#ward 16.y

[f1rewalk3r]

finishing up ward arc 16 interludes and nah. no way. i have Thoughts on amy. idk how anyone can stand her dude. she’s pathetic and not in a fun way. zero self awareness. “oh im a good person” while she sexually assaults victoria AGAIN. she can’t even be bothered to be evil. like i would have loved to see s9!amy because duh. her and bonesaw would be kino siblings. but no. she doesn’t want to go crazy. and unleash one of the most ridiculous powers in all of the parahumansverse. like if she was actually evil or self aware like skitter i could root for her but instead she’s just lame. especially the whole “i didnt do anything to victoria that wasn’t me it was somebody else” LIKE CMON GIRL AT LEAST OWN IT. or her interaction with jessica. grrrrrr the unbridled narcissism makes me FUME

[novaursa]

Legacy

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: dinner with a lion

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The heat of Harrenhal’s stone walls suffocates you as you sit, bound and chained, in a shadowed cell, distanced from the other prisoners. The silence presses down heavily, disturbed only by the occasional scurry of rats in the corners and the distant, echoing clamor of soldiers outside. They’ve kept you here as a prisoner of value, locked away from the common rabble. No one dared speak your name aloud, but you know what you are to them—a Targaryen, a relic of a world shattered and hunted by Robert’s Rebellion.

Your eyes trace the rough-hewn stones, your thoughts lost in Winterfell's cold embrace, where you’d been a ward, a stranger among wolves yet somehow belonging. Ned Stark's honor had felt like a shield back then, the North your sanctuary. That safety, of course, had long been stripped away. The warmth of winter fires, the laughter of his children, Arya’s giggling fits as she followed you through halls… You press those memories deep, lest they break you here in this hollowed-out fortress of despair.

The iron door creaks open. You don’t lift your head, knowing that if it’s a guard, his words will be as cold as his chainmail. Instead, you hear the soft scuff of small, light footsteps—a child’s, perhaps, or someone pretending to be one.

“Y/N?” The whisper is barely audible, like a breeze skimming across snow. You jerk your head up, blinking to adjust to the light spilling into the cell. A thin figure stands just outside the barred door, cloaked in rags, dark hair wild and tangled around a dirt-smeared face. The eyes, however, are unmistakable—storm-grey, fierce with a fire that the years hadn’t dimmed.

“Arya…” you breathe, hardly believing what you’re seeing.

She glances around quickly, as if expecting someone to appear out of the shadows, then steps closer to the bars, wrapping her hands around them. She is small, thin, but you can feel her strength through the steel.

“They’ve separated you from the others,” she says, her voice low but urgent. “Why?”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “They know what I am. Who I am.” You can’t help but reach through the bars, brushing a thumb over her knuckles. “But they don’t know you, it seems.” You pause, studying her. “Why are you dressed like…?”

Her face hardens, though her eyes still shimmer with the relief of seeing you. “I’m Ary. A boy.” She grins a little. “Keeps me safer that way. They don’t look too closely at boys.”

You nod, understanding. Clever girl. Brave girl. Your heart aches at the thought of her wandering through these deadly halls, relying only on wit and stealth. “You shouldn't be here, Arya.”

“Neither should you,” she retorts, voice fierce. “You think I’d just stay hidden, knowing they have you locked up like some...prize?” She gestures toward your chains. “You’re all they talk about.”

The words sting, though you knew what you were to them—what you’d always been in the eyes of those who held power. “Yes, well, they love parading relics of conquest.”

Arya scoffs, glancing down the hall as the clang of footsteps grows closer. She pulls back slightly, but her gaze holds yours. “I’m going to find a way to help you.”

Before you can respond, the guard rounds the corner, a hulking brute who grunts upon seeing Arya standing too close to the bars.

“Oi, boy!” he barks, jabbing a gloved finger toward her. “What’re you loitering around here for? Get along!”

Arya nods quickly, ducking her head. “Sorry, m’lord. Was just looking for scraps.”

The guard snorts, shoving her away with a meaty hand. “Scavenge elsewhere, rat.” His eyes slide back to you, cold and suspicious, before he turns and lumbers away down the hall.

You exhale slowly, your fingers trembling against the rough metal of your chains. In another life, Arya would have been free to roam Winterfell’s hills, a wild little shadow among wolves. And yet, she’s here, risking herself to reach you. As she slips away, she looks back just once, her expression determined, her eyes flashing with a promise.

The hours blur together after that. Servants and guards move past occasionally, sneaking glances but offering no words. No one knows what to do with you; even here, your Targaryen blood marks you as something foreign, an unpredictable fire they’d rather keep contained.

But then, as night falls and the cold sets in, Arya returns, slipping through the shadows. She brings a small hunk of bread and a waterskin, passing them through the bars.

“Eat,” she whispers, watching you with a fierce, protective glint. “You need to keep your strength.”

You take the food gratefully, feeling a spark of warmth. “Thank you,” you murmur, voice low. “How did you…?”

“I’m faster than most of these lumbering fools,” she says, a spark of pride in her tone. “I’ve learned things. I know how to make myself invisible.”

You chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the quiet cell. “You always did have a knack for hiding. Even in Winterfell, you could vanish like a shadow.”

Her face softens, a brief flicker of nostalgia crossing her expression. “Winterfell feels like a lifetime ago.”

“For both of us,” you reply, meeting her gaze, the weight of shared memories hanging heavy between you. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Arya. These people…they won’t think twice about harming you if they suspect anything.”

She nods, her expression fierce. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll come back. I’ll find a way to get you out.”

There’s a fire in her eyes, a determination that reminds you so painfully of her father. And as she slips away into the darkness, leaving you alone once more, you feel a renewed sense of hope—a fragile, flickering ember amidst the cold stone walls of Harrenhal.

The hours drag on, each one marked by the slow drip of water echoing in your cell, but eventually, the familiar rhythm of Harrenhal’s dungeons changes. You feel it before you see it—a shift in the air, the sound of hurried footsteps, the murmur of anxious voices reverberating through the stone walls. The guards move with unusual purpose, stiffening as they march past, casting wary glances at each other.

And then it clicks. A name floats through the muted conversations, spoken in low, reverent tones. Tywin Lannister.

Of course, he would come. Tywin would never leave something—or someone—of value to fate or neglect, and as a Targaryen in Lannister captivity, you are valuable. The realization sends a chill through you; you know what Tywin’s arrival means. After all, this was the man who orchestrated Robert’s Rebellion from the shadows, who ensured your family’s ruin.

Hours pass, leaving you with your thoughts, steeling yourself for the inevitable. It is nearly dusk when you hear his unmistakable footfalls—a measured, deliberate pace, the stride of a man who owns every room he steps into. The door to your cell opens, and there he stands, backlit by the torches in the hallway, his sharp gaze fixed upon you with that calculating intensity that has always defined him.

You rise slowly, the chains at your wrists clinking softly as you meet his gaze, refusing to bow or avert your eyes. He steps forward, and the guard closes the door behind him, leaving just the two of you in the silence of the cell.

"Y/N," he greets, his voice low and steady, as if he were greeting an old friend rather than a prisoner.

"Lord Tywin," you reply, keeping your tone neutral, though a simmering resentment lies beneath it. "I wondered how long it would take you to come see me."

He inclines his head, a barely perceptible acknowledgment. "I was surprised to learn you were here. I'd thought my orders were… clear."

"Well," you reply, voice laced with defiance, "your orders seem to have missed me by a few years and several hundred leagues."

A flicker of something passes over his expression—irritation, perhaps, or simply the mild inconvenience of something not going precisely to his plans. He regards you with that unyielding gaze, assessing, calculating. "You always did possess a certain… rebellious streak."

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "It was a trait I shared with my family. At least, those who survived."

"Indeed," he says, with a faint curl of distaste. "And yet here you are, once again, a ward of sorts—though not of Winterfell this time." He studies you a moment longer before taking a step back, hands folded behind his back. "I did not expect you to involve yourself in… certain matters."

"I didn’t choose this," you reply, the bitterness plain in your voice. "Do you think I wanted to end up here, in the middle of this war, far from my family?"

Tywin raises an eyebrow. "Family? The very family that plunged the realm into chaos and left nothing but ashes and memories?"

You grit your teeth, the anger simmering within you. "My family fought for what was theirs. They believed in protecting their own."

"Their own." He almost laughs, the sound devoid of warmth. "A convenient justification." He takes a measured step toward you, his voice lowering. "But there are two choices now—obey, or find yourself utterly without power or purpose in this realm. It’s time to accept which path will ensure your survival."

The implication hangs heavy in the air, but you hold your ground. “And what path is that, exactly?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestures toward the door with an almost casual wave of his hand. “You will be brought to me, Y/N. The other prisoners here… they are of no value, save for labor. They’ll be put to work.”

You look away, unable to hold his gaze, a knot of resentment building in your chest. You know what this means—that he intends to keep you close, in his grasp, as leverage, as something he can wield. Just another prize in his relentless pursuit of control.

“Then I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” you say quietly, resigned.

“Choice?” Tywin’s lips twist into a thin smile. “Perhaps not. But survival? That, you do.”

He pauses, his gaze lingering on you, assessing you once more before turning toward the door. Just before he leaves, he speaks again, softer this time, though there’s no warmth in his tone. “There was a time I believed you would find your place at Winterfell. Let’s hope you find it here in Harrenhal, though I doubt it will be as kind.”

With that, he turns, his cloak sweeping behind him, and the door closes. You are left in silence, the chains at your wrists heavier than ever as you stare at the empty doorway, Tywin's words echoing in your mind.

They bring you through the winding stone corridors of Harrenhal, flanked by guards who grip their weapons as though you might suddenly decide to fight. You don’t look at them, choosing instead to lift your chin, steeling yourself for what awaits. Soon, you reach a heavy iron door and are led into the dimly lit council chamber, where Tywin Lannister sits at a rough-hewn table surrounded by maps and documents. His eyes flick up as you enter, cold and unblinking, assessing you as if you were a pawn on one of his battle maps.

"Sit," he commands, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You hesitate, a beat of defiance thrumming in your chest, but there’s little point in resisting now. With a quiet dignity, you take the seat, keeping your posture poised, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you appear weak.

For a moment, he says nothing, his piercing gaze steady as he studies you, hands clasped before him. The silence between you is thick, heavy with the weight of a past neither of you acknowledges directly.

"Have you thought of what your place here will be, Y/N?" His voice is measured, devoid of warmth. “It’s time you learn that your loyalty—whatever remains of it—has a purpose.”

“Is that what you’re hoping to extract from me?” you reply, tone cool, unwilling to betray any weakness. “Loyalty?”

Tywin’s mouth forms a thin line. “I had thought that was something you would recognize. I recall a time when I gave you something very few in Westeros would have considered—a chance. Yet, here you are.”

You raise an eyebrow, the bitterness you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface. “If you’re expecting a thank you, Lord Tywin, for ‘saving my life’ and sending me North, you’ll be disappointed.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, though his face remains otherwise impassive. “I expect no gratitude. Only an understanding of what is required.” His gaze sharpens, icy and relentless. “The time for grudges and sentiment is over. We are at war, Y/N, and there are no innocents in war.”

You bite back a retort, letting the words settle. Tywin had always been a strategist, a man who saw lives as currency in his endless schemes for power. To him, you were a valuable piece in this game, nothing more.

Before you can respond, there’s a shuffle at the door. A small figure enters, head down, dressed in rags that disguise her almost entirely. You freeze, a flicker of recognition sparking within you. Arya. She’s keeping her head low, her gaze on the floor, playing the part of a servant boy with remarkable precision.

Tywin barely acknowledges her, but you sense the tension rolling off him as he glances briefly at the child. “Good,” he mutters, gesturing for her to approach. “Pour us some wine.”

You catch her eye just for a split second, then force yourself to look away, masking any flicker of recognition that might betray her. Fear coils in your stomach, a sick dread gnawing at you. Arya is so close to him, close enough to be touched by the man whose armies are locked in a brutal struggle against her brother Robb.

She moves with surprising grace, her hands steady as she picks up a pitcher of wine and fills Tywin’s cup first, then yours. You can sense her nervousness—the slight tremor in her hands, the careful restraint in her movements. Every instinct screams for you to shield her, to pull her away from Tywin’s cold gaze, but you force yourself to remain still, trusting in her disguise.l

Tywin raises his goblet, studying you over the rim, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’ve come a long way from the girl I once sent North,” he says, taking a slow sip. “And yet, I wonder if you truly understand the stakes of the game you’re caught in.”

You meet his gaze head-on, a defiant spark igniting in your chest. “Perhaps it’s not the game I care about, Tywin. Perhaps I’ve come to understand that there’s more at stake than power.”

He sets down his goblet, fingers steepling before him, his expression hardening. “That’s where you are mistaken, Y/N. Power is the only thing that matters. It is the only reason you are here, alive, in this moment.” He gestures to the chamber around him, as though the walls themselves bear witness to his authority.

Beside you, Arya keeps her head down, silent as she completes her task, retreating a step as if hoping to melt into the shadows. Yet, despite her best efforts, your gaze drifts to her, a rush of protectiveness coursing through you, though you know it’s a risk. You want to shield her, to keep her far from Tywin’s attention, from his scrutiny. Her fate hangs by a thread, poised perilously close to discovery, and you cannot allow yourself to falter.

Tywin’s gaze sharpens as he notes your momentary glance toward Arya. He doesn’t ask, but there’s an unspoken question in the air as his eyes linger on you, piercing and calculating.

With Arya now lingering in the background, Tywin returns his attention fully to you, his tone softening just enough to sound almost conversational. “Tell me, Y/N, do you believe that loyalty alone will ensure victory? Or will it take more?”

He waits, and you know that beneath his words lies a deeper question—a challenge, a demand for allegiance that you cannot easily give. 

You swallow, feeling the weight of Tywin’s question linger in the room like a shadow. He watches you closely, his gaze dissecting every breath, every shift of your expression.

“Loyalty alone doesn’t ensure anything,” you answer finally, your voice carefully neutral. “It’s a weapon, a means to an end, but hardly the end itself.”

He inclines his head slightly, as if acknowledging your answer. “Precisely. Loyalty is useful—necessary, even—but it is not enough to build a legacy.” His tone is cool, distant, almost as if lecturing a pupil. “Power is what matters, Y/N. Power builds kingdoms, reshapes worlds, burns down houses that have stood for centuries.”

The words are exactly what you expected from him: cold, ruthless, and unyielding. Yet, as he continues, there’s an intensity beneath them, a deeper thread of something that you can’t quite name.

“Legacy,” he says, his voice lowering to a murmur. “What we leave behind is all that remains when we are gone. Our names, our accomplishments… these are what endure. Without them, we are dust, forgotten.”

You meet his gaze, holding it with a defiance you can’t quite suppress. “I thought you cared little for anything but victory, Tywin. For all this talk of legacy, I hadn’t pegged you for someone who worried about what others would remember.”

A shadow of a smirk flits across his face. “Perhaps you misunderstand me. I care little for how others perceive me—but I care greatly for what they cannot ignore. For the things that endure, long after I’m gone. It is not enough for House Lannister to survive. It must be unassailable.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words, though a part of you bristles against his philosophy. He sees people as tools, pawns in his endless game. That’s all you are to him, a valuable piece he can wield to achieve his vision.

But then, he leans forward slightly, his eyes fixed on you with a sudden, burning intensity. “And that is why I’ve decided to take you as my wife.”

The words strike you like a blow, leaving you momentarily stunned, the breath stolen from your lungs. You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, wondering if you’ve misunderstood. But the certainty in his eyes tells you that he means every word.

“Your… wife?” The words come out in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“Yes.” His tone is final, unyielding. “This union would serve both of us well. You would be restored to a place of power—protected, in the only way that matters.”

For a moment, you struggle for words, reeling from the unexpected declaration. You’d braced yourself for talk of alliances, of politics, even of Tywin’s usual calculated strategies—but this? This was something you hadn’t anticipated.

“Is that what you think I want?” you manage, forcing your voice to remain steady. “A position, a title, the protection of your name?”

He studies you, expression unchanging. “You may not realize it yet, Y/N, but your value is not solely in your bloodline. You are a weapon that could be sharpened, a tool with the potential to fortify both our legacies.”

Just then, a clatter erupts from the corner of the room as Arya accidentally knocks over a pitcher. The clay shatters, water spilling across the stone floor, jolting you back to reality. Arya’s face blanches, and she drops quickly to her knees, mumbling apologies as she gathers the broken pieces.

Tywin’s gaze flicks to her, his expression hardening. “Be more careful in the future, Ary,” he says, his tone sharp but controlled. “I don’t tolerate carelessness.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Arya replies, her voice low, strained, as she hurriedly cleans up the mess, hands moving with a practiced grace.

Your eyes dart to her for a heartbeat, concern flooding through you despite your best efforts to mask it. You don’t want to give her away, to betray her presence as anything other than a humble servant, but the fear lingers, sharp and gnawing. She’s too close to him, too vulnerable here under his scrutiny. Each moment she spends in this room feels like a risk, a danger you can’t control.

Tywin’s attention returns to you, his piercing gaze heavy with expectation. “As I was saying,” he continues smoothly, as if the interruption had barely registered, “this union would be… advantageous. For you, for me, for both of our houses.”

You take a steadying breath, suppressing the whirlwind of emotions roiling within you. “And what if I refuse?” you ask quietly, testing him, though you already suspect the answer.

Tywin’s expression hardens, his tone cold as steel. “I am not offering you a choice, Y/N. I am informing you of your future. It would be wise to accept it.”

A shiver runs through you, the weight of his words pressing down upon you. Arya continues cleaning in silence, her movements careful, but you feel the tension radiating from her. You force yourself to look away from her, to keep your focus on Tywin, unwilling to risk drawing his attention back to her.

Tywin’s eyes linger on you, cold and calculating, as he gestures to the guards stationed by the door. With a curt nod, he speaks in that same low, commanding tone, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Escort Lady Y/N to her chambers,” he orders. “See to it that the servants prepare her properly.” He pauses, considering you for a moment, as if appraising your reaction. “She is to be made presentable.”

You feel the urge to rebel against his words, to refuse, to assert the independence he seems so intent on stripping from you. Yet, you know that any defiance here would only play into his hands. Tywin Lannister has you cornered, and he knows it. His intentions are clear—control, alliance, and power, as always. And now, he intends for you to become part of that legacy.

The guards approach, and as they move to escort you, you stand, casting a final glance at Arya. You want to say something, anything to reassure her, to let her know you will look out for her. But you cannot. Not here, not now. Her head remains down, eyes trained on the floor as she finishes cleaning the broken shards of the pitcher, and you feel a pang of fear for her, lodged deep in your chest. You force yourself to look away, to keep your expression neutral as the guards lead you from the room.

As you reach the doorway, Tywin’s voice calls out, halting you momentarily.

“Ary,” he says, turning his sharp gaze upon her, “go to the kitchens and tell them to prepare a dinner for two.”

Arya nods quickly, bowing her head as she mumbles a quick acknowledgment, then scurries out of the room, slipping past you without so much as a glance. You feel a twinge of relief at her quick escape, but the fear doesn’t ease fully as the guards guide you down the halls.

The walk to your chambers feels long and heavy, the walls of Harrenhal closing in around you, a sharp reminder of your captivity. As you near the chambers Tywin has commanded be made “presentable” for you, your mind races, grappling with the implications of his intentions. A marriage—his twisted idea of protection, of binding you to him, as if that could erase the past or reshape your allegiance.

The door to your chambers opens, and the servants immediately set to work, preparing clothes, linens, a bath—all of it designed to fulfill Tywin’s idea of what a “presentable” lady should be. You endure it silently, your mind still reeling from his words, the promise of a future that feels more like a cage.

And somewhere, perhaps in the very kitchens beneath you, Arya is carrying out his orders, a young wolf in disguise, dancing on the edge of discovery.

[cameronspecial]

Could you write an enemies to lovers fanfic with Rafe Cameron x middle class sassy sarcastic chubby reader where reader and JJ are super close which pisses Rafe off but he completely loses it when JJ starts flirting, touching reader somehow, and ask her out. When JJ runs off somewhere to probably get a drink, a few minutes later, Rafe tells reader to come with him because it concerns her “boy” which is just an excuse to get her alone. She sees that JJ has a hand print on his wrist which causes reader to confront him and yell at him for hurting JJ and Rafe confess his love for reader which leads to praise and breeding kink sex. In this story, Rafe and Reader have known each other since she was 16 and he was 18 because she was his classmate at the kook’s academy

Everything Was Blue

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: SMUT and Swearing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.9K

Masterlist

Ever since he stole her spot as class President in their senior year at Kildare Academy, Y/N has had it out for Rafe. She would’ve been fine if he won the vote because he wanted the position, except he didn’t. He only campaigned for the title once he saw how much she wanted it. He was lucky that being VP was enough for her to get into Harvard because she would’ve killed him on the spot if it had. 

The year spent as his Vice President was torture and she made it her life mission to return the favour to him. He would provoke her by sending her out as an errand girl. He would solely focus on the aspects of the job that made him popular with their peers, so when it came to the background work or the less favourable policies, she was left to tend to them. Rafe promised the students to make every Friday casual dress day and Y/N spent a whole weekend by herself working to make that happen while he and the other Student Council Members partied at the Boneyard. She got back at him though by anonymously telling Ward where his bottle of expensive whiskey went. 

To add to her distaste for the Kook, he always antagonizes her Pogue friends and her relationship with them. She may be rich enough to afford Kook Academy, but the number in her parents' bank account was not satisfactory for the Kooks so the Pogues took her under their wing. They didn’t care what she had financially; they cared that she had whipcrack remarks against Rafe and would stand up for them against any Kook who tried to mess with them. She was an honour Pogue and proud of it, especially since hating Rafe was one of the requirements. 

———

The sand gives way to her shoes as she hops out of her jeep. Music coming in front of her tells her the party is already in full swing and she curses Mr. Robinson for being late coming home from his meeting. She reaches into the car to pick up her phone and keys from the passenger seat, closing the door behind her. She spins around to find Rafe leaning against the car beside hers. “For someone who put time-management skills on her resume, you sure are late to the party,” he teases and then brings the red solo cup to his lips. She glares at him. “Well, for someone who claims to be good in bed, you would assume you could make a girl cum. But, at last, I’ve heard otherwise.” She smirks at the way his eyes narrow and continues her journey toward the gathering of people on the beach. He pushes off the car to follow her. “So you’ve been asking how I am in bed. Why? You want to take me out for a ride?” She laughs at the idea, “More like enough girls have been dissatisfied with the service you provide that they felt the need to complain.” 

His mouth gapes and he can’t think of a comeback before she spots JJ in the crowd and makes her way to the Pogue. 

“Hi,” she greets, running her hand along the top of his back to drop it on his opposite shoulder. He turns to her with a smile, “Hey, Beautiful. Where have you been?” “Oh, you know how Mr. Robinson is. He tells you he’ll be home by six and he comes home at nine. C’est la vie,” she complains. He laughs and guides her toward the keg near the bonfire. “Ahh, yes. The things you can do as a Kook. Don’t worry, we can get you caught up.” She nods, “I can only have one though. I’m DD tonight.”

After they get her drink, the two of them approach the speaker and begin to dance. His hands are on her hips, swaying with her movement and her head moves from side to side with her eyes closed. They are both caught up in the moment, so they don’t notice the pair of eyes trailing their every move. 

Rafe can’t stop staring at her. He never can. He pretends it’s because he is scrutinizing her; his heart disagrees—the blue flowers on her catch his eye first. The corset-like top deliciously hugs her curves and he wants to untie the little bow that rests between her bosom. His sight trails down her body to the skirt of her dress. Its flowing design stops him from being able to imagine what his head would look like between her thighs. The high slit does give him a small glimpse that makes him want more. He finds JJ’s hands on her hips and something grows in his heart. A green spot of envy. What is he doing? He shouldn’t care that Pogue is touching her. He hates her. He has to focus on something else. 

Luckily, Hailey sees him in the crowd and wanders over to him. She takes the hand that isn’t holding a cup and places it on her hips, dangerously close to her upper bum. He plays along with her, lowering his face to her neck. His lips ghost her skin. His gaze chances a look at Y/N. His envy flourishes and his grip on Hailey tightens. JJ’s mouth skims the shell of Y/N’s ear and she throws her head back with laughter. 

“I’m going to go take a wiz,” JJ informs the girl after making a joke about the Kooks beside them. She bobs her head and steps back. Kiara slips into the spot occupied by their friend and the girls dance together. 

A plan starts to form at the sight of the blonde’s departure. He keeps his distance while the Pogue dips into the wooded era of the beach. As soon as his enemy makes a reappearance, he rushes forward. “Dude, come quick. Something happened to Y/N,” Rafe advises. The boy is too drunk to question the older man and his concern overweights his suspicion. He follows Rafe, thinking nothing that he is being led back into the woods. 

———

It’s been a while since JJ has returned from going to the bathroom and Y/N begins to worry that he passed out somewhere. She navigates through the sea of people towards where she knows he likes to go to the bathroom when they are at the Boneyard. Her eyes scan every blond, yet she doesn’t detect the one she wants. At the edge of the crowd, she finally locates the man she wants; however, he isn’t in the same condition as he left her in. A purple bruise blooms around his eyes and a red cut on his lower lip drips down his chin. His unaffected knuckles mean he didn’t even get a punch in. “J-jay, what the fuck happened? Who did this?” she worries, taking his chin in her hands. She examines his injuries. “I thought falling face-first into a tree trunk would be fun,” he jokes. “Who do you think did this, Y/N/N? The only person who wants to do this on a fun night out instead of partying.” 

She isn’t surprised. Anger seeps into the back of her throat and she searches for the person she wants to let it out on. He is around the fire with Kelce and Topper. She storms over to him. Her finger digs into his chest and he backs him up against the rocks behind him. “Where do you get off?” she screams at him. He chuckles down at her, “Normally in my bedroom, but I’m not opposed to doing it in public if that’s what gets you going.”  She scoffs. “Please, I’d rather do it with a cactus before I let you anywhere near you.” He fakes a pout, “Aww, you want a partner with an exterior as prickly as your personality.”

Her hand goes up to grip the collar of his button-up. “I’m not fucking joking around, Rafe. Why the fuck did you beat JJ?” she interrogates. His frown turns irritated and he steps forward. “He is a Pogue. What other reason do I need?” he instigates. She shakes her head and lets go of him. “You know what. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” With her attention no longer on him, disappointment replaces his envy. He can’t let her leave. “Wait.” His hand wraps around her wrist and she stumbles backwards. “What?” she questions. She pivots in his direction with rage in her eyes. He lets go of her and steps back with his arms up. His mouth drops open. He stutters, “Uhh.” His brain panics and forgets all the words. She shakes her head and returns to her leaving. He goes into overdrive, taking her hand and dragging her to the parking lot. Out here, the music is muted here. She rips her hand out of his hold and uses it to slap him. “What the fuck are you doing?” she yells. He rubs the cheek she hit. All the words in the English language, yet he can’t seem to string enough of them together to tell her how he feels. 

“I love you?” The declaration sounds more like a question with Y/N spinning her eyes in their sockets. “You can’t be serious. If this is your new attempt at torture, then you have to work on the technique,” she quips, trying again to distance herself from her enemy.

The breath he lets out doesn’t match the length of his others. “August 12th, 2020. At two thirty-four pm, you walked into Bell’s Cafe with Kiara. Your tank top was a blue spaghetti strap tied at the back and your jeans were black with white embroidered flowers. You ordered a blueberry scone and blueberry mint iced tea. You and Kie sat at the booth by the window closest to the door.” 

She interrupts him, “What does this have to do with anything?” He doesn’t acknowledge her inference. “She asked you how you felt about entering your senior year and you told her that you felt confident you would get into Harvard, especially if you spent most of your time doing Student Council work. She thinks she pieces together where he is going. “So you decide you would make my life hard to mess with my chances,” she assumes. His head swings, “No. No. Will you let me finish, please?” He waits for a response and she motions with her hand to continue.

“You like the colour blue and anything to do with it. You bite the back of your pen whenever you are in thought. A habit you are trying to stop. You like to listen to audiobooks in the car. I know those things because everything you do catches my attention and everything I do is to get yours.”

She finally hits the bullseyes, “You took the Presidency so that I would notice you?” Hearing her say it out loud makes him feel childish. His hand cups the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s stupid, I know. You were out of my league and my horny ass brain could only think of idiotic ways to be seen by you. You can’t say it didn’t work though,” he admits. She chuckles, “You really think I want to be in a relationship with you after you jeopardized my chances at getting into Harvard and have made my friends’ lives a living hell.” He steps closer to her, boxing her in against the car behind her. His head lowers to mimic the placement of JJ’s. “I think you like that I light a fire in your heart. I think every hateful stare we exchange is to mask our desire. I think that if I put my hand up your dress and under your panties, my fingers are going to come back soaking,” he says while his hand goes dangerously close to her entrance. “Shall I test the theory?”

His gaze bores into hers, anticipating an answer. He catches the small dip in her head and fulfills his requests. As expected, his fingers come in contact with a wet substance. He brings it up to his lips and sucks it into his mouth. His mouth drops back close to her ear, “Look at that, you are as wet as I thought you’d be. As sweet too. Reminds me of blueberry scones, except better.” His hand falls behind her near her rests and cups the doorhandle. He pulls it open, taking her back off the vehicle to shove her in. 

A thud resonates in her ears and she crawls back to lie down on the car seat. “Can I have another taste, Pretty Lady?” he begs, his eyes flicking down to her crotch. She exhales, “Yes.” He tuts and places his hand on her soft stomach. “That’s not how you ask politely.” She sneers at him, closing her legs and sitting up. “If you want to be that way, then I’ll find someone else to take care of me. Maybe someone with a better track record,” she postulates. She reaches for the handle. He grabs her wrist and spins her to face him again. He growls, “You are going to regret that.” He pushes her back against the seat, throwing her legs over his shoulders. The hem of her dress pools at her waist and her blue lacy thong is revealed. He groans at the wet spot forming. He drags it down his legs and throws it to his back seat. His eyes peek to where it lands. He grins when he sees they are wrapped around his gear shift. Those aren’t going anywhere. 

Her bare pussy shines up at him; he licks his lips in apprehension of his meal. His head dives in, making contact with the sweet substance. She jerks forward in a moan and her fingers attempt to grip his shaved head. The smirk he wears presses against her. The slurping that fills the car is pornographic. She whines at the release of pressure. His chin glistens as he looks up at her, “See, Pretty Lady. You can’t listen to what random people say. You have to get the facts from the source yourself.” Her plump pout has him chuckling and he squeezes her thick thighs. 

He focuses on her bud, sucking and nipping like his life depends on it. His saliva pools at the edge of his lip and it drops at the edge of her entrance. He places his tongue inside of her, curling towards him. Her walls start to coil around him. His fingers pass through his mouth and jam them into her hole at a fast pace. This unravels her and she constricts around him, making it hard for him to pull out. His hand rests on the mound above her clit. He messages the skin and she releases a bit to make it easier for him to remove his fingers. He rises from between her legs. His lips press against hers and she tastes herself on him, causing a need to regrow against her. He grinds his closed hard-on against her. “You did so good, Pretty Lady. You make such pretty sounds,” he murmurs to her. “I’m going to fuck you so dumb that everyone knows who you belong to now. Whether that be from how loud you scream tonight or you start singing my praise or your belly rounds with my baby. You are mine.” 

One hand is used to take off his belt and he yanks down his underwear with his pants. “You ready, Pretty Lady?” he confirms with his eyes on her. She circles her arms around his neck to bring him near her face and connect their lips. “Fuck me right now, or I’m going to go tell everyone that you can’t even find the hole.” A snicker passes his lips and he lines himself with her entrance. He doesn’t give a warning this time as his hips slam forward, causing their pelvic bones to be flushed. He sits up and raises her hips. The new angle mixed with the pace of his pistoning gets his tip where it needs to be to cause her the maximum amount of pleasure. “You are doing so well, Pretty Lady. You are going to make the best mama for our baby. Can’t wait to see you get all round,” he praises. 

His thumb reaches her bud and rubs it clockwise. “Harder,” she orders him, bucking her hips up to meet his motion. He grabs the headrest to anchor himself and drags his cock out so that his tip rests inside of her. His re-entrance is swift and with a harder force than before. “You feel so good, Pretty Lady,” he moans. “I’m not going to last.” She feels the warning jerk that confirms the truth of his words. She clenches around him, helping him to the edge. He spasms inside of her and rides out his high. His limp dick comes out and he is about to lean forward to help her to her second release when she stops him. She uses her hand to bring him up with a shake of her head. “What’s wrong? You didn’t finish, so I was gonna help you out. Can’t have you running around telling people I can’t make you come,” he jokes, trying to get back to work. She kisses him. “It’s okay. I don’t need that right now. All I want is for you to hold me.” He grins at her words and flips them over so she is on top of him. Her head is on his chest. The car is silent and the windows are fogged over from the activities that were happening inside. She decides to get one last word in, “And for you to apologize to JJ.” His grumble has her laughing into the night. 

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[tora-the-cat]

I don't care much for akatsuki sitcom antics EXCEPT. In relation to Itachi Kisame Deidara and Tobi. Deidara HATES both Uchiha and thinks that Kisame is the only respectable guy here. Kisame doesn't like Deidara because both Uchiha are the only people on this side of the continent he gives half a shit about (his best friend and his weird ward, respectively). Obito is having the time of his life hanging out with literally his only friend, his adorable grumpy cousin that he has to keep an eye on but has enough self preservation not to talk to, and the single most amusing person in the world to fuck with. Itachi listens to Kisame and likes him well enough maybe, but mostly he's just dissociating at all hours UNLESS Tobi opens his fucking mouth and then Itachi uses every ounce of 16 y/o autistic girl swag possible to psychicly induce heart failure. Doesn't even notice Deidara is there most of the time, even though Deidara spends most of his time talking shit about Itachi. This obviously only pisses off Deidara more, making Kisame more annoyed at the blonde and Obito infinitely more amused, rinse and repeat until they spiral into attempted murder over literally nothing. Smashcut to Hidan three rooms away fucking an 80 year old bounty hunter next to the corpse of a ritual sacrifice hearing them yell through the walls and going 'thank Jashin I'm normal'.

[no-144444]

listening ears on- z.guanyu

Day 16 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: How come when you try to set Zhou up, it ends badly?

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zhouguanyu

liked by oscarpiastri, vallterri bottas, pierregasly and 568,920 others

zhouguanyu: thank you melbourne, yet another fucking p18 👍 (was nice to see the piastri family though, and to see osco up on that podium :)

comments

landonorris: jesus dude don't jump

oscarpiastri: i love u zhou :)

nicolepiastri: ❤️❤️❤️

nicohulkenburg: better than me, p19 :(

user45: we need a psych ward.

user33: AUDI DOMINANCE NEXT YEAR TRUST ME (i'm delusional)

user82: ZHOU NO I LOVE YOU

y/nbottASS: no you're too sexy haha plz don't die ->user22: HUH? ->user32: ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

user29: we're so cooked -> y/nbottASS: HAVE SOME FAITH IN MY BOYS -> lewishamilton: ??? I was p2??? -> y/nbottASS: GOD, NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT U GIRL (YAY LEWIS P2 congrats)

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y/nbottASS

liked by jackdoohan, arthurleclerc, pierregasly and 987,263 others

y/nbottASS YOUR HONOUR THEY WERE BEING SILLY

comments

user46: NURSE SHE'S OUT AGAIN

arthurleclerc: I open this app and sigh

user77: shitting myself why does arthur look so confused

oscarpiastri: princess jack making an appearance i see. -> y/nbottASS: fuck off you got a home win and i cried. that's what you fucking get. -> landonorris: i don't think you needed to clock him so hard? -> y/nbottASS: go fuck yourself. you and your boyfriend can cry together -> oscarpiastri: oh! we're being so normal I see! 😁

user66: 'my honest erection'? -> y/nbottASS: correct.

user88: every time she posts I just know the drivers shiver in fear liked by valtterribottas, pierregasly, yukistunonda, lancestroll, alexalbon, olliebearman, liamlawson, kimiantonelli, jackdoohan, georgerussell, lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, danielriccardo, checoperez, nicohulkenberg, arthurleclerc, fernandoalonso, carlosainz, estebanocon, oscarpiastri, landonorris ->user56: NOT ALL THE DRIVERS IN THE LIKES -> user99: NUH UH, ZHOU ISNT!!!!!!!! -> user45: zhouy/n truthers rise.

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y/nbottASS

liked by pierregasly, zhouguanyu, landonorris and 1,383,938 others

y/nbottASS: MY GOAT ZHOU IN THE POINTS?????? HOME RACE KING!!! (also jack and @/friend1 are sickeningly in love)

comments

jackdoohan: thanks for being our matchmaker :) -> y/nbottASS: don't mention it jackie boy (I'll kill you if you hurt her)

zhouguanyu: THANKS Y/N

oscarpiastri: MY GOAT GUANYU

alexalbon: SUCH A GOAT

lewishamilton: MY GOAT

jackdoohan: pookie in points 🥺

landonorris: ICON I LOVE HIM HE'S SUCH A LITTLE DUDE

valtteribottas: missing me much? @/zhouguanyu -> zhouguanyu: so much...😿

user44: JACK AND WHO? -> user55: that's one of y/n's friends! she's a model and y/n set them up! -> y/nbottASS: they're so cute aren't they!!!!

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arthurleclerc

liked by y/nbottASS, pierregasly, charlesleclerc and others

arthurleclerc: happy 6 months to my beautiful girl. @/sabrinacarpenter

comments

user54: 'thank you y/n' we all say in unison.

user77: THEY'RE ADORABLE YOUR HONOUR

user88: SINCE FUCKING WHEN??? -> user27: y/n introduced them. -> user88: OHHHHHH i get it now

y/nbottASS: my otp

sabrinacarpenter: omg we're so hot -> arthurleclerc: facts

user29: who has y/n set up? like everyone on the grid right? -> user99: y/n has set up most of the couple son the grid including : akex and lily, sabrina and arthur (ik he's not on the grid but yk), jakc and @/friend1, charles and alexandria, fernando and melissa, george and carmen, kika and pierre, lando luisinha (when they were together), max and pietra (ik they're not on the grid either, anyway), valtteri and tiffany, and somehow looks like she does and is single?????? -> user66: she's been BUSY

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y/nbottASS

liked by zhouguanyu, pierregasly, yukistunoda and 876,926 others

y/nbottASS over and out silverstone! (i've been so busy matchmaking that i haven't posted myself!)

comments

user87: OMG she is everything

user63: she's so GORGEOUS

zhouguanyu: karting was such a mess 😹 -> landonorris: you two went karting without me? wtf. -> y/nbottASS: yes? mf you're not invited. -> landonorris: oh. -> y/nbottASS: mf you cheat. -> oscarpiastri: FINALLY SOMEONE AGREES.

pierregasly: looking close... ->user23: SPILL RIGHT NOW -> user45: PIERRE KNOWS SOMETHING WE DONT?

lewishamilton: working hard or hardly working? -> y/nbottASS: secret third option: inside your walls! -> roscoelovescoco: oh...!

user88: they're so adorable.

user77: why am I becoming a zhouy/n shipper...? -> user32: bc they're so CUTE together.

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zhouguanyu

liked by pierregasly, charles leclerc, carmenmundt and 3,897,474 others

zhouguanyu happy y/n day! I LOVE YOU

comments

y/nbottASS: HARD. LAUNCH.

limited comment section.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[miley1442111]

dinner revelations and reactions- r.cameron (part 3)

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a/n: this takes place in a au where the stuff that happens in the show doesn't happen :)

tropes: childhood bestfriends to lovers, enemies to lovers

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader, jj maybank x reader (dw, not for long)

(use of Y/n, and the nickname Bunny/ bun (but i promise not in a weird way there's a story to it i swear it's not just one of those weird smut things))

summary: rafe and you finally confront each other and it doesn't end as planned, neither does you night...

warnings: mentions of drugs and drug use and drinking, fighting, cursing, rafe is a dick, rafe's mental health, reader is going through it, smut (18+)(fade to black a little bit??) , kissing, alcohol, having sex while being drunk (?), drinking, kind of alcohol abuse, mentions of dead parents and sibling, rafe being jealous, rafe is also going through it (and I think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

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Rafe sat across from you, and you felt his eyes on you the whole time. He had no right to be affecting you like this, making you nervous, making you irritated, worst of all, making you feel anything. 

“So, Bunny,” Ward started. “How are your folks? I haven’t heard from them in a while.”

You felt your throat close, and an uncontrollable coughing fit started. Sarah hit your back and it finally stopped, but you excused yourself for a moment, not knowing what to do. You walked to the kitchen, a glass of water in hand, different to the strawberry daiquiri on the table, the one that Rose had insisted on making you. You felt yourself tear up as you thought about your lonely life. The past 3 had been the worst of your life. Coming home to an empty house, having to clean out their bedroom and everything else they owned, having no choice in how they went. A lot of your college friends ditched you at that time too, you didn't tell them what happened and you stopped coming out with them, so you drifted. It was so fucking hard. And explaining it would be difficult too. 

You hadn’t even noticed you’d started crying until Rafe had put his arms around you. 

And then there was the Rafe heartbreak. Your best friend and first love drifting away mere months after you moved to a whole new place, full of new people, and new ways to live. It was unfunny how upset you’d been, not leaving your room (except for going to school or for mealtimes), you almost broke your phone, you were so upset, and you got rid of anything (aside from the friendship bracelet you still wore) that reminded you of him. 

But for just a millisecond, you allowed yourself to enjoy him being there for you. 

Despite promising yourself that you’d never speak to him again when you turned 16 and he hadn’t replied in months, when big life events happened, you’d texted him. You’d texted him when your parents died, when you graduated with honours, when you got accepted into your dream college, and every single time, it always said that he read your messages. He knew what was going on, he knew you needed him, and he did nothing. 

You pushed him off of you and sighed. “Don’t try to comfort me now. That’s not fair,” you whispered, trying to stop yourself from crying. 

“Bun, please I’m-” he started, trying to take your hand, trying to make you look at him. To see the distress he was in, to notice the effect you had on him, to know that he still cared about you. 

“No!” you groaned, crossing your arms and moving further away from him. Thank god they had a huge kitchen. Rafe was always the focal point in every room, he drew attention in from everyone. His charisma, his smile, his looks, everything. Every time you entered a room he was in you were engulfed by Rafe, and it wasn’t fair. “Rafe, I don’t want your pity!-”

“It’s not pity-”

“Well I don’t want your help!” You finally stopped crying, the sadness easing but all that was left in its wake was rage. “I needed you, when I was a scared 15 year old girl in a new city, on the other side of  the country, I needed you when my brother died, I needed you when my parents died, I needed you when I was scared to move to college, I needed you when my first boyfriend and I broke up, and you weren’t there Rafe. But just because I needed you then, does not mean I need you now. You are exactly what is wrong with everyone on this island. You’re a prejudiced, privileged, piece of shit, asshole, drunk, with too much time and money on his hands. Get a job, work for something, for anything.” 

Rafe just stood there in shock. You pushed past him, rejoining the table.

“Sorry about that,” you chuckled. “My parents…” You paused and took a deep breath. “They died three years ago, sorry I didn’t call to let you know.” 

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Rafe sat across from you, and he had no idea what he was going to do. 

“So, Bunny,” Ward started and he rolled his eyes. Bunny had been a nickname Rafe had given you, and it had always bothered him when his dad used it, or when Rose used it, or when basically anyone but him used it . “How are your folks? I haven’t heard from them in a while.”

Rafe watched as your coughing fit began and he knew why. A sense of dread settled itself deep in his stomach and he sighed when you left to get a glass of water. He started getting up, then turned to Rose. “She doesn’t fucking like strawberry darquiri’s,” he spat.

He walked into the kitchen as quietly as possible, seeing how you sobbed with a hand over your mouth over the sink. He couldn’t help but feel partly responsible, and he hated seeing you cry. He felt you stiffen and quiet when he pulled his arms around you, then he held you closer as you started crying more. He’d missed you so damn much. He knew he should’ve responded, even after all these years, even when he fucking yearned to talk to you. But he’d made his bed and he had to lie in it. 

Losing you was one of the hardest things he’d ever gone through, and it wasn’t like his mom, where he could blame external forces, he was stuck with knowing that you being gone was his doing. That he’d driven you away at the ripe old age of 14. He loved you, and you’d left, but he just couldn’t see a universe where someone as lovely as you wanted him to stay, so he left. And he was stupid for leaving, and even worse for not apologising, but he was never known to go back on his word. As he held you, he thought about all the time his dad had said something, had hit him, and he thought about the fact that he could’ve talked to you. He could’ve called and asked for your advice, he could’ve heard your voice.  

And he noticed how your hands stayed on his body, not pushing him away, and he smiled. 

He felt awful for his behaviour. He should’ve been there for you when your brother and when your parents died. He knew he should’ve driven to fucking California and held you at the funeral. Let you cry on his shoulder. He should’ve been sending you supportive texts as you entered college, he should’ve been facetiming you asking about courses and classes, he should’ve been there to tell you that your asshole boyfriend wasn’t the shit. He remembered how he’d gone on a two-day bender when you texted him to say you had a boyfriend. He’d never been so jealous, and he hadn’t seen you in years. But he knew, he knew your spirit and he knew how beautiful you’d grown up to be. He knew your personality and your smile. It wasn’t fair what he did, but he knew this wasn’t about him. So, he just enjoyed being wanted by you, even if it was just for a few minutes. He didn’t deserve you in any capacity, but you still stood in the kitchen, his arms around you as you cried. 

You pushed him off of you and sighed. “Don’t try to comfort me now. That’s not fair,” you whispered. And the moment was over, but Rafe still had to try. 

“Bun, please I’m-” he started, trying to take your hand. He needed you to see him. He needed you to look at him, and look at the desperation in his eyes. He needed to explain that he hadn’t felt alive since you’d been gone, and having you here, being able to hold you? It had brought him back to life. 

“No!” you groaned, crossing your arms and moving further away from him. Fuck this huge kitchen, he wanted you closer to him, but he knew not to overstep. He stood at the sink and you paced slowly. Rafe was being driven out of his mind with these mixed signals. This wasn’t fair. “Rafe, I don’t want your pity!-”

“It’s not pity-” He tried to reason, his anger bubbling, but he took a deep breath to try and settle it. 

“Well I don’t want your help!” You finally stopped crying, the sadness easing but all that was left in its wake was rage. “I needed you, when I was a scared 15 year old girl in a new city, on the other side of  the country, I needed you when my brother died, I needed you when my parents died, I needed you when I was scared to move to college, I needed you when my first boyfriend and I broke up, and you weren’t there Rafe. But just because I needed you then, does not mean I need you now. You are exactly what is wrong with everyone on this island. You’re a prejudiced, privileged, piece of shitty, drunk, with too much time and money on his hands. Get a job, work for something, for anything.” 

Rafe just stood there in shock. You pushed past him, rejoining the table. He felt sick. No one had ever called him out like that, you had never spoken to him like that. He stood in the kitchen, and for the first time in years, he cried. He felt a genuine tear fall down his face and he knew he was fucked. 

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You showed up outside John B’s place, wanting to find Jj. None of it made any sense, it never had. Rafe, your parents, your brother, everything. 

“Hey Y/n,” He smiled, opening the door. You pushed past him inside and to his bedroom. “Everything ok?” He asked, following you.

“Do you have something strong?” You asked and he smirked. 

“Yeah,” he reached behind you to a cabinet and produced a bottle of Polmos Spirytus Rektyfikowany Vodka. 

“What’s that?” You asked, looking over to Polish bottle. 

“95% abv,” he smirked. “Strongest out there.”

You uncapped it and took a large swig. Jj chuckled when you had no reaction. 

“Good,” he smirked, then took the bottle off of you and drank some himself. 

The night went on through a haze of alcohol, laughter, and a weird energy in the air, something you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. 

“You tired?” He asked, a smile on his face. 

You didn’t answer, just pressing your lips to his. His hands grabbed your waist as you pulled him down on top of you. You needed to forget, to be distracted for a few hours, for one night to not be inside your own mind. Jj could serve that purpose, and maybe more. You just knew you needed to stop thinking.

“A-are you sure?” He asked, pulling away for a beat as you pulled his shirt off. 

“So sure,” you nodded and kissed him again. He smirked as you desperately pulled at his hair. 

He pulled down your trousers and pants in one fluid motion and he groaned. “You’re fucking gorgeous. All of you.”

He smashed his lips onto yours once again. Next his pants were down and he wax putting a condom on, then he was inside you and fuck. He was big. 

“Jj!” you whined as he sunk into you. His forehead was already laced with sweat. 

“Yeah baby?’ he gritted out, using all of his self-control to give you a minute to adjust. 

“So big,” you groaned. 

“You can take it,” he grunted as he started to move. You were so wet, so tight, so perfect. He couldn’t get you out of his head, and this was a lot better than what he was imagining. 

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You weren’t sure what time it was when you fell asleep, but you were fucking exhausted. You fell asleep with his arms around you, and you woke up the same way, with your head pounding and the uncontrollable urge to vomit.

What had you done?

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

obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

taglist: (comment to be added :))

@hockeybabe87 @maybankslover @anightlikethisss @linaaaaa654 @ijustwanttoreadlols @ihe4rttwd @sunny1616 @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafeecameronsbitch @drewswifeeee @lovegeorgia @houseofperfecttaste @ymnizuh

[jayujus]

JOAH (I LIKE YOU) - NI-KI SMAU

synopsis ❀ : in where fashion student and model, jo y/n, has been openly crushing on dance student, riki nishimura for god knows how long. that is until one day, she crushes on someone else and riki goes feral.

featuring ❀ : (ZOA of WEEEKLY as yn's faceclaim), enhypen maknae line, new jeans' danielle, treasure's junghwan, xikers' junghoon, p1harmony's soul and jongseob, &team's taki, konon, ive's wonyoung + maybe more to come

genre(s) ❀ : fluff, angsty, kinda love triangle, crack ??

warnings ❀ : kys jokes n that stuff, cursing, riki's mean, ignore timestamps

started ❀ : june 9 2023

completed ❀ : august 1 2023

taglist ❀ : closed

authors note ❀ : tbh this is my first time actually posting on this account and i'm a bit nervous as to how this smau will play out 🥲 also so so sorry if its boring 😭 i'll try to update everyday if possible, but as of june 23, i will be a little less frequent

profiles ❀ : we told her to buckle up 🤷🏻‍♀️ | hi stink 😝

chapters !

01 : PLS ONE CHANCE BRO

02 : so mean

03 : keshi concert

04 : he thinks i'm pretty?

05 : can't let go

06 : konon's advice

07 : time to move on

08 : yn's character development

09 : junghoon's bold era

10 : the truth hurts

11 : the what if's

12 : date night!

13 : regretful

14 : riki's depression

15 : mixed emotions

16 : not so smart

17 : new best fran 💬 0.4k + smau

18 : we've been replaced

19 : i think he needs some water

20 : cringe :/

21 : shota's schemes

22 : bouquet of roses

23 : top 10 worst anime betrayals

24 : predicament

25 : make amends 💬 0.4k + smau

26 : operation: win yn over!

27 : #exposed

28 : MAMA 😭😭😭😭😭

29 : honest feelings

30 : #ditched

31 : RICE 🍚😫😫

32 : he really is rizzki

33 : d-day 💬 0.8k + smau

34 : enchanted

35 : psych ward

end

copyright © jayujus 2023 all rights reserved

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Coconut (The Surprise, Part 21)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: mentions of sex (but no smut), general pregnancy anxiety, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Your nesting instinct is kicking in hard and causing you some anxiety. But Emily is here to help make it better.

Week 31: The Coconut

You froze on your laddered perch in the nursery, dripping handled squeegee pressed against the chalkboard wall that the BAU had painted a few weeks ago, as you heard Emily knock on the open door.

“Uh… what’s going on in here?” she said, looking at you with equal parts concern and amusement.

You’d noticed today that it was dusty. And every time you passed the room, you could see more chalk dust, as if it was taunting you. Accumulating on the surfaces, making sandy little dust clouds on the hardwoods, sifting its way into the baby’s lungs, causing something horrendous and scary and life-altering, like polio or meningitis.

“The chalk wall was a bad idea, Em,” you said, huffing as you lowered the squeegee into the mop bucket. Emily surged forward to hold your forearms as you stepped down from the ladder.

“Don’t love the idea of you on this thing…” she muttered, more to herself than to you, then shook her head and looked at you, planting a quick hello kiss on your cheek. “What’s wrong with the chalk wall? I thought you liked it?”

You crossed your arms and bit at your lip, worried. You were so worried these days.

“What if it gets in her lungs or something, and she gets sick? I just…” You started to tear up despite yourself, sniffling and wiping at your eyes. “I want her to be safe. I have to keep her safe.”

“Oh, honey,” Emily said, placing her hands on either side of your face. “He will be safe. He’ll be so safe. We baby-proofed the hell out of this place, you know that. Come here, sit down. You’re okay.”

You lowered yourself gently onto the top step of the ladder, placing your hands over your baby bump, and feeling scared. So scared. You felt scared all the time right now, couldn’t seem to ward it off, no matter how you tried to distract yourself. You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself down as Emily crouched next to you, rubbing your hand with her thumb, then kissing it.

“What’s going on, huh? Can you tell me?” she prompted.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, shuddering. “I’m scared something will happen to her before she’s born. I’m scared something will happen after. I’m really fucking scared of labor. I’m scared I’ll get hurt, so she’ll get hurt, and it’ll be my fault.”

“Okay, well, for starters, let’s not get on the ladder. That should help,” Emily observed, then quickly backtracked when you started crying harder.

“Honey, you’re not gonna hurt him,” she insisted, taking both your hands in hers and resting her chin on your baby bump as she knelt in front of you. “You are so good at taking care of people. You take care of me. He should be a piece of cake in comparison!”

You laughed, wiping snot from under your nose.

“And, baby, a little chalk isn’t going to hurt him. We want him to have fun, too, remember?”

“I know…” you choked out.

Emily watched you sniffle, your eyes puffy, looking terrified and bedraggled, and she wished she could take it from you. She wanted you to see yourself the way she saw you: strong and kind and caring and protective. She wanted you to know that it was not just your responsibility to keep the baby safe. It was hers, too, and it was a job she took very seriously–for both you and him.

“What if something terrible happens, Em?” you whispered. “During labor?”

She sighed and looked at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Be honest. Did you watch more 16 & Pregnant?”

You looked down. “...No.”

“Y/N…” she chastised.

You sighed. “Yes.”

Emily kissed your forehead, then grabbed a piece of chalk and started doodling on the wall.

“Babe, you’ve got to stop watching that. It just makes you nervous. Also, you’re not sixteen.”

You watched as Emily drew on the wall–a lumpy oval with a few lines and a smiling face. Above it, she wrote Don’t worry, be happy!

“See?” she said, showing off her work. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s all gonna be okay.”

You squinted your eyes at the smiling lump. “What am I looking at?”

Emily’s face fell a bit. “It’s a fish! You know, like one of those that hangs on the wall and sings the song.”

You raised your eyebrows and smirked. “You sure? It looks like a puddle with eyes.”

She surged forward to tickle the spot just under your arms that always made you giggle, and you fought her half-heartedly as she planted fluttery kisses across your face.

“Alright, Picasso, let’s see you do any better,” she argued.

Over the course of the evening, you and Emily decorated the whole wall. You drew all the things you hoped the baby would love. Storybooks and lines of music, a little black cat and a very wobbly Eiffel tower. After a while, the pizza Emily ordered arrived, and you felt weepy all over again that she knew that a greasy slice of pepperoni goodness was just what you needed this evening. Emily always knew what you needed, sometimes even before you did. You didn’t even mind the chalk all over your clothes, all over the walls and the floor, in your hair. You wiped your hands off on paper towels, then sat cross-legged on the floor of the nursery, eating slices of pizza right out of the box.

You finished filling in all the blank spaces on the chalkboard wall, around a big, stick-figure drawing of you and Emily and a little ambiguous human. You’d bubble-lettered the words Welcome home, little love! above it, and Emily had colored it in, all rainbows and bright colors and polka dots. And when you stood back to admire your work–it really did look like a toddler had drawn it–you took Emily’s hand in yours and leaned against her shoulder. Yes, there was a lot to worry about bringing a new human into the world. Yes, you were, by nature, an anxious person. But Emily was your port in the storm. She was strong where you were weak and weak where you were strong. You fit together perfectly. And as the little one kicked against your stomach, you knew that there was a space, where you and Emily came together, that was just the right fit for this tiny human. There was no sense in worrying where she would fit in your life, in the world. She already had a space. In your heart, in your world, in your very bodies.

You and Emily sat under the window in the Bunting glider you’d repurposed from your grandma’s house. You’d opted for a glider instead of a rocker because you knew when Emily was here, she’d want to be with you and the baby always, especially when rocking or feeding, and on the glider, there was room for all of you. You cracked the window a bit, just enough to hear the birdsong but not enough to let in the heat. Your feet dangled over the armrest of the glider, the back of your head in Emily’s lap as she ran her fingers haphazardly through your hair, to the same rhythm that she pushed the glider back and forth, back and forth, with her feet.

“Do you remember the night we moved in together?” you asked her quietly, not wanting to disrupt the soft beauty of the moment.

She looked down at you and smiled, her eyes bright with memory. “I do.”

The fading evening sun shone perfectly through the nursery window, the little crystal Penelope had bought you refracting tiny rainbows all throughout the room. You laughed and talked about nothing and everything, and it really did remind you of when you and Emily moved in together–all hope and possibilities and excitement for what was to come. You’d sat on a floor, not so dissimilar to this one, and eaten pizza just like you had tonight, and she’d laid you down gently, so gently, on the newly-unfurled rug. She’d kissed you again and again and told you that she wanted to be near you always, forever. And your heart had surged because no one had ever wanted you like that before. No one had wanted you always. No one had wanted you near. But Emily did. And when she made love to you that same night on that same unfurled rug, you’d cried. Not because she hurt you, not because you were sad or forlorn or mourning the end of your single era, but because you were not used to being so fully, wholly wanted. Wanted not in part, not just sometimes, but for all of you.

“Are you sure about all this, Em?” you asked, gesturing to yourself, the baby, the room.

She chuckled. “Well, it’s a little late if I’m not, isn’t it?”

You smacked her lightly on the arm. “I’m serious.”

She bent over you, her hair falling in your face so that you wrinkled your nose. She placed a hand on either side of your head, just watching you for a moment, smoothing her thumbs over your eyebrows. “I’m sure, honey. I’ve never been so sure about anything.”

Maybe it was your face that gave you away, your face that revealed your inability to believe fully, even all these years later, even after all the daily reminders, big and small, of just how much Emily loved you, that she didn’t want out. Whatever it was, she could see it, and, like she always did, she put it to rest.

She squeezed your head lightly, as if to knock her love through your thick skull.

“I’ve been sure about you since the night we met. Get it through your head, dork. I’m not going anywhere. If I was, I’d certainly have left before now.”

You scoffed. “Ouch.”

She shrugged, grinning a little. “I’m just saying! I had plenty of outs. I didn’t take them. I didn’t want to.”

“You promise?” you asked, but at this point you were just fishing for affirmation. You knew Emily. You knew she meant what she said.

“Y/N,” she said, staring down at you so forcefully you couldn’t help but laugh. “I married you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you said, grasping her hand and kissing the inside of her wrist.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

fruit stand

words: 1.2k

warnings: none, just very cute rafey <3

“rafe.”

“what is it rose?” he asks, looking up from his phone.

“i need you to pick up some fruit at the stand down the street. i need two watermelons.”

rafe rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to tell her to do it herself. there is some big dinner party tonight, and ward and rose have been overly stressed about it to the point it’s driving him crazy.

“alright, i’ll go now.” rafe stands up with a stretch, considering bringing wheezie long for a moment, but when he peeks in her room, he sees her nose deep in a book and decides to leave her alone.

rafe shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks down the street. he’s seen it briefly when driving by, the small fruit stand positioned on the corner of his block. he would think that the other people in the community wouldn’t want someone selling there, but he guesses that having easy access to fresh fruit makes up for it.

“hello there!” your voice brings rafe out of his thoughts.

he can’t speak. you’re like a ray of sunlight, bright smile on your face, dressed in a warm yellow sundress and sandals, hair down and slightly curly. you look effortlessly beautiful, and rafe has never felt this way just looking at a woman before.

“what can i get for you today?” you ask, gesturing to the fruit in front of you.

“i-” rafe clears his throat. “just two watermelons.”

“great! we have two sizes, i’m guessing the bigger one because you want two?”

rafe has no idea what rose wants, but he nods quickly anyways. “yeah.”

“alright, great! that’ll be $16. if you have cash, you can drop it in that box, we don’t take card but i have venmo, cashapp, and paypal on that sign.”

rafe quickly scans the sign in his venmo app, sending you the money. you don’t even check that it’s gone through before you’re handing him the watermelon, each now netted in a red mesh to make it easier for him to carry.

“oh gosh, that’s heavy carrying both. do you want to use my cart to take it back home? you can drop it back off any time before 6 today.”

“no, i got it.” rafe doesn’t want you thinking he’s weak as he carries one watermelon in each hand, hoping that the workout he did earlier today means his muscles are on display.

“alright!” you say, flashing him another smile that makes his knees buckle. “have a great day!” “you-you too.” rafe walks away, replaying the entire interaction in his head and cursing himself. he’s never had a problem talking to women before, even ones he finds attractive like you.

he spends the rest of the evening, all throughout the dinner party thinking of you, and he swears the watermelon tastes sweeter than normal.

--

“hello again!” you smile at rafe, recognizing the handsome man who visited your fruit stand only a couple of days ago.

“hi.” rafe smiles back, eyes quickly flipping from your face to the fruit in front of you.

“what can i get you this time…” you trail off, hoping he will provide you with his name.

“rafe.”

you smile. you’ve never heard the name before, but it fits him perfectly. “rafe.” 

“just some strawberries.” rafe picks up the box. he doesn’t even particularly like strawberries, but he would use any excuse to come back to see you again. he hopes it’s not creepy, that you just see him as a returning customer, not one with an embarrassing crush on you.

“great! that’ll be $4.” 

rafe thought ahead and brought cash this time, stuffing a $10 bill into the cardboard box.

“do you want change?” you ask upon seeing that he paid double the price.

“no, it’s a tip.” rafe smiles, hoping it comes off as genuine. he easily forgets how much smaller amounts of money means to people who aren’t as fortunate as him.

“well thank you, rafe.” you say, “i’m y/n, by the way.” you reach across and shake his hand. rafe swears he feels a slight zap at your first time touching each other.

--

“i’m going to go pick up some lemons.” wheezie says as she walks through the living room.

“wait!” rafe says. “at the fruit stand down the street?”

“yeah.” wheezie rolls her eyes like it’s obvious.

“i’ll come with you.” rafe says, getting up and smoothing out any wrinkles on his shirt.

wheezie gives him a weird look. “why? i’m 13, i don’t need you to babysit me.”

“shut up, let’s go.” rafe says, butterflies building in his stomach at the thought of seeing you again. he tried his best to find you on instagram, but with no last name, he had no luck.

wheezie rolls her eyes but lets rafe walk with her. 

“hey rafe!” your voice has him seeing stars, giving you a little wave.

“this is my little sister, wheezie.” he introduces her.

“hello there, wheezie! what can i get you?” you ask as she scans the fruit, smiling when she lands on the yellow citrus. “just some lemons!” 

“making lemonade?” you guess, and wheezie nods as she inspects the fruit.

“hold on, i’ve got some bigger ones down here.” you kneel down under the fruit stand, searching for the lemons that you were saving, looking too good to just put out.

wheezie looks up to rafe with a smirk. “that’s why you wanted to come” at least she whispers it.

“shut up.” rafe whispers out as you pop back up, holding a bag of lemons. “perfect!” wheezie says, reaching across to take it. wheezie goes to get money out of her pocket but rafe stops her, not wanting you to think that he wouldn’t pay for his little sister. he quickly scans the sign and transfers you the money.

“thanks so much wheezie!” you say with a smile, before looking at rafe, and he swears a faint blush comes over your cheeks and your voice drops an octave as you say “thank you rafe.”

--

rafe heads back to the fruit stand around 6pm, hoping that was your closing time. he sees you starting to load up fruit into the back of a pick up truck for the night, and he hurries his step up.

“let me help you.” rafe says, and you startle at his unexpected appearance.

“oh, god, rafe, you scared me.” you press a hand to your chest.

“sorry.” rafe laughs gently, you’re surprised face was just as adorable as every other face he’s seen you make. “you can hand me that crate.” you say, and quickly fall into an easy rhythm, rafe handing things up to you while you stand in the truck bed, organizing them to get everything to fit. it halves the time it usually takes you to clean up.

“all done!” you say, accepting rafe’s hand down. you take the last couple things, like your open sign and money box, and throw them in the passenger seat.

“hey- um…” you come to stand back in front of rafe as he struggles to get his words out. “i was wondering if you wanted to go grab dinner? with me?”

you’re only slightly surprised by his question, rafe hasn’t exactly been hiding his attraction to you. “yeah, yes.” you nod. “that sounds great.”

rafe smiles and lets out a breath of relief.

[echobx]

soulmates 1 - jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: y/n is on a double date with her boyfriend when she runs into her actual soulmate

warnings: none

word count: 3.5k

author's note: idk what to say

masterlist

In a world where you could hear your soulmate's thoughts, as long as they were thinking about you, as long as they were at least 16, it was still very difficult to find them. Most people would go their whole lives without even meeting the person they were connected to, most people had found their peace with it, and so had you…

“I'm taking you out for lunch,” your boyfriend, Kelce, pressed a kiss to your cheek. You had never heard his thoughts, but that was okay. Maybe you were secretly sad about it, but a lot of people had the same issues as you. You had anticipated your sixteenth birthday like any other kid, but even more so because your parents were soulmates, having grown up together they had gotten lucky. But you weren't blessed with the same luck. This wouldn't mean that you didn't love your boyfriend. No, Kelce was nice and sweet and loved to show you off to his Kook friends.  The split between Kooks and Pogues had never been to your favor. Your parents were hardworking middle class, too poor to be Kooks, too wealthy to be Pogues. 

“Where are we going?” You smiled at him. “Country Club, haven't been there in a while, especially with you.” He smirked and you had to laugh.  “I see, you just wanna show me off,” you giggled, not at all foreign to the concept. You got up and tugged on your dress to make it fall evenly.  “You are so beautiful,” he complimented you and leaned down into a kiss.  You were an uneven couple, everyone could see it, but you didn't mind it at all. You knew that they all just saw him as the rich kid that got in fights with Pogues because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. But to you, he was kind and loving and just the best boyfriend you could wish for. He made you forget that you weren't even soulmates.  “Will the others be there?” you asked while the two of you walked out of his house and towards his car.  “Just Topper and I think his new girlfriend. He's been so up my ass ever since Sarah dumped him for that Pogue John B. I hope the new one will help,” Kelce said and held your door open so you could get in.  “I hope he can forget about Sarah, it's not like they were soulmates,” you noted while he got in too. “Right?”  “I don't know, he never told me,” Kelce shrugged and started driving. 

It had been a real scandal when the Kook princess had run off with the Pogue, no one could understand why she would do such a thing, but to you, it was clear. You didn't have to look at them twice when you saw them around town, they were clearly meant for each other, they had gotten lucky.  You hoped that you might find your person once you moved away to college. The statistical probability of finding your soulmate in a close radius to your home was pretty low. That's why multiple companies were now making big profits with the desperation of people who just wanted to be happy. They created apps and websites to “help” you find “the one”, but even those only helped in about 30% of the cases.  All in all, your chances were pretty low, but you had just turned 17, and had been with Kelce for only three months. Your life was still ahead of you, your chances were still not completely low. But you also told yourself to not hope, to not get caught up in the search because you didn't want to end up like the people they sometimes showed on TV. 

“… and then he just hits a hole in one on the last game, can you believe it?” Kelce laughed, and you realized that you hadn't paid any attention to his story.  “Impressive,” you note and smile at him.  “Yeah, but God, I miss that guy.” It took you a moment to figure out that he was talking about Rafe. Rafe Cameron, Kook prince, technically after the death of his father Ward, the new Kook King, but you didn't care so much about semantics. He had left Kildare, where to, you didn't know, but you knew he was out for the big money, just like his dad.  You reached for your boyfriend's hand and held it, hoping he would find some sort of solace in your touch. You hadn't known Rafe well either, you still didn't know many of Kelce’s friends because you had mostly been focused on each other at the start.  “I think he's gonna come back.” Your words gave him a bit of hope, and he smiled before parking the car. 

Kelce got out and opened the door for you, like he always did, like a gentleman would. “Chivalry is a must,” your mom had always told you. From a young age on, she had made sure that you knew your worth and held your standards up high.  “Thank you,” you blushed as he closed the door again and pulled you into his side.  “We're going all out, sugar. Double dates deserve some extravaganza,” he chuckled.  “Oh, how darling of you,” you said in a pretentious voice, and the two of you laughed even more. It was easy with Kelce, he made you feel good about yourself, and you had wished nothing more than for him to be your one and only. 

You walked inside and someone guided you to your table, Topper and his new girlfriend, Sheila, already sitting there.  “I'm sorry for being late,” you apologized to Top and gave him a quick hug before sitting down opposite of him.  “Oh no, we were just a little early,” he brushed it off and then started talking to Kelce about a new boat he wanted to buy.  You would've talked to Sheila if her eyes hadn't been fixed on the waiter. 

He was tall, had blond tousled hair and his shirt sat tightly on his body, showing off that he had muscles although looking rather lean compared to Kelce.  ‘Not bad,’ you thought to yourself, and his head perked up, and he started looking around. ‘Just a coincidence, nothing more, there are many people here who are thinking about him. He's working, of course you think about your waiter. Hell, Sheila hasn't been able to even take her eyes off him and Topper doesn't even notice,’ you had turned back to looking at Kelce, not noticing that the boy was now eyeing your table very carefully.  ‘Don’t tell me she's a fucking Kook,’ you could suddenly hear an annoyed voice in your head.  “Everything okay?” Kelce asked and brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” he joked, and you shook your head, trying to regain composure.  “Yeah, no, I'm okay, just remembered the time I saw a guy run over a cat. I don't know why I thought of that,” you lied, and he gave you a quick kiss. You couldn't let them know what had just happened to you, especially not Kelce, you couldn't break his heart. 

“Topper,” the boy came over and greeted him with a fake smile, not even giving Kelce or you any attention.  “JJ, nice to see you,” Topper laughed lightly.  ‘JJ? Peculiar name,’ the thought popped into your head, but he didn't turn to you, instead he looked directly at Sheila, who seemed to be more than intrigued by him.  “What can I get you?” JJ asked, still only looking at her.  Topper ordered for the two of them, as well as for Kelce and you because JJ still hadn't paid us any attention. Then he walked away and you had to scoff. 

“What an asshole, right?” you mumbled to yourself, and Kelce immediately kissed your cheek.  “The amount of times I wanted to rip that smug smile off that Pogue’s face,” he hissed and watched JJ vanish inside. Your heart got heavier, it had been clear that there was something between them, but the fact that the boy enraged Kelce this much meant nothing good.  “He couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of you,” you chuckled at Sheila, trying not to seem too disappointed by it.  She laughed and put her hand on Topper’s shoulder. “Oh, that Pogue wishes.” But you knew the look she had given him, everything else was just a very bad lie in your eyes.  “Yeah,” you laugh quietly, before getting up. “I'm gonna go freshen up just a little,” you told Kelce and he nodded.  “Don't be too long, or I'll come find you,” he joked, a loving smile on his lips as you turned around and walked inside. 

‘Fucking Sheila? Why her? Why not me? I was right there, asshole!’ you screamed at JJ in your mind, knowing well enough that he would hear it.  ‘What are you talking about?’ the voice in your head replied, his voice.  ‘I didn't even want a fucking salad, okay! I wanted fries! But no, you couldn't even dare to look at us and ask what I wanted. And now I'm stuck with a stupid ass salad, because Topper is stupid,’ you let out all of your frustrations as you checked your makeup in the mirror of the restroom.  ‘Fuck!’ he exclaimed inside your head, and then it was silent again. 

You got back to the table and just a moment later JJ arrived with two of the four plates. He still didn't give you any notice until he came walking back, with a steak for Kelce and a plate of fries for you.  “She didn't order fries!” Kelce barked at him, but you just put your hand on his thigh.  “I did, I changed my order inside,” you lied without giving JJ a single look.  ‘Never seen Kelce act like a fucking dog. Who are you, pretty girl?’ JJ thought, but you couldn't let it show how much it made your heart falter.  “Why are you still standing here?” Sheila asked loudly, and you finally turned around to look at JJ. Your eyes met, and you couldn't be sure if it had been your own or his thoughts that let a silent “wow” slip.  “My bad, enjoy your food,” JJ said, still staring at you as he walked away, unable to take his eyes off of you, really.  “Why was he looking at you like that?” Kelce asked and you gulped lightly.  “I don't know,” you mumbled and started eating. 

‘What's your name, pretty girl?’ his voice was back in your head, and you nearly would've spit out your water. ‘You already know mine, so it's only fair. And it's not peculiar. I just don't like what my parents chose, so I'm doing my own thing,’ he explained, and you could see him walking around, doing his job while very casually trying to get to know you.  ‘I have a boyfriend,’ you remind him, but he just laughed inside your mind, a nice wholehearted laugh that sounded almost like music to you.  ‘I’m glad you like my laugh, princess, but don't forget about your boyfriend. Isn't he the best? Only tried to kill me last year,” JJ’s words made you choke on a fry.  “Hey, y/n, are you okay?” Kelce asked, and you nodded, taking a sip of water to try and calm your throat.  “Yeah,” you said and tried to smile at him. You knew of his temper, being the only one who could calm him down most times, but you would have never thought that he would actually willfully hurt someone so much that they would potentially die.  “We can leave if you don't feel so well,” he spoke in a soft voice, but you couldn't stop thinking about it. About how he must've hurt JJ, about what he could've done to him.  “I'm fine, really,” you pressed out and turned back to your plate, half empty, but you felt like eating another fry would just cause you to throw up. “I'm just gonna use the restroom real quick,” you excused yourself and all three of them gave you a weird look, but let you leave without further questions. 

‘Where did you go to, pretty girl? I didn't mean to scare you,” his voice was back in your mind.  “Stop talking!” you screamed and stopped in your tracks, you hadn't even noticed that you had actually said it out loud until the whole Country Club was staring at you. Quickly, you ran towards the restroom and hid in a stall.  You didn't know how much time passed as you hid and cried into yourself. This was definitely not how you had imagined it going, having him so close but so far, being caught in between a feud that you hadn't even known existed.  ‘Hey, princess, he's getting impatient, and I really don't wanna deal with that shit,’ JJ whispered to you.  ‘Y/n,’ you told him. ‘That’s my name. But everyone calls me y/n/n, apart from my parents, my parents call me Bean, because I only ate beans as a baby.’ You didn't even understand why you told him this very particular thing about yourself, when you had never let anyone know about your parents' weird nickname for you.  ‘Cute,’ he chuckled. ‘Will you come out again? I don't want to have to come in there, and then have to give you back to him as if he should have any claim over you,” JJ muttered, he was disgusted by the thought of Kelce kissing you.  ‘You don't have to be so mean, I can still hear you. Also, that's disgusting, he doesn't kiss like that,’ you thought but had to laugh about how weird he made it look in his head.  ‘Makes it more bearable though,’ JJ admitted.  ‘I have to talk to him, how the fuck am I supposed to do that? He already hates you.’ You buried your face in your hands.  ‘I won't let him hurt you, princess,’ he replied to your thoughts and the more you talked to each other just like that, the less you had to fight yourself to hide it, everything got easier. It was like listening to music while doing homework, as long as you kept on concentrating on what was in front of you, the music wouldn't bother you too much. But it also could be all encompassing as soon as you let it.  Yet you also wondered why he was so protective of you, a girl he had only just met.  ‘My best friend had a lot of issues, Sarah got hurt in the process, not badly but still. I don't want that for you, for us,’ JJ explained, and you wiped your tears away.  ‘Topper’s ex?’ you asked and stood up, wiping your dress down to seem more respectable again.  ‘Sarah, yes, I bet you heard. Kooks and Pogues don't always mix well, but she's a Pogue now,’ he spoke of it so casually as if he didn't mind at all.  “I'm neither,” you spoke up, but you knew he could still hear you.  ‘Your boyfriend is a Kook, that's already too much,’ he said and the disgust that he held for Kelce was incredibly draining.  “I don't choose who I fall for. It's not my fault,” you told yourself as if it was a manifestation. 

‘Do you really love him?’ JJ asked just as you walked out of the restroom, he was leaning on the wall opposite of the door, eyeing you wearily. “I don't know,” you replied out loud, and he couldn't help but smile, suddenly everything you had thought to know of love was thrown out the window. This feeling was completely different from anything you had ever felt before, and you never wanted to feel anything else ever again. ‘I would kiss you, but I'm not gonna give him any ammunition to hate you more than he already will once he finds out,’ he thought as his eyes darted down to your lips. It was like you were frozen, both unable to move as you stood on each side of the hallway.  ‘Probably better.’ You smiled and blushed a little over his boldness.  “They have been asking for you quite a lot, wondering where you are, why you aren't coming back. And yet not one of them made a single move to go check on you,” JJ spoke with a low voice.  “I should really go back then,” you whispered, and he gave you a small smile before you turned and walked back to the table. You knew he felt the small tingling feeling that settled in your guts, you knew he could feel you because you could feel it in him too. No one had ever mentioned that it wasn't just thoughts, but a direct connection into the inner world of the other. 

“I'm sorry, I’m really not feeling too well,” you apologized while sitting back down at the table.  Topper eyed you, and you felt like he knew, like he could see it in your eyes. “I can drive you home,” he suggested sweetly.  “I don't want to cause any trouble, I can just call an Uber,” you said and turned to Kelce. “I'm really sorry.”  “Nonsense, let Topper drive you home and if you don't feel better I'll just come by, and we can watch a movie together.” He smiled and put his forehead to yours.  ‘Oh, vomit,’ JJ’s thought popped into your head just as Kelce placed a small kiss on your lips.  “Uh, yeah, we can do that,” you told your boyfriend and got up. “See you later then,” you said and walked away with Topper by your side. 

You didn't want to think of JJ; you didn't want to think of hurting Kelce; you didn't want to think at all, but as soon as you were sitting in Topper's pickup truck he turned to you.  “Tell me it's not JJ,” he said as if you had committed a crime.  “I don't know what you mean,” you lied.  ‘We really gotta work on your lying skills, princess,’ JJ chuckled.  “I know that look, I had to look at it for two months before Sarah admitted it to me. Promise me to not break his heart, it's already hard enough as it is,” Topper said and you nodded shyly.  “I didn't want this,” you said, but JJ just laughed, and you had a hard time pushing him into the back of your mind.  ‘Are you only good at lying when you're doing it to yourself?’ “I had hoped that it would be him, and then it wasn't, and I was okay with it. I didn't want this now, I was okay with it never happening. I don't want to hurt him,” you started crying and Topper leaned over and hugged you. He had never hugged you like that before, it felt good to be cared for by someone who wasn't Kelce for once. “Please don't tell him,” you whispered as Topper pulled away again.  “I won't, but you should, as fast as possible, actually. It's only been three months, you haven't even said I love you yet, right?” Topper asked and turned on the engine.  “Yeah, no, we haven't. I just don't know how to. How do you tell someone that?” you asked, but he couldn't give you an answer that wouldn't hurt either of you in the end.  ‘You just say, “Hey, Kelce, you big asshole, I'm actually already bound by the universe to the very charming, extremely hot and sexy JJ Maybank. See ya’” or something like that,’ JJ told you, but you couldn't reply, your heart felt too heavy, heavier than you ever imagined possible.

“Top?” you asked quietly. “Yes, y/n/n?” the boy answered just as he stopped in front of your building.  “Kelce hates him, JJ, I mean. They hate each other, don't they?” You already knew the answer, but you hoped for some more intel on it all.  “Yeah, it's not pretty. I tried to stay out of it, it was mostly Rafe's fault, but the Pogues aren't that innocent either. It's better if you tell him before anything happens, trust me. I don't want to see you get hurt,” Topper explained with a sad smile. You didn't know that he cared so much about you, never truly having considered him your friend.  “Will you look after him, or just make sure he doesn't do something stupid once I-” The words got stuck in your throat but Topper just nodded.  “Took me some time to understand it, that you don't have a choice in this. He's gonna have to accept it,” he said, and you opened the door to get out.  “Thank you,” you said and wanted to close the door to walk towards your home.  “Y/n? If you need anything, you can just call me, just because you and Kelce are gonna end, doesn't mean we aren't still friends,” he told you and you nodded.  “I'll remember, thanks for the ride,” you said goodbye and walked towards the apartment building.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

part 2

[cpericardium]

Compilation of Megafire's Wildbow Essays (Imported)

I haven't read all of them myself, but the few I did were always worthwhile and interesting, so I thought I'd index them here for anyone who hasn't heard of them or checked them out. As I recall, these were written by Megafire as the chapters were coming out.

CHARACTERIZATION OF CAROL IN WARD

REDDIT INDEX

Chapter 3.6 

The Warden's HQ, or, Playing With Time

Chapter 4.6 

Natalie, or, Working Through Proxies

Chapter 5.9 

Power Dynamics, or, Why Carol Love(s/d) Mark

Chapter 6.3 

Trust, Safety and Control, or, General Opinion

Chapter 7.4 

A Glimmer of Hope, or, Victoria and Carol have an Actual Conversation!?

Chapter 8.2 

Meeting the Parents, or, Never mind, Carol is Back to Being Carol

Chapter 8.9 

Baby Steps, or, Carol Manages to Respect Boundaries for Once

Chapter 9.12-9.13 

Bonus Damsel Interlude, or, This Will Pay Off Later, I Promise

Chapter 10.1 

The Diner, or, I Yell a Lot

Chapter 10.y 

Bonus Chris Interlude, or, This Has Nothing to Do With Carol, I Just Really Like This One

Chapter 12.1 

Ruminating on New Wave, or, Why Mark Loves Carol

Chapter 12.2 

Carol vs Damsel, or, I Told You It'd Pay Off

Chapter 12.f 

Ryan and Cradle, or, What It Means to be Good, and, Competing Access Needs, or, Why the Dream Room is the Worst

Chapter 12.9 

The Bubble, or, Making You Feel Even Worse About Carol Getting Hurt

Chapter 14.5 

The Greenhouse, or, Carol Brought Low

Chapter 14.6 (Sort of) 

Drawing Similarities, or, What's Left for Carol

Chapter 14.7 

Chris' Crossroads, or, Screw It, I Guess I'm Talking About Chris Too Now

Chapters 14.9 + 14.10 

Her Mother's Daughter, or, What Amy Learned From Carol

Chapter 14.12 

Piecing Together Chris, or, What Do Monsters Mean?

Chapter 15.7 

Slaves to Fate, or, Predictions and Responsibility

Also Chapter 15.7 

Ultimate Agency, or, Who Is Contessa?

Chapter 16.4 

Mockeries and Funhouse Mirrors, or, Paths Not Taken

Chapter 16.y 

Attempted Therapy, or, Amy Is Not Doing Well

Chapter 17.1 

Family Issues, or, Confrontations Vis-a-Vis Parentage

Chapter 19.1 

The Curious Case of Sarah Pelham, or, A Basic Overview of the Shit That Happened to Sarah

Chapter 19.9-19.10 

The Talk, or, How To Screw Up Your Kids In One Easy Conversation

Chapter 20.e6 

Carol: Final, or, What Has Carol Learned? (Hint: Not Much)

---

PALE ANALYSIS

REDDIT INDEX

Verona and her Dad, a Transactional analysis

Why Verona's Dad is a Literal Manchild - mostly about Out on a Limb 3.1, but with references to 3.4

Adults, Parents and Children

Lucy is Verona's Only Good Parental Figure (and That's Kind Of Sad) - Leaving a Mark 4.2

Pale: Justice

The Cast Of Law And Order: Kennet - Cutting Class 6.z

Practitioner Supremacy

Boy There Are Some Real World Parallels Here - Gone Ahead 7.1

Practitioner Parenting

Regular Old Bad Parenting - Vanishing Points 8.4

Abuse

Brett is an Absolute Bastard - Shaking Hands 9.9

Avery's Games and Gimmicks

Breaking Patterns Is Hard - Dash to Pieces 11.10

Transgressive Acts

Why the Mussers are like the Spartans - Break 5

Practitioners and Others, a Binary

The Binary is a Lie! - Gone and Done It 17.x

Judging the Judiciary

What About the Judges? - Crossed With Silver 19.z

Hostile Environment

Power Plays for the Future - In Absentia 21.12

[cal-flakes]

╰┈➤ bestfriend’s to lovers hc’s

warnings: nsfw mentions, mentions of violence.

: ̗̀➛ if y/n had to describe her friendship with rafe cameron, it would certainly be partners in crime.

: ̗̀➛ they’d been best of friends for years, ever since they met on the playground. he’d found her crying underneath the climbing frame because jason todd said she was ugly.

: ̗̀➛ for rafe, that was it. the was the moment he decided he was going to stick by her side forever, and he did.

: ̗̀➛ and you can put money on him going and beating the ever living shit out of jason todd for what he did. if anything, it became a life long vendetta, rafe never forgot what he did, not even by the time he and y/n turned 19.

: ̗̀➛ but nevertheless, it sealed the deal. he protected her life his life depended on it, and she’d attempt to keep him away from trouble.

: ̗̀➛ it was so undeniably opposites attract like you’d never seen opposites attract. y/n was just a small, harmless little girl. and rafe? well, he was rafe, a snarky little boy who enjoyed getting into trouble.

: ̗̀➛ ward and rose adored her more and more throughout the years, she was always welcome at tannyhill.

: ̗̀➛ they saw her influence on rafe, and hoped she’d knock some sense into him when she could.

: ̗̀➛ they also saw her unbelievable kindness, she was always down to help around the house if she could or if wheezie needed help with homework.

: ̗̀➛ she’d even be there when rafe wasn’t, just so she could hang out with his family.

: ̗̀➛ “you scared the shit out of me!”

: ̗̀➛ “i’m part of the furniture rafe, i’m literally always here”

: ̗̀➛ when they reached the ages of parties, alcohol, drugs and sex, they experienced everything together.

: ̗̀➛ they were each others first kiss, they did their first line of cocaine together, their first drink together, when i say everything, i mean everything.

: ̗̀➛ things got a bit sticky when it came to sex, when they were 16, rafe was already a mouth watering sight, he was tall and muscular, what girl wouldn’t want him? so there he was, a new girl on his arm

: ̗̀➛ and y/n was physically gifted too, a beautiful face and prominent curves, but she was a lot more reserved, she didn’t want to give away her virginity to just anyone.

: ̗̀➛ so when it came down to it, and she’d been made to feel insecure about it, rafe offered to be her first.

: ̗̀➛ “i..are you sure?”

: ̗̀➛ “of course i’m sure y/n”

: ̗̀➛ they both pinky promised each other it wouldn’t be weird after, and it wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

: ̗̀➛ and it didn’t, but feelings certainly blossomed after.

: ̗̀➛ the next few months we’re filled with burning jealousy and rage for one another, seeing the other flirt with other people.

: ̗̀➛ around this time, little arguments ensued as they discreetly sabotaged the others relationships.

: ̗̀➛ “did you tell rachel i had an std?”

: ̗̀➛ “what? no of course not..”

: ̗̀➛ “rafe! you can’t just beat the shit out of any boy that gets close to me!”

: ̗̀➛ “i didn’t like the look of him…”

: ̗̀➛ it wasn’t until sarah had to mediate one of their bigger arguments that they were finally confronted by their growing feelings for one another.

: ̗̀➛ “can you guys just kiss and make up already? it’s about time..”

: ̗̀➛ and that’s exactly what happened.

: ̗̀➛ as they stared at each other, the initial anger of the situation slowly dissipating, they both leaned in, their lips connecting aggressively.

: ̗̀➛ rafe’s hands lingered on her waist as her found their way onto his face, cupping his jaw as she deepened the kiss.

: ̗̀➛ “i love you, i always have..”

: ̗̀➛ the pair were even more powerful in a relationship as they were before.

: ̗̀➛ having finally admitted and confronted their feelings, they need to protect one another only grew.

: ̗̀➛ wherever y/n went, rafe was never far. whether she was working a shift at the island club, or shopping around town, he’d always be lurking, scanning the people around them for potential threats.

: ̗̀➛ she found it particularly amusing whenever someone tried to hit on her, entirely oblivious to the 6’2 giant sneaking behind them, observing his prey.

: ̗̀➛ together, they were like a punch. y/n was the swing, the split second you have to dodge the incoming impact. rafe was definitely the punch, he’d lost count of the amount of people he’d beaten to a pulp just for looking at her, never-mind attempting to talk to her.

: ̗̀➛ both of their parents would watch on in awe as the two spent time together at one another’s houses. admiring the love they had for each other at such a young age.

: ̗̀➛ and it certainly wasn’t coming to an end any time soon.

[novaursa]

Legacy (bloodlines)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: golden roses

- Next part: sun over the capital

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The memory drifted back to you like a ghost, stirring from the recesses of your mind as you sat alone. The journey through memories was an ache you seldom indulged, but tonight, you found yourself slipping back to that long-ago time at Winterfell, when grief still clung to you like a heavy, suffocating cloak.

It was early morning when Lord Eddard Stark returned to Winterfell, bringing with him a bundle in his arms—an infant, quiet and blinking against the harsh northern light. Snow dusted lightly the ground, falling softly from the sky, blanketing the familiar courtyard you had come to know as your refuge. You’d been taken in as a ward, but you were still a stranger in these halls, a Targaryen displaced from the south, grieving the family you had lost and wrestling with the weight of exile.

You’d heard the sound of horses clopping, the quiet murmur of voices, and the muffled shouts of men and women gathered to witness the return of Winterfell’s lord. You’d stepped out into the cold, your breath visible in the frigid air, just as Eddard Stark dismounted, a small, swaddled bundle in his arms.

Lady Catelyn was already there, her face pale with shock, her gaze fixed on the child her husband held. You could see the strain in her stance, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her cloak, her eyes blazing with an anger she tried to keep in check.

“What… what is this, Ned?” Catelyn’s voice was taut, barely concealing the hurt that laced each word. “What have you brought home?”

Lord Stark looked at her, his expression steady, though there was a flicker of regret in his gaze. He glanced down at the child, who was silent, his small eyes wide and curious, wrapped tightly against the chill.

“This is Jon,” Eddard replied softly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “He is my blood.”

Catelyn’s face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. “Your blood?” she repeated, her voice tight. “You bring him here, to Winterfell, without a word? And expect me to… accept him?”

Eddard looked away, his face heavy with an unspoken sorrow. “This is the way it must be, Cat.”

But her eyes narrowed, her voice trembling. “And what of my own child? What of Robb?” She shook her head, her expression hardening. “I… I will not raise him as mine.”

You had lingered nearby, uncertain whether to approach or retreat, caught between your own mourning and the scene unfolding before you. But Eddard’s eyes found yours, something quiet and resolute in his gaze.

“Lady Y/N,” he said gently, his voice carrying across the cold air. “Will you come here?”

You took a tentative step forward, and then another, feeling the weight of his request settle heavily on your shoulders. When you reached him, he carefully extended the bundle toward you, his expression softening as he placed the infant in your arms.

“This is Jon,” he repeated, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and hope. “He will need someone to care for him, someone with kindness and strength. I believe he’ll find that in you.”

You looked down at the baby nestled in your arms, his small face framed by a tuft of dark hair, his eyes bright as they looked up at you with innocent curiosity. In that moment, something inside you softened, the grief that had clung to you easing just slightly. You’d lost so much, but here, in your arms, was someone new—a child who, like you, was displaced, cast into a world he did not yet understand.

Catelyn looked away, her expression unreadable, her shoulders rigid with hurt and anger. The strain between her and Eddard remained unspoken, a crack in the air between them, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned and walked away, her footsteps brisk, leaving the two of you standing alone in the courtyard.

Eddard watched her go, his face shadowed by a sadness he didn’t speak. After a moment, he turned back to you, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Winterfell is a place of family, of loyalty. I want Jon to know that, even if… even if some find it difficult to accept.”

You nodded, understanding the depth of his request. “He will know loyalty,” you promised, looking down at Jon’s small, peaceful face. “I’ll see to that.”

Lord Stark gave you a small, weary smile, his gaze filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly, the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. “I know you carry grief as well… but perhaps Jon will bring some light to you, as I hope he will to this family.”

You glanced down at the child in your arms, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest as he shifted, his tiny fingers reaching out, gripping the fabric of your cloak with surprising strength. In that moment, you felt the beginnings of something new—a connection, a purpose that anchored you to this strange, cold place.

You raised your gaze to Eddard, meeting his solemn expression with a soft smile. “I will look after him, Lord Stark. I promise.”

Eddard inclined his head, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Winterfell is his home now. And yours, if you’ll accept it.”

The memories wash over you anew, vivid and warm, pulling you deeper into a time when Winterfell had truly become your sanctuary. You remembered those early years, watching Jon grow from a tiny, curious infant into a spirited young boy with eyes that held wisdom beyond his years. In him, you saw a reflection of yourself—someone caught between worlds, shaped by loss yet untouched by bitterness.

You remembered the nights spent sitting by the fire, telling him stories of your family, of dragons, of Valyria. He’d listen with wide eyes, clutching your hand as though each tale held him spellbound. You would hold him close, feeling his small heart beat against you, a reminder that, though your family was gone, life continued. With Jon, you found healing, and in return, you gave him a mother’s love, fierce and unbreakable.

Then there were the other Stark children—children who grew to see you as family as well. Arya, with her boundless energy and mischievous spirit, often dragged you outside to chase her across the training yard. She’d laugh wildly, hair flying, challenging you to keep up, her small fists swinging as if already preparing to become the fighter she so longed to be. “Catch me, Auntie!” she’d shout, her voice ringing through the stone walls.

Then there was Sansa, delicate and careful, who would sit with you in the godswood, mimicking the embroidery you taught her, her tiny fingers fumbling with the needle but never giving up. “Is this right?” she’d ask, her blue eyes filled with wonder, watching your hands move in practiced, graceful patterns.

Robb, already showing signs of his father’s steady strength, would sit at your feet by the hearth, asking questions about the South, about knights and battles, his mind ever curious and eager. He’d watch over Jon protectively, even as a child, as though sensing the weight Jon carried.

And Jon himself, with his solemn gaze and his quiet determination. You’d watch as he grew older, learning to wield a wooden sword, determined to prove himself worthy. “I’ll protect Winterfell one day,” he’d say with a quiet conviction, as if he already knew his path, though uncertain where it would lead.

You’d loved them all, but Jon held a special place in your heart, a bond forged not only by duty but by the healing he’d unknowingly given you. He was your light, your purpose, and in those years at Winterfell, you found the family you’d thought forever lost.

Then, like lightning piercing through the warmth of memory, flashes began to break your reverie—a vision that felt both familiar and strange.

You saw Brandon Rivers—the Three-Eyed Raven. His face was calm, wise, as he looked at you, his pale skin half-shrouded by darkness, his eyes distant yet focused, as though he saw beyond what lay in front of him. He spoke to you warmly, his voice deep and resonant, echoing in a way that felt like it came from both near and far.

"Y/N," he said, his tone carrying a kindness that surprised you. “You have always walked a path between two worlds—one foot in the past, the other in the future. You belong to both the fire and the ice.”

You tried to respond, but words failed you as his image flickered, shifting between shadows and light. He stepped closer, the air around him tinged with an otherworldly power, his presence overwhelming. You felt a strange warmth spreading within you, a sense of understanding, of something connecting you not just to the past but to a future yet unwritten.

“Be wary, and be steadfast,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. “You have always held more strength than you realize, and it will be tested. But remember… love and loyalty are the true gifts that time cannot touch.”

His voice faded, and you felt the world around you shifting, as if pulled away from the vision like mist dissipating in the morning sun.

The memories vanished, leaving you seated alone in your chambers in the Red Keep. The familiar coldness of the stone walls crept back, and the echoes of laughter, the warmth of children’s voices, faded like an old song carried away by the wind.

You sat there in silence, the ache of longing filling your chest, as though Winterfell itself had drifted out of reach, leaving only the weight of duty and loss. But you took a steadying breath, reminded of Bran’s words, reminded of all that had made you strong.

As your hand rested on the arm of your chair, you whispered to the empty room, your voice soft, yet filled with resolve. “For them, I’ll endure. For Jon… for all of them.” And in that quiet promise, you felt the strength of Winterfell once more, a thread of warmth that even the coldest of stone walls could not steal.

The candlelight flickered gently on your desk as you carefully folded the letter, its edges crisp and neat. You’d taken time with every word, each stroke of ink on the parchment deliberate and filled with unspoken emotion. When you finished, you pressed the wax seal firmly, marking it with your insignia, knowing this small mark would carry your words across leagues of ocean to a distant land.

The letter was for her—your little sister, Daenerys. You don't even know her face, but the thought of her, alone and so far away, left a deep ache in your chest. This letter, filled with words of guidance, caution, and perhaps even a hint of hope, was the only way you could reach her from the walls of the Red Keep.

A soft knock broke the silence, and you straightened, composing yourself before calling out, “Enter.”

The door opened, and Barristan stepped inside, nodding respectfully before allowing Varys to enter. The Spider moved with his usual quiet grace, his robes sweeping the floor as he approached, his expression calm but curious.

“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, his voice smooth and polite. “You requested my assistance?”

You nodded, extending the sealed letter toward him. “Yes, Lord Varys. I need this delivered, but… discreetly. Your network is more than capable, I trust?”

Varys’s eyes glinted with interest as he took the letter, his fingers brushing over the wax seal as he inspected it. He seemed to understand the weight of the task without needing to open it, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “I assume this letter is intended for someone of great importance across the Narrow Sea?”

You met his gaze evenly, your voice steady. “Yes. It’s for my sister, Daenerys. I need her to receive this without any interference. There are… words she must read.”

Varys inclined his head, his expression thoughtful, though there was a faint smile playing on his lips. “A most delicate task, my lady, but one that is well within my means. Rest assured, the letter will reach its intended recipient without delay.”

You watched him carefully, noting the subtle curiosity in his gaze. Varys was not one to let opportunities for information slip by, yet he was also wise enough to know when not to pry too deeply. “I trust you understand the importance of this remaining… undisclosed,” you added, your tone firm. “Not even Tywin is to know.”

He gave a small nod, his voice soft yet reassuring. “Of course, my lady. My discretion is as much a part of my service as my knowledge. Your secrets are safe with me, as they have always been.”

You felt a slight sense of relief, knowing that Varys, for all his cunning, was a master at weaving delicate threads of information without breaking them. “Thank you, Varys. You’re doing a service that reaches beyond mere loyalty.”

He allowed himself a slight smile, bowing his head. “I consider it my duty to serve the realm in ways that many may not understand. And if this letter reaches a distant Targaryen across the sea, then perhaps… the realm will be the better for it.”

The hint of sentiment in his words surprised you, but you chose not to question it. Instead, you watched as he tucked the letter away in his robes, securing it with practiced care. He looked back at you, his face unreadable, though his voice held a quiet reverence.

“Your sister is fortunate, my lady. Few would extend such care from so far away.”

Your expression softened. “She is still my blood, Varys. She carries the legacy of our family, one that I fear she doesn’t fully understand. This letter… it’s a reminder that she is not alone, even if she believes herself to be.”

Varys nodded, his gaze turning contemplative. “The world is often less forgiving of those who carry a legacy. But sometimes, reminders like these are the very things that can sustain one through trials they cannot yet foresee.”

With a final nod, Varys inclined his head and took his leave, slipping through the door with the same quiet grace he had entered. Barristan, ever vigilant, offered you a respectful glance as he resumed his post outside, closing the door behind him.

Alone once more, you allowed yourself a deep breath, feeling the weight of the task settle over you. You had done what you could; now, it was up to fate, and to Varys’s many hidden connections. Somewhere across the sea, your words would find Daenerys, your sister, the last thread connecting you to the family you’d once known.

And though miles stretched between you, you hoped your words would serve as a reminder to her that the blood of dragons was never truly alone, that somewhere, family still held her close—even if only in spirit.

The dining hall was aglow with the warm light of many candles, casting a soft, golden hue over the long table adorned with lavishly prepared dishes. You sat beside Tywin, with a place set for you among the Lannisters and Tyrells—a “family dinner,” as Tywin had announced it, though the atmosphere in the room suggested anything but familial warmth.

To Tywin’s left sat Joffrey, who looked distinctly unimpressed, though his fiancée, Margaery, wore her usual gracious smile as she conversed with him. Across the table sat Cersei, her face set in a strained smile, her gaze occasionally flickering to you with barely concealed irritation. Next to her, Loras sat with his own quiet dignity, and beside him, Mace Tyrell was in high spirits, making conversation with Tyrion, who sat at the far end with a smirk that showed he was observing everything with keen amusement. Tommen and Myrcella, seated beside Tyrion, seemed enchanted by the occasion, their young faces lit up by the feast before them.

Myrcella, in particular, had drawn close to you throughout the evening, leaning over to engage you with shy questions about your family’s history and tales of dragonriders. Her soft, eager whispers reached you as she asked, “Lady Y/N, is it true you lived in the South when there were still… dragon eggs in the Red Keep?”

You gave her a warm smile, charmed by her interest. “Yes, Myrcella. There were indeed dragon eggs kept in the Red Keep, though they were said to have turned to stone. Still, they were a reminder of a time when dragons soared above Westeros.”

Her eyes sparkled with awe, and she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think… do you think dragons could ever return?”

You paused, giving her question the weight it deserved. “One never knows, dear,” you replied softly, your voice filled with the warmth of shared secrets. “Dragons are creatures of magic, and magic has a way of returning when least expected.”

Across the table, Cersei’s gaze sharpened, her lips pressing into a thin line as she watched her daughter’s rapt attention on you. She said nothing, but her displeasure was unmistakable, her posture stiffening with each whispered exchange.

Meanwhile, the conversation around the table had turned to the approaching wedding of Margaery and Joffrey, with Mace Tyrell boasting proudly about the preparations in place.

“It will be an event for the ages,” Mace declared grandly, beaming at his daughter. “Nothing but the finest for my Margaery and the king.”

Joffrey looked indifferent, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he glanced at Margaery. “I would hope so. A king deserves nothing less.”

Tyrion chuckled under his breath, though he concealed it quickly when Tywin shot him a warning look. “Indeed,” Tyrion added, raising his cup. “To Joffrey and Margaery. May their union bring prosperity to the realm.”

As the servant boy moved around the table, pouring wine into each cup, he approached you and reached to fill yours. But before he could pour, Tywin’s hand stopped him, his fingers resting firmly over the rim of your cup.

“She’ll have water,” Tywin said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Tywin with a hint of playful mischief in your eyes. “Hardly fair, my lord. You drink the finest Arbor Red, and I am given only water?”

For a brief moment, Tywin’s eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement, though his expression remained stern. “Fairness is rarely a factor in what’s best for one’s well-being,” he replied, glancing at the servant. “And I, too, will take water tonight.”

The servant hesitated, but with a nod, he poured water into both your cup and Tywin’s. Across the table, Olenna Tyrell observed the exchange with keen interest, her lips quirking in a smile.

“Well,” Olenna said, her voice light with amusement, “it seems I’ve learned something new. The mighty Tywin Lannister drinks water when he dines with his Targaryen wife. Quite the show of solidarity.”

Tywin gave her a brief, cool look but allowed himself a rare, faint smirk. “It’s called leading by example, Lady Olenna. Something I’m sure you understand well.”

Olenna chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I do, Lord Tywin. But I daresay you’re indulging in more than a noble display of moderation.”

Cersei, clearly irritated by the exchange, looked pointedly at her father. “I wasn’t aware we were taking lessons in abstinence, Father,” she said with thinly veiled annoyance. “Especially at a family dinner meant to celebrate an impending wedding.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, a slight tension in his jaw. “Moderation has its virtues, Cersei,” he replied. “And it does no harm to remind us all of them now and then.”

Loras exchanged a quick glance with Margaery, a slight smirk crossing his lips as he observed the dynamic unfolding across the table. Meanwhile, Joffrey watched the conversation with an expression of distaste, clearly disinterested in the subtleties of restraint and virtue.

Tommen, sensing the shift in the mood, turned to you and asked innocently, “Do you think dragons drank wine, Lady Y/N? Or just water?”

You laughed softly, meeting the young boy’s curious gaze. “Dragons,” you replied, “likely drank whatever they pleased, Tommen. They were free creatures, beholden to no one.”

Myrcella beamed at this, clearly delighted. “I like that idea. A creature as free as a dragon.” She glanced at you shyly. “You… you remind me of that, Lady Y/N.”

Your heart warmed at her words, and you smiled down at her, touched by her innocent admiration. “Thank you, Myrcella. That is a very kind comparison.”

Across the table, Cersei’s gaze darkened as she observed her daughter’s fascination with you. Her expression grew colder, her smile forced as she watched Myrcella lean closer to you, her eyes filled with warmth and admiration.

Olenna, watching the interaction between you and Myrcella with her sharp eyes, leaned over to Mace and whispered, though loud enough for most to hear, “It seems the young princess has taken to our Lady Y/N. How delightful to see that even dragons can charm the younger generation.”

Margaery smiled warmly, her gaze flicking between you and Myrcella. “It’s refreshing to see Myrcella so captivated,” she commented, casting a subtle glance at Cersei. “A new bond forming, perhaps.”

Cersei’s face tightened, her eyes narrowing as she forced a smile. “Myrcella’s affections are… easily won, it seems.”

You felt Tywin’s hand rest over yours briefly, a rare gesture that conveyed his support, as he cast a steadying look toward his daughter. “Affection isn’t a weakness, Cersei,” he remarked coolly. “It’s the ties we build that keep us strong.”

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, save for the echo of footsteps as Tyrion fell into stride beside his father, who walked with his usual measured pace, his gaze fixed ahead as he made his way toward the Tower of the Hand. The evening had been tense yet full of its own intrigue—a careful balancing act between allies and rivals. Tyrion, ever observant, had noted more than a few things that piqued his curiosity, and as they walked, he couldn’t resist finally voicing them.

“Father,” Tyrion began, his tone casual, though there was a glint of mischief in his eye. “I couldn’t help but notice certain… developments at dinner tonight. Ones I’m certain not everyone at the table grasped.”

Tywin’s gaze remained forward, his expression unreadable, but there was a slight tightening of his jaw. “Speak plainly, Tyrion,” he said curtly, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

Tyrion gave a small, knowing smile, keeping his pace alongside Tywin as they walked. “Well, as plain as I may, Father. I can only assume that Lady Y/N is with child.”

Tywin didn’t break his stride, though there was a slight pause, barely perceptible, in his gait. He did not look at Tyrion, nor did he respond immediately, the silence stretching between them.

Tyrion, undeterred, continued. “I gather as much from certain… subtle shifts in your behavior,” he explained, his tone still light but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “For instance, the incense at the wedding, your insistence that she avoid it, not to mention your particular refusal of wine tonight. And let’s not forget the look you cast the boy when he brought wine to Lady Y/N.” He paused, watching Tywin’s expression, though his father’s face remained stony. “All signs, shall we say, that point to a rather… hopeful condition.”

Tywin’s silence was absolute, his face an impassive mask that betrayed nothing, but the corners of his mouth tightened ever so slightly, a warning for Tyrion not to press too far.

Undeterred, Tyrion gave a short laugh, the sound echoing softly in the empty hall. “You don’t need to confirm anything, Father. I understand the value of discretion,” he remarked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “But should this news prove true, I must admit it is… quite the development.”

Tywin came to a stop, finally turning to face Tyrion. His expression was one of measured calm, but there was an intensity in his gaze that brooked no further questioning. “If there were such a development,” he replied in a low, controlled voice, “then it would be a matter of considerable importance. One that requires discretion—discretion I expect from you, Tyrion.”

Tyrion raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, Father. My lips are sealed. I simply wished to express my… congratulations, should congratulations be in order.”

Tywin regarded him with an unyielding stare, his eyes hard as steel. “If Lady Y/N is indeed carrying my child,” he said slowly, his voice cold and purposeful, “then understand this, Tyrion—it will be the future of House Lannister. And I will not tolerate anything that jeopardizes that future.”

Tyrion’s gaze softened, a flicker of genuine respect in his expression. “As well you shouldn’t,” he replied quietly. “But, Father, surely even you must understand what this means. A child… a child of Lannister and Targaryen blood.”

Tywin’s face remained unyielding, but there was a subtle shift in his gaze, a glint of something unreadable that Tyrion caught but could not fully decipher. “If the child is born,” Tywin said, his tone colder than before, “they will be raised as a Lannister, and they will understand the weight of that name.”

Tyrion nodded, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. “I have no doubt, Father. But perhaps there’s more to a legacy than the weight of a name. A child of such lineage… there’s a power in that, a power that neither gold nor iron alone can command.”

Tywin’s gaze narrowed, his voice steely. “Power, Tyrion, is not something that comes from blood alone. It is something built, something earned. And if Lady Y/N does indeed bear my child, that child will be raised with the discipline and honor that befits the House of Lannister. Do not mistake sentiment for strength.”

Tyrion inclined his head slightly, conceding the point. “Of course, Father. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The silence between them thickened, heavy with unspoken words, as Tywin resumed his stride toward the Tower of the Hand, leaving Tyrion standing in the dimly lit hall. Tyrion watched his father go, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He understood the weight of what he’d uncovered tonight, and though Tywin’s silence had spoken volumes, it was enough.

A child, he mused, one who would carry the blood of two of the most powerful houses in Westeros. And in that child, he sensed a future that even Tywin Lannister could not fully control.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

The Diary of Tom Riddle- Tom Riddle x Reader - Bad ending.

pairing: Tom riddle x Fem reader

warnings: Horcruxes, Manipulation, Tom being Tom, side effects of being possessed, bleeding, seizure, throwing up blood, horror elements, death.

summary: 16-year-old (y/n) finds a mysterious black book on the floor of after it slips out of Ginny Weasleys caldron, curious, she picks it up and keeps it-which leads to one thing after another and discovers the book is far more than it seems.

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5- -Part 6- -Part 7- -"Good" ending- -CC ending-

=

(y/n) swallowed harshly as she ventured into the restricted section for the third night in a row, looking for a particular book that Tom had told her to find. She’d been unable to find it so far, until now.

It was in the chained books section, meaning they were really, really, restricted. She slid the book out and unlocked the chain, carefully setting the chain lock onto the table connected to the shelves. “Possessions and reanimations,” she murmured, flipping open the book and grabbing Tom’s diary at the same time.

“I found the book,” she wrote to Tom, glancing between the diary, the book, and the library-hoping she wouldn’t get caught, she needed to read this book.

Her ink disappeared into the diary and Tom’s writing replaced hers.

‘Very good. To go page 224 I believe, it should have the potion you will need to expel the possession from you.’

Tom wrote back and (y/n) nodded to herself, flipping to the page, noting that the ‘title’ of the potion was missing, but she ignored it, quickly copying down the potion ingredients and instructions into the diary and then as soon as that was done-she put the book back into the shelf after she relocked it in its chains.

She closed the diary and clutched it to her chest, leaving the library in a rush-sighing with relief when she made it back to the common room. She swallowed down the nervous saliva in her mouth, she’d been feeling more nauseous as the days went on since she’d learned about the possession on her.

She just really hoped this potion freed her from the heir of Slytherin.

She took off her shoes and climbed into bed, drawing the curtains and opening the diary after summoning soft lights from her wand.

‘Okay, you can get these potion ingredients right?’

Tom asked and (y/n) grabbed her quill, writing back to him as his words disappeared, the potion ingredients and instructions all still there, just as she’d written them.

“I can, it’ll be a bit difficult though, they’re all in Snapes collection and he guards that like a hawk.”

‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you get in there; I can't just let you suffer anymore with the heir trying to possess you.’

(y/n) smiled softly at Tom’s words, rubbing her thumb against the page.

“Thank you, Tom.”

‘you’re welcome, darling.’

-

Breaking into Snape’s personal storage room was fucking terrifying, (y/n) knew he was teaching class at the moment but dear Merlin the thought of being caught and having to deal with detention with Snape was terrifying.

(y/n) glanced over her shoulder, diary clutched in her hand. Tom was manifesting at the doorway, keeping an eye out for her, he gave a wave of his see-through hand to give her the all clear and (y/n) took ingredients as quickly, yet carefully, as she could, putting them in her bag.

As soon as she slipped the last ingredient into her bag, she turned heel and walked out of the storage room, quickly locking it again and replacing the wards on it. Tom was brilliant and had quickly, on the spot, taught her how to remove wards so she could get into the storage room without alerting Snape.

She swallowed harshly and walked off, quickly making her escape.

-

“I have to do what?!” (y/n) asked the diary out loud as Tom told her she had to go down into the chamber of secrets to exorcise the heir from her. What the fuck?! Why would she do that?!

‘You have to (y/n), the heir’s spirit is strongest down there, and it’ll leave easier if you’re down there with it.’

“how do I even get there? I don’t know where the chamber is! No one does!”

‘I know.’

“what?!”

‘I found it. 50 years ago. The attacks were getting deadly. I could lose my home, I couldn’t let Hogwarts close, I found the chamber and found the heir of that era, got him expelled. It’s in the 2nd floor girl’s bathroom, moaning myrtle’s bathroom I believe it’s called now.’

(y/n) swallowed harshly, her hands trembling as she thought about what Tom was saying. That award for special services to the school made sense now, Tom had saved it, he’d stopped the heir of Slytherin from fully opening the chamber of secrets.

She took a deep long breath, feeling a sudden headache, making a spike of panic rise in her chest so she grabbed her quill again and wrote back to Tom.

“okay. Ill do it. Tell me how to get in and what exactly I need to do.”

-

Waiting was the worst part, just sitting in her bed, waiting until curfew so she could sneak out and go to the damn bathroom to open the chamber of secrets. Her knee bounced as she stared at the clock, listening to the sleeping noises of her roommates, Tom’s diary clutched in her hands.

Finally, curfew came around, but she waited even longer to make sure patrols were further away from where Slytherin house was. She took a deep breath as 1am came along and she slipped out of bed, grabbing the cauldron that was full of the ingredients she needed and clutching it, her wand, and Tom’s diary close.

She took a slow deep breath as she stepped out into the corridor just outside the common room, closing her eyes, hyping herself up before she began her way out the dungeons and up to the 2nd floor.

She was on edge the entire time, hiding each time she thought she saw the light of a wand. Eventually she got to the 2nd floor and rushed into the bathrooms-thankfully Filch wasn’t around and she was able to close the door behind her with no complications.

She took a deep breath, looking at the sink in front of her. Tom said this was the first entrance to the chamber of secrets, which led below Hogwarts to a cavern system that led to the actual chamber of secrets.

And it could only be opened with parseltongue.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She remembered her nightmares, or well, her memories of being possessed; and how she had spoken parseltongue in them.

After a moment, she remembered one of the words, and she hoped it worked.

“Open.” She said in clumsy parseltongue, taking a step back as she gasped-the sink began to disassemble right before her eyes, the sink right in front of her disappearing into the floor with a grate sliding over it, revealing a large tunnel that went deep underground.

Tom was right.

“Holy shit,” she murmured, stepping to the edge of the tunnel, looking down into the pitch-black darkness. “Holy shit holy shit holy shit.”

She took a breath, closed her eyes, and jumped.

Wind rushed past her, biting at her skin and whipping through her hair. She eventually slid out the other side and landed in some slime. She didn’t want to even think about it. She got up and grabbed the cauldron, making sure nothing was broken, and flicked her wand, casting Lumos as she began to make her way through the tunnel system until she reached a natural cave, walking around the stalagmites carefully, screaming as she nearly tripped on a huge snakeskin.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck-this isn’t fucking happening. I hate this I hate this I hate this,” (y/n) muttered to herself, nearly tripping again as she stepped over the giant snakeskin, it had to be a basilisk-that was a terrifying thought.

She walked further into the cavern until she came upon a wall that matched the stone brick pattern of the Hogwarts foundation. This must be it, she thought as she stepped up to the wall, looking at the two stone-carved snakes guarding the wall with emeralds for eyes that gleamed back at her.

She took a deep breath and spoke parseltongue again.

“Open.” She let out a sigh of relief and jolted a bit as the snakes moved and acted as hinges, the wall splitting down the middle and opening inwards; revealing the chamber of secrets.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” she muttered to herself, her shoes getting wet as she walked down the corridor towards the front end of the chamber, glancing from side to side as she looked at the snake statues that loomed over either side of the pathway.

The cauldron hit the stone floor with a clang, and she sat down in front of it, not caring about the water that soaked into her clothes. She could do this; she could do this. She placed Tom’s diary down and flipped to the potion page.

She took a deep breath and waved her wand, the cauldron filling with water and a fire igniting beneath it.

Angel's Trumpet, Asphodel, unicorn horn, boomslang skin, knot grass, and-she swallowed harshly, pricking her thumb and letting her blood drip into the potion. Blood.

The potion rolled and bubbled, turning a pitch-black color. She shakily leaned over, feeling like she was gonna hurl. She could do this, she could get this damn heir soul out of her, and finally go back to being normal-and everything else would too.

She grabbed her wand, transfigured one of the vials of the ingredients into a cup, cleaning it out with water, and scooping some of the terribly thick black potion into the cup. She watched it drip, like inky blood onto the stone floor, mixing with the water on the floor and spreading out like a void.

She glanced at Tom’s diary and then up at the statue of Salazar Slytherin that seemed to glare back at her, took a deep breath.

And drank the potion.

It was thick and tasted utterly vile.

She swallowed one mouthful and dropped the cup, gagging as her body lurched forward, feeling something come back up her throat as her eyes and nose burned.

Black inky blood dripped into the water at her knees, mixing with the water and slowly spreading out-joining with the void of potion that had dropped into the water earlier. The water beneath her slowly turned black as the black inky blood dripped from her mouth, nose, and eyes, mixing with the dropped potion until it was like a void surrounding her.

Her ears rang harshly, and she gagged again, feeling suddenly very weak and shaky, unable to sit up anymore. She tilted to the side, feeling so lightheaded with hunger pangs eating at her stomach.

She was caught by a pair of hands and tugged up into someone's lap, her head cradled in their elbow.  She breathed heavily, but it was getting harder and harder to do so as she weakly clawed up at the body that held her now, it was warm and solid-had someone followed her down into the chamber?

“You’ve played your part perfectly my dear,” a now familiar voice cooed in her ear, a hand brushing back her hair from her face. She looked up through blurry vision, her eyes widening as she looked up at…Tom, who was looking back down at her with a…smirk. “don’t worry darling, it’s almost over.” Tom cooed, holding her closer in his lap.

She gasped for breath, trying to talk but she couldn’t find the strength, ever limb felt like lead, her chest filled with a thick feeling that spilled out her mouth as she gagged again, staining her skin and hoodie as inky black blood spilled from her mouth.

Tom watched her, his hand caressing her face and brushing hair off her face as she trembled, she gasped and her body went stiff and shook at the same time, her eyes rolling back slightly as she seized. Tom held her close, shushing her gently as he tucked her head into his shoulder.

“I did grow fond of you,” Tom said in her ear as her vision began to go black and the ringing in her ears blocked all sounds out. “you’ll be honored as I take my rightful place in this world,”

She felt a kiss on her forehead, and everything went quiet, the feeling of floating overtaking her before it all just disappeared.

-

Tom smirked as (y/n)’s body went limp in his grasp, and he took a deep, empowering breath, feeling the cold damp air of the chamber on his skin, smelling the stone and water around him, feeling the weight of (y/n)’s body in his lap, the wetness of the stone beneath him.

“Thank you my dear,” Tom cooed to (y/n)’s body, kissing her forehead again and scooping her up. Her wand was in his hand and he flicked it, his diary floating and he carefully grabbed it and slotted it in his pocket, it would be too cruel not to keep it, with all the conversations he’d had with (y/n) kept inside, and he wasn’t lying when he said he’d grown fond of (y/n), and he was quite happy she’d been the one to give her life to allow his to be realized again.

50 years in the waiting.

He smiled down at her body in his arms, her head against his shoulder, face pale with the black inky blood staining her skin, hair, and clothes. He turned to the statue of Salazar Slytherin, a maniac grin growing on his face.

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!” Tom said in parseltongue, watching eagerly as the mouth of the statue opened, and out came the basilisk, who seemed happy to see him-ready to finally eat.

“Kill them all. Leave Harry Potter to me.” Tom ordered and the basilisk hissed, slithering off into the pipes-finally ready to purge the school of mudbloods and feast.

Tom took a deep breath, stronger than ever. He looked down at (y/n)’s body and kissed her forehead again, carrying her out of the chamber of secrets, her wand tight in his hand.

-Bad end.-

damn i really finished writing this just in time-i leave for my flight in a an hourish, lol, anyway-hope you guys in enjoyyyyed, heres the bad eeend...dont hurt meeeee.

im open to requests/suggestions for what else i should write for Tom! :D and yes, the next update i hope to write for is 'the dark lords nanny'!!

taglist!

@dracosslxt4eva @dream-your-own-way @slaggylemon

@slytherinbackintomyroom @starryhiraeth @larallott

@kayytt-2 @chimchoom @joyfulnightmare-hq

@theicypiscean @discofairysworld @simpforih44

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 16 - "Necrosis"

It could take up to six weeks before the people he ate were fully digested. So Murkoph wasn't too fussed when he rolled over one night and a bulge rose from his abdomen like a hernia, or a log of shit that had lost its way, or a toddler's mitt reaching for the sky. He pushed the lump experimentally. Firm. Bit squishy. It hurt. But with only a little pressure he was able to collapse it back into himself and soothe his cold grey belly smooth again.

He wasn't fussed. But he should find some light.

His nights were always a game of tag with the light. Days were easy; find a dark lake or sea to sink into, doze on the bottom until the sun fucked off. Once it did, and the sky rolled over to pitch and star pricks, light grew more dangerous in its furtiveness. During the day, light didn't hide. You could always see it. You always knew where it was.

At night, a bloke couldn't predict when light was going to set upon him. He could be dick deep in a warm torso and then whoops! A wright's burning palm! Or a traveller's burning torch! A globe of starfly lymph. A pocket flask full of lambence. And then you best beat feet towards the shadows because you were hungry and you were fast but you weren't no senet and ya couldn't last.

His insides lurched excruciatingly. On an abandoned beach ringed by fronds and trash he fell to his knees in the moonlight. A white crescent hung above him, a boardwalk rose behind him. At hand the breakers talked over each other like a dementia ward, throwing themselves off endless cliffs towards endless splattered demises, and always more. Always a rolling parade of waves making for that showy, gory end.

Murkoph jammed his favourite knife into his navel. The old surgical Y there burned a garish black up over his ribs. He traced it with the blade, grunting at that sore point where the three lines kissed. He worked his knife beneath the incision, methodically, found the old fissure down the centre of his ribcage, twisted. The cartilage popped open. Inky ichor bubbled and ran. The knife fell to the sand. He curled his fingertips into the aperture and opened his chassis up like a salt lizard.

If he leaned back just a hair, his putrefying prizes would not tumble free. It was a beautiufl cache inside. He had no internal organs of his own but plenty of others': two hearts, a whole mess of intestines, kidneys, livers, a bit of spongy something that might be part of a lung but it was all snaggled with pink tubing that made him think of… kedis kits playing in yarn. There was a penis somewhere. A tongue. Half a dozen eyeballs of lots of different colours. He caught them all up in his giant mitt, rolled them, hefted the pleasant weight. One by one he popped each between his lips and felt them plink back into the morass like skeet balls.

Where any of it had come from he had no memory, but that wasn't important. They were his now. He could see and feel the necrotic tar of his innards assimilating the organic material; digesting it, distributing it, maintaining his slinky body with it. A dark and efficient ecosystem breathed its bitter funk inside of him, and every few weeks he added to the compost.

It was warm as it roasted; as it rotted. It warmed him.

And the Confoundments kept at bay.

Combing through the slime, his questing fingers found nothing squirming or living or pushing though. Huh. With the flat of his hand he gave the fetid cauldron a stir, then slammed himself shut with a satisfying squelch-

Boot treads on the boardwalk.

Murkoph melted from the moonlight to the shadow strip beneath just as lantern light intruded rudely upon the pale blue sands. He crouched there, still as the spent fags and empty bottles. A man and a woman passed overhead. He smelled like rum and unwashed ass. She smelled like peach hair treatment and she'd had something mint, recently. Mint and spirits. He panted.

Her skirts were full and fluffy; a barrier to the yellow lantern carried by her companion. A kind moon eclipsing that unwanted light. As she passed directly overhead and bathed him in that brief blackness, Murkoph contemplated zipping through the boards, punching a hand between her legs, dragging her down into the trash with him, bones all breaking and neck all snapping along the way. The Confoundments thought yes, yes, there are some missing pieces in us, and what we have grows so grey and cold and soft.

The lantern stabbed through the slats. Murkoph felt it lash his face in long and glowing strips. Mint and spirits.

Then she and her companion were already moving along. Away.

Why was he here?

A wet snuffling against the back of his knee twirled him in place. He hissed, laughed, grabbed at his leg through his pants. There! Here! The lump! It squealed when he grabbed it and fought his fingers as he guided it down, down, down his pants leg and out the bottom.

A wee mouse.

"All a'burgle in me undercarriage," he whispered, petting its gory head, "Did ya find some requisition worth the expedition?" The little whiskers trembled with beaded blackness. The beads looked like fleas on wire; like flea circus trapeze artists. He'd seen a flea circus in Sharteshane when he was a boy. He had paid a copper sem for the privilege. It had been very cold and they'd needed that copper for lamp oil. His brother had called him a rube.

Murkoph opened his palm. The mouse scurried in a frenzy from out the boardwalk shadows and into the moonglow. An owl's sudden screech explained its prey's desperate hiding place and Murkoph frowned to watch his little passenger taken from the world in a burst of talon and feathers.

"Oh, she scored one!" called the man's voice, laughing.

"Don't be awful," answered the woman. "Maybe it got away."

"So you can find it in the pantry tomorrow and scream for ME to come and bash its little brains out instead?"

Her prim treads and his heavy boots turned, began tracing back the way they'd come. The yellow lantern light swelled again. It streamed through the boards. A black tongue dabbed at the brightening brightness, as though to taste its citrus burn, and a knife fell into each of the shadow walker's sticky hands.

How long would he still be able to smell the mint inside, after he'd swallowed.

[baddestbittyontheblock]

sam kerr fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

༄ you're not yourself sam kerr x fem!reader

-you're not well, but you still go out to watch sam's game; but when she finds out you've come out when you're sick, she drops everything to take care of you

༄ being sam's sam kerr x fem!reader

-headcanons on your relationship with sam

༄ haven't i given enough sam kerr x reader

-When Sam and Y/N met, everything had just fallen into place. Y/N was interning at the local hospital when the Matilda's had come for a charity event, cheering up sick kids on the ward.

༄ chills sam kerr x reader

-the reader steals Sams hoodie

༄ surprise sam kerr x reader | fluff, pregnancy

-you come over to australia to surprise sam

༄ where it all began sam kerr x reader

-sam kerr proposes to you at the same place you both met 16 years ago

༄ that's how it's done sam kerr x reader

-The moment she strikes it, you know it's going in. The curl, the technique, the fact it was struck with such confidence despite being 30 metres out.

༄ ice cold sam kerr x reader

-You couldn’t have hated this more if you tried.

Every ticking second, every running, jogging, sprinting step was another towards the end of extra time. Another towards the shootout.

༄ sam blurb sam kerr x reader

-sam kerr fic where her and reader both play for Aus and win the wc

༄ you look like an angel sam kerr x reader

༄ i just wanted to see you sam kerr x reader

-Ever since the day you left you missed her. You missed her laugh, her smile, and the little notes she would leave for you when she would go run errands or go out with the girls.

༄ worst fears sam kerr x williamson!reader

-Part 2

༄ ring in the pocket sam kerr x reader | fluff

-mamma mia and a proposal

༄ chelsea matches and jerks sam kerr x reader | fluff

-you go to support your girlfriend at the FA Women's cup. some guy sitting next to you doesn't get the hint to back off. Sam takes things into her own hands.

༄ big sister's sam kerr x arnold!reader | angst, swearing

-what happens when your overprotective big sister finds out you're dating and not just that, you're dating the team captain. well shit.

༄ surprise superstar sam kerr x fem!reader

-after not seeing sam for a month, you fly out to watch the matilda's bronze medal match

༄ y/n l/n and sam kerr are in love: a thread sam kerr x fem!reader

-a series of tweets about the mutual pining that occurs between superstar sam kerr and y/n l/n

༄ close quarters sam kerr x reader | swearing

-Never has sharing a bed been so difficult

༄ easy peasy sam kerr x reader

-"Sammy, babe, I love you, but if you pace there any harder, you're gonna put a hole in the carpet. I don't think the hotel loves you enough for that."

༄ big ol' storm vs the amazing sam. sam kerr x reader

-As much as you loved that Sam was enjoying her time out, you hated the fact you were now stuck alone in your shared apartment at ten o'clock at night and forecast says a thunderstorm is looming on the horizon.

༄ hi sam sam kerr x reader | fluff

-sam and y/n throughout the years

༄ star player teenager!sam kerr x teenager!reader | minor character injury, fluff

-flowers, star players and soccer

༄ jumpers, apologies and proposals sam kerr x reader | angst, fighting, illusions to smut

-the aftermath of losing to england

༄ body slam sam kerr x reader | angst? dickhead, fluff

-a guy runs on the field mid-game and does the one thing that set's sam off. he touches you.

༄ invisible strings sam kerr x reader | underage drinking, gay pining, not proof read so u can call me out on grammar and i wont get my feelings hurt.

༄ buzzfeed; the 10 times sam kerr and y/n arnold nade us believe in love sam kerr x reader

༄ sam kerr and y/n arnold take a friendship test to see who's the better friend sam kerr x reader

༄ thirty laps around the sun sam kerr x fem!reader

-you celebrate sam's thirtieth birthday

༄ benched sam kerr x reader | pregnancy? slight injury to reader

༄ only slightly sam kerr x reader

-where Sam is only slightly mad that Y/N got hurt

༄ positive mum!sam kerr x fem!reader

-after so many negatives, you and sam finally get your two lines

༄ a raging heat mum!sam kerr x fem!reader

-your first month of pregnancy and you're having the worst time ever, but sam is trying her best to balance work and her pregnant wife

༄ back home mum!sam kerr x fem!reader

-the posts and stories from your flight and your first few days back home in perth

༄ accidents happen mum!sam kerr x fem!reader | (nora, age 3)

-sam takes nora to practice for the day, but she has an accident when left alone

༄ cockblocked sam kerr x reader | smut, minors dni 18+ (strap ons, vibrators, cunnilingus), light arsenal women x reader, just teasing fluff n fucking

༄ cheers to 20, have a tattoo sam kerr x reader | fluff, illusions to smut

-you got your first tattoo

༄ mayflower i sam kerr x fem!reader | ivf, pregnancy mentions, slight angst

༄ jump then fall sam kerr x fem!reader | puke, injury (broken wrist), hurt/comfort, fluff, sam being pookie caring girlfriend

-reader is unwell, she's a good actor though and can cover it up and hide it. But, playing a game while sick isn't always the best idea.