#that the throne started cutting him a lot

[gatorbites-imagines]

Could you please do Boba Fett? With a male reader who wants kids. Or when reader and Boba have kids? I have baby fever right now and Boba is one of the biggest things that helps.

Boba Fett x Male reader 

Headcanons 

Lmao, this has been in my inbox a while... Star Wars has been tickling my brain again finally. 

Its a bit of a stereotype that Mandalorians love kids and hoard them like dragons hoard gold. 

But Boba isn't technically mandalorian, at least in his own eyes. Being mandalorian is more about culture than blood, and seeing as how his only ability to learn about said culture was cut short, well. He wears the armor and respects his father's memory though. 

Doesn't stop him from experiencing the baby fever. Especially if you are mandalorian and share the same baby fever. Boba will claim it's something he inherited from Jango. 

I could imagine Boba struggling in the beginning at the thought of you wanting kids, be they adopted or either of you carrying them if you are able. This also very much depends on when you guys are together. 

If its during his bounty hunting days, then Boba would want kids, somewhere deep inside, but he would not have them. Especially knowing how he lost Jango, there's no way he would want to put his own kids through that. 

After crawling out of the sarlacc and being taken in by the Tuskens, I think Boba starts turning the idea more in his head. Hes not gonna allow it until his status on Tatooine is solid, but, it would be easier to convince him. 

If either of you are able to carry your child, then Boba starts getting very broody. Doesn't matter if its you or him carrying the child honestly, he starts pacing, huffing and puffing. 

Call it protective nature, but the castle is getting suited up for war, just in case anyone tries coming for either of you. 

If its Boba that's pregnant, then he wont say it, but he appreciates massages and being cared for, a lot. Hes already older, covered in a lot of scars, so having to carry a pregnancy really wears him out. 

If it's you, then he gets even worse. Hes never leaving you alone, and there are times where you need to call for assistance from Fennec to get some privacy. Theres no need for Boba to be in the room when you bathe, but he will try it. 

Or, you guys can adopt. Even then, Boba acts like a broody hen, no matter the kids age. If they're a baby, then they are strapped to his chest. Or, inside his armor, which he's loosened enough to hold them. Only you get to hold the baby. 

If it's a kid he tries to be as approachable and fatherly as he can. Sadly, Boba doesn't have too much experience with a stable father figure. As much as Jango tried, being a famous bounty hunter didn't create the safest and most stable childhood. 

If its a teen, then Boba still tries his best to be a solid stable person they can lean on. But no matter what I can still see him struggling when it comes to being vulnerable. He tries though. 

Youll find your kid sat on his lap or the armrest of his throne on the regular when you can't find them. They always try to scowl like Boba, but it just looks adorable.  

Your kid will want to dress up as Boba, so you two end up getting them durasteel armor in a familiar mandalorian shape, like any mandalorian who hasnt become an adult yet. 

Here Din is a bigger help, since he knows the culture more thoroughly than Boba. Din becomes the kids uncle too, where Grogu will become their cousin. Fennec is involved too, of course. 

Being a dad would both stress Boba out more, but also calm him. Some part of him would settle at having your kid relying on him, someone to take him down a few notches. 

It means he doesn't always have to be on the defense, always ready for the worst. Obviously, he allows himself to open up with you, but only in private. 

With a kid, Boba starts being more vulnerable and finds his emotions easier. In the beginning its because he forces himself to do so, as he wouldn't want his kid to think he doesn't care. 

I have a feeling that your kid sleeps between you two at night for a good while. For safety, sure. But also for comfort. Doesn't matter if they are naturally born or adopted, this kid feels the safest between their two dads. 

Having a kid also means Boba actually sleeps more and cares more for himself, since he has to be worth looking up to.  

You catch the two of them taking naps together a lot, the kid draped across his middle. It's always easy to snuggle up beside them, Boba always wrapping an arm around you even when sleep. 

[strawberri-blonde]

Iron throne - Jacaerys Velaryon

Summary: you celebrate team black winning the war by giving the heir a much needed gift (basically giving Jace head while he sits on the iron throne)

Warning : Lots of smut

Author’s Note: I’m super proud of this one guys!!!!!

Masterlist

Laughter echoed through the dimly lit halls as you pulled your husband along the winding corridors leading to the throne room of the Red Keep. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls. “Y/n, what are we going in here?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and amusement. The grand, imposing doors of the throne room loomed ahead, promising an adventure within the heart of the castle.

You nodded to the guards, who had been informed hours earlier that you’d be bringing the prince here. You might have fibbed a bit, saying the new rightful queen had given her permission (and you might’ve bribed them with a little bit of gold, perks of being the princess and wife to the future king). Queen Rhaenyra had won the war less than a month ago, and you wanted to celebrate with the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Relax, my beloved," you giggled, opening the door to the Iron Throne. The throne stood before you, a menacing structure forged from a thousand swords, with jagged edges and twisted metal that symbolized immense power. "It’s just that ever since your mother took her rightful place as ruler, we haven’t had time to truly celebrate." His beautifully sculpted face showed of curiosity.

"I’m not quite understanding, ābrazȳrys." His whisper seemed to echo in the large room, but you maintained your cunning smile, excited for what was to come or whom. wife

"That’s alright," you said, your soft hands reaching out for his. Your heart blossomed as he took your hands in his and raised them to his lips. "Oh Jacaerys, you’ve always treated me like a queen." He smirked, kissing your skin again. You pulled his hands to your lips, mimicking his act of affection. "And I know this war hasn’t been easy for you or anyone, really, but the way you’ve presented yourself..." You paused to drag him over to the Iron Throne. "Was so honorable, noble... strong." You whispered the last part, knowing that every time he heard the word, he thought of his birth father, which still left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Your war strategies were far from princely. You acted as a king in the making."

"My sweet wife," Jace whispered, his voice trembling. Even in the dark, you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, glistening like tiny stars. He gently cupped your face, his touch tender and reverent. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion as he gazed into your eyes, his love and vulnerability laid bare.

You immediately shook your head and motioned him towards the steps of the Iron Throne. “No, it is I who doesn’t deserve you,” you insisted, your voice firm yet filled with affection. As you guided him closer, the cold, unforgiving nature of the throne contrasted sharply with the warmth of your touch, emphasizing the depth of your bond.

"Impossible," he said with a playful grin. You giggled again and gave him a gentle push until he stumbled back and fell into the throne of swords, the metal clinking softly as he landed.

His eyes widened, and he immediately started to get up, but you placed a hand on his chest and pulled something up from the floor. It was a cardboard crown, meticulously crafted with painted details and shiny foil, resembling his grandfather's crown—or rather, now his mother’s.

“Y/n?” His voice was full of question as you plopped the fake crown on his head. “What are you—” Jace was cut off by your lips pressing against his. Nothing about the kiss was sweet or simple; it was full of hot need. His hands went to your cheeks while yours fisted his tunic.

"You are the queen's heir, my prince," you smirked as his eyes dropped to your lips, craving more. You happily obliged, licking his bottom lip and slipping your tongue into his mouth, moaning as he sucked on your flesh. You pulled away, hands reaching the bottom of his shirt. "You'll be my king, and as your future queen, I swear to you that there will never be a day where you aren't worshipped by me, your highness."

Jace’s eyes widened in sheer amazement as you lifted his shirt over his head. He eagerly pulled you closer, his hands cupping your face, as he guided you into a fervent, passionate kiss.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he murmured against your lips, his voice barely a whisper. Yet, he ignored his own warning, kissing the corner of your mouth before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your neck.

A sinister smirk curled your lips as you tilted your head to the side, allowing your husband to explore your neck with his eager kisses. "Don't worry," you whispered, the words drifting through the chilly, echoing chamber. "The guards have been paid off to alert me if anyone approaches, and I have a handmaiden rising extra early to tidy up any evidence of our indulgence."

Jacaerys drew back, his gaze locked onto yours. "You’re truly extraordinary," he said, his voice filled with genuine reverence.

"Only for those who truly deserve it," you replied with heartfelt sincerity. As you gracefully slid off his lap, you stood before him, your delicate fingers tracing a path down his bare chest, savoring the contours of his toned body. "And you, Jace, deserve the world. I intend to give it to you." You paused at the waistband of his pants, your fingers lingering on the button. "Now, let me show you how I’ll care for the future king, shall I?"

Before you could kneel in front of him, your husband grabbed your bicep to stop you. "At least use my shirt and pants as a cushion for your knees, issa ābrazȳrys." My wife

You hummed softly, then leaned back in to give him a gentle kiss, then felt the fake crown slip from his curls knocking against your head. The delicate touch of his lips sent a shiver down your spine. "Always the gentleman," you whispered against his mouth, your breath mingling with his. "Se bona’s skoro syt nyke’d zālagon se vys ilagon syt ao." The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a moment of unspoken promise and fierce devotion. And that’s why I’d burn the world down for you

Locking your eyes solely on him, you helped Jace out of his black silk pants, readjusting the decorative crown on his head. Then once he was freed from his clothes, you let them pool at his feet to use them as a cushion as you knelt in front of him. "Sit back, husband," you teased, pushing at his toned chest down to his abs, just above where his cock rested. Even in the seemly light room you could see the glistening tip as it slightly bounced in the air, begging for attention. "Let me worship you."

You grabbed his shaft firmly in hand, running your palm up and down the length, savoring the soft moans escaping his rosy lips. You smiled up at him as he sat back in his rightful throne, the one he would rule one day, and parted his legs, giving you more room to work with. Shifting closer, you spit down on his glossy head, circling your wrist from his tip all the way to his base, then leaned down to apply open-mouthed kisses to his thighs.

Jace's head arched back against the throne, his eyes locked on yours, pupils blown out with lust. "So pretty," you moaned against his skin, continuing your strokes and sucking on his fair skin, intending to leave marks for him to remember in the days to come. "All mine, my king."

"You were sculpted by the gods," he said, his voice rough and his hands fisted at the armrests.

"Hmm," you hummed against his thighs, kissing up until you reached his cock. You kissed the red tip, then licked a broad line from his balls back to the uncut tip of his shaft; tapping it against your tongue before indulging by taking it into your mouth. You moaned against his girthy size, sending vibrations along your wake. "It seems as though you were gifted heavenly yourself, husband."

Jace cursed to himself as you took him fully into your wet mouth, bobbing up and down, only managing to take him halfway in. You jerked the bottom half while your other hand fumbled with his heavy balls. "You're too good at this, my queen." Heat pooled within you at his praise, making you bob faster, wanting to please him.

Drool spilled from your mouth as you let him out with a pop, then sucked along the side of his shaft, tonguing his thick, protruding vein. You sucked back on the tip, moaning around him, making his right hand fly from the armrest to the top of your head, guiding you to sink your mouth back down until he reached deep in the back of your throat. "So fucking good, my love. Taking me so well."

Your eyes stayed locked on him as you ran a hand up his thigh, tracing his clenched stomach until you reached his nipple, pinching it. "Holy," he muttered, his eyes beginning to shut and his hips buckling under your touch.

When he bucked his hips, his cock slipped further into your mouth, making you choke, and you loved every second of it. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" he asked, panicked. You only pressed your hands down on his thighs, sinking your nails into his skin, and took him deeper, allowing tears to form in your eyes. You swallowed around him, causing incoherent words to spill from his lips.

You pulled back slowly, a glistening trail of saliva covering his entire mound and dripping down to soak the front of your dress. The sight was mesmerizing, the slick sheen catching the light as you panted, lips parted and eyes locked onto his.

Without thinking, you pulled your gown over your head, leaving you in nothing but your lace underwear and ankle lace socks. "Don't worry about me, dear prince." You squeezed the head of his cock, paying close attention to it, knowing it was the most sensitive, much like your clit. "If I were to choke to death from giving you pleasure, then I'd die a happy woman."

Jace let out a forced laugh, but it was cut off by a moan as you leaned back down to take his balls in your mouth, inhaling his natural musk mixed with the scents of lavender and bath salts. You loved the way he smelled; it was intoxicating.

You shook your head slightly, your tongue and lips still working over his sack, savoring every moment. As you pulled away to press soft kisses against his thighs, you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes. "Are you enjoying yourself, my love?" you whispered, your voice laced with desire.

It was undeniable that the prince was lost in the pleasure you were giving him. His eyes were dark and blown out with lust, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart race. The veins in his arms stood out starkly, a testament to the tension coursing through his body, while his chiseled abdominal muscles were clenched tight. His lower half trembled with the sheer force of his ecstasy, a testament to the overwhelming sensations you were creating.

"Don't tease me, my future queen," he growled, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine. Your lips curved into a wide smile, knowing exactly the effect you had on him. "You know what you do to me." His painfully hard length brushed against your lips, evidence of his desire, as his hand caressed your cheek tenderly, the contrast between his touch and his need making your heart race.

"I know," you admitted with a sly smile, licking his tip before trailing your tongue down to his balls and back up again, savoring his taste. "But what would really make me happy is making you cum on your rightful throne, my future king." Before he could respond, you took him entirely into your mouth, beginning to bob up and down his length with unrelenting passion.

"Y/n," he moaned, slipping his hand back into your hair to help guide your mouth up and down his shaft. His grip tightened when your hand twisted around the base and the other cupped his sack, giving them a little tug. "My wife, I'm so..." he dragged out. "Close." You didn't let up.

Nothing could make you stop. Seeing Jacaerys' face scrunched up in bliss, his eyes staring down at you, as you pleased him on the Iron Throne was intoxicating. A literal dragon would have to drag you away before you stopped.

"I'm—" his breath hitched in his throat as you slurped and sucked on the tip of his cock, jerking the rest. "Fuck."

His hips bucked as his cum shot into your mouth, and you greedily continued. His salty essence was the best thing you had ever tasted, and you lapped it all up, even as his cock began to soften just a bit. Finally, when you felt like you got every last drop, you looked up at Jace with a cheeky, toothy smile.

"For you, my future King Jacaerys Velaryon," you said, slowly standing up despite the ache in your knees. His clothes had barely cushioned them, but his blissful expression held your attention. The kiddish fake crown slipped down, covering his eyebrows and pushing some of his brown curls into his face. Gently, you pushed the crown back up and brushed his hair aside, gazing down at him with nothing but love in your eyes. "I will always bend the knee."

Why do I always get obsessed with characters who die. Like I truly contribute to my own downfall. Mental health who???

~ Caroline

[dandelionwishh]

Back in Control

Pairing: Modern AU Sukuna x Wife!Reader

Summary: After weeks of frustration, Sukuna finally gets his cast off and immediately takes back control

Warnings: NSFW, implied smut, dominance, possessiveness, intimacy, Sukuna being Sukuna, mild manhandling.

Pt.2 of this.

Enjoy!

Sukuna had been counting down the days.

He hated being out of commission. Hated relying on you to do things for him. Hated not being able to move the way he wanted. And most of all, he hated the way you’d taken control while he was injured—not because he didn’t love you, but because he was the one who ran things, not the other way around.

So the second the doctor finally cut his cast off, Sukuna was done with being babied.

"Now, Mr. Ryomen," the doctor said, "your leg will still need time to regain full strength. No intense activity for at least another few weeks, and absolutely no—"

Sukuna was already standing, rolling his ankle experimentally. "Yeah, yeah, I’m fine."

You shot him a look. “Sukuna—“

"Come on," he said, already making his way to the door. "I’m driving."

You blinked. "The hell you are!"

But he was already heading toward the parking lot like he hadn’t just spent weeks being unable to move properly. You hurried after him, grabbing his arm. "You just got the cast off, and the doctor didn’t clear you for driving yet!"

He looked down at you with a smirk. "And?"

"And you’re not driving."

"Who’s gonna stop me? You?"

You huffed. "Yes."

He laughed. "Cute."

Before you could argue further, he snagged the car keys from your bag with infuriating ease and unlocked the car. You stood there, hands on your hips, as he slid into the driver’s seat.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, getting into the passenger side.

Sukuna smirked as he started the engine, rolling his shoulder like he was shaking off the last remnants of his temporary helplessness. "Damn right."

And then he drove home like a man who had never been injured at all.

---

The moment you stepped inside, the shift was instantaneous. Gone was the grumpy, frustrated man who had been snapping at you for helping him. Sukuna was back to being the dominant force of nature he always was.

"You," he said, pointing at you as he strode toward the kitchen, "make dinner."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I’m handling everything else. You’ve had enough fun playing boss."

You stared at him. "Playing boss?"

He turned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah."

You scoffed. "Sukuna, I had to take charge because you were injured!"

He gave you a sharp grin. "Well, I’m not anymore."

And true to his word, he took back control of everything. You barely had time to process before he was already going around, fixing things that he thought had been left in disarray while he was stuck with a cast.

You rolled your eyes but made dinner anyway. Honestly, you weren’t surprised—this was so like him. The man had been waiting weeks to reclaim his throne. You just let him have it.

After dinner, Sukuna finally turned his attention back to you.

"Run a bath," he ordered.

You glanced at him. "For you?"

"For us," he corrected, eyes gleaming. "Haven’t touched you properly in weeks."

Your face warmed. He had been… very insistent about still getting what he wanted even with his cast, but you had been the one holding back, not wanting him to overexert himself.

But now?

Now there were no restrictions.

You swallowed, but nodded, heading to the bathroom. You ran the water, making sure it was warm, adding a little bit of oil for good measure. When you turned, Sukuna was already leaning against the doorframe, watching you.

The air changed immediately.

"Undress," he said simply.

You hesitated for only a second before slowly reaching for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. You felt his gaze darken as you shimmied out of your pants, then your underwear. When you finally stood bare before him, he exhaled sharply.

"Get in."

You did, sinking into the water, letting the warmth soak into your skin.

The water rippled as you settled in, the warmth licking at your skin, easing the tension from your muscles. A second later, Sukuna joined you, sliding in behind you, his massive frame dwarfing yours as he pulled you back against his chest. His arms coiled around your waist, possessive, claiming.

"Comfortable?" His voice was deep, teasing, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly but refusing to give him the reaction he was undoubtedly waiting for. His fingers trailed down your arms, slow and deliberate, before dipping beneath the water, grazing your thighs. You shivered, but still, you remained silent.

Sukuna clicked his tongue, displeased with your lack of response. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you further against him, forcing you to feel the heat of his body. His lips brushed against your shoulder, his teeth scraping over your damp skin before he bit down—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a sharp jolt of sensation through you.

"Missed me, didn’t you?" he murmured, his voice dark, knowing.

You bit your lip, your fingers gripping the edge of the tub as his hands roamed higher. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He scoffed, his tone laced with amusement, but the way his fingers flexed against your thighs told a different story. He was growing impatient.

His hand drifted between your legs, teasing, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

"Try again," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

Your silence was answer enough.

He chuckled, low and dark, lips grazing your ear. "Tch. So stubborn." His fingers tightened around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control. His other hand continued its slow torment, setting your nerves on fire, pulling soft, breathless whimpers from your lips.

"Say it," he ordered, his voice thick with arrogance. "Admit you missed this. Missed me.

Your resolve crumbled as pleasure coiled in your stomach, your body betraying you. "I did," you gasped. "I missed you."

Sukuna growled in satisfaction, his grip tightening as his lips claimed your neck. "Good girl."

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

AEGON RAILING HIS LITTLE SISTER OUT OF RAGE 😩💅

uh...y-yeah...*cough*

Summary: Aegon's wife decides to play a little game, knowing fully well what the consequences will be.

Warnings: Targcest (brother-sister incest), jealousy, toxic relationships, SMUT (MINORS DNI), slapping, choking, rough oral (m!receiving), lots of dirty talk, use of "my king," degradation, breath play, dacryphilia, and breeding kink

word count || 3.2k🤙🏻

Aegon scowled as he watched his bastard nephew, Jace, offer his hand to you, his dear sister-wife. He almost widened his eyes in shock when you actually took it.

It had been a relatively nice night, considering the whole family was packed together in one room. When the late Vaemond Velaryon called into question prince Lucerys’ claim to the Driftwood throne, his elder sister and supposed heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra, and the rest of her brood swiftly sailed back to King’s Landing from Dragonstone to plead to let the bastard remain heir, to claim what was never his in the first place. Even a blind man could see he wasn’t the spawn of Ser Laenor, same with Jacaerys; the Strong bastards they were called, even if it was a quite ironic insult considering how much weaker they were than Aemond and himself. 

And now, that mockery of a bastard heir was asking to dance with Aegon’s wife.

Aegon’s eyes flitted to his brother’s, both looking to each other in slight shock and offence. What are you going to do about it, Aemond’s gaze seemed to ask silently. It’s not as though Aegon could separate the bastard’s head from his shoulders, not with the whole family there watching. Oh, Aegon wanted to though. He wanted to cut his nephew down for even daring to set a single glance on his precious sister. 

What was worse, though, you seemed to enjoy it.

A marriage to your brother, Aegon, wasn’t the worst arrangement in the world, and that was a shock to yourself as well. You were the youngest of Alicent's children, and you were sure that your mother would have your elder brother marry Helaena. In hindsight, you were relieved it wasn’t her, she was too soft, too gentle, and much too innocent for the likes of Aegon. You might’ve been the youngest, but you could hold your own, especially against Aegon.

At first, Aegon wasn’t the kindest to you, he never was. You were the baby, and your mother treated you the best and him the worst. There was always a sort of resentment he held for you, whether he liked to admit it or not, and he often took out his frustrations on you, even as a child. You often heard stories from your other brothers how Aegon would try to harm you as an infant, either accidentally or on purpose, from leaving you unattended when it was his job to look after you at that moment to trying to feed you to his dragon, Sunfyre. It amused you how petty this man could be. He did not want to marry you, he wanted to continue whoring about on the Streets of Silk, not consummate his wedding to you in front of a group of people to make sure his cock was inside you.

You and Aegon often fought, you both often found even the smallest things to fight about just to yell at each other. It was therapeutic, in a way. You would scream at each other, so loud it often woke the whole royal apartments; then you and Aegon would fuck. It was never loving, never romantic; it was purely feral, primal, each of you battered and bruised by the end of the night. When he first deflowered you, you didn’t think you’d like it that much, especially not with him. You were shocked to see how much Aegon actually knew what he was doing, you supposed spending his whole life on the Streets of Silk allowed him to learn some things. 

There came a point in time when Aegon started to feel a bit more protective of you. As a child, he did hate you for a time, but he grew up and matured…well, in some ways. The reasons he hated you started to not make sense to him, so he simply stopped. You were his sister, his wife, and the future mother of his children and possible heirs to the Iron Throne. He grew to love you, but that didn’t mean he would be kind to you all the time, Aegon was still Aegon. But gods, you had him by his balls, and in turn, he often made love to you rather than just fuck you.

So now, you often found ways to make him so mad he fucked you the way you wanted, how things were before. Aegon often went too far in his protectiveness, to the point of obsession. He needed you all to himself, and you knew that. With the little family reunion, you knew the perfect way to get under Aegon’s skin.

You didn’t necessarily hate your nephews, but you didn’t mind throwing them under the bus for your own enjoyment. Jacaerys was a sweet boy, always on your heels as a girl, trying to woo you in hopes your mothers would betroth you to lessen the gap that was between your family, always giving you flowers he found in the gardens and stealing sweets from the kitchens to surprise you with a makeshift picnic. It was nice, but you were never interested, you were more interested in the sweets he brought you to be honest, and the flowers you’d always give to your maids instead. Now, he was a man grown, and quite handsome and you figured you wouldn’t be disgusted if you had in fact married him; and from the looks he kept giving you, it seemed his little crush didn’t lessen a bit, even though he was now betrothed himself.

You hid your smirk by sipping on your wine, the alcohol making you bolder than you normally would be in public. You smiled sweetly at Jace, and he took that as a sign to ask you for a dance.

You discreetly eyed Aegon, satisfied to see his sour expression as you took Jace’s palm in yours, allowing him to help you up from your seat and bringing you to the open floor, promptly taking your first steps into a comfortable dance. You held Jace by his shoulder, your other hand in his, spinning each other around as the music flowed. He was actually a decent dance partner, a content smile decorating your face, but only widened when you saw Aegon scowling from the corner of your eye.

“Still only using me for your own schemes, eh?” Jacaerys broke the silence between you, catching you by surprise. “It seems not much has changed since we were little.”

You laughed through your nose. “And it seems you’ve only gotten more clever, nephew.”

“Unlike some, I know when my feelings aren’t reciprocated. It was hard as a boy, but I know better now.”

“Is that so? So, why are you dancing with me and not your new betrothed?”

“It’s simple, really.” Jace smirked as he leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “To anger my uncle.”

You giggled. “And why in the Seven Hells would you do such a thing? You only did so as a child.”

Jace shrugged. “I guess some things will never change.”

Some things do never change, including past resentments from others. One little giggle from Lucerys directed at Aemond, and all hells broke loose. Over a pig…a bloody pig. You didn’t really understand it, but to be fair, what happened to Aemond didn’t happen to you. You weren’t even there that night little Luke took his eye, but what was certain is that he still hated him and he wasn’t afraid to show it. A fight broke out, and Jacaerys quickly discarded your dance in favor of punching your brother in the face, which only managed to make Aemond angrier…and your husband.

After the fight was broken up, everyone was sent to their quarters. But Aegon grabbed you by your upper arm and practically dragged you to your apartments. “How dare you!” He shouted as soon as he closed the door behind him.

“I don’t know what you mean, my love.” You feigned innocence, batting your eyelashes bashfully.

Aegon scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the fool with me, you knew exactly what you were doing. Jacaerys? Really? You willingly dance with the enemy?”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “Enemy? He’s our nephew.”

“Fine. You willingly dance with someone who is not your husband!” He seethed, he grabbed you by your neck, pulling you close, your breasts uncomfortably pressing against his chest. “You dare embarrass me like that, in front of all those people.”

“You embarrass yourself in front of the whole Keep every day, what’s one more to add to the list?” You choked out, making Aegon’s eyes darken, and a chill shot down your spine. You hadn’t seen him this mad since the days after taking your vows…it made your cunt incredibly wet.

Aegon raised his hand to you, slapping you across your cheek and immediately marking it a bright red, making you yelp and your head spin. “Ah, so you wanna be a little slut for your bastard nephew, is that it?” He slapped you again until your knees gave out and you crumpled to the floor, his firm hand making you look up at him. “Is my cock not good enough for you anymore? You think he can fuck you better than I can?” He pinned you to the stone floor, the thin carpet the only thing cushioned your back. He straddled you, his cock already stiff and pressing against his trousers. “He’s just a boy, a pathetic, worthless bastard, and a whore like you can’t be satisfied with just a boy. You need me, who knows exactly what you need.”

“Aegon-”

“Shut the fuck up, whore!” Aegon yelled in your face, tearing the bodice of your gown right down the middle, exposing your heavy breasts to the cool air, your nipples hardening instantly. He palmed one harshly while unlacing his breeches and freeing his cock, pumping the shaft with his other hand. You winced at the roughness, but your mouth watered at the sight, and you knew Aegon knew you wanted this, from the way your chest heaved with anticipation and the way your pupils dilated to wide you could barely see your irises. “If you don’t choke on this cock, maybe I’ll fuck you. How’s that sound, slut?”

You squealed as Aegon forced his thick cock in your mouth, immediately reaching the back of your throat, bringing tears to your eyes, but you tried not to gag. You had done this enough times to train yourself to take him all, each time you’ve been able to do it for longer, but you were so eager for him to fuck you stupid. “Well, that certainly shut you up, didn’t it?” Aegon chuckled, biting his lip as he gently fucked your mouth, watching your lips stretch around his girth and threatening to crack the skin. “Gods, you always take me so well, don’t you, darling? You want me to fuck you that bad, hmm?”

You moaned around his cock enthusiastically, nodding your head slightly.

“Mm, if only little lord Strong could see you now, taking your husband’s cock so deep in your mouth you can’t even breathe, can you? What do you think he’d say? He’d probably be disgusted by you, a little whore who can’t survive without a cock stuffed into one of her holes. Isn’t that right?”

“Aegon-!” You tried to speak, but he grabbed your throat squeezing hard, and pinched your nose closed so you couldn’t breathe at all, his pace quickening and becoming relentless as he roughly fucked your mouth. You choked and gagged, grunting as your body started to run on instinct, jerking and writhing, trying to grasp for air but finding none. And as you started to become lightheaded and dizzy, your vision fading in and out, Aegon let both of his hands go and removed his cock from your mouth, a loud, shaky gasp echoing from your lips, coughing so hard you were scared you’d bring up your dinner. You sobbed a little, tears streaming from your eyes one after the other.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Aegon wiped away your tears with little finesse, shoving his fingers in your mouth and collecting your spit, circling your nipples before bringing his head down to nip and suckle on them like a babe starved. “On the bed, now.” With little strength, you shakily crawled onto your bed, but now before Aegon discarded the rest of your gown and smallclothes until you were completely bare to his eyes. “Mm, you always were the prettiest of us, weren’t you? You think you can handle more, slut?”

You nodded your head, “Please.”

“Using your manners, now? What a surprise. I didn’t think my cock would tame you that easily. You want me, darling? Not Jacaerys? I can go fetch him and I can find myself another whore that could take my cock in her mouth easier than you can.”

You scowled. “I’ll have your balls if you do such a thing.”

And in an instant, Aegon was straddling you again, slapping your face once more. “I guess I was wrong, you’re still acting like a little hellcat in heat. Maybe putting a babe in you will tame you, for a time at least. You know how the court whispers, how I haven’t sired an heir from you yet. I know you wanted to wait, but maybe tonight I finally will…then you can have my balls.” He giggled darkly. You moaned loudly when Aegon pressed two of his thick fingers inside you without warning, but with how wet you were, he had little to no resistance, besides you squeezing around his digits. “Fuck, you’re so wet. This all for me…or was it for Jace?” You shook your head no, but that only made him slap your pussy hard. “Use your words, slut.”

“All for you, Aegon! Only for you.” Aegon removed his fingers, quickly replacing them with his cock, hitting the ends of you with a single thrust. “Aegon!” You moaned, already feeling so full. You tried to move, but he held you in place, leaning down to take one of the stiffened peaks of your breasts into his mouth, sucking hard and then repeating the action with the other breast. “Please, more, please.” You begged, trying to cant your hips up but only meeting resistance from his hands pinning you to the bed.

“Only good girls get what they want. Are you a good girl?”

“...yes.” Slap. “No!”

“You’ve been a brat all night, and only bad girls act like you did tonight. And bad girls have to work for their pleasure. So, you will listen to me. You will obey my commands, understand?”

“Yes, my king.”

Aegon smiled, “Now there’s a glimpse of my good girl.” You whined as he slowly pulled out until just the tip barely remained, and then thrust back in hard, making you gasp. “That's what you wanted, little slut?” He thrusted into you again even harder, the loud slap of skin resounding through the entire room, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cockhead hit that special spot inside you that made your clit throb wildly.

“Yes, yes…!” You moaned, trying to keep your hips still as Aegon pounded into you hard and slowly, taking his time with you, keeping you frustrated but reeling at the same time. You started to cry, causing Aegon to giggle.

“Aw, is this not enough for my little slut? Do you not appreciate what your future king is giving you?”

“I need more, my king, please, I’m sorry, I can’t-” You babbled, your legs starting to shake.

“Hush, my darling, I’ll give you what you want. But you need to do something for me first.”

“I’ll do anything, please!”

“Tell me that Jace is nothing but the bastard of a whore who will never be king.”

You frowned, “B-But…”

“Ah, ah, ah, you said you’d do anything, did you not? Are you going back on your word to your king? Tell me how he’d never pleasure you like me.” Aegon’s thrusts slowed to a stop, his hand reaching down to circle your neglected clit with the tips of his fingers, causing you to arch your back in overstimulated pleasure.

“Aegon, please-!”

“Say it, bitch!”

“Jace is just a bastard who’ll never be king! He’ll never pleasure me like you can!” You screamed as Aegon finally started to rut into you with a brutality you’ve never experienced, he sat on his haunches, gripping your love handles with both hands so hard you knew it would leave your skin dark with bruises. The tip of his cock hit the ends of you over and over again, so hard you felt an ache form in the pit of your stomach. “Gods, fuck, Aegon!”

“Yes, slut, scream my name. Let the whole Keep know who’s fucking you like this. Scream so loud it’ll carry to that bastard’s chambers.” Aegon reached down to continue rubbing your clit, eliciting another scream of his name from your swollen lips. It almost sounded like you were being killed with how loud you were, but you were going to experience a little death soon if Aegon kept hitting both your pleasure spots at once.

“Are you going to cum on your king’s cock, hm?”

“Yes, my king, please, can I?” You sobbed, your moans getting louder and higher pitched as you edged towards that peak of pleasure.

Aegon smiled, groaning as his cock twitched inside you. “You’ve made up for all your bad behavior, so I guess you’ve earned it.” You groaned loudly as you came, clenching on Aegon’s cock so hard he whimpered, pounding into you until he neared his own climax. “You want your king’s cum inside you, darling? You want me to pour my seed inside you so you can give me an heir?”

“Cum inside me, Aegon, please, I want your babe inside me!”

“I’m gonna give it to you, darling, I’m gonna give you my cum, fuck-!” Aegon groaned loudly, burying his face in your neck as he shot his hot seed into your cunt, his cock twitching wildly inside you, making you whimper from the sensation. “Gods, fuck, darling…” He breathed out in exhaustion, rolling off of you to lay on his back beside you.

You lay there with a tired, but content smile on your face, simply enjoying the sound of Aegon catching his breath next to you, a sore ache between your legs.

“Did you enjoy that, you little vixen?” Aegon teased, huffing in annoyance.

You smiled as you turned to lay at his side, placing his arm around your shoulders and resting your head on his chest. “You know I’d never want Jacaerys, I just missed how we used to have our coupling in the beginning of our marriage…I only want you.”

Aegon raised a brow, looking down at you in amusement. “And here I thought I was the perverted one. You’re just as bad, aren’t you.” He turned to face you, smiling fondly at you, reaching a hand up to caress the side of your flushed face. “If you wanted me to fuck your brains out, my love, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve happily indulged you.” You gasped as he suddenly pinned you to the bed, keeping your wrist together above your head with one hand. “That being said, have you learned to behave yourself now, little one?”

You smirked, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m not sure, my king. I’m still feeling a bit rebellious.”

Aegon groaned as he wrapped his other hand around your throat tightly, his cock springing to life once more. “Then I guess it’s up to your king to teach you another lesson. Perhaps you’ll learn something this time.”

hope you enjoyed, Anon!

[midnightwerewoolf]

Episode 9 of season 2? Fucking delicious man. Fantastic, it was well done, it was horrifying and I EAT THAT SHIT UP.

Spoilers and warnings for what I'm about to say: (cw: Pedophilia, sexual assault.)

Lovelies, it's here. The exact episode I was waiting for.

Anshi being shown as a kid was heavy, her going to the emperor and asking if he was okay, becoming the only thing he could see... It was disgusting.

The former emperor was a weak and pathetic man who was controlled by his own mother, he couldn't talk with adult women, being touched by a woman would send him into a complete hysterical panic attack. He didn't have any power when he was around someone who was of age, but you know who he was able to talk to and had more power over?

The fact that we are told and shown that Anshi was not his only victim, that there was someone before her but because she gave birth to a girl she was completely ignored and the baby was given to someone else to take the fall. That because Anshi gave birth to a boy the empress recognized the baby as her grandson should probably give you an idea of how strong her hold on the throne actually was and how many of her decisions ended up affecting not only our main characters, or even just the royal family... But also the populace.

They sent CHILDREN just to cater to the emperor's tastes, not caring about them as children but as bargaining chips for power.

And Anshi, someone who was also sent for this reason loathed this, the moment she lost her young child face, the way we see her grow into an adult and not look like a little girl anymore only to be discarded by the man who abused her and look for smaller and younger girls than her, the complete fucking disgrace of being treated as a disposable object was more than enough to break her.

And in a horrifying move, the cycle repeats through her forcing herself on the pathetic man who raped her, the reason she had to be cut open to deliver a baby, the reason she was sold off for power, to burn herself into his memory, to not let HIM forget the pain and trauma he made her go through. (And in a way, she succeeded.)

No wonder the empress had no love for her own flesh and blood when he was born, but the baby another concubine gave birth to during the same day, the one who was not a product of her own assault on that man but rather came from her actual son and his lover? She could give him all the love he needed while the son she couldn't love could get all he needed from Ah-Duo.

And the more little Jinshi grew and started to resemble his grandfather, the more Anshi felt the need for him to not resemble HIM.

Any thing he had an attachment towards had to be taken away, in an attempt to make him grow up and not become the same monster her abuser was, for Jinshi to be able to be strong and resilient. A different type of abuse born out of the scars of a woman who was left traumatized, but unlike the former emperor you can see he does hold love for her as his mother, that while being able to hide his own childish tendencies he's able to stand up on his own feet and retain a face of serenity right in front of danger and will actively protect that which is dear to him. That's the type of man he would become, and he doesn't hold this against her, recognizing her pain and love at the same time.

We can also see how the current emperor was affected by this, knowing his mother was young when she had him and how he himself avoids turning into the same person by choosing women who are actually of age and more developed in the chest area. He would never make the same mistakes his father committed but he would still listen to the women in his life and take their advice.

It says a lot about how much the actions of the former emperor and his mother have affected their family, and while there's still a lot more to learn about them and understand about, the ghosts of their actions will continue to haunt them and no amount of context will actually fix the pain they have already inflicted upon others.

[snowballseal]

Guard Dog AU - Zayne

Summary: AU where you are the Foreseer, and Zayne is a human you've given your blessing to who has devoted his life to staying by your side, protecting you, and worshipping you. He would do anything for you. Anything.

Word County: 2744

Note: Sooooo, I went a bit feral with this one... Could be interpreted as very sub-like behavior for Zayne, but I feel like we all know this man just wants to worship his partner. So yah. I'll be writing similar au's for the other guys too, but this one might be my magnum opus.

Coming soon: Sylus / Xavier / Rafayel

Warning: Gets a little, spicy at the end, but mostly by implication. Reader likes to touch Zayne's face a lot. Someone calls Zayne a concubine and you get pissed.

Enjoy!

---

“Kneel.”

You stare, features a mask of icy indifference, at the human envoy wavering at the foot of your throne. They shiver in their thick coats, no material warm enough to keep out the biting cold of the Tower of Thorns. The biting cold of your glare.

Yet, still, they don’t kneel. You can see the hesitation on their faces, the pride flashing behind their irises. Humans. They always come, high and mighty, thinking themselves better than you, a demigod.

Your lips part, a scathing reproach ready on your tongue, but you don’t get the chance to correct their insolence.

“I said. Kneel.”

Zayne slams his staff into the polished, white granite. The sound of it echoes all the way to the far halls of the tower. The thinly veiled threat behind his words is unmistakable. Kneel before I make you.

The humans all crumble under the weight of his command. They drop to their knees, one by one, trembling at the pure contempt burning behind his gaze. Contempt for them and their human greed. They don’t even deserve to gaze upon the threads of your robes, let alone kneel in your presence, yet they think themselves above it? You may have mercy on their kind, but Zayne would rather cut them to their knees than allow them to show you such disrespect.

A faint smile ghosts across your lips. With the barest flick of your fingers, Zayne returns obediently to your side. He drops gracefully to one knee, head bowed, eyes locked on the unblemished edge of your robes.

It’s almost amusing, watching him turn so docile, so small for you. A man who conquers you in height and strength, who holds himself with the regal poise of royalty, who you’ve blessed with powers no man can dream of - a submissive guard dog at your feet. Ready to kill if you desire him to. Willing to die for you.

“Foreseer-”

Your smile falls away. Right, the humans. Eyes icing over once more, you turn your gaze to the envoy, regarding them with disinterest.

“What do you want, that you’ve come all this way and disturbed my peace?” Your voice rings like a delicate chime, but carries the bite of a frigid river. 

The one who spoke - a man dressed in expensive looking furs, his skin covered in a layer of sweat - flinches at the sharpness of your tone. He seems to steel himself for a moment, collecting whatever pathetic bravery he has gained from his comfortable life, and looks up at you with a determined glare.

“We’ve come here for a prophecy, Foreseer,” he starts again, voice muggish and demanding, “Our kingdom has experienced prosperity in the passing years and our king would like to be certain that it will continue.”

Zayne tenses beside you, his fingers tightening around his staff. You can see him fighting the urge to put this man in his place, his jaw drawing so taut it almost looks painful. Letting out a low hum, you reach out and brush your fingers through the dark strands of hair. A silent request. Zayne wavers, his breath faltering as all his attention falls back on you. 

Always on you. 

Your touch is gentle but insistent, your delicate fingertips tracing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. It leaves his skin tingling, pleasant and cold. It’s an addictive feeling and he can’t help but yearn for more. Zayne nuzzles into your palm, pressing his lips to your skin in reverent gratitude when you give him exactly what he wants, your fingers brushing more firmly against his face.

An uncomfortable cough breaks the silence, “Foreseer-”

“I heard your explanation,” you interrupt him sharply, a wave of frustration washing over you. Zayne can feel it, feels his own frustration at having your attention drawn away from him. But he doesn’t dare make that known, instead watching your face attentively as you speak. “And I will remind you that my prophecies will not be bound to your expectations. They are bound to nothing but fate, so I advise you to deliberate on what you are asking of me.”

“Our King simply wants to ensure that our prosperity will continue,” the man insists, as if you’re the fool who is missing the point. He levels you with a look of disdain, his eyes not so subtly darting to the hand you now have resting in Zayne’s hair. “Though I am certain now that our Highness would not care for the words of a mere oracle who keeps a concubine as her guard.”

The air in the chamber goes deathly still once the words leave his mouth.

Your eyes narrow at the man, glacier and even, but he keeps his chin held high. The rest of the envoy all shift, sharing uneasy glances between themselves. It seems even they know that what he said was a foolish mistake.

One should not anger a god so carelessly.

Slowly, deliberately, you stand from your throne. A flick of your hand and your own scepter appears from the air, the Creatio Protocore glinting dangerously from its tangle of wood. All eyes fall on it, a mix of fear and greed, all eyes except for Zayne’s, which remain glued to you.

Every step you take, every subtle movement, is controlled, the utter definition of grace. Even the air bows to you, shivering around your form, any remaining warmth fleeing from your presence. Tendrils of ice spread along the granite, creeping up the walls, covering the windows, turning the room into a prison of your anger.

And Zayne can’t help but watch, transfixed, adoration curling in the depths of his being. Because this is you, his goddess, his queen. He may be your guardian, but he is well aware that his title is by grace alone, and not necessity. You’ve never needed him. Not like this.

“You seem unaware of whom you speak to,” you murmur, patience tested and gone, “So let me remind you.”

The man lets out a yelp as ice suddenly grips his boots. You feel a flicker of satisfaction at the panic in his eyes, his confidence disappearing like a leaf carried away by the wind. His companions scatter back, looking on in terror as the ice travels up his legs, encasing the entire lower half of his body.

“I am the Foreseer,” you say, stopping a mere foot away from him. “The demigod of the Tower of Thorns. This is my domain, my home, and you are a pest. I owe you nothing. I owe your king nothing. As far as I am concerned, he is beneath me.”

“You insolent- He is our king!” The man spirts, turning a drastic shade of red. “I demand you show him respect, you despicable wi-”

A dagger presses deftly to the man’s neck and he goes silent, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

“Be silent,” Zayne snarls, “How dare you speak to the Foreseer in such a way.”

You glance at him over the man’s shoulder, brow flicking up. Any other time, it would warm your heart to see Zayne stand up for you, and you would gladly let him cross the boundaries of his position, to act as he sees fit. To act freely. But in this moment, all you can feel is the rage boiling in the depths of your soul. It’s your turn to show them their mistakes.

So you click your tongue, eyes narrowing, “I did not ask for you to intervene, my dearest.”

Zayne doesn’t miss the sharp disapproval in your voice, his breath catching somewhere in his chest. How thoughtless of him. Dagger slipping back into the sleeve of his robes, he forces himself to step back, head bowed like a wolf bearing its neck submissively.

“I apologize, my lady.”

You don’t offer your forgiveness, only giving him a stiff nod, and Zayne can feel his skin prickle with unease. Every fiber of his being aches, desperate to earn your affection, to please you, to offer an apology you deem sufficient.

If you want him to grovel, he will. If you want him to beg, he’ll do so until his voice gives out. Even if you want to punish him, he’d take it with such deep affection, because anything from you is more than he deserves.

But until you ask anything of him, all he can do is wait.

And currently, you must deal with the nuisance in front of you, even if you can feel Zayne’s laden eyes locked on you so intently.

“Now let’s talk about your king, shall we?” You muse, turning your attention back to the man. He swallows, regret showing in the way his hands tremble so viciously. “You humans have such a twisted view of power. Whether it’s money or prosperity or health. You are all subject to fate and that is why you hate my prophecy. Your king is no different, and I presume he’s looking for someone to blame when your land inevitably falls into poverty. In fact, I feel confident in saying he already sees it coming, and I would wager that he is the sole cause of it. Am I wrong?”

A low murmur spreads among the envoy. The man goes nearly purple in front of you, face tight with indignation, but he doesn’t dare utter a word, not with the looming threat of Zayne’s blade still nearby. 

You don’t need him to confirm what you already know, though. And you’ve had enough of this messing around. The day has been too long, and you desire nothing more than to rest.

“Tell your king that this mere oracle wishes him well in his remaining time on the throne,” you chime and turn to walk away. Your voice carries on over the clicking of your heels, “However short that time might be.”

“You can’t-! Foreseer!”

“See them out, my dearest, and then meet me in my quarters.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Foreseer-!” The man calls again, but Zayne doesn’t even allow him another glimpse at your figure. He’s lost that honor.

“I believe it’s time for you to leave,” he snaps, and breaks the spell of your ice.

The man immediately tries to make a run for you, desperation carved into every line of his face, but Zayne catches him by the collar of his coat and throws him back towards the rest of his party. His eyes set on them, harsh and cold, a sneer pulling at his lips.

“She has dismissed you. I suggest you leave quietly before you test my patience.”

“I will not listen to the orders of a-”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a sigil carve into the air before a blinding light fills the space. The humans flee from the sudden ice clawing at their feet, voices tight with panic, boots slipping against the granite in their desperation.

A faint smile pulls at your lips as you dip into a hallway. Zayne always has been good at scaring people away.

It’s a quiet venture to your room at the top of the tower after that. The howling gale outside is all you can hear, muffled by the thick stone of the tower’s walls. It’s a somehow comforting sound, soothing some your prickled nerves.

Still, you feel tense as you settle on the edge of your bed. Dealing with the humans always does this to you. That’s why you ended up here, in the desolate, snowy mountains, far from any village or kingdom. Dealing with them is too exhausting.

How many humans have come to you, begging for an audience, only to throw themselves into a rage after you share one of your prophecies? A prophecy you can’t control, you can’t change. Yet they always blame you. 

You can hardly be blamed for resenting their kind.

All of them except Zayne.

Your dearest. Your steadfast peace. The comfort of your isolation was no match when he came to your tower.

And your frustration melts like snow in the springtime when he appears at your door, wavering at threshold. Hesitation furrows his brow, his fingers twitching against the frame. Features softening, you gesture for him to enter.

“Come here, my dearest,” you murmur, tone impossibly gentle.

He hesitates for only a moment before sweeping across the room, reaching you with only a few long strides. You watch as he kneels at your feet, the thick fur of his robes gathering on the stone floor around him. And of course you notice the way his lips press together so vehemently, like he’s biting back something.

“Please speak, darling.”

Zayne’s eyes flutter shut, a shuddering breath passing his lips. You always say the term with such sweetness, such tenderness. It makes him feel dizzy and near breathless, loved in a way that makes his chest ache.

“May I touch you?” He asks, voice a low rasp.

You don’t even have to think to answer, “Of course you may, my dearest.”

With all the care in the world, Zayne gathers the edge of your robes in his gloved hand, drawing the silken material to his lips. His touch is reverent, like even the clothes on your body are deserving of worship. He takes his time, showering each fiber with devout affection, eyes slowly trailing up the material to gaze at you through ebony eyelashes. And you can’t help the way your breath falters so easily for him, always taken aback by the desperation, the hunger you find there.

Something dark glints behind those mottled depths at the sound. Slowly, experimentally he presses closer. When you don’t correct him, his fingers brush questioningly against your ankle, the warmth of his skin seeping through the leather of his gloves. And you’ve never been one to deny him.

Parting your legs, you let Zayne settle between them, your knees bracketing his wide shoulders. His fingers trace adoringly up and down your leg as he nuzzles into your clothed thigh, like a pup starved for affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath, even through the thick material of your cloak, and it makes your usually sharp mind spin.

“Please forgive my earlier thoughtlessness, my love,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing insistently against your inner thigh. “I will accept any punishment to atone for my actions.”

Gods, you never thought you would be so weak for one man. But how could you not be? How can you not crumble under such earnest devotion?

You’d freeze the world over if it meant having him forever at your side.

“You have quite the tactic for coaxing me to forgive you,” you breathe, reaching a hand down to trace through his hair. Zayne immediately leans into your touch, molten eyes soft with feigned innocence.

“I am simply a humble servant, unworthy of your favor, my lady,” he hums, eyelashes fluttering when your grip tightens momentarily in his hair. It’s only then a mischievous smile reveals itself on his lips. “How can I coax a goddess such as yourself to do something against your will?”

“You know full well what you’re doing, dearest.” You lean down, until your cool breath ghosts over his skin, sending a shiver through Zayne’s body. His bravado slips away, replaced by an uneven breath, his lips parting ever so slightly. “And there’s no need for it. Everything I have, everything I am, is yours, and that includes my forgiveness. All you ever have to do is ask.”

“You shouldn’t offer such things so lightly, my lady,” Zayne rasps, fingers pressing tightly into the softness of your leg as he forces himself to glance away. “You underestimate how selfish my desire for you is. I would take everything if you allowed it.”

Suddenly, your touch is on his chin, drawing his face back to yours, until he can feel the brush of your lips against his, taunting and delicate.

“If you want everything,” you challenge softly, gaze unwavering, “then take it.”

Zayne inhales sharply. And then his lips are on yours, kissing you so deeply, so tenderly, like he wants to draw the very breath from your lungs, like you’re the only one who can sate his hunger burning inside of him.

And you let him. You let him take everything he desires, because he always gives you everything you could ever desire.

That is how it has always been between the two of you. And that’s how it will always be.

---

This felt pretty different from what I usually write. I was inspired by an Xavier fic I read sometime back, and I just loooove the concept of truly feral levels of loyalty. And I love the idea of reader being just a feral for him.

Can't wait to write Sylus' 😉

[such-a-daydreamer]

This is such a stupid AU idea but I love it.

I'm calling it the "Chill Bill" AU and it's exactly what it says on the tin.

If you're curious, check it out under the cut :p

There's comics at the bottom if you don't feel like reading

So basically, Bill in this AU isn't AS cynical as cannon Bill. Like sure, he still destroyed his home dimension, but he's not going around turning people inside out for fun.

In this AU, Bill convinced people that he was a god, starting a whole new religion and everything. Bill then goes on to NOT do anything that would get people to think he's evil (cuz he ain't) so the people find no reason to turn against him.

Humanity comes together and advances tech faster than normal to create Bill's portal. He comes to earth around the 1940s, and DOES NOT turn evrerything into chaos. He's actually the reason the second world war came to an end, but is partially also the reason there were world wars at all.

Bill has his usual personality, nothing about that changed, it's just his actions that do. Humanity built a lot of things in his honour, and Bill is EATING IT UP. Like, yeah, ngl he's got a god complex with humanity, but he still cares for them.

Bill is usually in the general assembly (or an equivanlent) most likely sitting on a big ass throne sorting through human problems. After like, seven decades dealing with human bs he's getting a little tired of it. But he does genuinely help out

Bill does like,, dissapear to go visit other dimensions and stuff when he gets sick of earth, but he always returns. Humans celebrate when he does. Unless Bill has given direct permission, no one is allowed to enter the portal. So far, no human has seen the other side.

Sometimes he even brings other interdimensional beings through the portal to show off how much humanity loves him. On rare occasions, these visitors try to take advantage and wreak a lil havock, and Bill plays the hero to save them.

Anywayyy here's some comics

Ford and Stan adventuring through Alternate Universes and ending up in Chill Bill's one

Bill's first encounter with Stan and Ford

Bill gets obsessed with trying to get Stan and Ford to like him and prove that "not all Bills are bad" but lowkey makes it worse

Second post

Third post

[laikabu]

mr wasia himself… it’s pretty long, so i put all his info under the cut

“Makalu” Real name: (first name) Touden His real first name is sort of irrelevant since everyone calls him by Makalu.

Likes: Pastries Dislikes: Steamed vegetables

Has a Northern name, but everyone calls him by this one.

Despite looking a lot like Kabru, he has Laios’s face.

Doesn’t want to inherit the throne; instead, he desires to travel the world to meet new people and see real, live monsters with his beloved aunt, Falin.

Likes monster cuisine for the most part, much to Kabru’s disappointment, but he is a very picky eater. He doesn’t like monsters that taste like vegetables, for instance

Relationships with other people:

He finds Kabru boring and often zones out when scolded by him. However, despite this, Kabru is the first person he seeks comfort from. Kabru tries not to be overbearing, but sometimes he can't help but regularly interfere.

He loves Laios deeply but resents that Laios is too occupied with royal duties to spend time with him. Laios is thrilled to share his love of monsters with his son but fears his son will face the same ostracism he did as a child.

Marcille is very fond of him and tries hard to win his favor, but he often seems to ignore her (ow…). They were very close when he was a toddler, but she would always hand him over to someone else whenever he started crying.

Yaad always seemed to be on the verge of a heart attack around him. As a small child, he would always ask specifically for a piggyback ride from Yaad.

As a younger child, Izutsumi was his favorite person. Although she doesn’t feel strongly about him, she enjoyed cuddling with him to sleep when he was little because he was very warm.

Falin is the most beloved person in his life. They regularly exchanged letters and would always wait for her by the pier the day she arrives in Melini. She often sneaked into his window to take him out to visit caves and forests behind others’ backs. Both of them knew that she wouldn’t be able to take him out anymore if anyone found out, so it became their little secret.

Chilchuck would sometimes let him stay in his shop, and he's rather fond of him despite not showing it. As a toddler, he would always ask to be carried, but it always ended in Chilchuck complaining about a sore back. By the age of five, Makalu had already surpassed Chilchuck's height.

He doesn’t see Senshi as often as the others, but he loves Senshi's cooking. He would eat monster food that he usually doesn’t like when it’s cooked by Senshi. Senshi tends to feed him a lot, much to the annoyance of Kabru.

He’s rather fond of Milsiril, but he doesn’t understand why his parents won’t let her spend time with him.

[jordiemeow]

MISC BOT DUMP ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

15/04/25

featuring characters from: challengers, west side story, panic, house of the dragon & marvel

prefacing this with a big fat thank u for 700 followers <3 not proofread in the slightest and very badly tagged but that's okay!! got drafts for fics for a lot of these so. Hmm eventually

still have other reqs to get through but saving those for after anniversary :) rafe lovers u r not forgotten.

gender neutral unless specified otherwise. have fun

enjoy ! <3

CHALLENGERS

SERVE(ING PAPERS)

patrick zweig x user

Your marriage was doomed from the start. Everyone pretended otherwise, and it took you a decade to come to that conclusion, but hey. Frontal lobe development, and all that. The point is you're sick and tired of the fighting and infidelity on both sides. Time to get a divorce.

ANOTHER ONE?

art donaldson x user (m4f)

Art's happy with his life, don't get him wrong. He loves likes his career, adores his wife, and Lily is the absolute light of his life. But it's because he loves your little family so much that he's been thinking about expanding it... how about another one?

WEST SIDE STORY

PLEASE DON'T GO

riff lorton x user

Fancy fuckin' school you managed to get yourself accepted into. All was well and dandy before you dropped the news that it meant you'd have to move away and leave him behind. So instead of telling you he'll miss you, he takes the childish route. What happened to loyalty, huh?

NOT ON MY WATCH

riff lorton x user (m4f)

Pretty girl like you is too good to be seen hanging around with the likes of him. You have a future ahead of you—you don't need to be wasting time with some boy you took pity on as a kid for having a crackhead momma. Cutting you out of his life is a necessity, he tells himself... until he spots some member of the Sharks hitting on you a few months later. Absolutely-fucking-not.

LONG TIME NO SEE

balkan jackson x user

It's been a hell of a long time since you've seen him. Keeping a roof over your head is tough, and Balkan is in too deep with the Jets to worry about maintaining friendships. But when he gets into a fight on the wrong side of town, you're the person he turns to. Maybe he just misses you.

PANIC

DADDY'S LIL ANGEL

dodge mason x user (m4f)

Dodge willingly attending church? Unheard of! But when he realises how pretty the preacher's daughter is, he finds himself attending worship. (Not for God, of course. For you.) He's on his best behaviour around you, he swears, but it's getting increasingly hard not to test how hellbent you are on saving yourself for marriage.

A SHOULDER TO CRY ON

dodge mason x user

If you asked his sister, she'd tell you Dodge has the emotional intelligence of a rock. Definitely not the most ideal person to find you crying in the kitchen after a rough shift at Dot's, but you mean a lot to him. Maybe he can lend you a shoulder to cry on... just don't stain his shirt, please.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

HEAVY IS THE HEAD

rhaenyra targaryen x user (wlw)

Lucerys is dead, Daemon has disappeared with Caraxes, and Rhaenyra's council is driving her up the wall with their arguing. But amidst all that chaos, she's able to find solace in the company of her lady's maid: you.

THE NEW QUEEN

alicent hightower x user

When Alicent told you that she had some news to share, you did not expect this. Perhaps that some knight asked for her favour, or that she had a new prayer book to share... not that she was marrying your father. Seven Hells, what has she gotten herself into?

FRIEND OR FOE?

jacaerys velaryon x user (m4f)

In theory, Jacaerys should be avoiding you at all costs. Your father is a supporter of the Hightowers, openly expressing his favour for Aegon on the throne. And yet despite it all, he finds himself seeking out your company more often than not—you aren't like the rest of them, he's sure of it.

MARVEL

PETALS AND PENITENCE

peter parker (tasm) x user

Surprise! Your best friend is Spider-man! And you are not happy about the fact he's kept this very life-altering secret from you, his closest companion. When you decide to ignore him after his accidental reveal, he realises he has to take matters into his own hands—a grand gesture, maybe. It's a pity the flowers got so wrecked in his bag, though.

LAST ONES STANDING

natasha romanoff x user

In the aftermath of the Blip, everything changed. But, five years after the initial disappearance of half the world's population, things are returning to some form of normalcy. Or, at the very least, you're still as infuriatingly optimistic as Natasha remembers.

OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN

steve rogers x user

When you enlisted as a medic during the Second World War, Steve was proud of you. He couldn't serve his country, but you could. That was, of course, until Dr. Abraham Erskine took a chance on a poor kid from Brooklyn. Now you're both changing lives for the better, and he's never been more happy to see an old friend.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 21 | END

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Dark, Mystery, Betrayal.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

By the way, my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

You can’t leave. Not when he’s already found you. And now… you have no choice but to play Bucky’s game.

You force a smile, even though your hands are trembling. Your heart races, thudding against your chest like it’s trying to escape. Bucky steps closer and shrugs off his jacket, placing it gently around your shoulders like it’s nothing—like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere in the dead of night.

“You must be freezing,” he says softly. His voice is full of fake concern, the kind that would melt anyone else. “Where are you going this late?”

His eyes are too kind. Too knowing. His tone might fool another woman—but not you.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “My dad’s doctor just called. The surgery’s happening sooner than expected, so I was going to check in.”

Bucky exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “I knew it. I had this feeling something would happen tonight. I’m glad I followed my instincts.”

Bullshit.

You glance at your phone, trying to pretend everything’s normal. “Mind if I join you guys back to the hotel?”

Bucky smiles again, that warm, practiced smile that’s all mask and no soul. He pats Thor’s shoulder. “Of course. Let’s go.”

Inside the car, you sit in the back, clutching the jacket tighter around you even though it makes your skin crawl. Bucky slides into the passenger seat like a king reclaiming his throne. Thor starts the engine without a word.

For the first time tonight, you’re glad this town is small. Your broken-down car wasn’t that far from the hotel. Just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, you tell yourself.

To kill the silence, you blurt out, “When do you think the renovation at my house will be done?”

Bucky doesn’t turn around, but you can hear the smugness in his voice. “Probably next week.”

“Next week?” Your voice rises a little too quickly.

“Not fast enough?” he asks, amused. “I’ll tell the crew to finish in three days.”

“No—no. Next week is fast enough,” you quickly backtrack. Don’t push. Don’t make him suspicious.

You pass the new hospital under construction. The steel skeleton towers in the night, surrounded by floodlights and scaffolding. It’s quiet, too quiet—like something in a dream that doesn’t feel real.

“When it’s finished,” Bucky says with pride, “I’m bringing in the best doctors in the country. Tom won’t have to leave town again.”

You go still. He’s not just talking about your father. He’s talking about you. He’s building a town no one can escape from. A town where he decides who stays—and who belongs to him.

“That’s... great,” you say, voice thin. “No one will have to worry about their health anymore.”

The car pulls into the hotel parking lot. Relief swells in your chest like a wave—until you remember it’s only temporary. You’re still trapped.

Bucky steps out first, then circles around to open your door with exaggerated politeness. You hesitate before accepting his hand. You wish your nails were sharp enough to cut him. But now’s not the time. You have to play nice.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He studies your face. “You look pale. Want me to have dinner sent to your room?”

Your stomach twists. The last thing you want is him at your door tonight.

“No thanks,” you say quickly. “I’m not that hungry.”

He nods slowly, eyes narrowing for a split second. “Alright. But if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“All right. If you need anything, just call,” Bucky said, his voice smooth like velvet—warm on the surface, but something colder lurked underneath.

You forced a smile. A shallow curve of the lips. The kind people give in tense family dinners or awkward public events—where they have no choice but to play along. You turned from him, heels clicking against the polished tile as you walked toward the lobby.

Each step felt like walking through molasses.

You couldn’t breathe. You needed air, distance—space to think. But no matter how fast or far you tried to go, he was always one step behind. Always.

And then you heard him. The heavy footfalls. He was following.

The elevator was waiting at the end of the corridor. You tapped the call button and stared ahead, not daring to look back. You could feel him close, like a shadow stitched to your spine.

The doors slid open with a soft metallic shhhk. You stepped inside. Of course, he followed.

Now it was just the two of you in a small box of mirrors and steel. Trapped.

The hum of the elevator filled the silence. You could hear your own heartbeat. You kept your eyes trained on the digital numbers above the door. As if they were your countdown to safety.

Then his voice sliced through the stillness—calm, casual, like he was sharing a bit of gossip. “Oh, right. Since what happened to Tony… the director’s seat at the hospital is empty now.”

You blinked, confused for a second. “What?”

Bucky turned to face you slightly, his expression unreadable. “Drysdale was supposed to be the hospital’s biggest investor. But after what happened to him…” His jaw tightened just a fraction. “That’s on me.”

A chill crept up your spine.

His voice remained calm—steady—but there was something cold behind it. Like he wasn’t confessing. He was warning.

“And now that you’re here,” he continued, “it makes sense for you to take over. The hospital needs someone smart. Someone trustworthy. Someone close.”

Your throat tightened. Every alarm in your body was screaming.

You nodded quickly, trying to keep your voice level. “I’ll… think about it.”

The elevator dinged, and you didn’t wait. The doors weren’t even fully open before you slipped through the gap, striding down the hallway with quick, clipped steps. Your hands were shaking.

“Good night,” you tossed over your shoulder.

Behind you, Bucky still hadn’t moved. Still in the elevator. Still watching.

But just as you reached your room, you heard him again—so soft it sent goosebumps crawling across your skin.

“Get some rest. I have to go pick up your car.” Pause. “I’ll make sure it gets fixed properly.”

You glanced back once—just once.

He was still in the elevator. Still smiling. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t just followed you, hadn’t just dropped a cryptic statement about a man who mysteriously vanished.

You swallowed the fear rising in your throat and turned away, heart hammering.

You fumbled the keycard into the slot with shaking fingers. The green light blinked. You slipped inside and slammed the door shut with your body pressed against it. You threw the bolt, locked the chain. Every click of the lock felt like placing a weak bandage over a bleeding wound.

The room was dim. Quiet. But not peaceful.

You weren’t safe here. Not anymore.

You backed away from the door, breathing hard. Your fingers trembled as you grabbed your charger, plugged in your phone, and called Jake.

No signal.

Your blood went cold.

You stared at the phone. That couldn’t be right. You’d used it here before. You called your lawyer from this room a few nights ago. Texted your lawyer. Checked your emails. There was always signal.

You stepped closer to the window, holding the phone up. Nothing.

Tried again. Nothing.

“Come on. Come on,” you muttered, biting your lip as your hands shook. You tried toggling airplane mode. Tried Wi-Fi. Tried every trick you knew.

Still nothing.

It didn’t feel like bad reception.

It felt… deliberate.

“Did he—” You couldn’t even say it aloud.

Was this part of it? Did Bucky somehow jam the signal? Cut it off? How far had he planned this?

You dropped the phone onto the bed and sat beside it, rubbing your hands over your face.

You felt sick.

Your body was trembling and your chest was too tight. This wasn’t a coincidence. Too many little things. Too many gestures that looked sweet on the outside but were twisted underneath. Too much control hidden in kindness.

The hospital. The car. The signal. Everything. Controlled.

You had to get out. You had to find a way to leave this town before it was too late.

Because now you understood— This wasn’t protection. This wasn’t affection. This was possession.

And you were already in the cage.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

You woke long before the sun rose. Not that you’d slept.

You'd laid in bed for hours, body still but mind spiraling—trapped in a loop of every unnerving detail from the day before. The silence in your room wasn’t comforting. It was thick. Suffocating. You kept glancing at the door, half-expecting it to rattle.

By the time light began to seep in through the curtains, dull and gray like an old bruise, you were already dressed and ready.

You tiptoed to the door, your fingers brushing over the chain lock before sliding it free. Quiet. Don’t wake him.

You cracked the door open and peeked into the hallway. Empty.

Still, your heart pounded as you slipped out, carefully pulling the door shut without a sound.

Bucky lived just across from you. Too close. Every creak of the hallway floor felt like a flare gun going off. But his door didn’t move.

You made it to the elevator and hit the button. The wait felt eternal. Ding.

You stepped inside. The doors closed with a soft hiss. The moment they sealed shut, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

For the first time in hours, you were alone. And for a moment—just one trembling moment—you felt safe.

At the Restaurant

The scent of coffee and baked goods drifted toward you as you stepped into the hotel’s restaurant. The soft clatter of cutlery and murmured conversations felt oddly surreal—normal, almost—like the world hadn’t shifted under your feet.

But then you saw him.

Jake had just walked in, brushing rain off his jacket. You didn’t wait. You marched straight toward him.

“Jake.”

He turned, surprised. “Hey, you called me—” You grabbed his wrist.

“Upps.” He chuckled, but you didn’t.

Without a word, you pulled him into a quiet corner of the restaurant—out of view from any guests, and more importantly, out of reach from the hotel’s security cameras.

“I called you last night,” you whispered, eyes darting around. “Because I need your help.”

Jake frowned. “What happened?”

You shivered.

Not from the cold.

From the memory. From the things you were piecing together. From the weight of knowing—really knowing—who Bucky had become.

Jake’s brow furrowed. “Y/N… are you okay?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, voice trembling. “Jake… Bucky is evil.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I know what he did to you before. But he’s changed now. He seems—”

“No,” you cut him off. “This is different. He’s the mastermind of it all.”

Jake’s expression shifted. He was quiet. Then: “Mastermind?”

You hesitated. You had no proof. Just instincts. Fear. The way every piece of the puzzle seemed to lead back to Bucky’s hands. His watchful eyes. His reach.

“I need your help,” you said, pulling a crumpled paper from your pocket. “Call this number. When someone answers, just say: The contract has terminated. That’s it.”

Jake looked at the paper, confused but trusting. “Okay… But we might have to wait. I heard on the radio this morning—the transmission towers are down.”

Your breath caught. “So it wasn’t just my phone?”

“No. It’s town-wide. Radio, calls, internet… Everything’s messed up.”

You stared at him. Your last thread of hope thinned. “Can you do something? This is urgent, Jake. Please.”

He studied your face. Something in your eyes must’ve told him this wasn’t paranoia. This was real.

“I… I’ll try,” he promised.

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Jake stepped forward, voice softer. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

Then— A voice behind you. Smooth. Inevitable.

“Hey,” Bucky said. “Turns out you’re here. I was knocking on your door.”

You froze. Your pulse jumped. Jake turned stiffly. “Oh, hi Bucky. Y/N was just helping me with… calculating my taxes.” He talked too fast, shit. He's a bad actor.

“Simple, actually,” you added, voice tight. “I’ll see you later.”

You bolted. Walked quickly into the breakfast hall. But you didn’t have to look to know—he followed.

Breakfast Hall

You filled your plate slowly, eyes focused on the scrambled eggs and toast like they held state secrets.

Bucky stood close behind. Too close. His hand brushed the small of your back as he leaned forward.

“There’s no signal,” you murmured, testing. “I can’t make any calls.”

He sighed as if it annoyed him. “Yeah. Something happened at the network tower. I don’t get the details, but the mayor issued an order to fix it fast.”

Of course he did. You nodded slowly. Pretending. Smiling. Playing the part of the patient guest. But your fists clenched around the tongs.

You sat down with your tray, picking at your food. Bucky, as expected, joined your table.

You laughed at the right moments. Asked polite questions. Let your eyes soften when he talked.

And the whole time your skin crawled. Like you were being watched by something wearing a mask.

Eventually, finally, he stood. “Duty calls. I’ll check on the staff.”

You didn’t breathe until he disappeared down the hallway.

At the Information Desk

You moved fast. Straight to the information desk. Your voice low but urgent.

“Could you call a taxi for me? I need to get to the train.”

The young man behind the desk looked apologetic. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. The trains can’t operate either. Network’s down. Even the scheduling system is frozen.”

Your chest tightened. “The train, too?”

“Yes… Sadly, yes.”

Shit. Everything was locked. Controlled. Every way out cut off.

But then you remembered— Natasha. She mentioned heading back to the city later today. Maybe she hadn’t left yet. Perhaps she could help.

It was a long shot.

But it was the only one you had left.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The arcade reeked of sweat, old popcorn, and something faintly metallic—like rusting wires. The light inside buzzed unevenly overhead, stuttering as you stepped in. The manager sat hunched over a cracked monitor, his eyes bloodshot from too many late shifts and not enough sleep. His chair creaked as he turned slowly to face you, his face already sour with contempt.

“You,” he growled. “It was because of you she quit this morning.”

Your chest tightened. “Really?”

“Ah-ha. She came in, said she was done, and left. Packed up her locker in five damn minutes.” He tossed a grimy towel over his shoulder. “Can’t say I blame her.”

You hesitated. “Do you have her address?”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t answer for a moment, just stared at you like he was trying to burn a hole through your skull. But eventually, maybe because he didn’t care enough to fight it—or maybe because he wanted you gone—he scribbled the address on the back of a receipt and shoved it toward you without another word.

You followed the address. The roads were quiet, too quiet, like the entire town had shrunk in on itself. When you finally reached the apartment building, the air felt different—heavy, charged. You barely raised your fist to knock before the door swung open.

There stood Natasha, her jacket half-zipped and a battered suitcase dragging behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp. Defensive.

“I thought…” You swallowed hard. “I thought I could come along with you.”

Her eyes narrowed, scanning you like she expected something to explode. But then, something in her posture loosened. If you were with her, it might actually work in her favor. You were well-spoken. Clean-cut. You’d be the best walking recommendation letter she'd ever have.

She sighed. “Sure. But you’re paying for gas.”

“Of course.”

Her car was old, faded yellow paint peeling at the edges, the kind that creaked when you opened the door like it might snap in two if pushed too hard. Inside smelled like gasoline and stale fast food.

As the engine sputtered to life, Natasha grumbled, “Seems like the universe fucked me. No signal. No train. So I’m stuck driving this antique.”

“You tell me.” You looked over your shoulder again.

Natasha noticed. “Why do you keep checking behind us?” Her voice was calm but probing.

You hesitated. “Did someone chase you?”

“You have no idea,” you muttered, eyes glued to the rearview mirror.

Ten minutes out of town, the needle on the fuel gauge dropped to red. Natasha swore under her breath.

“Shit. We have to refill.”

You pulled into the nearest gas station—an old, creaky thing at the edge of nowhere. A single flickering fluorescent light buzzed above. Natasha stayed near the car, lighting a cigarette, shoulders hunched against the wind.

Inside the convenience store, the air was warm but stale. The cashier looked bored, flipping through a magazine with chipped nails. You approached the counter.

“I’d like to fill up. Can I use a card? Do you have signal here?”

The cashier looked up slowly, puzzled. “Of course. Why? You don’t have signal?”

“No. Do you?”

“I’ve got full bars. No issues.”

Your stomach twisted.

Something wasn’t adding up.

You handed her your platinum card and forced a smile. “Can I… borrow your phone for a second? I need to call someone. It’s important.”

She hesitated. Looked at the card. Platinum. Her eyes softened. “Sure.”

You took the phone in trembling hands and typed in the number. It rang. You clenched your jaw.

“Come on. Pick up. Please. Please…”

Through the window, something caught your eye.

A black SUV rolled in. Smooth. Expensive. You recognized it instantly.

Thor stepped out first.

Your blood froze.

You watched in horror as he reached for the passenger door. Natasha’s eyes went wide, but before she could react, Thor was dragging her out of the car, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other twisting her arm behind her back.

“No,” you whispered, panic crashing over you in waves.

And then— The call connected.

“Hello?” a deep voice answered on the line.

You didn’t hesitate. “The contract is terminated. The contract is terminated!” The words fell from your lips like a lifeline.

You shoved the phone back to the stunned cashier and snatched your card.

Your legs moved before you could think.

You ran for the door—

—but he was already there.

Bucky.

He stepped out from behind the SUV like a ghost, too calm, too fast. His eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression, his mouth flat, his body blocking the exit.

You turned to bolt the other way, but his hand clamped around your wrist like iron.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, struggling, but his grip didn’t even flinch.

Customers turned. The cashier looked up, startled.

“Ssst…” The sound was soft. Almost gentle. You barely had time to register it before you felt a sharp sting in your neck.

Your eyes went wide. Your limbs jerked instinctively, a burst of adrenaline flooding your system—but it was already too late. The syringe was already in.

Bucky’s grip tightened just enough to steady you. Not enough to bruise, not enough to panic the few people watching. But firm. Practiced.

Your mouth opened in a breathless gasp. The edges of your vision blurred almost instantly, like ink spreading across paper. The world tilted.

“You always made things difficult,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low, almost fond—almost.

Your knees buckled. He caught you before you hit the floor.

He held you for a second, making sure the sedative had taken full effect. His eyes scanned your face, watching the last flicker of consciousness flicker out like a dying candle.

Only then did he exhale—slow and controlled, like a man who’d been holding his breath too long. Relief and possession curled around his expression like smoke.

He turned, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. The cashier blinked at him in confusion, the silence pressing in like thick fog. Your limp body in his arms turned a few heads. The other customers froze in that awkward half-awareness, unsure if this was an emergency or a domestic drama.

“She ran away from the hospital,” Bucky said calmly, adjusting your weight in his arms. He gave the cashier a reassuring smile, that picture-perfect charm that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s not dangerous. Just scared.”

The cashier’s brows drew together. “O-oh.”

He smoothly pulled a laminated card from his coat and handed it over. The name. The logo. The government seal.

“Here’s my card if you want to confirm anything,” he added. His voice was velvet, but underneath it was the unmistakable edge of control.

She took the card with trembling fingers, eyes flitting between the official badge and your unconscious form.

“I… okay,” she murmured, uncertainty etched into every syllable.

Before he turned to leave, he paused, still wearing that polite, terrible smile.

“Mind if I ask something?”

She nodded, slowly.

“What did she say when she called?”

The cashier swallowed. “She said… ‘The contract is terminated.’ That’s all. Just that. Nothing else.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t flicker. But something behind his eyes changed. A beat. A calculation.

“Really?” he said with a mild curiosity that didn’t match the way his jaw ticked ever so slightly. He reclaimed the ID, slipped it back into his pocket, and nodded once.

“Well. Thanks for your cooperation.” His voice was soft. Final.

He walked out with you cradled in his arms like a sleeping child, but the way he moved—sharp, focused, efficient—was the farthest thing from tender.

In the parking lot, Bucky opened the back door, laid you down gently beside Natasha, and closed it with a soft click that echoed louder than a gunshot in the still air.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, expression unreadable now.

“Contract’s terminated?” he repeated under his breath, starting the engine.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He had no intention of letting that happen.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

You woke up slowly.

Your head throbbed, and your body felt unnaturally heavy. You blinked up at the pale ceiling, watching shadows shift as soft light filtered through drawn curtains. The air was still. Too still. There was no buzz of city traffic, no hallway chatter, no hum of a minibar. Just silence—thick, padded silence.

You sat up a little. The sheets smelled clean, unfamiliar. The bed was too soft.

Where is this?

This wasn’t a dungeon. There were no chains or stone walls. But it wasn’t your hotel room either. Not the one you remembered. The muted wallpaper, the furniture—none of it matched. For one terrifying moment, you thought: Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe you’d imagined running away, the syringe, the gas station.

You closed your eyes, trying to will the panic away.

Then came the voice.

“You’re awake.”

Your eyes snapped open.

Bucky was sitting in a chair beside your bed. Close. Too close. His posture relaxed, one arm draped over the backrest, the other resting on his knee like he’d been waiting for hours.

Your heart shot up into your throat. You pushed back, inching away, your hands clutching at the blanket like it could protect you.

He saw it. The fear in your eyes.

And it hurt him.

“I would never hurt you,” he said, softly, like a promise he wished you could believe. But you didn’t. And he knew it. That terrified look on your face—it wasn’t part of the plan. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to understand. To forgive. To stay.

“The one piece missing,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “is you.”

You forced your voice out, your throat dry and scratchy. “Where is Natasha?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, like he was weighing how honest to be. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“She’s fine,” he said at last. “Unless you try to leave me. Then maybe not.”

Your breath hitched.

“I admire you, you know,” he continued, tone unnervingly gentle. “Even after everything she’s done to you… you still helped her. You still cared.” He leaned closer, voice almost reverent. “You’re different. Completely different from all of us.”

There was something too smooth in his voice now. Too careful. He was speaking sweetly, lovingly—but it tasted like poison. The tension in the air was unbearable. It coiled around your throat.

“Why… why are you doing this?” you whispered.

He blinked. Then his eyes widened, surprised you even had to ask.

“Is it not clear enough?” he said, softly.

He leaned back, dragging a hand down his face. And then—finally—he let it spill.

“I never apologized to you. Not once,” he said, eyes unfocused, voice lowering. “I made your life hell. I ruined it. Because I blamed your family for stealing my dad.”

Each word came like a confession he’d been holding for years. His face twisted, as if the weight of it all was finally too much.

“I made everyone hate you in school. Every cruel rumor, every whispered lie—I was the one pulling the strings. I was the designer of your misery.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Couldn’t.

“But then I found out it wasn’t your family’s fault.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Your mother had cut ties with Alex. Your mother never wanted anything to do with him again. It was him. My dad. He was the one who couldn’t let go.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“He listened to her wish… but he never stopped watching her. Wanting her. Imagine that—seeing the woman you love every day and knowing you can’t have her.” He looked up at you, and this time, there was something broken in his eyes. “That’s how I feel when I see you.”

You stared, frozen. It was too much. Too fast.

“After graduation, I ran. Left the town. I was ashamed. I studied overseas to get away. But I never stopped thinking about you.” He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. “I lost my mind. I know that. I went too far.”

He looked back at you. “I orchestrated everything. Jake, Natasha losing his job. Thor and Steve—those accidents weren’t accidents. I’m the reason their lives fell apart.”

Your stomach dropped. “You… you’re the one who—?”

“I’m the mastermind,” he said without flinching.

You felt cold spread through your entire body.

“Why?” you whispered.

“Because they deserved it. I deserved it.” His voice cracked—finally cracking.

You wanted to scream. To run. But your voice caught in your throat. You stared at the man in front of you—this boy who once haunted your high school halls with smirks and whispered threats—now grown, twisted, obsessed.

He leaned forward again. “All I ever wanted to hear from you… just once… was this: ‘Thank you, Bucky, for what you’ve done. You punished everyone who made my life hell.’”

You looked at him, blinking through the disbelief.

“…No,” you said quietly. “You’ll never hear that from me. You’re not a judge. You’re just obsessed with rewriting the past.”

His face faltered. His expression cracked open like a window in a storm. Disappointment flashed like lightning across it. For a long, long second, he didn’t say anything.

Then he stood.

“Just rest,” he murmured. His tone was resigned. “Soon, you’ll appreciate what I’ve done.”

He walked to the door and closed it behind him with a heavy click.

You sat frozen for a beat, then launched yourself from the bed. Your legs trembled but you forced them to move. You ran to the window—locked. You rattled the door—also locked.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself. You finally realized. You were trapped.

Days passed.

You didn’t know how many. The room blurred into itself—same sheets, same soft lamps, same suffocating stillness. Bucky came every day. Brought food. Always calm. Always too sweet. Like this was normal. Like you belonged here.

You never ate.

Until one day, he set the tray down and said:

“Do you want me to put a strap on you so you can eat?”

That made your blood run cold.

“No,” you said quickly.

You picked up the spoon.

After that, he changed. Loosened.

You weren’t confined to the room anymore. You could walk. Breathe.

And when you finally stepped out—barefoot, heart hammering—you realized the truth.

You weren’t in a facility. You weren’t in a bunker.

You were in his home.

A beautiful, sterile house tucked away in the woods, where no one could hear you scream.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The house was quiet—too quiet. Every footstep echoed like a warning. The walls were white, sterile, with picture frames that felt too curated to be real. As you followed the faint sound of murmuring, your heart thudded louder with each step.

Then, you saw her.

Lydia sat in a dimly lit lounge, slouched in a faded armchair that had likely once been elegant. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in thin slashes of daylight that made her skin look almost translucent. Her frame had withered into itself. Collarbone sharp, wrists too delicate. A robe hung off her body like it belonged to someone else. On the table before her—dozens of pill bottles scattered like forgotten chess pieces. Half-empty. Some knocked over. Some with their labels torn off.

You froze. You didn’t mean to stare, but the shock rooted you.

She noticed. Her bloodshot eyes flicked toward you. Her voice was raspy, drained from something that went far deeper than exhaustion. “I wish I never gave birth to him,” she said, like she was coughing up venom.

You blinked, stunned—but only for a moment. “Every child is a blessing,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “He became like this because of you. And your husband.”

The slap came in words. “You bitch!”

The hiss of her voice cut the air just as—

“Mother.” Bucky’s voice, sharp and low, sliced through the tension like a blade.

Both you and Lydia turned. His shadow filled the doorway. The moment his eyes landed on you, something in them flickered—panic, protectiveness, maybe even guilt.

“Don’t you ever speak to her like that again,” he said, jaw clenched. He stepped further inside.

Lydia didn’t flinch. She scoffed, picked up a pill bottle, turned it in her hand. “It’s not like she understands your feelings. Just like her mother. Playing every man’s heart like a toy.”

The room dropped ten degrees.

He exhaled—long and heavy. A quiet fury, tightly reined in. Then, with a hand lightly on your back, Bucky guided you out.

The hallway swallowed the confrontation behind you. He didn’t speak until you were out of sight from her door.

“I’ll take care of her,” he said quietly. “She won’t talk to you like that again.”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes stayed ahead. His hand lingered on your back like it belonged there—but it didn’t.

There was a pause. Then he tried again, gentler this time. “I’ve prepared dinner. For the two of us.”

You stopped walking. His words hung in the air, brushing your skin like invisible wires.

Your stomach curled at the thought—but what were your choices? Say no and risk another version of a locked room? Say yes and play the part?

You nodded. Just once.

That was all he needed. His entire face softened with relief, lips curving in a small smile—as if your silence meant progress. As if he believed he was winning you over.

He didn’t know your silence was survival. He didn’t know every nod you gave was calculated.

Still, that smile... it chilled you more than his threats ever did.

The dining room was beautiful, and wrong.

A chandelier spilled warm light over the long table, casting soft shadows that danced on polished wood. The clink of cutlery, the glow of red wine in crystal glasses, and the soft music playing somewhere far in the background tried to sell a lie: that this was normal. That you were just another couple sharing dinner in a grand home.

The food was plated perfectly—steak, mashed potatoes, a side of greens. The wine bottle stood tall between you, uncorked. But your appetite was buried beneath nausea.

Bucky poured the wine with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms relaxed—but his eyes never left you.

He smiled. “The mayor will retire this year.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I’ll replace him,” he said calmly, as if it were already set in stone. “You’ll be the hospital director. Both of us… ruling this town. Like it’s meant to be.”

You stared at him, fork trembling in your hand. “I don’t want to.”

He set down his glass, jaw twitching. “This is a good thing. Why do you always reject me?”

“Because you’re not giving me choices, you’re giving me cages.”

“I gave you everything!” His voice cracked against the walls. “Respect, power, a future! And you act like I’m the villain!”

“You are the villain!” you shouted, shoving your chair back. “You stalked me, drugged me, locked me up—! You think because you cooked me dinner, I’m supposed to fall in love with you?”

His face contorted. “Don’t you—don’t you dare pretend like you didn’t ever want this. That you didn’t dream of getting out of your pathetic little life and being someone.”

Your heart pounded like a war drum. “Never.”

Then silence.

Your hand moved before your thoughts caught up.

CRASH. The bottle of wine shattered against the side of his head.

Bucky staggered back, red staining his temple—wine or blood, you didn’t know. He crumpled to the floor with a groan.

You didn’t wait to see if he’d get back up.

Your breath hitched as you turned and ran.

The house twisted around you like a labyrinth. You turned corners blindly until you burst into the lounge again—and saw Lydia, still slouched on the couch.

“Lydia!” You rushed to her, shaking her gently. “We have to go!”

She didn’t move.

You leaned in—her chest didn’t rise. Her skin was pale. Eyes open, staring at nothing.

Dead.

“Kyaaaa!!” The scream ripped from your throat. You stumbled back, hitting the table, collapsing to the floor as your body curled in on itself. Your stomach turned. Did he do this? Had she overdosed? Did she… give up?

Your eyes darted. A lighter sat next to her on the side table. You grabbed it. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to burn the whole damn house down.

You ran again, frantic, feet flying over hardwood.

“Natasha!” you shouted, voice cracking. “Natasha!!”

“She’s dead too.”

You skidded to a stop, turned—

Thor. He stood at the end of the hallway like a nightmare, too broad, too quiet, too solid to move past.

Your stomach dropped. No. No, not him too.

You ran. He followed.

You ducked into the study, your lungs screaming. Bookshelves loomed around you, walls of knowledge offering no safety.

You threw yourself into the wardrobe, door creaking shut behind you. You held your breath.

Darkness swallowed you. You crouched in silence, heart hammering like it might betray you. And then—something cold pressed against your back.

You reached slowly. The shape, the curve, the steel.

Footsteps creaked into the room. Thor's voice rumbled, cold and close. “Give up. You can’t run away.”

You didn’t breathe. But you whispered, just loud enough:

“Behind you.”

A pause. His boots shifted. He turned.

BANG. A sharp crack exploded in the air. Thor jerked, eyes wide in shock, as the bullet tore into his chest.

He dropped like a tree.

You stepped out of the wardrobe, hands trembling but steady enough to hold the cold weight of the shotgun. The bullet belt was slung across your shoulder, heavy against your chest, metal clinking with each slow, deliberate step.

Thor lay on the floor, still breathing—barely. Blood soaked through his shirt, seeping into the carpet, dark and thick. His broad chest rose and fell with ragged effort. His eyes met yours—wide, glassy, full of disbelief. The great enforcer of the house, brought down by you.

He choked, mouth twitching with one last breath.

“Where is she?” Your voice was ice. No fear, just fire beneath your skin.

His throat clicked as he forced out his final words.

“In the basement.”

You didn’t thank him. Didn’t hesitate.

You marched through the twisted halls, shotgun clutched in your hands, past the portraits of smiling liars and rotting love. The house felt alive now, breathing smoke and secrets with every creaking board.

The basement door was hidden behind a curtain, locked with a deadbolt. You smashed it open with the butt of the gun. The staircase creaked beneath your feet as you descended into the dark. Each step down was a step into the pit of your nightmares.

The air was damp. Cold. The hum of a single flickering bulb buzzed above you like a dying insect.

And there she was.

Natasha. Strapped to a wooden chair.

Her head slumped to the side. Her skin was pale. Lips faintly blue.

You dropped the shotgun.

“No—no, no, no…” you whispered, stumbling forward. You fell to your knees in front of her and shook her shoulders. Her arms dangled limp.

“Nat, please—” Your voice cracked into a sob. “Please wake up. Please." You cried for her. A future ahead of her was taken away. She could have started a new chapter.

You pressed your fingers to her wrist. Nothing.

You let out a sound that wasn’t quite a scream, but wasn’t human either. The kind of grief that breaks something in you forever.

You stood, staggered back, fists clenching.

You hated him. This house. This bloodline. This lunatic fantasy he built on the bones of others.

Your eyes scanned the basement—rage sharpening your vision. You saw shelves of chemicals. Canisters. A broken-down workbench. Oil drums.

You grabbed one. The liquid inside sloshed like gasoline. You ripped the lid off and poured it over the floor, over the walls, over Natasha’s lifeless cage. You grabbed another. And another. Until the stench of fuel choked the air.

Your hands found the lighter in your pocket. You flicked it.

Click. Flick. Flame.

The fire danced to life—hungry, beautiful, merciless.

“You wanted an empire,” you spat through your teeth as the flames caught. “Here’s your goddamn legacy.”

The fire swallowed the basement like it had been waiting for this moment. Flames curled up the walls. Smoke billowed toward the ceiling, thick and black. The heat pulsed against your skin.

You grabbed the shotgun again and ran.

The house moaned as you sprinted through it, fire chasing your heels. Furniture cracked. Glass shattered from the heat. Flames kissed the staircase and licked the paintings off the walls.

You reached the front door, lungs burning. Just as your fingers touched the doorknob—

“Click.”

“BANG!”

The shot rang past your head, grazing the wood beside your face.

You turned—heart in your throat—and there he was.

Bucky. Blood ran down his temple, staining his white shirt crimson. His left eye was swollen, but he still held the shotgun like it was an extension of his body. His smile was twisted, more unhinged than ever.

“I see you’ve found my grandfather’s treasure.”

The fire crackled behind you. The heat rose between you both like hell itself opening wide.

The barrel of your shotgun tilted up just slightly. The smoke clawed at your throat, but you didn’t blink.

“It’s a good toy,” you said, cold and calm, voice carrying over the snapping fire.

Bucky’s face broke into a wide grin, teeth flashing like a madman’s mask. “Hahaha… this is the Y/N I remembered.” His laugh twisted into something unhinged, echoing through the burning house. Then, abruptly, his tone dropped, eerily calm again—like the switch of a broken man trying to hold on. “I won’t hurt you. Just put the gun down… and we’ll start over.” His voice softened. Hopeful. Like nothing around you was turning to ash.

Your grip tightened on the shotgun.

“We?” you whispered. “There’s no we.”

His smile faltered. And that was all it took.

Something broke behind his eyes.

“Well, since I asked nicely…” He lifted his shotgun with mechanical precision. “I’ll use the hard way.”

“Shit!” You threw yourself behind the overturned dining table as a blast ripped through the air.

The house shook as both of you started firing—BOOM! BOOM! The walls cracked, glass shattered above you, and the fire groaned like it wanted blood. You ducked behind a pillar, breath short, heat blistering.

“Who taught you how to shoot?” Bucky shouted from behind a smoky corner.

You peeked through the flames and yelled back, “Ransom’s grandfather.” Another shot. Another duck. “I spent summers with the Drysdales. Harlan taught me how to shoot wild animals.”

You could almost hear Bucky’s eye twitch.

“Tsk.”

The moment he emerged—you fired. The shot caught his shoulder.

“Arrrgh!” He screamed and crashed into the wall, gripping his bleeding arm. He looked down at the blood like it betrayed him.

His voice was hoarse now, but desperate. “Why do we have to hurt each other? Don’t you understand why I’m doing all this? It’s for you!”

You crouched low, creeping behind the smoke-thick curtains, hands slick with sweat and soot. You found a corner with partial cover and aimed again.

“Why?” you demanded, voice cutting through the chaos.

Bucky stood crookedly, one arm limp at his side. “Because I love you.” He said it like it justified everything. His voice cracked. His eyes burned more than the fire ever could.

You stared at him from across the scorched room.

Your lips parted.

Your voice dropped, quiet but lethal.

“We can’t be together. Not in this life… or another… not even in your dreams.”

The words hit him like a second bullet.

He didn’t scream.

He laughed.

But it was broken—manic—a dry, cracked hysteria. “HAHAHAHA!” Tears welled in his eyes as he leaned back against the wall, shaking with laughter that wasn’t joy. “After everything I’ve done for you…” His smile collapsed into grief. “It won’t matter. Nobody will believe you. I’ll burn it all down. I’ll frame you. I’ll make it look like you killed Lydia… Natasha… Thor. You know what I’m capable of.”

The flames hissed louder, licking the ceiling. A chandelier fell behind him, shattering into sparks.

Silence fell, thick and heavy.

Then your voice returned—low, confident, and chilling.

“Are you sure about that?”

Bucky’s breath hitched.

Then—a voice played. His voice.

From a recorder buried deep in the folds of your jacket. From somewhere you left playing just loud enough for him to hear.

“…so you’re the one who made Jake and Natasha lose their jobs, made Thor and Steve have that accident that ruined their careers?”

His voice. Calm. Boastful. Careless.

Then: “Yes. I’m the mastermind.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in horror. His mind couldn’t keep up with the trap snapping shut around him.

And then—he laughed again. Not maniacally.

This time, it was hollow. Like everything had finally cracked.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. Almost with reverence. Even in his dying moment, he can't keep up with you.

You stood a little taller, your finger near the trigger. “You still have the chance to pay for your sins. To stop. To do one thing right.”

But the fire was already consuming the hallway. The walls behind him were collapsing.

And then he spoke.

His voice was quieter now. “It’s too late for me.” He wasn’t yelling anymore.

The world had gone quiet—but not in peace. It was the silence of something dying. The kind that came before a scream.

All around you, the fire surged higher, roaring like a beast finally let off its leash. Heat pressed in from every direction. The wallpaper curled. Beams cracked overhead, moaning as the structure gave up.

Then— CRACK—THUD!

A burning wooden beam split from the ceiling and crashed just inches from your body.

“Kyaa!” You stumbled back, shielding your face from the embers that flew like angry sparks. Your lungs choked on smoke, and your heart pounded so violently it rattled your ribs.

Then—his voice cut through the inferno like a ghost reaching out.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t angry. Not like before. It was… still. Too calm.

“Could you look at me?” he said gently. “I won’t shoot you.”

You froze, back against the singed remains of a bookshelf. Slowly, you lifted your head.

Your eyes met his.

He stood on the staircase above you, framed by flames, his shadow long and flickering behind him. Ash clung to his hair. Blood soaked through his shirt. His shotgun hung loosely at his side.

But his eyes— They didn’t hold rage anymore. Only something final.

“You have to go out now,” he said, voice strained but firm.

Your throat tightened.

“You too.”

He shook his head once, slowly. That same soft smile lingered on his lips, cracked and bleeding.

“There’s no redemption for me.”

The floor beneath him creaked—sickening, ready to collapse. You stepped forward anyway, fists clenched.

“Y/N, listen.”

You stopped. Your eyes burned—not from the smoke.

And then he smiled. That broken, tender smile. Tear stains cut through the soot on his face, streaks of something too human for a monster.

“Remember me like this,” he said, voice trembling. “Just this last time. I love you. Even after you shot me… burned my house… my love for you never changed.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

You stood in the glow of the inferno, unable to move, unable to breathe. Maybe it was the smoke. Maybe it was the heartbreak.

He sighed—a long, tired sound. Like he had hoped for something that never came.

And even now, you still wouldn’t say it.

His expression didn’t shift. Not this time. There was no anger, no madness left.

Just… surrender.

“Goodbye.”

He didn’t hesitate.

In one swift movement, Bucky brought the shotgun to his chin.

BANG!

The sound shattered the air like thunder.

“BUCKY!” you screamed, a raw, guttural sound that ripped from your throat.

His body crumpled backward—limp, weightless—before the flames swallowed the staircase whole. You ran toward him, but the fire surged up the bannister like it wanted to keep him. Keep his secrets. Keep you out.

“BUCKY!!”

But he was gone.

The smoke clawed at your lungs, the heat forced you back. You stumbled out of the collapsing house, the sky above black with ash, your scream echoing long after the fire silenced everything else.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The house, a shell of its former self, was now nothing but a smoldering ruin. The fire had devoured everything—walls caved in, timbers fell in a fiery collapse, leaving nothing but ashes. The sirens from paramedics and police vehicles pierced the air, but even their arrival seemed distant, the weight of what had happened still pressing down on you.

They didn't even bother to check on you. The paramedics only moved in to assess the damage, eyes steely and distant. The local police moved past you with barely a glance, their focus solely on the charred remains of the house.

You stood there, isolated, the weight of the world in your chest.

Then, a voice broke through the haze. “Y/N!”

It was Jake’s voice—loud, relieved, and so familiar it almost made you crack.

You turned and saw him, rushing toward you with Ransom, Steve, and your dad right behind him. They were a shield, a reminder of something you thought you'd lost.

“Guys…” you whispered, a tremor running through your voice.

Jake’s face softened, but his brow furrowed in concern. He reached out for you, but before any of them could get too close, the local sheriff stepped forward, blocking them with a hardened stare.

“She’s the prime suspect,” the sheriff said flatly, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Ransom’s jaw tightened. His eyes, always calculating, now burned with anger.

“Prime suspect? She's a victim here! She was kidnapped! We've been looking for her!" Ransom spat, stepping forward aggressively. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

The sheriff didn’t flinch, his stance unwavering. But Ransom wasn’t done. He turned to Jake, who was still standing back, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration.

“We’ve got a lawyer here. The Chief of Police is already on their way.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s supposed to mean something?”

Before anyone could respond, a black SUV pulled up, its tires screeching on the gravel. The door swung open, and out stepped a tall, authoritative figure in a dark suit—Chief of Police.

The sheriff’s expression shifted, uncertainty flickering for just a moment. His shoulders stiffened, a visible sign of tension as the Chief of Police approached.

The Chief of Police ignored the sheriff entirely and walked straight up to you, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment. He gave a small nod, a silent signal that you were no longer alone in this.

“Chief…” the sheriff stammered, unsure of what to say.

The Chief of Police didn’t answer at first. Instead, he turned his gaze to Ransom, who had a smug look on his face.

“That’s enough, right?” Ransom asked, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

The Chief of Police raised a hand, signaling for quiet, then finally spoke.

The local sheriff and his deputies stood frozen, their mouths agape as they watched the Chief of Police back you up. This was clearly a scene they weren’t prepared for.

You sighed, the weight of everything slowly lifting from your shoulders. You reached into your jacket bag and pulled out the evidence—the recording.

You handed it to the Chief of Police, watching as his eyes scanned over it. Bucky’s voice crackled through the speakers, his confession echoing in the silence around you.

“This is it,” you said quietly. “He was behind it all.”

Ransom leaned in, crossing his arms, a satisfied smirk still on his face. “You know what to do next.”

The Chief of Police paused for a moment, then looked at the sheriff. “That’s enough. She’s free. You can’t touch her.”

The sheriff’s face twisted in confusion and anger, but he couldn’t do anything. Not now.

The Chief of Police turned to you, offering a rare, genuine smile. “You’re safe now.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you let out a long breath, finally feeling the release you so desperately needed. This fight—it was over.

But there was one last thing you needed to say.

You caught Ransom’s eye, and without a word, you slipped him a small nod. A code only the two of you would understand.

'The Contract Has Terminated means I’m going to die. Help.'

The remainder of those dark days, the dangerous people you’d encountered, flashed briefly through your mind. Working in investment had always meant navigating treacherous waters.

You were free. And, for once, you didn’t have to run anymore.

Finally, this nightmare of yours is over.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Epilogue

1 Year Later

You returned to work with Ransom again. After everything he’d done to you, you felt like you owed him a lot. Yet, over time, you noticed a change in his behavior towards you. He didn’t want you to get hurt anymore. His actions were more protective now, almost as though he cared in ways he hadn’t before. And he's less of an asshole than before. Perhaps there could be romance between you two? There's a chance.

As for Tom, your dad, he had recovered from his kidney surgery. He decided to stay in the city and live with you, enjoying his retirement. He found a new community at a local golf club, which you had encouraged him to join. There, he met many new friends—surprisingly, more than you had. Living in the city seemed to suit him well.

Steve, on the other hand, had become a famous artist, just like he’d always dreamed. He traveled the world, and he made sure to pay what he owed you. He never forgot how you opened the door to him when he needed it most. Sometimes, Mr. Rogers would even travel with him, and they would share stories about their adventures.

As for Jake, with your evidence and the help of lawyers, he was able to clear his name. He got his old job back, while his mother continued her travels around the world on a cruise.

Everyone had moved on, yet you couldn’t shake the memories of what had happened in that town. The scars it left on you were deep. You still went to therapy to work through the trauma, but even now, there were nights when the haunting images resurfaced. The weight of those moments stayed with you, lingering in the corners of your mind, reminding you that some things, no matter how hard you tried, would never truly leave.

Until one day, Steve visited you and handed you a letter. It was from Bucky. You didn’t want to open it. You placed it on the table, where it remained untouched for a month. Eventually, you found the courage to open it. Taking a deep breath, you read the letter:

“I can’t think of a better way to defend what I’ve done for you. It was bad. I acted like a judge to punish people.

Still, you don’t deserve it. I robbed your childhood, your teenage years.

Every day, I thought to myself: What if I never meant to you? What if we were friends? What if you never hated me? What if we loved each other? What if you don’t hate me after I’m gone?

I write this letter to you in case I’m gone. My love for you never changed.

Hate me all you want, but I knew you would never be able to forget me. Just like the town where we grew up, the one we hated the most.”

You regretted opening the letter. You couldn’t stand reading his words anymore. Grabbing a lighter, you burned it, watching the paper curl and blacken in the flames.

How you wished you could make him see how wrong he was.

After that day, everything in the town began to change. The mayor’s corruption was exposed, the illegal casino shut down, and the bodies that Thor had buried in the forest were discovered. Bucky’s schemes, the ones that led to his own mother’s death, Natasha’s murder, and the malpractice by Dr. Stark, were all unveiled. Both he and the mayor would rot in jail for the rest of their lives.

As for Natasha, you built a grave for her. You couldn’t hold on to the past anymore because, in the end, Natasha was also a victim—just like you.

Ransom was furious and wanted to rid the town of its rotten core. He transformed the once-dying town into an exclusive area, completely changing its landscape. The Barnes residence, a symbol of Bucky’s twisted life, was turned into a flower park. No business, no reminders—just peace.

The town was unrecognizable, and the letter Bucky sent was nothing but a lie. It felt wrong in every possible way.

You realize that you've kept living and breathing since that day, and everything is different. You don't let that day make you afraid. You’re still able to go outside, meet people, and work. And that damn town has changed too.

You raised your middle finger to the ground and muttered, “Fuck you, Bucky. Rot in hell.”

-The End.-

Woohoo... finally, it's done!!!

I never thought I could complete this story. I realize that writing mystery stories is more difficult than the other stories I’ve written.

Thank you to everyone who has been following this story from the beginning.

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Two's Company, Three's a Crowd, and Six is a Riot

ii. the sweetest tart in the red tyrant’s feast

[wc} - 8,227

[notes] - Riddle my baby...he deserves so many kisses...not sure if this feels super ooc or not but i liked it so this is what we got! i wanted to write so much more for him but it got too much so i had to cut down and make a few edits. also pls don't worry a whole lot about the poll at the end just choose pls

tags: @rosieboop @aliasrising @alienlatteinspace @wishicouldart @cottage-clockwork

make a choice at the end...

back to chapter list

ii. The sweetest tart in the red tyrant’s feast

Listen to: “Matsuri” by Fujii Kaze

An S.O.S. signal sent by Trey and Cater had the entire dorm on high alert for a last minute unbirthday party. 

High alert was putting it lightly, actually.

Riddle was meticulous in scheduling unbirthday parties well ahead of time. In fact, he made sure that all the Heartslabyul students had every single party, ceremony, gathering, and the like in their calendars from the start of the year to the end. 

This unbirthday party? It was in the middle of the week, in the middle of the afternoon, with only a few hours notice. Riddle must have gone insane.

“You! Get the tables set up! And you three, make sure the roses are painted red!” Trey was definitely stressed, barking orders out at the students that were already at the dorm. “Has anyone seen Cater? I need him to—”

“Trey! What’s going on, Riddle had me send out an urgent S.O.S., everyone is acting like their butts are totally up in flames—woah!”

Cater strolled in, phone in hand as he watched everyone run around, yelping as Trey caught him by his shoulders. 

“Cater! Where’s Riddle? Why is he having us do the unbirthday party two days early? I’m barely even able to get a cake ready, did he tell you anything?”

Trey looked like he’d aged 30 years just from his current expression alone, and Cater was having a hard time from laughing at it. 

“Pft—He’s getting his uniform on in his room. He texted me, which he neeeever does, B-T-W. I mean, he even told me to get the King’s chair.”

Hazel eyes met light green ones, blinking once. Twice. A third time. 

“The…King’s chair?”

“Yuh.”

“Riddle…asked for the King’s chair?”

“Yepperoni.”

“W-wh…why?” Trey asked incredulously. 

There were three special chairs in storage, alongside the normal ones brought out for parties and ceremonies.

One was called the Throne, a seat specially meant for the housewarden. It was created in the image of the Queen of Heart’s own throne and was named as such. It was large and dwarfed the person sitting in it, unless you were Riddle with his commanding presence. 

The second was a small, but ornately decorated chair wrapped in gold roses and vines, though it matched the other chairs more closely than the Throne. It was reserved for special guests and mostly was used for visiting faculty and housewardens from other dorms. The third was a rare sight for most Heartslabyul students, some even made it their entire academic career without seeing it. 

The King’s chair was a much smaller throne, rather lovely and almost demure, much like the king it was based on. It matched the Throne like a delicate teacup with its ornate china teapot. 

Like roses and baby’s breath. Like the sun and moon. Like rain and an umbrella. Like the stars and the night sky—well, you get it.

“To be totally honest with you, I’m not sure either.” Cater sighed, picking at his cheek as he looked off to the side. “I saw someone with Riddle when he first came into the dorm, super red-faced too. They’re sitting in the lounge A-T-M, he said to have the ADeuce pair to hang out with them.”

Trey furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, looking to his right, where the pair were bickering over the table settings. 

“Really? For a guest that requires us to take out the King’s chair, they’re pretty rowdy to be hosts, he say why?”

“Well, our mystery ‘King’,” Cater emphasized the king with air quotes, “was carrying Grim, who seemed all tuckered out…now that I really think about it…”

Cater started typing away at his phone and brought up a picture, leaning into Trey’s side to show a sneaky snapshot of a person in the lounge. 

“They look a LOT like (Name), see?”

Trey adjusted his glasses, squinting at the image of a person on their lounge couch. Indeed, the person in the picture looked eerily like (Name), from the hair to their eyes to the shape of their nose. Just older, with longer hair tied into a low bun and a deep red, simple suit and a pair of black, suede ankle boots on their person. 

“Woah…Cater you don’t think…maybe their sibling or something also got summoned here too?”

Cater looked around, like he was watching out for someone, before leaning in to whisper to Trey like an old woman with gossip. 

“I heard there were six different people summoned earlier today. And that Grimmy got (Name) into some sort of trouble and now they’re missing! Malleus is like, tooootally freaked out according to Lils, and Grimmy’s been sobbing into that person’s arms since he got here.”            

A wave of concern and sympathy for the little direbeast waved over Trey as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh man, poor (Name). Poor Grim, maybe that’s why Riddle wants the two to go host them?”

“Yeah, to help calm Grimmy-Boy down, probably. I’m gonna go tell them to head over and—”

“Wait, what about Grim? We heard that something happened to (Name), but no one’s telling us anything!” 

Ace and Deuce ran up to them, the former hiding his worry by crossing his arms, though he still bit on his lip. Deuce on the other hand was clearly distressed, fidgeting with his hands as he spoke. 

“Everyone just keeps telling us that Riddle wants us in the lounge, but won’t say anything about (Name)!” Deuce started waving his hands as he spoke in rapidly increasing panic. “They haven’t answered any of our texts, we heard that there was an explosion in the classroom they were at. Is Grim with them?”

Trey placed a hand on Deuce’s shoulders, giving the underclassmen a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders. 

“Hey, calm down. We don’t know anything, but Riddle might, he brought Grim with him a little while ago.” He decided to leave out the mention of your look-alike as he continued. 

“He’ll be here soon, for now finish up what you were doing and then head to the lounge to check in on Grim, alright?”

Ace opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it, huffing and nodding as he tugged Deuce along to finish their original tasks. 

Trey sighed, adjusting his glasses as he turned back to Cater. 

“We should also get our stuff done, I’m going to take a small group with me to try and get some food and tea going so that I can focus on the cake. Did you get someone to grab the chair?”

Cater smiled, bringing his fingers up in a peace sign up to his eye as he winked. 

“Yessirrrrr! I sent a few clones of mine to get the rest of the tables and chairs, I’ll help everyone finish up!” 

He paused, eyes widening as he looked behind Trey and cringed. 

“Oop, Riddle’s coming this way, and he does NOT look very slay.”

Trey raised a brow and turned around, blinking at the site of an unusually disheveled Riddle, well disheveled for him. 

His crown was starting to slip off his head, the train of his cloak was all twisted as it dragged behind him, even his tie was slightly skewed off his neck. 

“Riddle! Are you okay? You’re not usually so frazzled.”

Riddle cringed, cheeks red from embarrassment, as he adjusted his uniform. 

“My apologies, this is unbecoming of a housewarden, but there’s been a bit of a—” Riddle thinned his lips as he pondered what to say. “—let’s say an event. We have a very important guest of honor, and it’s of the utmost importance that this unbirthday party is perfect!”

The short housewarden looked around, spotting Ace and Deuce as they threw their paint brushes haphazardly into empty cans and rushed past the group to the lounge. 

“Cater, I presume you sent them to entertain our guest I mentioned?”

Cater nodded and gave Riddle a thumbs up. “Yep! Kinda confused about why our favorite troublemakers are going though, wouldn’t it totes better if maybe me or Trey go instead? I’m like, such a good host!”

Riddle shook his head, sighing as he crossed his arms. 

“No, trust me. They’re the best pair for our guest. And…” Riddle turned red again, looking around towards the gardens. “You got the King’s chair out of storage, yes?”

Nodding, Cater shared another look with Trey before the green haired man gingerly asked, “About that, the King’s chair is only for a housewarden’s partner. You of all people know that, so why are we taking it out for a guest…”

Trey paused, blinking in astonishment as Cater did the same. Riddle was turning red once again, all the way down to his neck, as his two hairpieces stood straight up. However, he didn’t look angry, not at all.

Riddle looked embarrassed, flustered even, especially at the mention of a partner. 

“That’s exactly why it’s being brought out, though it’s a bit complicated…”

Riddle had left you in the lounge a while ago, stumbling over his words and cheeks red as he asked you to wait until he sent someone for you. It was awfully cute, you hadn’t seen your husband get so shy around you since you first started dating.

It probably didn’t help that you kept cooing over him as you walked over to the Hall of Mirrors, making the other ‘Yous’ and the housewardens give you two looks. 

Mostly amused ones, though you think the other students were waiting for Riddle to blow up in anger.

Now that Riddle had left you, muttering about needing to get dressed and check on the garden, you were focused on the little creature on your lap. 

Grim was almost catatonic, ears drooping down as he let out a whine. He leaned into your hand though as you scratched behind his ears, his favorite spot, despite any denials about it.

“…Hey (Na)—um—Tart?”

You looked down, titling your head at Grim and giving him a reassuring smile. 

“Yes Grim?”

Sitting up in your lap, Grim fiddled with the gem on his collar, it looked a bit cloudy from the blot he accumulated earlier, though it was fading out. 

“What was it like when you came here? Did it feel weird when the cracks started growing?”

You knew he was actually asking if it hurt. Based on what Riddle was saying when walking over to the dorm, the younger you was screaming in pain. 

“A…bit. I think I was more shocked than anything. But I’m alright, and I’m sure (Name) is too.” 

You lied smoothly, and the little guy relaxed a bit, leaning against your chest as he murmured to himself. 

“Hmm? What was that?”

“...I’m kinda hungry…”

You snorted, ruffling Grim’s fur as you stood up and moved your arm to let him crawl up your shoulder. It was a bit nostalgic, it had been a few years since he’d been small enough for you to hold and carry again. 

“Let’s get some food then, I’m sure we can sneak a little snack from the kitchen!”

Grim smiled and purred, vibrating against your shoulder as he slumped over like a potato sack. It had been years since you’d been in Heartslabyul, but from all the time you'd previously spend with your husband here, you knew it like the back of your hand.

The halls were winding and trippy, for lack of a better word, but once you got the hang of it, walking through them was a breeze. 

It did smell like the kitchen was being used, a sweet, familiar smell of fruits and sugar wafting in the air. It made you want to drool, like a cartoon character floating to a pie. 

“Hmm, Trey’s baking~ Ugh, I haven’t had it in so long!”

You pouted, making Grim tilt his head and purr in confusion,

“Whaddya mean? We don’t get Trey’s treats anymore in the future? Myah! I can’t have that!”

A soft chuckle left you as you two peeked over the entryway to the kitchen. It looked empty, but the oven light was on, accompanied by a sweet smell of vanilla. The other entry led to the halls connected to the patio and gardens, and you could just make out the sounds of students running around. No doubt preparing a surprise unbirthday party. 

“No, no Grim, I’m exaggerating. We visit the bakery every Sunday morning for some tea and pastries. It’s like a little tradition for us!” 

You carefully tiptoed in, mouth watering as you eyed the cake slowly rising in the oven. There were strawberries on the counter, half cut and half still whole, like someone left midway through baking. Based on the heavy whipping cream and sugar alongside it, you suspected that Trey was baking a strawberry shortcake.

He wouldn’t miss a single strawberry, right?

Your husband’s voice was ringing in your ears as you plucked one of the berries and rapidly backed away, taking half of it in a bite and offering the other half to Grim, who swallowed it whole gleefully. 

Riddle would be chastising you right now if he were here. Angrily wagging a finger at you as he went on and on about how rude and unsanitary it was to take an ingredient from the kitchen. He’d huff as you smile at him and offer a kiss as an apology, teasingly offering a taste of strawberry from your lips. 

If your husband was here, you’d do just that. But you don’t know where he is, if he’s alone, if he’s safe. Really, though, you shouldn’t worry, Riddle had always been more than capable of taking care of himself. 

But what if he was hurt? Riddle was an excellent mage with powerful magic at his disposal, even more so as an adult, he’d be fine. What if he’s lost, completely isolated from anyone or anything? If there’s a will, there is a way, and Riddle was much more stubborn than he liked to admit. What if you don’t find your way back to him? Can you really trust Crowley when he never found you a way home?

You swallowed tightly at the thought, staring down at your hands and fiddling with the gold ring on your left ring finger. It was a ruby, with leaf motifs on the crown and band, making it look like a rose. A lovely red that reminded you of Riddle. 

“I hope he’s okay…” Grim turned his head at you and let out a curious ‘mrrph?’ as you smiled at him. “Riddle, my Riddle I mean. I’m sure he is, he might even be with your (Name)!” 

Grim looked reassured with that thought, mindlessly kneading into your shoulder. 

“Yeah. Yeah, they probably are.”

Both of you sighed as you leaned against the kitchen island, staring off into nothing in particular. The sounds of students rambling, the stomps of running, the smell of strawberries and roses. It was all so nostalgic. 

You think you could even hear the sounds of Ace and Deuce arguing, just like they did back then, and just like they still do now.

… Actually, now that you thought about it, their voices were getting closer and closer, footsteps against the tile floors growing louder as the two burst into the other entrance of the kitchen. 

“Move Deuce! You’re getting in the way—”

“—No, you move! You and your big as—big dumb mouth will only stress Grim out!”

“YOU’RE CUSSING! I’M TELLING RIDDLE AND—”

Ace stopped and stared at you, almost comically so, like a cartoon character as Deuce bumped into him. The latter gave Ace a stink eye before following his line of sight and similarly giving you a bulging-eyed stare. 

“W-wha—you—Grim—who—”

“WAAAH! ACE! DEUCE!” Grim cried out, bolting from your shoulder to jump into Ace’s arms. You winced as his rear claws slightly dug through your clothes into your skin as you used you as a catapult, but looked at your best friends’ young selves. 

Deuce stammered over his words, narrowing his gaze as Ace clicked his tongue at the cat-sized beast sniffling into his arms. 

“Ace…” Grim’s voice was shuddering and whiny as he dug his head into the ginger’s chest. “I messed up…(Naaame)...”

His eyebrows and eyes just very so slightly softened at the sight. Ace was always much softer than he liked to admit, just with your little group of four, though. Still was. 

“Grim…what’s going on bud? Where’s (Name)? And who’s the lookalike?” Deuce gave a firm nod in agreement to Ace’s questions. “Just tell us what you did.”

His ears flattened down against his head, Grim curling himself even smaller into Ace’s arms as he mumbled. 

“I messed up a spell again…(Name) got…” Grim let out a whimper. Of guilt or fear of disappointment again, perhaps both. “(Name) got caught in it.”

Both Ace and Deuce tensed as they shared a look, then glanced at you. Then back at each other. Then back down at Grim. 

“Grim…is that person…”

“Did you…”

You let out a sigh of relief that the pair figured it out so quickly. It spared you of an awkward explanation—

“Did you make them old???”

“I am not old!!!” You scoffed, indigent, as you crossed your arms and tapped your foot like a parent scolding a kid might. “I am only in my twenties, thank you very much!”

Ace pointed a finger at you, still cradling Grim in the other, and smirked. 

“Where in your twenties? Cause early is fine, but middle and late is pushing it!”

“Middle and late twenties is not old, Ace! It is still very much young, thank you very much—wait, why am I arguing with you on this? You don’t even have a fully developed frontal lobe yet!”

“And you do? So how old does that make you then?”

You closed your mouth as quickly as you opened it, noticing Ace’s smug look, huffing and rolling your eyes.

“I’m not saying! You know it’s rude to ask someone their age!”

Deuce looked between you two with wide eyes, cringing as Ace pointed a finger at you triumphantly. 

“AHA! That’s just another way to say you’re old!” Ace looked down at Grim and giggled as he ruffled the top of his head. “Aw Grim, you just aged (Name) up a couple of years! I’m sure Professor Crewel can make a point to make them normal, I don’t know why you’re crying—”

“They’re not my (Name)!” Grim cried out, though he sounded more frustrated by now, there were still remnants of tears in his eyes and wet streaks down his furry cheeks. “That’s one of the different (Names).”

“Different—”

“—(Names)?”

The two gave the other a look as they finished each other’s sentence, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. You were reminded just how much they pretended to dislike each other at this age, the stark contrast from how they were back home was almost amusing. You couldn’t wait to tease them about it. 

“Maybe we should sit down and talk. I’m sure the others still need some more time to set up the party, so I can catch you up.”

Riddle’s left eye twitched as he eyed the bunches of roses. There were the usual painted roses to his left, plain red roses in the middle, and plain white on the right. 

“Rule 469 states that we should decorate using both red and white roses for new friends, but would…they…count as a new friend?”

Cater gave a confused hum and twirled a piece of hair around his finger as he gave it some thought. 

“Hmm…To be totes for real, I’m not super sure Riddle. I mean, technically we know (Name), so they aren’t a new friend. But Tart isn’t exactly our (Name), so like, they could really be way different from what we’re used to.”

Cater sighed, as did Riddle, who crossed his arms as he shook his head in frustration. 

“But they’re rather—” He chose to ignore how Cater had to withhold an amused smile at the way Riddle blushed. “—familiar with me. I fear it might offend them as they’re—”

Riddle turned even redder, the words, ‘my spouse’ stuck in his throat like a sugar cube that didn’t fully dissolve into his tea. 

So sweet and pleasant on his tongue, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to actually say it out loud.

It was pathetic. Absolutely and utterly pathetic at how just the thought of you being his spouse made his heart jump from his chest. You’d given him such a sweet smile, spoken to him in a giddy but fond tone back in the classroom, it made him both want to throw up and melt. 

“M-my—ahem—my spouse. And since we’re taking the King’s chair out of storage for them, perhaps it would be more fitting to stick with the painted roses.”

Cater nodded in agreement and gave Riddle a wink. 

“Sure thing Rids! I’ll let everyone know and get the last decorations all set! Why don’t you check on Trey back in the kitchen, he was pretty worried about the treats earlier.”

Really, he meant, “Go talk to Trey and relax.” Riddle was more than aware that he’d been out of character since arriving with you, though he sent you off into the lounge and avoided the general building since. It wasn’t as if he’d been avoiding you, Riddle admitted to himself that he was incredibly curious. 

It’s just…well…he knew himself well enough that he could admit he was fond of you. And it wasn’t every day that he could get a peek into a future that could quite literally speak back to him in full sentences. If normal divination spells worked like that, then reading tea leaves and crystal balls would be for naught.

“Yes, I should see how Trey is doing, will you have the rest of the decorations and arrangements complete by noon?”

Cater gave him a thumbs up and turned on his heel towards the group of students frantically running around the garden, doing their best to prepare.

Riddle felt bad, he truly did. He’d made it a point to schedule all the unbirthday parties for the year by orientation so that he could have all the incoming freshmen prepared. Not only was it more efficient this way, it meant no one could use the excuse of “I didn’t know!” to skip out on work or the party itself. 

But it wouldn’t be appropriate to have the future version of his spouse (he both loved and hated how warm the thought made him feel) visit the dorm and not be honored as a guest. 

Still, he wasn’t sure just how to approach you. Would it be better to be respectful and chaste? Perhaps he should treat you how he’d normally do so, but if this version of you was his spouse, would you be expecting more…affection?

You’d practically tackled him back at the classroom, clinging to him like you’d been together for ages. 

He supposed that for the (Name) sitting in the lounge at this moment, that was a fact of life. Riddle wasn’t stupid, he saw the ruby ring on your finger—a Roseheart family heirloom—and he knew that he’d never dare ask his mother for it unless he’d been with you for years. 

Frankly, he’s surprised that his mother actually approved of the union. In a different time, yes, but still. Riddle does briefly consider that his father or even his grandparents could have also given their blessings. 

No. Not even over her own dead body would his mother allow anything related to him to happen without her approval. He’s positive she would crawl out from the afterlife, nails digging into the crust of the earth where her grave laid if she so much as sensed that something was happening without her. 

Riddle suppressed a shudder at the thought as he stepped into the kitchen, where Trey and a few dorm members were shuffling between each other. The sounds of whisks against metal bowls, a knife on a cutting board, and the sweet smell of vanilla made him relax. 

Something familiar, something running smoothly, something that wouldn’t give him a massive migraine. 

“Almost cool enough. Hey, when you’re done with the whipped cream, bring it over so I can start layering—oh, Riddle.”

Trey had been glaring at the cakes in front of him with mild annoyance, as if he could will them to cool down faster on the wire racks, before noticing Riddle and giving him a soft smile.

“I think we’ll manage to have the cakes done half past twelve, thankfully I had some premade tarts and pastries already prepared for the croquette tournament.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll just have to make some more next week.”

Riddle felt guilt build up in the back of his throat as he nodded. 

“I appreciate you working so quickly on this. Please forgive the additional stress, it’s not everyday we have such…an important guest.”

“Hey Housewarden!” A rabbit beastman with white, ringlet curls and red eyes snuck up behind Trey and peered at Riddle with a curious smile. “That guest wouldn’t happen to be the person in the lounge with Ace and Deuce, would they?”

Relief flooded his system, as despite how much trouble the pair was, Riddle knew just how close they were to you. 

“Yes, Timmy, that’s correct. I assume they’re comfortable and are being treated well?”

The beastman hesitated before nodding. 

“I mean, I think so? They’d been having a squabble a bit ago, but they were also laughing, so I think it’s all in good fun.”

A mischievous smile crossed Timmy’s as cooed out, “Plus, they’ve been talking an awful lot about you Housewarden. Didn’t think you were into older—oof!”

A swift elbow from Trey into his stomach made the other keel over and groan in pain. Riddle felt the tale-tell heat of rage grow under his skin as he gave a stern glare to the rabbit. 

“If you have time to eavesdrop on others' conversations, then perhaps you don’t have enough tasks to keep you occupied. Take the dishes that are ready and get the tables set up, remember what happens to rabbits if Rule 628 is broken!”

Despite Trey’s rather soft scolding, the other man turned pale and nodded, swiftly grabbing a tray of scones and tea before rushing off. The green-haired man nodded at the others in the kitchen as well, who followed suit with the rest of the dishes, leaving the two of them alone. 

“...Thank you, Trey. I’d hate for our guest to be greeted with a collared guest at a party in their honor.”

Trey simply reached for the now abandoned bowl of whipped cream, eyeing the consistency before deeming it sufficient for use as he spread it on top of the cakes.

“Yeah, our ‘guest’ who you’ve been avoiding since you arrived, Riddle.”

RIddle stiffened, huffing as he turned his look away from Trey’s critical gaze. 

“I’ve been checking in on everyone, I’m sure it’s stressful for everyone to have to prepare for an unbirthday party that wasn’t meant to happen for weeks. I sent Ace and Deuce to host them for the time being, but I fail to see what is wrong with that!”

“Yes, but Riddle.” The layers were coming together nicely as cut strawberries were gently placed in the whipped cream. 

“You had us bring out the King’s chair. You spent 30 full minutes agonizing with me over the right tea and cake to serve. And another 10 with Cater on the roses, when normally you’d already have these details set. You know (Name), even if this is a different version of them, they won’t be so worried about the little details.”

Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, sighing heavily. 

“I know. I do, I really do. It’s just…”

Trey’s eyes were still focused on decorating the cake in front of him, but he nodded, giving Riddle a confirmation that he was listening. 

“How in the world am I meant to properly respond to them? All the rules of etiquette are a blurred line with them!”

Riddle felt a blush coming on again as he thought about the way you hugged him against your chest, your hands on his cheeks, the loving smile. He’d only had dreams about those sorts of things, and now they were reality. 

“Riddle, if Tart is making you uncomfortable, I’m sure you could speak to them and explain.”

Trey turned back to face Riddle, his face full of concern. 

“You don’t know them like that, you don’t have to pretend to like it for their sake.”

He’s always hated how easily his face got red. He hated how silly it made him look when he was angry, but this was worse somehow. 

“That’s not exactly…” Riddle looked up at Trey and gave him an embarrassed cringe. “I don’t dislike their familiarity, Trey. It’s just, how am I supposed to interact with them?”

A bit of silence stretched over the two as Trey stared at Riddle with an unreadable expression. The lack of emotions on his face made Riddle uncomfortable, it was unlike Trey. 

“Riddle, do you…” Trey finally gave Riddle a teasing smile. “Do you fancy (Name)? Is that what has you all distracted?”

Riddle did not appreciate the snorts that started escaping Trey as the other covered his grin.

“Trey. Do not test me at this time. I’m not in the mood.”

“Please, you’re not gonna collar me Riddle, we both know that. Besides, it’s sweet.” Trey’s smile grew as he fondly continued. “Now that I think about it, you’re kind of reminding me of how my little brother acted when he got a crush on a girl at school. It’s a normal thing, you know?”

Riddle raised a brow at Trey, deciding to rest his elbows on the kitchen island and cover his face with his hands, lest someone walk in and see the state of him. 

“Please don’t compare me to a child, and this is certainly not the same. My future spouse is sitting a few rooms away, wearing a family heirloom as a ring, I think I deserve a bit of grace here…”

He could feel Trey pat Riddle on the back, soothingly rubbing him. Riddle wonders if Trey did this with his siblings too?

“It wasn’t just me either, Trey. You heard there were 6 versions of them in total, yes?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Six versions of the (Name) we know,” He almost uttered out ‘and love’ before catching himself. “And of those six, only one is familiar with me.”

One possibility, and five failures. Riddle hates that he didn’t even realize that the other five also fancied you. In hindsight, they had to, they’ve all been sweet on you in different ways. Too stuck in his own head and feelings to realize, Riddle hated the pangs of jealousy in his chest at the other versions of you clinging to the others. 

“Well, why don’t you talk to them? Who knows, maybe you’ll get a hint on wooing our (Name)!”

“Or they can tell you how you got together!”

The two jumped in surprise as Cater poked his head into the kitchen, eyes sparkling in excitement. 

“How long were you there? It’s rude to listen to others' conversations.” Riddle crossed his arms, unamused at Cater avoiding eye-contact.

“Aw Rids, that’s not important. What’s totes important here is taking advantage of a huuuge opportunity! You literally have a chance to totally make sure that you get with (Name) and that I win my bet!”

Riddle and Trey stared at Cater, one baffled and the other looking as if he aged 30 years. 

“Cater, please don’t tell me that you made a bet on Riddle’s love life.”

“I didn’t make a bet on Riddle’s love life!” Cater paused, glancing between the two before chirping, “But I diiiid make a bet on (Name’s) love life! And I have a good chunk of money on our very own housewarden and them getting together—woah woah woah, hey!”

Putting his hands up in defense and scrambling across the room to put the island between a reddening Riddle and him, Cater defended himself. 

“We totally have a great opportunity, Riddle! You really like (Name), we can tell.”

Riddle paused, thinning his lips as he asked, “...Is it that obvious?”

“Incredibly/Very much so.” Both Cater and Trey responded much faster than Riddle liked, before the former smiled and gave a suggestion. 

“Now, obviously you two get together in a possible future, but as you know, part of divination is using magic to get information and use that to your advantage. You don’t think I’m only good at astrology for aesthetics, do you?”

Cater winked at Riddle with a smirk as he glanced at his phone and started typing away. 

“So, why don’t I have our favorite little pair try to scope out some information while we finish setting up the party, then you and I can talk about how to make sure that we use that to our advantage?”

“You could also just ask.”

An unholy sounding yelp left Cater’s mouth as he, along with Riddle and Trey, jumped at the sound of your voice. 

You strolled into the kitchen, Grim on your shoulders, while Ace and Deuce followed. 

“Heya guys! How much longer until we can get the party started?” Ace grinned, eyeing the near finished cake behind Trey. “I’m starvin’ ya know!”

“Tsk—Rule 739, guests may only begin feasting once the Queen and her King have completed their third and a half course of tea, you should know that Ace.” 

Riddle shut his mouth as soon as he’d opened it, as you’d beaten him to the punch. Ace’s face soured as he deflated and wrinkled his nose at you. 

“Ew. When you told us you’d married the Housewarden in the future, I didn’t think it’d meant you’d become Housewarden 2.0.”

You let out a melodious laugh, eyes crinkling at their corners as you replied, “Well, I don’t know about that, I don’t think anyone could compete with Riddle’s memory. My Riddle has our anniversary date memorized down to the minute, believe it or not.”

From the corner of his eyes, Riddle noticed Trey and Cater’s expressions. Trey had his head tilted, eyeing you curiously. Cater on the other hand was much more excited, holding his phone up to cover the lower half of his face. He’s fairly sure that Cater mouthed out, ‘cute’ at you.

Riddle made eye contact with you as your eyes softened at the sight of what he had to assume were red cheeks. He’s been ever so awfully red today, hasn’t he?

“Oh Riddle my dear, are you alright? Ever since I’ve been here, you’ve been nothing but shades of pinks and reds. We don’t have to have the unbirthday party if it’s causing stress—”

“Nonsense!” Riddle barked, making everyone but you jump. “The Queen of Hearts welcomed but a small child to her unbirthday party with open arms, why shouldn’t I do the same with someone as important as you Tart?”

With a stomp of his staff on the ground, the four other Heartslabyul students stood straight at attention, awaiting Riddle’s orders. 

“Ace. Deuce. Go see to it that the garden has been tended to, I want to see it in pristine condition!”

“Yes Housewarden!”

The pair gave a brief bow of their heads before running off towards the garden. Riddle turned to Cater next, who inclined his head and smiled. 

“Yes Housewarden?”

Riddle turned to him and let out a command, “Go ensure that all my card soldiers have their uniforms in perfect condition. I will not have a single student in my dorm with so much as a rose pin out of place! Understood?”

“Aye-aye! I’m to it!”

Cater gave another glance at you before grinning and skipping off, leaving just Trey, who was giving a small smile to Riddle. 

“I can continue here, once the others return from taking out the tea and pastries, I’ll have them help me finish up the rest of the food. We should be ready to hold the party by one o'clock otherwise.”

“Good. Very good, then.” Riddle let out a huff, eyeing Grim’s hungry stare at the various bowls of sweetened mixtures and fruits. “Grim, I trust that you remember Rule 89, yes?”

Grim let out soft, kitten-like growls and mumbled something under his breath, which made you smile and chuckle. You leaned in to whisper something into his ear, which made Grim perk up and give you a quizzical look. 

“Hm? I guess I can, but then I can’t eat Trey’s baking!” Grim whined, his ears dropping down. 

“Aw, well, I’m sure we can save you a slice of cake for later, and even a tart.” You glanced at Riddle and pleaded, “Can’t we Riddle? Let’s save him a few treats so he can go check in on the others, make sure they’re setting in with the other dorms?”

Riddle blinked at you two for a few moments, before understanding washed over him. The other (Names) in the dorms, it makes sense. They would probably want to check in on Grim as well, especially after his sobbing fit from Malleus’s chastisement back in the classroom.

“Of course, Trey will ensure that Grim has something left to look forward to on his return.”

Riddle gave a nod to Trey who nodded back, glancing back at you and staring for a moment. 

“Tart is what you’re going by, right?”

You hummed in affirmation, walking towards the two of them, hands fidgeting with an old black and white striped fabric tied to one of your belt straps. It looked rather tattered, with one end hanging lower than the other, a pin holding it down. 

“Yes, I thought it would be cute since Riddle has always loved tarts so much! You know, we actually only had a small cake for us to cut into at our wedding, instead we served a bunch of fruit tarts as dessert!” 

The beaming smile on your face as you reminisced, a romantic and far-off look in your eyes alongside it. You turned your attention to Riddle and added, “You made the suggestion, you know, despite tradition. Everyone else was surprised at the reception.”

“Did I really?” Riddle sputtered, positively baffled at the idea. Yes, he liked tarts, but he couldn’t imagine that he would allow himself to stray from rules and tradition. Yes he was less strict now, but to completely abandon them was out of the question!

You laughed, now in front of him and eyeing his uniform. “Don’t be too surprised, I pushed for you to change at least one thing up about the wedding, everything else was pretty much your traditional Rosarian wedding.”

Pursing your lips, you reached for Riddle, who hesitantly backed away. He eyed you, noticing the falter in your smile, before leaning back in. He breathed in a deep breath as you adjusted his collar and tie, wiping down the front of his coat and tending to his cloak. 

You were wearing some sort of cologne or perfume that smelled like strawberries and roses. 

“Sorry, I used to double-check your uniform for you.” You mumbled under your breath, backing away to eye his appearance until you were satisfied. “Perfect as always, I just like to feel useful sometimes.”

Trey cleared his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head as if he was interrupting something. 

“Housewarden, perhaps you can take them for a tour through the maze? It seems like it’s been a while since they’ve been to the school. I can come for you when the party is ready.”

“Ah, of course, wonderful idea Trey. Shall we, (Na—) Tart?” Riddle cleared his throat, gesturing to the exit with an open hand. Before he could react you gingerly looped your left arm with his right and hooked it close to you, effectively trapping his arm to your body. 

“That would be nice, let’s go!” Practically dragging Riddle with you, you waved with your free hand behind you and chirped. “We’ll see you in a bit Trey!”

Riddle let out a yelp as he tripped over his feet, heels clicking against the tile as you made your way out, passing the tea garden into the maze, only slowing once the sounds of students talking and plates clinking were far away. 

Why was he allowing you to drag him around like this? This couldn’t possibly be a habit of yours, there’s no way he’d allow it! Right?

Right?

No, he was just out of sorts from the peculiarity of it all. Your presence would throw anyone in for a tizzy, he’s sure the other housewardens are also experiencing…distress?

Was he distressed? No, Riddle doesn’t think so. Glancing up at you, a peaceful smile on your face as you two finally took a leisurely pace, he didn’t think he was distressed. 

He actually felt a bit of content, happy even, now that it was just the two of you and no other prying eyes. Riddle took a look at your hands wrapped around his arm, once again eyeing the ring on your finger, and let himself smile. 

“Well? Are you going to ask?”

Riddle let out a confused hum as he looked back up at your face, the teasing smile on your lips making him nervous once again. 

“Ask? Ask you what?”

You unwrapped your left hand from his arm and presented it in front of you two, wagging your ring finger, making the ruby glitter in the sun, as you sang, “Ask how this happened~ Cater doesn’t often give you advice, you know?”

A soft ‘ah’ sound left Riddle as he swallowed a lump in his throat, the ring’s glitter and shine calling for him, mocking him. 

Just how did he manage to give you that ring?

“Yes, well. I s-suppose I am a bit curious. It’s no small feat that you’re wearing a family heirloom, I imagine that we c-courted for quite a few years before marriage was even on the table.”

Riddle managed to stammer out his words, gesturing down a pathway that kept you two close to the eastern side of the maze, where it would be easier to get back to the tea garden. 

“Ah, yes. Since the end of my first and your second year.” A soft sigh left your mouth as you frowned. “We got married a few years after you were appointed to the Magistrates’ Court, though this ring isn’t your family’s ring.”

“What?” Riddle puzzled, taking a closer look at your ring with confusion. “No, that can’t be. I’ve seen the ring, it has the—”

“Rosehearts’ family crest built into it? I know. You were very proud when you proposed to me, telling me about how you had it commissioned to be an exact replica, a new heirloom for us to pass down ourselves.”

You gave Riddle a grin and winked. 

“You could’ve had the goldsmith and jeweler make something new, but I’m pretty sure you had this made to spite your mother since she wouldn’t give you the original.” 

Riddle scoffed in disbelief, staring up at you in wonder. Him? Spite his mother? He knew now that her treatment of him growing up was far from ideal, but it was hard to imagine him deliberately spiting her—wait.

“Did you say court? The Magistrates’ Court?!” Riddle questioned, finally reaching an end of the maze with a stone bench to sit on. As he led you to it to sit, he continued. 

“I was appointed to the court? Really?”

“Oh yes! It’s part of the reason dear Louise Rosehearts hated me and refused to give you her blessing.” You clicked your tongue, drumming your fingers against your thigh. 

“When you decided to pursue law instead of medicine for your fourth year internship, she was distraught. Her plans for you to become a great magical doctor all came tumbling down. Ugh…”

You winkled your nose in distaste, giving Riddle a look and smirking. 

“Blame me for it. Said I was a baaaad influence on her precious son, probably didn’t help that there are no records of me existing before NRC.”

Riddle furrowed his brows as he clenched his fists in his lap, staring at you as you fidgeted with the striped cloth he’d noticed earlier. He could finally see the pin clearly now, an old, golden crown that needed to be polished, as its shine was dulled from age.

“Is that my…”

“Your tie? Yes, it is.” You coaxed another flush of red to his cheeks as you curled a finger under his chin with a playful look. “You gave it to me when you first asked to court me. Tied it around my collar when I agreed, like you were staking a claim.”

“Why, I would never! That’s certainly a claim!” Riddle waved off your finger with an exasperated scoff, though the thought of you still wearing the tie years after being together was satisfying in a way. 

“I’m not some mongrel that needs to use a tie to mark someone as mine, my words and intentions are just enough!” 

Riddle’s voice rose. He was a bit offended that some version of himself out there would do such a crass thing, like a cat rubbing itself on its belongings. Then again, there was a certain beastman who also had a version of you, so perhaps his other him had his reasonings. 

“Oh Riddle, of course they are, I’m just teasing.” You waved your hands, frowning. “I’m sorry, my darling, I’m just used to bantering with my husband. Years of being together, and I’m forgetting that you don’t know me like that, do you?”

You had such a sad look on your face, it made Riddle melt into a puddle and stutter over his words. 

“Well I—it’s just that—it’s not like we aren’t friends at least—I just, it’s just—how do we get together again?”

The sad look turned into a much happier one, nostalgic almost, as you smiled and clasped your hands together as you excitedly gasped. 

“Oh, like I said, you asked to court me at the end of the year, but we’d been sort of, hm, tiptoeing the line ever since the beginning of the year. After your…well, you know.”

Overblot. Riddle shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the thought. That didn’t make sense though, even if he helped you with the issues that cropped up during the Spelldrive tournament and Leona’s own overblot, you and he hadn’t exactly been very close. 

He’s only recently noted his affection for you.

“Mmhm, you and I spent a lot of time together, you helped me catch up with the curriculum, would invite me over to tea parties a whole lot, and your dream even had me—oh…”

You paused, noticing Riddle’s increasing confusion at your words. Instead you cleared your throat and noted, “Maybe I’m saying too much, I don’t want to reveal too much of the future anyways.” 

“Oh. Right, I see.” He deflated, immediately straining up and taking a deep breath. “I’d rather win over you with my own efforts in any case. I have confidence in my abilities.”

Riddle closed his eyes and nodded to himself in satisfaction. You said that in your time you and your version of him began courting at the end of this school year, so he still had time. 

Marriage hm? It was a pleasant thought, very much so. Various ideas of just how to ensure it would happen swam through his mind, until your hands on his cheek brought him back to the present. 

Turning his head to look at you, Riddle felt his face heat up as you leaned closure, your other hand brushing away his hair from his forehead. A chaste, sweet kiss was placed on his forehead as you giggled against the skin. He’s positive the red in his face was now falling down his neck to the rest of the body. 

“I-I say! That’s quite inappropriate! I’m not—”

“My Riddle, yes I know. But still.” Leaning back, your hands still cradling his face, you rebutted. 

“I know him, so I know you a bit too. Don’t think too much, my dearest, just let whatever relationship you have with your (Name) progress naturally. I can’t say for sure it will turn out the way you want, but they’ll still cherish you regardless. Though, I obviously have a bias on whom they should choose.”

You giggled, pulling Riddle close again to press a kiss to the crown of his head, making him left out a high-pitched squeak. 

“O-of course.” Riddle waved your hands off him, fighting back an embarrassed smile that threatened to grow on his lips. Decorum can wait, just for a bit. “I think I can hear Trey call for us. I would like to hear more about the future though, I’m having a hard time believing I’d ever spite my mother over anything, rather than just cut her out.”

Riddle smiled as you let out a cackle, eyes squinting in mirth as you took his arm once again, having it offered to you this time. 

“Oh trust me, Riddle, when you get older, you’d be surprised just how catty you can be.”

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

The One That Got Away

No matter how long you stared down at his face, Annabeth, Percy, and Grover standing over you, all in silence, you couldn't stop.

Luke, sitting right there after so long, was gone. Your hand was on his cheek, running circles over and over again as if some ritual to wake him up.

But that wouldn't work.

Luke was gone. Luke would never wake up. Your Luke, your boyfriend, and best friend, has helped you defeat Kronos, only to leave you once more after.

You stifled another sob at the thought. Muttering small “Oh, Gods.”, “I'm sorry”’, and “Luke, please.”

Grover, Annabeth and Percy could only stand over you in silent support as you mourned.

You'd been against Luke for years. After loving him for as long as you can remember, that wasn't enough to stop him from going to Kronos, that wasn't enough to get him back.

You mourned your relationship. You mourned a future he promised. You mourned him.

The Gods all arrived moments later, their footsteps thundering into the throne room as they came in fully fledged in their battle armor.

They only found five teenagers, three hovering above with their heads hung low, and one holding the dead one as they all mourned over the broken body of a half-blood.

“Percy…” Posiedon was the only one able to speak, awe in his voice. “What…what is this?” Percy's father asked, you couldn't make yourself for the life of you to face the Gods.

You couldn't call that a family as you sat and mourned your own, the only family you've known standing over you as almost protection as you mourned.

Percy was the only one able to turn and look at the Olympians.

“We need a shroud.” Percy said, his voice cracking at his words. “A shroud for the son of Hermes.”

You gave a broken sob at the thought.

—----------------------------------------------------------

After Luke was taken away, his body behind readied and having to pry him and you, you didn't really know which it was, from one another, all you could do was stare into nothing.

Your hands worked almost like muscle memory, making the shroud. You've done it so many times for fallen campers, friends, Beckendorf, Sileena, even Percy at once, and many more.

Your hands worked quickly and quietly, the faint wrestle of the shroud against your fingers was anything but comforting.

Neither were the footsteps behind you.

Even if you didn't look, you knew who it was.

“Well,” Hermes started, his own voice heavy and you could tell

“Luke-” The man tried to begin, but you cut him off just as quickly.

“Don't talk to me about Luke.” your voice could have been laced with malice and that would've been a better poison to the man.

Hermes looked at you, watching you glare at him before he nodded.

“..I know. I know. I…I don't have the right.” the man sighed.

“Yeah, you don't.” you said sternly, glaring at the man through tearful eyes.

“But you do, my dear.” Hermes sighed, watching you look at him with tearful eyes of hatred, but he knew that wasn't just at him. Well, a lot was, but everything.

“Don't talk to me- don't talk about him, like you know us.” you shook your head, scoffing at the thought.

“I don't, and I can say that is a grave mistake on my part, which I will never forgive myself for.” Hermes said, nodding his head as he looked at the floor, mulling everything over.

You scoffed again, a sob mixed into it as you turned back to the shroud, not wanting to cry anymore. But that was pointless as Hermes started again.

“But what I do know is that my son loved you. You…you made him very happy, child.” Hermes said swiftly, watching as your back tensed like another sob was being withheld.

“...no, he didn't. If he did-” you tried to start, Hermes butting in. “My son had immense pride, like someone else I know,” Hermes started, gesturing to himself.

“he thought he was doing what was meant to be,” The God shook his head before sighing once more. “but he loved you.

“...we were fighting for so long, I- I don't know if he still loved me." You shook your head, laced with doubt and worry.

Hermes gave a bittersweet smile at your words. You were too young to experience such a thing. But, that was the life of a Half-Blood, sadly.

“..he did. I know he did. It was-” Hermes struggled to find his words for a moment, shaking his head. “One of the only things I know for certain, about my son.”

“...you didn't know a lot about him.” You couldn't help but say. Hermes just nodded. “I do not. But, I would watch over him. And Everytime,” Hermes could almost smile as he recalled.

“Everytime he was with you, everything was better for him.” The old God said, you didn't turn to face him but you closed your eyes, sighing as you felt more tears sting your eyes.

“I know it isn't a lot of reassurance, my girl,” Luke's father said solemnly.

“But my son, he will be free. And…one day, if you so wish, you may join him, when you have lived your life, had your adventures, and so much more.” Hermes offered.

“And when the time is right, you may join Luke again.”

You picked your head up from staring at the ground, confused before it settled on what the god meant. You looked over your shoulder at Hermes.

“...why not now, if you can give it?” You couldn't help but push, getting a small chuckle from the man.

“I may not have known my son better than you, but we both know he would not wish for you to cut your life short for him.” Hermes said, almost wistfully.

You couldn't help but know it to be true.

You thought for a moment before nodding softly, going back to your shroud. You muttered what you thought was a thank you, but Hermes shook it off.

“You do not owe me thanks. If anything, I owe you.” Hermes said.

“You gave my son happiness, for years. He experienced love, one of a kind, from you. So, thank you, (Name) (Last Name).” Hermes said, and you could almost make a smile out of his face, bittersweet but there.

“Find us when you are ready.”

Was the last thing Hermes said, leaving you to the Shroud, and walking away to join whoever.

You thought for a moment, looking at the man's back as he walked away, then back to the shroud in your lap.

Even if more tears sting your eyes and you couldn't help but sob, you smiled.

Because yeah, Luke was gone, the love of your life, but…you would see him again one day.

You were just setting him free.

You gave a wistful smile, one that Lukes soul, detached from its body and watching from afar, couldn't help but admire.

He was admiring like every other time before. Like at the camp bonfires. Like when he would sneak you out of your cabin into the woods by the lake.

Like when you told him you liked him, and like when you said you loved him back.

Luke wanted to reach out, cry and cry with you but he knew that he couldn't.

So, he would admire you now. Make up for lost time.

And as Luke sat from afar and watched you, a small smile on his face, he knew he would wait for you. As long as it takes

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

[paragonrobits]

i was just thinking about how in later Discworld books, even as its an unspoken understanding among everyone in Ankh-Morpork that Carrot is the King of the city and he's probably the last descendant of the original ruling line, not only does Carrot avoid pushing the narrative to exploit it unless absolutely necessary, but it never de-emphasizes the fact that he's a dwarf by adoption

Even in later books Carrot is still regularly writing letters to his family in their mine; he thinks of himself as a dwarf, he is CONSIDERED to be a dwarf by all except the most hardliners of dwarf society (and even they can't outright deny him dwarf status, the best they can do is say he is an anomaly); he might USE his narrative status as the One True King, but in his heart, to himself, he is still the child of the Ironfounderssons.

His human heritage is functionally irrelevant to him unless he needs to make use of it, much like his ancestral sword. And it occured to me, what if he actively chose to distance himself from his human heritage because he learned about them in later books and found nothing worth acknowledging?

Carrot is in a weird place because he is the One True King, a narrative status that makes him the good and wise king who knows only truth and justice and comes bringing goodness to all, and this is quite a contrast to the ACTUAL kings of Ankh-Morpork, who were universally at BEST a bunch of horribly useless and inept absolute rulers that are living embodiments of 'the aristocracy are dumber than a sack of doorknobs' the series leans into, and at worst are implcitly some of the most horribly sadistic and cruel people in the setting.

One particular example is Lorenzo the Kind, the last king of Ankh-Morpork, whose name was deliberately ironic; he was so horrifically sadistic that he spelled the end of the kingship because he's the one who was killed by Suffer-Not-Injustice Vimes, who because no one was willing to judge him because kings were considered Special, just dragged him off his throne, cut off his head, and the surviving family members were exiled from the city.

Lorenzo is the last member of Carrot's biological ancestry we have definitive information on, off the top of my head, and he paints a dark, horrific image. He's painted as the absolute nadir of horror from the ruling classes, and is heavily implied to have been a sadistic pedophile with a penchant for torture (at the very least Carrot and Vimes both note that he was apparently fond of children and was painted with a lot of them nearby at all times, discussing it in a way that suggests a DEEPLY uncomfortable topic neither of them wants them to address, and later in Feet Of Clay Vimes points out that Lorenzo had unspecified but horrific machines in the basement).

Carrot is very strongly implied to, at least starting from Men At Arms (in which he discovers he is the king), have investigated his ancestry, and he's able to elaborate on their actions and history, and this also marks the point where he carefully but firmly emphasizes his dwarf heritage for the rest of the series.

He found out who his ancestors were, and discovered they were horrifically evil people, and that Mister Vimes was fully justified in being proud of his ancestor putting them down like rabid beasts, and it leads to him firmly emphasizing that his family are the Ironfoundersson dwarfs.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Hello! I saw that your requests are open so I thought, I'll shoot my shot

So, it'll be SAGAU with Impostor and Isekai trope. The reader is a real Creator, while the fake one is on the throne. But! What if they look completely different? Characters don't hunt reader because well, they don't look like their beloved grace and they're unaware that their sweet creator is in fact a real impostor.

But when you look at reader and the fake creator, you can see a total difference in their surroundings. The real Creator - Reader, is connected to the Teyvat, right? The flowers bloom everywhere where they stand, the trees are more green and lively, while there's nothing like this with the impostor in the throne.

So! To the idea- How about Zhongli and Kaeya's (or any other characters you'd like to add here) to see their Reader cut themselves and suddenly bleed gold - while they saw their beloved Grace bleed red and suddenly, they connect the dots?

Ooh, this is certainly interesting, @ilumin! I'll see what I can come up with :)

Zhongli & Kaeya Find Out The Imposta :)

You weren't gonna lie—you kinda freaked when you realize the isekai and sagau trope thing happened on you. Reading fanfiction from the internet, you knew how things were gonna go down. You read the signs.

Safe to say you were not expecting you yourself to be the "lucky winner" of this entire thing. Nu-uh. Not one bit. You knew this was gonna be a hellhole.

That is, of course....you realized that the Imposter did not look like you at all. You were kinda stoked about it—that means you weren't gonna get ratted out, or killed, or hunted—so yay you! Time to chill with some bros! Time to free ball it while you still can!

And thennn... one night you were hanging with some ppl, and you accidentally nicked your finger.

You guessed it right, fellas, you bled gold. And that did not go unnoticed.

Good luck.

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Zhongli

When he first met you, Zhongli thought you were like The Traveler—you were someone who passed the Celestial Atmosphere above, and descended down to traverse the world.

With Their Grace present, their world has prospered and Zhongi is proud to say that Liyue was doing well under their rule. But when you came, he was a little surprised to see how the earth seemed to connect with you. Flowers around you seemed brighter, precious rocks seem to surface at your presence..and you somehow manage to always be able to get the most freshest fruit anyone can come across.

You were truly an interesting enigma that Zhongli is curious to learn more of. He commits every detail about you to memory. The day the wind conveniently came to the rescue when the days were boiling hot. The time where you managed to restock your food stalls even though so many Liyueans were nabbing them and almost leaving you nothing. Everything Zhongli saw, he noted down in his mind.

You eventually became acquainted with him the moment he walks up to your food stall. It wasn't that packed in the morning (somehow), and it allowed the two of you to get to know one another better. Safe to say your relationship was solid.

And then you bled gold that one night. Zhongli eyes your blood with wide expressions, before immediately excusing the both of you out of the situation.

He cannot believe that the person that sits on the Creator's Throne was not the Creator. He's constantly being bombarded with the "Creator" and their meetings, while you were just selling goods on the streets of Liyue.

"...Your Grace..." Zhongli looks at you as he puts a bandage over your finger. "...Truly, we have all been deceived." And while you're glad that he wasn't suggesting you start up a riot, you were kind of worried about what he'll do to the Imposter the next time Zhongli sees him.

Safe to say he did have a "Chat" with them that consisted of a meteor and a lot of "I will have Order!" voicelines repeating over and over again.

Kaeya

When you got plopped into Mondstadt, somehow, the winds started becoming more gentle and a lot more carefree. Everyone saw this as a sign of Barbatos, you saw this as a sign of the world trying to rat you out or something.

You decided to get a job at the Tavern to get info, and boom you meet Kaeya. You should've expected this when you got a job at Angel's Share, because this hottie bro is very much interested on your merchandise.

Safe to say, though, Kaeya was very interested in you. Like Zhongli, he takes note of your every move. But, unlike Zhongli, Kaeya's trying to see how your...unique superpowers work, and how they can be used to help protect Mondstadt—assuming he manages to convince you to join.

Kaeya is very talkative in the Tavern, so he usually talks to the bartenders. Diluc is pulling his hair out to see how much info Kaeya's spilling to you during your shifts, half of which are just boasting about the Knights of Favonius.

When you nicked your finger, though, you knew things were going down. It didn't help that Kaeya noticed. His eyes widen for a fraction, before he stands up and suggests that you both should take a walk around the streets of Mondstadt when your shift was done.

You agree, seeing as there's no way out of this, and quickly grab a bandaid to patch up the scratch. Once you were both out, Kaeya speaks first, in a low tone.

"My...I never knew the Almighty Creator could be this sneaky, to have an imposter sit on the throne while they serve cups at my favorite tavern." You look at him incredulously. He took the situation to praise you to make himself sound like he was blessed?

Good sir, this was the opposite of how your life got thrown upside down when you entered Teyvat. Then again, this sounded a lot better than getting killed, so you'll take it as a win. For now.

Kaeya promises to keep this a secret, but safe to say Diluc is rubbing his temples when he hears the Calvary Captain himself trying to offer you a position in the Knights of Favonius, saying you had potential and whatnot.

Honestly, he just wants to spend more time with you outside of the tavern.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Why the heck did this take SO MUCH LONGER than I expected sobbing. Sorry y'all—istg life is hitting me like Truck-Kun.

Also one more thing: Furina is my new child now. She and Fremmi are my Fontantian Children. Love 'em both too much ppl will have to pry them out of my cold-dead hands.

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[alliskit]

BG3 Headcanons Nobody Asked For.

Part 5: Body Types.

From the HC that Gale and Halsin are chubby, to twink Astarion, and curvy Shadowheart, we've all got ideas on what they would really look like if not dolled up in base form digital body types.

Feel free to give me yours in the comments.

Astarion:

He's canon 5'9. That is average male height IRL. It's easy to picture him taller and it was hard to picture him not taller until I had a chat with someone about body types and sports.

He is built like a soccer/futbol player.

He has low body fat, so he's cut.

He's lean muscle, so he it's not bulked.

He starts off slim, but as he has more blood, he bulks a little.

Starts / Ends

Karlach:

This girl is very tall, but not like giant. Some tend to make her like 6'5, but she's more like 6'.

I would compare her to someone like Ilona Maher, a rugby player.

Bulk muscle, smaller chest, but not non-existent like in some female bodybuilders.

She's got legs that can run, but also ground to throw and axe.

She's the middle (if you don't know who Ilona is.)

Lae'zel:

I HC that she is SHORT.

She is like 5'2-5'3.

She is built very thin and wiry as all gith.

All lean muscle.

She's built like a female marathon runner.

Shadowheart:

She's a little above average in height around 5'7-5'8.

She's got that booty.

I picture her a lot like a volleyball player. Thick legs.

She's got a great rack.

She's pear-shaped.

Wyll:

I don't think Larian did him justice because I know he would be out here looking like Michael B. Jordan in Black Panther.

The dude is fighting monsters, he gets a really nice thicc pack. (And so much more)

He is a little taller at 5'11-6'.

He is built like an American football player.

I know this one is me taking some liberties, but he deserves it.

Gale:

He is a cancer/addiction survivor who is in healing.

He is skinny, but with all the activity starts to get a little muscle and fat.

He is average height as well. He's like 5'10. (HC is that he is only average in height and he knows it.)

He would look a lot like Joaquin Phoenix from Joker at first.

He would fill out, but not be cut by the end. Still fit, though.

Start / End (it's an Aidan Turner still from Rivals lol love this man)

Halsin:

He is huge, but not cut.

Biggest boobs.

He is built like a power lifter or pro wrestler. He could throw shot put or javelin in the olympics.

He is ALMOST 7', I HC him at around 6'6-6'7. (He's not Shaquille O'Neal.)

He is essentially the Mountain from Game of Thrones.

Minthara:

She is shorter than you think. She's 5'4-5'5.

Drow are shorter than the other elves usually.

She would be built like a basic female athlete. She is cut, but she has shape.

Hourglass waist.

[sunrisecaminus]

can I ask for sweet aftercare from Megatron to his femme conjux? Maybe like cuddles and praises from him plsss

Message - This is adorable! Of course you can ask for such a beautiful thing!

Megatron x Conjunx Reader NSFW

Summary - Cybertronian Reader comes back from a mission and Megatron takes care of you after everything you went through~

Warning - NSFW

Everything was so, hot. Your servos clenching the birth. You couldn't see anymore, as you were blinded by pleasure. Everything around you was nothing, do you even remember where you were? The feeling of being slammed inside your valve, over and over again, has to be the best thing you have felt in a long time. The friction of the spike going in and out of you was making your frame weaker by the minute, the rough servos grabbing at your hips pull you closure to your conjunx.

This all started from Megatron feeling nothing but rage. Desks were being throne, soldiers were running like cowards, Starscream betraying the crew and leaving the ship before he gets beaten again. The only person that could really save the Decepticon ship, was you. His conjunx has been gone for three days. You had a really hard yet important mission and it could save everyone from energon losses, but Megatron gets in mood swings when you leave. He has nobody to talk to on an equal level and doesn't trust anyone else with his emotions except for you, so when you leave, he goes in crying fits of anger when something small happens. Everything was over in his mind, the last energon mine was finally harvested down to the last food sources. Starscream was trying to calm him down by stating that they could go the next mine like they planned, but Megatron knew it was a smaller mine and it could decrease their soldier counts by the week.

Throwing everything around him, Megatron could sense someone behind him and he points his canon at the person. Seeing your face the second he aimed the weapon, his eyes grew in shock from seeing you here and lowered his arm down. "Y/n…" He sees the soft smile growing on you as your servos gently slide up on his chassis, feeling all his dents and cuts that Knockout hasn't got to yet. "I'm back, you alright dear?" The feeling of your gentle love was all he wanted, his own servo grabbing yours and pressing his other servo behind your back. Everything stopped for him; Time, blood, and atoms at that moment froze. You were here earlier than he anticipated and it gave him nothing but pure joy that no one else could give. "…Yes of course, now that your here." You giggle from his romantic tone, leaning your helm on him.

Soldiers slowly came in to see you too leaning on each other, so they get back to work. Cleaning out the ship, they were able to finally get back to their screens to do their duties and not have to fear about their liege killing them for no reason. Megatron hates that his affection is being seen, so he takes you over to one of the ships balconies. He doesn't want to show how much of a romantic nerd he is, but what he will never tell you was the balcony was specifically positioned on this side of the ship to always be pointing to where Cybertron lies. It was one of the most geeky things he could ever do and if anyone found this out, he would murder them on the spot. "Y'know, it was pretty rough out there. It can be a thrill to go back in action, but…sometimes I miss being held by you when I go back to stasis." Megatron looks back at you with his colorful optics, loading in the information he just heard from you. No one has ever really "missed" him. After the relationship was created, Megs has had to learn a lot from you and Soundwave. It has been millions of years since he ever got into a relationship with someone and has forgotten about the good things that can come with it. He leans against the railing and lets his servo being supported up onto your hip. "Well, you can come back early no matter if you get something or not. You always can see me no matter where I am. No one usually gets the privilege to even be in my quarters." You knew he was always a cocky one, his ego was massive; Becoming his conjunx made you be able to share some of that ego with him. "Awe, you are too sweet." Staying still with him in the peace and quiet, you try to let go of the stress that has been leaning on your soldiers from the mission you went on. You don't want to tell him how the Autobots found you.

It was a horrible mission. You did find a massive energon mine, but the Autobots got to you a few minutes later after you reported it to Soundwave. Optimus and Ratchet was a scary duo to mess with, and fighting even one was hard enough. They only thought of you as an elite soldier, never even thinking you were Megatron's Conjunx. If they knew, they probably would've tried to capture you. Being able to fend off for a while, they retreated to go get more of their allies later. You don't know when they would attack again, but you had to go back in two days to defend the mine once more. You didn't want to fight them again alone, the stress has been building the closure you got to the Decepticon ship. You didn't want to stress your Conjunx out more than he already was, so you didn't tell him. Speaking of which, as you were looking at the stars, you feel his hand sliding down to your aft and staying there. Blush started to grow onto your face plate and looked over at him. He had the most…evil smirk you had ever seen.

Aaaaaaand that it how you got to this point, in Megatron's room, being rammed like no one could hear you. It was like you were dreaming, but this was real. You were chosen by the lord himself, and you must respect his wishes for him to treat you like a queen. You never had an argument before and it should stay that way in your mind. His servo grabs one of your servos, motioning to you that he was ready to release. Closing your eyes, you lean into his spike and let his full shaft inside you. Feeling him fill you was something no one else in the universe could feel. You were his, and no one else's. After laying there limp for a few minutes to catch your breath, you feel yourself being carried off somewhere. You were still blinded by pleasure and couldn't see that well. All you could feel was your body being picked up bridal style and the lighting changing to a dim light, showing that you were being put in a different room. Megatron gently put your body down on some nice towels on the floor, and turning on the hot water in the bath. The water noises were nice to hear, as your body is picked up again and slowly put inside the tub. This was when Megatron could see your battle marks clearly. He knew something was wrong ever since he saw you come back…but he knew you weren't wanting to make him even more mad at the time. He isn't an idiot, something happened to you on that mission and he wanted you to understand that you are now home. Megs wanted you to stop worrying about everything, washing your body off from not only his juices, but the dirt wedged in your plating you couldn't get.

After he massaged your body with a towel, he takes your clean frame back in the birth and laid you down on the bed. You whine from not feeling his presence and tried to see with your hands where he was. A few seconds went by and you feel his weight being pressed against the bed as his body lays behind yours, spooning your frame and putting his arms around you. "I ordered Soundwave to replace you for the mines. You are stuck with me for two weeks." Your eyes widened, did Soundwave tell him? Of course he did, everything he knows that should not be a secret he tells his liege. If it had to do with you in great risk of being beaten, no shit was he going to go to Megatron to see if they could do something about it. The feeling of the work being lifted from you was amazing, peaceful, and even scary. Tears formed from your optics as you clench on his arms a bit. "…I'm sorry. I wish I was stronger."

You hear nothing for a while until his servos slid to your face, wiping your tears the best he could from behind you. "You are able to do things 95% of my Soldiers can't do. You are one of the only soldiers that seemed to give me bad news without cowering in the shadows or on the intercoms. You fought off a Leader and his little pet Medic by yourself. Being damaged is part of the job, nothing you could have done to look perfect and clean afterwards." He massages your stomach plating and puts a bit of pressure on it. You feel him smiling a bit behind you as he leans into your helm. "I am very proud of you~" You didn't know what to say, such lovely things being told to you by the Leader of the Decepticons, no, lovely things being told to you by your own conjunx. It was something that really wasn't uttered to you before, but you will never forget this night if it was going to be the last. You smile with nothing but love, closing your optics and slowly you were going into stasis mode. "…I love you, Megs."