#i clutched one round and LORD that was terrifying

[khaosssss]

I love it whenever my brother is like "ooo I'm gonna take Chamber!! I'm gonna lock in first!!!!" Because I always manage to be quicker. that is MY main and I REFUSE to let you take him. Thats my guy. My blorbo. Who else am I gonna play but the weird French dude??

[glader13]

Me and the Devil pt.2

True form/Heian period Sukuna x Heian period Reader

Part 1

A/N: 18 and up

You woke up alone the next morning, wondering where Sukuna went. You wrapped yourself in one of Sukuna’s robes, walking out of your shared room and into the rest of the estate. You first wandered into the dining hall, seeing no one there but the other concubines. None of them dared to look at you unless you engaged with them first. Their behavior was not caused entirely by fear of Sukuna but by you. Your reputation for killing your village was only reinforced when a concubine stepped out of her place, bullying and harassing you like those from your past. You burned her, creating ashes from her flesh, a vibrant warning. You guess your village and family were right: there is a darkness in you.

But he loves it. He loves how you tripped over the heavenly precipice, becoming his. Perfectly fallen.

“Have you seen Lord Sukuna?” You asked one of the concubines. She quickly shook her head, mumbling no.

The sun gently shined through the windows and the vine-covered archways as you went looking for him, asking other servants for his whereabouts which were still unknown. You decided to take your search outside, testing your luck in the garden. As you walked through the garden, underneath the cherry blossom trees, you thought of the night before. You still felt Sukuna’s touch lingering on your skin, his promise to protect you. You scarcely smiled, feeling confident in knowing what you felt towards him, but doubting if he felt the same way. Before, you would go everywhere with him, and attend his meetings with the different leaders collecting their tribute. But now, ever since he’s become a target, he kept you here. Out of public, out of sight. He always brings you back gifts to still provide you with a gateway to the outside world. But you yearn for the freedom you once had, you yearn to be by his side.

You know he’s protecting you, but who will protect him? A foolish thought, but it keeps you up. The thought invades your mind as you spend time in his arms. Rounding a corner in the garden, you heard his voice, strong against Uruame’s concerned one.

The sorcerers are turning them against you. This is the fifth village who have given in to their influence,” Uruame folded the letter, “I fear an uprising, Lord Sukuna.”

“Let them try,” you could hear Sukuna’s smirk, “it’ll be foolish anyway.”

“But the land, you rule it all. What if they-”

“It’s just dirt, I can take it back whenever I please,” he interrupted them.

“What if they get here? What if they harm her?” Uruame’s voice was a whisper.

That’s when you felt something more terrifying, more powerful than fear. It was stomach-churning, causing you to sweat. You were paralyzed, so weak that you fell to your knees, scarcely breathing. Your vision was darkening, the ground beneath you blurred and moving, as if it would give way underneath you. You focused on the ground, clutching the grass for some stability as you were feeling that you were in the presence of the devil himself. Or something much worse.

“Let them try. They’re dead the moment that idea crosses their mind,” he said.

You shakily got up, seeing Sukuna standing by himself as Uruame went off to do a task. You quietly walked behind him, kissing the markings that decorate his back and shoulders as you wrapped your arms around him. He relaxed underneath your touch, asking why you weren’t in bed, to which you explained.

“I’ll be leaving on business to a nearby village,” he said taking your hands, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, so you’ll be alone for a little bit longer.”

“Take me with you,” you kissed his shoulder again, “I miss being by your side.”

“It was … different then,” he sighed, “it’s much better if you stay here.”

“I can handle my own,” you walked in front of him, placing a finger on his lips, “I’ll bring my weapon, I’ll be safe. Especially with the King of Curses around.”

_

“Lord Sukuna,” you stood at the entrance of his room, “Are you prepared to leave?”

He looked over, standing up from where he was sitting as he gave you a curt nod. You didn’t move, not knowing where you stood in his eyes, the words that you heard a couple of moments ago were still burning, leaving a mess of questions in your mind. Without looking at you, he motioned you over with a hand. You fixed your kimono and the flowers in your hair and adjusted your katana before walking in front of him. You felt heat envelop your face as you couldn’t meet his eyes, though you could feel them on you. His gaze was piercing, feeling like lightning.

The warmth from the closeness of his body told you that he was towering over you. You bit your lip, unable to meet his gaze, feeling your heartbeat throughout your body. Sukuna didn’t say a word, confused by your sudden change of character, you never shied away from meeting his gaze. He smiled slightly, feeling comfortable with making you look at him. He held your face from your chin, your body shivering when you finally met his crimson eyes.

“Since when have you been afraid to look at me?” He teased you, and you looked away again, unable to talk, “So unlike you,” he whispered in your ear and you shivered again.

Despite enjoying this, he did wish that you would meet his gaze, that he would hear your voice. Just as you couldn’t look at him, he couldn’t tell you why he wants you, why he keeps feeling the softness of your lips on his from those nights ago. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get it out of his mind, why you have taken residence in his head. He looked you over, still in awe of how power and beauty can balance in you.

“It fits you well,” he told you, his fingers rubbing the silk fabric.

He still stood in front of you, and you finally found the courage to look at him. His arms were folded as he looked at you as if you were a puzzle, his eyes drinking your form, no doubt noticing how well the kimono suits your body. You took a breath before speaking, “Is everything okay? Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” he said, “And yes, I am prepared to leave.”

The ride was quiet, Sukuna was stuck in his papers, occasionally mumbling something about numbers. He rarely looked at you, causing another sting. He usually would have said something, at least acknowledged you, but now he’s treating you like the other concubines that he keeps. He has to be angry, you bit the inside of your cheek, you were too pushy with him allowing you to go. You felt embarrassed to look at him, feeling that you crossed a line, so you stared at the rolling landscape. He’s always leaving you guessing, he’s a riddle that you’ll never be able to solve. But when you’re with him, you feel like his queen. Yes, he opens up his bed and body to you, but you want a piece of his mind. You want his heart. A foolish hope, you are aware, but you can never fully bring yourself to extinguish it. You love him, and there’s nothing that you can do.

“I believe that you are mad at me,” you announced, causing him to look at you, “Due to my intrusion, I shall sit here until you’re done.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes shined with amusement as he said, “I’m not mad at you.”

“But you haven’t said one word to me,” you folded your arms, “Am I not worth your time? Is my usefulness over for you?”

Sukuna’s laugh bellowed in the space, “Quite a needy thing you are.” You felt your heart jump at his words.

“Your usefulness has never run out, it never will,” he said, “But you do cause me problems. I seem to not be myself when you’re around. And when you’re not around, it’s emptiness. What did you do to me?”

You smirked, understanding his dilemma. You leaned forward, your voice sickeningly soft and innocent, “Do I frustrate the King of Curses?”

He got closer to you, once again holding your face and instead of looking away, your smirk only grew. Sukuna felt himself slightly smile, something in him shifting, though he didn’t what it was. But he knew that he wanted to keep the look on your face, your lidded eyes brimming with desire, all to himself. He was getting lost in your eyes, going past the point of return. It was driving him mad, for his thoughts to be consumed by a human.

“Did you put a hex on me?” His voice rumbled through your body, as you mumbled maybe.

He leaned even closer, his lips inches away from yours. You held your breath, hoping that he would close the distance, gracing you with a kiss, but he didn’t. He traced over your lips with his thumb as his mind could only form one coherent thought, which was that he wanted to taste you. It was the only reason why he would ever get on his knees for a human, to put himself below. He kissed the inside of your thighs, your soft skin warm against his mouth as he stared up at you. Your eyes were closed, and your lips were curled in a soft smile, Sukuna strangely felt in awe again, as if discovering another reason why he so easily got on his knees. But, you were only smiling, and he needed to hear your voice. You gasped feeling Sukuna’s tongue languidly lick from the top of your pussy to the bottom.

You breathed heavily, feeling his tongue in between your folds, as his fingers were digging into your soft skin. He didn’t pick up the pace, slowly maneuvering his tongue around, ignoring your aching clit. The only time that it would get attention was when his nose would occasionally bump into it, causing you to moan. You were a heavenly sight to Sukuna, with closed eyes and beautiful noises coming from your lips. He loved how you were falling apart by his tongue, your hips desperately grinding against his mouth, the word please and his name the only thing you could say. He smiled against your cunt, knowing what you want, but still not giving it to you. He kissed your cunt, the filthy sounds echoing in the small space. You nearly screamed, feeling Sukuna’s fingers spread open your fucked out cunt, before his lips went back to abusing it.

You arched your back, your fingers getting lost in his pink hair. It was messy, as he sloppily made love to your cunt. The seat below you had a stain, and each time Sukuna would stop and smile at you, a trail of saliva would be visible. He eventually gave you what you wanted, and you could have sworn that you were going to pass out. Ecstasy and euphoria flooded your senses as he sucked on your clit, nipping and pulling on the sensitive area. Shamelessly, you guided his head, making sure that his mouth stayed where you wanted it to be, your thighs keeping him in place. Sukuna would have normally lashed out and stopped altogether if a concubine had touched him without permission, but with you, he didn’t mind. He wanted to please you.

“Cum on my tongue,” he breathed against you, causing you to squirm and moan, “I want to taste you.”

So you did, as he murmured good. He didn’t give you time to recover, long strokes of his tongue left you shivering as he cleaned you up. His lips found yours, locking you in as his tongue deepened the kiss, “Look at how good you taste.” His words caused you to moan again.

He would have done more, but the announcement of their arrival caused him to stop. The two of you walked to the chief’s estate, everyone in the village moving out of the way when the two of you walked past. This troubled Sukuna as he thought back to Uruame’s words of caution, an uprising is sure to happen. Usually, they would have bowed, cowering from his sight, but now they look him in the eyes as he walks by. They are bold. The chief was late, causing Sukuna to grow even angrier at his insolence.

The two of you sat in the grand room in silence, as servants stood ready to refill your cups once you needed them too. You stared out into the windows, seeing the beautiful village nestled in a valley from a vantage point, it was quite large and decently populated. A prime spot for Sukuna to rule, a prime spot for sorcerers to gamble and take control over. Once the chief arrived, you could tell the type of man he was, reminding you instantly of everyone in your old village, in your family. He was a greedy man, exuding more power than he ever would have. You weren’t even there in his eyes, being referred to as one of Sukuna’s favorite concubines.

“Don’t kill him,” you said seeing Sukuna tense, “At least not over that,” you then directed your attention to the village chief, “Your tribute payments, have stopped, why is that?”

He scoffed at you, “That’s not a woman’s place.”

Sukuna leaned forward, his large frame almost blocking the chief entirely from your point of view, “She’s equal to me, so it is her place as much as it is my place.”

“They promised me protection,” he was smug, “They promised that you are going to get sealed,” he pointed at Sukuna, “So why should I fear an extinct curse?”

“Sorcerers? That’s impossible,” you jumped in, “They don’t have anything to seal him away, it’ll be suicide.”

You looked at Sukuna, seeing if he wanted to join in, but his arms were crossed, his eyes were focusing on nothing, yet you could see that his mind was running. Running with possibilities of him being sealed, his power stripped. With the possibility of losing you in the process. You focused back on the man, “He has burned villages, and killed anyone who had tried to stop him, what makes you think that they can win? You wouldn’t be standing on your feet if it wasn’t for him. They lie and cheat, they’ll leave you when they can’t handle their responsibilities and the consequences. They can never be trusted.”

You thought of your time as a sorcerer, sold away by your family because of the darkness in you. You thought that you would be comforted by fellow sorcerers, people just like you, but you were wrong. Beaten by those who deemed themselves to be protectors. Beaten by people who were like you. No one was there, no one cared about your cries for help. The scars on your body prove it, the scar across your chest, a testament to your survival, of your anger. You can never trust a self-proclaimed savior.

“You were dead when they arrived, and you were dead welcoming them in,” you said, “You will never be safe with them.”

He laughed and it caused your blood to boil. Heat enveloped your face as you stood up, which caused Sukuna to finally snap out of his daze. Red flames sprouted from your hand, causing the chief’s face to drop. Sukuna smiled at you, more than ready to let you take control of the negotiations.

“Once we bring you the heads of your protectors, the tribute that you owe to Lord Sukuna will be quadrupled,” you frowned, “quite merciful for your insolence.”

You walked out before momentarily being followed by Sukuna who told you that a bath was being prepared before you departed. You nodded, falling slightly behind as you thought back to inside, how he fell quiet.

“Why did you go silent, if I may ask,” you said.

“We may be attacked,” was all he responded with. But he gave you a look that silenced any further questions.

You and Sukuna walked through the village to kill time until the bathing room was ready, and every time you asked him why he needed a bathing room prepared, he would tell you to not worry. You only frowned, hoping that last night would mean something different. You kept on thinking of his head in between your thighs with a mixture of pride and worry, you don’t want to become a glorified whore. You felt your cheeks heat up when you caught a pair of his eyes looking at you before he pulled you closer. He didn’t say anything, and you took the quiet to take in the beautiful village, despite its failure to uphold its bargain. It was nestled by a clear running spring that people used to fish or swim. There was a bridge that connected to the other side of the village, decorated with lanterns.

Despite the day being beautiful, the walkways were empty for you and Sukuna. The vendors looked at you nervously each time you stopped to look at an item. Sukuna watched you carefully, seeing if anything did manage to truly catch your attention, you were captured by jewelry that he would describe as plain. But, he saw your eyes light up looking at a matching set, a gold necklace with a deep red pendant, and a gold ring with the same deep red gem in the center.

“I can’t help but notice,” you held up the necklace to his face, “The color matches your eyes, it’s beautiful.”

Sukuna didn’t say anything, taken aback once again. In the sunlight, your eyes seem to have been glowing, making him annoyingly weak. Once again, he wasn’t sure why something stirred in him when you called his eyes beautiful when you smiled as you said it. He wanted to stay here, to keep this moment forever. He felt something drop in him, thinking this way would lead to nothing good.

“Do you want it?” He managed to ask, and you nodded.

“This is such a simple thing,” he muttered from behind you, putting on your necklace, “I can give you jewelry that these people can’t afford to even look at.”

You stared at the koi fish in the water, watching them glimmer in the light as Sukuna talked. “Well, there’s beauty in simplicity,” you said.

“I guess so,” he whispered against your neck.

The bathhouse was ready soon after you got the jewelry, which caused Sukuna’s face to lighten up a bit. You followed Sukuna up to the door before taking a spot next to it. You were still confused about the need for him to bathe right now, but you weren’t going to press him again. Seeing that he didn’t call for you, or perhaps he didn’t notice that you weren’t in there, you decided to go back into the village and explore what was on the other side of the river.

“Where are you going?” He asked, causing you to stop and turn.

“Back to the village,” you said, “You need privacy.”

“It’s for us,” he smirked, “So come here,” and you felt your heart racing.

The inside was nice, there was even a little table in the corner with a pitcher of water and tea. On a plate was a variety of fruits nuts, and other finger foods. The details of the place became, blurred as Sukuna revealed his true intention for the bathhouse. You couldn’t escape from his grasp as he bounced you on his dick, which was kissing your cervix each time you came down. You could have sworn that you were being split open as your cunt accommodated his size, the pain, and pleasure mixing into something that had your arms wrapped around him as you moaned his name. You didn’t know how many times he made you cum, but he didn’t falter, pistoning in you with renewed energy each time he discovered a new spot that made you cry for him even louder. You felt him move in you, his dark eyes shining with desire as he licked away your tears.

Each time you would beg for him to slow down, he would punish you. Drawing your lips into a heated kiss, his teeth biting your bottom lip and then your neck, as he would remove his fingers from your pulsing clit, causing you to whine. With an arm, he held yours behind your back, forcing you upright. You felt yourself tighten around him as you looked down seeing him pump in and out of you, white wisps coming from where the two of you are connected, and even coming from his neglected other cock.

“You feel just as good as you taste,” he was still bouncing you, talking as if this was a walk in his estate, “But, how would you be able to take my other cock if one is too much?”

“I …” you couldn’t talk, and Sukuna was enjoying this moment a little too much. He loved seeing your tits bounce, the necklace a beautiful touch, and he loved how your eyes were fucked out, only able to focus on him. He leaned forward, kissing your neck, his tongue was cool against your warm skin as he told you to finish your sentence, his finger back to your aching clit, and your arms were free to hold onto him again.

“I … I can,” you breathed against his neck.

“You can?” You can hear the smile in his voice, “Why is that?”

“I’m much stronger than the whores that you keep,” you said, lightly biting on his ear. You felt his laugh in your body, as he roughly kissed your lips.

Soon after, the two of you were lounging on floor cushions, you were pressed against his chest, occasionally turning over to feed him some fruit, which he took, teasingly placing his mouth around your fingers. You felt yourself beginning to doze off, being lulled by the soft sounds of the bathing pool and his arm holding you firmly.

“Uraume might be thinking where we are,” you say, “We should leave.”

“They’ll be fine,” he murmured, “Just rest.”

And when you woke up next, you were resting in his arms, in the carriage. You kissed his cheek, causing him to slightly smile. Looking into his eyes made you wish that you could stay in this honeymoon state. It made you wish that the two of you could run away together, but you knew it would be impossible. He would be hunted down without end. Even if he wasn’t, power and ambition have a permanent residency in his heart.

“We should visit that place more often,” you murmured, “it’s beautiful.”

“I have other villages and cities that the place we were just at can’t compare to, I’ll take you to them in due time,” he said.

“I would love to,” you smiled, “But I do have something else on my mind. It’s about us, and how you-”

“Why did we stop?” Sukuna interrupted you.

You removed yourself from him, sitting up and peering between the curtains. You didn’t see anything, just rolling hills. It was beautiful out there, and that made you on edge. You grabbed your katana, looking at Sukuna, who whispered for you to stay inside. You felt like sitting ducks, as Sukuna thought of what to do, his eyes always shooting towards you.

“We need to go,” you said, making your way to the entrance, “Before we die in here.”

“Then what?” He asked.

“We’ll worry about that once we get out,” you told him.

As you stepped out first, the world erupted into flames, causing the carriage to be shattered into pieces and flames. You and Sukuna landed in opposite directions, and you hazily watched sorcerers approach the both of you. You shakily began to crawl towards Sukuna, seeing that a few of them decided to go after him rather than you. As you crawled to him, the world changed again and you were in a snowy terrain, your breathing visible in the air. No longer visible to the world, you were stuck in a domain.

@t4naiis @midlife-crisisperson @ag1998 , sorry it took so long, I just graduated from my university

[humanpurposes]

Sour Switchblade

No sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, Targcest (uncle and neice), threats of violence, bit of blood, dub-con, breeding kink

Words: 4100

A/n: Also available on AO3. Inspired by my current obsession with this song.

She knows where she is the moment she reaches the skies above the Stormlands; this part of the world was not named in irony.

She clutches tightly to Silverwing’s reigns, dragon and rider fighting through the fierce winds and heavy rain that stings the skin of her cheeks.

Lucerys and Arrax would have never made the journey. They are both too small, too young to take on such a burden as messengers on the eve of war. Jacaerys should have the more arduous task ahead of him, to fly to the Eyrie and then to Winterfell, to earn the support of the Arryns and the Starks to their mother’s cause. 

She has one destination, one objective, one Lord to win over. But no sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed.

She hears Vhagar’s call, or rather feels it reverberate in her chest, before she sees her. She is a monstrously large dragon, the oldest of her kind. Only her head and neck loom over the battlements, but it is enough to terrify the Princess. 

Because with Vhagar comes Aemond. 

He had hardly spoken so much as a word to her during the petitions for Driftmark, but his eye never left her. 

She pushes aside any childish ideas of hope for a civil encounter with her uncle. Any love between them was severed the night he claimed his dragon and Lucerys claimed his eye in the tunnels below Hightide.

Her name is announced to the Round Hall as she trails in behind an escort of guards. Rain drips from her soaked leathers and hair, the braid she wore long blown apart by the wind. She clenches her jaw, determined not to shiver in the presence of the Lord of Storm’s End, or the one eyed Prince who lurks at the edge of the room.

Aemond stands with his hands clasped behind his back. For a moment she sees surprise in his gaze, but it soon settles into a smug smile, his single eye positively gleaming through the miserable light of the hall.

Beside him is a young woman, dressed in all the finery of a Baratheon Lady. Her suspicions are confirmed when Lord Borros mentions a marriage pact.

She can’t stop herself. She looks to Aemond, knowing full well she is doing nothing to hide the fury in her face. And he stares back, like a hunter stalking prey.

She has nothing to offer Lord Borros, nothing that could compete with such a match. Her brothers are either betrothed or too young.

But she cannot fail, not when Rhaenyra has lost so much already these past few days.

Aemond’s eye remains fixed on her, vaguely amused, but still alert and intent. Perhaps he believes he has found a weakness, perhaps the shark smells blood.

If memory serves correctly, Lord Borros’ wife passed some years ago.

“I offer my hand to you, my Lord,” she says. “Pledge your banners to the true Queen, and your sons will be Princes.”

Lord Borros brings his fingers to his beard, muttering into the ear of his Maester and nervously glancing towards his other royal guest.

The amusement has faded from Aemond’s face, his moment of triumph snatched from him. Even the mere consideration of her proposal undermines him.

His chin is tilted down now, his eye dark and lips pressing together to withhold a sneer. She revels in it, taking a breath to stop herself from smiling.

“I will need time to consider,” Lord Borros says. “I will make my decision known on the morrow.”

Aemond takes one step towards her before she is whisked away by the eldest of the Baratheon sisters, Cassandra, and no less than four guards. Cassandra takes her arm in hers and leads her through the castle to a guest chamber, in a tower that overlooks the courtyard and Shipbreaker Bay beyond that. 

A bath is drawn for her and a gown of black with gold embroidery laid out of her to change into. It seems unusual to see herself in these colours, but then again, her grandmother, Rhaenys, is half Baratheon.

Dressed in her gown and with her hair newly done, she watches Silverwing seek shelter from the Storm under the battlements. Vhagar is apparently sleeping, with her wings cradled over her body to keep out the rain. 

Silverwing would be miserable here, she thinks. A dragon needs clear skies, they cannot always fight against the wind and rain.

It’s hard to tell exactly when the sun sets. There are no warm colours in the sky, no streaks of orange or gold. The sky beyond the storm clouds fades from grey, to indigo, and then to black.

Lady Cassandra escorts her to the Round Hall for supper. It is a modest affair. Lord Borros’ advisors and bannermen sit at tables in the heart of the hall, while a high table is set before the Stone Throne. Lord Borros sits at the centre, with two empty spaces either side of him. She might guess who they are for.

She sits between Lord Borros and Cassandra, and finds just enough time to steady her nerves with a sip of wine when Lady Floris enters with Aemond on her arm.

She swallows her mouthful wine thickly, meeting her uncle’s gaze for only a moment out of courtesy. 

He takes his place beside Lord Borros and the meal commences. Servants bring out whole roasted boars, and given Aemond’s reaction to the suckling pig at dinner in the Red Keep, she refrains from moving her mouth or looking in his direction. In fact she hardly has an appetite at all. She sits with a stiff spine, glancing down at the plate of potatoes and greens placed in front of her.

Lord Borros asks her a question which immediately slips her mind. It occurs to her she’s supposed to be winning him over, to prove to him that she will be a good and dutiful wife. A better wife than Aemond will be a husband for Floris anyhow.

The thought churns her stomach and leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

She allows herself another glance to Lord Borros’ other side. Aemond’s head is close to Floris’. The light from a candle on the table flickers over his chin, his jaw, the top of his neck underneath his collar. He leans in closer to mutter something in her ear.

He was always so softly spoken as a boy, subdued, even in moments of frustration. He still seems subtle, but in a different way now, a quiet kind of arrogance, a silent threat with the smallest of gestures. The few words he had spoken at that dinner, though aimed as insults towards her brothers, had ignited a thrilling sort of intrigue within her.

And now Floris gets to sit beside him, gets to feel his breath on her ear as he whispers in that low, chilling voice– 

“Princess?”

“Y-yes?” she stutters, turning her eyes back to Lord Borros.

Only she seems to have caught the attention of Aemond and the other Baratheon girls now.

“I said our union should be a plentiful one, if your mother’s talent for producing sons is anything to go by.”

The only thing that stops her from reaching for her knife and jamming it into Lord Borros’ neck is the quiet huff of a laugh coming from Aemond.

She shoots him a deadly glare but his cruel smile does not waver.

“The man who eventually claims my niece’s hand will have Strong sons, there’s no doubt about that,” he says, reaching for his cup.

She watches him drink, the way he pouts his lips, how his throat bobs as he swallows.

“What a kind compliment, uncle,” she says, “though not one I could extend to you.”

Aemond sets his cup down gently. “Meaning?” he asks, not looking at her.

“It took you a decade to claim a dragon, did it not?”

His head snaps towards her. “Yes, and I claimed the largest dragon in the world.”

“An impressive feat,” she says, “one your father was proud of, I’m sure.”

He wants to lash out, she can see it, his fist clenching on top of the table, his lips pursing together, his eye going wide, his nostrils flaring as he takes a few breaths to compose himself.

The rest of the table has fallen to an uneasy quiet. She simply reaches for her wine and takes a generous sip that slips over her tongue with a delightful burn.

Lord Borros calls for music, and his daughters, Cassandra and Ellyn find partners to dance with. Maris remains seated, with her arms folded over her chest and a sour look on her face.

Floris seems hopeful, sitting up and trying to catch Aemond’s eye from his blind side. It is a hope he will not entertain. He keeps one hand on the table, tapping a long, slender finger against the wood.

“You will forgive me,” Lord Borros says to her, “I am too old to dance now.”

She tries to smile to hide her repulsion. What an endearing match she’s managed to find for herself. But this is for her mother– her Queen, so that the throne might pass to the rightful heir and not a usurper.

In the corner of her eye she sees Aemond is watching her, and she does not shy away from his gaze. His lips curl into a smirk but she can see the calculations and strategising behind that piercing, violet eye.

What lurks on the other side, she wonders, underneath the leather eyepatch and the scar slicing down his face?

A bloody mess of flesh flashes before her eyes. She remembers how he cried out in pain, how he clutched his hand to his face, how the thick, dark blood seeped from between his fingers and spilled onto the floor as he fell. She had only watched dumbfounded, as Lucerys dropped the blade, as she and the other children were ushered into the Hall of Nine, as the gash in Aemond’s socket was sewn and their mothers both called for justice.

Could she have stopped her cousins from confronting him? Could she have defended him from her brothers? Would he have at least felt some of her sorrow if she had gone to him that night or wrote to him in the years that separated them?

Those possibilities mean nothing now. Aemond looks at her with no warmth, no fond memories of their shared youth.

He’d be handsome without the scar– he still is, but it is a severe kind of beauty. 

The moment she manages to finish the food on her plate, she excuses herself, declaring that she is tired from her journey and will need to recover before Lord Borros makes his decision in the morning.

Lord Borros presses a kiss to her hand, and she winces at the way his beard feels against her skin. When she looks to Aemond, he is suppressing a smile by bringing a cup of wine to his lips.

She walks quickly through the halls, towards the guest chamber, already taking off the heavy gold earrings and necklace she had been adorned with, and sighs at the relief of their weight. The sooner she can get to sleep, the sooner the morning will come, then the sooner she can finally leave, either a success or a failure, but she will be free of him. Free of the tight, restless feeling in her chest.

The enduring storm does not help her nerves, the rain beating down and the wind howling against the castle walls. Her heart leaps at every irregular noise, anything that might be mistaken for a voice, a breath, a footstep. She glances over her shoulder repeatedly, but all she sees are the empty hallways she leaves behind.

Two guards wait outside her chambers. They do not move to open the door for her, as they would on Dragonstone. She huffs and pushes it open herself, falling against the door once it is closed.

Borros Baratheon is hardly a man of principle. He has no love for Rhaenyra, and is only considering offering his support out if pride. She has no friends here. 

She quietly turns the lock on the door.

She heads to the vanity to set down the jewellery and release the pins from her hair, watching it fall around her shoulders.

Outside the window, she hears Silverwing’s lamenting coos through the clashes of thunder. She reaches behind her back to undo the laces of her gown as she goes to the window, but she cannot spot her dragon through the dark and the heavy rain.

“We’ll be home soon,” she whispers into the night.

She nearly screams when she hears the door rattle.

The wood clashes against its frame, but the handle does not budge, for now.

She barely has a few moments to run to the vanity, hand outstretched and eyes fixed on a long, sharp hair pin when she hears the door burst open. It slams and heavy footsteps thud against the floor, towards her.

A hand clasps over her mouth before she can make a sound. An arm wraps tightly around her waist, keeping her arms by her sides, before she can reach the closest thing she has to a weapon.

She thrashes, squirms, tries to call for help or graze her teeth against the intruder’s flesh but nothing deters him. 

She looks down at the arm around her waist. She recognises the black leather sleeve of his jerkin, the wide palm pressing down on her stomach, veins and tendons running underneath pale skin. 

He rests his chin on her shoulder, so his long, silver hair falls around her face. He smells of smoke and lavender.

He lets out a frustrated huff as she unsuccessfully tries to jerk her elbow into his side. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he hisses against her ear.

She squeals in fury against his palm, trying to twist her way out of his grip. She manages to drag him with her until their sides collide with the vanity. Pieces of priceless jewellery and bottles of perfume fall to the floor, and shatter. 

She has a mere second to wrench herself from his grip, only for him to grab her again, turning her to face him as he pulls her into his chest.

Aemond’s expression is deadly, his eye wide, lips pressed together in a scarcely contained rage.

“The throne belongs to my mother,” she says through the drumming in her chest, with all the defiance she can muster. “She is the one true heir. King Viserys–”

“Viserys is dead!” Aemond bellows, pushing her back against the vanity. “His word means nothing now that he can no longer enforce it.”

With her hands suddenly free she attempts to strike him, but he sees her intention before she even moves, pinning her wrists to the wood, keeping her body in place with his own.

She clenches her fists, only able to dig her nails into her palms. “What is it that you want from me?”

Lightning ignites the sky behind her. The white light dances over his scar and the shape of his mouth. His expression is softer now, lips slightly parted.

“I will have what I am owed,” he says.

Her eyes flicker to the eyepatch and the edges of the scar it cannot conceal.

Aemond hums a small laugh at her presumption. “Fear not, dear niece, that is not your debt to pay.”

His gaze trails over her face, then lower, to her lips, along her neck, to the gown slipping from her shoulders and the bare skin at the top of her chest.

“Do you remember what you said to me, the day you left?” he says softly.

The children they were are almost half a lifetime away.

She remembers standing under the weirwood tree in the Godswood of the Red Keep, a warm breeze rustling the red leaves above their heads, the sun shining through the branches.

She remembers holding Aemond’s face in her hands, wiping away the bitter tears as they fell from his eyes. 

He had begged her not to leave, but they were powerless then.

He is the one to bring his hand to her face now, running his thumb over the lone tear that spills from her eye.

“I said I loved you,” she utters. “I said my heart was yours, and it always would be.”

Aemond hums softly. “You made a promise to me,” he says. “Do you intend to keep that promise?”

How can she? She would have to forsake her mother, her Queen, her brothers, the realm, her own dignity.

“It was a childish infatuation,” she says.

“Not to me,” he says, fury creeping into his voice once more, his grip on her hand tightening.

She pushes her one free hand against his chest but he does not budge. “Aemond, please, you’re hurting me…”

He presses his body into her, forcing her further against the vanity– a warning, a command for obedience. He trails his thumb over her cheek, to her lower lip, taking her chin in his fingers. When she tries to look away he brings her eyes back to him.

He leans in gradually, pressing his forehead and his nose against hers, before he takes a steady breath and captures her lips in his. His kiss is starved but slow, bruising, deep and desperate. The hand that was on her chin comes to her neck, angling her head precisely where he wants her.

His hands trace down the back of her neck, between her shoulders, to pull at the laces of her gown. They fall apart between his fingers and, barely breaking away from her, he tugs it down until the black and gold fabric falls to her ankles. He lifts her out of it, seating her on the vanity, raking the hem of her shift up to her thighs so he can place himself between them as he continues to kiss her.

A dazed sort of warmth pools within her. She can feel her senses and her sanity slipping.

But he cannot best her, not after everything that has happened in the days since the King’s death.

She grazes his lip with her teeth, and when he seems to welcome it, she clenches her jaw as hard as she can.

He tears himself away from her and staggers back, bright blood dripping from his mouth. She can taste it on her tongue.

“Little cunt,” he hisses.

She slips the hairpin into her hand and runs for the door. Aemond catches her in a few strides but she’s ready for that, turning to drive it into his blindside.

Even then he misses nothing, holding her wrists behind her back with one hand and snatching the pin from her grasp. She hears it clatter to the ground as Aemond drives her forwards, towards the bed.

She lands face down and tries to lift herself up, only to feel his forearm pressing into her neck to keep her down.

“You were always stubborn,” he says, planting a delicate kiss to her shoulder, “and as exciting as that is, I want you to be good for me, dōna riña.” 

The iciness in his voice sends a shudder down her spine.

“Say it, say you’ll be good.”

Hit tears prickle in her eyes. She shifts underneath his hold, but her urge to fight is already fading. “I’ll be good, qȳbos,” she whispers. 

Aemond’s chest hums with a groan. At last he relents, releasing her neck and her hands. But no sooner is she free, he turns her onto her back and slides his hands up her thighs, hooking his fingers over her smallclothes and bringing them down her legs.

“Up,” he says, dragging her by her hands to sit, so that he can pull her shift over her head.

She cannot be sure why she’s shivering, the cold air, the noise of the storm, or the hungry look in Aemond’s eye at the sight of her bare body.

She keeps her hands on his shoulders as he lays her down and trails his fingertips down her stomach, to the obvious arousal at her core.

With a lingering kiss to her cheek he presses a single finger inside her. She gasps at the sudden sting of it, digging her nails into his skin.

But he reaches deeper than she’s ever been able to, stroking against the flesh within her, until she starts to melt. He edges her closer and closer to bliss until she comes undone around him with a whimper.

“Sȳz riña,” he coos against her cheek. “That’s it…”

She tries to cling onto him as he moves away, but he is not gone for long. He swiftly undoes the buckles of his jerkin, followed by his shirt, boots and breeches. His body is lithe and lean, harsh angles and soft skin.

She glances at his eyepatch again. 

Aemond lets out a low, irritable “hmm,” as he looms over her. His hair falls around his face, tickling the skin of her collar. He leans on one palm placed by her head, as he drags the tip of his cock through her folds, teasing between her bundle of nerves and her entrance. The sensation burns brightly and has her hips bucking, but it’s not enough.

“Beg me for it,” he utters.

“Please,” she whispers, cupping his face in her hands, feeling her thumbs along the sharp edges of his cheeks. “Please…”

He pushes into her with a single stroke, filling her to the hilt with a soft sound of skin against skin.

She winces at the stretch, throwing her head back against the bed and trying to steady her breath as he rocks into her.

He’s gentle at first, but before long he is restless.

“I knew you fucking wanted this,” he pants, gripping at her waist to pull her in with every snap of his hips. “You little whore, I can feel you getting wetter.”

She should hate him for it. There is so much she should hate him for, but she cannot think past the pleasure tightening and rising within her, the sound of Aemond’s laboured breaths or the lewd, wet sounds of their coupling.

His hands grab at her legs, positioning them against her chest so he can fuck her harder and deeper.

“Oh gods,” she whines as he pushes against a spot that makes her feel weightless. 

“Take it bastard,” he hisses, pressing his forehead against hers and wrapping a hand around her neck. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to know it could. “Fucking take it.”

She is sure it’s too much, his hold on her neck, his breath over her lips, his body pressing against hers as he pounds into her without mercy. 

“I’m going to fill you up,” Aemond rasps, “return you to King’s Landing with a Prince in your belly.”

His promise sparks a new feeling entirely, her cunt clenching around him as her voice becomes a slur of desperate, wanton moans.

“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, ilībõños? Want your uncle to give you a silver-haired babe?”

“Please,” she mewls, placing her hand over his, “please, qȳbos,”

With a few sharp, brutal thrusts, her body erupts with her climax, until she is a moaning, quivering mess. 

Aemond’s jaw hangs open as he fucks into her through his own release, until every last drop of his seed is buried within her.

He keeps himself nestled within her, positioning them properly on the bed, hooking her leg around his hips, keeping her body and her head close to his chest.

Her eyes flutter closed, lulled by the soft sound of his breath and the gentle thud of his heartbeat.

But the pleasant glow of her peak cannot last forever.

“I can’t go back to King’s Landing,” she whispers against his skin. Not now that Aegon has claimed the throne, not now that her mother is amassing her banners and the Greens are doing the same.

Aemond takes her chin his fingers, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Did you think I’d ever let you go? You’re mine now, dōna riña. That is what you've always wanted, is it not?”

She helplessly traces her fingers along the muscles of his arm, held tightly around her.

Perhaps she did want that, once.

“What of the Stormlands? What of our duties to our families? What of the war?”

Aemond silences her with a delicate kiss to her lips. She lets it soothe her, for the sake of a love once lost, for a moment of bliss in a world unfurling into chaos and bloodshed.

“Lord Borros will pledge his banners to Aegon or I will burn Storm’s End to the ground,” Aemond mutters between their kisses. She can already feel his cock beginning to harden once more inside her. “And no one will keep you from me, my sweet, strong girl.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

[dandelion-blues]

#3 What if...

Garmadon becomes aware that Misako abandoned Lloyd when he was still at Darkly's?

Lloyd knew from a young age that he wasn’t normal. That glowing red eyes and long, sharp canines were inhuman, but they also brought him close to his father.

After all, it was the skulkins that worked at Darkly’s School for Bad Boys that told him (well in not so quiet whispers he happened to overhear) that they thought Lord Garmadon was looking at them when Lloyd peered at them with his red eyes. However, that’s where much the similarities ended, for no evil warlord was a short eight year old boy with a bowl-cut. However much he tried to imitate his father from the terrified rumors he heard of him, he always fell short. He couldn’t be an evil genius, or a merciless warrior, or a cruel warlord because he was too good, but what could they know? He was going to rule by his father’s side and they would bow before him someday.

“Muwahahahaha,” Lloyd laughs evilly.

‘Then, the other students and teachers would fear me for my power and respect me as my father’s son. They would stop calling me a monster, or else they would pay!’ Lloyd thinks practicing his evil laugh some more.

‘But then if I hurt others would I finally be a monster on the inside too if I did that?’ Lloyd thinks. ‘No, thinking of others is bad! That’s how I failed my Bad Ethics 101 class!’

‘Ugh, that’s not important, what’s important is delivering this letter, no message, to my dad.’

Lloyd scrambles down the hallway quickly trying to avoid the other students, lest he’ll be on the bad end of a vicious prank. Lloyd had burning questions, no missives, he needed answered! Missives he hoped would get answered on this letter:

Dear Lord Garmadon,

This is Lloyd Garmadon your son and future right hand man to your dark empire! I was just wondr wand thinking if I could skip school and come work with you now. Now I no I am only 8, but I have a lot of pott potanc potencial, and would love like to start working with you!

Oh and I have your red eyes! And fangs! Does your skin ever feel really itchy too? Like your um too big or is it too small? I don’t now but I think you get it, cause you now every thing.

But if you no every thing why didn't you ever come see me?

I’m sure whoever my mom is left me here so I could work with you when I gradate, but I want to start now and I am ready. I was left here at 3 so I had lots more time to learn and prak practa practice being evil than the others. So please please let me work with you!

Love From Lloyd Garmadon,

Son of the Super Evil Lord Garmadon

and Future Dark Ruler

Lloyd spent the whole day in the library perfecting his letter. He wanted it to be perfect. Thankfully, he knew how to read and spell somewhat well, but the teachers never thought learning how to read or write beyond the minimum was that important.

But Lloyd finished his letter, and it was finally ready to be delivered to his dad. He just hoped that his dad would answer, and even better if he could get out of this school and work with his father!

Lloyd clutched the letter carefully as if it was his most prized possession, and hurried to the mailroom. After all, even evil kids have parents and guardians and need a way of sending things to and from the school.

Notes:

The letter has grammar and spelling mistakes on purpose, but I felt it necessary to include, as I feel that Lloyd hasn’t had the most well-rounded education, not to mention that I sure didn’t spell too well when I was 8 either.

Needless to say, this letter does reach Garmadon, and he is furious with Misako. He will do whatever it takes to take care of his son since apparently no one else will!

First - Previous - Next "What if...?"

[marcussour]

C3E120 random thoughts and bits

Look at Robbie doing his own ad

I already knew that there was gonna be a State of the Role this week, but still

9th lvl Foresight, way to go Dorian!

Of course Laura was expecting Predathos' dick to appear somewhere on the map

Travis with 2 nat 20s on the same turn, amazing

Not that I expected less, but this fight's not even one round and it's been gnarly

"one of the limbs of Predathos, the evolving"

2 Nat 1s, this is gonna be one of those episodes regarding the dice, isn't it?

"Hunger of the Shadow Shard"; "That's 5 words, you know it's a good one"

Oh shit, Predathos ate Orym... OH WAIT, MISTY STEP

How many arms does it have... (also, at this pace, it's gonna end up using his dick, don't quote me)

Way to go Fearne with the nat 20 and hitting with all the Scorching Rays

The idea of Mister flame shitting on a god eater, and shooting said feces with a gun made by Lord Percival Fredickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III will never stop being funny

Marisha's nat 20 was the clutchest

Now Sam with a nat 20

"I am Brontë Wyverwind, only son of the Silken Squall, your Prince" that was amazing, especially since it was followed by an 8th level Crown of Stars. I mean, look at Matt's face.

Love the face that Sam made after saying "Scanlan's hand pie" trying to process what it was

Look at Imogen doing +170 points of damage in just one turn. Incredible.

Oh no, Fearne's down and already had a crit failure with the death saving throws

If I had a nickel for everytime a Laura character flashed her tits in order to convince other party member to do something, etc, etc

"My Lord, you have shown me much, but never showed my that"

"I show her my titty, it's an udder" - God damn it

50 damage on a cantrip

Not saying nothing new here, but I love how much of a protector Orym is

Keep those nat 20s coming

HOLY SHIT YOU CAN READ THAT DICE

That Fearne sneek attack was clutch

No but seriously, Ashley doing 72, added to Marisha's 50 and Laura's over 170 was epic af. Specially coming from characters that aren't the usual heavy hitters. And there's some poetic justice in seeing the 3 witches being the ones that have wrecked Predathos the most.

SILVERY BARBS TO THE RESCUE!

Witches be bitches

Even more nat 20s!

"It's a bad idea, so I'm gonna do it: The Ashton Greymoore story"

Ashton went full Emma Frost

"What if I popped out a tity?", "Already seen it"

I love it when they worked defensively like a well oiled machine. The way Chetney used the last curse to lower Predathos' roll to save Laudna and got the right roll on the die? Incredible

They've been rolling so good, it's amazing seeing Matt's reactions. Like, all things considered, they've been acing this battle.

Dorian and Braius are down

3 hours break, just after Imogen's down and absorbed by Predathos

Digestive damage

REVERSE WHISPER

Oh the Robbie shirt

Way to go Ashton, saving Imogen in an incredible way

Thankfully Laudna's gambit payed off

Look at Orym saving Dorian. Oh no, and now Orym's down.

And now's Fearne is down again

Oh Robbie, bringing everybody back and skipping the healing on himself

That callback to Eshteross was just *chef's kiss*

Oh, Matt's face when Laura mentioned the Arch Heart's ring

"Can I just say how much in love in you I am right now?" - Look at Travis

It's been a long time since I've seen Matt having to check the rules so much

Man, 40d6 and using the metamagic to change the fire into thunder, that's just, if it's Imogen that kills it, while using the gift from the Arch Heart, that's just, I can't imagine a better way for this to go

234 points of damage, let's fucking go!

Imogen did more than 400 points of damage in this fight, that's just, insane

I imagine Liliana somewhere just watching everything that has happened in the last 3 fights

Oh, look, there she is

"I can hold my breath forever"; "TELL ME MORE". Oh Liam

Oh no, the whole army of Vasselheim's already on Ruidus

The gods and their representatives are REALLY terrified of Imogen right now

Well, this is certainly gonna be interesting. Like, even beforehand the idea of trying to parlay or convince every single god was, well, difficult to say the least. But also having to content with all their followers and warriors, damn.

Glad that they're keeping Ryn with them, since, if I read Orym's idea completely, they'll need both a way to visit the gods, but also, a way to get out of Vasselheim in case things turn sour.

Also, it's worth mentioning, I'm not on the "Bells Hells are villains" bandwagon, but also, Ludinus was on to something when he told them that they might be perceived as such, especially since, you know, how even the Ruiner was terrified of the mere presence of Imogen now that she's bound with Predathos.

[97-liners]

HMMMMM in regards to the requests with the weird stuff . im throwing u my pitch of an idea i had but i doubt i’ll ever get to writing but . something dark with joseon era lord!jeonghan? like he’s infamously known amongst the townspeople to never cross him because he’s always a hairtrigger away from going axe-crazy and killing anyone who gets on his bad side . but then you’re also his morality pet who he loves oh so dearly . idk. jeonghan with a glint in his eye and with blood smeared on his face and his sword dripping crimson but then he always caresses your cheek and greets you gently and softly. IDK.

teehee cat here u go sorry it took a week

lord!jeonghan x maid(?) reader | warning for horror i guess | words: 1k

it happened again.

you can tell because the servants are pale as they rush around, murmuring in hushed voices. one of the new kitchen maids looks absolutely terrified as she brushes past you. “–d you see? …covered in blood, and he was still–”

“enough,” the old housekeeper snaps. “hurry and draw a bath for young master yoon. and tell the laundry to prepare vinegar and cold water.”

(it’s been years since jeonghan has been young master yoon, but sometimes you think that grandfather seo looks at jeonghan and sees the person he used to be. grandfather seo had always been so affectionate, too sentimental beneath his cantankerous facade.)

you watch, silently, as the kitchen maids clutch at their sleeves and bow their heads before hurrying to their duties. nobody spares you a glance, not even grandfather seo. instead, he sighs heavily and sits on one of the ornate granite stools in the courtyard, groaning as his joints creak. 

hot water, you think. one of the kitchen maids should bring him a basin of hot water and a towel for his bad back. you can imagine the thick, humid air of the kitchen, the large glazed jug resting on the stove, always filled with water and piping hot, ready for whoever needs it. the smell of the straw fire, the smoke stinging at your eyes. but instead of walking the familiar path back, you gather your robes and walk towards the main house. 

(there was a time when you were a maid too, with chapped hands and the persistent smell of smoke clinging to your clothes. but it’s been years since you stepped into the kitchen. you hold a strange position in this house– not a servant anymore, but not a lady either. something in between. a pet, they used to sneer. the young master’s beloved, grandfather seo says.)

the moonlight-sheer silk of your outer robes flutter in the wind as you make your way across the courtyard and under the arch separating the back of the manor from the front. the sun is setting now, and the sky is bloody red, making your white robes glow scarlet. 

jeonghan sits in his private chambers, legs crossed, elbow propped against his desk. there are no servants here– nobody is brave, or foolish, enough to cross jeonghan’s path when he’s in such a state. the sliding door leading to the gardens is open, and as soon as he sees you rounding the corner, his expression brightens.

“oh, my little dove,” he calls out to you, tilting his head affectionately. “i’ve missed you all day.”

you smile, hands clasped, as you make your way towards him. “good evening, my lord. did you just return?”

jeonghan looks like a disaster. his celadon-blue robes are covered in blood, soaked into the heavy silk like ink stains. there’s blood spattered on his cheek and on his hands, and he’s still carrying his sword, unsheathed, covered in gore. 

you carefully step up onto the threshold of the room, holding the hem of your skirts out of the way. they swirl like gossamar as you walk towards him and take a seat at his side.

jeonghan finally takes the cloth off his desk and begins to wipe the blood off his sword, like a ritual. “where have you been all day?”

“i apologize for my absence, my lord,” you say as you begin to pour him tea. white tea, his favorite. “i was feeling weak this morning, so i rested.”

“my poor darling,” he croons, pausing to lift his hand to your cheek. the blood has dried now and flakes off his skin like rust. impossibly gently, he strokes his fingers down the line of your jaw, as if to reassure you. you imagine the blood smearing in streaks. 

swallowing down the lump in your throat, you smile at him again and present him his tea. “it’s nothing to worry about.”

jeonghan sighs, but he doesn’t take his tea. “you know i worry, though. how can i not?”

“you’re too good to me,” you mumble, looking away.

“never.” the tender, loving way he tucks your hair behind your ear is at odds with the scent of blood and gore on his hands. he tilts his head into your field of vision in that silly way that he always does, smiling even as his hair falls into his face. 

“i heard about what you did today,” you say quietly.

jeonghan’s smile falters for just a moment, but it passes in a blink of an eye. “don’t fret, darling. you know i don’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

of course, jeonghan’s grasp of morality isn’t quite all that… there. at least, not these days. you wonder how much he had to torture today’s poor victim before he got the confession he wanted to hear, regardless of whether it was true or not. 

“you’re unhappy.” jeonghan frowns. “please trust me.”

“i do,” you tell him. it’s a lie, and you know he can tell. 

“i swear.” his hand closes around yours, leaving rust-colored smears of blood on the white silk of your sleeve. “i won’t rest until i’ve fulfilled my promise. you remember that, don’t you?”

(you remember. by the time he finds you, it’s too late. you stare up at grey clouds, lightening with daybreak, eyes open but not seeing. who did this, he asks, but you can’t answer.

jeonghan has never begged before, but he’s on his knees now, gripping your shoulders, begging you. the great lord yoon pleading to a mere servant girl who somehow became something precious to him. he makes the promise right then and there. revenge.)

there’s no point. you want to tell him, but you can’t, so you just smile at him and squeeze his hand in return. your dear jeonghan, too cunning and vengeful for his own good. 

he’ll find out eventually, you’re sure because jeonghan always finds out in the end, that the man who killed you had drowned in the river later that same night, his head held down under the water as he struggled. all the desperation in the world is nothing in the face of a vengeful spirit. 

(you had waited until he stopped moving, and then you counted to 100 after that just to make sure, and then you watched as the body was carried by the water out of town, out towards the sea.

and then when you were done, you turned back and stepped out of the river. you needed to be back at the manor by daybreak. you weren’t supposed to be out, and jeonghan would be upset to find you gone.

the sun was rising.)

[minhosimthings]

MAMI I WANNA TALK ABT A LA FOLIE

'The second born, a mere girl.' IM CRYING ALREADY AHHHHH

"Do you trust me Y/N?" IM BAWLING STOP HOW CAN U WRITE THE FLUFFIEST MOST HEALING SMUT OUT THERE AND EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY ⁉️

He was terrified of making you uncomfortable even in the slightest. I. AM. MELTING 🫠‼️

Jay smiled like a moonbeam, and gently bought his finger to the tip of your nose, booping it with a tiny 'boop!' from his mouth. lmfao im here being a needy bitch and u BOOP my nose,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, lemme wonk ur willy

"I didn't mean that, idiot." You chuckled, "I meant the other touch. You know, the one where there's a man, and there's a woman and then-" chill pull out the coming of age ppt at this point 😭💀🗣

"Don't tell anyone I can be like this." Jay held up his pinkie to you in a childish manner, "Pinkie promise me." OFC POOKIE I WONT 🎀🫶

"Here we go, then?" Jay smiled, before he moved his hips. sir this is not a car ride kindly rearrange my organs 💗

"Shut up." You laughed, and pressed a kiss to his lips again, his hands held your waist in position. AHHHHHHHHHH I AM CURRENTLY LOSING SANITY

"Maybe." Jay chuckled, wrapping his arms round your waist and pulling you into get another kiss, a shockingly sweet one after the heated session you just had. FUCK DONT ROMANCE ME THIS HARD LORD

"Would you, L/N Y/N, marry me, and make me the most lovesick man in the world?" YESSSSSS ACKKKK SIAIAHAHQHWHWH YESSSSS 😭😭😭🎀🎀🎀‼️‼️

BEST SERIES OMLLLL GOT ME CLUTCHING MY PEARLS AHHHHHH

🛐🛐🛐🛐

(cant expect anything less from mamii)

I cried. I legit cried when I saw this. I'VE REREAD IT SO MANY TIMES NOW OH LORD.

why are you so squishy and so cute and so kind LIKE YOU ARE THE POETRY I ASPIRE TO WRITE BABYGIRL I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MMWAHHH

I feel like the one thing I wanted to do with a la Folie was to heal all my traumatised girlies (cough cough indian girls-)

I NEEDED TO INCLUDE THAT NOSE BOOP I JUST HAD TO like Jay you cutie patootie put your dick in me

"sir this is not a car ride kindly rearrange my organs" I ACTUALLY LOVE YOU FOR THIS

Are you clutching the pearls I'll be pulling off of you tonight baby? 😏

(EYYY THANK YOU THANK YOU)

[wondrlez]

Magic’s always been a terrible, incredible, mysterious thing, so Regulus is only half surprised when he gets out of that cave breathing. There’s a burning in his thighs and his throat’s sore, and of course everything feels so—groggy, like Regulus is someplace far away instead of here. Drowning is not a nice feeling. His chest feels hollow, somehow—like something very vital and terribly important’s gone from his body, and Regulus has got half a mind to turn back and throw himself back into the waters just to find all the pieces of himself that’s gone astray. And if he fails, at least he doesn’t have to live with himself like this—all parts of him so scattered and lost and technicolour hues of misery. But Regulus has to suck it up; take it in and gather it all up—all the pieces of him that’s left from his crusade in inferi infested waters.

It takes millenia to get to his brother—at least, that's how it feels. It’s only a twist, turn, and a tumble before Regulus stands at a doorstep that he’s never been to but somehow still knows, sees that stupid custom-made welcome mat that’s got Sirius written all over it. In a way, disapparation is like whatever this is—everything spinning, but there’s only one way to go. Losing focus means losing parts of you, too.

If millenia can be encompassed in that single moment, it takes eons for Regulus to ring the bell. Eons more for Sirius to answer. Regulus is half on the ground now, locket hung round his neck and clutched in his palm, dark energy emanating. A terrifying moment: what if he’s just led the Dark Lord straight to his brother? But then Regulus takes a good look at his brother for the first time in years, and he’s too busy crying to think about that.

It’s strange, Regulus thinks, how easy it is to fall into another’s arms. To lay yourself bare and be weak, just once, in that moment that lasts forever. Or maybe it’s a sibling thing. A love thing. A I’m so sorry it took me this long to say it, but it’s just that I wanted to tell you everything that’s happened since you left thing. It’s kind of like that, maybe.

One second; forever. How’s he going to condense all the moments alone into this?

Even so, Regulus does his damn best. Sirius does his best, too. They huddle together in their shared joy and sorrow, and Sirius takes the locket away for Regulus to breathe. And Regulus discovers that this is one part of him that’s come back already—a part of him he had made himself forget ever existed.

[ofevcns]

[ UNSENT ]:     a letter written for the recipient, but which the writer ultimately never sends for reasons that the writer conceals, or may reveal within the letter itself.

Dearest Alice,

I don't even know how to begin, although I suppose it's easiest if I start with the news. Severus has come to us, and while I don't know if I can entirely trust him, there was a sense of truth in his words. I've heard his harshest truths before, and this one seemed similar to that day so many years ago. I don't know if it was the emotion behind it that sparked the urgency in me. Can I call him old friend again? Ali, the way he looked at me... It was unnerving and bright-eyed all at once. I felt small again, and you know how little I like to feel belittled.

I'm sure I'll tell you this information in person, but in case his words ring true, I needed to get it down. On paper. Just in case they come for me before a decision is made. Just in case... well, these days it's rather terrifying isn't it? Each morning. Each fretful sleep. Knowing that the next time you see someone might be your last.

I'm beating around the bush, anyways, but in case I never show up to tell you this information, know that your Neville isn't safe. There's a prophecy, one that decrees a boy born this year will defeat the Dark Lord. The problem is, that they aren't sure once one. And Voldemort will surely not cut any corners.

I am terrified of what this means, Alice. Terrified that it means I'll never see you again, that our boys won't grow up together like we planned. That we won't grow together as we planned. I miss you already, and you aren't even gone. Silly, isn't it? Yet, I can feel a goodbye rounding the corner, one I don't think any of us are prepared for. And, what is most terrifying about Snape's message, is that Dumbledore is leading us on. Using us as pawns. Making sure we die, so that his plan might live.

And I don't know about you, but it quite makes my blood boil.

I know we've skirted many times about the way Dumbledore seems to be handling this war. I know we feel the same way, or at least a semblance of similarity. You're the only other person, I believe, that understands what's at stake here in the same way I do. James and Frank too, although from a slightly different perspective as fathers rather than mothers. Maybe I'm rambling now, but I believe you'll understand what I'm saying, and that you can convince Frank to go very, very far away from here. If you get this letter, I hope you're doing well, and far from Voldemort's clutches, or Dumbledore's for that matter. I hope you aren't missing me too much. Or little Harry for that matter. I hope Neville gets to grow up with so much light and love in his life, and please make sure he knows he has us watching out for him too, even if we can't be around anymore. I love you, Alice Longbottom. Never forget what your friendship means to me. All the best,

Lily Potter x

Note: This letter was never sent, as they were able to speak to Alice before going into hiding. It was among quite a few letters, to James, to Petunia, to Snape, and to her parents. Lily later burned them all, in case anyone else were to get their hands on it.

[xaviersass]

skidded my car 360 degrees on a roundabout at 8am today when i was driving home from a night shift :)))

[lil-artist-blog-fandoms-ocs]

Realization

Gosh this took a while. The longest piece of mine so far I think. Be ready. It's the only warning you will get :)

It wasn't a good day for Norman.

Sammy told him off for...something. A bent gear or a broken wire. He didn't know what he'd done wrong, and he didn't listen much to the musician's words, more resentful of the disgruntled tone in his direction. Then the musician grabbed him under the elbow and led him out of the village. It was the kind of grip that made it clear it was better not to even try to break out.

So now he had to make the long walk from the Lost Ones’ Village to the toy factory. And all the while he had to listen to the lectures from the prophet. Sure, Norman loved that voice, adored it with all his inky heart(even though he sometimes had to doubt its existence) but damn it, no one likes being scolded! To any "Can you hear me?" from Sammy, Norman answered with muffled white noise. He could hear him, but he hardly listened.

When they reached the floor of the factory - or what was left of it -Norman didn't touch anything, lest he provoke a second round of reprimands. He didn't want to risk it.

Everything was quiet. Even Sammy had calmed down and was now busy carefully pulling out the parts he needed from the frozen machines. Norman just looked at him and involuntarily thought, "A talented man is talented at everything." And only the projectionist would want to get lost for half an hour in thoughts about what a wonderful and hardworking musician and...oh, Norman had already been called out and now it was time to go back. Well, at least the journey was quickly coming to an end.

They were on their way down the stairs, already halfway down the floors, when ink tendrils started to appear on the walls. Sammy put his hand on his head, and they both stopped in their tracks to start looking around. Neither of them expected the Ink Demon to appear right in front of them, though.

Norman's instincts took over. Grabbing the poor musician in his arms, he rushed back, hoping to get away from the Demon. But the lord of ink seemed bored with killing ordinary Searchers, and he was unwilling to give up new targets. The projectionist running a circle around the floor didn't do much to save the situation; he couldn't find a single Miracle Station to hide in.

Being cornered was terrifying.

With his back against the closed doors of the elevator shaft, he hissed and growled mechanically at the approaching demon. The musician in his arms shrank back, clutching his head and wheezing in pain. Norman knew that it wasn't just this wimp with horns that was a danger to Sammy; it was its aura that was literally driving him insane.

Time was running out. The demon was getting closer.

On an impulse, the projectionist turned around, grabbed the dissociating prophet with one hand, grabbed hold of one of the doors with the other, and began to pull. Surprisingly, the door moved. With a scraping sound the shaft was open, and a couple of floors below, the roof of the elevator cabin was visible. Norman simply tossed the half-crazed musician into it and let the doors close, immediately lunging at the Demon. He wanted to give the devil a good fight, one he would never be able to forget.

The demon immediately grabbed him by the throat. Very soon all drowned in darkness. There were no images, no sounds, no sensations. It was as if he'd just been turned off from reality.

Huh. Turns out dying isn't as scary as they say.

Too bad he couldn't apologize to Sammy, though.

***

When Norman woke up, he was floating in the ink. He didn't immediately know where was up and where was down in that thick, sticky darkness, so it took him quite a while to get to the surface. It was a good thing the monster didn't need to breathe. It was also a good thing he wasn't dragged away by other monsters. The projectionist found himself in the river, the same branching ink river which led to the Lost Ones Village. Alas, he was not in the branch that led back home, but in another. His lens was also smeared with ink, blocking Norman’s ability to see. The fact that his hands were made of the same ink did nothing to help him.

When his attempts to regain his sight failed, the projectionist simply sat on the ground, hissing irritably. He was tired and getting angry. How had he ever gone from a simple studio corridor to this bloody river in the first place! And anyway, wasn't he supposed to be...

Oh.

Oh.

Gotta find Sammy.

Stumbling at almost every step, Norman walked up and down the little "shore." To the delight of the projectionist, in a corner of this little piece of land stood an equally small rowboat. Of course, in his condition it would be easy to get lost in all these intertwining tunnels, but it was better than staying here.

***

The Lost Ones met him. At first, they scattered away from him, as if he were just another Searcher or some other mindless monster. But then, even if fearfully, they approached him. Some just sheepishly touched him, as if to make sure he wasn't a ghost, while some helped wipe the ink off the projector. But at some point, they slowly parted and pointed to a small structure in the center of one of the walls. The place where Sammy lived.

That's right. Sammy. How was he doing? He must be mad at Norman for his antics... How loudly would he yell at him? Would he reprimand him? Didn’t matter, as long as he saw that sweet lack of a face and heard that sweet and familiar voice again. At an orderly pace, he headed toward the house (if this pathetic excuse could be called that) and stopped at the entrance. After hesitating a little, he entered.

Norman didn't see the prophet immediately; he was kneeling in the farthest corner from the entrance, whispering something. Norman could barely make out the words, but it sounded like Sammy was praying and... apologizing?

Could it be that... this was his way of mourning the "death" of the projectionist? Honestly, Norman was flattered and somehow even amused. The musician clearly hadn't noticed his guest and didn't react in any way to his presence. The projectionist tapped quietly on the wall. This caught Sammy's attention and he turned around.

There was a long pause. The musician's emotions were hard to read because of the mask, but Norman had that persistent feeling you get before a storm hits.

The prophet rose and slowly, somehow unnaturally smoothly, approached him, gingerly reaching out and touching the side of the projector. As if unaware of the blinding light, the musician stared at the projectionist for a long time, as if trying to figure out if what was happening was real. Norman didn't move the whole time. He was ready for a scandal. He was ready to be reprimanded like a naughty child. God, he even was ready for a slap in the face or a punch in the gut. What he wasn't ready for was to have a hand on his shoulder and be dragged into an embrace.

He stood there, a little bent over and holding his head high, not daring to put it on the prophet's shoulder and wondering how real the life was. He felt how unusually tight, yet gentle, this embrace was. Even as a human, Sammy had never done anything like that. But the surprises didn't end there.

“You had me worried.” Norman noticed an intonation he'd never heard from Sammy. The musician spoke softly, but there was much more emotion in his voice than when he raised it. “You frightened me. No, I was terrified.” Sammy’s voice became even softer, as if trying to hold back tears. “I hope you're pleased with yourself. So, please...I beg of you...never do that again.”

Norman felt the embrace grow a little tighter. He felt the musician's hands shake finely as his fingers dug into his back a little, as if afraid to let him go.

He felt a wave of guilt wash over him because of the poor prophet, who must have been feeling uneasy and blaming himself for not being able to keep his only friend safe.

Norman finally responded to the embrace by gently wrapping his arms around the musician and resting his head on his shoulder. He hugged him as tightly as he could, careful not to overdo it or hurt him accidentally. It was his way of promising Sammy that he would never make him worry again. He hoped the musician would understand that.

Still, Norman couldn't help but feel that warmth somewhere inside him. He was important to Sammy. Perhaps as important as Sammy was to him. It was probably selfish, but Norman wanted to believe that maybe Sammy loved him.

And he didn't really care if the musician himself realized it. Nor did he care what kind of love it was, platonic or...something more.

As long as he was loved, any risk, any trauma was worth it.

[vodkassassin]

Shen Qingqiu decides enough is enough! As is his right

If you see any typos in this, no you don’t 😌

—

The door flies open right on the midday hour mark, when the candle that he lit this morning is exactly half gone, and Shang Qinghua immediately dives underneath his desk and throws his arms over his hand.

“I’m almost done!” He calls out desperately. “Just give me a few more hours, I promise I’m almost done!”

Following this, a silence in his office, long and inspecting, takes place. Shang Qinghua, despite all his instincts screaming otherwise, peeks his head up over the edge of his desk and gulps. The person standing in his door, who is surveying his admittedly very messy office (it’s not his fault! Paperwork breeds like multiplying cells! Why doesn’t anyone understand that?!), and looking very, very unamused.

“Ha, um,” he scrambles back to sit on the chair again, trying to get his thundering heart under control. “H-Hello, Shen-shixiong! This — I — I wasn’t expecting….”

Shen Qingqiu finishes his examination of his workspace and locks his gaze upon Shang Qinghua. He steps smoothly into the office, and shuts the door behind him with sure but quiet movements. A cold sweat breaks out down Shang Qinghua’s spine.

He swallows. He reaches forward and grabs up the paperwork he’d been pouring over before this interruption and holds it feebly before himself like a shield.

“A-Acruelly, shixiong…. If shixiong has something he wants from this shidi, I-I’m afraid it will have to wait. Wei-shixiong demanded these requisition forms be looked over and approved before tomorrow a-and there… there are a lot of them to go through…. I think he waited until the last minute — Oh! And Liu-shidi, he — um, he sent in his audit reports late again, so I have to go through those too and I’m really really sorry but whatever you have for me I can’t —!”

“Stop your babbling.” Shen Qingqiu snaps. Shang Qinghua’s jaw clicks shut so fast his teeth hurt a little. Ow.

He watches with wide eyes as his shixiong — who is now scowling heavily, nooo — begins to flip through the various stacks of parchment and scrolls that sit heavy upon Shang Qinghua’s desk. Too terrified to tell him that, actually, only the sect leader should be looking through those ones, Shang Qinghua remains quiet.

Really, nobody tells Shen Qingqiu what he can or can’t do. Those who have tried before are —

Well. They’ve all seen their sect leader.

“These.” Shen Qingqiu slips a smaller stack of documents out from the middle of one of the piles and holds it up. “The supply logs from the previous joint peak night hunting expedition. They have yet to be filed?”

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua’s eyes water in frustration, and he holds up his sleeve to cover them. “I meant to, I did! But — but when I was going to get to them, Qi-shimei came in with a cart full of delegated peak maintenance reports! She said if they weren’t done before noon she’d — Ah.” He shudders, peeks over his arm, and goes pale at the way Shen Qingqiu’s eyes have narrowed viciously. He hurries on, voice growing smaller. “I’d just finished them when Wei-shixiong brought me his backlog requisitions….”

He trails off, because the expression on his shixiong face has gone colder and colder the longer he spoke.

“Why haven’t you chosen to delegate?” The man demands from between his locked teeth. “All these disciples that you have, and you’re telling me you can’t delegate a single task to them?”

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua’s eyes water again and he shiffles pathetically into his sleeve. “Shixiong, I do delegate. This stuff in my office here, this is all the work only peak lords have the security clearance for. Everything else I delegate to my disciples, because I can’t… I can’t….”

Shen Qingqiu stares down his nose at him, and Shang Qinghua stops talking. He drops his gaze and listens as the man silently turns on his heel and stalks out of his office, closing the door with a solid thump.

He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and drops his arm defeatedly into his lap, frowning down at the water stains his stupid tears have left in the fabric. Silk is so fucking dumb, you can’t walk through without it picking up dirt somehow. It’s why he changed his peak robes to darker colors, because at least black doesn’t show where you’ve been all day.

And seriously, it’s just so much easier to scrub blood out of clothes that aren’t white or beige or pastel.

He shoves his paperwork to the side and folds his arms before him, letting his head thunk down on them with an exhausted sigh. The door opens slightly again and a head peaks in.

“Shizun?”

“A-Kao,” he mumbles into his arms. “I’m gonna die.”

His head disciple gives a polite sound of acknowledgement. “I’ll have someone prepare some of the spiced tea imported from that Eastern desert oasis, then.”

“I love you,” Shang Qinghua says fervently, and listens as his favorite disciple huffs a quiet laugh.

“Will return shortly.”

The door closes again, and with it, Shang Qinghua closes his eyes.

Jin Kao is true to his word, as always, and in fact brings a light snack of fruit and a pastry along with the tea. Shang Qinghua plows through it at record pace and is energized! He’s halfway through the requisition forms for Wei Qingwei when his door is slammed open once again.

He flinches. Taking a fortifying breath, Shang Qinghua glances up and immediately loses all color.

“Shen-shixiong is back!” He shakes, voice wobbling. “With — with Z-Zhangmen-shixiong, ah…!”

Shen Qingqiu stalks into the room, side stepping Jin Kao whose arms are laden with the empty tea set. The head disciple wisely flees into the corner, watching with a narrow gaze as the Qing Jing peak lord all but drags their venerated Sect Leader across the office to stand before Shang Qinghua’s desk.

Shang Qinghua trembles as they both loom over him. What did he do?! Shixiong, what he’s said before was completely reasonable! There was no need to go and fetch your overbearing ge!

Shen Qingqiu points a finger at Shang Qingh— oh wait, not him. At his desk. At the mountains of papers littering his desk.

“If you have time to relax and drink tea in your spotless office,” the second in command sneers at his superior, “then you have time to pick up the slack so that our shidi can do the same!”

Shang Qinghua gapes. He stares up at them with round, round eyes, uncertain as to what’s going on.

Yue Qingyuan, for his part, quails under Shen Qingqiu’s steely and unrelenting gaze. His shoulders are tense, and the way in which he looks around Shang Qinghua’s office with a startled look, only to then turn it upon Shang Qinghua himself, just screams ‘bro, you live like this?’

Not by choice! Shang Qinghua never asked for this, Yue-shixiong! The paperwork just never stops!

Shen Qingqiu pivots sharply, glaring down at him instead. Ah!

“What are you doing?” The man says. “Get up.”

“Ah?” Completely bewildered, Shang Qinghua only stares up at the man in confusion.

“Honestly.” Shen Qingqiu sighs under his breath — a sharp and stilted sound of frustration.

He rounds the desk himself and grabs Shang Qinghua by the upper arm, hauling him up from his chair and dragging him away from the desk.

“Th-This—?!”

“Sect Leader,” Shen Qingqiu nods at the desk. Yue Qingyuan only stares blankly at him, and so he sneers. “These forms must be finished. And the next stack. All by a peak lord — I’m taking Shang-shidi for a well deserved break, so I can’t do it, and Wei-shidi was the one to submit them in the first place. Of the four foremost peak lords of the sect, only you have time and clearance to do it.”

Shang Qinghua sways, shocked. If Shen Qingqiu didn’t still have such a bone-crushing grip on him, he might have even fallen. The other man steadies him immediately, and the sour look on his face sours even further.

Yue Qingyuan’s face is pale. “Qingqiu-shidi….”

“It isn’t as if you were busy with anything else.” Shen Qingqiu plows on past whatever refuting the sect leader was trying to pull. He shakes Shang Qinghua roughly by the arm, and Shang Qinghua rapidly blinks away the spots from his vision. “Look at our shidi, he’s nearly dead on his feet. Are you telling me that you would make him work more, when it’s already clear that he’s overworked?”

Yue Qingyuan pauses. He glances around the office another time, shoulders lowering in slow increments. His resolve is crumbling visibly to everyone in the office.

Shang Qinghua silently mouths ‘overworked’ to himself, stunned.

Finally, the sect leader sighs. “No, Qingqiu-shidi is right.”

Shen Qingqiu snorts. As if to say ‘of course I am.’

Yue Qingyuan steps around the desk and slowly takes the seat that Shang Qinghua had just been forcably vacated from. He eyes the stack of paperwork that are piled high, not just on the desk but on the floor and the shelves surrounding the desk, and an expression of regret eclipses his face.

“This shixiong had not realized Shang-shidi’s workload was quite so…” he trails off, trying to fish for the right word, and finally lands on, “heavy.”

“It’s the Sect Leader’s duty to ascertain that all those under his sect’s banner are taken care of. Those directly under his command even more so.” Shen Qingqiu sniffs disdainfully. “You have no excuse.”

Yue Shixiong bows his head. “No, this one does not.”

“I’m taking Shang Qinghua to Qing Jing to recuperate.”

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua pales even further. He ducks his head down and glances over to the corner into which his head disciple had squirreled himself away for help.

Jin Kao stares back, an expression of smug victory on his face, and doesn’t say a single word.

This traitor! Unfilial disciple! Shang Qinghua takes back what he said about Jin Kao being his favorite. He��s replacing that brat as soon as he’s able to escape Shen Qingqiu’s clutches.

Shen Qingqiu yanks on his arms, dragging him out of the office. He cranes his neck around, and the last scene he sees before the door slams shut is Jin Kao setting down the empty tea set, picking up a large stack of papers from one of the various spots on the floor, which he then ferries over to the desk at which Yue Qingyuan has picked up the half-finished requisition, looking it over with a frown.

Huh. He’s never seen his head disciple look quite so intimidating before. The boy is practically looming over their sect leader with a dark expression.

That’s a little strange.

He doesn’t see beyond that, though, because Shen Qingqiu slams the doors shut again and drags him off his own damn peak.

—

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[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Ju Haknyeon - Teach Me [Requested]

Request: Reader is experienced/bad girl and Haknyeon is innocent and wants to learn about sex. They meet at bible study.

virgin! Haknyeon x mean girl! reader

Warnings: corruption kink, losing virginity, underage sex, unprotected sex, mild humiliation, slight dubcon

Thanks for the request love, I hope you enjoy!💕 Also goes without saying, don't manipulate/coerce someone into doing sexual things if they're not ready or comfortable yet okay? The bad girl reader trope was requested 😅

Haknyeon is willing to learn, and who would make a better teacher than his crush, you?

You blink blearily, barely registering the pastor's teachings, and subtly stifle a yawn. You look around the room to find some sort of distraction and a certain boy catches your eye. Haknyeon is furiously scribbling in his notes, listening intently to the pastor. You scoff slightly at how earnest he looks, catching his attention. He glances over to you, meeting your eye and flushes pink as he shoots you a shy smile, before going back to scribble in his notebook. How cute.

Finally, the pastor dismisses your class, and you're the first one out the door. A patter of footsteps sounds behind you and Haknyeon appears, slightly out of breath. "Hey!" he beams, still rather pink in his cheeks. You nod curtly at him and continue walking. "Mind if I walk you home?" he chirps, still ever so cheerful despite your disinterest. You give a non-committal shrug, and he takes that as a yes, falling into step with you, babbling about everything, from what happened during class, to what he's going to have for lunch. You're barely listening, but you're watching him. Everyone at Sunday school (and your high school friends) knew he had a massive crush on you since middle school, but he was never very subtle about it to begin with.

High cheekbones, golden skin, sparkly clear eyes and full pink lips. He wasn't really your type, far too naive and innocent, but you suppose he was rather cute. Your eyes travel downwards, and nearly bulge out of their sockets. The dorky boy you knew as a pre-teen was barely recognizable. Instead, he'd grown much taller, shoulders broad and fuck, thick thighs and perky ass flaunted in his tight blue jeans. His white button-up was clinging to his broad frame, his strong biceps peeking through the translucent sleeves. You feel your heart skip a beat as you take it all in, wondering when exactly he changed and why you hadn't noticed it sooner.

"We're here! I hope you have a great day, I'll see you tomorrow at school?" Haknyeon grins, and you snap out of your shameless staring. You finally decide to humor him, and give him one of your most dazzling smiles. You brush your hand against his arm, and Haknyeon shivers, breath hitching as your fingertips graze against his skin, blushing an even deeper red. You thank him for walking you home, and shut the front door with a final wink, leaving Haknyeon speechless on your doorstep. You spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about how attractive he suddenly seems to you, hand slipping under your waistband, fingering yourself as your imagination went wild, picturing yourself underneath him and more. You hadn't gotten laid in a while, and now you've decided on your target; the cutie from Sunday School.

The next day at school you decide to mess with him a little. You linger at his desk to make small talk, his usual chatty and confident demeanor suddenly faltering now that you're giving him your full attention, keeping eye contact throughout the whole conversation. You continue this through the week, getting bolder each time. You'd plop into the seat next to him at lunch, you'd lean just a little too close to him when you talk, you'd walk home together, hands accidentally brushing against each other's. You enjoyed the way he gets all nervous and riled up just for you, sparking a new interest in the boy. All the boys you've been with before have been the popular jock type, typically dominant in bed. Haknyeon seemed like a nice change, the goofy but good-natured kid that everyone liked; meek, submissive and eager to please, just for you. You can't wait to play with him.

Friday afternoon finally rolls around and your grand plan is about to fall into place. Your friends shake their head wearily when you told them what you were going to do, but they're used to it by now. You catch him after school, which was easy considering he was waiting patiently for you, like a little puppy outside your classroom. You hook your arm around his and head home together like you have all week, and yet another round of pink dusts his cheeks when you touch him. You're almost home when you exclaim "Ah! I forgot to ask if I could borrow your notes for bible study! I wasn't paying attention at all last week, and I don't wanna get in trouble the next lesson," pouting cutely.

Haknyeon lights up, enthusiastically offering to let you copy his notes. "You can have mine! But they're at home, do you wanna come over?" He gushes, pausing when he realizes what he said. "O-or I could, uhh, send you the pictures of my notes tonight?" He stammers, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. You beam at him, like he's your hero, clutching his arm. "I'd love to come over, Haki! Thank you so much, you're a lifesaver," you croon, secretly enjoying the way Haknyeon turns crimson at the new nickname and skinship. You detour to his house and he leads you up to his bedroom, the empty house rather quiet except for the idle chat from the two of you.

He stands awkwardly as you enter his room, movie posters lining the walls and his books neatly arranged. "Would you like a soda? Cookies maybe? Make yourself at home, sit wherever you like! I'll go get my notebook," he rambles. You plop onto the edge of his bed, making yourself comfortable, patting the space next to you. "No need for that, Haki, thank you," you smile sweetly at him. He nods and starts looking around for his bible study notes, finally picking up the cute orange spiral notebook he always carries to bible study classes. He turns around, triumphantly holding the book, and promptly drops it when he sees what you're doing.

"W-what are you doing?" He whispers, his voice failing him as he gawks at you unbuttoning your blouse, exposing your lacy black bra. "Nothing, sweetie, why don't you come over here. Leave the book," you smile at him, beckoning him over with a crooked finger. Haknyeon walks over to you in a trance, his eyes never leaving your chest. He sits next to you as you take your blouse off and chuck it on the floor, pushing your chest out for him to take a good long look. You're gorgeous and you know it, and Haknyeon definitely thinks so. He gulps audibly and seems to snap out of it for a second. "Are you warm? I-i'll go turn on the AC!" he tries to get up but you pull him back down and into a fiery kiss.

He lets out a surprised squeak that quickly turns into a moan, eyss fluttering shut as you move your lips passionately against his, tongue licking into his parted lips. His hands are balled into clammy fists, not knowing where to put them. Blood is thundering through his veins; he can't believe his first kiss is with someone he'd been in love with for so long. His eyes remain shut as you pull away, wiping the spit from your lips, appreciating the dreamy look on his face. If he gets this much pleasure from a mere kiss, then you can't wait to see what happens later.

You caress his thighs with your hand, and he opens his eyes. Your fingertips dance across the muscles in his leg, hovering dangerously close to the tent in his pants. Haknyeon gasps, understanding what you're about to do, clutching your hand before it could wander any further. "N-no, we shouldn't be doing this..." he trails off in a terrified whisper. You turn cold immediately, feigning disappointment, and Haknyeon feels stabs of guilt when he shouldn't. "You don't like me anymore, Haki?" you pout, trying your best to sound hurt. His eyes turn round as saucers and he holds your hands close to his heart, his heartbeat thrumming beneath your touch. "No no! I still really like you, it's just... we're not supposed to do this until we get married right?" The sincerity in his voice and actions almost makes you give up the act and leave the boy alone. Almost.

You carress his cheek and give him your best puppy eyes. "But we're going to get married one day, so it shouldn't matter anyway, right?" you bat your eyelashes at him, watching his eyes light up at the mention of marriage. You almost scoff at his naivety but you have to keep up the act. His sweet innocence is making you wetter by the minute and you'll be damned if you screw up the opportunity to play with your new toy. "Please, Haki? I really like you..." your trembling lips and puppy eyes have him crumbling, his resolve and devotion to his Lord ebbing away in the face of temptation that is you, the girl of his dreams.

Haknyeon gulps and after a painstakingly long pause, he nods slowly. "Okay... but, do you know how?" Puzzled, you tilt your head. "How..?"

"I've never done this before," he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. You giggle and press a kiss to his cheek. "Silly boy, I'll teach you everything you want to know." He gasps when you dig the heel of your palm into his bulge. "Aah, it feels weird. Good, but weird." he whispers, shutting his eyes. "Never touched yourself before, baby?"

"N-no..."

"Really? Never jerked off thinking about me at night?" you tease, now slowly rubbing his growing bulge through his pants, causing him to tremble. He shakes his head shyly, soft moans falling from his lips. You unzip his pants and pull them down along with his boxers, just enough for his cock to spring free and your mouth waters at the sight. Thick, veiny, decently long and twitching with precum. "Fuck, baby look at you. Such a pretty cock. Am I the first girl to see it?" you trail a finger up his shaft and he bucks his hips, already too sensitive. He nods furiously and you giggle, finally grasping the base of his cock. "What an honor."

You slowly drag your fist up and down his shaft, and he lets out a lewd moan, throwing his head back. You kiss his neck and decide to grab his hand, making him close it into a fist around his length. You wrap your hand around his and guide it up and down just as you've been doing. "Open your eyes and watch, Haki. This is how you jack off, yknow, when I'm not there to help you," you smirk, twisting your wrist every so often. His bottom lip quivers as he jerks himself, slowly gaining confidence to take over and stroke himself faster, moaning loudly as you switch to playing with his balls instead, carressing and massaging them.

Haknyeon cums unexpectedly, some of it spilling onto his shirt, all over his hands and some on yours too. You dip your fingers in his cum and suck on them, making sure he's watching the way your tongue laps eagerly at the sticky fluid. He's panting so harshly he might pass out, so you hold him close, his face resting on the plushness of your breasts as you stroke his hair. A few moments pass and his heart rate steadies, and he plants a grateful kiss on your lips, before shyly rubbing his neck, an awkward question on his tongue. You sense it, and you convince him to ask. "So how do girls... masturbate then?" He mumbles. You laugh sofrly at his question, spreading your legs wide so he can see how wet your panties have gotten.

You take your panties and skirt off and start playing with yourself, middle finger toying with your clit before dipping into your folds. "I always pretend it's your cock inside me instead of my fingers, Haki, but I have to make do with what I've got." you drawl. You can't miss the way Haknyeon's eyes follow the movements of your fingers, rubbing yourself desperately pinching and flicking your swollen clit, moaning shamelessly just to rile him up. Indeed, he's hard again, cock standing proud against his soft tummy. "I'm really close baby, but I don't wanna cum without you," you whine. He licks his lips, his voice hoarse with excitement. "What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck me."

He wastes no time scrambling over to you, pressing his tip into your folds. You gasp, nails scratching at his arms at the sudden intrusion. "Fuck, fuck, wait baby you c-can't stick it all in at once- aaAHH!" you squirm as you feel every inch of his thick cock stretching you out, thrashing beneath him in a mix of pleasure and pain. Haknyeon hovers above you panting, gripping your hips as he slowly bottoms out, your walls clenching deliciously around him. You can feel your skin start to bruise with how hard he's pressing into your flesh, but you like it. "Mmmhh, you're so big, baby, stretching out my cunt like that. Gonna fuck me good? I'll teach you how, baby, don't worry," you smirk once you've adjusted to his size. He starts thrusting shallowly, and even that is toe-curling pleasure, the drag of his cock against your walls like ecstasy. He picks up speed with your encouragement, neither of you going to last long. He fucks you harder and faster, the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass like music to your ears.

"F-fuck you're already so good at this, a natural, huh, baby? You learn s-so quickly, fucking me so good like the little - ah - fucktoy you are. How does my p-pussy feel after dreaming about it for so long?" your words stilted by the force of his thrusts. He sobs, actually grateful that he gets to have a taste of your pussy after loving you from afar for so long. "So good, you feel amazing, ahhh, thank you my love," he mewls as he pummels into you. "Make me cum first, Haki," you command. He nods shakily, biting his lip with the effort of staving off his orgasm that it's starting to bleed. You cum all over his cock screaming, almost forcing it out with how hard your pussy tightens. He whines, pulling out and roughly jerking himself off, shooting spurts of cum on your tummy, emptying his balls with a loud groan.

He collapses onto you, exhausted but grateful. Your head is spinning from (surprisingly) the best orgasm you've ever had, and your legs feel like jelly. At least you're looking forward to the pretty finger-shaped marks on your legs and hips to remind you of the fun you had today. Haknyeon is almost falling asleep on top of you so you push him away before he suffocates you. He grins dreamily at you, his eyes glassed over and looking thoroughly fucked out, euphoric that he lost his precious virginity to his first love. He looks so sweet and grateful that you almost feel bad for saying everything you had said to get him tl fuck you. Again, almost. You press another soft kiss to his lips and watch as his eyes flutter shut, a dopey smile on his lips as he falls asleep. You quickly clean up and get dressed, snatching up his orange notebook and sneaking out before his family got home, wincing at the soreness in your lower region.

Sunday comes around and you return Haknyeon his bible study notes with a wink, and he smiles brightly at you, completely forgiving you for leaving him to wake up alone, sweaty and covered in cum two days ago. He walks you home again after class, and again the next day after school, and the next day and the next. As much as you don't see a real future with Haknyeon, you decide to roll with it and keep him happy, as long as it promised you earth-shattering orgasms in the form of after school 'study sessions' or bathroom quickies during lunch.

~

Haknyeon knows. He knows you never truly liked him the way he loves you. He knows you're just using him for a good time, but he thinks, no, he hopes, that if he lets you do whatever you want with him, that maybe, just maybe, you'll start to like him too.

A/N: I think I got too carried away with this one too, sorry 😅 poor bb Haki ❤

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Ok, so I might as well post the first part now since I already have it. Fun fact, it's four pages in a google docs. I'll give you the second part as soon as I'm done writing it.

Tommy glanced at Cedric questioningly. The older teen just waved him on, leaving the trophy open. Tommy shot another glance at Harry, eyebrow raised. “We’re all champions,” the dark haired teen said. “Besides, you and I never put our names in the Goblet. I don’t see the harm in letting him take the cup.” “No, no,” Cedric said with a small shake of his head. “You two have won basically every challenge so far. You deserve the trophy more than I do.” “Together then,” Tommy said, shifting Harry’s weight and reaching his hand out to Cedric. “After all, we are all Hogwarts champions.” After a moment of hesitation, Cedric accepted the hand, and together the three of them limped towards the Triwizard Cup.

Once they reached it, a glance passed between the three of them, and slowly, they reached out for the Cup. As soon as they did, Tommy felt a sharp tug in his belly button and he was yanked forward. He felt his hand slipping from Harry’s, and he held on tighter. Faintly, he thought he heard Cedric’s voice calling them. Then just as suddenly as it had stopped, the dizzying tug stopped, and dumped Cedric, Harry, and Tommy into a damp field of grass.

It took Tommy a moment to regain his bearing. He was still disoriented, but he saw a small hill rising to his left, dotted with tall, rounded stones. It took him a moment to realize they were graves. He was in a cemetery. His brow furrowed. “Where the hell are we?” he asked, helping Harry to his feet. “I dunno,” Cedric said confusedly. The teen was disoriented, but he seemed to have more of his wits about him than Harry did. “I think someone turned the Cup into a portkey.” “Well, obviously,” Tommy said, hand dipping into his inventory for his sword. “Still doesn’t tell us where we are though.” Suddenly, a small, snake-like voice croaked out, “Kill the spare.”

“Avada Kedavra!” A bolt of sickly green light shot out from behind the graves. It hit Cedric square in the chest before Tommy had even so much as a chance to cry out a warning. The older teen dropped to the ground silently, a tangle of robes and limbs. Harry checked him over, but Tommy could tell by the paleness of his skin that he was already dead.

He drew his sword, but before he could find his enemy, a bolt of red light hit him, and he dropped his blade. Tommy fell to the ground frozen, and after a moment, Harry fell beside him. “Very good, Wormtail,” the same snake-like voice said. “Now, as we discussed.” Tommy heard footsteps, and then there was a small hand twisting into the back of his robes, nails digging into his skin. There was a soft grunt, and then his captor was dragging him across the damp grass. “Tommy,” Harry whispered, scared. “What do we do?”

Tommy’s mind was whirling, but he was frozen. He was frozen in place and at the mercy of Wormtail. There was nothing he could do. Not yet, at least. Suddenly, he was slammed up against something hard and rough. A small shockwave rang through his skull and dirty hands yanked his arms behind him. Coarse rope wrapped around his wrists. The stupify hex he had been hit with was wearing off by now, but he was already trapped. There was nothing he could do. He heard Harry hit the grave next to him with a small thud, and after a moment, he too, was helpless.

Wormtail yanked the teens’ wands from their robes and stuffed them into his pocket. For the first time, Tommy managed to get a good look at where he was. He was at the top of the hill. A mausoleum rose in front of him, a cauldron sitting at the base of the steps, a small bundle fo black cloth at the foot. Wormtail aimed his wand at the base of the cauldron, and flames erupted under its base. Sparks danced across the surface of the water, illuminating the grave in a ghostly white light.

Wormtail bent down and undid the bundle of cloth, lifting a small creature into the air. It was grotesque and only vaguely human shaped. It was the same size as a newborn child, but there was nothing innocent about it. Wormtail raised the thing above the cauldron and gently lowered it into the water. Tommy saw Harry murmuring a prayer under his breath. “Please let it have drowned. Please.” Tommy knew they weren’t that lucky though. He still whispered the prayer anyways.

Wormtail raised his wand slightly and began to recite a spell. “Bone of the father.” The ground at Harry’s feet cracked and greyish white dust floated up. “Unknowingly given.” Tommy craned his neck to see that Harry’s grave read “Tom Riddle.”

“Flesh of the servant,” Wormtail continued, voice beginning to shake. “W-willingly given.” From the fold of his robes, he drew a knife. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, and too late, Tommy realized what he was going to do. He turned away as Wormtail brought the knife down on his arm, and tried to ignore the sounds of metal cutting through muscle, skin, and bone.

Wormtail let out a single whimper of pain, but then he forced himself to his feet and lurched towards Tommy and Harry. The two teens scrambled back, but they had nowhere to go. Tommy’s eyes darted around the graveyard, looking for a solution, but Wormtail was too close. He raised his knife above his head, and Tommy braced for the blow. Instead, the point of the weapon dug into the skin of Harry’s forearm.

A jagged cut stretched from the boy’s elbow to halfway down his forearm, and Wormtail’s knife gleamed red. “Blood of the enemy, unwillingly given.” Wormtail’s voice shook with pain, but he held his knife steady as a drop of blood splashed into the cauldron. “You will resurrect your foe.”

The light of the cauldron suddenly turned to a dark, crimson red and sparks danced along the surface of the water. Wormtail dropped to the ground in a heap, clutching his arm to his chest. Tommy watched as the spell performed it’s magic, hardly daring to breathe.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the sparks were gone. White light filled the sky, turning night into day, and thick fog filled the air. From in the cauldron rose a slim figure, everything about it radiating wrongness. Everything in Tommy was screaming to run, but he was trapped. The figure spread its arms and said, “Wormtail.” It was the same snake-like voice as earlier. Wormtail whimpered, but he stumbled to his feet anyways. “Robe me,” the figure commanded. Wormtail grabbed the bundle of cloth and awkwardly slipped it over his master’s shoulder’s. The figure turned around and Tommy finally got a good look at his face.

It was flat, the eyes barely more than slits, nose flat and grotesque. He was pale, paler even than Cedric had been in death. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “Harry,” Tommy whispered, a note of fear beginning to creep into his voice. “Who is that?” “It’s him. He’s back. Lord Voldemort.”

Voldemort slithered over to Wormtail, who was now kneeling on the ground, sleeve of his robes covered in blood. The Dark Lord rested his hand gently on Wormtail’s head, and the man glanced up, pleading in his eyes. “Please, my lord. You-you promised.” “You’re arm, Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. Wormtail began to extend his injured arm, but at his master’s sharp glance, he bared his other one.

Slowly, the Dark Lord reached for a dark mark that rested in the crook of his servant’s arm. As soon as he touched it, Wormtail doubled over in pain, and Harry cried out scar burning. “That should summon them,” Voldemort said. Then, he smiled. He turned and crept towards Harry and Tommy. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the boy who lived,” he greeted, cupping Harry’s chin in the palm of his hand. The teen’s breathing was shallow, face tight with pain. “How ironic that you’ll die tonight.” There was silence for a moment, but then he turned his attention to Tommy. “Ah, and the fiery friend.” Tommy’s jaw clenched in defiance, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Why are we here?” he spat, struggling against his bindings. He had an axe in his inventory, but it would do him no good if he was still trapped.

Voldemort shook his head as if he was explaining something to a child. It irritated Tommy. “Well, you see, I needed the famous Harry Potter here for the ritual. And now that he’s served his purpose, It’ll be my pleasure to finally finish what I started the night I killed his parents.”

Harry still looked terrified, but Tommy could see the hint of anger that crept into his eyes at the mention of his parents. “And I needed you,” Voldemort continued, digging his fingers into Tommy’s hair, and forcing the teen to meet his eyes. “Because a very special ally of mine requested your presence here tonight.” “W-what ally?” Tommy hated the fear in his voice. Voldemort laughed softly under his breath. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll understand in no time. After all, he seems quite certain the two of you know each other.”

Suddenly, a loud crack filled the air, and Tommy glanced up to see that a figure in dark robes and white skull-like mask had appeared in front of the mausoleum. “Ah,” Voldemort said, standing to greet the newcomer. “You’ve finally arrived.” More cracks filled the air, and a few seconds later, a total of fourteen death eaters stood in the clearing.

Voldemort examined them and no one dared utter a word. Then he rattled off a list of names that Tommy didn’t recognize as he surveyed his servants. He paused on one at the end of the line. “Lucius,” he greeted. “Wonderful that you could join us tonight.” The Death Eater shuffled awkwardly, but didn’t say anything. So Malfoy’s dad really was a Death Eater. Tommy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid.

Voldemort’s gaze drifted towards the Death Eater at the back. They were different from the others; their cloak was bulkier and their mask sent a shiver of fear down Tommy’s spine. “So you came yourself,” Voldemort said, a hint of surprise to his voice. The Death Eater simply nodded. “So,” the Dark Lord said, now addressing the whole group. “You are my most loyal followers. How disappointing. Of course, there are those who are still trapped in Azkaban. And we mustn't forget our two fellows trapped at Hogwarts. But so few of you heeded my call. I must say, I was expecting more.” No one said anything.

After a moment, Voldemort said, “I have called you here today, not only to see that your master has been resurrected, but also so that you may finally see me triumph over the great Harry Potter.” An excited murmur ran through the group. “Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. “Free the boy. Return his wand. It would be best to kill him in a duel. Prove once and for all that I am stronger than a pathetic teenager.”

Wormtail did as he was told, freeing Harry from his bindings, and shoving the boy’s wand roughly into his hand. Harry was clearly still disoriented, and Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if the teen’s scar was brutally painful. He was shaking, injured leg barely supporting his weight, but Harry looked every inch a match for Voldemort. He stepped towards his adversary, and the Death Eaters closed around the two, blocking them from sight. There was silence for a moment, but then two voices shouted “Avada Kedavra!”

Tommy’s fingers worked at the knots frantically, desperately trying to free himself. If only he could get his axe, he could help Harry. Finally, he felt the rope fall away and loosen. But before he could draw his weapon, the strange Death Eater stalked towards him, sword drawn. Tommy leapt to his feet, yanking his axe out of his inventory, and barely raising it in time to block the blow.

The metal of the Death Eater’s blade dug into the hilt of his axe, splintering the wood. Tommy twisted his own weapon, disentangling himself from the Death Eater’s blade. He stumbled back, dodging the Death Eater's thrust at his abdomen. He caught the edge of the sword on the crook of his axe, and twisted it upwards, knocking the sword from his opponent's grasp. He slammed the hilt of his axe into the Death Eater’s head, and the wizard stumbled back with a grunt.

Now the other Death Eater’s began taking notice and drew their wands. Before Tommy could do anything though, the air filled with phoenix song, and everyone turned to see a net of golden light surrounding Harry and Voldemort as they rose into the air.

Tommy took advantage of the distraction to make his way over to Wormtail, Quickly he searched the man’s robes for his wand, and sighed in relief once he found it. Unfortunately, the Death Eater’s had recovered from their shock, and stunning spells were flying past Tommy.

He dove to the ground as curses flew over him, firing back at as many targets as he could. At least three of his spells hit, and the volley of curses lessened just enough that Tommy was able to scramble to his feet.

He fired spells blindly as he sprinted down the hill, trying to reach the sword he had dropped. A jelly-legs jinx curse hit, and suddenly, he was tumbling head over heels down the hillside. He crashed into a gravestone, knocking it askew. Quickly, he cast the counter curse and scrambled to his feet. He braced himself for more spells, but none came. He turned his attention towards the top of the hill.

The phoenix sound had grown louder, and the light from Harry and Voldemort’s wand was blindingly bright. The two weapons were connected with a beam of golden light, and figures surrounded Harry, protecting him. Tommy couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Cedric among them. Suddenly, the net dissolved, and Harry dropped to the ground. “Harry!” Tommy cried out, worried.

Suddenly, the dark-haired teen came sprinting out from the mass of Death Eaters, green Avada Kedavra spells just barely missing him. “Harry!” Tommy called again, waving to him. Harry dove to the ground, rolling down the hill, trying to dodge the killing spells. Tommy scooped up his sword, and dropped his axe into his inventory. Behind him, the Triwizard cup began to glow blue. “Tommy!” Harry yelled frantically, skidding to a stop at his friend's side. “We need to get out of here!”

Tommy nodded, and pointed to the portkey. “It’ll take us home. But we need to go. Now.” Harry nodded. He grabbed the portkey, other hand resting on Cedric’s back. At the very least, the boy deserved to be brought back to his family. Tommy grabbed the other handle of the Cup, and suddenly, he was yanked forward. It was only then did he realize that the strange Death Eater’s robes were green. Green robes and a white mask.

-Gemstone Anon.

Oh my god. Okay. This is beautiful. I have read this like 10 times now. Oh my god. This is- This is brilliant.

[ilikefandom]

A Death at the Shack

Request: An Anon requested: Can I request a sev x wife reader? But it’s okay if u don’t want <33.

Genre: Angst!!!!!!

Synopsis: (Y/n) needs to save her husband’s life during the battle of Hogwarts

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem reader

Warnings: Voldemort, Death, Threats of Violence, Possible Death of a Canon Character.

Author’s Note: Not all requests will get answered this quickly! I just have the day off and the time to write this. Please send in requests! I work better when I have people to please!

The sounds of battle echoed through the hallways as (Y/n) ran. Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts and the Arithmancy professor was scared, not just for her students, but for the headmaster as well. 

After hiding her relationship and then her marriage from the majority of Hogwarts staff and students, (Y/n) was terrified. While she had to hide from people she liked and respected, she was never in any real danger for her life. Severus, however, had to keep his relationship from the friendly people at work and from one of the darkest wizards of all time, Lord Voldemort. 

She made her way through the Great Hall, dodging spells from both friend and foe, shoving her shoulder into a death eater before dashing outside of the castle. She saw a dark figure make its way across the grass with a familiar flowing set of robes. Robes she had purchased for Severus’ birthday.

Down the stairs she went, glad for the dark robes that blended her into the shadow of the castle. She jogged lightly, tired from the journey from the castle, but still full of adrenaline. (Y/n) saw three more figures appear from the corner of her eye, the trio of Gryfindors that her husband liked to give trouble to. 

Suddenly frightened for the minors she turned the other way and ran to intercept them, catching hold of Hermione’s shoulder as she reached them. 

Hermione yelped and all of them drew their wands pointing them at the woman in front of them.

“Professor (Y/L/N)?” Hermione asked.

(Y/n) nodded, but motioned for all of them to be quiet. “Yes, Hermione. Do you three realize where you’re going? You’ll walk right into his trap!”

Harry shook his head, “His name is Voldemort, no need to say it any differently.”

(Y/n) shook her head, “I do Mr. Potter, I do. If only for the sole reason of keeping my family safe I do.”

Ron gave her a sideways glance. “Your family? But why would you need to protect them now when Voldemort is going to be defeated soon?”

(Y/n) gave a half-hearted smile. She stared at the Shrieking Shack for a few seconds before commenting, “My husband plays both sides of the line children. Sometimes, you need to sacrifice your beliefs to keep those you love safe.”

She turned back to the group of teenagers in front of her and looked into Harry’s eyes. They really were just like Lily’s. (Y/n) gave a small smile as she thought back to her Hogwarts years, three years younger than Potter’s gang; they never paid her much mind. That was until she started telling them off for picking on Snape. When she was twelve she remembered distinctly giving James and Sirius a shrill tongue lashing for using leveracorpus on Severus. Fun times yelling at the two of them with Lily that would never occur again.

(Y/n) took a deep breath before picking up her pace toward Hogsmeade. Turning around only slightly to look back at her students. “Well,” she asked, tilting her head to the side a bit, “aren’t you coming?”

Harry hurried to keep stride with the professor as all of them raced down the path. (Y/n) listened for death eaters in the bushes, behind them and in between the trees. Making sure that they wouldn’t get caught before getting to their desired destination. 

As soon as they reached the shack, (Y/n) gestured for the group of teens to stay outside as she ventured in. The creaking of the stairs quieted by a quick spell from her wand. 

She gathered all of her nerve and made her way to the closed door that led to her partner and his previous master. Frightened about what she might hear from the latter man.

“You have performed extraordinary magic with this wand, My Lord,” Severus was saying, “in the last few hours alone.” As always, (Y/n) lover had to play devil’s advocate, keeping Voldemort at bay and protecting all that stood behind him.

“No,” the dark warlock replied, trailing his gaze away from the spy and out one of the unboarded windows, “no, I am extraordinary, but the wand resists me.” 

He quickly rounded on Severus causing (Y/n) to almost jump. She put the pieces together quickly, the evil man meant to kill her husband.

“There is no wand more powerful.” Severus stated, calm as ever in the face of danger. “Olivander himself has said it.”

The potions master caught a glimpse of movement behind Voldemort. He caught a brief shine from the hem of his wife’s signature gold and silver trimmed robes through the crack of the door and the breath hitched in his throat. Quickly, he commented, “Tonight when the boy comes it will not fail you, I am sure of it.”

After a pause, Severus, desperate to keep Voldemort’s attention away from the door behind him, looked the Dark Lord in the eye, “It answers to you, and you only.”

“Does it?” Voldemort asked, looking back into the black velvet of Severus’ eyes. 

Another pause, the tension building in  and thickening as if it was smoke over a growing fire. “My Lord,” Severus said, his voice wavering a bit as the door swung open, silently, fear crashing over him like a tsunami, after catching his wife’s gaze. 

 “The wand, does it truly answer to me? You’re a clever man Severus.” Voldemort said as he made his way around Snape, (Y/n) ducked behind the door, back against the wall outside. She spotted the golden trio crouching down the hall and she clutched at her chest in fright.

“Surely you must know. Where does its true loyalty lie?”

“With you.” Severus replied, his voice strong again, but his mind jittery with fright, as his back was to the door behind where his precious one hid. “Of course, my Lord.”

“The elder wand,” the Dark Lord stated, “cannot serve me properly because I am not its true master. The elder wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner.” Voldemort turned his back again to (Y/n) and she opened the door again, this time slipping into the room behind Voldemort. 

“You killed Dumbledore, Severus.” The evil wizard spoke, and (Y/n) readied her wand. “While you live, the elder wand cannot truly be mine. You’ve been a good and faithful servant, Severus, but, only I can live…”

He was cut off by (Y/n)’s silent stunning spell. Voldemort rounded on the younger witch who dove out of his line of fire, rolling to the ground. “Death is not the only manner of defeat, sir.” She said as soon as she was on her feet again.

Voldemort’s interest was piqued at this comment. “You speak of defeat, girl.” He said giving (Y/n) one of the creepiest smiles she had ever seen. 

“All I am trying to say,” (Y/n) stated, “Is that Severus didn’t make the first move, he wasn’t the one who subdued Albus Dumbledore.”

Voldemort chuckled, a high frightening laugh that echoed through the shack. “The Malfoy boy? You cannot possibly be telling me that he is the master of the elder wand! Severus killed Dumbledore, so...” 

(Y/n) smiled, “Then how come Dumbledore managed to master the elder wand without killing Grindelwald? Isn’t he still imprisoned in Nurmengard?”

“You have spirit, girl,” Voldemort spat, “I can accept that. Giving up a student to save Severus, if I didn’t know better, I’d…” Voldemort froze. “Ah Severus, you didn’t tell me you snagged yourself a bride. How, disappointing.”

“My Lord,” Severus spoke up, “My Lord please I…”

“Betrayal and disloyalty,” Voldemort scoffed, I’ll teach you to defy me! Avada Kedavra.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione heard the spell, a body slump to the floor, and then the signature crack of disaperation. Hermione bolted to the door and thrust it open. Severus Snape was sitting on the floor, large tears spilling down his face cradling Professor (Y/l/n)’s head in his lap.

As the tears fell, he looked at the trio, “Take it,” he said gesturing at the tears, “take them.”

Hermione pressed a glass vial into Harry’s hands and he took the memories from Snape’s cheeks. “You really do have your mother’s eyes.” He said, allowing himself a small smile before clutching once again at his love’s body. 

Ron tugged on Harry and Hermione’s sleeves, “Let’s go, before Malfoy suffers the same!”

They all turned back to the door and vacated the Shack. Allowing their professor to grieve, once again, over the body of a woman he loved, a woman killed by Lord Voldemort.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

3. Evening Call

Thank you for your lovely comments so far, it's spurring me on to write more! I hope you enjoy!!

If you’re reading as a one-off, this is set at Camilla's house in Autumn 1986. Her and Charles are a complete secret and only just beginning to talk to each other and see each other regularly.

If you’re reading as part of Tea Time - this is chapter 6.

Lying on her bed, on her side, Camilla had the phone receiver precariously balanced on her face, the chord spiralling down and off the bed where its cradle had been pulled to allow her this position. Usually, this phone call was the highlight of her day, that, or the arrival of the post, but he was being cantankerous and more needy than usual and the conversation was tiring. It had consisted of thirty minutes of whining about his home life and no matter what she said, it was the wrong thing. Whining because it was a repetition of a perceived slight. One that may have aggrieved him, but taking it out on her wasn’t going to help. Then she had snapped at him properly and it was so out of character that it seemed to break his round of self pity. After that he was upset. Upset that he had hurt her. Worried that he’d pushed her too far. Terrified that he might lose her. And his fear and his sorrow made her heart break for him and as he desperately apologised down the line, she cried silently into her pillow. He was so unhappy, so broken and he didn’t deserve it. None of it. She wanted to take him into her arms and hold him tightly, stroking his hair until the lines on his forehead eased. If she could drop everything and run to him, she’d be there quicker than any other living being.

Now he was begging her to come to his little tea party, with their joint friends, who were also joint friends of her and her husband’s. Explaining why she couldn’t come was just breaking him, she could hear in the tenor of his remarks, the slight tremble in his voice.

“Please come, Darling, it won’t be half as entertaining if you’re not there.”

“I can’t just come. You can’t invite me like that. You have to send an invite and you have to invite the both of us.”

Charles let out a sigh of impatience at her response. “He lords it over me. He parades with you like you’re his prized filly.”

“He does not. He never has done. That’s just you. Your jealousy clouding your sense of reality.”

“And so what if I am jealous? I have a right to be.”

“No, Darling, you don’t. You know you don’t.” Her voice was soft and low and it silenced him for a while.

His insistence on courting her was proving to be difficult on many grounds. Meeting up was like adding wind to a forest fire. Sometimes all she could do was stare at him, the longing probably written all over her face as she listened to him talking. Other times, he wouldn’t stop touching her; his hand squeezing her knee, clutching her arm or allowing their fingers to rest together, wriggling until they were sat against one another and her body would scream at her to react. And if she’d thought that a stolen night together would cauterise the desire, she was sadly mistaken. Because now that memory flooded her thoughts and twisted her dreams and she’d wake up expecting him there and he never was.

“Please invite us. Then I get to see you. It’s been more than a week. I’ll be able to sit next to you and talk with you. That’s better than nothing. I want to see you.”

“I want to see you too.”

“And you can tell me all about your climate initiative.”

“They just laugh at me. I’m a laughing stock.”

“So was Galileo when he discovered the earth orbits the sun. He was persecuted too, Darling. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t correct.”

���Don’t be silly. You can’t possibly compare me to Galileo.”

“I can and I will. Different subject matter: the earth rather than the stars. And different governing body of thought: rampant capitalism over the Vatican. But otherwise…”

“You always think more highly of me than I deserve.”

“If I think of you that way, it’s because you are. There’s no ‘deserving’ at play. So are you going to send those invites? And then you can talk to me in person? I love watching your face as you tell me about things you’re passionate about. It’s not the same on the telephone.”

“Of course, my Darling. I’m sorry for being just awful to you.”

“Darling, you were just being sad.”

“Well you’re the most wonderful listener. You really are. You always hear what I’m saying. Even when I’m not too sure myself.”

“Anything for you.” She wasn’t sure where the words came from but they slipped out before she could stop them. They were true and it felt such a relief to be able to be herself, to say what she felt, rather than holding everything in and stewing over it. He was so forthright with his affections for her; he made her feel so wanted, so needed, so important. And he appreciated her. When she was with him, she felt like she was coming alive again.

“I don’t want to put the phone down.”

His voice was sleepy and it made her chuckle. “Well you have to, you’re up early tomorrow. Your brain needs the rest to function properly.”

“To face the day, you mean.”

“That too.”

“I love you, you know, so much.”

“I know.” Camilla paused, her heart beating loudly in her chest. “I love you too.”

“See you on Thursday.”

“On Thursday…”

“Love you, bye bye.”

“Goodnight, Darling.”

“Goodnight my Darling.”

She rolled over and dropped the phone in its cradle. Shit.