#could be in the things you find mundane... but its still there!!

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 26 Chapter 26 | fortune's veil⌟

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After waking from the dreamlike encounter with Aphrodite, you found yourself lying in your own bed, the early morning light filtering through the curtains casting a soft glow across your room.

The surreal experience left you dazed, a mix of confusion and awe swirling within you as you tried to reconcile the goddess' revelations about the lifted curse and its implications for your life.

The warmth of the dream still clung to your skin like a fading perfume, making the mundane reality of your room seem oddly disconnected.

As you sat up, the echoes of Aphrodite's voice seemed to linger in the air, a constant reminder that while the curse was lifted, the capricious nature of the gods remained a powerful force, one that could shift the course of your life in ways you could scarcely imagine.

Unfortunately, you couldn't linger on such thoughts for long. Duty called, and you had responsibilities that wouldn't wait, even for divine revelations. As you finished getting dressed and made your way through the palace, performing your morning duties, you found yourself more observant, more aware of the subtle shifts in the behavior of those around you.

Were they just being polite, or did they sense something different about you now?

It wasn't until midday, as you were lost in thought while polishing the silver in the dining hall, that you were caught off guard by a familiar presence bounding toward you. Callias' grin was wide as he made his way through the bustling corridor, his face lighting up as he dodged around other servants and nearly tripped over a lounging dog in his haste.

As Callias made his way to you, his first words were tinged with surprise. "How come you're still in your servant's attire?" His brows were raised, a playful yet incredulous look painting his features, face still flushed from his sprint.

You blinked, confused by his question. "What do you mean?"

Rolling his eyes, Callias huffed, his impatience evident. "Were you even paying attention to the king's announcement at the feast last night? He declared that today would be the Cultural Exchange Festival between Ithaca, Athena's domain, and Bronte, Ares' domain. Everyone's supposed to dress in the styles of either place to celebrate the unity!"

At the mention of the feast, a flush crept up your cheeks, your mind involuntarily recalling the incident with Telemachus—how close he had been, the intensity in his eyes. But just as quickly as the warmth appeared, it tapered off, overshadowed by the realization of why it had happened, the manipulation by Eros, and Aphrodite's subsequent revelation in your dream.

You shook off the memory, focusing back on Callias, who was now watching you with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "I... I guess I missed that part," you admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed. "It was a hectic night."

"Well, you better hurry up and change then," Callias said, his tone lightening, trying to ease the mood. "You can't miss out on all the fun. Plus, there's a ship docked this morning from a distant land, and they've brought things from far-off lands that you wouldn't believe!"

His excitement was infectious, and despite the lingering thoughts of divine interventions and cursed legacies, you found yourself nodding along, caught up in his enthusiasm. "Alright, lead the way then. Just let me put this away and I'll find something more fitting to wear."

Callias grinned, satisfied with your response, and bounced on his heels. "Great! Meet me at the festival; I'll be lingering near the front. Don't take too long!"

Watching him dart off, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and amusement at his ability to pull you out of your reverie and back into the present. With a more immediate concern now at hand, you hurried back to your quarters, your steps quickening with the prospect of the festival and what wonders it might hold, pushing the complexities of gods and curses to the back of your mind for just a little longer.

.☆.      .✩.          .☆.

You arrived at the festival already in full swing, the grounds buzzing with a vibrant blend of Ithaca and Bronte's cultures. The air was rich with the smells of roasted meats and freshly baked breads, mingling with the sweet scents of pastries and spiced wines that vendors shouted about from their stalls. Children darted through the crowd, their laughter rising above the murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of music from a corner where musicians played.

For the occasion, you had chosen to wear a simple yet vibrant outfit reflecting both cultures. Your skirt was a deep ocean blue, and tied to your head was a forest green scarf, symbolizing the waters surrounding Ithaca and its lush landscapes of land.

Today, you also decided to wear your golden laurel crown, feeling it was fitting for the day's significance. It sat atop your head, catching the sunlight and casting small glimmers onto the path ahead, a subtle reminder of your recent acknowledgment by the gods.

The decorations around you showcased the unity and contrasts of the two cultures. Stands were draped in rich blues and greens, interspersed with bold touches of yellow and red, symbolizing the mingling of wisdom and valor, peace and conflict. Banners fluttered in the breeze, displaying symbols of olive branches and swords crossed in harmony.

As you made your way through the festival, absorbing the lively atmosphere, you suddenly heard your name. Turning toward the sound, you saw Callias making his way toward you with an excited grin, dodging past other festival-goers with a nimble grace that reflected his light spirits. His friends followed, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, clearly caught up in the festive spirit.

"Look who finally decided to join us!" Callias exclaimed as he reached you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun."

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "What's got you in such a rush?"

Callias' grin widened as he gestured broadly to the scene around you. "How can you not be excited? It's not every day we get to see such a blend of Athena's calm and Ares' passion all in one place!"

His excitement was contagious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be fully drawn into the joy of the festival, the earlier weight of divine secrets momentarily lightened by the simple pleasure of the celebration.

The rest of the group finally caught up, each one of them wearing bright smiles that mirrored the festive spirit in the air. "Took you long enough," Callias teased as they approached, his tone light and jovial.

Kieran laughed, rolling his eyes. "We would've been here sooner if Lysandra hadn't insisted on rescuing that runaway scarf from a tree," he said, nodding towards Lysandra who was adjusting a beautifully intricate scarf back around her neck.

"Oh, stop it. It's my favorite scarf, and you know it," Lysandra retorted with a playful swat at Kieran's arm. She then turned to you, her eyes brightening as she noticed your attire. "Oh, I love how you're embracing the festival theme with that crown. It suits you beautifully," she complimented, stepping closer to get a better look.

You felt a flush of warmth at her words, your hand subconsciously reaching up to touch the golden laurel crown. "Thank you," you replied, a bashful smile playing on your lips. You straightened up, cleared your throat, and looked around at the group, eager to dive into the festival's offerings. "So, where to first?"

Surprisingly, it was Asta who stepped forward with a wide grin, her energy almost palpable. "There's this one stall you absolutely have to try," she began, her voice filled with excitement as she grabbed your hand and started pulling you along. "They've got these amazing Brontean pastries I think you'll love!"

Feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect of exploring the festival with people your age, you allowed yourself to be led by Asta, her enthusiasm infectious. You cast a half-joking, half-helpless look over your shoulder at Callias, Kieran, and Lysandra, hearing Kieran snort in amusement. "Oh, get ready guys—Asta's going to ramble her ear off about every dish she has to try."

The group's laughter mingled with the music and chatter around you, the sounds of the festival enveloping you in a tapestry of joy and camaraderie.

As Asta pulled you along, weaving through the bustling festival, the next hour unfolded like a colorful tapestry of sights, sounds, and scents.

The festival grounds were alive with energy, each corner bursting with the vibrant traditions of both Ithaca and Bronte. Stalls lined up one after another, each adorned with banners flaunting deep ocean blues and forest greens of Athena's domain, contrasted sharply by the bold yellows and fiery reds representing Ares' territory.

The visual blend of colors not only marked the festival grounds but also symbolized the union of two distinct cultures under a banner of temporary peace and celebration.

You passed by games of skill and chance that drew lively crowds—children and adults alike shouting in excitement. Ithacan games focused more on strategy and skill, like archery contests where participants needed a keen eye and a steady hand. In contrast, Brontean games seemed to revel in strength and endurance, featuring competitions like hammer throws and tug-of-war, which showcased the brute force for which Ares' followers were renowned.

The food stalls were an adventure in themselves.

You sampled dishes that were a fusion of both kingdoms' flavors, but it was a particular pastry that caught your attention, thanks to Asta's insistence. Called "Ambrosia's Delight," this pastry was a deceptive treat—golden and dusted with a shimmering sugar that suggested a saccharine taste. However, upon biting into it, the unexpected bitterness mingled with a subtle sweetness, revealing a complexity that mirrored the delicacy's cultural significance in Bronte.

Apparently, it was a revered treat, enjoyed especially during festivals, symbolizing that even the most heavenly things can have a bitter truth beneath their golden exterior; a very Bronte lesson, considering Ares' patronage and their warrior mindset.

Amidst the laughter and cheers, you found yourself fully immersed in the festival's lively atmosphere, each new stall offering a small window into the traditions that shaped the daily lives of both Ithacan and Brontean citizens.

Asta, ever enthusiastic, narrated anecdotes about each game and dish, bringing them to life with her vibrant descriptions and personal tales. Her stories painted a picture of Bronte's rugged landscapes and the resilient spirit of its people, making you appreciate the depth of her homeland's culture even more.

Just then, Kieran, ever eager to explore more, pointed towards a nearby stall. "Look! They're starting a puppet show over there," he announced, his eyes lighting up as he gestured towards a small crowd gathering a few feet away.

Callias, still grinning from his earlier teasing, leaned in with an exaggerated smirk. "A puppet show, Kieran? What are you, five? Next, you'll be asking for—Oh," His words died in his throat as his gaze landed on someone passing out candy to the children. "They're giving out free samples of Warrior's Ember?"

Kieran barely had time to process Callias' sudden shift before Callias lunged forward, practically shoving past him. "Hey! Watch it!" Kieran yelped, stumbling as he tried to keep up.

"You watch it!" Callias shot back, his usual grace momentarily forgotten as he tripped over Kieran's foot in his rush to get to the glistening treats wrapped in parchment.

The two crashed into each other, a flailing mess of limbs and fabric, before nearly toppling to the ground. Kieran let out a dramatic "oof!" as he scrambled to stay upright, gripping Callias' sleeve for balance.

Callias, undeterred, used Kieran as leverage to push himself forward, regaining his footing before bolting toward the stall. "Out of my way, I'm getting one first!"

"You are not!" Kieran huffed, recovering quickly before chasing after him, both of them shoving and stumbling in a ridiculous race toward the vendor.

Lysandra let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head as she watched the two nearly tackle each other over candy. "Men," she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms before turning toward the puppet show. "I'll go ahead and save us a seat. No point in waiting for them to finish embarrassing themselves."

Asta snorted but nodded. "Good idea."

With that, Lysandra strode off with the air of someone who had witnessed this nonsense too many times before, leaving the boys to their fate.

By the time you and Asta arrived at the puppet show, it was just kicking off. Lysandra had managed to save you both seats, and you slipped into them just as the first puppet appeared.

You glanced over and saw Callias and Kieran a few feet ahead. They were surrounded by a cluster of children, all of whom were watching the show with rapt attention while munching on the colorful candy Callias had been so excited about.

You couldn't help but snort softly at the sight—Callias seemed just as enthralled as the kids, his eyes wide, a piece of candy halfway to his mouth as he stared at the unfolding drama.

You turned your attention to the show, where a vibrant display of craftsmanship was evident in the detailed puppet figures that danced and twirled under the skilled manipulation of the puppeteers. The puppet show was a vibrant tableau of color and movement, drawing you into a world woven from threads of Brontean mythology and lore.

The story unfolded through a series of ornately dressed puppets, each character vividly brought to life by the skilled hands of the puppeteers behind the scenes.

The main character was a Brontean hero, a figure of might and ambition, dressed in a costume that shimmered with hints of dark green and gold, reflecting the militaristic and ambitious nature of his homeland. His armor was intricately designed, each plate carefully crafted to catch the light with every movement, casting tiny reflections across the awed faces of the audience.

As the play began, the hero was introduced in a dramatic fashion. The puppeteers manipulated him to stand tall and proud on the makeshift stage, a wooden sword held high, his voice—projected by a hidden actor—booming across the open space.

"Behold, I am Calix, chosen by Ares, to lead and conquer, to carve my destiny with the edge of my blade!" the puppet declared, his voice echoing with a mix of pride and foreboding.

The story that unfolded was one of epic battles and cunning strategies. Calix, the puppet hero, faced a series of challenges, each more daunting than the last, involving treacherous enemies and mythical beasts. His journey was not just one of physical combat but also of intellectual warfare, as he sought to outmaneuver his rivals and secure his place in the annals of Brontean legends.

You watched, fascinated, as Calix navigated through political intrigue and battlefield prowess, his ambitions growing with each victory. The puppets representing his enemies were equally impressive, adorned in darker hues, their faces carved to express the malice and desperation of those threatened by Calix's rise.

At one point, the tension on the stage reached a peak when Calix faced his greatest enemy—a rival warrior king who had been his friend in their youth. The scene was charged with emotional conflict, the dialogue poignant.

"Why do you climb so high, Calix, only to find yourself alone at the summit?" the rival king asked, his puppet's face twisted in a mix of anger and sorrow.

Calix responded with a steely gaze, his voice unwavering. "It is better to reign in solitude than to kneel in crowded submission."

You found yourself leaning over to whisper to Lysandra, seeking more context. "Is this a famous story in Bronte?" you asked, your voice low amid the rapt silence of the surrounding crowd.

Lysandra nodded, her eyes not leaving the stage. "Yes, it's the tale of Calix the Ambitious, a hero who teaches us both the power of relentless ambition and the isolation it can bring. It's celebrated but also serves as a cautionary tale for those wise enough to heed it."

The play concluded with Calix achieving his ultimate goal, ascending to the highest throne, but at the cost of his personal connections. The final scene showed him alone on his throne, the cheers of his army echoing hollowly in the distance as he looked out over a vast, empty battlefield.

As the puppets took their final positions and the puppeteers bowed to the applause of the crowd, you sat back, the story's moral lingering in your mind. The spectacle had been thrilling, but the underlying message was a somber reflection on the price of unchecked ambition.

The crowd around you erupted into applause, their cheers a mixture of admiration for the puppeteers' skill and contemplation of the tale's deeper meanings. You clapped along, your thoughts still intertwined with the hero's lonely victory as the group prepared to move on to the next attraction, the weight of the story adding a thoughtful note to the festival's festive atmosphere.

As you and your friends wandered through the festival, each stall and display seemed to offer a new facet of Bronte's culture to explore. The air was thick with the scents of spiced meats and sweet pastries, each stand adorned with vibrant banners that reflected the kingdom's love for bold colors and grand statements.

Here, the influence of Ares, the god of war, was evident in the displays of armor and weapons, not just as tools of conflict but as art forms to be admired. Each piece told a story of battles won and the glory of individual valor.

Callias and his friends pointed out various items, sharing bits of Bronte's history with you. "In Bronte, strength and cunning are more than just traits," Callias explained as you passed a display of intricately carved swords. "They're virtues, celebrated and honed from a young age. It's about rising through the ranks, proving your worth in every aspect of life."

Lysandra chimed in, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and caution. "But that ambition often comes with a cost. It can drive people to greatness, or to acts of ruthless determination. It's admired, yes, but feared too."

The group's conversation gave you deeper insight into the dual nature of Bronte's values—admirable yet intimidating, a culture where power was both a goal and a gauge of one's worth. This realization made the tales of their heroes, like the puppet show's Calix, resonate more deeply. They were not just stories of adventure; they were reflections of Bronte'very soul.

After a while, the group stopped by a water stand, quenching their thirst and taking a brief respite from the midday sun. The festival air buzzed with life—laughter, chatter, the distant echo of music—but as you wiped the back of your hand against your damp forehead, your gaze drifted past the stalls, catching on something... peculiar.

A stand stood slightly apart from the others, nestled in the shadow of a faded, canvas tent. Unlike the bright Brontean and Ithacan booths—draped in banners, gold accents, and vibrant tapestries—this one was plain, almost rickety, with wooden posts that looked as if they had weathered far too many storms. The cloth of the tent, a once-rich shade now dulled by time and dust, stretched overhead, providing a pool of shade that contrasted sharply with the glaring midday light.

A rickety wooden chair sat in front of the stand, slightly off-center, its legs uneven against the dirt-packed ground, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze, creaking softly, though no one sat in it. Yet.

Unlike the other stalls, which called to passersby with boisterous vendors and enticing displays, this one seemed to exist in its own quiet space—an oddity among the grandeur, tucked away yet deliberately placed, as if waiting for the right kind of customer to notice it.

You would have walked right past it if Callias hadn't paused, squinting at the signage that promised insights from the "Mystic Seer of the East." "Hey, Kieran," Callias called out, his tone playful yet curious, "isn't that from the cargo ship that docked this morning? The one with all the unusual crates?"

Kieran hummed thoughtfully, peering at the stand with renewed interest. "Yeah, I think it is. I saw them setting it up early today. Didn't think much of it then, but..." His voice trailed off as he eyed the colorful drapes and the strange, mystical symbols that decorated the booth.

The allure of the unknown was too much to resist. Intrigued, you all approached the stand, drawn by the promise of a different kind of knowledge, perhaps even a glimpse into futures unseen. The psychic's booth, with its mysterious air and out-of-place appearance, offered a break from the cultural exhibitions, a dip into the intriguing world of the mystical and unexplained.

Stepping closer, you felt a mix of excitement and a hint of apprehension—the unknown always carried a thrill, but with it, a shadow of risk. What secrets might the seer reveal, and were you truly prepared to hear them?

Surprisingly, it was Asta who first broke the group's hesitation. "Let's check it out," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of mischief. Her suggestion was met with a round of nodding heads, and together you moved closer to the peculiar stand.

As you approached, a soft jingle echoed from within the tent, like wind chimes stirred by a gentle breeze. Then, with a flourish of colorful fabric, a veiled woman stepped from behind the curtains. She was an enigmatic figure, draped in layers of flowing garments that whispered with every movement, adorned with tiny bells and jangles that tinkled melodiously around her wrists and ankles. Her face was obscured by a sheer veil, and her hands—visible as she gestured to you—were intricately tattooed with symbols and patterns that spiraled across her skin, adding to her mystique.

Positioning herself behind the stand, she began to shuffle a deck of cards with a practiced ease, the cards flipping and dancing between her decorated fingers. "Welcome," she intoned, her voice smooth and slightly accented, "I am Eione, keeper of secrets and seer of futures." Her eyes, the only part of her face visible through the veil, sparkled with a challenge as she continued, "Step forward and receive your future, if you dare."

The group exchanged hesitant glances, the air thick with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Then, with a shrug and a grin that bordered on reckless, Kieran stepped forward. Flipping a rickety chair around, he sat down backwards on it, resting his arms over the backrest, and smiled charmingly at Eione. "Hit me with your best shot," he said, his demeanor casual but his eyes alight with intrigue.

Eione paused, her hands stilling over the deck. She studied Kieran for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if measuring his boldness. Then, with a mysterious smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, she drew a card and placed it on the table before him, face up.

The card depicted two figures standing beneath a radiant sun, their hands almost touching, a choice lingering between them. Behind them, a mountain loomed, and above, an angel watched, as if guiding their fate.

"Ah," she said, her voice carrying a note of amusement, "the Lovers Return. It seems an old flame may rekindle for you, young man."

Kieran raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and skepticism crossing his features. You noticed him shift slightly, straightening in his chair as he leaned forward to get a better look at the card. The hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth before he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head with a dismissive snort. "Can't wait to see that drama unfold," he said, his tone light but with a curious undertone that betrayed his interest.

He stood up from his chair, brushing off his trousers as he gestured grandly to the others, encouraging someone else to take a turn. Lysandra started to move forward, but Eione raised a hand, stopping her with a soft but firm, "Wait."

Turning her gaze between Lysandra and Asta, Eione's expression grew thoughtful, her eyes narrowing slightly as if reading something unseen in the air around them. "Both of you, come forward together," she instructed, her voice carrying a note of certainty. "Your futures are deeply intertwined."

The two women exchanged a look, a mixture of excitement and nervousness passing between them before they stepped up to the table as one. Eione shuffled the deck again, her fingers dancing expertly over the cards before she drew two and placed them side by side.

The first card a brilliant sun shining over a child on horseback in a filed of blooming sunflowers, its rays stretching across a clear blue sky—symbolic of happiness and new beginnings. The second card showed a regal woman seated on a lush throne, surrounded by wheat fields and blooming flowers, in a gown adorned with pomegranates representing growth and the deepening of bonds.

"Joy and growth await you both," Eione declared, her voice soft yet resonant in the quiet that had settled around the booth. "Your paths are woven together, reinforcing each other's strength and bringing light to shared endeavors."

Lysandra and Asta looked at each other, smiles slowly spreading across their faces as they absorbed the seer's words. The connection between them, always palpable to those who knew them well, seemed to solidify with the turn of the cards, their hands reaching out to clasp each other's in silent acknowledgment of their shared future.

After Lysandra and Asta had their futures read, their smiles seemed to brighten the space around them. Lysandra, still caught in the high of the moment, turned over her shoulder and called out to Callias, "Your turn, huh?" But he just shook his head, a playful smirk spreading across his face as he declined. "I think I know enough of my future for one day," he said, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

With Callias opting out, Eione's gaze shifted toward you. The intensity of her look made you pause as she asked, "And what about you? Would you like to see what the future holds?" Her voice was smooth, inviting yet somehow imposing.

You hesitated, the weight of the recent revelations about divine influences making you uncertain. But curiosity, and perhaps a desire for some control over the unknown, nudged you forward. You nodded, taking a deep breath, and walked over to sit across from her.

As you settled into the rickety chair, Eione studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to peer into your very soul. She began shuffling the cards, her movements precise and deliberate. Her eyes seemed to glaze over, as if she were seeing something beyond the physical space of the festival. You couldn't help of bein in awe, noticing how her lips moved in silent whispers, adding to the mystique of her craft. 

Then, unexpectedly, her hand faltered.

The cards slipped from her grasp, scattering across the table. Five of them landed face up, splayed in a haphazard arrangement. You leaned forward, your heart pounding as you took in the images on the cards. You weren't sure what they meant, but each of them were richly illustrated, the symbols vivid and ominous.

As you absorbed the powerful imagery, Eione let out a soft, almost imperceptible gasp. Her eyes, previously glazed over as if she were in a trance, sharpened suddenly as they landed on you. Coming out of her daze, her voice grew soft yet carried a weight that drew your ears closer. "I notice the mark of Apollo's favor," she said, her gaze intensifying as she gestured subtly toward you. "It's like a barrier of protection over your fate."

She leaned forward, her hands hovering over the cards as if to gather them but then paused, offering to explain their meanings. "You have much ahead of you," she said, her finger tracing the air above each card as if to underline their importance.

Just as Eione opened her mouth to delve deeper into the explanation, the distant sound of trumpets and the loud announcement of the tournament beginning cut through the atmosphere. The woman sighed, a flicker of frustration crossing her features at the interruption.

With a resigned smile, she quickly listed off the meanings of each card, her words concise but laden with significance. "The Hanged Man calls you to let go and view things from a new perspective, The High Priestess urges you to trust your intuition, The Tower warns of necessary upheaval, The Wheel of Fortune reminds you that life is a cycle of ups and downs, and Judgment... Judgment is a calling to rise and rebirth."

Her eyes met yours once more, lingering with something unreadable. "May you find your answers in these," she murmured, her voice laced with quiet knowing, as if she already understood what was coming.

Then, with a graceful rise from her seat, Eione collected the cards with a sweep of her hands, the images disappearing into the deck with an almost magical fluidity. She nodded to you politely before turning and walking back inside her tent, the curtains closing softly behind her.

Left with a mind swirling with the cryptic messages of the tarot and the enigmatic advice of the fortune teller, you sat for a moment, collecting your thoughts. The festival around you buzzed with excitement and noise, but for a brief moment, you were anchored in a sea of introspection, pondering the path laid out before you by the cards.

Callias broke the heavy silence with his characteristic levity. "Is that the kind of mythical shit that happens when I'm not around?" He tutted playfully, shaking his head. "I'm going to have to really stick around if I'm trying to see a god."

Lysandra, Asta, and Kieran reacted with a mix of surprise and concern. "Damn, that was kind of eerie," Lysandra murmured, her eyes wide as she glanced at the tent Eione had disappeared into.

"Did y'all feel that? That was... cryptic," Kieran added, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily.

Asta, noticing your subdued mood, changed the subject to lighten the atmosphere. "Uh, so, are you excited about the tournament?" she asked, her voice bright with curiosity.

You blinked, taken aback. "What tournament?" The question slipped out before you could catch it.

Callias let out an exaggerated sigh and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, helping you up from your seat. "Poor thing, nothing really gets into that head but music, huh?" he teased, leading you away from the fortune teller's stand. "Didn't you hear? They announced a jousting tournament between the two kingdoms."

The group erupted into laughter at his playful jab, and you couldn't help but smile, playfully punching Callias' arm. "You could have just told me instead of making fun," you chided, though the warmth in your voice betrayed your amusement.

"What's the fun in that?" His laughter rang out as he steered the group toward the tournament grounds, the earlier tension dissipating into the festive air filled with anticipation for the upcoming event. The contrast between the mystical encounter and the lively festival atmosphere felt stark, yet somehow fitting as you all moved together towards the new diversion, the promise of excitement drawing you back into the present moment.

A/N: double update!?! ka0chowwwww. but fr, i got a great explanation for leaving you guys for a bit... somehow, I recently lost some of my notes for upcoming chapters and had to re-write the ending from memory... i was trynna be a show-off to my sis show her how long i had the damn thing (since like when epic first caught my eye around 2021 and i was just writing lil headcanons)  and ended up pressing delete part 😭😭😭 the way my heart dropped to my ass was truly an experience. anywho good news, while re-writing it, i got inspired while smoking for a new fic that will be happening immediately after this one, and y'all i'm so hyped frr, might just drop the first chapter to show you guys soon. other than that, hope you guys have been taking care of yourselves, i know real life has been tough for a lot of us lately, but dont give up, we still got shit to do ❤️❤️ we got this babes, see you

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog

[willyhoos]

"shadows are inverted flames" -> wilsons hair is made of shadow -> YOUR BOYFRIEND'S HAIR IS MADE OF FLAME??? PETPETPETPET

also wilson can't leave the throne so he just has to deal with her doing this 24/7

[autism-corner]

=w=

[i2sunric]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 (p.js)

PAIRING: hades!jay x persephone!reader

SUMMARY: labelled as unable of being loved, jay decides to steal a mortal to rule his realm with. what he hasn’t expected, though, is that it wasn’t you who he kidnapped, you had stolen his heart.

WARNINGS: kidnapping, enemies to lovers (but only reader hates jay), greek mythology, mentions of other idols as Gods, kisses. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 22nd December 2024

WC: 3.5k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @who-tf-soddhi (oneshot) @monstaxdirtywonk @love4choso @heechwe

a/n: guess who’s back, back again. lol, i’m so happy with how this turned out! and i sincerely hope y’all like it too 🩷 have some nice holidays!

The gods of Olympus were never silent. Their laughter and taunts echoed across the heavens, filling their golden halls with noise and light.

Among them, Hades — so few knew him as Jay — was the quiet shadow in their midst.

Rarely did he grace their celebrations, his duties below pulling him away from the vanity of their world.

But he wasn't deaf to their jests.

“He'll never know love," Hermes — whose former name was Jungwon — had said to one banquet, leaning onto his caduceus with a smirk.

"Who would want to walk in those dark halls with him?" Aphrodite chimed in, her melodic laughter cutting through the room.

Jay had sat silent, his face impassive, but their words lodged deep within him.

He had never been a creature of longing— his domain demanded stern control, not vulnerability. And yet, as centuries passed, a hollow ache had begun to grow.

Perhaps the others were right. Perhaps he would remain alone. But then, there was the smallest flicker of rebellion within him.

“Let them doubt me," he whispered, his voice cold as the mist of the Styx. "I will find someone who can see me for what I really am."

♡.

Jay seldom visited the mortal world. It was too loud, too bright, too alive.

But something had pulled him there that day, a whisper in the back of his mind, a tenuous tug he could not ignore. And so, he walked among the mortals, his dark robes altered to blend in with their simple garb.

The sun beat above, merciless. Apollo — also known as Heeseung — really enjoyed making mundanes suffer. Mortals bustled around him, their voices a cacophony of trivial concerns.

He had nearly given up, retreating toward the shaded edge of a golden orchard, when his eyes fell on you.

You stood beneath an ancient apple tree, reaching up toward the highest branches.

Your hands grasped the fruit carefully, inspecting each apple before placing it in your basket.

The sun played in your hair, catching the edges of your figure like a halo. But it wasn't your beauty that arrested him; it was the way you moved— with confidence, with purpose.

Suddenly, a strange thought assailed him: You belonged in no one's shadow. It seemed as if not even the apple’s shadow could make you lose your spark.

A step closer he came, and almost faltered. You laughed softly as you took a bite of the sweet fruit, a slice of sound that cut through the din around him. Something in his chest stirred. An unfamiliar pull, sharp and insistent.

Before he knew better, he acted.

The earth had shaken beneath your feet, and you had stood stock-still, startled.

A chill had saturated the air, unnatural and heavy. You turned, your gaze darting around for the source, but the orchard had fallen silent.

Then the earth rent asunder. Shadows poured from it, twisting and coiling like living things. Swimming around you like water would from a waterfall.

Up from the chasm rose a chariot of black iron, its wheels spinning silently above the broken earth. The horses were ghostly, their eyes glowing like dying embers.

Your breath caught in your throat as a figure stepped from the chariot, the bitten apple falling on the ground, rolling. He was cloaked in darkness, his hood obscuring his face, but his presence was overwhelming.

Power radiated from him, pressing down on your chest like a physical weight.

"Who—" Your voice broke, trembling with fear and defiance. "Who are you?"

He didn't answer, only lifted a hand. The shadows surged forward, binding your legs like chains. You cried out, struggling against them, but they held fast.

"Let me go!" you shouted, anger flashing through your terror.

Jay raised a brow; he moved closer, and for the first time, you caught a glimpse of his face beneath the hood.

His features were sharp, almost otherworldly, and his eyes were a cold, unyielding gray.

"I cannot," he whispered, and then before you could reply, he took you into his embrace.

You struggled against him, your fists pounding against his chest, but it was like hitting stone. He stepped back onto the chariot, holding you fast as the horses reared and plunged into the chasm.

The world above disappeared in a swirl of darkness as you lost your senses.

♡.

When you awoke, you were no longer in the orchard.

The air was cool and heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang that sent shivers down your spine.

You sat up slowly, your heart pounding as you took in your surroundings. The chamber was huge, its walls carved from gleaming black stone that seemed to drink in the dim red light emanating from the ceiling.

And there, sat on an obsidian throne on the other end of the room, was him.

He watched you intently— his hood discarded, with pale skin and a face chiseled, striking yet severe. His dark eyes felt to see right through you, and you hated the way your breath caught under his gaze.

Hades. Ruler of the Underworld.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice hoarse. You stood shakily, glaring at him. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I needed a queen," he said simply, as if that explanation was enough.

You laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the walls. "A queen? You think I'd ever agree to rule this… this pit with you?"

His expression didn't change, though you could have sworn you saw a flicker of something in his eyes-annoyance, perhaps, or amusement.

"You misunderstand," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You don't have a choice."

That struck a nerve. Your hands curled into fists, and despite the fear twisting in your gut, you stepped closer. "No one owns me," you hissed. "Not you, not anyone.”

For the first time, his calm cracked.

He rose with a slow, deliberate movement, and all the weight of his presence came down on you.

"I am Hades," he said, his voice thundering with power. "God of the Underworld, you are here because I chose you, and you will learn to accept that."

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you refused to back down. "And if I don't?"

The silence hung heavy between you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he looked away. "Then you'll remain here as my prisoner. Either way, you belong to me now."

You swallowed hard, anger and fear warring within you. But one thought rose above the rest: You will not let him break you.

With the snap of his fingers, two servants in the form of a skeleton appeared in front of you. They looked at you with their void eyes and then turned around, walking.

You glanced up at Jay, who only beckoned you to follow them.

A scoff escaped your lips as you did just that, anything would be better than staying in the same room as him.

The skeleton's bones made a funny noise as they walked you down the neve -ending hallways. The castle was huge, crimson coated the walls as well as dark black.

“So,” you cleared your throat “Is your boss always like that? Or does he change expressions sometimes?” you tried to joke, but the skeletons didn’t reply.

Of course, they didn’t even have lips, “You can’t tell me anything, uh? Not even where the exit is?”

They just stopped in front of a door, opening it for you. Taking the hint, you slowly stepped inside, cautious.

The chamber was so spacious for only one person, a bed stood in the middle of the room, its sheets a dark shade of red.

The walls were coated with drawings of black dahlias, the ceiling so high it made you think the room never actually ended.

The skeletons closed the door behind your back, leaving you there, alone.

You walked to the bed, sitting on its edge. At least, the mattress was soft, the sheets silk and warm.

You finally allowed a sob to escape your lips, another followed and then another again.

Gods always did what they wanted, never truly considering someone’s feelings. You hated them, but more than anything, you hated Hades.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, if he wanted a wife, you’d show him just what you were made of.

♡.

The tension hung between you like a storm cloud.

Jay had come to visit you when you woke up, followed by a skeleton that placed a trail of pomegranate on your bed.

You didn’t know how much you slept, neither of it was morning or night. The Underworld had no light.

“I hope the chamber is of your likings.” He spoke after an awkward silence. You dared glance at him, but daren’t reply.

Jay let out a soft sigh, “It is the only fruit that grows in my realm, if you want anything in particular, I’ll have one of my servants fetch you something from the orchard in the Olympus.”

Finally, you reached down, picking up the pomegranate. Its scent was sweet, and the faint shimmer of the seeds made them look like tiny jewels.

Usually, you’d go crazy for the bittersweet fruit, but the Underworld made even that look dead, poisonous.

You turned it in your hands as if inspecting it. "And what if I refuse to eat?" you asked, tone sharp.

Jay's lips quirked in what might have been amusement, though it was fleeting. "You won't," he said simply, his voice soft but sure.

Your glare deepened. "How do you know?"

"Because you don't hate life," he said. "Even here, in this place you claim to despise, you'll find a reason to keep going.”

The words struck deeper than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but no words came.

You picked up one of the seeds between your fingers, observing the way the surface shimmered before finally placing it into your mouth.

The flavor burst on your tongue, sweet and tart, and for a moment, you were reminded of the orchards above— the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair, the simple joy of being free.

Jay watched you in silence, his expression unreadable. When you finally set the pomegranate down, he inclined his head slightly. "I'll leave you to your evening," he said, turning to go.

So, it was evening.

But before he could go, your voice stopped him. "Wait."

He turned back; his eyes were steady but questioning.

"Why do you keep trying?" you asked, quieter now. "Why not just leave me to my misery? Use me just for your plans?” after all, it would be typical of the Gods.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, stepping closer, he spoke in a voice so soft it barely carried across the room, “Because I've spent eternity surrounded by shadows, and for the first time, there's a light here."

His words had left you speechless for a moment. He bowed his head slightly and then left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

♡.

The Underworld had a strange beauty to it, though you’d fought to see it.

The palace gardens, in particular, drew your attention on restless nights— or days. They were like nothing you’d ever encountered in the mortal world.

The flowers glowed faintly, their petals a soft silver-blue, and streams of water that sparkled like liquid starlight wove between them.

It was here, one evening, that you sat on a stone bench, your eyes fixed on the ghostly blooms. You didn't hear Jay approach until he spoke.

"You come here often," he said, his voice quiet.

You startled slightly but didn't turn. "I don't have many options," you replied, your tone still edged with defiance.

You had tried to wander around the castle, and Jay let you, but whenever you came too close to the exit, a puddle of shadows rose from the ground and brought you back to your chamber.

Jay sat beside you, leaving enough space to show he wasn't trying to intrude. He looked out at the garden, his gray eyes contemplative. "These flowers," he said after a moment, "Only grow here, nowhere else in existence."

You glanced at him, surprised by the hint of pride in his voice. "You care about them?"

"They're life in a place where life shouldn't exist," he said simply.

The words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of understanding: the Underworld wasn't just a prison to him— it was a responsibility, a realm he nurtured despite its darkness.

It was the realm given to him by his father, and it was his job to keep it going, no matter how much he despised it.

After a moment, you exhaled, leaning back slightly. "Why do you do that?"

He looked at you, brow furrowed. "Do what?

“Say things that make it hard to hate you,” you said, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, perhaps weeks or months. Time seemed to flow slower there.

But you thought it would be easier to hate him, had he been scarier and less gentle. His sharp edges always seemed to soften whenever you walked into the room, and his clothes clung to his form, revealing a body any girl from your village would go crazy about.

Not that you stared at it too much, of course.

To your surprise, Jay’s lips curved into a faint smile of his own. “I thought you’d hate me forever.”

“I’m still considering it,” you shot back, though the teasing note in your voice was unmistakable.

Jay chuckled softly, the sound low and unfamiliar. For the first time, the weight between you seemed to lift, if only slightly.

“Will you ever let me see the light again? The orchard?” or your family. Would your parents be worried, or had Jay already cast a spell on them?

“Depends,” he spoke, “Will you run away if I do.” fair point. The moment the sun kissed your skin again, you were sure you wouldn’t step inside this gloomy castle anymore.

Seeing your lack of reply, Jay just got up and turned around, murmuring “That’s what I thought.”

And for a seconds, you thought you saw something like hurt flicker in his eyes.

♡.

More time passed, and though you had resisted at first, you found yourself softening toward Jay. He had a quiet strength about him, a steady patience that wore down your walls like water against stone.

You spent most of your days in the library. Though your eyes weren’t used to the light anymore, your imagination worked just as fine.

You daydreamed of the life outside the suffocating walls of the Underworld’s castle, you dreamed of someone rescuing you.

And sometimes — but just sometimes — you fantasised about Jay, and his heart made of iron.

One night, as you sat by the fire in the great hall, he joined you, a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth clutched in his hand. "I have something for you," he said; his voice held a rare note of uncertainty. You lifted an eyebrow, curiosity pricked despite yourself. "Another 'gesture'?"

"Of a sort," he said. He unwrapped the bundle, revealing a delicate necklace of silver and black opals.

The stones shimmered like starlight, their glow faint but mesmerizing.

You stared at it, then at him. "Why?"

"It reminded me of you," he said simply. "Strong.. luminous, unyielding."

Your heart skipped a beat, though you fought to keep your expression neutral. "You think flattery will make me forgive you?"

"No," he said, holding the necklace out to you. "But it's the truth."

You hesitated, then reached out to take it. The metal was cool against your skin and for a moment, an odd sense of belonging overtook you, like this place, this moment wasn't entirely foreign.

"Thank you," you said softly and surprised yourself.

Jay's eyes relaxed, and for the first time, you saw not the god who had stolen you but the man beneath— the one who had spent centuries in solitude, yearning for connection.

for someone understanding, someone to love. Perhaps, you could learn to be just that.

You handed the necklace back to him, he looked at it, hurt. He thought you had rejected his gift, but as you turned around and held your hair up, his breath hitched.

“Would you help me put it on?” you questioned, your voice soft, unlike the usual bite it held.

“Of course.” Jay murmured quietly, his touch gentle as he put the jewel around your neck.

It fit perfectly, the dark necklace adorning your once tanned skin.

You smiled. holding it between your fingers, “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled.

Your eyes widened when he took in the sight, he smiled so warmly, and for a moment he even looked human.

“You’re beautiful.” Jay spoke, his voice so soft.

“Hades—“ You said, but he shook his head “Call me Jay.”

You gulped, the room suddenly feeling too hot, “Jay.” you repeated, the name rolling sweetly down your tone.

He let out a soft groan, like it both pained and healed him.

“I know you keep thinking ‘Why me?’” He murmured, caressing your cheek. The first time his skin met yours voluntarily “But for me, it has always been you— from the moment I saw you picking those apples, my heart belonged to you.”

You didn’t even have time to think about it, but your feet went on their tip-toes as you pressed your soft lips on his.

To say he was taken aback was an understatement. His eyes wide as body rigid, and for a moment you thought if maybe, he didn’t love you as much as he claimed.

But then, his hand held your face, the other tangled in your hair as his own lips moved on yours passionately.

Your fingers curled around his shirt, grounding you as uou got lost in the taste of him.

You took the hand that was on your cheek and guided it to rest on your racing heart, “Maybe you have the same effect on me.” You murmured on his lips.

His eyes darkened and he pulled away, “Will you marry me?”

You blinked faintly, your breath hitching at his straight-forwardness.

“Do I have a choice?” He stepped away, his breath still heavy from the kiss, “Yes— yes, I’m giving it to you right now.”

Your brows furrowed, so he added “If you think your future still belongs in the Olympus, then go. The door is actually just around the throne room.”

Jay gulped, hope flickering in his usually gloomy eyes “But if you have some sense of future here, with me, then stay. Stay and let me be your husband.”

You clenched your jaw and looked at the door of the throne room. If you exited it and followed the long hallway, you would be out.

You would see the light, feel the sun tickle your skin, see your family, your friends.

But you weren’t sure that was what you wanted anymore.

Your eyes set again on Jay. His expression had lost hope, like he had already lost.

But you smirked, crossing your arms over your chest “So,” you cleared your throat “When’s the wedding?”

A smile, brother than Apollo’s sun lit up his face as he closed the distance he had put and claimed your lips once more.

“Whenever you want, Y/N.”

♡.

In time, the Underworld became your home. Though the darkness remained, it no longer felt oppressive. The palace, once cold and foreign, now echoed with your laughter. And Jay, once a figure of hate, had become something else entirely.

One day, as you stood by the garden's edge, watching the silver streams flow, he approached you. His steps were quiet, but you felt his presence before you turned.

"You've changed this place," he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

You looked at him, a faint smile playing on your lips. "And you've changed me.

He reached out and took your hand in his, holding it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the ring. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with meaning.

Then he bowed his head slightly, his voice a low murmur "Will you teach me how to love you right?”

You looked at him, at the man who had once been your captor but was now so much more.

Slowly, you nodded. "I will."

[sillyandquiteawkward]

i dont think anyones mentioned the dialogue about the rope in the cockpit. and i just wanna yap about it, bc i end up thinking about it every time i play. it doesnt even matter i just think about it.

curly's comments on the rope:

jimmy's comments on the rope:

things that i think about:

50 credits must be like. 5-20 dollars. i cannot see jimmy seriously betting 50 dollars if he could lose that. altho if everything went Fine but jimmy still lost the bet, he would totally just say something like i wasnt being serious lol or i dont remember saying that (and curly would drop it). if jimmy would win the bet and still remembers he made it, he would still expect curly to pay out (and he would)

curly thinks about jimmy with a lot of nostalgia/humor. its several months since the ship set off, and i imagine this is something jimmy brought up somewhat early on, as its mundane shoot the shit type talking and slight irritation at the job while checking stock of their supplies. something about jimmy not caring about what pony express stocks on the ship. lol why would we even need a rope. weve never touched this. i bet we never even Use it for an entire year. and curly still leaves space for the interaction in his mind.

curly has a memory of the friendship between him and jimmy when he thinks about the rope, but jimmy seemingly never reminisces about the same thing. in his mind jimmy only regards things that he cares about, and the rope is something that only exists to him when hes frustrated at it (when they first made the bet), or when needs it (the door/swansea). he may honestly not even remember he made that comment to curly. it certainly isnt as important to jimmy as it was to curly. which is interesting because this is something hes currently Winning. he has this over curly right now. why doesnt he savor this little victory over curly, if not that hes totally forgotten this moment between them?

curly also admits in good humor to himself that hes loosing. like hes also not really wanting to play in the game jimmy set up, if he felt like he wanted to win against jimmy he could easily find a reason to take the rope out. he could even just be trying to let jimmy win. letting jimmy win the bet would be easier in his mind than him winning and risking jimmy getting upset. he can reminisce the bonding moment between them at pony express, and leave it at that.

jimmy thinks the rope is Strong only when he needs it. he only thinks to compliment/describe it when he can get something from it. this is also very on the nose for jimmy. i keep wanting to come back to jimmy voice. its so blunt and straightforward but its filled to the brim with personality, especially when comparing it to curly. the protagonist's blunt descriptions of his point and click environment is standard until you get to see how curly interacts with his environment and realize damn this guy doesnt give a fuck about anything.

[mostly-imagines]

Things About My Jason

aka things that might weasel their way into details of stories one day, might not

your boy is clocking in at 6’4 + 3/4 inches and about 245 lbs (he’s the only batkid to be taller than bruce). 

he cusses a lot it, usually doesn’t correlate w anger or intensity its just how he expresses himself. he’ll cuss at you sometimes but not at you and he tries his best to never do it out of anger.

he’s never said it out loud but he would drop all the vigilante shit for you in a heartbeat if you wanted him to (i think he’s also the only batfam member who would do that).

you have an agreement in place to never make any big decisions in the middle of the night/post patrol—this came into place after a few too many bad nights had him coming home shaking and panicked about your safety and convinced he needed to leave you alone for good. 

he kind of zones out sometimes, its bordering on dissociation.

you have a black cat, salem, that’s been around since before you and jason had even met. his yellow eyes pierce you in a way that feels like he’s glaring straight into your soul and judging what he sees. he was suspicious of jason for a while but over time has come to love and protect jason almost as much as you.

he has a lot of nervous habits that have built up over years of stress and trauma. he’ll often double or even triple check locks and cameras. his hand tends to go to where his gun holster would be, regardless of whether or not its there. he’s very conscious of your breathing, especially when you’re asleep, and when he’s stressed or upset he’ll try to align his breathing with yours. he worries that you might get annoyed with how often he checks up on you, be it asking directly, texting you, or just looking you over to make sure you’re doing okay, that you’re happy. he’s also made a habit of standing directly behind you when you’re wearing anything short, especially skirts or dresses. You’re not entirely sure if it’s intentional or not.

day to day, he runs on very little sleep naturally so he’s awake early goes to bed late. he used to not focus much on making meals that actually taste good and have thought put into them until he started dating you. he started catering his grocery trips specifically with you in mind and the things you might like. he actually prefers going on grocery trips and little mundane errands with you bc he had no idea that these tiny aspects of life could bring him so much joy and peace. he also buys you new towels and updates your first aid kit constantly, though the latter is more out of his necessity than yours. depending on his mood, he’ll usually either take scalding hot or freezing showers. 

he’s 100% down to let you decorate the apartment however you want, even if you move into his place. his only ask is that he’s left with space to put his books (of which ne needs plenty). if he had to choose, he probably likes a warm atmosphere best, in terms of like lighting and colors. he’s really just not a fan of anything that feels cold or impersonal like the manor can sometimes seem. other than that he doesn’t really have opinions on it, whatever makes you happy he’ll like. but he’ll still happily go shopping with you to find stuff. but really that’ll just look like you saying “ooh look at this” and him saying “great, lets get it” at every single thing you pick up. 

there are unloaded guns and ammo hidden around your apartment and also stocked generously in a closet or two. he cleans them regularly, you think he does it partially as a kind of stress reliever. before you he didn’t have too much regard for his own safety, so he would sleep with one under his pillow. 

he does everything he can to keep you safe and he’ll insist on adding extra locks to the doors and windows, ones the landlord wont have keys to. yeah he’s paranoid so he’ll keep the bed as far from the door as possible and is unrelenting in his insistence that you sleep on the wall side. if you’re too tired to move, that’s okay, he’ll gently move you over himself. honestly though, your apartment is just as secure, if not more, than any of his safe houses. as such, he absolutely can and will easily hack into the lobby security cameras to check up on things. if he has to go away for a while he’ll send one of his siblings to stop by to check on you and make sure you're okay. 

he prefers to wear layers, it makes him feel more secure and comfortable. he does like cutoff sleeves sometimes but only because you like them on him. aside from that, he’s usually not such a fan of showing much skin because of a) his scars and b) he feels exposed to attacks. he has so many long sleeved and warm clothes in his closet that he heavily encourages you to bundle up in some of them when its cold. 

he goes through phases of bad sleep and they can vary greatly in severity. there’s nights he just physically cannot sleep and this usually originates from intense anxiety. these are easier to ease him back from and some simple comforting will be enough to get him to at least try to sleep. most commonly its the nightmares that make it hard for him. it’ll usually be a one-off that he just can’t fall back asleep afterwards. the worst is when he goes through phases of frequent nightmares, like every night, multiple times a night. when that happens, he will do everything in his power to stay awake for as long as he can. you’ve yet to find any techniques that hands down prevent or even slow the nightmares, but you’ve been able to find some remedial measures that work pretty well.

kissing him helps get his mind off scary thoughts (but not joker related) but not just like single peck it’s got to be a whole session to really work. the one that works best is having a hand on one of your pulse points while you sleep, or directly over your heart. unfortunately this did lead to him to accidentally choking you after a particularly bad nightmare. he was absolutely horrified and removed his hands from you completely the second he gained recognition. he actually fully got out of bed and backed away from you. he wouldn’t even hear you out about him not sleeping on the couch and continued to not budge on it for over a week. 

him punishing himself like that made you feel extra bad because that had occurred during a round of the relentless nightmares and you were sure he was still waking up panicked constantly without you there to help soothe him. you actually know for a fact he was because every couple of hours the bedroom door would creak open slightly before shutting again like he was checking to make sure you were there and okay. you ended up having to literally lay on top of him on the couch and refuse to leave him for him to agree to sleep in bed with you again, although he was still not willing to fall asleep with his hands on you for a while. 

he always needs it to be quiet when he goes to sleep so he can stay on alert which usually leads to him waking up to the littlest sounds, which is technically the point. if there’s any kind of white noise he’ll force himself to stay awake. if he does get woken up he’ll go from 0 to 100 like that. he also needs the door to be shut, non negotiable, and really prefers the apartment to be colder > hotter. it also helps that you’ll cuddle into him for warmth.

all of these things are things he did before you met, but he’d also developed some new habits after you got together. he used to sleep in the middle of the bed but now he absolutely insists that you sleep on the wall side so he can act as a protective barrier between you and any incoming danger. unless its after a rough patrol, he tends to wait to sleep until after you’ve fallen asleep. he doesn’t really have a reason for this, it just makes him feel better.

his relationship with bruce is complicated, of course. in my canon, the extent of it is that bruce didn’t kill the joker, prevented jason from doing it, and has made many attempts to stop jason from killing at all. obviously it’s not the fact that batman won’t let anybody die that broke jason’s heart, it’s that his father couldn’t let go of his moral code for a second and avenge his murdered son. the resulting anger stems from so much sadness and grief over his own death and it caused him to isolate himself even further from bruce. on a conscious level, he wanted to be far away from him emotionally as possible to protect himself while still enacting his own kind of revenge towards bruce. and so yeah, he did try to kill batman a couple times, whatever.

on an unconscious level, he’d hoped that bruce would take the initiative to try to close the space between them and apologize, and while jason didn’t know it yet: that was all he really wanted from him. inwardly, he still cares what bruce thinks and wants his approval and affection but its so conflicting for him. it also doesn’t help that it took bruce such a long time to swallow his pride and even consider that he was wrong before he could apologize. a lot of negotiations had to take place before they could even begin to really reconcile. 

about a year later they’d come to a steady, solid agreement that mostly worked for both of them. jason was allowed to kill, but only within his territory in gotham and only under agreed upon circumstances. there’s also a separate rule that jason’s not allowed out on patrol when the joker is loose—it used to be a whole thing before you’d met and oftentimes several bats were assigned to keep him away. even with these guidelines in place, things were still rocky between them and jason had only just started to come back around the manor when he’d met you. honestly you and bruce meeting was a major step in this process and everyone could feel the shift.

his relationship with his brothers is different, but just as complicated. he kind of views dick as being perfect in spite of also acknowledging his flaws. in his head, its sort of like, in comparison to himself, dick had the perfect life with perfect versions of all the same pitfalls jason had to go through. he knows its not really fair to think of it this way, but it’s hard sometimes. all in all though, he does look up to dick a lot. 

with tim, he thinks he’s a crazy rich kid—which, fair—but also in a weird way holds a lot of respect for tim for not being afraid of him. realistically, the way jason showed back up and his relationship  with tim started is insane, so its even more insane that tim was like ‘yeah, chill’ and that probably jump started their bond as brothers more than anything. 

for as much shit as he gives him, he honestly feels really bad for damian and all the shit he was raised believing. he couldn’t quite explain why, but he does see a lot of himself in damian, even past the surface level anger. 

he’s not good at resolving fights, his mind tends to jump to the absolute worst and he assumes you’re done with him, you resent him, it’s all over. it was really bad at the beginning of your relationship when he hadn’t even begun to consider that you love him half as much as he loves you. now, you’ve been able to help him understand that you still love him, even when you fight, and fighting does not equal breaking up. however, he still has trouble taking initiative in making amends. not because he doesn’t want to but more so because he feels vulnerable in ways that terrify him, having to acknowledge and speak into existence that he’d done something wrong feels like setting himself up to be exposed with no defense. 

another part of him feels like he already hurt you and if he tries to remedy things with you, he could just make it worse. So for a while at least, you’ll have to be the one to start the conversation, though not necessarily meaning you have to apologize first. 

as we know, Jason’s not immune to bouts of fear and stress. there’s times when he panics and there’s times when he has full blown panic attacks. the panic attacks are rarer, but much more severe. he’s known to lash out (especially when he’s not at your apartment) and has definitely broken a nose or two of people who got too close/tried to touch him. you’re not sure if it’s an intentional action or not, but he tends to claw at his skin or hit himself in the head when he’s very upset. after going through a couple of these with him, you’ve compiled a thorough list of DOs and DONTs for these times. DONT hold his wrists, move suddenly, touch him without warning, or corner him. DO keep your touches light, words soft, rooms vacant of other people, and loud noises. slowly but surely they’re getting less severe and overcome quicker.

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

ft. gn!reader x anton ivanov, ben bigger, lighter, von lycaon, wise ; no applicable warnings! my first request (i tried to finish it before christmas in my timezone, but still, merry christmas to the anon who requested this :DD and to those reading!!) hehehhe i hope its good enough｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

anton ivanov

you cannot look me in the eye and tell me this man isn’t the type to yell “this is for you!” or “if i hit this you give me a kiss” and completely miss whatever target he’s supposed to hit. he hits it. sometimes. he still gets a kiss anyways.

[“dude” “we’re literally dating and you’ve placed your lips on mine do NOT call me dude.” “…babe”]

big on gift giving and words of affirmation in terms of love languages. he makes sure to put a lot of thought into whatever he gives to you to properly convey his appreciation and show just how much you mean to him.

"strong, sincere, and straightforward." he's definitely the type to encourage you to try new things especially when you're the type to get easily nervous. if you're scared of looking stupid, don't worry; he'll do it with you hand-in-hand so you can be stupid together. becomes your no. 1 hype man and would give you his honest opinions whenever you need ‘em.

you see or hear him talking to his jackhammer bro for the most mundane or random things and you've become used to it at this point. its honestly endearing (you're hopeless)

["bro do you think they'd still love me if i was a worm?" "vroom vroom vroom" “you think so?” “vroom” "yeah, you're right."]

ben bigger

scary bear privileges meaning no one wants to mess with you knowing that you're dating someone who cuts such an intimidating presence but you know better than them because ben would much rather use his paws to tap away at a calculator or spreadsheet than willingly get into fights.

on that note, he's most likely to be the best companion for grocery shopping; he'll know how to get all the good discounts and haggle for the best prices for sure.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 1. although he puts his fur care second, it's still soft and fuzzy to the touch and he likes that you appreciate the warmth it provides too.

since he struggles with some of his accounting responsibilities due to the size of his paws, sometimes you help him with sorting some of belobog industries' financial documents and eventually you end up finding the task quite relaxing after a while of doing it.

but, of course, he loves spending time with you outside of work. anything to take his mind off of the horrors of accounting. he'll mentally file away anything he learns about you when you're together for future purposes, may it be gift or date ideas.

he's the bear thiren between both of you, but in private he loves cuddling against you like you're some sort of plush toy. you don't mind. another win-win situation because you get to rest against him like a giant pillow as well.

lighter

he tries to be flirty with you and sometimes it works! but when you match his energy and it backfires on him he turns into a blushing mess who doesn’t know what to do with himself.

also the type to want to show off or act all suave. he has an image to keep as the undefeated champion! the red scarf! (he’s internally giggling and kicking his feet from one [1] cheek kiss you left in passing).

date nights with him sometimes consist of drives on his bike and stargazing at a nice little spot he found in blazewood. then halfway through, he’d get distracted from seeing the stars in your eyes and think that its a hundred times better than the real thing and fall in love all over again.

“gets as many challenges as love letters” but he makes sure that you and anyone who tries to make a move know that he only has eyes for you. could be in the form of having an arm around your waist or his jacket on you when you feel cold.

a physical touch and acts of service guy because. well. he did say he’d like to die for love one day. that’s a very romantic thing to say and do. also his heart still races whenever you hold his hand but he swears he’s getting used to it (he isn’t). probably melts when you gently run your fingers over his face or any of his scars

i honestly feel like he's one of those "me and my bae don't argue they just tell me to shut up and i do" types.

von lycaon

an ideal date for him would be a fancy dinner or picnic somewhere nice and discreet. complete with scented candles, your favorite flowers, and homecooked food (which probably tastes better than anything you've ever eaten at any restaurant). then at some point when both of you have finished eating and you're both in conversation, he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves a kiss on your knuckles.

["darling, your face is...concerningly red. are you feeling alright?" "i'm fine. i think."]

you WILL be receiving that prince/princess treatment (threat). breakfast in bed when he isn’t busy, spontaneous massages offered when you mention ONCE that you feel tired, and all that jazz. you probably will never have to open another door yourself with him around and he ALWAYS offers his arm for you to take when you're walking together.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 2. just prepare yourself for horrendous shedding as summer begins… but you don’t mind helping him brush through his fur (*´ω`*) its therapeutic and you’re one of the very few people he trusts with the task so its a win for both of you.

since he's a wolf thiren, he sometimes unwillingly attracts the attention of stray cats and dogs; he usually pays them no mind but it is somewhat of an inconvenience for him. however, the sight of you playing with them while quietly cooing eases some of his discomfort. seems like you aren't the only one suffering from cuteness aggression.

his guilty pleasure is squishing your cheeks in his hands. no i will not elaborate

wise

this is one of the random play managers we’re talking about, so. movie date nights are mandatory. both of you alternate when picking movies but sometimes you bicker over options like an old married couple just for the fun of it.

a lot more chill when it comes to PDA but he can be flirty when he wants to be. if he knows you have a weak spot for it, he uses it to his advantage to get what he wants. scheming little minx. /pos

words of affirmation and quality time guy, i think. since he's always so busy with managing the store and completing commissions alongside belle as proxies, he makes the most out of the time you guys can spend together alone. even if it's just laying in his bed or on the couch doing nothing together sometimes.

everyone and their mothers and grandmothers on sixth street will probably know that you’re dating or figure something out at some point even when both of you don’t really do much together in public/are trying to keep it on the low. never underestimate these aunties man

unfortunately for wise, he will become the target of teasing or nagging from belle when it comes to your relationship. once you get close enough she'll also share embarrassing stories from when they were younger or before you and wise started dating much to her brother’s chagrin.

secretly likes clinging and cuddling up to you like a koala. both of you are in bed? oh okay, don’t mind him, he’ll just scooch a bit and wrap his arms and legs around you, claiming that having you in his bed helps fix his insomnia (it does, to some degree). [“wise i can’t move.” “you don’t need to.”]

on the days you help out with tasks in random play, you could quite literally just be standing while doing something and then you’ll feel a pair of arms sneak around your waist from behind as he leans his head on one of your shoulders with a quiet, satisfied sigh.

[wearysparrows]

The D Word

ao3/masterlist

Summary: At Tara's suggestion, you try something different on the phone with Sylus. Things quickly escalate.

CW(18+): daddy kink, phone sex (kind of), masturbation, dirty talk, fem (afab) reader, female terms of endearment are used, cringe pet names, porn with feelings, reader is MC, sylus is not a booktok daddy dom, he's so much more than that to me 3.4k

“Why don’t you just try it? He seems to dote on you so much already. It doesn’t seem like a stretch.”

Tara, your best friend and semi-frequent interloper into your personal relationships, was attempting to convince you to get under Sylus’s skin. “Skye,” as she knew him. Your boyfriend in every sense of the word – except that you had never made it official. Tara was especially privy to this fact – it had become nearly impossible to hide all of the time you spent with Sylus from her, nevermind the constant influx of gifts and attention from him. He had never broached the subject of putting a name on your current relationship, and you had been too nervous to ask for fear of scaring him off, or being rejected. As things stood now, you were soaking up what he was willing to give you – which, to be fair, was quite a bit. 

Tara wasn’t wrong, though. Despite your lack of a label, you had begun to rely on Sylus in a way that differed from anyone else in your life. While your relationship had started on a purely professional level, it had quickly evolved into something much more personal. As it stood now, you even relied on him for assistance with mundane tasks – like helping you build furniture, or heavy lifting that you could definitely do but didn’t want to if there was a big, strong Sylus around instead. He came at your beck and call without much complaint, and often initiated spending time with you on his own accord.

Still, there was one aspect that was missing. Despite your continually growing affection and reliance on him, you and Sylus had never been truly intimate with each other. You had definitely sexted him more than a few times – and he had happily reciprocated. You weren’t an idiot, either. You were certain you had felt him hard against you more times than you could count while settling down to a movie, or while lazing around in bed. This was another thing that he had never broached of his own volition – which made you reluctant to try Tara’s line of encouragement to tease him. You weren’t sure if he was being respectful, just wasn’t that into you, or if it was something else entirely.

“I don’t know, Tara. What if he like, gets grossed out and completely drops me?”

Tara, who was sitting across from you on the couch in your apartment, wrapped up like a burrito with a cup of tea in her hands, raised a quizzical eyebrow in your general direction.

“Are you kidding me? The man looks at you like he’s liable to eat you at any moment. You could probably ask him to take the moon down for you, and he’d find a way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her turn of phrase. Her encouragement was wearing away at your reservations. If he hated it, maybe he’d just brush it off and pretend it never happened. Best case scenario, you figured. You didn’t even want to consider the worst case scenario. You sighed, relenting to her devious plans for your situationship. She had yet to steer you wrong when you had come to her for advice in the Sylus department.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try it. If it all comes crashing down, I’m blaming you, though.”

Tara grinned, looking extremely pleased with herself. She sipped her tea innocuously, hiding her smile behind the drink as if you hadn’t already seen its evil intent.

“You have to let me know how it goes.”

This was how you had ended up pacing around your house that night, unable to bear executing your plan from the safety of your bed. You had too much nervous energy, even after completing your nighttime routine. It was late – around 11PM. Just around the time you knew that Sylus had finally begun to start his “day.” You had locked and unlocked your phone to send him a text more times than you could count, now. You stared at the irritatingly blank message box under Sylus’s contact. It really wasn’t helpful that the last set of messages between you two was about something incredibly innocuous – something about going to the shooting range to blow off some steam. The friendly nature of the messages did nothing to bolster your confidence on this matter. You made your way to the couch, finally forcing yourself to stop screwing around. You put a blanket over your bare legs, which had taken on a bit of a chill from the night air in the apartment. You opened the message thread between you and Sylus. You took a breath. Your heart thudded around, and threatened to take up residence next to your intestines as you typed out a message.

Me:

Hi. Whatcha doing?

11:03PM

You eyeballed your own text. Innocent enough. You weren’t sure if Sylus would even respond – sometimes the two of you were both so busy that you went days without contact. It wasn’t ideal, but to be expected considering the nature of your lives. You, a Deepspace Hunter, and him, the enigmatic leader of Onychinus. Despite earlier anxieties, you knew now that Sylus would always get back to you eventually. You couldn’t help your surprise, though, when his response came within the same minute of your original message.

Sylus:

In a meeting. grueling. Everything OK?

11:03PM

You stared at his response. This was the one thing that was difficult about texting Sylus – he wasn’t one for casual conversation over text, unless it was about making plans, or very brief. He seemed to be under the assumption that you texting him, especially at night, was because you needed something from him. He technically wasn’t wrong in this case, you mused, though you weren’t sure it was a need he was even willing to fulfill. Or cared to. You worried your lip between your teeth, trying not to doubt yourself now. Tara’s words about Sylus wanting to eat you came back into your mind, and you stifled a laugh in the silence of your empty apartment. You imagined him sitting in on his meeting, bored out of his mind. The image made you want to see him all the more.

Me:

Everything’s fine. Couldn’t sleep and I was just thinking about you

11:04PM

You had to force yourself to hit send, squeezing your eyes shut as you did so. It wasn’t as if you had never told Sylus something like this before (though not enormously often), but your trepidation about your plans was combined with the fact that he was currently in a meeting, and therefore liable to ignore your texts entirely (for good reason). Being rejected in an indirect way was somehow worse than if he had just outright said he wasn’t interested. Despite your reservations, the reply came quickly.

Sylus:

Funny, I was thinking about you too. want to tell me exactly what it is you’ve been thinking about me?

11:04PM

You felt your face heat up into a hot crimson at his response. It wasn’t overt at all – and you couldn’t even be quite sure that he had meant it like that . It was sometimes impossible to tell with Sylus, especially over text. He often said things that could be taken many ways. You were certain that you could be inconveniencing him in whatever extremely-serious-Sylus-business meeting he was engaged with. But it was too late to back out now. Your mind was made up. You took a breath, steadying yourself.

Me:

Was thinking about what we’d do if you were here. It’s pretty cold tonight.

11:04PM

You opened your camera app. The room was somewhat dark, so your form was a bit obscured, but just visible enough in the low light to take a photo. You turned over to lay on your stomach, and kicked your feet leisurely into the air. You were wearing one of Sylus’s big sweaters, which he had loaned out to you in the name of the recently dropping temperatures. Other than that, you had elected only to wear your panties underneath it. You snapped a picture, not including your face. You squinted at it. It showed the slope of your back, and the swell of your ass, just barely peeking out to show your panties from under his sweater. The bare soles of your feet and the backs of your bare legs were visible, too. You quickly righted yourself onto your back, pulling the blanket back over your form. You attached the photo to the message and hit send before you could change your mind. You buried your face in the blanket. You weren’t sure about the logistics of him opening the photo in his meeting – but considering it was Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, Relentless Conqueror ,  you doubted it was that much of a problem. 

There was a space of about two minutes before Sylus’s reply, and you had already begun to worry that you had somehow managed to push it too far this time. Maybe he just wasn’t that into you. But the reply came just as you had begun debating apologizing for overstepping.

Sylus:

Do you think it’s fun to get me all riled up while there’s other men in the room? If I was there, I’d already have two fingers inside of you.

11:06PM

Attached was a photo of Sylus from the waist down. He was seated with his legs open in a relaxed position. You recognized the black slacks he was wearing – some of his favorites. You even recognized his shoes. The carpet you didn’t recognize. Clearly in an establishment belonging to someone else. But none of this was important, because you could clearly see the outline of his erection straining against his pants. And it was big . You knew Sylus was big – of course you did. There was never any doubt. You had felt it before. You tried to imagine what it would feel like to take him all in when he was fully aroused. You were already feeling slick between your thighs. He had casually taken a photo of his hardon during a meeting. He was hard because of you.

Shit.

You had never even gone so far as to feel each other up (short of fleeting touches), but he was already talking about fingering you over text after just one slightly risque photo. You would have to unpack that another time. Right now, there were more pressing matters. You figured now was as good a time as any to try it out – Tara’s idea. Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. You forced your fingers to swipe across the keyboard. Your anxiety and arousal had combined into a feeling like that of nearly being outside of your body as you typed, and you hardly recognized your own words on the screen before you sent them.

Me:

I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy

11:06PM

You flung your phone to the end of the couch, where it landed with a soft thud . You could hardly send the message, let alone read it back more than once. You put your face in your hands, wondering if you had just screwed up all of the time you had spent cultivating your current relationship – whatever it was – with Sylus. While you had nothing for contempt for him when you had first encountered him, he had slowly wormed his way into your mind until he began to consume your every waking thought. You were always wondering where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. If he was thinking about you. If he was wondering about you, too.

There was a lull of time, and Sylus still hadn’t responded. One minute passed, then two, then three, then four. You felt yourself begin to sweat with the anxiety of it, and kicked the blanket from your body once again. Maybe you really had fucked up. You reached for your phone, intending to check the time. As soon as you touched it, it began to ring. You nearly dropped it again in your shock, but managed to right it in your hands. It was Sylus calling. Your palms were slick with sweat.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 His name and contact photo stared you squarely in the face from your phone screen. You gawked at it while it rang. You had never expected him to call you in response to your teasing – nevermind the fact that he had been in a meeting only minutes prior. Maybe he even intended to admonish you. Your heart had begun to beat erratically. In your anxiety and excitement, you even had begun to feel a bit nauseous. You took a great intake of breath, steadying yourself. You hit the answer button with a shaky thumb.

“Hello?” You answered. Your voice sounded much calmer than you felt. As if you hadn’t just been asking your not-boyfriend to put his dick inside you over text. As if you hadn’t just referred to him as daddy. Your knee bounced up and down involuntarily, your nervous energy having nowhere else to direct itself. It felt like ages before he responded on the other end of the line.

“Tell me what you just told me over text.” 

You felt your ears grow even hotter at his command. His tone was raspy and hushed. He sounded needy . You had never heard his voice like this before. The sound of it only made you feel even more aroused than you already were, combined with his commanding timbre. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he was trying not to be discovered, somewhere. Had he stepped out of the meeting just to call you for this? You twisted your thighs together, squirming.

The thought of following through with his command flooded you with even more embarrassment than you already felt. Over text was one thing, but over the phone? You had hardly had the guts to send it, let alone say it out loud. Your mouth suddenly felt even more dry. Your tongue flicked out in an attempt to wet your lips, with little success.

“I..”

You attempted to start, but you lost steam. You took a shaky breath. Sylus was quiet on the other end of the line. Clearly waiting for you to continue. It was if you could feel his gaze on you, without even being with you here. If Sylus wanted something, he wouldn’t stop until he got it. You began again.

“I said I…that I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy.” You couldn’t help but emphasize the last word, just a little. He seemed like he was into it, after all. Your own voice sounded foreign to your ears. 

“Fuck. ” Came the growl of a response. It was rare to hear Sylus curse – and something about you eliciting that response from him was incredibly sexy. You felt your core pulse in response to just one word from him. You heard the sound of metal jingling –  what you thought sounded like him struggling with his belt. 

Did he go to the bathroom or something to get himself off on the phone with you?

You swallowed dryly. Sylus’s voice came to you again. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, princess. My pretty girl. If I was there right now, I’d be fucking you so hard that you’d forget your own name.” 

You heard fabric rustling, and the sound of wet skin on skin. He was definitely jerking off to this. He had referred to you as his . You desperately resisted the urge to get yourself off at the same time – you wanted to enjoy him losing his composure over you, just this once. It was rare for him to lose face in front of you – let alone show you a side of him like this. You pressed your ear against the speaker harder, trying to catch more of his noises. He continued speaking. 

“And you’re wearing my shirt. I just know you’d feel so fucking tight around my cock. I’ve wanted to take you for so long, baby. But I’ve held back. Fuck .”

Your panties were completely soaked, now. You opted to remove them entirely, discarding them thoughtlessly over the edge of the couch, exposing yourself to the cool night air. You thought about Sylus touching himself to the thought of you. To the thought of being inside of you. How he might feel inside of you. Stretching you to your very limits. You suddenly felt very, very empty without him filling you up.

“You can fuck me the next time you come over. I want you to. Really badly.” You blurted, voice barely above a whisper. It sounded incredibly loud to you in the stillness of your apartment. It hadn’t been at all what you intended to say – despite the insanity of the situation, you were worried offering yourself up to him so soon would somehow still put him off of it. But it was what you wanted. You couldn’t help but be honest when he was like this.

“Shi–iit,” He breathed.

“I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. And you’re gonna take all of my cum inside, do you understand? You’re going to be so good and take it all for me.” 

You could tell he was already getting close. The wet, lewd sound on the other end of the line had increased its tempo, and he was breathing so hard you swore you could almost feel his hot breath in your ear as if he were already on top of you, inside of you. You clenched around nothing for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. You had no idea you could want someone this much.

“You can cum inside me, daddy. I’ll take it all, okay? As...as many times as you want.” You had begun to feel more confident now, emboldened by Sylus’s response to your words. You didn’t know you could have such a strong effect on him. Despite your nervousness, you began to feel the beginnings of anticipation for when he would actually fuck you.

“Fuck. Fu-uuck . Gonna cum, baby. Holy shit. ” His orgasm was nearly silent except for his words and the intensity of his breath. You wondered if he was always quiet, or if it was just because he was getting off to the sound of your voice in a public place that he shouldn’t be. You squirmed, your own unresolved arousal now leaking onto your thighs. You wiped at it half heartedly. You could hear Sylus panting, trying to collect himself. Righting his pants and belt after cleaning himself off quickly. You listened intently to these sounds. He had cum so quickly to you that you almost couldn’t believe what had just happened.

His voice came to you again, still sounding a bit wrecked.

“If I could, I’d come there right now and take care of you. I’m going to come and see you tomorrow. As soon as I can. Wait for me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his insistence. He was trying to reassure you, you realized. He wouldn’t just disappear back into his world like nothing had just happened between you. Your heart fluttered in your chest like a bird that longed to go to him from its cage. 

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. Sorry for interrupting your meeting.” Not that you were actually sorry. Still, it was only right to apologize.

Sylus snorted in response.

“You’re much more important than these fools. But I do have to get back to them eventually, unfortunately. I’m sure they’re wondering where I’ve gone. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” 

Butterflies flitted about in your stomach. Sylus referring to your importance in his life always made your insides twist up in all different directions. You wanted to be filled up with him in more ways than one.

“Okay. Talk to you soon. Bye, Sylus.” 

“Goodnight, little dove.”

You hung up the line. The air suddenly felt very empty without the sound of Sylus panting in your ear, and the cold began to creep back into your bones. Despite him never having actually been with you physically during the call, he had certainly managed to warm you up. You padded quickly back into your bedroom and buried yourself into the plush blankets of your bed. You thought about getting off – but Sylus’s words came to you.

Wait for me.

You knew that Sylus was a man of his word. He had never fallen back on a promise to you, and you knew tomorrow would be no different. It would be better if you held off. The anticipation made it that much more intense. You elected to finally find your way to sleep, your last thoughts conjuring images of all the ways Sylus would find to bend and fold you over for his own pleasure.

[solxamber]

Pomefiore, 7, Comedy/Fluff

everytime i see a pomefiore request, an angel gains its wings

Always Watching || Rook Hunt

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything" ; Genre: Comedy/Fluff

You slumped against the bed, your head drooping as you let out a pitiful groan. Rook sat beside you with a concerned expression, holding your hands gently in his own.

"Mon amour," he said, voice dripping with theatrical worry, "you look as though the very life has been drained from your enchanting form."

"That’s because it has," you muttered. "Crowley’s got me running around like his personal errand mule. I’m doing everything except polishing his tailcoat at this point. I’m so tired, Rook. I think my soul is trying to escape my body."

Rook's eyes narrowed, and a dangerous glint flickered behind the veneer of his charming smile. He tilted his head, his golden hair catching the dim light. "Ah, such a grave injustice cannot stand."

You sighed, too exhausted to argue. "Unless you’ve got some magic solution to deal with Crowley, I’m just gonna have to suffer until I keel over or he decides he’s bored of me."

Rook’s smile sharpened. "Leave everything to me, ma chérie. For you, anything."

You didn’t think much of it. Rook often said dramatic things, and you figured he was just trying to cheer you up. You kissed his cheek, thanked him, and promptly fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

The next day, Crowley summoned you to his office. Expecting another list of unreasonable tasks, you dragged yourself there, only to be greeted by something completely unexpected: a visibly nervous Crowley.

“Ah, prefect,” he said, wringing his hands. “Good news! I’ve decided there’s no need for you to handle all those tasks. I realized that as a benevolent and magnanimous headmaster, I may have been… overly reliant on you.”

You stared. “...Really?”

“Yes, yes,” he said quickly, waving his hand. “Go, enjoy your youth or whatever it is students do. No need to thank me. Now, off you go!” He ushered you out of his office, looking pale and slightly sweaty.

You blinked in confusion but decided not to question it. After all, a reprieve was a reprieve. And who were you to argue with divine intervention?

Later, you met up with Rook in the woods. You relayed the strange encounter with Crowley, still baffled. "It’s so weird. He looked… spooked, almost. But hey, I’m not complaining. It’s about time he stopped using me as his personal assistant."

Rook chuckled, his emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, ma douce étoile, perhaps the universe has finally decided to grant you mercy."

You raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?"

He leaned in close, his cryptic smile widening. "Moi? I am but a humble admirer of beauty. How could I possibly influence the decisions of our esteemed headmaster?"

You squinted at him. "Rook—"

Before you could press further, he grabbed your hand and twirled you dramatically. "Come, my love! Let us revel in the splendor of the forest! The beauty of nature is calling, and I refuse to let you waste another moment thinking about mundane matters."

And just like that, you were whisked away into another one of Rook’s adventures. His enthusiasm was infectious, and soon you forgot all about Crowley’s odd behavior.

Unbeknownst to you, Crowley had indeed woken up the previous night to find an arrow lodged inches from his head, attached to a note written in elegant, looping script:

Mon cher directeur,

While I greatly admire your leadership, I must request that you cease overburdening the prefect. I have many talents, as you know, and it would be a shame for them to be used against you.

Always watching.

Crowley had nearly fainted. By morning, he’d resolved to do whatever it took to stay on Rook’s good side—even if it meant giving you the break you deserved.

And Rook? He kept his secret, because in his eyes, what mattered most was your happiness.

Masterlist

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER NINETEEN: toothpaste

masterlist

*if you want the full sjap chososcamgirl experience click here!

Toothpaste.

That was all she needed.

The familiar jingle of the doorbell sounded as she stepped into the pharmacy, its ring echoing briefly before being swallowed by the soft hum of fluorescent lights above. She moved past the aisles with purpose, the faint scent of antiseptic and the bittersweet smell of charcoal lingering in the air.

At the counter, a brown-haired girl in her late twenties leaned against the register, lazily blowing out smoke from a cigarette.

"Shoko," her name tag read in bright red letters.

Pretty name.

"Hey," she muttered, a casual greeting as she passed. The girl didn't look up, but offered a half-hearted smile, her eyes unfocused as she exhaled smoke, lost in whatever thoughts dulled her day.

Toothpaste.

The word repeated in her head like a quiet mantra, the task simple, mundane. She wandered down the aisles with mechanical precision, her gaze flicking over shelves of medicines and other pharmacy essentials.

Her fingers brushed against boxes, but she didn't really look at them. She wasn't here to linger.

And then she stopped.

A stillness took hold of her. Her body froze mid-step, her pulse quickening in a way that had nothing to do with the cold air of the aisle.

In the distance, there was a figure. His back was to her, his face buried in his hands, almost in a gesture of resignation or frustration. His stance was familiar in an unsettling way, as if he was trying to disappear into the shelves, as if he were searching for something he didn't know how to find.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the hum of the lights suddenly deafening in her ears. The shape, the posture, the way his shoulders slumped-it was him.

For a moment, she debated standing there. Still, until he noticed her. 

Then, just as her mind screamed at her to stay, she saw him start to turn—his head shifting, eyes beginning to look her way.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and without thinking, she bolted. She pivoted on her heel, her breath quick and shallow as she darted toward the next aisle, her legs carrying her as fast as they could.

She whips out her phone in frustration and starts furiously typing.

“Hey.”  

She freezes, fingers hovering over the screen of her phone, her mind torn between the message she was about to send and the voice she recognizes. Slowly, she looks up.  

His gaze locks with hers.  

Megumi Fushiguro.  

Her eyes narrow, irritation flaring as she exhales sharply. Without a word, she pushes past him, intent on finding what she came for. 

Toothpaste.  

The aisle ahead is a chaotic jumble of brightly coloured shampoo and conditioner bottles—too many choices, too many distractions. She weaves through the sea of products, her focus narrowing to the search for the one thing she came here for.  

“Yn, please, I’m sorry.”  

The words make her blood boil. God, she hates the tone he’s using. It’s almost like he doesn’t get it.  

She bites her lip, trying to ignore the sting of his voice, but before she can refocus, she feels his hands settle gently on her shoulders. It takes all her willpower not to jerk away.  

Not now, Megumi. 

Finally, she spins around, giving him the sharpest glare she can muster.  

“What do you want, Megumi?” she spits, every syllable laced with frustration.  

His frown deepens, his eyes flicking to her lips, a hesitant tension hanging between them. He bites his lip, visibly unsure of how to proceed.  

“I just... I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”  

Her jaw tightens, and she shoots a pointed glance back at the shelves, pretending to be absorbed in the endless row of oral care products. She couldn’t care less about his apology.  

“I heard you the first time,” she mutters, grabbing the toothpaste off the shelf with one hand, her grip tight and fingers stiff. 

A beat of silence stretches between them. Megumi’s voice cuts through again, softer, but with the same persistent edge.  

“So... you’ll forgive me?”  

She scoffs, shaking her head with a bitter laugh, her patience wearing thin. Of course, he would ask something so dumb.  

Finally, her eyes land on the familiar packaging.

Toothpaste.

She picks it up, turning to face him with a glare that could melt stone.  

“No. And if that’s all you have to say, then I’m leaving.” 

With that, she brushes past him once again, this time with more force, walking swiftly toward the checkout counter. She can still smell the lingering scent of cigarettes, the same stale air she’d walked into when she first arrived.  

The conveyor belt moves slowly beneath her, and she places the toothpaste down with a faint clink. Her fingers automatically slip into her pocket, searching for her wallet.  

And then, she hears it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her.  

She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. Her shoulders sag, frustration mounting in her chest. Of course he’d follow me.

She groans internally, preparing herself for whatever nonsense he’ll say next.

"Will this guy ever get a fucking life?" she mutters under her breath, barely holding back an eye roll.

“I got it,” a voice called from behind her.

The cashier, unfazed by the tension hanging in the air, set her pornographic magazine aside and casually picked up the toothpaste. Her cigarette, still smouldering in her mouth, bobbed up and down as she scanned the item, her expression completely indifferent to the moment's awkwardness.

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied Megumi from head to toe, as if waiting for him to do something else.

"Oh shit, uh, and these too," he stammered, placing the box of Magnum condoms on the conveyor belt, nervously scratching his neck.

Yn's eyes flickered to the box and then back to him. "Big night planned, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with mock amusement as she glared at the condoms.

Megumi’s face reddened. "Oh, uh, those aren’t for me," he mumbled, his discomfort palpable.

She merely gave a disinterested "Mhm," chewing the inside of her gum as the cashier processed the transaction.

Megumi opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but was cut off by her.

"Did you guys want a bag?" she asked flatly.

"Yeah, please," Yn answered quickly, eager to leave the awkwardness behind.

The sound of plastic rustling filled the silence, only intensifying the tension. The cashier bagged their items with a practised, almost bored efficiency—as if this kind of transaction was the least exciting thing to happen all day.

Before Megumi could protest any further, a cloud of smoke from the cashier’s cigarette drifted in their direction. She didn’t even flinch.

“That’ll be 4250 yen, please,” she said lazily, still grinning, unfazed by the duo hacking their lungs out from the smoke.

Megumi quickly covered his mouth with his arm, pulling out his wallet with the sort of frantic haste only a person desperate to escape awkwardness can manage. He fumbled with his card, sliding it into the reader. The machine beeped.

Yn grabbed the bag in one swift motion, already on her way out of the store.

Megumi, looking flustered but relieved, gave a curt nod to the cashier before jogging after her, eager to leave the bizarre scene behind.

The cashier took another slow drag from her cigarette, her eyes following the two figures darting across the parking lot. She exhaled a thick plume of smoke, watching them with a detached amusement, tinged with something darker—something she didn’t care to name.

"Kids," she muttered to herself, shaking her head with a soft, resigned chuckle before turning her attention back to the magazine before her, as if it might shield her from whatever she couldn’t bear to witness.

—

The sharp click of shoes on wet concrete echoed in the cold night, piercing the stillness like a warning. 

"Yn, please!" Megumi’s voice cracked, strained with exhaustion and desperation as he closed the gap between them.

Yn kept her head down, hands shoved deep into her pockets, the cold metal of the keys biting into her skin. Her pace quickened, heart racing as though the faster she moved, the less likely he would be able to reach her, to make her turn around. She couldn’t hear him. Not now. Not when everything she’d been holding back was on the edge of spilling over.

"Megumi, stop," she whispered, voice tight, trembling at the edges. "I already told you, I—"

Before she could finish, she felt his hand grip her wrist, pulling her to a halt. The sudden force of it made her breath catch, and for a moment, she was still trapped between the pull of his touch and the weight of her own resolve.

She looked at him, and everything inside her stilled.

His eyes weren’t the same. They were darker now, heavy with something deeper than she had ever seen in them before. No arrogance. No defiance. Only raw, unfiltered regret. Sadness. The kind that seemed to press in on his chest, making it hard to breathe, to think. He couldn’t meet her gaze for long; his eyes flickered to the ground, and for a moment, he looked like he might break. Like his whole world was about to shatter into a thousand pieces, right there on the wet pavement.

"Yn, please," he whispered, voice breaking, so full of pain it made her chest tighten. "I never meant any of it. What I said... it was so fucking stupid. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to lose you. I know... I know it’s selfish, asking you to stay, but I can’t... I can’t lose you. Please." 

"Megumi, I—"

He cut her off, his voice hoarse, trembling with the weight of everything he hadn’t said before. "And I know you told me you weren’t ready for a relationship, and I’ve tried to understand that, to give you space. I’ve accepted it, even if it wasn’t easy. But..." His words faltered, and for a moment, he looked like he might swallow them back down, like they were too heavy for him to carry. But then he breathed in, steadying himself. 

"But Yn... I would wait a thousand lifetimes for you. I would wait forever, if that’s what it took, because I want to be with you. I need to be with you. And not just because I miss you, or because I feel lost without you, but because... because, Yn, I want you. In a way I never thought I could want anyone." 

He paused, the weight of his own confession sinking in, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the space between them with the quiet intensity of a truth he could no longer keep buried. 

“So hate me all you want Yn, just please don’t shut me out. I’ve spent so much time thinking I could walk away, that I could let you go, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Not anymore." 

His chest rose and fell with the effort of his words, like he was trying to catch his breath after running a race he didn’t even know he was in. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer force of his emotions breaking through. His hand clenched at his side, his knuckles white, as if holding on to something he might lose if he let go. His eyes were fixed on hers, pleading without words, desperate without asking. 

For the first time in a long time, there was no bravado, no walls between them. Only the quiet truth of a man who had finally realised that what he felt for her wasn’t something he could walk away from. And he was asking—no, begging—for her to see it, to feel it, too.

His grip on her wrist tightened, his fingers trembling. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes, as though the weight of his own guilt might crush him if he held her gaze for too long. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the torrent of emotion that was threatening to spill over, but it was there—raw, uncontained.

Yn exhaled, the weight of his words settling over her like a fog. She wanted to pull away, to shut herself off from him—everything inside her screaming for distance—but she couldn’t. Not with him standing there, broken, stripped bare in front of her. 

She shook her head slowly, the words thick in her throat. "Megumi... I could never hate you." The confession hung in the air between them, fragile and heavy with everything they had left unsaid. 

His eyes snapped back to hers, searching for something—anything—that would give him hope. And in that moment, when the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, a single streetlight flickered above them, casting his face in a pale, golden halo. She froze. In that soft glow, she remembered. She remembered how he had always been beautiful—how she saw him for the first time underneath the lucent lights with his guitar, to the man standing in front of her carrying nothing but a bag of toothpaste and condoms. For a fleeting second, it felt like time had both stopped and rewound, all at once.

A fragile shift passed between them, unspoken but undeniable. His hand slipped from her wrist, fingers brushing lightly against her skin as if afraid to touch her too firmly, as if the very act of reaching for her might undo them both. But then, with no more hesitation, no more words to hold them back, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a kiss of anger, of apology, or even of reconciliation. It was everything—everything they’d held back, buried too deep for too long. The crash of everything unspoken, everything broken, everything still raw between them. It was the kiss they should have shared ages ago, but neither of them had been ready for. It was the space between their words—the silence that had stretched so long, finally, finally given form. 

And in that kiss, there was no more distance. No more fear. No more hesitation. Just the weight of everything they hadn’t let go of, suddenly, impossibly, all at once.

backstage!

• panda sent the ynmegumi gc a text like “plan in motion” so they all celebrated with a movie night (??)

• dunno know WHY they thought it would work

• it did so ig it’s okay…

• they knew their plan worked after ynmegumi turned their location sharing off LMFAOOOO

• shoko was definitely fan service for ree (are you reading this ree? are you?? are you?? did you like it??? do i get a kiss on the cheek?? do i??)

• but her working in the pharmacy isn’t THAT ooc so #cry

• she did not gaf about ynmegumi😭 she just let them have their moment

• brought her flashbacks to stsg gay asses #LetGodBeTrueQuickly🙌🙌

• yn wants to be main character soooo bad omfg girl give it up

• complete parking lot fight slash makeup scene cliché SUE ME

• btw they left the toothpaste out on the gravel for some reason so yn did in fact not get the stupid ass toothpaste

• got the condoms though😛😛😛

• yuta will definitely be questioning as to why they were open

• may or may not have done something not very sft in the car but hey!! you didn’t hear it from me…

a/n: aaaand we’re back!!! how’s everyone doing? good? okay? horrible? all three? same❤️ i hope this sufficed for taking a week off (i’m still in my shackles) this was probably my favourite chapter to write. gonna lie and say it didn’t make me teary eyed towards the end… champagne coast being the recommended song of the week even though it was a gag for the first chapter is a full circle moment. a bit of tzc reeferences sprinkled in the chapter bc i love those girls to death (even though mitch gave up on chapter 2… she didn’t even make it to lesbian digresser… #shitfriendmoment😒) ANYWAYS enjoy and see you guys tmr!! <3

taglist: @shokosbunny @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @ichcocat @laughingfcx @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @sluttkuna @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm @syxoki

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[sea-lanterns]

SILENT HILL

synopsis: (slasher! AU) you travel to an old town to find your missing wife.

featuring: dehya

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader (though she becomes more bold later on), dom! character who gets more subby later on, mentions of blood, reader is grieving, reader gets chased, transfem! dehya (she has a di.ck), fing.ering, unprotected se.x, cream.pie, masked se.x, size difference, size ki.nk, lap se.x, reader passes out, probably ooc, heavy pwp.

art credits: gokurakugai

It had been a while since you last came to this town. Through the thick fog and semi-chilly air, you took a deep breath and let your body relax after the long car ride. You had finally arrived at the small town that plagued your thoughts for months; Silent Hill…a quiet and eerie town that was the root cause of your recent sleepless nights, after you had mysteriously received a letter from your long deceased wife telling you to come here. 

You looked down at the faded envelope in your hand, the handwriting of your wife; Dehya, was unmistakable to a grieving widow such as yourself. Though it had been three years since she disappeared and “died” of unknown causes, you knew you had to come here. If your wife was still out there, still alive somehow and living in this rickety old town, then you would drive any distance just to see her again. 

Slamming your car door shut, you began making your way towards the town on a dimly lit path. Whether this was a hoax or not, you were clinging onto that string of hope that it was somehow real. After all, this town was known for its conspiracy theories and stories of cults and rituals. If any place were to have things that defied death and logic, it would be here.  

The town of Silent Hill was an ugly one. It was hard to feel any semblance of hope when everything was cloaked in a blurry gray. You had forgotten how mundane it was to live here, the residents of Silent Hill always appearing depressed or anxious. You felt a shiver go down your spine when a possum scurried across the road, so close to your feet and making you stumble. 

“Dehya–!” you stopped yourself before you could finish your sentence, shock coursing through your body when you remembered Dehya wasn’t with you anymore. Whenever the slightest of things scared you, you would always call her name and she’d come running to comfort you and defend you from anything. But now she isn't here by your side…

‘Oh…’ Your shock disappeared and replaced itself with grief, wanting nothing more than to run into your wife’s arms again and have her hold you close. You closed your eyes and remembered how bright her smile was, a motivator to why you were here in the first place, before carrying on towards the gloomy motel where you’d be staying for the foreseeable future. 

After checking in with the motel clerk and moving your bags in with you, you settled down in your room and plopped down on the bed. This motel was severely outdated, the hideously patterned wallpaper peeling off the walls, the ceilings stained with something yellow and questionable, if your wife were here, she’d tell you “at the very least I’m here with you!”

You felt yourself crack a small smile at the memory, loving how positive she was no matter the circumstance. 

“I might get mold poisoning staying here,” You said to no one in particular, almost like you were trying to talk to Dehya beside you. 

“No you won’t! I won’t let my princess get sick on my watch.”

You could almost hear her laugh as she said that, her chivalrous attitude making you swoon even after all these years. No matter how much time had passed, you would always love how she treated you like a princess. 

“...I’ll save you this time, Dehya.” You said to yourself again, hugging one of the pillows to your chest and snuggling into it. It was far from the softest pillow you’ve ever felt, but during this time of vulnerability, it felt like the most comforting thing in the world. “You don’t have to save me this time. I’m going to find you.” 

With all those years of regret and guilt building up, you let it shrivel away and burn into motivation. This was a lead. One step closer to finding out what happened to your wife, and possibly finding her. 

You closed your eyes and went to bed, exhausted after spending several hours on the road. 

You got up earlier than usual. Usually you would sleep in late on days like these, too depressed to even crawl out of bed, but this time you had a purpose to get up. Your body was already awake before your alarm went off, sliding out of bed and getting dressed to find some answers. 

Even in the mornings, Silent Hill was a town of misery. The sky was still a dull, muted gray, and the air was even chillier than before. You pulled your coat even tighter around your figure, your nose letting out a small sneeze as you stepped into the outside world. 

You would spend the entire day just walking around, asking locals about the whereabouts of your wife, if they’d seen her or even heard of her. You would always be met with a dead end answer, but you wouldn’t give up. That letter was sent to you for a reason, and you were determined to get some closure on your wife if that was the last thing you did. 

The sky began to grow darker the longer you stayed out. Your fingers and your toes were stinging from the pain, almost numb from how cold you were. Your heart felt heavy, your body leaning against a nearby wall to catch your breath from running around town. You were exhausted, but you couldn’t give up. Not now, you still weren’t done. 

Deeper within the alleyway, you heard heavy footsteps, causing you to perk up and immediately regain some stamina. Maybe there was somewhere in there who could help you? You pushed yourself off the wall and began making your way deeper within the alleyway, the street lights turning on and casting the area in a cold, white glow. 

“Uhm…excuse me,” you turned a corner and saw a tall, muscular figure facing away from you, wearing something odd on top of their head. “Can I just have a moment of your time? I am looking for my wife, and…”

You trailed off when the figure slowly turned towards you, wielding what appeared to be a giant blade in their hand, and dressed in a beige, tattered up cloth that revealed most of their muscular figure. The figure had no face, or rather, their face was obscured by a strange, pyramid-looking helmet that sat on their head, looming over you like a great executioner of death. 

“Ah…” You had no idea what you were feeling right now. Shock, fear, confusion? You had no idea who you were looking at either, but at the very least you could discern that they had the figure of a woman. “S-Sorry…I didn’t mean to bother you…” 

What the fuck was that.

Your eyes glanced at the blade in their hand, the light from the streetlight shimmering across it and showing the faint splatters of crimson on the edge. Blood. You gulped and took a step back, the pyramid head figure tilting their head and taking a step forward. 

“I…I will leave now. Goodnight!” You whimpered and immediately began walking away, but your fears quickly caught up to you when the figure started walking towards you as well. 

You continued moving away but she kept getting closer, taking long strides towards you with her long legs. Immediately, you began getting nervous, walking a bit faster before breaking out into a run. 

Well, that was a mistake. Because now the Pyramid Head woman began running after you as well, her heavy footsteps thudding through the street and dragging her rusty blade across the ground. The noise was horrible, a grating sound that made the hairs on your skin prick like needles. You just wanted to find your wife! What were the chances that you’d run into a deranged, monstrous serial killer?!

As you continued running, you let out a shout for help, looking around desperately to see if there was anyone out tonight. Unfortunately for you, it seemed everyone had decided to go home early, all the porch lights turned off and leaving you the only one alive with the woman. 

The grating noise of her blade met your ears again, causing your heart rate to spike like crazy. You began to run your way back to your motel room, but it was on the other side of town and at this point your body began to exhaust. There was a sharp burning sensation in your lungs, the cold air not helping you breathe whatsoever as you felt yourself lose steam. Damn, it had been a while since you ran like you meant it, Dehya did always say you should workout at the gym with her to build some stamina, but you never really took her seriously.  

You definitely regret it now. Your legs buckled and you found yourself collapsing in the midst of another dark alleyway, the pavement scratching up your knees and making you grunt in pain. No matter how hard you tried, your body was tired, cold, and weak. After spending the entire day outside and begging for help, this was your limit. 

You stumbled on your footing and found yourself at the dead end of the alleyway. A large, rusted gate towering over you and cornering you with nowhere else to run. The grating noise of the killer’s blade drew closer and closer, trapping you in the box you’ve locked yourself in. 

“Dehya…” you whimpered, feeling all hope drain away as you scuffled to the edge of the gate, too weak to stand or even attempt to climb the gate for your survival. Was this it? So this was how you’d find your wife, by dying at the hands of a killer and joining her in the afterlife. 

You sniffled and looked up to see the looming Pyramid Head staring down at you, rusted blade in hand and tattered clothing blowing hauntingly in the wind. She looked almost like a ghost, like someone that was not meant to be here but was. The wind continued to howl, the silence between you two almost deafening. 

“...I’m sorry. I just want to find my wife.” You whimpered, still gazing at the Pyramid Head woman. “Is this my punishment for that?”

You were spewing random nonsense at this point. You were so tired and cold, your body shivering and looking like a frail little bunny in the eyes of the Pyramid Head. She tilted her head, almost conveying a unique kind of communication despite her gristley appearance. 

“...”

“...”

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds after that, your head starting to throb and making you wince in pain. You felt so dead at this point, your head feeling heavy as you lowered yourself closer to the ground, looking like a kicked dog. “Dehya…I really wish you were here right now.” You would imagine her protecting you, fiercely telling you to run or standing her ground and being your knight in shining armor. 

��Run baby! I'll protect you!”

You can’t, and you felt the bitter coldness swallow you in. Were you going to die from the killer or hypothermia? You didn’t know anymore at this point. 

Your eyes began to droop, watching as the Pyramid Head walked closer and closer to you. She swung the rusted blade over her shoulder, her hand reaching for your head before your vision blurred and you dropped limp to the ground. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t find you, Dehya. 

Your body felt very, very warm. Was this what heaven felt like? It felt like Dehya cuddling you from behind again, spooning you in her muscular arms and running her hands all over your tummy. You missed this, the feeling of laying with someone so warm and gentle. Perhaps you really were dead and this was your eternal fate, to be cuddled by your lover for the end of time. 

You wouldn’t mind that. However, your other senses began to awaken, telling you that you were merely asleep. Your touch began to come back, the feeling of a soft bed and warmth beneath you. Your hearing began to come back, the sounds of a soft fire crackling in the distance. Taste, smell, you tasted the dryness in your mouth, and inhaled the smell of burning wood and ash. 

Finally, your sight. Though you were initially reluctant to open your eyes, your body did so anyway, letting your eyes land on the rotting ceiling above. Well…this was a sharp contrast to the other sensations you’ve experienced.

Your neck craned to look at the side, your vision still somewhat blurry before focusing on the figure beside you. 

Dehya…? 

You could vaguely make out her long, brown hair and warm smile, joy filling your chest at the familiar sight. 

Dehya…? Dehya…!

You closed your eyes for a brief moment and opened them again, expecting to see your wife more clearly, but instead being greeted with the Pyramid Head woman that chased you before. Instantly, all that joy vanished as quickly as it came, fear and shock filling you and making you hyperventilate. 

“Wha…Wha…!” Your eyes went wide as you gasped for air, the panic settling in that the sight of your wife was a mere hallucination. A delusion.

The Pyramid Head loomed over you, her height absolutely intimidating and making you nearly whimper upon instinct. She was even taller up close, her muscles defined and scars exposed, looking like a modern day Amazonian if you had to describe her…

You scrambled on the bed you were on, backing up against the headboard and looking at the woman in disbelief. Were you going insane? You saw your wife! Why was she here? Why hasn’t she killed you yet? You gasped when she suddenly dropped the blade she was holding, the metal hitting the floor and causing it to echo across the walls. The sound made you flinch, and upon seeing how afraid you were, the Pyramid Head reached her hand over to touch you. 

“No–!” You flinched, but she didn’t move away, a warm, heavy hand cupping your face and holding it firmly. It was quite shocking actually, to see just how large her hands were in comparison to your face, squishing it with ease and making your lips form a cute pout up at her. The Pyramid Head tilted her head to the side, almost as if she was thinking underneath that behemoth of a helmet. 

‘Soft.’ 

Though the Pyramid Head was a quiet one, she couldn’t help but enjoy squishing your face. Despite the biting cold of October, your face held a familiar warmth that the figure could not put her finger on. Strange…she should’ve slaughtered you by now, but it seems like you were the one person that came here to not be punished for their sins. 

Perhaps, it was your desperate attachment for your wife that made the Pyramid Head manifest in a more…loving form. 

“Mmpf…” You attempted to speak, but she held your face in such a grip that your words came out muffled. Upon seeing that you were trying to communicate, she let go, but not before using one of her thumbs to prod at your lips, forcibly making you open your mouth. 

Well, this is very awkward. 

You let out a yelp when she suddenly pushed her thumb into your mouth, brushing over your tongue and seemingly admiring how small it was. Compared to her, everything about you was so much smaller, something that the Pyramid Head seemed to love. She was so confused, tilting her head as she continued sticking her fingers in your mouth, feeling the soft muscle of your inner cheek. 

“Hey–pffck–” You had enough, pushing her hands away and coughing as you wiped the spit from your lips. “You can’t just stick your fingers in someone’s mouth without their consent! That’s weird!” 

You hadn’t expected to raise your voice at this gristly-looking killer, but to your surprise, instead of getting angry and chopping you to bits, the Pyramid Head looked surprised and jostled back, her hands raising in the air as if to prove their innocence. 

That…motion. 

Your eyes widened as a flash of recognition triggered in your memory. Dehya. Now why was that appearing again? There’s no way that this completely coincidental motion would remind you of your wife. Surely not…

But still, there was a gut feeling in your chest, telling you to try again. You looked up at the Pyramid Head with curiosity, before uttering her name hesitantly on your lips. “D…Dehya?” You didn’t expect any results to be honest, but your breath hitched when she tilted her head, almost like she recognized it. “...No, it can’t be.” 

You felt your heart start to thump wildly in your chest, before you had an idea. If this truly was your Dehya, then she would always wear her wedding band on her left hand, engraved with your initials. “Can I see your left hand?” you asked softly, causing the Pyramid Head to oblige almost immediately. Cute, she was almost like an obedient dog. 

She gave you her left hand, shock coursing through your face when you actually saw the wedding band on her finger. Though a bit discolored and dirtied from being in a grim state, you could make out your initials on the front of the band. 

“Oh…my god.” You whispered out, excitement and shock coursing through your veins. “It really is you.” At this point, you didn’t care that your wife appeared as a horrifying killer, as your mind began to close the gaps and find other similarities in the Pyramid Head. Your fear must’ve blocked out all the clues, because as your eyes trailed over most closely, the resemblance –besides her face which was still hidden– was clear. 

You hugged her, your smaller frame clinging to her like a leech while you buried your face in her chest. The Pyramid Head –or rather, Dehya– let out a grunt when you suddenly engulfed her, her large arms instinctively coming around to wrap around your figure. Immediately, warmth and familiarity raised in your senses, her taut muscles flexing around you and making you break down into tears at being in her embrace again. “Dehya…I’ve missed you.” 

Dehya grumbled and looked down at you, running a calloused palm over your cheek. Even though she didn’t speak much, it was clear that she (or this manifestation of her) felt a deep connection with you and couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. Almost like instinct, she pulled you closer to her, your body straddling her thighs and making you yelp in surprise. 

“Mmmm…Mine…” She croaked under the mask, her voice raspy yet very much like your Dehya. Her voice sent so many shivers down your spine, a sound that you’ve missed after all these years of being alone. “I’m yours, Dehya. All yours. I’m not leaving.”

She seemed pleased by the response, her arms scooping you up by the thighs and pushing you down on the bed. You gasped when you felt your back plummet into the mattress, her tall figure looming over you and trapping you under her large frame. “I..I see you’ve missed me too.” 

She nodded and let out an almost primal growl, wanting to get closer to you if not for her helmet blocking the way. She seemed frustrated at the fact and pawed at your clothes, her blunt fingers wanting to tear off every pesky cloth you wore. “Off…” She grunted, the sound muffled but command clear. “Take it off…” 

You let out a small giggle at how eager she was being. After three years of not seeing each other, it seems that she was very touch starved. “Sure baby, I’ll take them off for you.” 

Though you weren’t sure if she could see clearly, she was definitely keeping her eyes on you as you removed each article of clothing. Everything felt so sudden but so comforting, your nudity being revealed by the second as Dehya resisted the urge to just pounce on you right there. 

Finally, you laid there in your nude glory, sliding your panties off and dropping them before Dehya couldn’t hold back anymore. She grabbed you by the waist and easily hoisted you upwards, plopping you on her lap and making your bare entrance sit atop her clothed member. Though it was limp before, it seems that just watching you strip was enough to get her hard, stiffening under your touch and rising to life.

She let out a soft groan and moved her palm to rest on your ass, clearly aroused and wanting you now. But, since this was Dehya we were talking about, she held back and gently swirled her thumb over your clit, wanting you to be wet enough first before taking her. After all, Dehya knew more than anyone how big she actually was…

“I’m already wet…” you pouted, wanting her to fuck you right away. Yet despite your needy pleas, Dehya shook her head, letting out a grunt of disapproval and continuing to finger your pussy. She knew better than to cave into your whines, and you wanted to comment playfully on that, if not for your lewd whimpers leaving your throat. “Dehya…!”

Her fingers were quite wide and thick, pushing past your folds and thrusting at a gentle pace. She really was a gentle woman, even in this new form of hers, waiting for you to become wet enough so she wouldn’t hurt you. God, this felt so nostalgic, your wife’s fingers burying them all the way down to her palm, before adding a finger or two to stretch you to her liking. 

You threw your head back at the sensation, your moans echoing through the room and making you arch your back in pleasure. She continued fingering you, admiring your lovely form and keeping a rough hand on your ass. “Good…?” she asked softly, sliding her fingers out before shoving them back in. “Good.” You repeated, eyes fluttering shut in bliss while she plunged in repeatedly, filling you up on just her fingers alone. 

If you felt this full from just her fingers, you could only imagine how full you’d feel with her actual cock inside you. 

Finally gauging that you were wet enough, Dehya slid her slimy fingers out of you and seemed satisfied at the aftermath. By now, she was already rock hard, her member straining against her dress and forming a tent under your lap. She was so cute…you’d remember how desperate yet controlled Dehya was whenever she was horny for you, wanting to wreck you into an incomprehensible mess but restraining herself because you were simply too delicate for her. She’s always treated you like a princess, and even now she was your knight in shining armor. Albeit, she wore less of a metal plate and more of a metal…pyramid head. 

“You look so pent up.” You commented suddenly, causing her to look up at you. You smiled and gently ran a hand across her dress, feeling her muscles tense up before relaxing when you trailed lower. “Don’t you want to get there already?” 

“...So small.” Dehya comments softly, her hand cupping your needy pussy and brushing over it. “Need to be patient.” 

You huffed and cupped her stiffie under her dress, causing her to gasp. If she wasn’t wearing that metal helmet you were one hundred percent confident that she was blushing like mad right now. “I have been patient…! I’ve waited three years to be with you again, Dehya. I need you inside me nowww…” 

Your whines struck a chord within her, Dehya grumbling to herself and shifting you on her lap. She was getting antsy, the feeling of your soft hand on her shaft making her lose control of her lust for you. She let out another grumble and complied with your demands, lifting up her dress and allowing you to see just how turned on she was for you. Wow, now that was a sight you’ve certainly missed. 

Though it had been a few years since you’ve last had sex with Dehya, you remembered her very vividly. She was quite large, mostly girthy but it was nothing that a bunch of lube and slick can’t fix. No wonder Dehya took so much time in prepping for you, though you knew she was always big, you always overestimated yourself and needed Dehya to wait like five minutes for you to adjust to her size. 

“...I’ve certainly missed this too.” You chuckled, gently running your hand up her shaft and feeling it twitch under your hold. Dehya groaned, getting needy as she wrapped a hand over your wrist and made a subtle nudge for you to hurry. You gave her a few steady pumps, a few beads of precum starting to form at her tip, before you guided her cock to your awaiting entrance. 

Dehya’s breath hitched under the heavy metal of her helmet, her head leaning backwards and letting you take over. You guided her tip to nestle sweetly against your folds, gently sliding it back and forth through your wetness before easing yourself downward. Though you were already quite wet, you definitely felt the tight stretch as Dehya’s girth split you open on her cock and made you stop halfway. 

You were already breathing quite heavily, sweat trickling down your brow as you struggled to accommodate her size. Dehya noticed you stopping, tilting her head when she realized that you were struggling quite a bit to go down the other half of her. “Sorry…” She whispered softly, holding onto your waist and gently massaging your skin. “I…I will try to be smaller.” 

“Sweetie, that’s kind of impossible right now.” You whimpered, but appreciated her attempts at comforting you. You placed a small kiss on the edge of her pyramid-shaped helmet, causing her to jolt in surprise before giving yourself a few bounces to continue easing down. With each small bounce, Dehya grunted and resisted the urge to slam your hips down to her lap, steadying you in her arms while you slowly took in more inches. 

Down…Down… Finally, you found yourself sitting right on her lap, your pussy feeling so full and hot from how deep Dehya was inside you. Now that she was buried to the hilt, Dehya grumbled and gently squeezed your hips as if silently asking for permission to move you. You had planned on just riding her and letting her sit back and watch, but it appeared that your wife wanted to be more active than you thought. 

“You can move me,” You responded, “Just…be gentle. You’re still quite big.” 

She nodded and slowly lifted you up in her lap, sliding out until only her tip was in you before softly pushing you back down. Her strength, plus the external force of gravity allowed for a very hard (and very pleasant) thrust, causing you to moan loudly and cling to her shoulders. 

Dehya growled and seemed to enjoy the feeling of your tight pussy around her, moving you up and down with ease as she wanted to feel more. She gripped your hips with a certain air of possessiveness, wanting to claim you and keep you all to herself, her blunt nails leaving small crescent moon shapes in the plushness of your thighs. “Mine…” She growled again, beginning to up the pace the more she grew addicted to your pussy. “My wife…”

She slammed you down on her hips a bit harder, her fat tip smashing against a rather sensitive spot inside you and making you arch your back. Dehya picked up on that easily, lifting you so that she could realign her cock to hit deeper. 

At this new angle, Dehya could move further, starting to thrust into you at a hotter rhythm than before. You had forgotten how rough Dehya could be when she wasn’t being your doting knight, grunting and panting while she pushed you down to the hilt. You didn’t even have to move or anything during your sessions with Dehya, as she would always serve you with the utmost devotion. 

“D-Dehya– Dehya…!” Your words came out all choppy and disorganized, her rough thrusts pushing each syllable out of you before you were ready. “B-Baby slow down…!”

She whimpered and hugged your waist tighter, resisting the urge to continue her brutal pace and obeying your command. She dragged her hips more languidly across your walls, making you feel every twitch and vein while your pussy grew more sensitive around her. “Dehya…I think I’m close…” 

She let out another pleased moan at your words and you felt her cock twitch more inside. It appeared you also weren’t the only one getting close, as Dehya was getting close to release herself. “Can I…nngh, come?” She whispered raspily, panting in desperation. “Inside? I want to come inside you.” 

Your cheeks grew hot at her ask, but you couldn’t deny her. Not after you’ve just found her again. “You…You wanna do it inside?” you whimpered, a small smile spreading across your face. “Alright then…Just try not to make too much of a mess.”

Dehya seemed quite happy at that, ramming herself faster until she felt her impending climax come. She thrusted once, twice, three times, until finally she felt herself tense up and release hot spurts of cum, triggering your own climax simultaneously while you were filled to the brim. 

Your womb felt so full. All hot and filled by Dehya while she continued thrusting to ride out both your orgasms. She definitely did not fulfill your request of not making too much of a mess, but that was okay. You were quite pleased with being filled with your wife’s seed, and being by her side again was all that mattered to you at this moment. 

Her thrusts soon slowed to a halt, but she didn’t pull out yet. Instead, she kept her cock still firmly deep within you, and simply readjusted your position so that you were lying more comfortably against her chest. “Did I do good?” she whispered, looking down at you through the small holes of her helmet. 

“Very good…” You whispered back sleepily, your body succumbing to exhaustion as you laid atop your wife’s body, her cock keeping you nice and warm inside. “I’m so glad I found you again.”

“Mmm.”

She gently caressed the back of your head with her hand, the other one resting lazily against your thigh, making you feel all safe and secluded. As you were slowly lulled to sleep in the comforting embrace of your lover, your thoughts began to reminisce in the journey that brought you here. The town of Silent Hill was one not known for its warmth and welcoming structure, but in this town of darkness and gray, you found the one thing that would make you stay forever. 

You had finally found your wife again, and you were never leaving her side.

[bosbas]

Chapter 5: they said the end is coming, everyone’s up to something

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 3.1k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, mentions of a broken bone, mentions of death (but no death), alluding to sex, things are HAPPENING

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

July 7, 1812 - Anthony felt the breath knocked out of him as he landed on his hand, pain rippling through his arm and toward his shoulder like a hot iron rod branding his skin. A low groan escaped his lips once he got his breath back, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming from the pain as he cradled his injured hand.

Looking up to see the horse that had just thrown him off its saddle, Anthony screwed his face into the most venomous glare he could given the state he was in. Now, the question remained: how on Earth was he supposed to get home?

Anthony had been on his morning ride when his horse encountered a small frog, smaller than his pocketwatch. But alas, its size did not matter. The Bridgerton’s horse had been far too frightened to continue through the usual route. Instead, it decided to launch Anthony off its saddle and run around in circles until the frog hopped away, no doubt more terrified than the horse. 

With not much else he could do, Anthony held his injured arm close to his chest and roughly grabbed his horse’s reins, starting his return to the Bridgerton residence. Damn his proclivity for taking rides in more secluded areas!

With every step he took, Anthony clenched his jaw, the pain overtaking him entirely. Surely he’d broken a bone, he thought. Mighty inconvenient time for it to happen, too, since he was now courting someone. Could he even dance with you with a broken hand? He wasn’t quite sure. But he’d like to try, at the very least.

As his thoughts drifted to you, much like they tended to as of late, he found himself thinking a bit more deeply about what his injury truly meant. By all accounts, Anthony was lucky he’d only broken his hand. Had his horse been more erratic, he could have ended up with a broken rib. Or worse, crushed under its strong and punishing hooves.

At that thought, the breath was stolen from Anthony’s lungs once again. He very well and truly could have ended up dead because of an activity as mundane as a morning horse ride. 

And where would that leave you? Surely you would find another suitable man to court you, as much as the thought made his blood boil. But if this incident were to happen in the future, once you two were married, what then? What if you already had children, and he left them behind as well, much like his father had?

Anthony’s mind was in complete turmoil, his wounded hand now the least of his worries. How could he have let himself fall for you? 

The Bridgerton let out a strangled scream and kicked the grass beneath him, thankful it was still too early for anyone to be milling about. He couldn’t let this go on. This courtship with you could only end in pain. Even if you did agree to marry him, how long would it be until you had to experience the same loss his mother had? Anthony couldn’t let it go on. 

And so, as Anthony walked into his home, gasping for breath and begging for a medic, he decided that he had to let you go. It was the kindest thing he could do for you. He made up his mind to talk to you that very night at your ball. 

He cursed himself for getting feelings involved in a courtship in the first place, but there was not much that could be done in that regard. 

With his mind made up, he chose to focus on his fractured hand rather than his broken heart, finding that pain much easier to deal with.

--- 

Daphne squealed as soon as she saw you, immediately leaving her family to go talk to you.

“The ballroom looks beautiful,” she complimented, amazed at how vibrant your home looked when it wasn’t just you and your father.

“I know, it’s the same every year and I can still barely believe it,” you responded looking around at the guests dancing and laughing.

It was the one night every year you got to actually enjoy being at home, and nothing was going to ruin your mood. Your ballroom felt alive for the first time in twelve months and you weren’t about to waste the evening. 

“Is Anthony here?” you inquired, looking around for any sign of the man. 

“Yes, by the refreshments I’m sure. He’s been acting oddly all day, though. I have no idea what the matter is with him but maybe you can fix it.”

You laughed nervously. “I’m sure nothing I do will make a difference. This isn’t even a real courtship!” you reminded her, though you didn't like the way the words felt coming out of your mouth.

Clearing your throat, you rushed to change the subject. “What is your intention with Mr. Norwood tonight? Will he be in attendance?”

Now it was Daphne’s turn to look uncomfortable. Shifting from side to side, her eyes scanned the ballroom. 

“He will be in attendance, yes. I’m not quite sure about what will happen, but I know I must speak with him. Could you keep Anthony busy while we talk?”

“Of course,” you assured her, secretly excited to have an excuse to spend all night next to her brother.

An hour later, Daphne had finally found Phillip, and you took that as your cue to seek out Anthony. 

Crossing the ballroom to where he was standing, you tapped him on the shoulder as he spoke with his mother. Turning to look at you beside him and sporting a huge grin, Anthony leaned down to kiss your hand. 

“It’s lovely to see you this evening,” he said, his hand still holding yours gingerly. “Your home looks beautiful.”

You gasped when you looked down and saw his bandages. “What happened? Are you alright?” you asked, concern evident in your voice. 

Anthony looked down, almost as if he’d forgotten he’d broken three bones, and suddenly became very still. 

“Ah, just an incident during my morning ride. Nothing too serious,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you have a moment to speak?” he asked, frowning slightly. 

“Um, yes, of course,” you responded. You were slightly confused at his change in mood but were quickly drawn out of your thoughts when you saw Daphne and Mr Norwood having a heated conversation. You weren’t quite sure what was being said, but you knew Anthony would be fuming if he caught wind of it. 

“We can go to the gardens,” you suggested, leading the eldest Bridgerton brother away from his sister.

“Is that Norwood talking to my sister?” questioned Anthony, the pair catching his eyes as he traveled across the ballroom.

“Is it?” you feigned ignorance, gripping Anthony’s healthy hand tighter and speeding up. 

As you stepped out of the densely packed ballroom and into the cool night air, you tripped over your feet and yelped as you saw the ground quickly approaching you. 

Anthony, as attuned to you as ever, reached out to grab you with his injured hand and prevented an unfortunate fall onto your paved outdoor pavilion. Immediately, he hissed in discomfort, feeling his entire arm throb as he finished steadying you.

You gasped, horrified at how much pain the Bridgerton seemed to be in. “Are you sure it’s nothing serious? Anthony, what happened?” you scolded, fear evident in your voice as you led him away from the windows facing the ballroom. 

Clearly, he had downplayed the gravity of his injury, and you cradled his hand in yours as you searched his eyes.

“I only broke three bones,” he tried to reassure you, though he failed miserably. 

“Three bones?” you screeched, drawing the attention of the other partygoers milling about the gardens. “Anthony, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, staring at the white bandages that covered his fingers.

You felt an unfamiliar panic rising in you. The thought that Anthony had been in any pain at all was devastating to you, and you couldn’t help the worry you felt when you looked at his gritted teeth and tightly closed eyes. 

“A-Anthony? Can I do anything?” you asked softly, tears forming in your eyes. 

You tried to calm yourself down. It wasn’t like Anthony was in any sort of mortal danger. He was at a ball, after all! He wouldn't have come if he was truly unwell. Why had seeing him injured set you off so much? You’d never been one to be so skittish, so why now?

Your mind stilled for a moment.

Heavens, you were in love with him.

A small gasp escaped your lips at the realization, your hand dropping his immediately.

It wasn’t a game anymore, you thought, panicked. This was real. Your feelings were real.

God, how could you have been so stupid as to fall in love with him? And how had it taken you until now to realize?

Did this mean you had to end things with him?

Now you were really crying. Maybe it was the right thing to do, then. To let him go if you really felt this way. 

A small sob escaped your lips.

“Oh, Anthony,” you cried, trying desperately to wipe away the barrage of tears coming down your cheeks. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, completely focused on you now that the pain in his hand had subsided. “Y/N, what’s the matter?” he asked again, growing properly worried now. 

But you were too distraught by the thought of losing him to respond. You tried to form a coherent sentence but could only manage a few choked sobs at a time. 

Anthony placed his uninjured hand on your cheek, turning your face toward him. 

“I’m right here,” he reassured, knowing that having him near you always seemed to calm you down. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you managed to control yourself a bit better and sniffed sadly. 

“I just don’t want this to end,” you said, your voice breaking.

Anthony’s breath caught in his throat. Had you somehow found out he was going to end things with you? He had no idea how you would have, but he blinked uncomfortably nonetheless. 

Mistaking Anthony’s hesitation for confusion, you clarified, “Us. I don’t want us to end.”

Ah, damn everything. He was completely powerless when it came to you.

“I don’t see why it has to,” he responded, breathlessly leaning down to kiss you on the forehead. 

He was too far gone to think clearly, and the thought of marrying you seemed awfully attractive at the moment. The kiss on your forehead turned into a kiss on your temple, then your cheek.

And finally, with a shaky breath, he closed his eyes, leaning down to kiss your lips. 

The feeling of his soft lips encasing yours was completely indescribable, and your brain completely shut down any and all thoughts that did not include kissing this man back. You stood on your tiptoes, wanting to be closer to him as you felt his tongue poking into your mouth.

Gasping for breath, Anthony broke the kiss and looked down at you with a wild look in his eyes. Never in his entire life had he done something so rash, including during his numerous years as a rake. But you were simply too irresistible. He couldn’t help it; he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything else. 

Remembering where you were, you gasped softly, looking around to see if anyone in the garden had seen what had just transpired. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, and reassured by the fact that no one inside the ballroom could see you, you reached out to Anthony, who was already leaning in to kiss you again.

“Anthony,” you scolded softly, laughing at how eager he was. Then, lowering your voice to a whisper, you said, “We must find somewhere else to continue this conversation. We can access the library through the garden around this corner.”

“Best conversation I’ve ever had,” murmured Anthony sarcastically, allowing himself to be led to your family library while ensuring no one was looking your way. 

Once you were inside the library, you shut the doors leading to the garden and locked them, not wanting to risk being found alone with a man while you were yet unmarried. 

As soon as you turned around, you felt your back hitting the doors behind you and Anthony’s body pressed against you, kisses raining down on your face. 

You giggled, having far too much fun than what was appropriate for a lady in your place in society. You grabbed Anthony’s head in both hands and guided his lips to yours once again, needing the connection to him more than you needed air. 

As you continued kissing, you both grew more desperate. An unfamiliar warmth was spreading through you, and you could do nothing but whimper as Anthony’s hands roamed your torso.

He groaned in restraint, breaking your kiss once again. 

“Do you want to do this?” he asked you, leaning down to kiss your neck.

Breathlessly, you responded, “Well, I’m not quite sure what ‘this’ is…” You had never received any sort of talking to from your father about the marriage night, if that’s what Anthony was referring to. Your knowledge was based only on the whispers that you had heard while eavesdropping on your housemaids. 

Anthony laughed richly, completely enamored by you. “Of course, you don't,” he smiled down at you. “Why don’t I start by demonstrating and you tell me if you want me to keep going,” he said seductively, his voice dripping with desire. 

You could only nod in excited agreement, amazed that you were finally seeing Anthony’s rakish side. 

--- 

You awoke early the next morning to a soft kiss on your cheek.

You opened your eyes and found yourself on the floor of your library, covered only by the blanket that was stationed on the couch for when you spent nights reading into the early hours of the morning. Anthony was next to you, looking at you and trying to take in every detail possible. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, mostly to himself as his eyes roamed your figure.

You felt your face growing hot at the compliment and buried your face in his chest. He laughed and hugged you close to him, careful to keep his injured hand protected. 

“I must go now before anyone suspects anything,” Anthony said, checking his pocket watch. It was still five in the morning, far before anyone in his household or yours would be awake let alone notice anything amiss, but he wanted to take no chances. 

“I shall call on you later today, of course,” he assured you, starting to get dressed while still doing his best to maintain any sort of physical contact with you.

Interlocking your fingers with his, which were at the present moment located on your hip, you nodded and bit your lip, enjoying the show. 

“I’ll be waiting,” you promised, sitting up to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. 

He did you one better and pecked you on the lips, elated at this newfound way of interacting with you. 

“I’ll ask your father for your hand tonight,” he said decidedly, already excited at the prospect of a future with you. “And perhaps we’ll ask for an expedited marriage license because I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself from you again.”

You could only giggle in excitement, not quite believing that the man in front of you would soon be your husband. 

“Check on Daphne for me,” you requested, remembering how agitated your friend looked last night. “And I’ll see you this afternoon.” 

Leaning down to kiss you goodbye, Anthony smiled warmly at you. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

--- 

Anthony had no idea how he’d managed to remain calm for the rest of the morning. He had gone home and slept for a few more hours, then went downstairs to greet his mother and assure her that he had left your ball early because his hand was being quite bothersome. 

Then, he’d spent the rest of his time trying to make himself look presentable for your father, needing him to approve if he was to ask him for your hand in marriage. 

Anthony had never been in this position before, and as much as it caused him a great deal of stress, he was elated and nothing really could have soured his mood. 

Finally satisfied with his appearance, Anthony headed downstairs to go to your home once again. On his way out, he passed by the tea room where he found Daphne. And, remembering your request from this morning, he greeted her warmly. 

“Hello, Daph,” he said cheerfully, but the sob his sister let out stopped him in his tracks. “What’s happened?” he asked, seamlessly shifting into Daphne’s protective older brother. 

“Mr Norwood,” cried Daphne. “He said my dowry wouldn’t be enough to cover the cost of a new home, and that he doesn’t want to marry me anymore,” she explained between fitful sobs. 

“He what?” asked Anthony, appalled at this common man’s lack of decorum. “What a complete bastard,” he swore, waving away Daphne’s shocked look at his colorful language. “Had he expressed interest in marrying you before?”

Daphne nodded tearfully. “He said he loved me,” she sniffled, already knowing how silly and naive she sounded. 

Anthony narrowed his eyes. “You see, that’s why I didn’t let you out of my sight your first season. You really can’t be trusted to make this decision, Daphne. Of course he only wanted you for your dowry! He is an untitled bachelor with no fortune to his name, are you thick?” 

“Am I thick? Are you really asking me that?” yelled Daphne, fuming at her brother’s response to her despair. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking you,” responded Anthony sharply, in disbelief that someone could do this to his sister. “This is why I should be the one making this decision, or at least vetting your candidates,” he muttered, a bit louder than he’d intended to. 

Daphne scoffed, furious at Anthony’s condescension. “Oh, you think you know better than me?” she taunted. “Then how come you haven’t figured out that the only reason Y/N is interested in you is because I asked her to fake it so I could get a chance to talk to some gentlemen without you meddling,” she spit out, her tone venomous.

Anthony froze. With a voice that was calm but deadly, he asked, “I beg your pardon?”

—

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[weskie]

Just Pretend [Love is Madness] (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | soft and fuck nasty wombo combo wesker, he whimpers, biting, what if wesker was in love AND denial, p/rn without plot | Fic Directory

You bury your face in the sheets, fists scrambling for purchase in the soft silk.  The moan that leaves you is anything but dignified, though you’d passed that threshold long ago.  He’s had a long day, and you were all too happy to help him get it out of his system.

A hand twists in your hair while another takes a biting grip at your waist to steady you with each punishing thrust.  

So thick, so full… 

“Al…” You mewl, the nickname a sacred utterance only for special moments, whether carnal or tender.  You hear the way he shudders.  You feel the flex in his grip.  Wesker loves it and you know full well he does.  By the stutter of his hips turning to a wet grind, you know it drives him crazy to be called such a sweet, silly name.  To feel every one of your proclamations of love seep into something so… mundane.

You feel him collapse, chest pressing flat and hot against your back as he braces himself, breaths panting in your ear.  He’s not done– nowhere near it.  This is just how he gets away with the softer things.  He thinks you don’t know how much he fucking loves the full body contact.  That he shivers when the whole of you is pressed to him, when he feels completely joined with you.  

He peppers kisses from behind your ear down to the junction of your neck, each one wet and warm and full of unspoken adoration.  Each shallow grind into your heat makes him try and fail to bite back weak little moans until he becomes so fed up, so frustrated that he can’t keep his perfect composure, that he simply has to sink his teeth into your flesh.  At least he could lie and say it was just the taste of you that made him make such sweet little sounds.

“Oh god!” 

You know that’ll drive him wild too.  For in his mind, he is the god to whom you cry out.  

And how right he is…

His hands snake up your waist to grab at your chest, pulling you against him even firmer.  Your hand flies back to thread in his hair, tugging softly at his ruffled locks.  The force of his bite leaves you and is replaced with his tongue laving hot across his mark.  He gives two sharp rocks of his hips before rising off of you, pulling you into a kneeling position– back tight to his chest the way he likes it.  With an arm around your waist once more, he lets loose.  The bed creaks and moans beneath the force of his motions, and you’re fully convinced it’s going to give out one day.  Its song of protest is drowned by your symphony of passion, of skin on skin and desperate noises coming from you both. 

He bites down on you again to hide his sounds, but it’s to no avail.  Nothing can quite disguise the sound of Wesker whining and whimpering as he gives three sharp thrusts and a stuttering fourth before you feel him spilling within you– and oh how he sings for you.  That edge to his voice quakes with every tight moan he can’t suppress and your name finds its way between each heavy breath.  His arms pull tighter than ever around you as if letting go would make him fade into nothing.

But he doesn’t stop.  He never stops– never stops grinding or managing the occasional shallow rut.  The slide of his cock gets wetter with every bit of come that seeps out around it.  You’re on cloud nine, dangerously close to falling over the edge yourself when the hand at your waist finally drops to finish you off.

“Let–” he gasps softly, “let go, now.” 

The sound of him still stumbling over his breaths coupled with the perfect touch does you in immediately. It makes you arch and writhe against his unyielding grip as each wave of raw pleasure beats down on the shores of your mind and body.  Wesker holds you through it, eyes focused on the rise and fall of your chest, the way you quiver and pulse around his cock clouds his mind with the same intense need that got you to this very moment.

He’s not done.  Not even close.  The feeling of your walls milking him drives him further into a madness he knows, deep down, he’s never going to escape.

And why would he ever want to?

[connorsui]

In the Quiet Afterhours

Zayne x reader

Synopsis: In the quiet of afterhours, you and zayne find solace in the intimacy of simple acts of care, your love unspoken yet deeply felt through the tenderness of shared moments.

Genre/warnings: pure fluff, silence of intimacy, zayne wanting to drown himself in your warmth, you are the light in this manz life, no warnings tho …zayne has suffered enough

note: I just wanna take care of him...like plz let me give my man his needed care..

w.: 1,180

There was, perhaps, no greater feeling than the quietude of love that existed in those moments where words fell away, leaving only the hum of companionship to bind two souls together. Zayne had always been a man of few words—practical in his pursuits, level-headed in his judgments, and ever the picture of self-possession. Yet, beneath that stern exterior, there was a tenderness reserved solely for you, a tenderness that revealed itself not in grand gestures or fervent declarations, but in the subtleties of shared moments, and the warmth of a gaze lingering far longer than propriety might allow.

This evening was no different, save for the weariness etched into his fine features, the faint shadows under his hazel-green eyes telling the tale of a long day spent in service to duty. He returned home as he always did—quietly, with little fanfare, his shoulders still squared despite the obvious weight that pressed upon him. And yet, when his eyes found yours, there was a softening in his expression, the firm lines of his brow relaxing as though the sight of you alone was enough to ease the burdens he carried.

"Welcome home," you murmured, the warmth of your voice drawing him nearer.

"Hello, love"

Zayne, ever pragmatic, offered a small nod, but it was the way his hand rose to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek that spoke volumes more than any pleasantry could. There was an intimacy in that touch, in the way his fingers lingered against your skin as though reluctant to part, as though you alone were the balm to his tired soul.

He said little as you coaxed him toward the shower, his resistance nonexistent, for he had learned, in these quiet moments, to let you care for him. It was a remarkable thing, this unspoken understanding between you—a partnership built on the most delicate threads of love, trust, and respect. You, in turn, had come to know that behind Zayne’s pragmatic exterior was a man who cherished the simplicity of your presence, a man who allowed himself to be vulnerable only when the world outside had no claim on him.

The warm cascade of water was a gentle relief, steam curling in the air as you worked the soap into your hands, your fingers gliding over his tense shoulders. The muscles beneath your touch, though firm, betrayed a quiet exhaustion, and as you began to wash him, you could feel the faint tremor of relief in his body, the tension slowly unraveling.

He closed his eyes, his lips parting in a near inaudible sigh, and for a moment, he was not the stoic officer, nor the pragmatic strategist. He was simply Zayne, a man who found comfort in your touch, in the way your hands moved with careful precision over his skin, tracing the curves and lines that you had come to know so intimately.

In another’s eyes, this scene might have seemed mundane, but there was an indescribable beauty in the familiarity of it all—a beauty that lay not in grandiose acts of affection but in the quiet devotion with which you attended to one another. It was a love that needed no embellishment, no flowery language to justify its existence, for it was rooted in something far more profound.

When your hands drifted lower, the soap lathering between your fingers, Zayne’s eyes fluttered open, and there it was again—that look of quiet reverence that always seemed to accompany his gaze when it fell upon you. It was not the gaze of a man merely admiring your physical form, but the gaze of a man rediscovering you anew each time, as though the sight of you was enough to set his soul alight in ways words could never adequately express.

He said nothing, but the faintest upward curve of his lips betrayed him. “Spoiling me again?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing in a way that would have seemed foreign to anyone but you.

“And why shouldn’t I?” you replied softly, smiling as your hands worked the soap along the lines of his body. “You work so hard... At least let me take care of you.”

There was a moment, brief yet timeless, where Zayne’s eyes softened even further, the weight of his exhaustion giving way to something deeper, something far more tender. It was in these moments that you truly understood the depth of his affections. He would never speak them outright, for it was not his nature to indulge in the overt declarations that many sought in love. Yet, in the way he stood before you, allowing you to see him in his most vulnerable state, you knew. You knew that his heart, so often guarded, was entirely yours.

When it came time to wash his hair, Zayne bent forward with practiced ease, his dark hair falling over his brow as you lathered the shampoo into his scalp. You laughed, as you always did, at the way his hair fluffed beneath the suds, your amusement drawing a faint smile from him.

“You look cute like this,” you teased, the lightness in your voice a welcome contrast to the quiet of the room.

He glanced up at you, one eyebrow raised in mock indignation. “cute?...another word for you to describe me...” he echoed, his voice dry, though the glint in his hazel eyes betrayed his amusement. “If you could see how I invision you, the roles would be reversed"

Yet he made no protest, content to let you have your moment of playful teasing. For all his stoicism, Zayne had always had a soft spot for the way your laughter lit up the room, and though he would never admit it aloud, he found your teasing far more endearing than he let on.

When the roles reversed, and it was Zayne’s hands that worked the soap into your hair, he was as gentle as ever. His fingers moved with a precision that was unmistakably him, careful to ensure no soap slipped into your eyes. “I know you say I deserved to be spoiled but allow me to give that in return, ten times fold ” he murmured, his voice a quiet caress, his touch so tender it felt as though you might melt beneath it.

You didn't argue.

Once the water had washed away the last traces of soap, he reached for a towel, and in the same unhurried manner, began to dry you off with the utmost care, as though each motion was imbued with the love he so rarely spoke of. It was in these moments, in the quiet spaces between words, that you truly understood the depth of Zayne’s love for you—a love that, like the stars themselves, was constant, enduring, and far more profound than words could ever convey.

Even after the task was complete, he lingered, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close in an embrace that spoke of more than just comfort. It was connection, the unspoken promise that even in silence, his heart was yours.

His breath, soft against your neck, mingled with the warmth of your skin, and there, in the quiet afterhours of the day, there was no need for words.

Just the two of you alone.

Gimmie a tired zayne I would take care of him

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Desertion & Destruction

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Rhysand discovering you had left didn't go as gracefully as anyone expected.

Read Pt. 1 of Desertion & Destruction - HERE

Read Pt. 5 - HERE

Warnings: Blood, Yelling, Violence, Angst.

By the time Rhys had realized you’d left the Night Court, you were already over the border.

And Feyre stood, stunned and faintly terrified over the chaos that ensued.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SHES GONE?” Rhys was livid, indescribably so. His instincts were clawing at him, screaming at him to go after you. He could barely think through the chorus in his head yelling at him that you had left, you were gone. The logical, High Lord thinking part of himself said that he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t go after you. You were over the border, out of his court, and with tensions as high as they already were, he couldn’t risk walking into another court. They would take it as an unspoken declaration of war, especially considering he sent no correspondence beforehand- and that he was so close to Amarantha Under the Mountain. He was stuck.

A cornered animal is almost as dangerous as a wounded one.

Unfortunately for Azriel, Rhys was both.

“She left yesterday and headed straight for the border.” Azriel spoke matter-of-factly, as if he was giving a mundane report to his High Lord about observations he had made while out on a mission. He didn’t owe anything to Rhys, not after the way he had treated you. Right now, he was his brother, first and foremost, High Lord status be damned.

“And you helped her?” Rhys asked incredulously, a scowl upturning his features that had Azriel’s feet spreading, back straightening. Cassian tensed from beside them, noting the warrior stance Azriel had casually slipped into. He became mildly concerned about where this conversation was headed, and if the streets outside the townhouse would survive Azriel and Rhys duking it out in the middle of the entryway.

“What would you rather have me do? Leave her to rot like you did?” Azriel hissed through his teeth, shadows stirring from their dormancy. Rhys bristled, a flash of unrestrained power flared through his violet irises, lighting them up and making them shine with an iridescent hue. The ground rumbled beneath them, the movement causing Cassian to tense, shooting a concerned look at Azriel.

“Easy.” He warned, the tension becoming thicker with each passing second. He could tell Rhys was getting too riled up, his rage combined with his instincts roaring at him to go after you and his power that was no doubt bucking against its restraints, this could turn deadly real fast- too fast. Morrigan stepped in front of Feyre the slightest bit, watching the conversation pan out. Despite how heated it was getting, she seemed content to let them sort it out amongst themselves, although that didn’t stop her from urging Feyre to get behind her should things go south.

Azriel’s siphons blazed a bright sapphire.

He continued, “Turn my affections on to another fae?” He asked, waving his hand toward Feyre in a gesture that told the group he didn’t care much for her. Rhys’ figure grew taunt, like a spring that was wrung tight, ready to launch at a moment’s notice “Plaster posters around when she slips your leash?”

Cassian barely had time to blink before Rhys had Azriel up against the wall. The house shook from the impact, pictures falling off the wall and smashing on the ground as a yelp sounded from behind Cassian. Whether it was from Feyre or Morrigan, he didn’t know- didn’t turn around to find out. Rhys seethed, his forearm against the shadowsingers throat as he bared his teeth. “Don’t talk about my mate.”

Azriel wondered at what point his loyalty had turned over to you. Him and his brothers had grown up together. They had fought countless battles- killed thousands, and saved each other more times than they could count. But still, staring at Rhys as he was pinned to the wall, his High Lords arm digging into his neck as he felt a tremor shake the house under his barely restrained power- he knew he’d gone wrong somewhere.

Cassian jumped in, tearing Rhys off of Azriel as the High Lord struggled to push through him. Azriel ignored Cassian’s attempt to break it up, despite the shout of warning Cassian had shot at him. Azriel stepped forward, inches away from Rhys’ face as he snarled “You abandoned her just like you did Under the Mountain.”

Rhys had plowed through Cassian and was on Azriel in a second. Cassian barely had time to react as he stumbled back, attempting to regain his balance. Mor immediately turned around, ushering a panic-stricken Feyre up the stairs of the townhouse as Rhys and his spymaster threw each other to the ground.

The first punch landed directly in the center of Azriel’s face, making him recoil slightly before sending Rhys into a side table in the entrance to the foyer. Only a grunt left him, barely an acknowledgement of the wood that had slammed into his side before they lurched at each other again.

They scuffled on the ground for a moment, Rhys crawling on top of Azriel as the spymaster attempted to shift his weight, aiming to flip him over. His attempts ultimately failed as he was slugged again, his head being sent careening, cracking against the hardwood floors. He felt it collide, the blinding pain that shot through his head and down his spine, throbbing in his temples. He grit his teeth, his siphons fluttering, the light flickering until it came to a head.

A blast of blue light collided into Rhys, sending him into the wall behind him. A crack formed in the drywall as he hit, the sound audible in the once chaotic room that now sat still. A groan sounded from Rhys as he slumped down the wall, the pain no doubt incapacitating him for the time being.

Before one of them could regain their bearings and go at it again, his shadows swarmed him in a frenzy. It was almost as if they were panicked, the way they zipped around him. He felt the warm blood leak from his nose as he heard the first whisper. A murmur, almost like a graze as it spoke, mutterings of your journey, a fall, a broken wing.

Fuck.

Azriel hadn’t even given half a thought to the mating bond before he and Rhys went at it- of how it would affect you. Though before he could scramble to his feet and rush to you, a voice sounded from behind him.

“Cauldron boil me, what happened in here?”

His head rang, and a jolt of pain zapped through him as he looked up to find Amren staring directly at him, Mor at her side as she looked between him and Rhys. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to will away the headache that began to set in from the blow to the head. “Words were exchanged.” Azriel gritted out, ignoring Cassian as he arched a brow in slight amusement. Mor let out a whistle as she surveyed the foyer, the broken table, dented floorboards, and the pictures that lay shattered on the floor.

“No shit, I was wondering which ones had you willing to blow the entirety of Velaris apart.” Amren said, not sounding too enthused at the state of the room. She sent a pointed looked to the crack in the wall, the drywall caving in slightly and exposing the stunts underneath. Azriel rubbed his temples as he sat up on his knees, one hand coming to brace himself on the hardwood. “The ones that told Rhys he’s been a shit mate.” Azriel quipped, a layer of frustration edging his tone as he couldn’t stop the headache from raging on. “Ah.” Amren tutted, dark hair swaying with her steps as she walked up to the High Lord. “Get up.”

Rhys blinked blearily, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as Amren’s eyes shone with a flicker of that foreign power. It had appeared Rhys had his fill of fighting for the day, and rose to his feet without complaint, only a muffled groan of pain leaving him as he heaved himself up the wall.

Amren snapped her fingers toward Mor, nodding her head towards Rhys as she helped him steady himself. Mor seemed to understand as she let out an annoyed sigh, making her way over to the two as Rhys braced himself on the wall. Mor clicked her tongue as she gave Rhys a once over, but spared the ladder any further comments as she grabbed hold of him and Amren. The trio disappeared in a plume of black smoke, leaving Cassian and Azriel in the decimated foyer.

Cassian let out a snort, his steps avoiding the dents along the scuffed floor as Azriel grimaced weakly. Cassian held out a hand in expectation, waiting a beat before Azriel took it and he hauled him up. Azriel stumbled, tripping over his own footing as he struggled to keep upright. Cassian tsked. “Last time you had a concussion was 120 years ago.” Azriel shot him a glare, flinching when he felt another jolt of pain throb through his temples. He ignored Cassian’s comment, instead gesturing to the vacant space where Rhys once stood. “Where’d they go?”

“The House.” Cassian said, watching Azriel as he made his way towards the townhouse steps. “Figured you two needed a little time apart.” Azriel huffed a laugh as he sat down onto the steps rather ungracefully. A small grin tugged at Cassian’s lips as he watched his brother fumble. “And I take it Amren’s appearance was also your idea?” Azriel asked rhetorically.

Azriel never intended for this to get out of hand. A would’ve been quiet conversation had turned into a shitshow, and he didn’t know whether to feel bad or justified that the family seemed to have been picking sides. “It’s not my fault she’s the only one who can seem to get you two off of each other.” Cassian chuckled at his own joke, the laugh ringing out through the silent house. Cassian knew Feyre was upstairs and had probably heard everything that had gone down, but part of him was glad she wasn’t there to see the brunt of it.  A hell of a first impression she got.

Cassian’s smirk fell at Azriel’s lack of response. He noted the way he stared at the ground, watching the blood from his nose drip and splatter on the floorboards, staining the wood. “You care for her don’t you.” Azriel seemed to snap out of his reverie at the mention of you, his eyes glancing off to the side as he huffed incredulously. “I care about all of you.”

Cassian pursed his lips, surveying the bloodied spymaster. He sighed, looking down at the ground as he shook his head knowingly. “You know that’s not what I meant.” His tone had gone soft, Azriel gritted his teeth. He didn’t bother to respond to the remark, instead slumping against his hand that had come to cradle his head.

Cassian laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a pat of goodwill. “Keep me updated.” He said gently, before strolling past him and up the stairs.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Dick loves your plushie collection.

He doesn’t find it embarrassing in the slightest! If anything he finds it more offensive that you’d think it embarrassing having plushies as an adult. After he himself has a plush bunny dressed in his nightwing attire -escrima sticks and all- that he won at an arcade game a while back perched on the top of his bed back home.

He calls it dick jr and cuddles it when he has a rough night of crime fighting.

So he’s the last person to ever cast judgment on your plush collection.

If anything he lets his imagination run wild with them and takes full advantage of them. So if the instance came where you weren’t home, Dick would always send you photos and mini videos of him taking excellent care of a plush hare called Sir John Roderick Wellington the third by tucking him in bed at night, pretending to brush his teeth, etc

Or he’d make enact a photo shoot with a couple of them and send the results to you as your left asking where’d he manage to get all sorts of accessories for them…you’re still awaiting the answer to this day. Another thing he’d do with them is take them with him as company while he’s doing mundane chores in the apartment and act as though the plush is helping him.

You were quick to catch on that Dick having a hell of blast with it with how often he spammed your phone with a plethora of photos and videos that kept you up to date with the daily misadventures of your plushy. And yet you weren’t any better either as you kept them all in a album in your phone and are still wondering why your phone keeps informing you that you are running low on space…

Your favourite picture of your plushy was one where Dick had it tucked in bed, a picture of you on its lap, meanwhile Dick’s face could be seen peaking up from the bottom corner of the screen followed by the caption; ‘he misses you and can’t wait for you to come home and cuddle him. Oh and also me. :(

It’s became your Home Screen now and it was the best decision you’ve been made because it never failed to make you smile even on a bad day.

Jason loves it when you wear his clothes.

It’s free therapy for the man seeing you in his clothes and you can quote me on that.

He fucking loved coming home to see you do your own thing while looking all comfortable and relaxed in his shirts or hoodies doing so. For all Jason could ever want for you was for you to feel comfortable with him however you saw fit.

Also it gives him the more reason to stare at you shamelessly, well more than he did already, but you get the point. Jason is a simple man who’s not above letting it known how much he absolutely adores you.

So you wearing his clothes only added onto that adoration that he had for you. No one else could be more perfect in his eyes then you and he stands by that that statement.

‘You look perfect.’ -Jason

‘Jason, I’m wearing sweats and one of your shirts while eating pizza.’ -you

‘Yeah, perfect.’ -Jason

‘Doofus.’ -you, smiling.

Some days Jason would even go out of his way to leave his clothes on your side of the bed as a hint that he wants you to wear it for the day. Other days however he would be outright and blunt with the fact that he’d rather have you in his clothes than your own at this point.

‘Why are you wearing your clothes?’ - Jason

‘Because they’re my clothes and I feel bad wearing all of yours all the time.’ -you

‘Well I on the other hand don’t, take this shirt and go back into our bedroom and change.’ - Jason says as he takes off the shirt he was wearing and hands it to you, uncaring of the fact that he was shirtless in the living room.

‘You’re being dramatic Jason.’ - you as you take the warm shirt from his hands.

‘No I’m not, I just like you in my clothes a lot better than anything else.’ - Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘You’re getting jealous over clothes now?’ - you asked, raising a brow.

‘Yes.’ Jason responds instantly. ‘Now for the sake of my sanity go back and put my shirt on please.’

You kiss his cheek before leaving for the bedroom to change. ‘If you insist.’

‘I heavily insist chipmunk.’ - Jason says as he watched you walk away before following after to grab another shirt.

Jason loves it when you’re in his clothes. It’s his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.