#sigh is this not the greatest love story ever told????

[two-white-butterflies]

CHANGED | part one

Description: You have found that there are different types of love. Self-serving ones who grovel when abandoned in pity for themselves. However, there is another greater form of love, one that creates life. What happens when your husband uses you in the creation of the rings?

Pairing: Annatar/Reader reincarnation trope that i am a sucker for

Mairon — admirable, splendid, and gorgeous.

Your husband is perhaps the greatest maia to ever grace the lands, his gentle touch, his kind smile, his beautiful auburn hair — and his strong shoulders that you have found yourself massaging as of the late. "You are spending far too much time in Lord Aulë's smiths." You opened your mouth to speak, while continuing to massage his back.

"We are doing good work, my love." He defends.

The way that his eyes glitter at the slight of crafting, he brings the finest little treasures to your shared home every day. He creates stories behind the treasures, claiming them to have come from distant lands — you always answer him with a giggle, and he finishes every tale by telling you that he only made it up.

"We spend little time together. I've missed you." You sigh.

He turns to look at you — his eyebrows merged together, eyes filled with concern. "I apologize, lover." He pouts, and you press a kiss to his lips. "...and our child has longed for you too." You place a hand on your stomach. "Aulë says that a great darkness grows," Mairon says.

Goosebumps travel down your spine as you remember whispers of Melkor's darkness, he has always gone against Eru Illuvatar. "He visited the gardens yesterday, Iellas and I were looking for fruits for today's feast. He spoke to us, told us that this world is flawed." You informed, feeling the dread pool in the pit of your stomach.

Mairon rises to his feet.

He looks deep inside of your eyes, searching for any trace of — an emotion that you are unfamiliar with. "You must not speak of that encounter to anyone else, tell Iellas to do the same," Mairon commanded, his voice firm.

"We must tell someone. If Melkor seeks to sew discord — create a conflict that cannot be resolved by mere words, then the very peace of our realm is thrown in limbo." You whispered, afraid that anyone else would be able to hear. "Eru Illuvatar sees all." Mairon affirmed.

You wanted to argue with him — tell him that a dark cloud follows after Melkor, a cloud that you are sure obscures Illuvatar's vision. You stare deep into his eyes again, allowing those sea-green orbs to bring you peace. Mairon knows better. His power exceeds yours.

"— as his children, we must fight against temptation. It is our test." His eyebrows relaxed, but you could sense that there was a deeper meaning to his words. In his eyes, you could see conflict, of both light and darkness, of safety and reckoning. "I see no future in following Melkor's faith. No one shall follow after him, for no one shall desire to leave this paradise." You stated.

Valinor is beautiful — its green fields, warmth, and its promise of eternal peace. Only a fool would leave. Only a fool would follow after a dark mist of dread.

He cups your cheeks with his hands. He presses a soft kiss on your lips. You inhale his scent of roses. "We do not have to worry about that — because we are safe here. The whims of the Valar are beyond our hold, we can only do what makes us happy." He smiles.

"I love you, lover."

"I love you most,"

Mairon slowly turned distant after that, he'd make up excuses — tell you that there was work needed to be done in Lord Aulë's smiths. He'd wake up early in the morning and sleep late in the night. He'd whisper in your ears — all the ways that this world is flawed, all the creations of Illuvatar that are broken.

His songs, which used to feel like feathers and bamboo leaves, now turned grim, reminding you of rocks grinding upon rocks. You tried to intervene...you tried to help him, but one day he just left, without a note, without a word, without a goodbye.

The light that used to fill your child with strength now dwindled like their father — their movements became little, until one day, you were sure that there was no longer life inside of your stomach.

"You are the fairest of Illuvatar's creations," Yavanna's voice echoed throughout the large chambers. "I feel your light." She adds.

"Lady Yavanna, there is no life left for me to live." You opened your mouth to speak, and after centuries of crying and mourning your beloved and child, all joy has shaken off your body.

You kept your eyes on the floor, bowing in the presence of the Valar. Great darkness has consumed these lands and corrupted its people, even your husband, who was more powerful than you. "The Grey Havens exist to provide us with peace. It saddens me that you cannot find it here," Yavanna tilts her head.

"I do not wish to be...How I am jealous of mankind, for their souls can leave this sphere, unlike mine, unlike ours." You breathed.

How beautiful it must be, the feeling of release. The feeling of not having to be in this world anymore, simply a spirit or an energy that floats, incapable of thought, incapable of action, finished in existing.

"It is not death that your spirit seeks, but the privilege of forgetting." Yavanna looks deep inside your thoughts, feeling your memories flow through her veins. "Do you wish to forget, child? To have a new beginning?" She inquires, she is not the most merciful of the Valar, but she sees herself inside of you — she loves Aulë in the same way that you love Mairon, and the thought of her lover being pried out of her hands, it makes her shiver.

"If you will allow me, my lady." You say with hidden pleading.

Yavanna raises her hand — and everything turns to black.

Halbrand — veiled, hidden, shadowed.

You always hated staring at the sea, your mother says that the Grey Havens are always waiting for you out there — but it sounds so dreadful being stuck there, unable to do anything, unable to speak to any other creature besides elf and valar.

But now, you are stuck in the middle of sea, drowning because you refused to learn how to swim.

"Help me, please!" You scream, and a man helps you on his raft. The 'man' gives you a thin-lipped smile, saving you before you can inhale seawater. A cough escapes your mouth, feeling the unforgiving sun kiss your bare skin. "Thank you," you breathed.

The man standing in front of you is ... strange.

He has long brown hair that reaches past his neck. He has a charming beard and a mysterious fea. "What are you called?" He asks, feeling waves of familiarity crash over his body.

This elf maiden standing in front of him — with raven black hair and piercing purple eyes, he feels something hidden inside of her. 'I love you, lover.' His wife's voice floods his thoughts. Halbrand is in this raft because of you — because he wants to chafe his knees, earn his spot back in the Grey Havens, earn his spot back to you.

"Artanis," you say, your name sounds like a prayer.

Artanis, one of the names that he was supposed to give his child. He closes his eyes for a second, imagining his child standing in front of him, a smile ghosts his lips, how old was the child now? Ten thousand years? Fifteen thousand years? He has lost count in Morgoth's caves.

Will he even recognize you or his child? Will he even be allowed to see his family?

"I am Halbrand," he introduces himself.

"...and what are you doing here, Halbrand?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I cannot tell you, fair-Artanis." He chides.

You kept your distance from him, instead, choosing to sit on the farthest corner of the raft, intending to jump ship the moment that this blasted thing touches land.

Halbrand continues thinking about you, unaware that you are sitting right in front of him. "Where is your raft headed?" You asked, he tilted his head — for a second, your voice sounded so familiar. "...I doubt that we will be able to find safety until landfall." You added.

He chooses to ignore your chatty mouth.

"You are a deserter, aren't you?" He says with certainty. Nothing has changed with these elves, they've always run with their tails in between their legs.

Your eyebrows merged together, offended at his insinuation. "Do I have the look of a deserter?" You raised an eyebrow.

Halbrand admits you have the grace of a noble woman, the light of the two trees hiding behind your eyes. He chuckles, he must've wounded your vanity.

"You don't have the look of someone to whom things happen by accident," he teases, his eyes trailing back and forth between your eyes and your lips. The way that your waterline looks...no, it is the sea that is making him remember these memories of you. Of your warm hands massaging his back, of your fingers gently braiding his hair.

"Which means you were running. Whether toward or from something, I haven't decided." He placed a finger on his lips, pretending to be deep in thought.

You have landed right inside of his raft, it is biblical.

"Duty demanded that I return to Middle Earth. That is all that you need to know."

"Important Elf business, no doubt."

"What have Elves ever done to you?" You snapped.

You had already finished your studies by the time Halbrand learned to walk. Speaking from experience, it is always the youngest ones that have a lot to say!

"Do you blame us for your being stranded here?" You queried. Horrible people have horrible stories to tell. "Worry not, Artanis, it was not the elves that chased me from my homeland. It was the darkness that I am sure still remains there." Halbrand looks off to the far distance.

"Your home, where is it?"

"What's it matter? It's gone now." Halbrand interrupts. The light of the sun casts an eerie glow on his face. "I know something of the pain you carry. My father dedicated himself to eradicating darkness. My mother — she lost herself to temptation." You shared.

Your mother was one of the few people that Sauron stole from the Grey Havens. He sewed chaos into the very realm that he once promised to protect. "Morgoth has done terrible things to my kind," you continued. "— my aunt, her husband was Mairon before he became Sauron."

His eyes widen slightly, but his face shifts back to normal before you can notice. "Your aunt, did you know her?" He cannot fight against the urge to ask a question — even when it is uncharacteristic of Halbrand.

"She begged Yavanna to grant her new life. I was born centuries after her spirit left the Grey Havens." You informed. "...and her spirit, where is it now?" Halbrand tried to make his voice sound curious — like something that a human would say after hearing a tale about elves.

"Not even Yavanna knows," your lips pursed into a thin line.

Silence permeates throughout the atmosphere. You turned to look at him again. "What's that around your neck? Is that a mark of your people's king?" You stared at his neck.

"My people have no king," his voice turns cold.

He cannot return to the Grey Havens now. He must find you.

"But if they did, where might that kingdom be found?" You asked with furrowed eyebrows, a plan beginning to form. "What if I told you we might be able to reclaim it?" You say, hoping to ignite a fire of hope in his heart.

Halbrand will be useful to you.

"I am afraid you are short an army," Halbrand scoffs. There was something inside of him that shifted — like mechanical gears suddenly turning in the other direction. Darkness follows him, and engulfs his figure, but you are unable to see it, thinking of it as nothing but his strong fea.

"Leave the army to me." You state with confidence.

"Do you usually plan or do these schemes come to you in dreams?" Halbrand stares. "Why're you stranded at sea, anyways?" He interrogates.

"Because rather than rest in glory, I chose to seek out the very enemy responsible for your suffering." You raise your chin.

"Look, Artanis. You didn't cause my suffering, and you can't fix it." Halbrand breathes.

"I have pursued this foe since before the first sunrise bloodied the sky. It will take longer than your lifetime even to speak the names of those they have taken from me." You argued, he cannot help but roll his eyes again.

If only you knew.

"If you want to murder orcs and settle a score, that is your affair. Don't dress it up as heroism." He spat.

"Are you going to tell me where the enemy is or not?"

"The Southlands." He finally answers. His plan is already fully formed inside of his head.

"I need to know how many the enemy were, under whose banner they marched, and then you are going to take me to their last-known location." You demanded.

Seeing as his wife was no longer in the Grey Havens, and his child could have traveled to Middle Earth during the interim. He could only purse his lips before saying: "Alright, Elf." He relents.

But the moment that you find out about the truth.

It shall not be his fault.

COMMENT TO GET TAGGED

[tonydaddingham]

do you guys ever think it possible that crowley not only consistently tries to protect or save aziraphale from shit not just bc he really cares for this funky lil angel but also bc aziraphale protected crowley from the first rain without a second thought or a whisper of hesitation and crowley has too big a heart to not want to forever return the favour, demonstrating that he considers that first act of innate kindness to merit keeping aziraphale from harm for all eternity, and his complete devastation at finding the bookshop on fire and aziraphale nowhere to be found was rooted in his feeling that he let down his angel when he needed crowley most,,, or is it just me

[nightingale-prompts]

Comforting Your Batboy

First | Previous | Next

Danny slept next to Dick for a few days after what happened. He no longer felt secure about his place here. No matter where you go you take yourself with you and Danny is the problem here yet again.

Danny didn't understand affection, at least not the kind that a parent gave. The moment Danny told Dick that his parents were scientists Richard understood. Gotham had seen dozens of scientists who pushed the boundaries of morality and there was no shortage of children used to fulfill their ambitions.

Danny still missed his parents. Regardless of how things ended, he had lived his entire life with a family unit that on paper meant life was stable. He had somewhere to go and people who at least acknowledged him as family. Parents that took care of him at least out of obligation.

This story sounded familiar. Like Jason who never stopped loving his mom despite everything or Tim who accepted his neglect as what it was. They didn't know what it was like to have parents that loved them like they should. Dick was lucky to have the parent he had.

Danny remembered quiet dinners as his parents rushed to finish the food that Jazz made or them going on long tirades about their research. For 12 years they devotedly worked on that portal. Every chance they got they'd run off to the basement. Because it was their life's work, the only thing that mattered.

When it was unveiled, Jazz only scoffed. She hated the portal. Dad looked to Danny for praise and Danny didn't know what to say.

"Isn't it just the greatest thing you've ever seen?" Dad put his hand around Danny's shoulder.

"Well...its definitely a thing." Danny laughed awkwardly.

Danny had hoped that when the portal finished it would mean he'd spend time with his parents. Maybe they'd give him more than a passing glance when he brought them his report card. He could share with them his dreams and plans to be an astronaut. Show them the stars and all his research. To prove to them that he was a scientist too.

But that didn't happen. None of that would ever happen.

Jazz warned him not to hope for too much.

"People don't change Danny." She said simply.

Danny still tried. He still hoped. That hope made him try.

That hope killed him.

Danny never told Dick the specifics, about the accident. Dick never pried, but he knew something wasn't right.

Danny would cry in his sleep some nights. Dreams of a life that was far away now. Dick couldn't do much, all he could do was hold Danny's hand and wait for the nightmare to pass in hopes that Danny would forget his dream when he opened his eyes.

Danny's body was scarred. Something he used his powers to cover but they were still there and appeared when the stress got too much. Dick only saw a small part of them.

Dick got a full view once of Danny's back once when Dick left him a change of clothes. Lichtenberg scars like feathered ferns ripped through Danny's left arm and back. Danny hated it when people saw his scars and the marks disappeared the moment he realized he was being watched.

Dick didn't mention it. Not even the faint green glow the marks gave off.

"Why does Batman hate me?" Danny asked peeking out from under his blanket. He was still shrunk down

Dick bundled the toddler up in the blanket.

"He doesn't hate you. He just...he doesn't like things he doesn't understand." Dick tried to not make that sound awful.

"He doesn't understand me." Danny sighed.

"And he doesn't have to. He won't do anything to you. Not with me around. I promise. I know you've been hurt before and you must have felt alone but you got me." Dick ruffled his little fuzzball's hair.

(Ignore small errors. Have bat picture.)

[navybrat817]

The Dad Diaries: Welcome Home

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky reflects on the first night with his son home and puts his thoughts to paper.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff, reflecting, first time dad, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a dad, okay?).

A/N: Welcome to The Dad Diaries! This AU will focus on Bucky and his relationship with his son (and you!) ❤️ Thanks to the beautiful @whisperlullaby for giving this intro a look and assuring me it wasn't garbage, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky stared intently at the open blank journal that sat in the middle of his office desk. He had picked up the pen a few minutes ago, but hadn’t written a single word. Why did he feel stuck? Better yet, what was he thinking by doing this? Reading often came easy to him, but writing? That was something else entirely.

It was also something he wanted to do.

He ran a hand over his face with a sigh and wondered if he should call it a night, crawl into bed with you, and try tomorrow. No, he didn’t want to push it off before he even began. Glancing at the monitor, he heard your voice in his head, a memory of something you told him in the early stages of dating:

The best writing comes from the heart. Write what you and your heart love because no one knows that story better than you.

Bucky had plenty of stories to tell. How he became a hero and a good man after years of pain and darkness. Or how he fell in love with you and became your husband.

And his newest adventure of becoming a father.

He wasn’t sure how to be a dad yet, but he knew he loved his son. That was more than enough to start. And with a smile tugging at his lips, he put the pen to paper.

Hey, Nugget,

My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Most people call me Bucky. Your mom calls me her husband and I’m the luckiest man in the world for that, especially since she gave me the greatest gift I could ever ask for: you.

Your name is James, too. Your mom doesn't know if we’ll call you Jamie or JJ, but I have a feeling you'll hear a bit of both. And one day, I’ll get to hear you call me Dad. Or Dada or Daddy or Papa.

Whatever makes you happy.

He paused in his writing when he thought he heard something on the monitor. His eyes flickered to the screen again and he breathed a little easier when he saw that his baby was still sleeping soundly in the middle of the crib. It wouldn’t stop him from checking on him later, just to be on the safe side.

I’m so glad you’re home. In fact, tonight is your first night in the nursery. I hope you like it here. To quote Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A house is made with walls and beams: a home is built with love and dreams.”

Yeah, your old man likes to read. Maybe you will, too. I even have an original copy of The Hobbit and would love to give it to you when you're older.

Books lined the far wall of Bucky’s office, many of them worn from the amount of times he read them. He made sure Jamie’s room had a reading nook, too. It was one of the only things he asked for when the two of you designed the nursery.

I hope you get enough sleep tonight. Your mom, too. You both did great at the hospital and deserve all the rest you can get.

Would you believe me if I said I was a nervous wreck when I brought your mom in, but tried not to let it show? People call me strong, but I don’t think I ever witnessed true strength until I saw how steady of a rock she was. She blew me away, which didn't surprise me. She amazes me every day.

Hearing your first cry stopped my heart and brought tears of joy to my eyes. After nine months of waiting and talking to your mom’s stomach, you were finally here. And seeing her hold you made me fall in love all over again.

Sorry if that sounds sappy, but it’s true. She looked right at me with happy tears in her eyes and said, “Bucky, look! Look at what we made! It's our little Nugget!” and my heart swelled. She insisted on calling you that and it rubbed off on me. Believe me when I say that you are the luckiest baby in the world to have the mother that you do.

He stopped writing again to glance at his wedding band, smiling all over again. He thought your love filled his heart before, but it overflowed now. It warmed him like nothing else ever could.

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this since a lot of time will pass by the time you read this. Sometimes I may write to remember things I’m afraid I’ll forget. Other days I’ll write to reflect and get the words out when my mind is too loud. But my hope is that this will be a gift to you.

A bond for the two of us.

As you grow, I’ll fill the pages with the memories of you and our family. I’ll tell you about my past and how it shaped me into the man I am today. How your mom and I met and how I somehow convinced her to fall in love with me. And I’ll be sure to tell you about the day she told me we were going to have you and how that news changed my life for the better.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before he continued.

I also plan to fill this with your milestones. Like your first smile. Is it selfish if I hope to see it first? If not me, your mom. She’d love that. Your first step. Being selfish again, but I hope it’s me you walk toward so I can pick you up and tell you how proud I am. And your first word. I hope it’s Mama.

Though I won’t object if you say Dada.

Bucky chuckled as he imagined the look of betrayal on your beautiful face if your son said “Dada” first instead of “Mama”.

I’m sure some days I’ll have more to say than others. If I’m lucky, I can pass on life lessons and words of wisdom. Some days though I may not say the right thing and I know I’ll stumble along the way as I figure out how to be the best dad to you. I say “best” and not “perfect” because perfection doesn’t exist. Except for you and your mom.

The beauty of it is that I don’t have to go it alone. I’ll have your mom by my side to help guide and protect you and to watch you flourish. And my hope is that you know as you look through the pages how much we love you.

Even on days I may not get it right, I’m your dad, you’re my son, and you’ll always have a home with me and a place in my heart.

I’ll write more when I can, Nugget. Until then, I love you.

Always,

Dad

Bucky set the pen down as he exhaled. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't have to be. It was a start. As long as he put his heart into his words, it would shine from the pages.

And he couldn't wait for all the adventures he’d have with his little Nugget.

I hope you lovelies are excited to take this journey with Bucky. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Barbara Stanwyck (Ball of Fire, The Lady Eve, Double Indemnity)—I hope someone else has submitted better propaganda than I because I don't want my girl's prospects to rest on me just yelling PLEASE VOTE FOR MY TERRIBLE HOT GIRLFRIEND. She is a delight in everything! She is often a sexy jerk! (It's most of the plot of Baby Face!) Even when she plays a "good girl" (as an example, Christmas in Connecticut, which more people should see) she's still kind of a jerk and I love her for it! She won't take men's shit and she sure wouldn't take mine!

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

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She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

Barbara Stanwyck:

"THE leading lady of the golden age of hollywood. One of the only actresses to work independent of a studio, making short-term contracts that enabled her to make movies wherever she wanted. She had so much range, and could act in basically any genre. She's been rumored to be a lesbian literally since she was active in Hollywood; most notable is the rumor that she had a long time on-and-off relationship with famously bi Joan Crawford, her "best friend" for decades (They lived right next door to one another). She also lived with Helen Ferguson, her "live-in publicist" for many years. She was the quintessential femme fatale in Double Indemnity, and really pushed sexual boundaries in her pre-code films like Baby Face, and the famous screwball The Lady Eve, where she plays basically a downlow domme. Allegedly, when a journalist asked her if she was a lesbian, she straight up threw him out of her house. She even played a lesbian in Walk on the Wild Side"

"THE queen of screwball comedies. I adore her, I'd kill for her, I will cry if she's not gonna win this poll."

"listen ok she had awful politics she was a mccarthyist right wing wacko BUT she's so incredibly hot that i've deluded myself into believing i could fix her. if you see her onscreen she carries herself in a way that's just so effortlessly sexy AND she has just a stunning face. imo she was at her hottest in the 1940s but even as early as the late 1920s she had a rly captivating screen presence and just a beautiful face, and then post-1950 she was just irresistibly milfy so really she was just always incredibly hot. she was also an incredibly talented actress who was equally stellar in melodrama, film noir, and unhinged screwball comedy. the blonde wig they made her wear in double indemnity is notoriously silly looking but she still looks sexy in it so that's gotta count for something. i've watched so many terrible movies just for a chance at seeing her that i think her estate should be paying me damages."

"Not often thought of for her sultriness, Barbara Stanwyck was incredible in that she could actually choose to be hot if the role called for it, and then have a glow-down to look ordinary for another role. She wasn't the most beautiful or effervescent, but damn did she have rizz. Watch her with Gary Cooper in Ball of Fire teaching him about "yum-yum" or with Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve whispering huskily into his ear."

"She is always the smartest woman in the room. Watching her play Henry Fonda like a befuddled fiddle in The Lady Eve was a highlight of my life. Femme fatale in Double Indemnity, comedy queen in Ball of Fire. She can do anything."

"She was part of my gay awakening"

"SHE'S A PRE-CODE QUEEN. She did everything, drama, comedy. The most beautiful woman in the world to watch weep. Beg for to step on you with those legs. Fun Babs story: Ginger Rogers was offered the role in Ball of Fire but said, “Oh, I would never play that part, she’s too common.” So they called Barbara Stanwyck and they said “We offered this to Ginger Rogers but she’s turned it down, would you be interested?” And she read the script and she said; “You bet! I LOVE playing common broads. [link]"

[moonmeg]

"So, tell me! Where have you been all this time?", Cat asked handing her old friend a mug while sitting down on the sofa herself.

Breena accepted the mug smiling and crossed her legs before she began telling her tale.

"Well, it started with me traveling around the Isles. I wanted adventure, I wanted to see new things and so I packed my things and went."

"Your parents never told us that.", Catherine frowned.

When Ahana and her noticed Breena was gone not even Breena's parents knew where exactly their daughter was. All they had was a note saying to not worry, she'll be fine. Breena didn't have the best relationship with her parents and Catherine remembered the red-haired girl as a fierce and quite rebellious individual - the fact Breena left was not as big a surprise as it should've been. Yet Catherine and Ahana couldn't believe their trio was down to a duo over night and the news hit them hard. The hurt healed over the years whenever they convinced each other Bree is alright wherever she was. They knew their friend after all. Breena was perfectly capable of fending for her own.

"Prolly cause they dinna know either. I dinna tell anyone where I went. Even though it hurt me to leave Ana and ye behind.", Bree mirrored Cat's frown. She took a sip from the mug.

"Without a goodbye.", Cat added. Though what had happened was almost twenty years in the past by now the aching in Cat's heart upon learning she lost a friend, unknowing if she'll ever see her again, still lingered deep.

Breena glanced at Cat. She saw the hurt her friend was feeling and found herself confronted with one of her greatest fears: Having brought pain to a person important to her. It's what she tossed and turned around in bed for even years after she had left. She never wanted to see Cat or Ahana be sad through fault of hers, yet here she was facing the consequences of her own betrayal to herself.

"Forgive me, please. I regretted it every night.", she leaned forward urgently.

Cat looked up at Breena and softly smiled. She reached for her hand and reassured her friend: "Bree... no hard feelings. I forgave you years ago."

Breena sighed in relief. It seemed a big rock finally loosened from her heart. At least she could have Catherine back as a friend. Whether or not Ahana has forgiven or would forgive her and accept her as a friend again she couldn't tell -neither could Cat- but Breena would try to gain it.

Genuine smiles of happiness and gratitude were exchanged before Cat asked Breena to please continue with her story. It had been sixteen years since they last saw each other and Breena had at least one child now. Cat was beyond curious on how that happened. She remembered that in the trio Cat was the only one to ever positively speak of having a family and children. Neither Breena nor Ahana mentioned the wish to become mothers one day. And yet Robyn was playing with Micah down the hall in Robyn's room.

The red-haired woman smiled and continued:

"On my travels I landed at a small tavern. I originally only wanted to get a drink and maybe ask where I could find more provisions. There... there was this pretty lad who caught my attention. We started talking and learned the tavern belonged to his aunt. He himself was son to a farmer at the same village. He offered me a stay at the farm for the night as it was gettin' late, I accepted and one night turned into two, two into three and three nights into weeks."

Bree began to smile sheepishly. Her cheeks slightly flushing a light pink, causing her freckles to stand out more. It was obvious she told this from a feeling of fondness and genuine love. Whoever that "pretty lad" was, he had Bree's full adoration.

Catherine smirked kmowingly and tilted her head: "I doubt it was the fields and animals of the farm that made you stay."

"Course not.", Breena laughed, "I stayed because of my sweet goldie."

"Goldie?", Cat raised a brow in curiosity.

Breena gave her a glance and then stared into the mug. She ran her finger up and down the porcelain surface. Her lips never broke the smile. On the contrary: her face only softened at the image of her husband before her inner eye.

"Aye, his eyes are golden. So I started callin' him that and it kind of developed into a pet name.", she chuckled.

"Well, time went by and things started takin' their rolls. Pinin' turned to a relationship, a relationship turned to an engagement, engagement to a pregnancy and so on and so on."

"So you weren't married yet when you had your first child, eh?"

Cat took a sip as she continued to listen to her friend's story attentively.

"No, no, by the time the bairn was born I was already Mrs. Bower. But I take no shame in admitting Makenna was conceived before that. Titan, some people have a lover and bairns but never married and there's nothin' wrong with that."

"No, of course not!", Catherine held up a hand in defense, "I'm surprised you got married and had children at all. The Bree I remember never seemed like the type to do so."

Breena shrugged.

"People change. 'Specially once love is involved.", her lips curved into a small, fond smile again. The type of smile you wear when you think of your beloved. "My 16 year old self wouldn't believe I'm a wife and mother either.", she turned to Cat again with a laugh.

Catherine joined in on the laugh. Suddenly it felt like they were children again. Sitting by each other and laughing together. Breena may have changed as person but her laugh remained as contagious and loud as ever.

"You have how many?", she asked. The curiosity once again got the better of her.

"Three. Micah's the youngest. And the only boy.", Bree chuckled and sipped from the mug.

Cat, thinking she is sly, replied: "So there's two copies of you waiting at home, huh?"

Her friend scoffed.

"The only thing they copied from me are the freckles. They are copies of their father. Brunette, golden eyes, the same smile, the same face. Micah's the only one to get my red hair additionally to the freckles.", she laughed and sat down more comfortably on the sofa.

Tilting the mug around in circles on her lap she grinned. "Seems our sons take more after us. Robyn is like a carbon copy of ye. A few differences here and there o' course. Surely from the father?"

"Yeah.", Catherine stiffened. She hated that she did. She hated she was still so affected by Caleb's death. She hated her facade of the strong, single mother was so thin and easily breakable. Thankfully, she thought, Breena didn't notice it.

Instead, the freckled woman gleefully leaned back on the sofa, placing her arm on the back of if.

"It's yer turn now. Tell me what I missed in yer life.", Bree tilted her head as she let it rest on her knuckles.

Cat stared blankly and almost automatically started tapping her nails on the mug. She quickly gathered herself again and stuttered:

"Ah- uhm... well, I'll uh I'll spare you the first sob story of my first relationship. Let's just say I was left a heartbroken fool when mh partner left me for another."

"Left ye?", Breena's smile faded.

"For another?", her brows furrowed.

"How dare they?! What's their name? I'll-", she drew a circle into the air and the mug loudly hit the little table in front of the sofa.

Much like Ahana, Breena was ready to hurt whoever dared to hurt Cat. They knew Cat was able to take care of people like that herself but it was just this urge to defend and stand up for Cat no matter what.

"It doesn't matter, Bree. I was twenty when that happened after all.", Catherine cut her off and hoped Bree would let it go. She almost pleaded her to with the look on her face.

Breena kept her angry face but sank into the sofa again. Catherine spoke of that first relationship with such ease that it left Breena to believe she had moved on from it a long time ago and so she calmed down and loosened up the tension in her body.

Cat broke the eye contact with Breena as she thought about how much into detail she wants to go with the love story she shared with Caleb. How much she could go into detail without suddenly breaking into tears uncontrollably.

"Four years down the line, I had put a wall around me and swore off love to avoid being hurt again. Little did I know, the walls I built could so easily be crumbled... and all it took was a young man with short blond hair and the warmest brown eyes. A little frail but handsome. A bit awkward but kind and affectionate. I didn't want to admit it at first but had to give in to the fact that my heart beat faster and louder when he was with me... my blondie. My Caleb.", she smiled in a mix of melancholy and fondness. The images flashing before her when she closed her eyes were so vibrant and clear still. They always were.

She reached for the ring on the silk band around her neck.

"I loved him. I loved him like I never thought I could love someone. Titan, I still do!"

A moment of silence.

Bree eyed her friend worried. It was obvious now that this story does not have a happy ending either.

"But he's not here anymore, is he?", Bree asked.

Catherine shook her head slowly.

"Some people...", Bree scoffed again and crossed her arms in front of her chest, "the audacity they have! You don't deserve that, Cat! To be left alone with a child to raise! The least he could do is show himself to the child he partook in creating."

"Oh, no, Bree, you got it all wrong!", Cat leaned forward towards the other woman, "He didn't abandon me and is now living a life without me and Robyn! He... he was taken from us. Brutally and coldly. By someone he trusted."

The grip on the ring around her neck fastened, as if cenching to it would bring Caleb back.

Breena sat in shock, mouth ajar. It took her a little to get another sound out. She wasn't sure what to say. Wasn't sure what to do.

"Ye- ye're a... a widow?", she asked with hesitation. The information still not fully processed and still in a bit of denial that her friend had to experience her husband dying. That she had to bury the love of her life...

Catherine nodded in confirmation.

"Oh, sweet Titan...", Breena breathed and looked her friend up and down, unsure where to focus on, "Cathy, I-", she began and didn't know how to continue the sentence.

"I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright. I learned to live with it.", Cat tried her best to give a smile.

"But ye shouldna have to! A widow at thirty! That's horrible!", Breena grabbed Catherine by her arm in haste. She began stroking her thumb on Cat's sleeve in an attempt to show comfort.

She projected the situation her friend was in on her own life. The thought of being widowed, of losing her husband, the father of her children, someone so dear and important to her was torturous enough. To actually live through it is something Breena couldn't fathom.

Cat took Bree's freckled hands.

"It's alright, Bree, really. It- it still hurts but Roby and I visit his grave every weekend. I tell him stories and we pretend Caleb is with us, sitting and listening.", she genuinely smiled. However, there was a certain sadness lingering in her teal eyes, Bree noticed. It was almost painful to see Cat like this. It felt worse knowing there was barely anything she could do to help Cat. And it felt worst when she realized she was not there for her friend when she had needed it most.

"Did Robyn ever meet his father?", Breena asked quietly. She hoped Catherine would say "yes, he did.". She hoped the little boy was held in his father's arms at least once. She hoped he had felt the warmth of his father's cradling arms and she hoped he had heard his father's heart beat at least *once*. But Cat's face didn't seem like that would be the answer. Catherine looked down and let out a dry sob.

"I wish he did..."

[velocesainz]

Hii I saw you asked for ideas, it might sound weird but maybe a max x reader story about him falling in love with reader when hes with Kelly still and them breaking up and choosing reader? Idk fluff,smut whatever i would be interested no matter what😌

Sounds quite interesting, hope you enjoy!

We're meant to be

F1 masterlist | Main masterlist | Taglist

Summary: Max and y/n are co-workers and good friends. Max develops feelings for her while he is dating Kelly. What happens when Kelly finds out about Max's feelings?

Warnings: none, fluffy

Pairing: Max x driver!fem!reader

Third person POV:

Ever since y/n joined Red Bull racing, there had never been a single moment of sadness.

Y/n was loved by one and all. She was an icon in so many people's eyes.

Her and Max were the greatest duo the paddock had ever seen. Winning races upon races, most with a 1-2 finish with both alternating top position.

They were an odd pairing for sure. Fiery rage paired up with calm and collectedness? Unheard of.

Max POV:

I was walking around the paddock when I bumped into y/n who was holding a massive camera in her hands and interviewing people around her.

"Oh hey Max! Are you excited for today's race? Who do you think will win?" She asked me in her most 'formal' voice.

I chuckled and responded "I am quite excited for today's race, Belgium is like my second home. I would say I will win today but something tells me otherwise" I added that last line since she was looking at me as if she was going to murder me if I didn't say she would win.

"Thanks Max! Catch you later" was all she said before she skipped away happily.

God she's so beautiful. She's kind. It gives me butterflies.

Wait...

Am I...

In love?

I've never felt this with anyone, not even Kelly. I mean she's nice and all but I don't think she's the one for me.

How will I break the news to her? I'll have to figure out.

Kelly POV:

I was looking around for Max when I saw him talking to y/n, who was interviewing him by the looks of it.

After she left he kept staring at her and started blushing. Was he in love with her?

It wouldn't be very unlikely. He hasn't really been very affectionate lately and he's been spending more time with either her or Penelope.

I feel like he's falling out of love with me.

How can he recklessly fall in love like that? I'm his girlfriend!

I have to get him to stop interacting with y/n, otherwise I'll lose him. I need him for the money, I can't lose him at any cost.

Y/n POV:

I felt Max staring at me as I left or maybe i was imagining things. I am so madly in love with him I might be delusional, but he loves someone else.

I sigh and continue interviewing people as I was told by Martin Brundle who was trying to make a fun behind the scenes episode for sky sports.

Timeskip:

I got out of the car and stood proudly on top of my car, my 5th race win this season and I was officially in the lead in the drivers championship.

After podium celebrations I was making my way to my driver's room to relax for a bit before interviews when I heard some yelling coming from Max's room.

Being the curious person I was, I eavesdropped.

Max POV:

I was relaxing in my room after a decent race, P2 was a pretty good result.

Suddenly the door slammed open revealing my angry girlfriend, oh god this was going to be hell.

"Stop talking to y/n from this instant on." She said curtly.

"Who are you to tell me who I can talk to and who I can't huh?" I snapped back

"IM YOUR FUCKING GIRLFRIEND. WHO IS LOOKING OUT FOR YOU! I SEE THE WAY YOU LOOK AT HER-" she screamed.

"WELL JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE MY GIRLFRIEND DOES NOT MEAN THAT YOU GET TO CONTROL MY LIFE! AND YEA MAYBE I LIKE Y/N SO WHAT?" I yelled. This girl is getting on my nerves.

"SEE YOU ADMIT IT YOURSELF! YOU LIKE HER! EVEN WHEN YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND! HOW SHAMELESS CAN YOU BE?" She continued

"You know what? I'm done. Done with this relationship. You've never been supportive ever. It's as if you're with me for my money and that it. So kindly get the fuck out, gold digger" I was so happy to get all the feelings against her off my chest.

She looked at me in disbelief and walked out.

Y/n walked in right after Kelly left. Did she hear the argument?

"Are you alright Max? That argument sounded intense" she asked with concern showing in her eyes

"Yeah. I'm alright. Did you..uhm hear what we argued about?" I questioned

"Uhm...yea" she replied shyly

God I loved this woman so much

I walked up to her and kissed her.

The world seemed to fade away. I had the woman of my dreams in my arms I was never going to let her go.

[hey-august]

B, G, K, R, S, Y For the alphabet!

I absolutely love your head canons for buggy!!! 💗

Sorry if this is a lot!

Ahhh, thank you!! Sorry for the delay with these! I had Too Much Fun writing them out! (NSFW Alphabet here)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For Buggy himself, he’s most apt to admit that he likes his hands. They’re the hands of a pirate and a performer. Calloused and agile. Plus he has a thing for nail care and finds it soothing to apply a layer of lacquer in whatever color he’s feeling at the moment. The pop of color really stands out when his hand is wrapped around a thick cock. Or digging into a dripping hole. Fuck, and seeing how many fingers he can fit? Yup, definitely a favorite of his. For his partner, it’s their smile. Aw, sweet. Of course he loves to make them laugh. To see their joy radiate up to their eyes. Even the sad, somber smile they offer the clown in his moments of vulnerability brings him a bit of peace. But there are two specific smiles that knock Buggy head over hills. That pump blood to his cock and leave him feral. First, is the soft breathy smile that slips out when his partner is on top. When his partner pauses to let Buggy’s dick nestle into place, they let out the most dreamy sigh and smile. And Buggy is in heaven. The second smile is when their face is coated in cum. Pearls clinging to their eyelashes, dripping down their cheeks, mixing with the spit on their outstretched tongue. The moment they risk getting jizz in their eyes, just to look up at Buggy and smile gratefully, all he wants to do is paint them again.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Buggy the Clown is a goofy fucker. He never stops talking. He always has shit to say. At first, it was a defense mechanism. All the humor and shenanigans kept the real feelings away. How could things get serious if he treated everything like a joke? If people saw a clown, then he’d give them a clown. “Lick it like a candy apple.” “Fuck, you could swallow swords in my show with a throat like that.” “C’mon, I wanna see you juggle these balls in your mouth.” (“I may not be a lion tamer, but I am pussy tamer.”) It dies down over time, but never goes away entirely. Buggy will never pass up an opportunity to invite his partner to the circus tent in his pants.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Mirror sex results in the best performances. Buggy rarely feels more like a star than when he’s watching his own lewd faces in the mirror while getting fucked. And Buggy is more than happy to take a backstage position when his partner is in the spotlight. Watching himself disappear into his partner, telling them to keep their eyes open, to move so he has a better view of the show - it strokes his ego hard and fast. But back to Buggy bent over in front of the mirror and drooling. There was one time his partner pushed the clown’s face against the cold silver and said to give himself a little kiss. What. The. Fuck. Licking and kissing the mirror and getting it dirty with spit and tears gave Buggy the most mind-blanking orgasm he’s ever had. In that moment, which stretched into eternity, he was a filthy fuck doll and more than okay with it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, but hear me out. Buggy’s interest in experimenting is driven by his image. Pirates swap stories and Buggy has all the best stories. Of course he does, he’s the greatest. And he’s done soooo many things. Really! Getting his dick sucked in a crowded restaurant - check. Stealing a chick from her boyfriend and fucking her in the bar bathroom - check. Then getting a blowjob from the boyfriend - check. Believe it or not, they all had a threesome afterwards and it lasted for days. Look, he still has the rope marks to prove it. Did that all happen? Abso-fucking-lutely. Really? Well…yeah. Sorta. Maybe some of it happened after the told the story. Buggy is a big believer in turning lies into truth. So yeah, Buggy will take risks to live in the reality he creates over stale beer. But he’s also down to experiment so he has more shit to talk about and prove he’s the best.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

If he could, Buggy would go until he passes out. How long that takes depends on how stressed he is, if he actually did any work during the day, how much he’s had to drink, and how good of a dicking it is. But this guy will hump and grind until he’s teary and whining. Until his balls are so empty that there’s almost nothing left to release except a few pathetic drops of mostly-clear liquid. Hands grabbing at the sheets and his partner, practically begging for more while his pretty eyes can’t stay open for more than a second. No, no, no, no, no, he swears he can keep going. Please, please don’t stop.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

There are ups and downs, but let’s talk about the ups. There are times when Buggy is revved and ready to go at a moment’s notice. His pupils dilate and his pants get tight when his partner is near. Any chance he gets, Buggy is whispering (loudly) in their ear about finding somewhere more secluded. If they do slink away, it’s a quickie that’s composed of a handful of sloppy thrusts and the pirate is satiated for all of a few minutes before he’s groping their ass again. It’s a problem, really. For everyone with eyes and ears.

[mint-yooxgi]

{12} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateex X Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU & Dragon AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Seonghwa)

Words: 10,355

Warnings: Threats, mentions of bones being reset, some blood and injuries. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Finally, a chapter I have been waiting for to write!! lmaoo my apologies if the beginning is a little slow, but there’s some big reveals in this chapter that I really hope you’ll all enjoy. The next few chapters might have some more important truths in relevance to the plot, so I hope you all look forward to that! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Mini Masterlist

“You made her a Drygg Promise?” Seonghwa’s voice is full of disbelief as he stares at the younger dragon across from him.

“What Jongho chooses to do with her is completely up to him.” Hongjoong casually adds, turning the page of the book he’s currently reading. Though, none of them fail to miss how tense their leader seems, the sound of paper being harshly flipped through reaching their ears each time he so much as fingers the next page.

“You understand that if you ever go back on your word, a tattoo like mark will appear on your body branding you for all to see?” Yeosang meets the youngest’s gaze, arms crossed over his chest as a hint of worry bleeds into his tone.

Those that break a Drygg Promise are branded in dishonour, marking them as someone unfaithful and untrustworthy to others. It is one of the greatest shames that can befall a dragon, for the mark can never be removed, nor the magic ever be undone. Once a Drygg Promise is broken, it can never be made again.

“I know.” Jongho hums. “Which is why I never intend to break it.”

“Keeping a Drygg Promise is easier said than done.” Yunho states, sharing a brief look with the younger male across the room.

“Did she make one back?” There’s a hint of irritation to Wooyoung’s tone, his entire body stiff as he leans against the wall.

“No,” as soon as the word leaves Jongho’s lip, the male seemingly relaxes. “This one was purely just intended for me.”

“But she agreed to it?” Hongjoong glances at the youngest out of the corner of his eyes, watching the male carefully.

“She didn’t push me away.” Comes the younger’s response.

San pouts, shoulders slumping as he sits in his seat. He wanted to be the first one to make a Drygg Promise with you. It didn’t matter what it was, he just wanted to prove to you how loyal he could be. How faithful. Especially to you.

“You know as well as I do that once the connection is made, there’s no preventing that magic from taking hold.” Yunho sighs, meeting gazes with Hongjoong. “Whether she wanted him to be or not, he’s bound to it. At least from what he’s told us, it’s just him.”

“Why would you do something so stupid?” Mingi shakes his head in disproval, turning to look at Jongho in the next second. “Least of all for her?”

“If I recall correctly, you did some pretty stupid things when you were trying to impress that one she-wolf quite a few years back,” Yeosang hums, flicking his bangs out of his eyes.

Red begins to creep up Mingi’s neck, the male sputtering briefly. “Well, at least I didn’t imprint, or do something as stupid as make her a Drygg Promise!”

“You act like it’s the end of the world.” San grumbles, visibly becoming more upset the longer that this conversation drags on.

“I did what I felt was best at the time,” Jongho shrugs. “My love for her is none of your concern.”

“It is when you threaten our clan’s quest for the crown!” Seonghwa snaps, chest heaving with every breath he takes.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to find this stupid crown!” Jongho retorts, brow tugging downwards in a frown. “It’s made you completely power hungry and desperate to rule! Do you really think that you’d make a good leader when you can’t even swallow your pride for ten fucking seconds and admit your own faults?”

“Watch it, Jongho-“

It’s Mingi that gets cut off by the youngest next.

“And you!” He seethes, rounding on the flaming headed male. “Burning every fucking thing to the ground any chance you get? Tell me, again, how your anger isn’t controlling you.”

“Jongho.” Yunho stands, moving towards the younger dragon in attempts to deescalate the situation before it goes any further.

“None of us are fit to be rulers,” he continues. “Not when half of us can hardly make decisions on how we handle things or how we feel about them.”

Yeosang’s eyes narrow pointedly.

“Not when half of us can barely control our emotions.” Jongho’s eye flash at both Seonghwa and Mingi. “We don’t deserve it.”

“Jongho.” Hongjoong’s eyes flash, his book slamming closed. “That’s enough.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about it, too.” The youngest huffs, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils at how heated he’s become.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hongjoong’s voice is low, ominous as he slowly stands to his feet. 

The scraping of the chair against the wooden floor fills the silence in the room, each male now much more tense than before. A weight has settled over all of them, looming over their heads like a thundercloud.

“I am tired of these fucking raids,” Jongho’s entire expression drops, shoulders slouching as he curls in on himself. “I am tried of having everyone fear us everywhere we go. Our clan name shouldn’t be a cause for terror, or despair. It should be one to be celebrated and supported. There is no honour in senseless violence or killing. I am tired of all this bloodshed. Aren’t you?”

A heavy silence fills the air, drowning them in the harshness of Jongho’s confession.

Seonghwa sees red.

“You’re starting to sound like that fucking huntress-“

Snarls echo around the room, yet none are as loud, or as surprising as Yeosang’s.

“Don’t call her that.” The male’s lips are pulled back over his teeth, fangs on full display.

“What’s the matter with you?” Seonghwa voices, incredulously. “Has she bewitched you, too?”

“Don’t you dare go there, Hwa.” Wooyoung takes a menacing step forward.

“Yeosang couldn’t trust her, and then he spends one fucking day with her and suddenly he’s smitten!” Seonghwa counters. “You can’t blame me for knowing that she’s put a spell on all of you at this point. The fact that she made you make her a Drygg Promise just confirms it. She’s obviously toying with your-“

“I made her that fucking Drygg Promise of my own free will, Seonghwa,” Jongho’s tone is but a growl on his lips as he cuts the elder off. “Perhaps it’s you who needs to reevaluate how you see her.”

“It’s not like we’re going to be able to change it now,” Mingi sighs, shaking his head lightly.

“Even you are acting fucking different towards her since the other day.” Seonghwa’s eyes narrow at the younger male with the flaming hair. “What’s gotten into you?”

“We aren’t as stubborn as you are, Hwa.” Yunho says, eyes flashing at the eldest. “We’ve actually taken the time to get to know her, and realize that she’s not a bad person. We can learn a lot from her. Just look at how far San and Wooyoung have come with their medicinal training in a month!”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t poisoned you, yet.” Seonghwa grumbles, diverting his gaze to the floor for a brief moment.

San, Jongho, and Wooyoung all go to lunge at the eldest. Even Yeosang and Yunho twitch slightly in their spots, but again, it’s Hongjoong that acts first.

Slamming the eldest against the wall, Hongjoong pins him with an arm across the  elder male’s chest. The younger’s eyes are a deep gold, flashing dangerously beneath the moonlight as Seonghwa’s own widen in response.

“I will not have you speaking ill of the woman that has not only saved your life, but the lives of your brothers more times than I can count. She has been kind enough to extend her knowledge to us after the multiple stunts you’ve pulled against her and her clan.” Hongjoong seethes, lips pulled back in a snarl as his fangs begin to elongate. “You bring more shame to yourself every fucking day, Seonghwa, that you do not admit your own shortcomings, and apologize for your mistakes. Jongho’s right, you would make a terrible ruler. We all would.”

Seonghwa can feel his heart pounding inside his chest, the familiar bitter taste of tears beginning to form behind his eyes. He blinks them back, but from the way Hongjoong presses him harder into the wall, the elder can tell that the younger is nowhere near finished with him yet.

“Until you can fucking get your head out of your ass, you are banished from this household until further notice.” Hongjoong commands, and he can feel the way Seonghwa’s breath hitches in his throat based on the way his chest freezes beneath his arm. “Do not come back until you have both learned the error of your ways, and have apologized to the woman we owe our lives to.”

In the next moment, Hongjoong shoves himself off of the elder male, backing away from him slowly. None of the others dare to say anything as Seonghwa spares one final glance around at all of them, worried about incurring the wrath of their leader after such a tense exchange.

“Fine,” Seonghwa huffs, straightening out his shirt. “If this is how all of you are going to act, I don’t want to be here, anyways.”

Without another word, or waiting for an answer, Seonghwa storms out of the house. The crisp night air greets him, and he’s immediately shifting, taking off into the night sky without a single glance back.

The six remaining males turn to look at a heaving Hongjoong. 

Yunho, San, and Jongho all blink in shock.

“You really chose that witch over your own brother?” Mingi looks appalled, lips parted in disbelief at his leader.

“Watch it, Min.” Hongjoong’s eyes flash as he turns towards the taller male. “Do you want to get banned, too?”

“Not particularly,” he shakes his head sightly, hands raised in his own defence.

“Good.” Hongjoong nods once. “Because despite what it looks like, I’d really rather not have this clan fall apart.”

“We have noticed a slight change in you, Min.” Yunho observes. “Ever since you talked with her that one day.”

“You’re less…” San searches for the proper word, “hotheaded at times.”

Yeosang says nothing, observing the scene before him with his arms crossed over his chest. Casually, he leans back against the wall, making brief eye contact with the taller male. He quirks a brow.

“She just gave me something to think about, is all.” Mingi clears his throat, a faint blush beginning to creep up his neck.

“You? Thinking?” Wooyoung voices, eyes wide in amazement. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Threateningly, Mingi takes a small step in the shorter male’s direction.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Wooyoung laughs, putting his hands in front of himself for protection. “It’s just nice to have a conversation without it all bursting into flames.”

This time, Mingi doesn’t stop himself from lunging at the younger male. In a flash, he has Wooyoung in a headlock, the younger thrashing in his arms in attempts to escape.

A long sigh is escaping Hongjoong’s lips in the next second, noticing how Jongho has seemingly slipped out of the front door in all of the commotion.

“Where’d our youngest go?” San frowns, looking around the room.

“Probably to clear his head,” Yunho responds, pulling Wooyoung out of Mingi’s grasp.

The younger male immediately starts praising Yunho, all the while sticking his tongue out at Mingi who is being held back by the taller male.

“I’ve never seen Jongho act like this,” Yeosang’s gaze is locked on the wooden floor, a frown tugging at his features.

“He’s never really been huge on the whole quest for the crown.” Hongjoong shrugs, leaning back against the side of the table. “You all know this.”

“He’s always been silent about this kind of stuff, though.” San’s brow furrows, arms crossing over his chest.

“You know as well as I do that he can get very impatient at times.” Hongjoong replies, staring out of the window as if he can see that familiar golden dragon flying in the distance. “This whole imprinting thing is probably weighing on him in its own ways. He did think she was human.”

“We all did.” Yunho hums knowingly.

“I don’t think he cares about waiting for her in terms of the imprint,” Yeosang adds. “I just think he’s feeling inadequate for her in general.”

“I think you’re right,” Hongjoong sighs once more, turning his attention back to the males standing around the room before him. “It’s frustrating when you want to learn all there is about a person, but they keep you at arms length.”

“Speaking from experience, Leader?” Mingi quirks a brow.

“I’m just saying I can understand how Jongho feels.” Hongjoong responds, tilting his head in Mingi’s direction.

“I think we all can.” San mumbles, rubbing a hand over the side of his face.

A look is shared between Yunho, Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung. Even Yeosang spares a quick glance upwards in response.

“Trust isn’t something that’s given,” Mingi comments, already heading down the hallway and to his room for the evening. “It’s earned.”

The sound of his door swinging shut echoes through the silence that has befallen the room. Five males can only stand there in shock, sparing glances at one another at the words that have just been uttered by their hotheaded brother.

Did he just agree with something you have always believed?

Blinking, Hongjoong clears his thoughts enough to face the remaining four males before him. “Remember, don’t let Seonghwa back in unless he has fulfilled his requirements. No matter what.”

Firm nods of agreement greet Hongjoong in response, the other males dispersing to their rooms for the evening shortly after that. Hongjoong, on the other hand, steps outside, the fresh air helping to cool his heated skin and clear his head even further.

Wordlessly, he shifts into his true form, stretching his wings out before leaping into the night sky. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick flight around the area, and maybe even check in on you this evening.

After all, he’s just doing what he should be as his clan’s leader, and making sure Seonghwa hasn’t done anything to harm you in retaliation to his decision. No other reason…

You, on the other hand, had finally been able to finish that book you had been meaning to all those long weeks ago. Your eyes are strained, and exhaustion seeps into every pore of your body as you blow out the oil lamp resting beside you.

Just as you begin to crawl into bed, you sense a familiar presence flying closer and closer to your cabin. You’ve long since sensed the other circling over the area for at least ten minutes or so, so when you feel the other, you believed it’s simply Hongjoong coming to collect their youngest for the evening.

Unbeknownst to you, as you succumb to the darkness of your own consciousness, both dragons opt to steer clear of one another. Not once do they cross paths, purposely avoiding the other as they pass protectively over your territory.

Little do any of you realize that they stay for the entire night.

The very next day, Yunho visits you with Yeosang by his side. 

To say that you’re surprised would be an understatement, considering you would have expected either Jongho or Hongjoong to have brought you the news of Seonghwa’s temporary banishment. Either way, you’re grateful for the information, inviting them in for lunch all the same. A fact of which they both gladly accept, Yeosang attempting to not look too eager as this will be the first time he’ll get to properly eat your cooking firsthand.

They stay for a few hours, offering you help around your house to do some small chores in thanks for the meal. You accept, and in no time at all, have completed your small list of things to do for the day.

Some time in the afternoon, you hear both Chenle and Renjun enter your house. You could sense their presences getting closer, and you noticed that Yunho’s head lifts ever so slightly when they get about thirty feet from your door.

A subtle smile had pulled at your features at that, happy to know that your training with San and Wooyoung has been beneficial not just for them, but their brothers, too. You may not have agreed to train any of the other Halas, yet, but that doesn’t mean they cannot train each other.

Needless to say, once both Renjun and Chenle entered your house to see those two specific Hala dragons sitting in your living room with you, all sharing glasses of iced mint tea, they were shocked. Chenle immediately ran over and jumped into your lap, smothering you in his affection and noticing how the smaller Hala of the two attempted to hide his irritation. At least he did better at hiding his annoyance than Yunho.

Some time later, all four of them opted to leave you for the evening. The Halas told you that they didn’t want to overstay their welcome, to which you replied that they were welcome anytime.

Both Yunho and Yeosang had blushed at that, small smiles tugging at their features as they bid you a final farewell and took off into the sky. Of course, Renjun and Chenle shared a look between one another as this occurred, a knowing gleam shining within the elder’s eyes.

The two Neos left shortly after that, Chenle reluctant to head home as always. He promised to come see you again soon, to which you simply chuckled at, and sent them both on their merry way.

Days pass, and both San and Wooyoung happily continue their training with you. More often that not, they are accompanied by one or more of their brothers, if they don’t come to visit you themselves on their own time. It’s nice having the company, and they get along great with your Neos, so you’re no longer worried about any conflicts arising. Hell, even Mingi has been starting to join his brothers at times, a fact which surprises both you, and them, more often than not.

For over a week, none of them have seen sight, nor heard any sound of Seonghwa. You track him the odd time, just to ease the worry in Hongjoong’s mind, apparent in the way the male’s hands twitch in his own hold, and his brow creases occasionally. 

How you manage to be able to find the eldest so quickly, over such a vast territory still amazes him. Hongjoong has half the mind to ask you to teach him how you do it, but he doesn’t want to overstep. Though, you seem to catch on pretty quickly.

“I’ll send a message when I’m ready to teach you,” you smile, and it’s as if that single expression lights up the entire room. Then, you’re turning towards Yeosang and Yunho. “Do you two still wish to accompany me to Rose Village soon?”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Jongho stiffen.

“If you’ll have us,” Yeosang replies, a slight nod to his head.

“Again, I’ll send word when I’m ready.” You meet his gaze, shifting to look at Yunho in the next second. “I don’t know how you convinced Taeyong, but if he’s okay with skipping his favourite supply run of the month, then I have no issues with you two joining me.”

“If it’s his supply run, why do you have to go?” Jongho grumbles, arms crossed over his chest.

“I usually only join him on this run twice a year.” You say, turning to face the pouting male leaning against the side wall. “There’s a specific harvest festival that happens during both the spring and autumn seasons. I usually just gather the rarer herbs that the merchants bring in. Taeyong enjoys going for the flowers.”

“Don’t tell him you said that,” Renjun pops his head out your backdoor, wiping his hands on a cloth. “It’ll ruin his reputation.”

“Oh, my bad,” you playfully roll your eyes. “Big scary Neo leader likes flowers, big shocker there.”

“Wait, so it’s not Jungwoo that made the giant garden in their front yard?” San’s brows furrow, head tilting curiously in your direction.

“Oh, Jungwoo makes sure to maintain it,” you grin. “Along with dear Junnie here.”

At the way you move over to affectionately wrap your arm around the male’s shoulders, shaking him slightly, Renjun sends you a glare.

“My Neos are softer than you think,” you chuckle.

“We could still level a mountain if we wanted to,” Renjun grumbles.

“I know,” you hum, smiling fondly. “I would be upset if you couldn’t. Considering I taught you how to.”

“You can level a mountain?” Nothing but awe paints San’s features, the other Halas looking no different despite those that attempt to hide it.

“I can do many things, Sannie Boy,” you smile, though it becomes a little more unnerving the longer they all stare at you. “You just haven’t asked.”

The Halas all share a brief look between one another. None can deny the way hope begins to flood their veins, hearts beating erratically within their chests. Are you implying what they think you are? Are you, perhaps, beginning to trust them?

“Taeyong knows how to balance himself well,” you comment, shooting a brief glance at Mingi out of the corner of your eyes before turning to stare directly at Yeosang. “Wind can be harsh, and destructive, but it can also be calm, and refreshing. To every disaster, there is always hope.”

Yeosang nods, an understanding crossing his features as the others turn to look his way.

“Every power is like that,” you add, dropping your arm from around Renjun’s shoulder, much to the male’s content. “There’s good and bad in everything. What matters is how you wield it.”

“Oh, don’t start that lecture again,” Renjun rolls his eyes playfully at you, poking your arm lightly. “You have things to do.”

You shoot him a look before huffing out a laugh, “I suppose you’re right.”

“We better get going, anyways,” Hongjoong says, motioning for the rest of his clan to move with a jerk of his chin.

“We can stay and help,” Wooyoung offers, an eager gleam shining within his eyes.

You smile, “not this time.”

The way both he, San, and Jongho all visibly deflate at your response has you shaking your head, almost affectionately, at them.

“I’ll see you all again, soon enough,” you promise, waving them off. “Be safe. All of you.”

This is the first time Mingi has heard you wish them well while leaving, and he cannot deny the way his heart falters for the briefest of moments. A warmth unlike anything he’s ever felt before floods his veins, beginning from within his chest and spreading outwards. A feeling which he wants to feel more of, and soon.

Taking off into the sky, each Hala can still feel your gaze locked on them, tails flicking happily in the breeze. For the first time in a long time, they circle around one another, teasingly brushing each other with their wings, or rolling over their backs mid-flight. It makes them feel like their old selves again, a joy washing over them that they haven’t felt in a long time.

Finally, they can relax a little. Be more carefree. The weight of searching for the crown is no longer pressing against each of their shoulders, and it’s all thanks to you.

***

The tenth night after Seonghwa’s banishment from their nest, you hear a knock at your door. It’s faint enough that you almost miss it, as if whoever it is simply brushed their knuckles against the wood. However, from the presence you sense just on the other side, you know it simply isn’t just the wind.

With your guard high, and lights illuminating the kitchen, you open the backdoor.

The sight that greets you is one you honestly never would have expected, blinking mildly in shock.

There, looking even worse than the night you caught him with your dagger, stands the eldest Hala dragon. Scars litter what little exposed skin you can see of him, dirt and blood smeared against every free inch of his clothes. He holds his wrist in his one hand - the same one you broke all those weeks ago - rubbing it tenderly with his fingers. A gentle click can be heard each time he does so, the bones shifting uncomfortably beneath his skin.

His eyes are bloodshot as he meets your own, tears lining the corners and threatening to fall at any second. He keeps his lower lip caught between his teeth, grimacing as he meets your gaze.

Your nose crinkles from the stench radiating off of him, and you hear him sniffle.

You quirk a brow.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” his voice comes out small, strained from what little use he’s made of it over the past ten days.

The eldest avoids your gaze, suddenly finding the wooden flooring beneath your feet the most interesting thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“So, you decided to show up on your enemy’s back porch?” You hum, leaning against the frame of your open door.

“You are not my enemy.”

To say his words shock you would be an understatement, unable to hide the surprise from pulling at your features.

“Why did you simply not just go home?” Your tone is softer than a moment ago, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet your own.

The first of his tears begin to slip down his face. “I can’t go home.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly in inquiry. “And why is that?”

He purses his lips as best he can, but he cannot prevent the way that his chin trembles.

The next moment, he straightens himself, as if in attempts to control his emotions. “Forget it.”

The way you can just tell that he’s attempting to hold on to the last shreds of his pride as he goes to turn away from you has a low sigh escaping your lips.

“Asking for help does not make you weak, Hala.” You state, noticing how he freezes in his spot at your words.

“Seonghwa.” His voice is gruff as he spares a glance at you from over his shoulder. “My name is Seonghwa.”

“And I shall refer to you as Hala until I deem it time for you to hear your name being graced by my lips.” You reply, arms crossed over your chest. “Do not forget you went after my back not once, but twice after I spared your life both times. Not only that, but you continue to insult me, and threaten me after everything I have done for both you and your clan. I have every right to watch you die right here on my back porch this very second, and revel in every moment of it.”

You do not fail to miss the way he flinches at your words, guard raising as his lips pull back in a snarl.

“This was a waste of time,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth, turning away from you once more.

“You need to work on your perception, Boy,” you state. “I never said I wouldn’t help you.”

Yet again, your words have him freezing in his tracks.

“I owe that much to those brothers of yours.” You hum. “Perhaps one more so than the others.”

“Jongho,” he whispers, turning back around to face you, approaching you cautiously all the while.

“Yes, you have your youngest to thank for this,” you nod softly, relaxing your tense shoulders the slightest bit. “He continues to surprise me every day.”

“Then you’ve-“

“No.” Your reply is somewhat firm, a gentle shake to your head. “I have not. But, like I said, he continues to surprise me.”

Seonghwa says nothing as he steps right up before the threshold of your door, that invisible barrier still keeping him out for now.

“Do you have any life threatening injuries that I cannot immediately see.” You ask him, eyes quickly trailing over the front of his torso.

You do not fail to miss the way that he seemingly shivers beneath your gaze.

“I don’t think so.” He mumbles, shifting slightly from foot to foot. Again, he rubs his wrist, the bones clicking together unnaturally.

“Alright, then you need to bathe before I treat you.” You reply bluntly.

“Excuse me?” He blinks, clearly taken aback by your command.

“Well, other than the fact that you reek for the moment, the cleaner you are, the easier it will be to treat your wounds.” You explain, a knowing look to your eyes. “Wounds that I’m surprised haven’t started healing by themselves, yet.”

“Where the fuck do you suggest I do that?” He counters, irritated frown pulling at his features.

“If you learned some patience, Young One, you would have already been told the answer by now.” Your gaze sharpens, shoulders tenser than a moment ago.

His lips purse once more, jaw twitching slightly in response.

“I will allow you to bathe inside, but the second I sense any hostility from you, I will not hesitate to reestablish my barrier.” A firm look is sent his way. “Believe me when I say: you do not want to know what it feels like to have your lungs crushed from the inside out.”

Visibly, the eldest Hala swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the movement.

“Do you understand?” Your eyes flash, an undertone of a threat to your words.

A brief pause.

“I understand.”

“Good,” you nod once before backing away from him slowly. “You may follow me.”

Hesitantly, Seonghwa takes a step towards your house. Slowly, he raises his one hand, testing the entranceway for that barrier to see if he’ll run face first into that invisible wall. When he feels none, a mild look of surprise crosses his features, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears. Wordlessly, he enters your house.

The whole time you lead him to your bathroom, you keep your front facing him. Your eyes are sharp, guiding him through the house without even so much as a glance behind you to check where you’re going. Even when you reach the bathroom, you keep your gaze fixed on him while you begin to set everything up.

To say Seonghwa is a little unnerved would be an understatement. He would have thought you’d need to check your surroundings at least once on the trek to your bathroom. However, the way you watch him like a hawk doesn’t necessarily surprise him. He knows he deserves it. Hell, if he were you, he’d be doing the exact same thing.

“The towel is on the rack.” You comment, moving around him once he fully steps into the room. “Unfortunately, I cannot wash your clothes in such a short amount of time, but I’ll lay out some fresh ones on the bed for when you’re done. Don’t worry, they’re not mine.”

“They belong to your cubs, or something?” His voice is low, eyes darting almost longingly to the tub with faint steam rising from it.

“Or something,” you breathe. “I’ll be in the kitchen once you’re done. You decide whether or not you want to keep your shirt on while I treat your wounds.”

Without another word, you’re closing the door quite harshly in his face.

Letting out a low sigh, Seonghwa runs a his fingers through his hair. His whole body aches, and it’s a pain to even so much as strip himself of his tarnished clothes, but he does. 

What’s even more surprising to him is how you actually agreed to help him. Sure, your guard is still high, and it’s clear you don’t trust him, but you still allowed him into your home. You still drew him a bath, and are going to treat his wounds.

Perhaps he should follow his instincts more often. Maybe, just maybe, Jongho and his other brothers are right. For once in his life, Seonghwa should swallow his pride. He may just likes what becomes of it.

Sliding into the water, the male nearly lets out a low groan at the way the warmth immediately begins to loosen his tense muscles. The faint scent of lavender and lilac fills the room, and he finds himself relaxing more into the tub the longer he lingers.

A little while later, and after Seonghwa has finished cleaning himself up, he steps out of the tub. Some of his smaller cuts have seemingly healed in the time he took to bathe, his muscles feeling looser and more relaxed.

Sure enough, once he steps out of the bathroom, nothing but a towel around his waist, he sees a small pile of clothes left on the end of your bed for him. They’re clean, but he cannot help but notice the undeniable scent of a male faintly clinging to the material.

For some reason, it bothers him.

Yet, you sure are extending a tremendous amount of trust in him right now. Maybe, you’re simply testing him. Seeing what he will do if left alone in your room without you watching over him at every turn. He could tear your entire house apart right now if he wanted to, but he doubts you would let him so much as scratch your walls. Either way, he’s still cautious. He doesn’t trust you fully yet, either.

Stepping back into the kitchen, he sees you already leaning against the side counter with your arms crossed. Jars and bowls of ointment and herbs rest on the counter before you, oil lamps spread throughout the room and illuminating the space brightly.

“Better?” You meet his gaze, not even fazed that he left the shirt you gave him undone for the moment.

A curt nod is all that greets you in response, his hand once more coming up to rub at that one wrist of his. Again, a small clicking can be heard emanating from the bones each time he rolls it.

You click your tongue. “You really don’t know how to survive in the wilderness on your own, do you?”

“Of course I do!” Immediately, he goes to defend himself, scowl taking over his features. “I just-“

You raise a hand in the air, halting his protests dead in their tracks. “You fell into a bush of wild rat thorns while chasing something, didn’t you?”

At the way he remains silent, you have your answer.

You sigh. “Are you aware of what wild rat thorns are?”

“They’re thorns, aren’t they?” He replies smartly, his features twisted into a frown.

You snort out a laugh. “You’re technically not wrong.”

“If my wrist didn’t give out on me, I wouldn’t be in this mess right now,” he snaps, eyes flashing dangerously as he meets your gaze. “It’s your fault I’m hurt.”

“Not my problem you let it heal incorrectly.” You hum, pushing yourself off of your counter in order to step towards your supplies all laid out before you. “Also, not my fault, when I was simply defending myself against your disgraceful attack.”

“I should have just killed you when I had the chance,” his scowl deepens, fangs glinting in the light of the lamps.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Do you not ever tire of the front you put up, Hala? Does it not weigh on you every day?”

The way his breath hitches is slight, but you do not fail to miss the way he freezes momentarily in his spot.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice is low, deadly.

“Don’t I?” You quirk a brow, leaning forward to rest your one palm flat on the counter before you. “You’re the type to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. Every little thing that goes wrong, you blame yourself for, lashing out at anything or anyone when they try and get close. You wish to become stronger so those same mistakes never happen again, and when they do, it consumes you. You always feel as if you have something to prove, too. ‘Best them before they can best you’, am I right?”

“What do you know about it?” He hisses, his eyes glazing over as a fresh set of tears begin to prick his vision.

“You and I are more alike than you realize,” you meet his gaze. “I was exactly as you are, once. I see my former self every time I look at you, back when I almost completely lost myself.”

Seonghwa’s expression is stern, whole body tense as he stands across from you. His hands are balled into fists at his side, and they begin to shake in a barely controlled rage. His eyes flash gold.

“You know nothing.” He spits, tone but a harsh growl on his lips.

“I know more than you do, Boy,” your own eyes flash in warning, mixing some herbs together in a bowl. “I know how toxic your behaviour can be, especially to those around you. There is only so much that another can put up with, if you do not choose to change, even if they care about you deeply.”

“You don’t know me.” His voice is low, body angled towards you as if he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“No, I do not,” you agree. “And you do not know me. But, as I have said, I have been where you are, and believe me when I say that you do not want to slip any further down that cliff. There is almost no coming back from it.”

Seonghwa smartly remains quiet, but there’s no hiding the disgust that pulls at his features.

“Now, would you still like me to treat your woulds, or are you going to throw another tantrum and storm out?” You quirk a brow, raising the one mortar in your hand and shaking it slightly.

Seonghwa takes a moment to think over his answer before wordlessly sitting himself down on the stool at the edge of your counter. His decision seems to please you, for the corner of your lips are quirking upwards as you nod once in his direction.

“When was the last time you properly ate something?” You ask, grabbing a separate bowl off of the side counter as you approach him.

The way his stomach growls is answer enough.

“That’s what I thought.” You chuckle, sliding the bowl full of berries over to him. “Eat that, and then drink this.”

Pouring the mixture of herbs into a steaming cup of water, you begin to swirl the contents with a wooden spoon.

Warily, Seonghwa eyes the fruit before him. He can feel his stomach twisting in hunger, but he’s cautious. Who knows what you could have added to these berries while he wasn’t in the room.

“I didn’t poison them, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You roll your eyes, taking a step forward to pluck a berry from the bowl and pop it into your mouth. You make a big show of swallowing the fruit before meeting his gaze. “See.”

Still, he doesn’t move.

“Look, you need to have something in your stomach for the tea to properly work.” You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose with you one hand. “I can see that the herbs in the bath helped your minor wounds, but if you’ve been practically starved these past ten days, drinking this on an empty stomach won’t be beneficial to your health.”

A moment of silence passes between the both of you as you continue to stare at one another. That is, until the sound of his stomach growling quite loudly cuts through the tension.

You chuckle, a knowing look sparkling in your eyes as he grumbles to himself. He pulls the bowl of berries in closer. Slowly, reluctantly, he begins to eat the berries, eyeing you cautiously all the while.

Exhaling an amused huff, you place the tea beside him. “Good Boy.”

It’s faint, but Seonghwa hates the way his back straightens the slightest bit at your words.

“How do you know all of this?” He asks after a few minutes of stillness.

“I believe I have mentioned before that my father has trained me vigorously since I was small.” You reply. “Then again, I’m surprised your brothers haven’t shared all that they can about me in their little story times.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he mumbles, finally take a small sip of the tea you’ve brewed him. 

The flavour isn’t anything special, but the more he drinks, the more strength he feels returning to his body. A warmth begins to spread outwards, radiating from the centre of his chest, heart beating firmer within. His wrist doesn’t hurt as badly, either.

“Ah,” you nod lightly in understanding. “I see.”

“The never shut up about you,” he says after a minute, staring into that now empty bowl.

“Do you still believe I have deceived them all with some spell?” Your voice is even, a hint of amusement bleeding through.

He takes a moment to think about it, hiding the lower half of his face behind the cup as he hums, “undecided.”

You laugh. For the first time in front of the eldest, you laugh.

To say the sound catches Seonghwa off guard would be an understatement, but it’s welcome, nonetheless.

“I may be strong, Hala, but deception is not something I have ever been good at.” You respond, grabbing a jar from your supplies on the counter and opening the lid. “At least, not bewitchments.”

At the familiar faint smell of lavender that fills the room when you open that jar, Seonghwa immediately know what type of ointment resides inside.

“Yes, you should be familiar with this paste,” you smile lightheartedly, watching as the tips of his ears dust a light red. “Yeosang informed me that you had run out of the last jar you stole.”

“Of course he did,” the eldest sighs, his one nail scratching lightly over a pattern on top of your wooden counter.

“Then, you know how to apply it,” you push the jar towards him.

“I thought you were supposed to be treating me?” He shoots you a brief look out of the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sure you don’t want me getting up close and personal with you any time soon,” you tilt your head knowingly. “You are more than capable of applying the treatment to the affected areas. Though, it won’t heal your wrist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my wrist.” He counters, holding it to his chest protectively as his eyes narrow.

“Right.” You shake your head in disbelief. “And it doesn’t click every time you twist it.”

For the nth time this night, he purses his lips, but says nothing.

“It didn’t set, nor heal properly.” You continue.

“No thanks to you.” He spits, frown suddenly tugging onto his features.

“Would you like me to fix it for you?” You inquire, leaning once more against the side counter. “I can’t promise that it’ll be painless, but at least you won’t have any permanent damage this way.”

Seonghwa gently places his hand back onto the top of your counter, staring intently at his wrist.

“Why would you offer to help me? I’ve done nothing but disgrace you since we’ve met.” Seonghwa’s voice is low, words but a whisper on his lips.

“I am not unreasonable, Hala,” you reply, tone soft as if you’re coaxing a child out from hiding in the closet. “Like I said, you and I are more alike than you realize. Sometimes all it takes is one moment of kindness to show you a new perspective on life. Besides, I owe your brother.”

“I don’t understand you,” he shakes his head, lifting his gaze to meet yours in the next second. “You hold yourself like an ancient, yet you aren’t one. Why?”

“Does that bother you?” The corner of your lips tug upwards as you move to pull up another stool across from him.

“Not going to lie,” he rests both his palms flat on the table. “It pisses me off.”

“Because you hate the ancients?” You ask casually, dragging over a small bowl filled with a herbal liquid to rest before you. A cloth rests over the side, to which you begin to drag through the mixture, squeezing out the excess shortly afterwards.

“How do you know if I hate the ancients or not?” His tone is guarded, but he doesn’t look away.

“I told you, we are more alike than you think,” you sigh, wringing out the final drops of that mixture from the cloth. “Give me your wrist.”

Extending your left hand out, you hold it with the palm facing upwards to him.

Briefly, his eyes dart from your face to your hand, a hint of hesitancy to his movements. Still, he reaches out his injured wrist, placing his hand in yours gently.

Your touch is soft as you tenderly wrap the cloth around his wrist. In fact, it’s much more tender than anything the eldest could have ever expected.

A shiver caresses his spine.

“This will hurt,” you repeat your words from earlier as you meet his gaze. “Do you need to bite down on something, or will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” his reply is gruff, already preparing himself for what is about to come.

“Brace yourself,” you warn. “I promise to make this quick.”

“Will you hurry up already- fuck!” 

A loud crack echoes around the room as tears spring to the eldest eyes. The fingers of his other hand dig harshly into the wood of your counter, and he’s surprised he doesn’t smash the wood with how hard he’s gripping onto it. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, puncturing the skin lightly. Enough so, that he can taste the faintest bit of blood on his tongue.

Softly, you coo at him, brushing your thumbs overtop of the cloth as you set his bones properly. 

Seonghwa takes this time to observe you carefully. Your face holds no malice in your expression, a softness to your features as you caress his wrist. There is an air about you that demands attention and respect, but he thinks it’s not even conscious on your part. An air of which he’s drawn to, inexplicably.

His gaze shifts back to your hands, still cradling his one wrist so tenderly. His eyes lock on faint scars lining your skin, raised in uneven bumps along the surface. Though, with the way they follow a circlet type pattern around your wrists, a sort of understanding washes over him. Scars of which he or his brothers have never noticed before, until he got this close.

As soon as you’re done, it’s like a wave of calm settles over him. His chest still heaves, but he finds the pain in his wrist ebbing away with each breath he takes. The bones in his wrist are healing unnaturally fast, and he realizes with one glance into your golden eyes, that this is your doing.

“You’re a healing dragon.” He states, a sense of awed bitterness radiating off of him.

“Not quite,” you sigh, finally releasing the hold you have on his wrist and taking the cloth with you.

“The hell do you mean, ‘not quite’,” his lips curl, that familiar anger flashing within his eyes.

“My existence is a myth in itself, Boy,” your eyes narrow as you push yourself up from your spot, moving to dump the excess liquid into the sink.

“What do you mean?” His brow furrows as he leans back slightly in his seat, observing you carefully. “Is that why there are scars of iron burnt around your wrist?”

A warning growl echoes around the room. “Be careful, Boy. You are asking questions way beyond your league.”

Seonghwa takes a moment as he looks down at his own hands which he has pulled into his lap. His wrist no longer hurts. Instead, a dull warmth has settled in his bones beneath his skin. He flexes his hand. “I’m sorry.”

You drop the bowl into the sink.

A brief silence settles over the both of you, only breaking once Seonghwa clears his throat.

“Thank you for healing my wrist.” He stands, and you can only blink at him in shock as he bows to you. “I apologize for all that I have done to hurt you. I can never take back my words or actions, but I realize now that I have misjudged you. Thank you for taking care of me when I don’t deserve it.”

A few more seconds pass by with him bowed lowly to you before he’s straightening himself. A moment later, and he’s heading towards your backdoor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The corner of your lips quirk as you lean against the side of the counter.

“I fear I’ve overstayed and overstepped.” He replies.

“You’re suddenly a lot calmer than you just were a few minutes ago.” You comment. “What changed?”

Briefly, his gaze darts down to your wrists, and you sigh.

“So, seeing the scars my old iron shackles gave me was the deciding factor?” You voice, and you watch as he’s shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Again, he remains silent.

“You certainly are a strange one, Hala,” you shake your head before motioning back to the stool he had previously been occupying with your chin. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

Slowly, he creeps back over to his seat, sitting himself stiffly on the stool. He can only watch as you slide that still open jar of ointment closer to him from over the counter.

“Looks like you now pity me in the same ways I pity you,” you hum.

“I don’t need your pity,” he retorts, snatching that jar off of the top of the counter as he begins to rub the ointment over his upper body.

“And I do not need yours.” You agree. “That does not prevent it from still being there.”

“You never answered my earlier question.” He diverts the topic. “About why you hate the ancients.”

You move back over to your own stool, tugging it a little further out from the counter before sitting back down.

“Most of the ancients hold power to the highest regard. It has been engrained into me since I was small, and took years for me to unlearn that power isn’t everything.” You begin, eyes narrowing carefully at the dragon across from you. “I guard myself as I do because my father always raised me as a weapon. I was not supposed to ever exist.”

“That does’t explain why you hate the ancients.” He mumbles, pausing only briefly in his application of the salve to glance upwards in your direction.

“I don’t hate my Uncle, but I certainly resent my father.” Comes your blunt reply.

Seonghwa nearly drops the jar in his one hand before clinging to it for dear life. His eyes widen significantly, gaze darting upwards to meet your own.

“The reason I hold myself like an ancient, Boy, is because I was raised by one.” You state, voice giving away a hint of bitterness as you speak these words.

“Your father is an ancient.” His jaw nearly drops, sitting stunned in his spot.

“He’s the one that made that goddamn prophecy, too.” You spit, pure ire shining on your face. “And if you so much as ask me about that fucking Jewel, I will tear your limbs off, and shove them down your throat.”

Seonghwa raises his one hand in understanding, knowing very well that you will hold true to your threat. Even if he so badly wants to ask. Still, he cannot help the questions racing through his head. Though, one sticks out more than all of the rest.

Do his brothers know?

“I would appreciate you not spreading this around,” you’re quick to continue. “Your brothers are not aware of this fact yet, and I would like the chance to tell them myself.”

Guess that answers that.

“Why would you tell me this, then?” His eyes narrow, shifting his gaze from the jar in his hand to you.

“You said that we are not enemies.” Comes your blunt reply, tilting your head upwards slightly and staring down your nose at him. “Prove it.”

“You confuse me.” He shakes his head before continuing to apply the salve to his injuries.

“The feeling is very much mutual at times,” you agree with a slight nod. “What confuses me even more is how you haven’t discovered your power, yet.”

The jar of ointment falls from his hand.

“Careful with that, it takes a week to brew,” you tut, raising a finger and causing the jar to begin levitating in the air before being gently placed on top of the counter.

“How the fuck do you know I haven’t discovered my power, yet?” His chest heaves, eyes sharp as he glares at you.

“I have already told you countless times tonight how similar we are,” you begin. “Why do you think I understand your personality so well? At least, most of it.”

“You’re wrong.” He huffs, arms crossing in front of his chest. “I don’t have a power. I never have, and I never will.”

“Is that so?” You tilt your head in inquiry at him, mirth dancing in your gaze. In a flash, you’ve reached beneath your counter, only to stab your dagger into the top of the wood. “Tell me, do you recognize this?”

His eyes glint maliciously, guard high and whole body tense.

“How could I ever forget the blade you almost killed me with.” He sneers, leaning as far back from you as the stool will allow.

“That’s the thing, Hala,” you meet his gaze. “It should have killed you. In two, maybe three minutes, tops. Do you know how long you lasted?”

Seonghwa remains quiet.

“Fifteen.” You answer for him. “You lasted fifteen minutes before I started treating you with the antidote.”

“So, what?” He huffs, clearly unamused. “I got lucky.”

“Diluted frost berry leaves make anyone vomit on contact with their tongue,” you continue. “You had to ingest two spoonfuls in order for it to take effect.”

“I think my body was focussing on expelling the poison at that point.” He counters.

“It had already been expelled.” You reply, somewhat bluntly. “The fact that you could even move as much as you did after everything was a miracle, but not when you think about it logically.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He states, fidgeting in his seat.

“You told me that you fell into a bush of wild rat thorns tonight.” You place your hands onto the top of the counter, palms facing down as you lean forward. “Do you know what type of plant that is?”

He takes a moment to think before shaking his head.

“Rat thorns are one of the most toxic plants on this side of the fjord. A simple scrape from them can render you unconscious. Multiple pricks and you will become paralyzed. They are commonly used in assassinations as when their thorns are ground into a fine powder, they do not emanate a smell, nor do they have any taste.” You explain, and you watch his face drain of any and all colour. “Any other regular dragon would have died on contact, if not shortly after. The closest location of rat thorn bushes to my home is ten minutes away at top speed. You should have dropped dead within a minute. Yet, you managed to make it all the way back to my place, still breathing.”

Seonghwa begins to shake his head, standing to his feet with enough force to knock the stool he had been sitting on to the ground.

“The reason, Seonghwa, that your wounds do not immediately close when you get them,” you mirror his stance, leaning forward even further once you’re on your own two feet, “is that your body is working to expel any toxins you might have incurred during injury. Only when it deems those toxins have left your system will your cuts truly begin to heal.”

He clutches his head, backing up against the wall as his whole body shakes.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters, tugging at his roots harshly. “This isn’t happening.”

“The reason, Seonghwa, that you are so prideful and stubborn, directly correlates to your power. A power which you have always had since birth.” Your voice softens the slightest bit, gaze easing as you notice him spare a tentative glance upwards. “Negative thoughts can be just as toxic as any physical substance, seeping in and drowning you in doubt and darkness. You just need to find the antidote.”

Slowly, his trembling stops, but those tears he had been so desperately holding back begin to streak down his face.

“You are a dragon with the power of poison, Seonghwa,” you smile softly at him, a gentle reassurance that everything will turn out okay. “Do not let it intoxicate you.”

Slowly, the male begins to sink to your floor. His back is still against the wall, eyes intently staring at his shaking hands.

“All my life,” he breathes, a light sniffle escaping him. “All my life I believed myself to be powerless.”

“Which is why I’m assuming you hate the ancients for putting so much emphasis on personalized powers,” you voice, noticing how his head shifts to look up at you from his position on the floor. 

A subtle nod is all you receiving in response. 

“Also why I’m assuming you’re so obsessed with this heedless quest for the crown.” You add. “You wanted to prove yourself as a dragon without traditional powers that you could be just as strong and ruthless as those with them.”

Again, Seonghwa nods, wiping at his eyes soon after.

“You will not be able to change your entire personality overnight,” you state, and you watch as he shifts his gaze back to you. “Yet, you should be aware of these things to start improving upon them. I will tell you the same exact thing I told that hotheaded brother of yours. You need to find the balance, and not let your power consume you. You are more than just your power.”

You hold his gaze as he slowly pushes himself back to his feet, wiping at his tearstained cheeks all the while. Softly, he begins to nod once more, sniffling lightly as he calms himself down.

“Thank you.” He bows to you once more, and his actions catch you off guard, just as much now as they did the first time. “For everything tonight.”

You smile gently at him in response, and Seonghwa cannot help the way his breath hitches slightly in his throat when he rights himself to see that glorious expression on your features.

He swallows thickly. Have you always been this kind? This beautiful?

You grab the jar of salve off of the top of the table, capping it carefully.

“You best be getting home for some rest,” you cross the small distance to your backdoor, opening it and nodding slightly in his direction. “They’ve all been worried about you.”

“I doubt they’ll even want to see me again,” his shoulders slump slightly as he trudges to the open doorway. “I’ll be lucky if they even let me back in.”

“Simply tell Hongjoong that you’re all finally ready to be taught.” You see confusion pull at his features at your words, causing you to chuckle. “He’ll understand.”

Despite his brow furrowing slightly, you see him nod.

“Don’t forget this,” you say, tossing the jar with the remainder of the salve in it at him, to which he catches easily. “Also, tell Yeosang and Yunho that I’ll meet them the day after tomorrow near the front entrance to my village at dawn.”

“Okay,” the eldest Hala nods once in understanding. He goes to take a step towards the forest before he’s halting in his tracks. A blink, and he’s turned back around to face you. “How can I ever repay you?”

You smile, leaning against the frame of the door as you cross your arms loosely over your chest. “I think you should be able to surmise that on your own, after everything we’ve discussed tonight.”

Understanding flashes across his features, and he nods once firmly in your direction.

“Do not make me regret trusting you, too, Seonghwa.” You say, keeping your voice level as you meet his gaze. “You will truly not like what happens if you do.”

Again, Seonghwa nods his understanding, bowing once more to you before shifting and taking off into the night sky.

A small smile rests on your features as you retire into your house for the evening. Slowly, you begin to put everything away, taking your time to clean and store the remainder of the herbs you’ve left out for the moment. The oil lamps are slowly put out until one remains in your hand as you retreat into your bedroom for the evening.

Tonight went much better than you ever expected it could from the moment you sensed him drawing near. You have no idea what the future has in store for you, but with how things are beginning to look, you believe it can only get brighter from here.

Speaking with the eldest Hala has also made you realize a few things. Things you just might be ready and willing to begin sharing with others again. 

One dragon in particular sticks out in your mind.

You firmly believe that Seonghwa will keep his word and not tell the others about the personal truths you revealed to him this night. You see your younger self in him too much to believe he would betray you like that. Especially after tonight.

The fact that you wake up to a basket of fresh produce sitting upon your back porch the next morning only confirms it. Not just any produce, either, but the same exact produce that he had made you drop that very first evening. Back when you had met him all those weeks ago.

[blingblong55]

Nothing much- John Price

Based on request:

I had a kinda angsty to fluffy idea and thought you'd be great I writing it (I love reading your angst). So the reader doesn't have the greatest of parents, they'd yell at them when ever the reader got hurt instead of helping them. Fast forward, now the reader struggles revealing their injuries to the 141 During a mission the reader injures their arm. Theyre successful in stitching up the wound but is having a hard time wrapping it. Then one of the guys walk in, they help them and have a sweet heart to heart (I'm thinking either Ghost or Price would be a perfect fit). Sorry if this is kinda hard to understand it's been a long day and my mind is all jumbled lol

GN!Reader, fluff, angst, father figure!Price

Life is not always the easiest or most understanding, sometimes we are born into families that without much love or care raise us. The lack of care and love would be shown when parents would yell at you rather than help treat your wounds. One small cut they knew you accidentally did on yourself when you were jumping rope and they'd yell or make fun of you because how dare a child have fun without thinking of the consequences first.

The team had been sent on a simple mission, with nothing too much to worry about and no heavy planning. On the way out of the last building you cleared, a civilian holding a knife for their own protection mistook you for the hostiles, they stabbed you and when they noticed you were the ally they apologised and ran away scared.

You walked out of the building, and you held your shoulder, pretending you were sore as you kept pressure on the wound. No one knew about such a wound and all you could do was keep a straight face and walk to the extraction point. Ghost and Gaz talking about some weird building they went into and making some rather hilarious comments. Soap and Price talking about their plans for the weekend and you separated from the team, hoping they would not notice your sudden quietness.

By the time you all made it back to base, you walked quickly to your room, blood staining your black vest and some blood loss making you dizzy from time to time. You took your vest and shirt off once alone in your room. Medical kit on your bedside as you hissed and bit your lips while cleaning such a wound. In times like this, you can feel your family judging you, and criticising you for getting injured. Always the clumsy one whom they hated.

Price without any knock walks in, "Knew it.." he ushers out. Cigar in hand while the other holds his bucket hat. Part of you felt like he would yell at you, and criticise you for something that wasn't entirely your fault.

"Sorry," you mumble. Always apologised because you knew best when your parents would yell at you. "Hey, no need to, I'm sure this isn't your fault," he sat next to you, taking a look at your shoulder.

"How'd it happen?" he was always so soft with you, never being too cold or strict because without you saying much you told him your life story. To others outside of his team, he was a strict, rude and cold Captain. He began to clean and close the small wound, something he had to learn to do since most of the men he worked with were bound to get injured on the field.

"...Why didn't you tell me about this?" part of him asked to make some conversation but the other part knew to not force you to go to the med bay. He had tried with Ghost before and he knows a man like him is stubborn and doesn't give trust for free. Ghost was also a reason why he learned how to clean and close minor wounds.

"I did this, so no one should help."

"That's what they told you?" he asks once more not wanting to push the boundary. All he received was a small nod. He sighed and put a bandage on the closed wound. "Well, I'm not them, don't place me in the same category with them...I care Grim..I really do.." he places a hand on your other shoulder. You look at him, teary-eyed. "Price?"

"Yes, kiddo?"

Oh, the sweet words he always gave you. "You are better than them," you referred to your parents. "So much better that...you make me feel...safe..so safe that it's scary." He wipes the tears that roll down with soft delicate touches. This was the same conversation he once had with Ghost when he too was scared of how much affection and care Price had given him.

"You'll always be safe with me, kiddo...always" he kissed your forehead and patted your thigh. "Rest and tomorrow I'll check that shoulder, good night, r/n"

"Good night, Price"

[sailoryooons]

Shadow | myg x pjm (m)

❀ Pairing: Faerie!Guard Yoongi x Faerie!Prince Jimin

❀ Summary: Yoongi’s life has been sworn to Jimin’s since the moment he was born. He was bred, crafted and trained to be Jimin’s shadow, his greatest protector. Jimin loves just how much Yoongi can never refuse him.  

❀ Word Count: 6,539

❀ Genre: Dark fantasy

❀ Rating: 18+ anyone discovered to be interacting with this content under 18 will be immediately blocked from this blog.

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, toxic relationship, allusions to abuse, references to Jimin hurting Yoongi multiple times in the past, references to Yoongi only existing for Jimin, references to Jimin’s masochism, power dynamics, predator/prey, chasing, sadism/masochism relationship, rough sex in the literal dirt, Yoongi being referred to/treated like an object, blood play, biting/licking, spit play, humiliation, pain play, orgasm control, unprotected anal sex, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, bottom Yoongi/top Jimin, Jimin threatens various types of bodily harm to Yoongi, Yoongi Has Zero Self Preservation sometimes, there is reference to Jimin cutting a chunk out of Yoongi previously Ed Gein style, allusions to subspace and subdrop if you really really squint, zero aftercare. This content is marked as Dead Dove.

❀ Published: August 20, 2023 (originally)

❀ A/N: This is a repost from Hali After Dark that was done as a filled request and is a part of merging the few selected items I had there, over here. I will not make a habit of moving any other mem x mem works over to this blog, but because this was a requested item from a mutual, I didn't want it to vanish when I deleted HAD. I DO NOT DO TAG LISTS FOR DD CONTENT.

❀ A/N 2: If mem x mem isn't your thing - literally just don't read it. It is that easy. This is not me being a shipper - it is fiction and I do not believe in shipping people in a real-life setting. Thanks.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Tag List |

Yoongi doesn’t want to be here. The breeze has an icy bite to it, filling the boughs of the trees with wind as it sweeps through the forest. He pulls his cloak tighter, dragging his gaze around the shadowed wood. This late in the evening, everything is cast in an eerie black-green light. There’s no sign of anything worth hunting, which Yoongi told Jimin several times. 

There’s no telling Jimin no. The prince is as stubborn as he is vindictive, a lethal combination for Yoongi who has grown up at his side. The more Yoongi says no, the more Jimin says yes. The more Yoongi tries to use reverse psychology, the worse Jimin makes it. 

Jimin is a prince with gluttonous tastes. He likes to take but never give, to force but never ask. As a child, Yoongi often wondered what had to have been wrong with Jimin to make him this way. As an adult, Yoongi knows that Jimin is far more complex and haunted than the prince would ever reveal.

Still, nights like tonight remind Yoongi that he is often the subject of Jimin’s attention. Being sworn to him has always meant that Yoongi’s life was Jimin’s to own and command. He just didn’t expect the prince to enjoy it so much. 

“You’re mad at me,” Jimin sighs, looking over at Yoongi. “Why are you mad at me, Shadow?”

Yoongi grinds his teeth. Jimin is the only person who manages to get under Yoongi’s skin. As Jimin’s personal guard, it’s his duty to protect the prince at every moment, against every enemy, and at any cost, including his life. What he had not anticipated was most of the threats made to his well-being came from Jimin himself. 

He looks Jimin up and down. He’s in all black this evening, his clothes tight-fitted for hunting. There’s a spiked, silver necklace around Jimin’s neck, the only sign that he’s of renown in the Court of Thorns. His dark hair is damp from riding through heavy mists when leaving the castle, hanging limp in his beautiful face.

Jimin has always been the most beautiful faerie Yoongi has ever seen. He has high cheekbones and an angular jaw, his siren eyes dark and gaze heady. With lips like pillows and rounded cheeks, Jimin shifts between looking sweet and lethal on command, wielding his unearthly face to his advantage. 

Countless fae have fallen to that face. There’s no one who can say no to Jimin, especially when he purrs in their ear in his velvet soft voice, the smell of his honey and mint irresistible. Even Yoongi has a hard time saying no at that point, which delights Jimin more than anything else. 

“I’m not mad,” Yoongi finally says. He chooses each word carefully, each conversation with Jimin a well-choreographed dance. “We’ve been out here a long time and I did not rest well last night.”

“Hmm, I should report back to Namjoon to let him know the palace’s most prized guard is tired.” Yoongi’s face remains impassive. Jimin isn’t going to report Yoongi to the head soldier and he knows that Jimin knows Yoongi isn’t tired. “Perhaps they’ll whip you for your inability to perform your best.” 

“As they should.”

“Would you like that, Shadow?” Yoongi’s hands squeeze the reins of his horse at the nickname. Jimin has called him that since they were boys in school together, rubbing it in Yoongi’s face that his sole purpose in life was to be Jimin’s shadow and protector, nothing more. “Want to be whipped in front of your peers?” 

“If it’s what I deserve.”

Jimin stops his horse. Yoongi sighs and pulls on the reins, stopping so that he’s in front of Jimin and facing him. The prince’s bottom lip juts out and he bats his lashes as he crosses his arms. Yoongi’s eye twitches in annoyance. Jimin does look cute when he makes that face, but Yoongi knows better. 

“You’re being annoying.” 

Yoongi bows his head. “I apologize, my prince.” 

A scowl contorts Jimin’s face. In a flash he’s gone from pleading prince to twisted faerie, his eyes darkening and jaw ticking as he regards Yoongi. Jimin remains silent and Yoongi can almost see the wheels turning in Jimin’s mind. This is when Jimin is most dangerous. Yoongi knows he’s coming up with his next move, wavering between violence and jesting. 

For his entire life, Jimin has been unpredictable. He has killed in the middle of telling a joke, he has kissed Yoongi square on the mouth in the middle of punishing him, and he has laughed in the middle of crying. He is made up of conflicting emotions, two sides trying to gain the upper hand. It’s often a tossup of which side will win, but after a hundred years together, Yoongi can usually predict which Jimin he is going to get.

Today, Jimin has driven Yoongi out into the cold evening, demanding a hunt. He wasn’t playful about it, commanding the guard with the steel that the prince so rarely uses. The ride from the castle, through the briars, and into the wood was silent, Jimin’s mood dark and hard to read. 

Yoongi thinks about the day before, when Jimin returned from a meeting with the king and queen, a laceration still healing near his eye. Today, it’s pink and nearly gone, a shallow wound for what is sure to be a shallow reason. The queen's desire for pain is not like Jimin’s. There are no rules to her indulgence in pain and violence, no laws by which she operates. 

Now, as Yoongi watches Jimin, he sees a twitch in the prince's mouth. Yoongi’s stomach flips, knowing that his neutrality to Jimin’s mood has pushed the prince from sour to angry, and angry to sadistic. 

“You didn’t want to come hunting today, Yoongi?” Yoongi grimaces. The use of his formal name sets off alarms. Yoongi licks his lips, trying to think on his feet, trying to work out the right answer. He doesn’t know where Jimin is going with this, but he can see the cunning in the prince’s face. “Speak, guard.” 

“There is nothing to hunt, my prince. Anything worth hunting is in hibernation.”

“Get off your horse.”

Yoongi pauses. “What?”

“Get off your horse.” 

Heavy with trepidation, Yoongi slowly dismounts. The leather of the saddle squeaks under the shifting of his weight and his horse chews on the metal bit, the sound of grinding loud in Yoongi’s ears. He lets go of the mare and then steps away from it, looking up at Jimin. 

“There.” Jimin points at Yoongi with a slash of a grin. Yoongi doesn’t understand, furrowing his brows and shrugging as if to ask what Jimin means. The prince’s grin spreads and the hairs on Yoongi’s arm rise, a tingle spreading down them. “Something worth hunting.”

Fuck. Yoongi realizes his mistake, clenching and unclenching his fists as Jimin drops the hand pointing at him, pulling the heavy crossbow from the saddle. Jimin sets the weapon across his lap and pats the top of it happily, looking up at Yoongi with his brows raised.

“Well,” Jimin urges. “I’ll give you ten minutes. Go on.” 

Swearing under his breath, Yoongi pulls his cloak off and tosses it on the horse. Jimin laughs as Yoongi tucks his silver necklaces into the collar of his shirt to dampen the noise as he throws Jimin a scathing look before taking off. Jimin gives a shout of glee as he watches Yoongi tear off to the west, moving toward the castle at a diagonal angle. 

Yoongi’s mind jumps into action as he runs. He’s fast. It’s colder now as evening turns into night. The air he breathes in is winter-sharp and the mist has made the ground damp and slippery beneath his feet. Yoongi can easily run over a mile in ten minutes. They’re at least seven miles from the briar wall, which Yoongi would reach faster if he ran straight back the way they came. 

Jimin will surely catch him if he goes straight back, though. Yoongi’s goal is to put as much distance between him and Jimin as possible. Jimin, of course, has horses. Distance doesn’t mean much when Yoongi is at such a disadvantage, but the west of the woods is filled with gullies and dells, much harder to navigate on horseback. 

As he runs, Yoongi is careful not to leave tracks. He is light-footed, even for a faerie. Most of his life was spent learning weapons skills, behavioral analysis, and court politics. He’s not much for espionage or assassin business, but Yoongi was trained by Hoseok for enough years to develop skills in the art of not being found, and for being hard to trace. 

Every one of those skills comes back to him now. He’s careful not to let the fabric of his clothes snag on trees. When he approaches dips in the land, he pauses to walk down them instead of sliding. He knows this eats away at his time to escape, but the evidence of his direction is worse than precious seconds lost to carefully picking his way downward. 

There is also the possibility it’s all for nothing. Jimin is one of the finest hunters in the court. His lack of interest in scanning their surroundings as they rode and not following hunting trails should have been the first sign that Jimin was off today. Yoongi had been so focused on trying to ignore Jimin’s prickly mood that he hadn’t gleaned Jimin’s purpose. 

Ten minutes pass. Yoongi is well into his run, lungs full of cold air, mind focused only on getting to the briar wall. Jimin, of course, has not said when this chase ends. There is no guarantee that Yoongi will be safe once he reaches the briars, but Jimin’s games always have rules. 

The most important rule is that he doesn’t do this to Yoongi in public. Above all else, the prince is smart. It does him a disservice to embarrass his personal guard in front of anyone, lest they think Yoongi is weak and by association, Jimin. 

Power is what makes the world go round in the Court of Thorns. Everyone Jimin comes in contact with is a reflection of the prince, who should be like a thorn: beautiful, but deadly. Yoongi must be fatal and strong. It serves Jimin no purpose to subject Yoongi to his madness where eyes can see, so the prince keeps these deviances in the shadows.

It’s this most important rule that Yoongi clings to as he runs for the briars, which are visible from the castle towers. By now, Jimin has begun his chase. Yoongi feels Jimin’s aura like iron pressing down on his senses, burning and eating away at his magic the more he thinks about the prince.

Minutes tick by. Yoongi is not yet tired, driven by adrenaline and a little bit of a thrill. Hot energy courses through him. He wonders if he can outrun Jimin and get out of the woods before the prince finds him. He smiles thinking about Jimin’s face if he beats him. 

What bothers Jimin most in the world is losing to Yoongi. In the rare instances that Yoongi outsmarts Jimin or slips from his snare, the prince is venomous for days. It’s worse when Jimin fails to get a rise from the guard, no matter how much the prince goads him. Yoongi’s apathy has earned him more pain and rage-laced pleasure from Jimin than anything else he does. 

“Run faster, Shadow!” Jimin’s shrill voice echoes in the wind. 

Yoongi pulls up short, turning to look over his shoulder. He has perfect vision, even at night, but Jimin is nowhere to be found. He slows his breathing and closes his eyes, focusing on the sounds of the forest. He can make out normal sounds of crickets chirping and rabbits scampering back to their nests, but there’s no sound of hoofbeats. 

A metallic click followed by whistling catches his ears. Yoongi inhales sharply and manages to step back just in time as a bolt fired from the dark of the forest whistles by him and hits the tree behind him. The arrow doesn’t go in far, which means Jimin took the shot from a distance. It also means Jimin is on his feet, and difficult terrain means nothing now. 

Cursing, Yoongi takes off again. Jimin’s laughter seems to echo around him, chilling him to the bone. He loses his grip on fear as he moves north instead of northwest at an angle. He no longer cares about tripping Jimin up. Yoongi needs the path of least resistance, jumping over fallen trees as a frantic energy thrums through him.

He doesn’t know what the rules of this game are. He doesn’t know what limitations are on the table, if Jimin is willing to maim him or kill him. Yoongi never knows, and it makes it all the more terrifying when he can’t come up with a sure answer. All he knows is that Jimin hasn’t killed him yet.

Yet. 

As if sensing his thoughts, he hears Jimin fire the crossbow again. Yoongi ducks as the arrow shoots wide and over his head, vanishing in the misty night. He swallows, sensing that the arrow had been aimed to kill. Anger flares through him and he tamps it down. No matter how angry he gets, Yoongi doesn’t fight back. Not earnestly anyway. And at least he knows a new rule: killing and maiming are possible. 

Yoongi’s life shouldn’t be this. The thought slips in between his focus on running and sliding under fallen trees. He’s one of the best fighters in the Court of Thorns and he is unnaturally intelligent. He should have a higher position at court than being the shield to a bloodthirsty brat, but Yoongi has bent and broken to the whims of Jimin for years now.

What’s another hunt through the woods in the face of hundreds of other games? 

Part of him loves it. If Yoongi wanted to turn around and let Jimin pick him off, he could. He flirts with the idea of pausing his run. Of stopping in his tracks and waiting to see if it’ll happen, if Jimin will put the arrow through an eye socket. 

Yet he keeps running because he knows that Jimin will keep chasing. Jimin has always chased Yoongi, a cat who can’t leave and let its dinner die yet. Jimin gives Yoongi special attention, and it makes Yoongi preen. No one else gets this. No one else is the sole object of Jimin’s ruthless attention. 

When they were younger, the queen thought that it was unseemly for the prince to be so obsessed with his guard. Jimin couldn’t leave Yoongi alone, pinching him on the soft of his thighs, cornering him and demanding to teach Jimin how to kiss, ordering Yoongi to stand outside of Jimin’s chambers while he fucked other courtiers, learning the arts of the bedroom, murdering anyone who so much as brushed an arm against Yoongi. 

It keeps Yoongi guessing. He never knows what the day will bring, the Jimin who covets him or the Jimin who tortures him. Sometimes, it’s a mix of both, which is Yoongi’s personal preference.

An arrow whistles. Yoongi steps to the side, but just barely. He feels the sting of the arrowhead grace his cheek, opening up a shallow cut. It doesn’t hurt much, but it does startle him. His foot catches a root and Yoongi shouts as he trips, sliding downhill into a dell as he goes.

Leaves and damp earth make his descent fast. As soon as he falls, he’s at the bottom, buried in leaves and surrounded by the scene of earth and pine. The ground is cold, leaching him of his warmth as he gets up to his knees. He could use magic to warm himself, but it makes him easier to find, his energy light a beacon to the magic-sensitive prince hunting him.

The crank of the crossbow makes Yoongi freeze mid-recovery. He looks up the hill to where Jimin stands at the top, weapon aimed at him. Yoongi’s heart pounds in his chest. Jimin is small and built like a panther, all sleek angles and muscles. He doesn’t blink, staring down at Yoongi, a small finger on the trigger.

This is what the god of death looks like, Yoongi thinks. Jimin is in all black, a terrible cruelty on his face. Suddenly Yoongi feels like the ant underneath Jimin’s boot. He only knows fear in moments like this, where Jimin’s eyes are so black that Yoongi thinks he will fall into Jimin’s gaze and let it swallow him whole.

Yoongi thinks he’s going to do it. It was always going to end like this anyway. Yoongi knew it would always be Jimin who killed him when Yoongi lost one of Jimin’s games or finally failed to entertain the prince. This tortuous cycle has a shelf life, and every road leads to Jimin finally doing it, finally pushing Yoongi over the edge.

Instead of firing the crossbow, Jimin grins wickedly and lowers it, tossing it to the side. The weapon clatters heavily. No sooner than Jimin disarms himself is Yoongi running away. The prince snarls and takes off after him, swearing.

“You little bitch!” Jimin seethes, sliding down into the dell behind Yoongi. “I’ll put you down like a fucking dog!” 

Jimin is not heavy or large like Namjoon, but he’s fast and strong. When he tackles Yoongi at the waist, Yoongi feels a bone crack. He doesn’t know where in his body the break is, but pain makes his vision flash as they slam to the ground, Jimin moving to pin him immediately. As delicate as Jimin looks, he’s still a warrior with years of training with Namjoon, a beautiful weapon but lethal all the same. 

Yoongi goes down face first. The shock of the pain makes his ears ring, the air leaving his lungs. He gasps and gets all leaves and dirt into his mouth as he maneuvers his arms from under him, intending to push upward to throw Jimin off. Jimin growls and digs his knee into Yoongi’s back, pressing down right on the spine as he reaches forward to pin both of Yoongi’s hands to the ground. 

Rearing his head back, Yoongi connects with Jimin’s face. The prince lets out a loud noise and Yoongi grins, wriggling under Jimin in hopes that the pain blinds him long enough for Yoongi to work a hand free. 

Jimin’s nails dig into the top of Yoongi’s hands, biting sharply into his skin. “Cease, Shadow. You’ve lost.”

The fight leaves Yoongi immediately. He’s entirely boneless, a puppet waiting for its master to pull his string. Jimin puts all of his weight on the knee pressing on Yoongi’s back, making the guard wince. Jimin’s kneecap is agony against Yoongi’s spine, pressing the air out of him slowly as Jimin lets Yoongi suffer against the ground. 

Finally, his weight shifts. Jimin straddles Yoongi’s waist, still holding Yoongi’s wrists to the ground as he lowers his face, panting against the side of Yoongi’s face. The guard feels a shiver go through him, Jimin’s breath is hot as his tongue snakes out to brush against the shell of Yoongi’s ear. 

“Much better than a stag,” Jimin whispers, voice like velvet and smoke. He nips at Yoongi’s lobe, teeth sharp against the soft skin. “What should I do with my prize, hmm?” 

One of Jimin’s hands lets go of Yoongi’s wrist. Jimin’s touch is delicate and slow, dragging his fingers up Yoongi’s sleeved arm. Even through the fabric, Yoongi can feel Jimin’s hot touch, chasing away the cold of the ground. He squirms and Jimin bites Yoongi’s cheek hard. He goes still and Jimin licks the fresh teeth marks, the ache in Yoongi’s cheek immediate. 

“Should I take your body and mount you on the wall?” Jimin’s hand reaches Yoongi’s shoulder and dips down to grab his face, turning him to the side. Yoongi looks at Jimin from the corner of his eye, but he can only see dark hair as Jimin presses his lips to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth and asks, “Or should I just… mount you?” 

Yoongi trembles as the prince’s tongue snakes out to lick messily from the corner of Yoongi’s mouth towards the bleeding, burning cut on his cheek. Jimin tsks, running his tongue over the cut. Yoongi wines, the rough drag of Jimin’s done making it burn more. Jimin ignores him, tongue laving back and forth over the wound, the tip of his tongue prodding.

“Did I hurt you?” Jimin coos. He speaks with his mouth pressed to Yoongi’s skin, smearing spit and blood. The switch from threatening to endearing makes Yoongi’s head spin. He is no longer a lethal guard of the Court of Thorns. He’s Jimin’s plaything. “I’m sorry, Shadow. Your face is so pretty, I shouldn’t do anything to harm it.”

“It’s not deep.” 

“Hmmm.” Jimin presses sloppy, spit-slick kisses down Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi closes his eyes, letting the prince do what he wants. All instinct to fight has left, leaving only a blank canvas for Jimin to paint. “You’re right, Shadow. It’s a very shallow wound. You can take so much more pain than that, can’t you?”

Yoongi nods. “Speak, Shadow,” Jimin commands.

“Yes, my prince. I can take more than that.”

“Of course you can. You’re made for me. Designed for me. You can take what I give you, can’t you?”

“Yes.” 

Jimin bites Yoongi’s jaw, his sharp canines pinching soft skin. Yoongi’s fingers dig into the soft ground. “You bleed when I want you to, you take it when I want you to.” 

Jimin’s scent makes Yoongi too dizzy to reply. His body blazes as Jimin pulls at Yoongi’s clothes, his hands greedy. Jimin mouths at Yoongi’s neck, his jaw. Yoongi’s breathing is unsteady, unable to string together enough thought to help Jimin take Yoongi’s shirt off. 

The craving to be pinned down and marked over and over until his skin can’t take it and until there is nothing left swells. The shame of Yoongi letting himself be used like this is white-hot, but the pride of being Jimin’s prized possession soothes the burn.

“Mine,” Jimin growls as he reaches into Yoongi’s pants, gripping Yoongi’s already hard and throbbing cock. He bites Yoongi’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Yoongi succumbs to the pleasure, his hips canting in the dirt, the pain shooting him into deliria as Jimin continues to tongue at him. “My Shadow.” 

Jimin’s hands aren’t gentle. He squeezes the base of Yoongi’s shaft firmly, slowly stroking upward. The friction between Yoongi’s stomach and the ground isn’t pleasant but isn’t terrible as Jimin sucks at Yoongi’s neck, mouth taking whatever the prince wants. 

“Get up on your knees,” Jimin whispers, removing his hand from Yoongi’s cock. He gets off of Yoongi, giving the guard space to move. 

Every limb feels like lead as he does. It feels like the world has flipped upside down, making Yoongi unsteady as he gets on his hands and knees. Cool air kisses his skin, making the laceration on his cheek and bite on his shoulder burn. The pain only spurs the pleasure further. 

“Take your pants off,” Jimin says. He doesn’t touch Yoongi, happy to watch the guard fumble on unbalanced limbs. “Do it right or I’ll skin you like a fucking bear and bring you back to the seamstress to fashion myself a new coat.”

Yoongi can’t tell if the threat is empty or not. He thinks about the time that Jimin cut a small rectangle out of Yoongi’s thigh to give to the tanners to turn it into a small coin pouch. The coin pouch is probably still tied to Jimin’s belt now as Yoongi sits up high on his knees and unbuckles his breeches, taking them down with trembling hands. 

Free of his pants, he dares a look over his shoulder at Jimin. The prince is shirtless, his perfect skin gleaming in the haunting moonlight filtering through the trees. Jimin is a testament to his father’s heritage from the Court of Moons, an ethereal creature stitched with moonbeam threads and filled with shadow watercolors. 

Beautiful. Cruel. Hateful. Affectionate. 

Yoongi can’t ever recall where it felt like Jimin loved him. Cherished him and admired him like a beautiful piece of porcelain, perhaps. Mistified and awed, even, when he could break Yoongi down and mold him into any shape he wanted, like clay.

Now, his gaze is thunderous. His pupils are blown wide, and when a cloud reveals the moon in full, Jimin looks like a demon from the worst of Yoongi’s nightmares. Still, Yoongi doesn’t run. He turns to face forward, slowly bending over until his elbows are on the cool earth, his ass up in the air. 

Yoongi’s cock is heavy between his legs. The first time Jimin worked him up like this, Yoongi had been a shell of himself for days. Didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that being broken and split open into something that felt less than sentient made his arousal swell. 

Jimin’s nails scrape against the curves of Yoongi’s ass. He sucks in a sharp breath. Goosebumps spread on his skin, his entire spine tingling as Jimin’s nails turn to claws, prying him open and digging into the softness of him. 

Cool wind makes Yoongi clench. Jimin tuts and shuffles closer to Yoongi. The heat of his body is against the back of Yoongi’s thighs, the contrast of hot and cold making Yoongi spin. When cool spit hits the edge of Yoongi’s rim, he moans audibly. He feels the slide of Jimin’s saliva drip further down his ass. Yoongi’s breath comes out in pants and Jimin’s nails dig in.

“This is mine,” Jimin mutters. Yoongi can barely hear him over the beating of his own heart and the roaring of blood in his ears. He scarcely notices the way his cock aches, beads of precum oozing from the tip as Jimin blows air onto the thigh ring of muscles. “Hmm. You’re all tight, Shadow. You gonna let me in, huh?” 

Yoongi nods. His head drops and presses against the earth. He smells damp leaves, sweat and Jimin’s honeysuckle scent, too sweet for the demon it belongs to. “Yes, my prince.”

Jimin spits in Yoongi’s hole again. Yoongi bites his bottom lip, trying to control himself. All he wants to do is press his hips back. If he does that, he won’t get fucked at all. He has to be the perfect little puppet, only doing what Jimin asks, speaking only when told. 

One of Jimin’s hands dips between Yoongi’s cheeks. He tries not to sigh when Jimin presses a finger against his rim, the pressure so good. Jimin plays with Yoongi’s asshole, tracing the edge before pressing his finger in just a little. It’s both heaven and hell, the intrusion such a relief that Yoongi doesn’t hear what Jimin asks him.

He immediately regrets letting himself drift too far. Jimin bites Yoongi’s ass cheek so hard that Yoongi screams, rearing back his head. In Yoongi’s experience, there are two levels of pain he receives at the hands of Jimin: good pain and scary pain. Jimin’s bite verges on the edge of scary pain, punishment for not answering and a warning that next time, he’ll take flesh. 

“I said,” Jimin growls. “To lay all the way down with your hands out in front of you.”

Yoongi complies immediately. Gone is the guard who commands Jimin’s entire personal security team. The sword-wielding warrior who has killed in wars, in protection for Jimin, and for petty squabbles is nowhere to be found. 

In his place is a pliable medium. Pressed entirely flat on the ground, knees high, face in the dirt. He lays his hands out in front of him, clasping them there. It’s comforting to hold onto something, even if it’s just his own hands. 

Pleasure expands in Yoongi’s stomach as Jimin begins to work his fingers in properly. The stretch makes the eyes roll back in Yoongi’s head. He tries not to get too lost in the feeling, remembering to be on edge for Jimin asking a question or telling him to do something. It keeps Yoongi right on the cusp of insanity, a difficult and rewarding task as he fights succumbing to the way blood rushes through him. 

Fuck he wants to cum. Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, drawing blood as Jimin works his fingers in Yoongi's ass, the press so good. Jimin firmly brushes up against Yoongi’s prostate, making him go dumb. Yoongi’s mouth is slack as he pants, knees and thighs trembling, keeping his ass in the same exact spot for Jimin. 

“Look at you,” Jimin coos. “What would everyone think if they knew my personal guard was such a little fuck toy? If they knew he was incapable of doing anything but submitting?”

The question is rhetorical. Yoongi always plays a  guessing game of when Jimin wants a response, but this one, he knows.

Jimin fucks Yoongi with his fingers harder, stretching him open. Yoongi whines, feels pleasure cresting to an unbearable amount as Jimin hammers Yoongi’s prostate. The prince laughs, not giving Yoongi the command to come, but rather watching the guard fight it instead. Yoongi’s muscles lock up as he resists the urge to squirm. He stops breathing, squeezing his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he fights it, trying to think of anything but the fact that he’s so close to his orgasm he could die. 

If Jimin keeps going, Yoongi’s going to come. If Yoongi comes without Jimin explicitly telling him to, Yoongi is going to experience the scary pain. 

Every nerve in Yoongi’s body feels on fire. It feels like he’s burning, burning, burning, like he’s never going to stop. He tastes the iron and salt of blood in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, feels the way his heart hammers in his ribcage, and starts to shake so much that Yoongi thinks he’s going to come out of his skin. 

Yoongi realizes Jimin isn’t going to give him permission. The weight of reality crushes him. Yoongi begins to sob into the dirt, trying to hang on to any shred of control he has. Jimin wants him to come without permission, wants to unleash hell on him. Yoongi claws at the dirt, desperately trying not to cave, to let Jimin milk it out of him. 

Jimin’s warm mouth presses to the back of Yoongi’s neck. He puts his weight on Yoongi, smothering him, keeping him still. Yoongi thinks this is it, this is when he lets go. He prepares for the oncoming violence like a storm in the distance. 

And then Jimin tells him to come. Yoongi’s brows scrunch together. He opens his eyes, trying to look at Jimin. He can’t see the prince’s face, but Jimin must sense Yoongi’s confusion. “Don’t make me tell you again,” Jimin murmurs against Yoongi’s neck. 

It’s like a damn breaking. Yoongi shatters, coming hard. His entire body seizes up, the sound coming out of his throat guttural and loud. His vision pulses black on the edges and he closes his eyes, squeezing them hard as an explosion of colors flashes behind his eyelids.

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. He succumbs to the sensation, pins and needles taking over as he shakes through the last of his orgasm. He is somewhat aware of Jimin behind him, pulling his fingers out and running his cockhead against Yoongi’s hole. He mewls, not ready for another orgasm. Jimin doesn’t care, pushing past the clenching muscles and pressing into Yoongi.

The stretch and pressure pull Yoongi from his drooling daze. If he was sensitive before, it’s nothing compared to now. He’s flayed open and raw to every stroke of Jimin’s cock pulling him apart. Oversensitive. Exposed, sparking wires. 

Yoongi hurts. The bite in his shoulder throbs, his cock hurts where it’s squeezed between his stomach and the ground, his cheek stings, bones ache, wet hole throbs as Jimin bottoms out, spearing Yoongi all the way through. 

It makes him vibrate, eyes fluttering as Jimin begins to snap his hips, hands gripping Yoongi’s waist and slamming him back. Every thrust threatens to break him in half, his face and body dragging against the ground. 

Jimin rakes his nails up Yoongi’s back, breaking the skin. Yoongi keens, toes curling at the biting feeling, sinking further into the heady mix in his head and gut. Jimin’s fingers wrap in the sweaty hair at the back of Yoongi’s neck. He knows what’s coming next but he still yelps when Jimin yanks, lifting Yoongi from the forest floor to his knees. 

Everything feels off-kilter. Yoongi gasps for air. Jimin claws Yoongi’s scalp, making his eyes water as Jimin fucks up into him. Jimin pulls Yoongi’s neck back painfully, holding him by the hair, and presses his lips to Yoongi’s cheek. It’s more teeth and tongue as Jimin continues to abuse Yoongi’s hole. 

He bites Yoongi’s cheek and laughs. “Such soft cheeks,” Jimin hisses, punctuating his words with the snap of his hips. “Such a soft fucking boy, huh? So delicate, so breakable.”

“Yes,” Yoongi agrees because it’s true. Yoongi feels made to shatter. Feels better when broken under the small hands of the prince. Feels whole when he’s splintered. “Yes.”

“Can’t even speak right.” Jimin slides a hand around the front of Yoongi’s throat and squeezes. Yoongi’s air supply is cut short. He feels the slow drip of the bleeding welts on his back, stinging as Jimin’s sweaty front rubs against the wounds. “What are you good for?” 

“Only you,” Yoongi chokes out.

Jimin’s grip tightens. “Don’t be smart, Shadow. I won’t go any easier on you for flattery.” 

Yoongi knows this. He wasn’t saying it for Jimin’s benefit. Because that’s the thing about whatever this violence between them is. It makes Yoongi feel whole, makes it feel like as long as he and Jimin have this between them, he’s made for something. 

Without it, Yoongi doesn’t know what he is. A faerie bred by two warriors to give the king and queen’s child a protector to grow with. Whose only reason for existing is to serve. Who has no goals of his own, who has no life outside of the prince. Without it, he’s not Yoongi. He isn’t Jimin’s. 

So Yoongi doesn’t say it for his benefit. He knows Jimin won’t go easier. Won’t fuck him softer or let go of his throat. He says it because he means it and he doesn’t want Jimin to let up anyway. He could die like this, no air in his lungs, mind detaching from his body. 

Between the pain and the feeling of Jimin’s cockhead pressing up against his prostate, Yoongi loses himself. He becomes a thing made only for Jimin’s pleasure. He becomes no one and nothing, suspended somewhere between life and death, only alive for Jimin to use. 

This is where Yoongi loves being most. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about protecting Jimin’s life every hour of the day. He doesn’t have to worry about navigating Jimin’s moods. He doesn’t have to calculate every word out of his mouth at court, doesn’t have to wonder what waits for him if - if Jimin ever tires of him, if he ever loses his position, if he ever becomes anything other than Jimin’s, if he dies.

If haunts Yoongi so often that he wants nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with anything outside of this, as Jimin lets Yoongi’s throat go, Yoongi’s lungs filling with air so quickly that it’s too much, snapping him right out of subspace to the present, where Jimin grabs Yoongi’s head and slams him forward again.

Yoongi’s hips collapse this time. He’s prone under Jimin as the prince chases his own orgasm, feral and rough. It hurts, but Yoongi comes dry anyway when Jimin tells him to, feels the helpless snap of pleasure inside of him. He loses the reality of it for a moment, feels the world run between his fingers like blood. 

When Yoongi comes back from wherever it is his mind goes in moments like these, he sees stars. The night is a watercolor of blue-black and lights above him. He hurts everywhere he can imagine. It burns his throat to breathe and his skin is chafed and irritated, covered in dirt and cum and blood. He feels bruised like aged fruit, and the puffy rim of his asshole feels ruined and swollen. 

A shadow blots out the sky. Yoongi blinks a few times, realizing it’s Jimin leaning over him. Demon. God. Prince of the Court of Thorns. His dark hair is damp with sweat, pushed back out of his face to reveal dark, alien eyes. There is clarity in them Yoongi only sees after Jimin’s fucked or killed, the calm after a storm. 

Tilting his head to the side, Jimin studies Yoongi like a gardener would inspect an insect. Suddenly, Yoongi feels too exposed and soft all over, breaking eye contact as he chooses to stare at the boughs of the shadow trees instead. He feels the water leaking from his eyes, the tears that come sometimes during. After. 

Jimin brushes a thumb across Yoongi’s cheek. The guard flinches on instinct, but Jimin ignores it. “Get up.” The command is soft, but Yoongi will find no comfort here as he struggles to keep up with the turmoil inside of him. “I want to go to bed.” 

Nodding, Yoongi tries to sit up. His limbs are still shaking and he feels disoriented. Jimin doesn’t help him, already fully dressed in black as he looks up at the night sky. Brushing himself off, Yoongi slowly pulls himself together. Slides back into The Guard, hides away just Yoongi. 

Jimin doesn’t rush him. Doesn’t jeer or lash out at him. He allows Yoongi this time of quiet to glue together what Jimin has shattered. 

When Yoongi is standing, albeit unevenly on his feet, Jimin turns to look at him. His face is impassive and beautiful. “You broke easy today,” Jimin notes. No reprimand. Just a sheer fact. Yoongi hesitates before nodding. “We’ll fix that, Shadow.” 

Yoongi’s mouth twitches at the corner a bit as he nods and follows Jimin as the prince heads back to the horses. Yoongi keeps close, his footsteps mimicking the prince’s, forever his shadow. 

[flowerandblood]

Wicked prayers, sweet penances (8) (End)

[modern! priest • Aemond x Strong • female]

[warnings: sex content, domination, religious guilt, incest, fluff]

[description: Aemond, a deeply religious person, enters the seminary, wanting to fight the thoughts, that have been poisoning his mind for years at the sight of his niece. He returns home as a priest, but the desire he has been running away from returns to him again. A story full of incest, sexual tension and religious guilt.]

Previous chapters: Masterlist

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

_____

What happened in his life in the weeks following his decision, was pure nightmare. His mother burst into tears, when she heard what happened. She was even more devastated by the fact, that he refused to explain why he was leaving the priesthood. He couldn't tell her, that he was doing it for his niece, with whom he had been madly in love since childhood. Not even leaving the priesthood would make it sound any better.

His parish priest could not understand this decision either. He even said, that if a woman turned his head, they could do something about it, move him somewhere else. He didn't want to move. He wanted to be with her, to fuck her, to wake up and fall asleep next to her. He was tired of running away.

To his surprise, the person who showed him the greatest support was his own father. He told him, that he felt from the beginning, that it wasn't the way for him, but he couldn't convince his mother not to push him. Aemond was relieved to accept his offer to work in their family business, until his situation stabilized.

His appearance in the company, already without a clerical collar, caused a lot of confusion. Everyone asked him what happened and if he fell in love. He did not answer these questions, pretending not to hear them. As promised, he rented the apartment where they met. He immediately made a second pair of keys for her.

The apartment was small and was located at the very top of a tenement house in the suburbs. They wanted to make sure, that no one close to them would notice them. She used to tell her mother, that she was going to spend the night with friends or to a party, but in fact she was coming to him.

They agreed, that they wanted to spend the weekend together, rest and regenerate. This time was crazy for both of them. Even though it was hard for them, they felt closer than ever. Not a day goes by, that they don't talk on the phone or text each other. They were together and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

He was in the middle of preparing dinner, when he heard the quiet turning of the key in the lock on the front door. He shuddered with excitement, he hadn't seen her in over a week. They tried to avoid suspicion and seen less often, but for longer periods of time.

"Good evening!" He heard a happy voice and immediately smiled under his breath. She was taking off her shoes and jacket, breathing heavily, obviously tired from going up the third flight of stairs. She placed her backpack in the hall as she walked through the living room to the kitchenette.

"Good evening." He murmured, extending his hand to her, and she immediately bent down under it and hugged him. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her hair, as he stirred the spaghetti in the pot with his other hand.

"Smells delicious. I'm so hungry." She sighed and looked at him. They kissed greedily, her hand tightening on his shirt. It was still hard for her to get used to the fact, that he wasn't wearing a clerical collar, but he wore all black anyway. He broke away from her with a wet sound.

"Lay out our plates, we'll eat in a moment." He murmured, kissing her forehead earlier, turning off the gas under the pot.

She obediently did as he instructed, pulling out the crockery she had picked out earlier in the shop. In fact, his apartment was their apartment. His niece helped him choose furniture, bought the necessary items, and they both wrote together, about what they would like their space to look like. Especially for her, he bought a large, oak bed on which they could lie together.

They sat down at the table, putting on spaghetti. Aemond opened the wine, red and semi-sweet, just the way she liked it. He poured them into a glass. Before they ate, he said a prayer, as was his custom as a priest. He didn't want to give up these habits. He knew he had made a mistakes, but despite appearances, he felt relieved after leaving the priesthood.

The fact, that he loved and wanted, was not so great a sin, as that he could no longer do his ministry properly. When he left, he finally felt, that he was standing in truth before God. He did not lie to the faithful, the parish priest and his mother. At least in this respect.

Their relationship, although incorrect in the eyes of many, was not such a serious sin for him. Many noble families have married their uncles and cousins throughout history. They were related by half, so that already made him feel less bad. They just lived as an ordinary unmarried couple, like most of the country.

He had talked to her many times, about how she felt about all this. He didn't want to be selfish and force her into a relationship, that would burden her in the long run. She was surprisingly sure of her decision. She wanted to be with him no matter what.

On one of their first nights together in his apartment, lying naked next to him, after having fucked twice in a row, she told him, that she had been in love with him since childhood. He wanted to cry at the thought, that she had reciprocated his feelings from the beginning.

They decided, that as long as she was finishing her studies, they would stay here. Then perhaps they would both move to another city and live there together permanently. They both wanted it.

They ate dinner, talking about the events of the past week. Despite the fact, that they wrote to each other every day, the topics did not end for them. Aemond had to find himself in an office reality, that made him incredibly nervous.

Everyone there was chasing goals, that were meaningless to him. They entered the results into tablets, that made no sense to him. Nevertheless, he did not want to disappoint his father and did what he was told. He attended all meetings and talked to clients.

After they finished eating, they looked at each other thoughtfully. His niece smiled warmly at him. He was hard from the moment she walked in to his apartment. He hadn't seen her in so long, that he wished for nothing more, than to throw her on the bed and fuck her all night long. She stood up, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Shall we take a bath?" She asked gently.

He looked at her with a look, that said it all. She smiled and went to the bathroom, turning on the water in the tub. They chose one that was comfortable for both of them. She loved hot bubble baths, and she had a whole range of different oils to go with it. She poured a few of them into the water, they immediately began to foam, a nice, pleasant smell spread around.

Aemond stood, leaning against the bathroom door frame, looking at her calmly. She already had her toothbrush, creams and makeup removers, pajamas and nightgowns bought especially for his house.

He saw, that she had taken one of his favorite strappy nightgowns, halfway down her thighs, a light, lace-embroidered, slightly sheer one, that he could see through her beautiful body. He thought with amusement, that she probably wouldn't even be able to wear it in time.

When she found, that there was enough water and that it was at the temperature she wanted, she began to undress. She had long ago ceased to be ashamed of him, on the contrary, he had the impression that she was tempting him with her body more and more. Encouraged, he reached for the waistband of his pants, undoing it slowly.

He watched as she pulled off her shirt, with no bra underneath. Her soft breasts and pink nipples gleamed in the soft bathroom light above the mirror. She took off her pants and then her panties, leaving her completely naked.

She tied her hair into a bun with a rubber band and stepped into the tub, submerging herself in the foam. He joined her after a while, sitting across from her, his knees slightly above the water. They stared at each other for a moment, her legs resting on his thighs.

She pretended not to feel his hard, swollen manhood against them. She leaned against the edge of the tub with the back of her head, closing her eyes, relaxing completely. They both lay there in silence, relaxing.

They both flinched, when they heard the notification sound from her phone. She reached for it with a wet hand and glanced at the display, then sighed as she put the phone down. Aemond raised an eyebrow.

"It's him again?" He asked calmly. She just sighed.

He knew there was a man who liked her. She showed him his messages, as she thought about what to text back, to make him leave her alone. He couldn't believe how jealous he was of her. The fact, that he couldn't show and tell the world, that she was only his drove him crazy.

"He texts me once in a while, he doesn't understand what I'm saying to him." She sighed heavily, rubbing her temple. "I'm tired of his behavior, but he's a PhD student I'm taking classes with and I can't be mean to him. At least until I pass this semester." She said helplessly.

Aemond pursed his lips and looked away. They had talked about it several times before, and he knew what the situation was.

Seeing his expression, she got up and moved towards him, straddling him, his swollen cock feeling the pressure of her belly. She turned his cheek towards her. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. His lips parted slightly as she began to rub against him, his manhood throbbing impatiently, craving her attention.

"You know, that I'm all yours. Only, only yours." She whispered, leaning over him, her lips brushing his, her wet breasts pressing against his chest. They both gasped, as his cock began to press against her from below, their lips massaging with a sticky, wet sound.

"I need to feel you" He whispered into her mouth helplessly, and she shivered at his words. She stood up, all covered in foam like Botticeli's mythological Venus. She turned to face the wall and leaned in, her buttocks and wet, swollen entrance on level with his face.

"Just fuck me" She said softly. Unable to take it any longer, he took her buttocks in his hands and licked her throbbing, wet pussy.

She moaned loudly at the feeling of it, his tongue teasing her clit before sliding deep inside her. Her buttocks began to press harder against his face, as he massaged her, the rough surface of his tongue pressing against her where she liked it.

"Do you like it, when your uncle takes care of you?" He purred, licking her with the tip of his tongue, teasing her all over, her thighs quivering with desire.

"Y-yes, you make me feel so good" She moaned helplessly, panting heavily, apparently she was about to come.

He rose from the water, placing the tip of his cock against her wet, throbbing entrance, teasing her without putting it in.

"Did you miss it? Missed my cock inside you?" He asked feisty, he was angry and jealous, he wanted to drive her to the brink of despair.

"Yes, I missed you so much, please" She sobbed, and he couldn't refuse her.

He entered her with a sudden, confident motion, filling her with his throbbing cock to the end. They both moaned loudly and panted as he began to fuck her, their wet bodies slamming against each other with a sticky sound. He watched with delight, as his cock moved in and out of her, taking what was his, what was always his.

He thought they really were like Hades and Persephone. Hades was her uncle too, he wanted her too and he stole her, drawing her into the world of darkness as he was now. From sweet, innocent Kora, he made her his Persephone, sexual, moist and eternally thirsty. They were now in his dark world of the dead, this was their 1/4 year, their winter, where their bodies writhed together.

"I love you." He gasped helplessly, his hands clenched tight around her buttocks, his cock fucking hard and fast her tight, throbbing cunt. He couldn't count how many times he'd cum inside her, how many times he'd experienced that forbidden pleasure with her. He knew he would never stop doing it. That if she wanted to, he would even be ready to have children with her.

"I love you too, so, so much!" She sobbed loudly and came, moaning in convulsions, her insides clenching mercilessly against him, his thrusts brutal, seeking fulfillment.

"Just like that, God, yes!" He gasped in delight, cumming inside her with a low moan, moving for a moment longer with a wet, sticky slap. He slid out of her finally, his cum running down her thigh.

He turned her to face him, pulled her in sharply, and kissed her deeply, tenderly, passionately. She cuddled up to him, returning his kisses sweetly, purring into his mouth. He picked her up, walking out of the tub with her. He took a clean towel and wiped her first, then himself.

He carried her to their bedroom and placed her on the bed, laying next to her, lying on his side. His hand caressed her beautiful, glowing skin gently, their bodies hot from bathing and orgasm. They enjoyed the cool sheets around them. Aemond looked at her body thoughtfully.

"Aemond?" She asked quietly. He looked at her, surprised. She used to tease him by calling him uncle. He loved it when she said his name, just like she did when they were kids. She often did it at his request in bed, when he was fucking her, or when she wanted to tell him something important.

"Hmm?" He grunted, touching her cheek.

"Do you remember how I used to come to you at night, after my father died?" She asked quietly. He nodded.

"We kissed then, didn't we? On the lips." She said, even in the darkness he could feel her blushing.

"Yes." He grunted at the pleasant memory.

"I loved it when you did that. When you touched me. Only you. I didn't go to sleep with Aegon or my brothers. I wanted you. How could you leave me?" She asked softly, her lip quivering. They never talked about this period, finding it too painful for both of them, enjoying the here and now. He swallowed hard, dropping his eye.

"I couldn't handle what I felt. I thought you'd loathe me. And you'd be right." He said low and hesitantly, running his fingers over her shoulder. Her lips parted slightly.

"Promise you'll never leave me again." She whispered in a trembling voice.

He felt a shiver run through him. He pulled her to him, pressing his forehead against hers, his hand on her cheek.

"Never."

_____

This is the last chapter of this story. Thank you all for receiving this story so well and I invite you to read my other fanfics! 💖

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes

Others: @letmeloveyouuuu

[denaliwrites]

Parade of Dancing Skeletons

Peter Vincent x GN!Reader

Summary: Peter takes it upon himself to scare the kids that come to his door for trick-or-treating. The kids aren't impressed -- and you find this hilarious.

Soundtrack: The Greatest Show Unearthed by Creature Feature

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Jumpscares. :)

You opened the door to see a little Batman, a little wizard, and a little vampire waiting patiently on the other side. "Trick or treat!" they said (mostly) in unison, holding out their little pails and bags.

"Oh, aren't you the cutest," you said, kneeling down on your haunches to be eye level with them and holding out the candy bowl for them to make their selections.

From behind you, the sudden sound of a loudly growled "RRRRAAAAAA!" exploded from the dark. Instead of fear, though, the kids simply looked up, looked at each other, and giggled.

You turned to throw a brief amused glance over your shoulder before your attention returned to the kids.

"Happy Halloween!" they all said together.

Smiling, you gave a gentle wave as they started pulling away. "Happy Halloween!"

The door closed with a soft click behind you. Peter was waiting for you just a pace or two back, holding his "terrifying" werewolf mask in his hands.

"Why aren't they scared?" he asked dejectedly.

You pulled him into a loving kiss, though there was no getting rid of the smirk you wore at his expense. "Have you considered, Peter, that you're just not really all that scary?"

"What?" he asked in mock offense. "I -- I'm terrifying! And the mask -- scariest thing I've ever seen."

"Babe, it's the only piece of the costume you bought. The rest of you looks like a totally normal guy. That's not scary -- to anyone. Let alone kids."

He was about to protest but was interrupted by the doorbell.

"Hold that thought," you told him as you turned to the door. You heard him slinking back into the shadows as you opened it, heard the creak of your floorboards as you knelt down to talk to the kids, heard the big roar from behind you as the kids laughed.

He sighed and tore the mask off again while the latest batch of children walked away. "Maybe you're right."

"Only maybe?" you challenged, throwing him a look over your shoulder.

"Okay, fine, you're absolutely right. Better?"

Your smile was very self-satisfied, but you were prevented from saying anything by the sound of tiny footsteps on the front steps.

A little girl, barely older than five (if that, even), toddled up and gave you a big smile. "Trick or treat!"

"Why, hello Princess Jasmine," you greeted her as you held out the candy bowl for her. You heard Peter creeping up behind while she dug around for a candy she liked, and before you could warn the poor thing, that roar ripped out of his throat and she jumped so hard you thought she might burst out of her own skin.

Fat teardrops pooled in her eyes, and both you and her parents rushed in to provide some comfort. You were closer, and even after taking the time to set the candy bowl down your hands were still wrapped around hers comfortingly before her parents had even made it up the steps.

"Oh, you poor thing," you cooed, "that wasn't very nice, was it?" She shook her head as she sobbed. "Don't mind my boyfriend -- he's mean. See, he doesn't like princesses," you told her conspiratorily.

This caught her attention enough to stop the wailing, though you could still see some silent tears falling. "He doesn't? Why not?"

"Well, he used to be in love with a princess," you continued, leaning in close, though you made sure he could hear you. "But she loved someone else. So now he hates princesses, and he scares them any chance he gets as revenge."

It wasn't the smoothest story, but luckily it didn't need to be to capture a five-year-old's imagination. Her Disney-filled brain easily accepted the explanation and probably even filled in some gaps with princess movie cliches along the way. Her eyes were wide as she looked up first to you, then to Peter, still lurking by the door, and finally her parents.

"Here," you said, letting go of her hands to pick up the candy bowl again. "If you take two or three candies, he'll be so mad that he'll disappear."

The girl gleefully accepted this, grabbed, by your count, six candies (not that this was a problem, she probably didn't know how to count and you had plenty either way), and went on her way.

You closed the door with a sigh and moved to stand. As you turned, Peter pinned you to the door, a thoughtful look on his face.

"You're good with them," he finally said, tilting his head.

"Huh?"

"The kids. You're good with them. I just... I didn't expect it. You've never mentioned... kids."

You blinked. "Oh. Er. Yeah. I guess. Kids are cool, sometimes. Their excitement for Halloween is infectious..."

"Do you want kids?"

You weren't really prepared for this line of questioning and blinked up at him with owlish eyes. "Er... I mean, I guess, maybe? Someday? I never... thought about it."

He hummed thoughtfully before pulling away. A moment later, the doorbell rang. "I'm gonna go grab us something to eat. Should be past curfew by the time I get back."

"Pumpkin chocolate milkshake?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a kiss to your cheek. "And two orders of fries."

"Thanks, babe."

"When I get back we're watching a scary movie," he said, pointing to you. "You promised."

He opened the door, and was immediately greeted by a small army of children crying "Trick or treat!"

The look on his face as he tried to wind through them was priceless.

[ghuleh-recs]

It's @leezlelatch's birthday!! To celebrate, I put together a list of some of her greatest hits (in my humble opinion). I need to point out that it is taking every ounce of self-control I have not to just recommend everything she has ever written. If you want to read about sexy papas with FEELINGS, look no further. She writes some of the best Copia (emotional) hurt/comfort I have ever read. Her writing never fails to have me kicking my feet and blushing (and sometimes crying lol). Happy Birthday Leez!! Thank you for sharing your gorgeous words with us!

recs under the cut.

Brightness at the Heart of My Love - Copia x Reader

Nervous about your first time together, Cardinal Copia invites you to dinner.

Copia is quiet for several seconds, prompting you to look back up at him from your plate. He’s smiling very softly, cheeks tinted pink. There’s a sweetness to his gaze that halts your every thought, dazzled by him. There is something about Copia that is so…lovely. His features are harsh at times, stern and shadowed. Like a wraith, he passes through the hallways of the Ministry at twilight, swathed in the black of his cassock. When he dons the crimson cassock, he looks more like red death stalking abroad than the temperate Cardinal you’ve come to cherish. Little does the congregation know that he enjoys the serenity of the gardens before dark. That he often sneaks off to the kitchens for a sweet or to “borrow” some blueberries for his rats. That he’s never seen the movie Titanic because he knows he’ll bawl his eyes out. When he smiles, you understand what love is. Copia is the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

The World We Knew - Terzo x Reader

You spend your evenings writing at the old diner in town, looking for your next great story idea. And then Terzo Emeritus walks through the door.

As he lifts the mug to his lips, his eyes catch yours. His left eye isn’t milky, the iris is entirely white, pupil like a pinprick. God, you just wanna fling your laptop across the room. You are so goddamn nosy, and look what happened. Embarrassed, and thoroughly blushing, you look away for a moment before compelled, you return his odd gaze. He smiles at you and tips his mug in greeting before taking that first sip which prompts a satisfied sigh to escape that perfect mouth and you want to die. 

Nave of Hearts - Secondo x Reader

Do you believe in love at first sight? Secondo didn't, until he saw you.

Sitting at the very end of a pew, several rows back, you catch his cold stare, nod your head, and smile. Secondo’s fingers dig into the arm of his chair to prevent them from clasping at his chest as his heart begins a frenetic beat against his ribs. His eyes widen, his jaw clenches, and he stares at you so intently, Secondo is sure that you’ll be frightened away by the madness of his expression. Would the Brother sitting next to you catch the menacing glare of the former Papa and warn you away? Away from the angry, bitter old man who stalks the halls in his retirement.  You tilt your head slightly and widen your eyes in a similar manner, a playful smirk on your lips, and Secondo must have made a noise because Terzo glances over at him with a raised brow. The chapel is so bright suddenly, color exploding across the dark paraments and pews. The sun winks off the silver chalice on the altar, watering Secondo’s eyes. The air is clear, and he breathes deeply, overcome by the sudden and desperate need to know everything about you.

Alyssum - Primo x Reader

Life with Primo is a beautiful story told through flowers.

“Alyssum,” Primo’s warmly accented voice sends a butterfly fluttering about your stomach, and you turn to watch as he takes off his soil-stained gloves, laying them casually to the side. “Worth beyond beauty. And you, my petal, are worth far more than any flower I have ever grown.” His lips twitch with a smile. “Sì, you are beautiful as well. Perhaps tomorrow will be purple heather.”

Just a Nibble - Secondo x Reader

Nights with Papa Emeritus II are always interesting.

“Just there, amore,” Secondo sighs, relaxing into the heating pad with a soft groan. You ensure the warmth is placed right along his lower back comfortably so he can rest against the pillows in the shared afterglow of your lovemaking. “Grazie, grazie. Now come to your Papa.” “Come to your Papa, come for your Papa,” you muse with a teasing grin. “So demanding these days, Secondo.” You slide under the covers next to him and squeak with surprise as he hooks an arm around your waist and drags you across the sheets to nestle against his side.

Lust in Your Eyes - Copia x Reader

The Cardinal waits for you in your room…but sometimes, he's impatient.

Abandoning the shelf of records, he sits down on your bed, running his hand across the comforter. With a sigh, Copia falls back, closing his eyes as your scent envelopes him. He turns on his side and follows the pattern of the bedspread with a single finger, a crooked smile on his lips as he thinks about the very naughty things the two of you have gotten up to in this very bed.  He turns his nose into the soft material, taking a deep breath, his mouth falling open slightly. He turns onto his stomach, drawing his legs up as he skims the tip of his nose across the length of the bed, crawling forward until he reaches your pillow. 

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

(I think it would be such a nice birthday gift for you to leave a comment on any of these, don't you?)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof)—iconic actress with purple eyes and a double row of eyelashes, the real ebony dementia ravenway of old hollywood. known for her stunning tastes when it comes to jewelry and her incredible, incredible advocacy during the AIDS crisis.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Elizabeth Taylor:

I've been trying to steer clear of the absurdly-big names, but damnit, those violet eyes got me. The *talent*, the *presence*, the string of marriages and (temporally out-of-bounds) work in combating AIDS and pioneering in the concept of the celebrity fragrance line.

Not only did she have gorgeous violet eyes and lashes for days and one of the hottest voices ever, she was also a big supporter of the gay community

Child actress turned starlet, Liz dominated films as one of the greatest screen legends of classic hollywood. If your protagonist has violet eyes, they're imitating hers.

A Legend. She was serving milf rage in Whos Afraid Of Virginia Woolf. A Star in every sense of the word.

She was renowned for the beauty of her eyes; they were a dark blue but could look violet in certain lighting, something that photographers would actually touch up to look even more so in pictures. But even more striking was a genetic mutation that gave her a double row of eyelashes. She was also famed for her string of husbands -- 8 marriages to 7 men. Two-time hubby Richard Burton once said she was “a wildly exciting love-mistress… beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography.”

Her EYES. Early and loud support for gay rights and AIDS victims. Married a bunch of hot dudes, Burton twice!

just look at her. she's gorgeous. there's a video somewhere of her applying her eyeliner in the mirror and I think about it all the time

THE Hollywood actress of all time. Not only was she known for her long dark locks and blue-violet eyes, she also had one of the wildest life stories ever….. She’s Carrie Fisher’s stepmother because her father Eddie Fisher cheated on Debbie Reynolds with Liz. She was knighted as a dame of England. She was married to seven different men, one of them twice. She was also very kindhearted and did a lot of charity activism.

Asides from being an iconic actor, she did a lot of philanthropy and co founded the American Foundation for AIDS research. She’s sometimes considered one of the last great stars of old hollywood

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

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She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[skyrim-forever]

Your favourite thing about how you've characterised Ondolomar :3

Ouuuuuu this is an excellent question. I think my favourite thing about how I’ve characterized the reason I’ve given him for enlisting in the Thalmor. To explain I’ll post a snippet from a fic that deal with this directly, following is from Chapter 3 of If I came dying at your door:

“I’ve told you about my father, how I am not fond of him.” She nods. “It is a bit deeper than that. You know my people pride themselves on their racial superiority, good breeding of the utmost importance. I come from a good family, my parents, grandparents, etc. All predominantly come from good households, high status, on paper we are the ideal Dominion citizens.” She looks at him intently, noticing how since he’s brought up his father he looks away from her, staring off into a corner. “There are more than just physical failings, having a good lineage isn’t enough to make you perfect, you must refrain from any moral failings. Failings of character.” He continues. “My father committed many moral failings. He was a drunk, cheated frequently on my mother, with women who were as awful as he was. He got into public brawls, multiple arrests, would have been deplorable to any society but especially to one as strict as mine.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, a light grip to comfort him. “And that had an effect on how my mother, sister and I were viewed growing up. Particularly as his son I was seen as a failure waiting to happen. Only a matter of time and would I turn out like him. I kept my head down, eventually leaving Sunhold to study Dwemer history in Alinor. I had not made it a year before I enlisted. They sell a grand story. Promises of improving your station, your respectability. Bringing glory to the Third Altmeri Dominion is the greatest thing you can do for your family.” There’s a deep tired sigh, one that has been held for far longer that she could ever know. “And they were right, life did get better. My mother had more respect and was viewed favorably for having her son join; my sister was able to move up socially, allowing her to eventually marry someone she loved very dearly. And once my father finally passed due to the toll the drinking took on him, life got even better. I had brought pride to our family name. All I had to do was believe them and I did, I did for a very long time. So very dedicated to the cause.”

And within this cracks in his belief in their cause begin to occur, and growing to love Theodora is the last straw for him to lose complete faith ❤️