#do take care not to faint while looking at it

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter 24 — nazuchi beach (🎂)

When it all came down to it, the beach always stretched two times more endlessly than the life that you harbored.

And maybe that was the worst part of your dilemma. You were caught in between the vast hug of the world, an unresting beat of the sea but the hugs that you often came across these days were of pity. People felt sorry for you, and it more-so frustrated you than healed. Sand shimmering with a diaphanous and pearlescent glow, like it was dusted in powdered stars. They were soft and cool beneath the unders of your shoe, tiny shells crunching like glass and fleeting stories. A delicate spiral you looked on taking a glance at some of them, whispering secrets to the tides.

You held the urn, facing the ocean of living drapery, shifting from deep indigos to clear aquamarines. Crowning a crest of white foam, glimmering a lot similar to liquid silver under the light of the upcoming sunshine. The two mingling in a haze that stretched wide and tinged with lavender. Your eyes moved to the clouds, wisping and drifting lazily, reflecting a saturation of the seamless harmony below.

Smell of salt in your nose, taking in the mingled collection of driftwood that was sun-warmed and the earthy tang of faint seaweed, you were there in that grasp of time. Hoping to even Kazuha that you were here to live the sensations.

To put it in an easier way to process what you were doing, your grief spilled over again. Your tears were wracking your entire being, raw as they streamed on your cheeks. Streaking your cheeks with salt, shouldering shaking involuntarily, the more that you ruminated on the prospect that you were alone in this moment, you refused to hold back on your wallows. It wasn’t the kind of sobbing you could hold back, the sounds of your crying joining with the wind, sharp gasps catching in the core of your gullet.

Your face flushed, skin devoid and eyes desperate beneath the blotchiness spreading across your cheeks and nose. Sniveling with annoyed gasps of someone surfacing from water, the water you hadn’t realized you were drowning in. Arriving in short bursts, shaking, your body failing to remember how to breathe steadily. Your lip quivered following every single exhale, slightly cleft, you wanted to say a lot to your brother.

You didn’t know what to say to Kazuha— everything you ever said to him was in your head, and it burrowed like a baby bird in its nest. You should have known that your thoughts were always with him, because maybe he was always listening. And that was the hardest part to come to terms with, resurfacing your feelings with a sob more jagged than the last.

Tears clung to your chin, falling in slow drops onto their hands while you wiped at your snot and tears, the storm in your head developing mayhem. This was the first time ever since your mother dying that you felt so incredibly small, even after the uplift of the people around you, even with the small victories.

Behind you, the crunch of sand broke the detritus of the tears you inhabited, snapping your head immediately towards the source with a more than intense fashion. Your eyes were bleary still, startled and confused. A sharp band of his silhouette backlit by a lambency of solar flare. His presence was as delicate as it was futile and dangerous, wind from the coolness softly feathering the midnight of his hair.

A cigarette hung loosely from the corner of his lips, crimping hazy smoke into the air of saline. He had a small wooden box under his arm, battered and weathered, but obviously cared for considering his other hand was holding the under.

“You’re dragging this.” Kuni dryly said, fresh with his cuspate fringes he always had on his belt. There was a smaller hint of…care, in his tone. A sliver of warmth that he hasn’t had the heart to show you in years.

You blinked, fleetingly at a loss for words at his appearance. Someone you didn't think you'd see again for the record, was there rejecting his own schedule again. He neared closer to you, boots granulating the sand again. The cancer stick hanging from his lips absentmindedly before he exhaled a thin stream. He sat next to you in the space between the box he set down in between you two.

"You shouldn't be so impressionable," You looked back at the sea, heart spilling onto your bones. "Whoever told you to be here was just trying to get you to care a little more."

The latch of the box clicked softly as he opened it. Inside was a jumbled array of pictures, some fading and some crinkled at the edges, a lot of them aimlessly ripped but not intentionally. You didn't look right away, feeling a lot more disinterested in the remnants of someone else's life. Especially your ex.

"You've been through a lot on your own." He shrugged, trying to stop himself just short of invading the space that was between you two, studying how tethered your composure was before proceeding. "And I was in the area, too."

He was stern sounding still, but there wasn't anything malevolent. Just...observant?

You wiped your tears in haste, even though they made you babble in defeat. "I didn't send someone to hunt you down if that's what happened. I just wanted to be alone."

The two of your lack of words was heavy, you looked at the seas ripples and rolls in its metrical fashion, who didn't feel any different to what sentiment you equipped. Yet, even with the one-sided tug, you felt everything. And your sobs morphed to deep and gutteral hollow wails, weeping dropping into your lap like the urn was leaking, too.

Kuni didn't say anything at first, sitting there close, but not too close that it would give you the wrong idea. He always had the way about him that would make him look at you and track your every movements like they were something he wanted for himself. Trying to understand this paradox that would never make sense to anyone from a different perspective.

He would never understand the inner workings of you, and what you were actually thinking beyond the lies you decided to hide in for comfort. You were some enigma to him, and it was harder being here. "Well, that's insulting," He said finally, voice smooth. He seemed uncoupled, and was definitely not saying it to comfort you. "You act like I can't make a decision without someone else telling me to do it."

"Why else would you be here..."

He couldn't help but scoff, humored. "Because you've been alone. Least anyone can do is help you out right now." He tilted his head slightly. "You don't even have to be ready to do this. Didn't you just find out that he was dead?"

You turned to him, your eyes red and puffy, bearing a half-confused, half-frustrated face. "Maybe I need to do this to move on." You proclaimed while a surge of warmth rushed through your body. "I...I don't know what else to do right now. Than this."

Kazuha's urn was heavy in your hands, and in a way, what you were holding was every recollection of his being. All the things you weren't able to say to him, all the moments your brother was forced to leave behind. "Kazuha liked you a lot, you know." You said, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I wanted to tell you a while back, but everything was going too fast."

He absently traced his fingers against battered wood, cigarette smell lingering. "Kazuha liked a lot of people."

"Maybe, but I think with you it was different. Sometimes when I would try and get it out of him, he wouldn't relent, but I think he really thought that we would stay with each other." Your words came out shaky. "If not like, then trusted, maybe. I don't know."

"You don't need to convince me." He said, his usual aloofness tempered, dulling by the heaviness. "Who cares? Didn't stop me from ruining everything. Take this with you if you're going to dump him, you'll need it more than I do."

You boggled at him through drops, your eyes peeling down slowly to acknowledge the cracks of armor the other wore so carefully around him. The box of photos was a litter of pictures with you and Kazuha, ones you forgot were even taking. Your memories scattering in bursts, of many pictures that he took of you two together. Sitting on your porch, of your home, you were both laughing with your heads tilt toward each other. This was the youngest photo of you and him you could look back on. Your brother's smile, so soft and kind, lighting up your heart without extra attempt.

You stared at the photo in awe, your chest consolidated. "You kept these the entire time? I thought they were all lost..."

"He gave me them a bit before we broke up," He said, his thumb brushing against the edge of the picture. "Said it was one of his favorite pictures I took of you guys, and that I should keep it. That maybe I'd need it one day, I didn't really know why I would." He reminisced bitterly, "Now I do."

Even if you flinched at what he said, your grief wasn't enough to mask the elation you felt seeing your brother again. Even with the photos of him, there being an entire box of you, your mother, and Kazuha in such a compact box, kept away and tucked with the very person who you thought hated you. "And you're in denial he didn't see you as somebody?"

"Who else was left?" He asked.

"You can't say that to me!" Your voice raised, but it was no louder than the crashing waves still. You were like a tiny puppy who was struggling to even start up an utter or peep. "That doesn't make it easier, Zushi. None of this make it easier, always acting like it was or wasn't going to happen doesn't change anything. Kazuha lived like he was already halfway out the door, and I can't come to terms with it. Why do you insist on making it harder for me?"

"You're asking me that? After I told you to fuck off fifteen times in a row and continue to clutch onto my arm?" He rose an eyebrow. "Look, the sooner you face what you want to, the sooner you'll stop tearing yourself apart and putting yourself back together again."

Your tears melted into your sleeves, cheeks slick with the evidence of your sorrow. "You're really cruel," your lips trembled, your eyes vacant while you stared with forlorn. "When you kissed me in the bathroom that day, were you trying to prove a point then, too?"

"I like you." He at in the same stillness, like the ocean. The box of photographs sitting awaiting, contents stirring gently with the sea, spirits of the past life searching to let you know of what had been. What could have been if he was still here. He wasn't prying, but he had been surveying the entire time, gauging.

You were about to shatter completely or crack, but like a sword puncturing yet again through you, you knew that he was saying these things to keep you afloat. Your heart burned, your tone shaking a lot more than it had been all day. "Enough to stay?"

Kuni exhaled through his nose, the exasperation clearly settling in. "I don't know," He crossed his arms. "When things fell apart, he never stopped thinking about you. Nobody ever just...stops thinking about you, even me? It's actually getting really annoying."

In your tearful mess, they emerged again as your fingers melded with his slightly, brushing fingers to take the photo as you clutched it in a tight grasp with the urn. The wails were quieter now, still shuddering your whole body. You let yourself be held by the endless things you wanted to say in the meantime, and while you couldn't discern which ones were actually okay to enunciate, the only thing you knew was that Kunikuzushi...was always here, whether it was in happiness or indignation.

He was always here.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice breaking. "Thank you!" You managed a small and liquid laughter, feeling a lot lighter all the considering. Maybe this was exactly what you needed, your breath catching in your throat as you mitigated the burn easier.

He didn't mean to look at you for as long as he did, it was just something about the way you expressed yourself as you were in the longest time. Not the way that you were crying endlessly, and the glistening of your eyelashes, catching a fading sunlight like the drops of gold. The entirety of your being, unexpected feelings crashing into him. You looked serene to him, and a faint heat crept on his neck before he could stop it.

His head averted quickly, free hand brushing through his hair in a more dismissive motion. "Eugh." He sounded out in response.

"What?" Your lips sundered.

"Nothing."

You felt him reposition after that brief second, brittle, the first breath of a tempest. His movements calculated as he weighed his own shifts. Without any other beats, you felt his arm wrap about your opposite shoulder, pulling your head to press onto his. It wasn't too aggressive, nor a firm touch tinkling your veins this time around. He was silently reassuring you.

Warmness of the touch sinking in the fabric of his clothes, the light scent of his usual body mist, you haven't smelled him in a while. You haven't touched him in a while, and even with that in mind, you couldn't. You let yourself lean into him, skimming the edge of his level. Something felt manageable all of a sudden.

previous ☆ masterlist

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

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[luvismenu]

STARBOY — JJK ,, 05 universe ✎ ,, index

warnings: just them bantering and idk, fluff? (jungkook trying to be romantic ekjwkwja)

note: yay finally!! i will update more often now dw guys (not an empty promise) only 5 more chaps!

“___! can i take a break now? i think everything’s fine.”

you glance around the room, groups of students chatter excitedly, some jittery with nerves as they await the start of the contest, while others treat the event like a casual hangout, their laughter echoing too loudly in the room.

turning back to elena, you let out a sigh. “just a few more minutes, vice. can you help me get everyone to settle down? you’ll get your break once the contest ends and we’re waiting for the results, yeah?”

she looks momentarily disappointed, her shoulders slumping slightly, but she nods.

you offer her a small, reassuring smile. “thank you for sticking with me through all of this. it’ll be over soon, i promise.”

her expression softens at your words, and she gives you a faint smile before heading off to manage the crowd. you take a moment to breathe, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the long day ahead.

that’s when you notice kim namjoon weaving his way through the throng of students, his tall frame making him hard to miss.

“looks like you’ve got everything under control,” he says as he approaches

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i wouldn’t say that. it’s more like controlled chaos.”

namjoon smiles. “that’s still impressive. pulling off an event like this isn’t easy, but you seem to have it handled.”

“well, i have all of you to thank for a lot of it,” you admit, glancing towards the vice as she speaks to a group of students. “and honestly, i’m just praying everything goes smoothly once the contest starts.”

“it will,” namjoon assures you, his voice steady. “you’ve planned everything down to the last detail. plus, the turnout’s great. everyone’s excited.”

“that’s what worries me,” you joke, half serious. “the more people, the more chances for something to go wrong.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “classic class president mindset. always prepared for the worst.”

“someone has to be,” you reply, giving him a small smile. “what about you? are you just here to observe, or are you part of the contest?”

“observe,” he says with a shrug. “i wanted to see how this plays out. it’s not every day the english majors get this much attention.”

“true,” you agree, scanning the room briefly before turning back to him. “but i thought someone like you would’ve joined. you’re always talking about writing.”

“i prefer writing stories for myself,” he admits, his expression thoughtful. “contests like these are great, but they’re not really my thing. i like watching people shine in their own way.”

his words are sincere, and for a moment, you find yourself appreciating his perspective. “that’s... nice. i hope the participants feel the same way and don’t faint from all the nerves.”

“they’ll do fine,” he says with confidence, glancing at the other students. “but you should probably take your own advice and relax a bit. you’re doing great.”

you scoff lightly but nod. “i’ll relax when this is all over.”

“fair enough,” namjoon replies with a knowing smile. “good luck, ___. not that you need it.”

“thanks,” you say, watching as he turns to blend back into the crowd.

you wonder where jungkook is.

not that you care, of course.

he was one of the people who helped the student council a lot with the event, so it’s only polite to thank him. nothing more, nothing less.

pulling out your phone, you scroll through the messages he sent earlier.

starboy: should i wear a suit?

you: it’s a contest, not the met gala.

starboy: says the girl who’s defo trying to outshine me

you: i don’t need to try :)

starboy: wow u're so humble 🙄

you: confident, maybe

starboy: r u looking forward to seeing me

you: only because you told me you're participating. nothing more.

starboy: sure. keep telling yourself that, stargirl. i know you wanna see me so bad ;)

you: wtv helps you sleep at night, starboy.

you shake your head, fighting back a small grin that threatens to creep onto your lips. he always had this way of getting under your skin, whether you wanted him to or not.

deciding to refocus, you make your way over to the vice. but to your surprise, she isn’t standing alone.

elena is talking to someone, her hands gesturing wildly, a small laugh escaping her lips. it takes you a second to realize who’s standing there with her, but the sight makes you stop in your tracks.

jungkook.

of course, he’d show up now, looking every bit like he belonged in a spotlight. he’s dressed in a crisp black suit that, while simple, fits him too perfectly to be considered anything but deliberate.

he catches your gaze almost immediately, a smug grin curling at the corner of his lips as if he knew you’d been wondering where he was.

“prez,” he says smoothly, breaking away from elena to walk towards you.

“oh no, they’re gonna argue again,” one of elena’s friends whispers, leaning closer to her.

“let’s hope not,” elena mutters nervously, her eyes fixed on you and jungkook.

“you look... stressed.” jungkook points out.

“and you look overdressed,” you shoot back, crossing your arms as you try not to let his presence throw you off.

“i call it setting the bar high,” he quips, standing in front of you now. “wouldn’t want to disappoint, you know.” he shoots a glance to a group of girls who are already eyeing him like he's the main event.

you roll your eyes, “and i thought you were here for the writing contest, not competing for bestdressed.”

“why can’t it be both?” he shrugs, the grin never leaving his face.

you shake your head. “you’re late, starboy.”

“perfection takes time,” he replies with a casual shrug.

“is perfection in the room with us?” you raise a brow, and he pretends to look offended for a moment.

“my goodness, prez,” he says dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded.

you chuckle despite yourself, and he smiles.

“thanks for helping out, jungkook,” you say, your tone softening just a little. he looks genuinely surprised for a second before his face turns smug.

“oh?” his brows lift playfully. “am i high or did you just thank me?”

“don’t make me take it back,” you warn.

he lets out a small laugh, the sound warm. “don’t mention it. after all, i am the best,” he says, leaning back as if basking in imaginary applause.

your smile immediately fades. “you’re so full of yourself.”

as you follow jungkook to the registration desk, you notice how the girls in the corner giggle louder when he walks by. he tilts his head slightly in their direction, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“you’re enjoying this too much,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“what can i say? people appreciate greatness.” he shrugs, feigning modesty.

“greatness? please. you’re just tall and have nice hair. it’s not that deep.”

“you think my hair is nice?” his smirk widens, and you immediately regret your choice of words.

“focus, starboy,” you snap, pointing to the line of participants. “you’re here to submit your entry, not to boost your already inflated ego.”

“don't worry about me stargirl, i can multitask.” he flashes a grin and steps forward to sign in.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner that you were participating?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“surprise, surprise,” he says in a sing-song tone, not even glancing back.

you hum thoughtfully, narrowing your eyes at his back. “i don’t know if i’m more annoyed that you didn’t tell me or impressed that you kept a secret for once.”

“i’m full of surprises, prez,” he replies, finally turning around. “are you perhaps curious about what i wrote?"

“curious isn’t the word i’d use,” you deadpan.

as the two of you walk away from the desk, you glance at his entry form, trying to peek without being obvious. but he notices immediately.

“curious isn't the word i'd use.” he mocks you, holding the form just out of your reach.

“i was just checking if you spelled your name right.” you roll your eyes yet again.

“i’ll have you know, it’s going to win.” he says.

“oh, it’s definitely going to win something,” you say with a smirk. “most mediocre attempt, maybe.”

“keep talking,” he laughs, “but when my name is announced as the winner, i want you in the front row, clapping louder than anyone.”

“i am not a seal, you know,”

the banter continues as you both head towards the seating area, your playful digs turning heads as others watch the dynamic between the class president and the self proclaimed starboy.

the chatter in the room quiets down as the head of the event steps forward, holding a small glass bowl filled with folded slips of paper. “to kick off the contest,” she announces, her voice echoing slightly in the room, “we’ll randomly select one of our participants to read their submission aloud.”

a murmur spreads through the crowd. your eyes flick to jungkook, who leans back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be unbothered. but the way his posture stiffens as the name is drawn doesn’t escape you.

“jeon jungkook.”

you swear you see his confidence falter for just a split second, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly recovers

“well, well,” you say, unable to resist a jab. “didn’t think the universe would humble you this quickly.”

“humble me?” he scoffs, standing up and dusting off his pants as if preparing for a performance. “please. this is nothing.”

the crowd shifts, a few participants nudging him towards the makeshift stage at the front. he lets out a dramatic sigh, walking forward with a nonchalance that feels just a little too forced.

“don’t trip,” you call out, earning a few chuckles from the students around you.

jungkook turns just enough to throw a glance your way, his eyes glinting. “enjoy the show, prez.”

as he steps up to the mic, the room falls into an expectant hush, the silence settling over everyone. jungkook takes his entry, he scans the words, his expression unreadable, before finally beginning to read.

“the story,” he starts, his voice steady yet soft, the kind that makes everyone lean in just a little closer. “it’s about… how one person can change everything, even if they don’t know it.”

he takes a pause, eyes scanning the room briefly before settling somewhere in the distance, as though he’s speaking to a ghost only he can see.

“she’s not like the sun, burning too bright for anyone to hold,” he begins, his voice growing quieter, more deliberate. “she’s more like the moon.. steady, always there even when you can’t see her. the kind of light that keeps you grounded on the darkest nights.”

you hear a few soft sighs from the crowd, and you can’t tell if they’re swooning or genuinely moved. you shift in your seat.

“she’s… not perfect,” he continues, a small, fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “but that’s what makes her real. she’s messy, stubborn, maybe even a little mean—” there’s a flicker of amusement in his tone, “—but somehow, she’s still the most beautiful thing i’ve ever known.”

your throat tightens, and you don’t know why. it’s just words, you tell yourself. just another story for the contest. but the way he says them makes your stomach twist.

“she doesn’t know,” jungkook says, quieter now, almost like a confession. “she doesn’t know how much space she takes up in my universe. how, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart, she stays constant. the one thing i never want to lose.”

the silence in the room is deafening. you can feel your heart thudding against your ribs.

his voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of vulnerability that catches you off guard. the story he weaves is vivid and poetic, describing a brilliant, infuriating force of nature who constantly challenges and inspires him.

“she’s impossible to ignore,” he says, his eyes scanning the room but never quite meeting yours. “like a star in the night sky, guiding but distant, always just out of reach.”

his eyes finally meet yours.

“she's my universe.”

your heart stutters.

is this about—

the applause is immediate, loud and thunderous. jungkook gives a small bow, his usual smirk creeping back into place as he steps down from the stage. but for a split second, as he glances your way, you think you catch something else in his expression; something raw, something different.

“woah,” elena whispers beside you, nudging your arm. “that was… something.”

“yeah,” you murmur, but your voice sounds far away, your mind still caught on his words. “definitely something..”

note: took me a while becuz I AM NOT POETIC— 😓 but anyway lol do u guys think he could win? 🫢

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[clandestineloki]

can you guess what musical inspired this lmfao (NSFW)

loki breaks away from the kiss, growling filthy praises as he fucks his cum back into you.

underneath the candlelit chandelier, she's trembling, and he relishes in the shy, dazed look on her face as his cock thrusts in and out of her twitching, dripping hole. shaky hands grab anywhere they can on his chest and back, and while he loves that she's too blissed out to even know what to do with herself, he can't have her losing her mind so early into the evening.

"fuck, you're perfect," he hisses, leaning down to capture her lips once more.

the nobility can't do anything but stare as he pulls her down tighter onto his lap, littering kisses all over her already marked neck as she whimpers out his name like a prayer. he gives them all a terrifying glare that freezes them all in place in spite of the debauchery happening before them.

"you all said she was incapable of giving me an heir," he hisses out. "well, she's doing a good fucking job taking it all right now, isn't she?"

loki flips her over, pressing a little kiss to the side of her hip as a silent apology for being so rough. but rough is all he can be when someone has sullied the name of his bride.

"maybe you rich scum need to remember who you're spitting this nonsense about."

he snakes a hand around her waist, pulling her up to her knees, her back against his bare chest. her eyes widen as she comes face to face with the men of the nobility.

loki smirks at her flustered expression, slowing his thrusts and holding her still against him, leaning in to drawl in her ear softly. "still with me, angel?"

"u-uhuh," she whines softly, trying to close her legs. but loki has none of that and gently traces two fingers over her spread, twitching folds. "ah- loki- they'll see-"

"let them see." he whispers darkly, and the lust in his voice makes her whimper and sink into his touch obediently; he rewards her with a little kiss to her nose.

he turns to their audience, and his voice becomes loud and commanding. "i couldn't care less if you respect me, but i suggest you respect the princess of asgard should you wish to keep your sorry heads."

his finger work their magic on her little bud and the wettest noises echo through the meeting hall along with her song-like sounds of pleasure. her eyes water from the intensity of the pleasure he's giving her with every inch of his being.

"l-loki-" she gasps. "s-so much-"

"i know," he chuckles, groaning in pleasure as her tight cunt milks him for all he's worth.

loki lifts his hand up to his mouth and licks her juices off his fingers. she hears a loud thump-- one of the nobles fainted in shock. and the elder next to him mumbles something about the new royals turning the palace into a brothel. big mistake.

the words are barely out of his mouth before an enchanted emerald dagger flies right into his heart and he doubles over, good as dead. the rest of their audience stares at his bleeding corpse in horror, thankfully not witnessing how for some twisted reason, that made her body warm and her eyes glaze over in lust.

oh gods, he just killed for me.

she scraems his name as her climax rains down on her at that exact moment, her cunt clenching helplessly and her body slumping against loki's as she orgasms for the nth time that night.

loki growls, holding her twitching form still against him as he breeds her full, his cum leaking out of her used little hole. he slips out of her, and pulls her into his lap, kissing her deeply to soothe the aftermath of their passion.

"i think they've seen enough," he whispers cockily, and she hides her face in his neck shyly. "maybe we could continue this without some leering old men in the equation~"

the nobility are snapped back to reality as loki comes down from the throne with her in his arms-- wrapped in his cloak with a dazed, blissed out look on her face, kicking the elder's body as he walks past it without a second thought.

he turns back around, and with a sinister green glow in his eyes, whispers the last words these pathetic men will hear, as the massive chandelier falls just above where the horrified nobility stand.

"this will teach the kingdom not to insult the royal family... especially the princess."

=======

A/N: yes im still alive im not a healthcare ceo lol

[novaursa]

A Fire Worth Burning

- Summary: Aegon loved you since your were children, but your father, Daemon, would never let him have you. Not while he lived.

- Paring: cousin!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The halls of the Red Keep gleamed beneath the midday sun, its stone corridors bathed in a bright light. The air buzzed with dark kind of charged energy that always seemed to accompany your family’s visits to the capital. Your father, Prince Daemon, was as unapologetic as ever, striding down the corridor with a gait that left courtiers pressing themselves against the walls. You followed close behind, draped in Targaryen silks—black and red, colors befitting the blood of Old Valyria that ran in your veins.

Despite the grandeur of the day, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. A familiar weight—a presence that had never quite left your side whenever you visited King’s Landing.

Aegon.

Prince Aegon Targaryen, your cousin, stood at the far end of the corridor with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the stone. The light caught on his pale hair, and though his posture was relaxed, his smirk was nothing short of intentional. He had always been this way—charming and infuriating, equal parts arrogance and allure.

“You should take care where you stop, Aegon,” your father’s voice rang out, sharp as the edge of Dark Sister. Daemon glanced briefly at the prince before continuing down the hall without sparing another thought for his nephew.

“I’ll catch up to you, Father,” you called lightly, earning a knowing glare from Daemon. He did not like leaving you behind—certainly not when Aegon was involved—but he allowed it, though not without muttering something about “Hightower games.” His footsteps eventually faded.

Now alone with Aegon, you crossed your arms, mirroring his stance. “Must you always be lurking?”

“Lurking?” Aegon straightened, pushing away from the wall with feigned offense. “I prefer to think of it as watching over you.”

You snorted, though his easy charm tugged at something deeper. “I have no need of your protection, cousin. I am my father’s daughter.”

“And your father is dangerous,” Aegon replied with a crooked grin. “Yet here you are, walking unescorted, left vulnerable to my… charms.”

“I wouldn’t call them charms,” you shot back, though your tone lacked the bite you intended.

He stepped closer, his violet eyes locking onto yours with a rare softness, a glimpse of something that wasn’t mere jest. “I would.”

You hated how your breath caught. Aegon had always been handsome—he knew it, the court knew it—but it was the rare glimpses of sincerity that unsettled you most. As children, he had been the boy who tugged at your braids and chased you through the halls. Now he was a man, and the mischief in his gaze had taken on a different weight.

“Did you follow me to flatter me?” you asked, your voice measured.

“I followed you because I’ve missed you,” Aegon admitted, his tone quieter now, stripped of its usual arrogance. “It has been years since we last saw one another, and yet, I find you still manage to haunt me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Haunt you?”

He chuckled, stepping closer still until you could smell the faint scent of wine and cloves clinging to his tunic. “You’re all I see, Y/N. When I sit at court and the lords drone on about banners and allegiances… when I ride Sunfyre across the skies. Even in my dreams, I see you.” He tilted his head, searching your face for a reaction. “Do you ever think of me?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but another voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Aegon.”

Daemon’s presence filled the corridor, the echo of his boots drowning out the unspoken words between you and your cousin. He looked furious at Aegon for still lingering near you—though with your father, anger was often a quiet, smoldering thing. He didn’t need to shout; his glower was enough to freeze Aegon in place.

“Uncle,” Aegon greeted, though his confidence had faltered. He turned toward Daemon, his lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. “We were merely speaking.”

Daemon’s gaze swept to you, checking for any hint of unease before settling back on Aegon. “Speaking? I saw no words worthy of my daughter’s time spilling from your mouth.”

“Is it such a crime to pay her compliments?” Aegon countered, the bravado returning to his voice. “She’s deserving of them.”

“Her worth does not require validation from you, boy.” Daemon stepped forward, placing himself between you and Aegon. The unspoken threat loomed in the air—Daemon may have been Aegon’s uncle, but he was also a man who had brought kingdoms to their knees.

Aegon smiled, though it was thinner now, strained beneath Daemon’s scrutiny. “Perhaps I should have asked your permission first, then. Or would you prefer I not look at her at all?”

Daemon’s expression darkened. “Do not test me.”

“Father—” you began, trying to intervene, but Daemon raised a hand to silence you.

Aegon’s gaze darted to you then, his eyes softening as if to reassure you. “I’ve only ever admired her, Uncle,” he said more earnestly now. “You cannot fault me for that.”

Daemon narrowed his eyes, looking as though he were considering whether to draw his sword then and there. Instead, he turned to you. “Come, daughter. You have indulged your cousin’s foolishness long enough.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Aegon. “We will speak again,” he said softly, his voice for your ears alone.

Daemon shot him a glare that could have scorched steel. “No, you will not.”

Without another word, your father took your arm and guided you away, his grip firm but not unkind. You didn’t dare look back, though you could feel Aegon’s eyes lingering on you until you disappeared around the corner.

“He is trouble,” Daemon said under his breath, more to himself than to you.

“And yet you let me speak with him for a moment,” you replied.

Daemon’s gaze softened slightly as he looked down at you. “You are my daughter, Y/N. The fire of dragons runs in your blood, but there are flames that burn too hot.” He exhaled, as though tired by the day’s events. “Aegon is no match for you.”

“Perhaps not,” you murmured, though your thoughts betrayed you.

You couldn’t shake the image of Aegon’s violet eyes, nor the words he had spoken. Do you ever think of me?

The truth was, you did. Far more than you cared to admit.

Aegon lingered in the corridor long after you and Daemon had disappeared, his smirk having faded entirely. His hand ran through his hair in frustration, disheveling it further as he let out a low sigh. He’d said too much. Or perhaps he hadn’t said enough. Either way, it hadn’t mattered—not with Daemon looming like the shadow of some vengeful god.

“Sulking, brother?”

Aegon’s head snapped up at the sound of the voice, sharp and edged like the speaker himself. Aemond stood at the end of the corridor, cloaked in his customary black leathers, his posture as rigid and unyielding as ever. The younger prince’s single eye fixed upon Aegon with a knowing gleam, the sapphire that replaced his other eye catching the light like a shard of ice.

“I don’t sulk,” Aegon muttered, forcing himself to straighten as his brother approached. “I drink. There’s a difference.”

Aemond smirked, though his version of a smile was a far colder thing than Aegon’s easy grins. “From where I stood, it looked very much like sulking.” He glanced back down the hall, where Daemon had led you away. “Ah. I see now. Her.”

Aegon stiffened at the casual derision in his brother’s voice. “Mind your tongue, Aemond.”

Aemond’s brow quirked, an infuriatingly calm expression plastered across his face as he came to stand before Aegon. “Careful, brother. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love.”

Aegon scoffed, though his laughter rang hollow. “What of it if I am? Does the notion unsettle you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Aemond replied coolly, his voice quiet and deliberate. “Though I find it amusing. You’ve spent years drowning yourself in wine and whoring your way through Flea Bottom. And yet here you stand, mooning after the Rogue Prince’s daughter like some lovesick fool.”

Aegon’s jaw tensed, a flicker of anger flashing in his violet eyes. “Careful, little brother. I’m in no mood for your japes.”

Aemond stepped closer, his tone hardening. “It’s not a jest. She is Daemon’s daughter—his prized daughter. She is not for you, nor will she ever be.” He tilted his head, a cruel edge to his smile. “Do you think Daemon would allow it? Or perhaps you dream of wedding her, of proving yourself to her. Is that it? Pathetic.”

Aegon lunged forward then, shoving Aemond back a step with enough force that the younger prince stumbled. “Watch your mouth, Aemond!” Aegon’s voice was a low snarl, his face flushed with anger. “You speak as though you know what it is to want something you cannot have. But you don’t, do you? You don’t feel anything. You don’t care for anyone.”

Aemond straightened slowly, smoothing the front of his leather tunic with deliberate poise. “On the contrary, I care about many things. Duty. Honor. Our family’s survival. But love?” He sneered the word like it was poison on his tongue. “Love is for fools, Aegon, and it will ruin you if you let it.”

“And yet you’ve never had it,” Aegon shot back, his voice quieter now but no less bitter. “What do you know of ruin?”

Aemond’s smile disappeared entirely, replaced by a look as cold and sharp as a drawn blade. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them thick with unspoken resentments. Finally, Aemond turned, his boots clicking against the stone floor as he began to walk away.

“You’d do well to remember this conversation, brother,” Aemond said over his shoulder, his tone flat and final. “Daemon will kill you before he ever lets you have her.”

Aegon stood there long after Aemond had disappeared, the younger prince’s words lingering in the air like smoke after a fire.

Daemon will kill you.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Perhaps Aemond was right. Perhaps you were not for him, and perhaps he had no right to dream of you. But gods help him, he couldn’t stop. He had loved you since you were children—since you had first laughed at him when he fell from Sunfyre’s saddle, and since you had looked at him with something other than judgment or disdain.

No, he would not stop. He could not.

“Daemon be damned,” Aegon muttered under his breath as he turned away, his mind already racing with plans. He would find a way. Whatever the cost.

[hyukakisses]

— emo ghostface txt dating a coquette (victim) reader (request)

pairings: emo ghostface txt x coquette reader

plot: random christmas ghostface txt headcanons

warnings: innocent (not really) reader, victim reader, txt infantilizing reader a bit (nothing too serious), oral fixation, set in woodsboro and in december, kinda dumb reader, mentally ill txt obviously.. fluff, smut, mentions of killing, reader is in college (old and re-edited request), bad grammar (english isn’t my first language bare with me now…), (very short mainly just a drabble)

it finally snowed in woodsboro california, you were home alone while your parents were off at a last minute business trip which sucked because it was the night before christmas. christmas has always been your favorite holiday :(

your mind trails to your boyfriend, a small frown grows on your lips thinking of how the emo boy was currently at a family vacation for the holidays. only making you more upset.

your boyfriend also would insist on watching all six of the scream films together by the fireplace each december. he was absolutely obsessed with the gore and the ghostface reveals in the ending of each film. “see that babe? see how jill almost got away with it? all she had to do was make sure old sydney was dead dumb bitch” you flush at the memory; your boyfriend’s obsession with dark christmas instead of a traditional christmas was a bit weird to you, but then again the boy was weird himself.

you careful swirl frosting on the fruitcake you and your boyfriend were making for a small christmas gathering, a faint dusty pink blush out of fear washed over your cheeks. “did you see that ghostface is back in town? im really scared” “you know he’s been back since october? it’s only getting worse” you pause with a whimper “what if he kills us next?” you’d tear up worrying making the taller male laugh at you, “you’d really think i’d let them touch even a hair on your little head baby? if anything i’d die for you and give myself up as sacrifice wait no i’d kill ghostface for you” the emo boy coos at the sight of your glossy eyes. his big hands helping you decorate the cake with cherries. a sick grin spreads on his plump his, “that only applies if you’re a good girl for me though otherwise i’ll let ghostface slit your throat” and you immediately burst into tears at the mere thought of dying

you sigh going off to dreamland looking back on christmas memories as an attempt of feeling better about being alone this year, how the grinch stole christmas lightly playing in the tv from your living room as you lay peacefully on your couch. sleep taking over your body as it snowed peacefully outside, your boyfriend secretly watching you in a dark ghostface santa costume.

quietly, your boyfriend sneaks in by the back door approaching your sleeping body with a faint smile, his small heart breaking at the sight of you all alone on chirstmas eve :( he wished he didn’t have to take care of any killings this week just so he could be able to spend christmas with you.

with a fast pace, the masked killer lightly places christmas presents he stole from his victim’s houses under your tree. his back faced towards you, he lets out a breathy laugh at the sound of you waking up. shutting off the christmas tree lights and tv.

“santa?” your sleepy voice echos and your boyfriend couldn’t help but go along with you, he took pleasure in indulging your childlike beliefs and personality. “dark santa” the slasher corrects stepping towards you watching your eyes light up at the sight of all those gifts

“sorry dark santa” you let out a soft whine not being able to see anything other than the killer’s red santa hat. your mind immediately goes to the nightmare before christmas. “are you jack skeleton?”

the slasher chuckles, “something like that yeah” with light steps the man itches closer to you “you’ve been a good girl for santa this year?”

with a eager nod you reply, “yeah! my boyfriend says i have been” a faint smile crosses the masked santa claus’ face loving how you always found a way to bring him up in any conversation

“you know if you wanted to deliver presents you could have just done so without pretending to be the town’s killer in a santa hat.. it’s silly” you let out a giggle eyeing the sliver chain your boyfriend miserably failed at hiding around his neck.

you knew the mysterious dark santa claus was your boyfriend because you gifted him that same sliver necklace two years ago on christmas. the emo boy wearing it everyday since clearly loving your gift.

“you.. you got me” the mentally unwell boy laughs, his voice low and rough. “i just wanted to play santa for a bit now be a good girl for dark santa and lay down on your back yeah? i’ll get you a pillow” your boyfriend’s large hands lightly trace hearts over your hips

your boyfriend wanted to laugh out loud at how stupid you were, you liked seeing the good in everybody so he wasn’t surprised you just thought he was cosplaying a mass murderer.

“you’re not gonna kill me are you?” you whine feeling your boyfriend’s lips lapped against your pussy, you giggled grasping onto of the black hair male’s head. “i know i’m a bratty girlfriend but you won’t kill me wont you?”

“i love you” the emo boy’s tone was sweet and hushed as you scratch and pull at his scalp, “i love you too” you whine feeling your boyfriend trace hearts over your pussy with his long tongue. you felt a pretty pit in the bottom of your stomach forming at the masked killer’s gaze. “yeah? you love me? even if i really am ghostface and not just dark santa?” “what?” you felt your poor body freeze stopping your release, you felt a wave of wear wash over your body. “you’re joking right? i know you’re a horror nerd but you’re joking? please tell me you’re joking!”

a/n: i got lazy fuckkk happy holidays (christmas 🎄🎁)

[narxcisse]

(((( I made this fanfic halfway through, but I'm too shy to post it, and I don't know how to finish it either, since I've never made one before. I love your writing, so I'm sharing this idea with you in case you want to use it to make one or post it. ))))

.....

The sun was beginning to set over Piltover, painting the horizon with shades of orange and gold. Reader stood at the door of the laboratory, your suitcase packed, ready to embark on a six-month journey away from the city. Jayce was leaning against one of the columns, looking at you with a serious expression, but not hiding a slight discomfort.

Jayce: "Take care out there. And don't try anything too impulsive, okay?" ( he said, forcing a smile.)

((Viktor, always more reserved, was adjusting one of the devices on his desk. He glanced over his shoulder, his glasses slipping slightly, but quickly returned to his task.))

Viktor: "Yes, and I hope the experience is... worthwhile." — Viktor replied, his voice lacking its usual warmth, but there was a slight concern in his eyes.

((Reader chuckled, trying to ease the tension in the air. The farewell wasn't easy for anyone, and you knew you were leaving an impression on both of them. But to lighten the mood, you decided to do something a bit bolder.))

Reader: "Oh, of course. But don't forget, boys..." (Reader paused, smiling mischievously.) "Don't destroy the world while I'm gone, alright?"

(Jayce raised an eyebrow, trying to hide a smile.)

Jayce: "Haha, very funny, Reader... We always manage to keep things under control most of the time, right, Viktor?" (he said, attempting to disguise the tension in his voice.)

((Viktor simply shook his head, but you noticed a faint color on his cheeks. Something you hadn't seen before.))

Reader: "I hope so... But, since I'll miss you, maybe I'll leave something for you to remember me by..." (Reader gave a playful smile, pulling them into a group hug and planting a kiss on both of their cheeks.)

((The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Jayce looked away, trying to maintain his composure, while Viktor, for a moment, seemed to completely forget his usual serious demeanor. Both were blushing, and both knew that, despite their attempts to deny it, something greater was happening between you.))

Jayce: "Get going. We don't have time for flirting right now." (Jayce said, trying to make his voice sound stern, but the soft laugh that escaped his lips betrayed him.)

Reader: "I'm not flirting." (Reader gave him a questioning look, not understanding, before picking up your suitcase and walking towards the door.)

((Viktor stayed silent, his gaze distant, almost lost, as if he was still absorbing every word you had said.))

((As you stepped out the door, you glanced back at both of them. They were standing there, unsure of what to do with their feelings. But in the back of their minds, one thought lingered: maybe it was time to admit what they were feeling before you returned.))

.......

The air in Piltover was heavier than ever. The city, marked by war and destruction, no longer seemed the same. Upon entering the laboratory, the changes in the two men you knew were palpable. Viktor and Jayce were no longer the same, neither physically nor emotionally. The weight of the past, the war, and the choices made were etched on their faces.

Viktor, who had once been a cold and calculating genius, now seemed more like a machine than a man. His eyes were dark, but there was something profoundly human behind the metal that dominated his figure. He was partially altered by the Arcane, a shadow of what he once was, but still a shadow of some unknown emotion.

Jayce, on the other hand, had a more unhinged air. The heat of battle still burned on his skin, and the paranoid look of someone who no longer knew who to trust was always present. His hair, now longer and disheveled, gave him the appearance of a man who barely knew where sanity ended and madness began. After surviving the Hexcore explosion, he seemed even more lost. The war had transformed him, and he no longer knew who to trust. He only knew one thing: he needed reader and had to protect you from Viktor. And when you arrived, it was like a storm amidst a minefield of emotions.

Viktor: "[Reader], you’re back." (His voice was robotic, but with a touch of tenderness that mixed with what remained of his being. His eyes were as distant as before, but there was a weakness in them, a dependency that hadn't been there before.)

((Reader shuddered upon seeing the man who had once been a brilliant genius, now lost in his own creation. He no longer seemed like the cold, calculating Viktor, but someone desperately trying to cling to what remained of his humanity.))

((Jayce appeared shortly after, his insane eyes more visible than ever, his body tense as if any movement was a threat. But when you saw him, you realized he was no longer the man he used to be. He looked broken, his emotions a mix of rage, fear, and imbalance, more wild than ever. His gaze was frantic, as if searching for something to hold onto. He rushed towards you, his voice tinged with a silent desperation.))

Reader: "Viktor? Jayce? What happened to you? What happened to the city? What the hell is going on..." (Reader was interrupted and ignored by the two men.)

Jayce: "I... I need to talk to you." His voice trembled, and he looked at Viktor with distrust, as if seeing the very shadow of what Viktor had done. "Let’s go somewhere private. I need to tell you what happened. Especially, away from him."

((The tension in the air increased. You didn’t know what to do, but something in Jayce���s look made him seem more vulnerable than ever. He was no longer the leader reader knew, but someone desperate, wanting to protect you from Viktor, who now seemed like a threat.))

Jayce: (Whispering to himself) "Yes, especially away from him... I have to get [Reader] out of here," Viktor, even without access to the Arcane, is dangerous. No! No, [Reader] will understand. He can’t be trusted anymore." (Jayce didn’t trust Viktor, even if the Counselors did, despite everything he had done.)

Reader: "Huh?? Why?" (Reader looks at Jayce, concerned, seeing her friend talking to himself and whispering...)

Viktor: (Viktor calmly looked, his mechanical hand extending towards the reader to gently pat their head, then placing his hand on their chin and turning to face Jayce)

Viktor: "You’re wrong, Jayce. I’m the only one who understands what needs to be done. I know I forced the Glorious Evolution, that I made wrong choices, but that doesn’t change how I see the world. What I did, I did for you, for us." His eyes turned to you, and there was something there. "I’ve always loved you, [Reader]. A part of me, still human, lives inside me, and that part still loves you."

Jayce: (Jayce seemed on the verge of exploding) "You don’t understand, Viktor!" He almost shouted but held back. "I need to protect [Reader] from you!"

Anon... YOU ATE

I might use your idea but I feel like it would lose the original essence. 😞 I definitely encourage you to finish it on your own and publish it! This is too good to even try to use it. 😭! If I were you I would do an open ending /hsrs (exclaimed the one who almost always does open endings lol) You can also try to end it with suspense... I think all writers start by making endings like that. 🤨

Tag me if you upload it! Ily Anon, thank u for trusting me. 💗 /nr /p

[what-have-i-unleashed]

nems in nightmare kitchen

i'm so sorry i almost forgot the threat of putting nems in the kitchen. so here it is i guess.

nems belongs to @bloobluee. thank you for giving me permission to put him here.

and trickster belongs to @yourloveaton. we can't forget the little guy who just barely escaped the deep frier (for now) :3

I tap my rolling pin against the kitchen counter as I peruse the cooking book in my other hand, the sound filling up the tense silence. My latest guest in the nightmare kitchen, Nems, stands on the countertop before me, small and out of place.

“Nems, do you know what soba noodles are?” I ask conversationally, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

He blinks at me, then nods faintly. “Buckwheat noodles, traditionally hand-rolled and cut.” His voice is steady, but I catch the way his eyes flicker down to the rolling pin in my hand.

“Exactly. Perfect soba noodles need to be flat and smooth. The process takes precision. The first step is to flatten the dough. That’s where you come in.”

Nems freezes, though I can see he doesn’t get what’s happening. Not yet anyway. “I… see,” he says, each syllable careful.

I lean forward, smiling. “You’ll go from this…” I gesture to him in his tiny form. “… to flat. Smooth. I’ll roll you out until you’re as flat as a pancake. Doesn’t that sound delightful?”

Nems doesn’t answer immediately, but his face tightens. His hands twitch, a sign of nervousness that I savor.

“It sounds… thorough,” he finally says, though there’s a faint waver beneath the words.

“Oh, it is,” I reply with a grin.

From above, a sharp, panicked voice breaks the silence.

“NEMS?!!”

I glance up, just in time to see Trickster, perched on the highest kitchen shelf, suddenly realize what he’s seeing. His legs swing wildly, nearly knocking over a spice jar as he scrambles to get a better look. “Is that-” He freezes, gaping. “Oh no. Oh no… Nems, is that you?!!”

Nems looks over, startled, but manages to keep his voice level. “Yes, Trickster. It’s me.”

Trickster doesn’t wait for one second. He gets down, but it’s less of a graceful dismount and more of a chaotic fall as his feet slip, sending him crashing down a couple shelves before finally tumbling onto the countertop beside Nems.

“Ow-ow-ow,” Trickster whines as he scrambles to his feet. He spins toward me, panting, wide-eyed, and disheveled. “You… you can’t do this!  You can’t flatten him! You can’t! You… you monster!"

I arch an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. "Monster? I’d watch that language, Trickster. Unless you want to join him."

Trickster’s mouth opens and shuts like a goldfish. He turns to Nems, eyes wide. "Nems, are you okay?"

Nems gives the most imperceptible nod. "Not particularly."

"Okay, okay… Hang on!" Trickster whirls back to me, waving his hands frantically, nearly smacking his friend in the face in the process. "Listen here! You don’t want to do this! Nems isn’t noodle material.” He gestures towards Nems, who looks awkwardly to the side. “Just, look at him! He’s… bony! You wouldn’t get much dough out of him!"

Nems sighs, a faint tremor in his hands. "I appreciate the sentiment, Tricks," he says, voice carefully neutral. "But please stop describing me like raw ingredients."

"I’m saving your life, so shut!" Trickster snaps back at Nems before turning to me again. "You want something good, right? Something entertaining? Then you can’t flatten him. You won’t get any fun out of it! He’ll be so annoying the whole time you flatten him.” He gives me his most winning smile. “But, think about this: me and Nems, the dynamic duo! I provide the chaos; he provides the witty commentary. It’ll be comedy gold! You’ll get hours of entertainment – days even!”

I let the rolling pin tap against the counter as I pretend to consider it. Trickster’s words spill out faster now, like he knows his time is running out.

"Picture it: Nems being all, ‘Tricks, don’t do that’, while I’m like, ‘Trickster, yes!’" He throws his hands up theatrically. "He sighs! He fixes my mistakes! He lectures me about the consequences of my actions! It’s hilarious!"

Nems tilts his head just slightly, looking at Trickster. "I’m not sure that’s quite how our dynamic works."

Trickster ignores him entirely, pleading to me with his sparkling eyes. "You can’t flatten a guy like that! Please! He’s the irreplaceable straight man to my comedic jester!"

I study them both. Nems seems unbothered, but I can see the way his shoulders hunch and his hands fiddling nervously behind his back. Trickster just stares at me, a cute little bunny as always. He’s so desperate, judging by the way he keeps beaming at me and vibrating on his tiny feet.

"So… " I ask, the corners of my mouth twitching. “You’re saying keeping Nems alive is better than rolling him into noodles?”

Trickster nods so quickly that his movements resemble that of a bobblehead. "Exactly! It’s a better idea. Don’t you think so?"

Nems exhales shakily, and glances at me. "I… agree," he says, his voice tightly measured. "As much as I would prefer to not be involved in… whatever this is, I would be, admittedly, a poor candidate for soba."

I let the tense silence stretch for just a moment longer before sighing dramatically and setting the rolling pin down. "Fine. No soba noodles for me today. Well, not yet anyway."

Trickster gasps like it’s Christmas already. He grabs Nems’ arm and starts tugging him away from me, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You won’t regret this! We’ll be back with antics – quality antics! I promise!"

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Amagase

A Love Tailored to You

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4

Warning: This event story contains NSFW themes. Minors please do not interact.

Kagari: "Princess."

(Wait, is this…!)

Confusion began to cloud my mind as Kagari’s fingers reached for the ribbon of my nightgown—

Before I realized it, my hand had reached out to stop him.

Emma: "Um... today was supposed to be just kisses, wasn’t it?"

Kagari: "…Ah, yes, I know. It was just a joke."

His hand let go without resistance, and he kissed me gently on my forehead, my cheeks, and finally my lips, as if to soothe me.

Only then did I realize how tense my body had become.

(I wasn’t this nervous just a moment ago...)

Emma: "…I’m sorry."

Kagari: "Hm? Why are you apologizing?"

Kagari: "You only got swept up by my teasing. It’s nothing unusual."

The words I was about to reply with were interrupted by another kiss from Kagari.

Kagari: "I look forward to seeing you let your guard down again tomorrow."

Kagari: "It makes it easier to kiss you."

Kagari: "Good night, Princess."

Emma: "…Good night, Kagari."

He pulled the blanket up to my shoulders and hugged me from behind.

As I felt his kindness, a faint pang of guilt pierced my chest, and I quietly closed my eyes.

….

(There’s no way I’d fall asleep after that…! I couldn’t sleep at all! Ah, I messed up.)

(The training was working, but when it really mattered, I just…)

The next day—

While Kagari was out on an inspection, I convinced one of the servants to let me help with sweeping.

If I didn’t keep myself busy, I’d just keep replaying last night’s events in my head, berating myself over and over again.

But it didn’t seem to help. I found myself internally apologizing to Kagari yet again for the umpteenth time.

(With the way I froze so obviously like that— it’s like I was blatantly screaming, “I’m way too nervous!”)

(…No, maybe just being nervous would have been fine.)

(But my reaction last night… depending on how you take it, it might’ve looked like I didn’t want it.)

(Kagari didn’t seem to mind, but I can’t stand that I might have made it seem like I was rejecting him.)

(He probably thinks a second time is still a long way off now.)

(I’ve made him feel like he has to hold back for my sake again.)

A wave of indescribable emotion—part guilt, part something else—washed over me, and I let out a deep sigh.

That’s when I heard the distant voices of some swordsmen, catching my attention.

Swordsman 1: "…Wait, Prince Kagari did what?"

Swordsman 2: "Surprising, isn’t it? Though, I guess… it’s not entirely unexpected, considering…"

(Kagari? What are they talking about?)

I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but hearing Kagari’s name made me instinctively focus on their conversation.

What I heard next was—

(What…?)

By the time the sky had turned a soft shade of crimson, Kagari returned from his inspection.

As soon as he spotted me at the end of the hallway, he quietly made his way over to me.

His expression was neutral, but the air around him was calm and gentle, making my heart race with joy.

Emma: "Welcome back, Kagari."

Kagari: "I’m back, Princess. Was everything fine while I was away?"

Emma: "Yes, there were no issues at all."

Kagari: "Then… did you miss me?"

Emma: "Hehe, of course. I missed you terribly, Kagari."

Kagari: "Perfect answer."

(I bet Kagari is the only one who’d look this happy over something like this.)

The loneliness melted away in an instant, and my lips naturally curled into a soft smile.

But my heart continued to pound relentlessly.

Kagari: "By the way, I have to go out again after this."

Kagari: "Don’t worry, it’s not for a mission or anything."

Kagari: "It’s just a boring party filled with high-ranking officials."

Kagari: "I won’t be back until after midnight, so make sure you go to bed first."

Emma: "…Understood. Please take care and be safe."

(So it was true after all.)

The conversation I overheard from the swordsmen a few hours ago replayed in my mind—

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Swordsman 1: "Who would’ve thought Prince Kagari would attend a party in a neighboring kingdom?"

Swordsman 2: "Well, even though he broke away from the royal family, he still has royal blood."

Swordsman 2: "Plus, with his reputation as the fearsome demon and his role as the commanding officer of the most powerful faction, it’s only natural people would want to curry favor.

Swordsman 1: "There’s probably a whole swarm of them scheming to have their daughters become his concubine."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(There’s no way Kagari would ever love another woman… surely.)

(That’s why there’s no need to feel anxious. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.)

And yet, my heart grew heavier, making me painfully aware of how much I truly cared for him.

Kagari: "Princess."

Emma: "Huh!? Y-Yes? What is it?"

Kagari: "I should be asking you that."

Kagari: "You’ve been holding onto my sleeve. Do you have something you want to say?"

Emma: "Y-your sleeve…? Oh! I-I’m so sorry!"

(No way… I grabbed it without even realizing!)

I hurriedly released his sleeve, only for Kagari to grab my hand instead.

Kagari: "Not until you tell me what’s on your mind."

His grip was firm, and it didn’t seem like he’d let me go.

(I don’t want to trouble Kagari with my feelings any further.)

(But if I don’t say something, he really won’t let me go. He might even be late for the party.)

Frantically searching for an answer, I timidly opened my mouth.

Emma: "Um… I…"

Kagari: "You…?"

Emma: "I just… thought about how I wouldn’t get to see you again today, and I felt lonely… so I ended up grabbing your sleeve."

Emma: "That’s why, um…"

Emma: "I’d like to… give you a goodbye kiss before you go."

Kagari: "…"

Emma: "Is… is that too much to ask?"

Kagari: "It’s not too much. I’d be happy to."

(Thank goodness. It looks like I managed to cover it up somehow.)

Relieved by Kagari’s quick and enthusiastic reply, I felt the tension ease slightly.

Taking my hand, he bent down slightly to make it easier for me to reach him.

Hiding my embarrassment deep inside, I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his.

(What should I do… this is…)

Emma: "Ah! Kagari?"

I tried to pull away, but his arm wrapped firmly around my waist, leaving me unable to move.

Kagari: "Is this enough?"

Emma: "Huh?"

Kagari: "That goodbye kiss—was just one enough for you?"

His breath tickled my lips, and his question made my heart leap wildly.

(The truth is, it’s not enough… after everything last night, one kiss could never be enough.)

(But if I kiss him again, I’ll want even more. And besides…)

I don’t want him to go to the party.

That selfish thought was what scared me the most.

Suppressing my hesitation, I nodded firmly.

Emma: "One is enough."

Kagari: "…I see."

His arm around my waist loosened, releasing me from his embrace.

But the freedom was short-lived, as his long fingers lifted my chin.

What I saw in his emerald eyes was a swirling, intoxicating heat.

Kagari: "Sorry, but it’s not enough for me."

Prev | Next

▼・ᴥ・▼

[peppymintdreams]

Asking for food

Pookie is hungry and who better than to ask your partner for food, basically how he’d ask you for food

Luca

Luca’s stomach growled audibly as he slouched against the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. His eyes darted to the kitchen, then to you, sitting at the table with a bowl of chips you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying.

He sighed dramatically, loud enough to catch your attention. “Babe,” he started, his tone pitiful. “I’m literally wasting away here. Starving. Dying.”

You raised a brow, popping another chip into your mouth. “Is that so?”

He nodded solemnly, standing and dragging himself over to you like a bunny on it’s last breath. “You wouldn’t let your husband—your pookie—perish, would you?”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed the bowl toward him, but he shook his head, lips twitching into a playful smirk. “Nuh uh, I want real food. Your food. You make everything taste better.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at his antics. “Fine, what do you want, pookie?”

He perked up immediately, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Surprise me. I trust you.” His grin widened as he sat back, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re the best.”

Isaac

The house was steeped in a calm stillness, the kind that only settled after the evening’s busyness faded away. Pickle was curled up on the couch, engrossed in their book, when the faint sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears. They didn’t look up, assuming Isaac was passing by—until the warmth of his presence loomed directly behind them.

“Pickle,” his deep voice broke the quiet, tinged with the faintest edge of teasing restraint, “I’m hungry.”

Pickle blinked, glancing up over their shoulder. His sharp features were as composed as ever, but there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes—playful, but still carrying that weighty Isaac intensity.

“You’re a grown man,” they replied dryly, closing their book with a soft thud. “You can make yourself something.”

Isaac moved with purpose, settling beside them on the couch, leaning close but not touching. “I could,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a rich murmur, “but it wouldn’t be the same.” His gaze dipped to theirs, his eyes softened with a quiet affection that always left them disarmed. “You’re better at it. Everything tastes better when it comes from your hands.”

Pickle felt heat rise to their cheeks. “That’s just because I don’t burn toast,” they retorted, trying to maintain composure.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing against their ear as he spoke, low and deliberate. “It’s because it’s from you. Don’t you know by now? You could hand me a burnt brick, and I’d still swear it’s the finest cuisine if you made it.”

They huffed, half-flustered, half-amused. “Flattery isn’t going to get you out of making your own food, Isaac.”

A rare, faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Who said I’m trying to get out of anything? I just like when you spoil me.” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear, his hand lingering against their jaw. “Humor me, my love. Something small. Just enough to hold me over, and I’ll reward you passionately with the most intimate night”

Pickle sighed, setting their book aside. “Fine. But you’re at least staying with me while I do it.”

Isaac rose gracefully, extending his hand to help them up. “Always.”

In the kitchen, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as Pickle worked. Though he maintained his usual composed demeanor, there was an undeniable warmth in the way his eyes followed their every move.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “there’s something… grounding about this.”

Pickle raised an eyebrow as they sliced some bread. “Grounding?”

He nodded, stepping closer. “Watching you take care of me like this. It’s not just about the food. It’s…” He trailed off, his hand brushing lightly against their arm. “It reminds me how lucky I am to have you. That even in the small moments, you give me more than I deserve.”

Pickle turned to face him, the teasing retort dying on their lips at the sincerity in his voice.

“Isaac…”

He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to their forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured against their skin, before pulling back and quirking a brow. “Now, what’s the verdict? Am I saved from my hunger, or should I start preparing my last words?”

Pickle rolled their eyes but couldn’t suppress their smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yours,” he said simply, his tone teasing yet full of quiet conviction.

They placed the plate of sandwiches on the counter, shaking their head. “Here. You’re welcome.”

He picked up a sandwich, taking a deliberate bite. “Perfect,” he declared after a moment, his voice calm but full of approval. “Just like you.”

Andrew

Andrew stood in the kitchen doorway, his silhouette backlit by the faint glow of the stove clock. His hair was slightly tousled from sleep, and he wore his usual tired-yet-determined expression, the kind that always managed to make Darling both exasperated and fond.

Darling, who had just settled onto the couch with a book, glanced up when they noticed him hovering. “What’s up?”

“I’m hungry,” he said, his voice carrying the slightest edge of a pout.

They raised an eyebrow. “And what am I supposed to do about it?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, looking every bit the picture of a man who thought his partner could solve all his problems. “You could make me something.”

Darling snorted, setting their book down. “Oh, so I’m your personal chef now?”

“Better you than me,” he replied smoothly. “I’d probably mess it up.”

“Andrew.”

“What? I’m admitting my weaknesses here.”

Darling rolled their eyes but stood up anyway, stretching as they walked past him into the kitchen. “Alright, what are we making, Your Majesty?”

“Something warm,” he said, following closely behind. “And quick. No ten-course meals tonight, please.”

“Would you like some Chardonnay and caviar too your highest?! damn! Demanding, aren’t we?” Darling teased, opening the fridge.

“You love me for it,” he replied, his voice light but with a flicker of sincerity that made Darling pause for a second.

They didn’t respond right away, instead pulling out some eggs and cheese. “How about a simple omelet? You can’t complain about that.”

Andrew leaned on the counter, watching them move with practiced ease. “Perfect. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Uh-huh. You owe me.”

“I’ll wash the dishes,” he offered, though they both knew it was an empty promise.

Darling shot him a look but didn’t argue. Within minutes, the smell of sizzling eggs filled the air, and Andrew’s stomach gave a low, traitorous growl.

“You’re worse than a kid when you’re hungry” Darling said with a laugh as they plated the omelet and handed it to him.

He didn’t respond, too busy taking the first bite. His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he let out a low, contented hum.

“Good?” Darling asked, amused.

Andrew nodded, already halfway through the plate. “You’re a genius. Remind me to never let you go.”

Darling shook their head, smiling despite themselves. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love with you,” he quipped around a mouthful of food, earning himself a swat on the arm.

But as he polished off the plate and set it in the sink, Andrew caught their wrist gently, pulling them in for a quick, grateful kiss on the temple. “Thanks, Darling.”

“You’re welcome,” they muttered, smiling their face warming.

they both headed back to bed, the dishes forgotten, the warmth of their quiet midnight moment lingered between them.

Elias

The clock on the wall blinked 12:47 AM in bright red numbers. The safe house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night. But in the small shared bedroom, Elias was anything but still.

He groaned, turning onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. His stomach let out a loud, insistent growl.

"Ugh," he muttered to himself, throwing an arm over his face.

Next to him, Barista stirred, mumbling something incoherent before falling silent again.

Elias peeked over at them, an idea already forming. He reached out, gently poking their shoulder.

"Hey," he whispered. No response.

He poked again. "Babe."

Barista groaned, their voice muffled by the pillow. "Elias, it’s the middle of the night."

"I’m hungry," he replied, as if that explained everything.

They cracked one eye open to glare at him. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Make me something?" he asked, his tone so casual it was almost cheeky.

Barista sat up slightly, their hair a mess, their face half-buried in the blanket. They gave him a look—one part disbelief, one part exhaustion. "You woke me up for food?"

"Hey, I’m starving!" he protested, sitting up as well. "And you’re good at making stuff."

"Have you tried... the kitchen?" they deadpanned, flopping back down onto the pillow.

"Okay, yeah, but it tastes better when you do it," Elias admitted, his voice dropping into something close to a pout. He leaned closer, resting his chin on their shoulder. "C’mon, please? Just a snack. I’ll love you forever."

"You already do," they mumbled, but they were smiling now, despite themselves.

"Yeah, but this will solidify it," he teased, pressing a kiss to their cheek.

Barista sighed dramatically but swung their legs out of bed anyway. "You owe me."

"I’ll do the dishes," Elias promised, grinning as he followed them out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, he was happily munching on a grilled cheese, sitting at the kitchen table while Barista leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him.

"You know," they said, smirking, "I could’ve just told you to make it yourself."

"But you didn’t," he replied through a mouthful of food.

They rolled their eyes but couldn’t hide their smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Elias grinned, holding up half the sandwich. "Want a bite?"

Barista snorted. "No thanks. I’ll just savor the memory of you begging for food instead."

Xanthus

The house was silent save for the occasional creak of the old wooden floors. You were curled up on the couch, engrossed in your book, when you felt it—a presence behind you. Familiar. Still, you glanced back with a raised eyebrow, finding Xanthus standing there, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that immediately made your stomach flutter.

“What’s up?” you asked, closing the book and setting it aside.

He didn’t answer immediately, taking a slow step closer, his dark eyes tracing over you with an almost predatory gleam. “I’m hungry,” he said finally, his voice soft but weighted.

“Kitchen’s that way,” you teased, pointing toward the other room with a smirk.

Xanthus didn’t smile. Instead, he crouched down beside you, resting one elbow on the arm of the couch, his face mere inches from yours. “You know I wasn’t talking about food.”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips brushed along the curve of your neck, a deliberate, feather-light touch that made your skin tingle. His gaze followed the movement, dark lashes casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly to give him better access.

Xanthus chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling. “You make it far too easy,” he said, but there was something almost reverent in his tone, like he was holding himself back.

His lips brushed over your pulse, a soft kiss that made your heart race. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his fangs grazing your skin.

You didn’t. Instead, you reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if to say, I trust you.

And that was all the permission he needed.

🍬

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or incorrect quotes or head canons and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[carefreecoffee]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚Fluffmas Day 5: Mistletoe w/Shigiraki Tomura˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Word count: 1.6k, Gender-neutral reader

The Christmas season had returned to the league once more as everyone settled in. Twice making duplicates to speed the process up, Kurogiri makes sure the hideout stays warm- or at least as warm as it can be with the cracks and broken eating units.

Toga was going over to everyone with decorations in hand, urging everyone to do their part. Shigaraki groaned as he’s dragged around in his usual hoodie and skinny jeans, his expression already making clear he’s not exactly in the Christmas spirit.

“Why are we doing this?” He grumpily inquires.

Toga giggles as she grasps him by the shoulders, forcing him to stand in front of the totally not impromptu tree. “Oh c’mon! Just a little holiday decorating isn’t gonna kill you” He shoves her hands off of him, crossing his arms.

“Decorating is stupid, we’re all adults here, what kind of loser wastes time on that?”

Toga rolls her eyes, “Oh no need to be a Grinch, it's just fun to do every now and then!”

He rolls his eyes as he takes another look at the tree, “Yeah, for dorks….” he mutters under his breath.

Toga hands him a box of ornaments to hang up, “There ya go, just a little bit of decorating” she grins with a giggle.

As you walk into the room, Toga gasps, handing you a box. “Y/N! Here here! We’ve gotta set up hehe” You take the box from her- or rather from her shoving it toward you. You thank her before peeking inside. Shigaraki lets out a small eye roll as his only reaction before continuing to untangle his set of lights. 

You open the box pulling out different assortments of lights and tinsel, finally pulling out a small mistletoe with a hook attached to the top of it. You glance at it curiously.

Shigaraki stops fiddling with his lights as he notices the mistletoe in your hand, instantly a confused look appears on his face as he raises a brow. “The hell is that?”

You look between him and the leaves, “A mistletoe i think” You glance around, trying to find the perfect spot to place it.

“The hell is a mistletoe?” His raspy voice perks up. You whip your head to meet him as you chuckle, “You don't know what a…a mistletoe is?” 

The silence that follows is enough to be an answer. You clear your throat, “Oh..oh um well- basically you hang it up and whoever the two people that walk under it have to…kiss.” 

His eyes widen slightly as a grimace meets his face. “Ew, kiss?!”

You nod, now glancing at the ceiling thoughtfully. Shigaraki watches you look around to hang the mistletoe up as the realization starts to hit him, his face feeling a bit warm. “Y-you’re actually gonna hang it up?”

“Yep” is the only thing you give him as you stick a thumbtack into the wall, hang the mistletoe up and look back on your work. It was in a fairly good area, just near the corridor to your designated rooms. 

Shigaraki gulped a bit, now that the mistletoe was up, and he was suddenly aware of its meaning, a small shiver went down his spine at the idea of what could happen if he got you under there… no no! He didn't care about that and he certainly didn't care about you.

Time flies by between decorating and cleaning. Shigaraki glances up at the mistletoe once in a while, the nervous feeling starting to grow a bit more as he continues to place up the Christmas decorations with you and Twice, his arms starting to ache slightly. 

He finishes placing up the last little Christmas tree ornament before taking a step back and looking around at the decorations, a faint bit of satisfaction to be seen on his face before he turns back to you. “We’re done, at least now I don’t have to be reminded of Christmas for another 11 months”

You chuckle softly and nod. “Very true, but I guess this isn't too bad.” You pick up the empty boxes, pointing to a couple more. “Could you help me move those to the closet?”

Shiagaraki takes the cue and nods, “Sure whatever..”

The two of you walked down the corridor, bringing the boxes to the closet a couple at a time, stacking them and shutting the door. It didn't take long before the two of you were walking down the corridor in silence, entering the main lounge once more.

As you walk in, the sound of togas squeals can be heard. The small bit of anxiety growing within Shigaraki as Toga’s exclamation makes him look in her direction “What…?”

Toga giggles with a knowing smirk on her face, “You’re under the mistletoe ya dummy!”

You raise your brows, looking up at the taunting bundle of leaves. “Huh, i think i fell into my own trap..”

Shigaraki lets out a small ‘Tch’ as he glares at the ornament. “Well… y’didnt exactly fall for a trap, just kinda fell into a holiday cliche”

You look at Toga curiously, “But uh… I just put it up, yeah? So- so we don't gotta haha…right?”

Toga shakes her head, her smirk widening as she crosses her arms “No no, the mistletoe is a very strict ruler, if two people are under it… someone’s gotta kiss”

Shigaraki’s face starts turning a brighter shade of pink as he realizes what Toga was impling, he stutters out a small protest. “I-I mean that’s just a stupid holiday rule, we don’t gotta follow it!”

You nod along, agreeing with Shigaraki for once, “Yeah, it's just a picky tradition, eh?”

Toga nods, but her smirk doesn’t go away for a second, ”Not exactly picky, if two people are trapped below the mistletoe, someone’s gotta get their smooch on!”

The thought crosses your mind faintly…kissing Tomura?! Under the mistletoe?! In front of the league no less and surrounded by pretty lights and the smell of cheap gingerbread candles…

‘What's one peck?’

Toga’s smirk widens a bit more as she looks at you and shigaraki, her eyes switching back and forth between you both like she was watching some kind of tennis match. “C’mon, just a quick lil kiss, it’s no big deal!”

You sigh, finally giving in, leaning up and pecking Tomura on the cheek, the roughness of his skin meeting your plush lips. “There”

Dhigaraki’s face immediately turns a dark red as you quickly steal a kiss from his cheek, surprise was an understatement to the expression on his face. He lets out a small stutter as he reaches up to unconsciously touch the spot where you pecked him, a look of shock and disbelief in his eyes.

Toga lets out a small exaggerated gasp as she dramatically feigns falling back onto a couch. “O-oh my! The two love birds finally did it! I knew I should’ve placed that mistletoe up months ago!!”

You shake your head at her antics, feeling your own face fume up. You quickly evade the situation by walking off and seeing what everyone else needed help with, hands clenched to your side.

Shigaraki watches as you walk away from the mistletoe, a bit of relief to be seen, he then turns in Toga’s direction and gives her a small glare while his cheeks remain flushed “You did that on purpose didn’t you…?”

Toga grins widely as she nods, “Oh absolutely, I’ve been hoping that mistletoe would get to do its job for weeks now!”

He groans in annoyance as he crosses his arms, letting out a small mutter under his breath. “You’re so damn annoying…”

Toga chuckles and bounces off, leaving Tomura with his thoughts. Those thoughts that swirled throughout him as the night went on, finding him lost in a circle as he sat on the couch, hands fidgeting.

He decided to start scrolling through his phone as he waited for everyone to head off to their respective rooms for the night, a small yawn escaping him as he glanced up and saw the last person beside him in the room.

“Man… finally, everyone can go to bed and just shut up for the night…”

You hum in agreement, slowly making your way toward the corridor with a yawn, unknowingly passing through the mistletoe once more. Shigaraki watches you walk under the mistletoe as the realization hits him like a punch in the gut, he quickly gets up off the couch and looks in your direction. “Hey… wait a second!”

Shigaraki catches up to you, looking up at the mistletoe, an embarrassed look on his face as he motions to it. “W-we’re both under the mistletoe now… that whole silly rule…”

You quirk a brow, “Did you run over here just to get another kiss?”

Shigaraki’s face immediately warmed, looking away and quickly shaking his head in denial. “W-what? Of course not, that’s stupid! I just don’t like things being unfinished…”

You look at him, unimpressed, “Uh huh…”

He crosses his arms and looks away slightly. “Oh you’re just as bad as Toga! Everyone’s making such a big deal out of this holiday kiss crap…”

You take advantage of this moment, reaching forward and capturing his lips for a split second in a peck before pulling away, both of your hearts racing within one another's chest. 

He freezes in place the second you place your hands on his wrists, but a small shiver goes down his spine as you lean up to gently kiss his lips, a small gasp escaping him as you pull back, his face an entire deep red as his heart races.

“There you go, Shigi” You mumble, smiling softly before retreating to your room.

He remains frozen for a second, his knees starting to feel slightly weak as his heart raced in his chest. He watches as you retreat into your room, letting out a shaky exhale as he tries to slow down his heart, “F-Fuck me… I’m screwed…”

{Taglist: @staygoldsquatchling02}

[cybersvoid]

❥ Big Brother Dabi

──⇌••⇋──

♡ Pairings: BigBrother!Dabi x Reader [Platonic]

Summary: Touya is different than Dabi, so in this series, I'll be specifically exploring big brother Dabi related stories in order to better keep them seperated. To get this series jumpstarted I basically made an imagine out of the ask I got a while back.

Referencing: This ask

ღ Warning | Kidnapping, Cursing, Etc.

Do not repost my work anywhere. If you see anyone reposting or copying my work please let me know. Thank you!

──⇌••⇋──

You awaken confused and scared in an unfamiliar environment. Everything was a bit foggy, as you tried to focus on the events of the day prior. You remember you were walking yourself home from daycare. Your mother used to pick you up before she got sick, and then your siblings started stepping up to walk you home in her place. However, with everyone's busy schedule, now and again one of them would forget, and you would be forced to walk yourself home. Those days are now becoming much more frequent.

Four-year-olds aren't normally allowed to be released without a parent or guardian accompanying them, but with your father being the number two pro hero, the staff was very understanding and accommodating of your family's busy schedule, turning a blind eye whenever needed. 

On the walk home, you noticed a strange portal down an alleyway. You had every intention of ignoring it, you were used to seeing strange things in this town by now, when you heard your name being called. It was faint, but it was unmistakably your name.

“Hello?” You called out, making your way toward the purple mass, “Is someone there?”

There was no response, so in your child-like innocence, you got a bit closer. It was a mistake. Once you were a few feet within the portal, you were pulled in.

That’s when everything came back to you. The scary man. How he took you and locked you in this room. You tried using your quirk, but you still didn’t even know how to. It only developed a week ago and you had no control over it. You were so scared that you cried all night until you exhausted yourself to sleep.

You felt tears start to well in your eyes again at how hopeless you felt. You just wanted your family. You just wanted to go home. Why can’t you just go home? What did he want with you?

You heard the door unlock, your kidnapper making his way inside with a bowl in hand, ensuring he closed the door behind him. You were able to get a better look at him now. He was covered in scars, adding to his already scary persona. His eyes were a bright blue that seemed vaguely familiar, but you weren't sure where from. As he approached you, you started scooting further back on the bed, about to make a run for it before he cut you off.

“Don’t even think about it, brat. You are vastly overpowered in this situation and the faster you quit all that crying and realize that, the easier it’ll be for both of us.” He extended his arm out to hand you the bowl, causing you to flinch at the sudden movement. “Will you calm down? It’s cereal. Either eat it, or don't. See if I fucking care.”

He slammed the bowl down on the bedside table before turning around to walk out again.

“Wait!” You called out behind him, “Please, I’m scared. I wanna go home.”

“Why?” He questioned not turning to face you.

“Huh?”

“Why do you wanna go home?”

“I-I miss my family.”

“Your family?” He hissed, whipping around, anger clear on his face, “The same family who forgets to pick you up from daycare? The same family who leaves you home alone for hours at a time? The same family who doesn’t even realize that you're gone? That family?”

You burst out in tears at his words. Crying out as you frantically wiped at your face. “That’s not true, you’re lying! You’re a liar!”

“I’m not, and I thought I told you to stop fucking crying! You’re going to exhaust yourself all over again.” He shouted, only causing you to cry harder. He let out a long groan, running his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated. He didn’t think taking you would be easy, but he sure as hell didn’t think it would be this hard. Sure, you were young when he disappeared, but there’s no way you forgot him completely. 

He slowly walked over to the bed sitting on the edge facing away from you before speaking up.

“Hey, please stop crying.” He sighed, desperate more than frustrated at this point. Never did he think the day would come when he used the word please, but at this point he would try anything. However, it seemed to work since your bawling began to transition into light sniffling at this point. “Listen, I’m doing this for your own good. I’ll explain everything when you’re calm and ready, but you're not going back there, so it’s in your best interest to get comfortable. Now eat your fucking cereal.”

That was the last thing he said before walking out of the room. Leaving you alone with your own thoughts. You glanced over at the now soggy cereal.

It was Lucky Charms… your favorite.

[averysleepdeprivedaustralianman]

Soo uh..Forgot to post whoops!

Decided to just uh..Make a continuation of the Scarlet's Return..Heh?

Scarlet's Return-A week later!

One Week Later After Pearl's return–

The warm light of the Hermitcraft sun spilled through the windows of Pearl’s base, illuminating the room with a comforting glow. The clinking and humming of the redstone contraptions that ran throughout her base had returned to a soothing rhythm—a stark contrast to the chaos still echoing in her the horrid events of Double life.

Pearl stood infront of her storage room—absentmindedly organizing her chests peacefully. Her hands moved mechanically, sorting stacks of quartz and sandstone, but her mind was elsewhere. Every so often, she would glance at the corner of the room where the crown sat on a pedestal, untouched since that night.

Her chest tightened every time she looked at it. She wasn’t ready to deal with it. Not yet..

A light knock at the door broke her thoughts. Before she could respond, Gem poked her head in, her ever-present smile lighting up the room.

"Morning, sunshine! How’s it going?" Gem chirped, stepping inside with a basket of food in her hands. She didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled pearl away from the storage room not letting her speak. "I brought breakfast~You better not tell me you’ve skipped it again."

Pearl managed a weak chuckle as she was drgaged into a chair by gem–"I was going to eat—Eventually.."

Gem rolled her eyes but kept her tone light. "Sure you were. Here—take this." She handed Pearl a slice of freshly baked pumpkin pie. "Eat first, argue later."

Pearl took the slice, the sweet smell triggering a pang of nostalgia. "Thanks, Gem.."

Gem settled into a chair across from her, leaning her elbows on the table. "So, how’s the head? Any less stormy today?"

Pearl hesitated, poking at the pie with her fork. She didn’t want to lie, but the truth felt too heavy to share fully. "Better. A little," she admitted finally.

Gem studied her for a moment, her usual playful demeanor softening. "That’s good. Progress is progress, Pearlie. Don’t rush it."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the faint clatter of cutlery and the soft rustle of leaves outside. It was peaceful, but Pearl couldn’t shake the tension coiled inside her.

Finally, Gem broke the silence. "You know," she began, her voice light, "I’ve been thinking.."

"Uh-oh," Pearl teased, though her voice lacked its usual spark. "What kind of trouble are you plotting now?"

Gem grinned but leaned forward, her tone shifting to something more sincere. "It’s not trouble, I promise. Just… I think you need to get out of here!–Away from your base, away from everything. Even just for a little while."

Pearl frowned, leaning back to her sit, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why though?"

"Because you’ve been stuck in this loop.." Gem said, gesturing gently around the room. "You’ve been here, alone, staring at that crown like it’s going to give you answers. And I get it, Pearlie—I really do..But I think you need to breathe a little. Feel the sun on your face, see something new. Maybe remind yourself there’s more to this world than what’s in these walls."

Pearl’s gaze dropped to the table, her fingers curling against the wood. "I don’t know, Gem. I don’t feel like I can just… leave everything behind. Not right now."

"You’re not leaving it behind," Gem said softly. "You’re just stepping away for a bit. Clearing your head. And you won’t be alone—I’ll be with you. No pressure, no expectations. Just… fresh air and some time to think."

Pearl looked up, meeting Gem’s eyes. The hope there was impossible to ignore, but there was no pity—just patience and care. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders slumping.

"Fine" Pearl said finally, her voice quiet but steady. "I suppose I'll come-"

Gem’s face lit up with a grin so bright it was contagious–Not even letting pearl finish she cutted her off—"That’s the spirit! Meet me at the portal in an hour. And pack light—we’re going somewhere new!"

As Gem left, humming a cheerful tune, Pearl stared at the half-eaten pie in front of her. The tightness in her chest hadn’t fully gone away, but for the first time in weeks, it felt like she could breathe a little easier.

Perhaps this was what she needed—a moment to step away, to see the world beyond her base, and maybe even start to heal..

(Meybe I'll make a dessertduo fic later not sure)

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 13 Chapter 13 | shattered bonds⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

You adjusted the light bundle of freshly laundered linens in your arms, the soft fabric pressing against your chin as you made your way through the palace corridors.

It felt good to be moving again, your steps light yet purposeful, as if shaking off the heaviness of the past few days.

The morning light spilled in from high arched windows, warming the stone floors beneath your sandals and casting gentle shadows along the walls.

You had returned to your duties just as you promised Telemachus, resuming the routines that had once brought a sense of normalcy to your days.

Queen Penelope had been pleased to see you, her smile warm yet tempered with a motherly concern. She had insisted that you take it slow, barring you from returning to her chambers so soon. "You need time to fully gain your strength back," she had said, her voice firm yet gentle.

While part of you missed the comfort of her presence, another part was grateful for the care and concern you were shown, even if you weren't truly ill. They didn't know the truth, but their kindness had eased the ache you hadn't realized had lingered in your chest.

The corridor turned sharply ahead, and as you rounded the corner, you collided with someone. Your bundle tumbled from your arms, and you staggered slightly, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady yourself.

A clatter followed as the person opposite you dropped their load—a basket of clothes spilling onto the floor.

"Oh, gods, I'm so sorry—!" you began, but the words caught in your throat as you looked up.

It was Callias. His tousled hair was damp with sweat, the dark strands clinging to his forehead, and his face looked drawn, shadows lingering under his eyes as if he hadn't slept well in days.

He was dressed in his usual servant's attire, but the fabric was creased, and there was a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek.

Despite his tired appearance, his expression shifted the moment he realized it was you. His eyes widened, and a grin broke across his face, chasing away the exhaustion in an instant.

"____!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and relief. The basket at his feet was forgotten as he stepped forward, engulfing you in a hug before you could react.

The breath was momentarily squeezed out of you as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close. "You're okay," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I was so worried—no one told me what happened! And then I heard you were unwell, and... gods, I'm just glad you're alright."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up as you gently pushed against his chest, creating a small space between you. "Callias," you said warmly, "of course I'm fine. You didn't think I'd let a little rain do me in, did you?"

Callias pulled back slightly, a pout forming on his lips as he crossed his arms. "Don't give me that, young lady," he said, narrowing his eyes playfully. "Where have you been? And don't you dare use that dumb lie about being sick." His gaze swept over you, his brows knitting together in mock suspicion. "You don't even have a lingering sniffle or cough."

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the side as you debated whether to tell him the truth. The weight of the last few days pressed against your chest, but something about Callias' earnest expression made you feel like you could confide in him.

Finally, you leaned in slightly, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's... something big... something epic."

His eyes lit up with intrigue, a grin spreading across his face before he stilled; the faint sound of footsteps echoed from around the bend, accompanied by hushed voices. Callias' head snapped up, and he looked around wildly, his body tensing as though expecting trouble, his expression suddenly cautious.

The footsteps grew louder, and moments later, a group of servants dressed in Bronte's colors appeared, their arms laden with folded linens and supplies. They passed by without so much as a glance in your direction, their faces a picture of indifference, but the way Callias' shoulders remained taut told a different story.

He bent down quickly, gathering the scattered clothes from his basket. As he straightened, he leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. "Meet me later, under the cypress tree. Your spot."

Before you could respond, he added, "There's something I need to tell you too." His eyes flicked toward the corner where the other servants had disappeared, and then back to you, his gaze steady but urgent.

With that, he hoisted the basket back into his arms, giving you a small, reassuring smile before hurrying off down the hall, his footsteps fading into the distance.

You stood there for a moment, your heart beating a little faster as you replayed his words. The cypress tree. Your spot. Whatever he wanted to say felt important.

And as you bent to retrieve your own bundle of laundry, you couldn't shake the feeling that the day was far from over.

☆

☆

The air under the cypress tree was warm and dappled with late-afternoon light filtering through the branches.

Callias leaned against the tree's rough bark, his panpipes resting lightly in his lap. His fingers traced the edges of the instrument, occasionally pressing a note that lingered softly in the air.

His eyes flicked between the winding paths leading into the courtyard, searching eagerly for your figure, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours.

Every sound seemed amplified—the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of servants, the occasional chirp of a bird. Yet, all of it faded into the background as his anticipation grew.

He adjusted his position, his back straightening, and his fingers drumming against the panpipes, unable to shake the nervous energy bubbling within him.

Then a sharp, unmistakable voice shattered the delicate stillness.

"Callias."

He froze, the warmth draining from his face as his name cut through the air with a cold edge.

Slowly, he turned toward the voice, his muscles taut. Standing there, poised and commanding as ever, was Princess Andreia. Her presence dominated the space, her pale, calculating gaze sweeping over him like a hawk assessing its prey.

Callias' heart lurched as he quickly stood, the panpipes slipping from his lap and landing in the dirt with a soft thud. He bent into a low bow, his voice carefully steady. "Princess Andreia," he greeted, his words formal, though he could feel the knot tightening in his stomach.

Her lips curved into a faint, icy smile, though it held no warmth. She stepped closer, the sound of her sandals sharp against the cobblestones. "You seem preoccupied," she remarked coolly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "Are you perhaps waiting for someone?"

Callias cleared his throat, his mind racing for a suitable answer. "No, Your Highness," he replied, his voice calm but edged with unease. "I was merely taking a short break."

Andreia's gaze sharpened, her footsteps drawing her closer. "Taking a break? How interesting." She tsked softly, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "Tell me, Callias, since when did servants under my father's rule grow so bold as to rest whenever they pleased?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand, her voice growing colder. "Do not even bother insulting my intelligence with more excuses. You've been getting beside yourself lately."

Callias felt his breath hitch as she stepped closer still, her presence oppressive. Her words lashed out like a whip. "Do you think you're above the rules? Above your duties? Back home, such insolence would have earned you a punishment severe enough to make you think twice. Have you forgotten the lessons taught to you? The lessons I taught you?" Her tone was laced with disdain, her eyes piercing as they bore into his.

The knot in Callias's stomach twisted painfully. Unbidden, phantom pains stirred in his lower back, the ghost of old scars prickling against his skin. His breaths came quicker, his mind flashing back to memories of punishments long past—the searing pain, the weight of expectations that had crushed him under their heel.

He swallowed hard, his head dipping lower, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

"N-No, Your Highness," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I haven't forgotten."

Before his words could settle, Andreia's hand snapped upward, her fingers gripping his chin with surprising strength. She tilted his face down, forcing his gaze to meet hers.

Callias' heart pounded as he fought the urge to flinch. Her touch was cold, her nails biting into his skin with enough pressure to remind him of his place.

She leaned closer, her green eyes gleaming with a frosty intensity, as if she were appraising a nuisance rather than a person. "This palace is not our home," she said, her voice as smooth and sharp as a blade. "But that doesn't mean the rules I have in place for you here are any less strict. Do you understand?"

Callias nodded as best he could under her grip, his throat dry and his voice failing him.

Andreia's eyes narrowed further, the faintest curl of a smirk tugging at her lips. "I wonder..." she mused, her voice dropping to a low, cryptic tone, "has someone been filling your head with delusions of importance? Perhaps a little musician with too much free time?"

Callias froze, his blood running cold, panic flashing through him. Every instinct screamed at him to deny her accusation, to deflect, but he knew better. Denying too forcefully would only confirm her suspicions.

Andreia studied him for a moment longer before releasing his chin with a sharp motion; the sudden absence of her touch almost jarring. She straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from her gown as though the interaction had dirtied her.

"Consider this your only warning. A servant with divided loyalties is a liability I cannot afford. Don't forget, Callias—loyalty is rewarded. Betrayal, however..." she trailed off coldly, her gaze cutting through him one last time. "Do not test me again."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and strode away, her steps measured and unyielding.

Callias remained frozen, his body stiff and his hands trembling at his sides; his hand instinctively moved to brush down the back of his tunic, where the scars lay hidden beneath the fabric—a cruel reminder of her unspoken power over him. His fingers lingered there, the ghost of old wounds prickling against his skin.

His mind began to spiral, unbidden memories rising to the surface.

He could almost hear the sharp snap of a whip cracking through the air, followed by the searing pain that had lanced across his back. It had been something so small—he had tripped in the grand hall of Bronte while carrying a tray of goblets for one of the royal stewards. A single goblet had tipped over, its wine spilling in a dark stain across the marble floor, and Andreia had been furious.

The punishment was swift, merciless. She had ordered him to be lashed in the courtyard as a lesson to the other servants. "Clumsiness," she had said coolly, "is a sign of carelessness, and carelessness has no place in the palace of Bronte."

He had bitten down on the inside of his cheek so hard he'd drawn blood, swallowing the cries that threatened to escape with every lash. But the humiliation had stung more than the whip itself—being exposed, stripped of dignity, while the other servants watched, their eyes averted out of fear they might meet the same fate.

Ithaca had been different. Here, there were no public punishments, no cold demands to perfection. He could breathe without fearing his next mistake would cost him more than bruised pride.

The palace still had its rules and its order, but there was a warmth, a humanity, that Bronte had always lacked. Queen Penelope's quiet compassion, the way Prince Telemachus would greet the servants by name—it all made Callias feel... human, in a way he had almost forgotten he could be.

Yet Andreia's presence threatened to shatter that fragile sense of belonging. The way she wielded power, even here, felt like a shadow of Bronte encroaching on Ithaca's light.

Callias shook his head, trying to banish the memories, but they clung to him like a second skin. The ache in his back, long healed but never forgotten, was a stark reminder of what it meant to fall out of favor with someone like her.

He bent down to retrieve his panpipes, his fingers brushing over the dirt-streaked wood as he tried to steady his breathing. He cast a wary glance around the courtyard, his earlier eagerness to see you now replaced with a gnawing unease.

And then, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, your voice called out to him. "Callias?"

He froze, his heart leaping in his chest for an entirely different reason.

When he turned, his eyes landed on you, and for a moment, the tension in his body melted away. The warmth in your expression, the lightness in your step—everything about you was a balm to the icy fear Andreia had left behind.

Callias straightened, brushing off his tunic as he offered you a smile, though it wavered slightly.

The stark contrast between Andreia's coldness and your kindness hit him like a tidal wave. Where she had made him feel small and insignificant, you made him feel seen, valued.

"____, you're here," he said, his voice softening as relief flooded through him. "I was starting to think you wouldn't come."

"Of course I'm here. We agreed to meet here, or was I mistaken and imagined our entire interaction earlier?" You laughed lightly, stepping closer to him, your hands twitching as though you were about to reach out in greeting. But Callias subtly shifted back, careful to keep the space between you.

His heart raced as he did so, the fresh sting of Andreia's reminder still too vivid in his mind.

He masked his movements with a quick smile, hoping you wouldn't notice his hesitance. Your own smile remained undeterred as you tilted your head, your tone teasing. "When did you arrive? Have I kept you waiting long?"

Callias felt his chest tighten for a moment, a brief flicker of warmth battling with the icy grip of Andreia's words. Internally, he reassured himself—She doesn't know, she can't know. "Not long," he lied smoothly, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I just got here myself."

You gave a small, contented sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing as you looked around the familiar courtyard. Without another word, you plopped down onto the grass, the softness of it cushioning you as you let out a sigh of relaxation.

The momentary calmness of your favorite spot wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, chasing away the lingering heaviness of the day.

You leaned back on your hands, tilting your face up to the sky, and after a beat, you peeked one eye open to glance up at Callias. A playful smile graced your lips. "Well? Don't just stand there like a statue. Sit," you said, patting the spot on the grass beside you.

Callias hesitated, his fingers tightening around the panpipes in his hands. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to the spot you'd patted, then back to your expectant smile.

His fake smile began to falter but shifted into something genuine as he pushed the memories to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the way you looked at him like he was someone who mattered.

With a steadying breath, he plopped down beside you, the tension in his body easing ever so slightly in your presence.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the cypress tree's branches swaying gently above, casting playful shadows on the grass, providing a soothing backdrop to the moment.

Callias sat close but not too close, the space between you a subtle reminder of his guarded demeanor.

You didn't notice, too focused on gathering your thoughts.

Callias' fingers still toyed with the panpipes, the faint movements a nervous habit he couldn't quite shake. He caught your glance flickering toward them, and his grip relaxed, letting them rest on his lap.

You tilted your head slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, your fingers idly tracing the grass beside you.  "There's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice quiet but steady as though you were weighing your words. "I... I've been thinking about how to even start this, but I guess I should just say it."

"What is it?"

You took a deep breath, your eyes dropping to the ground as you tried to find the right place to begin. "It's about... Lady Andreia," you said, your voice soft but clear, and you didn't miss the way his posture stiffened at the mention of her name.

"You know how she... well, she doesn't exactly like servants," you started, glancing briefly at him before looking back at your hands. "I—" You paused, hesitating.

The memory of what had happened was still vivid, and you weren't sure how much to say. But Callias deserved to know—at least, part of it.

"Some time after I left you in the courtyard, I realized I left my lyre behind," you began, your voice faltering slightly, "it wasn't long until a Bronte servant approached me and told me you'd asked for me to meet you at the sheepfold to return it. So, I thought nothing of it and went to find you after I was finished with my duties."

Your voice trailed off, and for a moment, you stared at the grass beneath you as if the words you needed might be hidden there. Callias' brow furrowed, and his grip on the panpipes tightened slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"When I arrived," you continued, your voice quieter now, "it wasn't you I found. It was Lady Andreia." The memory of her cold smile and calculating gaze resurfaced. You cleared your throat softly and pressed on. "She was sitting there, holding my lyre."

Callias' expression darkened at this, his jaw tightening. His hands balled into fists in his lap, but he said nothing, letting you continue.

"I tried to stay calm, to be respectful. I... thought maybe she'd let me take it and leave. But instead, she started mocking me—mocking the lyre." Your throat tightened, and you paused, glancing away as you struggled to find the words. "She called it ugly... worthless. And then..." Your voice faltered again, and you had to take a steadying breath before continuing.

"She broke it," you said finally, the words coming out barely above a whisper. "She... she smashed it over her knee, like it was nothing." The weight of the confession settled between you, and you could feel your chest tightening as the emotions threatened to resurface. "Afterward, she just walked away, like it didn't matter. Like it was just some... insignificant thing."

Callias cursed under his breath, his fist clenching tightly in the grass beside him. "That... that witch," he muttered, his voice low and full of frustration. "I... I should have known something was wrong. After you left, she dismissed me almost immediately, but I didn't think..." He trailed off, his gaze distant as he pieced together the events in his mind. "I didn't even know you'd left it behind. If I had knew..." He broke off again, his voice filled with self-recrimination.

"Even if you knew," you said firmly, reaching out to touch his arm, grounding him, "what could you have done? If she ordered you to hand it over, you would have had no choice. You're a servant of Bronte, Callias. You had no say in the matter." Your gaze softened as you met his eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall, offering him a small, shaky smile.

Callias' jaw clenched, and he looked away, his fists still tight. "But if I—"

"No," you interrupted, your voice soft but steady. "Callias, this isn't your fault. It was her. Lady. No—" You paused, the distaste lingering before you forced her name out. "Andreia's just a bully with power. She would have found some other way to hurt me, no matter what."

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling heavily between you.

Callias' shoulders remained tense, his gaze fixed on the ground, but slowly, his fists began to unclench. He exhaled deeply, his frustration still evident but tempered by your words.

Then, his' brow quirked up, lips twitching almost into an amused grin. He snorted lightly, the tension in his face easing ever so slightly. "Andreia, huh? No 'Lady Andreia'? Look at you, breaking the rules. Who knew you were such a rebel?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the small smile that broke through your earlier seriousness. "Oh, please. If calling her by her name makes me a rebel, I'll wear the title proudly."

The banter lifted some of the heaviness in the air, and for a brief moment, it felt like the two of you could breathe again.

But then, your gaze softened, your smile fading into something more contemplative. You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a whisper, as though sharing a secret only he could hear. "Besides... thanks to her actions, as cruel as they were, the Fates seemed to show me a little kindness in return."

Callias tilted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion at your cryptic words. "Kindness? What do you mean?" he asked, curiosity lacing his tone.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes brightening as the memory of the divine lyre flashed in your mind. But you didn't elaborate—not yet. Instead, you swung your satchel around, careful and deliberate, as though holding something precious beyond measure.

Reaching inside, your fingers brushed against the cool, smooth surface of the lyre. You pulled it out gently, the golden frame catching the late afternoon sunlight, which shimmered across its surface in dazzling patterns.

The intricate etchings seemed alive in the light, telling stories of gods and heroes as the strings, spun from what appeared to be starlight itself, glowed faintly, resonating with an otherworldly hum.

The moment the lyre was fully exposed to the air, the faint scent of something sweet and unplaceable—a mix of wildflowers and ozone—seemed to linger between you.

Callias' mouth dropped open as he stared, his eyes widening in disbelief. "By the gods..." He leaned forward instinctively, his voice almost a whisper. "How... how did you get that?"

His hands hovered near the lyre, hesitant and almost reverent, as though touching it might prove it wasn't real. You grinned, the corners of your lips lifting as you plopped the lyre into his hands, your trust in him evident in the motion.

Callias hesitated, his hands hovering as though afraid to touch something so exquisite, but as the weight of the lyre settled into his palms, his breath caught. A faint warmth emanated from the golden frame, gentle but unmistakable, like the first rays of sunlight after a cold dawn.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, his fingers lightly brushing over the glowing strings, careful not to pluck them. As his fingers brushed against the glowing strings, and he felt an almost imperceptible vibration run through him, resonating deep in his chest.

It was as if the lyre accepted his presence, greeting him with a soft hum that lingered on the edges of his hearing, impossible to fully ignore.

Callias froze, his eyes widening further as he glanced at you. "Do you feel that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His grip on the lyre tightened slightly, his awe growing with every second.

You tilted your head, the faintest trace of a knowing smile playing on your lips. "Feel what?"

"It's... alive," he said, his voice trembling slightly, the words faltering as if he doubted his own senses. "It's like it's breathing. It's warm... and it hums, almost like it's trying to speak."

You leaned back slightly, your expression softening with amusement as a proud smile spread across your face. "I know," you said, your voice giddy, unable to hide the excitement bubbling within you.

Reaching out, your fingers brushed against the lyre, and the reaction was instantaneous—its hum deepened, a faint glow rippling along the strings as though it recognized you, leaping to life at your touch.

Callias' eyes darted from the lyre to you, his brow furrowing as a flicker of worry crossed his features. He hesitated for a moment, then blurted, "Wait—how exactly did you get this?" His voice carried a note of apprehension now, as though the awe was giving way to concern. "You didn't... you didn't make some sort of deal, did you?"

Your hand paused mid-air, the playful smile softening into something more reassuring as you met his gaze. "A deal?" you repeated, laughing lightly to dispel the tension. "No, Callias, I didn't sell my soul or anything dramatic like that. It was a gift..." Your fingers rested lightly on the lyre's golden frame, its warmth seeping into your skin like sunlight. "from Hermes."

Callias' head snapped up, his eyes darting from the lyre back to you. He let out a low whistle, his eyebrows shooting upward in surprise. "Hermes?" he repeated, almost disbelieving. "You mean...The Hermes? Messenger God?"

You nodded, your smile growing as you recalled the god's sudden and striking appearance. "In the flesh," you confirmed. "He gave it to me freely. A gift."

Callias didn't look entirely convinced, his grip on the lyre tightening slightly. "Freely," he echoed, skepticism lacing his tone. "The gods don't just give mortals things like this for no reason. There's always a cost, even if it's not one you see right away." His voice dropped lower, more cautious. "Are you sure there's nothing else to it? No strings attached—well, besides these ones?"

You let out a soft snort at his attempt at humor, shaking your head. "Hermes might be many things, but this... this felt genuine. I think he wanted me to have it—no bargains, no tricks." The faint hum of the lyre seemed to agree, the glow of its strings softening to a gentle shimmer.

Callias studied you for a moment longer, his expression caught between awe and unease. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head with a faint smile. "If you say so," he murmured, though his tone still carried a hint of uncertainty. "But I'm keeping an eye on this thing—and on you. Just in case."

You couldn;t help but smile, warmth blooming in your chest at his concern. "Thank you, Callias," you said sincerely, your voice soft. "It means a lot to know you're looking out for me—even if it's just in case I've accidentally invited divine chaos into my life."

His faint smile grew into a mischievous grin, his tone taking on a teasing edge. "Oh, please. You don't need a lyre to bring chaos into your life—you're already pretty talented at that on your own."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head at his cheeky remark. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

Callias chuckled, his grin widening. "Like a moth to a flame," he quipped, his voice light but fond. He glanced back down at the glowing lyre in his hands, the humor in his expression softening as a flicker of wonder returned. "Still," he added, his tone shifting, "I've got to hand it to you. If anyone could charm the gods themselves, it's you."

His words caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks heat ever so slightly. You brushed the moment aside with a playful scoff. "Let's not give me too much credit. The gods probably just like a good underdog story."

Callias shook his head in disbelief, muttering under his breath. "Truly, you must have a pendulum of luck swinging wildly in your favor." His expression turned grim for a fleeting moment, as though the weight of something else tugged at his thoughts.

Clearing his throat, he gently handed the lyre back to you, his touch lingering for just a moment before he pulled his hands away. "But enough about that. I haven't even told you my news yet," he said, his tone shifting, though a shadow of his earlier unease remained in his eyes.

You nodded, carefully placing the lyre back into your satchel, its weight settling comfortably on your shoulder. "Alright," you said, curiosity piqued. "What's your news?"

Callias glanced around, his gaze sweeping the courtyard as though ensuring no one else was within earshot. Then, lowering his voice, he leaned in slightly, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "One of Andreia's personal attendants let something slip," he began, his words measured. "Apparently, she's been in talks to form political alliances between Bronte and Ithaca."

Your brows knit together in confusion. "What would she..." you started, but the sentence trailed off as your thoughts spiraled, unbidden.

Images of Andreia and Telemachus together flashed in your mind, their interactions suddenly taking on a sharper, more calculated edge.  "Oh..." you murmured, the realization settling like a stone in your chest, heavy and unwelcome.

A wave of discomfort rippled through you as your thoughts spiraled further. Their proximity during the banquet, the way Andreia's laughter lingered just a little longer when Telemachus was around—it all seemed to point to something more deliberate.

Your shoulders dropped, the weight of understanding pressing down as if the very air around you had thickened.

Though you were a servant, you weren't naive to the grand scheme of royal affairs; you understood how alliances like these were often forged.

Telemachus, as the prince, was undoubtedly a prime candidate for marriage, and while his father's disappearance had delayed such matters, it hadn't erased the possibility entirely.

You could no longer dismiss those fleeting moments as mere coincidence or your own overthinking.

The thought left you feeling unsettled, your shoulders dropping slightly as the pieces began to align. "Oh..." you repeated, softer this time, the word carrying a note of resignation.

Callias, sensing the shift in your mood, straightened, looking at you more seriously. "Listen, ____" he said, his voice gentler now, "I don't think you have anything to worry about. The prince... he wouldn't—" He hesitated, his eyes searching yours as though trying to find the right words. "He wouldn't just go along with something like that. Not unless it's what he truly wanted."

His words lingered, and for a moment, you weren't even sure why he was trying to reassure you.

And even though you tried to deny it, a small, flickering part of you wanted to believe him, to believe that Telemachus—his warm smiles, his quiet moments of kindness—couldn't be capable of viewing you as nothing more than a servant to be discarded for the sake of an alliance.

But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, you buried it, pushing it down beneath the weight of your resignation, tucked away with the rest of your uncertainties.

It was easier to accept the ignorance, to leave those possibilities unexplored.

Clearing your throat, you gave him a faint smile, choosing to redirect the conversation. "Anyway," you began, your tone lighter now, "what else have I missed these past few days?"

Callias groaned dramatically, throwing his head back with an exaggerated moan. "You mean, what didn't you miss? Everything has been so dull!" he lamented, his voice laced with mock despair. "Dinners felt so empty—even with the musicians playing, they ended much quicker than usual. Honestly, it's been like the life was sucked out of the palace."

He paused, his expression shifting to something more reflective. "And the royal family? Well, I wouldn't say I'm close to them—I mean, who is, really? But..." He trailed off, his gaze distant, as though recalling the flashes of moments he had witnessed.

"I saw Queen Penelope in the kitchens a few times," he continued, his voice softening. "She was talking with the chef, making sure your broths were just right. She even sent one back because it wasn't warm enough."

You blinked, a rush of warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of the queen's quiet attentiveness. Callias went on, his tone taking on a storytelling rhythm.

"And after you fell 'ill,' King Odysseus ordered the construction of an overhead walkway.  You know, the one that connects the palace to the sheepfold and pigeon coops, and stuff?  It's supposed to protect the servants from the storms. They say he got the idea from the Phoenicians, or maybe one of those great cities he saw on his travels."

He smiled faintly, but his expression grew somber as he continued. "And then there's Prince Telemachus..." Callias' voice dropped slightly, as if hesitant to bring up the prince. "He's been... different. Sullen, I guess, unless he's around his parents. But even then, he's quieter than usual."

Your heart clenched, and you leaned in slightly, unable to stop yourself from asking, "What do you mean?"

Callias hesitated before answering. "I've also seen him in the library, flipping through scrolls and old texts. He's been talking with the palace physicians a lot too. And Bronte's physicians—he brought them in, you know. They were discussing remedies, illnesses, treatments... trying to figure out what could help. And the prince, well, he was asking questions—lots of them." His gaze turned to you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "About you."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn't find your voice. A rush of emotions surged within you—disbelief, gratitude, and something else you couldn't quite name. You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to the ground as you tried to process his words.

"He was... asking about me?"

Callias nodded. "Yeah. Looking for answers, I guess. He seemed... worried."

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you couldn't think of anything to say. The image of Telemachus—quiet and focused, sifting through scrolls and speaking with healers for your sake—made your chest tighten with an emotion you weren't ready to name.

You exhaled slowly, a shaky breath that seemed to carry away some of the tension in your shoulders. "I... I didn't know," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Callias gave you a small, reassuring smile, his earlier teasing replaced with a quiet understanding. "Well," he said gently, "now you do."

A/N: i know i know, sorry for leaving you guys like that, work is just really draining rn 😭😭 but enough about that, just wanted to apologize with these 2 new updates, yes yall heard right, 2 new chappies!!!! the next one should be up in the next 1h, hope my winxies enjoy my little sad attempts at story/plot building (i swear its a bit more difficult without an established plot/anime/moive there as reminder not to go too outlandish 😩) ❤️❤️

Tag List: @uniquetravelerone

[colettebronte]

She Rings Like a Bell Through the Night: Chapter 6

Taglist Form

Series Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Bridgerton Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Anthony Bridgerton x Witch!fem Reader

Summary: The Witch takes the Protector up on his offer with intriguing results. Goodbyes are said and a spell is cast that will have repercussions throughout time

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+ for the overall fic. Specific to this chapter: a graphic (but not gross) depiction of blood drinking, a bit of sensuality, more shaky vampire lore and Anthony Bridgerton levels of sads

Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: Here we are at the longest chapter so far. Please do enjoy! Thank you as always to @fayes-fics for being the best beta reader 🫶❤️

The Witching Hour, Somewhere in Rural England, 1695

You release your pendant along with the breath you’re holding as you speak. “I’m ready to drink your blood.” 

Anthony blinks and then stares deeply into your eyes. “You are certain?”

You nod and then he lets go of your hand to stand up. You can only watch as he starts to pace across the floor. “This need not be completely unpleasant for you,” he muses, and then adds, “Perhaps I can get a goblet and put some of my blood in it.”

“Anthony, that is not necessary,” you attempt to interject, but he persists with his monologue, completely ignoring you as he continues to wind around the room.

“Surely I can mix it with some wine or mulled cider so that you will barely taste it.”

While moved by his care for your comfort, you would rather just get the task over with. You stand and intercept Anthony, placing one hand on his wrist and the other on his cheek. He stares at you wild-eyed before he heaves a sigh, allowing you to pull him back to sit beside you on the bed. Once he’s settled in, his back against the pillows, you take up his wrist with both hands and move it towards his mouth.

“I believe you must make the appropriate openings for me to drink,” you say softly.

His eyes widen. Slightly panicked, he asks, “You wish to drink from me like this? Right now?”

You nod again and place his wrist against his lips. Anthony heaves a deep breath and then extends his fangs to bite into his flesh. Two small, neat dots of blood well up next to his pulse point as he holds his arm out towards you. “I’ll let you know when you may stop,” he murmurs.

Taking a deep breath, you brush a hand over your pendant and then lean in to seal your mouth over Anthony’s wrist. Closing your eyes, you hear Anthony sigh as you take a first, careful lick. You expect the familiar tangy, metallic taste that comes with sucking a finger after pricking it whilst sewing, but the taste you get from Anthony’s blood is something altogether different.

His blood is sweet, like a rich, fermented fruit and as you take slow, measured sips from his wrist you start to feel muddled, just like the time you accidentally drank too much of your grandfather’s May wine.

Everything feels hazy and mellowed around you, your contact with Anthony the only thing mooring you in place. After what feels like forever, through a fog, you hear Anthony say, “That’s enough, My Heart.”

Time seems to slow down as you release his wrist and watch him brush his tongue over the tiny holes. You stare in fascination as his wrist comes away from his mouth and the blood has disappeared, the skin completely healed over. You feel a faint throbbing in your own wrist where earlier Anthony had drank from you but when you look down, there is nothing amiss.

Anthony leans in and you slowly blink to keep him in focus. He smiles gently and guides you back until you’re lying down. “I suppose you feel intoxicated, my clever little witch.”

You nod lazily and then bring your hand up over your face and giggle as you wiggle your fingers. Anthony merely shakes his head, eyes shining with amusement.

“The feeling will pass once your body adjusts to my blood. Lay down and rest for a while. When you awaken, you should feel like yourself again.”

Closing your eyes, you reach out to grasp his hand. “Don’t leave me, please.”

You feel Anthony settle in beside you. A moment later, you are ensconced in his arms. As you slide into sleep you hear him murmur, “I won’t leave you. It’s not time yet.”

**********

You awaken sometime later, still in Anthony’s warm embrace. You carefully reach up to brush an errant strand of hair off his forehead. He stirs at your touch and then he’s blinking awake, smiling when he sees you. The fond look in his eyes brings a warm flutter to your chest.

Releasing you, he stretches and asks, “How do you feel?”

You sit up and are relieved that the fuzzy, fizzy feeling from earlier is gone. In its place you feel refreshed. It’s as if you are a new person. And in a way, you suppose, you are.

“I feel very much like myself, only,” you pause to try to put a word to how you feel before landing on, “Improved.”

Anthony nods. “That makes sense. Any ailments or previous injuries you had are healed.”

Curious, you look at your left palm. When you were young, an accident with a paring knife had left you with a scar near your thumb. You huff out a small laugh as you see it’s no longer there. There are no words that come to mind that can adequately express your thanks, so you push aside the blanket to jump onto Anthony, who lets out an “Ooooooof,” in surprise.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lean in to capture his lips, sighing into his mouth as his tongue mingles with yours. Anthony puts his arms around you and then he’s rolling over so that you’re under him. He pulls back and you're struck by how young he looks in the candlelight. You think of how young he was when he was first forced to come to the cottage.

You run a hand down the exposed part of his chest and ask, “What is it you desire?”

Anthony smiles sharply. “Right now, you”.

You smile back but slide out from under him. Anthony sits up, a questioning look on his handsome face. You sit up and take his hand in yours. “What I mean is, you’ve just given me the two things I’ve wanted most. What is it that you wish for?”

Anthony scrubs his free hand down his face. �� I don’t have any wishes,” he says quietly. “I just exist here.”

His words make you incredibly sad. You reach up and cup his cheek. “You deserve so much more than that.”

Anthony heaves a world-weary sigh. “The things I would wish for, sadly, no matter how powerful you become, are not things you can give me. But if I do allow myself to think of them, well, first, I would like to see all of my family back here together again.”

You drop your hand from his face to hold his other hand, bending down to kiss his palm. “I think that’s a wonderful thing to wish for. Is there anything else?”

Anthony shakes his head but then relents, saying, “I would wish to see a sunrise again and feel its rays upon my face. It used to be my favorite sensation in the world.” He notes the puzzlement on your face and explains, “When my kind are young, we are able to move around in the daylight. The day I discovered I was too old to do it safely anymore was a sad one indeed.”

Your heart breaks for him. Perhaps there is a spell in your Book of Shadows that could help him. But to find out, you’d have to retrieve it from its hiding place. You release Anthony’s hands.

“I need to go back to the village,” you tell him.

Anthony sighs, “I suppose it’s time, isn’t it? Daybreak will be happening soon and I must end the spell that is keeping the village hidden before then.” He helps you to stand and walks over to the trousseau. “Please help yourself to anything in here. They’re clothes left behind by my sisters before they departed and I’m sure you’ll find something that fits you.”

As you sort through the chest, Anthony rummages around underneath the bed until he produces an intricately carved wooden box.  Once you pick out a lovely pale blue dress that, despite its age, is still in pristine condition and fits you perfectly, you turn to see Anthony tying up a large leather pouch.

Once finished with his task, he presses it into your hands. “There are more than enough coins in here for you to go wherever you like. If you use it wisely, you will have plenty left for food and shelter for a few years,” he says softly.

Something in your stomach drops. Trying to keep your voice even, you ask, “Why does this feel like goodbye?”

Anthony sighs. “Because it is, my sweet, clever witch. Once I lead you back to the village, you won’t be able to come back.” Anthony pauses as he notices the tears at the corners of your eyes. He reaches up to gently brush them away with his thumbs and then kisses your cheek. “It is not because I don’t want you here. I only have enough power left to break the concealment spell around the village. The one that hides the cottage will have to remain in place.”

Without a thought, you hold your wrist out to him. “Do you want more of my blood? Please, take what you need.”

Anthony smiles softly and entwines his fingers with yours. “My Heart, I have taken all the blood from you that I intend to. But I do appreciate the offer.” The finality of his tone and words brook no further argument.

You can only nod as hand in hand, he leads you out of the room and back upstairs and then, after bundling you up in his cloak and lighting a lantern, out the door and into the damp, pre-dawn air.

There is just a hint of pink leaking out of the bottom of the horizon as you walk silently. If Anthony is bothered by how tightly you’re gripping his hand, he makes no comment. When you at last reach the bridge, Anthony stops and hands you the lantern.

“Stand back please,” he murmurs and you do as he asks. He raises his hands in the air as he recites words far too quickly for you to discern what they are and then you’re staring in wonder as bright, orange light shoots out from his fingertips and arcs through the sky to land somewhere in the distance, beyond the bridge. After a moment, you can see orange flames rising high in the air.

Alarmed, you start to move toward the bridge, but Anthony holds you back from behind with a gentle arm around your shoulders. “It’s all right,” he says into your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. “The fire is merely burning the spell away, there will be no physical damage. In truth, no one other than you or I can even see the flames. Not that anyone is awake at this hour.”

And you realize, he’s right. No one will be waiting for you. None have ever returned from a visit to The Protector. You shake your head at how naive you were in your assumptions as to why that was when your evening began versus the truths you know now. It’s difficult to put into words all the things you want to say to this man who has so thoroughly changed your life over the course of just one night.

Softly, you ask, “We shall never see each other again, will we?”

Anthony sighs in your ear. “I’m afraid not. I must stay here and you have a very long and exciting life ahead of you.”

You turn in his arms and tug him down for a fierce kiss. When you break apart, you pull him down so his forehead rests against yours. “I shall never forget you Anthony Bridgerton,” you whisper.

“Nor I you, my sweet, beautiful, clever witch.”

Anthony releases you and with a kiss to your fingertips, he offers you one final regretful smile before turning and disappearing back into the darkness. You swallow a sob and take a moment to compose yourself before turning around and beginning the walk across the bridge and back to the village.

It’s not long before you reach the other side and come to the lake beside the village. You stare in awe as you can see the flames from Anthony’s spell beginning to wane. Though it appears that the trees are alight, as you walk closer you can see that the foliage is untouched as the very air shimmers in the fire. Unable to help yourself, you slip off your cloak and shoes and holding your skirt up, step into the water. It’s warm from the residual heat of the magical fire. You only wade in up to your knees, watching in fascination as the flames go from orange to blue, before fizzling out into white smoke, only for that too to disappear without a trace.

As the sun begins to peak over the horizon, you step out of the water and make your way back to the village for one purpose only: to retrieve your Book of Shadows.

You pass by the first building where you see the village through new eyes. Everything seems so much smaller and dingier than you remember from just the day before. You make your way to your book’s hiding place, safe in the knowledge that it’s still too early to encounter anyone.

And then you approach the centerpiece of the village, the statue of Lord Edmund. You run a hand over the weather-worn stone before bending down to the thick patch of lilacs that grow at the base. It’s always been strange to you that despite the season, they’re always there, forever in brilliant purple and green, always a stark contrast to the gray and brown tones of the rest of the village. You reach down into the flowers and after a moment spent searching, pull out the well-worn brown leather satchel that holds your Book of Shadows.

Unbuckling the heavy metal that keeps it secure, you sigh in relief to see the book within is safe and untouched. You gaze up at the sky and determine you have a little while longer until the village wakes so you pull open your book and begin to flip through the pages and pages of spells written down by your ancestors, searching for . . . . something. 

After a few moments, you find something that may just work and smile, turning to look up at Lord Edmund. “I hope you won’t mind, Sir,” you tell his faded, stone features. You grasp your pendant with one hand as you hold the heavy book in the other, taking care to recite the words written down before you with care. It’s a fairly long spell and you can only hope you’re powerful enough to cast it. A thought occurs to you and releasing your pendant, you take hold of Lord Edmund’s boot and something flows through you, seeming to amplify your power. Glancing up at him, you add the final words to mark the spell as yours. “I humbly call upon the Lady of Light to aid me in bringing together the Bridgerton family. Please allow them to reunite in love and peace.” Closing your eyes, you slowly breathe in and out, putting your intent out into the ether.

After a moment, you open your eyes and after securing your Book of Shadows back into the satchel, along with the sack of coins from Anthony, you take one last look at the village and the statue of Lord Edmund before turning and heading back to the bridge and out into the great wide world.

 Anthony Bridgerton gave you a great number of things the night before, chief among them, the gift of a long life. It’s time to start living it.

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @hottytoddyhistory @laniec03 @sky0401 @queenofmean14 @jtheteenagewitch

[sinileijona]

so stick him in a dress and he's the only boy i'd shag the only boy i'd anything is andrew in drag

[lesbiradshaw]

once again thinking about how so much of s6 liam and theo’s relationship is about theo choosing to do the dirty work so liam doesn’t have to. he went from trying to harness liam’s anger for his own gain to trying to help him get it under control— and even in triggers when he does intentionally piss liam off so they can fight to cause a distraction, he keeps liam from killing nolan right after. he tries to comfort liam (in his own Extremely Emotionally Stunted way) during the car ride home by pointing out how hard he tried to avoid hurting him. he does it again in the locker room, telling liam he’s making progress by not killing gabe— right before stepping forward and smashing gabe’s face right back into that mirror for himself to get the information they need. theo throws himself at the ghost riders as bait because he knows liam, despite his harsh promises, is too good of a person to do it himself. he pulls liam into the sheriff station bathroom and reality checks him about saving his friends and himself (also in the most Emotionally Stunted way possible) because he knows liam is sometimes blinded by his own idealism. he pushes liam ahead of him at the hospital and takes bullets meant for them both.

for someone who claims to relish in his own selfishness, theo time and time again shows that he’d rather get blood on his hands as long as it keeps liam from having to get it on himself.