#i keep stealing food from my parents and the people around me i keep taking way too much of stuff intended for a group

[anaalnathrakhs]

i keep looking at posts like "i stopped a binge" "i prevented a binge" and all of them are like. "i waited until the urge went away". buddy. the urge doesn't go away. there's no urge. there's just nothing else to do. i don't have anything else to do. every time i stop eating no matter how long i sit with the feeling or not, i always go for more food because there is genuinely nothing else in my life. nothing is enjoyable anymore. the world sucks. no matter what i force myself to do it's the only positive thing i can ever find.

[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + -- mature short content !

Content Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, manipulation, and violent fantasies. It delves into the unhealthy and dangerous mindset of a stalker obsessed with you. Reader discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

INCLUDES: Stalking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, cunnilingus, fingering, fem reader, choking, mentions of cheating, p in v sex in public, murder, death, he's not a good person, dom yandere?, degradation?, he can be a bit of a gaslighter, gore, and more.

*This is the third fic to this little mini series. Check out the first part, and the second part for a better understanding! He is referred to as "your stalker." The italicized portion is his inner thoughts! This fic is inspired by the show You, and this is purely fictional writing!*

SYNOPSIS: Your stalker's obsession intensifies as he becomes involved with another woman named Daniella Foster, who he views as inferior to you. Despite his disdain for your best friend, he engages in a flirtatious and sexual relationship with her, all the while fantasizing about you.

What's more dangerous than a sick, psychotic, and perverted man?

I ran out of your blood today.

Just four hours ago, I was completely fine. The vial of your period blood was nearly empty, but I was able to stick my finger inside to collect the last of your crimson essence. I sucked a particularly big blood clot off my finger, and I was able to start my day with a huge smile.

Four hours ago, I could claim that I was a normal and functioning man, someone you wouldn’t blink an eye at, and that was all thanks to you.

Four hours ago, I was able to brush my teeth, take a shower, and clean myself up for the day. I had an extra pep in my step, and I felt like I could take on the world with a positive outlook.

Don’t you see how much life you give me? Your blood alone has made me feel like I was on top of the world, like I could float up into space with just your plasma to help me survive.

But now, it was gone.

Your stalker stared blankly at the window as his body was jostled side to side, his hands tightly gripping the handle of his tote bag that rested on his lap. He tried to ignore the obnoxiously sick person near him, who didn’t even bother to cover their coughs. He closed his eyes to avoid staring into the eyes of another person across from him. He was sandwiched between two burly people: one shouted loudly into their phone, clearly having zero spatial awareness, while the other snoozed. The woman's head drooped as she nodded off, and her greasy hair brushed against his cheek.

She had a distinct smell of sweat and wet socks. Your stalker apologized to the man next to him as he slightly leaned his body away from the woman. He was stuck in this position unless someone took pity on him and spoke up.

His car was in the shop. The tire had unexpectedly given out, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. The car was old anyway, a gift from his parents when he first got his license in high school. That must have been, what, ten years ago? He didn’t like to think about his age; nothing good ever came from it anyway.

Your stalker rummaged through his bag, his hand searching for the familiar plastic tube he used to steal your period blood. His fingers brushed against a particularly sharp blade he kept for “safety” reasons before they wrapped around the vial. He had really tried to savor it. He would carefully open his mouth and tilt the vial just enough for a single drop of blood to settle onto his tongue. Sometimes he would pour a bit into his coffee, or he would put it into his food. Either way, it made him feel closer to you. It was a comforting notion to think about, that he was the only man and human who had access to you in such an intimate way.

Your stalker sighed as he put the empty tube back into his breast pocket for safe keeping.

He didn’t like taking public transportation. New York was known for having odd things happening on the trains, buses, and subways. He was pretty sure that last week someone had set a rat on fire, a poor woman got robbed in broad daylight, and a group of teens were filming their dumb YouTube prank videos on the elderly.

Your stalker felt a flare of irritation as the woman leaned on his shoulder again. He gently nudged her off and ignored the way she woke up all startled. He glanced down at his phone, counting the number of stops, and saw he had twelve more before he could get off.

He was going to Manhattan for a job. An absolute douchebag had hired him, and his name was Myron Vykolv. He was the type to spend his money on trips and a bedazzled car rather than giving back to charity. Vykolv was an artist's worst nightmare: fickle, a headache to deal with; but surprisingly, he had good taste in art. He had to; he hired your stalker, after all.

He pulled out his phone to scroll on social media, his eyes scanning the copious amount of braindead content, and he paused when he saw a familiar face. He pressed the buttons on the side of his phone, his screen flashing, and the screenshot he took was saved in his photo album. Your stalker zoomed in, and his eyes widened as he saw the perfectly harmonious facial features. The baby tee top had a cute graphic splayed on the chest area, hair slicked and pulled back into a bun, and gold hoops dangling from those nicely formed ears.

It was you.

He glanced down at the caption: "a coffee date with my favorite bff." Posted exactly five minutes ago. It wasn't your account, but it was the closest thing he had to you. Your stalker decided to follow your coffee-manic and bikini-loving friend, and every post and picture she had, you were in it too.

She made it almost easy to stalk. Jesus, what if a deranged man had decided to show up to her place in the Beverly Hills area on the street of— seriously? Did she really just post her full address online?

Daniella Foster. The epitome of a fun and ditzy socialite who spent way too much time at parties and clubs. A trust fund baby if there ever was one, with her daddy being a big shot in the entertainment industry. Despite all that privilege, she never quite made it big herself.

Your stalker snorted as he saw the array of failed projects she had been in. Modeling? Wasn't in the cards for her. Acting? Horrible. A piece of cardboard would've had more personality than her. Originally from Tampa, Florida, then she moved to California, where she had her comically large house, and then… she decided to bless us by coming to New York. Lucky us, right y/n?

Your stalker looked up from his phone and realized the train had come to his stop. He got up from his seat and quickly made his way out. He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and looked down: Daniella requested to follow you. That was fast.

He clicked accept.

She's a shameless flirt, your stalker soon found out, and he’s not the least bit surprised. Daniella slid into his DMs with a picture of her provocatively sucking a lollipop, and her first words to him were: “What do you look like?”

Gee, take a gander, Daniella. My profile picture is a high-definition shot of my handsome and sexy fucking face. But sure, ask me about my looks as if you were actually interested. Your stalker rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to respond to that message, but he had no other way of seeing you again. You would probably run at the sight of him, and that would be the most sane and correct thing you could do.

So, what does a man say when he’s mediocre, average, and you’re clearly out of his league? “I look like the man of your dreams, sweetheart.”

Your stalker had spent hours sexting and courting this woman who had flooded his inbox. Even when he was painting for a client, he managed to multitask and send a dick pic. He sent her whatever she wanted to keep her hooked, and just by her messages alone, this must have been the only time a man actually matched her level of craziness and horniness.

Days turned into weeks and then soon into months. The moment he woke up, he would see that she had sent him hundreds of messages in one night—she must've been drunk again.

He spent hours reading each message, and he hearted the ones that he felt were the most important. It was actually coming to an end, thank God, but to his surprise, she asked him out on a date.

"So, what do you do? Who are you?" The girl in front of him asked.

He shouldn't have said yes because now he was sitting in a restaurant that he could barely afford or get a reservation to, and he had to be with this woman who wasn't you. She was dressed beautifully - he'd give her that. He liked the dark colors of her red dress, the way he could drink in the curves of her hips and chest, and how it gave him a clear view of her body.

Now, he wondered what you would have worn if you were on a date with him. Would you have put in this much effort and shown this much skin? Would you have laughed at all of his jokes to boost his damn ego, or knocked him down a peg? Would you have ordered something light so you could have sex afterward, or would you have eaten something hearty and called it a day?

He pretended to think for a while, all before he gently touched her hand, and his fingers caressed her soft skin. "Who am I?" He teased, his voice slightly deepened as he gave her a playful once-over. "I'm hurt. After all these months, you still don't know who I am?"

"Why don't you refresh my memory?" She tilted her head.

Your stalker sighed and he looked around briefly. This place was intimate, for high rollers only, and he could just imagine how much of his money was going to go down the drain. The tiny candle on the table, the white clean cloth, and the vase with a single rose was still too romantic for his taste. His thumb traced circles on her hand, and the other grabbed for his steak knife.

“I'm an up-and-coming artist,” He replied with a bit of a shrug.

“An up-and-coming artist, huh?” She echoed, her fingers now interlocked with his. “Do you come often?”

Lord, please have some mercy and shoot me. Do I come often? Wouldn’t you like to know, you slut. Is this the type of person you really want to spend your time with, y/n? Daniella is not you, and she could never be you. She parades herself around for anyone and everyone to ogle at—she is the epitome of what’s wrong with the dating scene. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No wonder she’s desperate enough to entertain me—of all people.

I know the type of people you like, Daniella, and it’s not me.

“You know what you’re doing when you ask me that.” he brought her hand up to his lips and he kissed it. “I can tell you can make a man come often.“

Daniella giggled and her chest puffed out. She leaned closer to him, and he can practically drown in her scent of vanilla and cake. “I have an art piece that I think you'll appreciate. It's back at my place… wanna see it?”

Fuhhhhhck no. Your stalker slipped the knife into his pocket.

Your stalker smirked and he leaned in closer as well. He could see the makeup on her face, the gloss on her lips, and he could see a glimpse of her ample breasts. “I don’t know… is it one of a kind?”

Underneath the table, her leg started to caress his, and her foot slowly found its way to his crotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, and he held onto her hand tighter. As much as he hated this, he would have been lying if he had said that the attention wasn’t nice. He felt the pressure around his groin tighten as she pressed her foot onto it, and she gently rubbed it up and down while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s an original piece…something that can’t be replicated. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Daniella said coyly, and she bit down on her plush lips.

She knew when to strike when the iron was hot. A taxi was called, and she made out with him in it. Her body was pressed up against his, and she felt his hand grip on her ass. His hand then slid up her thigh, his fingers ripped her black sheer stockings and two of them found their way to her entrance. He bit down on her bottom lip and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She's a fun girl. She knew exactly how to inflate a man's ego and pride. He heard her sweet, light moans, and her hips started to grind onto his hand. His thumb played with her clit, and they only pulled away when the cab arrived at her house. He grabbed her hand and tossed a couple of bills at the driver. He slammed the door shut, and before she could unlock the door to her house, he pressed her against his body.

"W-We're in public...!" Daniella's face was flushed and she tried to close her legs, but your stalker was quick to pull them back apart.

He narrowed his eyes and tugged down her panties. "So? Don't tell me you have morals all of a sudden." he snorted.

He wished that she would just shut up. She opened her mouth to rebuttal but he wrapped one hand around her throat to keep her still and quiet, and he shimmied off his pants just enough for his cock to be out. "I didn't come here for you to talk all the damn time. Shut it, before I put that mouth of yours to good use."

Your stalker lifted her up and made her wrap her legs around him. His dick then entered inside her, and he groaned at how wet and ready she felt. It's been awhile since he felt actual warmth, and her walls started to clench around him. His breath is ragged as he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he couldn't help but bite down onto her shoulder. Daniella cried out, and her body was tense as his teeth broke into her skin.

"God... you needed this, didn't you?" He purred as he licked up the puncture wound. Your stalker then looked down to watch his cock disappear into her. "You need someone to fuck your brains out." He sharply thrust into her again, and his hands dug into the plush of her ass to help with the momentum.

Your stalker dragged his tongue across her bleeding shoulder, then pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. With one hand still gripping her body, he used the other to shove his fingers down her throat, silencing her whimpers."You're the prettiest whore I have ever seen. Isn't that right, y/n?"

Your stalker truly believed he was being intimate with you. Daniella, who? All he knew was you. All he ever wanted was to feel you, to taste you, and to be able to hear you mewl around his cock. He wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, to paint your skin with butterfly kisses, and for him to finally come inside you again and again. It actually pissed him off to no end that he had to be stuck here with her.

When he felt himself getting closer to the edge, he unceremoniously pulled out of her, and his white stream of cum dripped down onto the ground. He sighed as his dick softened, and he gently helped her stand on her own legs again. His hand dipped underneath her body, his fingers playing with her wet folds, and he spread them apart to furiously rub at her clit. Daniella gripped onto his arm to keep him firmly there until she felt her leg shake.

Your stalker watched with a bit of fascination as what seemed like an endless amount of juices squirted out of her. He got onto his knees and helped her to sit onto his face. After he cleaned her all up, your stalker suddenly remembered something and his hand patted down his pockets.

"Hey... I think I'm missing my phone." He started his little lie. "Can I borrow yours? I forgot that I had an important call--"

"Bag." She just said and pointed to the one that was tossed to the side.

He muttered a "thanks" before he went over and rummaged through her purse. "What do you think about doing this again?" he kept an eye on her as his hand aimlessly tried to look for her phone. "I had fun tonight, and I'd like to see you one more time."

He could feel the various items in her bag. A packet of cigarettes, two lip products, house keys, a whole perfume bottle, but fuck where was her phone?

He watched as Daniella rolled down her scrunched up dress. The woman then raised her brow and she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure you said another woman's name."

"I didn't." He said rather quickly. "You drank a lot of wine--it was almost like you were trying to bankrupt me." He joked, and his hand firmly gripped onto what felt like a smooth case. He pulled it out of her bag and there it was. "What's your password?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?"

"I'm pretty sure your phone is the subject, unlock it pretty please?"

Daniella pulled back her hair and she stared at him expectantly.

"I said give me your password, not a blowjob." Your stalker frowned.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It's my face dumbass." she then snatched her phone back from him.

"You don't use your thumb? What kind of update is that?"

"God, you're so poor." He heard her mutter.

That was so unwarranted, and sort of hurt.

Though it made him feel a lot better when he finally decided to slit her throat. Now that she was distracted, he discreetly pulled out the steak knife from his pocket before he dropped her bag and roughly yanked her back to him. His hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams as he dragged the serrated blade across her neck. The knife sawed through flesh, muscle, and sinew, blood spurting and gushing with each desperate pulse of her heart. It took him a while to sever her head completely, his arm burning with exhaustion as he hacked away, the blade catching on bone and gristle, her life draining away in a torrent of crimson.

Your stalker wiped his bloodied hand on her dress, he grabbed the phone off the ground, and he groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked. He tried his best to work the damn thing, his finger poking at the messaging app multiple times before it decided to open. Daniella had a plentiful amount of unsaved numbers but they had weird emojis next to them. One number was from a different country and had the eggplant emoticon.

Then he found the only saved number: y/n.

You're apparently a good girl and shared your location with your best friend. How adorable, you even share every given moment with her too. You even talked about how you were thinking about going back to your serial cheater of an ex.

Your stalker gasped, his head reeling back in shock. You were about to go back to your ex? Your ex, of all people? You couldn't have, what—moved on like a normal person? You couldn't have gone out and fucked around with someone new? Someone like him? It's like you purposely make the wrong choices just to be saved. Before he could be your little personal super hero... his eyes slowly made its way back to the body on the ground, and then to the keys that were in her bag.

Have you ever heard of cuteness aggression? The rush of impulsive behavior that you get after seeing a cute and defenseless puppy? I get that when I see you. I think you're so adorable that it makes my heart burst. Your stalker stared up into your apartment, and the car windows were rolled down to air out the perfume he dumped into the body bag.

However, there was nothing cute about this ugly pig-like fuck that touched your waist. That man had no redeeming qualities, and boy, did I want him to start squealing in pain. I wanted to pinch his body until he had yellowish-brown bruises all over. I wanted to crush his skull with my bare hands and feel his pulse drop. I wanted to be able to drink the blood shower that would come from their body and bathe in it. I want them to realize that you’re off the market, and that you’re solely mine.

They’re not good for you, love. You have seen that time and time again, and they have disappointed you before without fail; so why do you welcome them with open arms? It hurts to see your legs over their shoulders, and to see a bit of your face contorted in pleasure and ecstasy. Is it the sex? Is it the way they give you a fleeting moment of what could have been if they weren’t constantly cheating on you?

That’s pathetic, and you know it. But it’s okay, I’m willing to look past this little transgression. It’s not completely unforgivable. They must’ve broken you down and made you vulnerable enough to pull your pants down. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.

Your stalker continued to stake out your house, patiently waiting for your ex to come down to the lobby. The moment he did, your stalker would be ready. He might not have been able to get your blood, but killing your ex and taking his was like killing two birds with one stone.

Allure: This is the first fic I wrote that actually has y/n in it! And it's pretty unedited, so if there is mistakes I will probs fix it later on. This dragged on for waaay longer than it needed and tbh, I am never writing a long fic like this again LMAO

[anifever]

omggg I love ur Lottie!reader hc’s! Could you do one where the reader acts like Tiana? A super independent, great cook and no-nonsense gal with good humor is someone I think the whole gang would rlly love

Gang w/ a Tiana!Reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The Outsiders x Fem!Reader

୨୧ : Curtis gang with a reader who’s like Tiana from ‘Princess and the Frog’

A/N : Why does my theme mess up when I do requests kms. Once again, sorry if these are a bit short <\3 I have so many other requests I’m working on so bare with me

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🐸 ˚₊‧⁺˖

Darry

୨ IMO, he’d be the best choice for someone with that personality to be paired with

୨ The gang is terrified of pissing either of you off

୨ My ongoing hc/scenario of him = throwing flour at each other whilst cooking together continues to hold up

୨ He thinks you’re the perfect mix of sweet with a bit of sour

୨ If you have a little restaurant, etc; he’s always gloating about it

୨ He’s honestly a little shy about it like one of his coworkers asks abt you during a lunch break and he’s just like “Well….🤭🤭🤭”

୨ You guys both share your parents recipes with each other

୨ He’s the one who’s always cooking for his brothers/the guys, so it’s helpful when he gets a bigger range of things to make

୨ Also helpful that you offer to cook with him or just do it yourself sometimes

୨ He gets pretty worried when he notices you overworking yourself (ironic.)

୨ You both try to help each other through it and take some burdens off one another’s shoulders

୨ You’re both super independent; power couple

Two-Bit

୨ You love to cook, he loves to eat

୨ You’re his saving grace

୨ You also match his sense of humor which makes you the full package in his eyes

୨ He can’t compliment you without you brushing him off and he hates it LMAO

୨ He just wants to butter you up but you’re so humble

୨ Then again, he gets all shy when you start sweet-talking him back

୨ You spoil him with food constantly

୨ “Baby, you’re an amazing cook ‘n all, but I’m gainin’ a bit of a belly-” then you just shut him up by stuffing his mouth with more food

୨ You don’t gaf about his weight you just like coddling your funny lil’ handsome guy

୨ Like I said, he cannot stop complimenting you, like it’s impossible for him

୨ He thinks you’re perfect and feels the need to constantly rub it in other people’s faces that they don’t have someone like you

୨ Like he bagged a woman who can cook, is funny, nice, gorgeous, and stays humble about all of it????

୨ It will forever be his greatest achievement

Steve

୨ You keep him in check

୨ He can be such a smartass sometimes but he learned not to mess around with you fast

୨ Just sits and watches you cook sometimes because he’s so mesmerized by it

୨ He debates on stealing ads for your restaurant he sees around town since he’s so proud of you but then he decides it’s probably bad to lower your promo

୨ He says “There’s my favorite chef 😋” with the dumbest grin on his face whenever he sees you after a while of being apart

୨ If anyone dares to say something bad about you or your food, etc- his ass is NOT having it

୨ His smart-ness comes in handy in cases like that

୨ Like I said, you can handle your own and he’s lowkey giggling and kicking his feet on the inside whenever he gets to witness it

୨ He’s like yes!!!! That’s my girl!!! 😣😣

୨ Borderline moans when he tastes something new of yours and you can’t tell if he’s playing it up or being serious

Dallas

୨ You walk him like a dog I’m crying

୨ You’re really kind most of the time, but he loves that you’re also able to handle yourself

୨ Like going to Buck’s together and some guy is being weird, he thinks he’ll have to step in but you handle it just fine on your own

୨ He wanted you to have his children after that.

୨ Anyways, you’re also really caring over him

୨ Not to mention super loyal which he’s not used to

୨ You always clean him up after fights (not without scolding him tho)

୨ Once again, if you own a place yourself or at least work somewhere, he’s always showing up out of the blue

୨ He reluctantly agrees to be on his best behavior when he visits

୨ That being said, when he hangs out with Pony and Johnny, he’s always bringing them there for food

୨ He tries to flirt with you whilst you’re on-job and you do not have any of it

Soda

୨ He’s always ready to be a taste-tester whenever you try a new recipe

୨ He’s just so supportive I’m sobbing I love him

୨ You pack him lil’ sweets for him to snack on during his shifts at the DX

୨ He watches you passionately talk about cooking/your job with hearts in his eyes

୨ Whenever girls come into the the DX to flirt with him, he takes the chance to promote your business/the place you work LMAOO

୨ He worries a bunch when you start working more than normal

୨ He tries to get you to take breaks but then you’re like “?? You do the same thing with your job” and he’s just like “Ah.. well, you got me there.”

୨ Realistically though, he gets where you’re coming from about “the only way to get what you want is through hard work” and relates to it

୨ That still doesn’t stop him from pouting when you seem more tired than usual when you take longer shifts, etc

୨ You start helping him and his brothers out financially once you start making more money

୨ He cries.

Johnny

୨ You try to help him with his confidence since you’ve got a lot of it yourself

୨ You make him feel secure

୨ You’re also a pretty big inspiration for him

୨ He doesn’t eat great considering his living conditions other than when he goes over to the Curtis’, so he’s basically getting full course meals when he’s with you

୨ You encourage him to get multiple helpings/take a few bites before the food’s done but then scold the other guys when they try to LMAO

୨ “Oh, so Johnny can eat it early but not us??”

୨ “What- was I supposed to let him STARVE?!?! 🙄”

୨ You care about him so much and always make sure he’s away from his parents as much as possible

୨ You’re aware he can also handle himself the same way you can, but you’re still protective over him nonetheless

୨ You have confronted his mom before and desperately tried to keep your usual down-to-earth and kind demeanor, but it didn’t work. At all.

୨ You and Two-Bit are one in the same when it comes to that woman

Pony

୨ He is SCARFING your food down

୨ I’m dead it’ll be gone so fast, he can’t help it

୨ Loves that you’re so headstrong since he’s the same way

୨ Anyways, imagine he brings home a small box filled with something you made him from school & Steve���s like “Where’d you get that from?? 🤨” and he gets all smug about it

୨ He refuses to let him have even the smallest bite

୨ You get along really easy with everyone and he loves that about you

୨ You’re always sticking up for him if he’s getting made fun of at school, on the street, etc

୨ It makes his lil’ heart hammer in his chest

୨ He visits you during your waitressing shifts

୨ Like he studies and does homework up at the counter while you work and he takes glances up at you every now and then AHHHHH

୨ He also probably does yours for you depending on how busy you are

୨ You repay him with food on the house though 😊

୨ Darry’s always asking him where he’s been and he’s like “… the diner in town…🧍” and he’s still suspicious but he’s just glad he’s not getting into trouble

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

__________________

I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me. 

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now. 

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong? 

My head hurts from all the questions. 

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.” 

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks. 

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone. 

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes. 

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust. 

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants? 

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in. 

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere. 

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty. 

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting. 

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way. 

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind. 

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters! 

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place? 

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them. 

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed. 

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it. 

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case. 

“What happened?” I ask softly. 

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?” 

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one. 

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,” Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest. 

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face. 

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse. 

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this? 

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it. 

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him. 

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people. 

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser. 

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me. 

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me,  a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate. 

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men. 

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came. 

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

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

Taglist:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn , @zoeisdreaming6

As always, let me know if you want to be added to the list :) Thx to everyone who has liked, commented or reblogged you're all angels <3

[honey-milk126]

Dating the MHA characters. (Pt.2)

Includes:Koji Koda,Mina Ashido,Tsuyu Asui, Ochaco Uraraka, Momo Yaoyorozu, Kyoka Jiro, Neito Monoma, Shota Aizawa, All Might.

A/n: sorry if I get the ages wrong, I googled them, I don't own the gifs, they do not belong to me at all!

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Koji Koda (16)

1. Loves to look at animals with you.

2. Buys you flowers every Friday.

3. Is still super shy with you.

4. Will talk with you, but not so often. (Like twice a day)

5. Amazing at keeping secrets.

6. Will get rid of bugs for you. (Even though he hates them)

7. Teaches you sign language. (If you don't know it.)

8. Loves to cuddle.

9. Tries to be protective of you. (Especially when mineta is around)

10. Gets you a ton of stuffed animals.

11. Loves to get you snacks.

12. Loves to cook for you.

13. Loves to brush your hair.

14. Loves to put flowers in your hair. (& make you flower crowns)

15. Loves Romance movies.

16. Nicknames for you: baby, puppy, my love, sweets, sweetheart.

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Mina Ashido (15)

1. Loves carnival dates

2. Loves to roller skate with you.

3. Loves to dance with you.

4. Loves to show you off.

5. Loves walks around the park.

6. You have bakugo to protect you from mineta.

7. Loves to cuddle you, while watching movies.

8. Loves to star gaze.

9. Likes to train with you.

10. Loves to try new foods.

11. Loves roller coasters. (But won't force you to go on them, if you don't like them)

12. Loves ice cream dates.

13. Loves to prank people. (Helps you prank mineta)

14. Loves to do your hair and nails.

15. Nicknames for you: babe, baby, pumpkin, my shooting star, my love, sweetie.

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Tsuyu Asui (15)

1. Loves to swim.

2. Will teach you how to swim, if you don't know how to.

3. Loves to teach you about her quirk. (Answers your questions happily)

4. Loves to cuddle.

5. Loves to dance in the rain.

6. Gets you frog plushies.

7. Hopes you like frogs.

8. Will take care of you if you get sick.

9. Loves to watch random movies.

10. Will people watch with you. (You judge them)

11. Has yelled a mineta for bugging you.

12. Loves to sleep on your chest.

13. Loves tik tok complications on YouTube.

14. Loves to walk in the rain.

15. Nicknames for you: babe, sweetie, my love, sweet heart, love, dear, baby.

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Ochaco Uraraka (15)

1. Gets embarrassed easily. (So no pda)

2. Loves movies.

3. Loves to walk around town

4. Loves to joke around.

5. Tries to spoil you, but loves it when you get her stuff. (Kinda)

6. Loves to look at animals with you

7. She lives to pick you flowers.

8. Hopes you like her parents.

9. Tries to live comfortably

10. Will fight for your safety

11. Has made mineta float to space for a day.

12. Hates when villains attack on date nights.

13. Loves to cuddle.

14. Will sleep on your chest.

15. Nicknames for you: My baby, love, dear, my star, my flame.

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Momo Yaoyorozu (15)

1. Loves to spoil you.

2. Gets you anything you look at.

3. Loves picnic dates.

4. Loves to cuddle

5. Loves to look at animals

6. Loves romance movies.

7. Loves to read with you.

8. Will help you study.

9. Loves to look at Christmas lights with you.

10. Loves to cook for you.

11. Loves when you do her hair.

12. Loves to get you flowers.

13. Loves to gossip and have tea with you.

14. Loves to go to cafe's with you.

15. Nicknames for you: babe, my flower, baby, my love, sweetie.

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Kyoka Jiro (15)

1. Loves to play you music

2. Loves to teach you how to play.

3. Will write you songs.

4. Loves to steal your clothes

5. Loves to wear your hoodies

6. Loves to sleep on your chest.

7. Loves to star gaze with you.

8. Loves to go to concerts with you.

9. Likes to watch scary movies with you

10. Loves to go on walks with you

11. Likes to write you notes

12. Loves to pick flowers.

13. Likes to make flower crowns.

14. Loves to dance with you

15. Nicknames for you: babe, my rock star, pumpkin, sweetie, love.

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Neito Monoma (16)

1. Gives you his clothes to wear.

2. You guys have inside jokes.

3. Has threatened class 1-A. (For you)

4. Has paid someone to send mineta away. (For your safety)

5. Loves to cuddle with you.

6. Loves when you sleep on his chest

7. Loves to mess with your hair.

8. Hopes you like his family.

9. Loves your family.

10. Loves to get you flowers.

11. Loves to make you notes.

12. Writes you love notes.

13. Loves to go o walks with you.

14. Has a ton of pictures of you.

15. Loves to star gaze with you.

16. Nicknames for you: babe, my love, sweet heart, dear, my queen.

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Shota Aizawa ( Age : 31, head cannons : 15)

1. Loves to sleep with you.

2. Loves when you make him lunch.

3. Loves to look at cats with you.

4. Loves when you mess with his hair.

5. Loves to fall asleep to movies.

6. Loves to cuddle.

7. Loves when you sleep on his chest.

8. Loves to get you flowers.

9. Tries to keep you safe. (No late night walks)

10. Loves when you wash his hair.

11. Gets you a kitten.

12. Loves to feed the stray kittens with you.

13. Loves to cook for you.

14. Loves to watch movies with you.

15. Nicknames for you: baby, kitty, my love, sweetie, my kitten.

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

All Might ( Age: 58, head cannons : 14)

1. Loves when you cook for him.

2. Loves to cuddle.

3. Loves to watch movies with you.

4. Hates when he has to leave for work.

5. Tries to hire you a bodyguard.

6. Loves when you make him lunch.

7. Loves to go on walks with you.

8. Hates the paparazzi, especially when he's with you.

9. Tries to keep you safe.

10. Loves to have a movie night.

11. Loves when you wear his clothes.

12. Loves to get you new things. (He's spoiling you)

13. Keeps you away from the news.

14. Nicknames for you: babe, my love, dear, sweetie, sweet heart.

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

End, let me know if I missed someone you wanna get head cannons for!

There will be a pt. 3 for the villians, and anyone else I missed.

I hope you enjoyed this!

(I kinda ran out of ideas for them sorry)

[tinytalkingtina]

Wiggly 🧠🪱 Wednesday

@devondespresso Tagged me in this forever ago and I finally had one wiggle its way into my brain!

This week been fiddling with the idea of a true role reversal Steddie, with Eddie as the popular jock and Steve as the metalhead (as opposed to a punk). This got a little away from me, haha. No idea for a story or how other characters might fit in, but if anyone wants to take the concept and run with it feel free!

Eddie

Eddie is still poor, and still lives with his uncle (let's pretend he had to repeat a grade due to the chaos of moving in with Wayne). But he's Hawkin's star track runner/lightweight wrestler, channeling his energy into sports and competition. His grades are probably still not great, but since he's winning awards at meets, teachers let a lot more slide, and he skates by most of his classes with low C's. If he's loud and excited, then well, that's just what jocks do, right?

Wayne works nights, so Eddie is usually left to his own devices. Sure, the trailer can't hold that many people (and maybe Eddie has a bit of a chip on his shoulder that he lives in the trailer park), but this is the Midwest, and Eddie is creative. He hosts big bonfire ragers out in the woods, deep enough that the cops can't easily break them up.

Eddie's "Munson Doctrine" is from the perspective of being a jock. Mixed with his insecurities, it becomes about staying on top, no matter what. That means dating around, taking girls out most Fridays. He likes girls and has plenty of fun. And if he occasionally slips in a fantasy or two about drug dealer Steve Harrington pinning him against a wall with that knife of his, no one needs to know.

Steve

Then we have Steve. Steve's had piano lessons since he was 5. A framed picture of him in his bow tie and tiny suit at his first recital sits on his mom's desk. He's good at sports and does Little League as a kid, but they don't hold his interest, not the way music does. When he hits middle school, him and his dad have a huge fight over him refusing to try out for any sports. The cracks were already there, because his parents are louder than they think when they argue. To drown them out, he turns on the radio, spinning the dials. By chance, he finds a Black Sabbath song. Something in it speaks to him, gives an outlet to the frustration and anger he's feeling.

Steve picks up drums to play in band at school, but he also borrows books from the library and teaches himself guitar after begging his mom for one for his 13th birthday. He makes a few friends, they start a band. As he enters high school his parents fight more. His grades, never great to begin with, slip further, so no more allowance for Steve. The first time he tries to steals a tape, he's caught almost immediately. But he gets better at it over time. Can't steal tattoos though, and Steve's not a great artist. So maybe he starts dealing. His parents work late most nights, so they don't need to know about his...extracurricular hobbies.

Even if he's not at the top of the high school food chain, Steve's still good at reading people and social situations. I don't think he would have the desire to DM AD&D, but I think Steve makes a good player, always solid at strategizing. In the hallways, he sees and overhears things, enough that he's able to keep the heat off him and his friends with some clever insinuation, and the threat to cut off anyone who tries something.

He sees the way that loudmouth jock Eddie Munson's eyes flick down to his lips when he buys weed off him at parties too, the guy isn't nearly as subtle as he thinks he is. Steve would love to take him down a couple pegs, if Eddie'd let him.

Thanks to @little-annie for some ideas on fleshing metalhead!Steve out more :D

Edit: check out the role reversal steddie tag for snippets of what Annie and I are writing now :)

No pressure tags to some folks (and if anyone wants to be tagged in the future let me know!): @augustjustice @hbyrde36 @puppy-steve @soaringornithopter

@hairstevington @eyesofshinigami

[sinsirellaxx]

The other Sister (1k Special)

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

(1k Special)

Warning: infidelity (?), jealousy, Daemon 😎, not proofread 🥲

A/N: Aaaand I'm back (kinda) – was I even gone? 👀 Sorry it took me so long – I've been busy with work and my thesis but I've missed writing and sharing stories on here! This will definitely have a part 2 (maybe even 3 who knows)! Enjoy reading and let me know what you think!

PS: Do you know which novel/movie this was inspired by?

Gripping onto the marble of your washbasin you bit your lip in despair, angry tears dripping into the water as you watched the droplets cause small ripples in the water you had used to wash your face. Your hold on the cold surface hardened – your fingers turning white until your wet skin slipped on the smooth surface and you lost your grip completely. And with it your resolve not to cry. Ugly sobs forced their way out of your trembling lips as you let your head fall forward, your forehead almost touching the water. You let yourself cry and scream – what an ugly sight you must have been.

Present:

You smiled brightly as your eyes met your older sister’s – both of you clad in beautiful dresses. She grinned at you cheekily before her hand reached out to help you out of the carriage – she had always been there to help you even if there had been other people to assist you – she’d rather be the one to help you. Slinging your arm around hers you both walk towards your parents before you are greeted by the Lord Hand of the King. As the older man leads your family into the Red Keep and through the endless halls of the imposing building you lost yourself in the grandeur of the architecture. Your eyes tried to take in as much as possible as you blindly followed – trusting your sister to lead you to your destination. After what felt like hours you walked into a big Hall before everyone came to a halt – your sister’s lack of movement pulling you into a standstill as well. Subtly tugging on your arm your sister brought you back to the present as your eyes took in the people around you. You almost gasped – barely managing to gather yourself – before you curtsied along with your sister. Lifting your head you felt your heartbeat quicken when your eyes briefly met the prince’s – he was intimidatingly handsome, his gaze intense. But unfortunately, the magical moment didn’t last long as his eyes immediately settled on your older sister. You felt your heart clench as you felt your sister shift in excitement her soft giggle resonating in your ear. Oh no. The realization of why you had come all the way to Kings Landing dawned on you – your sister and the prince were to be betrothed. You stood no chance.

The remainder of the day passed by in a blur – the beautiful castle suddenly seemed so dull as you watched your sister talk to prince Daemon. You wanted to leave – to push your chair back and waltz out of the huge hall before disappearing forever. But where to? And even if you knew where to – you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. So, instead of leaving you silently sat in your chair as you pushed the food on your plate around. Your appetite long gone. A sudden hand on your right arm made you jump in your seat. Whipping your head around you were face to face with the cheeky smile of princess Rhaenyra. You felt your face heat up at the proximity.

“You want to leave this suffocating hall?” She raised her brow suggestively, the corner of her lips still pulled into a cheeky smile. You stared at the princess at a loss for words – she seemed nice enough and was around your age. Stealing one last glance at the prince and your sister you sighed in defeat before nodding meekly. And that was everything it took for Rhaenyra to stand up and excuse the both of you from the evening – there was a lot she wanted to show you she said. King Viserys chuckled at his daughter before nodding approvingly and just as you were about to stand up the princess pulled you out of your chair and out of the hall.

That is how you came to befriend the beautiful Targaryen princess. That same night you snuck back to your room with the help of Rhaenyra, giggling softly as you wished her a good night before closing the door softly.

“Must have been a fun night, I’m assuming.” Your sister’s voice came from behind you. You shrieked as you turned around with big eyes. She was sitting in her bed, watching you with a wide smile. Pushing yourself off the door you walked towards your own bed, letting yourself fall into the soft bedding with a sigh. “The princess seems very nice.” Is all you said – is all you could say before your sister started talking about her encounter with the prince dreamily. You pretended to listen quietly as you stood up from the bed to get ready for the night Occasionally nodding whenever you felt like your sister expected a reaction from you. You had never been necessarily jealous – you never had reason to. Your parents loved your sister and you unconditionally and never gave anyone any reason to feel less. You admired your sister – you always have. She was beautiful, kind, elegant and so protective of you. Why should you have been jealous of her? That night was the first time you noticed the difference between your sister and you. That night you looked at your sister with different eyes as she laughed along the prince you had heard so many stories about – about the prince you had dreamed of marrying almost every night. That night marked the night you’d distance yourself bit by bit from your innocent sister.

Days passed before the betrothal was announced publicly – followed by the news of the feast to celebrate the news. You sat beside the princess while you watched the maids run around the castle. “Are you listening? Hey!” Rhaenyra poked you impatiently with a frown on your face. You just smiled sheepishly at her before muttering a soft apology.

“It does not matter … it seems my dear friend is lost in her thoughts. Again.” She looked at you pointedly, a smile breaking out on her face. “You seem distracted. Is everything alright?” Her brows furrowed in worry as she leaned closer to you, the bright smile on her face almost gone. You sighed. You couldn’t possibly tell her that you were jealous of your sister. So instead, you just shrugged your shoulder.

“Apparently my friend is also mute now.”

You gasped in mock offence as you stared at her before the both of you broke out into laughter. After a while you broke your silence. “I don’t know … maybe I’m just homesick.” You knew that your excuse was lame, and you also knew that Rhaenyra wasn’t convinced – she was too smart for that. But thankfully she just nodded before clasping her hands together. “You know what? I know what will cheer you up!”

 ***

“When you said that you knew something that would cheer me up – this is definitely not what I was expecting!” You shrieked as you took a few steps back – away from the huge and potentially dangerous dragon.

Rhaenyra only rolled her eyes, “Come on … stop whining!” she laughed as she petted Syrax who eyed you curiously. “Syrax is a darling you need not be scared of her!” She turned around with a smirk, tilting her head in expectation. “Come on.” She sung as she reached one of her hands out, wiggling her fingers impatiently.

Groaning silently, you forced your way to step towards her – you couldn’t win against her. She had a dragon after all. When you were close enough, she grabbed onto your arm and pulled you closer. And that is how you befriended a dragon.

***

The days passed until they turned into weeks. You always felt your sister’ eyes on you, turning sad whenever you avoided her once again. She missed you terribly – you were sure of that – yet you could not find it in you to feel bad for her. Your heart still ached, and you were blinded by your jealousy. The morning of their wedding you stared at the ceiling with burning eyes – sleep did not find you that night. But it didn’t matter. Soon you’d be going back home and leave this place and your heartbreak behind. The only person you’d miss was your new best friend. You got ready for the wedding with the help of the maids. You were dressed in a beautiful deep blue gown and your hair was put into a half updo. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying. What was it that your sister had that you did not? Willing those thoughts away you stood up from the stool and smoothed out your dress before a knock brought you out of your daydream. Your sister had requested to speak with you. Your shoulders tensed as you followed the maid to your sister’s temporary chambers. As you entered the room you were overwhelmed by the smell of expensive oils and the many maids and servants running around the room. And there, in front of the mirror, stood your sister in her wedding gown. Your breath hitched. She looked absolutely beautiful. You clenched your jaw as the traitorous voices in your head told you that it could have been you in that dress.

“Everyone, please leave. I wish to speak with my sister alone.” Your sister’s soft voice caught your attention as your eyes found hers. You walked deeper into the room as the maids rushed out until you stopped a few steps away from her. After the door fell shut your sister’s smile turned sad. She closed the distance between you and took hold of your hands as she stared into your eyes. It took everything in you not to flinch at the contact. The last time you had been close to your sister had been a while. A small part of you had missed her closeness.

“I wanted to talk to you before it is too late – you know how chaotic celebrations can get.” She laughed softly. “I feel like we haven’t talked in a while … I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice trembled as her eye turned wet. The sight of your sister’s teary eyes tugged at your heart, yet the bitterness simmered underneath, urging you to keep your guard up. You looked away briefly, gathering yourself, then finally met her gaze, struggling to keep your tone steady.

“You missed me?” you replied, trying to mask the hurt. “It seems like you’ve had plenty of company lately.” Your words came out softer than you intended, betraying the sting of jealousy you’d tried to hide.

Her face fell, a look of confusion and hurt flashing across her features. She squeezed your hands tighter, her brows drawing together as she searched your face.

“Of course I missed you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re my sister, my closest friend. Don’t… don’t you feel the same? A-Are you not happy for me?”

Your sister's words hung in the air, but you forced a soft, polite smile, one that did not reach your eyes. You tucked away the hurt that twisted in your chest, burying it deeper where she couldn’t see. If she wanted to believe nothing had changed between you, then so be it. You would let her believe that.

"Of course I’ve missed you," you replied, your voice light and smooth, as if this moment meant little. "I'm happy for you. You've found a place here… with him. That’s what truly matters."

Her face softened in relief, as if she’d been bracing for an outburst. Instead, she seemed comforted by your calm. She squeezed your hands once more, her smile returning, brighter and more hopeful this time.

"I’m so glad to hear you say that," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "It means the world to me, truly. I’ve felt so lost here without you close to me." She paused, reaching to brush an imaginary wrinkle from the sleeve of your dress, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Promise me you'll write to me once you're back home?”

You nodded, your smile still perfectly poised. “Of course, I’ll write,” you said, though the thought of pouring your heart onto parchment felt hollow and impossible.

Her face softened, a flicker of sadness beneath her joy. “I know things won’t be the same,” she continued, her voice more wistful now, as if speaking to a memory instead of the person standing before her. “But I do hope we’ll be close again someday, like we used to be.”

You grit your teeth as you simply inclined your head, brushing your hands free of hers under the pretense of smoothing your gown. “Enjoy your day, sister. You deserve it,” you murmured, forcing your voice to remain even before turning gracefully, giving her one last smile as you walked out of the room, feeling her gaze linger on you until the door closed softly behind you.

The sound of laughter and clinking goblets filled the air as you wandered through the grand halls, desperately needing a reprieve from the crowd and festivities. The wedding was in full swing, with guests reveling in the union of your sister and Prince Daemon, their smiles radiant as they danced together, utterly oblivious to your absence.

Your steps slowed as you neared a small alcove off the main hall, hidden by flickering torches casting warm shadows against the stone. Voices carried from around the corner, low and animated. It was Daemon, unmistakable in both his voice and the easy arrogance in his tone, surrounded by a few lords who seemed eager to hear every word.

“Congratulations prince Daemon! Your bride is stunning,” one of the lords said, chuckling, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. “But I must ask, Prince Daemon — what of her younger sister? Was she not to your liking?”

You froze in place, heart pounding as their conversation continued. You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to stay hidden, as you tried to listen to the rest of the conversation.

Daemon let out a low laugh, tinged with amusement. “She’s … not my type, let’s say,” he replied, his voice as smooth as silk but laced with something that stung. “Too young, too innocent.” He paused, his tone growing more dismissive. “Naive, even.”

One of the lords let out a knowing chuckle, leaning closer to the prince. “Perhaps she’ll mature into a beauty like her sister. But she does have her charms, does she not?”

Daemon gave a small shrug, as if brushing off the suggestion entirely. “Perhaps, though she lacks her sister’s allure. She’s … well, sweet, I suppose, but childlike.” He took a sip from his goblet, a hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “I much prefer my wife’s look — fair, almost Targaryen in appearance. She looks the part, wouldn’t you agree?”

A ripple of laughter passed among the men, and Daemon’s voice dropped, though you still caught his next words.

“Besides,” he added, “the younger one would’ve withered under the scrutiny of court. I need someone with a bit more … resilience.”

His words cut through you – your chest felt tight as your breathing grew shallow. All the admiration, all the dreams you’d once dared to entertain about him evaporated in an instant, replaced by a raw bitterness. Not only did you not stand a chance with him but you were humiliated in front of the other lords – of potential suitors!

You didn’t wait to hear more. Gathering your skirts, you slipped away from the alcove, careful not to make a sound. Once out of earshot, you allowed yourself a shaky breath, steadying yourself against the wall. You wanted to hide in your bed and cry until you could no more – but instead you gathered yourself. You told yourself you’d leave this place soon enough, return to the quiet comfort of home, far from Daemon’s cruel words and your sister’s perfect smile. And this time, you’d leave without a second glance, carrying only the lessons this place had burned into your heart. You wouldn’t forget this feeling — it would harden you, make you stronger. No longer would you be the naïve, starry-eyed girl you had once been.

Straightening, you forced yourself to lift your chin, feeling a strange sort of clarity settle over you. You took one last steadying breath and then turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the hall with your dignity intact, vowing that you’d never again let your heart be so easily wounded.

Years passed, each one carrying you further from the girl you had once been in King’s Landing. The life you led now was one of careful cultivation and quiet growth. After leaving the capital, you’d poured yourself into study, becoming well-versed in courtly politics, the arts, and the languages that befitted a noble lady. You learned to sharpen your wit, hold your ground in conversation, and wield grace like a shield. The memory of Daemon’s careless dismissal haunted you at times, but it no longer stung like it once had. Instead, it had steeled you, hardened your resolve to never again let anyone consider you naïve or inconsequential.

Although you corresponded with your sister, your letters remained polite and carefully worded, a dutiful obligation rather than an openhearted exchange. You knew she had her new life and that the bond you’d once shared was forever altered. In contrast, your friendship with Princess Rhaenyra blossomed over the years; her letters often brought genuine laughter, her words playful and filled with affection. She confided in you about court gossip, the mounting pressures she faced as heir, and her own private struggles. In Rhaenyra, you found not only a true friend but an ally who valued you for who you had become.

One day, while going over correspondence in your family’s study, you received a letter sealed with the familiar crest of House Targaryen. It was brief, but the news within jolted you.

Your sister had given birth.

A girl. Healthy, strong, and full of life. But there was no joy in Daemon’s heart for a daughter, it seemed. According to the letter, he had expected a son, an heir he could shape and command, and his disappointment was already palpable. And more troubling still, your sister had endured a brutal, drawn-out birth, leaving her weakened and in dire need of support.

The words gnawed at you. A part of you still held the bitterness of old wounds, but another part—the part that remembered her as the sister who had once helped you out of the carriage and whispered childhood secrets in your ear—felt a pang of sympathy. She was alone, vulnerable, and perhaps needed you now more than she ever had.

Rhaenyra arrived at your family’s estate that afternoon, and the two of you took a long walk through the gardens. The letter remained clutched in your hand, your thoughts a tangled mix of reluctance and lingering affection.

“Your sister’s birth was difficult,” Rhaenyra said, glancing at you with a mix of concern and knowing. “My uncle is disappointed, then?” There was a hint of scorn in her tone. “He expects a male heir, as if that child’s worth is tied to his own ambitions.”

“Yes,” you said softly. “And my sister... She had a difficult birth and is left weakened. I suppose she needs support, though…” You hesitated, trying to put your own conflicted feelings into words.

Rhaenyra turned to you, her gaze steady. “She’s your sister. I don’t know what you’ll find when you see her again, but I do know you’ve grown far beyond whatever you left behind in King’s Landing.”

You looked away, gathering your thoughts. Rhaenyra had always known you best, and she understood what it took for you to move past your pain. “It’s hard,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not the same person I was back then. I don’t think I can just go and pretend nothing’s changed.”

Rhaenyra took your hand in hers, her expression gentle yet resolute. “Then don’t,” she said simply. “Go as you are now. You’re no longer the innocent girl who idolized him.” She smirked slightly. “And whatever my uncle sees when you walk through those halls, he’s not the one who defines you. You’ve done that yourself.”

The words settled over you, and a sense of clarity began to form. Rhaenyra was right—you weren’t returning to King’s Landing as the girl Daemon had once so easily dismissed, or the sister who’d been hurt and left behind. You were a woman with your own strength, dignity, and purpose. And perhaps, seeing your sister now would allow you to finally let go of the past, to redefine what your family—and even Daemon—meant to you.

Rhaenyra took your hand with a determined glint in her eye. “Come,” she said, a smile spreading across her lips, “we’ll go together. Besides, I know someone who would love to make this journey with us.” She tilted her head in the direction of where Syrax rested, her scales glinting like molten gold in the sunlight.

Your heart quickened. It wasn’t often that you flew with Rhaenyra, but today it felt right, a fierce and bold return to King’s Landing.

Moments later, you stood before Syrax, her amber eyes regarding you with curiosity. Rhaenyra mounted first, turning to extend a hand toward you. With a steadying breath, you took it, climbing up behind her. The familiar warmth and solidity of the dragon beneath you sent a thrill through your veins.

As Syrax took to the skies, the world below melted into a blur, the wind whipping past your face, filling you with a heady mix of freedom and anticipation. The Red Keep loomed on the horizon, and though the memories it held were still etched in your heart, you were ready to return.

The dragon soared over the city, its powerful wings casting shadows over the spires and rooftops of King’s Landing. You felt your resolve strengthen with every beat of Syrax’s wings. This time, you would face your past with an unyielding heart, ready to carve out your own place within the castle walls, no longer bound by the innocence you had left behind.

And with Rhaenyra by your side, you knew that whatever awaited you in the Red Keep, you would face it with the strength and grace that had become yours alone.

Your sister’s bedchamber was filled with a quiet sense of tension and weariness. The curtains were drawn, keeping out the bright midday sun, and the room was cast in a soft, dim light. She lay in the center of the grand bed, looking pale and fragile against the rich, embroidered pillows. Her golden hair, though still lovely, was limp and faintly tangled, her once-vibrant complexion dulled from the strain of childbirth. The sight of her lying there, so vulnerable, stirred a mixture of sympathy and something more complicated within you.

“Sister,” she greeted you softly, managing a weak but warm smile. She looked at you with a gaze that seemed to reach across the distance the years had created between you. “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded, stepping forward to take her hand in yours, noticing the thinness of her fingers. “Of course,” you replied gently, the words feeling almost too light for the weight of your shared history.

“I wish I could greet you properly,” she murmured, glancing down as if ashamed. “It feels like all my strength has left me.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” you said quietly. “You don’t have to do anything right now but rest and recover.”

She nodded, giving you a grateful look, though her expression faltered as her eyes clouded with some unspoken thought. “It was a girl,” she said, voice faintly trembling. “Not the heir Daemon had wanted.”

You felt a pang of anger on her behalf. She had risked her life to bring this child into the world, and yet the news was marred by Daemon’s disappointment. “She’s still your child, and she’ll have your strength,” you said, squeezing her hand gently. “That’s worth far more than any title.”

A sad, tired smile tugged at her lips, and her eyes softened as she looked at you. “Look at you … you have grown into a beautiful lady. You seem so much stronger now,” she whispered, her voice full of admiration. “I missed you all these years. I know I have no right to ask it, but… will you stay? At least until I’m well enough to manage on my own?”

There was a deep vulnerability in her gaze that cut through the old resentment, a reminder that she, too, had faced her own battles. You nodded, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze. “I’ll stay,” you promised. “Whatever you need.”

Before she could respond, the door opened behind you. Turning, you saw Daemon entering the room, his face unreadable as he took in the sight of you beside your sister’s bed.

“Uncle,” you said, nodding in acknowledgment, your voice cool but civil.

As Daemon’s gaze traveled over you, you could feel the intensity of his attention, lingering on every detail. His eyes traced the graceful curve of your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat where your pulse beat steadily, betraying none of the mixed emotions churning within. His look dipped lower, pausing at the delicate lines of your collarbones framed elegantly by the neckline of your gown. You felt the weight of his gaze settle there, as though he was savoring each small change in you since he’d last seen you.

A subtle heat spread over your skin as his eyes lingered, taking in the soft contours of your waist, the quiet strength in the way you carried yourself, the sense of calm restraint woven into every movement. The longer he looked, the more evident it became that he noticed every detail—the faint glow in your cheeks, the natural elegance of your posture, the way the tailored gown accentuated the gentle curve of your figure, refined and matured since your last encounter.

As Daemon’s gaze traveled over you, you could feel the intensity of his attention, lingering on every detail. His eyes traced the graceful curve of your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat where your pulse beat steadily, betraying none of the mixed emotions churning within. His look dipped lower, pausing at the delicate lines of your collarbones framed elegantly by the neckline of your gown. You felt the weight of his gaze settle there, as though he was savoring each small change in you since he’d last seen you.

“Back from the edges of the realm, I see,” he said, his voice smooth and carrying a faint undercurrent of intrigue. His eyes traveled from the gentle slope of your shoulders to the way you now held yourself with quiet confidence, an air of poise you’d cultivated through months of growth and careful self-possession. “It seems time away has�� agreed with you.”

A subtle heat spread over your skin as his eyes lingered, taking in the soft contours of your waist, the quiet strength in the way you carried yourself, the sense of calm restraint woven into every movement. The longer he looked, the more evident it became that he noticed every detail—the faint glow in your cheeks, the natural elegance of your posture, the way the tailored gown accentuated the gentle curve of your figure, refined and matured since your last encounter.

“Thank you, my lord,” you replied, inclining your head with the perfect touch of reserve, though a part of you reveled in the way his gaze lingered.

He nodded, though he didn’t pull his gaze away as quickly as propriety might demand. His eyes trailed over the gentle curve of your lips, lingering just long enough to stir a deep thrill within you. The smoldering intensity in his gaze felt as if he were seeing you fully for the first time, each subtle transformation, each newfound layer.

You took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of Daemon’s gaze still resting on you, hot and lingering. In a moment of collected grace, you inclined your head once more, summoning a polite smile to veil the turbulence beneath your calm exterior.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” you said, your voice soft yet composed. “It’s been a long journey, and I should take some rest.” You allowed your gaze to drift past him, finding your sister still reclined in her bed, watching the exchange with an expression of relief mixed with gratitude.

You moved to her bedside, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her hand. “Rest well, sister,” you whispered, the tenderness in your tone genuine. She offered you a faint smile in return, her fingers squeezing yours lightly as she murmured her thanks. Without sparing Daemon another glance you turned around and exited the room.

As you left, you could feel his gaze following you, searing into your back as though it had the power to reach through layers of fabric and the composed mask you wore. Only once the door closed behind you did you allow yourself to exhale, heart racing from the intensity of that encounter.

The days that followed were filled with a quiet kind of purpose. You spent part of each day in your sister’s chambers, helping her recover as she regained her strength little by little. You would sit beside her, quietly assisting her with whatever small comforts she needed. She seemed grateful for your presence, her hand often reaching for yours as though seeking comfort from some unspoken wound.

Outside of these private moments, you found yourself drawn into the rhythm of court life, engaging with nobles, attendants, and visiting dignitaries. You navigated these interactions with a newfound confidence, a quiet charm that seemed to intrigue those around you. But no matter where you went or with whom you spoke, you felt the familiar weight of Daemon’s gaze from across the hall, a constant, burning presence that never seemed to waver.

On occasion, you would glance his way, only to find him studying you with that same intense, piercing stare. There was no mistaking his fascination —each time your eyes met, it felt as if he was peeling away the layers of distance and propriety, searching for the woman he now saw in you.

It was late one evening, after you’d bid your sister goodnight and retired to your chambers, that you felt a presence outside your door. The faint whisper of footsteps reached you, and before you could prepare yourself, the door burst open and Daemon stepped inside, quickly closing it behind him.

“What brings you here at this hour, my lord?” You tried to keep your voice steady, though your heart pounded with a mixture of surprise and anxious anticipation. His gaze was focused, piercing – it was nearly impossible to keep your calm.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, but his eyes never lost their focus, sharp and unapologetic. “I’ve been watching you,” he said, his voice low, edged with a dangerous hint of intrigue. He took a step closer, and you instinctively took a small step back, your fingers brushing the back of the chair beside you. His gaze roamed over you with a familiarity that was unsettling, a shadow of possessiveness in the way he looked at you. “Each day, you reveal another part of yourself. Something I hadn’t noticed before.”

For a heartbeat, you hesitated, glancing down in an effort to steady yourself. “My lord, I am a maiden, and it isn’t appropriate for you to be here,” you said, lifting your chin with a blend of bravery and caution. “If anyone were to see…”

Daemon’s eyes glinted with a hint of amusement at your words. “You shouldn’t worry about that – no one will see,” he replied, his tone smooth and easy, as though the matter of propriety were trivial. He moved closer, his presence enveloping the space between you. “Besides, I have no interest in the eyes of others. My interest lies solely with you.”

You steadied yourself, raising an eyebrow in quiet defiance, though your pulse betrayed the thrill rippling beneath your calm exterior. “Surely, with all your responsibilities, there are more pressing matters to occupy your attention,” you replied, challenging him – annoyed by his audacity. You hoped to steer the conversation toward some safer ground.

A spark of intrigue lit his gaze. “Perhaps,” he said, his tone growing softer, though he continued to close the distance between you, the intensity in his eyes darkening. “But none nearly as … captivating.”

The air between you grew taut, as if the space itself held a secret between the two of you, each searching for something in the other. You could feel his desire to break down the carefully constructed distance you had built in your time apart. He looked at you with such singular focus that it was hard not to be drawn in by it, hard not to feel yourself unraveling under the weight of his stare.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost a murmur. “You may not realize how much you’ve changed,” he said, eyes flickering over you, tracing the slope of your neck until his eyes stopped at your décolleté.

You met his gaze, refusing to look away despite the memories of his past disregard. Those first dismissive words, his preference for a different woman altogether. But here he was now, his attention unwavering, as if each of those careless dismissals had been erased from his memory.

“Perhaps I have,” you replied, holding his gaze with a faint challenge. “But I’m not the only one who’s changed, am I?”

At that, his smirk faltered, his expression flickering to something more raw, unreadable. He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of your sleeve, a featherlight touch that nonetheless sent a thrill through you, catching you off guard. His fingers found your wrist, tracing gently along the skin, each stroke leaving a burning imprint.

“Perhaps I was a fool to overlook you,” he murmured, his voice reverent, his words weaving through the quiet space. His gaze lingered on your lips, tracing them in a way that made your heart pound faster, your defenses weakening.

After a moment’s pause, you inclined your head, a hint of defiance in your eyes. “You should leave, my prince,” you replied, stepping back just enough to break his touch, though the embers in your gaze told him far more than your words could convey. “Goodnight.”

For a moment, the room hung still. The intensity in his eyes burned into you, and yet, something in his expression shifted. The cool indifference he'd worn so often, the charming smile that had once been his armor, cracked. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with frustration—sharp, predatory. His mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came. He was used to being pursued, used to commanding attention with ease. The dismissal stung, and it was clear to you that he had never expected you to turn him away so coldly, not after all the attention he'd lavished on you tonight.

Daemon's gaze flickered one last time to your face, and then, without another word, he turned on his heel. The abruptness of his departure left a tense silence in his wake. His footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into the distance, and you felt a rush of relief flood through you, the tension that had built up between you both dissolving with his exit.

You exhaled a quiet sigh, leaning back against the chair you had stepped away from, your heart still pounding from the exchange. The unsettling mix of exhilaration and frustration had left you breathless, yet part of you was grateful for the distance that now separated you from him. You had handled it—had maintained control, despite the overwhelming temptation to give in to his presence.

A few days passed, but it felt as though the tension between you and Daemon only thickened with each passing hour. He seemed to watch you more closely now, a constant presence that never strayed too far. You couldn’t escape his gaze, and though you tried to maintain your composure, the weight of it was unbearable at times.

That afternoon, you found yourself speaking with a younger lord who had been quite eager to engage you in conversation. He was attentive, listening intently as you spoke about the political goings-on at court. You found yourself enjoying the conversation, the laughter that flowed between you both coming easily. The lord’s hand was a little too close to yours as he laughed, his proximity felt almost too intimate, but you didn’t mind.

That was when you felt it—Daemon’s eyes upon you. You didn’t need to look to know his gaze was trained on you. His sharp, possessive stare burned through the air, and the laughter you had been enjoying faltered just slightly.

The lord didn’t seem to notice the shift, but you couldn’t help but feel the weight of Daemon’s stare, the intensity of it, as if his eyes were drawing a possessive line around you.

You made your excuses quickly, pulling away from the lord with a polite smile before leaving the conversation behind. Daemon’s gaze never left you, though, as you made your way through the crowded hall, his presence like a storm waiting to break.

That evening, you returned to your chambers, seeking solitude, but the silence didn’t last long. The door to your room opened without warning, and there stood Daemon, his posture rigid with a barely contained rage. His eyes, dark and stormy, locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“My lord,” you said, maintaining a calm, polite tone, but your insides were anything but calm. “What brings you here at this hour?”

His lips curled into a cold smirk, but his gaze was heavy, almost predatory. “I’ve been watching you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “It seems you’ve forgotten your place, haven’t you?”

You took a step back, a slight instinctive movement, but he closed the distance between you in an instant, the tension in the air thickening like a storm ready to break. “Laughing with another man like that,” he growled, his voice sharper now, the edges laced with anger. “Allowing him to come so close… Do you enjoy making me watch?”

You straightened, lifting your chin, but your pulse quickened. “It is not my fault if others find me engaging in conversation, my lord,” you said, your voice tinged with a challenge.

Daemon’s smirk slipped into something more dangerous, his gaze narrowing. He stepped even closer, forcing you to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. “You don’t fool me, sweetling,” he snarled, his voice suddenly cold and sharp. “I see how you play this game, pretending to be untouchable. But I know what you want.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip. The force of his touch made you gasp, but he didn’t release you. Instead, he tugged you closer, his voice now a low growl. “You think you can tease me like that, string me along, but it’s not a game anymore. You want me just as much as I want you, and I’m tired of waiting.”

Your chest tightened, your breath shallow as his words sank in. You tried to pull your wrist free, but his grip tightened, his fingers pressing hard against your skin.

Daemon’s other hand reached up, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw as he studied your face. “You may be playing coy with everyone else, but I see through you. I know the way your body reacts when I’m near, the way you can’t resist me. Stop pretending. I’ve been patient, but not anymore.”

The heat from his body radiated against yours, the air between you charged with raw, undeniable tension. His eyes raked over you hungrily, his lips barely an inch from yours as he spoke again, his voice thick with a mix of anger and desire.

“You don’t get to walk away from me anymore, little bird,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “I won’t allow it. I want you, and I’ll have you, whether you like it or not.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and despite your desire to resist him, a flicker of excitement mixed with fear ignited deep within you. But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let him have that power over you.

“Let go of me, my lord,” you said, though your voice trembled despite your best efforts. “This is not appropriate. You are my sister’s husband, and you have no right to treat me this way.”

Daemon’s grip tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might not let you go at all. His eyes darkened further, the raw desire in them burning through you. “You can keep pretending if you want,” he growled, his voice low and menacing, “but I know what you feel. You’re just as hungry for this as I am. And when I’m finished with you, you won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

You swallowed hard, trying to collect yourself, but his presence was overwhelming, suffocating.

Finally, you managed to wrench your wrist free from his grasp, stepping back. You didn’t speak immediately, your chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling your breathing. The room felt too small, too hot, as Daemon stood there, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“I said,” you whispered through gritted teeth, “leave.”

Daemon's smirk deepened as he took another step forward. You tried to back away, but his grip on your wrist tightened. Daemon finally closed the space between you, the heat of his body made your pulse race. His fingers curled tighter around your wrist, not bruising, but forceful, as if to remind you that you were his — whether you wanted to admit it or not.

"You don’t get to play innocent anymore," he said, his voice low and rough, dripping with both frustration and desire. "You tease and you push me away, but I see the way you look at me. You want me just as much as I want you."

His face was inches from yours now, his eyes fierce and possessive, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. You could feel his breath against your lips, warm and unrelenting. "I’ve been watching you. Watching you play with the others, laughing with them, letting them touch you – touch something that should be mine. But I’m done playing games."

You inhaled sharply, trying to muster the strength to push him away, but his grip tightened around your wrist, pinning you against the wall. "Daemon —"

"No," he growled, cutting you off, his mouth capturing yours in a forceful kiss before you could say another word. His lips were demanding, taking what he wanted with a brutal urgency. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, as though he could melt into you, as though you were already his.

You tried to pull away, your mind screaming that you needed space, that this wasn’t right. But his hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you still as his kiss deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

"Don’t you dare pull away from me," he muttered between kisses, his voice almost a growl. "You’ll stop pretending you’re untouched. You’ll stop pretending you don’t want this, because I can see it. You’re not fooling anyone. You’ve been waiting for me to claim you."

You tried to push against his chest, but he was unyielding, his body pressed so tightly against yours that you couldn’t move. His lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hand slid lower, over the curve of your hip, his touch possessive and almost painful.

“I’ve been patient long enough,” Daemon murmured, his breath ragged. “And now, I’m taking what’s mine.”

With a sudden move, his lips found yours again, harder this time, as if he was trying to mark you as his own. His hands were everywhere — gripping, pulling, commanding. The urgency in his touch made your heart race, and though your mind screamed for you to stop him, you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted to him — each touch sending shivers down your spine, making your pulse quicken.

“Daemon, please—" you tried again, but he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark and intense, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Hush now,” he shushed you, his voice low, almost warning. “There is no escape, sweetling. You’ll belong to me, and I’ll make sure you know it.”

His lips brushed over your neck again, his breath hot against your skin. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of his presence making it hard to think, to breathe. He was overpowering you, pushing you into a corner, and yet, a part of you felt trapped by something far more dangerous than his physical presence.

You felt a fire, a heat, coursing through your veins as he touched you, and no matter how much you told yourself you should resist, a darker part of you wanted to give in. But this wasn’t just about attraction — it was power. Daemon was making it clear that he wanted to control you, to possess you completely.

“I want you,” he repeated, his voice rougher now. “And I will have you.”

He pressed his body harder against yours, forcing you back into the stone wall, his lips claiming yours once more in a kiss that left no room for doubt. Daemon wasn’t going to leave — not this time, not ever. You were his, and he was going to make sure to set his claim.

As he deepened the kiss, the realization settled like a weight in your chest. You had crossed a line. And Daemon Targaryen had no intention of letting you turn back.

[twstgarden]

✿ ❝ 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗸𝗶𝗱 ❞

━ riddle rosehearts x gifted kid burnout! fem! reader ━ being a gifted child is not always deemed as a blessing, and riddle knows the feeling all too well. (f/n means first name)

requested by: @tangybiskit1 request type: oneshot requester’s message: Reader is like the perfect student.(not prefect) She gets full marks, optimistic, kind and charming to the point where even Riddle thinks his mother would like her. But after befriending her for a few weeks he decides to visit reader and her room is a mess, filled with books, scattered papers. It reminds Riddle of himself and you know how that turned out... So he tries to comfort her saying that she is good enough,(ending can be how you want) sorry if it's badly worded😭😭 this is my first time making a request.. florist’s note: oh wow, this hits close to home <3 anyway, thank you for the request, little one! ♥

this work contains spoilers from chapter 1, heartslabyul's arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

ko-fi here if you want to support me, commission are open

perfect. that was how people described you. a sweet, young lady with a bright smile and a bright mind. a lot of the students in night raven college liked you for your charming personality, and there was barely any student that had a bad experience with you.

perfect. you were the epitome of perfect. a beautiful young lady with a sweet smile, a charming personality, and a bright mind. who would not want to befriend you? some students even talked about you to their peers and their parents. now, it wasn’t always painted in a good light. some have been jealous of you, and some wished you did not exist at all. it makes them look bad, you know?

of course, riddle was one of those people. he greatly admired you for your dedication and hard work, and he takes great pride in having you as a heartslabyul resident. you were the perfect, ideal example of what heartslabyul students should be. you followed all the rules to a t, memorized every one of them, and never questioned or disobeyed the rules that may seem too extreme or ridiculous.

“ah, f/n,” spoke riddle as soon as he saw you in the library, a smile ghosting over his lips. his voice reached your ears as you looked up from your book and smiled at him, “oh… hello, dormitory leader rosehearts!”

that sweet smile.

riddle did not realise his cheeks were tinted pink as he remained smiling at you. he then walked away, not knowing what else to say or how to keep the conversation going. oh, how he wished he could befriend you. he was stuck in this student-to-student relationship with you, and he did not know how to deepen it.

it was going well, at least, that’s what he thought. he made sure he could interact with you at least once a day, to get the both of you used to each other’s presence. he also decided to join you at your table during lunch, eating with you without the need for a conversation. it did not take long until your relationship went deeper than the shallow interactions.

“by the way, riddle… why is your favourite food strawberry tarts?” you asked as you nibbled on a tart that he shared with you. as riddle took a bite of his own, he replied, “it’s sweet and rich with flavours. i rarely ever get to taste it when i was younger, but the one time i did felt like heaven was in my mouth…”

there was a small smile on your face as you listened to riddle. you knew what his household was like. you were there during the overblot incident, after all. “i mean, my mother did get angry at me for eating that… she told me it was too sugary and it’s poisonous for my health…”

unconsciously, your hand went up to his cheek as you caressed it for comfort. riddle also froze as soon as he felt the affection before glancing at you. you realised what you had done and quickly retracted your hand with a blush, “ah— sorry, sorry. i thought you needed some comfort.”

with you around, riddle always felt like he could continue to hold on and move forward. seeing your bright smile energizes him for the day, and seeing your name at the top of the achiever's list always brings a sense of pride from within.

“congratulations, f/n,” spoke riddle as soon as he saw you standing by the bulletin board. you had a blank expression on your face before smiling as soon as you heard his voice, “oh, thanks! congratulations to you, too.”

‘why do you look sad?’, thought riddle to himself as he noticed your blank expression before acknowledging him. were you not happy with what you got? but you received a 499 out of 500, surely, it’s worth a smile or two, no?

he decided to brush it off a little since you had already walked away, but it was in the back of his mind for a few days now. why did you seem bothered? he knew the importance of getting a perfect score, his mother reiterated that several times.

he did not speak much of it, but he did notice you getting a little distant, even if you are physically beside him. your mind seemed to be in another place every time he tried to discuss something with you. it was clear that something was wrong.

but he did not know how to approach the problem.

riddle tried accompanying you during study sessions, gifting you treats, sharing his tarts with you over lunch, doing mind exercises with you, and many other things. however, they only seemed to fix the problem temporarily.

exam season was around the corner once more, and everyone has been busying themselves with studying. riddle had spent his time studying, but of course, he did not neglect his duties as the dormitory head. as soon as the clock struck 3 in the afternoon, it was time for his patrol around the dorm. he had to make sure all his residents were disciplined and studying.

with one room into the next, he discovered all of them busying themselves with reading and discussing certain sections of their books with their roommates. ‘good work,’ thought riddle to himself as he saw his residents studying. he just hoped ace and deuce were doing the same.

as soon as he reached your room, he knocked on the door before twisting the knob and peeking in. he thought he would see you silently seated on your study table, reading through a book, or taking notes. however, he discovered you seated on the floor, a book on your lap as you wrote in your notebook, surrounded by several copies of papers and books.

you were in a clear state of disarray. your hair was a mess as you checked every paper before writing something down in the notebook. the process continued as you mumbled under your breath, “no, this is not right… the answer isn’t hydrolysis…”

a sigh escaped your lips as you buried your head into your palms, your hair covered your devastated expression as riddle silently walked into your room and knelt beside you, picking up all the scattered notes as you sniffled and glanced at him, “riddle…?”

you did not expect to see him in your room, and you quickly wiped your cheeks as you picked up the remaining scattered papers. riddle held the notes he collected and looked at you, seeing your cheeks, eyes, and the tip of your nose being tinted with a little bit of red from all the crying.

you were having a breakdown. he knew that much. he now noticed why you seemed absentminded and distant lately, especially with the exam season coming up. you were drowning yourself in your studies, making sure you memorized and remembered every single fact taught to you.

“…sorry you had to see me like this…” you mumbled as you grabbed the notes from him. he quickly shook his head as he spoke, “no… you don’t have to apologise. how long have you been cooped up in here?”

“i’ve been here all weekend…” you replied. you’ve been in your room, studying for two days straight without paying much attention to your other needs, and it was evident with the bags under your eyes. he hoped you were at least eating, but as he looked around your room, there were a few wrappers from the snacks you ate and an empty water bottle.

a sigh escaped riddle’s lips as he held his hand out to you, “you’re a mess. you need to eat… come.” you shook your head, which caused riddle to raise a brow, “f/n, all you’ve eaten were convenience meals with no proper nutrition whatsoever. don’t be stubborn and—”

“i don’t care!”

riddle fell silent in shock. did you just… yell?

you looked up at him, your eyes held glossy tears as you spoke, “i don’t care even if i starve for days! they’re worth nothing if i fail… this is our finals, and it will determine just how much i’m worth…” a soft sob escaped your lips as you bowed your head to hide your tears, “it will… determine how much my parents love me…”

riddle was silent. so, this is what hides behind the perfect f/n l/n. behind that sweet smile, charming personality, and bright mind was a little girl who never had the chance to be a child, to experience what it’s like to have fun, and to know what it’s like to have no expectations to live up to.

how lonely you must have felt.

“who cares if i’m physically well when i make a single mistake on the test? my mother cursed me through the phone as soon as she saw my results…” you mumbled, venting out everything that had happened the past few days, “i’m nothing but a useless brat who wastes their money in a prestigious school… i don’t deserve to be here if i can’t even get full marks to show that i’m learning something…”

riddle knew what it was like to have a parent who seeks perfection in their child, and it was only lately when he realised it was an unhealthy way of living, drowning yourself in your studies to ensure future success to the point you’d neglect yourself. he got closer to you, holding your shoulder as you wiped your tears, “if i fail the finals, they won’t let me continue my education…”

he was stunned. sure, a punishment is given when one does not receive the desired results on a test. that was his norm, too, but completely discontinuing your education because of 1 mistake or 2 on a test is extreme.

“what…? your parents would go that far…?” questioned riddle. you merely nodded in response as you wiped your tears and hugged your knees to your chest, “…everything feels like a chore…” riddle was left frozen, he did not know what to say or do as he never received appropriate support growing up.

he understands your pains, but he doesn’t know how to comfort you. he can’t lie and say it would be better because he knows that won’t do anything.

you have been showing the brightest smile he’s ever seen all the time, but who knew you were breaking piece by piece? all because of the expectations set on you. all because you were the gifted child of your parents, and therefore, you must live up to be the best of the best.

“sometimes i think… i should just stop… maybe if i fail several times, then they’ll leave me alone… but that also means i won’t receive their love and praises… and i won’t be their favourite daughter anymore…”

riddle stayed silent as he sat on the floor beside you, listening to you vent out all that had been stuck in your mind.

“but… sometimes i also think… if i ruin myself too much and fail… i’m worth nothing… who would love a worthless person? then i’ll be destined to be alone…” you cried softly as you kept hugging your knees to your chest, “i’m tired of thinking about this… i’m tired of caring so much… i’m tired of hearing all the curses that come out of my mother’s mouth… i’m tired of repeatedly being told that i am useless…”

the room then fell silent, and only your soft sobs broke the ice as riddle gently placed his hand on your hair. “…you’re not useless just because you got one or two questions wrong in a test…” mumbled riddle as you peeked at him with your face buried into your arms, “and… you’re not worthless. you don’t need to be perfect to be loved… you just need to be yourself.”

as you remained to look at him, you sniffled softly and wiped your tears, “…but…” riddle gave you a small smile, “i know what it feels like to know that everything we learned growing up and the things we are exposed to is wrong… you’ve been told that anything less than perfect is unacceptable, and i was taught the same thing…”

a soft sigh left his lips as he placed a hand on your cheek, the same way you did to him when he spoke of his reason for loving a sweet treat, “you were there when the incident happened, and i have learned my mistakes… now i am here to tell you that you are worth it. you’re not a financial burden, you’re not useless, you’re not stupid, you are none of that, f/n. i wish you could see yourself the way i see you… then you’ll understand why i always want to be around you…”

you were speechless. what could you possibly say in response to that? if you didn’t know any better, it felt like a confession disguised as comforting words. receiving no verbal response, riddle got a little embarrassed as he avoided your gaze, “… i said too much. i apologise—”

“no…”

riddle blinked before he glanced back at you, seeing you smile a little at him, “…i appreciate your words… thank you…” seeing that sweet smile, even if it was a small one, made riddle smile as well, “you don’t need to thank me… now, you need to have your lunch.” he stood up and held his hand out to you.

you held his hand and stood up, smiling at him as you were about to wipe any remaining tearstains on your face when his hand gently rested on your cheek, wiping it as he spoke, “i don’t want to see you neglecting yourself next time.”

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[molluskmirage]

The villainization of Bad is perplexing to me for a lot of reasons. Fandom wanting him to pay for his actions when he didn’t even have the highest kill rate in purgatory on his team… Bad and Tubbo had the same amount of kills day 1. Bad was probably killed more by red team then he killed yet still its not enough for the red fandom.

also regarding Dapper. ‘Bad’s actions made it so no one would help dapper’…. Bad would never hold a parents actions against a child. Leo actively helped Vegetta and Roier place bombs all over Bad and Dappers farm house causing them to move. And even when they moved Bad still included Leo on the allow list. He loves Leo. Dapper really admired Vegetta and wanted to speak with him but was struck by him for teasing Foolish.

Bad teases and tricks and lies about unimportant things, steals furniture and he has trust issues yes, but he also counter balances that by providing others with lavish gifts and items and knowledge that takes hours to do. He repairs broken machines the kids have done for there parents, he takes care of the kids so no one dies of neglect, he keeps people company, he’s provided so much countless food and armor and exp to everyone at such volume its absurd to count. He made spawn so that it would be easy for others to get around when they died and constantly refills the xp.

He’s rp an actual demon but genuinely most of Bad’s actions while surface level inconvenient in depth he’s ridiculously generous and kind. The only time of him ‘cutting loose’ being in a game that was designed for killing and his son instructed him too. So many in the fandom gave weight to Chayanne’s message but for Dapper it was :eyeroll: whatever. Dapper who had been self harming themselves to help aid his siblings and other islanders was instructing Bad to run over other islanders, he wouldn’t say that unless it was important.

I can understand not liking a character theirs plenty I dont personally find my cup of tea but that doesnt make them evil. Its so strange to me that the fandom finds Bbh to be ‘the worst’ narratively, when Slime actively tried to murder Dapper and the other kids, Cellbit has gone full serial killer, Vegetta nearly killed Bobby with bombs, Forever lashed out in anger at Leo yet Bad stealing furniture that can be replaced by sticks and wool is the absolute dread of the server. Bad in a killing game was mean when others were mean and one of the few members of his team that could protect his team.

it’s interesting because for the most part Bad’s crimes are psychological (not to say its not a torment) but it’s interesting because it seems to be labeled so much worse then physical actions other characters have made. Bad doesn’t let others actions get to him he forgives and picks himself up and tries again maybe more guarded this time but he doesnt complain about others actions he always blames himself and carries on. Bad doesnt excuse himself he knows that his actions can cause distress from others and still does them without regret but he also understands others wont like him for his actions and fully accepts and expects it.

[maenchkin]

-“Warm Memories”

how johnny met y/n

(side series to “pink tulips”)

-𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🌷

Johnny was only 9 when he met her. Stranded out on the street because his parents wouldn’t allow him in the house. It was only by chance that a 13-year-old girl was heading home from her friend’s house when she saw a small, weak-looking boy sitting on a curb, shivering from the cold autumn breeze. He was only wearing an old button-up shirt and a pair of worn-out pants; no fit for the frigid December front that was coming in.

Carefully, Y/n walked up towards him, and set her hand lightly on his shoulder. The boy jumped and effectively brushed her hand off of him.

“D-don’t you touch me! I’m fine, I don’t n-need yer’ help!” he yelped, his head sinking further in between his legs, as if he thought he would disapear.

“Please, it’s cold. If you come with me I can help you,” Y/n begged,

The boy didn’t respond, simply pretending Y/n didn’t exist. He’s met people before who’s tried to “help” him, but were only trying to get him sent off to a boy’s home.

Y/n didn’t know what to do, but she knew she had to help him. She carefully slipped off her thick winter coat, exposing her bare arms to the chilly tempratures; and pulled it around the boy.

He lifted his head towards her, the jacket was warm due to Y/n’s body heat, and it warmed him up some. 

“My name’s Y/n, what’s yours?” she carefully lifted up his hands and held them in an attempt to warm them up, though she was cold herself.

The boy stared at her, seemingly in shock of the warm spreading not only in his back and hands, but the strange warm starting to fil his chest. Why was this pretty lady genuinely trying to help him?

“J-johnny,” he shivered out,

“Johnny, what a lovely name. Do you happen to like soup?”

“S-soup?”

“Yeah, we have some leftover at my house if you want some. It’ll warm you right up,” she told him, her voice coated in a sweet honey, drawing Johnny towards her.

He was unsure, and Y/n could tell in his eyes. So she stood up slowly, still holding his hands. By instinct, and not wanting to lose her touch, he stood up with her. And followed her all the way to her house.

When they entered, Y/n could only welcome the warm. Her arms were numb from the exposure to the chilled weather, but could only imagine how cold Johnny was.

She dropped his hands and walked him to sit on their couch, deciding it would be best to keep her coat on him.

“Stay here ok? I’ll warm up the soup and you’ll be feeling better in no time,” she assured, waiting for him to nod towards her. When Johnny gently bobbed his head towards her, she headed off to the kitchen. The boy heard her opening cabinets in the distance. To fill his time, he peered around at his surroundings. Warm yellow lighting coated the various framed pictures on the wall. He assumed most of which were of family. In the corner, a basket of homemade quilts and blankets, next to it, an old sowing machine, clearly well loved.

The buzzing of the stove broke him from his trance, Y/n poured the cold soup into the pot before heading into the living room. “My mother is out of town for a few days, so it’s just us,” she said gently. Y/n sat next to Johnny and held his hands in hers, comforting him. “You can sleep on the couch tonight, if you would like. Or you can take my bed if you would prefer that,”

Johnny knew better than to steal a girls’ bed, so he told her he would take the couch. 

The two spent a few minutes to getting to know eachother. Soon, the air was filled with the smell of chicken and veggies. Johnny’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. His parents had been failing to give him real food for the past few days, his only source of food was the almost empty sleeve of bread in the cabinets.

“I warmed up a lot, I hope that’s ok. I’m absolutely starving,” She giggled. Johnny's stomach rumbled loudly. “Sounds like you are too,”. Johnny nodded eagerly, practically drooling from just the smell alone.

The two got up and headed to the kitchen. Y/n grabbed a large spoon and two bowls, she stirred the soup around and poured it into the bowls till they were almost overflowing.

“Heh, sorry about that. I kinda spaced a little bit,” Y/n said,

“That’s ok..Y/n,” Johnny smiled, uttering his words carefully.

“I assumed you wouldn’t complain too much,” she joked, which earned a small laugh from the boy.

They took their bowls to the couch, Y/n set her bowl on the coffee table before heading over to the fireplace to get a fire going. 

Johnny hesitated before trying his soup, soon afterwards, he realized how delicious the meal was. He couldn’t help himself before scarffing it down like a starved man. Which, he was.

The fire was steady and sure, Y/n was confident it would carry on just fine now. She turned around to see Johnny’s bowl empty on the table. “Wow. I didn’t think it was that good,” she joked. 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, guilt setting in. “Oh it’s ok Johnny. We have plenty more if you want some,” she smiled. 

Y/n took his bowl and returned with it full. She knew Johnny wasn’t gonna ask for it himself. She sat down next to him and indulged in the dish herself, Johnny joining her with his second portion. The two set their bowls on the table, Y/n had flipped on the television to the cartoon channel. Consumed by Mickey Mouse, she didn’t notice Johnny had dozed off, not until she felt a weight on her shoulder. Looking down, she realized he had fallen asleep, wrapped in the blanket that had been draped on the couch, replacing her jacket which was now on the floor. Quietly she got up and tucked him in with another warm quilt from the basket in the corner. Afterward, she flipped off the TV and headed to her own bedroom.

-

Y/n woke up bright and early, the sun just barely over the horizon. Her mother always made it a habit to have breakfast together every morning.

Carefully walking up the stairs, she saw Johnny sleeping gently on the couch. Y/n was glad to see him look so peaceful.

She waltzed into the kitchen and gathered ingredients for pancakes. Her mother had a killer recipe that she adored. Of course, she hoped Johnny would like it too.

When Y/n finished the batter she heated up the pan and flipped on a record. She fixed a cup of tea after getting the first pancake cooking. Y/n made sure to go quickly, ensuring food would be ready for Johnny to eat once he woke up. But she also realized quickly that she had too much food for just the two of them.

Y/n mulled it over. Of course, she could just refrigerate them, but she didn't want to be eating pancakes for the next few days.

Then, almost like a cartoon, an idea sprung upon her. She ran to the phone in the hallway, and pressed a familiar code into the keypad. The other side picked up quickly.

"Hey Darry, you busy?"

-

Johnny slowly opened his eyes, smelling the wonderful scent of cooking food in the air. He sat up, looking around. He heard footsteps in the kitchen and sizzling sounds accompanying them.

'Food?' he thought to himself. Johnny got off the couch and peeked around the corner, to find Y/n flipping over a beautifully golden pancake. He thought she wouldn't notice him, but his stomach betrayed him, rumbling loudly. Y/n turned around and smiled at him.

"Mornin' Johnnycake! I'm almost done with breakfast if you wanna sit at the table." Y/n said, motioning to the dining table next to him.

Johnny obeyed her, sitting obediently in the seat closest to him. He watched Y/n finish cooking the last pancake and realized how large the stack she had created was.

Y/n carefully brought the plate of pancakes to the table, where they sat beautifully in front of Johnny.

"Ok, I know it's a lot," Y/n laughed softly, slightly embarrassed, "But I have some people coming over to help us out," Y/n finished. "I hope that's ok with you Johnny," she added, watching his expression.

While Johnny was a little nervous about meeting new people, he wasn't gonna object to what Y/n did. She let him sleep in her house and eat her food for god sake! To Johnny, she was basically an angel sent from heaven.

The two heard a knock at the door. "Ah! That's them," Y/n said, rushing over to the door. Johnny leaned back to see the door. "Thanks for coming on such short notice you guys," she said. Johnny saw a boy that looked to be about her age, behind him were two younger boys. Brothers of the older boy, he assumed.

"No problem, Y/n. I was just about to cook up some breakfast, so you saved me from that duty," the boy her age said laughing. Johnny watched her lean down to talk to the younger boys. "Soda, Pony, I have someone I want you to meet," she smiled, looking back at Johnny.

The three followed Y/n into the dining area. "Darry, Soda, Pony, this is Johnny Cade. Johnny this is Darry, Sodapop, and Ponyboy Curtis," she smiled, setting her hand on his shoulder to lend some form of comfort. Johnny shyly waved back. Soda walked right up to him and shook his hand. "Hiya Johnny," he said, "You one'a Y/n's buddies?" he asked. Johnny looked at Y/n quickly for confirmation. Y/n smiled warmly and nodded, so Johnny looked back at Soda and quietly said 'yes'.

The group all sat down and piled up their pancakes. As Y/n assumed, the Curtis's housed any leftovers, which she was happy about. Soda and Pony got along with Johnny great, though he was still a little shy. Darry sat next to Y/n and mostly talked to her, aside from the occasional scolding he did to one of his brothers if they were getting too rowdy.

-

The group moved outside since the younger boys needed to get out some energy. Y/n found an old football Darry had left in the garage at one point, so the three youngest were wrestling over it in her yard. Darry and her sat on the porch watching them.

Darry turned to her, "When did you meet Johnny?" he asked. Y/n smiled, "You're gonna laugh," she said, looking back at him. Darry smiled back at her, "Just tell me," he pleaded.

Y/n sighed, "Ok, so you know how I was at Mindy's last night?" she asked. Darry nodded, remembering the two of them working on some essay together. "So I was walking home and I just came across him. The poor kid was half frozen, and I knew there was at least something I could do," she explained, "So I brought him home and let him sleep on the couch.".

Darry hummed, "I mean, it would've been what your mother would've wanted you to do," he said. Y/n nodded in agreement. "I just feel so bad for him. I mean what parent leaves their kid outside in the middle of November?" she asked rhetorically. "The parents around these parts do," Darry responded, "'Pretty sure he lives down the street from us. Poor kid gets screamed at about every night. You know he's probably getting a whoopin' along with it too,".

Y/n's hands went up to grasp the necklace she was wearing, rolling it between her fingers. She stared at Johnny, who was tossing the ball towards Soda. She could feel a knot in her throat that she tried swallowing down. "I just can't stand that," Y/n finally said, looking up at Darry. Darry's eyes softened, looking at the look on her face.

"You helped him Y/n." he said, "Yeah maybe that kid doesn't have a good home life, but you showed him an act of kindness he ain't used to seeing,". Y/n's eyes widened. "You gave that kid some hope. I can tell that means the world to 'em." Darry finished, looking back at his brothers and Johnny.

"Darry, you got such a way with words sometimes," she said, smiling widely. Y/n leaned towards him, briefly resting her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, but you better not go tellin' everybody that," Darry responded, leaning his head on top of hers.

Johnny looked back at Darry and Y/n, smiling wider than he had probably ever in his whole life. He finally felt welcome somewhere. To Johnny, Y/n was the most special girl he had ever met.

-

[jenchann]

Angel Baby

(Just a little self indulging soft, fluffy, big boy Husband Simon "Ghost" Riley)

You barely noticed a figure entering the bedroom, your husband’s soft thumping of feet approaching you as you sit with your top unbuttoned focused on a small cocoon nested in your arms. Simon sees you breast feeding your child, looking so angelic and soft as light poured from the windows and into the room, your breath matching with the baby’s. He forgets time as he just takes you in, taking in every single detail of this moment thinking what did a bastard like him do to deserve you, his Angel and the beautiful child you blessed him with.

The little champ was gulping his meal of the day so furiously, tiny fists in the air, fingers moving in sync with each little gulp. You finally looked up to see your husband all silent having this look of adoration, looking at you like this was the moment he was waiting for all his life. He would say he is indeed blessed with a marvellous sight , one he never in a million years he thought would be possible.

“My Lu’ve” his thick accent rolled past his lips as your eyes met, your lips tugging into a exhausted but contented smile.

He comes over to caress the baby’s cheeks with an adoring look glazing all over it's form, finally settling on the expressions the small human did, looking up in awe at his dada, eyes exact shade as his.

“This little attention seeker…” you could see Simon’s eyes soften and his fingers stalling as he leaned in to kiss on the baby's forehead. He was a big man and very strong. So strong that he himself at times didn't even know his to control his own strength and ended up causing accidents, for which he would have this big puppy eyes after along with the sulking, as he gets sad he couldn't control himself. There was definitely something you felt seeing your big husband trying his best to be soft and gentle, especially now of all times.

“Keeps stealing you away from me…and my meals” Simon said as his eyes set on your beautiful full breasts playfully before he kissed your forehead.

You laugh at him turning your head towards him as he sat beside you.

“Just like his dad.. Can't tolerate not having my attention I guess Mister Riley” you lean on his side as his large hand wrapped around your shoulders, steading you against his huge frame.

But your son soon bit you making you hiss lowly in pain, a new habit he has been starting to have from the last few days and it was hurting your sensitive flesh. Simon staggered forward with concern, eyebrows scrunched at your displeasure.

“We really should get that milk pump we saw last time…Or atleast a nip cover Mama” Simon’s pinky finger evaded the babies lips as his son clutched dada’s finger in his tiny hands thinking it was food.

“Oh he's teething good Mama” Simon's face lit up as he looked at you and planted a kiss on your lips, clutching your neck. The sound of your pecks echoed together with your son’s excited sounds seeing his parents together filled with nothing but love. The few quiet moments passed, of you feeding your son, leaning against your husband's chest. You could feel your fatigue melting away by relaxation just by your husband's supportive presence beside you.

“Imma wash the dishes real quick a'right?” He gave a quick peck on your cheek as you laid down on the bed beside the wrapped human burrito, your hands protective around the form.

"Maybe i could help you with second round on the other side, after?” His eyes rested on your chest, his eyes playfully glistening as he looked up at your beautiful face.

“Then the laundry better be finished too mister!”

“A’ye, Mrs.Riley!” he gave a two finger salute with a Cheshire grin before he happily left the room.

It had you thinking if you had just given your husband a vigor filled motivational reason to do stuff around the house faster!

(P.S Please reblog the post cause it helps me reach a lot of people which in turn motivates me to write more! thankyou!)

[allurilove]

If y/n gets pregnant with a yandere, what will their reaction be when they find out

(good luck with your math score)

lol tysm!

Yandere boyfriend:

“…but…” He comically gulped. Your boyfriend stood there unsure on what to do and say next. You saw a flash of confusion on his face as he tried to figure out the last time you two were close in an intimate way. He was silent for a while, his eyes slowly traveling down to his groin, and he swore he always used a condom.

“We live in a tiny apartment near campus, it’s always noisy because of the frat parties, and you still have school to finish.” He scratched his head. “How would we take care of the baby?”

“What would your parents think too?” Your boyfriend groaned, his head now in his hands and he gripped his hair. “Fuck, I don’t want them to hate me.”

Yandere stalker:

“Do you know who the father is?” He asked first and foremost. When you give him a look and put your hands on your hips, he scoffed. “Oh don’t act like you haven’t slept with your ex. I know what I saw.”

“Listen, you don’t have the best track record.” Your stalker rolled his eyes and his hand is now placed on your shoulder. “Regardless… I’ll help you out.”

He pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapped around you gently, and he slightly swayed you back and forth. “Only if I can name the baby.”

Yandere husband:

He wasn’t surprised when you came clean that you’ve been pregnant for about two months. “Hm.” He pretended to be deep in thought, and his fingers stroke his chin. “I knew it. You were acting strange…asking me for cuddles and stealing my lounge shirts.”

“Do you want to keep the baby…?” Your husband asked you gently, and he took your hands into his. “I know three kids can be a lot… let’s just think about this alright?”

Yandere knight:

Yandere knights heart dropped and he sighed deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have given into his desires and take you that night. Gosh, if your parents found out… he would be executed immediately. Your knight touched his neck, his fingers felt his wild pulse, and he thought about how much he would miss having his head attached to his body.

He could imagine it now. A public execution in front of everyone, the people booing him and throwing rotten food at his body, while one of the guards leads him to the guillotine. Your knight gulped and he reluctantly nodded. “Thats… quite unfortunate.”

Yandere classmate:

He immediately looked displeased and he crossed his arms. “I hope you’re joking.” Your classmate took the pregnancy test from you, and his scrutinizing gaze was now on the plastic. “Can we pretend that two lines means that you aren’t pregnant?”

Yandere neighbor:

“Really?” He brightened up by your words and his hand is now pressed against your stomach. You weren’t showing, but he was excited at the thought of starting a family with you.

“You know… I’ve always wanted to have a family of my own and celebrate the holidays together! Awww, c’mere love.” He opened his arms.

Yandere best friend:

“Oh. OH!” He loudly gasped and he slapped the sandwich out of your hands. “That has deli meat! You can’t have that, right?”

He then sadly looked at the disassembled food on the ground, and he sheepishly chuckled when you glared at him. “Sorry, I was just trying to save my friend and the little one… please don’t hurt me.” Your friend joked and he started to run off when you took a step towards him.

Yandere blood bag:

That wasn’t much of a surprise to him considering how active you two were in the relationship. It was bound to happen anyways. He shoved his face with healthy foods, worked out extra hard, and made sure his body was in tip top shape. He exposed his neck to you, and he felt your fangs sink and break into his skin. You drank hungrily, and he had to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to complain, especially to someone that was pregnant, and he just took it.

“Ah- baby be careful.” He whined and he rubbed your waist. “I feel light headed…”

Yandere chaebol:

“About time.” He huffed and he got up from his chair. “I’ll start designing the baby’s room, hiring a night nurse, and all that. Just keep yourself healthy, and walk often.”

Yandere chaebol started to dial his mother on his cell phone. He referred to her as eomma, and he talked to her in his native language. He actually sounded like he was being respectful and polite, he then wrote down recipes that were perfect for pregnant women. For example, the seaweed soup was given to the woman after birth. He got up, walked past you, and he handed the list to his private chef.

[gaily-daily-musings]

More anti-christ Anakin snippets (first drabble here)

-

Anakin cannot call the horsemen to him without calling all of them at once. They'd be overwhelmed and the Apocalypse would jump start. So for now they have to track them down one by one the hard way. Except they don't really know where to start.

While in Paris they meet a psychic who claims to have connections with a low level demon. Anakin thinks there may be a chance the demon may know something about where the horsemen are currently stationed. Which parts of the world. Anything at this point would be helpful.

They arrange a meeting with it. They turn up in some shithole back end bar. The demon is wearing a Glamour and they recognize Anakin. They panic and try to flee. They run into the back but Anakin gives chase and uses his powers to capture it. (He's been practicing. He's getting very good and very powerful.)

It's then they notice all the bodies withering in the room where they've chased the demon into. The sounds of pleasure fill the air. This was a succubus. These were its victims. It lured them back here for an orgy of a feast.

The people moan loudly, grinding against each other. Their naked limbs flail like ants. Oily skin and engorged cocks pump into various holes. Anakin crinkles his nose. A woman crawls over to him and paws at his ankle.

“Don't touch me!” Anakin hisses and kicks her away.

Obi-Wan is entirely red at the entrance to the room. He's trying very hard not to look at anyone.

The succubus laughs. “You're such a pretty thing, my Prince. He doesn't treat you right does he? Keeps you at arms length.” It gestures to Obi-Wan. “I can help you find release. I'd have you out of your mind with pleasure.”

Anakin crushes their throat in his palm. It screams and struggles. How dare they imply he'd cheat on Obi-Wan!

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan calls. “We need them alive!”

He loosens his grip letting them breath. The Succubus scrambles for air.

“You will tell us what we need to know.” Anakin snarls.

“Alright! Alright! Can't blame a demon for trying!”

They don't know much in the end but they do know of another nearby demon. It was a solider in the army that had been summoned from hell a couple decades ago. It had taken on a form to integrate into society. The Succubus is pretty sure they worked with Pollution.

Anakin thanks the demon then snaps it's neck. At once the people on the floor stop wiggling in pleasure. Clarity returns to their eyes. Someone screams.

-

The lead is a dead end and they have to return to the states.

While having lunch outside a cafe back in the states, a little girl tries to steal something from Anakin's bag. He turns mid conversation and snatches her wrist. It startles both Obi-Wan and the girl.

“Let go!”

“How about you let go of my shit first?”

“Fuck you!”

Anakin grins with all of his teeth. “I'll eat you, you little gremlin!”

“Not if I eat you first!” she growls back and then bites him.

Anakin howls and lets her go. She runs. Anakin gives chase.

Obi-Wan nearly trips over the chair gathering their stuff and going after them. He's slower than either of them and almost loses them.

The girl turns into the nearby park disappearing past the bushes. Anakin vanishes after her. Not long after that Obi-Wan hears a scream. His heart leaps into his throat. Was he actually eating her?!?

He bursts through the bushes onto the scene. Anakin has pinned the thief to the ground pressing her face into the grass. She shrieks and kicks him in the shin. Anakin lets out a pained grunt and she wiggles free. Instead of running she turns to tackle him. They roll around on the grass.

It takes a moment to process the sound coming from Anakin's mouth. He was laughing.

They finally break and Anakin lets her up. “What's your name pipsqueak?”

“Ahsoka! And I'm not a pipsqueak you jerk!”

-

They learn Ahsoka's parents passed away and she'd gone to live with her uncle who was a neglectful alcoholic. He never had any food in the house so she'd taken to finding her own. She'd gotten a knack for it too. She was good.

Anakin liked to pick on her. From the outside perspective it appeared mean spirited but in truth it was just his way of teasing her.

Anakin flings a french fry at her. “Why are you such a brat?”

They were currently by the poolside of the hotel they were staying at. Ahsoka often spent time with them there. She never asked why they didn't live in a house or an apartment.

“I dunno. Why are you such an asshole?”

She flings a french fry back at him.

Obi-Wan, who is sunbathing, sincerely hopes this doesn't dissolve into another food fight. They'd already gotten kicked out of the ice cream parlor when Anakin and Ahsoka had started smashing their cones into each other's faces.

Still, it warmed his heart to know Anakin had finally, after all this time, made a friend.

-

When they leave Nebraska, Ahsoka follows them. They don't have the heart to make her go back to her Uncle. So she stays and travels with them.

Because they're “on the run” Ahsoka thinks it would be cool to dye her hair like in the movies. She asks Anakin to help her. They have to bleach it first. It's a whole ordeal. By the time they're done the bathroom looks like a smurf was brutally murdered.

Anakin ends up missing a lot of chunks of hair. It's a swirl of blue and bleach white. Ahsoka looks at herself in the mirror. She's silent. Obi-Wan holds his breath.

She squeals in delight. “I love it!”

-

There's a sudden lurch in Anakin's gut. It feels unfamiliar and weird. Anakin looks at Obi-Wan wide eyed.

“Obi-Wan…” He stretches out a hand and then disappears.

There's an awful screech. Anakin thinks it's coming from himself, traveling through the ether of wherever it is he is being taken.

He comes to in the middle of a forest. He's surrounded by people in black robes. They look kinda like cultists.

“Lord Morningstar!” They praise.

They are cultists.

“Where the fuck am I?” He growls.

“My Lord, we have called you here in service to you!”

They reveal themselves as a doomsday cult. They wanted to help jumpstart the Apocalypse in his name. The date for the impending end of the world had come and gone and they'd taken it upon themselves to find him and deliver him to the Horseman.

“Do you know where they are?” well, where the rest of them were anyway. One of them was destroyed already.

“We can find out, my lord!”

They conjure a book and bring it to him. The book of the dead. It contained ramblings of a madman with visions of the Apocalypse and prophecies of the antichrist. It also held enchantments and incantations for summoning demons and devils alike. Interesting.

Anakin kills them all and steals the book. He makes the long trek back to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. It takes several days as he has to catch a few flights. It's easy to manipulate minds now. He can come and go as he pleases. No one can resist. No one can disobey. Obi-Wan hates it when he uses this ability but he thinks he'll forgive him this time. It was an emergency.

Ah hell, Obi-Wan would forgive him either way. Who's he kidding?

By the time they reunite several days later Obi-Wan is out of his mind with worry. They embrace.

“I thought you'd been dragged to hell!”

Anakin kisses him. Obi-Wan kisses back ardently. Buoyed by distance and affection, Anakin dips the man in his arms. He takes as much as he knows Obi-Wan will allow before the other man pulls away. He was still only 19 after all. Obi-Wan didn't initiate touching very often and he never undressed.

At times, waiting for him annoys Anakin. But he would not love Obi-Wan if he weren't so stubborn. So he's resolved to wait until the older man was ready.

“Where's my hug jerk?!”

Ahsoka pops up and hugs him. Anakin hugs back. She hadn't seen him disappear. She'd been out doing whatever it was pre-teen girls did.

“Obi-Wan said he lost you! Where'd you go?”

“I got summoned by some cultists who worshiped me.”

Ahsoka flattens her face. “Sure. Right.”

Anakin had shown her his powers before and she believed in the Supernatural. But she didn't buy the whole son-of-the-devil schtick. Anakin? No way.

Anakin turns to Obi-Wan. “Here. They had this.”

He hands him the book of the dead. Obi-Wan is predictably fascinated. He'd loved studying those old religious books back when they'd lived in the convent.

They figure out how to summon a hellhound one night to do their bidding. Two actually. Anakin lovingly names them Artoo and Chopper.

They're able to cast a Glamour so they appear like regular dogs. Anakin takes them on walkies. Ahsoka starts a TikTok page for them.

-

In hindsight perhaps the TikTok was a bad idea.

They're captured five months later in England by a group of rogue priests. They'd hunted Anakin down from his internet trail. They'd seen through the Glamour and knew they had to take action.

They're taken by surprise and knocked out. They wake in what looks like a basement. A large one. They're surrounded by dark figures.

“Where the fuck are my dogs?”

“Back in hell where they belong. Soon you will join them.”

A man steps out of the shadows. They are priests wearing strange robes that Obi-Wan has never seen before.

“The Order of Jedi.” Anakin greets them with a savage grin.

“I see you know of us.” The dark skinned man says.

Anakin shrugs. “Qui-Gon may have mentioned you a few times.”

“I am Mace Windu. Grand Master of the Order. Id say it's a pleasure but it's not.”

“The feelings mutual.”

Obi-Wan is completely lost. “What?”

Anakin turns as much as he can while tied to the chair. They were sitting across from each other side by side.

“His old Order, dedicated to translating the prophecies and locating the antichrist. Whenever I misbehaved, Qui-Gon would threaten to turn me over to them and kill me.” He shrugs. “I knew he was bluffing.”

You've frowns. “He'd cut all contact with us years ago. When we heard about his death we sent someone to investigate. Imagine our surprise when we found out he'd been harboring you all along.”

Obi-Wan looks between them. “I don't understand. Why didn't he turn Anakin over?”

“we discovered his journals during our search. He meant to end the child the night he came into the world. But then he saw him with you.” He addresses Obi-Wan directly. “he wrote of how Anakin settled on your arms as if at peace. He wrote many passages over the years of the boy's progress and the way he interacted with his chosen guardian. He believed there was hope for the devil's child.”

Obi-Wan stills. He never knew…

Mace scoffs. “He was a fool. You cannot change evil.”

Anakin snarls.

The priests gather in a circle. Obi-Wan grows nervous.

“What's happening? What are you doing?”

“What Qui-Gon should have done years ago. Don't worry. You won't be hurt. The holy fire only vanquishes demons. To a human it will simply cleanse your soul of any darkness. Once you are pure again we will free you.”

Anakin struggles in his restraints. But the binding must be enchanted. He cannot get free. He cannot use his powers. He yells obscenities at them.

“Wait!” Obi-Wan says trying to keep his rising panic at a manageable level. “Your Order's purpose is to stop the Apocalypse right? That's what we're doing! We've already killed the Horseman of Pollution! Maybe we can help each other! Join forces!”

Mace gives him a leveled stare. “We do not make deals with Devil's. Satan's spawn has you in his grip. We will free you from his influence.”

“Good fucking luck getting rid of me assholes! I'm goddamn indestructible!”

Mace's stare finally breaks into a smirk. “Normally yes. Holy fire will only hurt you, not kill you the way it would a simple demon. But we have the weapon built by Revan himself. It will kill any evil being. Including you. Not even Death itself can hide from its blade.”

Obi-Wan pales.

The ritual begins. The priests chant ominously.

The fire lights around them. Anakin starts screaming. He cannot stop. It wasn't burning his clothes but his face and hair were peeling away. The sight horrifies Obi-Wan. He yells and cries but he can do nothing but watch.

The door to the basement bursts open.

“Anakin!”

It was Ahsoka. She'd seen them get captured and dragged away. The dogs are with her. They pounce on the men and viciously tear them apart.

She rushes over to Obi-Wan and unties him.

“How did you find us?”

“I got the book and summoned Artoo and Chopper back! I had them track you down!”

The second he's free he turns to Anakin's charred body. The fire had gone out when the chanting stopped. Ahsoka hesitates.

“Should…should we touch him?”

Obi-Wan's body buzzes with adrenaline. Anakin was hurt. He was in pain. He needed him.

Around them, the priests that were still alive were fighting off the hounds. Obi-Wan is torn between joining the fight and getting Anakin out of here.

Suddenly everything slows. Anakin's head snaps up. Golden eyes shimmer brightly. He bursts free of his restraints. He stands and stands forward. He whistles low, calling off the dogs. They obey.

Obi-Wan feels his early breakfast lurch in his stomach. Anakin looked like a third degree burn victim. It was grotesque. It looked painful.

Anakin lifts his hand and two of the men lift with it. They spin on the air like toy tops. Anakin makes a fist and crushes them. Their bones snap and they go limp. Now only Mace was left.

Anakin snaps his fingers and Mace drops to his knees with a cry. Anakin places his hands upon the man's face. Almost immediately Mace screams. Obi-Wan sees his skin ripple like a wave. It looked like Anakin was absorbing it. While Anakin’s skin was getting healthier and less burned looking, Mace was growing weaker and more thin. Mace tries to fight but he wasn't strong enough. He reaches weakly for Obi-Wan.

“please…help me…”

Anakin vibrates with violent delight at the man's agony. Although it is not a sight Obi-Wan enjoys, he cannot feel all too sorry for him. Mace had tried to take Anakin away from him.

Once dead, Anakin backs away rolls his neck to pop the joints. “God that sucked. I hate fire.”

From the corner Ahsoka speaks. “You really are the anti-christ aren't you?”

“I literally told you I was!”

“Why would I have ever believed you?? You lie all the time!”

“I do not!” Anakin snaps.

“Do too!”

Obi-Wan starts laughing. It startles the pair.

“hey are you okay?” Anakin reaches for him. “Did they hurt you?”

Still, chuckling, Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I'm fine. Just relieved we're all okay.”

Once they get back home Anakin complains about those stupid priests and whines about feeling weird in his skin now.

Obi-Wan kisses him and Anakin shuts up.

“Would you like some help resettling into your new skin?”

Anakin mods vehemently. Eager like a puppy. Obi-Wan chuckles. Ahsoka gags.

-

Obi-Wan dreams on occasion. Nothing so special or vivid. They were normal.

But this seemed real. Very real.

He sits before Qui-Gon at a table. There's a chess board in front of them. They used to play and drink tea together often.

“You're doing very well, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon smiles at him.

“Am I? It looks like I'm losing from where I'm sitting.”

“With Anakin. Teaching him humility and compassion and how to be good.”

Obi-Wan pauses, feeling warm. Can you blush in a dream?

“But be careful of your soul, my friend. It is easy to fall when one walks the line of temptation.”

-

They come for Death last. He is the strongest of the four. The entity reveals that when Obi-Wan and Anakin die one day, their souls will be separated. Ankain belonged in hell. But Obi-Wan would go to heaven.

Anakin rages. He decides he wants to start the Apocalypse. They could be together in the ruins of the Earth.

“We won't.” Obi-Wan half promises half threatens. “If you bring destruction you'll never have me willingly again!”

That makes him pause.

Death goads Anakin. What will it be? Let Obi-Wan go one day? Or fulfill his destiny?

Obi-Wan takes his head gently in his hands. “We'll make a place for ourselves. Just for us. A place that's neither heaven nor hell. I won't let you go either Anakin.”

Anakin nuzzles his hands. His angry tears turn hopeful. They'll live in the stars. In the void of space as their souls explore the universe.

Anakin reaches for the weapon and slices Death's head off.

[ashwhowrites]

I have a request, an angst one. It’s based by a song it’s called “the one that got away” by Katy Perry. YOU CAN MAKE IT FLUFFY OR ANGST FOR THE ENDING!!! Bcz I know people will ask for part two if you leave it angst.

Thank you so much! Love your writing btw, keep up the great work! Tag me once it’s published if you ever do it! @josephquinnlover0

Let's do it! I hope this is what you wanted. It does end happy !!

I am aware Eddie Munson would never sing this song, but he is today. I tweaked a little bit of the lyrics to fit his point of view. So the fic does not match exactly to the lyrics.

In modern times with social media and all that

Not proofread

~~~

Summer after high school when we first met

We make out in your Mustang to Radiohead

And on my 18th birthday, we got matching tattoos

Eddie wanted to leave Hawkins the second he graduated, he wanted a fresh start, a place where he could have a new reputation. He got a job at a bar, working to save up money so he can move out of the state. At that very bar, he met Y/N. A girl who soon became the girl of his dreams.

They were bartenders together, he'd play guitar on the slow nights, and she'd watch from the bar. She'd sing along as she helped customers.

Once their shift was done they'd race to her Mustang, climb in the backseat and make out for hours. But she also lay in his arms, playing with his fingertips as he ranted about wanting to leave Hawkins behind, but he couldn't imagine leaving her. Even with how much she worked, all her money went to keeping food on the table for her siblings. Her parents were barely around, they couldn't take care of themselves, let alone their children.

On his twenty-first birthday, they raced to the tattoo shop. Being together for over a year, and feeling more in love than ever. They wanted to be connected forever. So they got matching tattoos.

Now it was a painful reminder for Eddie every single day.

The perks of her parents never being around meant that once Eddie and Y/N got her siblings to bed, they could sneak out to the roof, a bottle of liquor in hand.

Used to steal your parents' liquor and climb to the roof

Talk about our future like we had a clue

Never planned that one day, I'd be losing you

She would lay in his arms, head against his shoulder. Together they would talk about their future, a future together. He talked about how one day he would propose at that shitty bar, promising to be hers forever in the same spot he met her. She talked about their wedding, her idea of her dress, and the color scheme.

Eddie never thought one day he'd never talk to her again.

In another life

I would be your girl

We keep all our promises

Be us against the world

When Eddie went to bed at night, he dreamed of another life. A life where they got their future together. She would be his girl and all the promises they made would stay true. It would be them against the world.

In another life

I would make you stay

So I don't have to say

You were the one that got away

The one that got away

In another life, he would have stayed, never taking that record deal. He would have turned back around when she begged him to stay.

He would be with her.

He wouldn't have to admit she was the one he let get away.

Eddie heard from Steve she got her tattoo removed, and it stung. Eddie traced the design, now even more bittersweet knowing the other half is now nonexistent.

Someone said you had your tattoo removed

Saw you downtown singing the blues

Its time to face the music

I'm no longer your muse

He saw a video of her singing at the bar. She used to sing in the kitchen as they danced. They wrote so many songs together, some songs he still sings to this day, to a crowd that doesn't know who the muse was. But he knew.

Listening to her sing brought back the memories, the songs she wrote about being in love with him. Now her songs don't relate to him at all, time to face it, he is no longer her muse.

Eddie made it big. He achieved his dream. He left Hawkins and moved out to Hollywood. Signed a record deal and is now drowned in money. But yet, none of that money could give him the chance to turn back time. He could buy anything in the world, but nothing would replace her, and he hated that he learned that too late.

All this money can't buy me a time machine, no

Can't replace you with a million rings, no

I should've told you what you meant to me, whoa

'Cause now I pay the price

He should have told her she meant more to him than any dream he had before her. He hated that it took him leaving her to realize she was his dream.

Now he has to pay the price.

Now Eddie returned to Hawkins, his tail between his legs as he arrived at the very bar. His guitar case was in his hand as he walked through the doors. His eyes caught the big sign that stated his name in bold letters.

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

The one that got away

"Eddie Munson returns, Live tonight at 8"

People were running up to him, asking for autographs, and expressing their excitement for his show. But his eyes stayed on the bar, looking to see if she would still be working there.

When he made it to the stage, the spotlight blinded him but he was able to see her through it. She hasn't changed in the two years he has been gone. Her hair was longer than before, but everything was the same. She looked just as beautiful as the day he left.

And she was looking back right at him. That same look of adoration and love in her eyes. A smile proud smile on her face as she clapped along with the crowd. He noticed her siblings sitting in the corner booth, huge smiles as they took him in.

He took a deep breath and strummed his guitar

"This is called, the one that got away"

~~~

Once Eddie finished his set, he walked to the bar. A nervous smile on his face as he walked up to her.

"Hey there rockstar," She smiled, walking around the bar to give him a hug. He could feel his body relax into her, wrapping his arms around her and keeping her close. Inhaling her scent as he kissed her head.

"Hi gorgeous, how are you?" He asked, pulling away to look at her closer. She smiled and stepped back, his body already missing her touch.

"I'm doing alright. The same old thing. Mom and Dad finally gave up, I saved up enough money to get my own apartment, and took the kids with me." She explained

"I'm glad you were able to move out. You deserved that. I see the little ones are not so little anymore." Eddie smiled, a little sad he missed out on watching them grow up. He spent every day with them for two years straight.

"Thanks. I see you are doing amazing! All over social media, magazines, and tv. I'm proud of you, Eddie." And he could tell she meant every word. He left her behind and yet here she was, supporting him every step of the way.

"Thank you, that means a lot. Things might look amazing but I've been struggling," Eddie admitted. He missed her and he wanted her back.

"Oh, do you need to talk? I'm about to go on break" She offered

~~~

Eddie paced behind the bar, cracking his knuckles as he waited for her.

"What's going on?" She asked politely

"I didn't come here to do the gig. I'm here for you. I miss you. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I have ever made." Eddie admitted. Reaching forward to cup her jaw.

She let herself melt into it

"I never blamed you, Eddie. Your dream was at your fingertips. I never should have asked you to stay, that wasn't fair. I mean I had no real life, I worked and took care of my siblings. Shit, I still do. Why would you want to stay? There was nothing here for you." She said, turning her head to kiss his palm.

"You're wrong. I thought it was my dream but I feel like I've been in a nightmare since I left. I had to leave to find out that you were my dream all along and you still are. I had a reason to stay, and she was across from me. And now she's the reason why I'm back. I still love you and I never tried to move on. I promised my heart was beating for you, and that's a promise I didn't break." Eddie admitted. Stepping closer, leaning his face closer to hers.

Her eyes were welling up with water.

"I still love you too. I never tried to move on either. I missed you every day and the idea of being someone else's just put salt in the wound. I missed you." She confessed, watching as he looked into her eyes, leaning down to ghost his lips over hers.

His eyes asked, and she replied by leaning up. Smashing her lips onto his. He moaned the second he tasted her again, wrapping his arms around her waist. His stomach did flips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hands digging themselves into his hair.

"Thank you for coming back," she whispered against his lips as she pulled back. Small pecks to his lips between each word.

"I also came here to do something," Eddie admitted. A smirk on his face as he stepped back.

She looked at him confused, watching as he got down on his knee

"Munson..." she trailed off

"I came here to do something we always dreamed about," He started, she gasped as he went into his pocket, taking out a small ring. "I left once, and I've regretted it since. You are my dream, my life, and my future. I promised you I'd ask you to marry me at the bar we met, promise to be yours forever, so what do you say? Marry me?" Eddie asked, a smile on his face as she cried into her hands.

"Yes! Oh my gosh, Yes." She cried out, placing her left hand in front of him, allowing him to slip the ring on her finger. She admired the ring, it was gorgeous.

He got off his knee, standing straight as he cupped her face and leaned in, placing his lips on hers.

"Us against the world, right?" He whispered

"Forever" She whispered back, pecking his lips.

"I don't care if we stay in this shitty town, or move anywhere you want. As long as I have you, I'm happy to be anywhere." Eddie said

"Me too."

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @josephquinnlover0

[enbysiriusblack]

"-And Miss Meadowes shall be partnering with... Miss Mckinnon", Slughorn read out.

Dorcas slid over to Marlene's desk, glaring at her, "If you mess up this potion, I will kill you."

Marlene nodded, swinging her legs as they sat on a stool, "Sure, Sure. Get thrown in Akzban for murder, then."

Dorcas ignored them, instead deciding to start on the assignment.

Marlene glanced over to their parchment as Dorcas wrote notes down, "Do you think dementors enjoy the happy memories they steal?"

Dorcas turned to her, "What?"

"Cause, they steal happy memories, right? But why? What benefit would they gain from that? I mean surely it must be tiring going around day after day in a freezing building and just sucking people's souls. So do y'think they get to keep the memories they take and it makes them happy? Like an exchange of happiness?"

Dorcas frowned in thought, pausing their writing.

"Huh. I hadn't thought about that."

Marlene gasped, "Oh, do you want to hear this theory I have?"

Dorcas' frown deepened, "I actually do."

"So, basically I have this theory that the dementors are actually kinda like dogs. And they think that azkaban and the prisoners in there are their food, but their owners, so that's the ministry, they tell them 'oh you can only have little bits of all these different types of foods', so kind of like a diet, and the dementors listen because they're the kind of dogs that are super well trained, and so our souls are their food and so they have to take them or they'll be starving. But, if you think about it, if we let the dementors be like wild dogs, wouldn't that mean they'd be happier and we would also be happier. Cause they'd only eat a few people's souls, and if you didn't want them to take your soul then you could just be in the light all the time, it's really not a big deal."

Dorcas covered their smile with their hand, "Sure, Mckinnon."

Marlene turned to them, "I burnt the potion by the way."

"What?" Dorcas frantically stood up and leaned over to look at the blackened contents in their cauldron, "We hadn't even started yet!"

Marlene shrugged, "I know, but Sluggie was boring earlier so I put all those ingredients he wrote on the board into the cauldron whilst he was still talking rubbish."

"But the potion doesn't even require heat!"

"Okay, well that isn't my fault! You let me rant to you about my theory, and whenever I rant I start playing with my lighter and I subconsciously put the lighter inside the cauldron and all the ingredients burned! So really that's your fault for not making me shut up."

Dorcas scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head slightly as her stubborn mouth still tried to twist into a smile.

"You must be the worst person to partner with in class."

Marlene gasped, "That is so not fair! Because I was partners with Snape last term and he never let me do anything to help, or let me talk, or play with my lighter or anything. He's definitely the worst partner, because he's such a boring control freak. Like even more a control freak than Lily, although I say that with love and only because she called herself it just last week."

Dorcas gave up on the aims of hiding her smile as she passed her notes to Marlene, "Here, you can tell me what I need to do and you can rant all you want whilst I do make the potion, just in case you get any more urges to put a lighter in the cauldron."

Marlene grinned, "Well, Meadowes", she started to read the notes, "Start off with adding 50ml of leech juice whilst I tell you the story of when I broke James' arm when we were nine and beat him so bad in a 1v1 game of quidditch that he made him parents get rid of his hoops for a year."

[randomfanner]

Halsin x Tav x Astarion future headcanons

Halsin x Astarion is one of my favorite ships I cannot even lie. Maybe it is the werebear x vampire lover in us all that calls to me. Or maybe Astarion just needs to be given a bear hug. So here are some postgame headcanons with Tav

All three of you are pretty sick of society and other people so all three of you fuck right off to the forest. Of course the rest of the party is invited to visit the three of you whenever they feel like.

Halsin built a cottage for Astarion, you and Scratch. He also does live there, but he sleeps outside of the time he is prefers it. And he does love his home but also he would have been fine with a cave. This does not stop Astarion from convincing him to come to actual bed because cuddles.

Halsin of course is not the only person living there and sleeping outside. The Cub, Thaniel and Oliver. Oliver and Thaniel do have their own bedroom though! It is full of handmade wooden and stuffed toys from Halsin and Astarion. Oliver took to Astarion like a fly on shit and Astarion loves to teach this small child how to commit crimes. He even allows Oliver to practice pickpocketing on him… but if he gets caught he does suffer ‘The Wraith of Astarion!!!’ Which is Astarion tickles Oliver until he cannot breathe. Thaniel on the other hand was… not as eager to accept Astarion, at first. When they first meet He wasn’t rude. He wasn’t going to be rude to someone who helped save his life but it was obvious he had little interest in a vampire spawn who smelled like the city and death … until it became clear that Astarion was going to be with Halsin and not just with you .

And then things did change.

Thaniel is a smart, wise kid who knows his way around and about the forest. He knows the better then even Halsin does to be frank. He is also a fae. So, pranks.

he begins to prank Astarion nonstop. They are all harmless but extremely annoying. Astarion is not thrilled but has learned better then to lash out a child. And if he yelled at Thaniel he would never be forgiven. he is fully aware of this. So he is stuck in a game of kill them with kindness

and it works.

It takes awhile, a lot of warming up and a lot of patience but evetually Thaniel more then accepts Astarion, he actually does consider Astarion to be a parent. Astarion is still shocked it worked but he is so happy about it.

Thaniel and Oliver are not the only children you three have of course. Yvenna and plenty of children who got orphaned during the conflict who needed home. Any children you decide to have and well she is off on her own most of the time, Arabella does come to visit.

You are a nocturnal household. I know I didn’t need to tell you that with Astarion being a spawn and unable to go into the sun(You three are looking into hopefully helping him. Halsin has been trying to get the aid of the Oakfather well you and Astarion have been hunting for a different method that won’t any souls or threat of losing his own but it is a slow process).

more then Astarion though, Halsin is a nocturnal person. He is great at functioning during the day but he would rather not be. He likes the night. Perhaps that is the moon Druid speaking however.

Astarion becomes a ranger. He of course still keeps skills as a rogue handy but well, living in the forest, being around the animals and other things he… begins to find his skill set more at home hunting for animals and foraging in the forest then they were stealing and snatching people and items alike.

Halsin is of course extremely proud of him for learning about the forest and himself. And the skill set is of a great help with their lifestyle!

Fall is an extremely busy time for your household because there needs to be food put away for the winter. Halsin, Astarion, Scratch, the Owlbear and Oliver go out hunting well you, Thaniel and Yvenna all stay home and prepare the food. Preserving, skinning and bleeding everything. Once they are done forging and hunting, the ones who can help do. And even those who cannot certainly do try! it’s a lot of work but there is plenty when snowfalls to keep everyone feed. Winter also becomes the snuggliest time because cannot go outside, so may as well just stay nice and warm inside. Halsin does sleep a lot(inside the house) during winter. He is a bear, his nature is to hibernate and thus he does. When he is awake it is pretty amusing because all he wants to do is snuggle. would either Astarion or you deny him?

Immortal Angst with a Bittersweet Ending Time:

Astarion doesn’t fully… grasp that he is immortal. He knows it. He understands it. However he has been surrounded by vampires or people he saw at most five times before they were sent to Cazador. When Astarion realizes Halsin and you and Scratch and the Owlbear cub are aging, getting older and he isn’t. Scratch likely dies first, a long happy life and simply old age. Halsin and you are of course sad but do accept it happened but Astarion well…

Astarion disappears. And oddly enough so does Thaniel.

it causes everyone remaining in the house to panic and try to find the both of them.

Of course Astarion knew this was coming, he wasn’t an idiot but it still shook him to his core. He just sort of found stump to sit on and think. When Thaniel finds him he is great at comforting Astarion.

it is a long conversation between the two of them about being immortal and how well Astarion cannot die of old age… Thaniel reminds Astarion that he still can die. Thaniel will be around as long as the forest needs him. Likely how he survived the shadow curse to begin with… but Astarion can decide what needs him and when it no longer needs him.

So Astarion decides he will stay as long as his family needs him.

And so when centuries pass and it is just Astarion, Thaniel and Oliver and descendants who had long left the best…. Well.

Thaniel expect Astarion to decide that is when he is no longer needed… but Astarion stays by their side. After all, the forest needs them, so they are still here. They are still here, they are his family, so they need him.