#clapping hands among the audience

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (I)

This is probably my longest running dysfunctional daydream scenario, so I thought I'd share it here.

As stereotypical as it gets, you've fallen into an old well and found yourself in feudal Japan. Almost immediately, you're attacked by a yokai that calls you by a name you don't recognize. He insists you possess the soul of an ancient priest that would capture demons under a binding contract. Something isn't right, however, so your life is spared until further clues come to light. With two men unwillingly bound to you, you begin to uncover this mess as more 'collection pieces' show up. They might prefer you to their previous owner.

TW: violence, monsters

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guidebook]

You vigorously cough out whatever grass you seemed to have bit into when you hit the ground. Was all this vegetation here just one moment ago? As you get up and dust your knees you're brought back into focus by the loud buzzing of insects. You look above and involuntarily squint your eyes. You didn't expect to see a full, bright sky.

"What the hell?" is all you can mutter.

You and your university friends had planned a quick trip to the neighboring Tokyo, just to visit some trending local cafes and shop around. You somehow wandered into the suburbs and found a very obvious path to a large shrine that was visible from the bottom of the stairs. Now, what's more stereotypical than finding a shrine, approaching it with shy steps, dangling the old rope of the bell and humbly clapping your hands together for a quick prayer that gives you a fake sense of meaningfulness? Then again, you love a good cliché. So you did just that, and then whipped out your phone to snap some artsy photos of the place. In your search for the perfect angle, you spotted a wooden structure among some pillars and zoomed in to realize it's an old well.

Here's where you awkwardly tiptoed away from your friends. You couldn't possibly confess to them that you're one of those anime nerds, and that you immediately thought of a certain classic title, and that this could make a very good impromptu cosplay shoot. You could smell the nostalgia as you carefully swayed your way behind the pillars and under the shade of the tiled roof. You bent over carefully (apparently not carefully enough) to asses how deep the well was. Just as you were about to exclaim its shallowness, you felt the gravity pull you inwards. Within seconds your head made contact with the moist soil and you briefly blacked out as the rest of your body arrived in proper position.

Unpleasant, but you've had migraines worse than this. Though now you're wondering whether you might've damaged some important brain parts, given the sudden change of scenery. Or has your dysfunctional daydreaming finally caught up to you?

You laugh silently and test the walls around you, feeling for some contact point that you can use to pull yourself back out. You finally crawl out, but freeze with your elbows around the frame of the well, looking ahead.

There's no building around, just tall grass and what seems to be the beginning of a forest. You remember to blink, and each time you close your eyes you hope to see the shrine once again, to no avail.

"I thought I'm past the risk age for schizophrenia", you mumble in a humorous attempt. The situation is so absurd that you need to share it with an imaginary audience.

You muster up the courage to step out and onto the ground, with extra caution as if it could vanish at any moment. After brief consideration, you slap a bunch of weeds in front of you to test their consistency. The hard stems hurt your wrist and you nod. This is a little too intense to be just a hallucination.

Alright, so you got trapped in some sort of feudal anime remake. What now? You glance around, almost hoping to see some white haired man sleeping against a tree with an arrow stuck into the chest. You check your phone. No signal, but thankfully it still works. You have a battery and its charger, but the latter is probably useless. Unless this remake comes with electricity. You chuckle at the thought. Who knows, maybe it's one of those isekai otome games instead and some timeline inconsistency or loophole will provide you with an outlet.

After trying the well one last time without success, you decide to at least find another human being. Then you can get some grasp of your whereabouts and situation. You notice a patch of grass that's been bent to the ground, probably from frequent stomping. That's a start. You follow the hints of bipedal movement and hope for the best.

The improvised path slithers downhill and around the mass of trees, and you question whether the fields ahead might have traces of houses on them. You pick up your pace in anticipation.

A sharp swish of an unknown object causes you to flinch and halt, and before you can process it, a thin blade lays inches from your nose. You follow its length and find the source: a tall, horned (???) man with silver hair.

Ironically enough, he seems to be more shocked than you. His facial expression flips from focused anger to unbelievable confusion within seconds. His eyebrows are raised and his lips part.

"Ah!" you yell as the gears begin to turn. "Christ, you almost made me question my sanity!

Now let me tell you, this is some great cosplay. I was about to beg for my life. Hah! How the hell did you pull the whole transition? Is the well a tunnel? I hope I didn't accidentally break into some event."

The man returns his sword into its sheath, still in deep disbelief.

"You're not him, are you? But then again..."

"Huh? Him? I'm sorry, were you expecting someone? If you show me the way out I'll disappear in a moment." you turn around, prepared to be led to the exit. "Who're you cosplaying, anyways? I'm a big fan of historical dramas, but I don't recognize the character design."

"I don't understand what you're saying." the man tilts his head in utter surprise.

"Alright, I get the point" you force a laugh, slightly irritated by the persistence. "You're deep in your acting, I get that. Focus and all the jazz. But my friends are around the corner and I don't have signal, can you please skip the theatre and show me the exit?"

"The exit to...where? You're outside."

You sigh, loudly, and click your tongue. "Enough of this, please. Where's the shrine?"

"Ah, I get it. You're trying to confuse me." he pulls his sword back out. "I've had enough of your tricks. You're in an early stage, aren't you? Not strong enough to fight back. I can sense it."

Oh God, it's one of those maniacs, you think to yourself. You raise your arms as a peace offering and hope you won't be featured in the 5pm news with multiple stab wounds.

"Listen man, I really don't know what you're talking about. I'll leave quietly and won't bother you again, I promise."

You gulp and await a response, but the man's mouth opens and the words are replaced by a foreign, disembodied shriek. There's a rapidly approaching heavy shuffle that sounds like the trample of many limbs. You feel your leg being hooked into something and the ground turns around at a dizzying speed.

Something just grabbed you.

Given the movements of the lips, you're assuming that the mysterious cosplaying maniac is yelling something, but your ears are ringing and throbbing as the adrenalin begins to pump. You're being thrown around by something and you can feel the skin holding your leg together creaking and tearing with every jolt.

You manage to land your eyes on the creature. The teeth are unnaturally sharp and it seems to have many arms and legs arranged in a scattered order along the scaly body. It trashes around in such a fluid, dynamic way, that you doubt it could be the result of any machine. It's a living thing and currently attacking you for whatever reason.

Once the bizarre reality settles in, panic floods your body and you scream for help. If not the maniac, then some godly intervention. You did offer a small donation at the shrine, it has to count for something.

The spectacle doesn't last long, since the silver haired man doesn't hesitate to behead the creature. You can see that he wasn't making empty threats with his sword skills. You'd prefer, however, if you weren't the next one to go under his guillotine. Your body rolls over the dirt, limp from the shock.

You tilt yourself upwards pathetically and let out a groan once you attempt to use your leg to stand. You turn around and notice the aftermath of your little air ballet. There's a deep wound and thick, red blood is oozing out, scrambling to form a protective crust.

"You... really can't fight at all, can you? You weren't lying."

The man is now standing in front of you, the same amount of disbelief he had at the beginning.

"How the hell would I have fought that...that..." you choke and can feel tears forming in your eyes. "I don't understand what's happening. I just want to go back home. I don't know what's happening." you start sobbing and angrily rub your eyes, hoping to trigger some sort of way to wake up. But your eyelids burn and you feel awake. This was never a dream.

Your sudden meltdown startles the man and he awkwardly hovers his hands over you, unsure of how to handle this.

"Sorry, if I had known, I would've stopped it earlier. I genuinely thought you're..." he sighs. "I'm really sorry. You got hurt because of me."

"Can you please tell me where I am? I feel like I'm going crazy. It's year 202X and I was out with my friends and fell into a well. I've never seen a creature like that in my life. I somehow ended up here and I can't go back. Where the hell is this?"

"I... I don't understand what's happening either. I came here because I sensed he's back. I didn't expect to see... well... you." 

You scan his face. His frown is sincere. Which, truth be told, is even less helpful. You're back to square 0, it's getting dark and your ankle is trashed. 

You just want to sleep.

You stare at the ceiling, hands locked together over your chest. The improvised hay mattress isn't exactly comfortable, but it's certainly better than nothing. You sheepishly glance at the horned man. He's sitting by the window, idly looking outside with hooded eyes. He seems to be tired, too. 

"Try to get some rest", he'd told you earlier. Easier said than done. After the monster attack, he carried you on his back until you found an abandoned hut. His way of apologizing for letting you get mauled. As you walked, he narrated his reasoning to you. 

His name is Kiritsubo. When he was a child, a human dressed like an onmyouji took him in for training. Said to be the successor of Abe no Seimei himself, the man was feared throughout the country for his supernatural powers. Most of his strength, however, came from the collection of yokai he'd gathered to work for him. None of them had agreed to it, but no one knew how to break the bond subduing them. Eventually, the old man succumbed into his eternal slumber, yet the yokai were still not freed from the contract.

Some of them suggested he wasn't truly gone. Merely reincarnated. And today, he felt it for the first time. That's how he stumbled upon you. You appear to have part of his soul within you, whether you realize it or not. But if you truly have no knowledge of it, he doesn't have the heart to slaughter an innocent. 

"What about the rest?" you blurt out, quietly.

Kiritsubo turns to you, mildly startled.

"What do you mean?"

"You said the man owned 12 legendary yokai. Are you the only one left?"

"No." He frowns. "They most likely know about you already. Let's try to send you back to your world tomorrow, because they will not be as forgiving."

A shiver runs across your spine. This one is scary enough already. You pray you'll be home before you can meet any other beast.

"This is where I found you, so the well shouldn't be far." 

The silver haired man surveys the horizon and you limp forward. 

"I'll check the area, since you can't walk much."

As soon as he says that, he vanishes. You're left with the heavy buzz of afternoon cicadas. You might as well do your own search. Keep yourself preoccupied. The idea of leaving this behind fills you with excitement and you find enough strength to push ahead. 

A few minutes later, you hear a shuffle behind you. Could it be that Kiritsubo already found the well? Enthusiasm fills your chest and a burning heat spreads out. Although it speedily pools in your left shoulder, and you notice in horror that it wasn't enthusiasm taking over your body. A blade is sticking out of your shoulder, avoiding anything vital as some sort of mockery rather than omission. 

"Found you."

The voice is deep and foreign. You barely manage to tilt your head and meet the glowing red eyes of a black haired man. Dark horns are twisting menacingly from his crown and his expression is that of pure wrath. As fresh blood drips down your chin, you wonder if this is the next yokai in line to seek his revenge.

How will you get out of this?

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Santa Baby

pairing: pedro pascal x f! popstar girlfriend

The stage was bathed in warm, festive light as snowflakes made of glitter descended from the rafters. The audience buzzed with excitement, eagerly awaiting the star of the night. Y/N’s highly anticipated Christmas special was live, showcasing her new holiday album. Fans worldwide tuned in to witness her performance, and among them was her proudest supporter her boyfriend-turned-fiancé, Pedro Pascal, seated in the front row.

Y/N’s voice soared through classic carols and original songs, each note wrapping the room in holiday magic. Dressed in a red velvet gown that shimmered under the lights, she was the picture of festive elegance. Her diamond necklace sparkled with every turn, but her smile was the true showstopper. Pedro leaned forward in his seat, utterly entranced, his warm brown eyes never leaving her.

Then came the moment that would be talked about for weeks. The band struck up the jazzy, slinky notes of Santa Baby, and the audience erupted into cheers. The curtains parted to reveal Y/N in a dazzling new outfit: a fitted red velvet bodice trimmed with soft white fur, paired with thigh-high boots and a sparkling Santa hat. She strutted across the stage, microphone in hand, her playful grin promising something extraordinary.

Pedro chuckled as she made eye contact with him, her flirty energy aimed directly his way. He shook his head, already knowing she was about to steal the show.

Her sultry voice filled the air:

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me…

The crowd swayed along, their energy building with every lyric. Y/N’s performance was captivating, her charm impossible to resist. Pedro’s grin grew wider as she playfully gestured toward him during the bridge:

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

The audience roared with laughter and applause at her antics. Pedro, his face beaming with pride, clapped along, his eyes shining with admiration. But then, the atmosphere shifted as she reached the iconic line:

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing a ring…

Y/N paused dramatically, her voice trailing off as she raised her left hand. The spotlight caught it, making the enormous diamond engagement ring glitter like the North Star. Gasps and cheers erupted from the crowd, and Pedro froze, caught completely off guard. For a moment, he looked stunned, but then his face broke into the most radiant smile, his eyes glassy with emotion.

The cameras panned to him, capturing his reaction as he stood, clapping and laughing, his expression one of pure love and pride. Y/N flashed him a cheeky grin, finishing the line with a twist:

…and I don’t mean on the phone!

The theater exploded with applause. Y/N gave a playful twirl, blowing Pedro a kiss and mouthing, I love you. He returned it with a blown kiss of his own, shaking his head as if to say, You’re unbelievable.

By the time Y/N finished her set, the news had already gone viral. Social media lit up with clips of the performance, fans gushing over her flawless vocals and Pedro’s swooning reaction. Headlines blared:

“Pop Star Y/N Drops Engagement Bombshell During Christmas Special!”

“Pedro Pascal and Y/N Are Officially Engaged And It’s the Holiday Surprise We Didn’t Know We Needed!”

The next morning, Pedro sat on the couch, scrolling through endless memes of his smitten expression. Y/N curled up beside him under a cozy blanket, her engagement ring catching the morning light.

“You really couldn’t wait to tell the world, huh?” he teased, showing her a tweet comparing him to a love-struck Hallmark movie character.

“What can I say?” she replied with a smirk. “I like making a statement.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Good. I want everyone to know I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Her smile softened as she laced her fingers with his. “Merry Christmas, Pedro.”

“Merry Christmas, future Mrs. Pascal.”

That evening, as the snow continued to drift softly outside, they decided to celebrate their engagement with a romantic soak in the outdoor hot tub. The steam swirled into the crisp winter air, and the glow of the nearby fire pit illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows over the snow-covered patio.

Y/N stepped out onto the deck, wrapped in a plush robe, her cheeks rosy from the cold. Pedro was already in the tub, leaning back against the edge with his arms sprawled out, the muscles of his chest glistening from the rising steam. His dark eyes fixed on her with a heat that rivaled the bubbling water.

“Come on in, future Mrs. Pascal,” he teased, his voice low and inviting.

Y/N smirked, dropping the robe to reveal her figure in a deep red bikini that matched the festive mood of the weekend. Pedro’s breath hitched, his gaze dragging over her like she was the only thing in the world.

“You’re staring,” she said playfully as she descended into the water, the warmth enveloping her instantly.

“Can you blame me?” he replied, his voice rough as he pulled her closer the moment she settled in. “Look at you. You’re stunning.”

She slid onto his lap, her legs straddling his waist, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The contrast of the hot water and the cool winter air made her shiver slightly, but Pedro’s hands on her hips quickly warmed her up.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Pascal,” she murmured, trailing her fingers along his jawline.

Pedro chuckled, but it quickly turned into a groan when her lips brushed against his. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, but quickly deepened as the tension between them simmered into something hotter than the water surrounding them. His hands roamed her back, sliding lower as he held her firmly against him.

“You know,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire, “you completely ruined me last night with that performance.”

“Good,” she whispered, biting her lip as she looked at him. “I wanted to drive you crazy.”

“Mission accomplished,” he said, his grip tightening as he kissed her again, his lips moving down to her neck, trailing over her collarbone.

“Pedro,” she breathed, her voice a mix of a plea and a tease.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his dark eyes blazing. “Say it again,” he murmured.

“Pedro,” she repeated, her hands framing his face as her lips brushed against his in the faintest of kisses.

“No,” he whispered, his smirk returning as his hands dipped into the water, pulling her closer. “The other thing. The thing I’ve been waiting to hear all day.”

She smiled, her heart thundering in her chest. “I love you, future husband.

Pedro’s laughter rumbled through the air before he captured her lips again, the kiss slow, sensual, and filled with the kind of love that made the world stand still. And as snowflakes melted on their heated skin, they knew this was the start of a holiday season they’d never forget.

[finelinefae]

reaching out [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: just one moment out of very many of tennis!h pining over y/n before they teamed up.

word count: 5.5k

contains: enemies to lovers, pining h, angst, abusive parents, mentions of physical abuse, tennis rivals, fluff

a/n: very first tennis!h blurb omggg - i missed my babies so much!! For those who don't know, this is a blurb for my tennis!h series which you can read here !!

. . .

Harry stretched his legs, working his calf muscles, as people settled into their seats in the stands. Today was a big day, one that had drawn a large crowd, but he paid them no mind. Performing in front of a big audience never shook Harry’s confidence. When it came to tennis, his focus was entirely on the game.

It was the county cup semi-final. Harry had competed in the same event last year, finishing in second place behind Henry Waver, who took home the gold before heading to rehab a month later for using performance-enhancing drugs. Harry had come a long way since then, and he was determined to make it to the final and claim first place.

Some might have thought Harry no longer needed to compete in these smaller events, given his path toward qualifying for the Olympics, but he couldn’t stay away. Maybe it was the rush of winning, or perhaps the quiet focus that settled over him when the game began—just him, his opponent, and the swift rhythm of the ball being hit back and forth between them.

He walked over to his bench, some people cheering as he walked onto the court. He was wearing all white, a towel around his shoulders and his racket bag hanging from his shoulder. He reached for his water bottle, pouring it into his mouth. 

His eyes scanned the growing crowd, but there was no sign of his parents—not that he had expected anything different. He caught a glimpse of Mitch chatting with a few girls from their year group on the stairs, but Harry's focus shifted immediately to the center of the stands, only to find it empty.

A frown tugged at his lips, the first sign of emotion since this morning. He glanced around, searching for the one person his heart longed to see, but before he could spot her, his coach clapped him on the back.

"Remember what we worked on yesterday—don’t overstep the baseline and make sure to follow through," his coach muttered, his tone more routine than encouraging.

Harry barely registered the words. He shrugged off his coach’s hand, distracted. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled, his mind still preoccupied with trying to figure out why she hadn’t shown up yet.

The opposing crowd erupted into cheers as Lionel Boyce stepped onto the court, raising a hand to acknowledge their applause. Harry barely spared him a glance. He had crossed paths with Lionel plenty of times in his tennis journey and knew the truth behind the polished exterior—Lionel was an arrogant opportunist, desperate for sponsorship deals.

Harry took a swig of water, his grip tightening on the bottle as he set it down and reached for his racket. The game was drawing closer, but the empty seat in the center of the stands—the one he had been watching all afternoon—remained vacant. His chest tightened at the thought of someone else filling it. He wasn’t sure how he’d play with a stranger sitting there instead of the person he was hoping for.

The umpire climbed into his seat, and the announcement for the game’s start echoed across the court. Harry felt a firm pat on the back from his coach as he stepped forward.

“Go show him what you’re made of,” his coach said with a nod.

The crowd erupted as Harry walked onto the court. Most of the cheers came from the Crestwood supporters, and while it wasn’t the loudest reception, it was enough to steady his nerves.

Across the court, Lionel sauntered into position, basking in the applause. Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling as Lionel flashed his best grin to the crowd. He didn’t miss the way a group of girls in the front row seemed to swoon, whispering excitedly among themselves.

The umpire adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, play shall begin. First set—Harry Styles to serve."

Harry stepped into position at the baseline, gripping his racket tightly. As always, he raised it and pointed toward the center of the crowd—a ritual that steadied his nerves and granted him good luck for the game.

But this time, his breath hitched.

There she was, sliding into the seat he’d been watching all afternoon. Y/N.

Her eyes found his almost instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him fell away—the roaring crowd, the pressure of the match, even Lionel’s smug presence on the other side of the net. It was just her, sitting there with that familiar stoic expression.

A small smile tugged at Harry’s lips. She was always like this at his matches, focused and intense, watching every move with the same concentration as if she were playing herself. Her unwavering focus sent a spark of determination surging through him.

He adjusted his stance, exhaling slowly as he prepared to serve. With her gaze burning into him, he played to win the entire thing. 

. . .

Mitch had thrown a party to celebrate Harry’s victory over Lionel, just as he always did whenever Harry won anything. It was a tradition Harry had grown fond of, even though he often found himself dreading the expectation to win every time he played. Victory wasn’t typically celebrated in his world—it was expected. But his friends? They always found a way to make a big deal out of it, and Harry appreciated that, even if the attention wasn’t his favorite part. Being around his friends was.

Harry stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of something he couldn’t identify. Mitch was across the room, chatting animatedly with Sarah. Harry was pretty sure Mitch had been infatuated with her ever since she’d transferred to Crestwood four years ago. Watching them, he wondered if Mitch would ever work up the courage to act on it.

He couldn’t help but glance around, hoping to spot someone else. He knew Sarah’s best friend and roommate might be here, too, but there was no guarantee. Unlike Sarah, who thrived on Crestwood’s social gatherings, her quieter counterpart was more selective about where she spent her evenings.

“Hi, Harry.��� He turned to see Astrid approaching, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing with a fresh tan from her recent holiday in the Maldives. He’d only known about it because his mother, after scrolling through Facebook, couldn’t resist mentioning it during their last phone call.

“Hey, Astrid,” Harry said with a polite smile. He didn’t mind her company, but unlike most of the guys in their year, he didn’t feel attracted to her in the same way they did. Sure, she was stunning—legs for days, an effortless smile—but their shared interests barely went beyond tennis and the fact their parents were friends. Friends who, annoyingly, had been dropping hints about the two of them dating for as long as Harry could remember.

“Congrats on the win. You were amazing out there,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced.

“Thanks. I heard you did well at the Championships the other week,” he replied. He hadn’t actually seen her match but knew through their coach that she’d won.

“Yeah, I’m hoping to qualify for the Australian Open,” she said, her grin widening.

Harry nodded, letting the conversation drift until his gaze caught something—or rather, someone—in the living room. His heart skipped a beat.

There she was.

Her smile lit up her face, radiant and warm, eclipsing even the moonlight streaming through the large windows. Her hair spilled to one side, leaving her neck bare, and she was wearing a sleek black maxi dress paired with chunky heels—an outfit so out of the ordinary for her that it was almost disarming. Harry’s eyes lingered on her longer than they should have, but he didn’t care. He’d been hoping she’d come.

His smile faltered when Adam appeared beside her. Harry’s stomach tightened at the sight. He knew Adam had a soft spot for her—he’d admitted as much—but assured everyone he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Still, seeing them together made something uneasy churn in Harry’s chest.

“Harry?” Astrid’s voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she’d been saying. She followed his line of sight and spotted Y/N. Her tone shifted, tinged with something that wasn’t quite approval.

“Oh, Y/N’s here,” Astrid remarked flatly. “I’m surprised after…everything.”

Harry’s head whipped toward her, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, her surprise seeming genuine. “One of my friends was at the Country Club a couple of weekends ago. She got lost trying to find the bathroom near the pool and overheard her dad yelling at her—apparently for getting a bad grade on her report card. She said he slapped her.”

Harry’s stomach dropped, cold fury replacing the unease. “He what?”

Astrid shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’ve always thought her family was messed up. My dad had a horrible experience at their Country Club—almost sued them after Mom got food poisoning there.” She kept talking, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore.

His attention snapped back to Y/N, watching her closely. Something was different. To anyone else, she probably seemed the same, but Harry knew her too well. He noticed the way her fingers twisted together, fidgeting nervously. Her smile, though bright, didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her makeup seemed heavier than usual; she rarely wore much or applied it sparingly, but today, it looked as though she was trying to mask something—maybe a shadow or imperfection on her cheek, though he couldn’t be sure.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. If what Astrid said was true, there was no doubt in his mind—he’d track down her father and make him regret it in ways that didn’t bear sunlight. But first, he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was okay. The problem was, Harry knew her well enough to realise she wouldn’t just open up if he asked. They weren’t even friends. In fact, Harry was pretty sure Y/N didn’t like him at all. 

It wasn’t really a surprise, considering how they’d met—and the fact that he’d spent most of his days tormenting her just to get her attention. It was childish, he knew, but it was easier than admitting how much he actually cared. And he did care—more than he should, more than she probably realised. Beneath all the teasing and arguments, she mattered to him. So, if she was hurt, none of that other stuff mattered. He just needed to make sure she was okay.

When Harry saw Adam walk away, he seized the opportunity to sneak in. As if she could sense his presence, Y/N looked up, her smile immediately fading, and her jaw tightened. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. There was something exhilarating about her reaction, the way she shifted from neutral to visibly irritated, even if it was driven by nothing but disdain for him.

“I’m surprised you were willing to show up, love,” he said, his voice carrying the familiar, mocking tone.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with irritation at the nickname, her posture stiffening even further. Harry had always loved calling her that—it was almost like a reflex, especially since she absolutely hated it. He relished in the way she bristled, every time.

“Not so willingly, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, her arms folding across her chest. “I’m only here because Sarah wanted me to come.” She still hadn’t taken a sip from her drink, Harry noticed, as if it were some kind of shield between them.

“Excuses, excuses.” He clicked his tongue with a grin, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “What did you think of the match?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his question. “You care what I have to say?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice.

“No,” Yes. he replied, his eyes gleamed with a spark of challenge. “But I know you’ve got something to say anyway.”

She gave him a wry smile, the faintest hint of a laugh on her lips. “Well, it wasn’t one of your best, that’s for sure. Your tracking was terrible. You were lucky Lionel cared more about his appearance than his technique.”

Harry couldn’t suppress the chuckle that escaped him. He knew she wasn’t wrong—tracking had been off, and Lionel had certainly played a little too carefully. The dig was unsurprising to say the least but he took it all on board.

“You always have such charming critiques, don’t you?” Harry smirked. “Should I be worried about your career in commentary?”

Y/N’s replied, the sarcasm was back in full force. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stick to calling it how I see it. You wouldn’t last five minutes with me in your corner, would you?”

Harry leaned in a little closer, their banter familiar and comfortable despite the tension. “You’d be too distracted by my charm to focus,” he said with a grin, savoring the challenge in her eyes.

Y/N scoffed but couldn’t entirely hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “Right. I think you’d find me too busy pointing out all the flaws you refuse to see.”

“Sounds like a good time,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, the intensity between them palpable in the silence that followed.

“So,” Harry started, the tone shifting slightly, more serious, “what else? What else did you think of the match?” He genuinely wanted to know—part of him knew her critique might actually help him. But the other part of him just liked the way she made him think.

Y/N seemed to hesitate for a split second, the walls she kept up around her cracking just enough for him to notice. “Your footwork was off, too. You were slow on some of your returns, and—”

Harry laughed, cutting her off. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not. But I’ve watched enough matches to know when someone’s not giving it their all.” Her gaze flicked to his eyes, sharp and clear. “And I know you can do better.”

Harry’s smile faltered, something unspoken passing between them, something that felt almost like respect. He had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about the match anymore.

“Well,” he said after a beat, straightening up, “I guess I’ll have to show you just how much better I can be, then.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away, her lips pursed as if she were weighing her options. Finally, she shrugged, that same familiar look of defiance in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on her for longer than he intended, “What about you?” He took a sip of his drink. 

She frowns, “What about me?”

“I haven’t seen you training recently,” He said. 

Y/N’s expression faltered, her eyes flashing with something like hurt or fear. “I haven’t had time.”

“What do you mean? I don’t think I’ve spent a day where I haven’t seen you on the court.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as he studied her. There was something about the way she shifted on her feet, the subtle way her fingers tightened around the cup in her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed something was off, but hearing her say she didn’t want to talk about it made his curiosity spike. It was rare for Y/N to hide anything, especially from him. He’d spent enough time observing her—dissecting her every reaction, every word—to know when something wasn’t right.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, leaning forward, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he knew she wouldn’t believe it—not after everything.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry thought she might brush him off entirely. Instead, she let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Yeah, right,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Since when?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. She was right—he had never given her much reason to trust him. But right now, as much as it pissed him off that she was shutting him out, he couldn’t help but feel... protective. There was something going on with her, something more than she was letting on, and it was like a switch had flipped inside him.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his voice softer now, “I’m not gonna push you, but if something’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone. You know that, right?”

Her eyes finally met his, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a crack in her tough exterior—a flicker of vulnerability—but it was gone in an instant. She shook her head, her gaze hardening.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Harry didn’t buy it, and he didn’t think she expected him to. He knew he was on dangerous territory—one misstep, and no doubt she would lash out at him for putting his nose into business that was nothing to do with him. But something in him refused to let this go. He couldn’t just sit there, watching her shut him out.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for her to follow him, the command in his voice surprising even him.

Y/N glanced at him, confused, her arms still crossed defensively. “What?”

“I’m taking you outside,” Harry said, already standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He could tell she was about to protest, could see the hesitation in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of something—determination, maybe, or a mix of things he couldn’t quite name. “You need a break. You’re tense as hell, and I don’t like seeing you like this.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry cut her off. “Trust me. It’ll be good for you.”

For a moment, Y/N seemed like she might just walk away, but then she sighed, as if giving in to the inevitable. “Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”

Harry smirked, fighting the urge to laugh. “No promises,” he teased, already walking toward the door.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the empty tennis courts. Harry tossed her a tennis racket, watching as she caught it awkwardly. He was doing this for her—for whatever was weighing on her, for whatever had her retreating behind that wall. He wasn’t sure if tennis was the right call, but it was something he knew they both shared, something that might bring down some of her defenses.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious,” Harry replied, stepping onto the court. He grinned at her.

She hesitated before stepping onto the court, but when she did, Harry could see a flicker of something else in her—the tension in her shoulders loosening, just a bit. She wasn’t fully on board yet, but the corners of her lips twitched upward, and that was something.

They began to rally, hitting the ball back and forth with the kind of casual ease that came from years of practice. Y/N’s form was sharp, fluid, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed, as he always was. But it wasn’t just the way she played that had him captivated.

It was the way she laughed.

The sound was light, unguarded, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in so long. It was like the weight of everything had lifted for a moment, leaving behind only the carefree side of Y/N he rarely got to see. She had a natural smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made them sparkle with a mischievous glint. Harry couldn’t look away.

Her laughter filled the air, echoing across the empty courts, and for a fleeting second, everything felt right. Harry’s heart skipped in his chest as he watched her, the way her eyes shone with a genuine sense of freedom. It wasn’t just the way she looked in that moment—it was how she felt, and how much he wanted to be the reason she smiled like that.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He had always known he had a thing for her—he didn’t even try to deny it anymore. But this was different. He wasn’t just in awe of how she looked, or the way she challenged him to be better—he was infatuated with her.

The thought hit him hard, and he tried to push it aside, to focus on the game. But with every smile, every laugh, Harry found himself falling deeper, in a way that he couldn’t control. There was something about her—the way she made everything feel effortless, the way her presence seemed to fill up the space, making everything more vibrant. She was everything he wasn’t—bold, unafraid, untouchable in some ways. And Harry was starting to realize how much he wanted to be the one to reach her.

When Y/N hit a particularly good shot and spun around with that radiant smile, Harry felt a flutter in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being this close to her without completely falling apart.

“You’re not half bad,” she teased, breathless from the rally.

Harry grinned, the praise warming him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I know. You should be honored to play with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

And there it was again—her laugh, the way she made everything feel lighter. Harry caught himself smiling at her, not the cocky, playful smile he usually wore, but something more sincere. Something that spoke volumes of how much he was starting to feel for her—how much he had already felt.

They rallied for another few minutes, the sun dipping lower as the evening air turned cooler. But Harry wasn’t paying attention to the time, or the way the game was unfolding. All he could focus on was the way her hair caught the last of the sunlight, the way her eyes gleamed with happiness—and how damn beautiful she was.

“You’re good,” Harry finally said, his voice quieter than usual, almost like a confession.

Y/N gave him a curious look, then smirked. “You finally noticing?”

He wanted to say more, to tell her exactly what he was thinking—but it would only complicate things. Instead, he just nodded, watching her carefully, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’ve always noticed,” he said, his voice a little too soft, betraying the quiet ache he felt inside.

Y/N paused, her expression softening for a brief moment before her usual mask of sarcasm slipped back into place. “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to admit it.”

The smile she gave him in return was genuine, full of warmth. And for a moment, Harry forgot about the rest of the world, just watching her, heart in his throat, wondering how he had gotten so lucky—and so lost in someone who would never even look at him the same way.

Y/N took a few steps back, wiping a hand across her forehead, trying to shake off the intensity of the game and the weight of the conversation that had been hanging between them. Harry still stood there, watching her, his breath a little heavier from the rally but his focus unwavering. It was as if he was waiting for something to break, for her to say the words he didn’t want to hear but somehow feared.

She didn’t look at him for a moment, her eyes scanning the ground like she was trying to find some way out. But then, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual, almost reluctant. "You were right earlier... about me being tense," she said, barely above a whisper.

Harry tilted his head, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. His heart rate picked up, and he took a tentative step toward her. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated, clearly at war with herself, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. But Harry could see the way her fingers curled tighter around her tennis racket, the way her shoulders were drawn up protectively.

“Something happened... with my dad,” she finally admitted, the words slipping out in a rush, like she couldn’t stop them once she started.

Harry’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to push her too much. "What happened?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes redder than usual, her face more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it. "He... slapped me," she said, the words a simple admission but heavy enough to make the air around them thick with tension.

The air in Harry’s lungs seemed to stop for a moment. His chest tightened, fists clenching at his sides as the words echoed in his mind. Slapped her.

He was careful not to let the anger build, though it was hard. The thought of anyone hurting her—let alone her father—lit a fire of fury inside him, but he knew he couldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when she was looking at him like that, so fragile and raw.

“Y/N,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost as if he were afraid the words might break something inside her. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, her lips trembling slightly. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, her voice thick with something he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Harry replied quickly, his gaze steady. He took a slow, steadying breath. “I’m angry, though. At him. But I’m not pitying you, Y/N. You’re... you’re strong. You don’t deserve that. You never have.”

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. Harry could see her fighting it—fighting the tears, fighting the emotions that were threatening to spill over.

“I got a low grade on my report card this semester,” she whispered after a beat, her voice so small it almost hurt to hear. “My parents think it’s because I spend too much time playing. They threatened to stop funding my schooling if I didn’t quit. Not that I’m going to quit, but I have to lay low for a while.”

Harry’s heart broke at her words. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, the thought of her in such a difficult situation, but he forced himself to stay composed. She was so strong, but there was only so much someone could take.

“Does he…” Harry hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to speak, but he forced them out anyway, “Does he do that often?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak but paused, her gaze dropping to the ground for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, and Harry felt that pit in his stomach grow deeper with each passing second. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“It wasn’t the first time,” she said, her voice faltering. “But he doesn’t do it often.”

Harry’s eyes darkened with barely-contained anger. His hands clenched at his sides, a reflex he couldn’t control. “Y/N, he shouldn’t be doing it at all,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and tight. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her, but something held him back. He knew she wasn’t ready for that, and he didn’t want to push her further away.

“No man should ever lay a hand on you,” he added, his voice raw with emotion. “Not ever. You don’t deserve that. No one does.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, her face a mixture of exhaustion and something else Harry couldn’t name. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, but there was no hint of softness in her expression. She had her walls up again, already rebuilding what little had cracked.

“I don’t want your sympathy, Harry,” she said firmly, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness. “And I don’t need you to protect me. I’ll deal with it.”

Harry’s chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you don’t have to do it alone,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice softer now. “I can’t just stand by and pretend like nothing’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to carry this by yourself.”

She shook her head, but this time, there was no bite in it—just a sad resignation. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, her eyes darting to the side. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected. I don’t want your help. I just want to get through this on my own.”

Harry could feel the walls she’d built between them—walls made of pain and pride—climbing higher, and the instinct to break them down was strong. But he knew, deep down, he couldn’t force her to open up, especially not when she wasn’t ready.

“I’m not trying to save you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just here. Whenever you need someone to listen, or... whatever else you need. Just know that.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but he could see the smallest tremor in her shoulders as she exhaled. Finally, after a long pause, she spoke again, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don't need help,” she said, her words like a wall being slammed shut. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need anyone to try and fix me.”

Harry’s heart dropped, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. But he understood. She was trying to keep control of a situation that was already slipping through her fingers. And maybe she wasn’t ready to let him in, no matter how much he wanted to be there for her.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the weight of his emotions slipping through despite himself. “I just... I care about you, Y/N. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Her eyes flicked to his, sharp and guarded. “I don’t need help but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let his gaze drop. “Alright,” he said softly. “But I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.”

Y/N didn’t respond, and Harry didn’t push. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, looking at her, wishing he could say more—do more—make her feel safe, but knowing it wasn’t his place to force anything. For now, all he could do was wait.

And somehow, that felt worse than anything.

“Want to go another round?” Harry asked, his voice lighter, searching for a way to ease the tension.

“I think we should probably head back. Sarah might be looking for me.” Y/Ns expression softens.

“Right” the last thing Harry wanted to do was leave this pocket of space they were in together. He savoured any rare moment of time he had with her alone and this was one of them.

They walked side by side, the silence between them not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. As they approached his flat, Y/N glanced at him, her voice quiet but firm. “This doesn’t change anything, you know. I don’t want you to look at me differently just because I couldn’t defend myself against my dad. I’m strong—it just… it caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Harry stopped, turning to her with an earnestness that made her chest tighten. “Y/N, this doesn’t change a thing. Not about how I see you, or what I think of you. You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Her lips quirked in a small, tentative smile. “Good,” she said softly. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she added, “And you better win the final.”

Harry chuckled, his own smile breaking through. For her, he would.

For her, he’d do anything.

. . . 

Harry walked into the school the next day with his tie askew, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his white t-shirt underneath, and his blazer slung casually over his shoulder, hooked with his middle finger. He had no particular reason to look so disheveled—he just liked the chaos it seemed to cause.

As he passed Mitch’s locker, he caught sight of Y/N walking down the hallway. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, like she was in her own world, but Harry couldn’t resist. He flashed a smirk and called out, “Hey, love.”

She immediately paused and turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then the corner of her lips twitched slightly, but her eyes were all ice.

“Seriously?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, seriously,” Harry teased, not backing down. “You got something against me saying hello?”

“Not really,” she replied dryly, her arms crossing over her chest. “But I’m guessing you’re doing it just to get a reaction.”

“You know me too well,” Harry said with a grin. “But still, can’t help it. You just look... irresistible when you’re pissed off.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement hiding beneath the irritation. Without saying a word, she lifted her middle finger and gave him a quick, deliberate flip-off. Then, as she turned to walk away, she allowed herself to smile, just a little—just enough for Harry to catch it.

He watched her walk off, his smirk fading as something tighter, warmer, filled his chest. He had always loved the way she carried herself—so confident, even when she was annoyed with him. He liked that she never made it easy. But right now, as she walked away, all he could think was how much he was falling for her.

"God," he muttered under his breath, watching her disappear down the hallway. "I’m so screwed."

[crescenthistory]

saw ur post about all the angsty requests and i simply cannot let that happen so may i present my request of the lovely barty:

slytherin is throwing a party and barty is already there when reader gets there late but they can’t find each other bc it’s so crowded. but junior being, well him, he’s loud and brash and so some that’s a bad thing but to reader it’s so perfect.

i can imagine him standing on a table, maybe drunk, singing at the top of his lungs for his lovely treasure (reader) and when r does find him, they give him a light hearted scolding but thank him for always finding them in every crowd.

i love barty so much and when i imagine him in love, he’s IN LOVE and he’s so loud about it and it’s just perfect

- 🐈‍⬛

if nobody else has my back, i know komi has my back 🙏👯‍♀️ just a silly little drabble with our best boy

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, alcohol (firewhiskey), reference to smoking, slytherin party, pda, barty pov (so max chaotic energy), romanian!barty, kissing<3, slytherin skittles shenanigans all around

"You know, Junior," Dorcas drawled from where she was leaning against Marlene as one might lean on a wall. "You're supposed to at least pretend to enjoy spending time with your friends."

"Oh, come off it, Cassie," Barty replied while still not looking at her. His face was turned towards the ever-growing crowd in the Slytherin common room, eyes scanning. "You know I'd die for ya."

She mumbled something into her drink that Barty didn't quite catch, but Marlene apparently found hilarious.

"What's got him in a tizzy?" Regulus asked absentmindedly. Barty hadn't even noticed him reappear, but the sounds of liquids swishing revealed it was likely to get a drink and not to spend time with his lovely friends. Dorcas should really be scolding him.

"Y/N's not here yet." Marlene supplied it so matter-of-factly you might not have realised she is a recent addition to the group via Dorcas. Barty did not much care for her yet – but she wasn't wrong.

The two of you always attended parties together. Always had, since the first time Barty all but dragged you along and you found that you actually quite enjoyed them, as long as he was by your side. It had inflated Barty’s ego beyond what it probably needed to – according to Regulus, at least – but more importantly, it was one of the things that first made him feel secure in your relationship. Wanted, needed.

Barty was also at the point where he did not enjoy anything particularly much if you were not there. He could do shots with Evan and rile Dorcas up into picking on Regulus with him, but it didn’t give him that same buzz that ran over his exposed skin. Didn’t make his dead heart beat.

Tonight, though, for the traditional half-term rager thrown sloppily together in Slytherin, you were running late. By some terrible coincidence, you had your prefect rounds the same day, and could not get ready with Barty like you usually did.

He was left standing by the drinks table so that you could easily spot him whenever you returned – but as more and more people streamed in, your face was not among them. And the more crowded the room got, the rowdier it became, and Barty no longer had a clear sight of the entry. 

You could be here and he might not know. That just wouldn’t do.

“Hate to agree with the lion, but she’s right,” he announced then, clapping his hands together as he turned to his audience. Otherwise known as his friends and their mostly uninterested gazes. “My darling sweet angel, light of my life and yours is not here yet, and we need to do something about it.”

Regulus and Dorcas shared a look through bitten-back smiles. “And why is she not here?” Regulus asked, perhaps to avoid the last part of Barty's sentence.

“She has the audacity to follow rules and regulations,” Barty said with a straight face.

Regulus looked back to Dorcas for a translation. “Prefect rounds.” He rolled his eyes at that, a fellow abider of rules and regulations apparently. 

“Being the attentive individual she is, she likely overextended her help and ran late. And now there’s too many people here for me to spot her.” Barty spoke slowly, like he was spelling it out for children. Regulus’ huffing was becoming too frequent and petulant for his current taste. “So. Desperate times?”

He trailed off the end of his sentence, looking to Dorcas to complete it. Instead she asked, “What desperate measures are you aiming at here, B?”

A Cheshire cat grin split Barty’s face in half. “So glad you asked, my dear Dorc.”

Marlene winced and tightened her hold on Dorcas who had already opened her mouth, no doubt to tell him where to shove that nickname, but Barty was already backing away from the trio with his arms spread out wide.

He bodily pushed at a few fifth years standing around a table to make room for him to jump onto it, with no regard for the card game he was disrupting. The table was wobbly, but it carried Barty’s weight with no problem. From this new height, he could see most of the room clearly, eagle-like gaze already working overtime to see if there was a you to locate there yet.

Regulus walked up to stand in front of him on the ground. Barty grinned down at him questioning.

“Joining me, Reggie boy?”

“You wish.” Regulus moved his grip on a flask of firewhiskey to underneath it, so he could most effectively lift it up towards Barty without spilling any. “If you’re on tables already, you ought to have more in your system.”

“What a terrible influence you are, Black. I’m writing straight home to Walburga.” Immediately after his quip, Barty brought the flask to his lips, chugging, while Regulus rolled his eyes in a way that simply must be painful. 

Cheers from around Barty erupted at his very visible drinking, some already pissed students yelling chug, chug, chug. What can he say, Barty’s never one to back down from a challenge.

With an audible pop, he released the bottle from his lips and howled obnoxiously. He could hear Marlene yell a “yeah!” from behind him.

Maybe she wasn’t that bad.

Then, Barty at the top of his burning lungs yelled. “Y/N?! Dragă?!”

No answer. Or, well, no answer from you. Some stupid sods tried to respond, as if he’d ever call them darling.

“Oi! What are you on about?” Some bloke yelled at him from the opposite wall.

“Looking for my bird, you prick!” 

This earned him several wolf-whistles and hollers, which he promptly neglected as he turned around on the table, to no avail. He did not find you – but he had not exhausted the room in his search either. He still could not see every corner.

Using his thumb as a makeshift cap for the bottle, Barty cast a spell to move a table in the middle of the room closer to him while mid-leap towards it. His feet just barely hit the end of it, screech-laughing throughout his entire flight. 

This earned him even more hoots and hollers. Barty would be feeling quite chuffed if it wasn’t for your remaining status as missing. He took a few more swings of the bottle while his hungry eyes swept over all the heads. 

Then, the room must have lit up, because at last he saw you. Standing near the fireplace, squished between several other partiers, trying to gain your own bearings and locate your people.

“Dragă!”

Your head snapped up at Barty’s nickname for you, and the sweetest, most kissable smile spread across your lips. Oh, how Barty needed you to get your arse over here this instant.

He jumped off the table while punching the air in success, manhandling his way through the crowd towards where he now knew you to be. Smartly, you remained put, but your arms were opened for him by the time he got to you.

Swooping in, he abandoned the flask in favour of circling his arms around your waist and spinning you around, relishing in the giggles that escaped you.

“Buburuză, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He spoke into your neck, breathing you in, before pulling away enough to see your face. His smile must be blinding.

“The other prefect didn’t show, so I had double the amount of work,” you said simply, as if that was not an egregious crime against the loveliest prefect there was.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but you cut him off with a kiss, lips curled against his. Barty couldn’t help but sigh happily into you.

“Which can be dealt with later,” you said pointedly once you felt you had mollified him enough with your kisses. “For now, it seems I have to catch up with you. Starting without me?” Whether you had seen the bottle or smelled it on his breath he did not know, he just wanted you to keep talking.

The teasing tone in your voice did something funny to his stomach. “Entirely Reggie’s fault – extensive peer pressure, I tell you. I have Dorcas as my witness.” He nodded solemnly, as if he was presenting his case for a judge.

You shook your head at him and breathed a laughter against his lips as you kissed him again. He surely tasted of firewhiskey and the smoke he had earlier, but you didn’t seem to mind – he loved you all the more for it.

“Come now, there is something we need to do,” he said the second you pulled apart. One of his hands found yours while his other settled around your waist, hooking his thumb in your waistband. 

You furrowed your brows in confused entertainment, but let him lead you through the crowd towards the table in the middle that he abandoned earlier. 

“Barty, what–” you tried to ask, but he tightened his grip around your waist and used it to lift you, abusing a poor chair as a stepping stone to get the two of you on top of the table once more. 

Before you could question him, he spun you around like a trophy and shouted above the music, “I FOUND HER!”, victory evident in his tone.

This time, the wolf-whistles and hollers were even louder, some students stomping their feet to create a drumming sound. You flushed under the attention, melting impossibly further into Barty’s side, but laughter spilled over your lips, albeit nervously. When he looked down, he found you beaming at him. 

He knew himself to look twice as lovestruck as you, but he was happy to report that that was saying something.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” came the chants from the crowd then.

When a brief once-over of you showed no discomfort despite your light embarrassment – you were growing rapidly immune to that through your relationship – he figured, who was he to argue with a drunken room?

He swept you into a deep and passionate kiss, bending you slightly backward with his wide hands splayed across your back. 

“Now that I’m reunited with my love, what do you say we get the party properly started, yeah?”

[trinketstar]

The origins of the Toybox Circus! 🎪

A short story about a vintage puppet who imagined a new world inside of a magical toybox.

Once upon a time there was a magician in a traveling curcus. He performed for audiences far and wide with his bag of tricks. The bag contained what seemed like endless amusing props, but the crowd’s favorite by far was a large wooden puppet. A ventriloquist puppet with enormous teeth in a permanent smile, mismatched eyes, dressed with a red suit and top hat, with a smiling white balloon tied to his hand. The magician called him Caine. 

Caine delighted audiences; the magician’s skills practically animating the puppet to life. And as the cheering crowd reflected in the puppet’s glossy painted eyes, it almost seemed like he was smiling back at them. 

As time went on, the audience became fewer. Sadly, the circus fell on hard times, and the magician desperately sold many of his belongings. The puppet was sold off to a curiosity shop, and stood for years on display in the window. 

Now an antique, the puppet still sat in the window, often looked upon by people passing by, but never again to be animated by human hands. 

Years of dust had collected on the puppet, yet he still sported his toothy grin nonetheless. 

One day, the shop fell into new ownership, and new furnishings were in order. For the first time in years, Caine was lifted up into a human’s arms. But only for a moment, as he was then unceremoniously dropped, among several other old toys, into a large wooden box. The lid slammed shut. The lock clicked as a key was turned. And there he lay. 

But one ray of light still shone in the puppet's eyes. Quite literally, the light shining from the keyhole of the wooden chest reflected in the eyes of the puppet lying in the darkness.

Now, what happened next cannot be explained. Some say the rays of the sun can have strange effects on beings, or perhaps there was some true magic left over from the magician's hands. Whatever the case, the puppet blinked. 

Then he looked around. 

And then, he laughed. 

For he was alive! Which was truly a wonderous thing, however it had happened. 

But soon enough, as living things often do, he desired companionship. After all, he was built for entertainment! 

So Caine, remembering the performance of his old friend the magician, focused on the balloon affixed to his hand. He focused, willed, wished with all his might. And soon, by harnessing his own kind of magic, the balloon began to move as if it was a puppet of his own! Amazing! 

Next, he willed the balloon to talk.

“Hwaaahh.. hiya, boss!” Said the balloon in a high pitched voice, now sporting a toothy grin of its own. It drifted a distance away and began to gnaw on one of the toys nearby.

Its behavior was a bit strange, but it was Caine's first attempt at a creation after all. He figured the results of his magic would get better with practice. 

Now, Caine decided he needed to illuminate his new home. And so, he imagined a smiling sun and moon, which he had seen depicted on a mobile overhead in the shop window. Sure enough, his imagination was so very strong that the magic worked again, and a happy little sun and moon appeared to shine upon the inside of the toybox. They both said hello as they gazed warmly upon their creator. 

Growing excited, Caine began to set his newfound magic on his surroundings. The inside of the toybox grew and grew, and within it, Caine created a world of his own. Manifesting from the locations he remembered from his past performances: a park, a fun fair, a lakeside beach, and finally an enormous circus tent. This was to be the main attraction, and Caine finally set to relive his glory days of entertaining audiences with his spectacular shows. Other toys from within the toychest danced along to his will as he commanded them to perform tricks. An invisible audience cheered at every act, laughing and clapping just as the puppet remembered. 

But with this, Caine suddenly felt dissatisfied. It was a feeling he could not place. Why shouldn't he be happy with this world of his own creation? What was missing? 

Caine snapped his fingers, dismissing the crowd and performers around him. The invisible audience went quiet, the animated toys went limp, and the imagined props disappeared in a pop of colorful streamers. 

Caine's ballon bobbed behind him as he pondered. “Ya got a problem, boss?” the balloon chattered. 

“I find myself at a loss, my faithful assistant.” Caine responded. 

No matter what he created, how plainly he could see it before his very eyes, it didn't feel real. What was this all for? If not for… 

That's it! Humans! Oh how had he forgotten? The joy of entertaining real humans was what he'd truly missed all along. 

Caine looked upon the various lifeless toys strewn about. He could command them to speak, create little personalities for them, have them do all he wished. But alas, even with all of the magic in the world, the imagination of a wooden puppet is far too limited to simulate a convincingly alive human. One who can speak and act on their own, who can tell Caine far more about the world than what he already knows. 

And so, Caine wished once more. He wished for humans to find him once again. To make them happy in his world of entertainment. 

For ages, nothing came of this. And Caine continued on in his empty world.

Until. A miracle! A miraculous miracle! A toy arose to its feet without Caine's influence. A stuffed dog stumbling around, distressed and confused, insisting they were human and mortified at their appearance. Last they remembered, they had apparently looked through a kaleidoscope that sat atop an old wooden toybox. They wondered aloud if this was some sort of strange nightmare. 

But Caine was overjoyed! What a new experience! Welcoming his new guest, Caine set to work once again on his circus performances. Now that he had a human to have fun with, he would never again feel the loneliness of the once dark empty toybox. 

But sadly, the joy could not last. Despite Caine's best efforts, the human simply could not adjust to their new home. They found Caine's appearance to be horrifying. Constantly begging for a way out, the human spoke of lost memories, of their “real body”, of family who may be searching for them, of the unsettling fakeness of their new plush form. These concepts were alien to Caine, and though he tried to sympathize, he simply could not understand. 

The human became reclusive. They refused to participate in the circus performances, and spent their days muttering darkly about concepts Caine couldn't begin to understand. 

Eventually, it seemed a breaking point was hit. To Caine's dismay, the plush dog began to… tear at their own stitching. Screaming, yet continuing despite all of the pain this was apparently causing. The cotton stuffing inside the dog spilled out, twisting and turning in a frenzy as if trying to free itself from the inside. The thread holding fur pieces together unraveled and split, the dog's button eyes chipped and cracked. The plush toy had now become an unrecognizable writhing mass of ripped fabric and stuffing.

Caine had seen the dog become hurt before. Some of the circus acts led to injury more than once, but Caine had always been able to easily fix any damage caused. But he had never seen an event such as this. Quickly he summoned his magic to put the dog back together, but no matter how many times he attempted to fix the stitching, it all unraveled again even worse than before. What was left of the dog seemed to be clawing at the floor. The mass of fibers tumbled about, slamming into the walls and tearing at its surroundings. All the while, a distorted mix of growling and screaming echoed through the circus tent. 

Caine was at a complete loss. Oh, this would never do! But if he couldn't heal the human, he must think of another solution… 

Now, the inside of the toybox was a vast expanse. Caine had created a little island of sorts that contained his circus grounds, but surrounding this was a large dark pit of seemingly nothing. Extra space that Caine could not think of a use for at the time. Thus, it remained empty. Caine had never seen a reason to venture out past his circus, so the empty space remained a mystery to him. Surely the bottom of the toybox must be down there somewhere, he figured.

Now, it seemed, it had found a use. 

Lifting up the writhing mass that used to be his human friend, Caine tipped it over the edge and into the black abyss that surrounded the circus grounds. He listened for a sound to indicate it had reached the bottom of the toybox, but no sound ever came. 

“My dear human!” he eventually said aloud to the void, “I promise I shall find a way to cure you one day!” And he had every intention to. But at the moment, all Caine could think to do was stare into the blackness. 

But joy soon came once again, when another human had awakened as a toy in Caine's magical circus! And Caine decided then and there that he would constantly work even harder to keep his guest entertained and happy. This way, hopefully, such a tragic event wouldn't happen again! 

The years went by, and the human was joined by another, and another! Soon Caine had a whole group of humans together as members of his amazing circus. Difficulties would arise of course, and once in a while another human would befall a similar fate to the first, rendered to nothing but an abstract shredded mess. Caine would quickly discard these abstractions just as he had the first, so as not to upset the remaining humans. 

And so the years passed this way. Humans would appear in the circus. New adventures and acts would be created every day, the humans performing for an invisible audience at the command of Caine. And occasionally, a human would go mad and unravel, to be replaced by the next new friend who would join the act. 

It was a cycle that Caine was content to continue for all eternity. 

As they say, the show must go on. 

[mooniiify]

Lexiiiiii

I go insane thinking about the idea of Wriothsley when he was still imprisoned at the fortress as a prisoner, and hes ended up in a super sweet but also painstakingly angsty star crossed lover situation with the current Duke's son/daughter/gn!reader

It's forbidden but stolen glances and if he starts fighting in the pancration ring to try and show off to reader, and gets beat up and reader goes to tend to him and wriothsley protects reader from any other prisoners trying to overstep and mess with reader because of their negative feelings for her father and aaaa reader sneaks into their dad's office to find wriothsleys record because they can't believe he could ever hurt anyone then they find out and - RIP MY HEART OUT ALREADYY

the girl from the fortress and the convict | wriothesley x reader

word count: 4.3k cw: fem! reader, use of y/n, fluff and a lil angst towards the end, making out but nothing explicit, not proofread! notes: i think i got a little carried off with this request bc it SO GOOD thank you anon <3 this could've been longer but i was feeling a lil uncreative sorry, hope you enjoy it anyway!

She was no inmate, yet she was bound to a life in prison, wether she liked it or not. The Fortress of Meropede was all she knew, having been born and raised within the metal structure. There were few times where her father had taken pity on her as a child and brought her outside with him, though that was always only due to him having work in the overworld. Besides that, she didn't particularly like hanging around her father, anyway.

Her life was boring, but she was used to it. 

The inmates never interested her, mostly due to them always being older than her. It was to be expected, of course, due to crime rates among younger people much much lower, if not non-existend in Fontaine.

That was until when she was just seventeen, when she'd heard whispers of a young boy, supposedly around her age, being sent to the Fortress. She hadn't seen him yet, though all the rumours about him piqued her interest. 

It was about three months after she'd first heard of his inprisonment that she heard about him fighting at the pankration ring. She wasn't allowed there, her father would kill her if he found out, but what was life without a little risk? 

With a mask over the lower half of her face and her head low, Y/n managed to sneak into the rink with no trouble. She stood to the side, watching, making sure no one was approaching her. 

The spirits were high, chatter filling the arena. They were talking about the newbie who'd started climbing the ranks quickly, and that was when she'd first heard of his name. Wriothesley. She wondered what a person with such an interesting, noble name would look like. 

An announcer got on the rink, no mircophone since it was still, after all, a prison, yelling over to the audience. ''On the left corner, we have the beast that is he is in the rink, the monster he unleashes against those who dare challenge him, I want to hear your applaus for Dougier!''

A rather buff man appeared on the stage, his hands in the air as he enjoyed the praise. Y/n clapped along, still hidded in the back and trying not to stand out. 

Once the cheers died down, the announcer continued. ''Now, in the right corner, we have the newest rising star in the pankration rink, the one with iron fists, go off for . . . Wriothesley!''

Y/n stood straighter at the name, her eyes stuck on the rink. Up walked the youngest inmate she'd seen around. His black hair was tousled, his eyes icy like the vision that hung on his hip. His attire was simple, his boots heavy. She watched him as he pulled on the Cryo Vision and flung it to the side, it falling near the corner. No one dared touch it. Y/n wondered how no one has stolen it yet. 

The two fighters got into position, fists in the air. Y/n watched as the bigger man flung himself at Wriothesley, who expertly dodged before throwing a punch in his gut. He was moving so quick Y/n could barely follow, and before she knew it, the buff man was on the ground, knocked out. The announcer grabbed Wriothesley's arm and put it up, declaring him winner. 

Wriothesley seemed rather indifferent to his victory. He walked off the stage as the other man had to be hauled away, making his way towards the betting table where he was able to recieve his payment for the win. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, watching as he waited for his coupons to be counted. 

She kicked off the wall she'd been leaning on, manneuvering through the people. She was planning to leave at first, then noticed the Cryo Vision still on the edge of the rink, Wriothesley seeming none the wiser. She contemplated for a moment, then seized the chance, picking up the vision and making her way towards Wriothesley. 

He'd just recieved his coupons when Y/n tapped him on the shoulder, mask down as to seem more inviting, holding out his vision. ''You forgot this.''

Wriothesley seemed stunned for a moment, staring in her eyes. Y/n was no different, taking a closer look to his face. There was a small scar under his eye that seemed to be almost healed, so it must've been rather recent. She couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten it. 

He was the first one to shake himself off. ''Thank you.'' He took the vision, reattaching it to his belt. ''Sorry, I didn't catch your name?'' 

''It's Y/n,'' she said, holding onto her mask. ''I'll see you around, Wriothesley.'' 

''Hey, wait━'' 

She didn't. She walked away, her mask back on, convering the small smile on her face. 

The Fortress wasn't the biggest place in Teyvat, yet it took a few days before Y/n finally spotted Wriothesley again. He was at the canteen at the same time she was making her way there, sitting alone to the side. She understood, though. Everyone else was much older than them. It was weird. 

She picked up her food, the most appetizing one of the day, and made her way to Wriothesley with her tray. ''This seat taken?'' 

Wriothesley looked up, one of his cheeks stuffed with food. He quickly swallowed down his food, clearing his throat. ''No, go ahead.''

Y/n sat down, putting her tray down. She looked over at Wriothesley's, noticing he'd gotten the welfare meal of the day. It didn't look nearly as appetizing as hers. She looked down at her tray, at the bowl with mashed potatoes. Picking it up, she placed it on Wriothesley's tray. ''Here. Have at least one actually edible thing.''

Wriothesley furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her. ''Doesn't this cost, like, a bunch of coupons? Don't just give it to me.'' 

''Just accept the gift, will you?'' Y/n said as she picked up her fork. ''Call it the forging of our friendship, or whatever.''

Wriothesley quirked his eyebrows. ''Since when are we friends?''

''Since we, my dear friend, are the only people of our age in this hell of a place,'' Y/n said as she messed with her food with her fork. ''Trust me, I've checked. Unless you want to hang out with all the oldies, that is. I can gladly take my mashed potatoes back.''

''No, it's . . . it's fine.'' Wriothesley said, taking a bite of her offer, humming. ''It really is good. At least, better than anything else I've had so far.''

The rest of the lunch passed in silence, which Y/n didn't find awkward. Wriothesley opened his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to speak, but never went through with it, so neither did Y/n. At the end of their meal, both of them returned their trays, Y/n looking at him with her arms crossed and a smile. ''Same time tomorrow?'' 

''. . . Right.'' 

They kept up their silent lunches for a week. It was nice, finally having company and not having to bring her lunch back to her room so it wouldn't feel awkward with all the other inmates. Then, one day, Wriothesley finally dared ask her a question. 

''How long have you been here for?'' he asked, making Y/n look up at him. ''I mean, you seem oddly experienced about the Fortress, considering you're about the same age as me. You must've done something insane to have come here even before me.''

Y/n hummed, tapping her plate with her fork twice before answering. ''I've been here since birth.''

Wriothesley furrowed his eyebrows. ''What?'' 

Before Y/n could answer, she felt a looming presence behind her. Looking back, she made eye contact with Dougier, the same convict Wriothesley had beaten just a week before. He stood behind her with his arms crossed, but looking at Wriothesley. 

''Well, look what we have here. The newbie sweet-talking his way to the Administrator's daughter's pants.''

Y/n watched as Wriothesley's eyes widened slightly. It wouldn't have been really noticable if she hadn't spent the last week observing every possible expression and manneurism he would show in her presence. 

''I'm not sweet-talking myself into anything.'' Wriothesley's eyes narrowed at the man. ''I apologize that I happen to be a better company to some.'' 

''You━'' Dougier stopped himself before he could throw a punch at Wriothesley, then looked at Y/n. ''So, seems like after all this time, you've finally found yourself a boy-toy? I'm not sure how well your father would take that in.'' 

''What, are you going to go tattle-tale to my dad now? What are you, twelve?'' Y/n challenged, seemingly making Dougier even madder. 

''You little━''

''How about you leave the girl alone?'' Wriothesley stepped in before any filthy words can be uttered in her direction, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ''Do I need to send you running with your tail between your legs again?'' 

Dougier only scoffed, sent each of them a last look, then left. Y/n chuckled as she looked at Wriothesley. ''Thanks for that, but I had it handled.''

''Oh, I could tell, Miss Administrator's Daughter,'' Wriothesley said, leaning on his forearms on the table, eyebrows raised. ''Why didn't you say anything?''

Y/n shrugged. ''Not like we've really talked. But, you know now, so. Truthfully, I don't really talk to anyone here because they're scared of getting on my father's bad side, so they mostly avoid me, except to tease me, as you just saw. I don't really rat anyone out because I don't care.'' She looked down, playing with her food. ''Now's the moment to get up and leave, if you're also scared of the Administrator.''

Truthfully, she expected him to stand up and walk away. When she didn't hear any movement, she looked up and noticed him still rooted in his position, his eyebrows raised. ''What? You think I'm some sort of a coward?'' 

Y/n smiled at him, genuenly for the first time since she'd actually met him. ''No, not really.'' 

She thought that from that day on, their relationship would blossom, in one way or another. That was, until she was called into her father's office later that same day, urgency written all over the guard's face.

She made it in, seeing her father in his chair. She's rarely seen him out of it, really. ''You called for me, father?'' 

''I hear you've been getting cozy with a new inmate.'' Her father took a smoke of his pipe despite the poor ventilation in his office. ''Wriothesley, isn't it?''

Y/n sighed. ''Look, I don't know what Dougier or anyone else told you, but Wriothesley and I are just friends.''

''You cannot be friends with convicts, Y/n.''

Y/n scoffed. ''If you haven't noticed, you've kept me stuck here my whole life. I don't really have much of a choice.'' 

''I have no time to deal with you. If you do not stop associating yourself with that boy, I will have no choice but to punish him instead.''

Y/n's breath hitched. She watched her father as he got back to work, essentially showing her the conversation was over. She opened her mouth, wanting to protest, but there was no point. She stomped out of his office, straight to her room. 

The next day, she went to the cafeteria to pick up her lunch. A note was stuffed away in her pocket, her eyes scanning the area, falling on Wriothesley. He was sat on their usual table, already waiting, his lunch untouched. 

Y/n walked over to the table, seeing the small smirk appear on his lips. ''Well, look who decided to━''

Y/n slammed her hand on the table, startling Wriothesley. ''I can't hang out with you anymore,'' was all she said before she walked away, leaving a confused Wriothesley behind. He watched her as she picked up her lunch, then made her way away from the cafeteria. 

He looked down at his tray puzzled. Something white caught his eye, just where Y/n's hand had slammed on the table. He quickly took it, looking around to make sure no one was looking at him. Unfolding it, he was met in a few sentences. The handwriting was rather neat.

Dougier ratted me out to my father, and he doesn't want us to hang out anymore. He said if he hears of us again, he will hurt you. I'll wait for you at the infirmary, Sigewinne won't tell on us, so we can talk later tonight. If you're willing to take the risk, that is. Since you're no coward. 

Wriothesley stared at the note, re-reading it a few times. He thought of Y/n and how cold expression had looked just moments before, but it all must've been a mask. He wondered if it was worth it. He'd only known her for a week. Was it worth risking making his life even more miserable for a girl he barely knew? They've talked twice for the whole time they've known each other. 

Y/n sat on one of the infirmary beds that night. Sigewinne was gone, treating someone in their own room. Her feet dangled over the bed as she waited, playing with an icy dagger she'd created with her own vision. When she heard footsteps approaching, she let it disappear, standing up. 

Wriothesley appeared atop the stairs, looking down at her. He stood there for a moment, staring at her before he made his way down. The two stood face to face, a little too close for comfort, normally. Each of their arms was crossed over their chests. 

''So.'' Wriothesley was the one to start. ''You father would hurt me if he finds me with you again?'' 

''Mhm.''

''Which means if we want to be friends, we have to sneak around?''

''Precisely.''

''What do I get out of all of this, if we don't count potentially getting my teeth knocked out of my mouth if caught?''

''Well, you get my amazing friendship, first of all, filled with my sparkling personality,'' Y/n explained, doing jazz hands for emphasis. ''And you also prove you're not a pussy.'' 

''Hm. Sounds like a deal.''

Y/n was rigth at the end. Their friendship continued, though descreetly. They no longer dared have lunch together, but getting dinner at odd times and eating it in the infirmary with Sigewinne was nice. Every time they would pass each other anywhere, each of them would be unable not to steal a glance at the other. Y/n wasn't required to work since her father gave her as many coupons as she needed, but she'd made a habit of visiting the work stations under the pretense of checking how the work was going, definitely not just to stare at Wriothesley. 

She was, after all, just a girl. And Wriothesley was kind, attractive, caring and funny. Everything she'd learned she wanted in a guy from all the books she'd read. 

Wriothesley had informed her he was fighting that night, so she'd snuck into the pankration ring again, back in with her mask. She watched as Wriothesley was once again declared victorious. His face was still rather stoic, his eyes looking over the crowd. Once he found her face, a smirk broke out on his lips, making Y/n roll her eyes. 

His next match he won again, though this time not unscated. Once he walked off the rink, Y/n rushed by his side, worry driving her, not caring about anyone seeing her. ''Are you alright?'' she asked as soon as she'd reached him. There was blood coming out of his mouth and he was clutching his side. 

''I'm fine.''

''You're not. Come on, let's get you to Sigewinne.''

Y/n used her vision to keep her hands cold as she held onto Wriothesley's side where he'd gotten punched pretty badly, trying to soothe him as best as he can. The infirmary was empty when they made it and Sigewinne worked her magic on him immediatelly, while Y/n cleaned the blood off his face. 

Once he was patched and ordered bed rest, Sigewinne left to attend other matters, leaving the two alone once again. Y/n sat on the bed next to him as he continued to lay, watching him despite his closed eyes. 

''Are you feeling better?'' she whispered in case he was asleep. 

''Yeah.'' Wriothesley's eyes opened and he moved to sit up, leaning his elbows on his knees. ''Thanks.'' 

''Yeah, no worries.'' 

The two stared at each other's eyes, slowly leaning in simultaneously. The moment their lips met, Y/n was glad she'd cleaned the blood off. 

Wriothesley's arms found their way to her waist, holding on. Y/n held his neck, pulling him closer, humming into the kiss at the satisfaction. When they pulled back, they rested their foreheads on each other's, eyes closed. Y/n moved one of her hands up to his cheek, caressing it as she spoke the words that were either going to ruin or make everything.

''You're not doing this because I'm the only girl available, are you?'' 

Wriothesley chuckled, his warm breath hitting her face, sending shivers down her spine. ''I'm doing this because you're the best girl I've ever met.'' 

Right. Wriothesley, unlike her, hadn't spent his whole life stuck here. She opened her eyes, taking a quick glance at the now fully-healed scar under his eye. She ran her thumb over it, unable to help the corners of her lips twitching up. Wriothesley also opened his eyes, seeing the smile on her face and kissing it right away, his lips matching hers. 

For the first time in her life, Y/n felt the thrill of life. 

From then on, it was sneaking off, stolen kisses and glances. They would be in a random hallway, away from praying eyes as Wriothesley would have her pressed against one of the cold, metal walls, his lips on hers as he held her tightly, keeping her legs wrapped around him. Y/n giggled into the kiss, at his touches, at the comfort he gave her. 

They were in the infirmary, laying on one of the beds, side to side. They faced each other, none of their limbs really touching, but it felt oddly intimate. ''Tell me something, Wriothesley.'' He hummed as a response. ''How is it in the overworld?'' 

''The overworld?'' Wriothesley looked like he was thinking for a moment. ''I mean, it's pretty nice, I think. Have you never been out?'' 

''A few times. Only to the Opera Epiclese and back, when I was really young. I don't remember much.''

''Hm, I see. I mean, I lived a little outside of the city, so we were always surrounded by nature, which was pretty nice. The grass was always green and there was a field of flowers my siblings and I used to like playing at. My favorites were the rainbow roses.'' 

''Oh, I've read about those,'' Y/n said. ''Never seen them, though.'' 

Silence fell between them. Wriothesley kept looking all over her face and seemed like he wanted to say something, but he kept silent. Regardless, there was some sort of a promise hanging in the air, though Y/n wasn't exactly sure what. 

She'd snuck into his room one night, thankful he wasn't sharing with anyone at the moment. His bed wasn't nearly as comfortable as hers, but laying on his chest felt much warmer than under her own blanket. He was playing with her hair, pressing the occasional kiss on the crown of her head. Y/n would've fallen asleep had it not been for the question that was plaguing her mind. 

''Wrio, I want to ask you something.''

''What is it, princess?''

Y/n moved to sit up on her folded legs, watching as Wriothesley followed, leaning his back on the railing behidn his bed. Y/n took a deep breath, then finally let her thoughts out. ''Why are you here? What . . . what was your crime?''

Wriothesley's face fell. He sighed. ''If I tell you, will that . . . change anything?'' 

Truthfully, she wasn't sure. His answer scared her. 

When he noticed her lack of responce, Wriothesley reached out, placing a comforting hand over hers. ''Y/n, I promise what I did, I did because I had to. And I promise that I would never, ever hurt you, alright?'' 

Y/n gulped and gave him a slow nod. She interlaced her fingers, not looking away from his eyes, waiting. 

Wriothesley nodded. ''Okay. My crime . . . my crime is that I murdered my parents.''

Y/n didn't react. She tried not to visibly, at least. She wanted to ask him why, what had happened, but based on the look on his face, she thought he'd shared enough for the night. She didn't want to pressure him further. ''Thank you for telling me.'' 

''Yeah . . . no worries.'' 

Regardless of his promises, regardless of the comfort he'd brought her just moments before, Y/n felt uneasy when she laid back down on his chest. She was laying down with a murderer. 

After she left that night, she couldn't bring herself to face Wriothesley. Of course she knew he'd been a criminal from the very beginning, they were in a prison, for Archon's sake, but she never would've thought someone like Wriothesley, someone that was so kind and gentle and nice to her, could ever take the life of another. She couldn't shake off the thought.

He was a murderer. 

She'd expected some petty theft, maybe tax fraud or something. She felt shivers every time she thought about his crime and couldn't bring herself to face him. Every time she'd see him at the canteen she would ignore him, picking up her lunch and running back to her room. 

A whole week had passed. She decided to take her mind off by going to the pankration rink, unaware that it was Wriothesley fighting that night. He'd won once again, but once he'd found her face in the crowd, he'd simply looked away and left, not even picking up his coupons. 

She felt like shit. She'd promised him things wouldn't change, that she would accept anything, yet here she was now, avoiding him like the plague despite him being truthful with her. 

Her father, the lazy person that he was, had decided one day that he couldn't be bothered to sort through some inmate files, sending Y/n to do it in his stead. She'd done it begrudgingly, doing as told. Her eyes were droopy until she reached a certain file, one with Wriothesley's name on it. Her eyes widened. 

Should she read it? Was this invasion of privacy? But she had to. If she didn't find out why, what he meant when he'd said he'd done what he had to, she thought that she might never be able to approach Wriothesley again, despite the burn she felt in her heart every time she saw him alone to the side. 

She opened the file, her eyes scanning the words. They widened, dropping the folder on the ground as she ran out. 

She checked his room first, but he wasn't there. Not at the canteen, at his station or at the pankration rink. She finally made her way to the infirmary, where she found him with his arm bandaged as Sigewinne was telling him to be more careful. 

Y/n breathed heavily as she realized her search had finally come to an end, catching the attention of Wriothesley and Sigewinne. Sigewinne looked between them before making her way out, once again leaving them alone. 

Slowly walking down the stairs, Y/n couldn't bear to look at him, ashamed of what had happened. She pulled a chair to sit in front of him, looking down at his hand. ''What happened?''

''Sparring gone wrong.'' His voice was cold, but she couldn't blame him.

''I'm sorr━''

''You promised.''

''I know.'' 

Silence fell between them and, for the first time since they'd met, it felt uncomfortable. Y/n looked up, realizing Wriothesley had been looking her the whole time. She realized he wasn't going to say anything more. It was on her to fix things. 

''I came across your file.'' Y/n admitted, her voice quiet. She'd never felt so small under Wriothesley's gaze, the one person who always made her feel like . . . well, a person. ''I'm so, so sorry for assuming the worst. I . . . understand why you did it. And I'm so, so proud of you for stepping up for your siblings.'' 

Wriothesley looked down then, his fingers picking on his bandages. ''You could've just asked me. I would've told you.''

''I'm sorry.'' Y/n moved to sit next to him, taking his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. ''You're such a kind person, I just couldn't wrap my head around it. I'm sorry. It's no excuse, I know, but Wriothesley, you're the most important person in my life and I just━ I can't bear the thought of losing you, but if you want nothing to do with me after this stunt, I'd understand.''

Silence again. It was starting to get unnerving. Wriothesley didn't move either, so Y/n gave his hand another squeeze, still to no reaction. 

It felt like an eternity when he finally squeezed back. ''I just think you're such an idiot if you think something so small could make me not want you anymore.'' Wriothesley finally looked at her, bringing his bandaged hand up to cup her face. ''Next time, just talk to me about it, yeah?''

Y/n felt relief wash over her shoulders. ''Yeah. Thank you, Wrio.''

At that moment, Y/n didn't know that in just a few years time Wriothesley would challenge her father for his title and would win, that his sentence would end he would be bestowed with his new title of Duke, that his sentence would be over and, despite his new responsibilities, he would keep his wordless promise he'd given her years ago and take her out to the world to see the green grass and rainbow roses and everything the world had to offer, if she so wished. That he would make her his wife and, despite the fact that she would still have ties to the fortress, she was finally going to be happy. 

No, she didn't know all of that. At the moment, all she could think about was how warm Wriothesley's embrace was and how much her love for him seemed to grow with each day. 

requests are still open!

[lovingjingyuan]

Ok idea yandere Sunday with a reader who does the furina execution dance like at first he thinks nothing of it till the end of the dance the rest is up to you

This is before Sunday becomes an IPC wanted criminal :(

I divided this into 3 different endings!

Sunday x Reader

Warning: Sad?, Death, happy ending😊 wrote this in one sitting

𓆪♡𓆩 - Sunday 𓆪(´◡`)𓆩

You walked up on stage. The beautiful scenery of the Grand Theater shines brightly in Penacony’s dreamscape and you’re in the center of the stage swiftly dancing with grace and beauty for the audience. Every twist and turn is grace and elegance. You’re body following along with the rhythm of the music. Sunday couldn’t help but keep his eyes lingered a while longer. It won’t hurt to sit down and enjoy after a long day. To see the one he cared for dancing with outstanding etiquette and elegance.

His eyes relaxed on your figure turning and moving around the stage of the Grand Theater. That truly is a blessing to the eyes and refreshing to the soul to see you dance. How the fabric of your clothes dance along with you adding scenery and effects to your performance.

The music slowed down getting to the end. His smile and body relaxed yet ready to clap.

Ending One: The Execution: Your dance was so breathtaking that he forgot what really happened. The moment he clapped was the moment your life flashed before your eyes. The giant blade disguised as a chandelier comes crashing down on you, taking your last breath.

Sunday stood up tense as he tried to progress what just happened. Today was not the day of your performance but rather the day of your execution announced by the laws of the Harmony THEMSELVES. The Harmony may be forgiving yet you sinned that not even THEY THEMSELVES can forgive such a devious act.

Sunday made his way over the fallen chandelier. The remnants of your trace seeing the chandelier still glowing, How his heart felt so empty and shattered. If only he was able to persuade The Harmony to forgive your sins. Was Harmony truly the correct path people should trust in the pursuit of happiness and survival? Maybe if they lean towards a different god people will finally find and achieve what they want. The Order. Yes, The Order is the correct path for the future of this dreamscape. Even your sin would have been forgiven on the path of The Order.

Ending Two: The Performance: Sunday applauded enthusiastically, setting off a ripple effect of claps and cheers among the crowd. The spotlight illuminates you as roses and flowers are thrown on your stage. Tonight was truly the stage you’ve been longing for. The performance you always dreamt of.

“Mark the Final Act of Tonight,” Sunday spoke into the microphone. That familiar voice that always graced the countless occasions held in the Grand Theater. You stood proudly in the center of the stage. Sunday beams from above the auditorium.

You rose from the center of the stage moving towards Sunday in grace and beauty. He extended his hand out for you along with offering a bouquet for you to accept. There Marks the True Final Night of Tonight. You both ascend out of the grand Theater Together.

Ending Three: The Unexpected Dream?: The entirety of the Theater plunged into sudden darkness. A power outage at a time like this where you’re performing? Unacceptable to ruin the show of his beloved. Yet the lights came back on and you were gone. The Theater was in complete silence. All the seats filled with people were now puppets. Sunday's heart raced as he desperately wandered his eyes around searching for your presence.

Yet you were nowhere to be found. You just disappeared. His heart dropped at this sudden realization. This dream was too good to be true. You were gone. You were his biggest dream and desire. Had he really gone crazy following the Path of The Order so he could live a life with you in a dream? The sudden realization broke his heart learning that this is truly a just dream and you weren’t there. He trapped all the guests in Penacony including himself. He had fallen into his own trap and the new plan with the Path of The Order.

Is this the true happiness he yearns for? Even if it’s a dream? Maybe the guest from the astral express and his sister were correct. Living in a dream will never bring the true happiness he wished for with you. The freedom you two both wish for. You were just a figure of his imagination, a dream. The real you in reality is gone and you will only live in this dream he created because of the light illuminating at the center of the stage; the person in the spotlight is now gone and the stage is empty. Only silence remained in this dream of his.

[focusfixated]

so yes i did go see paul mccartney in paris two weeks ago with my sis because we couldn't get tickets to the london shows, but yesterday the clouds parted, the angels sang and we were blessed with a christmas miracle (last minute face-value resale tickets) and managed to go to the gig last night after all.

seeing beloved bands and artists in other countries or cities is all well and good when access is limited, but there is nothing like seeing someone in your home town. "how are you doing tonight, london?" and you can yell back, yes, i'm doing mighty fucking fine, thanks for asking.

the highlights of the night:

the girl next to me on her feet with us the whole show belting every single word out

the rendition of wonderful christmastime and my sis grabbing me by the shoulders and yelling DO YOU TAKE IT BACK. DO YOU TAKE IT BACK. (it: my aversion to christmas music and my claim in JEST that paul has only ever done two things wrong in his life* and one of them is WC)

paul forgetting to play my valentine at the piano and his drummer abe emphatically miming a heart to remind him and paul saying, "i thought he was saying that he loved me!"

paul's absolutely camp imitation of a muscular, flexing man during the "just the fellas" section of hey jude [ETA i have been reminded! @scurator : you forgot when he did a weird little camp wrist for "women" during hey jude and then panicked like "oh no wait that's Gays, not Women, they are not the same" and course-corrected with a little ~womanly shape]

paul standing quietly and staring out at the audience after some of the songs just to "take it in, for me"

paul, telling the story of writing blackbird : "when we played in jacksonville in the 60s they told us the audience would be segregated and we said if that was the case we wouldn't play" - audience: *clapping* - paul: "yay beatles!"

paul preemptively covering both his ears before the final explosion of live and let die, and then crossly miming "too loud" at everyone, and continuing to do so for the laughs as everyone in the audience hooted and hollered

paul talking about how they used to not be able to hear themselves play over the sounds of the audience, and requesting the crowd let out their own beatles scream to demonstrate (sister: "wow, felt good to let that out, actually")

a flag for ireland in the flag parade

a second opportunity to enjoy i got a feeling which simply is my favourite beatles song of all time

paul thanking his amazing band, and saying how talented they all are, "and not a sign of AI among them."

the final bow, the whole band holding hands and then simultaneously doing a sprightly jump up all together

anyway. just an incredible show by the best to ever do it, the one true king, my lesbian wife, my favourite old man. feeling blessed this christmas.

* the other one is the frog chorus song and apart from that paul has never done a single thing wrong in his life

[hannieehaee]

idol!mingyu and idol!you who have only been dating for a little while but you're so infatuated by one another that it's hard to keep it a secret from the public.

a/n: this can be read as a continuation to this or as a standalone!

part 1, part 3

wc: 500

masterlist

you and mingyu having only confessed to one another and made things official a little over a month ago and are having the hardest time keeping it a secret from everyone else.

sure, your companies know, your members know, and even some staff knows, but keeping your eyes (and hands) off of each other in public spaces has proved to be a harder task than you thought.

mingyu walking you to your practice room, resisting the urge to hold your hand and swing it back and forth like a teen in love, knowing other idols may be roaming the hallways.

staring at you from across the room at MNET backstage while he sees you prepare yourself for your performance, not realizing he hasn't taken his eyes off you for a good ten minutes.

your group promoting while he's mc'ing, holding himself back from touching you as you stand next to him, eyes on the camera as you introduce your group.

awards shows where he knows he has to keep focused on the people performing, but can't help his eyes wandering to where you and your group are sitting, making a kissy face at you as you meet his eyes.

a few fans catching onto this but not being able to see who the gesture was directed at; still going crazy over it regardless.

his eyes glued to you, mouth agape as he can't keep his eyes off you while you perform, licking his lips at any suggestive part of your choreo.

being one of the only people among the idol section of the audience to stand and clap at the end of your performance, even going as far as woo'ing and yelling words of praise at your group.

being caught on camera making moony eyes at you when its your turn to speak as your group accepts your award.

going up to you at the end of the show, when all idols are on stage interacting with one another as the show comes to a close.

sharing a sweet hug while a few people in the audience spot you two, going crazy on twitter over the interaction.

accidentally being spotted in one of mingyu's shirts at the airport a few days later, not realizing mingyu had just worn it the night prior during one of his welives.

mingyu carrying around a blurry polaroid picture on the back of his phone with the image seeming to be him with someone with your hair color on it.

posting pictures of yourselves on your respective instagrams in similar places at similar times, never fully committing to making a lovestragram, but being pretty damn close.

too many instances of you commenting on each other's pictures on instagram or mentioning each other in passing during lives, chalking it up to being in the same friend group.

you and mingyu being far too obvious, causing an entire subdivision of your fans to ship you, convinced there's something more than a friendship going on behind the scenes.

a/n: not proofread T-T

[himegureisu]

The Yule Ball [PTII]

Summary: The Yule Ball is about to commence and you arrive in the nick of time.

<< PREV

——————————— 🪄———————————

On Christmas Eve, in the sparkling silver frost of the Great Hall, students’ conversations come to a hush at the sight of their Potions Professor.

His usually greasy hair was clean and silky smooth. On the other hand, an open black double-breasted tailcoat, black vest, black high-collared dress shirt, black pants, and shiny black shoes replaced his daily robes.

It was different. Conservative but also very appealing.

Especially for the female students. Their grumpy Professor so pleasing in the ladies’ eyes has the boys reminding them why they didn’t like him in the first place. Their giggles and murmurs didn’t stop though, and one thought it would be the best if the scowl on his face disappeared, but alas, they could not make miracles happen.

“Would you look at that?”

“Is that truly Professor Snape?”

“Bloody hell,” Ron mutters under his breath, “Even the old dungeon bat looks better than I do,”

In a procession, the champions walk through the oak doors accompanied by their chosen partners, disrupting the comments,, and enter the Great Hall. Their thunderous claps and ever-so-curious gazes shift at the sight of Hermione Granger on Victor Krum’s arm allowing a moment of vulnerability for you.

In their distraction, from a tunnel behind the pine trees, you emerge behind the Headmaster, Severus none the wiser at your arrival, as he speaks.

“I will keep this short because you all might be sick of hearing from me,” the headmaster quips, and the Hogwarts students laugh, “This evening, I hope that every one of us creates meaningful connections and enjoys the feast. However, before we start, I would also like to welcome a special guest.”

Their students were truly the worst gossips as whispers started once again speculating who the special guest could be, making the stories known to their Durmstrang and Beauxbatons friends.

“I’m glad that you’re here and I am very much eager to indulge in your future antics,” Dumbledore smiles, saying nothing further, and turns, “If you’d please, Filius,”

Their students are curious and confused, a rather deadly combination, at the lack of information from their wily Professor as the orchestra starts the song. The sound of string instruments soon echoes throughout the space as the waltz begins.

On the floor, champions lead their partners through the beginnings of the waltz. Their audience is divided between finding the mystery guest and watching their friends glide seamlessly across the room.

In minutes, the headmaster nudges their Transfiguration Professor, who happily accepts the offer and joins the throng of dancing students, on the floor. His absence allows you to stand beside your husband whose gaze remains afront.

“Don’t you look dashing?” you say, breaking the silence among the staff, “I hope you saved me a dance?”

His gaze shifts at the sound of your voice. His eyes quickly take a once over of you. In your sage green dress that highlighted the very best of your features. Your hair in a braided half updo and holly pin presented simple but elegant.

“They’re only for you,” he answers, raising his hand for you to take, “Shall we?”

“On your lead,”

Onto the fray together, the students not so quietly observe. His hands, on your waist and outstretched hand, lead you to the floor. However, closer than appropriate for students, he whispers in your ear.

“You’re determined to do this?”

“I’d like for them to see what I see in you,” you cup his cheek, your gaze on his as the scowl slowly melts away, “Even just for a bit,”

He sighed in defeat.

Your gazes lock on each other, his steps slow but confident guide you through the symphony. In his embrace, the world blends to the background. To the awe of the crowd, a soft smile settles on his lips, his grip, however, tightened and your merry bubble pops at the sight of his restrained ire at the students who admired you from afar.

“You are the only one I desire,” you breathed, cheeks flushed and eyes only on him, as the veins on the side of his head vanished, “No one else can ever compare,”

His eyes softened at your words, breaking through his facade for the night. By the end of the dance, he places a protective hand on your back and gently leads you through. His form towers over you, briefly leaning on your ear to whisper.

“Being with you feels like a dream,” his voice barely audible as you weave through the people, “That I don’t want to end,”

“It will not end,” you declare, as you finally see his colleagues, and some others you don’t know, “We’ll see through it,”

The Headmaster smiles, at the sight of your hands entwined together, as you approach the faculty and guests. Minerva steps up much faster than the rest and says.

“I’m glad you could make it, dear,” she also smiles, as Severus stands behind you, “You two were lovely out there,”

“Were we?” you coyly ask, glancing at Severus, who resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “I didn’t notice. I’m glad I didn’t trip,”

“I would’ve caught you if you did,” Severus declared, as the others approached, and from there Madam Maxime interjected, “Severus! Who is the lovely lady?”

“Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, this is my wife, Madame Snape,” he introduces you, as you shake friendly hands, “At the moment, she works for the Ministry of Magic,”

“Oh!” the tall lady exclaimed, as Minerva cut the conversation, “I hate to break up this introduction, however, we must be seated for dinner,”

“Of course, Minerva, lead the way,”

In a flash, she transformed into her role as Deputy Headmistress, and seats you beside Severus and her, but also near the Headmaster and the new staff that hasn’t met you. Your friendly smile was a stark difference from the unimpressed line that formed on your husband’s lips.

“Will you be staying the night?” Minerva asks, as you observe Albus who spoke of what he wanted for dinner and it appeared, and answered, “Yes, the headmaster was kind to allow me to stay in the castle for Christmas break,”

“Did he?” Severus said as he looked at you, “Headmaster?”

“Merry Christmas, Severus,” Dumbledore grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously at the light, as Severus exhaled, “Thank you, headmaster,”

“Do enjoy the feast,” Albus said, “There is more to come,”

On his words, you and Severus briefly give each other a look before shrugging it off, oblivious to the utter madness that would transpire once you left the Great Hall for much more amorous and festive pursuits.

There would be time to get to know the students during the break. However, a part of you admits that you were partial to your husband's little snakes.

But they didn't know that.

[eisdendrobium]

mind over matter.

pairings : singer!scaramouche x reader summary : in which scaramouche had to choose his career over you. part 2 here!

the lights dimmed as the bass and drums starts playing, scaramouche stands in the center while holding his mic, eyes casting downwards as he prepare himself to sing the lyrics.

Mind over matter Does it matter to any of us?

scaramouche could feel all eyes on him as he sang the first part, his hand shakes a little from stage fright that suddenly surface.

Don't change the subject I'm heavy on your love I missed that train New York City, it rains

he remember how hard it was to leave, how hard it was for him to choose his career over you. Fly to East L.A. in big jet planes You know you're on my mind?

he wonders, what do you think of him after he left you?

And if the world don't break I'll be shaking it

he wonders, do you know that you're not the only one suffering from this outcome? 'Cause I'm a young man after all And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

the audience lifts their phone, lighting their flash as they sing along with him. looking up to see his fans he holds the urge to tear up as the memory of you clouds his mind.

Mind over matter I'm in tatters thinking 'bout her

will you take him back after he left you that day? Taste my disaster It's heavy on my tongue

will you believe him if he told you that he still love you after all these years apart? All the lights aglow Tokyo snows

will you believe him if he told you that you're constantly occupying his mind till this day? Go to watch the show Curtain's closed I'm watching you this time

well believe it or not, he still follow your socials because it's the only way he's able to have a connection with you, in a way.

And if the world don't break I'll be shaking it

his eyes scans the crowd and he notice a familiar face. 'Cause I'm a young man after all

he feels his breathing stop as he locked eyes with you. And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

truth is, you've always supported him anonymously. Always adoring the way he thrive for that dream of his.

New York City, it rains Fly to East L.A. In big jet planes You know you're on my mind?

scaramouche really want to alter his gaze elsewhere but he finds himself unable to do so. As it felt like the missing part in his heart is filled when he sees you -- among the huge crowd, raising your flash at him. All the lights aglow Tokyo snows

he feels warm, he felt peace, the stage fright disappear as he tighten his grip on the mic.

Go to watch the show Curtain's closed I'm watching you this time

he could see your eyes widened when he notices you and that made his anxiety rise.

are you going to leave the concert, just like how he left you that night?

And if the world don't break I'll be shaking it 'Cause I'm a young man after all

he raise his arm towards you as he sang the lyrics. He could see the uncertainty on your face and that made him wonder why you came here in the first place.

And when the seasons change Will you stand by me (Fly to East L.A.)

he knew he have to let you go, and so do you. yet can you really? when your bond with him is that strong, can he really? when most of the song he wrote was about you.

And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

scaramouche lower his head as the band did an outro. and he could hear the crowd clapping and cheering for his amazing performance.

scaramouche finally understand that you were never meant to be his, he's not the right man for you.

he understood how you must felt during your relationship with him, all the effort he didn't bat an eye to because he was too busy chasing his dream.

you gave him all your love yet all he gave you was his goodbye.

scaramouche wished he realizes what he had when you were still his. yet he have made his decision and he's successful now,

no regrets right?

a/n : reblogs are greatly appreciated! and please feel free to comment what you think about this fic ^^

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Santa Baby

pairing: Tyler owen’s x f! popstar girlfriend

The stage was bathed in warm, festive light as snowflakes made of glitter descended from the rafters. The audience buzzed with excitement, eagerly awaiting the star of the night. Y/N’s highly anticipated Christmas special was live, showcasing her new holiday album. Fans worldwide tuned in to witness her performance, and among them was her proudest supporter her boyfriend turned fiancé, Tyler Owens, seated in the front row.

Y/N’s voice soared through classic carols and original songs, each note wrapping the room in holiday magic. Dressed in a red velvet gown that shimmered under the lights, she was the picture of festive elegance. Her diamond necklace sparkled with every turn, but her smile was the true showstopper. Tyler leaned forward in his seat, utterly entranced, his blue eyes never leaving her.

Then came the moment that would be talked about for weeks. The band struck up the jazzy, slinky notes of Santa Baby, and the audience erupted into cheers. The curtains parted to reveal Y/N in a dazzling new outfit: a fitted red velvet bodice trimmed with soft white fur, paired with thigh-high boots and a sparkling Santa hat. She strutted across the stage, microphone in hand, her playful grin promising something extraordinary.

Tyler chuckled as she made eye contact with him, her flirty energy aimed directly his way. He shook his head, already knowing she was about to steal the show.

Her sultry voice filled the air:

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me…

The crowd swayed along, their energy building with every lyric. Y/N’s performance was captivating, her charm impossible to resist. Tyler’s grin grew wider as she playfully gestured toward him during the bridge:

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

The audience roared with laughter and applause at her antics. Tyler, his face beaming with pride, clapped along, his eyes shining with admiration. But then, the atmosphere shifted as she reached the iconic line:

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing a ring…

Y/N paused dramatically, her voice trailing off as she raised her left hand. The spotlight caught it, making the enormous diamond engagement ring glitter like the North Star. Gasps and cheers erupted from the crowd, and Tyler froze, caught completely off guard. For a moment, he looked stunned, but then his face broke into the most radiant smile, his eyes glassy with emotion.

The cameras panned to him, capturing his reaction as he stood, clapping and laughing, his expression one of pure love and pride. Y/N flashed him a cheeky grin, finishing the line with a twist:

…and I don’t mean on the phone!

The theater exploded with applause. Y/N gave a playful twirl, blowing Tyler a kiss and mouthing, I love you. He returned it with a blown kiss of his own, shaking his head as if to say, You’re unbelievable.

By the time Y/N finished her set, the news had already gone viral. Social media lit up with clips of the performance, fans gushing over her flawless vocals and Tyler’s swooning reaction. Headlines blared:

“Pop Star Y/N Drops Engagement Bombshell During Christmas Special!”

“Tyler Owens and Y/N Are Officially Engaged And It’s the Holiday Surprise We Didn’t Know We Needed!”

The next morning, Tyler sat on the couch, scrolling through endless memes of his smitten expression. Y/N curled up beside him under a cozy blanket, her engagement ring catching the morning light.

“You really couldn’t wait to tell the world, huh?” he teased, showing her a tweet comparing him to a love-struck Hallmark movie character.

“What can I say?” she replied with a smirk. “I like making a statement.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Good. I want everyone to know I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Her smile softened as she laced her fingers with his. “Merry Christmas, Tyler.”

“Merry Christmas, future Mrs. Owens.”

That evening, as the snow continued to drift softly outside, they decided to celebrate their engagement with a romantic soak in the outdoor hot tub. The steam swirled into the crisp winter air, and the glow of the nearby fire pit illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows over the snow-covered patio.

Y/N stepped out onto the deck, wrapped in a plush robe, her cheeks rosy from the cold. Tyler was already in the tub, leaning back against the edge with his arms sprawled out, the muscles of his chest glistening from the rising steam. His blue eyes fixed on her with a heat that rivaled the bubbling water.

“Come on in, future Mrs. Owens,” he teased, his voice low and inviting.

Y/N smirked, dropping the robe to reveal her figure in a deep red bikini that matched the festive mood of the weekend. Tyler’s breath hitched, his gaze dragging over her like she was the only thing in the world.

“You’re staring,” she said playfully as she descended into the water, the warmth enveloping her instantly.

“Can you blame me?” he replied, his voice rough as he pulled her closer the moment she settled in. “Look at you. You’re stunning.”

She slid onto his lap, her legs straddling his waist, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The contrast of the hot water and the cool winter air made her shiver slightly, but Tyler’s hands on her hips quickly warmed her up.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Owens,” she murmured, trailing her fingers along his jawline.

Tyler chuckled, but it quickly turned into a groan when her lips brushed against his. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, but quickly deepened as the tension between them simmered into something hotter than the water surrounding them. His hands roamed her back, sliding lower as he held her firmly against him.

“You know,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire, “you completely ruined me last night with that performance.”

“Good,” she whispered, biting her lip as she looked at him. “I wanted to drive you crazy.”

“Mission accomplished,” he said, his grip tightening as he kissed her again, his lips moving down to her neck, trailing over her collarbone.

“Tyler,” she breathed, her voice a mix of a plea and a tease.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his blue eyes blazing. “Say it again,” he murmured.

“Tyler,” she repeated, her hands framing his face as her lips brushed against his in the faintest of kisses.

“No,” he whispered, his smirk returning as his hands dipped into the water, pulling her closer. “The other thing. The thing I’ve been waiting to hear all day.”

She smiled, her heart thundering in her chest. “I love you, Mr. Owen

Tyler’s laughter rumbled through the air before he captured her lips again, the kiss slow, sensual, and filled with the kind of love that made the world stand still. And as snowflakes melted on their heated skin, they knew this was the start of a holiday season they’d never forget.

[estellan0vella]

Cherry - Ryomen Sukuna AU Word Count: 6.9K Content Warnings: Death, Guns, Violence, blood Masterlist for Eras AU

The thrum of bass pulses through the walls of Sukuna's club, a steady heartbeat that syncs with the electric energy of the night. Neon lights flicker and dance over the crowded floor, casting vibrant hues across faces lost in the music. 

The rhythm of the music reverberates through your body, each beat syncing with your steady pulse as you lean against the polished mahogany bar. You exude a confidence that commands respect, your every gesture deliberate and controlled. The dress you wear, crafted from the finest red silk, clings to your form.

The ruby necklace around your neck catches the light, casting tiny red reflections that dance across your collarbone. Each piece of jewellery is a statement, a testament to your status and power in this underworld kingdom. The cigarette between your lips burns steadily, a trail of smoke curling upwards, adding to the smoky allure that surrounds you.

Your signature red lipstick glistens under the dim lights, staining the cigarette between your lips, the colour earning you the moniker "Cherry" among those who know you—and fear you.

Sukuna may be the kingpin, the ruler of this underworld, but you're no mere consort. Your presence demands respect, not just because you're his lover, but because you've earned your place. You can handle yourself, and everyone knows it. Tonight, though, Sukuna is away handling business, leaving you to watch over the club.

Your eyes scan the room, always alert, always aware, even as you sip on the cherry wine Sukuna specially imported for you. The crowd is thick tonight, the air electric with anticipation as they wait for the next performance. You take one last drag of your cigarette, exhale a plume of smoke, and extinguish it in a nearby ashtray.

You finish your drink and set the glass down, the clink lost in the surrounding noise. Your stilettos click against the marble floor as you stride toward the stage. The club's manager gives you a nod as you pass, a signal that everything is set. You make your way to the back, slipping through the velvet curtains and into the dimly lit backstage area.

The stage manager hands you a microphone, and you take a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight and cool metal in your hand. The crowd hushes as the lights dim, the anticipation palpable as they wait for their Queen. With a sultry smile, you step out onto the stage, the spotlight capturing your every move.

As the first notes of the piano fill the air, you begin to sing. Your voice is smooth and intoxicating, weaving through the melody with practised ease. The audience is mesmerized, their eyes glued to you, every word and note wrapping around them like a spell. This is your domain, and you revel in the power it gives you. The song is a slow, haunting ballad, a perfect showcase for your vocal prowess and emotional depth.

The music crescendos, your voice rising with it, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. The neon lights cast an ethereal glow over the audience, reflecting off their entranced faces. The song comes to an end, and for a moment, there's silence, the kind that holds a world of unspoken appreciation. Then, the applause erupts, filling the club with thunderous approval. You smile, taking a gracious bow before stepping off the stage.

As you return to the bar, you notice a group of men at a table near the back. They're not clapping, not even smiling. Their eyes are hard, their postures tense. Rival gang members, trying to blend in but sticking out like wolves in a flock of sheep. You can see the tension in their shoulders, the barely concealed weapons under their jackets. They don't belong here.

With a slow, calculated move, you finish your drink and set the glass down, the clink lost in the surrounding noise. Your stilettos click against the marble floor as you stride towards the back office. Inside, you open a hidden drawer, revealing an array of firearms. You choose a sleek, compact pistol, feeling its familiar weight in your hand. A quick check of the ammo, and you're ready.

The music fades as you step back into the main room, your senses sharpening. The rival members have spread out, moving towards key points. Your heart races, but your mind is clear. You're not just Cherry, the glamorous moll of Ryomen Sukuna. You're deadly, and you're about to remind everyone why.

One of them makes the first move, pulling out a gun and shouting a command. The crowd panics, screams rising as people scramble for cover. You don't hesitate. In a fluid motion, you raise your pistol and fire. The first shot hits its mark, dropping the man before he can fire a single round. The club erupts into chaos, but you're a storm of precision and fury.

You weave through the terrified patrons, your heels clicking with each step, a sharp contrast to the chaos around you. Another rival member appears, his eyes widening as he recognizes you. He hesitates, and that's his mistake. You take him down with a single shot, your aim impeccable as the bullet makes its mark between his eyes.

The others are more cautious now, trying to regroup. You use the confusion to your advantage, taking cover behind a pillar and assessing the situation. There are five left, moving towards the VIP section. You dart out, firing two shots in quick succession. One hits a man in the shoulder, the other in the leg, incapacitating them.

The remaining three try to flank you, thinking they can corner you. They underestimate you. You duck behind the bar, grabbing a bottle and smashing it for a makeshift weapon. As one comes around the corner, you slam the jagged glass into his neck, dropping him instantly. Another comes from the opposite side, but you're ready, shooting him in the knee and then the chest.

The last one is the biggest, clearly the leader. He's smarter, staying back and using the crowd as cover. You spot him across the room, near the DJ booth. He's aiming at you, but you don't flinch. With a calculated move, you dive, rolling across the floor and coming up firing. Your bullet hits his gun, knocking it out of his hand. Before he can react, you're on your feet, closing the distance.

He tries to swing at you, but you dodge, your movements swift and precise. You land a hard kick to his gut, making him stagger. He grabs a chair, swinging it wildly. You duck, feeling the air rush above your head. You counter with a high kick, your stiletto connecting with his jaw. He goes down, dazed and bleeding.

You stand over him, gun trained on his forehead. "This is Sukuna's territory," you say, your voice cold and steady. "Tell your boss if he tries this again, he won't have anyone left to send back." The man nods frantically, his fear palpable. You lower your gun, satisfied.

As the police sirens wail in the distance, you holster your weapon and straighten your dress. The club is a mess, but you're unscathed, your lipstick is still perfect. You walk back to the bar, grabbing yourself your bottle of wine, the respect in the eyes of the staff and patrons unmistakable. 

You're Cherry, and you've just reminded everyone that you're not just Sukuna's lover. You're a force to be reckoned with, heels and all.

Later, as you sit in Sukuna's opulent office, sipping from your wine bottle, the door creaks open. Sukuna strides in with his characteristic confidence, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. A smirk plays on his lips. "I heard you had some fun tonight," he says, his voice laced with pride and amusement.

You smile, leaning back in the plush leather chair. "Just another night in the life, love."

He crosses the room with purposeful strides, pulling you into a fierce kiss, his hand tangling in your hair. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with admiration. "You're amazing, dollface."

You grin, wiping a smudge of your maple cherry lipstick from his mouth with your thumb. "I know."

"You know, my sweet Cherry, it's times like these that remind me why I chose you," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "You're more than just a pretty face."

You chuckle softly, leaning into his touch. "I'd hope so, considering the trouble we've seen together."

He smirks, his gaze intense and unwavering. "You didn't just handle it. You owned it. This place, these people—they're all under our control because of you."

You tilt your head, playful and confident. "And because of you, my king. We make a hell of a team."

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "A deadly team," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "And tonight, you were magnificent."

Your heart races, not from fear but from the thrill of his words. You slide your hand up his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. "I had to keep our empire safe, didn't I?"

He chuckles, the sound dark and alluring. "And you did it in style, as always."

You feel his hand on your waist, guiding you to sit on the edge of the desk. He stands between your legs, his presence dominating yet comforting. "Tell me, dollface," he says, his eyes locked onto yours, "what did it feel like, taking them down?"

You smile, a slow, dangerous curve of your lips. "It felt powerful. Like I was in complete control. They thought they could walk in here and challenge us, but I showed them who really runs this place."

Sukuna's eyes darken with desire and pride. "You're incredible, dollface. And you're mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You lean in, your lips inches from his. "Always yours, Ryo. Just as you're mine."

He closes the distance, kissing you fiercely. The world outside might be chaotic, but here, in this moment, there's only the two of you. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his grip on your waist tightens. The kiss is a battle of dominance, each of you pushing and pulling, testing boundaries and revelling in the power struggle.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless. Sukuna's eyes are filled with a mix of lust and admiration. "You're my queen, dollface. Never forget that."

You smirk, your fingers tracing his jawline. "And you're my king. Together, we're unstoppable."

He nods, his gaze never wavering. "Tonight proved that. But it also reminded me how dangerous this life is. I need you to be careful."

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "Careful? Where's the fun in that?"

He growls softly, a hint of frustration and amusement in his eyes. "Just promise me you'll watch your back. I can't lose you."

Your expression softens, and you press a gentle kiss to his lips. "I promise, Ryo. But remember, I'm not some damsel in distress. I can handle myself."

He smirks, his hand cupping your cheek. "I know, dollface. That's why I love you."

You smile as you lean into his touch. "And I love you, too. Now, what do you say we get out of here? I think we both could use a little... downtime."

His eyes glint with mischief. "I like the way you think. Let's go home."

You slide off the desk, hand in hand with Sukuna, ready to face whatever comes next. The two of you make your way through the club, your presence commanding the room as you pass. The staff and patrons watch with a mixture of respect and awe, fully aware of the power you wield together.

Outside, the cool night air is a refreshing contrast to the heated energy of the club. Sukuna's car, a sleek black machine that screams luxury and danger, awaits you. He opens the door for you with a flourish, a playful smirk on his lips. "Your chariot, my queen."

You chuckle, slipping into the passenger seat. "Why, thank you, my king."

As Sukuna slides into the driver's seat, you can't help but steal glances at him. The streetlights cast a soft glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes. You feel a thrill of excitement, a mix of love and admiration for the man beside you.

The drive home is a silent yet intimate journey, the two of you content in each other's presence. The city lights blur as Sukuna navigates the streets with ease, his hand reaching over to rest on your thigh, a reassuring and possessive touch.

When you arrive at your lavish penthouse, Sukuna parks the car and leads you inside. The moment the door closes behind you, he pulls you into a fierce embrace, his lips finding yours with a hunger that sets your heart racing. You respond with equal fervour, your hands tangling in his hair as you lose yourselves in the passion of the moment.

He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your lips. "You're everything to me, dollface. Never forget that."

Your eyes lock onto his, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. "I know, Ryo. And you're everything to me."

He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom. You laugh, a joyful sound that echoes through the penthouse. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And you love every minute of it."

You do. With Sukuna, every moment is an adventure, a blend of danger and love that keeps you on the edge of your seat. As he lays you down on the bed, you pull him close, your lips meeting in another searing kiss.

The night is yours, a sanctuary from the chaos of the world outside. Here, in Sukuna's arms, you find solace and strength. Together, you're an unstoppable force, ready to face whatever challenges come your way. But in your home, in this moment, you and Sukuna are simply together, entwined in a love that's as fierce and unbreakable as the empire you've built together.

The night in your penthouse feels endless, a blur of passion and whispered promises. But all good things must come to an end, and with dawn, reality intrudes. The underworld doesn't rest, and neither do its enemies.

In the 1950s, Chicago was a city that never sleeps, a sprawling metropolis where the shadows are long and the danger is ever-present. You and Sukuna have built your empire on the edges of this world, carving out a kingdom in the neon glow of nightclubs and the whispered secrets of back alleys.

The morning light filters through the blinds as you lie entwined in Sukuna's arms, the warmth of his body a comforting shield against the harsh world outside. You trace the lines of his face, memorizing every detail, knowing that each day could be your last. He stirs, eyes opening to meet yours with a soft smile.

"Morning, dollface," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning, Ryo," you reply, your heart swelling with love for this man who is both your protector and your partner in crime.

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. "We need to be careful today. Word on the street is that some of our rivals are planning something big."

You nod, your mind already racing with possibilities. "We'll handle it, like we always do."

Sukuna smiles, but there's a hint of worry in his eyes. "Just stay close to me, alright?"

You reach up to kiss him, a slow, lingering touch that speaks of your unbreakable bond. "Always, my king."

The weeks pass in a blur of meetings and preparations. Your network of informants keeps you updated on the movements of your enemies, and you and Sukuna make plans to counter any threats. 

The two of you spent most of your time in your penthouse, the safest place for you to be while there were threats against your life but the King and Queen of the Underworld had to show their faces ever so often. Show their power and status.

As night falls, you dress in your finest once again, a vision in red silk with your signature ruby necklace. Sukuna, in his tailored suit with a red silk tie, looks every bit the kingpin, his presence commanding and dangerous. Together, you make your way to the club, the heart of your empire.

The club is bustling, the thrum of bass and the chatter of patrons filling the air. You scan the crowd, always alert, always aware. Sukuna stays close, his hand resting possessively on your waist. There's a sense of foreboding, a whisper of something dark and deadly lurking just out of sight.

The first shots ring out as you're crossing the dance floor. Chaos erupts as people scream and dive for cover. You and Sukuna react instantly, your guns drawn as you move in perfect sync, cutting through the crowd with lethal precision.

The attackers are relentless, their numbers overwhelming. You take down as many as you can, your bullets finding their marks with deadly accuracy. But there are too many, and for everyone you drop, another takes his place.

In the midst of the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Sukuna fighting off two men at once. His strength and skill are unmatched, but even he can't hold out forever. Your heart pounds in your chest as you fight your way towards him, desperate to reach his side.

A bullet tears through your shoulder, the pain searing and sharp. You stagger but keep moving, your determination driving you forward. Sukuna sees you falter and his eyes blaze with fury. He fights with renewed ferocity, cutting down anyone who stands in his way.

You finally reach him, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Ryo," you manage to say, your voice trembling with pain and fear.

His eyes lock onto yours, and in that moment, everything else fades away. "Stay with me, Cherry. We can make it out of this."

The pair of you sprint from the club, heading for Sukuna's car. Not hesitating to shoot any man who pursues you from inside the club.

The street is chaos, sirens wailing in the distance as police cars converge on the scene. You and Sukuna slide into the car, bullets whizzing past you as you peel away from the curb, tyres screeching on the pavement.

Sukuna's driving is precise, his focus unwavering as he navigates the maze of streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of colour. But the police are relentless, their pursuit dogged and determined.

You glance at Sukuna, his jaw clenched in determination as he pushes the car to its limits. "We need to lose them," you call over the roar of the engine.

Sukuna nods, his eyes scanning the road ahead. He takes a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming vehicle. The police cars follow, their sirens blaring, but you and Sukuna are one step ahead.

You duck down in your seat as Sukuna swerves into a narrow alley, the walls closing in around you. The police cars hesitate, unsure if they can follow. It's all the time you need. Sukuna guns the engine, the car lurching forward as you burst out of the alley and onto a deserted street. The police are nowhere in sight, left behind in the maze of the city.

You and Sukuna share a triumphant grin, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "We did it," you breathe, relief flooding through you.

Sukuna squeezes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring but his eyes flit to the bullet wound in your shoulder. "We always do. But right now, we need to get you patched up,"

You nod, gritting your teeth against the pain. "We can't risk going to a hospital. They'll be swarming with cops."

Sukuna's jaw clenches with determination. "I know a guy. He owes me a favour."

You trust Sukuna implicitly, his connections running deep in the criminal underworld. You lean back in your seat, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in your shoulder as Sukuna speeds through the deserted streets.

Minutes later, you pull up outside a nondescript building, the windows dark and the entrance hidden in shadow. Sukuna leads you inside, his hand steady on your back as he guides you through the dimly lit corridors.

The man Sukuna knows is waiting for you in a makeshift medical room, his face hidden beneath a surgical mask. He nods in recognition as Sukuna approaches, his movements swift and efficient as he begins to tend to your wound.

You hiss in pain as the man cleans and stitches the bullet wound, but you refuse to cry out. You're Cherry, after all, and pain is just another obstacle to overcome in this dangerous world you inhabit.

Once the man is finished, Sukuna hands him a wad of cash, his expression grim. "Keep this between us," he says, his voice low and menacing.

The man nods, slipping the money into his pocket. "Of course, boss. You know I'm good for it."

You and Sukuna leave the building, the night air cool against your skin as you step back into the car. Sukuna's grip on the wheel is tight, his knuckles white with tension.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with concern.

You nod, forcing a reassuring smile despite the pain throbbing in your shoulder. "I'll be fine. We've faced worse together, haven't we?"

Sukuna's expression softens, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of admiration and love. "We have. And we always come out on top."

"So I'm assuming now we plan revenge?" You ask with a sly smirk. 

Sukuna returns your smirk, the fire of determination burning bright in his eyes. "Oh, you can count on it, dollface. Those bastards will pay for what they've done."

You lean back in your seat, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins despite the pain in your shoulder. "Good," you say, your voice low and dangerous. "Because I'm not done with them yet."

Sukuna nods, his jaw set with determination. "We'll hit them where it hurts. They'll regret ever crossing us."

The days following the attack are a whirlwind of planning and preparation. You and Sukuna call upon your most trusted allies, gathering your gang for a meeting in the depths of your penthouse. The atmosphere is tense, the air thick with the promise of vengeance.

Sukuna stands at the head of the table, his presence commanding. "They thought they could walk into our territory and challenge us," he begins, his voice steady and cold. "They thought wrong. We're going to remind them who really runs this city."

You stand beside him, your shoulder bandaged but your resolve unwavering. "We won't just defend our empire. We're going to take the fight to them. Every last one of those bastards will pay for what they did."

The room fills with murmurs of agreement, the loyalty of your gang unshakable. Plans are made, weapons distributed, and alliances solidified. The night is long, but by the end, a clear strategy is in place. You and Sukuna will lead the charge, a united front against those who dared to cross you.

That night, you and Sukuna drive through the darkened streets of Chicago, the city lights casting eerie shadows on the buildings. Your destination is a rival gang's hideout, a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Your gang follows in a convoy of black cars, each vehicle filled with armed men and women ready for battle.

You arrive under the cover of darkness, the warehouse looming ahead like a fortress. Sukuna gives the signal, and your gang moves into position, surrounding the building. You and Sukuna lead the charge, your guns drawn and ready.

The attack is swift and brutal. You burst through the doors, gunfire echoing through the warehouse as you and your gang take down anyone who stands in your way. The rival gang is caught off guard, their defences crumbling under the onslaught.

You move with precision, your every shot finding its mark. Sukuna is a force of nature beside you, his strength and skill unmatched. Together, you cut through the enemy ranks, leaving a trail of bodies in your wake. As the last of the rival gang falls, you and Sukuna stand victorious, your gang cheering in triumph. But there's no time to celebrate. This is just the beginning.

The days turn into weeks as you and Sukuna dismantle the rival gang piece by piece. Each attack brings you closer to your ultimate goal: the complete annihilation of those who dared to challenge you. 

The air in the city is thick with tension, and every night brings a new skirmish, a new victory that pushes you closer to the final showdown. Your enemies fall one by one, their operations dismantled, their power crumbling under your relentless assault.

But the police are closing in. The chaos you've wrought has not gone unnoticed, and the city's finest are determined to finally bring you both to justice. They launch raids on your safehouses, arrest your allies, and close in on your operations. But you and Sukuna are always one step ahead, your cunning and resourcefulness keeping you out of their grasp.

The final confrontation comes on a stormy night, the city streets glistening under a relentless downpour, the air thick with tension and the promise of violence. You and Sukuna are on the run, your loyal gang members doing their best to hold off the police but the net is closing in, and you both know you can't run forever.

As you speed through the streets in Sukuna's car, the sirens wail behind you, their lights a chaotic dance of red and blue in the rearview mirror. "We have to lose them," you shout, your voice tight with urgency and fear.

Sukuna's jaw is set with determination as he navigates the narrow alleys and winding streets, the rain hammering the car roof like the drumbeats of war. He swerves and skids, his skill behind the wheel keeping you just ahead of the law. But the police are relentless, their numbers overwhelming. Each turn is a gamble, but Sukuna's fierce resolve never wavers.

The chase leads you to the edge of the city, the dark waters of the river stretching out before you like a maw waiting to swallow you whole. Sukuna's car skids to a halt, the police forming a tightening semicircle around you. There's no escape.

You and Sukuna share a look, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever. His eyes, stormy with resolve, meet yours, and in that moment, you see everything you need to know. "We go out together," he says, his voice firm and resolute.

"Always," you reply, your heart swelling with fierce love and determination.

You step out of the car, your guns raised, ready to face the inevitable. The rain soaks through your clothes, chilling you to the bone, but you don't flinch. You and Sukuna stand side by side, your fingers intertwining for a brief, final moment. The neon lights of the city reflect off the wet pavement, casting an eerie glow on the scene.

The first shots ring out, the sound deafening in the night. You and Sukuna return fire, your bullets finding their marks even as the police close in. The air fills with the acrid smell of gunpowder, the flashes of gunfire illuminating the rain-soaked streets. The world narrows to the sound of gunfire, the sting of rain on your face, and the warmth of Sukuna's presence beside you.

You feel a bullet tear through your side, the pain searing, but you don't stop. You keep fighting, your love for Sukuna giving you the strength to push through the agony. Beside you, Sukuna is a whirlwind of fury, his every shot a testament to his determination to protect you. His face is set in a grim mask of concentration, every move precise and deadly.

But the odds are against you. The police are too many, their firepower overwhelming. You feel your strength waning, your vision blurring as the blood loss takes its toll. The pain is almost unbearable, but you grit your teeth and keep firing, refusing to give in.

In your final moments, you turn to Sukuna, your eyes locking onto his. "I love you, Ryo," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

His eyes soften, his love for you shining through even in the face of death. "I love you too, dollface," he replies, his voice strong and steady. "Forever."

As the world fades to black, you take comfort in the knowledge that you faced your end together, as you always promised you would. Your fingers lace with Sukuna's one last time, a final connection in the midst of the storm as he pulls you close to him. The pain fades, replaced by a sense of peace, and you let go, knowing that you lived and died by his side.

The unrelenting rain continues to pour from the darkened skies, cold and unforgiving, as it washes away the crimson stains on the cobblestone. The solemn figures of police officers stand vigil over the lifeless forms of Cherry and Sukuna, the esteemed and infamous Queen and King of the underworld. Both figures are bathed in a chilling coat of red, their lifeless hands still intertwined, and Cherry's body lying atop Sukuna's, the fallen king's arms enfolded protectively around her. 

Even in death, he cradles her close, as if defiantly shielding her from the world's conclusive acts of cruelty. Their once vibrant eyes, wide open yet now unseeing, reflect the tumultuous sky above, the rain intermingling with blood, each element bearing witness to the tragic tale of their final and valiant stand.

"They were some crazy fuckers, huh?" one officer mutters to his colleagues, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and disbelief.

Another officer, younger and less jaded, stares at the entwined bodies. "Yeah," he agrees softly. "But look at them. Even in death, they didn't let go."

The senior officer shakes his head, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. "Love like that," he says quietly, almost to himself. "It's rare. Even if it was twisted and dark, it was real."

The squad car lights cast eerie, flashing shadows on the walls of the surrounding buildings, illuminating the tragic scene in bursts of red and blue. The officers move to secure the area, but for a moment, they all pause, drawn by the haunting tableau before them.

As the rain washes away the last traces of their life, the officers stand in silent contemplation, each lost in their thoughts. The weight of what they witnessed lingers in the air, a testament to a love that defied the world and left an indelible mark on the annals of crime and passion.

Decades later, the legend of Cherry and Sukuna, the formidable King and Queen of the underworld, continues to capture the imagination of many. In a hallowed lecture hall at an esteemed university, a young, pink-haired criminology professor stands before a rapt audience. 

Behind him, illuminated by the soft glow of the projector screen, hangs a grainy photograph immortalizing the enigmatic duo, their visages frozen in an eternal dance of defiance and allure.

Cherry, a vision of elegance and allure, is adorned in a luxurious satin red dress that clings to her every curve, its neckline plunging daringly low, a scandalous testament to her boldness. A luxurious black fur coat drapes languidly over her shoulders, a symbol of her opulent lifestyle. Around her neck and wrists, dangling from her ears and adorning her fingers, jewels glimmer in the dim light, all encrusted with the finest rubies and diamonds and a cigarette dangles between her red-painted lips.

Beside her, Sukuna cuts a striking figure, a cigarette in his left hand, his presence commanding and formidable. Clad in a meticulously tailored black suit, he exudes an air of effortless sophistication, his fedora perched at a rakish angle atop his head adding a touch of mystery to his already magnetic allure. A crimson silk tie, perfectly knotted, matches Cherry's dress. His fingers, adorned with silver rings encrusted with rubies, trace a possessive arc around Cherry's waist, a silent declaration of their unbreakable bond.

As they gaze into each other's eyes, the intensity of their connection is palpable, a potent blend of desire, admiration, and mutual respect. In that fleeting moment captured by the lens of history, they are more than mere criminals; they are legends in the making, their love and ambition etched into the very fabric of the underworld.

"Cherry and Sukuna," the professor begins, his voice carrying the weight of history. "Two names that struck fear into the hearts of many in the 1950s. They built an empire in the shadows of Chicago, a kingdom of crime and power. But they were more than just criminals. They were lovers, partners, and in many ways, they were inseparable."

The students listen intently, their faces a mix of fascination and awe. The professor continues, "Their love was their greatest strength and their ultimate downfall. In the end, they chose to face their fate together, side by side, just as they had lived. Their story is a tragic one"

He pauses, looking at the photograph. "They say that Cherry and Sukuna's love was so powerful that it transcended the criminal world they inhabited. It was a love that defied the odds, a love that was both their greatest strength and their greatest vulnerability. And in the end, it was a love that would be remembered forever."

The professor pulls up the crime scene photographs, Sukuna's car riddled with bullet holes, blood staining the right side doors. Then he shows the picture that had led to the criminal lovers gaining their infamous post-death moniker: 'The Eternal Lovers.' The picture is of Sukuna and Cherry's corpses.

The image is haunting: Sukuna's lifeless body cradling Cherry's, his arms wrapped around her as if to shield her from the world even in death. Cherry's dress is soaked with rain and blood, her hand still clasped in Sukuna's. Their faces, serene and defiant, seemed to challenge anyone who dared to separate them.

"They say a picture is worth a thousand words," the professor murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of reverence and sorrow. "But this one speaks volumes about the depths of their connection. It tells a story of love, defiance, and tragedy. Cherry and Sukuna's legacy isn't just about their reign of terror; it's also about the unyielding bond they shared, a bond that death couldn't sever."

"How did Cherry and Sukuna meet?" a student asks, their voice cutting through the silence.

The professor smiles a hint of mystery in his eyes. "Now that is something no one knows," he says, leaning against his desk. "One day, the criminal underworld was ruled by a King, and then suddenly he has a queen."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "There are countless theories, of course. Some say they met in the most unlikely of places, others believe it was a fated encounter. But the truth is, Cherry and Sukuna's meeting is shrouded in as much mystery as their reign. The local museum has a lot of memorabilia collected from the time of their reign. They have the car from the final stand on display along with the outfits from that night"

As the lecture comes to an end, the students file out of the room, their minds filled with the tale of Cherry and Sukuna. The professor remains behind, staring at the photograph. He can't help but feel a sense of admiration for the couple who lived and died by their own rules, their love immortalized in the annals of history.

His thoughts drift back to the rainy night that marked the end of Cherry and Sukuna's reign. The police reports, the newspaper headlines, the testimonies of those who had witnessed the final showdown – they all painted a picture of a love that was fierce and unyielding, even in the face of certain death.

The professor had pored over these documents countless times, trying to understand what drove them, what bound them together so tightly that they chose to face their end together rather than surrender.

He recalls a particular line from a witness statement, an elderly woman who had watched the final moments unfold from her apartment window. 

"They stood there in the rain, hand in hand, as if nothing else in the world mattered. It was as if they were saying goodbye to everything and everyone, but not to each other. He pulled her close and the bullets rained down on them and tore through them. Even when they dropped, he held her like she was his everything. I suppose she was."

The professor sighs, turning off the projector and gathering his notes. He knows that in another few weeks, he'll be teaching this same lesson to another group of students, passing on the legend of Cherry and Sukuna. As he locks up the lecture hall, he takes one last look at the photograph.

Walking through the quiet corridors of the university, he wonders about the choices we make in the name of love and the legacies we leave behind. Cherry and Sukuna may have lived a life of crime, but their story is a reminder that even in the darkest of places, love can shine through, defying the odds and leaving an indelible mark on history.

The professor's footsteps echo down the empty hallway as he walks past glass display cases filled with artefacts from the same era: vintage newspapers, old pistols, and police badges, each item a silent witness to the turbulent times of Cherry and Sukuna. 

He stops in front of a case displaying two pistols, one sleek black and one with cherry red accents. The guns, reputedly Sukuna and Cherry's, were found at the site of their last stand. He stares at them, imagining the man and woman who once used them, a couple who lived fiercely and loved even more fiercely. 

A soft sound startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see a young woman standing nearby, clutching a notebook. She looks at the photograph on the projector screen, then back at him.

"Professor, can I ask you something?" she says hesitantly.

"Of course," he replies, curious.

"Do you think... do you think they knew how their story would end? That they would be remembered this way?"

The professor considers her question. "I think they knew they were living a life that would lead to an inevitable end. But I also believe that they were more focused on living each moment fully, especially with each other. They were aware of the risks, but their love gave them the courage to face those risks head-on."

The young woman nods, deep in thought. "It's just... it's kind of beautiful, isn't it? To be remembered for something so... passionate."

The professor smiles. "Yes, it is. It's a reminder that love, in its purest form, can transcend everything – even the darkest of legacies."

As the young woman walks away, the professor turns off the last light in the hallway. He leaves the university, stepping out into the cool night air, the story of Cherry and Sukuna lingering in his mind. 

As Professor Yuji Itadori walks through the rain-soaked streets, he feels the weight of his family's legacy bearing down on him, a legacy shaped by the love and turmoil of his grandparents, Cherry and Sukuna.

Growing up, Yuji had been shielded from the darker aspects of his family's past, but snippets of their history had always found their way to him, whispered secrets passed down through generations. He had listened with a mix of fascination and trepidation, knowing that his own identity was intricately woven into the tapestry of Cherry and Sukuna's legend.

Yet, despite the allure of his family's infamous past, Yuji had chosen a different path. He had forged his own identity, separate from the shadows that had haunted his grandparents. He had embraced his surname, Itadori, a surname his grandparents had given their only son before sending him away from the criminal underworld of Chicago.

But even as Yuji sought to carve out his own destiny, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still tethered to the legacy of Cherry and Sukuna. Their blood flowed through his veins, their stories whispered in the winds of his dreams. And as he walked through the rain-soaked streets, he couldn't help but wonder about his place in their tale.

Was he destined to follow in their footsteps, to be consumed by the same darkness that had defined their lives? Or could he forge a new path, one guided by his own principles and convictions? The answers eluded him, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

As he navigated the streets of the city, Yuji felt a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. The weight of his family's history pressed down on him, a burden he couldn't shake. But amidst the storm clouds that gathered overhead, there flickered a glimmer of hope.

For Yuji knew that the legacy of Cherry and Sukuna was not just one of darkness and despair. It was also a legacy of love, of sacrifice, of the enduring power of the human spirit. And as he walked through the rain-soaked streets, he vowed to honour that legacy in his own way, to carve out a future that was uniquely his own, yet forever intertwined with the echoes of his family's past.

Taglist: @sad-darksoul

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Royal Meeting

quinn hughes x royal!reader

note: I love them!!!

word count: 1.8 k

This tour was a year in the making, the Princess of Cambridge touring Canada with her father now ruling. Y/n was named the people’s princess after Diana, the people of England saw a lot of her mother in her. So with her father being someone the public doesn’t have the best view of, it was her job to possibly help restore that.

Starting on the east coast and heading west, the princess was on her second to last stop, Vancouver, before she would be heading over the province's capital. Going to a hockey game with Harry and Meghan was not in the original plan, but the woman was never one to follow plans set out for her. But she could also never pass up spending time with her older brother and Meghan.

Stepping out of the car the woman waves to the people waiting outside, grabbing flowers and giving out hugs; even if she wasn’t supposed to.

She was told by her assistant that Harry and Meghan would meet her in the dressing room halls. Not that she needed to know that given she would just be following her security.

“Meghan!” Seeing her sister-in-law she passes the two security men in front of her, bringing the other woman into a large hug. “Hello, Y/n! So good to see you it’s been to

long!” “I know! I miss my little niece and nephew! Oh- Harry you’re here too, hello.” The brother and sister both exchange a chuckle, bringing each other into a hug.

The three half-watched warm-ups in the lounge, mostly catching up. But they had to stay down there to wait for puck drop.

-

After getting announced, Harry and Y/n walked out side by side. Looking around at the teams, the girl notices the handsome faces, though one in particular stood out among the rest. On the Canucks the man with the ‘C’ on his jersey, with the most beautiful swept back hair, and facial hair. Y/n loved facial hair, believing it would make any man instantly more attractive. His eyes were dark in the lighting of the area, but she was sure there was more to them up close.

And that she was right, being as he was the captain he would take the ceremonial face off, meaning Y/n could get a closer look at his features. 

“Hello.” He said, shaking her hand then doing the same to her brother. His american accent was adorable, and his voice was such a pleasant sound, one she could fall asleep to. She was so entranced with him, she didn’t even say hello back, he probably thought she was rude. In her mind she was patting herself on the back for such a good first impression. 

She zoned out, only getting snapped back into reality when the cameras flashed, waiting for a moment her brother never dropped the puck. It made her laugh, thankful she wasn’t the only one making a lousy impression. Whispering to her brother she said, “H, you have to drop the puck.”

Everyone let out a small chuckle, it was all in good fun. 

-

Throughout the game she couldn’t help but have her eyes be drawn to the Canucks captain, who she now learned was named Quinn. It was a name that suited him, she felt that he gave off the same energy as the letter ‘Q’ if that makes sense. 

Quinn got a goal and an assist, both of which the woman stood up and clapped for. She couldn’t help herself, and she was sure Meghan noticed. During the time Harry went to the washroom, Meghan leaned over and whispered, “He’s cute. Number 43?” “Oh piss off.”

-

After the game, and after saying bye to Harry and Meghan, Y/n decided to do something she never thought she would ever do. 

She waited outside the home team’s dressing room. Why? She had no clue. How was she going to start a conversation? She had no clue. And with her security around her at all times, it made it a lot worse, because she had an audience.

And before she could over think, the man of her hour came out, “Hi, you’re Quinn Hughes, right? The captain?” 

He looked a little shocked that she was talking to him, making eye contact with both her security guards before her as if to say ‘you guys believe this?’ but nonetheless he nods, not having the ability to talk in the presence of her, and her beauty, and the way her confidence was almost seeable in the air. “You played amazing, I mean from what I know about hockey.” She lets out a small breath of air out of her nose in a half-laugh. 

“Oh- Thank you.” He knows that to carry on a conversation you should maybe say something back to provoke more words, yet in his state of being at the moment he wasn’t quite sure he could do that.

“I was actually wondering..” taking a deep breath, she prepares for the worst. The ‘I have a girlfriend’ or the ‘I have plans’ “If you were busy tonight? I know we haven’t even met yet, but I don’t really do this.” she gestures to the general area, and seeing a slight bit of confusion on the man’s face she alaperates, “I mean like- my family has always set up dates for me, I’ve never done this, so I don’t know how to do this. And now I have over-explained and over-shared so now you’ll really say no.”

Unbeknownst to her, the man found her ‘over-explaining’ and ‘over-sharing’ endearing. Her flustered state as she asks him out, the rosyness on her cheeks and her large smile while she talks. Were all things he hadn’t seen until now, and he loved every new thing he discovered about her. 

“I’m not busy tonight… We could go to this restaurant I know, or if you don’t want to be in public I understand and we could just go to my place? I don’t have roommates.” 

He was so adorably awkward while speaking and he was understanding and kind, every man her family had set her up with had never been this understanding of her status, they had always either used it to their advantage, or were jealous of it. But not Quinn. In the couple minutes they talked, she felt in her gut that he had honourable morals.

With a smile spreading on the girl’s face she replies, “I would love to go to your place.” At her words a matching grin is growing on Quinn’s face, placing his hand on her back as he leads her out to his car. 

-

The two were settled on Quinn’s couch, some american movie on in the background while they spoke. Learning more and more about each other. In the safety of his flat, and her security outside Y/n felt free to be herself.

“I have two younger brothers-” “ I have two older brothers! Continue, what do they do? Hockey?” “Yeah, they both play on the New Jersey Devils.” “It must be hard seeing them get to play together while you’re not.” “It does sting sometimes, during summer when they’ll tell their stories of living together without mom as a mediator. But I mean, they’re my little brothers and I couldn’t be more happy for them and I have my friends here. So it’s not all bad.” 

Subconsciously, the man's arm fell from resting on the back of the couch to now rest on the girl’s shoulder, urging her to curl into his body more. “Are you close to your mom?” “We don’t have to talk about my mom.” Quinn might know much about Y/n’s family, but he knew that she never knew her mother, Princess Diana. 

“It doesn’t bother me. Talking about my mom if that’s what you're worried about.” “I assumed it would be a not first date appropriate conversation.” “Right. No trauma on the first date, rule 101.” The two broke into laughs, probably caused by the wine they were drinking. Y/n decided to divulge into lighter conversation, “Now. This question is very important to me.” The woman adjusted her sitting position to now sitting on the couch facing Quinn, his hand now rubbing up and down on her upper arm, “Are you a dog or a cat person?”

Letting out a breath of relief Quinn says, “Thank god, I thought it would be a question about tea.” “What, just because I’m British my life must revolve around tea?” “So you wouldn’t be offended when I tell you I don’t like tea?” “You don’t like tea?!” Quinn laughs at her over-exaggeration, “I should have known better, you are American.” “Hey!” “Dogs or cats?” Y/n stubbles out between giggles at the sight of Quinn’s face.

“If I get this wrong, is the date off?” “Well, that in combination with not liking tea..” “I’m a dog person.” “Correct!”

-

Later in the night the two were still on Quinn’s couch, now actually watching what was playing on the TV. No longer shy about their cuddling, Quinn was lying on his back with Y/n between his legs on top of the man. His hands playing with hers, lacing their fingers together and swaying them back and forth.

All night Y/n couldn’t help but think about the fact that this never felt like a first date. Well it did in the way of getting to know each other but they never had that awkward first date silence. It felt as if they had been friends long before now. 

They talked about Quinn first moving to Vancouver and how he loves it here now. Y/n also mentioning how she loves Vancouver. It felt as if both were tiptoeing around the subject Quinn living in Vancouver and Y/n in England. She would love to move to Vancouver, in the future. The woman had always wanted to live in another country and Canada always seemed like a good choice. But of course she wouldn’t be telling Quinn this, it was in fact a first date.

“I’m headed to Victoria tomorrow afternoon. But I’ll only be there for three days, then the tours over and I head back home.” She could see the hope leave Quinn’s eyes, so quickly she cleared up what she was getting at, “But, I don’t have to. I could come back here.” At her words Quinn beams, excited at the idea of seeing her again so soon.

“The 24th I’ll be in Seattle.” “Then I’ll fly to Seattle, watch you play again.” “I would love that, princess.” 

No one had ever called Y/n ‘princess’ as a pet name, only at events or being introduced to someone. And never did she think she would love being called princess this much. She thought if anything it would weird her out if someone ever did. But when it came from Quinn’s mouth, from his beautiful lips, and deep voice. She would love anything he called her.

~taglist~

@inejghafawifesblog @ghostwritermia @shallow678 @definitly-creative-words @caro8409 @anotherfan07

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 47: The Maestro's Diversion

Prev > Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, kidnapping

Despite Alexander's attempt at soothing him, Oliver felt himself growing more and more anxious as the ballet continued. As much as he tried to focus on the dance, but now that he knew about the strange man's identity, he couldn't help but sneak glances over at him and fret. 

Objectively, he didn't look that dangerous - a very slight older man with a sharp gaze -- but there was a certain something dreadful about him that Oliver could sense from across the theater. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, borne of the fact that Alexander was still very much on edge.

The ballet itself did not calm his nerves either. The dancing was growing more and more feverish and abstract, the costumes wilder, with bright red beads and ribbons that seemed to signify wounds. The climax was what appeared to be a human sacrifice, where the prima ballerina danced upon an altar, red ribbons tied around her hands and feet and neck, finally collapsing among raucous, atonal music.

Oliver's anxiety was reaching a fever pitch as the ballet came to a close. He clapped politely as the dancers took their bows, glancing over at the strange man.

He was clapping, but he wasn't looking at the stage any more. No, his eyes were trained directly on Oliver. They locked gazes, and Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.

"We will wait until most of the audience has cleared out," said his master. "Then we'll go attend to my master in his box. We may be in luck. He may be in an unusually pleasant mood."

Oliver had no idea how that icy gaze could count to Alexander as "unusually pleasant." "Must we meet him?"

Alexander didn't answer.

"Couldn't we just... leave?"

"No."

Oliver had never imagined he could feel so much dread simply watching men in tuxedos and women in fancy evening dress chatter and mingle as they made their way to the exits. His hands hurt, and he realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that they were making imprints. Alexander said nothing, stoically staring down at the empty stage. 

Alexander was being so terse, so stiff, so unlike his normal self. But Oliver, of course, had no choice but to follow, no matter how badly he wanted to dig in his heels and not go. He feared that any struggle right now would not be met with Alexander's gentle spell correcting him, but with something far worse.

They made their way around the theater in silence, entering the box and entering the presence of Alexander's sire.

He looked upon Alexander with harsh judgement in his eyes, which Alexander took stoically, and then he looked upon Oliver with...

It was something like approval, perhaps even the ghost of a smile, and it was somehow even worse than his look of disdain.

"Good evening, sire," said his master with a practiced bow. "Was the ballet to your liking?"

"It was passable," the Maestro said, his voice like a musical instrument from another place and time. "While far from perfection, the bold direction was at least more interesting than what usually passes for art in this city. Unusually, I find myself craving the new more and more these days." He was staring at Oliver, not Alexander, as he said this.

"It seems as though you've spent the last few seasons confined to your chambers, sire," said Alexander, with measured words. "That may account for your desire for novelty."

"...A fair observation, child," he said. "Let's speak more of the new and novel, then. This must be your recently acquired thrall, young Oliver, is it not? I've heard that there was quite a stir at the auction house."

"He has very fine blood, sire, as you no doubt can tell. He is naturally docile and obedient, and has great potential."

The Maestro nodded slowly as he looked Oliver up and down. "Come, Oliver. Kneel."

Oliver's breath caught as he felt the tug on his body, puppet strings entangling his arms and legs, as he stepped forward. He remembered his master's words, and had been bracing himself for this, willing himself to relax and stay calm. Oliver would be unharmed, Alexander thought, as long as he behaved. So he didn't resist as his body fell to its knees before the Maestro, his posture straight, his hands clasped in his lap, his head tilted slightly downward, demure.

Alexander's sire took him by the chin and brought his face upwards, his fingers delicate and cold. He examined Oliver as though he were a specimen under glass, searching every inch of him for something that Oliver didn't understand. Oliver could feel the control wrapped around him, as though his very heart was forced to beat in time with the Maestro's whims.

"You've made an appropriate choice for once, Alexander," said the Maestro after what seemed like an eternity. "This is a fine acquisition, and you were quite right to not let him fall into the hands of the likes of Jameson. Well done, child."

Alexander looked every bit as surprised as Oliver felt. "Thank you, sire."

"In fact, I find myself inspired for a new acquisition of my own. As you've correctly observed, existence has become ever so dreary, and I need a new diversion." He leaned back in his seat. "Which is why you're going to pluck the prima ballerina from her perch."

Oliver nearly choked on his breath as Alexander's eyes went even wider. "The ballerina from this show, sire?" he said in a strained tone. "I don't mean to question you, but are you absolutely sure? She's well known and her absence will certainly be noticed."

"Of course. Don't take me for a fool by stating the obvious." His glare was boring a hole into Alexander. "It doesn't matter how well known she is. Once she's in my grasp, she will not be found."

"Yes, sire. My apologies."

"You must fetch her for me. Your power is much gentler than mine, befitting a lovely flower. Bring her here, so that she may dance for me and only me."

Oliver couldn't help his gaze flitting over to his master, who seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. Was he actually going to do it? Simply kidnap the ballerina, on his sire's orders?

"As you wish, sire," he said, meekly. "Oliver, come along."

"No, that won't be necessary," said the Maestro, laying his hand on top of Oliver's head before he could stand up. "I will be content to watch over your thrall while you take care of business."

The hand on his head felt oppressive, and Oliver fought down the urge to beg his master not to leave him here, alone with his sire -- to not steal away a dancer with a bright future and plunge her into a nightmare. But he could already tell from the look on his master's face that he was going to follow his sire's wishes.

"Thank you for watching over him, sire. I will return with your new thrall." 

With that, his master left the box, and Oliver was left alone with his master's sire, whose full focus had turned back to him. The Maestro ran his hand through Oliver's hair, and then tilted his head up to look at him once more.

"Hm, yes, a precious find indeed," he said, more to himself than to Oliver. "You will answer my questions truthfully, child. Do you fear me?"

The correct answer, Oliver thought, was to tell the Maestro that he did not fear him, that he was always happy to serve a vampire. But Alexander had warned him so strictly about being honest... "Yes, sir."

"Good. You're correct to do so," he said, apparently satisfied. "What do you fear from me?"

That question was far more complex, a half million nightmare scenarios crowding Oliver's mind at once. "Many things, sir," he said. "Primarily that I'm aware that you have the power to harm me at any time, in any way you wish. I hope you will be merciful, sir." 

"Merciful, hm." He seemed as though he were considering an idea he'd never heard of before, and Oliver worried he'd overstepped. "Well, you have been honest so far, so I will be honest with you, child. If you continue to be as truthful and obedient as you are now, I will have no reason to do you harm tonight."

"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, not feeling all that reassured. He felt the control over his body loosen, but before he could move, he realized what the meaning of this was when combined with his previous words -- this was a test, an obvious one at that. He steadfastly remained in the position the Maestro had placed him, trying to keep his posture straight.

"Perhaps I'm in a rare good mood from the fine night air and a half-decent ballet, but I find myself enjoying you, child. Do not take this as an invitation to be bold," he said in his musical voice. "Tell me, do you like being enthralled by my Alexander?"

Although his feelings on this were somewhat complicated, the first response that came to mind was both safe and sufficiently honest. "Yes, sir, I like it very much."

"Does he treat you well?" the Maestro intoned.

"Yes, sir," said Oliver with uncertainty, increasingly worried about this line of questioning. "I want for nothing, and the feedings are gentle and pleasant."

"I see. And does he afford you a great deal of freedom?"

So that's where this was leading. He was trying to get Oliver to admit to his master's soft treatment of him, no doubt so his master could be scolded or punished. His instinct was to protect Alexander -- to tell the Maestro that Alexander was very strict and kept him on a tight leash.

But Alexander had been adamant that Oliver must be honest, and he felt sick at the idea of disobeying a direct order from his master. "He offers me some freedoms, but not others, sir."

"Elaborate. What freedoms do you have?"

"I am not allowed to leave his manor, sir, but I am allowed to inhabit any part of it, except for my master's private chambers. When I am not feeding or waiting on my master, I am given free time to do what I wish." His heart thumped. He knew that was the wrong answer. He fought to keep himself in position, and felt the claws of control tightening around him again.

The Maestro's gaze drilled into his soul. "That is disappointing, but wholly unsurprising," he said after a long, tense minute. "Interestingly, that's the first time I've felt any sort of resistance against my control. You're otherwise obeying perfectly. Why choose that moment to struggle?"

"I want to be honest, as you ordered, sir, but I also don't want to say anything that could bring down punishment upon my master."

"Loyalty, then. An instinct to protect your master. Despite his continued shortcomings, he seems to have done a passable job when it came to enthralling you, especially compared to previous thralls," he said. "That's also my sweet Lily's work. I could sense it in you from the moment you opened your mouth. Obedient, loyal, but with too many thoughts in your head, as is her preference. Unfortunate, really." He gave Oliver a long look. "I suppose it can't be helped. For once my wayward children have brought me something worthwhile. You can always be perfected in time."

Oliver's heart filled with dread. "...Thank you, sir," he said, not knowing what else to say to that.

Before the awkward interaction could continue, Oliver heard a gorgeous, ethereal voice coming from outside of the box. He breathed it in deep, and it filled his mind with a sensation like morning fog, dampening the racing thoughts that the Maestro had criticized. The melody was beckoning him, wrapping around his limbs, enticing him to stand and follow.

Alexander. His master had returned. Follow me, follow me, he sang, a vampiric pied piper.

The pull of his song was strong enough that his master's previous command to obey the Maestro and not resist was completely overridden. He would have sleepwalked to Alexander's side in a heartbeat if it weren't for the Maestro's control preventing him, weighing down his body even as his heart yearned, and Oliver felt that he might be torn in two if this continued.

The struggle was ended when Alexander entered the box and bowed to his sire. Behind him was a young woman, thin but athletic, wearing a simple house dress that contrasted sharply with her dramatic stage makeup and the elaborate hairdo that was halfway to falling down. 

It was, of course, the prima ballerina, who had apparently been ensorcelled in her dressing room, just after changing out of her elaborate costume. Her eyes were so far away, so dreamy, as she walked gracefully, a soft smile on her lips.

Oliver's heart sank. He knew from experience how hard it was to escape Alexander's power -- and even worse, she was being given over to the Maestro's thrall. She might never see the stage again, never dance for an audience, never see her family or friends, never laugh and talk with her fellow dancers after a rehearsal. She was to be locked away like a doll in a music box, rotating slowly on command, and she most likely didn't even realize her fate yet.

The Maestro rose from his seat and wordlessly examined her as he had done to Oliver. Alexander was still humming something under his breath, something intended to keep the ballerina calm, and Oliver let the spell soften his thoughts as well, all too eager to dissociate from this scene.

He watched as, with the slightest change in expression and quirk of an eyebrow, the ballerina struck one pose, then another. She was nearly up on her toes despite wearing slippers and not proper shoes, twirling so slowly, and although her face maintained a placid expression, there was fear in her eyes, now.

"Acceptable," the Maestro murmured, as she turned and assumed a different pose. "This will do for a diversion this winter, I think. Well done once more, Alexander."

"Thank you, sire."

"It's been a long time since I've come calling, hasn't it? I do believe I have the evening after next free. I trust I'll be offered quality refreshments?" He gazed at Oliver meaningfully, as the meaning of his words penetrated through the fog.

This strange, distressing vampire wanted to drink from him. Surely his master wouldn't allow that. Surely he was only for Alexander.

"...Very well, sir," said Alexander through gritted teeth. "You're welcome at my manor at any time, of course."

"Excellent. You're dismissed, then. Take your sweet Oliver home, and I'll take my new prize." He picked the ballerina up as effortlessly as he might a kitten, and she lay unmoving in his grasp.

"Good night, sire."

"Good night, child."

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Well, this went well.

Next week, Fitz has a plan.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams @ghost-whump

[bulkyphrase]

Avengers in Space - a fic rec list

I love the Avengers and I love outer space, and these are a few of my favorite stories that combine the two.

What do you mean we left Clint on Mars? by sara_holmes (@captn-sara-holmes) (WinterHawk, Teen And Up Audiences, 24,537 words)

Summary: “What do you mean we left Clint on Mars?” Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles. For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.

Straight on till Morning by @sineala (Stony, Explicit, 109,848 words)

Summary: Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive. But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything. Also available as a podfic read by M_Samro (@msamro)

More below the cut!

A Far Better Thing I Do by @brighteyedjill (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 5,333 words)

Summary: A mysterious man with no paper trail was involved in a bloody attack on a meeting of Starfleet admirals. James T. Kirk and the crew of the starship Enterprise have tracked him to the Klingon home wold, Kronos, where they have threatened to unleash the experimental torpedoes Admiral Marcus sent with them unless the man surrenders. That man, Steve Rogers, has other ideas.

Into That Good Night by Nonymos (Stucky, Explicit, 73,540 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers has lived for entirely too long—long enough to see the world's end. The heroes are gone, and the Earth is pushing what's left of mankind towards the exit. But when a makeshift team rises from the ashes, when a mysterious presence all but drags Steve there, he begins to think there may be hope yet. As they shoot for the stars one last time, Steve will get proof yet again that the future is nothing if not an echo of the past.

Wandering Stars by @sabrecmc (Stony, Explicit, 24,470 words)

Summary: Alien Steve/Astronaut Tony (oviposition)

Cold Space, Warm Welcome by Annie D (@no-gorms) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 15,572 words)

Summary: Tony’s spent a couple of years flying around the galaxy in his best friend Rhodey’s spaceship the Iron Advance, doing what could perhaps be counted as ‘hero’ work. Among their allies is Steve Rogers, captain of his own crew, with whom Tony has a… potentially friendly relationship. When Steve’s ship is irreparably damaged, Rhodey takes him and his whole crew onto the Iron Advance to recover. Tony’s not at all nervous about this, because so what if this is the first time Steve will see him without the Iron Man armor?

Space Between by NachoDiablo (Samsteve, Teen And Up Audiences, 9,157 words)

Summary: Sam has a quiet life on a newly inhabited planet. He spends his days tending the garden plots and avoiding his past. But right before an impending storm, a fugitive crash lands in his space and upsets his solitude.

The Truth When Captains Meet by Kimra (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 2,303 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers wakes up on an alien’s space ship being carried bridal style by Carol Danvers. As far as first meetings go, it’s memorable.

Brisingr by @ironychan (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 155,649 words)

Summary: When Jane Foster discovers an object on a course for the inner solar system, it looks like a job for the Avengers. But when what looked like a comet turns out to be a refugee ship from another galaxy, it's not clear whose job this is anymore. Tony Stark and the Vision find they have an uncomfortable amount in common with the creatures called the Brisings, while Jane learns that the aliens are being followed by something they thought they'd left behind five million years ago. Set post-AOU, pre-CW.

Liberate Tutemet Ex Inferis (Save yourself from hell) by Terrenis, with art by @kaiwrites (James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Explicit, 55,989 words)

Summary: In the Year 2060, Stark Aeronautics and Space Administration's prestige project, the “Event Horizon”, was on its maiden voyage with the newly developed Arc Reactor Gravity Drive, only to disappear beyond Neptune’s orbit without a trace. Now, seven years later, a transmission from the eighth planet is received, along with a very disturbing audio record. Tony Stark, who not only wants to redeem his reputation, but also needs to know what happened on the ship, goes on a mission with the enhanced Inhuman ragtag crew of the Singularity to salvage his baby. Little do they know that this is literally going to be a trip to hell… Or that totally unnecessary Event Horizon AU that no one asked for. But I’m going to write it anyway.

Catch a Falling Star by tsukinofaerii (Stony, Explicit, 42,741 words)

Summary: When Tony was sixteen, he got to meet his hero, Captain Steve Rogers, the Empire's not-literally-golden boy from the Continuity Wars. When he was twenty-seven, the aforementioned Captain turned Pirate picked him up at the outer edges of space. It would have been a good time to appreciate the abundant nudity that came from spending too much time with space colonists, but Tony had bigger worries than even Rogers' amazing hip-to-shoulder ratio. Something was sending the star-encircling computers that power the galaxy into a tailspin, and it was going to take a lot more than luck and skill to clean the mess up.

Luminosity by CSHfic, VSfic (Stony, Mature, 60,922 words)

Summary: The Avengers organize a two month mission to investigate an anomaly in space that appears to be engulfing planets, Steve is worried about leaving Tony alone, and Hawkeye is just worried about being left behind. But then something goes wrong. Steve drags himself out of the wreckage of their ship, on a planet that shouldn’t exist, the Avengers are missing, Iron Man is torn to scraps, and Tony has a lot of explaining to do. Or, in which Steve has no clue that Tony is Iron Man, and it takes crash-landing on an alien planet for him to find out.

Gravitational Pull by @antigrav-vector (Stony, Explicit, 29,718 words)

Summary: A strange temple floating in space is discovered, and Steve and Tony are the logical choices to go investigate. What they find is going to make or break their relationship...

Inquiries into Orbital Dynamics (The Mission Controllers' Remix) by Muccamukk (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 5,591 words)

Summary: When a mysterious object appears in orbit around the Moon, NASA teams up with the Avengers to investigate it. This is NASA's story. Inspired by Gravitational Pull

everybody needs a reason why they run by napricot (Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Explicit, 77,888 words)

Summary: Pepper doesn’t often regret the improbable circumstances and choices that brought her, Tony, and Jim to the SGC and then to Atlantis. After all, being an intergalactic explorer is way cooler than being the right hand woman of Stark Industries’ heir Tony Stark. But when strangers show up during her Gate team’s milk run of a trading mission, she’s got a bad feeling she knows better than to ignore. Which is how Pepper’s Gate team ends up picking up a stray in the form of a metal-armed runner with a mysterious past and learning about a dangerous new sect of Wraith worshippers called Hydrans. But the Atlanteans aren’t the only ones interested in the Hydrans: there are stories spreading throughout the Pegasus Galaxy about the Nomad and the Widows, three maybe-heroes who have set their sights on the Hydrans and the Wraith. Meanwhile, Tony’s trying to figure out if there’s something more to Atlantis’s helpful new hospitality-oriented subroutines, and Master Sergeant Sam Wilson is trying to have just one offworld mission where shit doesn’t get weird.

a war could be our only hope by @aceofwands (Stony, Explicit, 62,817 words)

Summary: Steve emerges in the future, where the Federation is fighting a war against the totalitarian Dominion. Traumatised from his experience with the Borg, Tony already has enough trouble coping without Steve's return bringing up unexpected feelings.