but was quickly diminished when realizing that this was your way of saying hello to johnny. johnny softly held your hand, afraid that you were aching all over, as he was caressing your hand with his thumb. “hello to you too sweetheart” he said in his deep voice.

you don’t know what was said as you were squashed into benny’s chest, but kathy and johnny left the room quietly, johnny muttering to benny that they were going for a “chat and smoke” and they’d be outside in the living room.

after the door closed, benny pulled back from you. you could finally see his face, but your heart sank down to your stomach so fast. benny’s face was rosy and puffy, while his eyes and cheeks were wet from crying. you brought your hand up to his right cheek, a small cut touching the bottom of your thumb. “..oh honey” you said sadly. you expected him to say that he was okay, or telling you he was going out with johnny, or god forbid say that he was gonna leave. what you didn’t expect was your words to unleash the floodgates of benny’s emotions.

benny started to cry hard, his breaths becoming frantic as tears continued to fall down his face. his hands were shaking, bruises and cuts all over his body, clothes torn, and blood all over. god you hope it wasn’t his own.

benny moved his hands to hold both sides of your neck, worried he would hurt you even more by touching your face. then he started to speak, but his voice watery and shaky, like a little boy “m’so..so s-orry baby, m’so sorry, m.. so sorry,” his stutters and hiccups were hysterical, you’re worried he’ll pass out from not breathing enough. “m’coward. a fucking coward. i should’ve known you were behind m-me… i failed to keep you sa-afe, you got hurt because of me.. and m’so sorry.. pl-ease don’t leave me.. please don’t-” those were the words that woke you up. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. leave him? and you refused to hear more of it.

you walked backwards to sit on the bed, benny hands slid to hold your lower back before sliding even lower to hold the thick of your thighs. to ground himself. you held his face to make him look at you. to see you.

“honey.. none of this was your fault” his sniffles and gasps were making it harder for you to speak. “i don’t blame you or anyone else for what happened, but especially not you. i’m alright” your right hand moved up to his frazzled hair, brushing the strands of hair away from his face. you prayed it would help him calm down. “and m’gonna be alright, look,” you grabbed his tattered hands from your hips and placed one on your heart, and the other on your swollen cheek. you can see his shoulders fall slowly as he focuses on your heartbeat. “my heart is still pulsing, my chest is still rising and falling, and my soul is still beaming” you scooched closer to him, your left leg placed on top of his right.

“look at me honey,” your syrupy voice rang in his ears as he looked into your eyes again. his eyelashes were dewy from how much he cried that you almost lost all the words in your mouth, but you told him one more thing. “i will never leave you. no matter how crazy our lives get, or how crazy things change, i will never run. i will never let you go. this isn’t where we end” benny inhales and exhales deeply before responding to your words of reassurance, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “i’ll never leave you b-aby..i’m never gonna go, never. i promise baby i-i promise” “c’mere” with that you brought your boy over to you, his head fitting into the crook of your neck.

you let him cry, but also let yourself get teary eyed. “you and me sweet boy. s’gonna be okay” you were stroking the hair on the back of his head as his arms held you closer than ever. you in your pink pajamas and him in his colors. that is what’s meant to be. and always will be.

“we’ll be alright”

[kittyfrisk9]

The soup - Idea DpxDc

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

Dead On Main - Danny having an eating disorder, and Jason being a cute boyfriend.

---

He's breathing deeply, trying to forget the fever that torments his body. Heat and discomfort do their thing, and Danny writhes on the couch that serves as his replacement for a bed. He has no energy to go to his room, nor does he want to move. His head pounds, each pain makes him dizzy, and the burning sensation on his skin doesn't stop. The fever consumes him, and with it, the helplessness of not being able to use his powers to relieve himself.

He grips the blanket tightly, that piece of cheap fabric he bought at a third-rate store, so thin that it barely keeps him warm. He curls up in it, but the warmth of the fabric doesn't manage to take away the pain that runs through his body, nor the emptiness that hurts in his stomach. Each shiver makes him feel weaker, more disconnected from himself. His gaze slides toward the kitchen, toward the plastic bag of instant food he bought a few hours ago.

“Maybe I should eat…” he thinks, but the thought disappears as quickly as it came. Just looking at that food disgusts him. At some point in his teenage years, food started to taste bad, like every bite turned into a tasteless mass that he couldn’t swallow. He suspects it’s some psychological shit, some trauma that his parents are responsible for, but he doesn’t want to think about it now. He doesn’t have the strength to face it.

With a sigh, he turns around, determined to at least get rid of that annoying headache. He reaches for the small table next to the couch, where he left the bottle of painkillers, but stops when he notices something strange. Why is he so light? He frowns, sure he bought it yesterday. He shakes his head, exhausted. It doesn’t matter, he just needs something to relieve himself.

Without thinking much, he takes a couple of pills and drinks from the bottle of water he left nearby. He barely feels the pills go down his throat, a disgusting taste filling his mouth, as bitter as the food he can no longer stomach. He grimaces in disgust, but then… something is wrong.

A stabbing pain shoots through his stomach, like an invisible blade is ripping him apart from the inside. He instinctively doubles over, his hands gripping his abdomen tightly as he feels the tremors. His stomach makes low but intense sounds. Panic mixes with discomfort, and when he feels the liquid rise up his throat, he knows it’s too late.

He leans forward, covering his mouth with one hand as the contents of his stomach rush out. It’s not much, just bile and water, but the burning in his throat and the smell make him shudder. The vomit hits the floor, a mess that only adds more weight to his exhaustion.

Danny stands there, panting, cold sweat sticking to his forehead. The nausea persists, but something else worries him. His eyes focus on the empty bottle that had at some point fallen to the floor.

"How many pills did I take?"

The realization hits him like a brick, followed by a deep sigh filled with frustration. Shit. He's going to have to clean this up. It's not like he has the energy, but there's no one else to do it.

Oh, he's crying, he wants Jason by his side

...

Something is wrong. Very wrong. Extremely wrong.

Jason couldn't ignore it, that nagging uneasiness that made his stomach turn. He'd had a rough few weeks, he knew. More work than usual, more chaos in his territory. The appearance of a new drug—powerful, dangerous, and all too easy to get—had forced him to be everywhere at once. His body was exhausted, and his mind, even more so.

But that wasn't what was keeping him on his toes. No, what really had him worried was Danny.

His boyfriend. That word always brought a small smile to his face, even now, when everything inside him told him something was wrong. He shook his head, trying to focus on something else, but worry was a tight knot in his chest.

He looks up at the sky as he walks across the rooftops. The night in Gotham is especially ugly: thick clouds cover the moon, and the lack of stars makes everything seem even more oppressive. A bad sign.

Yesterday, Danny had been mugged. He could still hear the casual tone Danny told him in, like it hadn't been a big deal. But to Jason, it was something. He'd dealt with the guy, sure, but now he wished he'd hit him harder. He should have been there sooner, should have protected him. And now, Danny hadn't gotten in touch all day. Not one call, not one text. That wasn't normal.

Jason clenches his fists, frustration and fear mixing like an explosive cocktail. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't ignore it either. Something inside him told him he had to move, that he couldn't just stand there waiting for answers.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but instead he makes a decision. With a quick movement, he throws out his grappling hook and begins to jump from one roof to another, faster than usual.

"Patrol can wait." His voice, barely a whisper, is laden with determination. First, he had to make sure Danny was okay. Everything else could wait.

Before long, Jason was outside Danny's apartment. The building was quiet, and the apartment windows were dark, not a single light on. Danny might be sleeping, but Jason didn't trust it. He needed to see him, to make sure with his own eyes that everything was okay.

Without hesitation, he slipped through the window, moving with the ease and stealth that came with years of practice. But what he saw upon entering left him cold.

Danny was on the floor, kneeling, wiping something down with a rag. His body was shaking slightly, and Jason immediately noticed how pale he was. Too pale. The fever was evident on his face, in the sweat that glistened in the dim light coming in from outside. But what caught his attention the most was the smell.

Jason looked away, and what he found made his hands clench into fists automatically. There was vomit on the floor. The acrid smell hit him hard, but it was the sight of Danny, weak and barely able to stand as he tried to clean up, that really ignited his fury.

Why the hell didn’t you call me? he wanted to scream at him, but the words were caught in his throat, choked by a mix of worry and rage. The reminder that he was Red Hodd right now and not Jason Todd hit him hard.

Danny stopped suddenly, noticing the presence of someone else in the room. He slowly turned his head, and his bright eyes—probably from the fever—fixated on Jason. There was confusion on his face.

“Hood?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak.

“Hey,” Hood greeted as he approached him, his voice deep and distorted by the helmet.

Danny let out a small laugh, though it was weak, and turned his head toward him, noticing his presence at last. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his mind still clouded by fever and disorientation.

“I was just passing by and came to take a look,” Jason replied with a smile hidden beneath his mask. He crouched down beside him, effortlessly taking the rag from Danny’s hand. “Why are you doing this?”

Danny, with no strength to fight, simply shrugged, the dizziness almost impossible to ignore. “The smell is disgusting.”

Jason didn’t answer right away, but he watched as Danny offered no resistance, his condition evidently more serious than he was trying to let on.

“Thanks for yesterday, by the way… you saved me, haha,” Danny said, forcing a tired smile. Danny’s laughter, even though he could barely stand upright, gave Jason’s stomach an uncomfortable twist. Danny’s eyes, disoriented and slightly glassy, ​​didn’t help matters.

Jason frowned as he noticed a purplish bruise beneath his eye. The mark was horrible, much worse than Danny was trying to let on. Anger grew in his chest, even more so as he saw how his boyfriend looked so… fragile. Why the hell didn’t I protect him better? He thought, gritting his teeth. Anger burned within him. To hell with hitting the guy harder, he should have killed him.

“Go get some rest,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Danny laughed softly, but it was more of a tired exhale than anything else. “I have to clean up.”

“I’ll do it,” Jason replied firmly. Danny’s response was a low snort, a trace of humor that seemed to fade quickly.

“Will you?” Danny laughed again, though harder this time, exhaustion still fighting to dampen his mood. “If your rogues knew I had you cleaning up my vomit, you’d be the laughing stock of Gotham.”

Jason gave him a steady look, not losing his composure. “It’s a reasonable price to pay for your rest.”

“I’m flattered,” Danny replied with a tired smile, and walked over to the couch, slumping down onto the cushion as if his body was about to collapse. He closed his eyes, trying to rest, but the pain coursing through him wouldn’t let him find relief. Every muscle in his body seemed to protest, and every time he moved, the pain intensified.

He groaned silently, gritting his teeth.

Jason watched him from the corner of his eye, still crouched in front of him. The concern did not disappear from his face, and his gaze remained fixed on Danny. It was obvious that something was not right.

“Why are you like this?” he asked again, this time with a more serious tone.

Danny did not open his eyes immediately, but his lips formed a slight grimace. “What?” he said, barely able to comprehend the question.

“Don’t you have anyone to take care of you?” Jason continued, the question laden with a hint of frustration. “If you’re that bad, you should have called someone.” Me, for example.

He thought about the last part silently.

Danny blinked twice and, after a while, opened his eyes to look at him. The doubt was palpable in his expression, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how much that simple look hurt him.

“I don’t have anyone…” Danny muttered, and for a moment, the sadness in his voice was all too evident. Then, as if trying to make the matter less serious, he corrected himself, “Well, I have my boyfriend, but he’s really busy with his job lately. I don’t want to bother him.”

Guilt hit Jason. “If you think that, he seems like a bad boyfriend,” he said, ducking his head, Danny’s words really getting to him.

Danny, barely lifting his leg, gave it a light smack. “Don’t say that about my boyfriend,” he said, somewhat annoyed, but with a weak smile on his face. “He works really hard at… whatever it is he works at.” He muttered, as if trying to defend him, but then added, more to himself than to Jason: “Old guys, his boss must be exploiting him.”

Jason couldn’t help but smile guiltily. Even in this state, Danny was still defending him, no matter how bad he felt. It was a sweet gesture, but it also made his chest tight to know that Danny was going through this alone.

Without thinking, he stood up suddenly, and with a quick, fluid movement, he lifted Danny into his arms princess-style. Danny, obviously surprised, let out a small cry of surprise.

“Hey!” Danny whined, as if he was about to protest, but Red Hood already had him well in hand.

“I’m going to take you to your room. You need to rest,” Hood said, not hesitating for a second. When Danny tried to protest, a strange sound, a rumbling from his stomach, interrupted them. Jason heard it clearly, and his face softened in understanding. “I’ll make you something light first. And you better eat it.”

Danny looked at him, a little confused but resigned. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Nope,” Red Hood replied firmly, his tone almost amused now, as if it were a matter of fact.

...

Having a crime lord as a personal servant was not something Danny had expected for that night, but if he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit that it made him feel better. In an awkward and embarrassing way, Red Hood helped him change his clothes, brought him his phone, and even gave him water. Danny was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Hood would have insisted on giving him a bath and even changing the sheets on his bed.

All this time, Danny tried to find the right moment to tell him something important: he couldn't stand eating other people's food. However, he didn't find the opportunity, and now he found himself in an even more awkward situation.

Red Hood, of course, was in his kitchen, making soup. Danny watched from the doorway, frowning.

Ah, what a waste, he thought, watching Hood move confidently around the kitchen. No matter how much he wanted to avoid it, his usual little eating problem was still a pain in the neck.

And then he remembered the anti-hero's words: “You should have called someone.” Danny let out a small laugh, true enough. In retrospect, even if Jason was busy, he would have come running if Danny had asked him for help.

Because Jason loves him. Maybe it's because his ghost half makes him more sensitive, but Danny can really feel it. Not just in his words, but in every action, every gesture. He knows that Jason loves him in a way that is deep and sincere, and that's why he can only eat what he prepares for him. Because he trusts him, more than anyone, and he knows that Jason would never hurt him. Unlike his parents.

Lying on his bed, Danny let out a low laugh and reached for his phone. What a fool I am, he thought as he began to type.

Danny: Are you busy? Please come. I'm kind of sick here and I really will turn into a ghost.

Just as he pressed "send," he saw Red Hood walk in, holding a tray with what looked like a bowl of soup and a hot lemonade. Danny frowned, curious. Where had he found the ingredients to make all that?

A smile appeared on his face as he looked at the tray. He figured it was too late to say anything now. He might as well eat some, pretend to like it, and thank him.

"I didn't expect the great crime lord, Red Hood, to know how to cook," Danny commented, smiling as he sat on the bed, looking at the tray curiously.

"I have some hidden talents," Hood replied, placing the tray carefully on Danny's legs.

Danny couldn't help but laugh. "Like sneaking into other people's apartments and spying?"

"Aside from that," Red Hood said without losing his composure, as if the insinuation didn't affect him in the slightest. "I've been your Prince Charming twice, you should be grateful." He shook his head slightly, motioning for Danny to eat.

Danny looked at the plate, mentally prepared to pretend to like it. "Eh, I'm grateful, your majesty, but sadly this young lady already has a prince." He played along as he brought the spoon of soup to his mouth.

Red Hood laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I understand, I guess this gentleman's heart has been broken," he said in a dramatic tone, feigning sadness. He expected Danny to continue playing along, but Danny stood completely still. "Danny?" He asked, now visibly worried.

Danny was in shock. This taste… He took another spoonful of soup, then another, and another. Without thinking, he grabbed the plate and drank it all, then did the same with the lemonade. This taste, this delicious taste. It couldn't be anyone else but…

"Dan—" But he was interrupted.

"Jason, when were you going to tell me you were Red Hood?" Danny looked straight at him, not angry, but shocked.

His eating problem, that little big problem he'd had since his teens, instantly recognized that this taste could only belong to Jason.

Jason, on the other hand, wondered how his boyfriend recognized him.

---

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

They are two men in love, your honor.

[littleredwing89]

FAMOUS [PART NINE]

Bodyguard!Jason Todd x Singer!Reader

Summary: Your mind replayed the attack over and over—those moments when the knife was so close, and Jason’s intervention saved your life. A second later, and everything could have been different.

Warnings: Suggestive content. Mild violence / attacking. Nothing too graphic or disturbing.

A/N: Sending all my love to you wonderful readers & please enjoy the next chapter - I think this is what you have all been waiting for 👀👀👀 - Elle xoxo ❤️❤️

———

CLOSE CONTACT

———

The roaring crowd pulsed through the concert hall, the lights dimming as the final note of the night echoed out. You smiled, breathless and exhilarated, revelling in the energy that the fans always gave you. It was the perfect end to the show, and as you headed backstage, you barely registered the footsteps behind you amidst the bustle of crew members packing up. But then, a strange prickling unease settled over you, and you slowed, glancing over your shoulder.

Before you could react, a man appeared out of nowhere, blocking your path. His eyes were wild—almost black, fixated on you in a way that sent ice shooting down your spine. He mumbled something incoherent, stepping closer, his hand slipping into his jacket. Alarm bells blared in your head, but you barely had time to process them before he lunged, his arm flashing forward with something sharp clutched in his hand.

You stumbled back, your heart slamming against your ribs, paralyzed for a heartbeat too long. But then, just as the glint of the blade closed in, a dark figure hurtled into your attacker, slamming him into the wall with brutal force. Jason. He twisted the man’s wrist, the knife clattering to the floor, and restrained him with practised ease. Jason’s eyes burned with fury as he pinned the man, his voice low and threatening, a side of him you’d rarely seen.

The would-be assailant struggled, but Jason held him firm, not wavering for a second. His focus shifted to you, his expression softening just slightly. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough with barely restrained anger.

You nodded, shaken but grateful beyond words. The weight of what could have happened pressed on you, lingering long after Jason had led you to the safety of your dressing room, whispering reassurances. And even now, sitting alone on the edge of your hotel bed, the memory of those tense, adrenaline-soaked moments hadn’t faded.

——

The chaos of the night was still fresh in your mind, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away as you sat on the edge of your hotel bed. The room was quiet, the hum of the AC the only sound filling the space. Wrapped in a soft, white towel, your skin prickled against the cool air, a stark contrast to the heat of everything that had just happened. Your mind replayed the attack over and over—those moments when the knife was so close, and Jason’s intervention saved your life. A second later, and everything could have been different.

The knock on the door startled you. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“Hey.”

Jason stood in the doorway, his figure filling the space. The sight of him sent a warmth through your veins, a contrast to the cold fear that had gripped you earlier. You gave him a shaky smile, curling your toes into the soft pile of the carpet beneath you.

“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, his other hand gripping the door handle as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or go. “I just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.”

You hadn’t bothered to dry your hair, and water dripped down your back in slow, cold rivulets. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. “I needed a shower to clear my head.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, clearly not buying your attempt at nonchalance. He stepped further into the room, his face etched with worry and guilt. “I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “Why?” It made no sense. He had saved your life tonight—if he hadn’t been there, you didn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened. The thought made your stomach churn, and you shuddered involuntarily at the memory.

Jason’s face twisted in frustration. “You nearly died, Y/N… that was on me. That lunatic shouldn’t have been able to get that close to you. I’m your bodyguard, and I failed you.” He tugged his hair harshly, his fists clenching in anger. “Fuck.”

Your heart softened as you saw the weight of guilt he was carrying, the disbelief on his face, the anger at himself. “Jay—” you started gently, but he cut you off.

“No! Don’t.” He shook his head, scrunching his eyes shut as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I’ll resign in the morning. I’ll send the letter to Sionis, make sure they replace me with someone better—someone who can actually protect you.”

Before you could think, before the weight of his words could sink in, you acted on pure instinct, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his in a delicate kiss. You’d wanted this for months—wanted to pull him close, to feel his warmth against you, to kiss him like this.

Jason froze. Your heart skipped a beat, panic rising. Had you misread everything? The teasing remarks, the lingering glances, the late-night fast food runs—had it all just been friendly? Oh God, you thought, anxiety clawing at your chest. But then, just as the doubt began to overwhelm you, you felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you against his solid chest.

His response was electric. Jason kissed you back with a depth you hadn’t expected, his lips moving hungrily against yours. One of his hands tangled in your wet hair, fingers gripping your scalp as he deepened the kiss, his other arm holding you tightly, as if he never wanted to let go. The heat of his body against yours was intoxicating, and you melted into him, your own arms wrapping around his neck, drawing yourself closer until there was no space left between you.

Every kiss felt like a spark, every touch like gasoline on a fire, and it wasn’t long before the passion between you both grew fevered. His hands slid down your back, pressing you into him, his warmth spreading over your skin. The towel around your body began to feel like too much fabric, a barrier you didn’t want anymore. You wanted him—every part of him, here, now.

But Jason pulled back, breathless, his lips swollen from the kiss. “Wait—” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing was ragged, his voice low and thick with desire. “I want you, Y/N… I really do, but… I want to take you out first. A real date.”

You blinked at him, the haze of the moment lifting slightly. “A real date?” you repeated, your heart fluttering. The tenderness in his voice, in his request, was enough to make you want him even more.

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. I want to do this right. Treat you how you deserve.”

A small laugh escaped your lips, the playful side of you resurfacing despite the heat still lingering between you. “You’re such a gentleman, Jason. How old-fashioned of you.”

He chuckled, his eyes soft as he looked at you. “Just don’t make it easy for me, okay? I like a challenge.”

Your teasing smile faltered slightly, replaced by something deeper, something touched by the gesture. “I’m not going to make it easy at all,” you whispered back, and you meant it in more ways than one.

Jason sighed, glancing at the bed before looking back at you. “I’ll stay with you tonight if you want… just to make sure you’re safe.” He paused, and you knew he was trying to temper the fire between you both. “But I’ll crash on the couch. I think we both need some space to—breathe.”

The tension between you was palpable, but you nodded, understanding. “Yeah… okay. I’d like that.”

With one last lingering look, Jason grabbed a pillow from the bed and headed for the couch in the corner of your suite. As he settled in, you couldn’t help but smile at his restraint, at how much he cared. Even though the unspoken tension hung in the air, you felt safer, knowing he was here with you.

Tomorrow, there would be more to talk about. There would be questions to answer, feelings to sort through. But tonight, you allowed yourself to relax into the bed, knowing Jason was there to watch over you. And even though he was on the couch, the bond between you felt stronger than ever, the promise of something more waiting just beneath the surface.

***

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

2: UNWELCOME DISTANCE

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Dinner with Bucky didn't go as well as you planned and now you're suffering from the outcome of being ditched in an autumn thunderstorm.

Word count: 3.2k

Warning: feelings of betrayal, shitty communications skills, illness (upper respiratory tract infection) description, Coney Island and cotton candy, jealousy, Bucky... Barnes is a warning

The following morning, you woke up feeling a little worse for wear. You buried your face in your pillow willing the tickle in your throat and at the back of your nose to disappear. A small groan left your lips as your attempt to sleep in was thwarted by the aching throughout your body. Sitting up did little to make you feel better, other than shifting the balance of mucus in your sinuses, making you sneeze and worsening the scratchiness of your throat. You looked up at the clock, you’d missed the breakfast time that you were expected to attend, but there weren’t any messages on your phone expressing concern from your friends.

A throb of self pity and doubt flashed through your mind. Did any of them even care? You had lost Bucky to another woman, but clearly none of your other friends had noticed your absence. You weren’t special, you’d only been invited to join the Avengers Initiative because of your powers. The thoughts were just forming, your mind ready to spiral into a storm of insecurity, when there was a knock at your door. Each movement felt like wading through molasses, and even sitting up seemed like an insurmountable task.

"Cricket?" Steve’s voice permeated into the room.

"Coming!" At least that was what you tried to say, your voice coming out as a small croak. You padded over to the door barefoot and opened the door to find Steve’s kind face looking down at you.

His concern was etched across his features as he took in your disheveled appearance. Dark circles clung to your eyes, and your skin had lost its usual healthy hue.

"Hey there, sunshine," he greeted, his voice gentle. "How’re you feeling?"

There was only one word that would succinctly sum up your emotional and physical state in that moment. "Shit," you mumbled, sniffing at the fluid that was threatening to leak from your nose.

He reached out, his hand cool against your feverish skin. His touch was comforting, grounding you in the midst of your misery. "You definitely have a fever," he confirmed.

As if to affirm his observation, your body pitched forwards in a violent sneeze, which you barely had the time to catch with the inside of your elbow. You ended the outburst with a pained groan, as the back of your throat burned.

Steve’s concern deepened. "You need rest," he said firmly, steering you back into bed. "I’ll make you some tea."

You followed his instructions without protest, not having the energy to argue. It would be best for you to stay in bed, you’d get better quicker with rest, and it was a great excuse to avoid seeing your best friend and his girlfriend. The practical side of you would use the excuse that you didn’t want to expose anyone to your germs. At least Steve would be protected by the serum, so you didn’t need to worry about him hanging around. So with a clear conscience, you snuggled back under your covers to wait for Steve’s return.

As he disappeared towards the kitchen, you sank back into your pillows. Maybe losing Bucky wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe having a friend like Steve was enough—a warm presence in the midst of your feverish chaos. And as the wind whistled outside, you realized that sometimes, friendship was the best medicine of all.

Little did you know that on his way to the kitchen, Steve ran into Bucky as he was leaving your room.

"Steve?" Bucky called after his friend.

"Hey, Buck."

"What’re you doing?" The real question he wanted to ask was ‘why are you leaving Cricket’s room?’.

"Just grabbing some things for Cricket. She isn’t feeling very well."

"What?" Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. "She was fine yesterday!"

"Well if you hadn’t left her alone to get drenched in that storm, she probably wouldn’t be so miserable." Steve hadn’t meant to be so harsh with his words, but you had interrupted his beauty sleep the previous night and he was feeling rather disgruntled.

"What’re you trying to say, Steve?

"You shouldn’t have left it so long to tell her." Steve was referring to Priya and how long he'd kept his relationship with her private.

"That’s my decision, Steve." Bucky countered, defensively.

"I know. But maybe you should think about why you were so ready to tell me, but not Cricket."

Bucky clicked his tongue against the roof of mouth, dismissing Steve's comments. "I'm gonna go and see her."

Steve thought about objecting, but decided against it, opting to fetch the things he had promised you.

Bucky’s footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway, each one a heavy reminder of his own recklessness. The storm had raged outside, rain pelting against the window panes like a thousand tiny fists. But he hadn’t been there to shield you from it. Instead, he’d left you alone, vulnerable, and now guilt gnawed at him like a persistent rat.

Your room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn shut against the gray morning. Bucky hesitated at the threshold, his knuckles grazing the wooden doorframe. He’d never been good with words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But he had to try.

"Cricket?" His voice was soft, almost tentative. He stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under his weight. There you were, cocooned in blankets, your face pale against the pillows. The storm had taken its toll on you, and he cursed himself for not being there.

You stirred, eyelashes fluttering open. "Bucky?" Your voice was a whisper, fragile like a spider’s silk. "What’re you doing here?"

He crossed the room in two strides, perching on the edge of your bed. "I… I heard you weren’t feeling well." His fingers brushed against your forehead, checking for fever. "Steve told me."

You managed a weak smile. "Steve’s a tattletale."

"He cares about you," Bucky said gruffly. "We both do."

"I feel bad for dragging him out of bed last night."

"Cricket, why didn't you tell me you didn't have any way to get back home. I would have brought a car instead of my bike."

You shrugged, “I didn’t think I had to.”

He had been so caught up in his plans to introduce you to Priya that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might need a ride home. He had assumed you would find your own way, and he was just starting to realize how selfish that had been. He should have been more attentive, more caring. He laid a hand on your arm, “I’m sorry, Cricket. I should have been more thoughtful. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Cricket, please, let me make it up to you. I was looking for you this morning. I made your favorite pancakes," Bucky continued. "Thought you could come and have breakfast with me and Priya, before I take her home."

"Sorry," you shrugged, hating this conversation more and more. Why was Steve taking so long to return?

"I was going to spend the day with her, but if you want, I can come back and we can watch some movies."

"Don't cancel your plans on my account." You rolled over, facing away from Bucky.

Your behavior stung, but he couldn't blame you for being angry. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "For leaving you out there."

"See you later," you mumbled and Bucky knew he had been dismissed. 

Bucky couldn't shake the guilt that weighed heavily on his chest as he walked away. He had always been a good friend, someone who looked out for others and made sure they were taken care of. But in his excitement to introduce you to Priya, he had neglected to consider your needs.

As he walked away, Bucky couldn't stop replaying the conversation in his head. He had let you down, and he wanted to make things right.

Steve appeared a few moments after his departure, his arms laden with homely remedies and a bowl of soup which smelled incredible. Your stomach rumbled hungrily in response, making you blush.

"Here, take this first," Steve shoved a bottle of DayQuil under your nose.

Begrudgingly, you accepted the painkiller gratefully and then proceeded to slurp up the soup. "This is delicious," you hummed in approval.

"Hey, when you're feeling a bit better, I was thinking I could take you out somewhere… cheer you up a little." Steve stuttered towards the end as he saw surprise on your face. 

You swallowed your mouthful of soup before cracking a smile. “Steve, I'd like that.”

Steve smiled back at you. But suddenly, he reached out, grabbing the bowI in your hands, having noticed the slight hitch in your breath. A sneeze rocked your body forcefully and you groaned.

“Thanks,” you accepted the bowl back from Steve.

"No problem. Don't want to make a mess."

“No,” you sighed, finishing the soup in a sad silence.

“Want me to stay?”

“No, it's okay. I'm just going to go back to sleep.”

Steve took the empty dishes and kissed your forehead, glad that it didn't feel as warm as it had earlier. “Feel better, champ.”

You sure hoped you would.

*

A few days later, you were back in fighting form. But much to Bucky's chagrin, he could never seem to catch your attention for more than a passing nod or wave. He wanted to make things right with you. He missed you, he wasn’t used to being so close to you but not being able to talk to you properly. He had the sneaking suspicion that your distance might not just be ill-timed schedules. Were you avoiding him? He wondered if you were still angry at him for not giving you a ride back home after your dinner with Priya. A feeling of melancholy settled over him as he speculated on all the things he could have done that made you take a step away from him. Every reason under the sun spiraled through Bucky’s mind except the real reason for your withdrawal.

Bucky had hoped that meeting someone else, someone who was interested in him would help him push away the feelings he had for you. Closure. That’s what they called it in the movies these days. But this didn’t seem like it was going quite the way he had anticipated. In fact, rather than feeling happier, he felt more tortured than he had before. Maybe going out with Priya would take his mind off things, so he decided to give her a call and schedule a date, she had a way of soothing his turbulent thoughts. Not as well as you did, no one understood him quite like you did.

*

Steve was true to his word, and had whipped up a surprise plan for the two of you to spend the day together. He had chosen a Wednesday, explaining that it was a good time as the place would be less busy. He made sure you had dressed warmly, in spite of the sunny weather. 

"Don’t want you getting ill again," he smiled as you got into the car with him.

"Is that why we’re not taking the bike?"

Steve shook his head, knowing how much you loved riding motorcycles.

"So where are you taking me?" you asked. You’d been trying to get Steve to tell you for the last few days, but the tight lipped Captain had resisted all your wily techniques at information extraction.

"Coney Island."

"Ohh!" you exclaimed. "I haven’t been there for years!" You laughed before a thought popped into your head, a memory. "Are you sure you want to go there, Steve?"

"Why wouldn’t I want to go to Coney Island?"

"Well, I heard about… the… Cyclone Incident."

Steve blushed. "Bucky telling everyone that story, huh?"

"Afraid so." Your smile was soured slightly by the shadow casted by Bucky’s name and you turned to stare out of the window, letting Steve drive in silence.

Steve shook his head. He wanted nothing more than for both his best friends to be happy, and for the two of you to be happy together was the ultimate goal. He hoped that one day both of you would come to your senses, but until then, he would do his best to support you both.

The weather turned out to be fine and you had shed your top layer before even leaving the car.

"Oh come on! Stop being such a dad! We can always come back to the car if it gets chilly!" you responded to Steve’s disapproval.

"Come on then!"

It was a beautiful day filled with laughter and joy between you and Steve. He was glued to your side, treating you to all the rides, indulging you when you wanted to ride the Cyclone repeatedly. Every time you got to the end of the ride, you’d turn to him and make sure he wouldn’t spill his guts. Steve rolled his eyes dramatically as you laughed hysterically.

"What next?" Steve asked. "And don’t tell me we’re doing that again."

"Come on, the girl letting people in definitely has a crush on you! Why do you think we got on for free the last two times?"

Steve grabbed your wrist, "Come on!" He led you away from the rides, over to a cotton candy kiosk, dropping a few notes into the vendor's hand and selecting two cones. You took the liberty of grabbing the blue one from his hand and tucking into it before he had the chance to object.

"Bet I can eat this faster than you can!" Steve suggested slyly.

"Oh, bring it, Rogers!" You tore the stick out of the candy cloud and scrunched it up into a tiny ball, sticking it in your mouth and letting the sugar dissolve on its own.

Steve, who had taken several large bites, looked up in confusion and awe. He eyed your empty hands, then put his finger on your bottom lip, pushing it down and peering into your mouth. 

You indulged his disbelief, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. "See, all gone! I win!" you smile with glee.

"Wow!"

"You forget, I was the youngest of five! I had to learn to eat fast or I’d lose out." 

Steve chortled quietly at your story. "Fine, what do you want as your prize?" He waved around at all the game stalls, letting you pick your prize.

You gazed around, contemplating your options when you spotted a giant stuffed wolf. "That one!"

Steve was true to his word and threw every bean bag with perfect aim and you pointed at a white plushie which looked a little different to the others. 

"Why don’t you take this one?" the vendor tried to shove a dark gray wolf into your arms, but you declined.

"No thank you, I’d like that one please." You selected one which had been stuffed on a high shelf, away from the others of its kind.

"Honey, this one’s going in the garbage, look at him, white body with one gray leg. It’s a defective product, they made a mistake in the factory. Happens from time to time."

But you were adamant, you wanted the white wolf with the transplanted leg.

"Whatever you want, miss." The vendor handed you the soft toy, which you hugged to your chest. There was something about him that you wanted to keep safe.

Unbeknownst to you, you had been spotted by someone unexpected. Bucky had had a similar thought to Steve, he had brought Priya to the ‘island’ on a quiet weekday for some harmless fun.

"Jamie, look!" Priya tugged at his sleeve. "Isn't that Cricket and Steve?"

Bucky's head whipped around so fast, he almost had empathy for whiplash sufferers. He frowned, eye searching the crowd in the direction of Priya’s outstretched hand. He couldn't believe that you would come here with Steve. He had often suggested a trip to Coney Island to you, but you'd never managed to make the time for it. So seeing you here with Steve made his insides burn with jealousy. Another part of him, his guilt-ridden conscience told him that he didn't deserve you. Naturally, you'd choose the classical hero, Steve. He was the golden boy, even when they'd been kids, Steve was the trouble maker, but somehow Bucky was the one his parents mistrusted. 

"Yeah," he grumbled.

"Let's go over and say hi!"

"I'm sure they don't want us to interrupt them." Bucky vetoed the suggestion with a sulky expression.

"Fair, I mean I wouldn't want anyone interrupting our date either." Priya smiled, taking Bucky's hand, leading him away. Bucky stole one last glance at his two best friends, a deep ache settling inside him as Priya dragged him away from you. 

*

Over the next week, you and Bucky drifted through the compound, both longing for the other but not quite able to find it within yourselves to seek the other out. For you, it was a simple matter of avoidance. You'd made the mistake of touching the flame and now you suffered the burn. But for Bucky it was different. He couldn't understand your absence and he knew nothing of your pain.

He could feel the frustration building up inside him, until one day he caught you returning to your room. And every one of his thoughts and accusations came pouring out.

"What is it? Why’re you upset with me?" Bucky demanded.

"I’m not upset… it’s not- I’m hurt. You hurt me. It’s not that you did something wrong. In fact you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just that I thought you’d share something big, like dating, with me. But you kept it secret. For four months! I thought we told each other everything. I … I just expected-" you shrugged. "And that’s the problem here. My expectations were wrong, and I’m ashamed. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You have nothing to apologize for. But somehow I feel like I’m going to lose you."

"You’ll never lose me, Cricket."

"But Buck, I already have. Like she said… she’s your best friend now." Bucky opened his mouth to interrupt, but you put your hand out to stop him talking. "I just need some time to deal with that. Is that okay?"

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he mumbled. The sincerity evident in his tone and face.

"I know, Buck," you sighed. "I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. Please, I want you to be happy. I’m happy for you."

"Please, let me make this up to you." Bucky grabbed your wrist, desperately.

"You can do that by making sure you take care of yourself. I’m always going to be with you, on missions and stuff, partner," you patted his upper arm. "I just think that our friendship’s going to change a little… and I just need some time to get used to that."

"Is this because of Steve?"

"Steve?" you repeated after him, feeling confused by the change in topic. "What does Steve have to do with this?"

"Are you together?"

"What? No! Bucky, why would you think that?"

"I just…" He shrugged, not quite able to bring up seeing you at Coney Island, or the moment of closeness you had had with Steve the night he had introduced you to Priya.

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Tag list: @samodivaa @scoonsalicious @literaryavenger @noonespecial90 @browneyedgrli @vicmc624 @cjand10 @capswife @julvrs @ordelixx @sashaisready @sebastians-love @thealloveru2 @belleofthebooks

[tmntfixationxreader]

"Hiya!!! Do you think you can do some sort of angst/comfort fic with the rise boys of comforting a they/them reader who’s struggling with getting an injury cleaned/a bone set?"

Absolutely! Sorry this one took me so long to do. Hope you enjoy!

♡Bone setting♡

This contains Rottmnt Movie Spoilers.

~Platonic Rottmnt x Gender neutral Reader~

Summary: After the Krang invasion, everyone needs medical attention, including you.

Warnings: Pain, slight blood, angst + comfort, slight language? Reader description advised.

Word count: 1,855

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“L-Leo!!” Mikey called out, holding Leo in a death grip, the two collapsed on the ground in a sweaty mess.

Leo winced, grunting once, patting Mikey on the head gently with his good arm.

“Good-to-see-you-too-Mikey,” Leo muttered, but it came out as a muffled sler. Leo coughed, sending bolts of pain through his body as red dribbled down his lips.

Donnie’s eyes widened and Raph was starting to panic.

Mikey had golden burns glistening on his arms, rectangular patterns etched into his skin from the overpower in his mystic energy. Donnie had the same etched purple burns on his right arm, and Raph had them on his left in red.

Despite the burns on his arms Mikey continued to squeeze Leo as hard as he could, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Donnie had tears rolling down his cheeks too, his expression emotionless as his eyes betrayed him.

Raph scooped Leo and Mikey into a hug, yelling as he held back sobs. “Leo- don’t you EVER do that again!”

Donnie sank to his knees, hugging Leo and Mikey as Raph squeezed them all.

April ran up to them with a horrified look on her face, Spinter wobbling behind her looking tired and panicked, Casey on their heels, his face tear streaked.

“Master Leonardo!!” Casey shouted.

“Leo!!” April called out, immediately joining the brothers in a death-grip of a hug.

Casey hesitated, eyes wide. “Is he…?”

“I’m not- mph- dead yet Casey…” Leo muttered, and a huge wave of relief washed over all of them.

Donnie sat bolt right up from the hug, looking around at April and Splinter.

“Y/n…?” He asked, wide eyed, standing up quickly before wincing and gripping his arm, only making it sting even more.

April looked around. “Y/n!!” She called, walking and looking out at the chaos.

You were with April and Splinter when they were fighting off one of the Krangs… They had made sure you were following when they started off towards the brothers, but….

Everyone looked panicked.

Mikey looked up from Leo’s shoulder, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

“Y/n- w-what’s wrong with them-” Leo muttered, coughing harshly again, his brain going fuzzy.

“Leo- don’t talk, don’t move,” Donnie hissed at him, seeming even more panicked and overwhelmed then he already was. He shook his hands a little and exhaled slowly, trying to ground himself.

“April- where did you last see them?” Donnie asked, shaking from the extremely stressful and scary situations they had just been through.

Raph, even though it was taking everything for him to keep himself together after what just happened, noticed Donnie.

“D, calm down… I’m sure they are just-” Raph started.

“Guys!!” You yelled over to them, one hand across your ribcage, your other arm loosely hanging at your side. “Just had to- mph- stop for a second…”

You slowly made your way to them, April running up meeting you halfway.

“I thought I lost you!” She hugged you, and you winced loudly.

She pulled back immediately. “Y/n, you…?” She muttered.

You looked out at the brothers, wide eyed at how messed up they all looked. “Leo- d-did he make it back?”

April nodded. “We need to get him to the lair… But he’ll live… How bad are you-?”

“We need to get them home… I’m not hurt badly, just a little… bruised,” You muttered, arm still clinging to your ribcage. You lied. You had lied to April, just to keep her and the others from worrying. They were clearly more hurt than you. They needed medical attention first.

It was hard to tell what exactly was hurting within you. Your ribcage stung, a painful sharp sensation that hit you in the gut with every breath. Your other arm… You didn’t even want to guess its condition. You could move it a little… But not much else without the shaper pains setting in further. Your good arm was preoccupied clutching your ribs, so you couldn’t exactly help to fix them up, either.

April nodded quickly and the two of you rushed over the brothers. You were much slower than April in your condition, but to keep them from worrying you kept a pace.

You and the turtles were hurt badly.

As you held open the back hatch of the back-up turtle van, Raph carried Leo, who was biting his tongue to prevent from making noise, setting him in the backseat.

This was going to be a long night…

Leo was propped up on a medical bed, somewhere between high on medications and painfully awake, but patched up. His voice was raw and scratchy from dust and yelling, and he was tired out of his mind.

Donnie had his arm and soft shell patched up, a crap-ton of disinfectants poured onto his shell to prevent possible infections.

Raph’s arm was wrapped, an eyepatch over one eye that the Krang had taken over. All the Krang-parts that had been infected and taken over were wrapped up, Krang now gone but wounds still there.

Mikey’s arms were wrapped up, all the way past his elbows and almost to his shoulders.

You had brushed off Casey and April’s medical attention until everyone else had been fixed up, and by then you were dead tired. Your arm was swollen and hurt to even think about, your ribcage sucking the air out of your lungs with each shaking breath. You leaned against the doorway, watching April and Casey finish with Leo’s cracked shell.

Casey whipped his brow. “Ok… Leo’s finished for now…” He muttered with a sigh, seeming exhausted. He hadn’t slept since he had come through to this timeline, not to mention the days of survival beforehand.

April immediately turned her attention to you. “Ok, your turn…”

You wanted to argue, but with how hard your ears were throbbing from pain, you couldn’t. Everyone else had already received medical attention, so it was your turn anyways.

April had you sit down on the bed, Casey using some of Donnie’s tech to scan you.

Donnie (and Leo but they forbid him) wanted to help with medical stuff, but everyone had put him on bedrest. Luckily Casey knew how to use Donnie’s tech because of the training he had gotten in his past timeline.

Casey hesitated as the laser-scanner scanned your rib cage and arm.

April’s eyes widened. “Y/n- how the heck are you still walking around?”

Casey gave her a quick look or warning to keep you from possibly panicking. “I-it’s not too bad… just a little… Worse for ware.”

You groaned. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Casey rubbed the bridge of his nose before sighing again, the immense bags under his eyes seeming to show themselves more.

“We have to set your arm… And wrap up your ribcage…” He said, looking over the scan. “Commander- er… April, we need some wraps… And possibly another set of hands..”

April nodded, going over to a cabinet to get out the medical supplies. Donnie and Raph nodded as well, ready to help.

“Wait, setting it…? Like with Leo’s leg?” You swallowed. You had watched the process of bone-setting they had done on Leo’s leg. It took Raph, Donnie, and April to hold Leo down while Casey set the fracture. It was loud and hard to watch, and they had insisted you wouldn’t help with your arm being in its condition. By the end of it Donnie was really overwhelmed and Raph helped ground him again, but it took a bit.

Casey nodded. “Yes… The others will help to stabilize you while I set your arm.”

You nodded a little.

Casey walked over to your injured side, pulling down an old pair of Donnie’s goggles so he had an X-ray of your arm.

Raph, April and Donnie stood around you. Mikey stood nearest to the head of the bed, unable to help hold you while his arms were wrapped but still being with you.

“You got this Y/n…” Mikey said, and the others nodded in agreement while Casey looked over the fracture one more time.

“Ok.. On the count of three,” Casey said.

“Deep breath,” Donnie helped to instruct.

You did as he said, taking a deep breath in as Casey counted to one.

“Two…” He said, and everyone helped to hold you.

Right as you took a deep breath in, Casey finished his count.

You barely heard the word three as he started setting the fracture, everything else being muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The others held you as your body naturally reacted and fight or flight kicked in. They were strong enough to easily be able to hold on to you to keep you still.

The whole process only lasted a few painfully long seconds, and by the end of it your voice was raw and blood pounded in your ears.

“There…That’s it- it’s done…” Casey said, his voice weaverying from stress and exhaustion.

Everyone let go of you as soon as Casey said the word, still staying by your bedside.

“It’s over now…” Raph said, patting your good arm.

Mikey wiped away a tear attempting to trail down your face. “No more… Now it can heal…” He whispered, his voice tight with nervousness from throughout the day.

Donnie stepped back and let himself take a few deep breaths before patting your good shoulder. He nodded to you, not saying anything because he was overwhelmed by everything that had happened from the day.

Leo had his head turned so he could look at you. He gave you a smile that made it clear he was fighting off sleep medications.

After a bit of calming back down Casey did a few more scans on your ribs and deemed they were badly bruised but would heal on their own. He put your arm carefully in a cast, and gave you painkillers for the night.

April sat down on the bed next to Donnie, patting his shoulder as she fought off exhaustion.

“Does that mean everything is addressed?” She asked, and Casey gave her a nod.

“Everything that can be… Now we are just waiting for things to heal,” Casey said, leaning against the wall between the medical beds you and Leo were on.

He checked Leo’s IV, making sure it was still flowing properly. Leo was already passed out, snoring a little now that the painkillers had kicked in and it was safe for him to sleep.

Raph was on the fourth medical bed, Mikey asleep on his lap, snoring against Raph’s good arm.

Raph sighed. “So now what?”

“We sleep it off…” Donnie signed instead of speaking. “Until tomorrow at least…”

April nodded, stretching out on the foot of the medical bed. “Sounds like a plan…” She muttered.

You nodded too, eyes growing heavy already. You stayed in the same position they had told you to stay in to prevent straining your ribs or pulling on your arm.

Soon everyone was dozing off, Splinter keeping watch to make sure someone didn’t roll over onto their casts or need medical treatment in the middle of the night.

Everyone was healing, finally getting the rest everyone deserved.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Hope you enjoyed it!

Bye bye butterflies!!

[clockwork-ashes]

Shake the Frost - Part II

Read on Ao3

Summary: Elain’s visions lead her to the human lands where she seeks answers from the one male she’s been avoiding—Lucien. As the two of them work together, the walls built between them begin to crumble.

Note: this is for the lovely @zenkindoflove for this year’s @acotargiftexchange <3 a HUGE thank you to those organising the event, i had the most fun!!!

Elain POV 

Elain stared at the paper in front of her, the pen hovering over the blank sheet until a drop of ink fell and scattered onto it. 

Blood dripping onto a fresh blanket of snow. 

“Lovely,” Elain muttered, setting the pen aside and crumpling up the ruined paper. She wasn’t able to focus on the task at hand, despite her efforts the last few days. It had been a week since she’d left the Night Court, and every letter she had penned had been filled with more of the same vague reassurances. 

Everything is fine. 

I’m just taking some time for myself. 

Don’t worry, and I’ll be back soon.

The words had all felt hollow when she’d read them out loud, and each of the letters she had written and signed had all been promptly tossed into the fireplace in the sitting room. 

Elain sighed, rubbing her eyes as the latest of her visions crept up on her, sharp and unwelcome. It was the same one she had shown to her mate when she’d first arrived at the manor, flashing in her mind like the briefest glimpse of a shooting star. 

Eris Vanserra, handsome in a cloak made of the finest silk, a crown of flames adorning his scarlet hair. 

Lucien handed a dagger to his brother, one made of Illyrian steel, blood on the silver edge. 

Ravens scattered into the air, their wings black against the grey sky. The cold scent of copper filled the air, mingling with the scent of something burning…

Elain gripped the edge of the table, forcing the vision out of her mind much easier than she had expected. She knew she couldn’t ignore the message it was trying to send, but she was glad all the same when she was once again simply staring at the kitchen tiles. It usually took a lot more of her energy, fighting the constant flood of images that pressed against her consciousness, but being near Lucien seemed to make it better. 

At first, Elain had thought it was mere coincidence, but after laying awake in the evenings only to sleep dreamlessly for seven nights, even she couldn’t deny there was a bit of magic to the bond between them. Lucien’s presence was like a quiet balm against the chaos, anchoring her in reality and pulling her out of any spiraling visions. While it still wasn’t enough to stop them entirely, the effects of the mating bond has not gone unnoticed by her. 

Elain tapped her short nails onto the wood of the table, looking at the remaining blank sheet of paper and the discarded pen she had borrowed from Jurian. With an exaggerated sigh, Elain slumped in her chair, defeated. 

She had started writing to Feyre, and every word had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Performative and insincere, she couldn’t find a way to explain her actions in a way that wouldn’t make them all worry about her.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor interrupted her thoughts, and Elain straightened in her own seat. She glanced up to see Vassa, the sharp heels of her booted feet loud as she settled next to her. The other woman paused, one brow raised, her face a near impossible mixture of curiosity and disinterest.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice steady. 

While there was no concern lining the words, Elain could admit that there was also no judgment. She let out a heavy breath, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “Everything,” she mumbled, exasperated. She combed her hands through her tangled curls, a small, frustrated noise escaping her lips.

Vassa clicked her tongue, a sound that almost made Elain smile. There was a teasing edge to it, the kind that could easily break through the weight of Elain’s frustration. “Are you always this dramatic?” Vassa asked, her dark eyes glinting with amusement, her question a friendly challenge. 

Elain laughed weakly, shaking her head. “If I write to my sisters, they’ll tell me to come back.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. She knew Feyre and Nesta would demand she return to them, back to the safety of their circle, back to the comfort of Velaris. While they might be willing to help, Elain was certain they would also be the first voices telling her to stay behind. 

Sometimes, Elain had to remind herself that her sisters behaved that way only because they cared. 

Vassa tilted her head, her expression shifting to something far more curious. She scrunched her nose, clearly considering Elain’s words. “You don’t have to, though,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of someone who was used to giving orders instead of following them. “You can do as you like.”

Elain gave her a small, rueful smile. “I’m guessing you don’t have sisters?” she asked, her tone playful. She was surprised at how easy liking the human queen was. 

Vassa snorted in response, the sound louder than Elain had expected from someone of her status. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t be obligated to listen to them.”

Elain laughed quietly at that, the sound lighter than it had been in days. The simple words made her feel a little less alone, a little more understood. Vassa was right, of course, and Elain didn’t necessarily owe anyone explanations. 

“You don’t have to listen to me.” Vassa’s expression softened as she stood up slowly, tucking her chair in gently, giving Elain some space. “But the Cauldron gave you a very powerful ability, and I think that means something. And I think your sisters should trust you,” she said, her tone unexpectedly earnest.

Elain’s throat tightened at the reminder. She had considered being a Seer a curse for so long, a blessing and a burden. The Sight connected her to the world in ways that were both beautiful and terrible, and her visions could be lovely and vicious in equal measure. She frowned, her lips pulling downwards as she stared at her hands. 

Vassa didn’t wait for her to respond. With a soft shrug, she turned and left Elain alone at the table, her boots clicking daintily along the floors. Elain didn’t immediately return to her letter. She let the silence settle around her, the quiet that filled the space where Vassa had been. The weight of her words lingered in the air, like a promise.

Elain closed her eyes, the faint pull of the bond to Lucien humming in the background of her mind, soothing and grounding her. While it annoyed her slightly that a man was the cause, the reprieve it brought was enough for her to ignore the more bitter thoughts she usually had around the bond. 

When Lucien was near, it was as if she could finally breathe. 

No sooner had she relaxed, she felt the vaguest of chills along her spine. A vision creeped along her eyes, the kitchen disappearing from her sight. 

Blood scattered onto snow. 

Eris gripping a dagger, golden rings flashing. 

The gentle sound of whirring, a final click, before the dagger cut through flesh. 

Elain’s breath caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the image, but it clung to her, sharp. Blowing at a strand of hair, the world sharpened back into focus. 

Elain grabbed the pen again, her hand shaking just slightly. She trusted her sisters, and a part of her believed that they trusted her too. She scrawled across the paper, her hand moving swiftly, though the words were no less difficult to find despite her new found confidence. 

Nesta and Feyre… 

Elain paused, her mind swimming in a sea of visions, and she sighed, feeling the pressure of the words she was about to write.

I’m fine. I promise.

LUCIEN POV

Lucien’s fingers hovered over the chessboard, nudging a knight forward with a sly grin. “Check,” he said, leaning back in his chair, russet eye gleaming.

Jurian didn’t flinch, his face a mask of concentration as he moved his queen with quiet precision. “You’re getting better, but not that good,” he teased, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed the board.

Lucien laughed, taking in the sight of the human general, wondering if he was still as sharp and quick-witted as he’d been on the battlefield centuries before. Their banter filled the room as the game continued, but it wasn’t long before a soft sound caught his attention, the light creak of the door opening.

Elain stepped into the room and his heart stuttered once in his chest. She had her cloak wrapped snugly around her shoulders, the dark fabric catching the flicker of light from the nearby hearth. The fire’s glow danced over her, but it was her presence that struck him the most. Her beauty was undeniable, and tonight, it seemed to have intensified. The dim moonlight filtering in through the arched windows made her eyes seem endless, there was a depth to them that pulled him in. She was staring directly at him, and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t look away.

“I’m going for a walk,” Elain announced, her voice quiet but resolute, a slight blush staining her cheekbones as she looked between him and Jurian.

Lucien’s gaze lingered on her, sensing the unspoken invitation in her words. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Jurian cut in. Still looking at the board between them, he said, “Sounds lovely, I’ve been meaning to stretch my legs.” 

Elain’s lips parted, her blush deepening. The sight was both endearing and exasperating. She looked at Lucien, as if expecting him to speak and intervene on her behalf. She tugged at the bond between them, like a rough yank on a string tied to his rib. Lucien’s breath caught in his throat as he glared at his friend, golden eye clicking into place. 

Jurian raised a broad hand, a rook between his fingers. “I’m kidding,” he added with a grin. 

Elain laughed awkwardly, the sound a mix of relief and embarrassment. Lucien rolled his eyes, offering her a long-suffering look as he stood up, giving her a small smile. “Let me grab my coat.”

The moment stretched out, and without a word, Lucien stepped into the hall, pulling on his boots before he took hold of his jacket. He could feel Elain’s eyes on him as he shrugged on the dark wool coat, the familiar weight of it grounding him. He turned back to her, holding the door open, his chest tight with an emotion he didn’t want to name.

Elain stepped past him, her breath coming out in small clouds as she elegantly stepped down the stone stairs of the manor. The night was still, save for the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots. Lucien kept a glamour up, a faint shimmer around them to let her know he had done so. 

There was a part of Lucien that was glad they would remain hidden from view, a feeling that was as though the world beyond the spell didn’t exist.

The air was crisp and cold, the faintest touch of winter biting at his skin no matter how warm his blood ran. He kept his gaze ahead, but he could feel Elain’s presence close beside him, her steps matching his pace in the quiet of the night.

It was his mate who broke the silence, her voice soft, but the words still sharp with meaning. “Can you help me send a letter to the Night Court?”

Relief washed over him, knowing that the sooner Feyre and Rhysand knew where Elain was, the less trouble he would have explaining himself. 

“Who should I send it to?” Lucien asked, his voice steady, although his mind was already working through the necessary steps he would have to take to make her wish a reality. 

“Nesta,” Elain replied without hesitation. Her tone was firm, as if she had made her decision long before she had even asked for his help. “If you can get it to Nesta first, I’m sure she’ll show it to Feyre.”

Lucien nodded, understanding. He glanced at her, taking in the way she tucked a curl behind her pointed ear. The vision she had shared with him weighed heavily on his mind. He had tried not to dwell on the fact that she was able to show others what she saw, but he was very impressed that she had learned how to manipulate her magic without help from others. 

“If we can also send a letter to Autumn?” Elain’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Lucien furrowed his brow, the scarred side pulling uncomfortably as he glanced at her. “Who would you need to speak with in Autumn?” Even though he already knew the answer, he might as well hope that she’d change her mind. 

Elain looked up at him with her full lips pressed into a firm line. There was a silent challenge in her dark gaze, as if to say that he already knew the answer. 

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, holding back a small smile. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, his voice soft and determined.

Elain took a slow, steadying breath, a perfect little cloud in the cold night. She grabbed his hand, a gentle tug, just enough to stop him in his tracks. She was wearing gloves, a barrier between them despite the contact. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes warm despite the chill in the air, and the moment felt as if time had stretched itself thin.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice low but sincere.

He felt a rush of warmth flood through him at her words. “Of course,” Lucien answered instinctively, before realizing how hollow the words might have sounded to her ears. 

Before he could say anything more, Elain surprised him again. She linked her fingers with his own, pulling him as a reminder to move so they could continue to walk. 

Elain didn’t let go of his hand, a ruby blush staining her cheeks. She held on tightly, and Lucien dragged his thumb across her knuckles, letting her lead. 

[viceconnor21]

Well I finally done with Tango’s reference sheet in my AU. I have been sitting on this design since probably May. One day, maybe I’ll update the design. I’m just glad it’s finished.

Pyrotech Frost-Ember

Personality Traits (short version):

Kirin

emotional

Prodigy of elemental magic (fire and ice)

When calm, relaxed, and well rested Pyrotech will be in a neutral form (no flames)

When relaxed, well rested, and focused Pyrotech can change form at will

Magic is sensitive to his emotions

Strong emotions will affect his form (this is outside his control)

High energy emotions = Flaming form

Low energy emotions = Frost form

Genius in the use of red hermit stone and elemental magic together

Loves designing games for his friends

Hates when creatures say his whole name (rather than just Pyro or Pyrotech)

Would like to get to know the accident prone pegasus with the golden wings

Bad eye-sight

Turns either feral or stone cold when angry.(depends on the type of anger)

Best buds with Fizz and Voltage

Stays up way too late to effectively manage his emotions

Takes a lot of naps during the day due to his body’s constant magic consummation and poor sleep schedule. (high magic Metabolism)

Will sleep anywhere

Background:

Pyro’s eyes fluttered, only for him to startel fully awake a second later. He shot up, hitting his head on the hermit stone lamp positioned above his crafting bench. As he nursed his head, he watched the lamp swing back and forth, casting a soft light on the frost that coated every inch of his work space. Yawning Pyro slowly regained his bearings. He cleared the frost from the window, only to see the faintest ray of sunlight cresting the horizon. He had fallen asleep at his workbench again after burning the midnight oil. No wonder he was covered in an icy coating. He had all but collapsed a couple hours previous completely consuming his energy the night before. He was on a role, designing and testing some components for his zeplin. Pyro yawned again, making his way to the kitchen. His eyes were droopy and his steps slow. Pyrotech knew he should go back to bed. Voltage would have smacked him if he knew how much sleep he had gotten. Not that Voltage had much room to talk. Void would smacked both of them if he knew how often they both neglected their sleep, in exchange to more time working on project. That thought made Pyro feel a bit guilty. He knew how much the tantabus cared about the residences of Hermit Valley. He knew how much he worried about them too. But still, the guilt wasn’t enough to change his mind. Pyrotech prepare his coffee and sat idly while waiting for it to brew. He went through his to-do list in his mind. He had to go into the mines today for more materials, stop by the post office, and pick up some brewing bottle in the shopping district. Maybe he would even stop by Voltage and Fizz’s house to cause some mischief. Pyrotech grinned at the possibility of friendly chaos he could cause. The sound of his coffee stirred him from his musings. He grabbed the warm mug and breathed in it’s rich scent. He relished the feeling of the energizing liquid warming his entire being. As he sat there drinking his coffee, he could almost feel the caffeine work its way into his bones. Nearly finished with his beverage, he watched the dark blue of his coat gradually revert to his usual bright red. Pyro put the cup in the sink and he shook off the last threads of sleep clinging to muscles. He grabbed his bag, opened the door and took in the glory of the early morning sun. He was really to get the day started, and if he timed things right, he could “run into” the sheriff on his way to lunch. That thought caused little licks of flames at the ends of his mane. With a smile, Pyrotech trotted towards the community mines.

Pyrotech Frost-Ember is a prodigy in the field of fire and ice elemental magic. (Two disciplines that don’t usually go together) In most other creatures, the opposing fire and ice magic would quite literally rip the wielder apart, as both are very reactive. However, due to a Kirin’s innate nature to change form with their emotions, and Pyro’s inborn talent and years of study, both magics exist in harmony within him. With that being said, being a Kirin, Pyrotech’s magic is highly reactive and linked with his emotions and emotional state. For example, when Pyrotech is calm, relaxed, and well rested, he will appear in his neutral form. He will have a red coat and blond mane with no flames. While in this state, with focus, Pyro can change his form at will, channeling the desired magic. However, his magic is sensitive to his emotions and strong emotions, positive and navigate, will affect his form. He has little control in these cases. For example, if Pyrotech experiences high energy emotions like hot anger, excitement, frustration, joy will trigger his flaming form. This form is similar to his neutral form, but his mane will burst into flames. The higher his energy, the stronger and wilder the flames. Low energy emotions like fear, exhaustion , annoyance, sadness, or cold anger, will trigger his frost form without his control. Anger is a wild card when it comes to emotions. “Hot” anger will cause a feral response, being intense, immediate, and often explosive. while “cold” anger will cause him to become stone hearted, with more subdued expression of that anger. Basically, don’t piss off the kirin.

Pyrotech loves making games for his friends. He is known for his talent to integrate magic, games, and red hermit stone. While his friends are known for their pioneering in everyday red hermit stone usage and integration, Pyrotech has made a name for himself, in his ability to create large, complex, and complicated systems using the enchanted stone. Each system doing fantastical, mechanical job. His redstone projects will often keep them up till the early hours or the morning. However, due to the way his body uses up magic, he gets exhausted quickly. He will fall asleep anywhere, and usually in the middle of a project. He has a high magical Metabolism and poor sleep schedule. He also has poor eyesight, along with color blindness. His eyes are also light sensitive, due to his tribe's history of living underground and in mountains, in large lava carved caverns. He wears special google-like glasses because of this. He is best friends with Fizzy Pop and Voltage.

** if you read this far, good for you and thank you! I’m not a writer and barely an artist, so if you enjoy my silly Pony AU, Thank you!

[sillygoose067]

A Masked Promise

Ch.33

Dick Grayson(Nightiwng) x Reader

Warning(?): PLOT TWIST(I think) hehe, blood, injuries

The air was suffocating. Thick with smoke and tension, the warehouse trembled under the weight of what was happening within its walls. The Titans stood at the edges of the chaos, their faces painted with worry and helplessness as they watched Nightwing and Deathstroke collide in a brutal storm of fists, blades, and rage.

Nightwing wasn’t fighting like himself. Every calculated, precise movement that once defined him was gone. He fought like a man possessed, reckless and unrelenting. His blows were wild, fueled by pain and fury, landing with the kind of force that sent cracks splintering through the concrete beneath their feet.

“Dick…” Dawn whispered, but her voice was lost to the cacophony of the fight.

Rachel reached out, her fingers trembling as she whispered, “This isn’t him. He’s… he’s lost in it.”

Kory’s fists clenched at her sides. “We can’t just stand here and let this happen.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Donna said, her voice tight, her eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them. “This is his fight.”

Slade dodged one of Nightwing’s furious strikes, his movements calculated and fluid. His mocking grin was gone, replaced by a grim expression. He was struggling to keep up, his usual confidence shaken as Nightwing’s relentless assault forced him to retreat step by step.

“You’ve lost control, boy,” Slade growled, ducking under a swing and countering with a sharp jab to Dick’s ribs. “You’re nothing but a blunt instrument now. Is this it, boy? Is this the best you’ve got? All that grief, all that anger, and you still can’t finish me?”

Dick didn’t respond. He didn’t even seem to register Slade’s words. His fists continued to fly, his movements sharp but erratic, like a man chasing the only thing holding him together: vengeance.

Another strike landed on Dick’s side, forcing him back. Slade followed up with a sharp kick, sending Nightwing skidding across the floor. He hit the ground hard, his body rolling before slamming into a metal beam with a sickening crack.

The Titans flinched as one. Gar took a step forward, his body tensed as if to intervene, but Donna held him back with a firm hand on his arm.

“Wait,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

Dick pushed himself to his feet slowly, blood trickling from a cut on his temple. His chest heaved, his breaths ragged, but his eyes—burning with fury—never left Slade.

“You should’ve stayed down,” Slade said, raising his blade. “You’re no match for me like this. You never were.”

But Nightwing didn’t care. He surged forward with a guttural roar, his escrima sticks flashing as they clashed with Slade’s blade. The sound of metal against metal rang through the air, each clash a desperate attempt to overpower the other.

Slade managed to land a blow that cut across Dick’s chest, a shallow but painful wound that sent him staggering. The Titans gasped in unison, but before anyone could react, something impossible happened.

Slade’s blade came too close, cutting toward Dick’s chest, aimed directly at his heart. For a moment, time seemed to slow. But before the blow could land, a golden barrier erupted around Dick, shimmering with an otherworldly energy. The blade ricocheted off the shield harmlessly, and Slade stumbled back in shock.

“What the hell?” Slade hissed, his grip tightening on his weapon.

The Titans froze, their eyes widening as the golden orb pulsed, radiating warmth and power. Inside it, Dick stood still, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on Slade with unrelenting fury.

Nightwing's focus remained entirely on Slade, his rage undeterred by the glowing shield now surrounding him.

The Titans’ confusion deepened as the golden light pulsed, steady and powerful, radiating a warmth that contrasted sharply with the violent chaos of the fight.

Then, a voice broke through the tension.

“Stop.”

It was faint, almost distorted, but it was unmistakably yours.

All heads turned toward the pillar where your body had been left.

You weren’t lying there anymore.

Your form hovered in the air, bathed in the same golden glow as the shield surrounding Dick. The light emanated from you, soft yet impossibly powerful, and your face, though pale and ethereal, held an expression of serene determination.

Rachel’s eyes widened, her voice trembling as she whispered, “It’s her…”

Donna stared, speechless, while Gar took a step back, his mouth falling open in shock. Kory’s fiery glow dimmed as she simply stared, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

“Dick.”

It was your voice, soft and distorted, as though carried on the wind. It wasn’t audible to the others—it was inside his head, cutting through the haze of his rage.

“Gray, stop.”

His body stiffened. His breath hitched. For the first time since the he'd witnessed you fall, he hesitated.

“Please… come back,” your voice whispered, calm but resolute.

The words cut deeper than any blade. He faltered, his grip on his escrima sticks loosening as your voice echoed in his mind, drowning out everything else.

“He's not worth it,” you said, the warmth in your tone like a lifeline pulling him from the abyss.

He blinked, the world around him coming back into focus. The golden light surrounding him pulsed again, and he turned, his eyes searching for you.

And there you were.

Your body, once lifeless near the pillar, was now floating in the air, bathed in the same golden glow as the orb around him. Your eyes were closed, your expression serene as your voice continued to resonate in his mind.

“Let it go, Gray. Let me help you.”

Slade snarled, his confusion giving way to anger as he lunged forward. But before he could get close, another wave of golden energy burst from your form, sending him flying across the room. He crashed into a pile of crates, coughing as he struggled to stand.

“Y/N…” Dick whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at you.

But you didn’t turn his way. Your form remained still, suspended in the air, your glow intensifying as you turned your focus to Slade.

“You’ve done enough,” you said, your voice echoing through the room, no longer just in Dick’s mind. “You’ve taken enough.”

Slade laughed bitterly, wiping blood from his mouth. “What are you? Some kind of ghost? You think you can stop me?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, the golden light around you coalesced, forming tendrils of energy that lashed out at him. Each strike was precise, hitting his weak points and leaving him crumpled on the floor, battered and broken.

The Titans watched in stunned silence, their disbelief mirrored in the shock on Slade’s face. He tried to rise, but the energy pinned him down, rendering him powerless.

And then, it was over.

The glow around you began to fade, and your body wavered in the air before slowly descending. Dick rushed forward, his heart pounding as he caught you in his arms.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice breaking as he cradled you.

You slumped against him, your body limp but warm, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You were alive.

Relief flooded through him, his grip on you tightening as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re breathing,” he murmured, almost in disbelief, more to himself than you. “You’re okay.”

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused, but you managed a weak smile. “Gray…” you whispered. “What… what happened?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I don’t care. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

The Titans gathered around, their expressions a mix of relief and confusion. But before anyone could speak, a low groan drew their attention.

Slade was still alive, barely conscious and utterly defeated. The golden energy had left him scarred and broken, his body too damaged to fight back.

“What do we do with him?” Donna asked, her voice hushed.

Dick didn’t answer. His focus was entirely on you, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face as he whispered, “You’re safe now.”

But even as the golden light faded completely, your question hung in the air: what just happened?

———————————————————————————-

TAGLIST:

@mybones537 @thereeallink @ziziriaa-blog

[sloanesallow]

The Call of the Void | Chapter 6

Shy girl meets distracted boy. Chaos ensues. This is my "canon" retelling of Siobhan Sloane and Sebastian Sallow's story. (full synopsis here. Chapter summary: Restricted section you say? 4k words Chapter warnings: Peak Sebastian energy. Sloane says more than 5 words, and freaking Peeves. [Ao3] | [Wattpad] [PREVIOUS] | [NEXT]

VI: R E S T R I C T E D

Siobhan doesn’t attend any of her classes on Thursday.

Instead of greeting the sunrise from the courtyard, she makes her way to the infirmary while the rest of her housemates are still asleep. Her hands haven’t stopped shaking since the troll attack in Hogsmeade, the ancient magic threatening to break free with every beat of her heart. The new wand only intensifies the burning sensation, and she’s terrified of losing control, again.

Siobhan has enough to worry about as a new student—an outsider—struggling to catch up with her peers. She isn’t naive to the rumors about herself, the whispers that have already labeled her as ‘awkward’ and ‘undeserving’ of her acceptance to Hogwarts. She’s too quiet, too inexperienced, and perhaps worst of all, not from wizarding society. If they learn she is a ticking time bomb, she can kiss any hope of being considered normal goodbye.

Nurse Blainey takes pity on Siobhan after assuring her there is nothing wrong, offering a calming draught and a cot by the window. That is where she spends the day, watching the clouds and owls and the tiny specks of students below as they traverse the courtyards walking from class to class. Guilt gnaws at her stomach for behaving so cowardly—her father would be disappointed if he knew she was hiding away—but she allows herself the reprieve, given the circumstances.

The only other person who knows anything about ancient magic is Professor Fig, but he is still in London, and she is alone. At least that is something she’s used to. It isn’t until sunset that she returns to the Hufflepuff common room, timing it so that her housemates are in the great hall for supper. She crawls beneath the covers of her small bed with the hopeless wish that she’ll wake up in Nottingham and find this was all just a bad dream.

She doesn’t.

Siobhan remains there on Friday morning, feigning sleep when Poppy attempts to rouse her for breakfast. When it’s quiet she slowly sits up, tucking her knees to her chest as she contemplates where else she can take refuge today. She doubts Nurse Blainey will allow her to loiter in the hospital wing again, not unless she develops a real illness. Professor Weasley will only encourage her to attend Flying class, and that is the last place she wants to be.

Eventually, she finds the strength to slowly get out of bed and dress for the day, wondering if she’d be sent home if she were to fall off her broom. The only thing that shakes the thought from her head is remembering a student from the day before, languishing over something called Skele-Gro. She takes her time walking through the castle, pretending she is simply lost (she is) when a Prefect asks why she isn’t in class.

When she finds herself in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, she realizes there is another place she can avoid her responsibilities, if only for one more day. Except, when she enters Professor Fig’s classroom, she’s surprised to see him pacing back and forth beyond his open office door.   

“Professor?” she calls out to him as she steps inside the cluttered space.

He barely acknowledges her presence with a hum before glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be on the flying lawn, Miss Sloane?”

Siobhan falters and flashes a guilty smile. “No?”

Fig sighs but doesn’t probe any further. “Your father did say you were a terrible liar,” he quietly laughs and winks. “Your secret is safe with me. Broomsticks aren’t for everyone.” 

She sighs, thankful he is back. “I’m glad to see you.”

“And I you,” he replies, his expression shifting into one of worry. “I heard about the attack in Hogsmeade. A troll? Thank Merlin you are in one piece.”

Barely, Siobhan thinks to herself, shaking her head. “It was wearing armor and was…glowing, like the dragon’s collar. Like the armbands the goblins wore in Gringots.”

“Goblin silver,” Professor Fig says, looking even more troubled than before. “Ranrok must be using it to control the beasts. But how? And why Hogsmeade, of all places?”

“Because of…me,” Siobhan’s voice wavers as she speaks, a terrifying reality that unsettles her every nerve. Her skin crawls with the memory. “Ranrok was there, with a man named Victor Rookwood. They want the ancient magic. They want me.”

“Without a care for innocent bystanders, it seems,” Professor Fig murmurs, brows furrowed. “I wager Ranrok did not expect a student to be capable of defeating a troll.”

If it is an attempt to make her feel better, it fails. Siobhan wrings her fingers together to stop them from trembling, swallowing thickly to steady herself.

“I—it happened again,” she starts to explain. “I lost control.”

“What do you remember?” Professor Fig calmly asks.

Siobhan remembers very little, only that one moment she was watching in horror as a troll lumbered toward her, and the next it was in a crumpled heap on the cobblestone, its flesh marked by ancient magic. Her silence is answer enough.  

“Were there any witnesses?”

“Y—yes,” she answers, her pulse quickening. “Sebastian Sallow.”

What she does remember is his reaction, wide brown eyes staring at her in disbelief. She does not like to think about how he’d gone from smiling at her to watching her like an unstable kettle, ready to explode.

“He saw everything.”

“Mr. Sallow is one of the more…curious students at Hogwarts,” he says with a slight frown. “He’ll have questions if he hasn’t pried them out of you already.”

“He didn’t,” Siobhan shakes her head again. “He…he was nice to me.”

Professor Fig’s eyebrow twitches up but says nothing for a long moment and he ponders their discussion. 

“It appears Ranrok wants what we found in that vault—the locket.” He pulls said locket from his pocket and places it on top of the parchment spread across the desk. “There was an inscription. When spoken, this map appeared. Though, I’m not sure where we are meant to be led.”

Siobhan immediately focuses on a specific area of the map. “Here,” she points. “There are traces of magic.”

“I suspected as such,” Professor Fig nods. “That is the library, the restricted section, to be exact. Students typically need special permission to enter, but if you are with me—”

“Fig! I have work for you,” Headmaster Black interrupts, striding into the room without regard to the ongoing conversation. His sudden appearance causes Siobhan to flinch. “Come.”

“I am with a student!” Professor Fig counters in annoyance. “And my schedule is—”

“Your schedule will wait, indefinitely, as will your student,” the Headmaster briefly glances at Siobhan but it is clear he does not care for her presence. “I would think that after all the trouble you caused bringing her here, you would be eager to make amends.”

He leaves no room for further arguments. “My office. Five minutes.”

Siobhan remains silent as Professor Fig scowls.

“I’ve never known a more infuriating person,” he lets out a deep sigh. “I must apologize, Miss Sloane. Our trip to the library will have to wait. I shall find you after I’ve satisfied whatever inane tasks Phineas has for me.”

 She wants to protest, but Professor Fig is already rushing after the Headmaster. Alone, she inspects the map again and frowns. There is so little they know about ancient magic, and yet it seems like all she’s done is wait, instead of learning more. What if it takes over again and she hurts herself—or worse—someone else? She’s fearful, yes, but with a possible answer staring her in the face, she feels compelled to act.

Restricted section…

Siobhan straightens in recognition, recalling something Mr. Sallow mentioned on the way to Hogsmeade. She glances at the clock in Professor Fig’s office before leaving, wondering where Sebastian might be on a Friday morning. The possibilities might as well be endless, so it’s kismet when she quickly spots him loitering in a nearby alcove. He notices her approach, and for a moment she thinks he might run off, given what happened the other day. Instead, he looks…relieved.

“There you are,” he says, eyes darting over her form in a way that makes her skin prickle. “Where have you been? You didn’t attend any of our classes yesterday! I was worried something dreadful had happened.”  

Worried? Why is he worried about her? Siobhan is about to comment that something dreadful did happen when he continues. 

“Shouldn’t you be in Flying class?”

“Y—no,” she furrows her brows in confusion. “How do you know that?”

“Never mind,” Sebastian waves his hand in dismissal and that’s when she notices the white bandage wrapped around his palm. Before she can express her worry, he swiftly hides the injury behind his back. “Never mind,” he repeats with a sheepish grin.

Siobhan doesn’t know Sebastian very well, but from the limited amount of time they’ve spent together, she’s picked up on his overzealous demeanor. It’s intense, and certainly not a personality type she’s encountered before, especially from the opposite sex. Back home, the boys her age are aloof and think of her as the wallflower she is, if they think about her at all. Other than Poppy—and now him—nobody at Hogwarts has shown much interest in her.

“What happened to your hand?” she hesitantly asks.

“Potions accident. Weasley’s fault, really,” Sebastian softly chuckles as he shrugs. “Not to worry, Nurse Blainey assured me yesterday that I’ll make a full recovery.”

She blinks. “Yesterday?”

“Mhmm.”

“But I didn’t see you—”

“So that’s where you were hiding!” he exclaims, cutting her off. “I had a hunch you were up there, but Ominis said to leave you be. Are you alright?”

Siobhan hesitates, skeptical of his interest in her well-being. It isn’t like they are friends—are they? She nods, though she knows it isn’t convincing. She gestures to his bent arm, diverting the attention from her discomfort. “It wasn’t a potion accident, was it?”

He lifts and stares at his hand as if he’s forgotten it’s attached to his body. “It’s nothing.”

“It was me,” she says after a moment, even if the gaps in her memory make it difficult to be sure.

Sebastian’s smile fades and he relents, carefully removing the bandage for her to see. There’s remnants of a burn on his palm, red and splotchy skin that reminds her of when she accidentally spilt hot water on herself as a child. Guilt makes her chest feel heavy.

“I did this?” she asks in a whisper, stopping herself from reaching out.

“I’ve been hurt worse,” he assures, flexing his fingers. “It looks worse than it is, and since injury caused by magic can’t be healed by magic, I’ll just have to suffer.”

Siobhan frowns.

“Kidding,” Sebastian smirks, and with a flourish, he brandishes his wand in his right hand. With one quick movement and a murmured charm, the bandages wrap themselves back around his marred skin. “Good thing I’m ambidextrous.”

“It’s my fault, anyway, touching you without thinking,” he continues, a little more seriously as he repockets his wand. “You’d just blown up a troll with glowing blue magic! I’m surprised I didn’t melt.”

Siobhan shakes her head in frustration. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“That makes two of us,” Sebastian quips, even as his concerned expression returns. “Are you going to tell me about what we saw in Hogsmeade? Why does Victor Rookwood, of all people, seem so interested in you?”

It is easy for Siobhan to assume that Rookwood and Ranrok are after the same secrets she and Professor Fig are attempting to unearth. She doesn’t know what ancient magic’s role is—yet—but understands quite well that she is in danger. If the magic doesn’t kill her first, they certainly will. 

“I—I’ve never met him before,” she replies. “I think he’s working with Ranrock.”

He scrutinizes her—she isn’t lying, but she isn’t ready to tell him the entire story yet, either. She has a promise to keep to Professor Fig, and she isn’t sure whom else she can trust.

When Sebastian realizes she isn’t elaborating, he sighs. “You don’t have to tell me, but it’ll be hard to help you when I don’t know what’s going on.”   

“Help me?” Siobhan repeats, back to being confused about his enthusiasm.

“Of course!” he beams. “If you can defeat a troll, then I’m sure you can defeat an opponent in a duel, with proper guidance that is. I’ll tutor you.”

It’s a statement, not a question. 

“Oh,” she responds, momentarily stunned. “T—thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he smirks and she feels her face go hot. Sebastian turns to grab a notebook from a not-so-neat pile on the nearby chair. “Speaking of, here. Yesterday’s notes for Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Herbology. The last bit might be a little sparse…Professor Garlick says I haven’t the greenest thumb, but I’m still better at tending to plants than Hobhouse.”

Siobhan looks down at the notebook and flashes a tiny smile. She wasn’t expecting such a nice gesture and is grateful for the surprise, as overwhelmed as it makes her feel. Maybe Sebastian is a friend, after all.    

“I—” she pauses, hugging the notes to her chest as she contemplates just what to say. The wizarding world is still so new and fantastical to her that it’s difficult for her to make sense of the situation. Sebastian waits patiently for her to keep speaking. “I need to find something for Professor Fig, but it’s in the restricted section of the library.”

“Restricted section, you say?” he questions, delighted at the mention. “Is that why you were looking for me?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You’re a bad liar, Sloane.”

She’s too flustered to respond—is she really that transparent? Sebastian Sallow is one of the strangest people she’s met at Hogwarts by far, but something tells her he wouldn’t take that as an insult.

“I suppose I could wait to get a note from him, but—”

“Oh no,” Sebastian interjects, amused. “You can’t lure me in like that and expect me not to be interested. If you’re serious about sneaking into the restricted section, I’m your guy.”

Siobhan doesn’t think her cheeks can get any warmer. 

“Meet me outside the library tonight,” he instructs in a more serious tone as he gathers his belongings. “And tell no one.”

That evening, after dinner and a long bath, she sits on the edge of her bed in the Hufflepuff dormitory, watching as her roommates get ready for sleep. Poppy eyes her with suspicion, but Siobhan doesn’t say anything until Lenora and Adelaide are tucked away and snoring.

“Poppy?” she quietly captures her friend’s attention, hesitating before she asks. “If I wanted to sneak out after curfew—”

Poppy raises her hand and grins. “Say less.”

For the second time that week, Sebastian finds himself pacing, anxious as he counts his steps, waiting. Last time, he’d all but been forced into the situation by Professor Weasley, but tonight’s rendezvous is one he volunteered for. His thoughts are scattered—why did he agree to help Sloane? Sure, he’s curious, but he’s also sleep-deprived, overloaded with assignments, and should be using his free time to help Anne.

Considering everything that happened to them in Hogsmeade, he should be wary, if not downright terrified to be associated with Sloane. Barely two weeks and she has the attention of not only the leader of a goblin rebellion, but a gang of dark wizards. Either she has incredibly bad luck, or there’s something more serious going on. If Sebastian had the gold, he’d bet on the latter. But he’s always been fond of puzzles, and the mystery surrounding the new girl is too tantalizing to ignore.

He flexes his fingers when his wrapped palm begins to itch.

Curiosity kills the cat, or maybe it just burns.

Unlike Wednesday, Sebastian doesn’t let Sloane sneak up on him. He senses her arrival in the central hall and watches as she slowly makes her way to where he is waiting on the staircase landing. She’s dressed as if she’s heading to class, blazer and all, and he wonders what it would take to see her not so put together.

“You’re late,” he teases.

“I got lost,” she nervously explains, fidgeting with her sleeves. “I’ve never broken curfew before.”

“First time for everything.” 

When he crouches down, she follows suit, the two shuffling toward the nearby banister that overlooks the library entrance. It’s quiet, save for the prefect’s footsteps as they patrol the area. Unsurprisingly, Sloane looks worried.

“How do we get inside?”

“Sneakily,” Sebastian offers in a hushed tone. “Has Fig taught you the Disillusionment Charm?”

She shakes her head.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he continues. “What, with all the secrets you two are keeping.”

He means it as a joke—mostly—but if there’s anything he’s learned by now, it’s that Sloane might as well be impervious to his charms. Infuriating, but compelling—it won’t stop him from trying again. He pulls out his wand and she does the same, staring at him expectantly.

“It’s deception, rather than true invisibility, but as long as you keep your distance and stay quiet, it’s the perfect spell for getting into places you’re not supposed to be,” he explains before demonstrating the wand movement. “Like this.”

It takes Sloane a few tries, but Sebastian swears he spots the faintest smile just as she becomes shrowded, a translucent form he can barely make out in the dim light. He casts his own charm and the two start their careful descent down the stairs, pausing occasionally when a prefect passes by. She stops just as they enter the library proper and he is about to question her when he spots Scribner, doing whatever it is a librarian does after dark.

“Damn,” he curses under his breath, blindly reaching out to tug on Sloane’s arm. “Quick, behind the bookcase.”

In the nearby alcove, Sebastian removes the cloaking charm and takes a moment to think through their options. Scribner is usually gone by now, but of course she’s decided to stay late on the one evening he’s chosen to help Sloane. So much for making up for Hogsmeade.

“What do we do?” she whispers, visible again. Realizing he is still holding onto her arm, he lets go.

“Don’t worry,” he assures in an equally hushed tone, pulling a small key from his shirt pocket. “I lifted the key this afternoon, after our little chat. Figured it was best to come prepared.”

He hands it to her and then gestures to the other side of the room where a selection of bookcases are locked behind iron bars. “I’ll create a distraction so you can sneak over and unlock the gate. I’ll be right behind you. Trust me.”

Sloane hesitates, glancing from him to Scribner and the restricted section to him again. She nods, charming herself once more. Sebastian takes the cue, shrowding himself again before finding a perfect spot for a distraction—or destruction—they sound the same in his head.

One swift cast of incendio later, and Scribner is scrambling to investigate, leaving the path to the restricted section clear. He moves swiftly, grinning to himself when he sees the lock click open and the gate door open just enough to slip inside. Sloane keeps her disillusionment charm active until they are well out of Scribner’s sight.

“See?” he can’t help but chuckle. “Was that so difficult?”

Despite her earlier urgency, Sloane takes her time browsing the dusty bookshelves once they enter the lower levels. Sebastian idles along, taking advantage of the leisurely stroll to see if there is anything he missed during his last illicit visit. She focuses on an elaborate tome, but he stops her before she can pick it up.

“Don’t let it fool you,” he comments. “It’s charmed to look more useful than it is. Just gibberish.”

Sloane nods in understanding and he can sense her eyeing him as he traces the spines on a row of old books. “What are you looking for?” she asks.

“I’m looking for a cure for my twin sister, Anne,” he replies, before remembering that he hasn’t told Sloane about her quite yet. “She’s…sick. Has been for some time now, and wasn’t able to return to Hogwarts this year. It’s strange, not having her with me. She’s a Slytherin too, so the common room is less quiet than what I’m used to.”

“Everyone else has given up, but I haven’t,” he continues, a flare of anger makes his face feel hot. “I won’t let her down.”

“Why here?” Sloane asks after a few moments, still watching him as he flips through a book that has more to do with ancient wizard mating rituals—in Latin, of all languages—than cures for unknown curses. “Why the restricted section? Can Nurse Blainey not help?” 

“No!” Sebastian snaps, sighing when she flinches just enough for him to feel awful about his reaction. “We’ve tried everything. Not even St. Mungos was able to do anything,” he says in a softer tone. “That’s why I’ve been researching on my own. If I can’t rely on others, at least I can rely on myself.”

Sloane says nothing, but he appreciates her silence. Sebastian doesn’t like to talk about Anne’s situation, simply because there is nothing he finds more irritating than people’s hollow sympathies. Especially when they act as if Anne is already dead. She isn’t, and won’t die. Not if he has anything to do about it.

“What are you looking for?” he asks, changing the subject.

“A book,” she answers, without much more elaboration. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Cryptic,” he replies, smirking. “I like cryptic.”

They eventually move on from the area, down into a storage area that even Sebastian hasn’t explored. There are very few books, and when they reach a dead end, he’s about to suggest they double back when—

“Who have we here? Sebastian Sallow and the little lost lass, out exploring where they shouldn’t be!”

Peeves.

“Naughty, naughty! You’ll get caughty!”

Fucking Peeves.

Sloane bumps back into Sebastian, startled, as he glares at the poltergeist. “Peeves,” he warns through clenched teeth. “Don’t—”

“I’m going to tell!” the poltergeist cheerfully sing-songs, repeating the phrase over and over as he floats away.

“The hell you will!” Sebastian shouts after him, only pausing to reassure a panicked Sloane. “I’ll stop him, or at least come up with a convincing story for Scribner. I happen to be an excellent liar.”

She shakes her head, ignoring his comment. “I don’t want you getting into trouble for me.”

“A little too late for that, Sloane,” he remarks with a lopsided grin. “I’ll be fine. You’ll just owe me.”

Sebastian rushes away, glancing over his shoulder one last time to see Sloane’s concerned expression. “Thank you.”

Much like a game of cat and mouse, Peeves is waiting for him, laughing as he leads the way back to the main floor of the library.

“Sebastian Sallow, alone with a girl,” he taunts, flipping upside-down. “And here I thought they made you hurl.”

“You are the most insufferable spirit to inhabit Hogwarts!” Sebastian hisses, to which Peeves blows a raspberry at. “Ugh!”

As soon as they are back in the main library, Sebastian isn’t surprised to see Scribner but still freezes when she shouts at him in her shrill voice.

“Sneaking?” For a librarian, she is loud. “Again, Mr. Sallow? I had thought we were through with this mischief, but it’s clear that detentions are insufficient.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment as Peeves mockingly swirls around him. “I’m afraid I’ll need to report this to Headmaster Black.”

Oh, goodie. 

For once, Sebastian decides to keep his mouth shut, but that only seems to irritate Scribner further. She narrows her eyes at him and glances around the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a flash of Hufflepuff yellow before it disappears like a flickering candle. Somehow, he knows she is still there, listening.

“Peeves informs me that you didn’t come alone tonight,” Scribner accuses, waiting for his confession. It would be very easy to throw Sloane to the proverbial wolves, especially when he has no reason to protect her from trouble. Professor Weasley’s words echo in his mind and he briefly recalls the way Sloane smiled inside Tomes & Scrolls.

He’d like to see it again.

Merlin, he hopes tonight wasn’t for nothing, and that Sloane will finally tell him what the hell is going on.

He gulps, then straightens, meeting Scribner’s gaze full on.

“There was nobody else,” he says, confidently. “I came alone.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes, comments and kudos are appreciated!

[cherryrainn]

Hi so I would like very much to request a platonic fic for Alastor with an early teen reader, but hear me out on this pls The reader is a demon that has (much like Alastor) similar trates to an animal even though they don't look that much anthromorphic, and the reader's form is a 'sea wasp jellyfish' because even though the reader just recently died she is hella powerfull and has the power to take down almost any infernal being if she wanted. +bonus points ; if the reader is an arson and chaotic teenager!

omgg. a hazbin hotel ask after like... idk how long. I AM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS

☽ ༚  ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰  ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ 

— a dance of chaos and charm

alastor x early teen! reader (platonic)

in the twisted depths of hell, a bustling realm of sin and debauchery, an unlikely encounter was about to take place. alastor, the dapper and enigmatic sinner demon, found himself intrigued by your arrival. with a form resembling that of a sea wasp jellyfish, you emanated a raw power that sent shivers through the hearts of even the most hardened infernal beings.

one fateful evening, as the crimson skies bathed hell in their eerie glow, alastor spotted you causing chaos in the streets of pentagram city. your mischievous smile and fiery eyes gleamed with a fervor for destruction.

alastor, his beige-colored skin contrasting against his vibrant red attire, caught sight of your devilish display. his transatlantic accent carried a hint of curiosity as he approached you, his gaze intense. "well, well, what have we here? a tempestuous spirit with the power to unsettle even the most hardened souls. what mischief do you seek, young demon?"

you twirled playfully, tendrils swirling with delight. "oh, i'm just here to cause a little chaos, make things interesting. this place's a playground, isn't it? care to join me, mr. radio man?"

alastor's smile was laced with caution, his eyes narrowed. "be warned, child, my patience for youthful antics is limited. but perhaps a little company amidst the place wouldn't hurt."

with a gesture, alastor conjured a vibrant spectacle of swirling flames, casting an ethereal glow over the streets. he extended a gloved hand, an invitation to join him in the dance of chaos. "let us weave a tapestry of mischief together, but mind you, i won't take responsibility for any accidents that may befall you."

your translucent form shimmered with excitement as you accepted his invitation, tendrils interweaving with his outstretched hand. "no worries, alastor! let's set this city ablaze and watch it burn. just don't try to boss me around, okay?"

and so, an unlikely bond formed amidst the crackling flames. as you reveled in the intoxicating dance of destruction, alastor couldn't help but be captivated by your wild spirit and raw power. the discordant symphony of laughter and chaos echoed through the hellish streets, creating an aesthetic spectacle like no other.

between bouts of mayhem, alastor observed your unrestrained energy, a mixture of admiration and caution in his gaze. "tell me, young demon, what drives your insatiable thirst for chaos? is it the thrill, the liberation, or something deeper?"

you bobbed and weaved, tendrils pulsating with a playful rhythm. "oh, alastor, it's all about freedom! breaking the rules, defying expectations, and watching everything crumble under the weight of our mischief. it's fun, like riding the wildest rollercoaster in hell!"

alastor chuckled, his radio-like voice permeating the air. "a devilish ride, indeed. but remember, child, power lies not only in destruction but in the art of control. chaos is a double-edged sword. use it wisely."

while the streets of pentagram city teemed with demonic life, you lived a solitary existence, preferring the freedom of the streets rather than the confines of a conventional dwelling. you had chosen to live alone, reveling in the chaos that surrounded you, free to roam wherever your wild whims led you.

alastor, with his impeccable attire and penchant for structure, couldn't fathom your desire for such independence. yet, he respected your choice and would drop in unannounced, like a fleeting shadow in the night, to share moments of mischief and conversation.

one moonlit evening, as the city streets lay empty, you perched atop a crumbling building, your gelatinous form pulsating with an otherworldly glow. the flames danced in your tendrils, reflecting the mischievous spark in your eyes. it was during these quiet moments that you contemplated your unconventional existence.

alastor materialized beside you, his presence subtle yet commanding. "why, my young friend, do you choose to roam these streets alone? surely there are safer and more comfortable places for a demon such as yourself."

you turned to face him, tendrils swaying lazily in the night breeze. "safety and comfort aren't part of my vocabulary, alastor. i thrive in the chaos, the unpredictability of the streets. it's where i find my freedom and inspiration."

alastor's smile was tinged with concern, his voice gentle. "but the dangers, my dear. there are other demons lurking in the shadows, waiting to exploit your vulnerabilities."

you chuckled, the sound a whimsical melody amidst the darkness. "oh, i can handle myself, alastor. don't you worry about me. besides, it's not like i'm defenseless. remember, i have the power to take down almost any infernal being if I wanted to."

alastor's brows furrowed slightly, a mixture of awe and caution in his eyes. "a formidable power, indeed. but remember, strength alone won't shield you from the perils that lie in wait. the world can be a treacherous place, especially for those who wander alone."

your gelatinous form bobbed with an air of nonchalance. "i appreciate your concern, mr. radio man, but i'm not one to shy away from a little danger. besides, having you drop by every now and then adds a touch of excitement to my chaotic existence."

alastor's smile grew, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "ah, the thrill of the unexpected. i must admit, your presence adds a certain spark to the dreary routine of my own existence. who am i to deny you the exhilaration of the streets?"

your gelatinous body shimmered with vibrant colors, undulating with a grace that defied the hellish world. the contrast between your whimsical form and alastor's dapper elegance made your companionship all the more striking.

alastor, ever the observant demon, marveled at your extraordinary presence. "truly, my dear, you possess an allure that bewitches the eyes. your form... untamed chaos, leaves me enthralled."

you giggled, tendrils swirling with mischievous delight. "it's true, isn't it? we might look weird, but it makes us look cool! who needs acceptance when you can be a mesmerizing thing?"

alastor chuckled, his radio-like voice resonating with warmth. "indeed, my young friend."

in a place where conformity reigned, your presence served as a reminder that beauty, friendship, and chaos could coexist in perfect harmony. as your bond deepened, the streets of pentagram city became not only your playground but also a stage upon which your vibrant personalities and extraordinary forms could shine.

[yelenasdiary]

hi could you maybe write something about Lizzie being pregnant? and maybe be giving birth to reader and her’s baby girl, maybe at home, (in a tub?) hehe, i dont know if its cringe😅 but kind of chaos, but also fluff😅

New Life

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

Summary: Life is about to change in front of your eyes & you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Tiny Angst | Fluff | Childbirth | 1K |

AC: Thank you for sending this! I hope this was what you were looking for x, enjoy! - I kind of forgot to add the chaos omg!!

It had been a long 9 months for both you and your wife, Lizzie. 9 months full of excitement, worry, more excitement and the normal stresses that come along with having a baby. During Lizzie's entire pregnancy she wasn't seen by the public world, a few times in the early stages of her pregnancy grabbing some groceries but when Scarlett gave her some advice on how to avoid the paparazzi, the world saw less of the actress. It wasn't a bad thing; it was something you and Lizzie both knew that it would be best that she had as much privacy as she could get during her pregnancy. 

With Lizzie's water breaking just moments before you two were going to have a shower, it was a rush to get the tub ready and luckily for you, the midwife only lived a few blocks away and was over before you knew it. You helped with work through each contraction that came in waves while the midwife checked to see how dilated Lizzie was. 

It hit you suddenly that your world was about to change in a matter of hours, of course this was what you expected but for some reason it really hit you that you were about to become a parent. 

*****

"Something smells amazing!" you smiled as you walked into the kitchen to see Lizzie stirring something in a large pot, Lizzie looked over her shoulder and smiled, "I'm just making some pasta sauce" she replied with a chuckle as you wrapped your arms around her from behind and placed a kiss on her cheek. 

"Still, it smells great" you spoke softly. It was then that it caught your eye that Lizzie didn't have her normal glass of wine half full sitting on the countertop beside the stove. "Let me get you a glass, what are you feeling tonight? Red? White?" you asked before pulling away to get a wine class from the cupboard. 

"About that" Lizzie turned on her heals to face you, "I can't have any for a while" she added. Your eyes shot wide open; a smile tugged at your lips as you came to the realisation of what Lizzie was saying. She nodded as she watched your brain click to the news. 

"We're having a baby?!" you walked over to her and placed your hands softly on her lips, "yes" she replied softly before you crashed your lips onto hers. 

*****

With Lizzie's hand in yours, you used your thumb to gently stroke the top of her hand to help calm her after a contraction. Her head rested against you while you sat behind her. "We forgot to pick up a few things from the baby store" your wife spoke as she looked up at you. 

"It'll be okay, I'll call them later and let them know what's happened" you couldn't help but chuckle, "I think they'd be very understanding and if not then I have no idea why they are a business" you added making Lizzie giggle.

Although Lizzie's pregnancy had its pros, it also had its cons. There were moments of worry and concern as you held her hair back while her morning sickness took its toll, draining her of the little energy she had. If it wasn't morning sickness, it was heart burn and struggling to make herself comfortable as her bump grew bigger. Family gatherings really took a toll on Lizzie, even for an actress who is used to answering the same questions over and over again, having everybody she knew and loved ask her 100 times over things about her pregnancy was different and you were quick to give her a break and answer some of those questions for yourself. 

But with all the cons, the pros always came shining through. Lizzie would boost to you that being pregnant meant she was entitled to the last snack on the plate, the last cookie? Hers. The last banana? Hers. The last slice of cake? Hers. One of her favorite things to do was baby shop, online or instore, she loved it. Although, you liked it better when it was online because she could spend as many hours as she pleased, and your legs wouldn't get sore. 

 ****

"Honey!! Look how adorable this little suit is!" Lizzie took the tiny boys suit off the rack and showed you, "it's so tiny!" she added while eyeing off the piece of clothing. Of course, she brought it just in case. You both decided to let the sex of your unborn baby be a surprise and so Lizzie was sure to buy gender neutral, girls and boys items so it wasn't a surprise that she brought the tiny suit. 

"It's adorable" you smiled softly, "it's crazy to think that somebody can be this small!" You added in amazement. 

"I wish our baby could stay tiny forever" Lizzie commented while walking away, her eyes already caught on something else.

****

As her contractions started to become more intense, you reminded Lizzie she was doing amazing and that was the truth. For her entire pregnancy you have watched her body and mind change and just when you thought she couldn't get any more beautiful, she did. She was truly the most beautiful woman you'd ever laid eyes on. 

"It's time" the midwife looked up at Lizzie who was more than ready to hold her baby. She took one last look at you, "are you ready?" she asked which didn't surprise you, she'd always been the one to make sure you were on top of things and doing things when you were ready, you nodded, "I've never felt more ready" you placed a soft kiss on her lips knowing that the next kiss you'd share with her, your lives would be different.

After what felt like forever, the loud cries of your baby finally entered the room. Lizzie was exhausted but still managed to have the worlds proudest smile on her lips. "Congratulations, it's a girl" the midwife smiled at the two of you before whisking your daughter to be wiped and wrapped before carefully placing her in Lizzie's arms. 

You felt a tear roll down your cheek when you laid eyes on your daughter, everything would be different now and there isn't a single bone in your body that would change that for the world. "She's perfect" you whispered before placing a kiss on Lizzie's cheek, "you're perfect" you added.

Taglist: @red1culous | @bentleywolf29 | @natasha-belova | @kiwiana145 | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @wackymcstupid | @mmmmokdok | @observeowl | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @wandsmxmff | @apollo2907 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @fluffyblanketgecko | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @natashamaximoff69 | @hehehehannahthings | @pandaemonium111 | @blue-serendipityy | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @scarsw1fe | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @katiemay-025 | @aphrcdtes | @romanoffs-widow | @maria-403 | @boredandneedfanfics | @wandamaximoffspuppup | @xox-little-troublemaker-xox |  | 

[generic-sonic-fan]

hehehe have a snippet of the beginning of the Blaze x Omega fic for you all

---

Blaze visited Sonic’s world even when she wasn’t needed, meaning that it was more often than she would care to admit. 

It became a secret indulgence- the words slipped out of her mouth so easily these days. I’m sorry, but the Guardian of the Chaos Emeralds requires me, she’d tell her advisors when nothing immediately pressing was occurring in the Sol Kingdom.

But now, as her flames danced around her, the fury of her soul expressing itself in its purest form, she couldn’t find it within herself to feel guilty. 

The timing of this visit was rather poor- there was no actual impending crisis, so Sonic wasn’t around. Instead, his brother Tails had awkwardly pointed her towards some of Sonic’s other allies who were set to attack one of Eggman’s strategic positions today. 

Shadow the Hedgehog teleported alongside of her and, with a crisp bolt of chaos energy, blasted the remaining robot in the room that she had not yet scalded. He let out a strange ‘hmph’, something vaguely triumphant-sounding, as the metal scrap fell to the floor. Then he teleported off again, likely somewhere deeper within the facility, racing ahead of her as if they were playing in some imaginary competition that he was obsessed with winning. 

Blaze looked back to the entry doorway to see Rouge the Bat fly in and, instead of continuing down the path Blaze had just cleared with her flames, made for the circulation vent in the ceiling above.

“Where are you going?” Blaze shouted.

Rouge only hesitated for a second. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, princess.” 

Blaze crossed her arms and exhaled, smoke billowing out of her nostrils. Some ‘team’ this was. By the time she looked back, Rouge was already gone. Blaze was alone, surrounded by scrap. 

She tried to remember the actual objective of the mission from the oh-so-short mission briefing. No doubt Shadow knew it, but of course he wasn’t here right now and didn’t seem keen on being followed. Blaze looked around the room to find three doors. She picked one and ran to it. 

The door controls were locked, and a quick few taps on the armored plating allowed her to guess the temperature required for her to make her own entrance. She called on the flames within her, fueling them with her own breath and her rage, before shoving her hands against the metal. 

In an instant, the metal boiled, then vaporized. She pulled her palms apart, sending the scalding metal shards to the sides. Then, with a clench of her fist, she cooled the white-hot metal back down to gray so that she could pass through the new entrance to the halls beyond. 

“YOU BURN THINGS VERY WELL!”

Blaze whipped around and extended her fist, ready to blow a ball of flame towards the source of the robotic voice, before recognition stayed her hand. For his credit, E-123 Omega did not seem surprised by the near barrage.

“AND WITH ACCURACY, IN ADDITION!” 

[whalesandclouds]

What does my heart want to shout out? | PAC reading

Hi! Finally back with another pick a card reading. As always please pick an image that calls out to you. If unsure, close your eyes and take a moment to breathe in and out, then try again. Don't worry if nothing stands out, this could just mean it is not meant for you. Only take what resonates. Any feedback is always appreciated!

1-2

3-4

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ・○・●・○・●

PILE 1

My Heart wants to shout out to take back my power and thrive. To release the resistance I hold about a subject, so my dreams and desires can be realised. To create from love instead of fear. I deserve to have what I want without compromising my truth. I cannot change what has happened, but I can change what I do from this moment on. I am loved. My Heart wants to shout out that I am ready for a new adventure. A new journey that not everyone may understand. But it is completely okay. I want to travel to a new place I have never been before. I want to try new practises to evolve spiritually.  My Heart wants to shout out to be proud of myself. I believe in myself. I don’t compare myself to others. I recognise and appreciate my own talents and assets. My Heart wants to shout out to embrace my inner warrior. I extend an olive branch before I defend my territories. I cleanse with ease lower energies and thought forms that have become a disruption to my every day routines.

Affirmation: I am a unique and beautiful soul, my light is radiant

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ・○・●・○・●

PILE 2

My Heart wants to shout out to find harmonic state of well-being. I acknowledge and address the need to free myself from external disturbance, toxic environments, excessive noise and emotional chaos. I can achieve a peaceful state of mind with meditation, balanced choices and pure silence. I burn any ill feeling with exercise, journalling or meditative practice. My Heart wants to shout out to keep following my dreams. I feel encouragement and support as I continue taking actual steps towards my goals. I am open to help and kindness from others. I am thankful. My Heart wants to shout out to be bold. To come into my power now as the time of action is now. I am powerful. I am determined. I take assertive stance as needed.

Affirmation: I am taking charge of my destiny!

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ・○・●・○・●

PILE 3

My Heart wants to shout out to let light in. It is time for me to step into my shining light. I release all that is stopping happiness from flowing into my world. I recognise that struggle is not required on my path. Today is the day I release any disturbances in my energy.  My Heart wants to shout out to fully step into the path of self-realisation. I am in a time of great personal change and growth. I work through feelings of sadness and melancholy with ease. I am not afraid to start over again or find new ways to support the life that I want. My Heart wants to shout out to show the world the real me. I will no longer hide or hold myself back from being myself. Even if change is frightening, I allow my life to unfold and progress by staying true to myself.

Affirmation: I hold the answers within me. My energy is limitless

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ・○・●・○・●

PILE 4

My Heart wants to shout out to tune in to my soul’s voice. As my mind and heart expand I find it easier to interpret my soul’s messages. Practise helps to listen to my intuition and tune into my psychic senses. I embrace and acknowledge that messages can also come through my dreams. My Heart wants to shout out to connect to my soul family. Spending time with my chosen family will bring wisdom and happiness in my life. Reconnections at this moment initiate new friendships and bring closure to memories of the past. My soul family empower me to be my best self. My Heart wants to shout out to trust the Universe. I release what I have been gripping onto with ease. I state my intention to the universe and then detach. I live and let live a little. My Heart wants to shout out to put my knowledge into practice. I follow my heart instead of my head. But I also recognise having more structure and routine in my life will help bring me success.

Affirmation: I trust my soul’s whispers. I trust my intuition and psychic senses

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ・○・●・○・●

[theink-stainedfolk]

Writing share/ Proud of Tag

Thank you for the tag @willtheweaver

Rasira

The night had an eerie stillness to it, like the air itself was holding its breath. The campus was draped in silence, the kind that wasn't peaceful but oppressive. Rasira, Cheruu, Balin, and Nuelavi were returning from a late-night study session, their laughter subdued by the creeping unease they all felt. The streetlamps flickered as though struggling against some unseen force, casting jagged shadows that seemed to slither on the cracked pavement.

Rasira felt it first.

A sharp, icy sensation coiled around his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. His footsteps faltered, and he gripped the edge of a nearby lamppost to steady himself.

"Rasira?" Cheruu's voice cut through the night, tinged with worry. "Are you okay?"

Rasira tried to respond, but his throat closed up, his voice stolen by the cold that was now coursing through his veins. His vision blurred, the world around him tilting and swaying like a sickening pendulum. And then he saw it-a shadow darker than the night itself, shifting and writhing at the edge of the path.

"It's here," he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cheruu turned, following Rasira's gaze. His eyes widened as the shadow began to grow, taking form. A grotesque figure emerged, its body a mass of twisting limbs and jagged edges that didn't seem to adhere to the rules of reality. Its "face" was nothing more than a void, blacker than any abyss, yet it seemed to watch them, its presence suffocating and predatory.

"Run!" Nuelavi shouted, his usually calm voice laced with urgency.

But before they could react, the creature lunged. Its movements were erratic, disjointed, like a marionette controlled by cruel and chaotic strings. Rasira felt the curse inside him stir violently, feeding on the fear and the entity's presence, threatening to overwhelm him.

The creature lunged directly at Rasira, its claw-like appendages outstretched. Before it could strike, Cheruu threw himself in the way.

"Cheruu!" Rasira screamed, his voice raw with panic.

The impact was immediate and brutal. The creature's claws raked across Cheruu's chest, tearing through his shirt and skin with horrifying ease. Blood sprayed across the pavement, the vibrant red stark against the shadows. Cheruu crumpled to the ground with a strangled cry, his body convulsing as the creature's energy seeped into him like poison.

Rasira's knees buckled, the curse inside him raging uncontrollably. The marks on his skin glowed faintly, pulsating with a sickly light that mirrored the creature's movements. He clawed at his arms, trying to suppress the curse, but it only seemed to grow stronger, feeding off his anguish and fear.

"Stay back!" Nuelavi commanded, stepping forward. His hand shot out, and for the first time, his power manifested visibly-a shimmering barrier of energy that crackled like fire and ice. The creature recoiled, hissing in a soundless rage as the barrier pushed it back.

But Nuelavi was straining. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "This thing... it's tied to the curse. It's drawing from Rasira's life force," he muttered, his voice tight with concentration. "We have to sever it, or it'll destroy him... and all of us."

Balin rushed to Cheruu's side, his trembling hands pressing against the wounds to staunch the bleeding. "You're going to be okay," he whispered, his voice cracking. But the sight of Cheruu's blood soaking through his fingers made his stomach churn.

Cheruu's lips moved, his voice barely audible. "D-don't let it take him," he rasped, his eyes flickering with pain but burning with determination. "Don't let it win."

Nuelavi's barrier faltered for a moment, the creature pushing against it with renewed ferocity. "Rasira, listen to me!" he shouted. "You have to fight it. I can't hold this thing off forever."

Rasira's mind was a whirlwind of chaos and agony. The curse was pulling at him, dragging him deeper into its abyss. He could feel the creature's claws in his soul, tearing apart everything that made him who he was. But then he saw Cheruu-pale, bleeding, yet still fighting to protect him.

A surge of defiance rose within Rasira. Не clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. "You... don't own me," he growled, his voice trembling but resolute.

The curse's marks flared brighter, but this time, Rasira focused his will, pushing against its hold. He felt the tendrils of darkness recede, though it fought him every step of the way.

Nuelavi seized the moment, channeling his power into a final, desperate strike. The barrier erupted in a blinding light, engulfing the creature in its brilliance. The shadow writhed and screamed-silent yet deafening -before disintegrating into nothingness.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Nuelavi collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, his energy spent. Balin held Cheruu tightly, his tears mingling with the blood on his hands. Rasira lay motionless, his chest rising and falling shallowly, the curse's marks dimmed but still present.

When Rasira finally opened his eyes, he saw Cheruu staring back at him, his face pale but alive. "You're okay," Cheruu said weakly, his voice trembling with relief.

"You idiot," Rasira choked out, his own tears spilling over. "Why would you do that? Why would you risk yourself for me?"

Cheruu managed a weak smile. "Because you're my best friend, you dumbass. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Nuelavi stood shakily, his gaze fixed on Rasira. For the first time, there was no arrogance or detachment in his eyes-only raw, unfiltered determination. "This isn't over," he said quietly. "That thing was just a fragment of the curse. There's more... and it's getting stronger."

Rasira looked away, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. "I don't know if I can survive this," he admitted.

"You don't have to do it alone," Nuelavi said firmly. "None of us are going to let you face this by yourself. Not anymore."

The words hung in the air, a fragile promise against the encroaching darkness. But for the first time, Rasira allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to break the curse-together.

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @frostedlemonwriter-deactivated2

[silli---lilli]

The Cloud You're Under

Simon had sat on the thought for days. Weeks, maybe. It was time to send Johnny home.

Simon loved him, wanted him close, felt incredibly lucky for meeting him, but that luck was running out. And he’d sworn from the moment they met to protect him. Do what’s best for him. That’s why it had to end, quietly, here in their own environment and not in the chaos that was coming.

Simon had been alone his whole life, every time the darkness came and swept him up, he’d handled it. In fact, he’d learned to simply roll over and float along the crashing waves until it ended. He’d learned to keep himself alive and close his eyes through the rest. Protecting Johnny was keeping him out of that.

“I think this is over.”

Johnny had been on his phone, a usual quiet evening, and looked up in surprise when Simon spoke. His voice sounded rough from underuse, he hadn’t been speaking much. Johnny knew why, and he was perfectly happy to sit in silence with him, sleep in silence beside him, it didn’t matter. Their connection wasn’t in words.

But there was a disconnected finality in his voice that made Johnny sit up, frowning. “What?”

Simon cleared his throat, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He knew this part would hurt, he expected confusion and yelling and painful words. He expected Johnny to finally let loose all of the things he hated about their little arrangement.

“I mean,” he cleared his aching throat, “this has been fun, but it’s over.” He attempted to appear cool and uncaring. Unfortunately, his eyes were visible and full of unspent emotion. “It’s time for you to go home, Johnny.”

Johnny’s initial reaction was defense and he bit it back. It wasn’t as confusing as he might expect, Simon had his highs and lows, a cadence he’d gotten used to. Part of the man he loved.

It hurt all the same.

“I am home…did I do something wrong?” He asked, hoping maybe Simon could talk himself out of it. His big blue eyes looked Simon over for any tell-tale sign of insincerity.

Simon watched him, so resolute in his decision. So sure that the light Johnny had brought into his life wouldn’t be put out by him, not if he had his way.

He stared into his light eyes, imagining again how they would look when he’d let all the stars in them blink out. He was the eternal eclipse, he couldn’t keep Johnny alive. Physically, yes, he could, but not in his spirit, his soul. He was a hurricane, it didn’t matter how bright the fire burned, he’d snuff it out.

“No, Johnny, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He finally answered, unable to lie, even then. “I just think it’s for the best.”

Johnny lowered his hands, laying his phone on the coffee table. “Best for who?”

Simon knitted his brows slightly, in genuine confusion. The answer was obvious. “Best for you, John.”

Johnny moved. He was always moving, full of energy and owning the space he was in. He stood up, his eyes till on Simon. Simon expected him the anger to come then, the yelling. He couldn’t say he knew much about breakups, but he imagined how it would end.

But Johnny didn’t yell, and he didn’t lose his temper. He looked sad, and worried, and Simon hated that more. For a split second, he wanted to change his mind, go back on his decision. But he couldn’t, he didn’t want to create a space where that was the only look on Johnny’s face.

“I don’t…” Johnny shook his head, swallowing. “I don’t want that. Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

“My mind is made up, Johnny.” Simon looked down at his hands in his lap, hiding his face.

Johnny knew. He knew where this was coming from and it gripped his heart with sharp, cold nails. Simon was afraid of what he was going to do to Johnny. Afraid of being seen and known like this, at his low point. Afraid he was too much, and not enough, and dark enough to break them both.

Simon had joined the 141 with great relief, he didn’t have to worry about his world anymore. His life. It became his life and he accepted it would also be his death. But Johnny.

Johnny was there. Johnny ruined everything.

The Sergeant moved again. This time back to the sofa. His heart ached, and half of it was outside of him, sitting and looking at his hands. That’s how Johnny knew this was something else. They hadn’t really established themselves as a couple, they just hadn’t been assed to part since they got back. It was comfortable, he liked it. He loved it.

“Is this about the cloud you’re under right now?” He asked softly. He never thought of yelling, he never thought Simon might expect it. He wasn’t angry.

“What are you talking about?” Simon didn’t look up.

“Si, I can tell you’re…down. You’ve been down.”

Simon looked up then, and closer, Johnny could see real fear in him. “It’s not a cloud, Johnny. And I can’t sit around and let it hurt you.”

Johnny moved even closer to him. “Do I look hurt?”

Simon studied him a moment. He did, but he hadn’t before this whole thing started. Simon had thought it was because he was unaware. “I’ll bring you down with me, Johnny. I can’t do that. I can’t stand to watch it.” Johnny opened his mouth, but hesitated. Simon hadn’t spoken this much in days. Weeks, maybe. “You don’t like this lifestyle, it isn’t you.”

Johnny softened slightly, the stars still in his eyes. “Well, I like you quite a lot. And this is me, Simon. Do you think I’m acting for you?”

“No, I just think you don’t realize that I’m trapping you. You used to go out so much more, you were never this quiet. I’m supposed to protect you.”

From himself. Simon thought he was protecting Johnny from himself. “I went out so much because being in a dark room alone was more than I could stand, Simon. I had nothing to be home for.” He looked at Simon’s hands still in his lap. “Can I touch you?”

The softest question, a level of respect and intimacy Simon had never experienced. Or understood. “Yes.”

Johnny reached for one of his large, scarred hands and pulled it onto his own lap. “You aren’t trapping me, you’ve given me a safe place to rest.” He slid his hand into Simon’s and held it. “I have plenty of my own darkness, Si. Plenty of things I regret, things I hide from. Do you think I’m too weak to handle yours?”

“Weak? No.” Simon had little argument for that. The point at where their skin touched made him realize his self-isolation was just that. Selfish.

“If you want space, I will give it to you, but pushing me away won’t save me, Simon. And it won’t protect me.”

“I have nothing to offer you, I should never have let it get this far.” Simon grasped at his own truth, one that was getting thinner and weaker.

“I could tell you all the things you offer, Simon. I could tell you that I have never been with someone so good, so accepting of me. Maybe I haven’t said it enough.” He shook his head. “Out here, you’re not my CO, you know that, right? You are not in charge of me. I am here of my own accord. Do you think I do many things I don’t want to do?”

Simon watched the corner of his perfect mouth turn up in a smile. He knew Johnny was right, as usual, and once again he was wrong. And he realized the ache in his chest was hope, an unfamiliar feeling. He didn’t want Johnny to leave. He wanted to believe he was worth staying for. And Johnny was right, he wasn’t his subordinate, he didn’t have to obey. He was there by choice.

“I can’t stand to watch you change. I’ll bring you down.” He felt he was begging then, asking Johnny to save himself if he couldn’t.

“Simon, I’ve been watching you sink deeper for days. Weeks, maybe. I knew where it was going, and why. And here I am. I just want to be with you, being top of your game was never a condition. You’re human. If I go down, it’s in spite of you and not because of you, alright?” He slid his hand up Simon’s forearm, pulling him closer. “Do you want me to leave? Give you some space?”

Simon contemplated, it wasn’t what he expected and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. Though Johnny had never complained, and Simon was wrong to believe it was because he was oblivious. Of course he wasn’t, he was sharp and observant and incredibly intelligent.

The realization made him feel shaky and embarrassed and needy. “No, I don’t want you to. I never did, but I swore to protect you. I…I have to protect you.”

Still fighting, as always. Johnny knew the man would never back down easily. Not even for him. “Then protect me from losing you. Protect me from having to watch you suffer from afar, protect me from wishing I could be with you, share your burden.” He dropped his voice nearly to a whisper. “Let me.”

Simon felt himself melting, pooling at his own feet. It felt out of control, but the hand on his arm grounded him. He didn’t answer, but he stopped fighting, a monumental first step, and Johnny moved close enough to sit against him, holding him up.