#cowards must keep it to the tags

[ganondoodle]

struggling again with extreme artblock and general demotivation (as in nothing seems fun or appealing and you sit around staring at nothing doing nothing bc apparently no matter what i do whether drawing or not drawing i end up like this now)

i started to watch skitties totk video (again) and wrote a big post about how much i hate how the gorons are treated there but saved it as a draft like i have been doing with several rants now in order to not spam people with it over and over

but it does end up feeling like talking to a wall and just kinda .. increasing this looming feeling of extreme loneliness i have been fighting with for .... since i left school really..

[deadqueernoldor]

Nghhh chewing on finweans and realizing how self-sacraficial is so deeply instilled in that family, and that that particular trait is prevalent in each generation.

Finwe knew he couldnt win against Morgoth, but he could try and protect his grandchildren. He fought regardless.

Fingolfin knew he couldnt twin against Morgoth in 1-on-1. He fought regardless.

Finrod knew he would die on his quest for Beren, and still fought the wolf to save his friend. He did.

Celebrimbor knew he could protect others by dying, protecting the knowledge about the rings. He did.

It stands to reason that Elladan, Elrohir or Arwen, would have come upon a similar fate.

[chiliyue-archived]

Does he fuck or make love ?

Includes; Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo, Kunikida, Atsushi, Nikolai, Fyodor

Tags; SMUT/NSFW, fem!reader. rough sex, biting, teasing, overstimulation, nicknames(Belladonna; Doll), pure filth

-

Fucks

How can he resist when you're his cute little Belladonna? To DAZAI, your whines are like blissful bells to his ears, each moan causing his cock to twitch just the slightest bit in your mushy walls. Each time you look away from him, his nimble fingers go to the bring your face back towards his, chin grasped firmly with his fingers- and when he isn't busy keeping your attention, the pad of his thumb is making work at your core coaxing more whimprs fall from your mouth. Hickeys and blemishes of purple dots litter around your shoulders and inner thighs, his pace was relentless but you just felt so good. Even as tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, Dazai pays little mind, he may even tease you for it- he came to recognize all your repsonses, he'll quickly become aware if anything was truly causing you discomfort. Afterall, his cock feels so warm and welcoming in your cunt, it was a wonderful opportunity to fuck you up.

" My my~ my sweet Belladonna, barely started and you're sobbing. Worry not, my darling- I'll make you feel good, just keep those pretty eyes on me alright~"

He's a little jerk that loves to see the sheer desperation in your face as you work yourself off his dick. RANPO is quite lazy and a tease at that, he'll make you work for it, laying down, hands behind his head(that or fumbling with your chest) all while your muscles strain to keep bouncing on his hard cock. He quite addicted to the sight befor him; your fucked out expression, lips glistened with drool all by your own doing. He makes you beg for it, telling him what it is you desire. Tongue clicking that you were 'simply giving up now?'But soon enough, his hands plant on your waist and he proceeds to thrust into you without any remorse. His smirk only grows at the mewls you make as his dick hits every right spot. And he adores how you prettily arch your back off the bed, arms reaching out to him for support. Even as you reach your release, his pace doesn't falter, the filthy sounds continuing to echo in the room. His mouth only adds to your torment, spewing out teases that turn your face a crimson red. Any attempts at shielding your burning cheeks is met with a gentle slap against your thigh.

" Don't coward now, Y/N~ not when your were just begging me to take over~ I must say you look adorable like this."

FYODOR loves to see you beg for his cock. He'll over stimulate you with his fingers, tongue, kneading your skin with greedy hands and he'll do this for hours. He pays little mind to your whimpers or how you feebly grabbed onto his shoulder for support. 'Tell what is it is you truly want, my dear.' He would say, lips lazily burshing agaisnt your cheek and fingers curling within your heat. At that point all you could do was babble his name incoherently, chest heaving as shivers ran down your spine at the immense pleasure. Fyodor would tut, you became so dumb with just his fingers alone, tears pricking your irises and thighs clenching together begging for more. Soon enough he'll have your legs wide open, bottoming out with just one thrust. That was in itself was enough to make you see stars, but Fyodor's hips were already setting a brutal pace slapping into you again and again and again. A smirk grew on his face as tears started to prick the corners of your eyes; seeing your fucked out expression becomes a sight that engraves itself in his brain forever, impaled and marked by him and him alone.

" You take me so well, darling. Now don't start crying, you were asking me to fuck you like this just a couple minutes ago. Now be a good little dear and take what I give you."

Makes Love

KUNIKIDA doesn't like saying he fucked you- no, the term is too vulgar and not a proper representation of the feelings he has towards you. Yes, he can rather rough- especially when you're brat- but in many instances, he's very attentive and places your own pleasure before his own. Even now that he has you all spread out against the mattress, his length deep within your most sensitive spots, his always being aware of your comfort. He's aware of his own strength, his cock can easily spear you in half and make tears run down your face, but unless provoked otherwise or requested by you, he keeps himself in check. He has a pace that makes you both feel good, his lips brushing your cheek whilst you mewl beneath him. Sweet nothings and praises drips from his voice at every chance he gets, making sure you know well just how good you make him feel; a low groan would escape him whenever you clench around him, fingers taking you vacant hand or drawing shapes at your cilt. His pace gradually speeds up, adoring the way you lock your legs around his waist. He wants to make he fulfill all your desires, afterall he feels good if you do as well.

"A-ah- you take me so well, my love. Such a good girl, taking me so well. Just a little more, okay? Just like that."

ATSUSHI finds every part of your body to mesmerizing; he always so gentle and careful when kneading at you skin, asking if 'this was okay?' Or 'do you feel good?' He reciprocated your red blush, setting a gentle pace enjoyable to the both of you. Small love bites littered your shoulders, areas in which you can easily cover up, only for his eyes to view alone; he would press chaste kisses to those marks his way of apologizing for being too rough. Soft moans and mumbles of praise would escape him whenever you carded your fingers through his hair. His eyes would pinch shut as gave his length kitten licks, his words of encouragementmeeting no ends. In intimate moments such as these, he finds himself subconsciously grabbing your hand, gently squeezing it as you both approach your high. Atushi gently wipes away your tears as he thrusts into you a bit harder, his thighs trembling with how deep he went. As he approaches his climax, the only coherent words were his expressions of 'I love you.'

" So good, you feel so- good. Ah- y/n, I- Love so much, I can't p-properly express it-! Please cum with me, please-"

Both?! Both !

He tries to be gentle(unless you otherwise wish for him to be rough) and make you feel so good and loved, but the moment you clench around his cock, CHŪYA loses all control. Your legs were wide, bascially folded in half beneath him. His thrust only speeds up, defined arms holding onto your hips- bruises were sure to form with his grip. But the moment tears prick the corners of you eyes, Ch��ya would pause. As much he was close to his own sweet release the last thing he wishes was for you to be in genuine pain. A chuckle would escape him as you mumble how good he made you feel, your words causing his dick to twitch, only adding to your pleasure with a whine. His hips resumed to rut against you, his lips connecting with many parts of your body; collarbone, chest, wrist. All before finally connecting with your lips, muffling your cries as you reach your climax. He may be rearranging your insides as his tip kisses your cervix and rubs on all the best spots, but that's how he shows he loves you.

" You must be addicted to my dick given the look on your face. If you keep squriming amd making those sounds, I won't be able to hold myself back. But thats maybe what you want, isn't that right Doll?"

It's quite difficult to read NIKOLAI'S expression, especially in heat of the moment when pleasure rocks through your entire body with each precise movement of his hips. Your face is buried within the pillows, your euphony of sounds muffled as his long fingers wrap around the curve of your neck. He applied menial pressure but it was enough to send jolts of pleasure and fear down your shine. How long have you been in this position? You've lost count. Perhaps it was cruel of Nikolai to make you continue like this, panting and grabbing the headboard for support; but the sweet moans and hiccups you echoed back at him- the way your tongue rolled his name when he thrusted into the right spot- it was addicting and he shamelessly succumbed to the pleasure. He would chuckle at the whimpers you make as his thrust grow harder, the sounds of your filthy actions echoing in the room. Purple and red crescent moons formed along the sides of your thighs where his fingertips gripped onto tightly. Along with forming blemishes came the display of bites along back of your neck. He would bite down hard and without worse, his cock twitching at your whines of pleasure and pain. But not matter, he will gladly lick away your tears while his words say the most meanest of things with a dabble of praise in between. But with how clench around his cock, he knows youre adoring it just as much. He could be unpredictable, but he knew how to make you so weak.

" My pretty darling, is the pleasure too much for you, hm~? But I must admit, you feel wonderful, clenching me around like that~ I feel as though I can do this all night. What do you say, care to test the limits~? "

[novaursa]

Legacy (the pyre)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: castle black

- Next part: of snow

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The icy air of Castle Black was sharp and biting, but it did nothing to temper the fire in your veins. The courtyard was eerily silent, save for the crackling of the massive pyre that had been constructed in its center. Snow fell gently, the flakes catching the golden glow of the flames that now licked at the edges of the wooden platform.

Before the pyre stood the men who had betrayed Jon Snow—Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and the boy Olly, along with several others who had participated in the mutiny. Their hands were bound, their faces pale and tight with fear. Some muttered prayers to the Seven and the Old Gods; others stared ahead defiantly, their fates sealed.

Above them all loomed Viserion, her pale gold and cream scales glinting in the firelight as she shifted restlessly, her massive wings stirring the air. Her eyes burned with an intelligence and ferocity that made the gathered men tremble. The dragon’s low growl reverberated through the courtyard, a promise of what was to come.

You stood tall before the pyre, your silver hair whipping in the wind, your violet eyes cold and unyielding. The snow melted as it touched the heat of the flames, steam rising around you like a shroud.

“This is justice,” you declared, your voice carrying over the crackling fire and the muffled sobs of the condemned. “You betrayed your sworn brother, a man who sought only to protect you. You plunged your blades into the man I called my son. And for that, you will burn.”

Alliser Thorne, standing at the forefront, glared at you with unbroken defiance. “You call this justice?” he spat, his voice hoarse but strong. “This is vengeance. You’re no better than a Wildling queen, riding a beast of flame and fury.”

You stepped closer, your expression hardening. “You think yourself noble, Alliser? You who killed a man in the dark, surrounded by cowards? You think you can shame me with your words?” You gestured to the pyre. “This is mercy compared to what you deserve.”

Olly, the youngest among them, whimpered, his eyes wide with terror. His fear tugged at something deep within you, but you pushed it aside. He had made his choice, just as the others had.

Raising your voice, you called out to your dragon. “Dracarys!”

Viserion let out a deafening roar, her neck arching gracefully as she reared back. The air grew unbearably hot as fire erupted from her maw, a torrent of golden flames that engulfed the pyre and the men bound to it. Their screams pierced the night, a terrible, haunting sound that echoed across the Wall. The flames danced higher, consuming everything in their path, as the snow melted into slush beneath your feet.

The assembled men of Castle Black stood in stunned silence, some looking away while others watched with grim faces. Justice, vengeance, or horror—it was all the same to them now.

As the screams faded and the fire roared, Davos Seaworth burst into the courtyard, his face pale and drawn, his breath visible in the cold air. He pushed his way through the onlookers, his eyes wide with urgency as he called out to you.

“My lady!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the crackle of flames. “You must come back inside! At once!”

You turned sharply, the cold expression on your face softening into confusion. “What is it, Ser Davos?”

“It’s Jon!” he exclaimed, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—fear, hope, disbelief. “The Red Woman… she’s done something. You need to see this.”

Your heart lurched, your breath catching in your throat. Without another word, you spun on your heel and began striding toward the keep, the heat of the pyre and the cold of the night forgotten as you followed Davos back inside.

Viserion let out a low rumble behind you, her wings folding as she settled near the smoldering pyre. The crowd parted as you passed, their eyes lingering on you with a mixture of awe and fear.

Inside, the air was heavy with an unnatural stillness. You could feel it in your bones as you ascended the stairs to Jon’s quarters, your footsteps quick and determined. Davos stayed close behind you, his expression grim but focused.

When you reached the room, you stopped short at the doorway. Melisandre stood at Jon’s side, her hands outstretched over his still body. The ruby at her throat glowed faintly, pulsing with a dim, otherworldly light. The air around her shimmered, as if the very fabric of reality bent to her will.

“What have you done?” you demanded, your voice sharp and filled with suspicion.

Melisandre turned to you, her face serene but lined with exhaustion. “What I was meant to do,” she said softly. “The Lord of Light has not abandoned us.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding as you stepped closer to Jon’s lifeless form. His face was pale, his chest still. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had changed. But then, you saw it—a flicker of movement, the faintest rise and fall of his chest.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your knees threatened to buckle. “Jon…” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks as you reached for him. “Jon.”

The room held its breath as you watched, the faint pulse of life slowly returning to the man you had thought lost forever.

The halls of Dragonstone were quiet, save for the soft patter of servant footsteps and the distant crash of waves against the rocky cliffs below. Tywin Lannister sat in his solar, a fire crackling in the hearth as he reviewed reports from the capital and updates from his emissaries scattered across Westeros. The weight of governance was a familiar burden, one he bore with ease, yet tonight his focus was fractured.

The absence of his wife weighed on him—not as a distraction, but as a variable. Her sudden departure to the North, riding Viserion under the cover of darkness, had left him both irritated and uneasy. She was strong, fearless, and determined—but also unpredictable. It was a trait he admired, even if it vexed him.

A sharp knock at the door broke through his thoughts. Tywin’s sharp green eyes lifted from the parchment. “Enter.”

The door creaked open, revealing a flustered young servant carrying a squirming Damon in her arms. The boy’s face was red and tear-streaked, his small fists balled as he wailed loudly. The servant, clearly out of her depth, struggled to soothe him.

“My lord,” she stammered, her voice trembling, “the young master… he will not settle. He misses his mother, and none of us can calm him.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the boy with a mixture of irritation and something more subtle—concern. He set down the parchment and rose from his chair, the firelight casting his imposing shadow across the room.

“Bring him here,” Tywin ordered, his tone even but firm.

The servant hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, gently setting Damon on his feet in front of Tywin. The boy’s cries quieted slightly as he looked up at his father, his violet eyes were wet with tears, which only made pale green flecks in them more pronounced.

“Damon,” Tywin said, his voice softer now but still commanding. He knelt slightly to bring himself closer to the boy’s level. “What is the meaning of this?”

Damon sniffled, his bottom lip trembling as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Mama’s gone,” he whimpered, his small voice cracking. “I want Mama.”

Tywin’s expression remained stern, but his gaze softened imperceptibly. He placed a steady hand on Damon’s small shoulder, his touch firm but not unkind. “Your mother will return,” he said firmly. “She has important matters to attend to. In the meantime, you are here, under my care. You are a Lannister. Do you know what that means?”

Damon blinked up at him, his sobs quieting as he listened. “It means… I’m strong?” he said hesitantly, his small voice unsure but hopeful.

Tywin’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. “Yes. It means you are strong. And strength is not shown by tears but by how you endure. Do you understand?”

The boy sniffled again, nodding slowly, though his tears hadn’t completely stopped. “But I miss her,” he said softly, his voice breaking again.

Tywin’s gaze remained steady. “Missing someone does not make you weak. But letting it control you does. Your mother would not want to see you like this.”

Damon’s small fists unclenched, and he wiped his face again, this time with a little more determination. “I’ll be strong,” he said quietly, though his voice wavered. “Like you.”

Tywin straightened, his hand still on Damon’s shoulder as he regarded the boy. “Good,” he said simply. “Now, come. Sit with me.”

He led Damon to the large chair by the hearth, lifting the boy effortlessly and setting him on his knee. The boy leaned into his father’s chest, still sniffling softly but beginning to calm. Tywin picked up the parchment he had been reading earlier, holding it in one hand while his other arm rested around Damon, steadying him.

“Do you know why your mother left?” Tywin asked after a moment, his tone conversational.

Damon shook his head. “To punish bad men at the Wall,” he said, his small voice uncertain.

Tywin nodded. “Yes. She went because she believed it was the right thing to do. She acted with purpose and conviction. That is what it means to be a leader. To put the needs of others before your own desires. Do you understand?”

Damon tilted his head slightly, his small brow furrowing in thought. “I think so.”

Tywin allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “Good. Because one day, Damon, you will be a leader too. Dragonstone, Casterly Rock—they will be yours to command. You must be ready.”

Damon’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of those words dawning on him. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Tywin replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “You have the blood of lions and dragons. Never forget that.”

Damon seemed to draw strength from his father’s words, his small hands curling into determined fists. “I won’t forget.”

For the first time that night, Tywin allowed himself a moment of quiet pride. He returned his focus to the parchment, the boy settling against him as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

The servant lingered near the door, watching the scene with a mixture of awe and relief before quietly slipping away. Damon remained nestled against his father, his small breaths steadying as sleep began to claim him.

And for a moment, the weight of the world outside the walls of Dragonstone seemed a little less pressing.

The morning sun was barely visible through the dense fog rolling over Dragonstone. The air inside the war council chamber was strained but orderly as Tywin Lannister stood at the head of the table, his sharp green eyes scanning the map of Westeros spread before him. Jaime Lannister was sitting nearby, arms crossed, while Varys lingered in the shadows, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

The quiet hum of conversation among the assembled lords and knights was abruptly shattered as the heavy doors to the chamber burst open. Two of Tywin's men, their faces pale and their breaths ragged, stumbled inside, their armor clinking with every hurried step.

"My lord!" one of them exclaimed, his voice filled with panic. "Dragonmont… there's something inside. Something that attacked us!"

Tywin straightened, his gaze narrowing. The room fell silent as every pair of eyes turned toward the men. "Speak clearly," he commanded, his tone icy but composed. "What happened?"

The soldier swallowed hard, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill of the castle. "We went to prepare food for Viserion, should the lady return with her dragon. But something else was there… something smaller, but just as deadly. It—it killed one of our men, my lord. Ripped him apart before we could do anything."

A ripple of unease spread through the room. Jaime stood up, his golden hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "What do you mean, something smaller?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

The second soldier, his hands trembling, spoke up. "A dragon, Ser Jaime. It was about the size of a horse, but it moved faster than anything I've ever seen. Its scales were dark—black, maybe, with streaks of red. It burned the others alive before taking flight deeper into Dragonmont."

The weight of those words settled heavily over the chamber. Tywin’s expression remained impassive, but his gaze flicked to Varys, who raised a brow in faint amusement.

"A second dragon," Varys mused, his voice smooth and measured. "How curious. Could it be that one of Viserion's eggs hatched after all this time? Such a creature would be far too small to have been here before."

Jaime frowned, his gaze shifting between Varys and Tywin. "If it was one of her eggs… I didn’t think any were viable. That’s what we were told."

Varys offered a faint, knowing smile. "Tales of dragons are often filled with mysteries and half-truths. Perhaps the heat of Dragonmont was enough to awaken the dormant life within one of the eggs. Or perhaps something else entirely is at play."

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the implications. "You’re suggesting that this dragon, if it truly exists, is newly hatched?"

"It would seem so, my lord," Varys replied smoothly. "A creature of such size could not have been hidden here for long without discovery. If it is indeed from one of Viserion’s eggs, it raises… intriguing possibilities."

The soldiers shifted uneasily, their fear still palpable. One of them ventured hesitantly, "My lord, what should we do? That beast… it’s dangerous. And if it’s still in Dragonmont—"

Tywin raised a hand, silencing him. His gaze was cold and calculating as he addressed the room. "If there is a second dragon, it belongs to my wife—and by extension, to House Lannister. Its presence here may be unsettling, but it is an asset, not a threat."

Jaime stepped closer to Tywin, his expression skeptical. "And what do you propose we do with it? You saw how difficult it was to control Viserion, even with Y/N. Another dragon, unbonded and unchecked, could be catastrophic."

"Which is why it must be secured," Tywin replied evenly, his tone brooking no argument. "I want a team sent into Dragonmont immediately to confirm the creature’s presence and ensure it does not escape."

"My lord," the first soldier stammered, his voice shaking, "with all due respect, no man will willingly go back in there. Not after what we saw."

Jaime smirked faintly, though his humor was grim. "So much for Lannister bravery."

Tywin’s glare silenced him. "If none of you have the spine for it, I’ll see to it that others are brought in who do. This dragon will not roam unchecked."

Varys tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "Might I suggest that, should this dragon indeed be viable, we consider how best to use it? Dragons do not merely symbolize power, my lord—they are power incarnate. To possess a second would tip the balance in our favor."

Tywin didn’t reply immediately, his mind clearly working through the layers of this revelation. Finally, he turned to Jaime. "You will lead the effort to secure this creature. Take only those you trust and proceed cautiously. I will not have any more unnecessary losses."

Jaime nodded, though his expression remained doubtful. "As you command."

The anxiety in the room remained as the soldiers were dismissed, their relief evident as they hurried out. Tywin turned back to the map, his fingers tracing the edge of the parchment as he considered his next move.

"If it is true," he said quietly, almost to himself, "then House Lannister’s strength will grow tenfold."

Varys inclined his head, his smile faint but knowing. "And with it, your enemies’ fear."

Jaime left the room to begin his preparations, his steps purposeful despite the uncertainty etched on his face. Tywin remained behind, his gaze fixed on the map as the implications of the morning’s revelation took root.

Far below in Dragonmont, the shadows stirred once more, and the low growl of a young, hungry dragon echoed through the depths.

The dim light of the candles in Jon Snow’s quarters flickered as though trembling in anticipation, the air heavy with an almost suffocating silence. You stood frozen near the door, your hands trembling despite the warmth of the room. Ghost, normally a calm and watchful presence, paced uneasily at Jon’s side, his red eyes glowing with something primal and unsettling. His low growls filled the room, vibrating through the wooden floor beneath your boots.

On the table lay Jon, his chest rising and falling faintly, the stillness of death having given way to something impossibly fragile—life. His pale skin seemed to glow under the dim light, and his dark curls were damp with sweat. Beside him, Melisandre stepped back, her face unreadable but her eyes flickering with the faintest glimmer of something resembling awe.

Behind you, Davos Seaworth lingered, his presence steady but subdued. His voice broke the silence, a soft and reverent murmur. “He’s breathing, my lady. He’s alive.”

Your breath caught, a lump rising in your throat as you stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a storm. Jon Snow, the boy you had raised as your own, the man you had grieved for, was alive—but at what cost?

Ghost let out another growl, his ears flattening as he stood protectively over Jon’s prone form. His unease mirrored your own, a gnawing fear that this miracle carried a terrible price.

As you approached the table, your voice trembled. “Jon?”

Jon stirred at the sound of your voice, his head shifting slightly on the table. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing his grey, haunted eyes. His gaze was unfocused at first, his breaths shallow and uneven. But then his eyes met yours, and something shifted. Recognition dawned, faint but unmistakable.

“Mother,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and weak, yet filled with a depth of emotion that broke something inside you.

A sob escaped your lips, and before you realized it, you were at his side, leaning over him. Your hands cupped his face, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his cold, clammy skin. “Jon,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Oh, my sweet boy… you’re alive.”

Jon’s gaze softened, though it was still clouded with confusion. “You… came,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I… saw you. I think I saw you. In the dark.”

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned closer, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’ll always be here.”

Your arms wrapped around him gently, pulling him into a careful embrace. His body was weak and unsteady, but he leaned into you, his breaths shallow but real. The relief that flooded through you was overwhelming, a tidal wave of joy and anguish that left you trembling.

Behind you, Davos remained silent, giving you the space to grieve and rejoice. Melisandre watched from the shadows, her ruby pendant faintly glowing, her face serene yet enigmatic.

But even as you held Jon, a storm raged within your mind. He is alive, you reminded yourself over and over, clinging to the joy of it. But the voice in your mind, the one that whispered truths too dark to ignore, would not be silenced.

"At what cost?" it asked, gnawing at the edges of your relief. You thought of the flames roaring in the courtyard, the screams of the traitors as they burned alive. The thought made your stomach churn. Was that the price?

You pulled back slightly, your hands still cradling Jon’s face as you looked into his eyes. “Jon, do you know what happened? Do you remember anything?”

He shook his head faintly, his brow furrowing. “I… I was in the dark,” he said softly. “It was cold. Empty. And then… I heard voices. Yours.” His gaze flickered with uncertainty. “And hers.”

Your jaw tightened as you turned to Melisandre, your tears giving way to a sharp glare. “What did you do?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. “What price did you pay for this?”

Melisandre met your gaze evenly, her voice calm and unflinching. “I did what the Lord of Light willed. Life was taken, and life was returned. The flames of the traitors were accepted as a sacrifice.”

You stiffened, your mind racing. Her words rang with a grim truth, and the memory of the pyre flashed before your eyes—the heat, the screams, the finality of it all. “You’re saying that burning them made this possible?”

“Yes,” Melisandre said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. “The Lord of Light requires balance. Death for life. Your act of justice in the courtyard satisfied the flames. It allowed me to call him back.”

You clenched your fists, your body trembling with anger and unease. “You used me,” you said, your voice cold. “You waited for me to carry out your god’s will without telling me the truth.”

Melisandre inclined her head slightly, her expression serene but unapologetic. “It was not deception, my lady. It was fate. You made your choice, and it was the right one. The Lord of Light guided your hand.”

You stared at her, your fury mingling with confusion and unease. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of her words pressing down on you like the icy winds beyond the Wall.

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve done,” you said finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you ever try to manipulate me again, I will ensure the flames take you next.”

Melisandre said nothing, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before shifting back to Jon.

Jon stirred again, drawing your attention back to him. He looked at you with a mixture of weariness and gratitude, his lips parting as he whispered, “You saved me.”

“No,” you replied, your voice softening as you stroked his hair. “You saved yourself, Jon. You’ve always been stronger than you know.”

Ghost, still uneasy, let out a soft whine, his red eyes fixed on Jon as though sensing something neither of you could. You placed a reassuring hand on the direwolf’s head, silently promising that you would protect Jon, no matter what.

In the quiet of the room, you held Jon close, your tears falling freely as the storm inside you raged on. Joy and grief, relief and fear—they swirled together, leaving you raw and vulnerable. But one thing was certain: Jon was alive. And no matter the cost, you would ensure he stayed that way.

The cavernous tunnels of Dragonmont were dark and suffocating. The air was filled with the sulfurous stench of the volcano’s dormant power, and every step taken by Jaime Lannister and his men seemed to echo endlessly in the vast emptiness. The group moved cautiously, their hands gripping swords, spears, and crossbows as they ventured deeper into the mountain.

Jaime led the way, his expression a mask of determination. The stories brought back by Tywin’s terrified soldiers had been troubling enough, but the idea of a second dragon hiding within Dragonmont was something that could not be ignored. If it truly existed, it was both a threat and a potential asset, but Jaime couldn’t shake the unease settling in his gut.

“This place is cursed,” one of the soldiers muttered under his breath, glancing nervously at the darkened passage ahead.

“Quiet,” Jaime ordered, his voice low but firm. “Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. If there’s a dragon in here, you’ll hear it long before you see it.”

Another soldier, younger and less disciplined, whispered, “Do you really think it’s a dragon, Ser Jaime? Couldn’t it just be some… creature from the depths?”

Jaime shot him a sharp look. “You heard the men’s accounts. It’s a dragon. The question is how large and how dangerous.”

The group pressed on, the tension mounting with every step. The tunnel began to widen, the walls shimmering faintly with deposits of obsidian. The heat grew more oppressive, beads of sweat forming on the soldiers’ brows despite the chill of fear running down their spines.

“Tracks,” one of the men said, kneeling near the ground and holding his torch closer. The faint indentations in the dirt were unmistakable—clawed feet, larger than any normal beast, but still small enough to suggest youth.

Jaime crouched beside him, studying the marks. “It’s fresh,” he said grimly, rising to his feet. “Whatever it is, it’s close.”

The sound of heavy breathing broke the silence, a low, guttural rumble that sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. The soldiers froze, their eyes darting around the chamber as the noise grew louder.

“Form up,” Jaime ordered, his voice steady despite the mounting tension. The men moved quickly, forming a semi-circle with their weapons raised, their breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps.

From the shadows ahead, two glowing yellow eyes appeared, narrowing as they focused on the intruders. A low growl rumbled through the air, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet.

“Hold your ground,” Jaime barked, drawing his sword as the creature stepped into the torchlight.

The dragon was small—about the size of a horse—but no less menacing. Its sleek, black scales glinted in the dim light, streaked with veins of deep crimson that pulsed like molten lava. Smoke curled from its nostrils, and its sharp teeth gleamed as it opened its maw, letting out a piercing roar that echoed through the cavern.

The men faltered, their grips on their weapons tightening as the beast reared back, its wings spreading wide and casting long shadows against the walls.

“Steady!” Jaime shouted, stepping forward to rally his men. “It’s just a beast. Remember the plan.”

The dragon lunged forward, its talons scraping against the rocky ground as it advanced. The soldiers held their positions, waiting for the creature to step into the trap they had carefully laid—a series of reinforced nets and spiked restraints designed to hold even a young dragon.

“Now!” Jaime yelled, signaling for the men to spring the trap.

The nets shot forward, ensnaring the dragon’s wings and pinning it to the ground. The creature thrashed wildly, its growls turning into enraged roars as it struggled against the restraints. The soldiers moved quickly, driving iron spikes into the ground to anchor the nets.

For a moment, it seemed as though they had succeeded. The dragon’s movements grew more frenzied, but the nets held, and the men began to cautiously close the distance.

Jaime held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. “Wait,” he said, his eyes fixed on the dragon. “Let it tire itself out. Don’t get too close.”

But the dragon was far from finished. With a deafening roar, it surged upward, the muscles in its powerful wings straining against the netting. The iron spikes began to creak and groan, and before the men could react, the restraints snapped free.

“Fall back!” Jaime shouted as the dragon burst from the trap, its wings unfurling and sending a gust of hot air through the chamber. It lunged at the nearest soldier, its talons raking through armor and flesh with terrifying ease.

Chaos erupted as the soldiers scrambled to retreat, their shouts of panic echoing through the cavern. The dragon turned its fiery gaze toward Jaime, smoke billowing from its nostrils as it prepared to strike again.

“Hold your ground!” Jaime roared, though his own heart pounded in his chest as he raised his sword.

The dragon reared back, its head darting forward with a hiss, and Jaime swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade narrowly missing its snout. The creature roared again, its massive wings sending rocks and debris clattering to the ground as it leapt toward the shadows.

“Regroup!” Jaime shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Back to the entrance! Now!”

The soldiers obeyed, retreating toward the relative safety of the tunnel, their faces pale with terror. Jaime lingered for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the dragon as it disappeared into the darkness, its growls echoing ominously.

As the men gathered near the tunnel’s mouth, gasping for breath and tending to their wounds, Jaime turned to them, his jaw clenched. “This isn’t over,” he said grimly. “We’ll trap it again. And this time, we’ll make sure it holds.”

But as the dragon’s distant roars echoed through the mountain, Jaime couldn’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. This creature was no ordinary beast—and it wouldn’t be subdued so easily.

[pretzel-box]

God i need a part 3 to Sunkissed where we eventually get to meet him in his beautiful fishy glory

Bonus points if the reader says something along the lines of "You're as beautiful as the day i lost you" because that line goes so hard

SEQUEL TO SUNKISSED AND MOONBLINDED

Tags: Angst, gn!reader, mentions of attempted suicide

Words: 1k

Authors note: No >:) Maybe next part!

Sebastian had been hiding in the shadows, wedged into a tight crevice between rusted metal pipes, his fluorescent blue eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. He could see your form through a narrow gap, standing in the empty hallway, your back halfway to him and you still looked as beautiful as the day they took him from you. The faint light of the ceiling lamps casted a silver light down on you, making you look like bathed in glittering starlight. You stood still, almost frozen in place,like you were waiting for something or someone. Him, he realized with a pang of guilt.

“To be honest, I pretended it wasn’t a big thing that you died,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence with some words that must have been heavy on your tongue. Your voice echoed slightly in the empty space, soft yet clear, like you were confessing a secret you had kept for too long. Sebastian stiffened. You knew he was there, somewhere in the darkness, listening to every word you will say.

“I did it for your family's sake,” you continued, your voice steady but tinged with a sadness that was impossible to hide. “I couldn’t break down in front of them when they needed someone to keep them afloat.” Sebastian watched as your hands trembled, clenching and unclenching at your sides. The fingernails were digging uncomfortably into the flesh of your palms. You were trying so hard to stay strong, to keep up that cheerful front you always wore around him. It broke his heart.

He wanted to speak, to tell you he was here, but his voice was caught in his throat. How could he face you? After all that had happened, after what he had become. He was ashamed of how he looked now, the monstrous appearance he had taken on to survive in this godforsaken place. He couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing him like this. He would rather die than scar you with the memory of his newfound appearance.

“But it was anything but easy,” you said, your voice cracking slightly, still talking to the endless void. “It broke my heart.” You took a deep breath, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your own words. A small silence filled the space now before you continued with a pained hesitation. “I tried to… I stood in the waves, you know… And I tried to keep walking into them, but I got scared… I got so unbelievably scared of not being alive anymore.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened painfully at your words. The message hit him instantly as he realized what you meant. He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, could feel the tremor in your voice. You had always been so strong, so brave, and now here you were, breaking down in front of him, and he couldn’t do anything to help you. He felt like the coward he always feared he was.

“I was terrified, Sebastian,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. The words hit him like a physical blow, and he felt his own tears begin to form. “I was terrified of what you must have felt when they wanted to kill you.”

Sebastian’s hand twitched at his side as his eyes widened in another moment of realization. No matter what situation you were in, you still had the habit of putting him first. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, to pull you into his arms and tell you everything would be okay. But he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed by his own fear, his own shame. How could he comfort you when he couldn’t even face himself?

He watched as you stood there, alone in the dim lights, waiting for him. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, an endless chasm between the two of you. He wanted to close the distance, to take that first step, but his tail felt like lead.

He could hear your breathing, shaky and uneven, and it tore at him. He wanted to scream, to shout that he was here, that he had never truly left you. But his voice was gone, stolen by the fear that held him captive.

You finally turned, looking toward the shadows where you knew he was hiding. “Sebastian… please,” you whispered, your voice broken, pleading. “I need to see you. I need to know you’re real.”

And for a moment, just a moment, he almost did it. He almost stepped out of the darkness and into the light. But then the fear crashed over him again, a tidal wave of doubt and shame. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face you, not like this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “I’m so sorry…”

He watched as your shoulders slumped, the last of your strength seeming to drain away. You took a shaky breath, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’ll come back,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll come back tomorrow, and the day after that… until you’re ready. I promise.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, your footsteps echoing down the hallway until they faded into a painful silence. Sebastian watched you go, his heart aching with every step you took and he cursed himself in the comfort of his own mind. He wanted to call out to you, to beg you to come back, but the words wouldn’t come.

He was left alone in the darkness, the weight of his own fear pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the spot where you had disappeared. All he knew was that he had to find the courage to face you, to make things right.

Because if he didn’t, he knew he would lose you forever.

Sebastian sank to the ground, tears streaming down his face as he finally let go of the emotions he had buried for so long. His chest heaved with sobs that echoed through the empty hallway, his body trembling with the force of his grief. The shame, the fear, the guilt—everything crashed over him in waves, drowning him in a sea of sorrow. He buried his face in his hands, his three blue eyes wet with tears. “I’m sorry,” he choked out between sobs, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry…” His heart ached, knowing he’d pushed away the one person he loved most.

“Please, come back…”

[eraenaa]

The Prince and the Poet

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them. 

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Aemond Writes a Poem, Childhood Friends, Hidden Attraction, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,900

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, The Den of Dragons and Lions

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as he watched you completely enthralled by the sonneteer who performed before you. It had been un-endless hours he had to suffer as the court was subjected to watching poets read their works for the day’s entertainment. It was all too boring, all too frivolous, it was an utter waste of time. Aemond could not understand why you would willingly subject yourself to these men's trite and untrue words— whose delusions and desires were projected in their works. Aemond strongly believed that those who write poems and epics are weaklings and cowards. They do not have the courage to go on great adventures and woo their loves, so they can only imagine and write them down on parchment. And you were the sweet, naive fool who brought into their words—declaring their works beautiful and unparalleled. Blinded by flowery verses and empty promises. 

You sigh longingly in your seat as the sonneteer before you recited your favorite sonnet of them all. Your lips silently move unconsciously as you recite your most favored work with him. Aemond, who sat by your side, sneered at the sigh that left your pillowy lips and the enchanted look in your eyes. His gaze traveled the court; every young maiden swooned by the words and looks of the sonnet who stood in the middle, reciting the work that you clung on to. When his torment finally ended, Aemond rolled his eye once more as you quickly stood and clapped your hands, an ovation for the young man who had finished his performance. Aemond did no such thing, only staring down the sonneteer who bowed and savored the praises given. 

“I hope he shall return soon— and with new material!” You exclaimed to Helaena as you two walked the halls, arms linked together, Aemond trailing behind you. It was an old scene, your actions instilled since childhood. You practically grew up in the Red Keep with the princes and princess, a lion fostered by dragons. 

You hear Aemond’s third scoff of the afternoon, making you glance behind only to see the consistent look of annoyance on his face. “I would take it you did not enjoy?” You say and face onward, feeling Aemond fasten his steps and now walking beside you and Helaena. “It is an utter waste of time; why must we spend hours on this frivolity when pressing matters could be attended to?” You roll your eyes at the Prince’s complaint. 

“Aemond, your attendance was not required. If you believe poetry is a waste of time, I do not understand why you came there.” You say simply, pausing in your tracks. Helaena, a silent audience as you and Aemond began your ceaseless squabbles once more. Aemond was silent for a moment; the truth of his actions may not be revealed. “We did not force you to sit there and listen to Sir Liam— if anything, I’d prefer if you did not come; your glares and scoffs were seen and heard, and are very much unappreciated,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he had no response that he’d like to share. His eye traveled to his sister, who had a knowing smirk on her lips whilst you waited for his response that would not come.“I’ll see you both at supper,” Aemond grumbled as his eye landed on you, who bit back her smirk, the prince stomping away as you finally let your smile slip your lips. 

“Must you really tease him? You perfectly know why he sat through the readings,” Helaena said as you and she sat in the gardens for tea. You picking at the candied lemons that you and Aemond would usually fight over. You smile as you lick your finger clean of the sugary syrup. “Yes, I know why he suffered through the readings. However, he is not aware that I am knowledgeable of his intent,” Helaena sighed, “How long will you make him suffer?” The princess asked, already impatient for the day her closest friend and brother would finally admit their attractions. 

“Suffer?” You ask in shock, “I do no such thing! He inflicts his suffering himself—“ Helaena shook her head and laughed. “You’ve known of Aemond’s attraction to you for years! Yet you still act so clueless with him!” She reasoned. “I am a lady! I am expected to act chase and reserve. I cannot just go up to Aemond and confront him with his secret attraction!” You exclaimed with a fake and exaggerated look of scandal on your face, making Helaena laugh. 

“If you are waiting for my brother to acknowledge and confess his attraction towards you, then you must wait— it might take him a lifetime.” Helaena mused, a hint of frustration and pity in her voice, for Aemond had wanted you since childhood; he was just afraid to let it be known. “Then I pity him… he could have had the golden beauty of the realm, but he chose to stay silent.” You say confidently— proud with the title bestowed upon you by lords and ladies, small and noble folk men who agreed that your beauty was as valuable and desirable as the gold your family was known for. Helaena hummed quietly and quickly prayed to the gods that her brother would soon admit his attraction, for Helaena knew that your pride would not subject you to confess your feelings first. 

“Just because you do not understand or care for poetry does not mean they are a waste!” You exclaimed as Aemond picked another fight with you. You were peacefully seated in Helaena’s chambers, stroking your cat's fur mindlessly as Aemond’s own pet lay beside you. You were in no mood to fight with him and battle his views of poetry. “They are! They’re pointless. If you must say something, then say it— why must they dance around the matter? Why must they go on and on about something that could be said in one sentence? Cowards, the likes of them are!” You let out an exasperated sigh, making Aemond smirk at your annoyance. 

He finds you quite endearing at the state, which is why he often takes time out of his day just to annoy you. Relishing at the roll of your enchanting eyes, the sighs that leave your plump, pink lips, and the furrow between your perfectly arched brows. If he were lucky and had annoyed you to quite an extent, you’d stomp your foot like a spoiled child. Or simply wave him off with your pampered hand because you no longer had a word of defense. 

“Because they are poets! They do not wish to come to the answer and their intentions all at once— they create beauty with their words. They are capable of making subjects so dire be of great interest that they, in turn, create spectacles upon it!” You defended but Aemond only rolled his eye and shook his head, the former action he had gotten from you. Ever since you two were young, you would always roll your eyes when you found something disagreeable; Aemond would mock you for it— would mimic your actions in hopes of getting more from you. However, in time, he managed to adopt the same mannerisms. 

“Archmaester Sisco believed that poetry is of great danger,” he said, taking a goblet to his lips. Your eyes followed the way the ball on his throat booed as you waited for him to continue his thought.  “He says they mislead and are obscure and false— that poets are seducers of the mind,” He finished, noting the way your eyes were on his throat. Guessing you’d want to strangle him out of annoyance, Aemond was amused with the thought of you thinking about strangling him. 

“The Archmaester’s proclamation and thinking is old— irrelevant in our times. Even his student, Archmaester Aristedes, disagrees with his views on poetry. He reasons that it is not harmful— it is a form of expression! Cathartic to those who read and write it!”Aemond let another scoff of derision slip his lips, pushing your annoyance into frustrated anger. 

“You would not understand the beauty of poetry because you keep everything you feel inside you! You do not know what great relief it is to say or even write what you desire and hope for!” You exclaimed, and Aemond tensed in his seat. Silence surrounded the room as Aemond could not work out a response. You saw him fisting the arm of his chair, the knuckles of slender fingers turning pink from his tight grip. 

You sighed heavily, “What I meant is… I understand that you do not like poetry and find it pointless and a waste— but I don’t. I am not forcing poetry onto you, nor am I trying to change your views upon it. I enjoy and adore poetry— I just wish you would stop discouraging me from enjoying it. 

“Why do you enjoy it?” Aemond asked after a short while. You try to hide your surprise at his question. “Because… I find it romantic. For someone to take time to depict you with such beautiful imagery and flattering words, to love and admire you enough to dedicate a work of literature to your name… for me, it is the best way to express to someone how much you truly love them.” You could not look at Aemond as you said the words. In truth, a part of you felt silly because your love for poetry was only solidified because you loved a boy who you knew would not subject himself to create such works. When you read your favorite epics and songs, you would humor yourself and imagine it was Aemond who wrote it for you, knowing he would never do such a thing. 

Days passed since your and Aemond’s interaction and you noticed that you had scarcely seen his presence. You would pass by him whilst in training and join him and his kin for supper— but other than that, you could not feel a trace of his presence. He would usually join you and Helaena for tea or would suddenly appear by your side as you walked along the keep. He didn’t even pick fights or tease you anymore. Him growing more silent and reserved. Now you regret speaking— wishing you had just held your tongue and let him continue to disparage the sacred thoughts of poems and songs. 

It was high night, and you sat silently in your chambers, staring at the fire, trying to find ways to approach Aemond. Already missing his teasing presence— the only presence you would muster the patience to endure. 

You furrowed your brows as you heard shuffling at your door. Your eyes catch the shadow of a figure outside. You cautiously and quietly stood, going to your door only to see a piece of parchment being slipped at the slit of the wooden door. Your confession only grew. You quickly took the parchment and opened the door, revealing its sender. Three eyes went wide as you were met with Aemond, who blended in the dark. However, his silver hair shined in the light of the moon. “What are you doing?” You ask and turn to the parchment he had slipped. 

“Nothing— I… this—“ Aemond fumbled for words; you had never seen him in such a state. He was usually composed and stoic. You thought seeing him bashful and embarrassed was a nice gift from the gods. “What is this?” You ask and unfold the parchment. “No! Don’t—“ Aemond bit his tongue as it was too late to hinder you. Your eyes already consuming what was written. 

I’ve known you for half of my life yet; you consume the whole of it I’ve had you near and close to me yet, I only gaze from afar

I do not know how to proclaim I’m not certain how to say it without blame, but you, my beauty, are the cause of my desire and, most of the time, my ire

I know I pick countless squabbles, but I do it because I love to hear you babble about things I have no care for but you just simply adore

We disagree for many reasons, but I’d rather fight you through the seasons You, my beauty, so lovely and carefree my heart could not help but love you, most ardently 

Aemond watched you bite your lip as a wide smile started to spread. Aemond felt heat all over his body— anticipation did not sit well with him. He was ready to meet your laughs at his attempt to make you a poem. Ready to face rejection, but instead of the pessimistic thoughts in his mind, he was met with your sweet, pillowy lips. You were so excited and thrilled that you could not help but kiss him. Show him how you adored him as well. 

What was supposed to be a short and chaste kiss turned deep with passion. Lips dancing and refusing to part. You and Aemond stumbled to your bed, uncaring and ignorant of the teachings of the gods, for you and him had long surpassed your desires, and they could no longer be denied. They were ready to claim without thought of consequences because both of you knew that you’d happily take all punishment that would be presented if it meant neither of you had to stop your actions. 

“Gods, I want you,” You uttered as his lips traveled to kiss your soft cheeks, then trailed downward to the side of your neck. His hands were on your waist and threading dangerously close to your bosom. “Say it again,” Aemond almost begged. Savoring your scent, delighting at the way you feel against him. “I want you, Aemond. I’ve wanted you for years— you, only you.” You sighed as he left marks on your necks, earning quiet moans from you at the new sensation.  

Aemond let a low moan rumble as his cock painfully strained against his trousers, throbbing at your admittance of want for him. It was all he wanted. He thought his deepest desire in life was to have a dragon, but that was wrong. He desired you more than claiming a dragon— his deepest desire was to claim a lioness.

Aemond tangled his hair in your hair, finally letting his other hand move from your waist and cup your breast. Your hand, in turn, went to palm him through his trousers, watching as his jaw clenched and the ball of throat bobbed once more. “We… we must not lay until we are married,” Aemond said, voice pained and filled with impatience. Yet, he still did not move atop you; he kept his hold, but you relinquished yours. “We don’t have to,” You said, trying to push away your need for him to touch you. Aemond sighed and hurried his face in your neck, his lips and breath tickling your skin. “Then how…” Aemond trailed, and a thought passed your mind. “We must not touch each other….yet. However, I do not recall teaching forbidding us to touch ourselves,” You whisper, Aemond’s lilac eye flying to you, dark and filled with lust, mirroring yours. 

Aemond moved to remove his weight from you. You keep your eyes locked as you back away to the back of your bed, resting yourself on the pillows as Aemond kneels by the edge of your feathered bed, watching each move you make with his glazed, lone eye. 

You bit your lip harshly as your hand threaded a path that it threaded plenty of times, the thought you had as you did the actions now watching you. You slipped your hands, and you resisted moaning as your fingers brushed over the pearl of your cunt. Aemond admired the way your breasts peaked and traced through your silk nightgown. The way your eyes were hooded and how your plump lips finally parted and moaned his name. 

Aemond could no longer resist. Slipping his hand into his trousers just like he did every night, the image of you no longer in his mind but now sitting before him, calling out his name.“A-Aemond,” You stuttered as you felt the familiar cold within you. How desperately you wanted it to be, him to make you feel such a way. Aemond groaned and tilted his head to the heavens as he felt his cock twitch; he was quick to reach his peak; just the way you called for his name was enough for him to spill so quickly. 

Aemond closed the space between the two of you, each of your hands still pleasuring yourselves while lips met and wanted to be together when both of you reached your peaks. “You will be mine soon, my heart… mine to pleasure and please, all mine,” Aemond swore against your lips. You nod your head as you fasten your pace. “I’ve always been yours, Aemond.” You said truthfully, the final push for Aemond to come undone; you quickly followed as his moans spurred your peak. Aemond kissed your lips once more and boldly prayed for patience, patience, and restraint to not take you that night.

It was not enough for Aemond; pleasuring himself as he watched you pleasure yourself was not enough, but it had to be for now. Because when morning comes, he’ll demand that you shall be his, just as it ought to be.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In From The Cold

Warnings: noncon, somnophilia, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: The power goes out on Christmas and your landlord comes over to keep you warm.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Day Twenty-Nine of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - the electricity is out, let's keep each other warm.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The knock at the door makes you jump. You’re not a child, you shouldn’t be afraid of the dark. Yet, since the power flickered and fizzled out, you’ve been on high alert. Your nerves are frazzled and the shadows nestling in the corners are playing tricks on you. It’s only because you’re alone. Really, you’re not a coward. 

You shine the light on your phone ahead of you as you move around the soft silhouettes of the furniture. Without power, you won’t be able to recharge it once it drains. The only other light is single candle burning that does little to ward off the obscurity. It only fills the house with the scent of mulled cider. 

You go to the door. That should be the landlord. You’re not sure who else would bother on Christmas Day. You flip back the lock and open the door. Rumlow’s gritty growl greets you as he shields himself from your phone light with his large hand. 

“Shoot, sorry,” you lower your phone as he squints in irritation. 

“Hmm,” he grumbles. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s Christmas but the power--” 

“Doesn't matter,” he waves off your apology, “what were ya doin’ when it went out?” 

You’re not sure it’s a genuine question so much as an accusation. You rarely bother the leaser as he often meets you with the same simmering agitation. He’s like a bear and just a smile is a poke in his side. You don’t want to bother him more than you need to. 

You hug yourself with one arm and shiver. No heat, no power. He tilts his head and sighs. He steps inside and you back up. He shuts the door with a sigh. “Well?” 

“Um, I was watching a movie, sir,” you don’t know why you add that last title; it feels appropriate. “I only had a lamp on and the kettle for hot chocolate.” 

He doesn’t respond. You feel the judgment roiling off of him. He must think you a ridiculous girl, like the rest of your roommates. You all know Rumlow can barely stand you but your rent is his profit. 

“What about the others?” He asks as if reading your mind. 

“Well, er, they went home for Christmas, sir,” you unfold your arm and chafingly grip your wrist instead. 

“Mm,” he grumbles again. 

He kneels to unlace his boots. You wonder if he has a family. If you dragged him away from a lovely dinner with presents and children. With the people he preserves his love for. 

“I’m sorry if I spoiled your holiday,” you say. 

“Fuck Christmas,” he snarls as he puts his boots aside and stands. His figure is draped in black like a horror movie villain, looming, waiting to pounce. Your phone light points behind you, offering little clarity. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You utter as you stare at him, clueless. 

He huffs again. He steps forward and you retreat out of his way. He stalks down the hall without explanation and you stay where you are. He stops at the door behind the stairs, right before the kitchen. He sniffs and raises his blurry hand. 

“Bring that light.” 

“Oh, sure,” you leap into a scurry. 

He opens the door and proceeds down the stairs without waiting for you to catch up. You shine the light over him, illuminating his broad shadow against the wall ahead of him. He lumbers down as you keep a few steps back. You trail after him as he goes into the second room of the basement. 

He pulls open the metal cover of the switch board. You sidle up beside him to give light to the rows of switches. He leans in and narrows his eyes. He drags his fingertips over them all. He curls his lip and snarls. 

Your eyes flick to him as the light of your phone limns his gruff features. His stubble darkens his jaw, the cleft of his chin deep, and his brown eyes look black as they swallow up any gleam. He’s a large man, ornery, and strict. You suppose you should want that in someone tasked to manage a property. 

“You girls paying your bills?” He clucks. 

You wince, “yes, sir. Always.” 

“Mm, well, you know... dealt with a lot of ya. Not always the case.” He shuts the metal box and you squeak at the noise. 

“You can’t fix it?” 

“Did I say that?” He snips. You shake your head. 

“Power company will need to come check the meter. Buncha morons,” he sneers as herds you out of the room just by stomping toward you. You retreat on your heels. 

“The power company?” You echo thinly. 

“No service on holidays,” he puffs as you barely keep from getting underfoot. You swerve to let him past. He continues to the stairs as you follow like some lost child. “You’ll have to wait.” 

“Oh, but sir--” 

“Relax,” he climbs the stairs without pause. “Got a portable heater in the truck.” 

“Oh, okay, um--” 

“Get more candles. A flashlight,” he commands. 

“I couldn’t find any,” you sniffle. 

“Don’t got any,” he scoffs under his breath. 

You come back to the first floor and stop by the door as he marches down the hall. You stare after him dumbly. The power’s going to be out all night? On Christmas? 

“Close that door.” He stops to put his boots on again. “Wanna keep the heat in. Go around. Check the doors and windows.” 

He tramps out the front door without awaiting your acquiescence. There’s something about him that brooks no argument. You cast your phone light ahead of you like a shield against the shadows and hurry upstairs. You work your way through, checking that all windows are shut, doors too. 

As you come back downstairs, he’s there again. There’s a large block next to him as he strips off his boots. He hauls it with a single hand into the front room. You keep your distance as you watch him from the doorway. He puts it centre, across from the sofa, and twists the switch. The heater glows a sinister red. 

“Um, thanks, sir,” you scratch your ear as you aim the light at him. He waves at you like a gnat. You turn the light off as the heater offers a dulcet glow. 

He unzips his jacket as you stare. What is he doing? 

“I don’t need you suing me,” he rasps. “Dealt with enough of you girls.” 

He folds his jacket over the side of the armchair. He rolls his shoulders and pushes his head back. Your brows rise as you check the battery on your phone. It’s not very much. 

“Oh, you don’t have to stay--” 

“I do. I know how sneaky you college girls are.” 

“What?” You squeak. 

“Put on those pretty smiles and call up daddy’s lawyer in the morning,” he growls. 

“I wouldn’t-- no, sir--” you sputter. What daddy? What lawyer? 

“So,” he turns his back to you and sits on the couch with a sigh. “You should sit by the heater so you don’t get sick. Girls...” 

You hesitate. Right. This is going to awkward. You don’t know him very well. Not even his first name because you’re certain it’s not Rumlow. And he’s older. Meaner. Not much for small talk. You can’t be on your phone all night without a charge and there’s not enough light to read. 

You come around the couch and he twists to drag the blush-coloured faux fur throw from his other side. He sits in the middle so no matter what cushion you choose, he’s right there. 

As you sit, he puts the blanket around you, a tiny snort as if judging that you even have something like that. It matches your slippers. That must be even more ridiculous to someone like him. You’ve never seen him wear anything but black. 

“Thanks,” you say and you grab the edges of the blanket. 

He just sniffs again and sits back. He leans his head against the sofa and exhales deeply. You wince as even his breathe feels like a remonstrance. You curl up under the blanket and lean against the arm of couch. 

You sit and stare at the soft red-orange coils of the heater. You feel its warmth, a soothing wave in the flickering dark. The candle burns, the aroma lining the air, and the wick burns out as the wax bubbles. As that light dies, your left in the soft amber hue of only the heater. 

Rumlow’s even breaths tempo the heedless night. Is he asleep? You glance over as he remains unmoving. You can’t blame him for being unhappy. You wonder if the issue is going to be expensive. That’s not the kind of stress anyone wants, especially this time of year. 

That’s a good idea. The night will go by quicker if you just sleep. The only thing is, you’re too anxious to settle down. Still, you have to try. 

You wiggle closer to the armrest and lean against it. You lay your head and shoulder against the curl of the cushion and slump into the corner. You pull the blanket snug. Is he cold? Should you have offered him a blanket? You don’t dare ask now. 

Your eyelids sink and your fatigue surprises you. You’re more tired than you expect, even after such a lame day. Your Christmas isn’t family dinners or gift-giving, just the listlessness of a solitary day in the big house. Most years you prefer that, knowing your parents would only torture you with questions that underline their disappointment, but this year, it’s a bit lonelier. You miss your roommates. Especially now. 

You drift off in the turmoil of your thoughts. Of unwinnable parental approval and the lifeless bulbs and sockets of the house. That shadow beside you lingers even in your unconscious, as if Rumlow’s shadow is watching the nonsensical machinations of your nocturnal imagination. 

A swirling sleep brews in your head, cocooning you in a heat that drags you further into oblivion. Foggy flashes of a contorted reality along with the blankness of deep slumber enshrine you. Forgotten is the dark house and the dissatisfied landlord. 

Dampness glazes on your cheek and down your neck. Cool air mingles with the hot puff against your shoulder, a tempestuous heat across your body. Your voice tickles sin your ear as it scratches up your dry throat like sand. Your head lolls but stills in an iron grip that cradles you from beneath. 

Thunder rolls through the muddiness of your unconscious, drawing you up towards the surface. Growls and groans that flow into you like a tide. A deep, thrumming weight churns your guts only to lessen, the emptiness just as heavy before you’re filled again.  

You mutter as your lips peel apart dryly and your eyes flick back and forth beneath your eyelids. Your arms are heavy as one lays limp at your side, crushed into the cushion, as the other hangs off the edge. Your lashes stick as you try to see between them. 

The couch rocks with the rhythm of gritty breaths, with the tempo of the crush atop you, the swelter of the body over you. Your head throbs as your eyes roll back and you centre them, fighting through the haziness.  

Your head falls to the side as your vision pinpoints on the orange pulse of the heater. Rough fingertips scrape your scalp as a pinch on your neck makes you whimper. Your leg is prickly as it drapes over the couch, exposed to the cold air of the dim room. 

The cushions flatten under your body and the other one. You’re trapped beneath the paralysing weight. You murmur and force your head straight. The shadow at the edge of your vision draws your gaze and you can see only the writhing, pumping form pinning you to the couch. 

“Gotta keep you warm, girl,” Rumlow snarls into your throat and bites again, ramming deep until you squeal. “Ain’t ya cold?” 

You shakily bend your arm and press your hand to his arm, his bicep bulging as his nails jab into the meat of your hip. Your other leg is hooked over the back of the couch as he pounds between them. Your pajamas pool at the end of your foot that dangles over the floor. You feel the fabric brushing your toes with each battering snap of his hips. 

He’s... 

He’s... 

Inside you!

Your walls burn with his rutting, undisturbed by your rousing as he puffs along your shoulder and smears saliva along your skin. He bites there too, sinking his teeth in until your whimper. 

“Wh-wh-wha...” you warble through tears as they rise and fall like acid. Why is he doing this? How—why didn’t you wake up before? 

“Fuck, so hot,” he pounds against your pelvis as your bones ache. “Fuck-- fucking girls.” 

He drags his hand up your side, his other still hooked under your head. He braces your shoulder and pushes himself up. He pins you down as he spreads his fingers wide across the top of your chest. Your pajama top is rumble above your tits as they bounce with his unfettered motion. 

He looks down at the joining of your bodies and thrusts as deep as he can, watching the fuzzy scene of his violation. His other hand slides from beneath your hand and stretches across your neck, his thumb pushing into the bruised mark of his bite under your jaw. 

“You warm yet?” He taunts as he pumps into you harshly. “Feel fucking warm to me.” 

[bullet-prooflove]

Bad decisions prompt

34. You're a fuckin bitch, hope you know that shit

With richie?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @lostinwonderland314 @fallout-girl219 @wabi-sabi1090 @morgthemagpie

Companion piece to:

86 - Richie 86es a patron at The Bear.

The Better Man - Richie confronts your ex-husband.

‘You're a fucking bitch, I hope you know that shit’ is written on the note Richie finds trapped under the windscreen wiper on your car. He’d been heading to his own vehicle to run an errand for The Bear when he’d caught sight of it fluttering in the breeze.

Rage courses through him, the paper crumpling in his hand as he marches back into the house and sets it down on the breakfast bar where you’re stirring sugar into your coffee.

It’s Sunday morning and you’re barely awake, your hair is a complete birds nest from the past few hours that Richie has spent ruining you and you’re wearing one of his t-shirts with a clean pair of black panties.

He can tell you aren’t surprised which makes him realise this isn’t the first one that’s crossed your path. It’s just the first one that he knows about.

“Who is it?” He asks you despite the fact he already has a pretty good idea of the kind of coward that would pull this shit. “And how many more are there?”

You sigh as you tilt your head up towards him, your lips still swollen from his kisses.

“There were three.” You tell him. “Each one left in a place where you could see them because he wants you to have a reaction.”

The reaction being that he punches your ex-husband in the face and then gets sent straight to jail because Richie, he’s on his third strike. You can’t stand the thought of that so you’ve been throwing them out, long before he even lays eyes on them.

“And this is what?” Richie asks you, trying to figure out what the point of all this is. “Him trying to get back at us for 86ing him from the restaurant?”

You clear your throat as your gaze lowers to your coffee cup and it’s in that moment Richie realises that there’s something else you’ve been keeping from him.

“I heard from a mutual friend that he was going to get the reviewer to tank the restaurant so I stepped in.” You say quietly as you wrap your hands around your coffee cup to warm them. “I may have encouraged him it would not be in his best interests to do so.”

Richie rubs his palm across his mouth. He never envisioned your personal lives would interfere with the business they’ve poured their heart and souls into. A review like that, in a paper that prestigious…

It would have killed The Bear completely.

“When I was planning to divorce him, I had a PI follow him so I could get some extra leverage just in case he decided to challenge the petition. I ended up with some compromising pictures of him with an investor’s wife, ones that could destroy his business if they found their way into that investor’s hands.” You inform Richie as you take a sip from your cup. “I went to his office last week to remind him of what I had in my possession and what could happen if he kept trying to fuck with The Bear.”

Richie doesn’t know what to say. He knows how hard it must have been to face Peter after the shit he put you through. The fact you marched into his office, for him, for his livelihood…

If he wasn’t already married to you, he’d be on his knees, begging to put a ring on that finger.

“I’m guessing the notes are his way of trying to take away the one thing that actually matters to me.” You say, your fingers smoothing out the paper before your gaze flickers up to meet his. “Do me a favour and don’t play into it, I know this pisses you off but I can’t stand the thought of living without you and I don’t think I’m equipped for a jail break.”

He smiles then, despite himself, despite the situation. The Richie he was back when the two of you met would already be in cuffs by now for murdering the son of a bitch, this Richie has worked on his anger management issues, he knows he doesn’t want Eva to spend the next few years visiting him in prison. It’s another testament to just how far he’s come since you stepped into his life.

“Don’t worry…” He promises you, his forehead coming to rest upon yours as he squeezes your hip lightly. “I won’t let him take me away from you.”

“Good.” You say, your fingertips trailing over the beard that lines his jaw. “Because we’ve made a pretty great life together and I don’t want anything to ever fuck that up.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 2

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Chapter 2 Summary: Lucien and Rhysand argue over Reader's imprisonment, only one cell is traded for another. Lucien reaches out to an unlikely alley for support in getting Reader free.

Word Count: 6.3K

Warning(s): Mentions of injuries, mentions of self harm, mentions of body issues/insecurities.

A/N: I was too excited to wait the full month so here is part two a bit early! I apologize that this gets a bit dialogue heavy at the end. I may fix it later. This is going to be a long slow burn fic with a lot of angst. This will also have crossover with some of the Crescent City characters. It also probably goes without saying, but this will not follow canon past the events in HOSAB. Comment on this post if you want to be included on the tag list.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 1

Seven days. Seven days he’d been arguing and advocating for her release with Rhysand. For seven days he listened to the same rehearsed list of excuses as to why Rhys wouldn’t budge in his decision.

“You and I both know that the gate to Velaris was sealed with blood magic. Only those whose blood is linked to the seal can pass through, which she shouldn’t have been able to do. On top of that we don’t know what world she came from. I’m not risking the lives of my family-my court, which includes you- on what equates to no more than a hunch.”  

While the High Lord’s statements were reasonable and valid points, his insistence she remained confined in that dark and dank cell was not. Lucien hastily made his way down the main steps that lead into the catacombs, thoughts of his last spat with Rhysand swirling in his mind.

“Why do you care so much about what happens to this woman?” Rhys had questioned. Lucien had asked himself the same thing; but how could he say that it was less about her and more about what she represented? That when he saw her cowering form in the corner of that cell, images of Feyre, Elain, and Jesminda flashed through his mind. He had failed the two sisters. He had failed his first love. He would sooner have the Cauldron blast him from existence should he fail to protect another innocent female. He’d kept his composure standing in Rhysand’s office at the River House long enough. A simmering rage permeated the space as the raven-haired male stared him down. A silent challenge in the already tense atmosphere.

“How can you stand your own hypocrisy?” He seethed, “You sit there thinking of yourself so high and mighty, yet a simple human frightens you? You allowed Feyre into Velaris the second week she spent with you. You allowed Bryce into your home within minutes of her crashing into our world. Yet this human…this woman scares you so much you have her imprisoned in one of the most dangerous areas of your court?”

“ENOUGH!” Rhysand bellowed, his own violet orbs simmered with rage. Lucien felt his flames rise up and encircle his palms. Rhysand’s High Lord command held no sway so he continued.

“Are you that much of a coward that you could not have just asked her a few simple questions? You couldn’t have just looked into her-”

“I could not enter her mind!” Rhys’ breaths were ragged. “Something is protecting that mortal, and it is strong enough to keep me out. So long as those shields of hers remain impenetrable I cannot trust her. I must keep my mate and child safe.” Lucien scoffed, his fire dwindled. “Which is not something I can say I see you doing for your own.”  

Lucien could still feel the cracking of bone and cartilage of Rhys’ nose as it connected with his fist. The argument surly would have resulted in them demolishing the entirety of the business wing had Azriel’s arrival not stopped the two males in their tracks. The Shadowsinger’s haggard appearance set them both on edge, but his words allowed Lucien to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m done with this Rhys. I cannot keep hur- I cannot do this… she knows nothing.” The High Lord merely looked between the Emissary and the Spymaster. Expression relaxed and revealing nothing, even as blood dripped over his lips.

“Bring her up to the Moonstone Palace,” the commanded was towards his brother, “Since Lucien is so smitten with the woman he shall remain with her there for the time being.”

Lucien soon found himself outside of her cell. Only darkness and cold emanated from beyond the door. He paused his own breathing, wondering if she was even still alive. The last time he saw her, she hadn’t hesitated to slice open her own skin. Azriel wasn’t far behind and pushed past Lucien to enter the room. Lucien’s breath remained caught in his throat as he took in the mangled sight of her.

You had no idea how long you’d been in the darkness of your cell. Hours had turned into days, but just how many days you weren’t sure. You had gone silent on what you assumed was the third day. You knew nothing of how you got there, and you had no idea where to begin when Azriel-who’s name you gathered early on-asked you about the world you came from. Its not like he would believe you if you said your world had no magic, at least not in the same way it was here. Then again, that was clearly an incorrect assumption on your part. And after everything that has transpired you determined that this was no dream. It was a nightmare come to life. You weren’t sure how much more your psyche could tolerate. Surely death would be better than the horrors that would plague your mind for years to come if you were allowed to live. You prayed silently to whatever deity would listen to let you die. You started as the metal hinges of the door screamed into the darkness. 

“Mother above,” The horrified yet soft baritone drifted to your ears and you strained to open your eyes. You recognized the voice and Lucien’s warm body was immediately next to yours as you dangled from the ceiling. The male made quick work of the metal shackles holding your wrists high above your head, a bright light flooding the small space making you hiss. His large hand encircled your wrist and you could feel the skin repair itself. Lucien slowly lowered your arms down.

“Her name is (Y/N),” Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was ashamed of the space his normal speaking voice would take up in the small cell. As if what he said would break you further. Lucien held you up, warm hands around your rib cage holding you steady. 

“(Y/N),” His testing of your name tentative, “(Y/N), my name is Lucien…I’m going to take you out of here.” His arms wrapped around you, and you could have sworn you felt your skin get warmer, the cold melting away like ice. His grip never lessened, which you were grateful for as you weren’t sure your legs could fully support your weight.

“Do you feel safe enough to come with me?”  You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move your head in agreement. Couldn’t specify that you felt safe with him. You could only muster enough strength to cling to the front of his shirt, hoping it conveyed your trust towards him and him alone. Your eyes burned with tears. He shushed you as one of his hands rubbed up and down your spine. A footstep echoed in the chamber, and then you felt Azriel’s shadows attempt to wend their way over your bare feet. Your flinch was followed by a low warning growl, one that you felt more than heard.

“Follow me,” Azriel’s swallow was audible.

“Can you walk?” Lucien’s hand lowered to your waist, pushing you back far enough so he could meet your eyes. They felt swollen and your vision was unfocused and hazy, but you tried to keep them open so he could see that you would try your best. You shifted your weight back onto your heels and slowly slid your right foot in front of you. A lightning like bolt of pain traveled up your leg. Air harshly sucked into your lungs.

“I’ve got you,” his voice was reassuring as he continued to support most of your weigh in his arms. You took another step forward. Then another and another. His hands never faltered from their place on your torso as he moved himself to walk behind you. Ready and poised to keep you balanced and catch you should you fall. “Good girl,” he praised, “Let’s get you cleaned up so I can heal you yeah?”

The walk up from the catacombs to the palace proper was brutal. Your legs burned from the muscle strain and you were regretting not accepting help from Lucien while you bathed. However, the last thing you wanted was to have anyone see you naked. Lucien had helped enough with getting the large sunken in bathtub filled. The scent of vanilla and lavender contrasted with the grime and dirt that filled your lungs for the last week. You had specifically asked for the water to be scalding, wanting it to burn away the memory of everything that had been done to you in the dark. The deep cold that laced your bones was finally seeping out in the hot water. A soft knock rapped on the stone archway leading into the bathing chamber. Unable to move your neck freely you covered your chest and turned to face the male. He walked over to the bench set near the tub, a bundle of cream-colored fabric in his arms. Unless it was a bedsheet you doubted that any clothing he found would fit you. Then again, magic existed so its possible that the fabric could be altered instantly. He sat on the bench and set the garment next to the towel that awaited you.

“Are you certain that I can’t be of assistance?” He looked beyond you towards the open windows that overlooked the absolutely stunning expanse of wilderness below the palace. A darkened city jutting out from the base of the mountains the only thing that disrupted the sight. You were thankful for Lucien’s offer. Truly you were, and despite the feeling-knowing- that you could trust the male, your self-conscious nature surrounding your body was too strong.

“I-” You cleared your throat of the gravel you were certain had lodged itself inside from screaming against the rocky surface of your cell, “I’m good.” The vibration of your vocal chords felt like sandpaper as they rubbed together. He looked at you then and reflexively you squeezed your arms tighter around yourself; gripping your elbows as you dipped down into the water until everything below your neck was submerged. You were grateful for the tub size making you look small. It could easily fit two full grown adults and deep enough to reach your waist when you stood to full height. It almost reminded you more of a jacuzzi rather than a bathtub.

“Then I’ll leave you to bathe in peace,” He stood and clasped his hands behind his back, “I’ll be in the room just beyond these arches. Just call our if you need anything. I’m here to ensure that you’re taken care of.” You nodded your understanding and turned towards the side of the tub lined with soaps and lotions, his foot steps retreating against the stone tiles. While you had difficulty with your range of motion, you managed to rid yourself of the dirt, grime, and dried blood from your skin. Your hair felt silky, soft, and light compared to the heavy oily mats from not washing it for a week. You had also found a razor nearby and took the opportunity to shave, savoring the feeling that you were becoming a person again. Drying off was easier with the relaxed muscles. The vanilla scented lotion felt like heaven as it penetrated your dry skin. You surmised that the bath had really only removed one layer of nightmares as you scanned your form in the mirror on the opposite wall. Your eyes first saw the plethora of cuts in every size cover the expanse of both your arms, shoulders, and collar bone from the dagger-Truth Teller-that Azriel had used during your interrogation. Next you took in the dark red and purple bruise on the left side of your jaw. The discoloration spanning from the joint below your ear to your chin. It was a miracle that he hadn’t knocked any of your teeth out or broken your jaw from the force he hit you with. Eyes trailing further down you saw a second healing bruise, its blue-green hue spanning the length of your ribs on the right side of your body. Laying down on your side was going to prove difficult still. Finally, your eyes landed on the only injury that you yourself were responsible for. The shadows had played too many tricks on your mind, too many whispers promising to break you. The psychological and emotional pain was worse than the physical injuries and honestly became too much for your soul. Something in you broke. You still couldn’t figure out exactly how you managed to grab Truth Teller from him, too focused on plunging the black blade into your left inner thigh and dragging it along the flesh. You couldn’t reach your throat, so you had been aiming for the next major artery you knew of in the hopes that you’d bleed out fast, but Azriel was quick. His attempt to get the blade back from you pushed it away from where it would do the most damage. That was the last day that Azriel brought any form of weapon with him, and the last day he put his hands on you. Rhysand had only managed to stop the bleeding, but a large and deep jagged slice remained. Had you paid more attention you may not have doubted the guilt that lined his features as he worked to heal you. You didn’t want this to be real. You still held out hope that if you somehow managed to end your life you’d wake up on the cold concrete of the path leading up to your front door. You didn’t belong here.

You shook the memories from your mind and picked up the fabric on the bench. You expected the intrusive thoughts and nightmares, but you didn’t think that they would be plaguing you so immediately. You slipped on the airy cotton tank top and loose-fitting matching shorts. You were indeed surprised they fit as well as they did, let alone fit at all. Your bare feet padded along the cool stone floor and entered the massive bedchamber. The room encapsulated a warmth with its cream and ivory base colors. Splashes of blues, teals, and turquoise giving it a calming effect.  The dark cherry wood of the four-poster bedframe provided an interesting accent color adding to the space. Lucien sat on an ivory colored couch that faced a white marbled fireplace. Sadly, the flames did nothing to help illuminate the space and only seemed to cast heavier shadows. You glanced around the room again and noticed that the bedsheets had been turned down for you, for whenever you were ready to sleep. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to get any real rest with your injuries being what they were. Rhysand had only stopped the bleeding in your thigh. He did nothing for the other injuries. So, Lucien stated he would heal those for you. Carefully walking over, you sat your self on the couch, keeping enough space for another person to sit between you and the crimson haired male. He turned towards you with a slight smile that quickly faltered as he took in your appearance. He moved closer towards you and examined every inch of your skin. His one real eye held no warmth even as a flame seemed to ignite the iris. He took your chin in his hand to get a better look at the bruise on your jaw. His touch was gentle, but even you could tell that the male was furious with what he saw.

“I had hoped some of this had been dirt,” He turned your head to the side, a finger tracing down along the side of your neck. A metallic scent permeated the air as the hand cupped the left side of your face, covering nearly the entire bruise. His gaze slowly traveled down to your shoulders and the cuts that littered and marred the skin of your arms and shoulders. The skin warmed and tingled under his gentle caress. His eyes paused at your torso, no words needed to understand that he wanted to see the injury to your ribs. You carefully gathered the material and lifted as high as your stiff shoulder and neck muscles would allow. His fingers traced the outline of the mark, and you cringed at the touch of his hands moving your fat rolls out of the way so his palms could lay flat against the skin. Embarrassment colored your cheeks. Lucien continued his healing wordlessly. He motioned for you to stand, grasping your calf and propping your leg on the cushion of the couch. Your inner thigh completely exposed to him allowing the full extent of your wound to be seen. You watched as skin healed almost instantly. His gaze then shifted to the healed scars on your upper thigh, near the junction where it met your hip. “Um…y-you can leave those,” you brought your leg back down to stand before the male, “Thank you Lucien.”

“You’re most welcome,” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. You started to pick at your already blunt nails, a nervous habit you used to ground yourself. You glanced around the room for the third time, almost not believing that you were no longer in the cold and dark. The white walls and bedding opened up the space.

“Is…is that for me?” You pointed over towards the massive bed covered in decorative pillows. Lucien’s red hair swayed with the movement of his head as he followed your gesture.

“The bed is for you,” He stood and walked over to the small bedside table to the left of the headboard, “As is this sleeping draft.” He picked up a deep cobalt vial, giving it a slight shake before setting it back down. You hummed and nodded, but didn’t move from your spot in front of the couch. It went without saying that the potion would be needed after what you experienced over the past week. And you would only feel guilty if you woke him in the middle of the night.

“There’s water for you as well,” His voice softened as he noticed your hesitation. You chewed on your lower lip. The sun was still up, but you didn’t know how its position revealed the time of day. Depending on the time of year and how far north, or south, on the planet you were, you estimated it could be anywhere from 3pm to 9pm. You supposed it didn’t really matter as sleep was sleep and you’d likely remain unconscious for several hours, Gods willing at least.

“I will be in the room next to yours,” He pointed over to a door opposite from the entrance to the bathing chamber, “If you need anything, anything at all you come to me. We’ll get you some food in the morning.” You nodded again as your eyes started to water. You didn’t want to be left alone, but you also didn’t want to take up his time more than you already were. So, wordlessly you forced your feet to move and made your way over to the bed. You crawled in under the blankets that had been moved aside. You grabbed the vial from the bedside table and uncorked the stopper. The scent of chamomile, lavender, and something unknown wafted to you. Before you gave yourself time to reconsider you downed half the contents and set it back down. Lucien was patiently waiting at the door and smiled his first genuine smile towards you.

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

“Goodnight Lucien.”

Lucien had answered all your questions, to the best of his ability, during your first day in the Moonstone Palace. He filled you in on the basics of the Night Court and Prythian. For each bit of information he provided about the land or himself, you matched it. He also informed you that while here, Rhysand insisted that you work on finding any potential information of your world and how to get back to it in the texts that he sent. A new stack of books was brought into the small library within the palace every morning. So far, your hours of reading yielded no results. Then again, you could only read a fraction of the texts given to you. Most were in languages that you couldn’t even begin to understand. Still you scanned the tombs for any words that even looked remotely similar to names of places within your universe. Sadly, all you could find was information related to a Midgard, which was frustratingly NOT the same as the mortal realm described in Norse mythology. Lucien then explained that they had already received visitors from this Midgard that were set to return to Prythian soon. You had gathered that one of them was Bryce, but you’d not been given names for anyone else.

In addition to the books you had also been gifted a small wardrobe filled with clothing in your size. It had been awkward when the half wraiths appeared to measure you. But you were provided with some simple dresses, pants, shirts, and under clothes. Nothing fancy, which you were grateful for. Lucien explained the clothes were an apology gift from Rhysand. You told Lucien that if the High Lord was truly sorry he could at least express as much to your face. You couldn’t complain in the grand scheme of things. Rhysand wasn’t obligated to house, feed, or clothe you. He could have easily dumped you in the Mortal Lands, leaving you to fend for yourself. Although, Lucien stated that he knew of two people that would have taken you into their care. Regardless, you did as Rhysand bid, reading for hours day after day and never asked for anything in particular.

Another two weeks went by and you and Lucien developed a little routine. Breakfast followed by hours of research. Then lunch and various exercises and tests to determine if you held any sort of latent magic. Lucien explained that his initial assessment of you that first day showed nothing, but that didn’t mean you were completely without power. Truth be told you felt he was keeping something from you. Then came dinner, after which you were free to spend your time however you wished. Mostly you spent time on the veranda studying the night sky, letting the wind caress your face and hair. There was one night you swore you heard voices held within the breeze. A song encouraging you that you would find peace again. In your world the night time hours used to provide a comfort, but here there was nothing familiar about the constellations that dotted the dark sky above. Instead, the lack of familiarity just made you feel all the more alone. It wasn’t that Lucien wasn’t good company, you just felt bad that he was stuck with you. He tried really hard to get you to relax and fall into the playful banter he likely needed to survive his own punishment. While he never said as much, you had gathered that his babysitting duty was linked to your release and apology from the High Lord. Lucien made your days easy, filled with witty remarks and a warmth that felt natural. An easy friendship had definitely taken root.

However, the nights were hard. You already suffered from extreme insomnia without the added fear of night terrors. So, your sleep cycle was suffering greatly. The first two nights were dream less thanks to whatever Lucien had given you. But the third night resulted in his bursting through the doors of your bedroom at the sound of your screams. As much as you hated yourself for feeling weak, you begged him to stay in the room. He obliged, of course, and slept on the couch. His presence helped slightly. It didn’t chase away the nightmares, but it did make the darkness that permeated the night more tolerable. You had never been fearful of the night before, having even preferred it to the hustle and bustle of the day. You had always the quite of the night to bring you a comforting serenity. But since your time in the cell…you insisted on a fire in the hearth and the faelights to remain lit, believing the light would chase away the shadows that plagued your dreams.

You felt bad forcing Lucien to sleep on the couch. But you also didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you offered to share your bed with him. He told you about his mate, Elain, and you felt even worse that your arrival took him away from her. Even if he explained that their relationship wasn’t what would be expected between mates after nearly 4 years of being in each other’s lives. So, you kept the offer to yourself.

Today started out like any other. Lucien and you sat down to a breakfast of eggs, toast and jam with orange juice. You never really cared for tea and coffee appeared to not be available in Prythian if your companion’s confusion was anything to go by. The only difference today were the two additional place settings.

“Are we expecting visitors?” You asked. You immediately wanted to kick yourself for asking what was an obvious question.

“Yes,” Lucien answered, pouring a cup of tea for himself, “I’ve asked some people to come and meet you. As much as I enjoy our time together, it seems that the High Lord still needs convincing that you should not be kept in a cell.”

“I’m not in a cell,” You countered. However, you didn’t miss the fact that his glare told you that your new cell was just a lavish one.

“Our guests may be able to help me make a stronger case for you to be able to move freely about the court, if not Prythian as a whole.” You pondered who he would have contacted. To your understanding, not many members of the High Lord’s “Inner Circle” particularly cared for the emissary. There was also no way that members from another court would be able to hold any sway over the inner workings of the Night Court.

“So, what do they need to know about me?” You asked, spiking the yoke of your egg. In the time spent with Lucien you were able to be yourself for the most part. You held back on your swearing, meme related jokes, and slang, but tested out your sarcasm and dry humor. One of the main things you were worried about was how to speak with others. While you had manners, you had no formal etiquette training. Something that Lucien found utterly hilarious when you asked for clarification on how to address him.

“Relax, its an informal introduction,” His gentle smile reassured you, “Just be the sweet girl that I’ve come to know.” His smile widened. You gave him a doubtful look, tucking your lips into a thin line to suppress a laugh. He batted his irritatingly long eyelashes and the two of you broke out into a fit of laughter. While you weren’t cold or bitchy by any means, you also weren’t a sweet and demure woman either. No, Lucien quickly pointed out that you had a fire within you…at least on your good days. The laughter was cut short by the sound of a thud in front of you on the stone patio. Your eyes immediately tracked the large bat like wings and you stood from your seat. Metal and glass clanged against the stone as your thighs hit the lip of the table. Your chair knocked to the ground, causing you to nearly trip as you backed towards the metal railing. Blood rushed in your ears and your vision started to tunnel. Lucien was next to you in an instant.

“Hey. Hey," He gripped your right shoulder to keep you steady, “Shh, it’s okay. It's not him. You’re safe.” Your gaze remained fixed on the unknown winged male that looked on with worry etching his features.

“See what you did,” the voice of the female he’d been carrying was distant in your ears. Lucien’s other hand cupped your face, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Eyes on me (Y/N),” He encouraged, “Breathe. There you go.” Your eyes focused on his features; the jagged scar-raised and tight, the deep reds sprinkled amongst the warm honey brown iris. Your breath evened out, and you covered the hand on your cheek with one of your own to let the red head know you were okay. You took another breath and released Lucien. However, his hand remained on your shoulder. You turned back to the couple that stood on the opposite side of the space. At first glance, the winged male held features that you noted were similar to Azriel in regards to skin, hair, and eye color. Although, Azriel’s held more flecks of green than the honey gold of the male before you. The unnamed male was taller and broader, his shoulder-length hair softly jostled in the breeze. Your eyes wandered over to the female that was with him. Her striking blue-grey eyes would have reminded you of steel had it not been for the soft sadness that shown in them at your display. You hadn’t expected to react in the manner you did. Your heart still hammered in your chest. You cleared your throat and smoothed down the front of the simple sage green dress you wore.

“I-I must apologize,” You started, “I guess I…sorry.” You wrung your hands together and looked at your feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the female spoke up, "It’s this idiot’s fault. We should have given you a warning.” You nodded slightly in acknowledgment. Lucien’s hand trailed down your arm to your hand. He gave it a quick and gentle squeeze before he bent down to pick up the chair you’d knocked over in your haste to get away.

“(Y/N),” He motioned for you to sit back down, “This is Cassian, the General of the Night Court’s Illyrian army, and Nesta Archeron, Valkyrie, sister to the High Lady and fellow emissary.” Lucien gestured to each as they took their own seats across from yours.

“It’s nice to meet you,” You reached across the table, your hand extended to shake theirs. When neither returned to gesture you pulled back. “Sorry, I’m used to hand shakes as a form of greeting in my world.”

“So, you are from another world?” Cassian asked, scooping some eggs onto a plate and handing it to Nesta.

“Yes, we call it Earth,” you searched the table for a spare fork, yours having fallen to the ground. When you couldn’t find one, Lucien handed you his. You raised your eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged and began to spread a blackberry jam on his toast. “And before you ask, there is no magic, at least not the same as what you’re familiar with. Also, creatures such as fairies-the Fae- shapeshifters, vampires, mermaids, nymphs, and so on - are all non-existent. Just stories that have been reduced to myths.” The two regarded you closely, listening to your spiel. When they didn’t say anything you continued, too nervous to allow silence.

“I’m not sure how I got here. There are stories of humans traveling through portals into the realm of the Fae or other worlds, but they are simply stories. Ones made to keep children out of trouble or explain natural occurrences. All prior to finding scientific explanation, of course. Like the changing of the seasons,” You realized you were now rambling, “or fairy rings-rings of flowers or more often mushrooms…” The three non-humans stared at you.

“Don’t Lu,” you warned as the corner of the male’s full lips ticked up, “Yes, I talk when I’m nervous. Yes, I’m nervous because I really don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t understand why…I just…want to go home.” Lucien took your hand in his again, his grip reassuring and comforting.

“That’s what we’re all working on,” He assured, “There is a library that, should we manage to convince Rhys-”

“Wait, she can’t leave here?” Nesta interrupted, her eyes blazed. Cassian tensed in his seat and gave Nesta a warning glance. It was clear that not everyone knew of your predicament.

“She’s restricted to the East Wing of the palace,” Lucien clarified, “There are barriers up that she can’t pass through. Just like what Tamlin did with your sister.” If Nesta had been upset before, she looked down right lethal now. Of course, Lucien had filled in you in on what transpired with Feyre and his former home in the Spring Court. Cassian cleared his throat, his gaze falling to the other male.

“What is it you need from us exactly?” He looked to you, seemingly trying to figure out why you posed such a threat that you required to be locked away.

“I need your voice in your High Lord’s ear. I have no magic, and we’ve tried various ways to test that out.”

“Which you’re welcome to see,” Lucien interrupted.

“Yes. I don’t really know how to use a weapon, nor do I have much interest in doing so. And, as I already mentioned, up until a month ago I firmly believed that yo-the Fae were not real.”

“What did my brother say his reasoning was for holding her here?” The question was directed towards the other male.

“He can’t enter her mind.” Cassian’s surprise was not well hidden, “He believes that something or someone is guarding her-” It was your turn to interrupt your friend.

“If I was being guarded or protected, then whatever was responsible has already failed me,” Your voice was soft. A silence fell across the table, and most of the food had grown cold. You didn’t know what else to do or say to convince the General and the Valkyrie of your innocence. All they had to go on was your and Lucien’s word. Even if you were to demonstrate the exercise that Lucien put you through each afternoon with no results, how would they believe that you weren’t just pretending. A ruse to fool them. You desperately tried to quell the pinpricks of tears behind your eyes. You feared that if Lucien’s efforts failed you’d be sent back to the catacombs or worse left to rot on that-

“(Y/N),” Nesta’s clear and calm voice cut through your thoughts, “I’d like to hear more about where you’re from.” You nodded.

“What would you like to know specifically?”

“Let’s start with you. Your family, your up brining.” She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed comfortably in her lap. You swallowed and nodded again.

“I can do that.” You spent the next few hours pouring every detail of your life to the trio. Most information Lucien already knew, some he didn’t. You talked about your family and your friends. You briefly talked about your work and academic studies in music. This caught the oldest Archeron’s attention, which launched a discussion regarding your dissertation topic. The two males excused themselves as you continued to talk with Nesta. The topic changed to books and Nesta promising to bring you some of the spicier romance novels that she found to enjoy the most on her next visit; to which you were grateful as you desperately needed a reprieve from only reading books provided by Rhysand. Cassian and Lucien eventually returned as you made a raunchy joke that had you and the female High Fae laughing loudly.

“It’s time to go Nes,” Cassian set his hand on her shoulder. He looked to you and smiled. The expression was genuine. After spending the few hours you did with the male, you had concluded that he was much less frightening than the other Illyrian. At least for the time being, that is. Nesta rose from her seat and joined her mate.

“I will speak with my sister,” She told you, her features hard with determination, “It’s not right that you’re kept any where against your will when you’ve done nothing to justify imprisonment.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, “I hope to see you both again soon. I’m certain this fool is getting tired of having to entertain me.” You gave the male a wicked teasing grin. Cassian let out a booming laugh as ‘your fool’ placed his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“And here I thought you loved my company,” He stated. You laughed as you stood to join him at the patio entrance.

“Yeah, yeah,” You brushed him off, the smile still plastered to your face. The two of you said your goodbyes and watched as the guests flew off in the distance.

“I think that went rather well,” you looked to Lucien, “Don’t you?”

“Yes, it did,” He held his arm out for you to take, “Cassian agreed to speak to Rhys. He said that he and Nesta would allow you to stay in their home or at least help you get in and out of the library.” You hummed in response as you slipped your arm around his. Your mind wandered, and you felt lighter than you had since you’d been here. He walked you to your room and began prepping the couch to be his makeshift bed for the evening. The sun was quickly setting, and you hadn’t noticed that you spent the entire day talking. You paused near the entrance to the bathing chamber.

“Lu?” he hummed, looking up at you while shaking out the quilt. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course, sweet girl,” You rolled your eyes at the term of endearment.

“That’s sticking now isn’t it?” His russet eye brightened with mischief.

“Now that I know it irks you, yes.” You leveled a glare at his to which he just laughed. You huffed a breath.

“If you’re just going to be mean, you can leave,” You stuck your tongue out at him as you made your way into the bathing room. He continued to laugh as he excused himself to his own rooms. When he returned, you were already snuggled in your bed, breathing deep and steady.

Next: Part 3

Tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower

[fernpetals]

And (Part 2 of 'The Night is Dark)

Masterlist

Yandere Constantine x Reader

This is the sequel of this fic. I suggest reading this drabble before continuing with this piece.

You have not been on a date for ages. Never felt the need to, it has been so long, pining over John Constantine, playing hide-and-seek, and playing with him.

It's not like you did not understand his reasoning when he first deflected putting a tag to what you two share...shared. You still understand his reasons. But you are tired of putting your feelings aside for the sake of the man you have loved like no other before.

You are finally putting your heart first, your feelings, yourself first. And for that, the first step is avoiding John Constantine at all costs.

You have considered going out with someone else, just to take your mind off. But like the coward that you are, you chickened out in the last moment.

You have come to realise that if you truly wish to move on, you will find no solace in someone else's arms, but in yourself alone. The fruits will take time to bear, but will be sweeter and never run out.

So, you are, for once, present in your office party, truly mingling in rather then spending your nights either alone in your apartment or with Constantine---he would always insist on being with you every night, afraid that something might attack you.

And now, it has been two weeks without him by your side, without hearing his voice, feeling his touch, feeling him inside you. It feels odd, but you know that it will get better.

----

Being a Friday, your colleagues have taken the liberty of enjoying the night and by the time your car pulls up at the parking garage of your apartment, it's 3 AM, the time Constantine is most alert. You roll your eyes at the thought as you stand in the lift. He is a permanent resident in your mind and the termite eating away your heart. You feel the tiredness finally kicking in as you near your floor. You are ready to hit the bed as soon as you can.

Your slumped shoulders, however, stiffen up as soon as the doors open, revealing Constantine by your apartment door, fiddling with a cigarette. His gaze rises to meet yours.

"Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was?" He strides towards you, flicking the toxic stick away.

"I was at a dinner party." You regret explaining your absence to him immediately.

What is done is done, you can blame habit for this.

"At a dinner party this late? Alone? You know the dangers lurking in the dark don't you?"

You do not respond, instead focus on unlocking your apartment, trying to keep your quivering hands steady. You hope that he doesn't notice.

"You have been ignoring me. Why?" You pause at the way his voice drops.

You look up, seeing him tower over you. Maybe this has to be done now.

"Constantine...I think...I think we should not see each other anymore."

His eyes narrow at your words before his hand wraps around your wrist, ceasing your nervous movements.

"What are you talking about? Are you drunk?"

"I'm not drunk Constantine. I am finally brave enough to let go of something that has only brought me heartbreak." You snatch your wrist from his hold and open your apartment door, refusing to meet his gaze. "What do---Is it about the other day? You were drunk out of your mind, you were imagining--"

"I know when I imagine things and when they are real. Don't try that trick on me, John." You snap, glaring at him as you hold the door handle, ready to slam it shut. Constantine sighs and looks away "I already told you (Y/N). You don't understand."

"I do, John, trust me, I do understand now. I see it clearly now. I must protect my heart first. I'm tired John, I'm tired of this, I can't do this anymore. I am choosing myself this time, I cannot allow you to keep breaking my heart just because you think I am safer that way." "Because you are and---"

"Goodnight John." You say, cutting him off and shutting the door on his face.

You have had enough.

A third part is under construction

[swarvey]

paper rings | harvey x f!reader

summary -> harvey forgets something a bit important; you make a surprise appearance. warnings -> self-deprecating thoughts, panic attacks, drinking wc -> 3284

a/n: alternate chapter title: all too well. (just between us, did the love affair maim you too?)

ugh another chapter with a hard title to pick! i was completely torn between betty and all too well, but betty ultimately ended up fitting the story pretty well.

hope you enjoy!! <3 there is more to come, so let me know if you want to be tagged in the following parts!!

ch. 9 | ch. 10 | ch. 11

paper rings masterlist

chapter ten: betty -> "so i showed up at your party."

Harvey quite liked the snow. It wasn’t as gloomy as the Spring rain, nor was it as draining as the Summer sun — it simply fell peacefully from the sky, covering the earth in a chilly blanket. Pelican Town looked beautiful during the Winter, and although it was the busiest season for the clinic, Harvey would say it was his favorite time of the year.

Usually it was, anyway. It was a bit hard to enjoy the first snowfall when he was locked up in his room, dried tears sitting on his skin as he flipped through the photobook you gave him as a gift after he graduated high school.

He was sure he looked pathetic; he hadn’t left his apartment for three days, barely eating and not bothering to change out of his pajamas. What was the point? Nothing was really making sense anymore. His life had been stable for so long, but now, he felt like everything had changed. There was no one to blame except for him, of course. 

So, instead of dealing with the present, Harvey chose to dwell on the past, sniffling as he looked at your picture smiling up at him. His head throbbed, surely due to dehydration, but he ignored it, continuing to wallow in the memories where he was still just your best friend from Pelican Town. He stopped at one particular photo that carried a bit more meaning to him, though he was sure you would write it off as just another day.

The two of you were standing in front of Harvey’s first car — it was used and beat to hell, but it was his nonetheless, and, not to mention, a gift from his parents. He was seventeen at the time, and had already been borrowing the family car for ages. To make the occasion even more special, you’d been visiting him when they surprised him with it, clasping your hands together as he walked up to it in awe.

“Quick, you two, let’s take a picture!” his mom had said, holding up her old polaroid. “Oh, Harvey, stop being shy, get closer. There you go, ready?”

It was a nice photo, he couldn’t deny that. What Harvey remembered the most from that day, though, was what happened after. 

Your phone rang, your new boyfriend’s name taking up your phone screen. Harvey always had to bite his tongue whenever you mentioned him — he was his complete opposite, after all. He’d always subtly question you about him, asking how he treated you and if you were happy, but was never convinced he was really right for you.

That is, until he saw how your face lit up; how your laugh rang loudly in his ears, only when you were talking to him; how you were undoubtedly happier than you’d ever been, all because of him.

Harvey never made you laugh like that, did he? Would your eyes ever shine like that because of him?

That day, a new insecurity was lit inside him — was he even enough for you? Was it selfish to want you all to himself, when you found so much joy in others? What if he made a mistake that made you regret being with him?

Harvey let the photo album slip from his fingers, landing on the floor beneath him as his head fell into his hand. He hated being such a coward, but at that point, he figured it must be in his blood. He couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t so weak, so dependent. It made him an easy target throughout grade school and middle school, only lessening up in high school when he started to keep to himself more. Although it was a bit of a cold thought, he remembered being grateful you didn’t live near him at the time. It meant you never got to see his true self; a loser who ate lunch by himself every day and was in love with his best friend, but didn’t have the courage to do anything about it.

I suppose some things never change.

As he solemnly lifted his head, Harvey’s glassy eyes focused on the snowflakes falling outside his window. The only image stuck in his mind was of your devastated face as he left you on your porch, shocked that he had managed to do the one act he’d sworn to avoid with his life — he hurt you, and he was sure it was by far the most shameful thing he had ever done. 

By some twisted reasoning, though, he was convinced it was for the better. 

Harvey was weak where you were strong; he lacked confidence where you took charge; he hid and lied while you spilled your truth to him, and all he could do was panic. You were the blazing Summer sun, bringing life and hope to the land, while he was the bitter Winter snow, killing anything in its path. He wasn’t meant to be with someone like you. He was beyond disappointed in himself for not realizing it sooner. You were the one shining flame of light he’d known his entire life, and he put you out. 

The falling snow looked as if it were dancing, and Harvey had never missed you more. 

As he bent down to pick up the photo album, his eyes caught the calendar beside the window. His eyes widened slightly, humorlessly laughing to himself as he put the photos away.

It was his birthday, and he hadn’t even realized.

-

You knew what day it was. Of course you did, it was the only date you had yearly reminders set up for, not that you really needed them. Since Harvey’s birthday was during the Winter, it meant you almost never got to celebrate with him in person, except for the rare occasions where you would go and see him. You could still vividly picture the first time you surprised him in college during break — you kept in touch with his parents so you could plan out your trip with them, much to their delight.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but Harvey’s always had a bit of trouble making friends at school,” his mom once told you, a soft sadness in her eyes. “He’s very lucky to have you as a friend, you know. You’re good to him.”

Not good enough, apparently, you sourly thought. “Angry” was an understatement to how you felt — you were frustrated and exhausted, not just because he’d shut down your feelings, but because it felt like Harvey essentially threw away all the years you spent being his best friend. None of it made sense to you, how he said he cared about you and then had the nerve to walk away. Honestly, it felt like you were dealing with a moody teenager who blasted angsty music in his room all the time. You scowled.

“Moo.”

One of your cows looked at you expectedly, and you realized you were still holding the bundle of hay in your arms. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, quickly throwing it in the trough. She seemed to huff a thanks to you as she slowly bent her head down, blissfully careless about any complex relationship problems. You envied her.

As you left the barn, you couldn’t help but let your guilt consume you. You had never missed a birthday text to Harvey before, and although you weren’t quite sure what terms the two of you were on, it still felt wrong. You knew him well enough to know there was probably some stupid reason for his actions that he was hiding from you, but you couldn’t figure out what it was. You hated it when he pulled stupid moves like this — in the past, he would always keep his mouth shut whenever you tried to plan something with him, never failing to say, “We can always do what I planned next time. I don’t mind, really.”

You scoffed at the words he’d said to you countless times over the years, angrily letting your front door shut as you threw your gloves on your table. It sometimes felt as though he thought being a couple years older than you meant he knew everything, that his needs should always be put last when it came to you. Sure, it was cute the first couple times, but it didn’t take long for you to start feeling bad. You couldn’t remember the last time he got first pick for a movie or a restaurant — unless, of course, you “coincidentally” wanted to do the same thing. It was infuriating, really, and definitely not thoughtful or heartwarming at all. You hated it. You absolutely hated it. 

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Deep down, you knew it was one of the reasons you adored Harvey so much. No matter the situation, his care for others always prevailed above any of his other feelings, even when it meant he would get hurt. A fatal flaw, really. You reminded him of his habit whenever you got the chance, but he always brushed off your comments with a light laugh. 

“Now who’s worrying too much, hm?”  

You let out a sigh as you sat on the edge of your bed, eyes flitting over to the collared shirt hanging in your closet. You quickly realized the grave mistake you’d made after leaving Harvey’s apartment that day, as you swore your entire house smelled like him now. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t done many renovations yet, so the space was pretty confined. The lasting power of his cologne was impressive, to say very the least, but not impressive enough to make your mood any better. The smell made you miss the person you felt was your other half.

Truthfully, you doubted anything could lift your spirits. The last time you felt so lost was after you quit your job at Joja, but at least your grandfather’s note had saved you back then. You choked up at the thought of him, wishing more than anything that he was still alive to give you some wisdom. There wasn’t a day that passed where you didn’t think of his warm hugs and tender voice.

With him gone, who was left? 

You paused at the thought, looking back at Harvey’s shirt. You could practically see his little smile and sunkissed cheeks.

No. You couldn’t see him, you didn’t want to see him, not after what he’d done. You had enough self-respect to put your foot down when you knew you needed to. Who needs him? I was fine without him then, I can be fine without him now. 

That’s what you told yourself for a solid couple of seconds, maybe.

Then, you thought about all the times Harvey never got to eat at his favorite restaurant and missed the movie he’d been wanting to watch, just so he could see you smile.

You hadn’t even fully registered your thoughts as you grabbed the cursed shirt from your closet and took the dried bouquet off your wall, running down your porch before you could change your mind.

-

Harvey hadn’t cried so much since he was a kid. A sad reality he had to face on his birthday of all days, but it was true.

Actually, the last time he’d found himself bawling so hard his chest hurt was when he’d been saying goodbye to you the last summer before the two of you entered high school. The place you were attending was a bit further away, and mixed with the fact that Harvey would begin to take summer courses, you both knew your visits to Pelican Town would be limited. Even back then, he couldn’t bring himself to shed tears in front of you. As far as you knew, he left you with a smile and a wave, not the hiccuping sobs he dealt with back at home.

Now, a familiar, suffocating feeling consumed Harvey’s chest as he buried his tears in his arm, the nearly half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table most certainly not helping his case. It wasn’t like him to drink his feelings away, much less on his birthday, but he figured it was a special occasion. It wasn’t every day he lost the one person he’d sworn to never lose. 

God, it hurt to think he would never make you laugh again, make you happy. That’s all he ever wanted, ever since he was little. Even on the days where he got home from school sporting a fresh bruise on his face, his face would light up at the sight of a phone call from you, feigning a happy tone as he listened to you talk about your day. It helped him get through it, in a way, to hear about your life. The way your voice pitched higher every time you got excited was something he would always treasure.

He loved you, more than anything, and in the end, that was what made him push you away.

Harvey lifted his head, wiping his face as he stoically poured himself another glass. The liquor went down smoothly, leaving a satisfying burn on his tongue. Part of him wished Elliott or Shane was there to console him, but he’d been adamantly ignoring their texts and calls. He hoped they would find it in themselves to forgive him.

Two knocks on his door broke him out of his thoughts, making him jump in his seat.

“Harvey? You there?”

He froze. 

No, it couldn't be. Am I really that drunk?  

“Open up. Seriously, Harvey, come on.”

He was on his feet in an instant, his hand resting for a moment on the doorknob before pulling it open.

Snowflakes were scattered on top of your hair and eyelashes, making you seem to glitter in the light of his kitchen. He wished he could tell you how beautiful you looked. 

“Y/N,” Harvey breathed, and he felt a stray tear run down his face at the sight of you. “Y-You’re here.”

“How could I stay away, asshole?” you asked, voice filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. He let out a light grunt as you forcefully shoved something into his chest, pushing past him and into his apartment wordlessly. After closing the door, he turned to face you, noticing your crossed arms and how you were looking at the ground, certainly in an effort not to start crying. It was a tactic he’d seen you pick up over time.

“Y/N,” Harvey repeated, savoring the sound of your name leaving his lips. “I—”

“Save it.” 

He looked down to realize he was holding the shirt you borrowed from him, along with the bouquet you usually had beside your bed.

In other words, he was holding a bouquet. A dried one, sure, but a bundle of flowers nonetheless, and it was from you.

His heart seemed to lurch, and he gently laid both on top of his bed.

You didn’t even mention the items you handed him. Instead, your nose scrunched as you turned to his dining table, picking up the whiskey bottle. “Have you been drinking? Yoba, Harvs, you know you’re supposed to do something fun on your birthday, right?” He didn’t miss the slight shake in your voice as you put it down. “Seriously, have you been home all day?”

Harvey cleared his throat, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Yes, um, I’ve been home for quite a bit, actually,” he admitted, feeling the haze of the alcohol fog his thoughts. “I . . . couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

You paused to think about his words, then shook your head. “You know you fucked up, right?” you questioned, a fiery look fueling your eyes — though Harvey could also see the hurt lying underneath. “I’ve called you a lot of things over the years, but a liar has never been one of them. You said everything’s about me, that you love me—”

“That wasn’t a lie,” he interrupted, suddenly desperate. He stepped towards you, feeling a part of his heart break off when he saw tears shining in your eyes. “Please, if there’s anything you take away from that, from us, just know everything I said was true.” Harvey took a shaky breath, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. “Everything reminds me of you — the sun, the beach, the forest, the city, this entire damn town is filled with bits and pieces of . . . of just you. There’s not a moment that goes by where you’re not on my mind, Y/N, I assure you. You truly are the light to my darkness.”

You took one step back, looking at him with emotions swirling in your gaze. “You say that, and yet, there’s still a part of you holding back,” you whispered brokenly, and Harvey had never hated himself more. 

“Why are you so scared, Harvey?”

“Because I don’t deserve you!” he cried, tears running freely down his cheeks as an all too familiar panic swelled in his chest. He turned away, rubbing his face with both his hands in an effort to steady himself. He kept his back to you as he spoke to the floor. “I love you, with all my being, but I know I’ll only hold you back. It’s what I’ve been doing since we were kids, it’s what I always do. I-I can never be enough, no matter how badly I want to, no matter how hard I try—”

Strong arms wrapped around his torso from behind, and Harvey felt as if his world was crashing down.

“That’s the thing, Harvs,” you said quietly, and he could tell from your voice your own tears had broken loose. “You’ve always been enough, but we’ve both just been too dumb and blind to see.”

Harvey managed a defeated laugh at that, making sure his breaths were even before turning to see your face. You looked at him with a sad smile, keeping one hand on his back as you reached over to swipe his wet cheek with your thumb. He leaned into the warmth of your palm and closed his eyes, reveling in the contact he’d missed dearly. 

“I love you,” he murmured, opening his eyes. 

You nodded, bringing your hand down to the nape of his neck. “I love you, too,” you replied, “no matter how much of an idiot you are.”

He huffed another laugh, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “Well, I suppose you’re not wrong. I did go to medical school, you know.”

“They obviously didn’t have a class on, ‘Telling Your Best Friend You’re in Love with Her,’ did they?”

“Not exactly.” 

You rolled your eyes. “The flowers are your gift, by the way,” you mentioned, suddenly growing a bit shy. “Not my best effort, I know, but think of it as karma.”

“Your karma backfired, then, because that was the best gift you could’ve given me.” His arms tightened around you. “I knew there was something suspicious about it.”

“Whatever.” Your fingers grazed through his hair, and Harvey shivered at your touch. 

“We’ll take things slow,” he promised quietly, and by then, the two of you had leaned impossibly closer to each other, lips grazing against each other’s as you spoke. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

You hummed, smiling. “More than okay on my end,” you said, pausing before you added, “but a kiss isn’t too much, is it?”

He pretended to think before shaking his head and leaning forward. “Not at all.”

As Harvey’s lips gently met yours, he imagined he was healing the cracks he put in your heart, hoping you could feel all the unspoken words left on his tongue.

I missed you, but we’ll be okay. 

[fairielux]

I know I haven't talked about this project but i'm in dire need of validation, so here is a snippet from the festive landoscar fic i'm working on.

the main tags are: restaurant owners landoscar, established relationship, domestic fluff, slice of life, married landoscar (cause i'm not a coward), and pastry chef oscar

any feedback you have is appreciated!! let's hope this sees the light of day lol

"Lando's brain needs a minute to catch up to whatever is going on with the pins and the budget - he makes his way around George and Alex to search for Oscar. Greeting his husband first, pin crisis later. They usually make their way to their restaurant together, but Oscar left earlier today. Something about trying out a new dessert recipe for their New Years' special menu. He finds his husband at his usual station, wiping the smooth steel surface down, he must have finished whatever he was experimenting with already. Lando can't say he isn't disappointed, Oscar has been quite secretive about this new recipe, Lando hoped to find out more today. His train of thoughts gets interrupted when he sees Oscar rounding the station to make his way to him. Lando smiles at him, soft, and utters a quiet hello before placing a peck on Oscar's cheek. Oscar wraps his arms around Lando's waist before pulling him in for a chaste kiss. When they break apart, Lando looks at him funny, a little confused even. When the restaurant opened, they agreed to keep public affection to the minimum, not because they didn't want their coworkers to know, rather to stay as professional as possible. Plus his husband isn't the biggest fan of it either.

"What was that for?" He asks, with a hint of surprise in his voice. Even after all these years, Oscar can still surprise him. Instead of answering, Oscar points above them with a mischievous grin playing on his lips. Still confused, Lando looks above their had just to find - "Is that mistletoe? Osc?"

His husband just smiles at him, sheepish. "I had to. Rules are rules" and with that he turns around to go back to his station, leaving Lando to stand there until he is forcibly dragged away by George, Alex and their pin crisis."

[aloesarchives]

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Reader/Pronouns, Swearing, Gojo has a hard crush on you, Gojo vs Toji Part 3, The word ass being used, Toji straight up having beef and fighting a bunch of teenagers, Nicknames such as beloved and hon(ney), JJK OCs, Out of pocket moments and sayings, Me being an annoying narrator

[Semi-proofread, informal formatting, and edited as of 12/22/2023 10:18am CST]

Summary: One of the truths behind Toji's beef with Gojo

Word count: 2.8k words

(A/N: I spent 10pm-6am writing this because I just need to or I would never forgive myself if I didn't! I promise I will have some of the "Toji lives" AU posts ready by next week because your girl got her ADHD meds back in stock!! Thank you for being patient with me and my inconsistent updates!!) (12/22/2023 6:05am CST)

💙I love you all! 💙🥰😚💙

💙❤️Please Enjoy!!!💙❤️

The REAL reason Toji has major beef with Gojo is because Gojo had a crush on you during his high school days when you would sub for Yaga in the classroom and training sessions. He did try his best to keep it under wraps but Geto was like,

"Bro, she's the same age as Yaga-sensei. . . Stop reaching, Satoru. . . Do I need to remind you who (L/N)-sama is married to again?"

The Gojo responded with, "Suguru, I don't give a shit about that loser. He's a bum, anyway. The question you should be asking is why (L/N)-dono is fucking married and still in-love to a deadbeat like him. I would have been a better option. Face it Suguru, I'm right."

While Satoru has a point, as Suguru noted, it doesn't change the fact that Satoru was crushing on a MARRIED woman who had TWO kids.

Though it was true, Satoru would have technically been a good husband/father/lover. However, there are many reasons why it must be ruled out.

Satoru is over half your age. Picking him meant allegations and a prison cell. Gojo tried reasoning with you, "But (Y/N)-dono! Age is just a number, give me two years!" "And Prison is just a place, Satoru-kun. I don't want to be labeled as a child predator, let alone be framed for "seDuCinG" the Gojo heir. I want to have a clean record."

While his personality brought you happiness, his carefree nature would clash a lot with you. He can mature but his child-like spirit and carefree persona isn't something you would personally deal with.

He was more of your protégé/junior/student if anything. You saw him more as your son and acted like a parental figure. You wanted to watch him grow and mature. Not become his lover.

To spite the higher-ups and Jujutsu elders(excluding your clan). Given you were a powerful and skillful sorcerer, marrying Gojo would be "BeNeFiCiaL" to Jujutsu society. However, it meant that you were on a watchlist 24/7 and pressured to have an HeIR. It made you physically sick and ill thinking what those old useless dementia white-haired cowards are allow to do that just to better "society" but not its citizens.

You are MARRIED to a man who is trying to step up after his major fuck ups. It's not perfect but Toji is his best trying after you gave him his life and freedom. Since he technically can't leave your home or go to Jujutsu High without your supervision, he's basically househusband duty. And he was getting pretty damn good at it too. Plus Toji's hot, he got you feral and gnawing at your teeth with his signature smile and smirk. And the way his arms flex when he crosses them, or how they feel when you link arms together.

While it wasn't super obvious, okay it was obvious, you always shot down Satoru's playful confessions and light-hearted shenanigans. Basically rejecting him every time. Usually, Suguru would warn you in advance but you know it would happen with each interactions. While you firmly turned him down, you made him understand why it can't and WON'T happen. You still care for him, just never romantically, only platonically and motherly. You made it clear that his "love" for you was just a strong admiration and infatuation disguised as a crush.

Though he was heartbroken, at first. Satoru slowly understand what you mean and his crush slowly fades away as it's replaced with immense respect for you.

HOWEVER, it still linger and not widely known because Toji finally gets word of this through the grapevine. A.K.A, through his two children Megumi and Tsumiki. It happened one day when you brought the two to the school so you can keep a close eye on them since they didn't have school that day. Toji was out doing errands so the two kids are accompanying you. Megumi and Tsumiki were occupied with their books and toys while you taught and trained the students. Megumi and Tsumiki went to find you because they were hungry and you had their lunches. As they looked for you, they see you talking to Satoru. They meet him a couple of times but he's still a stranger to them compared to Shoko or Suguru. So when they see Gojo with you, all alone with no one around, they thought it was major sus.

As they snuck closer, they could hear bit and pieces of what Gojo is saying to you. Megumi lowkey thinks Gojo is super annoying and acts more of a child then he does. But what catches his ears first was something with along the lines of, "(L/N)-dono, please consider it-" "Satoru-kun, how many time will I need to say no to you? You know I can never feel for you that way. Plus it's bad for me to agree to it. You know that it's admiration and infatuation if anything. Not love."

See Megumi knows you only use love as in 'I love you" to him, his sister, and his dad. But to this dude? Nah, something fishy is going on and Megumi gotta tell his dad about it. Megumi comes running, yelling "Mommy!!!". You and Satoru turn to see your son running to you and colliding with your legs. You crouch down and pat your son's head and smile at your daughter following behind him. Megumi hands your hand tightly as you lead them away to have lunch with your kids. Satoru made a face at Megumi when he saw the kid glare at him.

Once you three made it home, you're in the bathroom changing into some home clothes. Meanwhile, Toji was cooking dinner while Megumi and Tsumiki were waiting for you at the dinner table. As Toji was asking them about their day with you, Megumi brought up Gojo's advances and confession towards you. When Megumi said this, the beef Toji was about to flip plopped right back onto the pan. He looks back at Megumi and asks if there's anything else that he can share. As Megumi shares what he has seen through his perspective, Toji asks Tsumiki to confirm is this is all true, to which she said yes, backing up Megumi's claims.

"Yeah, Papa. Satoru-kun is weird. Even though Mama keeps saying she's married to you, he still does it. Tsumiki saw it too."

"I see... Thank you, Megumi and Tsumiki for watching and taking care of Mama for me. I appreciate it a lot. Can you tell her that dinner is almost ready?"

The kids nodded and went to go get you. After dinner and putting the kids to bed, you were sipping your favorite drink as Toji is doing the dishes. You would have helped him but he said no. While you two were talking, he brings up Satoru and his school crush on you.

"Toji, beloved, you know that it's just a small crush. It's nothing more then puppy love for me. Nothing more and nothing less. And you know that you're the only man that I am willing to give my heart to."

"I know that, (Y/N). But what does this brat got on me to think he's a better match for you? Just because this kid is practically a god doesn't mean everyone will bow down to him. I'm definitely not one of them. And to know that said brat is flirting with you even though you're visibly married with kids, he needs to read the room. I will be going with you to school tomorrow. The kids go back to school the next day, and I already got this week's groceries and cleaned the house."

You would have protested if Toji didn't give you a searing kiss while caging you in his arms. Fuck he looked so hot. Curse him and his good looks *punching the air*.

"Fine, you can come. BUT, Toji you need to behavior yourself. You already knew the deal. You better not be doing any funny business."

"Yes, Ma'am. You're the boss, I promise you." Toji says as he gave you a kiss on the cheek before lightly patting your ass.

After dropping the kids off, Toji accompanies you to the school. Toji is just silent and sits in one of the chairs as you do your lessons. Toji is leaning on the chair with a smirk plastered on his face. Not a care in the world. After a few lessons, you were going to teach and train Gojo, Geto, and Shoko for the rest of the school day. As you went to their classroom, they greet you, especially Gojo. However, the mood changed when they saw Toji walk in behind you, wearing nothing but a black slim fit t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Toji gave a head nod to the teens while he just takes a seat in a chair to lean on it. The three were shock to see him.

Particularly because they did expect him to come with you to the school at all. Suguru had an idea but he hoped it wasn't going to be it. After teaching a lesson, you told the three to practice their curse techniques and let their curse energy loose. While doing so, you told them that you would have to speak to Yaga for a bit on something and would be back 15 minutes tops. You told Toji to behave, and he nodded and gave a thumbs up. As you leave the kids and your husband on the train grounds, that's when the storm started brewing. Toji walks up to Gojo and is 3 feet from him. He smirks while looking at him up and down, sizing him up. Shoko and Suguru are on the sidelines as Toji, a married adult male in his 30s, was beefing with a 16 year old high school student.

Suguru: "Satoru, I don't think this is a good idea-"

Satoru: "Hush now, Suguru. . . It's my time to shine. . . Watch the master at work."

Suguru proceeds to roll his eyes but becomes a little weary after his last encounter with Toji was. . . unideal. Given one of their teachers was shot in the throat by Toji saving Anamai, and himself getting injured. It wasn't something he wanted to constantly get reminded of. But ever since you liberated Toji from the higher ups and explained it to your students, Suguru has slowly been changing his views on Toji. It will take a while but it's getting there. Anyhow, Suguru told Shoko to book it once the two were going to throw down.

Satoru: "So, what brings you back here, Toji~? You just couldn't get me out of that little mind of yours~? You're mad I'm 1-0 with you?"

Toji: "Kid, I'm pretty sure that it's 1-1 since I won our first battle. Anyway, I heard through the grapevine that you gave (Y/N) a love confession. Don't you know it's bad to confess and hit on a married woman who has kids? Were you taught any manners? Then again, by the way you act, you probably have none."

Satoru: "You're just mad, Old Man. That I, Satoru Gojo, would treat (Y/N)-dono better and treat her worth. Face it, Old Man. I'm a better match for her than you'll ever be."

Toji: "Like she ever goes for someone half her age, Brat. Plus, you'll never look at you as a lover ever. You're more of a son to her and that's the closest you'll get."

Satoru: "Well, she doesn't need a bum like you around. Imagine fighting a bunch of teens and getting your ass beat by said teens. Skill issue if you ask me."

Toji: "Watch your tongue, Boy. Remember who made you struggle for the first time in your life and actually killed you. While, you know, fucking up your best friend, the second strongest sorcerer, with no curse energy? I got your ass with no gifts other than being a superhuman with weapons. You can never beat me, I'm just built different, Kid."

Satoru: "You wanna test that, Toji~? You got no curse weapons with you. I can pack you up like you're a school lunch."

Toji: "Kid, please. I don't need any weapons to beat you, let alone kill you. You see this? This is a rock, and I can use it to beat you. I also still have my hands too. And I am more then willing to give it to you, Gojo~kun."

Satoru: "You think I'm scared of someone like you? I've ascended, enlighten if you will. If you even know what that word is. Throughout Heaven and Earth, I alone am the honored one. Remember those words, Fushiguro-san? Remember them good because I will put you six feet underground."

Toji: "I see then, Kid. . . So you're playing God? I guess that makes me a God Slayer then. . . Prepare yourself, Kid. . ."

Satoru: "Alright, bet then, Bozo."

Thus, Gojo and Toji started to go at each other for round 3. Shoko was already gone and the two started fighting in the training grounds. Five minutes have already passed and they have made five decently sized craters. Just as both of them were about to throw a punch at each other, they suddenly felt a powerful presence which halted them. They turn to you walking towards them with a furious face unimaginable.

"GOJO SATORU AND TOJI (L/N) FUSHIGURO!!!! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?!?! I LEAVE FOR LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR AND I GET CALLED BACK BECAUSE OF THIS!?!?"

"(Y/N)-dono!!"

"(Y/N)!"

You moved like a blur and appeared next to them vice gripping their forearms tightly. You dragged them to the nearest empty classroom you can find or any room. You were just so livid that you didn't hear Gojo whining about your grip and asking to let you go like a child. As you let them go once you dragged them far enough, you smacked both of them hard on the head. Shoko and Gojo were watching this as Yaga appeared right next to them shortly. It was interesting seeing two of the most broken people in the world kneeling with their heads down in-front of a woman who doesn't have god-like abilities.

"GOJO, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT USING BOTH OF YOUR ABILITIES DURING TRAINING SESSIONS!?!? YOU KNOW THE CALAMITY AND DAMAGE YOU COULD'VE CAUSED!?"

"BUT (Y/N)-dono! He-"

"NO BUTS, GOJO!! AND YOU, TOJI, I LITERALLY JUST SAID NO FUNNY BUSINESS AND YOU'RE ABOUT TO CREATE THE NEXT SECOND COMING OF CHRIST. I DON'T NEED ANOTHER RAPTURE HERE. I'M STILL DEALING WITH THE AFTERMATH FROM THE TWO OF YOU AS IT IS!!!"

"Okay, Hon. I take full responsibility for my actions today."

"YOU BETTER, TOJI!!! YOU'RE A FULL GROWN MARRIED MAN WITH TWO KIDS!!!"

"But (Y/N)-dono, I was not going to kill him last time-"

"NO ONES DYING HERE!!! NEITHER OF YOU WILL NOT DIE AS LONG AS I AM AROUND. I WON'T LET THE BOTH OF YOU KILL EACH OTHER OVER SOME PETTINESS AND A BOY CRUSH."

You start to calm down but you are still firm with them.

"I know this started because of Satoru's crush on me. . . Satoru, I will not love you romantically and date you. Please understand that. I care for you like family and that is said for the rest of you. Yes you, Suguru, Shoko, and Yaga. And Toji, I'm not leaving you for a child. I would be in jail and not working here. . . Geez, I saw this from a mile away but never expected this to happen. Now, you two better behave yourselves or else. You two don't have to say sorry or anything like of the sort. Just don't go tearing at each other's throats when I both am and am not around. Please, for me. . ."

The two looked at each other before saying a soft yeah. After that, Yaga told you to go home early and he would take it from there. You had to patch up Toji a bit but it wasn't anything of concern. From then on, Toji and Gojo just banter and bicker with each other. It's funny to watch except for Megumi since he's seeing his dad beefing with his unofficial adoptive older brother 24/7.

Satoru eventually grows out of his crush for (Y/N) but Suguru and Shoko never let him down. Hell, it's a running gag in the school about Gojo's old crush on you. Gojo always gets super embarrassed about it, especially when you join in but it's all fun and games with you all.

The only person who genuinely hates it is Megumi because the thought of Gojo having romantic feelings for you and trying to woo you made Megumi visibly ill and sick to his core. He would lowkey help his dad beat up Gojo if Gojo's crush on you became serious again.

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

💙Author's Notes💙: 💙I am truly grateful to each and everyone of you in showing me that my writing is enjoyable to read!!! I appreciate you all from the bottom of my heart for making my comeback worthwhile! I hate to sound giga cringe but every single one of you that likes, reblogs, and comments on my writing post make me want to continue writing because I know that there are people out there that like what I make.💙 💙So once again, I am truly grateful and feel appreciative that everyone single one of you enjoy what I have been writing. I hope you all stay healthy, drink your water/favorite drink, treat yourself kindly, and take a break because you earned it!💙🥰 ❄️💙💙Happy Holidays to all of you, my GOATS!!!💙💙❄️

[terresdebrume]

I'm going to be greedy and ask for more 😽😽😽

[Make me write]

Hehehehehe please do feel free to be greedy! I'm enjoying the writing time and procrastinating at work so it's double win for me xD

🔗 Story tag 🔗 Part 1 🔗 Part 2 🔗Part 3🔗Part 4

He considers walking back to the office, but dismisses it as a coward's attitude. Edwin may not be the strongest fighter there is, but he does pride himself on his ability to face the world as it is rather than as he wishes it were. The current situation with Charles is untenable, and the only way to resolve this, one way or another is for them to talk it through. With that in mind, Edwin takes a deep breath and phases into a furniture shop to jump through the nearest mirror he can find.

The office is quiet when he steps in. There is a sort of stillness to the air that Edwin hopes he is simply imagining, the sort that settles at the back of his neck like the fetid breath of a hell hound and brings all sorts of questions to Edwin's mind. The first of them is: where is Charles? There is no trace of him Edwin can see or hear. Crystal was on her way up when Edwin panicked, is it possible she took Charles out for some sort of conversation? If so, whether she will take Charles' or Edwin's side is something of a toss up, and not one Edwin cares to resolve today.

He must talk to Charles, though. Yes, he is distraught by the turn of events and can admit, if only to himself, that his heart still bleeds just to think of what he saw earlier. But the longer he stares at the empty office, the longer he is left to wonder whether Charles will even be willing to hear him out, the more Edwin realizes he will gladly take the wound if it means keeping Charles by his side. He will make peace with his friend's new relationship. He will endeavour to be civil to the the Cat King, and he will keep his darker thoughts to himself forever, just so long as he can--

Someone sniffles.

The sound is so faint it is almost a miracle Edwin hears it over the hum of traffic creeping in through the window, but it makes Edwin's heart triple its size with hope anyway.

"Charles?" He asks the empty air.

[tenderhooked]

all of your wips sound amazing! I would love to hear about the stalker frank fic :)

YES YES YES HEHEHEHEHE I AM VERYYYY >:) ABOUT THIS ONE. also tagging @remixedroses and @altschmerzes because you both asked about this one as well <3

so. as a fair warning, i have one episode left of s4 and this concept may perhaps be bungled by whatever happens in the finale. however. i am gonna do whatever i want forever! and also i thiiiiink based on what i know that it could. plausibly work lmao. anyways!

post-s4, things have. settled down, somewhat. a little. but river is... well. he's in a pretty bad place. he went through A Lot during s4, and the consequences of enduring that level of trauma, especially over such a contracted period of time, don't just. go away. so he's been struggling with not sleeping, with panic attacks, with feeling very scattered and not a part of himself or his life, with this sense of disconnection and fear. it's just. it's A LOT.

and then, one night, he gets home and is pretty sure that somebody's been inside while he was out. it's nothing... nothing obvious, nothing he can really get worked up about without seeming crazy and paranoid, but. something's off. like somebody wanted him to know they were here. but river is river and he's not going to kick up a fuss about something that's probably nothing, so he shrugs and tries to move on with his life. except. except. that may be the first time, but it's certainly not the last. it keeps happening. someone keeps entering his house and leaving behind little hints that they were there but he can never catch them. and then, suddenly, he starts getting the sense that he's being followed. on his way to slough house, on his way home, when he's going to the grocery store.... someone is Watching Him and he can't figure out who.

(he thinks frank, but immediately dismisses it. the man wouldn't come after him again so soon, would he? would he?)

(spoiler: he would.)

essentially, frank is just. trying to completely and utterly break river down until he's paranoid and out of his mind with fear, just. haunting him, perpetually. and river doesn't want to tell anyone, because he doesn't want to be any trouble, and it's probably nothing, and also he just caused everybody an immense level of grief what with all of the les arbres nonsense so. so he can handle this. it's fine.

what everybody else at slough house see: a river approximately one stiff breeze away from shattering into pieces. a river who needs their help.

so. frank's stalking continues to ramp up and up and up, and eventually culminates in him actually like. revealing himself. and telling river, point-blank, that unless he leaves his life behind and joins him, this will never end. he will live in fear for the rest of his days. and not just him, either. he can get to anyone. catherine, shirley, roddy. lamb. louisa. you understand, don't you, river? my boys aren't fucking cowards. they don't let other people take their punches.

and OF COURSE i must mention that like. there is a happy ending. slough house does eventually find out and they do help river and he gets lots and lots of hugs. but the road to get there is... a tad rough. hehehehehe >:))))