#he has descended upon us lol

[wingedqueenlynx]

A Angel, Demon and Fallen Angel versions of Eddie in his gremlin state lol

@caesariawritesstuff He is both the Angel and devil on our shoulders XD

[fushitoru]

chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-clair for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

next. the aftermath

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character.  Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.  

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest���.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.” 

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!" 

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than  the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you? 

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up. 

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice. 

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile. 

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator. 

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones. 

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there. 

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.  

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.  

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”  

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered,  “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Ino seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere. 

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the future Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course." 

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious. 

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.” 

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk. 

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms,  with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

 There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims. 

next. the aftermath

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[aprilcolours]

blackheart

A/N: OC is Visenya, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, second eldest child after Jace and before Luc. She rides Vermithor, the Bronze Fury. This is about SHOW Benjicot Blackwood NOT book!! The three seconds we’ve seen of him at least lol <3 Valyrian is translated at the bottom

part two - part three - part four

—

When Vermithor landed, a slew of muck and water sprayed into the humid Riverlands air. Visenya the Second wrinkled her nose and brushed some of the mud specks off her riding leathers. 

She reassured her dragon, “Sȳz, jikagon arghugon,” and slid promptly off onto his shoulder, before deftly sticking the ten foot drop to the ground. The marshes were full of tents, troops mustered from across the realm to gather here in this central region, where the flags waved black. She had made sure to land a little ways away, wouldn’t want to crush any of our own now would we, she thought with a slight smirk. 

She was the daughter of the Rogue Prince, and carried herself as such. There was a latent danger in the way her lithe form prowled forward, a ferocity to the confident tilt of her shoulders. Despite her stature as a young woman, and a slight one at that, she cut an imposing figure. 

The bannerman watched her approach, most tilting their head in recognition at least, some falling into deep bows. She stalked through the lines of troops, searching for the central war council. 

Visenya had flown to the Riverlands a fortnight hence, to guard their troops from a possible attack by Vhagar, to see her mother’s will done in the strategizing, and for a third purpose that was known only to her and her mother. At the center of a camp, a large table had been brought forth, encrusted with maps of the region and the current positions of hosts. Gathered around the table were a group of knights and lords sworn to Rhaenyra: Lords Darklyn, Staunton, Massey, and a group of young lords that had come to be known as the Lads: Lord Kermit Tully, Ser Oscar Tully, and Lord Benjicot Blackwood. 

Benjicot Blackwood had come into his lordship quite recently, with the death of his father mere months ago at the beginning of the war. Despite this, he had already made a formidable reputation for himself as ruthless, bloodthirsty, and a force to be reckoned with. He was not necessarily physically imposing, favoring a lean build, but he had a certain gleam in his eye. Almost rabid, Visenya had thought to herself with a small laugh. 

She looked at each of the gathered as she reached the table, daring any of these older men to show anything other than submission. Each of the lords bowed, averting their eyes. Bar one. Lord Blackwood always held her gaze as he bowed, eyes gleaming and a crooked smile playing at his lips.

She raised a brow, unimpressed. 

It only seemed to make his smile curl even wider. 

“The Western front has shifted closer, your Highness,” Lord Massey informed her. Visenya finally tore her eyes away from the Blackwood to observe the map. Indeed, the Green host mustered at Lannisport had crept closer in the night. It now dared to encroach on the edges of Tully land. 

“The numbers mustered are not insignificant,” Lord Darklyn added. 

“They are when compared to the whole force of the Reach that soon converges upon us from the South,” Lord Staunton argued. The combined Tyrell, Hightower, and Florent host was decidedly large. 

“A problem only made worse if the Lannisters are allowed to join them,” Darklyn shot back. It was clear this argument had been happening for some time at this point. 

As she considered the map and heeded the advisors, Visenya felt a certain piercing dark gaze boring holes into her. She did not indulge him further with another look, but she could feel the unending weight of his stare as it did not abate. 

“We march on the Lannisters,” Visenya declared, voice carrying high and clear. The council ceased their squabbling. 

A short silence descended, as the Lords who disagreed weighed whether they would be endangering themselves if they expressed their opinion. 

“We will cut them off at Lydden, before they can turn southwards,” she continued, gesturing to the spot on the map. “Darklyn is right, they cannot be allowed to join the Reach. Lannister forces will have supplies from Lannisport, so they will not have been affected by the blockade. Time is our greatest ally at the moment. We have the whole of the North marching to us,” Visenya spoke plainly and matter-of-factly, but at this point she smiled slightly and tossed her silver braid over one shoulder. 

“Furthermore, the Green houses are well… green. The longer they wait, they longer they have to ponder tales of fearsome Northmen who need neither food nor sleep, to whisper legends of Rhaenyra the Cruel and her fleet of dragonriders,” she paused to shoot Blackwood the barest hint of a grin, “to hear word of Bloody Ben and the carnage they march towards.” 

The Lads laughed and jostled Ben’s shoulders. 

“I hear he slew fifty men in a single evening over his cup of tea!” Ser Oscar teased, voice mockingly high. Blackwood ducked his head and laughed, rustling the other two men back. 

“The flower knights will quiver and shake their way back to Highall,” Visenya finished, looking to the council members for dissent. 

“What of Vhagar, your highness?” Lord Staunton asked, “The kinslayer will surely come calling.”

Visenya tilted her head. 

“That is why I am here,” she answered. 

With that, and a few more details of the march agreed upon, the council was adjourned. As he began to walk towards his troops however, Visenya called out to him,

“Oh and Blackwood?”

Ben turned back to face her, taking the address as an invitation to step closer. Closer than any other dared step. She had to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye. 

“Be sure to give them something to talk about,” she commanded. Her voice did not falter even as she felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. 

With a lopsided grin and another bow, “I swear it, my lady.”

—

The battle at Lydden was a roaring success. Vermithor made sure to roar it across the skies. Together, Visenya and her dragon burned whole battalions and paved the way for the Black troops to carve through the Lannister forces. It was not without its casualties to the numbers, but still a resounding victory for the Queen. 

In the aftermath, they had landed in a small forest slightly away from the troops, who she could hear were already carousing. Visenya used the flat of one of her blades to scrape dried blood from Vermithor’s scales. 

“Messy business, isn't it,” a voice rang out from behind her, with his signature teasing lilt. Ben stood at the other edge of the clearing, grinning, also covered in blood and mud. She turned, raising an eyebrow at his antics. 

“What I thought was courage I see now might be stupidity,” she responded with a teasing tone of her own, “to approach a dragon on your lonesome.” 

He approached further, despite her warning, and like a moth to a flame she was drawn closer. 

“Ah but I am not alone, am I?” He said, almost breathless still from the battle they had just fought. They drew near together in the center of the clearing. “And my princess is a great dragon rider who would not allow harm to befall me,” he intoned in a low voice. 

“Ha! I have left court only to find flatterers in the fields,” she replied. Perhaps the bloodlust had gone to her head but Visenya ignored any thoughts of impropriety, choosing to match his grin with one of her own. “

“What is it you want, Lord Blackwood?”

Surprisingly, his expression shifted. The giddiness receded, and what rose upon his features then was a simmering focus. It was not unlike the expression he wore in the midst of battle. After a heartbeat of tension, Benjicot Blackwood stepped even closer. Gazing down at her with that signature glint of crazed gleam in his eyes, he confessed, 

“Since meeting you, your highness… my desires have become uniquely singular.”

Even with her years of courtly training, Visenya could not hide her shock. Or her blush. 

“Let none say you are not bold,” she whispered, stupefied. He chuckled slightly and noted,

“So you think me both bold and courageous.”

“Did I say that,” she teased breathlessly, still gathering her bearings.

“You did,” he replied simply, eyes dark and hooded. 

He was enjoying watching her on the back foot for once, she could tell. She felt a flicker of temper rise and latched onto it. Visenya leveled her haughtiest at look at him and remarked, 

“Our surroundings are hardly appropriate for a marriage proposition, do you not think Lord Blackwood?”

Her indignance only seemed to amuse him further. 

“On the contrary, my lady, they are perfect. Together, we have won a great victory and live to see another day. In war, this is the best one could hope for.” 

She considered his words, considered the whole of Benjicot Blackwood and his proposition. 

Certainly an unconventional choice, she thought. I think mother would like it. 

She considered her third purpose for venturing out across the realm: to seek a husband.

And she kissed him.

Benjicot Blackwood kissed like he was drowning man and she was air itself. He kissed like she might change her mind at any moment and he would make every second count. He was all teeth and tongue and grasping pulling hands at her waist, her arms, her face. 

“Do not get blood in my hair,” she broke away to command, voice breathy but firm.

His laugh echoed into the night. 

—

A/N: Truly insane that I wrote this and he's not even in the show yet lmaoo

Sȳz, jikagon arghugon - good, go hunt

i will post this on ao3 too, and i might add more if i feel so inclined!!

[interlunium-opus]

► TEMPESTUOUS DESIRES [Jake.]

Abstract: For a messenger of love who effortlessly intertwines hearts, Jake himself remains untouched by the desires he kindles. This wasn’t a problem until he met you. Being disinterested in love and somehow always able to evade his shots, you soon became the object of his fixation but those very pure intentions to find you a good match soon gave way to obsession and temptations. As his golden arrows can’t be used to bewitch you to him, he ended up delving further into darkness where the lines between love and obsessions becomes blurred, corrupted by the insatiable need to own and possess you for himself. As he spirals down this treacherous path, he becomes entangled in a web of deception and manipulation, forsaking his once noble purpose.

Genre: fantasy | forbidden romance | supernatural | mythology | wc: 13k

a/n: inspired by New Jeans “Cool With You”. This has been marinating in the drafts for who-knows-how-long now. My brain can't shut up so here it is finally. Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. Do leave me some feedbacks or comments, it keeps me from sliding back to hiatus and descend down the writer's block hellhole lol.

© 2024 interlunium-opus. All rights reserved. Do not plagiarize, post or translate anywhere.

— i.

Figuratively and literally, Jake leaves trail of attraction and desire in his wake. As a messenger of love with unparalleled mental acuity and formidable archery skills, every arrow he draws from his quiver meet its target with unerring accuracy, ensnaring the unsuspecting victim with someone who is best matched, trapping them in a web of attraction and desires that would last the test of time. But it is not just his archery that captivates; Jake's ethereal presence, striking good looks, and flirtatious nature are a force of nature in their own right — captivating both humans and non-humans, leaving trails of attractions, desires and temptations in his wake.

He would have made the perfect Messenger of Love — one who is poised to go down in history. After all, the prevailing modern mindset which glorifies individualism and instant gratification has put lasting love in the backseat, making the job harder for the other Messengers of Love who could only strike attraction and lusts that lasts for one night. Hence, with every union that Jake successfully brought, he had become somewhat of a legend — someone with an innate, perhaps unlearnable, understanding of what makes love lasts.

Except, the truth is not as rosy. 

While beings like him are capable of feeling the emotions and desires that humans feel, Jake himself remains untouched by the all-consuming desires he sparks in others. His mental acuity helped him understood the mechanics of love — an intricate dance of personalities and the delicate balance of emotions — but the feeling itself eludes him. While he used to see it as a flaw when he was young, he now understood that it was this very detachment that grants him an edge in the field. Unburdened by personal biases or the clouding of intense emotions, Jake is able to navigate around with a clear and calculated mindset that allows him to dissect the intricacies of human nature, identifying the traits and compatibilities that foster enduring connections. 

Such mental acumen however, while providing him with a detached understanding, fails to bridge the gap between intellectual knowledge and the visceral experience of love’s consuming fire. In fact, despite all the flirtatious banter, sweet nothings and passionate touches he is capable of engaging and eliciting — his feelings remain only surface deep, that of attraction and lust which dissipates as soon as his conquests are bedded.

Perhaps it is exactly this lack of attachment that fuels his libertine tendencies — one that has been increasingly trangressed boundaries as he sought to not just bed his own kind but also humans, despite such liaisons being frowned upon. Perhaps the excitement and thrill of forbidden liasons is what he revelled in or perhaps, without him realising, he was seeking to fill in the void within himself which grows with each connection he forged.

Regardless. Tonight, was one of those days.

Assuming his human form — which is similar to his usual form except for the lip ring, gigantic wings and laurel wreath — he crashed into an after-party of a prestigious award ceremony, eyes immediately set on the apple of everyone’s eyes: the current IT girl of the industry whose looks could rival those from his realm. She was like a vision of ethereal beauty. Her doe-like eyes were large and expressive, capable of softening the hardest of hearts; her lips was full and luscious — both innocent and tantalizing — inviting unspoken desires; her slender frame, with its graceful lines and subtle curves, captured the essence of feminity, evoking not just attraction but a sense of protectiveness.

Jake smirked as his mind parsed her life history and pieced out the kind of person she was, finding his competitiveness instantly triggered the moment he learned of her iron-clad discipline and control when it comes to romance. As a young woman in a competitive industry that is still plagued with double standards against women, she knew her success stands at a precipice so despite all the love interests showered towards her over the years – she managed to stave them off, no matter how tempting. She had it all under control and she was poised for greater things given her diligence and discipline. 

But then she met Jake’s eyes and for the first time in her life, she felt her guards threatening to crack especially at the weight of Jake’s unflinching and seductive gaze throughout the night. Jake didn’t even need his poisoned arrows for he, himself, was almost like the poison that is laced over his arrow tips — the very object of desire for almost anyone he decides to charm. 

The next thing you knew, they were already locking lips in the hallway, the act of which quickly escalated as they moved to the van, hands absolutely glued to one another, roaming freely and wildly, before it all culminated in throes of passion that lasted for hours on her bed — a place she vowed never to bring a man over. Like the torn designers over the floor, all traces of controlled perfection she had masterfully maintained over the years crumbled under the weight of Jake’s intoxicating touch and seductive sweet-nothings. She was absolutely moonstruck and Jake did not even need his arrows for it.  

“You’re going to have to call in sick tomorrow if this goes on-” Jake mumbled in between the soft kisses that he trails down her neck as she whimpered his name again and again, delirious in pleasure while begging him not to ever let go, promising him absolutely everything — from her money to her career.

“Look at the industry sweetheart,” Jake cooed, eyes adoring what he had made out of her: a whimpering and clingy mess that is completely seized in desires and lust, “what would they say if they see you like this?”

She shook her head, breathing ragged from the umpteenth high she had raked with Jake, before pulling him into a hungry and messy kiss. “Love,” Jake mumbled in between kisses, saliva stretching between their lips, “you’re tired. It’s time to go to sleep.”

“You’re not going to leave me right?” she stared at him all bleary-eyed. Jake simply smiled, rubbing her cheeks softly as she tried hard to keep her lids open against the enchantments that Jake had justwhispered into her system, “this is all just a dream.”

And just like that, he would become a mere figment of a dream for her — just like all the other human he had bedded before. Sure, it was hypocritical of him to play around with them like that but he always reassured himself sickeningly that he wasn’t doing any harm by doing so. If anything he just gave yet another human a good time — a time they would never find in the touch of any other human. He also induced partial amnesia in them so that they would not go insane from longing for him. It’s a win-win, Jake thought to himself, smirking, as he pulled his suit over, fixing the placement of his lip ring with a flick of his tongue.

As he climbed out of the window ledge however, he heard the familiar sound of wings fluttering.

“Sooner or later, they’re going to catch on Jake.” Jake knew who it was immediately.

“Stalking me isn’t going to rake you scores Sunoo,” Jake scoffed as he turned around, meeting the eyes of the pale messenger who used to be his deskmate during his training days, “you’d be better off striking hearts instead. Your scores last quarter is dangerously low – you know you’d get demoted if you keep at it right?”

Sunoo swallowed thickly, “I can’t help it, love doesn’t last that long anymore these days. I can’t strike their hearts to one another knowing that it will only end in heartbreak.”

“That is exactly your flaw. You care far too much,” Jake sighed, “Come on, our threshold for successful matches is only in love that lasts for 5 years. Just keep that as a goal — ignore what happens within and beyond and you’re on your way to glory.”

“Not all relationship that lasts 5 years is love,” Sunoo’s voice hardened, eyes quivering as if trying to not believe the words that came out of Jake.

“Does it matter?” Jake shrugged, “love takes various forms. Innocent, tempestuous, scandalous, obsessive, toxic. Whatever happens, heartbreaks are part and parcel of life isn’t it? If it’s too much, we can always mend their heart by latching them onto another which then counts into our tallies and-“

“They’re not mere scores Jake. Hearts can break irreparably,” Sunoo interjected, brows twitching in what looked like a mixture of disbelief and disappointment, “you’ve changed.”

“As if you haven’t,” Jake winked as he slipped off the windowsill, his large wings fluttering open, keeping him afloat, “I know you’ve ventured down the Abyss to procure certain spells to alter your scores every quarter Sunoo,” Jake smirked, feeling triumphant at the hint of guilt evident on Sunoo’s gaze, “you’re not anymore moral nor ethical as I am. It's okay, we all got our vices. Just keep out of my affairs Sunoo and we’re cool.”

And just like that he disappeared, feeling re-energised from his night-long endeavour. In fact, he raked more scores than normal that day — the success of which was also aided by the fact that it was the first sunny day after weeks of torrential rain, bringing more people out and about, all in their Sunday best and in the brightest of moods, making it easier for his poisoned arrows to work its magic.

That was probably why you stuck out like a sore thumb to him when he was lingering at the traffic intersection for in the midst of people in bright and colourful get-up, with a delightful expression to match, you were decked in monochrome, with expressions so somber and eyes on your phone screen. When you finally looked up, your face contorted into a grimace, absolutely disgusted by the couple who was kissing in front of you.

The so-called Love cynics, Jake remembered a lesson back then, someone who is aversed to love. Could be Asexual, could be a product of trauma, could be just hardened by age and cynical outlook. They will be the hardest to bend but the biggest of catches. Jake’s hand was already reaching for another arrow in his quiver, his mind working hard in analysing your personality and trying to match it with dozen of other men within the vicinity — the perfect match of which he found in no time at the PhD student just across with whom you could share your intellectual interests with and with whom your more rational and logical tendencies could live in harmony with.

“Perfect,” Jake thought to himself as he directed his arrow in your direction, the strings taut in his fingers. Just 2 seconds after the light had turned green, Jake let his arrow go. That was an easy kill, Jake smirked triumphantly, confident that his calculations on timing, distance and strength, would have struck you precisely when the other guy would have come into your direct line of sight.

But then you suddenly ducked and all hell breaks loose for not only had Jake missed but his arrow struck the worst of targets: an expecting mother and, just across, a man who was on his way to his own wedding. It was a potential multiple breach of ethics that would have summoned him right to the Court Office.

“Fuck,” Jake cussed, blazing past the throng of crowd, scrambling for a lead-tipped arrow that is meant to reverse his magic, and stabbing it onto the woman just seconds away before she lurched towards the man.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, puzzled, as the lady who had stopped right in front of him with arms outstretched paused, looking dazed, before apologising. Jake exhaled sharply at the close call. Brushing his hair back in annoyance, he looked around, eyes frantically scanning for the you - the troublemaker - though by then you were long gone, swallowed by the bustling crowd.

“That’s a bit annoying,” Jake grumbled, shooting another arrow at someone else whom he quickly found a match for on the other side of the road. That union, he projected, would last at least 9 years but even that couldn’t quell the distaste he felt in his mouth after his near-miss – the distaste of which lasted almost all day despite the successes he raked.

And so that night, he stayed back in the human world during forbidden hours, finding you very easily through his network of friends. While you weren’t his first miss, you somehow continued to linger at the back of his mind, haunting him all day.

Sitting by your windowsill, he observed your every move as if you were a specimen to behold. He watched you get so engrossed in your report; watched you get annoyed by how your regressions didn’t come out the way you expected; watched in amusement at the way you’d accidentally dozed off, only to spring back to typing when you jolted awake.

“What are you so engrossed in?” Jake wondered out load as he floated inside, peeking over your shoulders, “Aww,” he cooed, “look at you, burning the midnight oil to finish up a policy paper to save the poor,” he sat onto the empty space on your table, next to your screen, “but who’s going to save you, you miserable poor loveless thing.”

“I could I guess,” he brought his knees up, hugging it close to his chest, “I do love a challenge,” he mumbled, chin resting on his knee as he watched you with a specific glint in his eyes, “I’ll make your first your last, how’s that?” 

It shouldn’t be hard, he thought, after all, there are 8 billion of people in this world. There are already about a hundred in your apartment building and a couple of hundreds more in your office block, and a couple hundred thousands more between your journeys. The probability is enormous, the possibility is endless, he smirked to himself as he lowered his face towards you, leaning in so as to whisper something in your ear, “you’ll thank me.”

Such optimism and excitement however quickly dissipated in the span of a few days as you somehow magically always evaded his golden arrows in time, causing him to have to use his expensive and hard-acquired lead-tipped arrows to reverse most of the effects. 

“You can’t see me right?” Jake floated in front of you, waving his hand maniacally before inching his face so close towards you as if trying to confirm whether or not you had a built-in radar for him.

As he parsed your history more, it became clearer just how difficult it would be to match you with anyone. Not only was your interest in a getting a partner or dating almost nil but you minimise any opportunities to find one as well: not engaging in social niceties beyond necessary; being oblivious to any interests towards your way; distancing yourself when you detect any hint of interest; and the list goes on. Indeed a ‘Love Cynic’ to the T.

The thing about hardened love cynics is that, while they are the biggest catch, they could also be your biggest downfall if you fail. This is because love cynics, once heartbroken, would feel despair and anguish like none other which just serves to fuel their skepticism and opposition to love afterwards – the result of which would burn holes in the records of any messengers who was in charge of them. Hence, they are always avoided especially by the average messengers.

But then again, Jake was not just your average messenger. He was amongst the best, rivalling some of his predecessors even with some scores made in turning love cynics around. So it was not all surprising just how obsessed he was with getting you a match.

One day, an opportunity came in a silver platter for him as the elevator you guys were in opened to a lad from IT, whose attraction for you was very evident from the way his face lit up, “y/n, it’s a been a while!”

“Well would you look at that,” Jake sung as he pulled an arrow from his quiver, grinning triumphantly. Jake did not even need to parse his mind to see the interest he had for you as it drips from his gaze to his voice. But as he looked back at you, who had shot the other guy the briefest of smile before whipping your phone up to mindlessly scroll your email, Jake’s grin immediately faltered. “You are seriously helpless y/n,” Jake sighed, looking almost as if he was in a trance as he inched closer, pressing the golden-tipped arrow against your back – the puncture of which would have struck your right through your heart, “your attitude needs fixing y/n or else you’ll never find someone—”

Jake was really just 3 seconds away from puncturing you when you recoiled. He initially thought you might have somehow felt the sharpness of his arrow but turned out the guy’s hand was just trailing languidly down your arm.

“Are you still angry about last time?” the man scoffed, the seemingly-warm smile fading almost immediately, “I told you last time, that night was a mistake. I was drunk and I tried to kiss you. That was it. I didnt even managed to do it since-“

“I don’t care about your reasons, you crossed the line,” you replied curtly, “and right now you are one step away from crossing another line. Remember what HR said last time? The next time it happens, they’re just one visit away and you’d immediately be out of the Ministry.”

His lips contorted into a wry grin, the annoyance becoming evident in his voice and face, “you must feel all high and mighty just because you’re in a more superior position than me,” he inched closer, looming ominously, “do you really want to know what true assaults are like-“

Almost too calmly, you hit one of the elevator buttons, its door opening just 3 floors before your destination as you turned your phone towards him, the screen showing a recording in progress, “show your face to me once again and this recording will get sent straight to a public forum. You won’t just be laid off here but this would burn holes in your record making it hard for you to find a new job.”

The man backed away finally, looking every bit flustered, “no wonder you’re still single, you’re a fucking witch-“

“And you’re just one fucking phone call away from being hauled off,” you interjected as you stepped out of the elevator despite it being 3 floor away from your destination. You hear him mutter curses loudly as you walked away. 

Jake was still open-mouthed as he trailed behind you, “that was,” he caught up, hands clapping, “pretty badass. I really thought I needed to step in for a second there but you,” he slipped through the closing door of the emergency staircase which you had just opened, “you were fearless. You were-“ he stopped short as he watched you stood immobile as soon as you entered the emergency stairwell. As if losing the strength in your knees, you leaned weakly against the door, head bowed down.  

Jake watched in confusion as you slid down, your breathing growing rapid, chest heaving, hands trembling as you muttered through gritted teeth, “get it together, y/n. It’s nothing.”

Jake knelt next to you, his mind delving into a specific parcel of memory from the night when you first met the guy earlier — the night when, under the pretense of drunkenness, had tried to corner you into an empty meeting room and tried to kiss you. “Shit,” Jake finally said, brows furrowing in a mixture of concern and guilt. Just moments ago, his competitiveness could have gotten you ensnared with the guy who almost assaulted you — the guy who had caused so much terror in you.

“I’m sorry,” he scooted closer now, feeling guilty. Now Jake may not be a saint nor would he call himself virtuous by any means but he was no devil either. As much as you grinds his gears with your aromantic and callous ways he would never match you with someone like that. 

He sunk beside you, forlorn, his hands ghosting your shoulders. He wanted to apologise but it's not like you could hear him anyway. He wanted to comfort you but his hands would just go through you. He felt oddly powerless. So instead, he stayed next to you in silence, straining his muscles so that his arms just ghost around your shoulders. When you finally calmed down, you leaned back against the door, exhaling sharply. 

Jake watched you intently, his gaze softening. “You know what,” he muttered quietly, “I’ll find you a really good guy — someone who will give you the world. Give you everything.”

For the first time in a while he didn’t see a mere tally to be crossed off the list. Instead he saw a person — a person who deserved the best and most purest form of love he was capable of finding. He rose up, his body curling over your back, leaning down to whisper a promise in your ear, “I give you my word.”

— ii.

Days turned to months and still Jake Sim could not find a match for you. Except this time, the fault lay mostly in him for he could not find anyone good enough for you. They are always lacking or excessive in something and he didn’t want to risk it falling apart. 

Not for you at least. 

And so in between entwining others’ hearts, he would linger around you, following you closely wherever you go, whatever you do. Like a specimen to behold, he watches your every movement and ponder over it up to the point that he remembers your habits and quirks like the back of his hand: how you like your coffee; how salty you like your food to be; the detours you take; your music tastes; the changes in your jogging routes; when you will get cold; when you’d start getting bored of something; and so on.

Eventually, it all fell into a routine. As you settle into your home, he settles with you – as if he belonged there. As you try things out and push boundaries, Jake was also always around, cheering you on – as if his morale support counts. As you considered your choices such as during shopping or working, Jake would share his thoughts and opinions about it to you as well – as if you could even hear him. 

Soon he begun to fill in the silences with you, telling you of his day; the matches he made; the realm he is from; his past and so on – venting on and on, as if you could hear him. 

And whenever you retire to bed at night, he no longer takes it as his cue to return to his realm. Instead he settled right next to you — watching you over like a Guardian Angel.

At least that’s what he deluded himself of until his eyes begun to wander farther each nights, pulling his mind deeper into the recesses of which he never ventured to before with you. It started slow, from eyes wandering, tracing the outlines of your face and body; to gaze lingering at your lips and your exposed skin, heartbeat racing as he wondered how they would feel under his. Soon he would find his hands balling into fists, fighting an invisible battle between desire and duty. Still he could never tear his gaze away from you.

The true test however came one night when you suddenly rolled over to his side, your face perfectly aligned with the crook of his neck and your hand perfectly landing to where his hand was. While this was nothing major compared to whatever he had gotten up to in the sheets, it sent his heart racing like none other. Almost automatically, he brought his hand up to your face, ghosting the outlines of your jaw, pausing by your chin as his gaze become fixated on your lips which was plush and parted slightly — so innocent yet so tantalizing and inviting. 

Desires begin to muddle his mind, self-control cascading as he transformed himself to his human form. The space he occupied sinking instantly with his weight, causing you to stir in your sleep. Alarmed, Jake immediately hovered over you, his hand gently covering your eyes as he whispered words laced with enchantments in your ears, “it’s all just a dream love.”

He slowly slid his hand down your face, thumbs caressing your cheek softly as he watched how your brows furrow as your instinct and will to wake up warred with his enchantments. Jake leaned down, planting soft kisses on your neck, “go back to sleep.”

Finally you eased up, gradually laying limp in his embrace. Jake smiled softly at the sight, that was close. He should have pulled away then but as if there was a magnetic pull, Jake could not tear himself from you nor did he want to. As if his senses were on overdrive, he could feel everything amplified. The way your body was perfectly dwarfed under his larger frame was evoking something primal and protective within him. The warmth emanating from your body was warming his own, enveloping him, making his skin tingle in anticipation. The scent of your hair and the lingering fragrance of your soap — a mélange of florals and greens — enticing him, intoxicating him to draw closer.  

His fingers begin to trail down, tracing patterns along your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbones. Your skin was soft and smooth and he marvelled at the sensation of it all against his fingertips. Every touch sent jolts of electricity through his body, igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume him whole.

Eventually his eyes returned back to your lips — these damned lips, he thought as the pad of his thumb brush softly over your lower lip, watching the soft flesh softening and bending under the subtle pressure of his fingertips before springing back to its plush and supple form, plunging his mind to treacherous depths where he envisions that it was his lips doing the undoing, mouth devouring yours, tasting the sweetness that he knew could be savoured on his tongue.

That was when something snapped and the next thing he knew, he had lowered his mouth to yours, gently pressing his lips against yours, intoxicated by the softness of your lips and the warmth which was enveloping him whole.

That should have been it. He should have pulled away then. After all, he just wanted a taste. But the more tasted, the more he craved and soon he found himself claiming your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. As your lips parted under his insistence, his tongue plunged deep inside your mouth, as if seeking to devour you whole. You tasted like honey and sin and Jake just couldn’t get enough, yearning for more.

Desperate for more contact, his hand was already gripping your clothes, tugging it down, resulting in a slight tear – the sound of which knocked him back to his senses. He pulled away, breathing ragged, startled by the state he had reduced you to. Your hair was slightly disheveled, lips swollen, and shirt hung loosely off one shoulder, exposing a bruise that was blooming on your collarbone – physical manifestations of the intensity of his desires. Guilt seized him as he realised the extent of his actions and almost immediately, he backed away from you, recognising the depths of depravity he was capable of reaching. With self-control hanging by a thread, he knew he would lose all forms of control if he stayed any longer so with a heavy heart and mind still reeling from conflicting emotions, Jake teleported himself back to his realm.

You jolted awake not long after, your heart pounding in your chest as you sat up in alarm. It must have been another nightmare, you thought, trying to shake off the lingering sensations of paralysis that still clung to your body. With a dismissive shake of your head, you laid back down, your lips feeling strangely sore and dry. As you licked your lips, your eyes flickered open, tasting something metallic on your tongue. Curious, you brought your fingers to your lips, probing the spot that throbbed. To your surprise, your fingers came away smeared with blood.

— iii.

Back in his realm, Jake wasted no time in seducing a couple of others, spending the rest of the night in a blur of ecstasy in a bid to distract and numb himself with pleasures. Perhaps, the temporary pause in his libertine pursuits had led such desires to fester dangerously, he thought.

Except when he woke up the next day, you still bore at the back of his mind. Almost as if scalded, he could still feel the warmth of your skin in his hand, the softness of your lips on his lips. Worse, he yearns for it – yearns to feel more.

Something was going wrong, he thought to himself as he lingered around the market just outside of the apartment where he had spent the night at. Eager and desperate for a distraction he wandered further, letting himself be lost in the hustle and bustle of the morning crowd, looking aimlessly at the selection of fruits and flowers being sold.

As he passed by one of the exits however, he caught a glimpse of an archway materializing at a desolated corner, dark and thorny vines crawling out from within as if calling him. He had passed by this corner of the street a billion times before but he swore he had never seen the archway.

He called upon one of the boys playing nearby, “Hey, is that like the entrance to a new market or something?”

The boy squinted to where he was pointing but only looked back at Jake weirdly, “what do you mean? What archway? It’s just the unsightly brick wall-“

“There,” Jake pointed again, adamant, “the alley-“

“Sir, you’re either trying to scare me or you need your eyes checked because I’m seeing nothing but a dead-end,” the boy grimaced, shaking his head as he rejoined his friends in the crowd.

“What an insolent bast-“ he stopped short, looking back at the alley, the vines getting longer and longer. He suddenly realised what it was and why no one was seeing it. The Abyss, he muttered to himself, recalling all the tales he was told during his schooling years about a portal to another dimension – a dimension that is akin to a black market, having absolutely anything one could ever desire especially the most forbidden and illicit of desires. Hence why entering the realm has been forbidden, especially to those like Jake who hold official positions and is considered amongst the most noble and elite of beings.

But curiosity got the best of him. After all, the Abyss cannot be sought for it seeks on its own instead. In fact, rumours has it that only those with dark desires could open up the portal and Jake was confident that he had none of that. After all, he has absolutely everything anyone covets: good looks; wealth; reputation and glory. If he wanted he could get promoted; get the hottest girl in town; get the most lavish manor in the realm; and so on. Feeling haughty, Jake pulled his cloak over his head, slipping past the crowd towards the archway, "let's see what you think you can offer me then."

To Jake's disappointment, nothing had materialised so far no matter how deep he ventured. It was just an misty alley with faint cacophony of noises like murmurs, bells, and chatters. Jake scoffed, see, he thought to himself, no dark desires.

When he turned around to go back however, his grin faltered as the alley now disappeared, replaced by a literal abyss.

“Everyone has dark desires young man.”

Jake jumped, startled. Behind him was an decrepit old man, face hardened with wrinkles, “you’re not the only Elite who has walked these paths,” he grinned lopsidedly, “I can assure you they all thought the same way you did. Head held high, face grimacing in contempt as if they had just walked into muck. But in the end, they were always the ones who went so far as to trade their powers and long life – always the one ended up becoming the most wicked. Exactly the ones tragedies are made about.”

Jake swallowed thickly. He can see shadows forming behind the man, making the outlines of a mass of people congregating as if he was an exhibit. The muffled sounds now growing louder – almost like a bedlam. “Nothing is materializing though,” Jake managed, trying to cover the fear that was brewing within.

“Young man,” the elderly scoffed, “you being able to open up the Abyss alone is a feat no ordinary goodie can do.”

Suddenly a gust of wind hit him, causing Jake to cover his face with his cloak. By the time he pulled his hand away, he was back in the market – right where the arch was – except this time, there was no arch. Like the boy from earlier said, it was a dead end. There was a sudden ringing in his ear, causing him to double down, before everything quietened almost too deafeningly.

Come again once you know what is it that your heart truly desires boy.

Jake spun around, alert. But the old man was nowhere to be found.

— iv.

Troubled and unsettled, Jake went back to the human realm to find you. You had, after all, became his own little solace – like a home to return to. Even if you couldn’t see, hear nor feel him — all he needed was you close by. 

Except just when he needed you the most, he couldn’t find you. You weren’t anywhere you were supposed to be nor anywhere you could be. This would not have alarmed him so had he not also been able to sense you.

Fuck, he panicked, wings almost set ablaze as he rushed from one place to another at impossible speed. There could only be one reason as to why he could not sense someone he had 'targeted': the target had been struck by others.

“No no no no no,” he muttered in disbelief, chest heaving in panic. Jake never lose control nor composure but right now, he was spiralling. Gone was his pride by the time he appeared by Sunoo’s doorstep, dishevelled and manic, spitting out his version of events.

“You weren’t supposed to go down the Abyss!” Sunoo chastised him the moment Jake told him about it, “you know just venturing there robs you of your power – albeit momentarily.”

“Is that what this is?” Jake paced back and forth, “must be right? that I can't sense her simply because of whatever curse the Abyss had put on me?” He grasped Sunoo by the shoulders, eyes wild with fear, “–not because she has been struck?”

“Jake–“ Sunoo croaked, caught off guard by Jake’s sudden outburst and outpour of emotions, “–just, please calm down first. Since everything seems fine to you, it’s possible your loss of detection is the momentary punishment for going down the Abyss but... we can’t also be sure that she has not been struck yet.”

Jake knows that very well. Except, he didn’t expect that the loss would have impacted him this greatly. It was true what they say then. That the Abyss is so wretched and cursed, just venturing down will rob you of something that is very valuable to you. He never considered it before, thinking that losing his ability momentarily would probably do him good – giving him the respite he so badly needed after working so hard. Little did he know, it struck him exactly where it hurts.

“When will it come back?”

“If it’s your first time down there, probably a night. But the more you go, the longer the effects last,” Sunoo sighed, “Just wait until tomor-“

“I can’t fucking wait until tomorrow,” Jake bellowed, infuriated, before sinking onto a nearby couch, head buried in his hands as he tried to calm himself down. Sunoo sighed. It was the first time he saw Jake so wrecked, it almost pained him. "The Royal Scotts Rooftop," Sunoo muttered quietly, guilt evident in his voice, "I followed the girl earlier, hoping to find you. When you weren't around, I thought maybe you've lost interest- that'd be good-" he paused, "but I guess, you've never lost it."

Jake rose up immediately, he wanted to berate Sunoo for not telling him sooner but at that time nothing could top his desire and urgency to find you so before Sunoo could even finish, Jake had taken off.

— v.

Despite the sea of people on the rooftop of the 5-Star hotel, he could immediately spot you.

His face immediately lit up, materializing behind you within seconds. “I’ve searched everywhere for you,” he sighed, gaze softening, before suddenly feeling a hand go through him towards you. He turned around, seeing that the hand belonged to a well-dressed man with ‘Jay’ on his name tag – a consultant from another company who had worked with you on a project a year ago, “the confettis,” Jay mumbled, inching unnecessarily close – at least by Jake’s standards – towards you to try and ruffle some from your hair.

“Oh thanks,” you reached over to your hair, trying to take them out yourself, before breaking into laughter over the fact that Jay had a lot of glitter in his, “dude – you’re worse-“

Within seconds Jake had already parsed Jay’s character and his history – finding that, despite the clash of characters, Jay would be good for you. He was very giving, affectionate, and selfless – something you, Jake thought, definitely deserve. Jay definitely is the best match out of all the potential matches so far, Jake thought to himself.

This should have been enough for him to rejoice at, for him to start reaching for the arrow in his quiver. After all, it’s rare to see you interact socially with men and have a good time with them — even rarer to find that particular man to be one of the best match he had come across for you. Sure, you two had really strong characters that would square the other at times but Jay would ultimately always be willing to break himself for you and give you the world. 

Had you been any other person, Jake would have already struck you both in seconds, latching you both together. But peculiarly, his mind was working on overdrive finding 1001 reasons not to instead. “Come to think about it,” Jake reasoned, feeling irked by the second, “this man is too affectionate and too selfless. You wouldn’t want someone like that right?” he materialised behind you, whispering in your ear as if you could hear him.

When you excused yourself to get some refreshments, Jake continued trailing behind you, ranting on and on as if trying to justify his actions. Or lack thereof, “I mean, eventually people like those will just bog you down,” he overtook you, stopping right in front of you, gesticulating wildly, “the kind that will make you stay out of guilt – make you second guess your own personality and character. I can see it happen y/n.”

He could see then that a tall guy near the podium was staring right at you — the interest and attraction evident in his eyes. “Heeseung-“ Jake read the name on his tag, his mind already parsing through him, seeing that Heeseung was one of the senior officers in the department just across of yours to whom you had always held high regard of. Him to you too. Again, this would have been a perfect match. Unlike Jay earlier, his personality and character would hardly ever square yours. He’d always relent to your choices and your ways, letting you call the shots. 

You caught a glimpse of Heeseung, giving a quick nod of acknowledgement and almost immediately Jake blocked your view, as if it even does anything, “not him either y/n,” he argued defensively, “he’s a hopeless romantic. You’d get sick of him in the long run.”

Just next to Heeseung is another guy who also by then kept throwing glances at you. Ni-Ki, an intern who was under your tutelage just a year ago but has since then moved on to other department. Jake grimaced as he parsed through the young lad’s memory, “definitely not him. Too young, still childish.”

Eventually, you turned away from the crowd, and looked out at the street below, your mind reeling from all the socialising you’ve had to do earlier. As your mind wandered, you find yourself becoming increasingly lost in your own thoughts, unaware of the intense gaze fixed upon you. “No one here is deserving of you y/n,” Jake murmured softly as he leaned sideways against the baluster, his eyes transfixed on your profile. 

As if spellbound, Jake studied your features as if you were a work of art. His eyes traced the delicate lines of your face, the curve of your cheek, the gentle slope of your nose, and the soft fullness of your lips. He inched closer, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, until he was so near that you could have felt his breath on your skin, had he been tangible.

And then, in a sudden twist, you turned your head abruptly in his direction, your eyes locking with his in direct precision almost as if you could sense his presence and see beyond the veil of invisibility that cloaked him. He watched, completely paralysed, as your brow twitched ever so subtly, hand raised close towards where his cheek were as if you could really perceive him. Jake’s breath hitched — enchanted — as he gently angled his face towards your palm, slowly resting his cheek against your hand, imagining the warmth of your touch, the softness of your skin. 

Lulled by the possibility, Jake's throat tightened, bringing his invisible hand up to yours, ghosting over it as if cupping it — yearning for the connection to be tangible, for you to see him, to feel the touch that he so desperately wanted to give.

He still have not fully understood the swirl of emotions and feelings he harboured for you but in that moment — when it felt like there was only you two in this world — he knew he wanted this. You for him, and him for you. 

He wanted to freeze time, to prolong this moment of connection that felt so right, but a voice broke through the intimate silence, shattering the fragile bubble he had created.

“You haven’t changed a bit-“

Jake felt a large hand pass through his, taking hold of yours, and his heart constricted with a pang of longing. The hand he had wanted to grasp, to hold, was now in the possession of another man — a tall and pale senior coworker who was supposed to still be on an overseas posting. Jake's breath hitched as he looked up and witnessed the smile on your face, a smile that he had never seen directed at anyone else. 

"Sunghoon?" your voice lit up with surprise and delight, and Jake felt a stab of jealousy at the warmth in your tone, "I thought you won’t be back for another two years!”

Jake stepped back, his invisible form fading into the shadows as he witnessed the reunion between you and Sunghoon. The hand he had longed to hold was now entwined with someone else's, and the smile he had wanted to claim for himself was shining for another. The warmth, familiarity and endearment between you and the man was so evident that it begun to stir something unfamiliar within Jake — a mix of protectiveness and longing that he couldn't quite name.

“Thought life here was much better so I sped the contract up,” Sunghoon shrugged haughtily.

“I bet it's because I wasn’t there,” you joked, trying to match his playful haughtiness. Usually Sunghoon would have replied with something equally as smug but somehow, something has changed and you could feel it in the way his eyes bore into yours and the way his hand had tightened over yours, lingering purposefully far too long for it to be casual. “Exactly,” he answered almost too genuinely you find yourself at a loss for words so you do what you do best — feign nonchalance, “oh bugger off,” you playfully yank your hand away, “What have America done to you!”

He grinned mischievously, “well, you know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

You shook your head dismissively though the smile that has never left your lips and the way your eyes never broke his conveyed more than words could ever.

“Can I get a hug now? You never visited like you promised you would,” he extended his hands, brows wriggling playfully.

“I never made such promises but fine-“ you shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance, as you let him draw you nearer, let him engulf you in his large frame. You have hugged him before but this time, this too, felt different. “I’ve missed you y/n,” you feel him bend lower so he could bury his head in the crook of your neck and you feel his hand slide over your waist almost too intimately for it to just be a friendly hug. 

This time however you didn’t feign nonchalance, deflect nor playfully reject him. Instead you let yourself sink fully into the warmth of his embrace, your hands reaching up to hug him back as your head leaned against his chest, eyes shut as you murmured softly, “me too.”

Jake had never seen a more perfect pair. Sure you two had your differences but together, you guys complement each other seamlessly like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. Your strengths balanced each other''s weaknesses, and your personalities would harmonize in a beautiful and enviable symphony of love and understanding.

Now would have been perfect, Jake found his rational self thinking, his hand automatically reaching for a golden arrow from his quiver. But instead of nocking the arrow and releasing it toward its intended target, he found himself hesitating, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

In a surprising twist, Jake turned the arrow on himself, driving it into his own chest, directly over his heart. Immediately, the arrow exploded into a shower of glittering dust, as was its nature. Although the arrow had no physical effect on beings like him, with the way his interest and attention on you has dangerously warped with a mix of attraction, desire, and lust — he might as well have been shot with one. 

How peculiar, he thought. He had always wondered how does such intense love which human shared with one another feel and yet now that he felt it rising from within, all he felt was bitterness rather than joy. 

The glittering dust that lingered in the air seemed to mock Jake, serving as a tangible reminder of the complex emotions swirling within him — emotions of which was increasingly blurring the lines between duty and desire. While usually symbolising some sort of celebration, the glittering particles which was still dancing around him now felt like a warning, a sign that his path was veering into uncharted and potentially dangerous territory.

He knew then, perhaps a little too late, that he wanted you. Wanted you for himself.

— vi.

Since then gone was the desire within him to match you with anyone. In fact, gone was his desire to match anyone at all as he becomes increasingly preoccupied with you — more specifically, his desires for you.

He had begun to take on human forms longer than usual, trying to get your attention, trying to slip himself into the fabric of your life. But the task, which usually had been easy for him, was difficult this time because apparently his face and charms weren’t enough.

Having observed you for a long time he knew that blatant attention and attraction would put you off so he made sure to lay and play each parts carefully and strategically, making it seem as if everything was coincidental.

“Hi, I believe this is yours?” You asked innocently when Jake opened his door. In your hand was a parcel which had his name and address but somehow wrongly delivered at your doorstep.

Finally, Jake thought to himself, his heart almost leaping out of his ribcage. He had been waiting impatiently the whole day for you after having paid someone to deliver the package wrongly at your doorstep.

Almost effortlessly he feigned surprise and confusion, “right, sorry about that, I’m new in this apartment block so maybe there's a mix-up," he shrugged, careful to not look overeager, "been waiting for this limited copy of 1984 to arrive, thank goodness it got wrongly delivered in the right hands otherwise it would probably get resold in ebay or something—"

“1984?” Your face lit up. Of course my dear, it’s one of your favourite books isn’t it, Jake answered in his mind. Oblivious to the glint in his eyes and the subtle twitch of his lips, you continued excitedly, “I rarely see anyone around me read 1984!”

“Now you do,” he said charmingly as he offered his hand, satisfied at the way you have eased up, “my name is Jake. Jake Sim. I’ve just moved.”

“Oh I’m y/n,” you introduced, “I live in the apartment right under yours.”

I know, he muttered to himself in his mind, “thank you for this y/n. I’ll see you around.”

You nodded enthusiastically, oblivious to the way his words seemingly had double meaning.

The next few weeks Jake busied him by encroaching your life ever so subtly and strategically. You bumped into him in the same aisle at the bookstore and ended up chatting in a nearby coffee about your favourite books which somehow is similar to his. You bumped into him at dawn just outside your apartment complex before you go on your run, he himself was warming up for his, and that ended up with you two going on a run together.

Eventually you two became closer than mere neighbours that he could somehow orchestrate to get himself inside your place, “sorry about that-“ he apologised, coming out of your shower with the robe draping loosely and casually over his shoulders, making a poor effort of covering his chiseled chest and abs. 

While Jake was indeed very good-looking, you’ve always thought something about his looks seems so ethereal. But now, shed of all the sleek suits and tidy hair, he looks humanely good-looking and you found yourself almost stuttering in surprise when he got out.

“You should report it to the Head Office tomorrow," you averted your eyes towards the kettle in your kitchen, "I mean it's an expensive penthouse, how can the hot water be broken so soon? must be shoddy construction job or lack of maintenance."

“Burning the midnight oil?” He asked, leisurely leaning against the counter as he dried his hair.

“Yeah,” you sighed, pouring it into the flask where you had already added some coffee grounds and sugar. You felt the weight of his stare and out of pure courtesy, offered him as well, “oh, would you like–" you hesitated, "maybe not right? It’s almost 12.”

“Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he smiled, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that felt almost spellbinding. While Jake wanted nothing more than to bridge the physical gap in between you and him, and take your lips right there and then, he knew better than to submit to his desires this early. With others, it might have worked but with you he definitely had to take it slow. It pained him but like a prized conquest — he was willing to go through it.

Except regardless of how well-crafted his plans were, nothing could outpace what is really written. While he struggled to escalate the friendship he had built with you, Sunghoon had gotten closer and closer to you. 

When you did not come home one night, Jake re-assumed his non-human form, immediately locating you back in your office where you were burning the midnight oil with Sunghoon. 

Jake feels his anger simmering as he watched how Sunghoon latched onto you, following you wherever you go. He watched in frustration as Sunghoon hands hover close to you, as if being territorial; how his hands would even sometimes linger over yours more than necessary.

But it was the sight of you seemingly reciprocating him that was the most painful to bear: the way you let his hand lingered; the way you held his gaze instead of staring away; the way you never shifted as he drew nearer. 

The next thing he knew, Sunghoon had closed the distance between you and him, his lips gently pressing against yours, his hand snaking up your back to hold you ever closer. Jake was mortified. When you pulled away not long after, seeking a moment to catch your breath, Jake was sure then that you would have shoved Sunghoon off, perhaps even slap him for his boldness. But nothing of that sort happened for when Sunghoon re-attached his lips to yours, you didn’t resist, surrendering to the sensations he elicited, letting him devour you as you melt slowly into his embrace and touch.

Jake could feel the fury consuming him as he trudged up behind you, stabbing you with a lead-tipped arrow which would have sowed seeds of dislike for the other person but to his surprise, the arrow dissolved into dust the moment he stabbed it onto your back – telltale signs that the arrow will not work on you and nor Sunghoon.

That was when Jake knew that you were already written for Sunghoon and when that happens, nothing can usually be done because messengers are just really lower spiritual beings. That should have been Jake’s cue to give up but instead, it became a tipping point of when it all started going awry.

As his feelings festered in the worse of ways, he became more relentless and persistent in his pursuit of you. Except any small space he could have slithered himself ‘coincidentally’ into was becoming narrower as it becomes increasingly filled by Sunghoon. Soon it was Sunghoon who accompanied you running; Sunghoon who ate lunch with you; Sunghoon who accompanied you at bookstores; Sunghoon who sent you home; Sunghoon who stayed in your place until late.

There was absolutely no space for Jake anymore.

“Yes?” Sunghoon answered your apartment door one evening, not even bothering to conceal the distaste he felt within to see Jake at the door.

“Is y/n in?” Jake asked shamelessly.

Sunghoon shook his head, “she’s in the shower.”

There was an almost casual and domestic vibe to which Sunghoon was answering that question and Jake did not like it one bit. "There was a party at my workplace earlier," Jake passed on the box of cake and bouquet of flowers to him, "thought I'd share."

"Roses?" Sunghoon raised his brows, "She actually doesn't like roses. While she does like flowers, she actually doesn't like receiving them". Jake had to muster an insurmountable amount of energy not to let Sunghoon's words affect him even when he can clearly feel the venom laced in every words, "Oh and cake?" Sunghoon went on, "don't bother, she just like a spoonful or two, not the whole box."

You bastard, Jake muttered in his mind, wanting nothing more but to punch Sunghoon squarely in the face. More than that, he hated how Sunghoon knew the nuances of your likes and dislikes, making anything that Jake knew felt surface-level. If Jake knew your favourite colour, Sunghoon would probably know the exact shade of it; if Jake knew your favourite book, Sunghoon could probably cite your favourite quotes from it; if Jake knew you couldn't handle the cold, Sunghoon would probably know the precise timing of when to turn the heater on and off like an automatic thermostat. It was a sickening testament to the history and nature of your relationship with Sunghoon – of how far and deep it goes, the gap of which Jake could probably never bridge.

But Jake knows the subject of love well. With a mastery over the mechanics of love, he therefore knows exactly where the weakest links could be; where doubts and concerns can be sowed over time to topple the whole structure. In between you and Sunghoon, Jake knew your aloofness and romantically-inept nature can be a problem in the long-run with Sunghoon's possessive tendencies and predisposition towards jealousy. So Jake wanted to capitalize that.

"I mean, I just wanted to also thank her for the other night," Jake emphasized, noticing the way Sunghoon's jaw was already tensing, "when she let me shower at her place. It was so late but she was such an angel."

Jake could see the way in which the poison in his words worked it way through Sunghoon's system from the subtle ways in which Sunghoon's brows twitched and the way his jaw ticked though he tried to mask it with a diplomatic grin, "she has always been such an angel to the point of not sensing the ulterior motives in others," Sunghoon remarked with a hint of diplomatic sarcasm, "I'll make sure to pass the message. Next time it happens, let me know instead, I'll send a plumber right to your doorstep."

With that, the door closed and Jake's grin widened in triumph as he walked away, certain to have sowed instrumental doubts between you two. Except, as he lingered around the common area of your apartment floor, Sunghoon showed no signs of leaving. When 2 hours passed, he got even more agitated, impatience taking hold. It almost felt as if he was the one that has been toppled out of control. Jake had to do something though knocking at your door again is probably not the best idea.

So Jake transformed back to his non-human form – the ability of which was diminishing as days passed, the result of slacking in his duties and staying too long in his human form.

When Jake slipped inside your apartment, he could feel the dread rising, seeing the hallway too dimly-lit. “y/n,” he sighed in relief as he entered the living room and see you seated at the couch but soon the smile faltered as Sunghoon, who was beside you, leaned in and pressed his lips against yours – kissing you softly and tenderly. It was all cute and lighthearted – something Jake would have rejoiced seeing had it been any other person. But this was not just any other person. It was you. His you.

His hand gradually balled into a fist as he watched Sunghoon curled his hand over your nape, seizing you in place as he leaned in further to deepen the kiss. As the moment lingered, there was a palpable shift in the air – the sizzling tension of which was only mirrored in the way the kiss was escalating beyond it ever has with Sunghoon’s passion and desire growing more intense by the second as if he had been struck by countless of golden arrows.

Jake’s gaze hardened and as if possessed, he took out countless of lead-tipped arrows, stabbing it onto Sunghoon’s back in a desperate effort to stop him – only for each arrow to dissolve into black dusts – leaving Jake with no choice but to watch the horror unfold before him.

“Stop,” Jake croaked, hoping that you would pull away, that you would resist. But you didn’t. Instead Sunghoon’s body surged forward with urgency, forcing you to lean back onto the couch, his lips still glued onto yours. His movements were almost territorial now as he caged you in, his figure dwarfing yours completely while his hands rove possessively down your waist and up your back, tracing every curve and contour of your form, causing shiver to run down your spine.

Breathless, you pulled away, eyes locked into each other, breathing ragged, hearts racing wildly — the air almost catching fire from the sizzling tension. Sunghoon’s gaze, usually soft and doe-like, had darkened with raw passion and desire. Without anymore pretense nor hesitation, he plunged back in, crushing his lips down upon yours with fierce hunger, leaving you reeling from the force of his kiss. 

In a clear display of dominance and possession, Sunghoon pressed himself firmly against you, his lips parting yours, tongue slithering in to delve deeper, devouring you whole. It was clear then that this wasn’t just a simple kiss anymore. Jake knew exactly where it was all heading. 

And yet Jake was powerless to stop it.

— vii.

Jake re-entered the Abyss easily now for this was his 4th time. The 2nd was when he converted almost all of his riches for human money just so he can buy his disguises and play pretend in the human world. After all, the designers he wear and the penthouse above yours cost a fortune. The 3rd was when he bought more energy so he can stay longer in his human form. 

By now, the Abyss was no longer just a hazy dark alley of market with only one or two sellers visible. As Jake begin to understand and embrace all the dark desires he harboured for you, the place was now teeming with sellers.

It was true what the old man had said then, that the Abyss only reveals itself and the fullness of its world when you acknowledge your dark desires. In fact, the sellers that he can see are those who sell anything related to love and hate – as if the Abyss perfectly curates what you can see according to what your heart desires.

Jake marched to the corner where potions are being sold, the lady materialising out of nowhere, slithering in and out of the colourful fumes like a serpent. He reached for a ‘love potion’ — a bubbling concoction in deep red, “I want this but the strongest one. Get me the strongest hate potion too.”

“Gladly,” the seller cackled when suddenly the old man from the other day appeared behind Jake, “a messenger of love buying a love potion – do you, yourself, not see the irony in that young boy?”

Jake glowered at the man.

The man continued, “if someone like you can’t change her feelings, what makes you think potions can?”

Jake balled his fist, “tell me what to do then,” he lurched at the man, crumpling his collar, “you said this place has everything I could want, tell me where I could go then- who I should find- what I should buy-"

“What you want,” the man smirked, his eyes a pool of darkness, “carries a hefty price beyond all the wealth you’ve amassed.”

“Anything-“ Jake pleaded, memories of earlier replaying in his mind like a broken record, “I want her.”

Suddenly with a snap of a finger, Jake found himself transported into what looked like an underground cistern. Everywhere he looked were stretches of gigantic columns, dimly illuminated by an eerie red glow. 

Jake almost jumped, startled, when he turned around to see the old man sneering, his face contorting oddly. "The Netherworld?" Jake asked almost spitefully, "you've brought me to the Netherworld?"

“Get off your high horse young man,” he brushed past Jake, “entering the Abyss was one thing but being able to follow me into the Netherworld is another. You remember all the cautionary tales don’t you? It takes a very corrupted heart for a being like you to break through the veil and enter here-“

Jake watched the man descend down the stairs, alarmed when he saw his shadows bearing horns. When his eyes snapped back up the old man had turned into someone younger and taller — more than 2 ft — with horns curving out of his head and robes that seemed to be made entirely of black smoke, “what? you didn’t think I was an Angel did you?”

Jake took a step back, “you must be out of your mind to think that I would want to work with you, a wretched Evil Spirit of some sort?”

“You say that as if you’re spitting venom and yet the desires you have are just as wretched,” the man cackled, the shadows behind him growing imposingly large, “face it, their fates are written to be intertwined, how else do you expect to win her then? Parade as human? For how long exactly? You know you cannot overstay in the human world.”

“I saw a spell for partial mortality earlier,” Jake reasoned, startled when the man suddenly reappeared behind him, his long bony fingers gripping Jake’s shoulders, immobilising him from any attempts to run away, “right, at the cost of what Jake? Half of your wings? Entertain me then, how does mortality make you any more attractive to her.”

Jake opened his mouth, ready to answer but found no argument left. He heard the demon scoffing, his slender fingers brushing over Jake’s large wings which had by then turned a weird shade of grey from its original pristine white — symbolising the gradual corruption that had took hold, “in fact all of your converted riches would soon be used up before you can even get an ounce of additional interest from her. She is after all written for him.”

The demon snapped his fingers, reflecting you and Sunghoon at your most intimate moments on a dark pool nearby. It was a picture he had often been fantasising as of late except, the man that was taking you right now wasn't him. Consumed in fury — the emotion of which seemed to have amplified now that he was in the Netherworld — Jake shot his arrow against the reflection, the ripples causing the images to disappear. 

“Ooo, calm down lover boy,” the demon cooed, feigning fear by backing away, “I didn’t just plunge you down the murkiest of depths just to taunt you”.

“Then what?” Jake’s chest heaved in anger.

The demon smirked, suddenly looming larger than life, “there is possibly another way for you-“

“Spit it.”

“Take her away,” the demon suggested almost too lightheartedly, “bring her to this other plane. It's the only way you can fortify against the string that connects them. Wipe her memory clean, keep her preoccupied and just like that, she is all yours."

“But humans shouldn’t live in our realm.”

“Shouldn’t not can’t,” the demon corrected, “though no sooner than you can make love to her will you have the guards on your doorstep, sentencing you to death for breaking laws and ethics.”

Jake’s brows furrowed, "you call that a solution?"

The demon floated towards him, stooping to Jake's height as if wanting to appear as an ally now, "of course not, I'm just laying out all the options for you because I want to make sure that the choices you make are informed."

Jake's brows furrowed, patience wearing thin, "stop with the dramatics. You're a fucking demon, you will never make a deal that would be of the best interest for the other party."

"Well, I can shelter you both in this domain," he gesticulated wildly, "it's the only place that the guards don't venture into." The demon's grin widened as he watched the muscles in Jake's face easing, "told you I am on your side."

Visions of you in Jake's arms swirled in his mind. If he brings you here then indeed nothing else could come in between. Not Sunghoon, not anyone. There would just be him for you and you for him. Jake exhaled sharply, “what’s the catch?”

“Good boy,” the demon cackled, a throne materialising behind him and he sunk on it, “just work for me.”

Jake watched him in confusion as he looked around, wondering what would he need an extra hand for. The demon continued, “your arrows,” he motioned and suddenly his golden arrows turned black, trail of black smoke emanating from it, “use it to sow hatred and chaos. One strike on someone and his darkest desires would amplify to the point of action.”

“You-“ Jake swallowed thickly, the fables of when he was young ringing deafeningly in his head. He had heard of so many tragedies during his lifetime but he didn’t know he’d end up as the very man people cautioned him against: the elites who held the most potential but eventually turning to the dark side. Jake always thought of himself as incorruptible and yet here he was in the Netherworld, about to give up everything just to strike deal with a demon.

As if sensing his hesitancy, the pool nearest to him begin to reflect an image of you and Sunghoon in yet another intimate moment and just like that, something within him snapped. "I'll do it," Jake muttered in a low, yet steady voice, eyes glinting, "but you have to make her mine. Completely mine.”

The shadows that emanated from the demon's robe grew thicker, consuming him, leaving only loud his loud cackes echoing deafeningly throughout the cistern, "deal."

— viii.

You felt Sunghoon's hand seized your wrist, his touch firm as he pulled you onto bed. His lips found yours, tangling it in a passionate kiss, as his body clambered over yours, his touch possessive as he held you captive in his embrace. It took a considerable effort to pull away and break free from his grip which was almost like talons, "Sunghoon, come on now, I'll be back after my run-" you wedged an arm in between, stopping him as he attempted to reclaim your lips again. He sighed, burying his head lazily in the crook of your neck, "do you have to?" he murmured. There was a hint of plead in his voice, "it's not even sunrise yet."

"Exactly," you chirped, "best time to run."

Sunghoon sighed again, his grip reluctantly loosening as he rose from the bed, his hand gently snaking over your back to help you up. He hated letting you go alone for all he wanted was to keep you safe and close, by his side. But if there was anyone who understood you best in the world, it would be him. He knew how much you cherished your independence and freedom and he respected that, willing to give you the space and the alone time that you need, "promise to stick to well-lit and well-trodden paths?" he murmured softly with a gaze that is so soft and tender while his thumbs drew circles on your back, his touch both soothing and protective.

"Always," you reassured him, voice steady and calm.

You got off the bed, Sunghoon trailing closely behind, his hand never leaving yours. Once you had put on your shoes, you tiptoed towards him, planting a kiss on his lips as a reassurance. You could feel him smile into the kiss, his hand gently cradling your nape to stop you from drawing back, wanting to make the moment last longer. "Seriously," you hit him playfully and he captured your hand in his, holding onto it until you slipped out the door, lingering up until the very last moments.

Little did you know that your little kiss — an act you'd rarely initiate — would be your goodbye and little did he know that his reluctance, which was oddly so strong and defied all logics that dawn, was almost like a premonition of the tragedy that would befell you both.

— ix.

When you arrived at the park where you usually run at, you remembered feeling the dread rising. The trail was too foggy, the lights flickering doing nothing but making the whole place looked like a copy of Silent Hill. But you were always so fearless for your good, so you quell your doubts and anxieties — putting them aside as baseless.

Except when you began running, the fog only grew heavier and as you approached a bend, a massive black dog appeared out of nowhere, barking wildly at you. Startled, you veered off the main trail, hoping to outpace the menacing creature. As you hurried, your foot caught on an exposed root, and you stumbled. Before you knew it, you were tumbling down a steep embankment, the world spinning around you in a dizzying blur. You tried to grab onto something, anything, but your descent was swift and uncontrollable. Finally your tumbling ceased, leaving you in a crumpled heap, your body throbbing in pain.

As you lay there, numb and in pain, blinking against the dizziness, you noticed something peculiar about your surroundings. The familiar pine forest had transformed into a grove of ancient trees, their massive trunks reaching high into the sky. The sky, starless and moonless, was bathed in an eerie shade of dark blue as if suspended at dawn.

A sense of unease washed over you as you realized something was amiss. The air was heavy and thick with an aura of mysticism with an eerie silence enveloping the forest. You knew instinctively that something was wrong, and the urge to flee began to stir within you. But as you tried to gather your bearings and rise to your feet, your head began to reel, and your eyelids grew heavier. It was as if an unseen force was lulling you into a deep slumber.

You fought against the encroaching darkness, but your efforts were in vain and the last thing you remembered before your world turned black was a huge mass of shadow drawing nearer, its presence filling you with dread.

— x.

You woke with a start, your heart pounding in your chest as the familiar nightmare plagued your sleep once again. The dream was always the same—a black mist enveloping you as you ran, the sense of something sinister chasing you through the darkness. You sat up, burying your face in your hands, when you feel the space on the bed beside you dip. You feel a strong hand wrapped around your waist, its body curled protectively around yours. You feel him bury his face at the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses against it to calm you down. You turned your head, "Jake..." you whispered softly, meeting his warm gaze.

"Nightmares again?" he asked, voice soft and concerned, "you know dreams are just the Devil's plaything."

"Yes but-" you struggled to find the words, your mind still clouded with the remnants of the nightmare. Before you could say more, Jake hauled you onto his lap, his lips claiming yours in a passionate kiss, stealing your breath and your thoughts away. It was a kiss that made you forget the nightmare, a kiss that always felt like the first, no matter how many times he had kissed you before.

His hands roved hungrily over your back, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume all rational thoughts. You kissed him back, surrendering to his passion, feeling him press forward, his lips parting yours with a gentle urgency as his head tilted to deepen the kiss, his tongue seeking yours. The kiss consumed you, sweeping away the remnants of the nightmare and replacing it with a different kind of darkness—one that was intoxicating and exhilarating. You finally managed to catch your breath when he began trailing kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at certain spots, marking you as his own, claiming your skin with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through you. You could feel his desire, his need, and it only fueled your own.

Jake could himself hardly believe the moment would ever come: of him being able to call you his, of him being able to hold you close, of you actually reciprocating his love and touch. But indeed, this had become his every day now. Yet still, he could never get enough of you, wanting to imprint every touch, every kiss, onto your skin. You could feel yourself about to fully lose yourself to the overwhelming intensity of his touch when your eyes drifted to the window behind the bed, where the grove of ancient trees stretched as far as the horizon.

"Those ancient trees outside—" you stammered, trying to fight the overwhelming sensations, "it kept on haunting me in my dreams. Like a memory—" your voice trailed off as you felt yourself thrown back against the mattress, Jake hovering over you, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You know you can't go out there," his voice was calm but there was an unmistakable warning in his voice, an edge to his tone that you hadn't heard before, "it's too dangerous."

You opened your mouth to protest, to ask why he always cautioned you against venturing into the forest, but any form of protest was muffled by another searing kiss. This kiss was different, hungrier, more primal, making you breathless and weak in the knees. "You're only safe with me y/n," he muttered in between kisses, "you're mine after all," his hips pressed against yours, his hands slipping under your shirt, making you shudder.

Jake had always been gentle towards you so the aggressive and almost primal way in which he was taking you right now was making you feel uncomfortable. The warning bells in your head rang faintly, but the sensations he elicited drowned them out. His kiss was like a drug, clouding your judgment and leaving you helpless to resist. As you felt him press you further into the mattress, your hands instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him close, your body responding to his touch with a will of his own. Just like the clothing that were shed one by one, any remnants of doubt and hesitation begin to disappear. The morning after, you would wake up as if this castle had always been your home, as if this bed had always been the one you slept on, as if Jake had always been the love of your life.

But sometimes, when the nightmare comes, striking the deepest fear in your heart, a flash of images would surge through your mind, offering a glimpse of another life. Through it all, one constant remained — a man. His face was unclear, his features blurred by the haze of dreams, but his presence loomed large, leaving you with a sense of longing and an ache in your heart that you couldn't quite explain. It was as if your soul recognized him, even if your conscious mind could not recall his name or his face. The man may not possess Jake's gentle and warm nature but he oddly felt so safe. Like home. In fact it weirdly occurred to you that even if you didn't know him, you felt like you'd run towards him on instinct if you were made to choose between him and Jake — as if he's a sanctuary.

But then you wake up, and your heart would pound from the terror of being chased while your heart ached from what felt like loss and longing. While the terror would eventually dissipate throughout the day, the ache lingered, as if a void had opened up within you. That's why you always surrendered to Jake eventually for only it was under his soothing words and tantalizing touch could you fill the void and the quiet of yearning.

Until the next nightmare strikes.

a/n: damn writing the goodbye with Sunghoon made me ache lol. Hope you like this one. I actually enjoyed writing this one even though it did took quite some time to finalise. No, there won't be a Part 2 because I suck at writing continuations lol. And yes, there will be a Part 4 for Dancing with the Devil but patience friends.

>>> | Masterlist |

[eiflawriting]

Hiya! I was wondering if maybe you could write something like kyoraku fucking you in a sundress? Like you’ve planned a picnic date and then he sees you all dressed up in a pretty yellow sundress and makes you sit on his face in the middle of the park? Ty love x

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐢 𝐤𝐲ō𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮

(✧) ─ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 shunsui finally has a day off from his captain duties, so y/n decides to plan a romantic picnic to help him relax. upon seeing her in that pretty little dress, he thought of other ways to do so.

(✧) ─ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔! black woman who uses she/her pronouns ─ chubby!reader. established relationship ── husband x wife. same couple from goodmorning, my love. part ii. to my four part series. NO MANGA SPOILERS. third POV, usage of profanity, praising and breeding kink, VOYEURISM ── public s3x. oral!receiving ── face sitting, missionary position, terms of endearment ── cupcake, sweetheart, my love, angel, baby, pretty girl, etc. squirting, creampie. this is just some passionate love making in the garden. shunsui is wearing a yukata and i think it's hot. 3.3k word count.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(✧) ─ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔

my goodness. first of all, im sorry this request took so long. i have like three different versions of this fic written, but decided to go with this one. i absolutely love it. nonnie, i hope you're still here with me lol. i also just came off a writing hiatus, so im going to try to knock out my other requests, which are also bleach characters, hehe. shoutout to nonnie for being my first completed request. ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰ no more rambling. i hope y'all enjoy. interactions would be greatly appreciated. ♡ eighteen plus only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

𝑺𝑯𝑼𝑵𝑺𝑼𝑰 𝑺𝑰𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑳𝒀 𝑨𝑺 𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝒀/𝑵 𝑷𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭 𝑨 𝑪𝑼𝑷, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑻𝑯. His grey irises were glued to Y/N, mesmerized by her gorgeous appearance. A day never went by when Shunsui wasn't obsessed with her beauty, but today he found himself staring more than usual. Did it have something to do with the substance circulating his system or the short yellow dress Y/N was wearing? 

Maybe both. 

When Shunsui saw Y/N, he felt himself coming undone in the yukata she picked out for him to wear. He wondered where she got this dress from? Perhaps a gift from Rukia when she returned from the World of the Living? If so, he would surely thank her the next time he ran into her.

The dress held Y/N's curves perfectly. With every step she took, her tits bounced like they were dying to be freed. A few times on the stroll to the garden, the wind blew heavily to expose her garments. The pervert in Shunsui wanted the wind to blow harder to reveal more, but of course, the gentleman in him helped Y/N adjust. 

Shunsui declared yellow was Y/N's color. It complimented her deep brown skin well—and the sun couldn't agree more, descending upon her complexion to illuminate the natural glow she already had. To think this day was supposed to be reserved for spending time with Y/N and relaxing. All he could think about was fucking her in that pretty little dress. Well, that sounds quite relaxing to him, at least. 

"My love, you're staring," Y/N said while her eyes remained focused on rummaging through the picnic basket. 

Of course, he was. How couldn't he? If only she could witness the lewd thoughts permeating Shunsui's mind. They were beyond obscene, visualizing her thighs suffocating his face while he ate her pussy until she was a cumming mess. Fucking Y/N, gazing at her tits bouncing invitingly until they fell out her top. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra either. The dress's material was thin enough to have her nipples peek through. 

Fuck, she was so damn sexy. Shunsui's cock was growing harder the longer he watched.

"Can you blame me for having a beautiful wife?"

Y/N wrinkled her nose. "Hmm, maybe you're right. I can't blame you, but you could at least say what's on your mind."

"Why do you think something's on my mind?"

"Hmm, maybe because you're giving me those bedroom eyes, and your cheeks are quite red. I know you could handle your liquor."

He chuckled, using his free hand to throw up in defeat. "You got me. You'll probably think I'm a pervert if I tell you what's on my mind."

"Baby—I thought you were a pervert since we met. I don't think a few of your wet fantasies would make me think otherwise." The laugh he belted from his stomach pulled strings in Y/N's heart. So genuine. He needed this day. 

Shunsui leaned back to pat on his lap, wanting Y/N to take comfort, which she had no issue doing. A delightful ache rushed to his cock from feeling Y/N's clothed sex on him. Her lips were ghosting over his, inches from kissing but instead taking in the lingering aroma of sake. She brushed her nose along the bridge of his nose, an intimate gesture they did to express their love, before wrapping her arms around Shunsui's neck and finding his lips. 

While sharing a heated kiss, Y/N began rubbing her pussy on Shunsui to pull those husked groans from his chest. His free hand rested on the small of her back to aid the rolling motion of her hips. Y/N halted her movements to softly gasp due to feeling his erection grow against her clothed sex. However, Shunsui saw no reason for her to stop. 

Shunsui chugged the last of his sake before grabbing Y/N's legs to wrap around him, having her comfortably straddle him. He placed his hands on her hips to continue her movements while massaging each other's lips. Every moan, grunt, and plea was devoured with the intent of wanting to do more than just make out, especially for Shunsui. 

A greedy man he was when it came to Y/N. He wanted to discover every kink and pinpoint of her body until all her weaknesses were revealed. Any chance he had was used to taking his time pleasing her in ways she didn't know was possible, but Shunsui made it so. And today would just be another one of those experiments. 

"I want you to bear my children, my love," Shunsui rasped, pecking her lips between words before peppering kisses along her neck. "You look so damn beautiful and sexy in this dress. I want to fuck you while you wear it."

"Mmm, let's go back—"

He shook his head. "No. Right here. Let me fuck you right here in the middle of the garden."

"S-Shunsui—I don't know if I'll be able to be quiet. And what if someone sees us?" Y/N words barely came out as normal. Her breathy moans only indicated she was on board with him. 

He tugged her earlobe between his teeth, whispering, "Hmm, conservative now, are we? I recall you stopping by before my captain meetings a few times because you said you missed me—And lunch wasn't the only thing you were dropping off."

Shunsui earned a knowing look from Y/N that was filled with desire. She didn't even bother to argue because it was true. Y/N genuinely visited Shunsui at the barracks to bring him lunch. But there was just something about seeing him tend to his captain duties that had a pleasurable ache rush to her center. And let's just say when Shunsui walked her out of the room, she attracted a few stares from his subordinates. 

She nipped on her bottom lip, letting out a deflating sigh. "Why have I married you again?"

"Because you love me, and I love you. Now come here—Sit on my face." Shunsui wasted no time laying on his back to prepare to feast on Y/N. She attempted to remove her dress, but he stopped her. "I was very serious when I said I want to please you while you wear this dress, sweetheart."

He sat up a bit to grab Y/N's waist to pull her onto his face, causing her to giggle. That giggle soon turned into a soft moan upon feeling Shunsui lap at her clit through her panties. The barrier of her garments acted as a tease and a surprise for something great. Her natural odor graced his nostrils, reminding him how he became pussydrunk, to begin with. 

The feeling of Y/N's pussy being toyed with through her panties was a great delight—as if the material of her garments gave her clit more friction. She even found herself riding his face in hopes of reaching her release quicker. But she should know that Shunsui took his time pleasing her. 

Libido was pumping through their veins, but mainly Y/N. Shunsui was a tease in more ways than one. However, she felt like she was on the edge of a mountain. She was desperate to cum, and although her orgasm was right there—it wouldn't come. Not until his tongue was pleasing her without the barrier. It felt like an everlasting sensation of falling out of the sky. 

Y/N hiked up her dress to look down at Shunsui, seeing that pretty scarlet color decorate his cheeks. She just knew he was enjoying taunting her. His mouth was preoccupied, but his eyes twinkled a light of mischief and ecstasy. Y/N thought he looked so sexy smothered between her thighs, but she needed more, and she didn't mind begging for it. 

"Baby, stop teasing me—please."

"Gosh, I just love when you're so needy and impatient for me, angel. Just this once, I'll give you what you want."

He slipped Y/N's panties to the side to attack her clit. He groaned from having her taste on his tongue, joyfully rolling his eyes back. Shunsui was hungry for this pussy. Taking care of Y/N was the highlight of his day. If only he could spend every day like this—spreading her ass cheeks to obnoxiously eat her pussy and second hole.

Shunsui's moans transferred vibrations to her throbbing bud, causing Y/N to cry his name. He slipped two fingers inside her to produce more of those dulcet cries, which went straight to cock. 

Y/N was so wet for Shunsui and created a mess on his face. Being drowned in her wetness was no issue for him at all. Y/N's juices coated his facial hair and dripped down his chin. She kept whimpering his name, saying how close she was to cumming, and that only aided his feasting to become more passionate. Thrusting his fingers knuckles deep into her cunt while sucking vigorously on her clit. And he couldn't neglect the hidden flavor behind the long side of her labia. 

"Fuck, you taste so good, cupcake. I love this pussy," Shunsui mumbled.

"Shun, suck me harder. I'm right there."

So sensitive she was when it came to Shunsui's touch. Teasing Y/N through her garments was the calm before the storm. She just knew as soon as she felt him lapping at her clit she would cum quickly. Her actions also proved this accurate—pressing her weight on his face, suffocating him between her thighs while riding his tongue.

Y/N began feeling herself and imagined Shunsui running his hands through her curves. Somewhere along the lines of yes, please, oh God, and a few more curse words was all that she could say. However, Shunsui fucking the air caught her attention. She looked over her shoulders to witness how hard his erection became. If she didn't know any better, the wet spot on his yukata was the overload of precum seeping through. 

She bit her lip, thinking about how badly she wanted to suck the soul out of his dick. But that would be saved for another time. 

Shunsui pumped his fingers faster and deeper into Y/N until he hit her sweet spot to pull back her attention. He consumed Y/N's wetness, slurping her juices and generating slurping sounds like her pussy was a popsicle on the verge of melting. His free hand was used to repeatedly smack her ass and rub to alleviate the sting. Shunsui knew she enjoyed his actions. How she clenched around his fingers couldn't say otherwise.

And it wasn't long before her orgasm washed over his face. 

Y/N saw stars while riding out her release. Despite her moans being hitched, they still managed to push through. She panted above him and, as always, thanked Shunsui for delivering great pleasures. 

Typically, Shunsui would continue pleasing Y/N past her orgasm because he enjoyed her sensitivity, but he was just dying to fuck her. He ran his tongue along her folds a bit longer before removing Y/N from his face. He sat her on the blanket to begin freeing himself from his yukata. She watched him with lidded eyes, chest heaving slowly, licking her lips with anticipation to see his girthy cock. 

"You like what you see, darling?"

Y/N giggled. "Oh, shut up and fuck me already."

"Hmm, quite a demand from someone so worried about having sex in the garden." 

She pulled him by the band of his yukata to have him inches away from her mouth. "I said—shut up—and come fuck me." And found his lips once more. 

Their kiss was so passionately sloppy. Moaning and groaning from the lingering taste of Y/N on his tongue. He hurriedly lowered his yukata enough to expose his aching cock. Although Shunsui had all day with her, it seemed like he was still in a rush to fuck her fat wet pussy. He only left a few more smooches before descending into Y/N's neck to nip harshly at her flesh. 

While he stroked his dick to spread his precum and prepare to be inside her, he freed her breasts from the dress because they looked like they needed air. How Y/N's full saggy tits jumped out her top was beyond obnoxious. Fuck, he couldn't resist sucking them into his mouth just to savor for a bit. 

After showing equal love to Y/N's tits, he again slipped her panties to the side and leaned forward until Y/N was lying on her back. He grabbed her legs to hook one thigh under his forearm and pin the other. Shunsui ran his tongue across her bottom lip while his tip rested on her sex to tease, and just when she parted her lips to complain—he pushed in. 

But of course, her pussy was stubborn, involuntary resisting, and only allowing the head. 

He gathered saliva in his mouth to drip on his dick. Her wetness was enough lubricant, but Shunsui knew doing this would create that obscene queefing sound he loved hearing. He took his time working open her pussy, pumping tenderly until he was deep. 

Y/N rolled her eyes and let out soft whimpers, indicating her approval of his actions. How was his tip alone able to bring her this much pleasure already? But no. She needed to take all eight inches of Shunsui to make him proud. 

"My love, I—I can take it. Give me more," Y/N breathed.

He held his hips still to watch her, seeing how the sun was attracted to the tiny beads of sweat decorating her forehead. He noticed how tears began pricking the corner of those pretty chestnut-colored eyes. Y/N's hand was already resting on Shunsui's lower abdomen in preparation to hold him to alleviate the pressure. It didn't matter how often they had sex—Shunsui is a very passionate partner, and Y/N needed time to adjust.

But if she said she was ready… then she was ready. 

He bottomed out.

She let out a pitched yelp.

He pulled out and did it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

He fucked Y/N to make her cum all over his cock and milk her to breed her pussy. With every thrust, his balls smacked her sex. He was fucking Y/N at full force to have her breasts bounce uncontrollably. They sat so nicely outside the pretty little yellow dress she was wearing. This is what Shunsui was visualizing when he saw her in this dress. 

"Y/N, squeeze your breasts together with your arms," Shunsui ordered, to which she happily complied. "Yes, just like that. Fuck, you're so sexy. So good to me, sweetheart."

"Shun, oh God! Don't stop fucking me like this, baby."

He won't. He won't stop fucking his sweet wife like a wild animal hunting prey. If anything, he'll fuck her harder until she gushes and creams his cock, and he paints her walls. Until she's crying his name from the pit of her stomach. Shunsui kissed Y/N's cervix just enough to deliver another orgasm and not bring discomfort. 

Y/N's cheeks only grew warmer the more her pleasure was built. Shunsui was a lot to handle, but she molded around him perfectly with his patience to stretch her walls. Her pussy sucked him in and out. Based on how his eyes were glued between them, he was delighted by this sight. But Y/N wanted him to look at her.

"L-Look at me, Shunsui."

His dick twitched from her order that sounded too sweet. He gave her soft smooches to express his apologies. "I'm sorry, angel. You want me to watch you when you cum, hm?"

"Yes, please."

Gosh, why did she sound like that? 

Shunsui freed her thighs to take comfort in holding her thick waist. He pounded into her to hear her pussy smile. He quickly glanced to see a heap of cream on his cock. When he returned his eyes to Y/N, he saw her squeezing her nipple while attempting to suck the other in her mouth. The visual of this was so pornographic. His dick couldn't stop jumping unruly. 

He was going to bust soon. 

And she wasn't too far behind. 

"You're going to let me breed you. Isn't that right, my love? That's what you promised me, yeah?" But, despite his words coming out as a question, he wasn't asking. 

More so, telling her. 

"Yes. I'll do anything for you, Shun."

"You're always so fucking good to me."

His hands remained on her waist to fuck her, also pulling down Y/N to meet with his thrusts. He pressed his weight onto her to sensually kiss Y/N, overpowering her pretty two-toned lips with his tongue. Shunsui glided across her jawline and neck to suck fervently on her flesh to pull back those sweet yelps. Her walls wrapped around him acted as a turtleneck sweater providing warmth to his cock. It would only take a few more strokes until Y/N was a cumming mess. 

Shunsui removed one of his hands from Y/N to move his fingers to her pearl to rub out her orgasm. His pace was erratic, and he was eager to feel her wash over him again. Y/N's moans reverberated around the garden, yet they were still sweet and soft. His grunts joined her sounds of pleasure to harmonize. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she couldn't look more beautiful—happier. Words couldn't describe how much Shunsui loves her. She was perfect. 

"Ah—Ngh, oh my gosh, Shun. Baby, I'm cumming. You're making me cum," Y/N whimpered, sniffling her tears of joy. 

"I just love hearing those words from your pretty mouth. You're so gorgeous, my angel. I love you so much. Always milking my cock with this warm, tight pussy. Fuck, you feel amazing." The praises Shunsui was saying to Y/N only helped build her climax further. She was squeezing him, and her pussy produced stirring wet noises. He applied more pressure to her clit and flicked it more quicker. "Mmm, cum for me, Y/N."

His balls were growing heavy. Shunsui put all his strength into his thrusts until they became sloppy, indicating his near orgasm. He repeatedly touched Y/N's cushion, which had her whimpering and toes curling.

He ghosted his mouth over her ears. "Let go for me, sweetheart. I want you to release everything on me. I feel you. Don't hold back, okay? I'm yours."

"..."

"I'm yours," he repeated in a hushed tone.

"Oh–f-fuck…."

And that was it. A beautiful wave washed between them as Y/N squirted and milked his cock, and Shunsui drowned her pussy with his bitters. His sloppy thrusts didn't halt until he ensured every last drop of cum emptied in her depths. He moaned her name, saying she was his good girl, calling her beautiful, and saying he would make her a mommy. 

Once the couple came down from their high, Shunsui pulled Y/N onto his lap with his dick inside her. He showered her face with gentle kisses before finding her soft lips. Having Y/N in his arms was the best feeling he could ask for. 

Upon parting from the heartfelt kiss, they held eye contact to share a look of lust. Two lovers, drunk off love and sake after fucking passionately in the middle of the garden. However, Y/N almost forgot she was in public until hearing the voices of his subordinates. How she yelped and curled into Shunsui, smothering her face on his bare chest, made his heart flutter.

She softly bit his flesh to show her playful frustration of agreeing to be fucked in a public setting. "Remind me to never do this again."

"Haha. I can remind you, but we both know you don't believe in the word never. Now, come on. Let's go home and clean up."

𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙. ♡

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 ── @dejwrites @beniswife @ayyy-pee @maydayaisha @violxtbxbyy @chaotic-nick @aiyaaayei @bontensbabygirl @po3ticb3auty @angrybirdxx @alinvert @heartdevil @caribbeanwifey19 @sexbob-ombbeck @softimgyu @kimorikuri @adoretruly @akondo @kinize20 @snowflakeanimelover @kawaiigirljenae99 @zabimarushoney67 @ghoulette420 @stargirllust @kenpachis-woman @magxnoria @kenpachiislit

[certainempatheticturkeymuffin]

Unawakened Dream really awoke the plot bunnies! Enjoy!

-

The very fabric of Teyvat is unraveling — shattering into unseemly pieces; leaving gaping holes for the Primordial Sea to flood in. Mondstadt has long fallen — Dvalin and Andrius with it — and Venti thought he had no more tears to cry.

And yet…

“Zhong– Zhongli please! You can't leave me too!”

The geo archon lays at his feet, slowly crumbling to dust as erosion dared to claim him in the worst possible moment. The leaking of the geo archon's power destabilizes Teyvat even further. It brings Venti to his knees — threatens to turn him to stone alongside his last and oldest friend…

But Venti can't bring himself to care, as he grips onto Zhongli's crumbling hand and cries into his chest.

Zhongli does not remember Venti's face. He does not remember their shared battles, nor their hopeful songs or idle conversations. Venti is a stranger. And despite that, he gazes upon the image of their melting, shattering, dying reality, and dismisses it: deeming the sobbing archon above him more important.

Despite everything, Zhongli offers a calming smile, laying a half decayed hand upon Venti's unstained white feathers — a speck of soft and clean perfection in a disastrous painting. His voice is quiet and weak, missing his authority and wisdom, but it is still Zhongli.

“You… are important to me. Do not cry; one needn't waste tears over the inevitable and irreversible.”

‘Inevitable and irreversible.’ The thought stills him.

Because nothing is irreversible. Not to that spark split in three. Not to the power long abandoned. Not to the Shade of Time.

It has been millenia since the use of such power. Centuries since he'd thought of it…

Mondstadt would live.

Zhongli would live.

The tears don't stop at this realization, but Venti's grin isn't dampened as he looks into the clouded eyes of the only one left, “Nothing's irreversible Zhongli — not to me! I can fix this! I will fix this! I'll fix Teyvat– I'll save you!”

His words seem to send Zhongli into deep thought, but he speaks before Venti can even begin to draw upon those dimmed sparks, “Is that a promise?”

‘A contract?’ And Venti pauses. Because Zhongli does not know what power those words hold. Does not know that he is the God of Contracts, does not know that a promise bound by him is one impossible to break without severe consequence.

Venti has never entered a proper contract. Though he has always protected Mondstadt (he failed them), if he really felt like it, he could walk away without consequence. He has always retained the freedom of choice, even if the choices are mere illusions.

But what freedom is there if everyone is dead?

So Venti smiles — face marred only by tears, he is a picture of clean perfection amongst muddled destruction, untouched even in the final hour of Teyvat's demise. Untouchable, for even Teyvat's destruction is no guarantee of his own. He draws upon those faded remnants of Istaroth's power — of the power of the First Descender — and his voice is clear, echoing through the remnants of Teyvat and through the Primordial Sea, touching even the realities beyond their dream,

“I'll fix Teyvat, or die trying. May this contract be bound in stone.”

-

So yeah, may or may not make an actual fic, and did NOT intend this to be as ZhongVen as it was, but that image of Venti using Istaroth's power (of BEING Istaroth) really refused to leave me alone lol. I think it's mostly because I ADORE writing time loops, so even if I do already headcanon Venti as a time manipulator, seeing it in animated form... the temptation was too strong lol

[burningcheese-merchant]

When Burning Spice was introduced a lot of people made comparison with Capsaicin, and even thought they were related. You have any thoughts on that?

I do, and you're all probably going to be very disappointed lol

Not only do I NOT vibe with the idea that they're related, I'm actually really annoyed that it's as popular as it is lol. It doesn't even make sense. Burning Spice was in prison for thousands of years; when, where and how did he have a kid? At what point in time did this occur? Capsaicin is a young man. A regular mortal, outside of his "Spice Overlord" thing. I ask you all again: when? Where? How? WHY? Has anyone ever actually thought this through?

"ThEy LoOk SiMiLaR" okay, and? So fucking what? Neither of them own the concept of "long hair" or "muscles" or "sharp teeth". Pitaya has those too, and he has an arguably more substantial connection to Capsaicin because they're actually from the same fucking area. Happenstance. Lots of characters in this game have similar attributes, that doesn't necessarily mean anything

"ThEy'Re BoTh SpIcY" Refer to point A. Do you all think all the nut-based cookies are related, too? That's the logic you might as well be operating on. Correlation is not causation

"Blah blah both jail" you know how many characters in this whack-ass phone game count as felons, bro? How many of them SHOULD count as felons lol? The Cookie Run universe might as well be one giant Alcatraz with all the shit these little affronts to God get up to every day, I ain't making them all each other's relatives because of it

They're the wrong ages for them to be family. Burning Spice was serving a life sentence since long before Capsaicin was even thought of, he literally got out after the guy was already a grown ass man. They're not even from the same fucking CONTINENT! Capsaicin has probably never even HEARD of Beast-Yeast! Even that little comic the CRK Twitter account posted makes fun of all this shit!!! The Wild Spices mistake Cap for Spice from behind, and then get confused when he turns around because THEY VERY CLEARLY DO NOT KNOW WHO HE IS AND HAVE NEVER SEEN HIM BEFORE! Wouldn't an army know if their general had a son, even if it was only mentioned in passing? Wouldn't THIS army have a vested interest in having their general's son around if he existed, and stop at nothing to bring him home should he vanish, to gain favor with Spice and because of how powerful Capsaicin is and how useful he could be to them?

I wouldn't be so bent out of shape about all this if it wasn't LITERALLY FUCKING EVERYWHERE!!! I cannot enjoy any content of Burning Spice OR Capsaicin without having to endure a fucking barrage of "hurr durr father and son" posts!!! I just want to ogle my hot, sexy, deliciously evil spice man BY HIM-FUCKING-SELF in peace, I never asked to have to hear the exact fucking same "hi son I came back with the milk" joke over and over and over again

I know I sound like a massive dick right now and I'm truly sorry. You are more than welcome to think of these two as related in some way if you wish. I am not your mother, nor your leader, nor your god, I'm just some cringe loser on the internet. Enjoy this game and its characters in whatever way you choose. I even actually like a good bit of the father/son art, a lot of it is cute and funny. I'm able and willing to say that with complete sincerity.

I just wish I didn't have to feel like it's being forced on me. That is one of the biggest issues I have with this fandom: how oppressive it often feels. You MUST ship this particular pairing, you MUST headcanon these characters as family, you MUST take this one-off joke that was clearly just a goddamn joke and preach it 24/7/365 like it's the gospel truth that Devsis themselves wrote on stone tablets and delivered from the top of Mount Sinai. And then when someone doesn't want to do that, everyone else descends upon them like a plague of fucking locusts. I actually saw a Dad Spice + Son Cap post on here with the person who made it saying something like "ok since everyone agrees that these two are family [...]" and I just got so fucking irritated. No, actually, not everyone agrees. Not everyone agrees on a lot of the fanon that's shoved down the entire community's throats on a regular basis. PLEASE stop acting like they do. I still remember when people would get flat-out harassed for not acting like Herb is Sea Fairy's son (old ass drama lol).

Say what you will about me, I'm just one person and you can block me or whatever dumb tags I use for my dumb shit. There is NOWHERE I can go to avoid this. Twitter? Plagued. Tumblr? Plagued. Even fucking reddit is on this nonsense (only in my personal opinion). But that's what I get for acknowledging Reddit in any capacity lol

I shall once again sincerely apologize for my harsh tone here, I am not attacking you personally or anyone who headcanons these two as relatives. I am just generally, profoundly frustrated and I need to get it out. I appreciate you taking the time to ask me an honest question, I hope you can forgive me for my painfully honest answer

[sparkbeast20]

What are Unholyc's

This was brought to my attention cause I saw this post by the @thrones-of-buer

Now, Spoilers for Love Unholyc.

Unholyc's are:

Unholyc are the descendants of Asmodeus, an ancient demon king of lust that descended upon this land a long time ago.

Apparently, he fell in love with humans and gave birth to the first generation of Unholycs. They resemble Asmodeus in that they have the ability to charm and seduce others while being able to use powers like most devils.

In Love Unholyc (PrettyBusy)

Story:

The player is named Mir by default. Though an Unholyc, she isn't interested in anything other than games and isn't able to fully control her charm ability. However, she is always extremely happy and active. Her coming of age ceremony is approaching and she might become a decent Unholyc after that. (…Maybe?)

Mir lives alone with her butler, William, who takes care of everything in the house and is very devoted, despite his aggressive personality. We are hinted that she is from a great Unholyc lineage but isn't conscious of it.

To get successfully past her coming of age ceremony, she needs a lot of acme, vital energy she can get from a contract with another being. Following the instructions of a letter she received from a very prominent Unholyc, she goes to a tailor shop where she meets three very handsome men with an aura resembling an Unholyc.

She accidentally starts the contract ritual. Though she discovers that they are humans, they all agree on the contact anyway.

The whole story revolves around Mir/MC getting through the seven days to complete her coming-of-age ritual to become a full pledged Unholyc.

In Season 1 of the game Mir/MC is focus on growing her connection with the three main Love interests Jung Hi, Sol, and Leo.

(Using this cause I like their season 2 sprites much better then their season 1's sprites)

Through out the week, you will choice dialog with some are specific for a love interest. Beware there are comedic/bad endings in the game if you don't get Affinity(Relationship) Levels.

But on the seventh day, base on you're choses. The Li who has most affinity will be your main route in season 2.

However Season 1 ended with Eater (The main threat and you're other love interest for season 3) killing the three Lis and William (Your Butler/other love interest for season 3) use his ability to manipulate time, restarting the week.

And that where we start with Season 2, Mir/MC going back to Ripeato where she meets the three again, they remember what happened and promise to not let what happened on the seventh day again and promise to protect Mir/MC.

Unholyc's Ability

It seems that base on both games, Unholycs and Devils have specific ability.

In WHB each devils have a specific talent/ability and some like healer class would be affiliated to a certain region.

In LU, William has the ability to manipulate time how ever what happened with S1, his paid the price and his body reverted back into-

Anywho

There is a character named Pierce who has the ability into the future.

Eater has the ability to eat other Unholycs and take their abilities.

There are three others, Zenon, Shallote, and James Roger but I can't remember what their abilities are.

Can a human be an Unholyc?

The answer is yes... Though...

I want to mention cause my possible theory of Minhyeok doing this ritual and becomes an Unholyc lol.

There also this.

What William is talking about here, happened. This was Sol's Dark/Bad ending.

*I still what to see a DLC for each of the bad endings*

Connection to What in "Hell" is bad?

And that's it.

Hope this helps y'all :D

[witchofthesouls]

About the Other/Cybertronian!TFP crew in Jack, Raf and Miko…

What would their alt modes be like, do you think? Would they be more Autobot, Decepticon, or Predacon in nature? Also, what kind of shenanigans would each of them get into?

Personally, I do enjoy the thought that cyberized!humans would have a slant towards 'military' upgrades and beastial traits. Like a tribute to humanity's ties to the animal kingdom and their capacity for arms (tool usage lol). Think of it how a lot of civilian equipment, vehicles, fashion, and architecture, as well as groundbreaking discoveries, had a lot of roots from warfare or military applications.

Shoot, I'm thinking that Aligned verse cyber!humans could be considered throwbacks since the initial generations of early Cybertronians didn't have T-cogs!

I think it would be really fascinating to build on the Cybertronians' form of ableism (as seen with Bumblebee and Starscream with their stolen T-cogs) compared to a cyber!Agent Fowler -who was an Army Ranger-or a cyber!random human that lacks a weapon system and/or conventional armature. Plus, the massive culture clash between American views on social mobility versus Golden Age Functionist-held caste system.

(So much shenanigans there.)

Generally, my thoughts for their Cybertronian forms are consistent across the various Other aus with some tweaking on the plot and the world-building:

Jack has deep ties to blackbirds and corvids, so he's capable of flight. May have multi-forms as an ode to a fae heritage or something strange as a direct descendant to a Prime of Chaos upon a planet caging the Unmaker. Dark frame with a pale face. His (and his mother's) optics would be a grey-blue hue.

Miko is a War-Forged Seeker femme. A lot of is due my headcanons on Seekers (and their kin) and her yōkai roots. War-Forged is what I'm specifically calling Elita One's frame-kith. Cybertronians used to bleed pink, so the bright pink armor is callback their Primal Age and their ancient roots. War-Forged are mecha with extreme combat-related programs that modern science as yet to come close to surpassing them.

As for Raf, he's a dragon. Not quite a Predacon, but it's definitely aligned. Or, weirdly enough, a satellite. I think it would be funny if he's similar to Soundwave in some ways there. The Autobots would need to deal with his data-cables. A dragon shape as it's a call his family's roots to being adventurers to Elsewhere, his dad being a dragon himself, and the old warning: "Here be dragons."

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. iv: unforgiven

Chapter Summary: The dinner with the reunited families goes about as well as everyone thought it would.

Word Count: 3703

Sneak Peak: “Oh, shit,” Aegon spoke into the rim of his cup, a wide grin upon his face.  Floris choked, forcing Clement to pat her on the back.  Shyla gasped, then promptly hid her mouth with her hands. “Valeana,” Arthor hissed at her, though it fell on deaf ears. 

Warnings: None, i think. Language, I suppose, lol.

T H E   R E D S

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Valeana never hated her step sister more than that very moment when they gathered around the table. Floris bumped into her shoulder to take her place at Clement’s right before Val could get there. By all rights, as Bartimos’ second child, she should have sat next to her brother, but Floris was always adamant that the order of things go by age, and that she was Bartimos’s eldest daughter, not Valeana. 

Floris has always been a shrew, but her attitude had soured with age. She had become more entitled and frequently bullied her sisters to do what she wanted them to do. Shyla was far too fragile to disobey, and Val picked her battles. Sometimes the headache wasn’t worth the effort. 

Valeana bit her tongue as she descended into her chair, forcing herself to keep her head down, gaze away from the man across from her. Which was difficult. All her effort was put into the muscles of her neck and face, willing herself to be as close to a statue as humanly possible. Her cheek faced Aemond while she pretended to listen to the King’s toasts. From the corner of her eye, she could see him openly staring, only breaking when his father stood up to toast to forgiveness.

That was when Valeana looked at Aemond without fear of eye contact. How could he, when she now faced the side of his face that was marred and sightless. A pity, a small voice said in the back of her mind. He had such pretty lilac eyes. He still had that regal profile, though, with that strong jawline and aquiline nose. He still had those sharp bow-shaped lips. The softness of his boyishness long gone, replaced by chiseled cheekbones and sharp edges. He reminded Valeana of the tip of a sword. Proud, regal, dangerous, lethal. Unlike a sword, Val had the intrusive desire to run her tongue down the slope of his jawline.

Cursing herself, she tore her eyes away.

As more food was placed upon the table, conversations took place. The adults conversed in pleasantries filled with nostalgia, and the youth exchanged awkward glances, pretending to pay attention to what they were talking about.

Until the silence was finally broken. 

“Sunfyre must be very big now, Prince Aegon,” Shyla craned her neck to find the prince in question. “I remember when he was the size of a horse.” 

Aegon’s ears perked up at the mention of his dragon; it was clear that the beast was his greatest pride. 

Still chewing on a roll, Aegon replied, “Oh yeth,” he took a cup of wine and drank down his morsel. “He’s gotten quite large. Big enough to fly two in his saddle.” 

Shyla’s face lit up like the Grand Sept on Maiden’s Day, though Valeana was the only one who really caught it. She knew exactly how her sister perceived his words: she believed that Aegon was offering her a ride on Sunfyre. 

Valeana remembers Aegon threatening to set her on fire once, because she wouldn’t stop asking to come to the Dragon Pit. They were never allowed, not even with Helaena, who’s dragon, Dreamfyre, was already domesticated and well trained. The Dragonkeepers wouldn’t allow it, and neither did their father. 

“If that were true, then I’d imagine Vhagar could seat double,” Surprisingly, it was Arthor who spoke. Val wasn’t used to her youngest sibling speaking when the crowd was more than three. However, he had always been fascinated by dragons, ever since he saw the Cannibal flying around Crackclaw point. 

The black wild dragon was an island regular, being so close to Dragonstone where his cave was located. When Valeana sequestered herself in her room, she would spend hours on her balcony, watching him, imagining herself being the only person alive that could claim him. The Cannibal, the wildest, largest, and dangerous of dragons alive. No one even knew how old he was, or where he came from, or how he ended up feasting on his own kind, and that made the creature all the more interesting to her. 

Though she did not have the blood of the dragon, and so she kept her fascinations to herself. 

Aemond turned to the young Celtigar, his smirk like coiling ribbon, “Vhagar is as mighty as her size, but I would not say she could seat four and still fly unimpeded. Three at most, I would say.” 

For the first time since they arrived, Arthor smiled, “That is still impressive. I should like to see her, if it is not too much trouble.” 

“I would not get your hopes up, brother,” Valeana found herself talking despite her unofficial vow of silence. Her eyes never left her plate as she cut her venison in bite size pieces, “The Dragonpit is reserved for dragonriders and their keepers.”

There was a moment of surprised silence before Aemond spoke, “Vhagar is far too big for the Dragonpit. So, to answer your question, Arthor, it would not be too much trouble, if we find the time.”

Valeana still hadn’t looked up from her food. 

“Would you care to join us, Valeana?” 

She froze, fork hovering over her plate, halfway to her lips. This was the first time he had said her name in ten years, at least in her presence. The first time he directly acknowledged her. There was a strained aura at their end of the table, one that the adults weren’t paying attention to. 

“It can be quite daunting to be in the shadow of a beast of Conquest, but Vhagar is quite loyal to me. You will be safe under my supervision,” He continued when his question went unanswered. 

Val hummed, and her body unfroze like a ship at full canvas when the rush of wind from an upcoming storm pushed it into life. No, she couldn’t help herself… Her mouth was already open, tongue sharp like an arrowhead. 

“Am I? Forgive me my skepticism, Prince Aemond, but the last time I stood near you, I nearly lost my life. I do not trust you near a flight of stairs, let alone a dragon,” this time she looked directly at him, her sentence punctuated by how she put the food in her mouth. Her teeth sliding against the metal utensil as she pulled the morsel free. 

“Oh, shit,” Aegon spoke into the rim of his cup, a wide grin upon his face. 

Floris choked, forcing Clement to pat her on the back. 

Shyla gasped, then promptly hid her mouth with her hands.

“Valeana,” Arthor hissed at her, though it fell on deaf ears. 

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he tried to hold her venomous gaze, but ultimately failed. He turned his cheek to her, directing his attention to his cup instead. 

“You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be,” His voice seemed softer, as if defeated or tired. “This is the season of peacemaking, is it not?”

Valeana couldn’t stop her eye roll, and when she did, she spotted the heated glare Floris was giving her. 

Be. Nice. She mouthed. 

No. Val mouthed back. 

Floris cleared her throat, “Right you are, Prince Aemond. I have many fond memories of our shared youth.”

“Mhm,” Valeana nodded sarcastically as she viciously cut a carrot in half, “Like that one day when Aegon told you he had a present waiting for you in a room, and you foolishly opened a water closet while Septa Jeyne was–”

“-- I remember no such thing,” Floris was quick to shake her head, her hands making quick work of the meat on her plate. 

"I do!" Aegon giggled into his cup. "I'll never forget Septa Jeyne's face," Aegon mimicked the old woman's look of shock, a silent scream on his tongue. 

Floris' face was as red as the wine in her goblet that she tried to hide in. 

Aegon continued, pointing at Valeana, "Do you remember when I stole one of Helaena's bugs and put it down the back of your gown?"

"Vividly," Val's tone dripped with cynicism as she side-eyed her sister, "Such fond, fond memories." 

Helaena had a pained expression on her face as she turned to her brother, "The one with the many legs? I was looking for that bug for days. I cried, Aegon, remember?"

Her brother's face dropped, and something akin to shame replaced the mischievous expression, "I-- Helaena... You had so many-- It was only a bug--"

"Do you still collect insects, Princess?" Valeana decided to alter the direction of the conversation, saving Aegon from an awkward non-apology, and from Helaena having to endure it. 

The Princess turned away from her brother, her features changing to something less pained, and more content. Val had clear memories of the princess being so far removed from her brothers, it was difficult to see how they were related if she did not consider her features. Though their shared memories together were limited to embroidery, since Helaena seldom left her areas of comfort, and the Celtigar girls had no taste for remaining in the same rooms from dusk to dawn. Shyla and Floris in particular couldn't stand being around the many-legged creatures that Helaena loved so dearly. Valeana had no opinion of it; she knew she didn't care for insects enough to handle them with her own hands, but she had always watched the princess from a careful distance with Queen Alicent.

She nodded, a smile showing her pride on it, "I do. One of my spiders had recently mated and made an egg sack."

Shyla made a horrified face. 

"Y'know, Clement sails quite frequently to Pentos. He has seen quite exotic ones you may be interested in."

That got Helaena's attention, based on how her spine straightened and her knife and fork were forgotten, "Oh?"

Clement looked up at her, and offered her the small smile, "Uh, yes, Princess. Though, I did not know you were fond of such creatures, otherwise I would have brought one with me." 

Helaena asked what was the most interesting ones he had found, and the conversation went on like that between the two. With the attention moved off of her, Valeana turned back to her food and ate silently. The minutes went by with nothing of interest being said; Aemond talked more than Valeana, though only to answer questions by the others (sans Clement) and Val was resolute in not looking at him when he talked. It wasn't until the King's voice reached their end of the table that she looked up from her emptying plate. 

"Tell me, ladies, do you still sing? This old Keep was desperately missing the beautiful voices of the Celtigar girls."

Bartimos chuckled into the handkerchief as he wiped his mouth, "Oh yes, there is nothing like the song of the Sirens of Claw Isle. Girls, why don't you give us one or two?"

"Of course, papa!" Shyla stood up immediately, grin broad and eager.

“It would be an honour to perform for His Grace, and his family,” Floris replied demurely. 

Valeana straightened in her seat, and her mouth went dry when she turned to her father, a slight panic in her words as she spoke. 

“My lute is still packed with my belongings.”

Bartimos opened his mouth, but Viserys spoke before he could, “That’s quite alright, my dear. Your voice is instrument enough.” 

Sensing his daughter’s unease, Barty adjusted himself in the chair to look at the king, “Apologies, your Grace. Valeana— She no longer performs with her voice, you see. She has turned to the strings for her music.”

“No?” It was the Queen who spoke, delicate brow furrowing as she looked over at the girl in question, “Why is that, my dear? I remember you had quite a strong voice for a girl so small.” 

Valeana caught the smirk twitching at the end of Aegon’s lip from the word ‘small’, and the two caught each other’s eye. He was lucky he was so far away from her, because she had no qualms making sure he would not be able to sire heirs with a swift kick with the point of her shoe. 

“Womanhood had robbed me of the skill, your Grace,” Valeana replied, then cleared her throat, still feeling it dry. Her voice failed her in talking as well, it seemed. “My voice lowered, and I could no longer hold the same notes as my sisters.”

It was a partial lie; the truth of the matter was that she lost her confidence. After the years she spent isolated, she seldom talked, and singing felt like a language she no longer understood. She only ever hummed and sang lowly and idly by herself in the privacy of her bedchambers, and even then she would cringe at the way her voice would crack when she attempted high notes that she once was able to do. 

“My sisters are still lovely as always, your Grace.”

“Well, I shall like to hear you play the lute on another date then, my dear,” The King smiled kindly. 

“She’s quite good!” Ursula boasted, “I personally love when she plays the lyre – puts me right to sleep!”

“Ahem,” Floris cleared her throat. She's on her feet, Shyla already on her heels, “May we begin?”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Ursula turned around in her seat to watch her daughters. “Please.” 

T H E  G R E E N S 

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The dinner with the Celtigars was as painful as Aemond suspected. For once, he allowed his pride to step aside and try to make amends with Valeana, as a favour for his father. He had expected more indifference, or meek politeness. He did not, however, expect confrontation coming from little Valeana. That was a new development. The Valeana he remembered was polite, kind, and while she had a quick tongue to retort, it was usually to be playful or humourous. Before the incident, she often forgave Aemond for his tardiness, or when he ignored her while he was around his brother and nephews. She didn’t even put up a fight when she was the butt-end of Aegon’s jests and pranks. 

“I do not trust you near a flight of stairs, let alone a dragon.”

Aemond wasn’t sure why, but that sentence felt like a gauntlet punch to his gut. Had anyone else said it, he would silently agree to it, because he wanted people to fear him. One could never trust Aemond next to Vhagar – one could not fully trust Vhagar, truly. His promise to Arthor was empty; he had no intention of letting the boy within a tourney’s field distance to the near two century old she-dragon. However, had Valeana agreed, he might have made an exception, because what greater way for him to make amends than to allow her to touch the largest dragon in the world? His dragon. 

He remembered how much she longed to touch one, almost as much as he did, but was denied even to be an audience member to dragon training in the pit.

The rejection was one thing, but if Aemond was honest with himself, it was the realization of the consequences of his crime that bothered him so. As a child, he selfishly justified his actions, in all things, not just with Valeana. He justified him claiming Vhagar, he justified him calling his nephews bastards, and he justified pushing Val away from him that day. It was all self-preservation, and at the time it benefited him. He got Vhagar, he got respect, he got fear, and he got away from the overbearing friendship of Valeana Celtigar. It burdened him, and held him back. When Bartimos left King’s Landing, Aemond’s life had changed for the better. He might’ve lost an eye, and he might’ve lost a friendship, but he gained so much more. 

Except… he lost a friendship. It did not occur to him how important that was until he realized it was truly gone for good. 

Because she could no longer trust him. And the confirmation from her own mouth felt like he was finally facing the corpse of someone he didn’t realize was dead. 

The rest of dinner went on in monotonous torture. Floris, Shyla, and Arthor respectfully tried to carry small talk with him, Helaena and Aegon as if nothing happened. Valeana remained quiet through it all, her eyes moving around him as if he was simply not there. It infuriated him. Aemond found himself staring at the crest of her head or her turned cheek, mentally chanting: look at me, look at me, look at me. 

He was dead to her. A ghost she could no longer feel or see. It was a worse feeling than being disemboweled by her resentful sharp tongue and teeth. And Aemond absolutely hated her for it. 

"Tell me, ladies, do you still sing? This old Keep was desperately missing the beautiful voices of the Celtigar girls,” His father asked, and Aemond and Aegon shared a look that communicated the same thing. 

Seven Hells, no this shit again.

The Sirens of Claw Isle as they were known to be called, became somewhat of an annoyance for the boys growing up. There wasn’t a feast where they weren’t encouraged to sing bard songs until all departed for the night. They had lovely voices, but to Aegon, Aemond, and even Jace and Luke, it was like listening to the excessive chirping of birds at the crack of dawn. Granted, at the time, Aemond only ever soldiered through it just to hear Valeana sing. Her voice had a way of echoing through the tall ceilings and down corridors, holding onto notes longer than her sisters. It was almost haunting.

“...She no longer performs with her voice, you see. She has turned to the strings for her music.”

At this, Aemond tilted his head and examined Valeana as she explained herself. Her neck, cheeks, and tip of her ears got a tinge of pink. She was embarrassed…or ashamed?

Curious…

Perhaps there was a gap in her armour after all.

A part of him was slightly disappointed.

After a rather ear-bleeding rendition of “The Maids that Bloom in Spring”, supper finally ended. When his father stood, so did everyone else. The King bid a good night, not without giving Bartimos a hug, a handshake to the Celtigar sons, and kisses on the cheeks of the girls. His mother did the same, leaving when the King made his exit. Soon Otto, Bartimos, and Ursula followed suit. 

As the group filtered out of the Small Hall, making their way back to the Holdfast, Aemond lingered at the tail. Clement was still conversing with Helaena about Pentos, which reminded him of how his grandsire suggested that the King may match the two. Seeing how the two easily conversed, the possibility seemed far more plausible than her thought. 

Valeana was a step behind them, walking alongside Arthor who examined the statues and tapestries they passed by. Floris had Shyla’s arm clutched in hers, and it was painfully evident that the younger girl was trying to free herself so she may crowd around Aegon.

Aegon, who was also trying to put distance between him and the eager girl, fell into step next to his brother. 

“Well, that went splendidly,” Aegon said once there is enough distance between them and the others ahead. “I half expected her to take out your other eye.”

Aemond sighed heavily through his nose, attention set straight ahead of him, “I am sure she thought of it. She loathes me.” 

“Can you blame her,” Aegon’s attention was on Shyla, who was craning her neck over her shoulder to catch a glimpse at him. Aegon wiggled his fingers at her, granting him a large, gummy grin.

“Father wishes me to reconcile,” Aemond ignores Shyla and instead watches the back of Val’s head. “But he asks for the impossible. She barely looks at me, and when she does…”

“Oh, I am aware, dear brother, it has become the source of my entertainment this evening.” 

“I am glad my misery has been that for you, brother.” 

Aegon turned to him, his eyebrow raised curiously, the corner of his lips upturned, “Does it cause you misery, Aemond? That she despises you?”

Aemond stopped walking to glare at him, his hands like stiff tree trunks at his sides. Aegon slowed to a stop in front of him, tilting his head, waiting for an answer. 

“That farce of a supper was miserable. Why would she cause me any other emotion other than apathy? She is a stranger to me.”

“She was your friend once, if I recall,” Aegon folded his arms over his chest, and relaxed his leg to stand casually. “And your betrothed.”

“It was not a friendship,” Aemond lied through his teeth, “None of us were friends with the sisters. We hated them, do you recall?”

“Oh, I recall Luke, Jace, and I hating them quite a bit. But I also remember you and Val exchanging love notes.”

“They were not–” Aemond stopped himself, moving a hand over his face and sighing through his nose again. “She clung to me like pollen to a bee. It was annoying, it was overbearing, it was too much.” 

Aegon narrowed his eyes at his brother skeptically, but he then quickly shrugged, accepting his words. “Fine, she fancied you a bit too much. Does it bother you that she doesn’t anymore? I bet it bruises your ego… Maybe it’s,” he waved a hand around his eyepatch, “Maybe it’s the eye. You’re half as handsome now–Ouf.”

With a rough slam with his shoulder, Aemond pushed through Aegon with the force of his step. As his back faced his brother, Aegon started to giggle madly behind him. 

Echoes of oinks and kissy noises reverberated in Aemond’s memory. 

“Well, if you feel nothing but apathy towards her, then mayhaps I should try courting her?” Aegon started to stride towards him, keeping up with his pace. “It would make father happy, uniting the Valyrian houses and all that noise.”

“You’re free to try, brother,” Aemond replied, voice clipped and dismissive. Valeana would never consider Aegon. She would never entertain the idea. It was absolutely ludicrous. 

Wasn’t it?

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos

(if you wish to be tagged for updates, please reply and ask!)

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[edensdahlia]

Hey, really appreciate your work! can do something about Ghost waking up on a very cold night and seeing reader shrunken, then he realizes that he is using alone the blanket they share, indicating that while he slept, he pulling the sheet to himself, leaving the reader without the blanket. (sorry for my english, it's not my first language and I used translator, so some parts may be confused 😭💀)

༊*·˚ Inside This Place Is Warm

CHARACTERS: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gn! Reader

RATING: SFW

CONTENTS: Exactly what the prompt says, + a little extra, doing skin care for him, super soft Simon, I headcannon he has dyed hair in this, may be ooc, some wintery themes (even though it’s mid-summer where I am lol), established relationship, just lots of fluff, title is a Sweater Weather lyric, nicknames used: love

A/N: Absolutely no worries about your English lovely! I was literally giggling and kicking my feet as I wrote this, I just love him so much :( I live for domestic moments so I honestly may have gotten a little carried away but I really hope you enjoy!

ೃ⁀➷ WORD COUNT: 1K

In the warm glow of the bathroom light, Simon became the picture of pure divinity. Surely, if Nirvana existed it was there between the sun-kissed pink of his cheeks and the way his hair hung, mussed and slightly damp, across his forehead. It was there written into his irises as he peered down at you. Adoring and sickeningly reverent as if you could ask him to split the very Earth for you- to tear apart each layer with his bare hands- and he would do it without hesitation. He would. If you asked.

You slid your fingers through his curls, pushing them away from his face with a gentle sweeping motion. His roots were beginning to grow out, their umber colour striking against the rest of his pale locks. He was due for a touchup soon, and a haircut. A small huff of a laugh escaped you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, attempting to trap your smile behind enamel as you gazed up at him.

“Your hair…” You explained at his imploring look, voice feather-light and so incredibly tender as if you feared anything more would disturb the domestic bubble that had descended upon the room. Simon stepped closer legs slotting into the space between your open thighs, hands pressed to the cool ceramic counter on either side of you.

“’S bad?” He whispered, breath warm against your skin and smelling faintly of mint. His head dipped in your direction crowding closer to you as his eyes searched yours, dangerously easy to get lost in. Hickory and honey melting into an amalgam of a colour so distinctly Simon. Your hand trailed from the crown of his head down to his cheek lingering there fondly before you pulled away, reaching for the jar of facial cream at your side.

“Not at all. Just needs retouched- unless you’re going to grow it out again?” You undid the lid of the container gathering its contents onto the tips of your fingers. It was meant to repair scar tissue and soothe the skin. A luxury he hadn’t thought of affording himself before you.

“Maybe I will. I kinda miss the brown.” Simon’s eyes fluttered closed a content hum echoing from the recess of his chest as the pad of your thumb slid over his cheekbones and down the side of his face, tracing over long-faded scars with a gentleness he’d come to accept. He was spoiled when it came to you. So incredibly spoiled. And the thought didn’t terrify him as it may have in the past. Instead, he relished in it. Took comfort in the way your thumb slid down the bridge of his nose and then across his temples, rubbing soothing circles into his skin with each movement. Every touch sent small jolts of electricity through him as if you were holding a live wire to his skin, molding every nerve of his to the shape of your name.

Your nose nudged his and his mouth parted automatically, lips meeting yours in a brief sleepy kiss. “Bedtime.” You murmured. Simon’s eyes peeled open at the sound of your saccharine voice a rare content smile teasing the corner of his lips and tugging them upward. Your heart thudded painfully against your ribcage, imprinting the marrow of your bones with his blissful expression. How could one person be so beautiful?

Simon wondered the same thing as he gazed down at you.

♡ 。

As it crept into January the weather in Manchester went from mildly annoying to an all-present nuisance. Outside your house the wind began to howl something fierce, the sound drawing Simon into barely there consciousness. True to his callsign it seemed he was always cold. A spectre of frost and ice, built from winter itself. But there buried beneath four blankets he was warm, finally, mercifully warm; and yet something was still missing. He blinked into the darkness waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting as if he’d find what it was in the emerging shapes. The outline of a dresser, a laundry basket with clothes spilling over the top-

Slowly he shifted, limbs like molasses as he rolled over finding the answer to the little voice that nagged in his mind. “Oh love…” Simon’s voice was a breathy sigh the edge of his words turned soft by guilt. Illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the parted curtains was your sleeping form. You were folded together like an origami piece, legs tucked in close to your chest, hands pressed palm to palm in an attempt to regulate your body temperature. Even in the semi-dark, he could see the goosebumps that broke out across your skin.

Simon lifted the blankets reaching out a hand to brush against your arm. You stirred at the contact hands unfolding, reaching out in search of his warmth. His hand slid into yours bringing your knuckles to his lips so he could lay a gentle kiss on each before gathering you in close, pulling you into the safety of the cocoon he’d managed to build for himself.

Your lips parted, a content hum loosening the sudden tightness Simon felt in his chest. The guilt easing into something softer, endearment settling into the empty spaces of his ribcage with a quiet, relieved sigh. His hand flattened along your back dragging down the length of your spine and then back up again in a soothing motion. You snuggled closer to him head tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder.

He waited there with his head resting lightly on yours, waiting for the goosebumps to disappear and your skin to warm beneath his touch. Through the window he watched as snow begin to spiral from the sky, white flakes dancing past on a stray gust of wind, twinkling like stardust in the worn yellow light of a street lamp. There with you tucked into him, warm and alive beneath his fingers, and the snow just beginning to fall Simon Riley found the definition of peace.

[sweeter-than-teafood]

Texting

AN: I was inspired by the artifact for Amy and Sitri’s card, and thought up the silliest thing lmao.

Tw: A lot of swearing from these devils. Also, this is going from what we’ve seen from Day 3 of the Unsightly Guy event. So it may be ooc in the future. Or not. Yeehaw.

✨—————————————————————✨

-3am, Gehenna’s Palace-

Bzzt!

A new message? Sitri glared at his phone as the lit screen illuminated his entire bedroom. Who could be texting him at this ungodly hour?

————————————————

-Hell-Oh Talk: 1 new message-

Amy (Online now)

Status: Ew 2 drinking tea. Can’t b me, I’m manly as fuck.

————————————————

Sitri rolled his eyes at the violent devil’s status. Of course he’d think that, he has no patience to enjoy sophisticated hobbies. He probably couldn’t even pour from a teapot if the instructions were written on the bottom.

He opened the message, expecting to see some pathetic diatribe of how canned coffee is superior and that tea-making yields zero-rizz.

Amy:

Lol, maybe MC would lyk u if u weren’t 2 busy 😭 over their dead gramps. Solomon! Solomonnnnnn… Wot a loser u r! Enjoy ur left hand, buddy! 😂

…

Crunch!

Sitri ground his teeth, pissed off by the message. How dare he! The Descendant of Solomon liked him just fine! Who was he to comment on their relationship, when he hadn’t even met them yet?!

Fingers started typing away with a fury that wasn’t usually displayed by Sitri. He hit send, and decided to head to the tearoom for a cup of black tea to calm down.

-Meanwhile on the outskirts of Gehenna-

Amy smirked at the message he had just sent to Sitri. Sure, he would block his number because that fancy prick had nothing useful to say to him, but sometimes it was fun to unblock him and send an insult just to ruin his day.

Bzzt!

Oh? A reply so soon? Well, whatever it said, Amy was certain that it was complete and utter angelshit.

————————————————

-Hell-Oh! Talk: 1 New Message-

Sitri (Online now)

Status: Only a fucking idiot would use a stick as a weapon. Have some diversity, you caveman

————————————————

Amy scoffed at Sitri’s status. Of course he’d think that! He thinks he’s hot shit just because he trained in many weapons! But nothing bashes in angel skulls better than what he uses! Sometimes simple is better!

He opened the message, ready to read some sad sob story about Solomon.

Sitri:

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch?

I'll have you recall that it was I who graduated top of our class in the Gehenna Military Program, and how I am an esteemed alumni of the Hades Intelligence Student Program, I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Heaven, and I have over 666 confirmed kills.

I am trained in guerilla warfare and I'm the top pistolier in the entire Gehenna Miltary Forces. You are nothing to me but just another measly target.

I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before in this Hell, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over a simple text? Think again, fucker.

As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across Hell and your GPS location is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, you lowly maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life.

You're fucking dead, loser. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands.

Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed and armed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Gehenna Capital Military Force and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the country, you little shit.

If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "funny" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot.

I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. I’ll use your tears to steep my tealeaves in, because nothing will bring me greater satisfaction than to see you snivel and beg for mercy. You're fucking dead, you cowardly bitch.

Amy let out a harsh laugh. Did this dickhead get ahold of some dank shit from Abyssos? The levels of delusion were incredible. His finger hovered over the textbar, before he decided against it.

“I have better things to do than to entertain this butler wannabe. Maybe later.”

-Sometime later, in the Palace of Gehenna-

That damn bastard.

>>Seen 16hrs ago

Sitri grits his teeth in annoyance at the ever increasing hours on the small bar. First that meathead talks shit about him, and now he can’t even form a response?

‘He’s probably masturbating to this, that fucking asshole.’

Sitri shuddered in disgust at the mental image and quickly threw himself into his paperwork as a welcome distraction.

-Gehenna’s Outskirts-

Amy decided to finally reply to Sitri’s lengthy text. He ponders for a second; there are so many things he could say to further fuel this tea-drinking bastard’s aggression. But he opts for something simple that will infuriate him.

-Palace of Gehenna-

Bzzt!

Sitri looks up from his paperwork to see his phone light up. He immediately grabs it and clicks on the notification.

—————————————

-Hell-Oh! Talk: 1 new message-

Amy (Online Now)

Status: Bitches b mad lmao

Sitri chose to ignore the devil’s pathetic status for now. He opened the message.

Amy:

Nice CV, loser. Still get no bitches tho.

Sitri stared blankly at the text, before he closed his phone. What a waste of time.

“I’m not even going to reply to that.”

Little did he know, he would pick up his phone ten minutes later to start typing away.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: bloodties (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, comfort/angst, fluff, wound description, healing, cuddling, religious punishment mentioned, threats, cults, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, bucky barnes needs a hug, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: woo!! finally the second part to this section!! comfort and fluff as promised w a little bit of angst. you guys are not ready for what i have planned for future chapters woohoo!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

When the coal boy finally came around, you were going to strangle him.

Despite its tiny size, your flat seemed to be leaking heat by the second. The last of your coal had long burnt out, leaving you shivering and elbow-deep in a dirty, lukewarm water bucket. Bucky had faded in and out of consciousness as you tended to him. A poultice had been made and lathered across his marred back, bandages holding the paste in place.

The gangster had moaned and groaned, half-consumed by fever as you cleaned the filth from his skin and hair. A satisfied grumble escaped his swollen lips while you massaged soap into the dirty locks, your fingers carefully working from root to end. His eyes would flutter open, bruised and bloodshot, watching you work with silent awe.

With some effort, you had roused the man long enough to get him to clamber into your small, rickety bed. Sweat glistened along his bare chest, the fever leaving him restless as he writhed between your sheets. Between laying a cool cloth along his brow, you worked on getting his clothes cleaned and hung up to dry. You knew you had none spare that would fit the hulking size of the gangster, so he would have to survive in his undershorts until his clothes dried.

You fished his stained but clean shirt from the bucket, wringing out the fabric. In the dim light cast by your candles, you could make out your breath as the depth of the night fully descended upon you.

You were filthy, tired, and cold. With a sniff, you rubbed the back of your hand across your forehead. The work had kept you warm for a short time, but now your sweat and blood were running cold. Across the room, Bucky had settled for the moment. He lay on his belly, bandaged back exposed to the skies as his breath rose and fell raggedly.

A small flash of guilt churned in your stomach upon fully looking at the damage you had caused. It would take days for the burning sensation and agonising pains to pass. The skin would never be the same, molten and twisted in appearance.

Maybe you should have denied him. He could have never truly known what he was asking for when he came to you for help.

You cast aside the thoughts with a frown.

Your knees were stiff, the muscle and bone aching as you unlocked them from your kneeling position. Hands shaking and goosebumps raised across your skin, you quickly darted across the room. Your nightgown was filthy with gods knows what from helping the gangster.

You did not check if the man had roused as you pulled it from your head in one swift motion. You did not particularly care if he gazed upon your nakedness. The man had been inside of you, with his fingers, his cock—your nipples peaked, maybe not just from the cold.

You cast your gaze back once you had slipped on a new and clean nightgown. Your eyes followed along the curve of his bicep, the solid muscle along his shoulders that disappeared beneath the bandages. Most of all, you looked at his face, still oddly beautiful despite the cuts and bruising. He looked vulnerable, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.

His eyes were closed, thick, dark lashes brushed across his cheeks. His brows were drawn slightly, the ghost of a wince crossing his features.

Maybe it was the lack of clothes that was the most jarring. Even while he was inside you, he had remained clothed, as if he always had a piece of armour upon him. As if even at the height of pleasure, a thought lingered, worrying about his safety. Always had eyes in the back of his head, always watching and waiting for an enemy to strike. Did his sleeping form before you mean he trusted you? Or was he simply too injured to fight the exhaustion that clung to his very soul?

Outside, a frigid wind howled as it tore through the winding streets of The Warrens. You took that as your cue to stop lingering, shivering, and feeling pathetic.

You clambered into the small bed beside him, curling up by his side. Heat radiated off him, his sticky, hot flesh pressing against your own cool skin.

Bucky’s fever would be enough to keep the both of you warm.

—

By the time you awoke, Bucky’s fever had broken.

The gangster still lay on his stomach, but his head now rested just below your sternum. His tousled hair spilled between the valley of your breasts, an arm lazily draped across your middle. Hesitantly, you tilted your head, raising your own arm to gently hook it around the back of his head. Your fingers wound through his strands of hair, nails carefully scratching along his scalp.

You leaned your head back, a short sigh escaping your nose as you stared at the ceiling. Bucky let out a low hum, still half-asleep and bleary, responding to your touch. The vocalization sent vibrations across your skin, deep into your bones.

In a moment of selfishness, you savoured the quiet and the sensation of his weight upon you. Your digits explored deeper, splaying down his neck as you gently massaged. He hummed beneath you again, a small moan tugging from his lips as your fingertips moved lower. You dared to work the rhythm across the tops of his shoulders, ghosting along the edges of the bandages where the skin was untouched.

“Bucky,” you whispered. The gangster jerked beneath you as if startled that your touch wasn’t a dream. His head tilted, and he inhaled a sharp breath, wincing as the movement tensed his back muscles.

His eyes cracked open, vivid blue against the bloodshot whites. As he looked up at you, his entire being seemed to grow rigid. You tried not to take it personally.

“How’s your back?” you questioned, reluctantly withdrawing your hand from his hair.

Bucky contemplated your words, tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. He winced as he reached the split, the tender flesh not quite scabbed over. He spoke up, voice croaky and strained. “Bad.”

“I’ll make you somethin’ for the pain.”

Bucky didn’t reply, only making a pained noise as you slid out from under him, prying yourself from his touch. His limbs were frozen in place, muscles rigid as if every small movement brought agony. You got the sense that he did not remember clambering into your bed, nor you joining him.

You shuddered from the cold, wrapping your arms around your waist. Your thin nightgown did little to ward off the chill, and you could see your breath with each exhale. You felt the gangster’s gaze follow your every movement as you tip-toed across the cold hardwood floors to your dresser. You quickly pulled out a pair of socks and an ugly, oversized knitted sweater to throw over your shivering frame.

“I'll need to go out soon and hunt down the coal boy,” you explained as you moved to your desk. “I’ll get word to Steve or Sam too.”

You gathered some fresh herbs from your woven basket, sorting through the leafy greens and selecting what would be most effective. You weren’t particularly knowledgeable about potions or botany, but you knew enough to understand what worked best for the task at hand.

“No,” Bucky’s gravelly voice spoke up from behind you. You paused your movements, casting your gaze back to meet his.

“No?” you questioned, rubbing your chilly hands together with a disapproving frown.

“I don’t need Steve or Sam comin’ here with their… pity,” he explained. It was the most words he had spoken since he awoke, slightly muffled due to his face being half-pressed into the sheets.

You stalked forward, lowering yourself to your knees next to the bed. Eye-to-eye with Bucky, you sighed slowly, running a hand through his hair once more. His eyes closed, satisfied like a purring cat. “It’ll take a few days for your back to heal proper. I can help you here… I just worry they’ll go huntin’ for you if they don’t know you’re fine.”

He contemplated your words for a beat, lids fluttering as he reluctantly met your gaze.

“They can’t come here. They can’t see me like this.”

A strange sadness clawed at your gut at his confession. A man so feared that he could not be vulnerable in front of even those closest to him. The weight of expectation was heavy, and the fear of mutiny was even heavier.

“They won’t be able to get past my wards,” you reassured him, your fingertips ghosting across one of the gashes on his face. “I’ll just tell them you’re here, and you don’t want to be disturbed.”

He huffed out a pained laugh. “They’re gonna think I’m fuckin’ you, doll.”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Well, they’re not far off, now are they?”

—

Now that Bucky’s fever was broken, the both of you were rather grateful for a roaring fire. 

Your tasks outside the bubble of comfort that was your flat went smoothly and briskly. You had slipped the coal boy an extra coin to ensure your coal was delivered to your flat efficiently and had remained tight-lipped about your frustration with the lad. One look at his sickly, pale mother, and you realized your order had slipped his mind with good reason.

Locating a Smog boy had gone easier than the first task. You slipped one of Bucky’s boys a note, instructing that it be delivered to Steve or Sam. Bucky had managed to scribble out some nonsense, explaining where he was while keeping out the details of his near-death experience. He hadn’t gone into depth but indicated he was worried Steve and Sam might go after The Penance Boys themselves if enlightened. Bucky had rather sternly muttered that he couldn’t afford rash or stupid decisions in such situations.

From the glance, you managed to get at the note, it read like Bucky’s absence was due to him being lost between your legs rather than a brush with death. You could already hear the sneering voices of the gangsters the next time you saw them.

Returning home, you found Bucky continuing to slip in and out of consciousness. During the hours he was awake, you made sure to give him tonics for the pain and broth to fight off hunger.

Little words were exchanged between you. The gangster only blinked at you in surprise as you settled some spare blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace. As easy as it would be to clamber into bed next to Bucky, you no longer had the excuse of the cold. With him being more sentient than the night before, you suspected he would be more likely to call out such actions. You could already imagine the flush of embarrassment and the mocking words he would use.

As you arranged the makeshift bed, laying out the blankets and fluffing the pillows with meticulous care, Bucky's confused voice broke the silence, cutting through your thoughts. "What’re you doin’?"

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his bewildered gaze. His eyes, still heavy with pain and exhaustion, searched your face for answers. "I thought it might be better if I stayed by the fire tonight. Give you more space to rest," you explained, trying to sound nonchalant even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Bucky frowned, his brow furrowing deeply, lines of concern etched into his features. "You don’t need to do that," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, devoid of its usual harshness. "Come here."

His tone held no trace of mockery, only an earnest invitation. You hesitated, unsure of what to make of this sudden shift. The room seemed to hold its breath with you. Slowly, you moved towards the bed, and Bucky shifted, wincing as he rolled onto his tender back. You carefully climbed in beside him, your movements tentative.

Bucky settled his head in your lap, his body sinking into the mattress with a deep, relieved sigh. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he looked almost peaceful. Your hand instinctively went to his hair. The strands were soft under your fingers, and you ran them through gently, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body.

The moment was fleeting, a mere whisper on the breeze. You pressed your back up against the wall, watching as his brows twitched, eyelids fluttering as the ghost of a scowl crossed his bruised face. You pressed your fingertips to his temples, wishing you could extract whatever thoughts plagued him.

In the quiet, you murmured, "I have my wards up once more. No one’ll disturb you."

Bucky’s eyes fluttered open again, and he met your gaze. There was a wary look in his eye, and with little hesitation, he spoke up. "You have strong wards. You keep everyone out. Don’t you have any visitors?"

You could only assume it was the tonics you were giving him for the pain. The gangster was loose-lipped, practically putty in your hand as you contemplated how best to reply. He sighed again, a sound of contentment, and you marvelled at the transformation. You let your hand travel from his hair to his stubbled jawline, tracing the rough edges tenderly. His skin was warm under your touch.

“No,” you replied simply, gaze cutting away as you looked across the room with a frown. “I don’t have family, ‘least none that I speak to. My parents are dead.”

There was a brief pause as your nails circled his adam’s apple, then dragged back up to his jawline once more. “My mother from sickness. My father… well, he drank himself to death.”

Bucky shuddered beneath your touch. “I take it your father was a cruel man?”

“Yes.”

“He was the one in your memories? At the brothel?” He questioned further, and your frown deepened.

“Yes,” you repeated, surprised he had cared enough to remember. Your mind cast back to his strained reaction to your memories, the way the muscle in his jaw ticked. You wondered if Bucky saw his own demons within you. “The only kind thing my father ever did was…”

You hesitated, sucking in a sharp breath. Your fingers entangled through his hair. Was this a story that needed to be told? You cleared your throat, locking your gaze on the fireplace as you spoke. “My mother was a priestess in a coven or a cult…  however you view it. They were terrible people, obsessed with cruel ideas of worship. They believed in sadism and suffering. Sacrifice. They praised those who could withstand torture for hours, believed that when the rapture came those who suffered most would be saved.”

Bucky was silent as you continued your tale. “They believed a witch would be born into their ranks, a witch with unbelievable powers that could raze cities with a single look. She would bring upon this rapture, save them from this place. They were all blinded, of course. The only kind thing my father ever did was get my mother away from that place.”

There was a long pause between the both of you, only broken as you looked down to find him staring up at you with a frown. Your breath caught in your throat. Despite the fogginess in his eyes from the pain tonic, there was a strange clarity in the way he held his gaze.

“I take it your father was much the same, cruel and a drunk,” you dared to muse.

Bucky’s face contorted into a glower, eyes darting away. “I don’t like to speak of my father.”

You noticed how the gangster almost began to cower from your touch, shoulders and neck rigid against your thighs. “Tell me of the others in your family then.”

“Well, there is Becca, my sister. I don’t think you’ve met her.” His tone was surprised, wary even. Even if outwardly he was standoffish, you noticed how his muscles relaxed.

You persisted with your soothing touch. A small feeling of delight thrummed in your chest as you noticed how his eyes rolled back, obviously pleased by your fingertips massaging into his scalp. “No. You’ve mentioned her before. You said she's… sensitive to magic.”

“My mother has this theory that someone, somewhere down the line, was a witch.”

“Magic is known to skip generations. It can manifest in unexpected ways.”

“Yes… well,” He stumbled over his words, a small grunt slipping past his lips as you massaged a particular spot along the base of his skull. “Becca and my mother are very alike. Sometimes too alike. It’s infuriating to deal with them when they have both made up their minds.”

“But you love them regardless?” You asked, the ghost of a smirk playing across your lips.

“I don’t think I’m a man capable of love.” Bucky paused, as if hesitant to confess. “But yes, I do.”

—

In the days that followed, your bedtime ritual continued, leading to slow, comforting mornings where you woke up with your limbs entwined with Bucky's. Each day settled into a steady routine: you prepared food and tonics for the gangster, watching as he slowly regained his strength. You found a strange solace in the rhythm of those days, his presence a constant, grounding force in your otherwise solitary life.

The mornings were a blend of quiet intimacy and simple tasks. The sun’s early light would filter through the fog, casting a soft glow over the port. Bucky’s breathing, once ragged and laboured, had become steady and strong. You would gently untangle yourself from him, careful not to disturb his rest, and begin the morning routine. 

Bucky’s recovery was gradual but noticeable. He moved with more ease each day, his strength returning as the bruises faded and the fever’s grip loosened. You found yourself engaging in more conversations, sharing stories over meals, and even exchanging the occasional joke. His laughter, though rare and often accompanied by a wince, was a sound you soon came to miss.

It was not entirely a surprise to wake up alone in your bed one morning. The hollow pit in your chest, however, was undeniable. Though you would not admit it, you clung to the hope that Bucky had merely gone downstairs to wait for you to wake, or perhaps stepped outside for some fresh air. But as you searched your tiny flat, it became painfully clear that he was gone. No words, no note, no messenger—just a cold, empty space where he had been.

You should have come to expect it, yet the absence of any farewell stung more than you cared to acknowledge.

Spring finally rolled around, but the cold persisted, mirroring the chill that had settled within you. On your occasional excursions to the market or to see clients outside your home, you remained bundled up against the lingering frost. The Smog Boys hardly spared you a glance, their eyes always scanning for other threats, and you never caught a glimpse of Bucky weaving through the fog and alleys. His disappearance was a gaping void, a reminder of your isolation.

A flicker of hope would spark each time you had a visitor at your door. Clients, workers, the coal boy… yet not a single Smog Boy. As quickly as you had come to despise the gangster and how he called for your services at any whim, you also found you quickly came to miss those late-night summons. 

But the knock at your door this night, the face that greeted you as you swung open the door… it was a face that left a fit of dread in your stomach. 

Rebecca Barnes. 

You had never met the woman, but with one look you knew. You could recognise those features anywhere. She stood in the doorway with an unyielding, cool confidence. She was a striking figure, tall and lithe, with the same piercing blue eyes as Bucky. Her raven hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, a few rebellious strands framing her sharp features. Over her shoulders, she draped a dark, fur-lined coat, the fabric gleaming softly in the firelight. Much like her brother, it seemed she had appeared from the fog like a wraith, not a speck of ash to be seen across her clothing or hair. 

She smiled. Wide. It unsettled you, the way the smile did not quite meet her eyes. “May I come in?”

The woman did not wait for a response, nor did it seem she intended to wait either. She brushed past you without a care, the fibres of her furs tickling your forearm as she passed.  

“What’s happened?” You ask, unable to hide the worry in your tone. Becca didn’t involve herself in Smog Boys business, besides some surface showing of her face. Bucky had made sure his sister and mother would never be incriminated in any crimes, and that they were always to be protected. 

Becca Barnes did not turn up at anyone's door, not without good reason. 

Rebecca placed her purse on your dining table with a deliberate, almost ceremonial motion. Her eyes locked onto yours, unblinking and intense, the calculating gaze of someone who always knew more than they let on. Her lips curved into a thin, tight smile. “My brother.”

Your stomach dropped as if a trapdoor had been opened beneath you. 

“Your brother?” you repeated cautiously. You took a hesitant step forward, your hand instinctively reaching to close the front door behind you, as if doing so could keep the impending storm contained within your tiny flat.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through the dim light of the room. She took a step closer, her movements fluid and predatory. “Do you care for him?”

“What?”

“I said,” Rebecca's voice was low, measured, each word enunciated with chilling precision, “Do you care for him?”

You paused, your body frozen in place. The silence stretched taut between you, a razor-thin wire ready to snap. Rebecca shook her head, a small, almost pitying smile playing on her lips. She let out a soft tut, a sound of mild disappointment. 

“I’ll get to the point, shall I?” Her tone was clipped, businesslike, as she stepped forward. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. “You’ll stay away from him. You hear me?”

Your brows furrowed, and you took an involuntary step back, confusion and defiance warring within you, trying to make sense of the sudden, stark command. Rebecca’s eyes flashed with impatience. She closed the distance between you, her posture rigid, her movements calculated. She loomed over you, her presence both intimidating and inescapable. 

“This would’ve been simpler if you remained one of his whores,” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. Her chin lifted. “You already fucked him, so I suppose that’s out of your system. But you’ll stay away from him, witch. There was enough grief with the last one, the traitorous bitch she was. I cannot afford to have another one of you messing’ with family business.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to explain, but the words caught in your throat. “I don’t know what you think has happened between us—”

“Oh, I know what has happened.” She interrupts, her voice brittle like breaking glass. “You’ve somehow infected his mind. It’s the only reason he would’ve come to you when he was injured, that he allowed himself to be a victim of your magic.”

“He asked me for help–” You begin to insist. 

“Help?” She barked out a laugh, a harsh sound bubbling from her throat. “How do you call what you did to his back help? Those scars will never heal fully, you’ve ruined him.”

You felt a flush of anger rise in your chest. “He knew I’m not a healer–”

“I know what you did.”

Rebecca’s voice cut through the room, silencing you. The silence that fell between you was thick, suffocating. 

“I know what you did to those coppers. I know how they beat Leofric’s son to death in front of you. So you blitzed them out of existence. There were no bodies to recover because you turned them to mist.”

The accusation hung in the air, a dark, undeniable truth. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms.

“You think that’s what I’ll do to Bucky?” you asked, your voice defiant.

“I don’t think, I know it.” Rebecca’s gaze was unwavering, her expression unreadable. “I know your breed, and I warn you that I’ll destroy you if you compromise what my brother has built. What my family has built.”

“Respectfully, you do not know me,” you replied, your voice steady.

“Maybe I don’t,” Rebecca conceded, her tone cold and detached, “but I know a threat when I see one.”

She clicked her tongue as she picked up her purse, the sound sharp and final. “Within the next few days, you’ll receive a message asking you to attend a family meeting. You’ll politely decline. You'll continue working for my family, but you’ll keep your distance.”

You could feel the anger flaring up your throat, hot and fierce. “And what’ll happen if I don’t? What if I tell him what you’ve said today?”

Rebecca’s smile was a chilling, sickly sweet curve of her lips. 

“Then I’ll kill you,” she said simply, her voice a soft, deadly whisper. “When you least expect it, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Bucky won’t be wise to any of it. Do you truly think he would believe a witch over his own sister?”

Becca turns, adjusting her coat with a practised flip of her wrist. The heels of her shoes clicked on the hardwood floors as she strutted to the front door. "I do like you, spirit-raiser. We could be friends if you remember your place."

As she walked out the front door, turning to close it behind her, she flashed one last smile. "Just remember, you’re nothing to us."

[kaledya]

Hey hey! It's a-me!! The essay writer again!

Lol, sorry.

This time, I just summed up some questions about your AU Exorcists

1. Since Lute's and Adam's personalities are different in Sinners Symphony, I suppose that the morale in the army is different from canon, far closer to "We do what has to be done" instead of the usual "Haha, die you little b@#es. I'm at 261 now, how about you?" Am I correct?

2. How do the Exorcists fight? Now we know that in your AU Blessed weapons are insanely overpowered (sinners are crying for a nerf constantly), I wonder if the soldiers still fight open and without cover just to mindlessly kill a bunch of sinners or if the ladies have more discipline in this?

3. And lastly, two questions in one, do the Exorcists leave behind their weaponry like in canon? Since if not, Carmilla Carmine would probably not become an overlord, or at least have far lower than in canon, since the weapons would be super rare and far more difficult to manipulate with, resulting in less employees, resulting in less deals, resulting in less power.

Have a great day/night. Richard.

And by the way, Sir Pentious in Sinners Symphony when?

Yes the exterminators are a well trained and disciplined unit of soldiers, some lieutenants are even trained by Azrael himself, they do not take pleasure or enjoyment from their work or see it as a game, they do what needs to be done, nothing more and nothing less. There is discipline in the army like in today's armies, the soldiers respect their superiors very much and obey their orders under all circumstances.

Lute is the most skilled exterminator at the moment, in fact she was personally trained by Azrael and is the closest exterminator to Azrael. Lute has the greatest respect for Azrael and will not hesitate to punish anyone who insults him.

War styles:

I haven't designed it yet, but I'll try put a sketch here. Exterminators are divided into 3 different classes

Seraphic Smitebringers (Divine Strikers): These warriors are equipped with heavy weapons that reflect the power of the heavens.

Celestial Swiftwings: This group is known for the speed of their wings, descending upon their enemies like lightning.

Ethereal Vanguard: These warriors combine both powerful blows and swift movement to create a versatile force on the battlefield, but they are neither as fast as Swiftwings nor as powerful as Smitebringers.

Weapons they use

For Seraphic Smitebringers:

Divine Retributors: Great, luminous hammers that echo like thunder with each strike.

Judgment Hammers: Mighty war hammers, adorned with gold and silver, representing fair judgment.

For Celestial Swiftwings:

Heavenly Katanas: Long, slender swords that slice through enemies with speed and grace.

Windscythes: Light and sharp sickles that harness the power of the wind.

For Ethereal Vanguard:

Astral Lances: Spears made of stardust, effective at both near and far range.

Balance Blades: Two-sided blades that offer the perfect balance of power and speed.

The exterminators don't leave their weapons in hell as in the canonü (1. they don't leave a weapon in hell that can kill them 2. the weapons of the exterminators are made in a customized way, they have a spiritual value. 3 even if they leave it, nothing much changes, a sinner cannot touch it)

Carmilla is an arms dealer again. (Like Tony did before he became Iron Man), she is a weapon merchant, her power comes from the quality and uniqueness of the weapons she made in this AU, not from angelic weapons. she is still a 2nd place overlord, after all, Pride Ring is a battlefield and a battlefield needs weapons

+ Carmilla has destroyed all of her rivals, no one else in Pride Ring can enter the weapon trade because they are destroyed directly by Carmilla. so Carmilla's power is still the same, nothing has changed in the level.

I wish you a good day too

and I have no idea about sir pentious right now.

[thebrisingamen]

Xiaolin Showdown and Journey to the West

not sure if this was intentional but I noticed something upon a rewatch. It’s very clear to me that the main four male leads (Jack, Omi, Clay and Raimundo) are expy’s of the characters in Journey to the West (Sun Wukong, Tang Sanzang, Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing).

Jack Spicer as Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, Great Sage Equal To Heaven

-Jack’s preferred Shen Gong Wu is the Monkey Staff, which parallels Sun Wukong’s own Staff. At one point Jack becomes the leader of a group of Green Monkeys, paralleling the Monkey Kings own title for an episode

-Jack’s secondary most used Shen Gong Wu is the Changing Chopsticks to change his shape, which is another feat the Monkey king is known for

-Mirroring the Transformations in the form of the Chameleon Bot and making Duplicates of himself i the form of Robo-Jack.

-“childlike playfulness and often goofy impulsiveness is in contrast to his cunning mind.” Jack is often dismissed by others, including the Heylin, despite being incredibly disruptive to their plans when they cast him aside. Case in Point; if it wasn’t for Jack’s actions at end of Season 1, they wouldn’t have stopped Wuya. He even had a way to go back in time before the Sands of Time were revealed

-First Episode with Chameleon Bot; he uses it to replace Kimiko, knowing the others will dismiss her on the basis of her being a girl and takes nearly all their Shen Gong Wu while he’s at it

-Episode 12, we already see Jack compiling a spreadsheet to track the Shen Gong Wu that have awakened, and if Wuya hadn’t been so hellbent on the Heart of Jong, this could have had benefit to her. Also Wuya wouldn’t have been able to build Mala Mala Jong WITHOUT Jack having all the necessary Shen Gong Wu in the first place.

-Even when he becomes Good Jack, Jack’s solution in the Ying-Yang World is to split himself in two and use a double to distract the chi beast, which again, if he wasn’t good and hadn’t gone in there in the first place, wouldn’t have restored the Dragons’ Chi

-While he is goofy and clearly cares about his Robots, you’d think Wuya and Chase would realize Jack is an actual threat, but that ties back into the Monkey King story. The ‘Gods’ give him the lowliest position in heaven to ‘keep an eye on him’ and he resents this.

-While a less competent fighter in the show, it does take Omi having to create a time paradox to stop Jack from taking over the world.

Omi as Tang Sanzang

-Omi’s Element is Water, and Tang was found in a River

-While more competent in the show, Omi is also an orphan and shown to be the most devoted of the monks/dragons in training. He is also the one that most believes in redemption, especially for Jack Spicer

-He is also supposed to be the one spreading wisdom and helping his disciples, which he does with a majority of them

Clay as Sha Wujing AKA Sandy

-Clay’s element is earth, tying in with Sha Wujing’s element. -Clay is primarily a more peaceful character who is large, logical and polite, so this can make him a bit less interesting than the other three.

Raimundo as Zhu Bajie AKA Pigsy

-Ladies’ Man/Skirt Chaser; Raimundo is shown several times to be susceptible to attractive women.

-Lazy and often doesn’t want to do work; Raimundo’s main complaint has been the amount of work needed at the temple.

-While helpful, can be selfish—as shown near the end of the first season. He is ultimately good, but often gives in to his own personal desires until he grows as a person.

While I think Metal Dragon AU is fitting for Jack, I'm also accepting the headcanon that he might be a descendant of Sun Wukong lol.

Just a fun little thing I noticed

[caswensworld]

One thing about me is I will always respect a good villain gang when I see one and THIS gang! The gang of Merlin Academy running the shots! No exception. Rent. Was. Due! Disney, from here on out, if your teen villains do not look like these baddies who are serving seductive, poisonous cunt, Respectfully, Ion want it.

So let’s run down the line. Let’s take attendance.

Dara Renee said she looks cute as Ulyana, NOT HOT! OKAY GREEN! Look at her smile! First her daughter, now her sister, Ursula’s family has me in a chokehold and they are never letting me go (and I don’t want them to hehe). This look gives very much Ursula from Once Upon a Time vibes and I love it! So much! I wanna be part of her gang! Like, Ulyana, baby girl, what are you insecure of? I don’t care about Ursula anymore. I got Uma and I got Ulyana, I don’t want Ursula. I’m trying to keep it pg-rated, but…I would let her top me. I want her tentacles all over me, I’m so sorry…I’m not.

Hades has left the Underworld and he is looking sharp! I love leather. I love spikes. I love the whole punk persona! I have a punk persona! So I love the fact that me and Hades, one of my favorite villains…Are the same. Exactly the same. I am going to find a studded leather jacket and choker so we can match. We also got similar taste in music, like Hades, let’s be friends. Let’s start a band. We can call ourselves “Fire!”

Queen Maleficent, Mistress of Darkness may be lurking in the back, but I’m seeing her. Now her horns look a little weird right now but I’m gonna wait for the official posters and pictures with better quality before I start to give my full judgement. But like…y’all, she’s Maleficent, when have we ever had a Maleficent who doesn’t serve with looks, darkness, and attitude? Like, girl, come for Ulyana! Pull Hades! I expect you to use magic! I demand at least ONE Dragon transformation! DEMAND it!

Ulyana is the Captain here, jot that down, but Hook is still serving so let’s have a conversation. Looks are clearly a strength in the Hooks family, so what do the girls look like? The men are handsome, so let’s have the girls do some Justice please. His fit almost exactly replicated the cartoon and I love that. The only problem I have is…where’s the hat? The iconic red hat with the big feather? Disney, he better have that hat. Don’t be playing with me.

Morgie…he’s giving kinda Carlos and Gil vibes. That is indeed a compliment. Now is his outfit as extravagant as the others? No. Is it still good and is he still killing the game? Absolutely. These VKs stay with the drip. Who else is looking good in a scarf? I don’t see anyone else wearing one! Now his mother is said to be the Morgana Le Fay in Sofia the First so…Is our dear Princess in the Descendants Universe lol? Is my girl enrolled in Auradon Prep? Is she with Hugo? I’m sorry, I just find this so funny, where is Enchancia on the Auradon map? Watch Morgie reference this in the movie, I just, I can’t!

One thing about villains is they will always be looking good and I will always be wanting to find a way to thrift their clothing. I can’t wait to see these looks with better qualities