#fanatical fics and where to find them

[fortunes-unfavored]

I've known my dnd character for five hours and i think I'll do anything for them already

[hedwig221b]

Do you know of any fics where Stiles does ballet or gymnastics or track? (Or even skating tbh) Especially fics where he keeps it a secret for a while!!! I like the idea of Derek/the pack finding out about Stiles' havin hobbies so.

I don't know about the secret thing, pretty much all of them are human aus... But here you go!

I'll dance with the wolves by artemis69

Derek is used to life changing moments. They are his sad, sad specialty. But nothing in his life has ever prepared him for the vision of Stiles entering the vast dance studio clad only in pale, tight pants and old dance shoes. Stiles sends them all a look, rolls his eyes, then turns his back to them and starts stretching.

Sun to my Moon by Writer_Jayne

Human College Student's AU where Derek is the star pitcher on the baseball team and Stiles is a ballet student. Meddling housemates lead to Derek asking Stiles to be his pretend boyfriend over Christmas break. Derek is out to his parents but they had not been respectful of his sexuality so he lied and said he had a boyfriend. This was solely inspired by an Instagram reel of Tyler Hoechlin wearing a baseball uniform in the film Undrafted. Shout out to my roomie BBCFangirl3000 for being my beta.

You're Thunder in the Sky by Delightful_I_Am

An ache settles high in his back, muscles tight across his shoulders. He revels in the burn when he stretches, hands reaching for the ceiling high above him; his foot sweeps the floor, toes pointed, his body rolling sinuously to the melody playing softly. The low music swells to a crescendo and he explodes into frenzied motion with the beat. Spinning and leaping, tumbling, never coming into contact with the floor for longer than a heartbeat, always in harmony with the music. This is when he feels alive. When everyone else has gone home and he can just feel. He lands, finally, on a wavering note, one knee dipped to the ground a sense of expectation hanging in the air, the last note dying off to leave a tense thrill in his body. He’s breathing hard as he brings his legs fully under him, lowering himself to the floor and bringing his knees to his chest, stretching his muscles. He’s so intent on warming down he fails to notice his captive audience. Fails to hear the low breath of his name.

precision. by lapislotus

Derek is transfixed. Stiles' face is contorted, lost in passion, in the music. His eyes are closed, lashes fanning over his cheeks. He’s so beautiful Derek wants to cry. OR the ballet dancer au no one asked for and I had to write.

It's not called gym-nice-tics by countrygirlsfun

It’s Beginner Gymnasts Camp and Derek has to help work it. Who knew putting up with his mother would land Derek a date with the cutest gymnast Derek has ever seen?

Falling and Missing the Ground by Strictly_Platonic

Stiles had two favorite things about the Olympic Village: the fruit bowl stocked with condoms with little miniature vaulting tables on the packaging, and the Starbucks stands in the lobbies of every single building and on the corner of every single street. Right now, having to be awake and moving at five-thirty in the goddamn morning after a late night of drinking and dancing with both the men’s and the women’s gymnastics teams, he was especially fond of the Starbuckses.

Home On The Ice by LadyDrace

Derek plays hockey in college, and one day his team has to share the rink with a figure skater. That's when things start getting really interesting.

Take The Ice by Hopeless ships (The_Danish_Biscuit)

To Derek Hale hockey was everything. It was the only reason he even tolerated High School and if given a choice the only thing he would be doing for the rest of his life. Some called him driven others called him fanatic. Derek called himself determined. Only one day a random meeting with a strangely fascinating young ice skater turns Derek's life upside down. A odd friendship blooms between them and Derek slowly comes to realise that his life isn't quite as simple as he thought. There might be more to life than ice hockey.

Triple Axel (Into My Heart) by raimykeller

Derek just wants to win one Olympic gold medal before he retires from skating. Stiles just wants to win Derek. AKA Olympics AU with men's figure skaters Stiles & Derek

[masterlist link]

[m0chisenpai]

Hi, could you do a Louis x Fem!reader x Armand? Like something where they are both obsessed with her and maybe she a little oblivious even tho they give her what ever she wants. I love your others too by the way.🫶🏼

desires of the heart

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which she has two immortals wrapped around her little finger

Author note: this sounds similarish to a loumand fic I got previously so I’m gonna build off from that one

Time in the penthouse seems to move slower. The days and nights felt blurred from adjusting your schedule to the ‘vampires’ Daniel interviews. And with each passing day, more and more do the vampires find themselves falling deeper into your heart. It is your own fault for falling for a pair of supernatural fanatics, though now they have proved their inhumane nature.

You had their own dead ones in the palm of your hand yet you remained so oblivious to it.

You find yourself spending your time less in your room and more in their company as they approach an ending. Daniel mentions during one of your dinners together that he believes them to be stalling. Louis speaks slower, finds himself struggling to remember certain parts. You only raised a brow and wondered why either of them would feel the need to drag this on longer. And Daniel wonders how someone so sharp can be so oblivious.

He wants to be irritated but as you sit across him, writing in your own journal, he grunts out some form of a response that says 'you're probably right.'

“Those books, are the older ones right?” You watch Armand hover above in the collection looking for more pictures of Claudia for your personal “research”. In your spare time you’ve begun compiling information from her journals and diaries, looking for pictures to put a face to the voice of the woman trapped in a child’s body.

“Yes, some of these are beyond your time,” he looks down at you slowly allowing himself to settle in front of you. You push your frames back up the bridge of your nose so you can properly look at the elder vampire.

“Can I see them?”

Louis watches amused from his seat as Armand holds you close to show you the books. Slowly he glides back up with you in his arms following your direction till you pick a small stack to sit with Louis and look through.

These are older photographs from his years in New Orleans. Family pictures, pictures from his childhood.

"Aw what happened to the fro? That's the cutest baby afro I have seen!" you pout as Louis pulls a family picture out. And he rolls his eyes as you pull your phone to take a picture.

"Times were different," Louis rolls his eyes and you scoff at his vague response. You page through the album carefully with gloved hands as you look at the dearly protected aged photos.

"Is that him?" your eyes settle on a duo picture, him and his brother side by side. Louis can only nod, his lips pressed in a line as you stare. In the picture his brother stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. He remembers that day fondly. They bickered on what to wear and settle on a pair of their late father's suits. "He was handsome. Definitely a sweetheart, I can tell by how he's looking at you here in this one."

When you look up at you him, you smile "I see you take after him." Before Louis can respond one of the workers has entered. Interrupting your bubble of peace. "Mr.Molloy has requested you in his room ma'am."

Armand's face immediately ices over into a glare, his response fiery. "Tell Mr.Molloy if he wishes for his help to return he can come and get them himself. She is not a dog."

"It's alright, the old fart does this all the time in the office." You go to stand stretching your arms overhead and quickly rubbing your forearms for friction. You're cold, Louis observes the goosebumps across your freckled shoulders from the slouch neck sweater you wear.

When you are are out of ear shot Louis speaks to the worker.

"Have the shoppers come in tomorrow morning for Mr.Molloy's intern. The girl needs proper clothing. My companion will be there to assist further."

Much to Daniel's distaste. you are like a child in a candy shop pointing to sweaters from Ralph Lauren's upcoming fall collection. But he hides his distaste giving you a smile when you happily show him the sweater that was 'giving Rory Gilmore but I wear it better.' Armand sits watching as you soar through racks and picking your items of choice.

You hesitate when a woman approaches holding a cases of lenses, "we offer these in prescription of course."

"Oh no these are fine."

"Pick one." Armand finally speaks up. When you look at him he is now sitting up, but the way he sits with his legs crossed, an arm draped across the back while the other rests atop his knee. His eyes a show of dominance, as if daring you to say no to him.

You settle on a thick marbled brown pair. But he stands to move in front of you, picking up a few for you to try. You try on several till you are pushing his hands away.

"The jade green ones as well as the golden wired ones for her," you grumble watching as he picks up the two for the woman to box. "We will have your prescription sent as soon as possible."

"Thank you but, this a bit much for a few days stay."

"We have no issue providing you your comforts whilst you work on the novel."

"Ok but-"

He raises a brow that silences any opposition. When you offer no more pushback, Armand places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the women who begin to drape you in abayas and scarves for your hair.

Daniel can only huff and look back to his laptop.

'CLEARLY three idiots in love with one another. Female is too incompetent to discern vampires obsession, affections.' He underlines idiots smirking to himself as he scribbles more notes about the three of you down.

The end of the interviews is approaching, Louis could only stall for so long. You can tell as they spend any bit of time of the days glued to your side under the guise of fact checking and clarification. You don't bring it up, you accidentally mentioned it in passing to Louis and his entire demeanor once so warm and gentle became...rigid.

He didn’t speak to you that night, but Armand was there to placate your worries.

Louis sits beside you on the couch now, in a silent way of apologizing for his emotional outburst he brings you a midnight snack. The entire time he is watching you listen and take notes. One earbud in whilst your hand pauses and moves to write at the most random of moments.

He’s eerily still with the only movement behind his eyes watching and hearing every single thing.

These days he's become more brazen in his affections. Sitting closer, allowing his hand to linger when he passes your chai, playing with the baby curls at the nape of your neck. But there is something even more intimate as he sits beside you, watching you.

"Gonna keep staring me down like a creep?"

His lips perk up, "sorry cher. Just memorizing your face."

Your fingers stop typing, your train of thought halts for a second till they both return at the steady pace you had going. You’ll give him that one, your heart did feel fuzzy. But you’ll be damned to cry in front of him.

"Can a vampire love?"

Louis shifts a bit in his seat tilting his head upward, you wonder if he is avoiding your gaze or truly in thought. "I believe we feel immensely. Everything feels...deeper. Almost too much if I am quite honest. I think that’s why so many of us choose the sleep, eternal rest from these overwhelming emotions. These feelings are magnified and beyond anything a mortal can comprehend."

Now it’s your turn to look up. "But if your entire being is dead, what is it that allows you to feel again? Your heart no longer works, your brain must not function, or maybe it does. But you are dead. How can the dead feel?"

Ah, that mind of yours. Louis loved it deeply and he will miss is dearly. His eyes flicker to his joined palms which rest atop your knee till they return on you.

"I've heard stories, seen elder vampires that lived many lifetimes take their life because of the loneliness. At times, I myself felt it. It’s the silence that kills us, but as I said before you feel it double, hell even triple than the loneliness you may feel at times. Had our feelings died with us, then I do not think they would put an end to themselves."

You nod, pausing for a moment again. To feel that much it’s scary. It must be even scarier to love. Falling in love now, heartbreak even feels like it takes over your whole body. But to feel that even more, how can anyone survive through that?

"I feel it too," you pause for a moment, "it's the worst." When Louis doesn’t respond, you blank your lack of sleep or the stress of work that leaves you open and vulnerable. “I don’t think I could survive it. Loving at least. It hurts and it’s always taking. Leaving you high and dry in the end. I don’t….I couldn’t handle that again.”

Though Louis respects your boundaries, he feels the buzz in your bones. He hears the tremor in your voice, sees the mist of tears sitting in your eyes. A desire sitting on your lips. “What do you need?” It comes out as a whisper, yet it feels so loud.

And your response is just as quiet, “can you…can you just hold me. Please, Louis.”

The laptop is shut and atop the table, and he is holding you close. Your eyes slowly fall shut as you wrap your arms back around him. He pulls you atop him and you squeeze him back hiding your face in the nook of his shoulder.

He must be shushing you or speaking but you can’t hear it, all you can do is soak this in.

You feel complete again, so whole.

[marauder-misprint]

hello hello tis me again, the regulus fanatic. im not aware if you saw my message yet but i ADORED your regulus fic and so i’ve prepared another if you’d like

get this, regulus x (once again, im obsessed) whimsy slytherin reader where she’s touchy and affectionate towards everyone especially close friends and one day regulus finally works up the nerve to ask her iut and shes just like ‘sure😃’ thinkings its just a normal day and reggies just acting weird

cut to like a week later when regulus leans in for a kiss and readers all like ‘WHOA😲’ cue awkward conversation about how they’ve been dating fir a week then readers rushes to tell everyone because she’s been pining for him for YEARS

sorry if thats a lot and have a wonderful wonderful morning evening and night!

Hello again! I had so much fun writing this! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎Still getting used to whimsy!reader so I hope it's okay that reader is highkey a yapper. They are both pining in this and just, augh! Fluff.

My turn to yap: I had a similar situation to this when I was younger. Fully convinced I was dating this guy for a few weeks before finding out that he had a girlfriend and he thought we were just "hanging out" despite going to very date-like places.

This story is nothing like my experience - Thank you for this very cute request ❤︎

Mr. 'Allergic to touching'

Regulus Black x Whimsical!reader

4k words

cw: fluff, pining,

Personal space isn’t a concept you’re familiar with. Well, it is but you like being in everyone’s, especially those you are close friends with. You’ll lean over the backs of chairs and couches as your friends sit in them, often reading or occasionally doing homework. You are always holding hands with your friends as you walk to class together. When you are relaxing somewhere, you are either draped over someone’s lap or pulling them into yours. That is just the edge of it too. You greet everyone with a hug, even if you are meeting them for the first time. It is just how you are. And you are blissfully unaware of how it bugs some people. 

Regulus, however, isn’t one of those people. Everyone expects him to be with his cold demeanor, how he snaps at first years for being too loud, and the fact that he doesn’t tolerate that amount of touching from anyone else. There is something about your touch that makes Regulus feel warm and content. That’s why he doesn’t mind it, but he won’t tell anyone that. Barty and Evan would call him ‘soft’ if they heard that. It would be even worse if they knew how Regulus fully feels about you; they know that he’s friends with you and tolerates your touches, but that’s all they know. 

Still, the idea of having your gentle touches and words of affection to himself makes Regulus smile. It’s a vice, he tells himself. He’s supposed to keep a plain expression, to be indifferent toward frivolities of his peers and their petty drama. You have a knack for breaking his resolve, especially when it’s lap you’ve laid down in or his chair you’re leaning over to see what page he’s on in his book. 

“Oi, Regulus, you coming?” Barty calls from across the common room. 

“Yes,” he replies dryly from where he is sitting near the fireplace.

Your friends are going to the library in an attempt to study and actually get something done. A group of third years playing exploding snap in the common room wasn’t allowing any of them to focus. Dorcas had been the one to angrily slam her hands into her book and swear at the younger students, and then you suggested the library. At least Dorcas would be able to study there. Regulus assumes that he’ll end up sitting across from you, or next to you, and he won’t be able to focus. 

Regulus follows behind the group. You’re in the middle holding hands with Pandora. You have a floral print tote bag slung over your shoulder that likely has Pandora’s things in it as well. Maybe he’d be the one holding your hand and carrying the bag one day… And now he’s smiling. 

“Excited to write that essay for Slughorn or something?” Barty asks, falling into step with Regulus. 

The smile disappears as quickly as it appeared. “Because essence of dittany uses is such an interesting topic,” he says sarcastically. 

“You’re the one who was smiling, mate. Something made you crack.” 

“Remembered something funny. Merlin forbid…” Regulus gives Barty a sideways glance, hoping that his answer would satiate him. 

Barty just flexes his eyebrows and adjusts his stride to match Evan’s. Regulus doesn’t mind that the rest of the walk is silent for him. The rest of his friends, including you, take part in livelier conversations, but Regulus is content just listening in. 

Just as he predicted, you sit down next to Regulus in the library. You place a hand on his arm.

“Could you help me with this Charms assignment? Unless you’re doing Potions with Junior?” you ask. 

He had already finished that assignment, but it is you asking. How could he say no to you?

“It’d be my pleasure. Have you started it?” 

You shake your head.

“Alright. That’s no problem. Let’s get the books you need.”

He stands up and you follow him into the shelves. You hum to yourself as he selects a few books. You like how easily he finds everything in the library and that he just knows which books you’ll need for the assignment. He doesn’t hold them out for you to carry. You see it as a polite gesture. Regulus is just nice like that. 

Back at the table, Dorcas is working earnestly on her homework. Evan, Barty and Pandora are having a hushed discussion that gets even quieter as you and Regulus retake your seats. Regulus starts flipping through the books to find the pages you’d need to reference. You watch him for a minute before realizing that you should be taking the assignment out. 

Once you look ready, Regulus moves one of the books right in front of you and explains which part of the assignment the passage relates to. Instinctively, you scoot your chair impossibly closer to his. Regulus tenses slightly; being so close to you will certainly make focusing on your assignment. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. You don’t notice. You’re too focused on trying to understand the point of a knitting charm. 

“But I can knit. I enjoy knitting. Why would I bother learning a charm to do it for me?” you ask in a defeated voice. 

“Well, what if I needed something knitted? I don’t know how to knit,” Regulus says in a fairly quiet voice, being that you are in the library. 

You tilt your head slightly and rest your chin on your hand. “I could knit it for you. I’m quite good. Remember that shirt I knitted for Cas’ girlfriend?” 

You casually leave out that you charged Dorcas for the shirt. You wouldn’t charge Regulus. If he needed something, you’d be more than willing to make it for him. 

“Then it’s for all the poor sods who don’t know the same wonderful people I do,” he says before realizing that he’s just called you wonderful. Outloud. To your face. 

His face burns in embarrassment.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” you coo, hugging Regulus and being completely oblivious to the red shade of his face. Then you school your own emotions and turn back to your assignment. “Right, poor sods who are lonely and friendless.” 

Regulus puts all of his attention on the assignment. He needs to ignore the way his body still feels your warmth minutes after you let him go. 

“Right, ‘m bored. Kitchens?” Barty announces after some time. 

Pandora and Evan agree immediately and stand up. Dorcas waves them off, still working on her homework. The three don’t even wait for you or Regulus to respond. You both had your heads down, exchanging whispers about your assignment. Regulus is trying not to think about how close you are, and you’re grateful that Regulus is being so patient with you. 

After a while, Dorcas excuses herself and says she’ll see you back in the common room. It’s just you and Regulus now. You’ve almost finished your assignment. You’re tired of it, if you’re being honest. You would have given up a while ago if it was anyone else helping you, but it’s Regulus so you’re trying your best to stay focused. 

“And you’re done!” Regulus says with a small smile. “You did it.”

“Thanks to you,” you tell him. “I would’ve turned in a half-finished assignment.”

“Do you do that often?” 

You shrug. “When the assignment is stupid and pointless.”

Regulus chuckles softly as he stands up to put the books back. He wasn’t expecting you to follow him into the shelves but you did. You don’t say anything, rather humming to yourself again and watching Regulus. You like the way he carries himself and he’s just pretty in general so who wouldn’t want to watch him? Once your things are packed up from the table, you walk back to the common. In your usual fashion, you’re holding onto Regulus’ arm, which means you’ve unintentionally disabled his ability to think clearly.

“Sorry you didn’t get to work on your Potions essay,” you say.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have made much progress on it anyway.”

“You know, I find dittany to be quite pretty. Wish it grew naturally around here. My mum grows them at home, a large section of our garden actually. It’d actually be helpful if our dorms weren’t in the dungeons. Then I could grow it in our dorms. I’m sure Pandora agrees with me,” you ramble and you keep going. 

Regulus can’t help his smile as he listens to you. He fully meant what he told Barty earlier; he didn’t find dittany, nor its essence, all that interesting. Your appreciation for the plant? He’d be willing to write down every word that was coming out of your mouth. Before you start to descend down the final staircase before the common room, Regulus puts a hand on yours where it's holding onto his arm. His gut is telling him it’s now or never. 

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he asks, his voice steady but stomach flipping with nerves. 

“Of course! If the weather’s anything like last weekend, it’s going to be beautiful out. Although, I wouldn’t mind if it was a tad less windy.”

“It was windy last weekend, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” 

You give his arm a little squeeze before you head down the stairs and into the common room. Once in the common room though, you spot Pandora and Dorcas and rush over to them. Regulus doesn’t mind your sudden departure. The warmth of you on his arm not only lingers, but the fact that you agreed to go on a date with him? He could catch a snitch without his broom. His smile doesn’t falter as he strolls through the common room and disappears into his dorm. 

“Oi, you’re smiling again,” Barty says when Regulus sits down at his desk with the intent to work on that stupid Potions essay. 

“Smiling illegal now?” he deadpans. 

“No… but it’s weird when you do it. You’re not a smiler.” 

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he knows what Barty means. He can’t help it though. You agreed to go on a date with him.

---

You meet Regulus at breakfast on Saturday, dressed nicely and casually at the same time. Regulus outdressed you easily, but that was to be expected. Even his most casual outfits tended to be more formal and expensive. He is a Black, afterall. 

Regulus did eventually tell Barty about the date. After some teasing in their dorm, Regulus managed to convince him to not make a big deal about it. If it didn’t go well, Regulus didn’t want everyone knowing about it. He fully hopes it’ll go well, but given the chance it doesn’t, he wants to be able to move past it without any issues. 

You grab Regulus’ hand when you leave for Hogsmeade. Holding his hand rather than his arm makes Regulus’ heart pound in his chest – oh, the effects you have on him. 

“Do you need to go into Spintwitches? Didn’t you say you were running low on broom polish?” you ask.

Regulus stares at you for a moment before nodding. He barely remembers having said that sometime this week, before he even asked you out. He appreciates that you actually pay attention to what he says more than he can express.

“Okay, so we’ll go there and then, if you don’t mind, can we walk around Tomes and Scrolls? I’ve been talking to the owner about expanding his stock on Divination products and I want to see if he’s got anything in yet.”

“Erm, yeah. Anywhere you want to go, darling.” 

Even though you’re on a date and holding hands, Regulus’ face still heats up when he realizes he let a pet name slip. He silently thanks the fates that Barty and Evan didn’t “just happen” to tag along today; if they had heard him call you that, Regulus would never hear the end of it. While you notice him looking away from you, to hide the blush, you don’t think much of it. It’s just an odd quirk that he’s been doing around you more and more. 

Regulus tries to not take too much time in Spintwitches. He only ever uses one brand of polish, but since he’s buying it, he has to mentally debate if he needs more rags or a sharpener for his tail-twig clippers. He decides against both. The whole time in the store, you held onto his hand until he needed it to get out his money to pay. 

You swing his arm a little bit as you head to Tomes and Scrolls. As soon as you step into the shop, you pull Regulus toward a “New!” stand. Regulus feels apprehensive as he eyes the stand. It has more mainstream Divination books, but also ones that are more focused on crystal energies and aura readings. Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from scoffing at a “Nargle Repellant Kit.” He is fairly certain that nargles don’t exist. You scan the whole stand, even dropping Regulus’ hand for the second time so you could crouch to see the lower items.

“This is brilliant!” you exclaim, pulling out a book with depictions of constellations and crystals on its cover. “Dora will be thrilled when I show her this!”

You almost make a comment about how you’re surprised that she didn’t come today. It’s rarely ever just you and Regulus. You like that it is, but the point still stands. It’s not common. 

You grab two more books and head to the register. When the owner tells you the cost, you go to grab your money, but before you can even open your coin purse, Regulus has placed the correct amount on the counter. 

“Oh, I could’ve gotten that,” you say, a bit shocked.

“It’s my treat.”

“Then thank you, kind sir.”

Regulus gives you a soft smile and takes the bagged books from the owner. It wasn’t your tote of school supplies, but it was close enough – Regulus would carry it until you returned to the common room. 

“Anywhere else you want to go or should we go for butterbeers?” Regulus asks. 

“Hmmm…” you hum, taking Regulus’ hand again and giving it a squeeze. “Butterbeers. And then Honeydukes before we go back to the castle. I will eat all my Bertie Beans in the Three Broomsticks if we stop at Honeydukes first.”

Regulus chuckles. “That I know. Nothing like butterbeer to wash down the delightful flavor of earwax.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand again. The Three Broomsticks is busy, which isn’t surprising in any way. You find a booth for the two of you and a small wave of guilt falls over you. It feels wrong to take up an entire booth with just two of you. You make a mental note to invite any of your friends over if you see them. 

“Tell me, how did you get Mr. Brown to order these books?” Regulus asks, patting the Tomes and Scrolls bag next to him.

“It was so difficult. But really, I think Dora and I just wore him down. You know, asking and asking for these type of books and telling him it’s vital to our education. Little bit of forgery…”

“Forgery?” Regulus repeats.

“Well, he wanted a note from Professor Dawntry saying that they were necessary, or beneficial at least. And do you think she’d write that? No. So… we took it upon ourselves to write it. It’s all thanks to Junior for forging her signature. I think that really sold it to Mr. Brown.”

Regulus smirks. “And what if he ever talks to Dawntry in person? Asks her about the books that she’s endorsed?” 

“I already purchased the books, silly,” you say with an affectionate eye roll. “You purchased the books technically. But what’s he going to do? Force me to return them?”

“I suppose business is business.”

“Exactly! And it’s not like I’m requesting books on the Dark Arts.”

Then you start to explain the more intricate details about this particular branch of Divination that you’re looking into and how the Hogwarts library only has so many books on it. You’ve even read the books on it that are in the Restricted Section with real notes from Professor Dawntry. 

“That’s where we got the signature for Junior to copy,” you say.

Regulus nods and you continue. He’s more than fascinated while listening to you ramble. He hopes his staring is more ‘attentive listener’ than ‘creepy stalker’ or ‘you have something on your face.’ 

You’re pleased that Regulus doesn’t look bored with you right now. You’ve talked about this subject in the past to a variety of people and most of them give you skeptical looks and try to change the subject. And then there are the few who look more bored than the average student in Professor Binns’ class. Regulus is just attentive and it fuels the butterflies in your stomach. 

After a few butterbeers, Regulus hands Madam Rosmerta a few galleons before you head over to Honeydukes.

“I can pay you back for that,” you say, once again reaching for your coin purse before Regulus puts his hand on your arm.

“Don’t. Told you, it’s my treat.”

“What? The whole day? Reg, you already got my books!”

“I invited you, darling. Today’s on me.” 

A faint blush dusts your cheeks. “Damn, you should invite me to Hogsmeade more often.”

That’s the plan, Regulus thinks. He feels it would’ve been too forward, too flirty to say out loud, but it is the plan. If today continues to go well, he plans on being your Hogsmeade date quite often and being your date to the Yule Ball and asking you to wear his extra jersey to quidditch games and being your study buddy and… He is getting ahead of himself. He needs to finish the first date strong before he can plan out the rest of your relationship. 

You don’t take long in Honeydukes. Both of you know exactly which sweets you want and where they are. Having stopped there every visit since you started going to Hogsmeade in third year, it’s a well rehearsed visit. Once more, Regulus pays for your things. You don’t protest at all this time, knowing that he’ll insist that it’s his treat. It’s a tad bizarre the longer you think about it; you don’t recall him paying for anyone else that often. Usually when the whole group goes to the Three Broomsticks, everyone throws a galleon or a few sickles on the table before you leave, based on how much each drinks or if someone ordered food. Your solution? Just don’t think about it. He’s being nice and you don’t complain when someone is being extra nice to you. Definitely not when it’s Regulus. 

On the way back to the castle, you tell Regulus about the games you used to play with cousins using Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Some of the games you’ve played at Hogwarts through the years, but your cousins have their own rules and methods of telling the flavors apart. Regulus tells you about the Chocolate Eternals that Sirius would sneak him when they were younger.

“He’d have to remind me not to chew them every time. Mum’s only given me enough to get two so we each get one. They don’t melt. Make it last.” 

You give him a slightly pitiful look. “I guess sweets weren’t too common growing up?” 

“No. Mother believes they are for special occasions and even then, they are limited… Come to think of it, I’m not sure Mother actually gave Sirius the money for the chocolates. He probably nicked it from her purse.” 

Regulus chuckles at the idea and you’re glad the conversation returns to its previous light-hearted nature. Regulus is able to keep his unspoken promise to carry your things all the way back to the common room. 

“Thanks for everything, Reg,” you say, giving Regulus a hug before taking your things back to your dorm. 

Regulus smiles to himself as he heads back to his. He feels proud of himself. He had a great first date with you and you seemed to enjoy yourself. 

---

Regulus starts placing himself next to you as much as he can. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. You’re not complaining by any means. It’s nice and you like it. It’s just different. But you do notice that he’s becoming more relaxed around you, more himself. There have even been a few times where it’s just the two of you and you fall into easy conversation. 

After dinner on Friday evening, you sit next to Regulus on the plush couch in the common room. He’s got out the Transfiguration textbook, clearly doing the assigned reading. You have no intention of doing so. Regulus becomes less stiff as you sit down. It’s a miniscule change but you notice it. You scooch closer to Regulus and he moves his arm around you, holding you closer into his side. 

Pandora and Barty, having witnessed this, exchange curious glances. Regulus had told Barty that the date went well and he just assumed you were on the same page, that you are now dating. You had told Pandora about Regulus buying and how sweet he was the entire time, followed with a desperate ‘Do you think he might like me?’ Both Pandora and Barty had never seen Regulus put his arm around someone like that and he definitely never pulled someone in closer to him. His apparent tolerance of touches applying to only you was one thing; this was a whole new level. 

“You smell good,” you mutter into his chest. 

“Hm, thank you,” Regulus says quietly. 

Then he musters all his courage and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes go wide and you sit up, staring at him. Pandora and Barty have similar looks of surprise on their faces. Their quiet and previously boring evening in the common room just got interesting. 

“You… just… You kissed…” you stutter out.

You’re unable to actually finish your thought. You aren’t completely oblivious. You know that Regulus doesn’t give affection. 

“Erm, is that okay?” he asks, suddenly looking bashful and unsure of himself. 

“You don’t… You don’t… do that?” you say, sounding very, very unsure of what just happened. 

He wets his lips nervously. “I thought it’d be okay, with you, you know, since we’re dating?” 

You sit up even straighter. 

“We are?” you gasp. 

Regulus’ face burns bright red and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Barty trying not to fall out of his chair with suppressed laughter. 

“Since when?” you add. 

“Last week? I asked you on a date and it went well? At least, I thought it went well… I had a good time. Did you not?” 

You gasp louder and throw yourself at Regulus, burying him in a hug. 

“Merlin, I didn’t realize! No, it did go well!” You pull back from him with the widest grin he has ever seen. “You like me?” 

Regulus adjusts himself next to you, turning slightly to be more facing you. So apparently you weren’t on the same page about everything, but you seemed open to it.

“He doesn’t go around kissing everyone, sweetheart,” Barty chimes in, earning himself a glare from Regulus.

“Is that why you paid for everything? Because it was a date?” you ask Regulus.

He nods and you pull him into another hug. 

“So we’re dating,” you say.

“If that’s okay with you?” Regulus says, still sounding unsure of himself.

You pull back again and this time it’s you nodding. Then you get off the couch and practically jump onto Pandora’s lap.

“Did you hear, Dora? I’m dating Regulus!” you say happily. “Oh, I need to find Dorcas! She needs to know!”

And you are bounding away in search of your friend. You don’t hesitate to tell everyone that you pass that you’re dating Regulus Black, yes, the Regulus Black. You can’t help it – you’re just so excited that this yearslong crush has manifested into something real.

“About time too,” Pandora says once you’ve disappeared up the stairs toward the girls’ dormitories. “She’s been smitten with you for years.”

“I’d say you’re perfect for each other. Mr. ‘Allergic to touching’ and Ms. ‘Always touching,’” Barty adds. 

Regulus throws a pillow at Barty, which sends him into a cackling fit. Barty knows that Regulus must really like you to let him get away with that comment. After all, Regulus could’ve thrown his Transfiguration book at him. 

Tags: @navs-bhat

[another-fantasy-world]

Divine Possession

→ gods!AgathaRio x mortal!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.8k

summary: In a world where gods still walk unseen among mortals, you, a devout follower of the Goddess of Death suddenly found yourself pulled into another God’s embrace. Sparked by their past memories and spiteful rivalry, the Goddess of Lost and Forbidden Magic retaliates in the most haunting ways. Their presence always surrounded you, subtle and obsessive, blurring the line between worship and possession. As memories resurface and divine tension ignites, you must choose whether to break free, or surrender to the dark, intoxicating love of the goddesses who have always claimed you as theirs.

authors note: writing this was a fever dream. i thought about this idea while breaking down and it has haunted me ever since. i think i thought too much ideas and just smooshed it down into the fic, i sincerely apologize for the shitty transitions and rough flow.

content warning(s): blasphemous writing, unhealthy dynamics, implied dubcon, implied mind control, implied death, loss of control, shitty writing, non-canon compliance, shitty characterization. i mean it. i feel like this is really shitty-

tags: @saphiccarma

═════════════

All your life, you were taught that gods were dangerous.

Don’t insult them.

Don’t anger them.

Don’t draw their attention.

You listened. Everyone did. Like many in your village, you chose one god to worship.

Just one. Always just one.

Because to love more than one was an invitation to disaster. For Gods are obsessive creatures and catastrophes may happen when Gods fight over mortals. The old stories warned of it; of jealous gods, obsessive gods, divine tempers igniting mortal wars.

That’s what the legends said, anyway.

And gods never fight over someone like you.

Or so you believed.

How naive you were.

Well, it wasn’t as if the Goddess of Death would ever fight for someone like you.

You didn’t worship her for protection. You didn’t beg her to save you.

You worshipped her for the after.

While others feared death, or chased it with fanatical devotion, you offered something simpler. Gentler.

You never sacrificed bodies.

You offered silence.

You tended her temple’s edges like a gardener in mourning: clearing blood from the altar, straightening the candles, watering the wildflowers that grew, trimming the overgrown vines where no priest dared look.

You believed, deep down, that even Death longed for peace.

That she didn’t want to be worshipped with more death.

That she, too, remembered, perhaps even yearned for life.

That's what you believe in.

You were humble. Careful.

As much as you longed to meet your goddess, you had no desire to meet her early.

So you wandered. Never staying in one place too long.

But no matter how far you strayed, you always seemed to find her again, another temple, another altar, another quiet place to kneel and light a candle no one else would touch.

Your feet wandered, but your heart never did.

But on one such journey, something changed.

You found her shrine, old, forgotten, weather-worn and crumbling beneath ivy and time. It stood in the clearing of a forest no one remembered the name of. The villagers had whispered of strange things happening in those woods, of voices that didn’t echo, of shadows that lingered too long.

It wasn’t marked. No sigils, no name. Just a stone figure inside the crumbling walls, half-swallowed by moss and time, arms outstretched like she was still waiting.

You should’ve turned away. You shouldn’t have stopped. But something about the silence pulled you in. It was too still. Too patient. It wasn’t hollow, it was… watching.

She was watching.

Whoever she was, she'd been waiting a long, long time.

You told yourself it was just pity. That’s why you cleaned the dust from the old altar, picked up the shards of shattered offerings. Why you brushed the dust from her face, cleared the leaves, righted a toppled candle holder, lit a flame that burned violet for a second too long, flickered too slowly to be natural. You didn’t know her name. Only that something once lived here.

And apparently, something still did.

Things started to feel… wrong.

Not dangerous. Not yet. But wrong.

People started looking at you too quickly, then looking away faster, like they’d seen something they weren’t supposed to.

When you prayed at Lady Rio’s temple, the air around you felt charged, like the calm before a monsoon. A weight behind your spine, the prickle of static in the air, like the storm had grown curious.

There was always a weight behind you. A hush. The kind of silence that hums.

And when you were alone, you felt it.

Something stepping into your shadow.

A breath that wasn’t yours.

When you turned, there was nothing.

But then the glimpses started.

A woman with a face like twilight and eyes like secrets. Sometimes in the corner of your vision. Sometimes in your dreams. Always watching. She never speaks. Not at first. But you see her. She makes her presence known; bold and unapologetic.

Unseen, high above in the rafters of Rio’s temple, something ancient flickered into being; robes of storm clouds and nightfall, hair unbound and free, eyes like the space between stars.

“She’s mine, you know,” came a voice like laughter wrapped in silk, low and decadent

Rio lay sprawled across her obsidian throne, like a feline lying in wait, cheek resting in her palm as she smiled.

“She was never yours, darling. She just pitied you.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “And yet I’m the one she lit a candle for.”

“Because you looked pathetic,” Rio purred.

“Dusty little thing rotting in a graveyard shrine. Honestly, I should thank her for dragging you back into existence.” Rio continued, laying back with a wide smirk, further provoking the other Goddess.

The walls trembled softly.

“Careful, Death. You might bore her to death before I can properly haunt her.”

“She already sees me.”

“She feels me.”

“She worshiped me first, you're clinging to her like a leech.”

Their standoff rippled like storm clouds colliding, but down below, you only shivered and pulled your cloak tighter. You looked up to the sky to see if it's going to rain, but instead you felt a shiver down your spine.

The sky felt wrong, you swear you saw flashes of violet and green yet when you blinked it was gone. You sighed tiredly, perhaps the journey was tiring you out.

No. Something was definitely so wrong.

At first, it was only sensations.

The smell of something burning when there is no fire was lit around you. The sound of a lullaby you didn’t know the words to curling at the edges of your dreams. You’d wake with ash on your fingertips, petals in your hair. One morning, you found a bloom tucked behind your ear; black as ink, soft as moth wings. You knew you hadn’t put it there.

Then came the whispers.

Not words. Just sound, like breath over your shoulder, like thunder murmuring too far away to fear. Sometimes it felt like laughter. Sometimes like someone was calling your name… but something swallowed it before it finished.

You tried to ignore it.

You tried to focus on your rites, tried to pray as you always had. But Rio’s temple grew colder. Her altars no longer bloomed for you like they used to. In fact, some gardens had mysterious flowers growing. Lavender, Clematis, Verbena and Aster. All violet flowers started peeking through. The candles flickered toward violet before settling into white. The shadows around her statues deepened. You knelt before her, heart bowed in devotion, and still felt like you were being watched by someone else entirely. You felt like something was pulling at your soul.

You didn’t know that far above, curled lazily on her throne of bone and obsidian, Rio watched with narrowed eyes.

“She’s pulling your prayers away from me,” she said aloud, though no one else could hear her.

Agatha materialized out of shadow, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves. “You should’ve cleaned up better. You left her room to wonder.”

“She chose me.”

Agatha smirked, circling the throne like a storm ready to strike. “Oh, my love. Mortals are fickle beings. She’s curious. And I’m so very good at being interesting.”

“And when she burns under your touch? When you unravel her like you do everything you love?”

“She won’t fear me.”

“She should.”

Back in the waking world, you felt like you were living between two dreams. Between lightning and silence. You no longer knew who the offerings belonged to, flowers would wither at Rio's altar only for you to dream about flowers blooming in the forgotten altar you once cleaned. You’d close your eyes in a prayer to Rio and see violet flame behind your eyelids.

You felt as if someone was stealing your reverence and claiming it as theirs.

You started talking aloud. Not because you expected a reply, but because it made you feel less watched.

Sometimes, the shadows did respond.

One night, as you sat by your campfire, you whispered thanks to whatever unseen force had guided you through the storm earlier that day.

The wind shifted. The flames danced violet for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” something whispered, something too close.

You didn’t sleep that night. In fact, you barely did.

And when you did sleep, you woke up in strange positions.

Once with your arms outstretched in prayer, though you didn’t remember kneeling. Another time with your back arched in a way that left you sore for days, like something had tried to puppeteer your body mid-dream.

You no longer dreamed of silence. Now, you dreamt of fire and cold, of stone temples cracking under violet lightning, of footsteps echoing in twin rhythms behind you. You spoke in your sleep. You murmured names you didn’t know.

You started hearing them when you were awake.

Not clearly. Not completely. But when you entered Rio’s temple , the air bent with sound. Voices like thunder underwater. Rio’s presence came with a teasing chill, curling around your shoulders like a lover’s shawl. The other god’s came like pressure behind your ribs, heat crawling down your spine.

One day, while lighting Rio’s candles, you felt something trace your jaw.

You dropped the match and whipped your head around, yet you saw nothing but shadows.

You looked down and noticed something that made you swallow with nervousness.

The flame didn’t go out.

Another time, as you walked past a mirror in an inn, your reflection paused a second longer than you did. The face behind yours, just for a flicker, wasn’t your own.

You stumbled back. Blinked. It was gone.

But the feeling remained: you were not alone. You were being watched, touched, wanted.

You then forced yourself to believe this. This feeling isn't normal. You don't chalk it up to coincidences anymore. You don't gaslight yourself anymore.

You needed answers, so you sought answers in the way mortals do when gods refuse to speak plainly: books.

You found yourself in the back halls of a hidden library, one that shouldn’t have been open that late, nestled deep in a town whose name already slipped your mind. Dust clung to your sleeves, cobwebs stretched like veins between the shelves. The candlelight you held flickered with every breath you took.

And then… a sound.

A thud behind you.

You turned. A book.

It had not been there a moment before.

There was no title. No author. No markings on its worn leather cover. Just a pulsing warmth, like something inside it still breathed.

Your fingers hesitated above the binding, but you opened it anyway.

The script inside was… wrong. Angular and fluid at once. Symbols that shifted when you weren’t looking directly at them. But as your eyes moved over the text, comprehension unfurled in your mind like a forgotten melody.

And the name burned itself into your thoughts.

Agatha.

It echoed like a bell through your ribs. A name that didn’t belong to Lady Rio. A name you had never heard, and yet it sank into your bones like it had always been waiting for you to speak it.

You snapped the book shut.

It disappeared the moment your hands left it, vanished into thin air like it had never existed.

But the knowledge remained.

Behind the veil of divinity, tensions rise just as they have been these past months.

“You're circling her like a starving dog,” Rio hissed, perched atop her throne of black marble and bone, one leg crossed with lazy elegance.

“She pities you. That’s all this is.”

Agatha’s smirk was slow, curling like smoke.

“And yet she whispered my name in her sleep.”

“She only learned your name because you haunt her dreams.”

Agatha took a step closer. The shadows around Rio’s throne twitched.

“She dreams of me because I left an impression. When was the last time she even offered you more than silence?”

“I don’t need her voice to know I own her heart…” Rio said, rising now, her presence flooding the space like velvet death. “...She belongs to me.”

“And yet she's slipping through your fingers,” Agatha growled, “And now she’s looking at me.”

“You just want to be worshiped. You want her to fill that hole where your relevance used to be.”

Agatha’s laugh was breathy and sharp, bitter with memory.

“At least I don’t keep her at arm’s length like a fragile doll on a shelf.”

“I keep her safe from monsters like you.” Rio spat back, sitting up on her throne, her posture akin to that of an agitated cat.

“You keep her lonely. You’re afraid she’ll love me more.”

“I know she will, if you twist her mind the way you twist everything else.”

Agatha was in her space now, toe to toe, violet magic humming at her fingertips.

Their magic crackled in the air, violet storms clashing with shadows laced in bone-white flame. Their lips were inches apart, their hatred wound so tightly it trembled with the promise of something else.

“Say it,” Agatha whispered.

“Say what?”

“That you can’t stand the way she looks at me.”

“I can’t stand that you make her tremble.”

“Then do something about it.”

And Rio did.

She shoved Agatha back against the wall of the realm with godly force, lips crashing against hers like a curse. Agatha clawed at her in return, sparks flying from her fingertips, bodies colliding in divine fury. Their mouths moved like war, like desperation, like worship and hatred had melted together.

Hands gripped hips. Teeth scraped skin. Magic flared, twisted, fused. They dragged each other to the ground, pulling and biting and gasping like two storms mating mid-air, thunder screaming in their blood.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

It was too much history for love. Too much anger. Too many nights of yearning alone in different corners of the void.

But it was honest.

And when it ended, when they finally collapsed together on the floor of the realm, tangled in each other, breathless and shining with the aftermath, they didn’t speak. They just lay there.

Agatha’s fingers traced idle circles on Rio’s thigh. Rio’s cheek rested against Agatha’s bare shoulder, pretending not to enjoy the warmth.

It was… peaceful.

Until the veil trembled.

Their eyes snapped open.

They sat up together, slowly, as if hearing the same song carried on the wind.

A prayer.

Your voice.

Soft, trembling, but clear.

You spoke Agatha’s name aloud for the first time.

And then, Rio’s.

You offered them both a flame. You called both of them.

Agatha went still. Rio’s mouth parted slightly in disbelief.

“She knows me,” Agatha whispered.

“She chose me,” Rio murmured.

“No,” Agatha said, eyes wide with something terrified and divine, “she chose us.”

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.

You, on the other hand, were breathless. Upon learning of the other God who haunted your dreams, You ran.

The sky above swirled in hues not yet born, clouds cracking with color that should not exist. You pushed forward anyway, until Rio’s temple towered before you, its spires piercing the night, its gates open with quiet welcome.

You stepped inside, breathless. The air inside was heavy, reverent.

You knelt at the altar like you always did.

You lit the candles like you always did.

But then, with a heart thundering like a traitor in your chest, you reached for a second candle.

Your hand hovered.

To speak the name of another god within a consecrated temple was blasphemy. You knew that. Every bone in your body screamed caution.

And yet… you whispered.

“Agatha.”

The flame sprang to life before you even touched the wick.

It burned deep violet.

You waited for the walls to tremble. For Rio’s wrath to crash down around you. But nothing came. Only silence.

Then… warmth.

From behind the veil, a rush of divine presence. Two forces, colliding in joy and disbelief. You felt it like sunlight breaking through a storm.

“Lady Agatha… Lady Rio…”

Your voice trembled, but you continued. You mumbled apologies, you mumbled thanks, you even cried yourself dry.

The moment you spoke, the air in the temple shifted. Every candle flared. The stones beneath your knees pulsed with energy. You felt their eyes, one heavy like storm clouds, the other cold and endless as the grave.

And for the moment, both were satisfied.

Time passed and the heat you felt around you as well as the shiver that settled in your bones disappeared, it was then replaced by a gentle warmth that seeped into your soul. As if comforting your very existence.

The stares you get when you enter the towns disappear. You fail to find more of Agatha's shrine. You fail to find more information, aside from her name. So you carry a small altar for her in your bag. You carved a small statue for her and Rio and brought them everywhere, setting them on the table in every inn or tavern to rest in, and when you needed to camp out, you set them up on a tree stump, or on the ground beside your makeshift bed.

You still felt their eyes on you, yet it made you feel safe. Animals began interacting with you, particularly bunnies. You began to wonder if Agatha is the Goddess of Bunnies, or animals.

When you thought of that, the trees waved with the sudden air, sending through it a sound like a boisterous laugh. Your eyes snapped to the makeshift altar for them both, witnessing first hand how Rio's candle danced as if she was laughing and how Agatha's candle flickered wildly, as if offended.

You quickly offer an apology before moving on.

The days had grown softer.

Not quieter, no, the presence of two goddesses at your back made silence a rare luxury, but softer. Warmer. You had become a thread sewn tightly between them. Every time you prayed, one answered. Sometimes both. And though you could not see them with your eyes, you felt them.

Rio in the shadows that cooled your skin as you walked beneath the sun.

Agatha in the sparks that danced at your fingertips when you lit candles that should’ve stayed cold.

You had been claimed.

You didn’t know what that truly meant yet, only that you woke up feeling watched but not alone. You felt cherished.

And today, the temple was quiet.

You wandered its halls with a broom in one hand and your thoughts in the other. The inner sanctum, where only the high priests were allowed, had recently been opened to you, though no one could say why, or even argue against it. They only stared when you passed, bowed a little too low, whispered your name like it was something sacred.

In that sanctum, you sighed in slight annoyance. You preferred it when you were a shadow. A cleaning shadow perhaps, but still. Just as you were wiping the walls, you noticed something behind a cracked panel of the wall.

It was at that moment wherein you found it.

A scroll, tucked between stones as if hidden in shame or desperation. Wrapped in velvet long faded, sealed with wax marked by an unfamiliar sigil; a triangle spiraled inwards, swallowing itself, absorbing, stealing.

Your fingers trembled as you unrolled it.

It was written in that same strange, shifting script you saw in the book that had revealed Agatha’s name to you. But this time, you understood it more clearly, like her power had taken root in your bones and begun translating the world for you.

"Agatha. Goddess of Forbidden Flame, of Magic Lost to Time.”

“She bore the stars in her blood and defied the divine order.”

“She who loved Death and was exiled for it."

You stopped breathing.

Your eyes flicked to the next line, burned, smudged, but still legible:

"When Death loved her back, the world trembled."

Behind you, the air cooled.

“Nosy little thing,” came a voice behind you; low, silken, lazy.

You turned slowly.

Agatha leaned against the stone doorframe, arms crossed, amusement dancing in her starlight eyes.

“Should’ve hidden it better,” you murmured, voice shaking just a little.

“She didn’t hide it,” Rio replied, stepping in from the other side like a shadow stitched to your thoughts. “I did.”

There was no anger in her voice. Only memory.

You looked between them. You should've fallen to your knees, yet you found yourself unable to

“You two were…” You hesitated.

“You were lovers.”

Agatha’s eyes flicked to Rio’s. Rio held her gaze, unreadable.

“We were more,” Agatha said finally, voice raw with something old.

“We were the beginning of the end. The natural order of things and the divine order of all things.”

“The gods didn’t like that,” Rio added, moving close to you, her hand brushing your arm, grounding you.

“They feared what might happen if Death and Ancient Magic stopped obeying the rules” Agatha said.

“So they pried us apart, took advantage of my weakness. they buried me. Erased me. And left her alone.”

You turned to her slowly. “But I found you.”

Agatha smiled, something fragile flickering behind her usual sharpness.

“You lit my shrine, you woke me up, breathed me a new life” she whispered.

“And you searched for me, remembered me.”

You stepped forward, between them, and for a moment,just a moment,they both looked at you like you were the bridge between what was and what could be.

You reached for their hands.

Agatha’s was warm, tingling with power like static in the air.

Rio’s was cold, steady, anchoring.

They twined their fingers around yours like they’d been waiting.

And in that quiet room filled with ancient secrets and the crackle of something forbidden, you felt the weight of their bond settle around you like a crown.

The three of you remained quiet, words cease to have importance in this moment where their hands clutch your own like their lifeline.

You stayed like that for a few moments until they felt faint, their existence fading into the night. No more words were said, only quiet understanding that you were theirs. And you wanted nothing more than that.

There wasn't a grand spectacle about it. Rio didn't send a prophecy to her high priests about treating you better, nor did she do anything to put you in the spotlight. You went on with your life, as normal as it can be with two goddesses watching your every move.

After that meeting you had with them, something shifted once again.

They began seeing you more. They began descending into the mortal plane just for you.

Something whispered in you that this isn't normal, but that thought vanished before you could fully acknowledge it.

One time, You had fallen ill somewhere between towns, curled up beneath a tree with a fever, too weak to light a fire. You remembered shivering, calling out softly, half in prayer, half in delirium. You didn’t even say a name. You just whispered, “Please.”

The next thing you knew, warmth enveloped you. Not heat from a fire, but something more subtle, like a hand pressed to your cheek, like someone tucking a blanket around your soul. You heard a voice humming low, too far away to make out, but the melody stayed with you when you woke.

There were two things beside you: a bowl of warm broth, still steaming and a single violet flower tucked beneath your head like a pillow.

The next day, you felt better. You travelled until you reached a village. It was a feast day in the village, and they left a plate at your door, set delicately, reverently. You hadn’t told them where you’d be, you haven't even settled down yet, but they’d found you anyway.

The food was familiar. Your favorites. Berries you hadn’t tasted since childhood, roasted roots the way your mother used to make, still steaming.

Tucked beneath the napkin: a note, written in two hands.

One sharp and slanted: “Eat. You forget to care for yourself.”

The other, more fluid: “We remember what you love, even when you do not.”

That night, two figures stood beneath the tree outside your window. They never should've come in. But you left the window open.

You were exhausted after the long walk, and you just collapsed on the bed, still a little sick. You didn’t think they’d follow, but they did. Who were they to resist the temptation you gave them after all?

“I’ll take the floor,” you said upon noticing their arrival, since the inn only had one bed, you refused to let your goddesses be uncomfortable with you.

Agatha’s scoff was soft.

“No, you won’t.”

Rio simply lifted the blankets.

“Lie in the middle, dove.”

You did.

One of them was fire, the other ice. But together, they wrapped around you like divinity, one arm draped over your waist, the other fingers brushing your collarbone, as though grounding themselves in your warmth.

You fell asleep like that.

And though neither slept, they remained there, watching, breathing, anchoring themselves to you like twin moons around a single sun.

The next morning, the plate was gone, and in its place, a single white lily bound in a ribbon scorched at the edge.

Moments like that kept happening. You would be cleaning Rio's temple and Agatha would appear beside you, dressed in what Rio's priests would wear, she kept you company until you had to leave. You would be in a random forest and Rio would pop out of nowhere dressing in a forest green robe, holding a bunch of flowers tied crudely with twine. You swore you saw a flicker of skeleton beneath her robe which made her smirk.

They would pop out of the shadows in the most unexpected moments, their eyes would never leave your form, and their hands never cease to lay claim on you.

Years pass with this dynamic of yours. Unusual, and divine. Yet you have gotten used to it. You even started cooking three meals in case they descend to eat with you. You started paying more for inns, getting a bigger bed for when they join you while you sleep.

What you have with the two Gods isn't conventional. Hell, if the priests knew, you'd be burned for blasphemy. Yet you're content. Just being with them. They're enough, and when there's just the three of you, you feel complete.

Until the peace was once again shattered unceremoniously.

It began with a whisper.

Not a sound, no, deeper than that. A tremor in your bones. A pulse that wasn’t your own.

You were in the garden of Rio’s temple, tending to violets that bloomed under moonlight, when the air changed. It wasn’t Rio. It wasn’t Agatha.

It was too smooth.

Too perfect.

Too new.

Your fingers stilled in the soil. Your breath hitched.

Then came the pressure, like someone brushing too close behind you. A voice, not in your ears, but in your blood:

"You don’t belong to them, little one."

You flinched.

"They will consume you. Break you. I can give you more."

"Worship me."

The seduction in the voice was oily, sweet. Like honey turned bitter.

You stepped back, heart racing.

And then the world shifted

Beyond the veil, across the divine plane, the gods felt it.

The Witch was awake.

Death was in love.

And a mortal bound them both.

They feared what it meant.

Two of the oldest, most feared goddesses tethered by a single mortal, who now knew their names.

One god tried to intervene. Curious. Arrogant. She sent down an echo of himself: golden, warm, coaxing. She offered power, immortality, and freedom.

But Agatha felt it first.

And Rio followed.

There were no grand declarations. No heavenly trumpets.

Only silence, and then ruin.

Agatha appeared like an unraveling spell, barefoot in the heart of the divine court. Her eyes burned with violet fire, ancient sigils swirling in her cloak. She smiled with teeth that remembered betrayal.

Rio came quietly, a shadow trailing beside the end of time. Her footsteps turned divine marble to obsidian. She spoke no words. She didn’t need to.

The court stilled. Even the winds dared not howl.

The god who dared lure you stood tall at first. Cloaked in celestial gold. But as Agatha raised her hand, the stars around her flickered, dimmed, and died.

She spoke only once:

“Mine.”

And then she struck.

Not with fire or thunder, but with the quiet, devastating finality of forgotten magic.

The god crumbled, first her pride, then her form, stripped of light and voice, unmade and scattered across the ether.

Rio laid a single hand over the place her throne had once stood.

Everything under it rotted.

Not destroyed. Not ended. Preserved, a warning.

The pantheon did not interfere.

They watched.

And they trembled.

Because they understood:

Agatha and Rio were not Gods.

Not rulers.

Not ascended.

They were a threat. They can never be bound by rules.

A sleeping storm that stirred only when challenged. A balance no god dared tip again.

On Earth, you felt it like thunder rolling under your skin.

The wind howled once. The bells of Rio’s temple rang on their own. The air turned thick and reverent.

And then… they came.

Agatha, swirling in dark silk and dusklight. Her eyes no longer hidden behind dreams, she looked at you like you were the spell that summoned her back into being.

Rio, calm and quiet, but the space around her bent like the world had to make room for her presence.

They didn’t kneel.

They didn’t demand.

They simply… looked at you.

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. So you did what your soul whispered:

You lit a candle.

You whispered both their names.

And in the space between heartbeats, you felt them press into your world, not as gods to be worshipped,

but as powers too old to name, too dangerous to lose.

Agatha stepped forward, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

“They tried to take you.”

Rio’s voice was soft. “They won’t try again.”

You nodded, not knowing what you’d become, but sensing it all the same.

And the gods, far above, in their broken thrones,

watched the mortal girl between Death and Arcane,

and said nothing.

Because the next time they speak her name,

it might be their last.

Yet the Gods offered one last act of rebellion. They made you remember.

Something snapped in you, like rope that wound too tight. Silence then wrapped around the temple as your eyes glazed over.

The silence was heavy like a storm long held at bay. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts feel too loud.

You stood in front of the altar, the moonlight casting silver on the black marble. The scent of lavender still clung to your skin, a gift from Rio. The warmth in your bones still hummed from Agatha’s protective spell, cast after she caught you shivering hours ago.

So much care. So much gentleness.

And yet,

It wasn’t normal.

“I remember now.”

You gripped the edge of the table, the satin sheets crumple beneath your grip

“You’ve been… playing with my mind.”

Your voice didn’t tremble. Not this time.

Behind you, a soft exhale. Fabric shifting.

“You weren’t supposed to remember yet,” Rio said.

Agatha appeared in the reflection behind you. Her expression unreadable. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“We didn’t take your will,” she murmured. “Only softened the edges. Gave you time to love us properly.”

“I trusted you.”

“You still can.”

You turned.

“How can I?”

Agatha stood with her arms loose at her sides, like a flame resisting the urge to spread. Rio stepped forward but kept her distance, reverent in her restraint.

“I was afraid,” you said. “I thought I was going mad. Waking up in places I didn’t remember walking to. Hearing your voices in my dreams. Always feeling safe, but never knowing why. Like a glorified plaything. A toy for your amusement.”

Rio’s gaze flickered. Agatha looked almost… mournful.

“You were unraveling,” Rio said. “We had to protect what was ours.”

“And am I yours?” you asked, voice low. “Because I don’t remember ever agreeing to something.”

Agatha stepped closer. Slowly. Like approaching a wild animal. “No,” she whispered. “But we prayed you would.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

Rio didn’t blink. “We would’ve waited another lifetime. I'm sure I can pull some…strings.”

The silence broke something in you. Not because you were afraid anymore, but because you finally understood.

The kindness. The attention.

The way no one else dared touch you in the temples. The way your pain was always soothed before you could cry out.

They had shaped your life like sculptors in the dark.

And yet…

You weren’t broken.

You stepped into the space between them.

You looked Agatha in the eyes, then Rio.

Gods. Monsters. Lovers.

“You should’ve let me remember sooner,” you whispered.

Agatha reached out, almost afraid to touch you. “Will you leave us?”

You shook your head. “No. I think… I think I wanted to love you from the start.”

Rio closed the last inch of space, her hand brushing yours.

“Then let us stop beating around the bush.” She laughed softly at her own joke, but her voice had gone low, velveted with want.

Agatha leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. “And let us worship you properly.”

Your nod was quiet. Absolute.

This time, it wasn’t because they willed it.

It was because you did.

Their mouths were on you in the next breath, Agatha’s lips hungry against your throat, Rio’s hands ghosting over your hips like a stormcloud choosing where to break. You gasped, caught between them, your body already humming like a divining rod between gods.

Agatha’s fingers threaded through your hair as she tilted your head, baring your neck. She kissed you like a spell; deep, consuming, slow. The burning of the mark she placed on you was quickly forgotten as you moaned into her, and Rio answered by slipping behind you, her palm trailing up your abdomen, undoing the bindings of your robes with a reverence that bordered on cruelty.

“Look at you,” Rio whispered, her voice hoarse, fingers gliding over your bare skin. “Still so soft. Still ours.”

Agatha broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, “I’ve waited centuries to taste you like this.”

And you let them. Let them mark you with lips and tongues, hands and heat. Let them press you down to the temple floor as your breath turned ragged and their names fell from your lips like prayer.

You didn’t know whose mouth was on your chest, whose fingers curled inside you, only that it burned, divine and primal all at once, like something sinister being carved into something holy.

You arched, trembling, as pleasure wracked through you in waves. Agatha’s voice coaxed you through it, dark and full of longing. “That’s it, dove. Let go. Let us have you.”

Rio bit into your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to stake her claim, her own mark settled into your skin. Her voice was wind and hunger. “You were always meant to belong to us.”

And you did.

Body and breath.

Blood and bone.

When they finally pulled you into their arms, tangled and bare and shaking, the stars outside the temple shifted,

as if even the sky had been waiting for this.

[sl003]

SESE's Fic Recs Part 2 (ATEEZ)

Hi and hello! Today, i present to you the second part of my fic recs because i spend waaaay too much time reading stuff on here when i should be working on my own stories, hahah :) I just have so many ideas that it's hard to stick with one, you know?

Anyway, it's the same as before, the fics will be sorted by members, my all time favourites are marked with a "♡". And as this one is a bit shorter than the previous one, you can be sure that this one will be updated from time to time.

You can find the first part here:

SESE's Fic Rec (ATEEZ)

And as you can probably notice by these fic recs, i'm a sucker for long ass fics, i just love them so much! (no hate to shorter fics, they're just as good!!!)

Warning: Some of the fics will have a bit of "commentary" from me below them, these might contain spoilers for the fics, just so you've been warned.

Once again, a giant thank you to all the incredibly skilled and talented authors out there for creating these masterpieces!!! <3 You deserve all the love for doing what you do and allowing us to read and take part in that!

And because I have a habit for reading and recommending a lot of fics from the same authors, i'll just tag them once in this even if there's more than one fic. hope that's okay :)

Anyway, have fun reading!!!

PS: if any of the links are wrong or don't work, feel free to tell me so i can try and fix it.

KIM HONGJOONG

Philoselene - @ncteez (6.2k)

alt!stoner!hj x kinda!detached(?)!reader

♡ It Can't Be That Hard - @seung-hwa (12k)

brother's best friend!hj x reader / college au / exes to lovers

i'm a sucker for the "brother's best friend" trope, so it was already quite clear that i was going to love this. and well, i was right with my suspicion. the dynamic between all the characters is just so *chef's kiss*. i kinda felt bad for yunho, though... that guy has been sneaking his way into my heart lately, so no surprise there... (i mean the thing with the knitted hat? so damn cute!)

Cry For Me - @yeostinys (3 parts)

ceo!hj x secretary!r

this is normally not a plot that i read very often, but this was so incredibly good, oh wow. reader is really a bit of a crybaby, but like in a so not annoying way, you know? i loved it, read it.

♡ I'll Let The World Burn - @koyagifs (3.4k)

dragon rider!hj x dragon!r

this was such an interesting read because reader is a dragon in this one. but i love how their close bond was portrayed and it was so sad... i was this close to crying, i'm telling you. but i loved every second of it.

PARK SEONGHWA

Where Water Turns To Flame - @sungbeam (6.1k)

dragon!sh x dragon!r

♡ Playing With Fire - @ateezmakemeweep (5 parts)

(kinda)sugar daddy!sh x daughter's bff!r

hoooly shit. this was a rollercoaster. a real good rollercoaster. the relationship between the reader and seonghwa is so sweet and hot at the same time. (tbh, during the time eunbi and mrs. park were mad pissed at reader, i was kinda on their side, because if i was in their shoes, i'd be as well, but like i get the reader too, cause it's hwa) and i also love the dynamic between reader and eunbi, especially after the whole shitshow that went down, when eunbi is chill with reader and seonghwa's relationship, it's so hilarious.

JEONG YUNHO

Love Again - @xomakara (6.1k)

single!dad!y x single!mom!r

Guerrilla - @sorryimananti-romantic (27k)

doctor/serial killer!yh x crime author!r

♡ You Can Run But You Can't Hide - @bvidzsoo (25.8k)

vampire hunter!yh x vampire!r

i've been a little vampire fanatic since i was a child, so i really like vampire tropes. and i've especially come to like the vampire x vampire hunter pairing (probably cause of my love for enemies to lovers). the tension between them is crazy and i love it. the detail that did it for me though is the one with feeling pleasure from the biting and drinking from each other. i remember that i've read something with that a very long time ago, and it stuck with me since then. so finally seeing this in a fic again was sooo cool, it's just so intimate. and the small cameos (if you can call it that) of mingi and seonghwa? so tragic, yet so sweet.

Summer's Dive - @santheestallion (30k)

brother's bff!yh x reader

i've actually only read the first part to this, somehow i haven't gotten to read the other two (i think it's two other parts?). until now i totally loved it, and i'm sure the other parts are just as good, i'll have to read them as soon as possble!

KANG YEOSANG

♡ Don't Lean On Me - @sweetinsaniiity (27k)

tsundere!outcast!ys x semi-stalker!r

i'm writing this one day after i read it for the first (and the second) time (11.01.25) and holy shit. in my previous fic rec i've stated that "entropy" (also a ys fic) is my all time fav fic, well this one just tied with it, if it has not even surpassed it (no hate to entropy, it will always have a special place in my heart), cause this is incredible. i love these type of fics and the way yeosang was portrayed here made me feel some type of way (in the best way possible). the small details and gestures from him, oh my god. seriously, if you're as yeosang biased as i am, you definitely need to read this. or just read it anyway, i'll force you if i have to <3

A World In Your Colours - @ bvidzsoo

daycare teacher!ys x florist!r (soulmate au)

CHOI SAN

Stay Focused - @beginningofwonderland (12.5k)

office worker!san x uni student!r

SONG MINGI

My Way - @ sorryimananti-romantic (18k)

guard!mg x princess!r

Orange Soda - @atozfic (13.4k)

single!dad!mg x reader / fwb to lovers

By Her Side - @arilevenatz (8.5k)

bodyguard!mg x princess!r (modern royalty)

i've never read anything like this before. obviously the bodyguard x princess trope is pretty common (and i eat it up every time) but not in the way this was made (with the age gap and all). when i read the summary, i was a bit unsure but i knew i just had to read it, and i was not disappointed. their relationship is so sweet and this fic? AMAZING. and as i'm writing this i'm realizing that i've literally just recommended two mingi fics with this trope, well what can i say? bodyguard!mingi is just *chefs kiss*

♡ Love Me Like A Rockstar - @ bvidzsoo (15 chapters)

uni student/local rockstar!mg x uni student!r

oh dear, i can't even begin to describe. as you can probably tell here, mingi has been on my mind a lot. and this series, wow. i've read this in one evening, i was so invested. tbh, reader was unnecessarily rude to mingi a lot, but like i get it because of her past (though letting it out on mingi wasn't really cool of her, i mean, it wasn't his fault). but seriously, this story is so amazing. from the detail of her suddenly starting to draw mingi instead of yunho to how mingi just suddenly starts being nice to her even if she's still behaving like a jerk. and just when their friendship (love their texting, by the way) starts to progress, reader goes and pulls that shit? i was hooked. and i also was totally on seulgi's side for a second when she called just to shit on reader hahah. anyway, such an amazing and sweet story!!! <3

JUNG WOOYOUNG

coming soon ... (i need to read more about him again, this is my sign)

CHOI JONGHO

♡ (Not) Another Love Song - @yourlocaljonghoe (11.5k)

uni student!jh x uni student!r (roommates to lovers)

her basically only being able to sleep when she listens to jongho's covers on youtube? so cute. and how socially awkward she is? it felt so relatable, because honestly? i'm the same way. normally, i enjoy reading fics with a more confident reader (something that i'm not, but i like to pretend) but it also feels so amazing to read something with a socially awkward reader like here. and the way he covers the song she was talking about to him just like a day earlier?? now that, folks, is love.

POLY/MULTIPLE

♡ Compass Of The Heart - @velvetvisionsaurora (ongoing series)

pirate au // hj x r / sh x r / mg x r / yh x r / wy x r

oh my god. this story is so precious to me you don't understand. the scenes from when they were children? i could have cried. and the way each of the boys has a nickname for her is so cute. and i'm such a sucker for her relationship to mingi. i love the way he is written as like the guy that doesn't talk much and the deep connection between them is so sweet. and generally the way everyone treats her, i love it. i get so excited everytime a new chapter of this gets posted.

Hope you enjoyed these, because i certainly did!!

'Til then, bye bye <3

-Sese

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Valar Morghulis (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?

Warnings: Mature language. Lord of Light. Stalking (Daemon's version)

A/N: Now with a Pt 2. For the anon that said "I wanna be yours" x Daemon, you have my whole heart. Tagging: @just-some-random-blogger and @aias-fxtns because I need the support (First fic after breakup) and both of you are lovely artists!

EXILE HAD ALWAYS suited him. Or at least, that was what Daemon liked to pretend. It made Viserys’ constant dismissals easier to bear. Easier to accept.

And he had to accept it. Because he could not imagine a world in which he wouldn’t love Viserys, wouldn’t attempt to protect him. If he resented his brother, that task turned harder and harder.

It wasn’t as if exile was so bad. Daemon loved getting to know the world around him. He had a taste for the foreign and exotic, at least per westerosi standards.

It was only natural that when the rumor about the Red Priestess Viserys’s court reached his ears, he had to return. Planning a war in Driftmark could wait. Viserys' sudden bout of madness could not.

A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.

So focused Daemon had been on the infestation of local snakes they had at court, he had never thought there would be room for essosi ones. Now, he had to rid Viserys of his latest plague.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen!” The guard announces, and truly, the security here is so lax, Daemon is surprised no one has murdered Viserys yet. Is Otto trying to purposefully get him killed, has he forgotten Daemon is technically exiled or is it just that he is done too with the witch?

Whichever the cunt’s reasons are for allowing him into the Red Keep, Daemon will not question them if they benefit him. He strode inside Viserys’ rooms, finding his brother carving some figurines, accompanied by the mousey Hightower girl.

She has The Seven Pointed Star in her lap, in a pitiful attempt at piety. She is also dressed in a gown that shows far too much of her chest to be considered demure. Daemon isn’t impressed. He has seen prettier whores in Flea Bottom.

“Brother! You have finally joined us.” Viserys sets down the knife and the figurine, looking surprisingly whole for a man who has just lost his wife and heir. But then again, he seems to have gotten himself a far too young distraction to make up for it.

Daemon tampers down his fury at the greeting. It had been Viserys himself who had ensured his distance, denying him even the barest acknowledgment in the form of a dragon egg for his future children.

He takes a deep breath, and channels all his fury into giving a cold glance at the Hightower girl. It sends her scurrying off, which makes him smile. Seriously, what did Viserys see in her? The girl is as common as any of the serving girls. Aemma had been a true Valyrian beauty, even entertaining the thought of replacing her for this mouse was an insult to her memory.

“I heard disquieting rumors.” Daemon says, voice loud enough the girl can hear him from the doorstep, where she lingers. Probably to inform her cunt of a father. “Of strange visits.”

Daemon watches with amusement as the girl splutters, turning a bright red, before she falls out of the room in her haste to get away. He can hear the guards ask her if she is alright, but Viserys makes no move to help her, his attention firmly on him. He cannot help but preen a bit.

The House of the Dragon would always feel drawn to one another. They were flames, meant to burn together. And no Hightower cunt would get in the way of that. Daemon

is not so naive as to think the girl was in his brother’s rooms in the middle of the afternoon only to read to him about the Seven, though. He would ensure someone spiked her usual tea with some moontea. No need to give dear Otto what he craved so much, after all.

“Do you mean the Red Priestess?” Viserys asks him, not even considering he could be referring to his whore.

“Indeed. Are we in Essos now?” On the bright side, if Daemon is bedding the Hightower girl, Daemon doubts he is bedding the priestess. Which makes her far more dangerous than Daemon expected. A woman so adept at manipulation she can get a King to bend to her will without using her feminine wiles? She had to be a sorceress of the worst kind.

Daemon had to remove her before it was too late.

“Oh, not at all! She just made some interesting insights, that’s all.” Viserys gets up from his chair and takes out a book. It’s bound in red leather, and it has nothing on the cover. “Her views are most refreshing.”

He hands the book to Daemon. He pages through it, eyebrows raising. At least the damn thing is written in High Valyrian, though he doesn't appreciate all the talk of R'hllor and this Great Other.

“By the… Viserys, are you losing your faith?” The more Daemon reads, the more he realizes these stories, from past and futures not yet come to pass, are incompatible with any other gods. It is no wonder the Red Priests and Priestesses are known for burning others if this is their sacred book. “Calling the Fourteen false idols…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daemon.” Viserys frowns. He doesn’t seem to understand what Daemon is alluding to.

“First, you have Lady… Alicent reading you The Seven Pointed Star. Then, a Red Priestess. Should I expect an ironborn here too? What happened to the Fourteen Flames?”

Viserys meets Daemon’s eyes. For a second, there is silence. Then, much to his indignation, Viserys starts to laugh.

“Oh, brother, is that what worries you? My faith in our ancestral religion is firm. The Red Priestess interested me because she made mentions of an ancient prophecy, one her order should not know about. It was originally made by Aegon the Conqueror.”

A prophecy made by Aegon the Conqueror? Daemon had never heard such a thing. He was quite knowledgeable about the dreamers of his line, yet he had never read mention of Aegon being one.

“Aegon the Conqueror? A dreamer?” Daemon doubted it was true. The priestess must have made it up to get an in with Viserys. He had to admit it was rather clever of her. Somehow, she had looked at him and saw his weak spot. His fascination with dragon dreams.

“He was one. Our grandfather had told me so. The Priestess had no way to know, yet…” All of this was news to Daemon. His eyebrows raised. As if sensing his disbelief, Viserys went on. “His dream is passed from King to heir. It has only made me more confident in naming Rhaenyra as mine. There is no one else better suited to hold the realm.”

“I see.” Daemon, did not, in fact, see. What was the connection between the dream and Rhaenyra ruling? And if this prophecy was passed from king to heir, why was he just learning of it now?

“The Red Priestess isn’t so bad. In fact, I think the two of you would get along quite well. Otto has insisted on banishing her, but I cannot do so in good conscience. Not when she sees so clearly, and when she is able to wield the magic of the pyromancers of Old Valyria.”

“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.

R’HLLOR HAD BLESSED you with a large family. Your heart swelled when you thought of it, the joy you felt so profound, it brought tears to your eyes.

You had sisters and brothers strewn all over Essos, and soon you would have more of them in Westeros. At least, if things went as planned. Which you were now doubting, knowing you would mess this up.

You had never met your birth family. When you had been very young, they had sold you to the Red Temple in exchange for six gold coins. You remembered nothing about them, and for it, you were glad. It was best, your mentors have said, to not remember the night and its terrors and to only know light.

Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.

When you had arrived at the temple, young and half starved, one of the priests had seen something in you. No otherworldly beauty, no talent at servitude, but an unyielding spark and a keen intelligence that one could not acquire, no matter how much one meditated and prayed.

Some people were just born with it. Touched by the God of Light, a shining crown placed atop their heads that only trained eyes could see. Destined for great things.

You had never seen it yourself, but whatever the priest had seen had been proven right. They had soon learned you had an uncanny ability when it came to learning new languages. It had made you star rise among your peers. You were the perfect envoy to spread the word of salvation.

Anyone could scry through flames, if given enough practice, and any could manipulate fire if they knew the secrets of the ancient arts. With the careful nurturing of your mentors, you had been ready to go out in the world as soon as you had reached your majority, but this was actually your first trip. Any woman on her own was in danger, and so, not only learning the mysteries of your god was needed, but confidence and abilities at self-defense.

By the time you had been ready to venture out in the world, you were a respectable age, though absolutely inexperienced. Not that you would tell King Viserys that, of course.

You had chosen the Seven Kingdoms as your first destination on recommendation from your mentors. It was likely you would be rejected by the King, though you would not face any danger. The followers of the Faith of the Seven had mellowed out after that nasty business two Kings ago, and so, no one would call for your immediate execution.

It was supposed to be a good experience, to learn how foreign courts worked and to practice your opening speech. There was nothing really at stake, not their faith nor your life, so the rejection wouldn’t matter much in the great scheme of things.

Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?

The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.

Today was the day you had been waiting for, and you were feeling nervous. Speaking in public, thanks to your training, wasn’t longer nerve racking as it once had been. Speaking in front of a court caused you a bit more anxiety, but you took comfort in all the formalities. What worried you wasn't making a bad impression, you worried you were about to be so terrible they would refuse to let you speak at all.

The throne room was filled to the brim. Nobles and commoners alike had come to see the foreign witch, said to be able to kill men with a glance and make night into day. Between all of them, one face stood from the crowd. The Hand, Otto Hightower, had a pinched expression, and he clutched at the pin denoting his station as if it would protect him from you.

He, just as the crowd did, imagined you as some enchantress, a sorcerer capable of bending reality to her will. You didn’t want them to be disappointed, so you had put on your best red gown, one that cling to the curves you had, and gave the illusion of those you didn’t. The curly red hair, that you dyed every month with crushed leaves, only served to give you a more otherworldly air.

The Iron Throne was a terrible thing, made from half melted swords that looked more likely to stab anyone sitting on it than serving its purpose. King Viserys was sitting on it, fresh blood dripping from a cut on his forearm. A bad omen, if what you had heard was to be believed.

You dropped into a graceful curtsy, making sure to keep a coy smile on your face. The King didn’t seem interested, which was good. You weren’t interested in him either.

“Your Grace, I come bearing news about salvation.” You started, as you got up. “I was hoping you would allow me to share them in your court.”

“Of course, Lady…” King Viserys was beginning to agree, but as your eyes scanned the crowd, you saw her. The silver woman.

She was standing a bit to the side, hands clasped behind her back, looking just as lovely as she would in a few years, when she would birth the Prince who was fated to be a part of the line that would bring Azor Ahai.

Dazed with the revelation, you stumbled towards her. To think your order had sought all over Planetos, only to find her here. In the single corner of the world your light had not managed to reach.

And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.

As you moved towards her, a spear was placed in your path. You stared at it, and at the man who held it. Young, tanned, and wearing a white cloak. With a gesture, you set it alight. It took you considerable effort to do so in such a small amount of time, flames weaker than you would like, but it was enough to burn the fingers of the knight and not make you look too threatening.

“Ah!” He jerked back, letting go of the burning metal. Before he could draw his sword, you lunged for the silver woman.

“I have seen you in the flames.” You said, curtsying as low as you could. Yet, another white knight stepped in, sword drawn. “In hearths, candles, in pyres. Wearing a golden crown.”

The Hand scoffed. But the King, suddenly, was attentive.

“Let her pass.” He ordered.

“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.

She was lovely and terrible, and silver. A beacon of light, in this very room. Unbidden, the prophecies dropped from your lips as water poured from a goblet. Even with the little time you had been in her presence, you could feel your powers sharpening, your vision extending. She was a being of pure magic.

“Azor Ahai shall be born from your line. The Prince promised to unite us all.” You looked into her eyes, hoping to convey the importance of your message. There had been times when you had doubted your faith, but when her amethyst eyes met your brown ones, you felt alight with righteous purpose, flesh turning into goosebumps.

The silver woman gasped, breaking the eye contact to look at something above your head. You turned to look, too, annoyed at the disruption. The only thing you found was the King looking at you in what you thought was the same way you looked at her.

“Rise, Priestess. I would like very much to have you in my court. I look forward to hearing your insights.” King Viserys said, voice shaking.

And that was it. The matter was settled, you were staying in the Red Keep. You even had a suite of rooms for yourself, that included a working space, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathing room. You! The girl who had been sold to a temple for six gold pieces.

Your whole life had been leading up to this. R’hollor had light up your path, guided you through the darkest nights, pulled you down the worst terrors, only to get you here. Next to your silver princess.

As you willed a small bonfire to life, you prayed to your god for guidance, during the vigil that awaited you. King Viserys had only allowed you small fires, contained to the braziers placed in your workspace. It didn’t matter. You knew he was listening regardless.

“Lord of Light, guide me. Defend me, protect me in this darkness. Lord of Light, that your face shines upon us. Guide me to the right path, allow my mouth only to form words of praise to you, allow me to speak the right sentences to convince them of our righteous cause.”

This was the greatest challenge you would face, you thought to yourself, as the flames raised higher and higher. As the sun fell, and you stood, alone during the long night.

“Strengthen me, show me the way. If you have chosen me for this task, you must guide me to complete it. Celestial father, God above. You who sees it all.”

He had to help you. He had to. Because no matter how good at sorcery you were, you had never preached his word to anyone beyond the faithful of your temple. Now, you stood between Westeros and the long night, and it was imperative that they converted so you could save them all.

Around you, the flames roared.

A SHAME YOU were the worst kind of snake there was, for you were the most exquisite creature Daemon had ever laid eyes upon.

He had been standing in the secret passage for a good half an hour, watching you putter around in your working space. The suite of rooms Viserys had given you was adjacent to the rooms that he was placed in, which made observing you much easier.

The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.

“Keep us away from darkness, my lord. You are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the warmth in our bellies. Yours is the sun that warms our days, the stars that guard us in the darkest nights. For the night is dark and full of terrors.” You spun around the room, in figures that only made sense to you, dancing in wild abandon. A lesser man might find it terrifying, but Daemon only saw beauty.

Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.

“Thank you for the sun that warms us, the stars that light our paths. Thank you for the fires in our hearths, and the torches that will keep darkness at bay.” In the confusing low light of the chambers, bathed by red light from the fire, you didn’t look human. You looked like something beyond humanity, a terrifying witch taken straight out of the cursed Valyria. Yet, it was impossible to look away. Your beauty was inhumane, dark skin shining like polished obsidian in the low light, red curls tumbling like a cascade of fire over your shoulders.

“Lord of Light, protect your servant. Guide me, do not allow me to stray.” You danced in an odd circle, stopping right in front of the wall where Daemon was hiding in. “Show me your mysteries.”

And somehow, it felt as if you were talking to him. Daemon froze in place, not even daring to breathe. How could you know of the secret passage? You had only resided in the Red Keep for a couple of days.

You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.

Perhaps, your sorcery wasn’t just clever parlor tricks. Perhaps, you were even more dangerous than he imagined.

You were pure fire. And dragons loved to burn.

[onehundredthousandflies]

(De)Compression

Spencer x gn!autistic!Reader (use of y/n)

Words: 2,080

Summary: Spencer comes home from work find gn!autistic!Reader going through an overstimulation meltdown from a difficult day at your own job. With an abundance of patience and love, he helps you calm down.... by laying on top of you.

CW: unspecified timeline, no series spoilers, Reader is not described other than having hair, Vague mentions of sex, nonsexual intimacy, Reader has an autistic meltdown and temporarily goes nonverbal, Spencer redirects Reader's potentially self-harming stim, Spencer uses body contact preasure therapy on Reader

Not all autistic people are going to relate to this. Not all autistic people have nonverbal episodes, have meltdowns in this manner, or stim this way. I do, though. This is the most self-indulgent fic to have ever self indulged. Reader is me, and I want Spencer to squish the anxiety out of me with his body.

Click the Read More or read on A03.

The red Persian rug in Spencer's apartment had probably been through a lot. With the way you paced erratically up and down your boyfriend's living room, however, you were certainly putting its durability to the test. His downstairs neighbors were probably concerned if, of course, they could hear your distressed hums and the sound of your hands repeatedly slapping against your thighs as you stomped across the floor. The fact that you were probably leaving bruises on yourself was the farthest thing from your mind.

You looked at the clock on the wall. 5:15.

Please come home, Spencer was all you could manage to think at the moment.  When you'd first gotten off of work, your only wish was to be alone in silence, away from the stresses of the overwhelming sights and sounds of your job.  But now, every moment you were left with your own thoughts was a moment that made your nerves hum and tingle even more loudly than the moment before.

You looked at the clock again, feeling as though it must have been at least half an hour since you last checked the time.

5:20

You groaned loudly and started scratching the back of your neck, but stopped when you remembered the pained look on Spencer's face last time he’d seen the angry red marks left from the last time you engaged in that particular stimming behavior. You opted instead to flap your hands beside your head, occasionally running your hand across your face as you continued to pace back and forth.

You knew he would be home soon. After a string of particularly grueling cases, Spencer's unit had been promised by the section chief that they would have the rest of the regular business week to stay at the BAU and catch up on reports. But your mind had a tendency to catastrophize against your will, especially on days like today where the very existence of the universe overwhelmed your every sense.

What if he'd been called away to some city across the country? What if it was another bad case like the last one, where it had taken them an entire week to hunt down a religious fanatic serial arsonist? What if he got hurt or held hostage or abducted again? What if...

You froze when you heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs and stopping just outside the door.  You heard keys jingling and Spencer muttering something to himself.  You couldn't make out the words, but something about his tone seemed off in a way you couldn't discern.

Was he tired?  Was he frustrated?  Would he be upset when he walked throughout the door to find you having a meltdown in his living room when all he probably wanted to do after coming home from a long day was relax?

The thought of Spencer, your sweet, brave, caring, strong, gentle, handsome Spencer being even the slightest bit unhappy with you made your stomach feel like it was falling through the void.  Your hand waiving intensified, and your distressed hums grew louder.

As soon as you saw him, though, his face softened from whatever scowl he'd had before coming inside.  Still, you trembled slightly until he smiled softly.

"Hey, Y/N," he greeted while taking off his jacket and satchel bag to hang them on the coatrack by the door.  "Are you okay?"

You rapidly shook your head, and your hand waiving switched to slapping the front of your shoulders in a way you were only vaguely aware was painful.

"No," Spencer's voice was gentle but firm, "Y/N, stop."  He slowly moved your hands away from your body, allowing you to continue to waive them while still holding them.  "You can wave your hands all you need to, but I cannot let you hit yourself."

Eventually, your movements slowed enough that he felt safe releasing your hands, but as soon as he did, your fingers itched from the inside for something tactile.  You needed to touch something, preferably Spencer.

Typically during periods of overstimulation like this, physical touch was off limits; it felt like bugs crawling across your skin, the effects of which could linger for hours and make you shudder whenever you thought about it.  But with Spencer, it was different.  Not only did his touch make you feel safe and grounded, but he knew how to touch you in ways that didn't trigger every emergency alert signal in your nervous system.

You stepped towards him, hands still moving in the air between you, and started softly patting his chest with open palms.

He laughed, but not at you.  It was a warm, welcoming laugh that soothed both your heart and your nerves like sinking into a warm bath.

"What do you need right now, Sweetheart?"

You knew exactly what you needed, but looking for the words and making your voice say them was like playing scrabble and being one letter short of the word you wanted to spell.  So instead of answering verbally, you silently butted your head against Spencer's shoulder, wrapped your arms around his waist, and squeezed.

Spencer squeezed back, not too tightly at first, just testing your tolerance level.  To encourage him, you squeezed tighter, and he responded in kind. 

"Is this what you need?" He asked.  "Or do you need full preasure?"

Still unable to manage a verbal response, you released your hold around him.  You took him by the hand and practically dragged him towards the bedroom.

"Okay," he said, any you could hear the smile in his voice.

Once in the bedroom, you gracelessly flopped onto the bed and laid on your back.  You watched Spencer take off his tie and kick off his shoes, all the while smiling sweetly down at you.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

You nodded in response.  Eager for the weight of his body on yours, you held out your arms and made grabbed at the empty air.

Spencer understood the message and climbed into bed.  He kept his weight off of you at first, hovering over you with his knees between your parted legs and his hands beside your shoulders. 

You giggled at the thought of how intimate this position was, despite the fact that this particular form of intimacy had nothing to do with sex.  Sure, you both enjoyed that aspect of your relationship, but the ritual happening now was far more intimate than that.

"Happy?"  He kept his questions short and pointed: easier for you to process and respond to.

You nodded "yes."

"What do you do if you want me off?"

You reached up and gave his unruly chestnut hair a gentle tug.

Satisfied that the safe signal had been established, he slowly and carefully lowered himself down until the full weight of his body pressed you down into the soft mattress below you.  He firmly pinned your arms to the side with his and turned his head away from you, knowing that his breath on your neck could be uncomfortable.

You closed your eyes and breathed in the familiar comforting scent of the man pressed into to, mentally breaking down each note.  Sandalwood essential oil from his homemade laundry detergent, rosemary and lavender from his organic deodorant, the chemically artificial citrus from the airfreshener at the BAU, printer paper, oversweetened coffee, and something underneath it all that was uniquely and naturally Spencer.  Then, as you breathed out, your breath carried with it all the tension and pent-up nervous energy of the day. 

The steady rhythm of Spencer's heartbeat calmed your own, and your breathing synced up with his.  You inhaled as he exhaled and vice versa, all the while the warmth and weight of his body grounded your mind into a calm and steady hum as opposed to the cacophony of tangled thoughts it had been before Spencer got home.

Comfortable as you were, eventually your chest began to ache and your arms began to feel stiff.  You wriggled one arm out from under Spencer and tugged at his hair.

Silently and without hesitation, he eased himself off of you and settled onto his side facing you.

"Everything okay?"

You nodded and decided to at least try to speak.  "M'okay," You managed to mumble.  "That was nice."

"Good," he said and sat up on the edge of the bed.  "When was the last time you drank water?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but quickly closed it again because you honestly couldn't remember.  On your lunch break, maybe?  You didn't know, but now that Spencer had mentioned it, you did feel quite thirsty.

Spencer teasingly rolled his eyes.  "I'll go get you some.  Do you want ice?"

You shook your head and watched him leave the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

With Spencer out of the room, you instantly felt restless again.  Needing something to occupy you, you got up and picked up Spencer's disguarded tie, royal purple with lavender pinstripes, from the top of the dresser where he'd left it.  You hung it up on the proper tie hanger in the closet, making sure it went with the other purple ones.  You let your fingers linger on the fabric, enjoying the cool, smooth sensation of the silk against your skin. 

You got so fixated on the fabric texture that you almost didn't notice Spencer returning with a glass of water.

You smiled as he handed it to you, and you drank nearly half of it before stopping.

"You know," Spencer said, taking the cup and setting it down on the end table on your side of the bed, "dehydration can lead to irritability, fatigue, emotional disregulation, and impaired cognitive functions such as concentration and working memory. Sensory overstimulation already causes these problems in people with autism, which means when you don't drink enough water, you're only compounding the issue."

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, wincing slightly as you agitated the scratch you'd made there earlier.  "I know.  I'm sorry."

"I'm not upset," he assured you, and kissed your forehead.  "I know it's not always something you can control.  For now, why don't you lay back down?  I'll join you in a minute and we can rest for a while before we start on dinner, okay?"

Once again, you only nodded.  Words were still difficult, and he seemed to understand. 

He undressed down to his dark blue boxer-briefs while you got comfortable in bed.

"So what was the trigger today?" He asked as he pulled a tshirt and pair of plaid pajama pants from the dresser drawers.

You groaned into the pillow at the memory.  "One of my coworkers touched my arm which already had me on edge.  Then there was a fire alarm test and I guess I must have missed the warning announcement, because I wasn't expecting it.  My boss had me finishing a time-sensitive project, so I couldn't take a break to decompress. I had to mask for two whole hours even before the crowded, loud, smelly buss home made it worse."

Spencer listened intently to you account of your day while he dressed.  He was now wearing one of your favorites among his science joke tshirts.  It had a cartoonish picture of a beaker of water with arms and legs lifting dumbells with the text, "Why did the acidic water get a gym membership?  It wanted to be a buffer solution."

"I'm sorry that happened, Sweetheart," he said, climbing into bed next to you.  He didn't reach out for you at first.  Instead, he waited for you to initiate.  You rolled over and curled into him, and only then did he let his arm drape loosely over your waist.

"So what happened at the BAU today?" You asked.  "You were grumbling about something when you got home."

Spencer let out an exasperated sigh.  "Another team broke protocol during a takedown, which resulted in a hostage being injured.  Now everyone's takedown reports dating back for a month are being scrutinized, and several reports from my team had to be re-submitted."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, but I'm not worried about that right now.  I just want to lay here with you and relax."

You nuzzled into his chest and again took comfort in the feeling of his heartbeat.  "Me too."

The two of you laid there in comfortable silence until you decided to order in instead of cooking.  And if you took an accidental nap while waiting for dinner to arrive, Spencer never said so.

[tinydefector]

Ok ok i thought about this and for me it's sounds funny.

Sooo on the comic where everyone just found out that Rung is god you know where Rodimus, Rachet, Whirl and Tyrest and others having existing crisis and the part where Whirl said "God was my therapist" and then I thought about it, how funny it would be if cybertronian or human MC/reader said something like "I was fuck by said God" like if said cybertronian/human was in relationship with Rung and everyone reaction (plus Tyrest too since I think he's a god fanatic) 😂😂😂😂

XD omg so I had a bit of a joke piece about fucking God over in this fic. But it gets even better that thought of Tyrest being a God fanatic and hating Organics. The horror when he finds out Primus is with a human, watch this mech just break down.

Everyone's optics and eyes are on Rung, and the mech stands there wishing attention wasn't on him. Rodimus paces back and forth, Ratchet just stares off into a wall wish above all he wasn't here right now. Whirl, for the first time, is so quiet that it makes everyone so uncomfortable. And then there was the human just looking up at Rung in shock, dismay? They really didn't know how they felt in that moment.

Rodimus finally speaks. "OK, ok, but how the Frag!, Your Primus! All this time, you have just been what? Hiding on cybertron, having a vacation!" He asked. He was bitter about this, as much as he wanted to blame Rung for everything, cybertron falling apart, his home, and the matrix in truth it wasn't his fault. After all wasn't he doing the exact same thing, running away because he didn't want to be a prime, he wasn't suited for it, he didn't want to live in Optimus' shadow and have that shame over him. He'd take being co captain with Megatron over having to be in Optimus' shadow any cycle.

Ratchet, on the other hand, just wants a strong drink. He had never been a believe in gods, yet here he was finding out the the mech who had been the Lost Light's therapist, had been a neutral throughout the war, had a space ship collection older then some mechs was Primus. It was just his luck. "Does anyone else know?" He asked, trying to be the level-headed one of the group.

Rung removes his glasses, and the stress and exhaustion are very visible on his faceplate. "Drift, I believe, he's, he's always suspected something," Rung explains. He wasn't sure, but he's rather sure that Drift knows what he is.

Whirl finally laughs. "This is Fragged. How in the Pit did I end up this fragging, unlucky that my slagging therapist is Fragging Primus!" They shout, they don't know if they are angry, hurt or just overwhelmed, so much had been fried in their circuitry after the Emputra but this, this felt like a sick joke. All the things he had told Rung now feel like they were confessions.

Tyrest is baffled. He doesn't know whether to fall to his knees or call blasphemy, but the evidence is right there in front of his optics.

Rung is sheepish as he looks to the human. He's hoping they don't hate him. "I know this is alot for you all to take in, I'm sorry you all had to find out this way, I'm sincerely sorry for everything that has happened" He calls out to the group. He goes to continue only to be cut off.

"Fuck my life, Swerve is never going to let me live this down" the human stammers out. Everyone's optics are on them, a flush tints Rungs plating. "Please we don't need to bring that-" He's cut off again.

"The fact that I've unknowingly been getting Railed by Primus!" They exclaim only for Rung to hide behind one of his servos as multiple mech's Jaws drop at those words.

"HAH, and i thought I was Fragged!" Whirl screeched, finding humour in the situation. The other mechs look just as shocked and disgusted. "No, I refuse. That's blasphemy. Please tell me you haven't been interfacing with an organic!" Tyrest almost pleaded, hoping by the all spark that it wasn't true.

Rodimus pinches his brow ridge. He could feel his processor hurting from all this information. "Slagging Pit," he grumbles. " I Owe Sunstreaker so much Shainx now," he huffs. "OK, ok. Rung's Primus, and he's fragging a human." He throws his servos up in the air, being overly dramatic.

Ratchet just glares at the two. "They both of you are to report to medical for an examination after this, You" he points right at Rung. " I have some rather choice words for you," he states before stalking off, leaving.

The human looks at the floor, and the true panic is taking over. "Oh fuck, I've been fucking an Alien God who's also my therapist" they mutter to themself, tears starting to well up in their eyes and Rung kneels down cupping their face and wiping the tears away. "I didn't mean to upset you," he says softly. Optics focused on them. " I don't want this to change anything between us. You mean a great deal to me, and I don't want to lose you," he murmurs to them, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead.

The sound of the others arguing and fighting drowns out as Rung focuses on his little lover. "I'm not angry, Rung, Primus, or whatever name you want to go by, but... but I'm a human, a random fucking human so why me. Why me? " they nearly sob as he scoops them up, pulling them against his frame.

"My dear, I'm the the holy being everyone believes I am, I'm just a very old mech, who did what he could to stop something bad from happening, alot fo the tales told are very twisted stories. I'm just a mech, I'm not some holy being. And as for why you. You were the first person to remember my name, you took an interest in my hobbies, I would have happily faded into dust unknown but you choose me" he coos softly. Digits tracing their cheeks as he looks at them in pure love.

"But an Organic!" Tyrest hisses out as he watches how sweet and tender Rung is with the human. Is Rodimus who speaks up next. "Ah ah, remember each time to talk badly about organic races you lose Shanix which goes right into my account!~" Rodimus sings out, trying to make light of the situation for his own mental stability.

"You two are fragged and Slag, and I thought I had issues!" Whirl huffs before pointing at Rung. "Not a word about our therapy session to anyone, God or not, I will end you." Whirl nearly snarls before transforming and taking off.

"But you are Primus! You could have your choice of any cybertronian, pillars in your name cities, why have you hidden for so long!" Tyrest utters, he wants to be angry, but at the same time, this was Primus. How could he.

Rung meets his optics. "Because that's not the type of mech I am, I did what I had to to stop Unicron, I got sick of people trying to put me on a pedestal, I wanted to live, live my life, to enjoy hobbies, travel, I gave up my old frame for the ability to live" he states. He wouldn't change his choices even if he had the ability to. He was content.

________

MC: "Swerve get me a strong drink!"

Swerve: "heya what got you so rilled up, partner problems? Give me all the juicy details."

MC: staring him dead in the optics. "Swerve, Rung is Primus"

Swerve: "Well, I wouldn't call him that, I mean, he must be a good frag but doubt that"

MC: "No Swerve, Rung is Primus, I've been fucking your God, why me, how did I get to this point"

Swerve: "you know what let me get you a double"

--

Rung: "this is a mess, I need to get myself a Therapist"

Swerve: "well doc tell me all your woos, I'm the closest your gonna get for therapy"

Rung: " ships having a meltdown over my past and the fact I'm with a human"

Swerve: " eh, heard worse, your squishy things your Primus"

Rung: " yes, well that's also part of the issue"

---

Whirl: "soo.... Rung huh?"

Mc: "Please, I don't want to talk about it"

Whirl: "What part, the part where you're fragging the ships Therapist or the part where your Fragging Primus."

MC: "Oh my fucking God Whirl!"

Whirl: "Ah, ah, your fucking my God not the other way round!"

---

MC: "fuck you Tyrest, you owe Rodimus more money now, from being a Xenophobe."

Tyrest: "Like, I would ever let you within five meters of my frame you disgusting little creatin. Your insults mean nothing to me. Filthy little flesh thing"

MC: " just remember it's your Beloved Primus who's fragging me!, yea!, your beloved God prefers fragging me!"

Tyrest: *the most horrified noise ever* " You take the Blastphamy Back!"

__________

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[alexanderlightweight]

It's so good to see you on my dash again!!

I hope you can keep feeling better!

I was hunting around for the name of the fic series I was thinking of but I couldn't find it so...

I'd like to prompt you for more kelpie!Alec, or more manipulative planning Alec! I love when they're both a little vicious for each other.

Take it easy!

its been a while but I made it! to responding finally! I feel like I appeared like a wavering ghost over a year ago. but this time i'm managing to stick around and it's been honestly a relief.

i'm sorry you could find it, I need to work on the verse catalog but I get distracted by ficcing instead whenever I have the spoons

i think you might have meant a specific verse but i'm not sure so just have manipulative Alec!

this is a craft of adoration au if things actually had ended up going as Alec planned for once in his life.

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

-

webs woven over time

Anticipation courses through Alec’s body as he double checks and then triple checks his gear and weapons.

This is not a night he can afford to have a single thing go wrong.  It’s why the team he’s chosen is the one it is.

Every single hunter in the team he prepared for tonight is one of his best.

The brightest, deadliest and most unconventional group of shadowhunters since the Circle.

Yet every single one of them is at the bare minimum sympathetic to downworlders rather than fanatically opposed. 

It was hard to find them, to collect them and train them but Alec succeeded.

Because even though no one shares his exact vision — a world where he can marry Magnus openly isn’t exactly anyone else's dream — they all still share a main goal.

They all want better relationships with downworlders so they can focus on the true problem, demonic invasions and rifts and to raise the rest of their race up to the standard they now hold. 

And while it’s not spoken aloud, Alec and his chain of command are all aware how many queer shadowhunters have flocked to his Institute.  It’s a secret pride of his, to be a safe landing space for those like him.

Though they never talk of it aloud, not yet when it still isn't safe.

Alec knows it will have to be him to take the first step.  

That it will have to be his relationship, made public enough and powerful enough to create a bridge into a future where his people are free to love who they wish.  They deserve to love proudly anyone who makes their hearts beat with even a shard of the fervor that his heart does for Magnus.

Yet it’s not a sacrifice. For Alec could never be with Magnus and hide it away, it’s hard enough to contain himself and they haven’t even officially met yet.

Alec is sure that at this point, he is a small speck on the political board that Magnus plays.

But Alec knows he’s destined to be more, because no matter how hard he needs to try, he is sure that he can in some way get Magnus' attention.

And once he has it, he’ll do everything in his power to keep it.

—

There’s a deep fog surrounding the beach and Alec is glad that it’s late enough and cold enough they won’t have to worry about mundanes. 

While he studied enough to recognize the patterns in specific demonic rifts, he can’t actually pinpoint the season they’ll open.  It’s one of the only things he couldn’t predict and it’s a relief that the rift opened as early in the year as it did.

But it was always going to open.

Perhaps telling the Clave or anyone else his ability and formula to track demonic rifts would have been smarter.  

More efficient and perhaps even with less casualties.

But Alec is selfish when it comes to Magnus.

Telling the Clave is like asking them to forcibly transfer him to their Research corps, something Alec is unwilling to allow.

Telling anyone else would be putting a target on his back and honestly, Alec learned to track rifts for one reason and one reason alone.

To get Magnus’ Bane’s attention.

As Alec predicted, the Clave ordered him to contact the High Warlock of Brooklyn without Alec even needing to lift a finger.

Shadowhunters can’t close rifts, not ones like this.  They can close small ones, chipping away at the folds of shattered reality with adamas until they’ve cauterized it closed but anything bigger than a small tear is impossible.

Alec smirks beneath his facemask, the fabric already up and over his nose as he slips goggles into place.  They’re all tinted a faint silver, coated with a thin layer of adamas to prevent shattering but without obstructing vision.

Battle runes already active they step through the requested portal — not one that Magnus created, Alec can tell by the feel — and into a field of fire.

-

Alec making a group sympathetic to fellow queers and downworlders: no one will stop my love

alec's whole goal is he's not going to train people who will be dangerous for Magnus. like his whole goal is getting to love and be with Magnus. he's not going to risk that by having anyone in his institute but especially not his core hunters being racist and xenophobic to downworlders and queers

alec has Standards.

also I feel like I should mention that Alec is purely trying to get magnus' attention with his actions and skills. he knows Magnus is competent and feels he'll value competency and lethalness with equal value.

he's not wrong. Alec is just also very unaware the the second Magnus sees him, it's all over.

magnus intrigued by the skilled shadowhunter fighting practically back to back with him

alec: oh good, this is great. this is perfect, everything is going so well. okay introduce ourselves and leave and then followup. don't overwhelm. (Alec uncovers his face because he was wearing protective gear to filter out poison)

Magnus: ... well isn't this a lovely surprise. mine now

alec: ... this wasn't in the plans??? like I am not mad at all but my plans???? all of my carefully crafted meticulous openings that I was going to branch off this positive encounter?? unnecessary????? I have been stressing over this for years????

magnus: kissing a very eager but still confused Alexander

Alec: i don't know how I got here but i'm going to do everything in my power to stay here. I am genius. success is mine.

[iloveyanderes]

Does anyone remember sagau from 2020? Back when it was just mondstat Liyue and inazuma to work off of. Weirdly enough I'm not a fan of the imposter au and I'm pretty sure it didn't exist back then. I remember they're being a fic about honkai impact third x genshin impact where Otto would try to get you there using a kallen revival type of thing. Or another one where the characters trapped you in the serenitea teapot because they were afraid of u getting hurt and you'd slowly go insane from it. There was even a fic where to the best of my remembering ability: characters are confused because you look like the creator but choose to ignore you or be a little bit rude to you. Childe sees you in Liyue and is like 😳 you go to inazuma and accidentally save signora's life because the shogun got distracted because you look like the creator. Signora then helps you escape, childe gives you his jacket, you sit on signora's lap and Scaramouche is kissing you feet😮(something he'd never do but he did it)

It was a crazy but enjoyable time. I miss it since a lot of the fics were deleted and I can't find any of them. So bring back the old sagau, the fanatic worship sagau🫡

That's all I had to stay

[chenlezip]

jaemin, scream ♡

⤷ summary : when y/n receives a mysterious phone call and finds that her friends are being killed, she suspects that a serial killer may be on the prowl, who is also linked to her mother's murder.

warnings : death, swearing, if you've watched scream you'll know :) idk what other warnings to put im so sorry!! not proof read either eek

annas note : sooo.. i wanted to write a lil something about jaemin and scream.. and this is the better idea i had in mind — one thing you guys NEED to know about me is that i am a horror fanatic.. and so pairing this with jaemin was super fun (maybe i’ll make a horror fic series with nct one day..)

prev | next | masterlist

you're in your bedroom, sat at your desk on your computer as you worked on an assignment. you heard glass breaking outside your window and you stood up, walking closer to check it out. maybe it was one of the cats that roamed around your street?

as you peek out your window, you feel a hand grab your shoulder and you scream, pulling back. "hey- it's just me," your boyfriend jaemin says gently.

"jaem, what the- what the hell are you doing here?" you scold him as he makes his way inside of your room from the window, "you sleep in that?" he gestures to your night dress.

you sigh, "yes i sleep in this. what are you doing here though? my dads in the other room, you can't be here!" as soon as those words left your lips, your dad opened the door but it was jammed with your wardrobe door being open.

you walk over, talking to him as jaemin hid down the side of your bed. as your dad left, he got up, holding one of your plushes as you asked again why he was here.

"well, it occured to me that.. i've never snuck through your bedroom window. i was home.. watching television.. the uh.. the exorcist was on." he continues, "it got me thinking of you."

you're a little confused, "it did?" you ask. "all the good stuff was cut out, it was edited for tv and it got me thinking of us.. how two years ago we started off hot and heavy and now things have changed.." you shake your head at his words, knowing what he's getting at.

"oh, so you thought you could climb through my window and we'd have a little raw footage?" you ask and he laughs, "no.. no, i wouldn't dare think of breaking your underwear rule."

it was the next day at school, you were sat on the edge of the fountain with your boyfriend, jeno, yeri and haechan. they were rambling on about the recent murder of someone you all knew - winter.

"hey, jen, didn't you used to date winter?" you ask as jeno looked away from his girlfriend to you, smirking, "yeah for like.. two seconds." haechan butts in, "before she left you for anton~" he teased. yeri moved away from jeno to look at him, "i thought you dumped her for me?"

"i did. he's full of shit," he glared over at haechan again. "and are the police aware you dated the victim?" haechan pushed up his glasses, pretending to act nerdy. "hey- what are you saying? that i killed her?" jeno and yeri both have an argument with him, and you groan to yourself, not again.

you end up leaving them, kissing jaemin goodbye as you left for the bus home. after doing chores, watching the news but immediately turning it off after they showed your mother who got killed, you just decided to take a nap to take your mind off of things.

you soon awoke to your phone ringing, the loud dial tone ringing through your ears. you whined, "who the hell is calling me?" you ask yourself out loud as you lean over from where you were on the couch, grabbing the phone and putting it to your ear. "hello?" you ask with a sigh as you hear your friend, yeri coming through the other line, "practice ran late. i'm on my way, okay?"

you check the time, "it's past seven.." "don't worry~ winter and her boyfriend didn't cut it until after 10, you're fine." yeri says as she continued, "i'm gonna swing by the video store for us, okay?"

"whatever. just hurry, okay?" "see ya, n/n~" yeri hung up the phone. you smile and let out another soft sigh, placing the phone back on the stand but after a couple seconds, it starts ringing again. "yeri, just get in the car-"

it's not yeri. a creepy voice rings through your ears as he says your name in a greeting. you run a hand through your hair, "uh.. hi, who is this?" you ask softly as you sit up on the couch. "you tell me," he says as you scrunch your brows in confusion, "i-i have no idea.."

"scary night, isn't it? with the murders and all it's like something out of a horror movie." you chuckle, "haechan! you gave yourself away.. are you calling from work? because yeri's on her way over." you get up from the couch.

"do you like scary movies, y/n?"

"i like that thing you're doing with your voice, hae, it's sexy," you giggle to yourself as you turn on your lamp. "what's your favourite scary movie?" 'haechan' asked you. you rub your chin, "oh come on, you know i don't like that shit."

"why not? too scared?" the voice asked as you sigh, "no. it's just.. what's the point? they're all the same. some stupid killer stalking some big-chested girl who can't act, who's always running up the stairs when she should be going out the front door. it's insulting." you explain, ranting about the movies that you've seen.

you shouldn't of said that because a tall figure wearing a cloak and a ghost face mask appears and attacks you. you try running out the front door but you're fumbling with the locks so you just run upstairs, screaming. you make it into your room and close the door, locking it and backing away from it. your heart is pumping, your thoughts are clouded and you feel petrified. what the hell just happened?

you hear someone once again at your window and it's your boyfriend, jaemin. "jaemin!" you shout for him as you run toward him, helping him in. "the doors locked. i heard screaming - is everything alright?" jaemin looks at you with a worried and concerned expression. "the killers here.. he's in the house!" you bring him closer to you as you ease into the comfort he gives you, you needed this.

"he's in the house. he's got a knife, he's gonna kill us.." you mumble as you try and cling onto his sweatshirt. "he's gone." he whispers to you, holding you tightly against him. you sob into his shoulder before feeling and hearing a phone drop beside him on the floor. you look down and gasp, pulling away from him.

"what?" jaemin asked as you glared at him, removing his arms from your waist, "n/n, what?"

you shake your head and whimper, creating enough space between the two of you before you unlock your room door and run out of it. "wait! wait wait wait wait! what's going on?" you hear jaemin chasing behind you as you continue to try and escape him. "y/n, come back!" he shouts from the stop of the staircase.

you open your front door and scream, seeing the ghost face mask being held up. jisung, who was at the door holding it up, screams too. "sorry! i found this, come on!" he shouts at the other officers, ushering them inside.

jisung finds jaemin and detains him, shoving him roughly against the hood of his car. "alright come on, keep your hands together."

after a rough couple of days and staying close with yeri ignoring your boyfriend, she takes you to a party that jeno is hosting. you thought about not going but you really needed something to take your mind off of everything that happened so you end up going. you enter the kitchen as yeri places bags down on the kitchen counter, smiling at her boyfriend.

you both end up laying on the couch in the living room, jeno following as he brings yeri to his chest and smiles. you look through the movies that haechan has, "how come jamie lee curtis is in all of these movies?" you ask. haechan smiled, leaning near you, pressing his hands together in a prayer, "she's the scream queen."

"with that set of lungs, she should be.." jeno butts in, someone adding a "yeah.." to agree with him. yeri rolled her eyes, looking at you, "tits, you see?"

after spending a couple hours at the party, the curfew ends and everyone starts leaving. "yeri, come on!" you shout upstairs. you haven't seen her since she left to get drinks for jeno. you're a little worried. you turn to jeno who is seeing the party goers out the front door, smiling.

"do you know where she is?" you ask as jeno shakes his head, "i haven't seen her." and then you hear 'agh!'. you gasp, turning around to the front door and seeing jaemin smiling sheepishly. "oh.. jaemin, hey," you give him a small greeting as he looks at you. jeno seems to act suspicious, rubbing his chin, "jaem, hmm.. i wonder what you're doing here."

"was hoping i could talk to n/n, alone."

and he.. did have the chance to and a little more than that, you both got dressed after having an intimate moment in the bedroom upstairs. "you still don't think it was me, do ya?" jaemin asked you as he glared at you from behind, sitting on the floor tying his laces. you chuckle, turning around and sitting to face him, "no. no. i was just thinking, if it were you, it'd be a very clever way to throw me off track."

as you were talking about things, jaemin leans into you and before you know it, ghostface was behind him. "oh my god- jaemin, watch out!" you scream as he gets 'stabbed' multiple times, "oh.. my god.. jaemin.." you whimper.

after an extreme chase with ghostface and escaping the house, you find yourself back there because you saw a cop car outside. you're searching jisung's knocked out body and find a gun, haechan shouts for you, "i found yeri! i think she's dead i think jeno did it-" he panics as you aim it toward him, "stop right there!" jeno runs and stops beside haechan, "don't listen to him y/n!"

you decide to run inside the house and you see jaemin, he fell down the stairs and groaned, "y/n.." you help him up and lead him to the front door, "we need help.." he shakes his head as he opens the front door and haechan pushes his way inside. "look- i think jenos gone mad!"

"we all go a little mad sometimes," jaemin smirked as he turned toward haechan, a sinister look on his face. "fuck!" haechan whispers loudly to himself before getting shout in the shoulder, shouting out in pain and falling to the floor. "hae!" you shout.

jaemin chuckled, "anthony perkins, psycho.." you run over to haechan, kneeling over him as you stare at your so called boyfriend. "no.." you whisper as you try and run but you bump into jenos chest, staring up at him as you beg for him to help you. he holds a voice changer to his mouth, smirking, "surprise y/n."

tags : @injvns @polarisjisung @mejaemin @ayukas @hyckvr @yizhrt @blondemrk @astrasng

[jadewolf22]

Ruby Red Nails

Larissa x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Angsty undertones, crying, talk of panic attacks, ect…

Summary: You notice that Larissa has started up an old anxious habit.

A/n: It’s finally posted!!! I’m so sorry this took so long to post! I just got the motivation to finish it (of course it had to be at four in the morning, though)

A/n: This was based on a post I commented on a while ago (can’t find the post for the life of me) mentioning that there’s no paint on one of Larissa’s nails during the  fireplace scene in Wednesday. I made a comment saying that it could be due to an anxious habit where Larissa rubs/picks off the paint on her nails and thought it might make a good fic.

Word Count: 1,036

“Riss, I’m home!” you cried, the door clicking shut behind you as you walked into your shared apartment. 

The apartment was quiet, save for the fire crackling in the hearth, basking everything in either shadows or a soft golden glow. Though the place technically belonged to the both of you it smelled of Larissa; faint traces of jasmine and vanilla clinging to every surface. 

“Hi, darling.”

You turned your head as you hung up your jacket and purse, smiling slightly as you caught sight of your wife leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, her silk, olive green rode hugging her body and long silvery curls brushing against her back. 

“Long day?” you asked as she walked to you, placing a kiss on her jaw. Larissa never took her hair down or put on her robe this early in the evening unless she’d had a stressful day. She nodded, pulling you close and tucking her head into the crook of your neck, “Have you eaten yet? I had a late lunch, but if you want something—”

“I ate.” Larissa mumbled quietly. You could feel her hands trembling as they clutched your shirt, rubbing your hands up and down her sides to try and soothe her, “Can you just… come lie with me for a bit? Please?”

You nodded, kicking off your shoes before allowing her to pull you onto the bed, holding Larissa close as she curled up beside you on the mattress. Something was wrong and you knew it, but you wouldn’t press her about it. You trusted Larissa to tell you in her own time. 

“So… how was your day?” you inquired, stroking Larissa’s back as you looked down at her.

“Eventful.” Larissa groaned out with a huff, the hand grasping your shirt tightening ever so slightly, “I swear Miss. Addams is going to be the death of me.”

“She’s Morticia and Gomez’s, you can’t really expect anything less, can you?” you teased, hoping to lighten her mood even a little bit. 

Larissa gave a low chuckle, looking up at you with a smile. You could tell it was clearly forced, not quite reaching her eyes. She shifted against you, her hand moving to your hip. It was then that you caught sight of her nails, the ruby red paint clearly picked off, the skin around her nails red and raw.

“When did you start doing that again?” you asked, taking Larissa’s hand in your own and looking at her nails a little closer. Several of her nails had been scrapped clean, the skin around them was irritated, and her cuticles were specked with dried blood. “You said you’d quit?”

“It started this past week,” Larissa said meekly, curling her hands into fists and hiding her face in the crook of your neck, “With what happened to Rowan and Miss. Addam’s fanatics…”

“Rissa… why didn’t you say something?” you stroked your thumb over her knuckles as you spoke, kissing her hair.

“Didn’t want to upset you,” Larissa mumbled against your neck, “—Knew you wouldn’t like it…”

“Riss… Honey, I don’t like it when you don’t tell me. I can’t help you if I don’t know something’s wrong.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” you felt Larissa’s frame shake against yours and tears start to stain your shirt, “I-I just… I didn’t want you to worry… I… I thought I could handle it… I’m sorry-I’m so sorry… Don’t-don’t be mad…”

“Honey, I’m not mad.” you assured, “Okay? I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you. I’m always going to be worried about you. That’s my job… We’ve been through this already… You have to tell me when something’s wrong, alright?”

She sniffled, pressing her face into your chest. "I just don’t want to be a burden."

"You're not a burden," you said firmly, “Not to me. Ever. Alright?”

Larissa nodded, breathing began to calm, her body relaxing against yours as she soaked in your words. "I’ll try... I’ll try to be better about telling you. I promise."

You kissed the top of her head, brushing her hair back. "I know you will."

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

A few days later as you were lounging around in Larissa’s office, waiting for her to finish up with her monthly teacher evaluations so that you two could go get dinner, you found a spare bottle of Larissa’s nail polish hidden away on her bookshelf. You chuckled, grabbing the bottle and turning to her with a smirk plastered over your face.

"Nice try, Larissa," you said with a teasing smile, “I’m not blind, sweetheart.”

Larissa looked up and froze upon seeing the bottle in your hand, her cheeks flushing as she quickly turned away, not meeting your gaze. "I didn’t think you’d notice."

“You’re not getting off the hook that easily.” She sighed, pushing her chair back and rubbing her temple. “Hey. It’s not the nail polish I’m worried about. It’s you not telling me what’s going on. We’ve talked about this, Larissa."

Her eyes softened as she nodded. "I know. I just... I didn’t want to worry you."

"Well, too bad," you replied, giving her a wink. "I worry whether you like it or not. But don’t think you can get away with hiding your habits from me. I’ve got you all figured out, sweetheart."

Larissa let out a soft chuckle, shooing you from her office, claiming that she wouldn’t get anything done with you prowling around. You let out a light laugh, but conceded, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading towards the door. Just as you reached for the handle though, you paused, remembering that Larissa had a backup for everything, and turned back to her.

“I’ll take the other one too.” you stated, walking back over to her and holding out your palm.

Larissa looked up at you from her chair, her face scrunched up in the most adorable pout, and sighed, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a second bottle of ruby red nail polish. You gently snatched it out of her hand, laughing to yourself, and gave her a knowing look before turning back around again and walking out the door, silently debating whether or not you should start tracking Larissa’s purchases.

I'm so sorry I haven't been posting for a while!!! between PT and doctors appointments I'm usually too exhausted to write. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into the swing of things here soon

[strawberryfairi]

The Perfect Christmas Eve ❄️ (A Short Story)

Shinichiro Sano X Fem Reader

Christmas Event Fic #1 (Woohooo kicking it off with Shinichiro Sano the sweetheart) ↳ For those who haven't seen the event rules NOTICE: ❄️ = Fluffy fic (this story is fluffy) ↳ Event Masterlist

Shin knows his girlfriend has always been a Christmas fanatic since her childhood. The kind who starts overexcitedly playing oldies holiday music in mid-late November, decorates the outside of the house with lights until it could damn near be seen from space, and finds joy in every little festive detail of the season. So this Christmas Eve, he's gonna give her the night she deserves—simple, magical, and filled with all her favorite Christmas things.

As they bundle up and step out into the crisp winter night, her eyes sparkle with childlike excitement. Shin had told her they were going somewhere special, but she doesn't know where. He keeps his hand around hers as they walk down a charming path illuminated by festive holiday lights. Just a few blocks later, they reach their main destination: the town's famous Christmas market, glowing with hundreds of twinkling lights, a canopy of evergreen garlands, and wreaths draped along every vendor stall.

"Oh my gosh, this is sooo cute!" She gasps, taking in the scene. Snowflakes gently drift around them, adding to the whole wintery magic aesthetic.

Hand in hand, they stroll through the market, browsing little holiday trinkets and sampling sweet treats while Silent Night and Let It Snow play in the background. As they pass a stall selling spiced hot chocolate, Shinichiro grins and buys them each a steaming mug topped with marshmallows and sprinkled with cinnamon. She takes a sip, eyes closing in pure contentment, and he can't help but chuckle. Nothing makes her happier than a good cup of Christmas cocoa.

As they wander some more, Shin occasionally pulls out his phone to capture candid shots of her smiling at ornaments or laughing under the fairy lights. Finally, he asks a nearby vendor to take a few pictures of them together—a moment they'd treasure forever, wrapped in coats and scarves, with the Christmas lights glowing all around them.

After they finish exploring every inch of the market, he guides her to a nearby restaurant he knows she'll love. It's the kind of place that looks like it had been decorated by Santa's very own elves, with garlands, lights, and ornaments filling every corner. They cozy up in a booth under a string of mistletoe, sharing comfort food and exchanging stories about their favorite Christmas memories.

By the time they head home, her cheeks and nose are chilled from the cold and her smile seems permanent. Shinichiro holds her close as they walk back, knowing he'd given her exactly what she loves most: a night filled with simple Christmas joys and, most importantly, time together.

[vorfreudevortex]

2. SHDW1

a street racer!ino takuma x f!reader fic

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 1 // next: chapter 3

warnings // 6k words - swearing, alcohol, smoking, reckless driving (duh), all characters in college or recently graduated, mount hakone's details are not accurate for the sake of the story so pls don't try to clown me for it, fighting and arguing, mentions of weapons, club scene, dancing/grinding bc it’s canon to me that ino is a fantastic dancer

✰ // the cars and the reader’s appearance in this fic are purposely kept ambiguous so you are free to have aspects look, feel, and be modified any way you’d like.

the vibes for chapter two

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

your body buzzes.

there was quite a crowd at the top of mount hakone. cars line the shoulder of the straight, all modified to hell and back. other teams, car fanatics, and random onlookers stood by; bumping music, smoking and drinking, and getting loose before the race started. it was mostly men, but gorgeous girls in their shortest skirts were mixed in, just wanting to have fun with expensive cars and free drinks on the weekend. you watched from afar as their music and chatter floated up into the stars.

“where the hell is this guy?” satoru whines. suguru's idling nsx is parked in the right lane of the road, just before the starting line. the five of you stand beside the warm motor, letting suguru and shoko's cigarette smoke waft through your hair. the guy who wanted to race your brother still hadn’t shown his face.

you and shoko had gotten ready for the race together, showing off your latest streetwear was always the thing to do at these events. you couldn’t help but don your tightest black corset, a leather skirt and knee-high platform boots. shoko had let you borrow a funky-patterned oversized jacket to wear when the dark mountain air got too cold, while she chose bright red jeans and a blue top.

the boys looked just as handsome. satoru wore loose jeans and a graphic tee, kento with tapered trousers, a linen button up and crisp sneakers, and suguru with an all black ensemble of cargo pants and a hoodie.

“he must’ve pussied out,” suguru says, crushing his finished cigarette into the crunchy gray asphalt.

“we’ll have to find a replacement if he doesn’t show,” kento grunts.

“it’s been 15 minutes, i don’t think he’s coming,” shoko rolls her eyes while smoke puffs out of her glossed lips.

getting bored, you lean dramatically into satoru's arm. “this suuucks! i just wanna see someone race.”

“well,” satoru giggles and ruffles your hair. “we can’t keep clutch waiting around. let’s find someone else.”

the five of you walk over to the shoulder, where the crowd is growing more anxious by the second. they look at your brother expectantly, and whispers of the man who bailed float around.

“looks like he’s not showing up,” suguru announces. “who wants to go?”

the crowd quiets to a murmur, everyone turning heads and waiting for someone to volunteer.

“i'll race you.”

you look up to see the black-haired boy from earlier today, the one that was next to ino. his face holds no expression and his hands are buried in his pockets. he looks like he couldn’t give less of a fuck. his stoic eyes and strong jaw reminds you of someone, but you can’t begin to place who.

“alright, fushiguro,” your brother nods. “let’s go.”

oh, fushiguro? you had no idea he had a son. no— he goes by zenin, right? you recall the exciting stories your dad would tell you as a kid of his past thrilling nights and rivalries. zenin was one of them; you had seen occasional glimpses of him in the garage during visits as a child. he was an absolutely terrifying man, with a prominent scar on his mouth from a bad wreck in his youth.

“two things before we start,” fushiguro says, and your brother pauses. you spot ino, and behind him the tattooed man and the pink-haired boy, as well as another guy with a bun in his hair. you make brief eye contact and your heart flutters, before tearing your attention back to your brother.

“first, i'm racing for pinks tonight,” fushiguro states, and a few whistles come from the onlookers. “and my dad’s here tonight. so no bullshit.” he gestures to his side, but you can’t spot his father in the crowd.

“there’s never bullshit,” suguru scoffs. “racing for pinks? fine. your r34 will cry in relief when i finally get behind the wheel of that thing.”

the jab doesn’t stick for you and your unfamiliarity of the shadows’ racing style, but the onlookers snicker as they know that fushiguro is a notoriously aggressive driver and runs through cars and tires faster than anyone here tonight. he doesn’t respond to your brother, but leaves to pull his car up to the starting line. suguru revs his engine to make sure its warmed up, it purrs and pulls in place.

satoru and kento send him off with handshakes and pats before heading to their own vehicles to different markers along the pass. there will be someone posted at each mile with a radio to update the listening crowd on the race, as well as warn the drivers and audience of any hazards or police as they make their way down the line. you stick your head through suguru's open window.

“drive safe, sugu,” you smile, pressing a small peck to his cheek.

“don’t worry ‘bout me, clutch,” he smiles, not a single nervous bone in his body. “when i get his r34, i'll let you have it.”

you and shoko stand off to the side as the flag girl settles between suguru and fushiguro’s cars, raising her arms. the paints glitter under the moonlight and stars, trembling over their hot engines as they start to burnout at the countdown, prepping their tires and getting them sticky. your heart starts to pound once more, the anticipation and stakes of the race are almost too much to handle. her arms fly downwards, and the race begins.

the two cars peel away from the line, the rubber screeching out and making your ears ring. you let out cheers and shouts alongside the crowd as your brother flies deep into the forest, motors screaming as they echo through the mountainside and disappear.

“phantoms start in the lead,” you hear the pager crackle and boom from a nearby stereo system.

the crowd fizzles a bit, most of them turning back to conversations and liquor bottles while the race fanatics gather closer to the stereo, you along with them.

“i’m gonna go catch up with some friends,” shoko says, motioning towards a group of rowdy girls across the road. “you wanna come with, or stay and listen to the race?”

“i’ll stay,” you respond. “but go on ahead! i’ll see you in a bit.”

you wave her off and take a seat on a rounded post that supported the road’s guardrail, just a few feet behind the crowd bunched around the stereo.

“mile 1, phantoms in the lead,” you hear kento’s voice over the speaker.

“hey!”

your head turns, eyes landing on ino. he stands before you with that same sweet smile.

“oh, hi!” you smile. “thanks again for the pictures, ino-san.”

“it’s no big deal, i’m glad you liked them.”

“so,” you shift in your seat. “you didn’t wanna race my brother tonight, huh?”

“not tonight. i’m still getting my baby tuned just right after some new tires. your brother isn’t easy to race, but i guess megumi wanted the smoke tonight,” he jokes.

“there’s no way suguru would give up his car so easily,” it’s your turn to tease again. “it’s a good thing he won’t lose.”

ino laughs, the handsome sound making the tips of your ears turn hot. “well, megumi won’t give up any easier. so i guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”

“mile 2, shadows in the lead,” and the listeners chatter at the update.

“you know, for someone who’s never passed through mount hakone, you had a pretty quick time this morning,” he steps closer to you. “your brother must’ve taught you well.”

“he keeps me calm,” you nod. “but my time wasn’t that impressive. i think i've just had some good practice swinging around intersections back home.”

“mile 3, phantoms in the lead,” the speaker crackles again. you glance up at ino after the announcement and he sheepishly smiles.

“looks like it’s gonna be a close one,” he shrugs. “well, no matter the outcome… uh—”

he clears his throat. “—we're all gonna hang out at the underground after the race. you should come!”

“the underground?”

“it’s a club in shibuya we usually go to. it’ll just be my boys and a few other close friends meeting up there.” the dim floodlights fail to hide the light shade of pink that tinges ino’s cheeks. your stomach flips at his offer, heart pounding. your fingers twitch.

“oh, i don’t think my brother would like that very much,” you giggle nervously, your own cheeks turning red. “but thanks so much for inviting me!”

“no worries… i better leave you alone before someone rats me out,” he grins. “uh, text me, yeah?”

“mile 4, shadows in the lead.”

you politely nod. “see you around!”

“for sure,” ino takes two steps away from you before he turns back around. “by the way, you look beautiful tonight, y/n.”

he’s gone before you can even process it.

✰✰✰✰✰

takuma ino has great timing, because no less than 5 minutes after he disappears, you spot satoru’s and kento’s tall mess of light hairs bobbing through the crowd. they’ve done their jobs and have made their way back up the mountain to wait for suguru to cross the line once more. blue eyes meet yours and he waves with a smile as he guides kento to you.

“suguru’s got this one in the bag,” he reassures, patting your head like a dog.

“ugh, don’t do that, toru!”

“why?” he brings his face closer to yours. “tryna look pretty for someone, hm?”

“quit, satoru,” kento huffs.

“no,” you reply. “most girls don’t like when their hair gets fucked up after spending so long on it. you should know that better than anyone.”

satoru feigns a gasp, as if he doesn’t see a different girl every weekend. “are you calling me a slut?”

“well i’m not saying you’re a virgin.”

“jesus, stop it,” kento says.

“mile 7, shadows in the lead.”

“they’ve been going back and forth all night,” you point out over the chatter. “suguru will be upset if he has to give up his keys to that boy.”

“he’d kill someone before allowing that to happen,” kento reassures, but it doesn’t sound comforting to you. 

suguru is one of the most relaxed people you know, even his angry words aren’t loud. but he has a kill switch, and there’s nothing scarier than your brother when his temper is lost. you’ve only experienced it twice before, but each incident had left your younger self frozen in fear when his voice and hands would finally raise towards someone. suguru doesn’t fight often, but when he does, his hard fists always land.

“toru, is this fushiguro from the same family as papa’s friend?” you ask. you start to hear the racing motors tearing through the pass, creeping closer and closer. “i thought he went by zenin before.”

“it’s his kid,” he nods, propping a cigarette between his lips. “your papa used to race with him, but he got married and had a kid so his wife made him stop.”

“he took his wife’s last name,” kento adds, the explanation allows the floating information to click together inside your brain. satoru digs in his pockets.

he hands satoru a lighter. kento hates that all of his friends smoke, but gave up trying to convince them to quit a long time ago. you suspect he keeps a lighter in his pocket for when they forget one.

“mile 8, shadows still in the lead.”

“fuck, let’s go,” satoru grabs your arm as he realizes the two are in the last 1/2 mile stretch of the race. kento follows close behind as you’re pulled through an anxious crowd towards the finish line. your blood runs hot as you see the headlights of the cars come around the corner, piercing the mountain’s darkness like a knife.

you recognize suguru’s headlights as the ones in front as they continue to fight for control of the road. you sigh in relief. the cars are a blur as they fly over the finish line, suguru only a few feet ahead of fushiguro. you don’t think much of how close the race was, the crowd cheers and you go pushing between satoru and kento to run towards your brother, stomach twirling in excitement. a few others do the same as the boys slam on their brakes, sending their cars swinging sideways to skid into an abrupt stop haphazardly in the middle of the road.

suguru leaps out of his seat and slams the door behind him, hard. 

oh?

“what the FUCK?!”

you slow your jog as your eyes widen, barely recognizing his roaring voice as cuts into the air. megumi exits his car as well, planting his feet on the warm concrete with tense shoulders and furrowed brows. suguru rushes over to the boy, sweat dripping down his temple from the adrenaline of the pass with fists clenched. you can see the white of his knuckles. his dark hair, which he had pulled into a neat bun, was now a loose and frizzy mess. you come to a stop with heavy breathe, no more than 10 feet away from them.

“you tryna fucking kill me, fushiguro?!”

“shut the fuck up, geto!”

“don’t fucking play with me right now!”

a hand clamps down on your shoulder, jolting you back. you look up and see satoru, his blue eyes wild and serious. your gaze drops down to where his hand rests on the front of his waistband, allowing a rectangular form to be seen through his shirt. 

whoa. since when did satoru own a gun?

“y/n. stay. back.”

you barely hear his snappy command over your racing thoughts. you’re stuck to the concrete, feet unable to move. satoru runs over to suguru and suddenly kento is there as well, latching onto suguru’s shirt with a tight grip. ino appears with the black-haired guy with face tattoos and the broad-shouldered man-bun behind him, all of them hot in the face.

“why the fuck are you driving like that, huh?!” your brother screams, pulling closer and closer to fushiguro. you can only watch the ugly scene in front of you as your stomach flips over on itself. suguru doesn't talk like this to anyone for anything, you know he's teetering over the edge of going absolutely ballistic. “just say you want me dead, just say it, pussy!”

“fuck you!” fushiguro yells back. “it doesn't matter anymore, you won. just take my damn car!”

“i don’t want your fuckass car!”

“suguru, calm down,” kento demands harshly.

“get back, geto,” ino steps in. “this is fucking stupid.”

those were not the right words to say as all the boys are face to face, and suguru lunges towards him. satoru pulls your brother back again before stepping in front of him, the man with a bun shoves into his shoulder. satoru’s pointer finger reaches over and digs into takuma’s chest.

“you don’t want this shit, ino” he hisses into ino’s face. “just leave.”

“i’m not scared of you guys,” takuma asserts, grabbing satoru hand and snatching it away from himself.

“teach your boy some fucking respect,” suguru spits. “he claimed ‘no bullshit’ but you didn’t see the way he was pushing me around back there.”

“i wanted to race, so i raced, dickhead,” fushiguro retorts.

“only your dumbass would call that racing.”

a large, calloused hand comes to rest on your nape, sending chills down your spine.

“geto.”

you aren’t sure if the deep, gruff voice is referring to you or your brother. the boys whip their heads around. when you look up at the sound, you recognize him immediately. toji fushiguro looks down at you from his towering stance, a sly smirk on his scarred lips. his messy, flat black hair casts a shadow over his eyes, making his gaze more menacing.

“please don’t touch me,” your meek voice finally finds words, barely above a whisper. although toji fushiguro’s touch is light, your instinct tells you to step away and your body moves on its own, the man lets his hand fall. it’s been years since you’ve seen this him, but he hasn’t changed other than some added wrinkles. he still exudes an intimidating aura. you can’t believe your papa drinks with this man, let alone allows him into your home.

“y/n,” suguru’s calls, tearing your attention back to him. you must look scared, because his voice is slightly calmer, gentler, than how he was speaking before. “get in the car.”

damn it, you can’t help but know you look weak in front of all these people. your mind is a whirlwind; from suguru’s anger, to satoru’s gun, and now toji fushiguro’s touch. the tips of your fingers twitch as you stare at suguru, frozen. an irritated vein stands out on his sweating forehead. you see ino over his shoulder, but you can’t read his face. you can’t tell what he’s thinking but his eyes are filled with confusion and concern. the younger fushiguro’s face also expresses worry, but his mouth stays shut.

“aw, how sweet of you,” fushiguro mocks your brother. “guess you don’t want your sweet little innocent sister seeing this ugly side of you, huh?”

why the hell is he dragging you into this?

“clutch, i’m not fucking around right now,” suguru obviously strains to keep his voice down for you. “get in kento’s car. now.”

something in your brain suddenly sparks, and you’re immediately turning around and rushing across the road and shoulder to kento’s car. your mind thinks of everything but nothing at the same time, tension reverberating from your body with each step on the concrete. you swing the door of kento’s s13 open as you practically dive into his passenger seat and slam it shut behind you.

as soon as it latches, you hear muffled shouting from several voices. you lean over, arms wrapping around your thighs and forehead resting on your knees, afraid of what you might see if you look out the windshield. you can feel you heart in your throat as you heave, your breathe hard to find in the wild confusion of the night.

the driver’s door flies open and you whip your head. kento immediately turns the motor and puts it in gear.

“i’m taking you home,” he exhales. you can tell he’s bewildered as well, his neat hair coming undone over his eyes and knuckles white over the gear shifter. when you lift you head to look out the window as he pulls away, you see a shadowy silhouette of a tall man standing on the hill behind the line of onlookers’ cars. you think you see a motorbike next to him, but he’s barely visible through the hazy fog of the mountain. it’s odd, to say the least, but not important at the moment. 

you keep quiet. you don’t think it’s worth mentioning.

✰✰✰✰✰

the way home is completely silent aside from the hum of the engine. kento drives you home quickly but safely, his rigidity slowly fading away with each push and pull of the gear shifter. but you haven’t stopped thinking— goddamnit, how you wish your brain would stop thinking. your knee bounces uncontrollably as you suck in a breathe.

“kento?” he hums and glances over to you. “how long has satoru owned a gun?”

he doesn’t speak at first and presses his lips into a tight, thin line.

“a while now,” he finally answers.

“do you have one, too?”

“no.”

“and suguru?”

kento pauses for half a second too long. 

“oh my god— how long has he had one?”

“longer than satoru,” it seems like answering these questions is causing him pain.

“are you lying to me?” your voice is small.

“never.”

it’s your turn to hesitate. you were used to seeing people carry weapons in the car scene back home, where it was so easy to get a hold of one. but to be across the world in a country where only gangs and criminals possessed them, just to find out that your brother and his best friend owned one…

it shocked you. although your mother owned a pistol back home, and you fully knew how to use it, it made you uncomfortable to think your own brother got a hold of one illegally. suguru has always been your safety blanket, the one to call when things went wrong, the one to comfort you. and satoru, the one who always had a watchful eye on the back of your head, the one who you’d always run to if suguru wasn’t there. what are they thinking?

kento parks in front of your house, but you still have one more burning question.

“have they ever… used them before?”

“i don’t think so,” he replies.

“that was supposed to be a yes or no question.”

“i can’t give you that,” he looks… sad?

fine, then. without another word, you slip out of the car and walk inside your home. kento follows right behind you, all the way up the stairs to your room. he pauses at the door, one hand on the knob, as you slump into bed. he seems to know exactly what you’re thinking even though you’re turned away.

“i’m sure your brother is fine.”

“okay,” you croak, eyes burning with tears. tonight was just so… confusing. you could barely wrap your mind around what happened and most importantly, why?

“please try not to worry and get some sleep,” he replies, his voice gentle and solid. “i’ll let him know that you’re home and safe now.”

you hear him shut your bedroom door and pad down the stairs. when he locks the front door after him, you once again hear your papa’s snoring. only then do you let the tears fall, hot and heavy, but suddenly they’re angry tears. you kick off your boots and shove your face into the pillows, you fists trembling with irritation around the fabric.

how could suguru be so... stupid?

✰✰✰✰✰

shadow.takuma: hey are u ok?

shadow.takuma: are u home now??

you snatch up your phone at the notifications. you’ve calmed down now, but the fact that takuma is checking in on your before your own brother is sending hot blood through your veins once again.

clutchcruises: i’m home and i’m totally fine. are you okay?

shadow.takuma: yeah i’m ok!

shadow.takuma: i’m so sorry about megumi’s dad. i didn’t know he was gonna do that

shadow.takuma: and i'm sorry about how i was talking to ur brother

shadow.takuma: it was all really out of pocket

oh? that’s not really the explanation you were expecting.

clutchcruises: it’s okay. don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything!

shadow.takuma: no pls i feel awful. i feel like he really scared u

shadow.takuma: i think he just did it to get ur brother worked up

clutchcruises: he knew it would bc he knows my dad

clutchcruises: i remember him from when i was a kid

shadow.takuma: seriously??

shadow.takuma: that makes it worse… i’m so so sorry

clutchcruises: seriously, it’s alright! i’m over it now

you were totally not over it.

shadow.takuma: ok… well i get it if ur not up for it but i’ll still be at the underground tonight

shadow.takuma: just in case u decide to come!

clutchcruises: it really sounds fun, i’ve never been out in tokyo before

clutchcruises: i just don’t think it’s a good idea rn, i’m sorry

shadow.takuma: don’t be sorry :) i totally get it

shadow.takuma: text me if u change ur mind?

as soon as you like his last message, suguru’s name takes over your phone screen. you sit up in bed and answer the call.

“suguru.”

“y/n? ken told me you’re safe at home?” he sounds stressed.

“yeah.”

“are you okay?”

“i’m... a lot of things right now,” you admit solemnly. the frustrated tears reappear in your eyes but never fall. “are you?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you hear the crackles as he adjusts his phone. “i’m so sorry. i’m fucking embarrassed.”

you stay silent, biting down on your lip. you don’t know how to respond.

“i’m so fucking sorry,” he continues. “i totally lost my temper. and when fushiguro came over, i knew i was about to completely lose it. i can’t believe he put his hands on you, i just—”

“—suguru,” you cut him off and he quiets. “why didn’t you tell me that you and satoru carried guns?”

he pauses. “i just didn’t think you needed to know.”

“where did you even fucking get them?!” you rarely got mad at suguru, but you couldn’t help but snap at him.

“you don’t need to know that either.”

“why not? don’t i deserve to know?”

another pause. “…no.”

you take a deep breathe. “when will you be home?”

“in a while. can we talk then, if you’re still up?”

“i’m still a little upset with you, suguru.” you bite your lip. “can we just wait until the morning?”

“yeah, i guess. get some sleep, okay?”

“suguru?”

“yeah?”

“…i’m going out tonight.”

“...with who?”

“some girls i made friends with tonight.”

you feel him hesitate through the phone. the phone crackles again as he fumbles with it. you wish you could see what he was doing, but a part of you doesn’t even want to know.

“...be safe and smart, please... call me if you need anything. and text me when you’re on the way home.”

“i will.”

“thank you.”

“love you, nii-chan.”

“love you too, clutch.”

✰✰✰✰✰

clutchcruises: otw

you have no idea what you’re doing, honestly. the words just came out of your mouth on the phone with suguru. sure, you wanted to meet up with takuma, but you weren’t actually planning on coming. and after all the bullshit that’s happened tonight, a drink sounds so good. you admit to yourself that you also just wanted to do something rebellious towards your brother after pissing you off.

your fingers thrum against the gear shifter as your mustang purrs through the bright streets of tokyo. you had stripped out of your corset and skirt into backless, dark green halter dress before fussing with your hair. you had never pulled on your platform combat boots so fast in your life. you kneaded your glossed lips together, anxious to death over walking into a club on your own. you were really going to hang out with a boy you’ve had one face-to-face conversation with, and for what? 

the plot? what plot?

after parking, you walked silently alongside scattered and rowdy strangers through the street of shibuya, eyeing your phone desperately. takuma still hasn’t responded to your message. good lord, what are you doing? what will your excuse be when suguru finds out?

you find yourself at the back of the line into the underground far too quickly for your liking. you can hear the pounding bass of the music from outside, echoing through your bones. the girls in front of you wear skirts so short and heels so high that you’re really starting to doubt yourself now. why are you here? the bouncer probably won’t even let you in once he sees the beautiful girls before you—

“y/n!”

you look up, meeting eyes with takuma. he gently wraps his hand around yours.

“you don’t need to wait,” he smiles. “i know the guy who runs this place. c’mon!”

he pulls you out of line and towards the door, where the bouncer doesn’t even look twice as you walk past. takuma leads you down a set of dark stairs, still holding you hand. your eyes widen when you reach the bottom. a huge room opens before you, neon lights and lasers scanning over the cramped crowd and huge speakers lining the ceiling, vibrating with every beat of the catchy song playing. 

the walls are lined with couples messily smacking faces while the dj booth stands in the center of the room with a circular bar surrounding it entirely. it’s one ginormous hub of drinking and dancing while booths and tables make small bubbles of calm as they’re scattered sparsely throughout the bodies.

just before you’re consumed by the crowd, takuma turns and puts a warm palm on the small of your bare back. he leans in, his hot and liquored breathe in your ear. your stomach flips and it feels like your body temperature raises about 20 degrees.

“the shadows have a booth by the bar,” he says. “if you want to drink tonight, we’ve got it all.”

you nod, hoping the neon lasers disguise your bright red cheeks. he grins and takes your hand once again, leading you into the sea of people. it’s completely packed, and you can’t help but be pushed around between drunks. thankfully, takuma never loses his hold on you, even when you harshly bump into a tall, stiff body.

“sorry!” you shout at them over the music.

the person looks down at you with a glare, leaving you cowering. it’s a rough-looking man about suguru’s age who grips a beer and wears a skin tight black shirt and jeans. he has light-colored hair, but you can’t exactly tell what color through the rainbow of lights over you. what you can see, however, is the absolutely horrifying tattoos that cover his face and arms. sharp, black lines blanket his nose, forehead, and jawline. thick bands wrap around his biceps and wrists.

as takuma pulls you away, the man gives you a sly smirk. he stands completely still among the constant movement around him. his dark eyes make direct, excruciating contact with yours until you disappear. you aren’t given any more time to dwell on his odd behavior as takuma leads you into the shadows’ wide, round booth.

the table is sticky with liquor and littered with cigarette butts and empty bottles. megumi and the pink-haired boy are standing and pouring shots, while man-bun and space-buns sit back in the booth, both with girls on their laps and wrapped around their necks. a couple other guys are here, but you don’t recognize them. the four that you do know, however, look up at you with wide eyes.

“uh, takuma?” fushiguro asks.

“what the hell?” man-bun says from his seat. the pink-haired and tattooed boys stay quiet.

“megumi!” takuma smiles at him and puts a hand on the small of your back once again. “this is y/n!”

“i know…” he responds, hesitant. “you— i didn’t think—”

“it’s okay, fushiguro-kun!” you smile with a shrug. “don’t worry about it!”

“i—” he stops and puts his hand to his chest before bowing sheepishly. it seems out of character for him, and you think he might already be drunk by the way he unsteadily sways. “i’m so sorry about me and my dad earlier.”

you wave him off. “seriously, it’s alright!”

“oh wait, that’s the girl?” pink-hair says, obviously very slow to understand. his glazed eyes tell you he’s been drinking for a while.

“a shot or two might make up for it all,” you tease.

“i’m yuji itadori!” he points to space-buns and tattoos first, then the man-bun. “and that’s choso kamo and aoi todo.”

megumi grabs a different bottle. “i hope you like vodka.”

“and i hope you like menthol.” yuji holds a thin white cigarette and lighter out to you, which you accept immediately.

“pour me one too, megumi!” takuma grabs your shoulders. “we gotta celebrate!”

“celebrate what?” you ask. his face is right next to yours as he leans over your shoulder. you can’t peel your eyes away from his glittering brown eyes and toothy smile. he shrugs.

“you’re came. what’s not to celebrate?”

✰✰✰✰✰

once again, your actions are beyond yourself. you didn’t plan to actually come out, but here you were in the underground. you didn’t plan to drink, but here you are with your 3rd drink in your hand after 3 shots, teetering over the line from tipsy to drunk. you didn’t plan on things to go so smoothly, but here you are sitting back in the booth after an hour of nonstop conversation beside takuma. his hand never left you the entire time, either around your hand or on your back while the other held a drink.

but you definitely didn’t plan to blurt out a question you already knew the answer to.

“do you like to dance, takuma?” you immediately regret asking, you just know he’s going to reject you.

“i thought you’d never ask,” he laughs. “i love dancing.”

takuma quickly stands up and pulls you out of the booth. he leads you deeper into the crowd until he finds enough space for the two of you to move. takuma pulls you into his side by the waist, then hesitates and loosens his hold.

“i’m sorry,” he says submissively. “i’m drunk.”

“don’t worry,” you giggle in his ear. “me too.”

takuma turns his face into yours. he looks at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. your noses are just inches away from each other. your sweet vanilla perfume is making him dizzy. you don’t know his stomach is fluttering wildly with butterflies. he doesn’t know yours is too.

the dj transitions into the next song. it’s a mix but you instantly recognize the beat. you gasp.

“oh my god, i love this song!”

takuma smiles. “i’ve never heard this.”

“that’s cause it’s only for the girls.”

you wrap your arms around his neck and his hands come to rest on your waist. now that you’ve stood up and under the strobing lights, you realize you’re much drunker than you thought you were, but can’t find the effort the care anymore. takuma has had his eyes and hands on nothing but you since you got here, but you still want more.

“dance with me, kuma,” you find your intoxicated voice murmuring in his ear as you smile and start swaying your hips. his head spins while his fingertips lightly dig into your sides at your words. takuma swears he’ll never let go. he moves in sync with you to the beat, a permanent grin etched across his face.

he simply can’t believe the situation he’s in right now. the only coherent thought in his liquor-filled head is you. with your silky hair fluttering over his skin and his large hands over the curves of your hips and waist, separated only by the satin of your green dress… someone help him. his brain does backflips every time he’s made contact with the exposed skin of your back. your cheeks are pink from the shots and your glossed lips are puffy from being pursed around a straw or cigarette all night. he just can’t look away.

at first, all takuma wanted was a good look at you, your undeniable innocent beauty was like a magnet he couldn’t escape from. so how did he manage to get you here tonight, drunk and giggly with your body pressed flush against his? god, suguru would beat his ass on sight if he could see where takuma had his hands on you right now.

“you’re a good dancer, takuma.”

“am i?” he twirls the both of you around, evoking a sweet squeal from you before pulling you tighter against him to lean down and whisper in your ear. “what happened to ‘kuma’?”

your face turns red with embarrassment. you wrap your hand around his jaw and turn it away from your burning ear, a finger lingering on his bottom lip. takuma playfully bares his teeth and lightly bites the end of your nail, making your eyes widen before pulling your hand away with a small yelp. he just laughs, he has no idea what he’s doing. the song ends and transitions to another.

“another song?” takuma asks. 

god, he hopes you say yes.

“duh!” you laugh. he spins you so your back is against his chest.

“good, i don’t want you to leave me just yet.”

✰✰✰✰✰

you don’t know how long you and takuma danced for. it seemed like only 5 minutes, but it must’ve been another hour. your feet start to hurt and the liquor is setting in, making you dizzy.

“you okay, pretty girl?” takuma asks, the new nickname tumbling out of his mouth before he knows it. you nod in response. he doesn’t miss your lidded eyes staring at his lips instead of his eyes. 

“you tired?” 

“no,” you shake your head. “but i know i should go home soon.”

he has you facing him again, holding you close. your hand finds takuma’s nape and your fingers absentmindedly play with the ends of his hair, sending goosebumps down his back. disappointed by your words, he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“i don’t want you to go,” he admits.

“me neither.”

your noses bump. takuma’s stomach drops. you sigh. he thinks and thinks, then thinks against it. seconds go by…

“you’re so beautiful.” he mumbles. you giggle shyly in response.

nah, fuck it.

“y/n…” his breathe is hot against your lips. “…can i kiss you?”

“yes, please.”

he reaches up, lightly cupping the side of your face. he’s gentle as your mouths connect, moving his lips against yours so soft and slow. he feels you melt into him, and he deepens the kiss. he lets his lips move in sync with yours, the sweet taste of your lip gloss sending searing waves of need down his stomach every time he catches a hint of it.

oh god, he’s practically floating.

you’ve been driving him insane all night, singing to all the songs in his ear and breathing softly on his neck. and even through the most passionate kiss he’s had in his life, his shitfaced brain understands completely that he’s utterly infatuated with you.

takuma slowly, reluctantly pulls away. it leaves both of you panting while your noses continue to poke and prod as he holds your jaw. your cheeks are bright red, and you know it’s not from the alcohol this time. you’re suddenly hypersensitive of his gentle hands against your cheek and the bottom of your back. your stomach feels light and jittery.

you don’t know what to think, incapable of processing anything coherently after takuma kissed you like that. in the few silent seconds after, you must replay it in your mind a hundred times over. you’ve never felt like this before.

nothing else settles in your mind, only takuma ino… but the one thing you seem to be able to comprehend in your empty little head right now rests over you like a warm blanket—

it’s so over for you.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 1 // next: chapter 3

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[isalisewrites]

Is Bellamort a misunderstanding of canon in your opinion? To be honest I find more sense in them but I don't dismiss Tomarry or anything like that, I respect your tastes. However, if we're talking about canon we also have to face the reality of what we might not like. Hinny falls into this category and is practically a parallel to Bellamort. Ginny seems to have been inspired by Bella in her personality and that doesn't diminish the character because JKR wrote both as complex characters.

My beautiful wife says, "I'm gonna hold your hand with a ten foot pole and say, No."

Damn, you got my girl to rant so much. Thank you. That was hot of her.

*coughs*

Anyway~

So, there are a few things to unpack here. Once again, I see we're talking about canon and what people perceive as 'making the most sense.' I also see a fundamental misunderstanding of Ginny's character and an inflated opinion of JKR's ability to write.

Okay, so.

One: JKR did not write Ginny and Bellatrix as complex characters. Neither are complex beings at all. Bellatrix is a fanatical simp for Voldemort in canon. Nothing more, nothing less. She is not shown to have anything more complex about her.

Meanwhile, Ginny is a cardboard cutout. She is a very flat character. My girl called her tofu, where other characters add flavor to her. Ginny loving Harry makes sense, but Harry liking her in return doesn't make much sense. My girl said, "Bellatrix/Voldemort makes more sense than Ginny/Harry because Bella is a fanatic." But the fact that you pointed out that Hinny and Bellamort could be parallels of each other... that just makes me dislike the ships even more, ngl. Gross.

Second: canon doesn't make sense. There are so many events in canon that DO NOT make sense. The amount of plot devices in the series is insane. Characters are often used as plot devices, rather than as living, breathing people who make their own choices in spite of what the Author God demands the plot to be. I can often tell when a character is being boxed into something because of JKR's writing.

The TRUE reality is JKR isn't a good writer. Have we been given something to play with, absolutely. But I will not put canon on a pedestal and act like it's god. It has many, many flaws that contradict itself on too many occasions. So, when people argue that I oughta accept what 'makes sense in canon,' there is no sturdy foundation to this. There's nothing that convinces me. Anything in canon can go anyway. The amount of pathway possibilities are immense.

And, again, I don't need anything to make sense in canon to do whatever the fuck I want in these fandom spaces. There is no reality that I don't like in canon. I don't need my favorite ships to be canon.

I don't want them to be canon!

You think I want JKR to write Harrymort??? Good lord, she'd butcher it. She can't even do Dumbledore/Grindelwald right. Why do I have to hear her in the behind the scenes of Fantastic Beasts 2 say, "Dumbledore and Grindelwald has a very strong, sexual relationship."

Bitch, if I don't see them in bed, naked under the sheets, I don't fucking believe you.

Anyway, JKR needs to keep her hands off our fandom ships. *shudders at the thought*

Finally, if I DID look at canon like I cared about it, I say Bellamort somewhat makes sense, but also no because I can't see Voldemort very often as a sexual creature. To me, it takes certain parameters for him to get to that point. A simpering Bella, to me, just isn't it. (And I'm a lesbian and I think she's fucking hot, okay??? None of this is because I don't like her)

ALSO, yall, do you know how many times I saw Bella lusting after Voldemort in fics and vice versa in the 2000s and 2010s before Cursed Child came out? Too many. So, the fact that it became canon just disgusts me because it feels like it was stolen from fandom. Smh. Ew. It pisses me off. Cursed Child just pisses me off. It's like a slap in the face. We wouldn't be having this discussion if it weren't for Cursed Child.

In conclusion, you don't have to justify why you enjoy Bellamort. You like Bellamort? Have fun. I'm sure there are some great fics of them. I will not be reading or writing it because it simply does not interest me. There are no 'realities to face because of canon' because canon has holes in it and is poorly written.

I can logic battle about why any ship is good and how it could come to pass, but instead, we should just go write them.

Fuck canon and go write the wild, fun ships!

Isa