#what i failed to mention is that there is a two week gap between first and second round of the election

[mezimraky]

So what on earth is happening with the Czech election right now? Who is this general? Do people actually want Babiš? How does this vote work?

it's complicated! essentially, what is happening in czech rep right now is the third ever direct presidential election. meaning, every citizen over the age of 18 gets a vote. the last two elections ended with miloš zeman as the winner. miloš zeman is a bitter old man who is a rude drunk but people felt represented by him, and so elected him twice.

the second time around there was a big wave of dislike for zeman but the voters did not manage to pool in to one other candidate but instead spread to at least three fractions, making it impossible to beat zeman. this is not the case this year, with this election.

the first round of the election ended with two favourites. generál petr pavel and andrej babiš. they both had around 30something% of votes and ended within less than a percent to each other.

andrej babiš, the poplusist oligarch, is the head of the biggest political party in the country, ANO. andrej babiš is also a businessman who first went into politics in cca 2011 and his main positive was that "as a rich businessman he would not need to steal from the people as a politician." and "as a successful businessman he can run the country like he runs his company". they essentially built their popularity on populist policies that range the whole political spectrum without much of a system or reliability. they would form alliance with anyone who allowed them to be in the position of power.

the prominence of ANO has indirectly caused a crisis in democracy. the two sides of the political spectrum are out of balance. ANO's populist policies have replaced the political left almost entirely. if you'd watched the last government election last year, you'd see that the fight was no longer between the left and the right but between populism and democracy. the democratic right has won at the cost of forming a giant coalition made out of five different parties. they really needed that many in order to beat the ever so popular ANO, and babiš himself.

and this appears to be happening again. the choice of the second round of the presidential election is between babiš and generál pavel. babiš being a populist who will say just about anything to win (including pointing at the general's millitary past and claiming that he will drag our country into the war, take your kids away and whatever else). generál pavel being a guy with diplomatic experience in NATO, who mostly bases his campaign on his unshakeable calm and order. which, to be fair, following the many years with miloš zeman does seem like a very alluring concept.

both babiš and pavel also have a communist past, much like most people their age in this country. while pavel was a regular party member (and gained part of his millitary training under the old regime), andrej babiš has been proven to cooperate with the secret police at the time, being their secret agent of sorts. the cynics would tell you that there its not a real choice, that its between a communist and an agent, that they both suck. but.

it's not just the choice between two people. it's once again between a real diplomat and a liar. they are many poignant arguments concerning these two, but let me just focus on this one, as it is the most important one to me. babiš as a person does not stand for anything. he will say anything to get what he wants. he contradicts himself on the regular and does not cope well with being called out. he makes himself out to be an underdog but he was the prime minister until last year, and as a prime minister proved himself to be both completely spineless and worthless. and yet, his loyal fans seem to forget. they seem to have a weird sort of parasocial relationship with the kind grandpa in a turtleneck that he presents himself as on the social networks. they don't care what he did or didn't do. they like him as a person. they don't care what he would do to the image or political orientation of our country. they don't care. they care that he baked a delicious vánočka the other day, just like they do, every christmas!!!!

generál pavel has his own minuses, one of the ones that get thrown around a lot-- having millitary past, it's not all clear what he's done while in the millitary. having had diplomatic affiliations before, they say we can't know for sure where all his allegiances lay. and he was a communist after all. but. the thing is. he's the only other option we've got. and he's not all bad. he speaks well, he's consistent in his opinions, and he's willing to listen to marginalised groups for reasons other than to make himself look good.

and he's decent. and unaffiliated with a particular political party. insistent on democratic values. it's a low bar, i know. but it's the best hope we've got...

[seijorhi]

Shelter from the Storm

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

w.c 8k

tw: yandere, blood, murder, nsfw, smut (sorta), oikawa is awful in this, technically everything is consensual but... big yikes.

A gentle breeze blows past, a lock of loose hair fluttering in its wake. Early still, the sky is painted with buttery oranges and pinks, a perfect, picturesque sunrise. Leaning on the railing of the balcony, you gaze to the city below, lost in thought. 

Behind you, the sliding door opens, a warmth enveloping you, strong, sinewy arms curling around your middle. 

“Morning,” Oikawa murmurs, drawing you closer. His bare chest rumbles at your back when he speaks again, “You want some breakfast? Coffee?”

How many times can you make the same mistake – fall into bed with the same person – and still claim it to be a momentary lapse in judgement? Maybe you’ll set a new record. 

“Oikawa…”

Lips press against the back of your head, strangely affectionate. For all your little indiscretions, the time you’ve spent together, this sort of affection – the casual touching, the… intimacy of it all, feels out of place in broad daylight. “Mm? We could go and get one of those croissants from you like from the place across the road? Or get something delivered if you’d rather stay in?”

“Oikawa,” you sigh again, more insistent this time. You spin in his arms, turning to face him. Hair still mussed from sleep, shirtless, smiling down at you – unfairly handsome in the morning light. 

“What? Not hungry?” he asks, a faint amusement lacing his tone.

Your hands find their way to his chest, your pinky grazing the raised, puckered outline of one of his scars. While curiosity might eat away at you, you’ve never quite mustered the courage to ask him about them.

You’ve heard enough of the rumours that swirl around Oikawa; they won’t be pretty stories. 

“We can’t keep doing this. You have to stop.”

He laughs, surprise flitting across his face, “Me? If I remember correctly, you were more than eager to get those lovely hands of yours on me last night.”

“That’s not–” you break off with a flustered huff, cheeks warming. “That’s not what I meant, stop twisting my words! You work for my father, I can’t keep– we can’t keep doing this.”

A little of the mirth in his expression fades at that, “You don’t think I can handle keeping you safe while we’re sleeping together, ‘s that it?”

“He’s paying you to keep me safe. I’m a job, Oikawa, that’s it. That’s all.” You bite back a sigh, shifting to put some distance between you two – as much as his grip will allow. “This is a bad idea, you know it as well as I do. In a few weeks, or months–”

“So?” he asks, cutting you off. “He can’t say I’m not doing an excellent job, keeping such a careful, close eye on his beloved daughter,” the hands the rest on your waist slide down to your ass, squeezing it appreciatively as he closes the gap between you once more. The grin he wears is nothing short of devilish – not to mention incredibly self satisfied – his mouth a hairsbreadth from your own. He continues, “I’m keeping you safe, satisfied and very, very happy. If anything, I should be getting paid extra for that.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s how he’ll see it.”

Oikawa leans forward, kisses the tip of your nose, and then your lips. 

“I’d kill for you, how many other guys can say that, hm?” When the joke fails to garner a response, he sighs. “We’re not breaking any rules, and I’m not going anywhere. Stop overthinking it.”

—

In the days following the first threats made against your father, the idea of having a bodyguard shadowing your every step seemed laughable. Ridiculous. You weren’t some darling, young starlet with creepy, obsessive fans. Not a witness set to testify in some groundbreaking criminal case.

No, you’re simply collateral, caught up in a mess of your father’s making, one that has nothing to do with you. 

That you love him in spite of it is an immutable fact. You’ve tried hard – so, so hard – to distance yourself. To separate the life you’re trying to lead and the good you’re trying to do from the shadowy reach of his legacy. 

In any case, you felt perfectly comfortable brushing aside his offer of protection. You neither wanted nor needed someone monitoring your every move under the guise of keeping you safe. 

And then the focus of the threats turned to you. To your step-mother. To Ryo, your little brother – a kid. 

Your father, a man unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no’, introduced Oikawa the very next morning and would not budge on the issue. ‘You do not have to like him,’ he’d said. ‘But he’ll keep you out of harm’s way, and you will listen to him.’

It was – is – an adjustment. 

Those closest to you, your friends, your work colleagues – the ones you interact with on a daily basis at any rate – have all been made aware of the truth behind his presence. For everyone else–

“Don’t mind him, Oikawa’s my new assistant,” you explain to the hotel’s manager, smiling sweetly at her bemused expression.

Oikawa matches it with one of his own, saccharine and glittering. 

A cup of tea is set out before each of you by one of the hotel’s employees, and he thanks her quietly, swirling the cup round in its saucer to better reach the bone china handle. Lifting it to his lips, he takes a smooth, slow sip. 

“I’m really just here for the free tea and cake.”

One look at the blushing manager, and you can tell she’s thoroughly charmed – which is the only reason you abstain from kicking him under the table. 

“Ignore him, please. I had a thought about letting some of the kids come up and talk on stage as part of the opening speeches, but I wanted to make sure that wouldn’t push us too far behind with the entertainment.” There’s a slight nudge at your thigh, “And um, we also wanted to run through the security measures, if possible.”

Her brow wrinkles, “Security, I– well, we’ll have doormen to check the guest list, and I suppose we could have some of our security staff posted near the ballroom exits if you’d like?”

You nod, “Yes, that’ll be–”

“You should have a few dressed to blend in with the crowd, mingling throughout the room, regular security at the stairs, and we’d like some guards working the backstage area as well,” Oikawa interjects. “Considering the guest list, not to mention the A-list performers we’ve hired for the night, the least they can ask of us is to ensure we’re making their safety and security a priority, no?”

“All these extra measures are a little last minute, don’t you think? The gala’s tomorrow night!” 

On the brink of exasperation, she looks to you, no doubt expecting you to rein in your employee. 

You simply smile, folding your legs over one another, taking a moment to indulge in the tea you’d been so graciously provided. “We chose this hotel as our venue for a reason, I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about you and your staff. A few added security measures shouldn’t be too difficult for your staff to accommodate. As my assistant said,” your eyes slide to Oikawa’s, a faint hint of a warning there, “we simply want to ensure everyone has a safe, enjoyable evening so that the foundation can raise as much as we possibly can.”

“… Of course,” she concedes.

“Perfect! So, let’s get back to the opening speeches.”

And so it goes, the two of you discussing the final touches and small details for the event you’ve spent months bringing to fruition, the foundation’s first charity gala. 

Untouched by your father’s hand, you built this foundation from the ground up, it’s yours – your baby. Your pride and joy. 

You think nothing of it when Oikawa excuses himself to take a call. He doesn’t leave the room – he won’t risk straying that far – and you’re distantly aware of the quiet tones of his voice speaking into his phone. You pay it no mind, focused on closing out your meeting with all the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed. 

By the time the meeting’s finished, you’re thrilled. 

Naturally, there’s still plenty you have left to do; one last check in with the caterers, you have to go and pick up your dress, and there’s the debrief with your team. You’ll have to come back to the hotel early tomorrow to make sure that the set up runs smoothly and nothing’s slipped through the cracks. 

Regardless, promising that you’ll touch base first thing in the morning and thanking her again, you can’t quite tamp down your excitement, or the giddy little grin you wear, exiting the hotel with Oikawa. 

At least, until he stops you just shy of the town car waiting out front, his hand on your arm, murmuring your name. 

“What, what is it?”

He appears almost hesitant. Regretful, certainly. “There was another threat delivered to the main house today…”

Your stomach sinks. 

You can see it written across his face, know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth, “Don’t, don’t you dare–”

“There’s too many variables, I am not putting you on the stage in a dark, crowded room–”

You throw your hands up in a huff. “Fine! I won’t speak then.”

“You’re not going at all. Shizuku can do your speech, the team has everything else handled. I am not risking your safety, point blank.”

“That’s not your decision!”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, “It is. You can be pissed at me all you want–”

“We’ve been working on this for months! Oikawa, this is the most important night of our entire year – we need this funding. The kids need this funding! You can go as my date, you’ll have every excuse to spend the entire night glued to my hip. We just got them to agree to all that extra security stuff you wanted, what more do you need? Don’t ask me to sit at home because of some baseless, stupid threat, please!”

You hate that your voice sounds so desperate, so pleading – but it’s frustration, not disappointment that’s to blame for the thick lump that chokes you up. The hot tears that sting in the corner of your eyes. 

“I’m not asking.” 

The callousness hits you like a slap in the face.

All that anger, that mounting, seething frustration, it cools in an instant, settling like a rock in your stomach. Without another word you turn and climb into the backseat, slamming the car door behind you.

If that’s how it is, fine. 

Oikawa joins you a moment later, rattling off instructions to the driver. 

The two of you have argued before, more times than you care to count. As charming as he thinks he is, Oikawa’s equally capable of being obnoxious, annoying, rude, arrogant, the list goes on. This is the first time it’s truly mattered, though. Maybe that’s why the cold dismissal – his refusal to give so much as an inch – stings more than it should.

“Don’t make me the bad guy here,” he murmurs when the silence between you grows too heavy to bear. “I won’t apologise for putting your safety first.”

He reaches for your hand then; a peace offering, an olive branch. You yank it back before his pinky can so much as brush against yours, lacing them together over your lap.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s what you’re being paid for, right?”

—

Days later and the elephant in the room remains firmly lodged between you two. 

It’s hard to justify anger towards someone who claims they’re only making your life difficult because there are people out there actively trying to hurt you and your family. At the same time, Oikawa’s insistence on smothering you under new ‘security measures’ isn’t doing him any favours.

Driving home from work, the twinkling lights of the city speeding past in a blur, the purring hum of the engine a comfort in the otherwise silent car, you can only wonder how much longer this’ll go on for.

How much more of it you can take.

“I have a date tomorrow night,” you admit in a quiet voice. “A friend of a friend, she’s been trying to set us up together for months now.” 

You glance at Oikawa then – hesitant, searching his face. Momentary surprise flickers there, and then he simply raises an eyebrow, “Oh? And you’re telling me this because you want me to give the two of you a little privacy, right? I guess it would be slightly awkward to have the last guy you were fucking watching from the next table over.”

Though his tone is perfectly pleasant, there’s no disguising the razor sharp bite of the words themselves. Guilt stabs at your insides, twisting like a knife. “That’s not what I–” 

You’re so tired of arguing with him. Tired of all of this. Your hands can’t lie still, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in your skirt, and though your attention falls to your lap, you can’t escape the weight of Oikawa’s watchful eyes, following your every move. 

Waiting on the verge of impatience for you to dig yourself deeper. 

You sigh, wetting your lips. “I’m not interested in him. This isn’t about that. I just… I can’t do this with you, Oikawa. I can’t handle every detail of my day – what I do and who I see – being monitored and micromanaged. I can’t handle you acting like a glorified babysitter and then still trying to get into my pants the moment we’re alone. I just– I need one night without that, that’s all.”

Maybe that’s a selfish thing, a stupid decision. You’d made it at the drop of a hat, your friend gushing over this guy over the phone for the umpteenth time. He doesn’t seem like the type to have a favourite gun, and that was good enough for you. 

Oikawa snorts out a laugh, “If you’ve got an itch you need scratched, I’m more than happy to offer my services, pretty girl,” he drawls, low and lecherous, grinning so condescendingly you’re honestly tempted to slap him. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you run off to play date night with some asshole you know next to nothing about when there’s a target on your back and I’m the one keeping you safe, understand?”

You’d anticipated some kind of resistance – Oikawa arguing over where you’d go, wanting the names of the guy in question, the friend who set the two of you up, all of it.

The possibility he’d outright refuse hadn’t even crossed your mind. 

You open your mouth to argue the point, only to close it softly a heartbeat later. Why bother? What good would arguing do when you’re perfectly aware that he has no intention of budging on the subject.

Which isn’t to say that you’re letting him off the hook entirely.

 “Careful, you’re sounding awfully jealous there, Tooru.”

His eyes widen a fraction, but it’s delight, not aggravation, that gleams in those deep, brown depths. “Do you want me to deny it?” he challenges, the car pulling to a stop out the front of your apartment block. “You wanna know what I think?”

Not particularly, but that’s never stopped him before.

“You want me just as much as I want you, you know we’re good together. You accuse me of being jealous, yet you’re the one running scared, jumping at the first, half-baked opportunity presented so you can lie and tell yourself that you’re not missing me.”

“Please,” you scoff, unable to help yourself. “You’d have to be gone for me to miss you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Rolling your eyes and biting back a huff, you nevertheless accept the hand he offers to help you out of the car, the two of you making your way inside. He greets the porter by the door, inclining his chin in a short nod, and calls the elevator with a swipe of your keycard – the one he’d snatched right out of your hand the very day he’d met you.

All in the name of doing his job and keeping you safe, of course. 

‘Well what if I need to use the stupid lift and you’re not around?’

‘Unless you’re planning on ditching me, I don’t see that being a problem, do you?’

Impossible, right from the start. 

While Oikawa leans against the mirrored walls, smug and all too self satisfied, you snatch your phone from your purse, angrily typing up a quick message to your friend about tomorrow night. No doubt she’ll think you’re being overdramatic, if not outright lying – she, however, doesn’t have to contend with Oikawa on a daily basis.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re tired, grumpy and itching for a glass of wine and a nice long soak in the bathtub. 

You’re only half paying attention, impatient to kick off your heels and soothe the day's stresses – you don’t notice that the door’s hanging ajar, at least not immediately. Oikawa does, his whole body tensing, eyes alert and cautious. 

The second you try to move, his arm’s there, outstretched to keep you at bay while he hastily tries to shut the door and obscure your view.

Not quickly enough.

Through the crack, you see it; the crimson splashed across your living room, stark and hideous against the white tile floors. 

Blood. 

It’s everywhere. Dripping from the lampshade, down the walls, pooling on the tiles.

Red, red, red, spattered and sprayed like the set of a b-grade slasher flick. And the smell, coppery and pungent, sitting in the back of your throat as bile creeps up to meet it. 

No one person can bleed that much, can they? 

Your breath comes quick; short, heaving little gasps far too shallow to do you any good. Your limbs feel weightless, weak – a stumbling step backwards almost sends you to the ground. Nausea churns in your guts, threatening to upheave. 

All that blood… Your apartment–

They– they were in your home. 

And a sudden thought occurs to you, a fresh wave of horror sinking its claws in deep. Without stopping to think, you lurch forward, desperate to get inside. Arms seize your waist, yanking you back, and you let out a blood curdling shriek, thrashing against the grip.

In the haze of your blind panic, you recognise that it’s Oikawa’s voice, speaking in your ear in a low, urgent tone. You don’t care, you can’t make sense of the words anyway, not amidst the overwhelming fear, the terror and the pounding of your racing heart. 

“Ryo–” you choke out, struggling to get free, “I have to– h-he might be–”

“He’s not in there. He’s not in there!” Wrangled back from the door, he all but shoves you against the wall, caging you in close as your fists beat weakly against his chest, your pleas little more than whimpers. He exhales heavily, moving in closer to press his forehead against yours. “He’s at home, with your father. They’re not in there, I promise. We have to go.”

He takes your hand, leads you one step after another, murmuring reassurances the whole way. 

You’re numb to it. 

You don’t remember much, the ding of the elevator, stale air of the underground parking garage and a chill nipping at your skin. An unfamiliar car you’re hastily bundled into. 

Time moves strangely after that, seconds trickling by like the drip of a leaking faucet. 

The car is quiet. Dark. The cityscape out the window a blur that barely registers. Your mind ticks over the same thoughts, a reel stuck playing the same loop over and over; blood splashed across the curtains, the couch. Your apartment – your home – awash with it. The stench of it, clinging to you like perfume. 

No one was hurt.

They were in your home.

You’re fine, Oikawa’s fine. Ryo was never in danger.

They were in your home. 

You let out a shuddering breath, shoulders curling inwards as you draw your knees up to your chest. Oikawa clocks the movement, sparing you an assessing glance from the corner of his eye. 

 “… Where–” you wince at the raw sound. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the main house. Your father’s been alerted, he’s expecting us.”

Ah. Where else?

Your father has ‘round the clock guards at every entrance, high tech, expensive security systems. You’d be with your family, safe and protected within the walls of the home you grew up in. The minute he’d heard what’d happened, your father would’ve demanded Oikawa bring you back without delay. 

Despite that, you find yourself shaking your head, “I… I don’t want Ryo– he’ll get upset if he sees me like this,” you mumble into your knees. “He’s already scared. Please.”

He looks at you again, properly this time. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, long fingers drumming against the leather of the steering wheel. 

You’ve seen him angry before, irritated. Never like this.

Every breath he draws in is tight and controlled, his features set like granite. You only catch sight of it when the yellow glow of the street lights outside wash over you both in thick swathes; the cold fury that lurks in the black pits of his irises, held back like a caged beast. 

It should scare you – it does, a bit. The man sitting next to you feels like a stranger, and yet you force yourself to hold that stare, not to shy away.

Oikawa won’t hurt you. 

Whatever seethes beneath the surface, it’s not directed your way – you can’t say how you know that for certain, only that you do. 

But neither one of you can return home to your family tonight, not when you’re both so wound up and strung out. You’ll beg on your hands and knees if that’s what it takes to sway him. Ryo’s already afraid enough as it is.

Your heart thumps painfully against your ribs as you wait in tense silence. 

Oikawa considers you for a moment longer, mutters a curse under his breath and casts a look back over his shoulder, throwing the car into a sudden – and very illegal – u turn. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I hope you realise that,” he groans, but the words lack the hard, clipped edge they’d carried before. 

He takes you instead to an apartment downtown; nondescript, small, tidy. The furniture appears new, fitting in with the same clean, monochromatic colour scheme as the rest of the apartment. There’s books on the coffee table, bland art lining the walls, cushions on the couch, a knitted beige comforter tossed over the armrest. It’s… fine, if not a little soulless. 

Turning to face Oikawa, you lift an eyebrow, “You… live here?” you ask.

The brunet’s lips quirk upwards, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. “Not often. It’s a foxhole, one of a few I have, actually. This one just so happened to be the closest.” At your confused expression, he continues, “Think of it like a hideaway. There’s no paper trail tying me to this place and very few people who know of its existence. We can lie low here for a few days while we figure everything out.”

Somewhere that can’t be tracked, because there are men out there who want you dead. Faintly, you nod, trying your best to ignore the pool of dread sitting heavy in your gut. 

There’s no pretending the threats aren’t real anymore. 

But you’re safe here, with Oikawa. No one’s coming to hurt you tonight. 

Exhausted, your whole body aching, you shower under a scorching spray, drying yourself off and pulling on one of Oikawa’s old shirts to sleep in (‘We’ll get you some proper clothes tomorrow,’ he’d promised). There’s only one bed in the tiny apartment, and even if you could find it within yourself to care, you’re altogether too drained to say anything when, after a quick shower of his own, Oikawa crawls in beside you. 

He’s warm and solid, the scent of him familiar as his arm slides over your middle, drawing you close. 

“I’m not going to let anyone touch you,” he murmurs into the dark. “I’ll kill them first. You’re safe with me.”

—

Two days later, your father summons you home.

Oikawa’s curtly dismissed at the door, left to his own devices. You, meanwhile, are taken into the study, tea is poured, and the conversation, naturally, shifts towards the break in at your apartment. 

“You can always stay here with us, little one, for as long as you’d like. Ryota would be thrilled to have you back.” Your father smiles, setting the steaming cup down. “As would I.”

The childhood endearment makes your heart tug. You’ve spent too long clawing your way free of his influence to do some good in the world, to return home now, no matter how tempting the thought, would undo that in seconds. 

“I know,” you reply. “And I appreciate it, dad. Oikawa’s taking me tomorrow to see a few apartments, though, so hopefully we’ll find something that works.”

He makes a dissatisfied noise, mouth tightening. “Yes, well considering this happened under Oikawa’s watch, perhaps you should rethink the weight you place in his judgement.”

“It’s because of Oikawa that they broke into my apartment. He never gave them an opening to come after me directly, so they tried to scare me instead.” Tried, and succeeded, mind you. “You’re the one who hired him,” you grumble.

“I hired him to protect you, nothing more,” he replies sternly. “If you’re put at risk again I will not hesitate to replace him with someone better suited.”

Peering down at you from behind wire frame glasses, he considers you for a moment – the same weighty, assessing stare he’d give you when, as a kid, he thought you were misbehaving. “I am not so blind that I cannot see what is happening in front of my own eyes. You’re close with him, you… trust him.”

“Am I not supposed to?” Wasn’t he the one telling you you had to listen to Oikawa?

He doesn’t answer you straight away, seemingly weighing up his response. When he does eventually speak, the words give little comfort. “Oikawa is… a necessary evil. He has the temperament and skill set which make him a natural choice in protecting you – they’re also what make him dangerous. If your life weren’t at risk I would not want you within a thousand yards of that man.”

You think back to the scars that litter Oikawa’s torso. The look in his eyes that night, the tempest raging, violent and volatile. 

It’s not as though you ever believed Oikawa to be a saint – if his association with your father wasn’t proof enough, the frankly alarming number of weapons you’d stumbled across, stashed throughout the foxhole certainly did the trick.

You grew up surrounded by men like that. Your father, your uncles. Business associates invited to dinner. None of them ever frightened you.

Unease slithers down your spine.

Satisfied, perhaps, that his warning struck home, your father straightens in his chair and clears his throat. “Enough of that. Come, drink – your tea’s getting cold.”

He keeps you there for a little while longer, to indulge in another cup and talk of other, lighter subjects; your work with the children’s foundation, Ryo’s progress at school (he’s becoming quite the little scientist), to the gardens that surround the estate, the cherry blossom trees set to bloom in a matter of weeks. 

On your way out, he asks for you to send in Oikawa. 

It takes you less than a minute to find him – sitting cross legged on the living room floor, deep in conversation with your seven year old brother. Ryo’s the one to spot you first, his whole face lighting up. Discarding the open book he’d had splayed across his lap, your brother jumps to his feet and barrels towards you with a delighted shriek of your name, arms outstretched. You catch him with a grin, squeezing back when he hugs you firmly.

“Careful, bud” Oikawa laughs, “you’ll knock her right off her feet.”

You ruffle Ryo’s hair. His mom would say the unruly locks are desperately in need of a trim – you think it suits him, reminds you of a wild thing. “Please, this little guy? Light as a feather.”

The indignant grumble you get in response, his face still buried in your middle only makes your grin widen. 

Still sprawled across the floor like a kid himself, Oikawa meets your gaze with a warm one of his own, something in your chest fluttering at the sight of it. He looks content, perfectly relaxed here with you and Ryo. 

In that moment, you’re struck with the realisation that he’s not the only one.

Whatever gripped you back in your father’s study, there’s no trace of it now, it holds no bearing here with the two of them. This is the Oikawa you’ve come to know, the one you trust.

The one you like, if the warming of your cheeks is any indication to go by. 

… Maybe it’s time you stopped running from that.

Saved from any further musing by your brother’s attempt to crush the life out of you in one final squeeze, Ryo reluctantly lets you go. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles, his cheeks turning pink. He kicks at the carpet a little, chews at his bottom lip, hesitating just a touch. “… Dad said you’re coming home to stay this time. Are you?” And beneath the wide, puppy dog eyes that tug at your heartstrings with practiced ease (no wonder he has both his parents wrapped around his finger), there’s no hiding the hope glimmering in his tone. 

“I missed you too, squirt.” 

At the mention of your father, however, something else springs to mind, and you turn your attention back to Oikawa. “Oh, almost forgot – he said he wants to see you. He’s in the study, waiting.”

The brunet nods, rising. If he’s bothered by the demand at all, there’s no outward indication. From your own conversation with the man, you can’t imagine he’s about to walk into anything particularly pleasant. Then again, you doubt that whatever your father has in store for him – whether it be lecture or complete verbal evisceration – is in any way anxiety inducing to someone like Oikawa. 

Sauntering past the two of you, he stops for a second, lays a hand on Ryo’s shoulder and leans down to whisper conspiratorially into his ear – just loud enough for his voice to carry. “Why don’t you show your big sister the new project you were telling me about, hm?” 

Ryo lights up again with a giddy gasp, racing from the room, and Oikawa winks at you, breezing on through. 

—

The moment you’re through the door back at the foxhole, he’s on you.

Ravenous, hungry, lips moving feverishly against yours, prying them apart for another taste of you. The clothes he’d bought for you are hastily discarded, thrown to the floor and kicked aside as Oikawa lifts you up, hiking your legs around his waist so he can carry you into the bedroom.

“What’s gotten into you?” you laugh, half breathless when he deposits you on the bed. 

“Do I need a reason?” he retorts, yanking off his shirt and casting it aside. “I’ve been waiting to do this all afternoon.”

He climbs onto the bed then,pushing your shoulders back down the mattress as his lips find yours to kiss you senseless. Your hand meanwhile slips down between your bodies, a feather light touch grazing the bulge in his jeans. 

He moans into your mouth, breath shivery and light, hips bucking ever so slightly to chase the touch. When he draws back, your stomach flips in anticipation at the positively wolfish expression you find there, “Careful, pretty girl,” he warns. 

“Or what?” 

He takes your hand then, pulls it back to his crotch and grinds into it slowly, shuddering, “Or you’re gonna be in for a long, long night.”

You arch up to kiss him, lips finding his throat, the two of you working together to hastily free his cock from the confines of his boxer briefs. 

The moment you’re successful, the hard, flushed length bobbing against his stomach, Oikawa lets a fat glob of spit fall into his palm and takes hold of it, twisting his wrist as he slides his hand back and forth along his cock, groaning and nudging your thighs apart. 

Usually, he likes to take his time prepping you, lowering his mouth to your pretty little pussy, teasing you and edging you until you’re a squirming, hot mess beneath him, all but begging him to hurry up and fuck you. Other times – when he’s in a more selfish mood – he’ll send you to your knees instead, taking his pleasure by fucking your face, fingers curling in your hair, the tight, wet warmth of your mouth too tempting to pass up.

But something feels different this time. More than hunger, or desire, beyond simple urgency. It glints and gleans in his eyes, seeps from his skin like the bead of sweat that trickles down the curve of his neck. 

It crackles like electricity in the air between you. 

And when he drags your hips down close, and pushes his cock deep into your warm, fluttering cunt, it robs you of all words.

True to his promise, Oikawa takes his time. Fucks you on your back, legs locked around his back at first – and then pressed back either side of you, the ache in your thighs second only to the stretch of your pussy, clenching around him with every languid roll of his hips.

He flips you over and draws your ass upwards, your face pressed down into the pillows, pounding into you from behind. 

Hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his throbbing shaft, hungry eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce so enticingly for him. 

And then, when your legs are shaking, pussy leaking his seed and every cell in your body is electrified and buzzing, he lays you down at the edge of the bed and feasts on your poor, sensitive, abused little hole ‘til you’re grabbing at his hair, bucking up and writhing on his tongue, screaming yourself hoarse from an overload of pleasure. 

Only then does he allow you rest, kissing you sweetly as he slips from your side and exits the bedroom. 

He returns moments later with a glass of water, which you gratefully accept and guzzle down. Collapsing back on the bed, you let out a groan, “I feel like I could sleep for the next thousand years.”

He chuckles. Climbing onto the mattress to flop down beside you, Oikawa rolls close, smiling with a soft look you’ve only ever seen directed at you. “So sleep. We’ve got an hour or so ‘til dinner, a nap won’t kill you.”

—

You wake to the sound of a car backfiring.

Eyes bleary, disoriented, you struggle to gather your wits as the door to the bedroom flies open. Oikawa appears in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas, gun in hand, eyes focused and alert – and it’s then, in the dim, early morning light that you realise that the sound you heard wasn’t a car at all.

With his handgun and attention trained on the front door, Oikawa spares you only the briefest of glances, “Get up, we need to go. Now.” 

Your heart skips a beat, chest tightening as the reality of the situation – at least, as much as your sluggish brain can piece together – dawns upon you. 

Questions, one after another, claw their way up your throat, desperate and urgent, terrified, you force yourself to swallow them down, along with the near paralysing fear that takes hold. There’s no time for that. No time to panic. Pausing only long enough to ascertain that you are in fact somewhat clothed – an old tee of his and a pair of sleep shorts you must’ve thrown on at some point last night – you scramble to Oikawa’s side. 

Any reassurance you feel at the grip he takes of your hand is quickly and overwhelmingly buried, however, when you catch sight of the dark mass by the entryway. 

Your stomach lurches, blood running cold. It’s a body – a man’s. The room’s not yet light enough to get a good look at his face, but the open, unblinking eyes and the sticky looking pool beneath him tell you plenty.

Dead. 

“Don’t look,” Oikawa murmurs.

His fingers tighten around your hand in a reassuring squeeze, already pulling you onwards. Like a bad accident, tearing your eyes away is easier said than done.

That man, he… he’d come here for you, hadn’t he? To kill you. 

You’ve never seen a dead body before, and now there’s one lying across your living room floor, riddled with bullets from Oikawa’s gun and that–

That could’ve been you. Would’ve been, if not for Oikawa.

Your chest constricts, a noose tightening at your throat. And just like that night at your apartment, the fear that takes root begins to strangle you, making it hard to breathe, harder to think.

Every uneven thump of your heart rattles your chest, your limbs feeling like they’re disconnected from the rest of you. Oikawa notices, and curses softly beneath his breath. There’s no time to coax you down, his grip turns iron, half running now down the fire door stairs with you stumbling behind him.

Somewhere above you, shouts begin to sound, and with a fresh wave of terror hammering through your veins, you force your legs to move quicker. There’s no choice but to run, to duck and cower when the creaking door to the floor above swings open and Oikawa abruptly yanks you forward to fire up the stairwell behind you. 

Bare feet pounding against the floor, chest heaving with ragged breaths, you burst out into the parking garage, and still you don’t stop. 

For the second time in less than a week, you’re corralled into a car, shaking and numb, on the verge of outright sobbing.  

Oikawa drives for a long time.

You don’t ask where you’re going, if they’re still following you. You don’t speak. 

The traffic on the streets thins out, the towering skyscrapers disappearing in the rearview mirror. Wherever he’s taking you, it’s not towards home.

And there’s a pit in your stomach, a bleak, festering emotion that grows harder and harder to ignore with every passing mile. Oikawa’s silence – tense and uncomfortable, only adds to your unease. 

This isn’t like last time, when he was angry beyond words. This feels… different, somehow. 

When you’re well beyond the city limits, he pulls the car to a stop on the side of a deserted stretch of road and turns it off, leaving the keys in the ignition. 

“There’s a phone in the glove box, can you get it for me?” 

Doing as he asks, you pop the compartment open, only to cringe when the first thing your fingers brush over isn’t a cell, but the cool metal of a handgun. Nevertheless, you keep going, eventually finding the black phone tucked away near the back and wordlessly passing it into Oikawa’s waiting palm.

He smiles at you, leans over the console to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, “Thanks. Stay here, alright? Gotta make a quick call.” 

He’s already dialling, smoothly exiting the car before the words truly register. 

You’re helpless to do anything but watch anxiously from the passenger’s seat, fingers worrying away at the hem of Oikawa’s shirt. Seconds tick by – nothing. No one picks up. No one answers. 

A small frown graces his features. Glancing into the car to check up on you, Oikawa simply ends the call, dials another number, holds the phone to his ear, and waits for whoever’s on the other end of the call to pick up. 

… But nobody does. The phone rings out.

He spares you another brief glance then, your wide, worried eyes meeting his. His brow furrows, the edges of his lips thinning into a hard line and before you can call out to ask him what’s wrong, who he’s trying to get ahold of, he’s moving away from the car and out of earshot. 

This time, he seems to take longer to find the number he’s after, drawing the phone back to his ear, foot tapping away as it rings and rings and rings. 

You don’t realise that you’re holding your breath, fingernails biting into the palm of your hand until you see him speaking into his cell, nodding at whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying.

Yet that reprieve, unlocking the breath trapped in your lungs, soothing over all of your tension and that awful, gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach lasts only as long as it takes for you to realise that Oikawa, staring at you from yards down the road, looks entirely too grim for the relief that you’re feeling.

He ends the call with a heavy exhale, shoulders slumping.

Your heart stops cold in your chest.  

One look at his pained expression, the pity swirling in his eyes, the sympathy, and your whole world comes crashing down around you.

Fingers fumbling for the door latch, you unbuckle your seatbelt to stagger to your feet, lurching towards him. Oikawa reaches you first, letting you collide into his arms, pulling you close. 

“He– he’s fine, right?” you beg in a thick, trembling voice, trying in vain to blink back hot tears. “Ryo’s fine. They both are. They’re okay. Tell me they’re okay. Please, Tooru, you have to– you have to tell me that they’re–”

As words fail you, Oikawa sighs. With a gentleness that shatters something inside of you, he cups your cheek in his palm, brushing away your tears, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I’m sorry. They… they hit the house before they came for us. No one made it out.”

No… no, no, no, no, no. That’s not true. You clutch at him, desperately shaking your head. Ryo can’t be dead, he’s only seven. He’s just a kid, an innocent, good kid. He’s your little brother.

He can’t be dead.

But Oikawa’s looking at you so brokenly, and you feel like somebody’s ripped you open from the inside out and saved your heart for last of all. You open your mouth to beg for him to tell you he’s lying, but all that comes out is a sobbing wail. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, holding you close, cradling you against him. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

—

The soft sound of leather shoes walking atop marble tiles echo throughout the empty halls of your father’s estate. 

There’s no need for Oikawa to disguise his presence now – not that there was much of one to begin with. 

The staff had opened the door without blinking, welcoming him inside, the guards on rotation nodding in acknowledgment when he strode past. They might not particularly enjoy his presence (no accounting for taste, he supposed) but after months working for the patriarch to keep you safe, they’d come to begrudgingly accept it. 

In their eyes, he was one of them, and so no one thought to stop him and ask why he’d shown up at the estate so late in the night, seemingly without reason. Without you.

It made picking them off one by one that much easier. 

Well, not all of them. He had left one alive – unconscious, possibly paralysed, but breathing all the same. Oikawa smirks. 

With the guards and household staff dispatched, he’d turned his attention towards the bedrooms. 

Ryota was first. Fast asleep, clutching the teddy-bear you’d bought him, your baby brother hadn’t stirred when Oikawa crept in with the shadows. He made it quick. Painless. As much of a mercy as a man like him was capable of. 

The kid’s mom was next; the second wife, the replacement. The money hungry, greedy, vapid little cunt. 

It was no secret that your father had been married before, that his first wife – your mother – had died after a long, tragic battle with cancer when you were sixteen. The first time he’d tried bringing it up, you’d shut him down and quickly changed the subject, but in the end, all it took was one too many glasses of wine, a few stories of his own, and those pretty lips of yours were spilling all sorts of interesting secrets.

That your step-mother was fucking him before she was even cold in the ground was one such fascinating tidbit. 

While he’d felt a slight twinge of guilt over killing the boy, Oikawa had no such qualms shooting her while she slept, the silencer on his pistol ensuring it raised no alarm, just like the others. 

While you’d mourn for your beloved baby brother, he knows you won’t shed any tears for that bitch. He wonders if you’d even thank him for it, if he ever decided to tell you the truth.

A pleasant shiver rolls down his spine at the thought of how sweetly you’d go about it.

Presently, he raises a fist to knock at the door of your father’s study, one final goal in mind.

“Come in,” a deep voice replies.

Oikawa has to give the older man some credit, one look at him – gun in hand, the flecks of blood spattered against his crisp, white shirt – and your father stills, the colour draining from his face. He doesn’t panic, though, doesn’t shout or cry out for help, much less for mercy.

They both know none is coming. 

Instead, he sets down the papers he’d been working on and rises slowly from his chair. No doubt he has at least one gun stashed nearby, but with Oikawa’s pointed towards his chest, the brunet’s index finger poised on the trigger, and his better years behind him, the odds don’t fall in his favour.

“My wife?”

Oikawa grins, clicking his tongue, “Dead.”

He nods, taking a moment to process the information. “And… my son?” 

“Dead.”

“… I see.”

Oikawa’s heard more than one person accuse your father of being a cold, heartless bastard. It’s an easy assumption to make – no one gains a reputation like his without a certain brutality and overall disregard for the lives of others. The truth is simpler; your father does have a heart, it resides in both of his children. While his voice might not shake at the news of his son’s demise, his hands, splayed out over the papers on his desk, most certainly do.

He swallows with difficulty, takes in a trembling breath, “My daughter, I assume you killed her, too?”

“God, no,” he laughs. “She’s sleeping, safe and sound, blissfully oblivious to all of this.” 

And for the first time since Oikawa crossed the threshold, a look of confusion adorns your father’s face. Before he can give voice to it, however, the brunet decides to nudge the conversation along. The drugs in your system will only keep you down for so long, and there’s still plenty he has left to do before the two of you can have your fresh start. 

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m working for the people who want you and your family wiped from the map. I’m not. I’m simply making the best of an opportunity." He sighs, shrugging, “We could have avoided this nastiness, you know. Maybe not indefinitely, but for a little while at least. All of this, it’s your fault; you gave me a gift, and then,” his smile turns sharp, an edge of anger bleeding through, “you threatened to take her away.”

There are worse fates than death. 

“If it gives you any solace,” Oikawa murmurs, the soft, placating tone at odds with the cruel twist of his vicious grin. “I intend to keep my promise. She’ll be safe with me, no one will ever lay so much as a finger on her.”

No one, that is, except for him. 

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ teacher's pet ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. oliver evans x f! reader — nijisanji jp

╰₊✧ your professor doesn’t like how close you’re getting to that playboy & calls you after class to discuss it┊2.3k words

contains: smut!! dom oliver & sub reader┊teacher/student relationship, age gap (unspecified but reader is early 20s & oliver is late 20s), established relationship (friends with benefits), jealousy, brat-taming (the good girl persona isn’t real), office sex & risk of getting caught, mentioned height difference, receiving oral, ooc probably (he’s bad with feelings), unrequited feelings & angsty rushed ending lmao

➤ author's note: i said “end of the week as in tomorrow”, but i was feeling generous!! i originally made prof and the reader have no relations other than teacher & student, but i struggled to create a dialogue so i made them friends with benefits and it got a lot easier! i did not plan to give it an angsty ending or to attach so much emotion to it, but it felt so right in the moment and i’m not taking it back 

you’re a good student, you know that right? you show up to every lecture without fail regardless of the weather and always take notes while asking questions along the way, which may seem annoying to some when in the later years of university, but you always help out others who missed class or don’t understand the material. you have a bright future ahead of you with how intelligent you are and how you’re so knowledgeable about the lessons of every class you’re in, he’s positive that he’ll see you on the news for making a historical breakthrough in whatever you’re studying and becoming one of the country’s richest women.

he doesn’t need to tell you this because he knows that you’re already aware of it, so why are you risking it all to hang out with some playboy who isn’t interested in anything more than a fun time and your body? as a professor, he’s seen and heard all that’s happened: how he asked you to help him cram for an exam, how a little friendship started blooming between the two of you, how you began to get more flustered when he got close to you, and most importantly, how he’s treated every other girl like that before breaking their hearts once he got what he wanted. you were so smart academically, but it seemed like you were too naive in matters of the heart.

normally, these aren’t issues that would bother him since he’s seen it repeated time and time again. although, he isn’t lying when he thinks your case is more important to him since he doesn’t want to see his best student fail due to a broken heart. he knows that your personal life is none of his business, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to intervene. as your professor, it’s part of his job to make sure that his students are all going down the right path and to prevent them from being led astray!

this is far from the first time he’s called you to see him in his office after class, going over the essays that you asked him to review before grading or simply asking you about your plans for after college, but it is the first time he’s asked to see you out of worry. it’s actually been a while since he’s seen you one-on-one like this, the last time being three weeks ago. he balled his fit up tightly when he saw that boy loitering by his doorway after escorting you as you convinced him that he didn’t need to wait around for you and would be at the planned arrangement when the time came. he didn’t feel disappointed like he thought he would, feeling rather dejected and inexplicitly angry for reasons he couldn’t place.

“i noticed that your grades have been slipping,” oliver started as you took a seat, watching you tense up as soon as the words left his mouth. you probably realized too late that this conversation was going to happen before you could make any real change to avoid it, just living in dread for the past week or so. “do you mind me asking if there’s something that brought about this change?” you anxiously fiddled with the hem of your dress and he sighed, not wanting to scare you off, “and please, be honest so that i can help you in any way that i can.”

“i-i’ve just been… distracted… it’s nothing that you need to be worried about…”

well, that was pretty obvious, he didn’t exactly expect you to admit the truth right away. he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to go about this in a professional manner, but still plowed ahead to skip any unnecessary awkwardness and asked you to specify what the distraction was. he wasn’t even sure what the point of asking was since no student would ever spill their dating life to an authority figure even if they were asked (especially if they were asked), so he decided to just rip off the bandage. “listen, i know that it’s normal for students your age to be experimenting romantically with others, but you shouldn't be letting it distract you from your studies!”

you bit your bottom lip and felt your face getting hot, burning with embarrassment that spread from your nose to the tips of your ears. “my grades aren’t that bad!” you defended, “i’m still passing and turning in everything on time!”

“barely passing while turning in assignments a minute or two before the deadline,” he corrected, making you flinch. “i hate looking at everything academic going downhill for you— over some guy who peaked in high school and won’t be able to amount to half of what you are now too.”

you bit the inside of your cheek seeing your prim and proper professor suddenly being unprofessional by speaking poorly about one of his pupils even if it was the truth. he was only human after all, he didn’t have to like every single person who walked through the doors. besides, it’s not as astonishing as it may seem for him to let his guard down and show his true colors around you, and seeing as he was being transparent with you, there was no reason why you couldn’t do the same. “aww, what’s the problem? are you jealous?” you scoffed as you got up to pace around his room and meddle with some of his things like you owned the damn place, “now you know how i feel whenever you got all of those other girls trying to bend over your desk asking you to give them extra credit.”

all he could do was glare with annoyance in his eyes, wondering about just how these predicaments come about. it’s true that this is far from the first time he’s called you to see him after class, but it’s never been for any of the reasons he’d listed before. you never needed his help for anything in the first place— or at least you never needed his help for anything academic. most people don’t see anything special about your dearest professor aside from his handsome face and strait-laced attitude, but you’ve always seen more to him (and have seen more of him). with the current state of things, things were too easy and handed to you on a silver platter, so why not pass some time by having an illicit affair that allowed you to have some control over an attractive authoritative figure? it isn’t partying or doing drugs, but it gives you all the rush and fun you need by having him help you out with your needs.

it didn’t take too much time for oliver to figure out that you weren’t really the goody-two-shoes teacher’s pet you had everyone believe you were. he doesn’t have the foggiest idea why you act that way, but you certainly play the part well as he was none the wiser until you seduced him. he’s the teacher with higher standing and a name, yet instead of being the one with power in the relationship, you were the one with all the chips on your side. you love this little game that’s been arranged, one where you know exactly what he’ll do in response to any of your actions: calling you to his office after class to take out his frustrations on you. this was by far the first time that he’d called you over because of jealousy, and it certainly won’t be the last time.

“how about you give me some extra credit, professor?” you mocked, pouting your lips and batting your eyelashes as you pushed some of his belongings aside so that you could sit on one of the shorter sides of his desk. “since my grades are so low? pretty please?”

he has half a mind to ignore your flirty little comments and chew you out for purposely pissing him off just because you felt like he wasn’t giving you enough attention, but god, you’re such a vixen. it never mattered if you were wearing a hoodie and sweatpants or a crop top and short skirts, you somehow managed to be so enticing in all forms and lure him towards you like a moth to a flame. it might be your eyes, possessing a distinct mischievous sparkle that knew he didn’t have it in him to deny you.

when he grabs you by your collar and crashes his lips onto yours, you find it almost funny how weak he is to your charms and his envious nature. he always tells himself that it will be the last time he’ll be hooking up with you and will stop this inappropriate behavior that could ruin his life if discovered, but every time you’re presented to him, he finds his lust and true emotions spiraling into this very position at the end of it all. he wasn’t sure why he was constantly lying to himself about this issue all the time when it was plainly clear whether or not he is willing to admit it. while it’s only a fling for you, it might be something more to him despite the fact that it was so wrong for him to be with you. 

it’s too late to listen to reason or the little voice at the back of his head when you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, requiring you to crane your neck upwards and also pull him towards by forcing him to lean down to your level due to his height. both of you were out of breath from the intense make-out session when he finally parted from your mouth, not saying a word or even bothering to look into each other’s eyes. it wasn’t needed when he already decided his next course of action and stood back up only to get on his knees, making quick work of pulling off your pants and underwear with a single swift movement.

you shivered at the sensation of cold air quickly being replaced by his hot breath ghosting over your cunt, barely making out a murmur about how none of the college boys you messed around with would ever do something like this. he was right, none of them ever did, and if they have, it was never half as good as how he made you feel with his experience and knowledgeable motions. hooking your legs over his shoulders with his head wedged in between to keep them separated, keeping his half-lidded eyes filled with lust on your face to watch the arrogant persona melt away into pure pleasure. 

there’s nothing that gives him greater satisfaction than watching you becoming undone while he licks long stripes along your sex before wrapping his lips around your delicate pearl and roughly sucking just to hear you squeal. now that he thinks about it, he isn’t sure if you locked the door behind you or if the possibility of someone walking in was very real. he would scare you about it, but you wouldn’t care if you were caught getting tongue-fucked by an instructor— you would probably flaunt the fact, especially if it were one of your flings or a girl who liked to flirt with him. (realistically, no one would enter before knocking and hearing his approval. besides, the place is relatively sound-proof and empty at this time.)

you tangled your finger in his brown locks and grasped onto them, not hard enough to revert his attention but just enough for you to find solace in a wave of euphoria. god, it feels like it’s been forever since you felt this sensation despite being a mere month, humming in delight every time his tongue toyed with your clit and hastily thrust into your entrance that was barely clenching around anything. your breath hitched as you threw your head back, voice caught in your throat and unable to let out anything but pathetic little whimpers instead of shameless moans.

his large hands gripped onto your thighs to hold you still, preventing you from rolling your hips or trying to grind on his face. not that he would mind you being more needy, but he wanted to keep complete control of the situation as he worked his mouth like magic until you cried out with your intense orgasm washing over you. your legs framing his head constricted for a moment, locking him in place before completely slacking from exhaustion. you usually would still have energy for another round or two after a few minutes of rest, but it’s been long enough without that you just slumped on the spot after letting go of him and placing them behind you on the wooden desk for support. 

you looked at him in a daze, still with a little devilish grin despite it all, watching him finally stand up and eyeing the sizable tent remaining in his pants, “do you need any help?” there wasn’t an ounce of care in your voice, not that there ever was when you were talking to him.

“no, i’ll handle it myself,” he stated simply. 

you tilted your head at him for a second before simply shrugging, “okay then, don’t say i didn’t ask!” there wasn’t an ounce of genuine care in your cheery voice.

“you can stay in here for now, just turn off the lights and keep quiet in case someone shows up.”

“aww, leaving already?” 

he remained quiet as you chuckled, putting his olive green coat on before departing to the bathroom to take care of himself. at least that was the original plan, any contentment he had during the whole ordeal quickly disappeared once it was all over, leaving nothing but a heavy weight on his chest that overpowered any feeling of horniness that was there. maybe he would just head home for today, rethinking what on earth he was doing. wishing for a student who didn’t see him as anything more than someone to pass the time with, he knows that he’s a deeply pathetic man regardless of how esteemed he is in the eyes of everyone else.

request [ thinking about prof evans railing us cause we've been too close with another student ]

[pedrointofolklore]

Long story short

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: weeks had passed since your steamy kiss with joel, and you wanted more. sequel to this is me trying.

warnings: smut 18+ mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, joel miller has a big dick, emotional sex, brief mention of sex as currency (as part of reader’s backstory), allusions to depression and suicidal ideation, lots of fluff with a bit of angst, enemies to lovers (they’re in their lover era), extremely soft joel, joel is so disastrously in love, self-loathing due to a guilty conscience, lots of swearing, age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, ellie era (ellie is only mentioned)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: hey y’all. so part one did way better than i ever expected. thank you to everyone who has supported it. if you haven’t read it i highly recommend you do before reading this. if you have read it: enjoy part two! the title is once again a taylor swift song.

It had been weeks since you kissed Joel.

Neither of you acknowledged it. After the shitstorm that was Kansas City, your focus was making it to Wyoming on foot. Addressing one kiss wasn’t high on the list of priorities.

But you still thought about it. A lot. And it seemed like Joel did too.

Joel Miller wasn’t nice as a rule, but he was good to you. He confided in you, asked for your input, and did what he could to make you feel like your presence was important. Whether or not it was actually important, you just appreciated that he was trying.

And you were trying too. You were doing your best to be present, focus on the positives, and take a breath before sprinting headfirst into danger. Just as Tess would have done.

You couldn’t have predicted that Ellie would end up inspiring you. There was something about her that reminded you of yourself (which was ultimately cause for concern), but she was different in the ways that mattered most. She was funny and resilient and excited about things, even in this vile world she was living in.

You wanted to be more like her.

There was an abandoned, isolated cabin somewhere between Kansas City and Kearney—you weren’t sure exactly where at this point. It was a corroded, rotting structure, with shattered windows and wooden panels threatening to collapse, but it was better than sleeping outside in the middle of nowhere.

There were two beds and a couch inside. Ellie passed out almost immediately after calling dibs on the bed upstairs. The poor girl was exhausted. Meanwhile, Joel laid down on the couch and shut his eyes, pretending to go to sleep. This was clearly an act; he wasn't going to sleep, he was going to keep watch.

You hadn’t slept in a bed since the QZ, and though this bed was old and musty and probably infested with microscopic bed bugs, it somehow felt like the most comfortable thing in the world. This was the first time in so long it didn’t feel like you were in a rush. You could just exist and let your mind wander.

Letting your mind wander was something you typically avoided, but instead of your thoughts leading you down a trail of despondency, they led you to Joel. You pictured him sitting upright on the couch, scanning the area through fractured windows, clutching a shotgun and trying to stay awake. You wondered what he was thinking about.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

That was what he’d said to you. It was such a new feeling; wanting Joel, wanting anything. You thought about the kiss again, and a warm, tingly sensation spread throughout your entire body like ink seeping into wet paper.

It was later, and you still wanted it.

Joel was awake.

This wasn’t new. Joel hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in 20 years, but it had gotten worse lately.

He’d failed everyone in Kansas City, but most of all Ellie. It left him in a constant state of unease, just waiting for something else to go wrong. Even sleeping stressed him out now.

Then, there was you.

As everything around him gradually fell into shambles, it felt like he needed you more everyday. You were good and clever and really the only person in the world who made Joel feel like he could do this, and that terrified him. You were trying so hard, but he still had this paralysing fear of losing you.

Joel hadn’t forgotten what happened, and he hadn’t forgotten what he said.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

He wasn’t even sure what ‘it’ was referring to. Was it that he’d fuck you if you asked? He would, but he didn't think that was really what he meant.

He also wasn’t sure if you wanted it. Maybe the kiss had been just a random moment of weakness for you. Maybe you woke up the next morning and realised that Joel was the last person in the world you could ever want. The thought gnawed at him; infected him like some faceless monstrosity with razor-sharp teeth.

But if by some chance you wanted it—wanted him—he would give you everything he had. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, and certainly not your admiration, but you deserved to get whatever you wanted out of him. He would let you come to him, and he would do anything you asked if it meant keeping you here.

The sound of your door clicking open jerked Joel from his anxious ruminating. His eyes followed you as you sauntered over to the couch and plonked yourself down next to him, crossing your legs with an air of forced nonchalance.

“What are you doing up?” Joel asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said. “You’re also up.”

“Just keepin’ watch.”

“We’re indoors in the middle of nowhere, Joel,” you replied. “I think you can sleep for a bit.”

Joel didn’t say anything. He couldn’t get into this with you. He didn’t want to ruin the newfound trust you had in him by letting you know what a mess he was.

“Unless there’s something else keeping you up,” you spoke in a nervous whisper, like you were testing the waters to see if Joel would actually entertain this conversation. 

Of course he would. There were things Joel didn’t want to talk about—anything that had ever happened to him, for example—but the only thing stronger than his propensity to never let anyone in was the urge he had to never deny you.

“Just been worried about you, I guess.” 

Your mouth formed a constrained smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We talked about this. I’m fine now, Joel.”

“One talk can’t solve everything.” Or one kiss, for that matter.

“I’m not asking you to solve anything,” you replied, your tone becoming heightened. “Worry about the important things, like Ellie and finding your brother and—"

“You are important.”

He felt a rush of anger, but not at you. Never at you. He was angry at himself. Of course you felt unimportant when he’d spent so long making you feel that way. It wasn’t fair that he got to wake up one day and decide to stop being an asshole while you still had to live with the consequences of his assholery.

You sat there not saying anything, and Joel was certain that you were about to walk away from this conversation. The irony wasn’t lost on him; for two people who hated heartfelt discussions, you couldn’t seem to stop finding yourselves in the middle of them.

“Joel…” Your voice came out breathy and desperate. It was completely unexpected. He couldn’t describe the feeling of hearing you say his name like that. All he knew was that he wanted to fall to his knees at your feet.

“What do you need?” Joel asked. He hoped that he already knew the answer.

“I need you.”

He let out a shaky exhale—relieved and nervous all at once. “You have me, sweetheart. You know that."

Being naked on a grotty mattress with a fully-clothed man above you should have been horrifically vulnerable, but you couldn’t muster up any uncertainty with Joel. All you felt was an excited kind of anticipation.

You never expected Joel to be so affectionate, but he held you like you were something worth caring for. He took his time, kissing you slow and undressing you bit by bit until you were bare for him. You felt the same heated intensity you had that night in the woods, but without the crushing sense of urgency.

Your breath hitched when Joel trailed kisses from your chest down past your navel. He stopped at the lowest part of your belly, looking up at you with lustful, imploring eyes. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

“Please…” You already sounded embarrassingly wrecked.

Your body jolted when Joel dragged a finger through your soaked slit, gathering up the obscene amount of wetness that was dripping out of you and spreading it over your aching clit.

Then, without a word, he pushed himself up and off the bed. You looked at him in dismay, about to berate him for teasing, but your voice caught in your throat when he crouched down at the end of the bed and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you forward until your ass was lined up with the edge of the mattress, and your legs were thrown over his shoulders.

The sound that escaped you when Joel sucked your clit into his mouth was borderline feral. You didn’t know you were capable of making a noise like that—something between a pathetic gasp and a wanton moan.

“Oh f—Joel! Feels so good. What the fuck.” You were breathless and shaking and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Ssh, sweetheart,” Joel hushed. You clenched around nothing when his warm breath hit your drenched core. “Need you to be quiet. Can you do that for me, baby?”

He didn’t even wait for you to try and compose yourself before devouring you again. He had a lot of audacity to think he could tell you to be quiet as he tongue-fucked you senseless. And then, like he was trying to get you to scream, he prodded a finger at your entrance and slipped it inside.

“That feel good?” Joel asked, curling his finger as he pumped it into you.

You whined and pulled his hair harder. He let out a low groan and continued flicking his tongue over your clit, and it dawned on you that he wasn’t just doing this to make you feel good—he was doing it because he liked it.

He added another finger, and this time you did scream, but not before clasping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. It was too much now. His mouth and fingers were unrelenting, as if worshipping your cunt was his only purpose on this earth.

“Joel—F-fuck—I think I’m gonna come.”

“You can come, baby. I got you.”

Those three words were all you needed. You came hard, sobbing and writhing and crushing Joel’s head between your thighs as you tried to clamp them shut. He could not have given less of a fuck—he continued his onslaught between your legs until you were twitching with overstimulation and pulling him off by his hair.

You threw an arm over your eyes, trying to catch your breath and recover from that earth-shattering orgasm. You heard the faint clink of a belt, followed by the soft sounds of fabric hitting the floor. You opened your eyes when the mattress dipped, revealing a very naked Joel Miller.

This took you by surprise more than anything else. You never thought that Joel would take his clothes off for you, and you wouldn’t have asked him to—he’d done it of his own volition. He wanted to bare himself to you like you had to him.

Plus, he was hot. You would have been attracted to him no matter what, but he was so undeniably sexy. His arms looked like they were carved from marble. He was broad and strong, but still had a wonderfully human softness about him. And his cock. Your mouth salivated at the sight. It was thick and long and beautiful. You wanted to drag your tongue along the vein that ran down his shaft and taste the leaking precum at the tip.

“You done starin’?” Joel asked, blushing at the way you were blatantly ogling him.

You giggled and climbed into his lap, your knees settling on either side of his hips. “Stop being so pretty if you don’t want me to stare.”

Joel let out a genuine, light-hearted laugh—something you’d only witnessed him do a handful of times. You wanted to bottle the sound and keep it forever. “I’m pretty, am I?”

“So pretty.” You leaned forward and kissed him, painfully aware of his hard cock pressed against your inner thigh.

You reached down and wrapped a hand around his length, teasing the slit with your thumb and spreading the dribbling fluid. You pumped him a few times, noticing the way his belly tightened as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re so good, sweetheart," he spoke with a low, sultry tone, "but I really need to fuck you now.”

Joel had you pinned under him in a second, hiking your legs up around his hips while his cock bumped your entrance.

“Ready?” Joel asked.

You nodded eagerly and repeated what you told him earlier, “I need you.”

Joel lined the head of his cock up with your wet heat, stroking it through your folds and teasing your sensitive clit. He leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on your lips as he finally pushed into you.

The stretch stung even with how wet you were. You dug your nails into his back and tried not to wince, all while Joel planted comforting kisses around your face.

“It’ll feel good in a second, baby,” he whispered against your cheek. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you assured him. “Don’t stop.”

He paused when he was buried to the hilt, giving you a moment to adjust. You weren’t completely inexperienced, but the sheer size of Joel was a lot to take.

But it wasn't long before the sting started to morph into pleasure. You felt keyed up and desperate and so incredibly full. “You can move now.”

His hands settled on your thighs as he pulled his cock out and slowly pushed it back in. Your walls fluttered around him, spurring him on. He did it again, this time plunging it harder and faster.

You gasped at the feeling, gushing around his cock and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer. He set a steady, delicious pace, pounding into you the way you hadn't even known you'd been craving.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Shit. So good. So fuckin' perfect.”

You moaned at his slurry of praise, angling your hips up so he reached even deeper. You ran a hand over his back and down to his plush ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Joel chuckled fondly and traced affectionate nibbles along your jaw.

It hit you all at once that you had never been this happy before. Having Joel in your arms, buried inside you, giving you everything he could was beyond euphoric. You didn't know if you would ever feel this good again.

And suddenly, he stopped. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Fuck. You were crying. “Nothing. Just don’t stop.”

“I need you to talk to me, sweetheart.” He made a move to pull out, but you panicked and tightened your legs around his waist to hold him there.

“It’s nothing bad. I just can’t believe this is happening,” you told him. Warm, pearly tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, but you smiled in spite of yourself. “It feels so good, and I’m just…really happy it's you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel cooed, kissing your tear-stained temples. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? So fuckin’ sweet. Gonna keep you forever, baby. Don’t worry.”

His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was both fervent and impossibly romantic. He tongue slipped past your lips, licking into your mouth with a tender intensity that had you mewling.

Joel resumed thrusting into you. His pace was slower, but his cock was hitting deeper. The warmth in your belly was quickly turning into a burning fire—a fire you wanted to keep on raging.

You were so close, and you knew Joel would never come before you did, but you were determined to hold out; to hold onto this rapturous intimacy as long as you could.

“It’s okay,” Joel said, as if he was reading your mind. “You’re okay.”

You couldn't stop it. Your walls tightened like a vice. You arched and trembled and clawed at Joel, muttering broken curses as he fucked you through your orgasm.

His hips faltered, his thrusts lost their rhythm, and you knew he was about to come. He probably needed to pull out. You probably needed to tell him to. But he just kept plunging his cock into you, and you kept letting him. His eyes were dark and pleading—he was begging you to let this happen.

You wanted him to do it. “Please, Joel.”

He growled a deep, rumbling ‘fuuuuck,' cock twitching and painting your walls with thick ropes of come.

He let out a contented sigh once he recovered and collapsed on top of you, burying his head in the crook of your neck while your fingers sifted through his damp hair. 

This would be over soon. Before Joel could give in to his exhaustion and fall asleep on top of you, he would remember where he was: in a decaying cabin at the end of the world with two people who needed him. Soon enough, he would stand up, dress himself, and go back to keeping watch.

You wished you could have this with him all the time. You wished you could fall asleep with him, wake up with him, and spend your days together with some semblance of peace. You didn’t want much, but you wanted that.

“Was that your first time?”

The thought only occurred to Joel when everything was said and done and he was cleaning you up. It made sense—you were young when the outbreak happened, you’d been relatively alone until you met him and Tess, and he could tell by the way your body reacted to him that it wasn’t used to such an intrusion.

“No, but it felt like it,” you replied. “It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to.”

Joel’s heart plummeted into his stomach. His mouth went dry, his jaw clicked the way it did when he was enraged, and he felt just about ready to kill someone.

“Not like that, Joel,” you said quickly. “I agreed to it. It was...I didn’t have anything else to trade.”

Joel was destroyed, but it wasn’t even a shocking revelation. He didn’t judge you for it—he’d turned to a lot worse in the name of survival—it just made him feel sick that you were ever in that position. You deserved to be cherished and taken care of, not used and discarded.

“Do you still do that?” He almost wanted to ask if you’d ever done it for his or Tess’s benefit, but he feared the answer would crush him.

“No. Not for years,” you replied. “It wasn’t that bad, honestly. It was only a couple of times.”

That’s still bad.

Joel held you close, stroking your hair and kissing your lovely face. Maybe it was because you had told him all of that while you were both still naked, but he felt like he needed to remind you that he adored your body, as well as the soul it carried.

He also felt like he needed to apologise. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“What for?”

“Just…everything. I hate the way I treated you.”

“I already forgave you, Joel.”

Your words should have been a relief, but they felt like a hot knife piercing right into his chest. “Why?”

“You apologised, and you changed.”

“And that’s enough?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I hurt you. I made you feel like you shouldn’t be here.” His throat ached as he swallowed down the emotion rising in him. He didn't want to sound as devastated as he felt, because he knew you would comfort him if he did, and this wasn’t about him.

“You didn’t make me feel like that, Joel,” you spoke with gentle reassurance. “I felt that way for a long time. Before I met you.”

“Okay, but I didn’t help.”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s over now. I don’t want to keep harping on it.”

“What do you want?” Joel asked. It was a heavy question, and one you hadn’t considered in so long—he knew that because he hadn’t either.

You snuggled into him, so cute and cosy it made him ache. “Just this. Can we have this?”

Truthfully, Joel was terrified, and he knew it wasn’t going to stop. He used to think that having you close like this would make it harder, but there was a strange sense of relief in having this with you. He didn’t have to worry from afar anymore. He could hold onto you, and look after you. He had you right there with him.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Joel laid with you until you fell asleep. He wanted to stay like that all night, sleeping with you curled up in his arms. He hoped that one day he would get to.

Right now, he needed to keep watch.

a/n: im so awkward about writing smut so if that came across while reading pls forgive me. im overall pretty happy with how this turned out. i might write some drabbles about this relationship down the road, but im leaving these two here for now. thanks for reading! p.s. in order to stay true to part one, im sick again posting this. (why do i keep getting sick??)

[shittalkcornstalk]

“Take One For The Team”

Part 2

Synopsis-The reader uses Buggy’s crush on them against him, but they’ll soon find that more people are aware of their scheme then they’d previously thought, and that for the plan to continue to work they’d have to sweeten the pot.

Warnings- xfemreader! , Use of Y/n, 18+ minor dni, Smut, mild manipulation on your part, alcohol use, weapons mention, age gap mention, Buggy is kind of creepy, just a little, masturbation, revealing clothes, mild allusions to pred/prey

A/n- Gahhhh I’m so happy y’all enjoyed the first chapter! Like I said last time, I’m quite new at this so getting so much support has been awesome! Once again please let me know if I missed tagging/warning about something! I have chapter 3 finished and chapter 4 is on its way!

Word Count- 2.4k

Chapter Two “A Woman’s Touch”

It was a horrible day for the Buggy pirates, a failed raid left Buggy absolutely pissed. It seemed no amount of little laughs or shoulder touches would put out this rage. You tried but were often met with grumbles and muttering. He felt weak and he needed to reinforce his power somehow, even if that cost your attention. That sacrifice only made him madder.

“I've been too soft on you pathetic lot, did you all witness the grand shittery I did yesterday. How embarrassing that was for me as a captain of what’s supposed to be one of the scariest crews on the east blue? You are asking for it now. You’re gonna return to your previous regiments, whipping you into the pirates worthy of Captain Buggy!”

And just like that back to square one. Your body ached after training and you were losing any ability to maintain the repertoire with Buggy. You didn't have the energy to care about how you said his name, or if you touched his shoulder that day. Laughing at his jokes was painful as it was, but now it was laborious. You wonder if Buggy had noticed your lack of enthusiasm, though this current you wasn’t far off from the original you he still liked, he seemed to look at you with anticipation to be met with not much in return as he unfortunately expected. Buggy was already pent up from the stress of entering the Grandline and now his favorite distraction gave him the cold shoulder.

You drink your rum and sob to Cabaji and Moji, who have training and your chores to maintain. After all, they still owed you for those 2 1/2 weeks in bliss. The three of you console one another when a figure approaches the little booth you huddle at.

“I know very well what the sneaky little three of you have been up to, and I want in,”

It’s Alvida, right hand of your Captain Buggy. Alvida was a powerful woman. As the only other woman on the ship, you’d teetered between a sense of comradery and an overwhelming intimidation from her. She was tall, thin, and gorgeous. She didn’t even register as one of Buggy’s crew as the clown never really phased her. But now she looked at you somehow desperately. She slumped down in the booth with you taking a big swig of her own drink.

“This game you've been playing with the captain, why’d you drop it all of a sudden- '' She pouted.

You play dumb in response “I have no clue what your talking about-“ You shift your eyes around the room”

“Oh come on misses ~captain buggy~” She mocks you with a high pitched tone clasping her hands together. “ You've been flirting with the captain and I have a strong feeling it's not cause you like him back, is it?”

Well shit, if Alvida knows, there's no point in lying. You look towards Cabaji and Moji and nod in agreement, you’ll let Alvida in on your little secret.

Cabaji explains the plan to have you lull the captain with a bit of flirting to keep him off our backs. Alvida smirks.

“And it worked clearly- but not anymore y/n, you've got to step it up for the sake of the crew. He can be such a prick all tensed up like this.” And just like the night the plans were initiated Alvida nudges you and says “Take one for the team-“ A phrase you are starting to loathe.

You do not like how this plan has evolved from subtle flirting to whatever Alvida, a woman known to use her whiles against men, had in mind for you.

“I don't know what you want from me Alvida, but I already told these two I am not sleeping with him, and if I’m being honest I don’t want to lead him on into the wrong idea-anything super direct is off the table”

“Well duh, you can do alot with very little, clearly we just need to sweeten the pot darling. Make those little moments all the more tempting. I do have a suggestion though that I think will up the anti so to speak. Come to my room tomorrow morning, bring your clothes- all of them”

“Fine, but now you have to let me have access to the private liquor cabinet on the ship-“

Alvida nods, “Fine it’s a deal, I’ll see you tomorrow-take a shower before you get there”

And you obliged, Alvida ran through your clothing picking out pieces and throwing others into a ‘no pile’. You quickly noticed which clothes were being encouraged . Tiny crop tops and little denim skirts, short shorts you knew rode in the crack and pretty much anything tight, colorful, and feminine. She'd even go as far as to cut up a few shirts and pants to accommodate your new ‘uniform’. Ones she'd swear would aid in the plan. Laying out a rather revealing outfit, you put it on and damn did it fit right. It showed off quite a bit, but anything to stop the torment. Alvida also set you up with a bit of a makeup and hair routine. Luckily your hair was already in good shape from the previous benefits Buggy allowed you, but makeup was a little different. Nothing much but Alvida took time to rosy up your cheeks, ecensuare your eyes, and make your lips juicy and kissable. You looked back at yourself in her full length mirror and you liked what you saw, hopefully Buggy did too, if this was to work he had to.

When breakfast time rolled around you made your way to the captains table, Alvida trailed slowly behind as you entered. This “new you” wasn’t too far off from your original appearance, it just made you stand out a bit more. It definitely reinforced that you were the only other woman on the crew, as you saw eyes look you up and down. Some from crew mates, Cabaji and Moji eyeing you snickering to themselves, but most importantly your Captain. His eyes widened and he took a break from the breakfast he’d been eating to set his fork down and eye you up. You knew at this point he’d been eyeing you on many occasions for a long time, but it was never this blatant. He shifted up and down your figure smirking to himself. This attention from so many people felt weird, there was a heavy tension in the room as you headed over to the Captain’s table to join your target for breakfast. He looked at you the entire time, and his eyes shifted to your thighs as they spread slightly as you sat down, a sight he’d never had the pleasure of noticing in your previous more concealing outfits. You look up at the idiots in front of you and they lean and dart their eyes towards the captain in a motioning way. It’s time for you to do your job, but this felt different, at least a little bit. Before you’d had full control over the situation, but now more exposed then you were used to and lingering eyes waiting for your next move you felt like you were being stalked. You swallow your anxiety, and look up at your Captain, smiling hesitantly.

“Good Morning Captain Buggy, how are you today?” Your voice waivers and if Cabaji and Moji didn’t know better they’d think you were actually intimidated by the man you mock so openly. The problem was you were intimidated.

“I’m doing great doll, especially now…” Buggy continues to eye you down, he’s eating up the hesitation in your voice, he thinks he’s getting to you, is he…? He grips his fork and takes a forceful bite, never shifting his eyes. While you're in a room full of people he’s made it feel as if it’s just the two of you. You can’t look away. Buggy the Clown is making it well aware to you now where you lie in the food chain and it’s under him.

“Any reason you decided to get all dolled up today? Don't get your hopes up sweets we aren’t going anywhere special-“

“Ah no reason at all..” You roll your eyes towards the others trying to break his gaze but it doesn’t let up. “Just trying something different I guess” You need some power in this situation, you’ve got to make this about him again somehow. You stumble out “Why…do you like it?” You cringe at how direct you were in that statement, hoping no one picked up on it.

He was caught off guard, his eyes widened and his grin stretched across his face. He leaned into you a bit to whisper to you.

“ Does it matter how I feel, doll? Do you want me to like it?” He said it in a hush tone, he may have wanted you badly but he didn’t need the rest of the crew to know that. He wanted this flirting to be just for you guys.

You gulp and finally break the tension with a stammering awkward response. Waving your hands and blushing profusely all you can get out is gibberish “What! No I mean…hahah..ahhh’” Looking for an out you see his plate is empty and grab your nearly full plate “looks like we both are finished I’ll take care of this…” and you storm away.

Alvida meets you at the kitchen after seeing the whole event transpire. She laughs at you and pats you on the back.

“You played that differently than I thought you would y/n it was incredible… I mean playing into the cutesy blushing mess is gonna eat at that man up for day. If I didn’t know any better I’d be convinced you actually at a crush on the son of a bitch-“

You are all heated up and just ugghhhh. “It’s not that it’s just I didn’t know he could be like that, all up close and personal. It totally took me out of my rhythm. I know he’s a feared pirate captain, but after seeing him get all blubbery and goofy from the other stuff I couldn’t imagine he’d have the self restraint to actually flirt- to be intimidating like that.”

Alvida chuckles “ I have to admit even I’m impressed he managed to elicit that response out of you, are you sure you don’t have a little crush on him? Cause I can help with that too if we’re switching course-“

“Noooo , I don’t know if I want to keep doing this if it’s gonna be this intense. What if this actually goes somewhere-what if we makes a move-“

“Come on Buggy probably just got a little too excited seeing you like this for the first time, you crossed all his wires and he came across a little strong. We’ll see how he is today and if the plan is still working. It’s up to you if you wanna continue doing this, but you saw how well it worked earlier, it made all of our lives easier, even Captains.”

It did work earlier, and it worked today. Captain had called for an independent study day, the crew was to work at and hone their own skills. It was still training, but leagues above the other regiments, on top of that he’d cooped himself up in his room working on charts for the day after breakfast. He’d hadn’t been overseeing the training, so you all had the opportunity to go at your own tasks pretty lazily. You ended in knife training with Cabaji and a couple others, working off some of that pent up tension from earlier. You had to put bike shorts under the skirt you were wearing to avoid flashing the others when you were practicing combat. Why did he get you like that? Why were his words sticking in your head so intently?

Captain Buggy was held up in his room. This morning was something else. He’d convinced himself he lost your attention after this week's aunslaught of training, but today's little stunt you pulled showed him you were still on your way to being all his. God the tiny skirt you wore with that tight sweater. He’d burned the image of your hips swaying over to the table, your eyes never leaving his, into his brain . You’d been too afraid to break eye contact at that moment, but to him it looked like an invitation, a way to tell him exactly what you were dressing like that for. He shuddered at the thought of you stuttering to him, the way your lips trembled saying his name. He wanted that again, he wanted you to shutter his name while he was on top of you. He felt himself stiffen at the thought of your thighs spread open on his bed, with that same cute embarrassed expression. “Hmmmmm” He’d canceled the regiment today because he knew he couldn’t bear to see you sweat in that outfit, he barely kept himself together at breakfast, and now he was begging for release. He began pumping at himself and a low groan rolled from his chest. He’d touched himself to you before but he’d never had this much to work off of. “God y/n please- fuck-“ He felt himself lose it under the thought of you. “You’re gonna be all mine, I’m gonna make you mine-mine-“ Before long, he felt his release to the thought of you. He shuddered at the mess he’d made. The pleasure was substandard to what he could only envision your touch to be like. He knew he couldn’t maintain like this for long, with you toying with him. He was determined to make you fall for him, even if that meant having your crew fall behind, he had to find opportunities to have you see him in a more casual light. Looking at the charts he plotted a course leading to a string of small towns filled. Perhaps you both needed a little vacation.

[needfantasticstories]

Chapter 8 is FINALLY done!

"He’d traveled across time and between worlds, conquered shadows and broken the dreams of gods, and he could do it again, goddesses willing or not."

Legend faces his first Skulltulas, and meets someone new.

Exit Strategy

Legend leaned back on the metal door, hands shaking from exertion. He tried to catch his breath amid the smoke and ashes of the cavern, but it caught acrid in his throat and settled heavy in his lungs. Reluctant, he peeled open and ate one of the two honey candies he always kept in reserve for Hyrule or Wind, for healing and small bribes respectively, and chased it with another bottle of magic-restoring potion. 

The last few red drops of potion in the glass glittered, mesmerizing in the dim torchlight. He put the empty bottle away. How the mage came to possess so many red potions from his own era, instead of just the elixirs common to Wild’s time, struck him again as odd. Still, Legend wasn’t complaining. They’d not been to his era for weeks, and his stock ran out days ago. Wild made fantastic elixirs for a range of uses, but magic wasn’t one of them. 

The fake wall thudded as heavy weights slammed against it. Skulltulas . Legend winced at the thought of facing them again. Not yet . Tapping and scraping on the metal sang a gruesome tune of anger and hunger that reverberated into his spine.  

Time and Sky had mentioned defeating the pests before. Apparently Wild had them too. He had to get back outside and face them. It’s Champion's era. What would he use? He huffed a weak laugh at a dozen memories of the champ exploding trees and fish, to Time’s horror. Bombs . And a rrows. Bomb arrows . Legend did not want to bring the whole canyon down just yet, and so searched his pouch. No Tempered blade in its usual place, that had been left in the mud at the ambush, along with his mirror shield. 

Legend brushed over a familiar hilt in his bag, his fingers tracing over worn, braided leather. He gripped it tight and pulled the blade free, remembering that night, years ago, when he’d lifted it from uncle’s mantle to chase the girl’s pleading voice, Zelda’s voice, in his mind. His hands were so small back then. That night, hope from the princess and priests gave him courage to press on despite the rest of the kingdom turning against him. And he’d done it. Just a child. A man now. He looked at the simple blade, and repeated the promise he’d made that night.

I thought I ended him. I’m sorry I failed your world. But I will bring you back so we can heal it together, break your curse, and keep Gannon in his grave .

He’d traveled across time and between worlds, conquered shadows and broken the dreams of gods, and he could do it again, goddesses willing or not. 

If he were truly blessed, Ravio might be ready for another adventure with him. 

Breathe .

Yanking his power gloves on, Legend turned and shoved the metal wall open. 

Pale sunlight bloomed through the gap to reveal biting cold air, drifting snow, and red sand.

Beyond the sandstone overhang casting its shadow over him, daylight shattered and speared between ropes of silk that criss-crossed the natural arena of the canyon. They almost masked the deep pit gaping in the center of it all in shadow. 

Spiders twice his size with skull-like bodies and golden legs scurried to reach him, clawing forward on the webs and the ground as if starving. More emerged from the deep pit. They chittered and clacked as they crawled closer, spitting crude nets of webbing toward him. 

He sidestepped the first net, then leveled his fire rod at the skulltula who’d sent it. The monster hissed as another one overtook it, both scrambling to reach the veteran first. Legend appreciated the wave of heat he released, a relief in the frigid air, and he left two charred bodies smoking where they fell before they burst into purple fog. The shimmering webs all around him crumpled and twisted away from the blaze, creating a small gap in the skulltulas’ dense weave. 

Fresh air blew in, clearing the smoke and ash and Legend breathed. 

“Rulie!” he bellowed, just in case. But only more spiders stirred in answer. Another massive black and gold body dropped in front of him. He stabbed it on instinct. With a crack and a crunch, it fell, legs twitching around his sword arm. He jerked the blade free and cleared more webs with fire. The sticky webs shriveled and spiders dropped. 

Legend spun around the pit: slicing, burning, stabbing, again, again, again. Webs fell and revealed a vibrant blue glow coming from the far side of the arena. He’d seen a few like it before: in the rainforest where they’d first landed in Wild’s Faron region, and again just before Ghirahim’s ambush. It had to be another shrine, or similar sheikah magic. Wild used them to teleport, and it might get him and Hyrule back too, faster than slogging uphill into snowy mesas with Yiga on their tails. 

Fire and sword steadily cleared a path to the shrine, skull-faced bodies leaving clouds of sulfuric smoke. Veils of webbing drifted almost lazily away under the golden sunlight now filling the arena, uncovering facades of windows and doors built against the cliffs.

Sooner than he’d expected, the last skulltula shriveled under his flames. 

Legend panted as he turned all around, searching the walls and the pit for stragglers. Fire rod swapped for his traveler’s shield, the veteran braced himself for what might come next. The pit would be an ideal place for a moldorm, or gleeok. He watched, and waited.  

Nothing moved. 

The veteran adventurer wiped sweat from his face. 

Wind blew sand across the gap, but not a whisper or sound came from inside. Anxious to get this over with, he peered down over the edge. Little yellow lights glowed around the edge, but no monsters emerged. 

Hesitant, he scoured the arena, now painted in ash and scorch marks. “RULIE!” he shouted, and listened. But there was no sound, nor sign of any life in the arena beside himself. “RULIE!” The word echoed and faded, unanswered. 

He turned to Wild’s shrine again, unsteady and jittery as the rush of battle left a swell of discomfort in its wake. Lightheaded and cold, but moving forward anyway, Legend approached the structure cautiously.  

This shrine, radiating a piercing blue light, towered higher than the two others he’d seen: it jutted from the sand like a spike, the top half of smooth crystalline rectangles, but still with the gaudy, worm-like swirls around the base and archway like the other shrines. 

Legend  jumped atop its bulky platform. 

A pedestal with a slanted top glowed, a rectangular hollow in the center. The light faintly pulsed. 

But, how to make it work? How to activate it? Legend wiped sweat and ash from his cooling face and studied the pedestal beside the archway. The tilted face shone so brightly it was hard to look at for long. He explored the entire surface with his fingertips, the slate smooth and cold as ice, colder even than the drifting snowflakes melting on his hair and hands.  

He pushed at the lights, prodded them in different orders, copied the pattern of constellations marked on the shrine. 

Nothing .

He tried a mystery seed. He tried spells memorized from books Ravio brought up from Lorule about magic and potions. 

Nothing. 

He sent flames over the pedestal, across the entrance, and inside the little cave-like room within, hoping to activate something . Not a scratch or scorch mark remained for his efforts. Legend kept at it: he prodded every reachable surface, inside and out, for signs of a switch or a puzzle, but found only that perplexing dip in the center of the pedestal. 

Nothing.

The light continued to pulse steadily, like an ancient mechanical heartbeat. He felt the gap, imagining the size and shape of what might fit inside. 

Wild’s slate. This dip was just the right size for it. 

Then it all made sense. That was the key. So only Wild could use it. 

Determination turned to sour disappointment. In the blue glow of the shrine’s cave, Legend eased himself down to sit on the inner glowing platform. Too late, he realized it might have been a mistake: once teased with rest, his body collapsed. Sleepless nights and too many long fights made his limbs sluggish. The sun outside shone too bright. His joints grated at the slightest movement. He closed his eyes, half-wanting to sink into dreams, even knowing how dangerous as those could be, whether by a new deity needing his help to wake, or simply from a stray monster finding him an easy meal. 

Legend groaned and forced his eyes open. He could not sleep yet. He needed to bring Hyrule back. If he could find his successor and get out, hold on long enough to get them to safety…away from that horrid demon and the mage the Yiga mentioned. Mages…Aghanim. Veran. Twinrova…the potions, stolen from the mage’s room…

His eyes closed, head dipping. 

…the book.

The book! 

Legend shook himself harder and sat up. He needed a plan if he wanted to prevent the terrible fate the book showed, and the hell that would bring: a new incarnation of Ganon, Hyrule dead. The Yiga knew about the curse. They would kill him. Gannon would be back. 

Or the Calamity. 

There was no time to waste. Legend unfurled the map. Blue light shone through the paper as he traced with shaking hands over dry red and black ink. None of the words looked familiar. Legend traced his wandering path backwards, pausing only to note that the mage’s chamber and the war room with the long table didn’t appear on the map. 

Only two wings of the sprawling complex remained unexplored. Hope sparked warm in his chest when he realized one of them led to this arena. Examining the cliff walls again, he cleared out blistered webs and loose boulders, revealing a decorative gate. With a small, red-tiled roof and simple wooden frame, it was far humbler than the ornate gate framing the hidden passage he’d left earlier. It blended perfectly with the stone. 

Hyrule, hold on. I’m almost there.

Legend tried pulling, pushing, and testing for hidden levers, but found none. It was like that tall shrine all over again. Which, as before, meant Wild probably had the answer. If Wars was around, he’d put money on the “key” to it. With a laugh and a hope, Legend lit the fuse, aimed, and tossed.   

The explosion rocked the canyon. Sand and rocks poured down like waterfalls from the cliffs above. Dust cleared from the entrance. The veteran could almost hear Wild saying “See? Bombs!” with that wide, tilted grin of his. 

Legend entered the mangled cave door. He leapt over debris and mangled spike boobytraps, and rushed deeper inside, throwing stones ahead to spring any more traps before he reached them. 

Sweat dripped down his neck. He threw stones ahead as he rushed through the corridors, and sure enough spikes shot from the floor several yards ahead. Amateurs , he thought as they retracted, and he rushed across easily on winged boots. 

Legend left a slew of mangled floor and wall spike-traps in his wake.

A large hallway opened ahead. His footsteps echoed, disturbing the quiet, yet no Yiga appeared. Strange . Nor had they appeared outside. Too empty, too quiet . Legend didn’t like it. After killing the monsters, and certainly after bombing the door, the place should be swarming with Yiga. 

Had they retreated? Or if Hyrule had escaped, was he giving them such a tough fight elsewhere that they’d forgotten him? Or were they planning some attack or trap ahead? He’d rather take them on than continue with this eerie silence. But perhaps there were more monsters here than just the spiders, and they’d left defending the entrance to them? His gut twisted as he tried to push away another haunting thought: maybe they’ve started the ritual. Maybe they don’t need the book.

Blade and shield ready, he ran into the next hall, only to find more empty halls and sparsely scattered torches.

Cleanse . The word had been repeating in his mind since he arrived. A drum beat pushing him forwards while he’d searched. He would burn them all out on sight to free the world from this threat. For Wild. For Malon and Time. For Rulie, and for this era that had endured horrors enough. 

But where were they? He knew he’d not killed all of them, the slippery bastards. Legend followed the switchbacking hall to the doorway of the next room, and stepped inside. 

Inside, he found a spacious room bathed in the same red torchlight as the rest of the complex. The floor had been carved four steps deep and covered in sand: a training arena. Walkways converged at a large, padded stage in the center. Wide towers halfway to the corners of the room held lamps and long banners, the painted red eyes watching from all directions.

On the stage sat an old man: cross-legged, hands resting across a thick wooden cane in his lap. The coiled, blue haze of the man’s magic aura felt ancient . Legend had not felt such a stark reminder of his own youth since meeting Time, and this stranger felt much older still. He sat motionless, completely at ease.

And no wonder, the veteran thought: the old man was huge, and unlike any other Yiga he’d seen—bullish like the blademasters, but much taller. Even Time would have to look up to face him. Four and Wind could weave between his legs without bothering to duck. 

The man wore no red bodysuit, but unadorned black robes. Painted on his black mask, the signature upside-down eye of the Yiga shimmered gold in the room's red glow. Snowy hair fanned in two halves from his top knot, hanging nearly to his shoulders.

Legend had seen this too many times before: the smug, relaxed arrogance of a dungeon’s final guardian. Usually a good sign that I’m going the right way, that I’m close. Perhaps this was the mage he’d stolen the book and potions from. On the far side of the room stood the way ahead. To his surprise, it was not a locked door, but an open hallway.  He didn’t need a dungeon key—he just needed to get past this man.

Legend readied his sword and shield. 

The stranger rose to his feet with the gravity of a talus. Legend resisted the urge to take a step back. Matching his shocking height, his voice rumbled deeply: “Come in, hero. I will not hurt you. I only wish to speak with you.” He planted the cane before him, resting his huge arms on it.  

That was… unexpected. 

Legend held his weapons tighter, eyeing the wooden cane of his opponent warily. Magic radiated around it. “Thanks, but I’m only passing through.”

“You seek your friend.” 

Irritation flared in the veteran; not only at the man, but at his own confusion. What the hell was going on? Why was the enemy offering to talk ?

“Obviously,” Legend seethed. “You assholes and your demon lord were the ones who took him.” Though he’d hoped to match the even temper of the old man, he could not keep a snarl from leaking into his voice. 

“No, hero. That demon is not my master. Not yet. My master is gone. I merely serve the clan in his honor, training them in our ways, but the mage leads our tribe now.”

So, not the mage. There went that theory. “Then who are you?” 

“I am… I am no one. Perhaps one day I may reclaim my name, my revenge, and my honor. Until then, I am simply a teacher.”

Legend waited for him to elaborate, but he remained on the stage, watching. Maybe. Hard to tell under the mask. But the teacher remained silent. Legend rolled his eyes. Cryptic much? “Fine. Teacher, then. The Mage is in charge. Got it.”

A deep chuckle resounded from the Teacher. “The mage serves the demon lord. Yet he believes Lord Ghirahim serves him .” 

Then he had the audacity to laugh again . “I sincerely apologize, young hero. No doubt yours was. not a warm welcome. We knew you’d not be easy to convince. But Fate has foretold of the role you will fulfill. The mage wishes to show you how to save your friend’s life. We will ensure your safety, for Destiny has willed it so.”

“Yeah, you were right,” Legend deadpanned, “I’m not convinced. I happen to know your mage wants my friend dead. So let's get this over with.” 

The old man lifted the cane like a sword.

Legend sent magic into his boots, and the room streaked into blurs of color on either side as he charged the stage. When he reached it, the huge man disappeared in a cloud of red. 

Legend took the chance. He rushed across the stage and onward to the open hallway on the far side. No slammed door, no lock, like he was used to. Just another hall. He only needed to stay ahead of this man and keep a strong lead as he searched. At worst they’d battle in the hall where Legend’s smaller form would have the advantage. With luck, the stubborn old brute would be bound to the room like most dungeon guardians, but Wild’s era proved unpredictable in that regard already. They’d all heard about the roaming lynels.   

Legend jumped up the opposite steps in time to watch the tree-sized wooden bars slam over the doors, locking him in. He barely stopped in time. 

“NO!” Legend struck the bars with his blade, but he knew it was pointless. In the center, he found a slot for a key. Legend scoured the room for the man who’d done it.

He did not see him anywhere. Time to draw him out. Win the fight. Get the key. 

He walked cautiously back to the stage. The veteran turned slowly, listening. The silence pressed like a weight. 

A brush of displaced air whispered behind him, and Legend spun and blocked the old man’s staff with his shield. The dense pole forced his shield down until he was nearly on his knees in a crouch. Legend swung his sword below his shield across Teacher’s leg. Metal clashed as his knight’s sword bounced off a hidden shin guard, its silver metal peeking through the sliced black fabric. 

Legend tried to get out from under the man’s downward pressure, shoving with the help of his boots and jumping over a low swipe at his legs. But when he jumped, Teacher shoved him back. Skidding, Legend dug in and stopped the enemy’s goron-like momentum just enough to risk stabbing at Teacher’s knee, careful to keep his head covered. 

The old man dodged it easily with a sidestep, but Legend turned his wrist and hacked from the side, digging into his soft inner thigh. A hiss told him he'd drawn blood, at least. But the pressure grew unbearable against his shield, threatening to topple him backward and crush him. Both arms burned as he tried again to shove Teacher off, but this time the boost from his pegasus boots was not enough to force him back. 

“Fate cannot be thwarted. Yield, and save your friend.” The man spoke without strain, as if the shoving match between them took no effort. Legend ground his teeth and trickled more and more magic into his boots to push forward, yet the force against him mounted higher. Goddesses, he’s strong. He wants to test me.

Legend preferred to keep some surprises up his sleeve. He straightened with just a little boost from his bracelet, then danced aside in a spin—cap and tunic flaring—and let Teacher lurch forward in the empty place he’d left. Legend swung his sword around to hack into the old man’s unarmored spine as he passed. 

Only Teacher hadn’t lurched at all, but dashed forwards quickly— too quickly—and spun as Legend had, nimble as a yearling buck. He faced Legend with that eerie black mask and flung his wrist. Two kunai blades, disturbingly like Ghirahim’s, slammed into Legend’s hastily-raised shield. The huge man charged again, cane ready to strike. But the veteran leapt high, flipping backwards in a soaring arc, and aimed his blade for the man’s head as he passed below. His opponent’s momentum would be his undoing.

But Teacher was gone . Legend’s blade cut empty air instead of splitting a skull. 

Dammit! The teleporting coward!

Legend’s momentum sent a bruising shock through his knees, joints nearly buckling, as he landed. 

Where did he–

The old man’s voice resonated from the door Legend needed to reach. “Hero of Legend, your name is well remembered by my tribe. In your time, we were allies.”   

Legend straightened, panting. “Your tribe is just traitors and murderers now.” 

“Young mage, hear me.”

“I’m not a—” Legend started, but Teacher interrupted, raising a placating hand.

“Upon the memory of Master Khoga, I vow that we only wish to teach you the spell to keep your companion alive.” 

Legend had to fight back a laugh. Wild loved telling that story around the campfire of the Yiga clan leader accidentally killing himself with his own weapon and falling to his death. Yet the raw earnestness in Teacher’s voice gave him enough sense to not mock the still-grieving man. “Oh, well, now I’m convinced.” Legend scoffed. “Unless you're actually going to help me get Hyrule out of here, let’s get this over with.”

Teacher heaved a deep sigh, and rested his pole between his feet. “Let fate prove my words, as the knights of old, since you wish to fight. If you disarm me, I swear to stand aside. But if I disarm you, then you will stay and listen to the mage.”

“I’m not a knight. If you really know who I am, then you already know I’d never agree with anyone trying to bring back Gannon.”

“Do not let pride blind you to the good you may achieve with our help.” He lowered the cane to his side. “Let the mage teach you the spell that will save the Hero of Hyrule.” 

Heat filled Legend’s vision, crawling up his neck, just like the rage he’d felt when he first arrived. It swelled to a boil as the pieces fell into place.

Legend knew what it showed in the pages of the book, knew what the mage truly had in store for Hyrule. “I don’t need him to teach me a damn thing. I know what you actually plan to do with ’Rule, so honestly? Fuck off.” 

“You do not understand your role—”

“Enough!” Legend didn’t bother letting him finish. “I’m getting the key and getting out.”

“Hmm. It is a shame you chose to fight against Fate. But in the end, there will be no choice.” Teacher lifted his cane overhead, and the spell of concealment over it shattered. The Teacher lowered twin, single-edge blades, like the blademasters but larger and with hooked cross guards the size of dinner plates. His robes took on the fit of the blademasters too, but remained dark as night. “The mage will find other ways to convince you.”

Legend’s scowled, readied his weapons, and watched for the old man to make the next move. 

Teacher disappeared again. A sudden grasp on his arms startled him. Legend shoved backwards to knock the old man down and break his grip. They tumbled off the walkway into the sand. 

Legend scrambled up to face his enemy, spitting out the dry grains and shaking more out of his hair. “Can’t win without disappearing?” he shouted.

“As you fight with magic—” Teacher was behind him again. Legend whipped around and used his bracelet to slam his sword hard against the man. His opponent raised one arm and took the blow on his spiked vambrace, the blade inched from his masked head. “So do I.”

He had a point. Legend despised him all the more for it. 

Teacher scissored his blades across Legend’s legs. But the hero leapt high, backflipping over the arcing blades, his sword arm coiling with tension to drive into the enemy’s head. Spiked arm guards blocked the midair attack, and before Legend landed, Teacher snatched his sword arm and flung him bodily onto the stage like a sack of grain.

Legend rolled to his feet from the toss and spun to face his opponent. Teacher did not pause his assault. Jumping onto the stage, he barreled forward, then tucked and rolled to the left when Legend struck, but it was a feint and too swiftly he leapt up from the roll and swerved right, crossed his arms to hold the blades high, and if not for Legend’s own flip back at the last moment, they would have taken his head as they scissored again. Instead, they swished just below his boots. 

Blades lunged for him again, tips sparking with sharp magic. Legend barely rolled under their reach in time. 

Teacher fought like a hurricane. Lightning fast, he hacked both blades at Legend’s right, striking the shield with the force of a lynel, in blurred succession. Reverberating pain shot up his arm. Legend swung into the storm with his own sword, but the man jumped high, and as Legend’s swipe passed through the abandoned spot, Teacher dropped down with his blades poised downward to skewer Legend from above. Legend blocked overhead, but marveled at how the huge man continued to hover above the ground. He’d seen the archers do it, but not blademasters, and this man seemed to be their teacher. Both blades swung down at his left side this time, Legend’s sword arm barely fast enough to block and parry. He could hardly track the motion. Metal flashed from the right and above, brutally shoving his shield and nearly dislocating his shoulder. Legend could only defend. 

Still unbound by gravity, Teacher twisted in the air, spinning like a children’s toy as his blades became a whirl of red, like fire. Legend backed away, but the whirlwind slammed his shield, forcing him down to one knee. 

It stopped when a fist cracked against his cheek.

The world tilted sideways, and his nerves kicked in late, dulled by whatever blow had landed on his head. Gravity caught him, clawing him down to the floor, though it seemed a tenuous situation, as if  up and down could change direction again at any moment. Legend blinked hard several times, trying to get up, but shooting pain in his ribs kept him still. Curling his head up, he found a black shoe pressing him down.  

Searing pain at the back of his knee brought the world back into sharp focus, and he gasped as a terrible sting throbbed, pulsing with heat and shock up and down his entire leg. The man’s dripping blade pulled free of the wound, and Legend realized he’d cut his tendon.

Bastard!

“Yield,” Teacher ordered. 

Cleanse.

  Legend let his hand answer, using the force of his power bracelet to strike Teacher’s unarmored hamstring with a gift from Sky clenched in his fist: a woodcarving knife.

The brute grunted, and his leg lifted enough for the veteran to push free. 

Legend rolled under the man as the dual blades swung down where his legs had been a moment before. He’s still not fighting to kill. But I am! The veteran continued his roll behind Teacher and lunged to his feet, jumping high enough to swing at the back of his neck. But the old man turned with the agility of a snake and parried, shoving Legend back. 

Legend landed clumsily in the sand on one leg, careful not to put weight down on his leg, but he could feel his magic ring already knitting the wound closed. 

Teacher paused, breathing harder now. “Fate is unrelenting in its tapestry. Not even you can undo the weaving. Stop this pointless game.”

Cleanse.  

“Funny, because I’ve killed the destined King of Evil even as a goddess-damned child , every time he showed his ugly face. Don’t waste my time.”

Legend did not wait for the old man to make the next move. His leg had nearly recovered enough to walk on. Okay. Time to dance . 

Shield away, the veteran pulled free a cane, the top curled like a fern. A cane from the Dark World. The smooth blue surface shone purple in the red light as Legend lifted the cane of Byrna high. 

When Teacher’s blow struck, his strength turned against him, bouncing off the shield and sending him flying backward with the force. 

The hole left in Legend’s chest by the consumed magic ached bone-deep, but he was ready for the next attack. Fire rod again in hand, he gave the man no chance to recover his balance before hurling flame after flame against him. 

The ground erupted at his feet, but Legend was ready. Nothing he hadn���t already seen today.  

Legend sidestepped the blaze and lunged for the man with all his strength, natural and otherwise. 

Then a curious thing happened.

The teacher moved like someone trapped in dense mud, like time itself had slowed down. The flames behind him crawled in its attempt to chase him. The teacher hardly moved at all, blades slowly cutting the air. Legend’s shield was already poised to block it. He’d seen this before… where had he seen it? The veteran could not recall just then, not in the heat of battle. Not daring to question the sudden surplus of time to attack, Legend landed his blow, heard the force of his hit, and yet the man hardly moved! Legend struck again, and again, and again, finishing with a spin attack.

The man flew backward into a pillar so hard that his mask cracked in half, landing beside his limp form on the sand. 

Legend hurried down, and rifled around the man’s robes, searching for a bag or a...

There!

Legend darted across the walkway and up the stairs, and he shoved the key he’d taken into the lock. The gate slowly began to rise.

A brush of displaced air warned him. Legend swiveled and drew up his sword in one fluid motion. 

Legend and the Teacher both held blades to each other’s throats. 

“I will yield, as a sign of my sincerity. But consider this warning, hero,” the teacher growled, lowering his blade. “Fate is inescapable.”

And in a cloud of red, he was gone. 

The doors opened.

Legend didn’t wait around to see if his concession was just a trick.

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

@estelian-01!!!! This chapter is dedicated to you! Thanks for being so excited about this fic, it has significantly led to it's forward progress!

A TRILLION Thanks to @hotcheetohatredwastaken for beta reading and giving fantastic suggestions, and finding all my silly little errors.

Also shout out to @not-freyja for answering all my many, many Legend questions!

[writing-for-marvel]

Cause That’s When I’ll See You Again

DBF!Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The one time of year your dad’s best friend is in town is during the holiday season - the perfect opportunity for some no strings attached, filthy sex with a man who actually knows what he’s doing, but year after year it becomes harder to convince yourself you’re only in it for the orgasms.

Festive prompt: a roaring fireplace

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, oral sex (f receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, a little angst (cause it’s me and I can’t help myself), happy ending, fluff and soft feelings, age gap is implied although exact ages are never mentioned

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Happy Holidays to my Thot Neighbourhood Secret Santa, the lovely, beautiful and talented @jobean12-blog. Jo thank you for being such a ray of positivity and love on this site. You are one of kindest souls with the warmest heart, thank you for being you. I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful holiday season ♥️ also a HUGE thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for putting so much time and effort into organising this Secret Santa - I love and appreciate you Jen 💜 banners by @vase-of-lilies and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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A sense of déjà vu washed over you as you laid a tartan blanket in front of your crackling fireplace.

It was that time of year again, where colourful festive lights were strung throughout your neighbourhood and flurries of snow dusted the town, the combination of which produced an intangible magical quality, one you wished you could forever encapsulate and preserve in a snow glow.

The festive season was finally upon you.

Despite the chilly temperatures, most people’s spirits were warmer than ever, including yours. This time of joyful celebration also happened to coincide with the one time of year your dad’s best friend, the beefy and dangerously handsome Ari Levinson, returned home from his almost year long stint working overseas.

And to ensure that he wouldn’t be spending the holidays by himself and celebrating Hanukkah alone, your friendly father invited Ari to spend the festive season with your family.

The first time you slept together had been accidental - well, if you can call finally giving in to the massive crush you had developed on the burly framed, sex god, who never failed to affectionately refer to you as ‘Toffee’ because the chewy confection had been stuck in your teeth the first time you met, an accident.

But once you kissed him, allowed his large, assertive hands to roam over your every curve, and let his tongue taste every drop of your arousal for him, you knew you were in trouble.

You swore you’d never cross that line and act on such feelings, but when said sex god, with eyes as blue and inviting as a warm summer sky, looked at you like a ten course meal he wanted to devour, well, all logical thinking and restraint flew out the window, along with your panties.

The entire following year, you wondered if your dalliance was fated to be one glorious night. Whether Ari considered it a moment of weakness on his behalf and if he regretted what the two of you did, or if he was as desperate for it to happen again as you were.

The following holiday period, your questions were answered almost immediately.

The first time you two were alone again, all it took was one quizzical glance and you knew he too was thinking back to the night a year ago.

Perhaps it should have concerned you just how easily you gave yourself up to him, but you were honestly so desperate for him to have his way with you, to utterly ruin you again, that the desire between your legs overruled any self-control your brain tried to exert.

From your experience, none of the men your age knew anything about how to satisfy a woman, but there was no doubt with Ari, by your third orgasm, when you were floating on a cloud of pure bliss, you were convinced your bodies were made for each other.

This particular year he had a whole two weeks at home before departing again, and you made use of all fourteen euphoric days.

“Fuck, Toffee, so wet and messy, just for me - your pretty pussy gonna cum on these fat fucking fingers again? You gonna make a mess all over daddy?” His low growling voice was already such a turn on, but when he talked to you like that, you couldn’t stop yourself from cumming right then and there.

“That’s it, pretty girl, doing such a good job for me. Look how beautiful you are bouncing on my cock.” His praise spurred you on, lifting yourself up and sinking down on him again so he filled you completely, but when he reached to where your bodies connected, strumming on your clit, the coil in your stomach tightened as he brought you closer to your orgasm. “Wanna feel you cum around me baby, can you do that for me?”

“Still can’t get enough of me, can you Toffee?” He spoke into your ear as he pinned your hands above your head, fingers interlocked with yours, his weight pinning you to your bed, hips rolling into your own filling the room with salacious sounds of skin slapping skin. “You’ll never get enough, will you? I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you either.”

As you laid beside Ari the day before he was due to leave, content listening to the crackling fireplace, head resting on his broad chest, his strong arm wrapped tenderly around your waist, pulling you back into him as if your touch itself sustained him, you couldn’t help your mind from wondering if you meant more to him than simply an easy fuck; someone he knew would be available to take his sexual frustrations out on for the couple weeks a year he was home.

You had never met someone who fucked you so rough, but also treated you with such tenderness, as if you were something worth taking care of.

There were moments throughout the past couple weeks, when his eyes weren’t consumed with just pure lust for you, there was something else swirling around those desire-blown pupils. But you told yourself it must be your imagination. Surely he couldn’t truly be looking at you with the devotion you wished he felt for you.

When time came for him to leave again, you didn’t have the words to express to him how you had treasured the past two weeks. You were fully aware that he was your fathers best friend, and even if that weren’t reason enough to prevent your heart from becoming attached to him, you knew his position which took him overseas for the majority of the year should be. Whatever this was between you two, it could never turn into something real.

But that didn’t stop you from wishing it could.

The following year was pure torture. When you had only hooked up just once, you could at least resign yourself to the thought that it was a one time thing that meant nothing to him.

But now, knowing you had both been so eager for it to happen again, and the expectation that come the next holiday season you would pick up right where you left off, made you miss his presence even more.

The thought itself was exciting, but also agony.

Because, even if you wouldn’t admit it aloud, you missed not only the toe curling orgasms, but the way his eyes softened when they looked at you, how your body fit so perfectly with his as he cradled you to sleep, and the tranquil happiness you seemed to only find in his company.

Unbeknownst to anyone else in his life, Ari had made the executive decision to have an additional two weeks at home this year, designed to be spent solely with you.

He knew he couldn’t offer you the life or relationship you deserved, but just in this one aspect of his life he wanted to be a little selfish.

He wanted his sweet Toffee all to himself for these next four weeks, watching as your face contort in the most exquisite way as pleasure washed through your entire body; he wanted to wake up beside you and spend the cold mornings bundled up with you, listening to your voice as you read chapters of your new favourite book; but more than anything, he wanted to kiss you every chance he got, roughly kiss you until you were completely out of breath, sweetly kiss you when you were in the middle of a sentence because he just couldn’t wait until you were finished, tenderly kiss you right before you fell asleep so you would dream about his lips on yours.

Being able to spend a whole month with Ari was like a dream come true.

He spent an entire day teaching you to make sufganiyot just as his mother had done every Hanukkah when he was growing up.

Promised to beat you at every board game you kept stored at your place, but you were also convinced he let you win every time.

You sat by the roaring fire, one blanket stretched to cover both your laps as you read in peace, simply enjoying being together, even if you were doing something separately.

Someone could be confused into thinking that given the intimate nature of how you spent your days together, the pure tenderness which softened your gaze and the doting, involuntary smile tugging at the corners of your lips whenever you gazed at him, your relationship was much more significant than occasional fuck buddies.

But you couldn’t allow yourself to think like that - not only did Ari live most of his life oceans away from where you did, but he was best friends with your father. There was no way the two of you could ever have something that sembled a real relationship.

However, it was undeniable that when the two of you were together, it was something even more magical than the holiday season itself. The sex was incredible, that was evident by the number of life shattering orgasms he could pull almost on demand from your body, but it wasn’t just the sex.

He could make you laugh like nobody else, helped you feel confident in your body, provided an environment where you were comfortable enough around him to divulge secrets you hadn’t even told some of your friends. He brought out the best version of you you didn't even realise existed before him.

After a particularly sensual and passionate night, you laid together by the roaring fire, however it was the warmth which came from snuggling beside Ari’s strapping naked form which you were most interested in. For the first time in your life you felt truly content, protected, but most of all, loved.

The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, he made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, he could so easily fool you into thinking you were the only one for him.

Saying your inevitable goodbye was excruciating. Each year it became progressively more painful, and you weren’t sure you could manage the searing heartbreak which would come next year when you were positive you were already in love with him.

You couldn’t keep living like this, wondering for close enough to an entire year if the man you loved would still want you next festive season, whether in the time you were apart he had found someone else to settle down with, or if he wouldn’t be able to make it home for the next holidays, or came to the realisation of any one of the numerous reasons he wouldn’t want to continue sleeping with his best friends daughter.

You made a pact to yourself that the next time you saw Ari you’d tell him. Tell him how insanely happy he made you, how all you could think about was if next holidays you would get to experience that feeling of pure rapture when you were together, and how it killed you to consider that might not be a possibility. Tell him how possessive you were over him and that the thought he satisfied his needs with anyone else over the period you were apart ripped your heart from your chest. Tell him how even though it was entirely impossible and beyond impractical, you wanted to spend every moment of your year laughing with him until your cheeks ached, learning every aspect of his passionate soul and making love to him every chance you got.

Tell him that you loved him.

A knock on your front door pulled you from your reverie as you straightened the corners of your tartan blanket. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach and your heart clenched with dread.

This was it.

When you opened the door Ari looked handsome as ever, broad and tanned as if he had spent far too long in the sun. But it was the twinkle in his striking eyes at the recognition that it was you behind the door that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He didn’t speak a single word as he dropped his bags inside the entrance and pulled you into a tight hug. His embrace was warm and familiar, and even though it was Ari who was technically returning home, in a way it felt like you had as well.

“Ari?” The inflection in your voice indicated it was a question. Ari pulled back and studied your face before answering.

“Yeah Toffee?” His features stiffened and all of a sudden he looked worried. You had never seen him look this anxious before, and you made the quick determination that you didn’t like it one bit.

“I’ve had something on my mind literally all year and I need to come out and say this before we pick up where we left off.” You nervously babbled, peering down at how your hands were shaking.

“You’re in a relationship?” His voice was filled with sorrow which tore your heart in two.

“What? No. Actually, it’s sort of the opposite.” You nervously giggled, the sound of which seemed to calm his nerves. You took a deep breath to summon the courage you needed to confess your secret when his gorgeous eyes looked at you so expectantly. “I’ve been so hung up on you the past year I haven’t been able to think straight - well if I’m honest it’s probably been longer than just this last year. And I know this might ruin everything, and that it probably puts you in an awkward situation because of my dad, but Ari I think I’m in love with you.”

He took that moment to finally kiss you, like he was a suffocating man and your lips were his air. Lord, you had missed the tickle of his beard and how he smelled warm and musky, with a hint of tobacco. Every intimate feeling you had left unsaid you poured into that kiss, finally feeling free to convey every last emotion into your expression of love for him and not have to hold back as you had previously.

When you finally pulled away, needing air, Ari rested his forehead against yours, scrunched his nose and affectionately rubbed the tip against your own.

“My darling Toffee, I know wholeheartedly that I am in love with you.” You had never seen Ari smile as much as when he confessed those words.

“You do?” You asked, and he responded with an ardent kiss to your lips.

“This moment right here, reuniting with you, that’s what got me through the whole year. You’re the person I come home for.”

This time it was you that kissed him, eager, luscious and downright possessive. His luggage long forgotten, you steered him towards your living room and the cosy space you had set up next to the fireplace for an occasion just like this one.

You’d already had some very memorable holidays with Ari, but you were certain none would compare to this year.

[lxvsxjy]

Love tropes • jjk men

Cw: mentions of death (spoilers), age gap,

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Gojo - friends to lovers

You and Gojo have been friends since the very beginning, it’s been an emotional rollercoaster being friends for so long. The way you’ve both seen each other go through failed relationships and embarrassing moments, that’s how you know you’re not ever going to drift away.

You never thought of gojo in a romantic way, not until you were both joking around and talking about your horrible dating experiences when gojo spoke up “we might as well just date each other at this point.” That was probably the last time you saw gojo as ‘just a friend’ because something about how he said it made you think, even if he said it as a joke.

The first time something happened between the two of you was when you both got into a really deep conversation one night and things just happened really fast. One minute you were talking about how repulsive most of the men you’ve been with are, the next minute your lips are on gojo’s.

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Geto - bodyguard & celebrity

(Possibly gonna make a fic about this)

You’re well known for your beauty and your skills for acting. So it’s not a surprise when you started getting people following you around when your career started taking off, that’s when you were introduced to him.. the sexy bodyguard.

The first time you saw him, you swear you drooled a bit. I mean who wouldn’t. He didn’t talk much but when he did, it was like honey. His voice was sexy yet calm, intimidating yet protective. You get he was your bodyguard so it’s his job to be protective but come on, how could you not feel this way

You don’t even know how you two ended up like this, together with his hands on your hips as your lips connect. It wasn’t like any other kiss, it was magical.

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Nanami - right person,wrong time

You and nanami have been together for as long as you can remember, however your time together was cut short.

The death of nanami hit you hard, you don’t remember the last time you’ve spoken to a real person, you kept thinking about your times with nanami and how much you loved him.

The way he’d hold you when you felt like shit, the way his lips would connect to yours like a puzzle piece. A perfect match. The soft touch you missed, oh how you missed him.

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Choso - love at first sight

All your past relationships were never right, they never worked out. You were beginning to give up on dating all together, that’s until you caught the eyes of the man who would soon become the best boyfriend you’d ever have.

You’re working behind the counter at the local cafe, it was a Monday so it wasn’t that busy. You have the usual regulars, the bell on the door rings to signal the arrival of a customer. This time it wasn’t a familiar face, there was a moment of silence before either of you spoke up, the silence was loud as you shared eye contact with one another, something couldn’t bring yourself to look away

The time went on, weeks, months and every few days he’d come in, same time same days. It was the part of your routine that you loved the most. All these interactions caused you both to talk about your daily lives with each other, he was good at listening and you knew that, he would remember every little detail he’d tell you.

You’d wish your relationship would go further but for now you didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you two. For now this is how will be

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Toji - dilf & babysitter

You were 22 without a job, you decided to try out for babysitting, how hard could it be. Yeah that’s what you thought before you were greeted at the door by a 6’2 man with biceps bigger than your head, surely he’s not the father of the kid you’re babysitting.

The man towering over you introduced himself as Toji fushiguro, the father of the kid, megumi who you were babysitting. The whole time he was talking, you were just thinking about how he doesn’t look a a day over 20, yet alone being 31. It’s was unbelievable.

You found out that Toji was a single parent, and that he has no contact with his ex wife, how did you find this out? Well every time he comes back, he hands you your money and that’s when you’d have a full blown conversation, he was sexy and he knew it. The way he wore those compression shirts made you flip out. You will never pass down an opportunity to babysit for him ever.

[davosmymaster]

The Saddest Part of Me

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no smut (yet) but mentions of sex/sexual themes, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mention of past abusive/violent relationship, canon-typical violence, breaking-up, Jake is the fist of Khonshu, Marc and Steven don’t have the suit anymore, post-MoonKnight, my non-native English is a warning itself, no beta

PAIRINGS - Jake Lockley x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader ; Steven Grant x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 4.6k

SUMMARY - Tired of Jake’s missions turning deadly, Steven and Marc ask you for help. It backfires.

A/N - This started as first person pov, dont know exactly why but i liked it and went with it. Then it changed after one of the pauses and I was too tired to change it (also i like it as it is) so I didn’t. Don’t read if you are easily triggered. Credits to whoever made the gif. Part two will be up when it’s up.

THE SADDEST PART OF ME

 Toni Morrison once wrote that "love is never any better than the lover". And as if that wasn't a horrible enough claim on its own, she followed with "wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly."

 I found myself called to those lines and, trapped by the words of a book that had me crying for most of it, I discovered I was more moved by that sentence than I had been for the rest of the novel. Trapped as I was, my mind rushed to find meaning beyond the words. I remembered past flings and failed relationships, abusive exes, and even friendships that hadn't worked. Finally, at last, my eye caught the shape of one of my boyfriends watching a cricket game on tv; as if I hadn't been aware that he was there, as if it was the first time I saw him. Truly, saw him.

 Steven noticed, of course he did. He was always hyperaware of his surroundings and, unlike Marc, he didn't know how to be subtle about it. He leaned back on the sofa, almost melting against it, and looked in my direction with the most relaxed expression he had in weeks. There was one cute smile on his lips; eyes gleaming with comfort after a long week of work. He was finally spending time with his girlfriend, and the time felt valuable for both of us even if each was doing our own thing.

 He must have seen something on my face, something buried and hurt perhaps, something I'm still not very sure of what it was; but something regardless, because his eyes switched off their glow as if someone had thrown a handful of sand over them. His smile trembled slightly, without him ever finding out, as if his body was understanding something he was not. A presage.

 "You feeling alright, love?" he asked.

 Even though I heard him loud and clear, felt his worry as my own in the way he looked at me; my brain did not seem to register. My mind was long gone, far away from there. I was looking at Steven but I had no problem with him. I was looking at his body. No, I was not, either. I was looking at the shell that contained the three men I was in love with. And I just happened to be looking at Steven because he was there —the wrong place at the wrong time— but who I was really looking for in those eyes, the person that deserved to be there at that moment, it wasn't Steven. It wasn't Marc, either.

 It was Jake.

 We'd just had the most terrible month in our relationship. Even though I'd like to say it only concerned Jake and I, it truly did not. Marc and Steven had their role in the problem too, even if it was well-intentioned in the end. Our argument seemed to be over, at least for now. But neither of us had apologized nor had we found a peaceful way out of our trouble.

 No. Not at all.

 It was over because we had both decided we loved each other more than the problem hurt us. Now we were ignoring both the problem still unresolved and the gap his lies had created between us.

 Yes, Jake had lied to me. Repeteadly and over a long period of time. Problem was he didn't regret it at all. My mind had been trying not to think more about the matter, ignoring it, living happily in naivety. In my coping mechanism I was blind to the elephant in the room: Jake didn't regret his actions at all. He didn't regret killing those people and he sure as hell didn't regret lying to me about it.

 That meant only one thing: he would kill again. That is, if he hadn't already.

 As if he could read my mind Steven's frown deepened. He got closer, his hand closing the space that separated us. His thumb very slowly touched my cheek. It was so slow, so gentle, as if he was frightened himself of my stupor. Or even scared of me.

 The slowness did not restrain my soul from shooting back into my body. The jump it caused could only be described as the sensation of falling from an imaginary abyss just as you are about to fall asleep.

 It was right then when I realized Jake wasn't hidden there, in those eyes. It was just Steven. Only sweet and sincere Steven.

 "You alright?" he asked, a worried chuckle dancing on his lips. "I lost you for a moment there, uh. In the land of the dreaming?"

 I smiled, even if I couldn't quite remember how.

 "Yeah, yeah... Sorry I scared you," I said, but still took his hands and put them away from me. All I could think about was those hands unfortunately being a part of Jake. Those pretty hands that belonged to Steven and Marc too, but which had been smeared with thick blood clotting around the nails. All I could see was them holding the gun Jake had been so reluctant to throw away, the small pocket knife he always wore as a key chain.

 "Can I ask you something..." I said then, my words so fast my mind had barely registered them, my tone so devoid of life it sounded as if I was going to ask him to kill me. Maybe I was. "...Steven?"

 I pronounced his name trying to breathe a bit of life into the sentence, but I could already tell by the way his breathing was caught in his lungs that he did not believe my facade for one split second.

 He took my hand in his, the heat warming them but freezing my body at the same time. Those hands...

 "Of course! Of course you can. Bloody hell, why do you even ask it like that?"

 I smiled and, with my thumb, I massaged the deep frown between his eyebrows. He relaxed the muscles there, suddenly aware of his expression.

 Half of me did it for him, because I was starting to feel guilty for worrying him. Half of me did it because my hands felt trapped under his.

 Steven relaxed, smiling once again. Partially relieved.

 "Are Marc or Jake listening?"

 Steven seemed confused at the question at first. He fixed his eyes on my own, but at the same time very far away from there. Then he looked around: at the tv, at any nearby mirrors, even his mug and the tea in it.

 "No, they aren't," he said. "But I can look for them, wake them up, if you want me to."

 "No, no. I just wanted to talk to you for a second."

 Steven tilted his head to one side slightly, confused.

 "Oh, oh. Sure, love."

 That's when my turn of taking his hands in mine came. It was the only way in which I could feel safe in both my question and his answer, in the truth of them, actually. I had never once before questioned Steven. I had blind faith in him, I always had. But as I said, what should have stayed as a Jake and me problem, had somehow tainted Steven and Marc too. Up until this point I had firmly believed I distinguished every single one of them from the others, and treated them accordingly; but now my body was showing me that, in fact, a part of me saw all of them as the same man.

 "If Jake hurt anyone again, you would tell me right away. Right?"

 His eyes shot open. From where I was seating in front of him I could almost hear his heartbeats.

 "Of course! Of course I would. Marc would too. We did it before, right?"

 "Eventually, yeah. After hiding it for months," the tinge of disgust in my voice did not go unnoticed.

 His hands were now trembling.

 "We didn't know what to do! At first we didn't even notice it was something that would affect us. Then I told them. And neither of them listened. We did tell you about Khonshu and we thought it was... implied. But Jake never wanted to kill...!"

 "Okay, okay. Steven. Steven look at me," I said, as he kept talking and talking in a panicked state. "Look at me, okay? You said sorry. Marc, you and I talked about this. It's okay. You said sorry. You're forgiven."

 He stopped talking, pressed his cheek against my hand when I tried to comfort him. He nodded as if trying to absorb my words. But his pupils still jumped slightly, here and there. Restless, unsafe.

 "I would tell you," he finally said with a tiny voice. His eyes welled with tears. "I promise. I promise I would. Please don't go."

 He made me cry too. Almost jumping over him, I hugged him, pretty much estranged him with my arms. I clung to the sweater he was wearing as if holding on for dear life. Steven followed with no less force. He crushed me against his chest, breathing hard into my hair, silently crying. With hands wide open over my whole back, it felt as if he was both trying to memorize the feeling of me in his arms and, holding me in place so I wouldn't abandon him.

 "Why do I feel like you're gonna leave?" he whispered.

 Steven had very little power of the matter, and that fact terrified him beyond reason. He couldn't stop Jake from killing again. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing your disgusted, disappointed, crying face again. But if there was something he could not even think about, that was you breaking up with them, leaving them, hating them. He could not conceive the world without you being the first thing he saw in the morning. He could not go back to be and feel as lonely as he did before. He couldn't.

 Being in this impossible situation, anxiety rising up to the clouds, the only comforting thought he could get was that, if he behaved, if he was good, despite what Jake could do, if he was good and behaved like you wanted him to, then you wouldn't abandon him. You might abandon Jake for being a murderer, but if he proved himself... then you wouldnt —couldn't— leave him.

 In his mind, he is ten years old and doing the dishes at two in the morning so mom will kiss him goodnight.

 Stupid people love stupidly

 Regaining someone's trust is not an easy task, everyone says that, but no one talks about how complicated it is to regain intimacy with the other person.

 It's not about sexual intimacy. That's easy, perhaps too easy. And Jake makes it even easier; he knows what buttons to push, where and when to touch you so you're left wanting more, pursuing him yourself against your own judgement. It's the other intimacy that is difficult to get back, the type in which you start talking about life and don't finish until dawn. It's about the cuddles, the feeling of being comfortable around each other, planning stuff to do together because you don't want to —not even think about— doing it with anyone else. Before Marc and Steven told you what Jake had done, asking you to help him stop, it wasn't uncommon for you and Jake to dance around the kitchen while cooking; both slow and quick Latin songs playing through the speakers. He loved to dance bachata, you loved to see him happy.

 Now your home is silent, the closeness complicated. The kitchen doesn't smell like spices anymore, and even the flat seems to have become darker. Maybe London has become darker, maybe the entire world has shunned the sun.

 Jake promises one day that he will never do it again. He waits for you to be in bed and slides under the covers. For a long time, he says nothing; he's still hesitating. Jake isn't sure he can keep this promise he is about to make. After all, he doesn't kill people because he likes it; he does it because they are necessary.

 Eventually, when he feels your breathing evening out, he knows if he doesn't do it you will never trust him again. And so he does it; unsure and scared, but is anyone ever not unsure and scared? he asks himself.

 You hug him tight then. It's the closest he's felt to you in a month. He's missed you more than he dares to admit. So he buries his hands in you, in your hair, your back, your shoulders, the back of your thighs. He doesn't want to let go. All he wants is for time to stop. If he could choose where to live for the rest of his life, he would live in the exact spot between your jaw and neck that his nose is caressing just now. He would die there, too.

 You're the only good thing in his life. Everyone knows that.

 Suddenly a month has passed, a more than reasonable amount of time for you to start letting your guard down. Jake has been so patient and careful that you start to feel like a fool for creating this awkward space between the two of you; although the truth is, it's not your fault.

 There are only fifteen days to your anniversary, or at least the start of it, as each of the boys takes an entire day to celebrate it with you. That makes your anniversary a weekend-long thing. With your anniversary so close, you feel an overwhelming sensation of hopelessness. And in the midst of your nostalgia for what you were, and loathing what you've become, you ask Jake to forget anything ever happened. He complies.

 The following is your day off, but Jake has work in the evening. Still, that doesn't stop him from scheduling a date. He takes you out for brunch to the most beautiful restaurant you've ever seen. You are seated on the inner patio. There is a fountain there, and the decoration is Bukowski books on small shelves and flowering vines on the walls.

 You sit on a pallet drilled into the wall. It has beautiful rainbow-coloured cushions to sit on. Jake takes the chair in front of you, but he's too far away for your liking. Instead, you take his arm and ask him to sit a bit closer. Jake takes the seat next to you, not even his flat cap concealing the happiness glowing in his eyes. As he sits down, as if by a reflex, he puts one of his hands on your thigh. He caresses your knee for a few seconds before taking the menu and placing it in front of you to decide what you both will be having, together.

 Two hours later both of you are taking a walk in Hyde Park. It's January, but the sun is shining over your heads anyway. Jake has never been one to be affectionate in public, but now he has his arm around your shoulders as you walk. Your face hurts from laughing and smiling. This is exactly what you missed, just what you needed. It all gets worse when, just before you leave, a squirrel chases Jake across the parking lot.

 Jake drives you home, he drives slowly through London because he doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want today to end. He stops the car at the beginning of the street because there's a street market today and he can't get through. He stops the car there, double-parked because it is impossible to park anywhere else in the city. He gets out of his limousine at the same time you do. With a quick, determined step he circles the limousine, and you wonder what the hell he's doing. Then, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. His lips brush yours, it's barely a caress until it's not. All you feel is him, his love, his warmth, the fabric of his driving gloves on your cheeks.

 "Thank you," he whispers.

 It feels like an I love you, so you take it that way.

 Unfortunately, the honeymoon phase lasted just one more day.

 He had no other choice, he wouldn't have ever risked another fight with you if he had the option not to. In fact, it was an accident. The fault wasn't entirely his. Yet Jake was so scared that you could see what he had done in his eyes, through his soul, that he drove to the other end of London and fell asleep in the back of the limo, on the plain floor.

 Steven had panicked so much that his consciousness disconnected. He was nowhere to be found. Marc, on the other hand, was going through all five stages of grief. He had gone from calling him every single insult in the English language to denying that Jake had done anything. By the time Jake decided to get back home, Marc was in full depression stage. Thinking of the worst.

 Even if he wanted to shut down the way his alters were doing, he couldn't. Jake cared for the others to an obsessive extent. All his life, he had taken the hard punches. He had killed so the others wouldn't have to, he had taken his mother's beatings with not a single tear shed, he took insults and humilliations; he took Elias' calls begging Marc to come back home when he ran away, he took the hardest parts of military training and most life-or-death situations that followed.

 He took Khonshu. He was still taking Khonshu.

 Marc and Steven had enough of the god, but someone had to do the work anyways. After all, the pigeon had only freed the other two. And if Moon Knight and Mr Knight wouldn't fight, then Jake Lockley would have to do. Someone had to protect the travellers of the night, that's what Khonshu had said when Jake asked him to free him as well.

 He was still debating what to do, whether to keep it from you or not, when Steven made the decision for him.

 "Jake," he spoke, appearing out of nowhere. "If you don't tell her yourself, I will."

 He grabbed the steering wheel tight. He saw red for a split second, then focused on the road ahead.

 "What?" he almost barked.

 "You heard me."

 "Si será hijueputa- Who do you think you are?"

 Steven said nothing else despite Jake's attempts to provoke him. His silence only made him even more nervous. He insulted him for twenty minutes, called him things he didn't really mean, until eventually, he stopped.

 "Okay, Steven, have it your way," he said. "Just give me some time to think how."

 "You have an hour."

 The image Jake formed on his mind was nowhere close to the moments following his confession. Yet it was somehow even worse. The smile from your face vanished quickly into a thin line, your eye became dull, absorbed by something far away from there. Whatever you were thinking, whatever images were playing inside your brain, he just hoped it wasn't him covered in blood.

 Your sight was lost somewhere on the small dots that covered the kitchen table, round wounds in the wood like gunshots. Your index flew to one of them, rubbing your fingertips against it for a few seconds, then giving up and lifting your head to look at him again. Crossing your arms over your chest as if you were cold.

 "What do you expect me to do now?" you asked. If death had a voice, Jake was certain it would sound like yours. "You promis-."

 "I know," he said. He inhaled oxygen, but seemed to exhale despair. He moved quickly from where he was standing at the other end of the table. With a squeak he took the chair right next to you and sat down. "I don't expect you to forgive me, but I had to-"

 "You had to." you spat. "Was someone pointing a gun to your head?"

 "Actually, yeah..." he responded, lips pressed as not to laugh. He forgot to mention he was also caught by the throat, until the other guy pulled the trigger and Jake moved his attacker's head in the trajectory of the bullet. "But I don't think that changes anything, does it?"

 He saw what he thought was doubt in your eyes. Although he could have easily have mistaken it for the misery drowning your pupils. Deep down —perhaps not so deep— Jake couldn't understand why you cared so much for these people. Sure, he didn't like to have other people's blood on his hands, but at the end of the day many of them deserved to be dead. Jake wasn't getting why there was so much fuss about the matter. All he cared about was you, though. And if you cared, that made the matter grow in importance. He didn't care about hurting his enemies the same way he didn't care if he found a wallet on the street and didn't return it; sure, it wasn't ideal, but it was their loss, not his.

 He took your hand the same way you had once done with Steven. He tried to comfort you somehow. Jake wasn't good with words. In fact, he didn't think he were any good with anything except his job, his work for Khonshu, and fucking your brains out. He had never had the need to protec anyone who didn't already live in his body; but he cared about you too much, and didn't want you to suffer.

 Then, you took your eyes out of his fingers warming your cold ones. With the same expression and voice but dry eyes, you spoke

 "I think we need to break up."

 Jake blinked a few times, nodded, too; but his mind had not caught up on the words. He looked at your eyes again, confused by your pitied expression.

 Then he chuckled, lips tightly closed.

 "What?"

 "I said..." a shaky breath came out of your mouth. "I said I... we need to break up."

 Jake felt his chest and throat close up, the bile still rising to his mouth somehow. He coughed once, when he felt the acid burning its path, then rose up from the chair, swallowed. When he got to the window, he realized he was shaking. A hand tugged from the roots of his hair.

 "¿Qué dijiste?" he asked, turning around to look at you. He looked at his reflexion in a mirror right next to his face, found his own face, not a trace of the others, but asked them anyway. "¿Qué dijo la pendejita esta?"

 Rage was quickly starting to burn up in his veins. Slowly, as not to scare him further, you walked closer.

 "I'm sorry, Jake," you told him, now your own eyes welling with tears. His arms wanted to take you, hold you, tell you everything is going to be fine; but you were only crying because you were hurting him. And you know it. And you know it. And he hates it.

 "Don't fucking-" he said, although he doesn't even know where the sentence is going. His body was not reacting to his command, not even breathing properly. He doesn't understand why his mouth tastes bitter, or why you're trying to hurt him saying that.

 He touched his face because there was something there bothering him. Dust, maybe a particle of something, an eyelash stuck in his eye, whatever. But when he touches it, his finger are wet.

 Oh, a tear.

 Before your body could make contact with his he held both your arms to stop you, his fingers curled around your forearms, your eyes filled with tears only half shed.

 "You can't," he said, then chuckled again like a madman. "You could never."

 He was so sure, too sure, there was not an ounce of doubt in his mind. He seemed so certain that his back straightened, his breathing evened out. He seemed calmed and it confused you. Were you driving him mad?

 "You can't," he repeated, halfway to a chuckle again. "You could never break up with the others, you love them way too much."

 His claim broke your own heart. The only reason Jake had for believing you would stay with him through thick and thin, was because he believed you wanted the others too much. The pieces of your heart crashed, splinters flew away, you could no longer feel it beating. You ached for him, but that didn't change anything.

 "Jake I'm not breaking up with the others," you said, and regretted there was not a kinder way of doing it. "I'm breaking up with you."

 He thought he heard a relieved breath then, and he lost it, completely lost it. It could have been the air coming in through the partially opened window, it could have been the tv still on, or even the kettle still complaining as the water cooled off. But he lost it all the same, not even knowing if the sound had come from Steven and Marc in the headspace or something entirely different. He took the mirror next to him and punched it, hard. The splinters covered his knuckles, blood rushed through the wounds to the to the rhythm of his heart.

 Violent people love violently.

 "Putos cabrones," he insulted them, but his tone was softer that he meant, breathy even.

 "Jake, baby... don't."

 He let you touch him this time. You kept still crying and he hated it. As his concern for you grew, so did his hatred. Your cold hands held both his cheeks, your lips pressed against his forehead just once. The blood staining his white shirt, his whole uniform. He had never gotten it ripped or even stained in a fight, and he was partially embarrassed that the first time he got it stained was because of his own blood, his own wounds.

 You kept saying things, words that he supposed should sound comforting. But he was not listening, not at all.

 "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, then his knees gave up under him. "I trusted you. I trusted you."

 "I can't." you told him, begging him to understand. "I had a relationship before, one where he would tell me he was going to change, promise me, and then go back to treating me the same, and I forgave him. And he would do the same thing to me again. And I forgave him. I can't go through that again, baby. Not again. Not with you."

 Jake wanted to scream. He wanted to ask you why you could be patient with others but had not the same patience for him. But he didn't. He stayed silent. He knew such a question would hurt you. Countless times had he hold you while you cried for your past, for how others had mistreated you. The thought that he had done the same was burying him alive. He wanted to melt, pass through the wooden planks on the floor, fall until he reached the barren land, then be swallowed by dirt itself; become nothing.

 He wiped the tears from his face, leaving a bloody trail wherever his fingers touched. You blinked in front of him a few times, shaky lips he wanted to kiss saying goodbye gave him, instead, a bit of hope.

 "Violence is easy, Jake, it's the easy path," you told him. "I can't- I won't be with another violent man. If you show me you can change, I promise you'll have me forever."

 He nodded. He had a mission now.

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[1800naveen]

Fancasting.

Me when I see mfs fancasting Henry Cavill to play Rhysand (leave that white man alone😭):

I was scrolling through reels a couple of weeks ago and saw this lady doing a interview with him and she mentioned that he's "popular" as a fancast when it comes to booktok and apparently, he knows it and doesn't see to mind it? (I'm trying my best to recall it so bear with me)

He has good book recommendations (saw this Tik Tok of him talking about Brandon Sanderson so I can trust him on that, heard nothing but praise when it comes to Brandon) and I doubt that Sarah is a genre for him. Anyone can read what they want but he doesn't give that vibe to me, y'know? I could be wrong but eh.

He's also a smart guy and seems to have critical thinking. So imagine if he decided to pick up Acotar, reads the first book, and go "what the fuck? And people root for this guy?" Just to find out that he's a popular fancast for Rhysand.

What's the chokehold this man has on booktok? I can't lie because he got me in one to (he can literally choke me- I'm sorry y'all)

I've seen fancasting him for Rowan Whitethorn in Throne of Glass which I don't mind but what I do mind is when PEOPLE TAKE GERALT AND CIRI TO FANCAST AS ROWAN AND AELIN!

YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT, LADIES AND GENTS. @viktoriaashleyyx I don't know if you're aware of it but if you are now, sorry you had to find out this way🙏🏾

THE GIANT ASS AGE GAP BETWEEN ROWAELIN IS WILD BUT AT LEAST, THEY'RE BOTH ADULTS. YOU ARE TAKING A FATHER AND DAUGHTER RELATIONSHIP FOR YOUR FAVORITE SHIP?

Have y'all even watched the witcher or read the books because it's clear that you haven't.

Here's the wiki for Ciri (Netflix's version)

I can understand why people would take Ciri/Freya Allen and cast her as Aelin.

Ashen-grey hair

Emerald green eyes

A princess and heir to her kingdom, Cintra

Aelin:

Golden blonde hair

Turquoise eyes ringed with gold

A princess and heir to her kingdom, Terrasen

But there's a catch. Take a look at the family section of her wiki.

You get why it's weird and (let's be honest) controversial to fancast these two as a couple in another series?

Now, I can't talk as I take Geralt as a fancast for Maegor Targaryen (The Cruel) but they do fit. White hair, big, buff, and tough warriors, mommy issues (Sorry Maegor), and they're infertile (Maegor isn't confirmed to be infertile but he always failed to have a kid so....). The only difference is that Geralt is a good lover (If I can recall correctly) and has a kid despite not being his own flesh and blood. (Hell, I might use Yennefer as a fancast for Ashara Dayne.)

And can you imagine how some people will react if a white guy was casted as Rhysand?

Can you imagine how some people will react if a man of color was casted as Rhysand?

Either way, it's a shitstorm. The better and possibly the safest solution is casting a Mediterranean actor.

Anyways, I made this during the night and now, I'm tired. Take care and don't take this post to heart or take it too seriously✌🏾

(Share your thoughts if you like but no arguing, fighting, etc).

[lya-dustin]

Shock and Delight

Chapter 9

Cw: mentions of age gap romance, attempted assault, and westrosi marriage traditions

If you think the age of the new Lady Hightower was the scandal of last week’s ball, prepare for something else, dear reader.

Lady Samantha is rather young and far too fond of her eldest stepson sure, but who would have thought two romances would appear before the night was over?

One as expected as Prince Aegon’s drinking and the other as shocking as the discovery of Lord Lyonel Hightower in the gardens with a broken face.

Dear reader, are you prepared for this week’s report?

“I think there is some merit in her words.” Lady Victaria, Alicent’s former favorite and cousin on her mother’s side, comments as Aemond stares at Aemma a little longer than he should.

Even worse Aemond fights a smile when he sees her whisper something to her stepsisters as Lyonel appears to claim her first dances if the evening.

Lyonel clashes with her completely in a color that does not suit him and Aemond looks as if they had done it on purpose. If Aemond took off his eyepatch it would match exactly with the sapphire teardrops she wore on her neck.

“She is fond of blue; you are reading too much into this.” Alicent dismissed her words knowing after tonight she won’t have to worry about his imagined romance between her son and her rival’s daughter.

“Your lord father thinks it would be very dangerous for him to wed her, sees himself in him and he didn’t mean it as praise, my dear cousin.” Vicky continues speaking and Alicent notes how often her father comes up in conversation.

They were close, always had been until Vicky was sent home with her ailing mother and then when Rhaenyra became her enemy, she returned and took her place in her heart. Recently, Vicky had struck up a friendship with her father. First because of the sudden death of her brother and nephews left her the torchbearer of House Bulwer and now because they seemed to get along.

It was nothing of course, even the Morning Scandal hadn’t said anything about it yet and that bitch knew everything.

“Don’t you think I know, Vicky?” the queen asked as she plastered a smile and gave Lady Tully a nod so she’d push her daughters onto her stoic son. The queen knows he’ll reject them as he always has, but it helps keep him occupied enough for Lyonel to take Aemma’s dances.

This cannot fail.

Lyonel Hightower and his father, Ormund, had come to her solar this morning while the children had gone.

They had been clear: Aemma’s hand in exchange for their support.

Rhaenyra did not wish for war, but Rhaenys’ words then were still the same now. Many lords would set the real to the torch if a woman became king.

It does not matter if you are competent enough to rule nor how many dragons you have at your disposal, it only matters at what is between your legs.

She’s had nightmares since Visenya was born. Nightmares of her children dying, of herself, of Daemon and being Syrax as she is killed by a mob.

Dragon dreams, Helaena had whispered when Rhaenyra awoke from her labor to find her sister holding her hand in shared pain.

I have them too, she had whispered and revealed hers.

They cannot come true.

Rhaenyra promised her daughter a love match and never wanted to do to her what her father did to her at her age.

But the war for the succession couldn’t come to pass.

“Have you given my suit your approval, your highness?” Lyonel asks as he eyes Aemma blissfully ignorant of the news waiting for her here.

She loves dancing and dressing up and all the things girls her age love. She dreams of a love story like that of Rhaenys and Corlys just as Rhaenyra had wanted at eight and ten.

Now her dreams for a husband who loves and understands her are ruined.

All because Rhaenyra was not born a man.

“You may present an offer, but I will not force her to accept should she reject you. She is of age after all.”  The Princess of Dragonstone wasn’t even sure what answer she wanted to hear from her daughter.

Six and ten was the age of majority, at six and ten one could not have a regent and while a daughter must marry whom their father says, she was legally allowed to marry a man of her own choosing as long as there were no prior commitments.

Rhaenyra had delayed Aemma’s debut into society for exactly this reason.

“By the end of the ball we will be family, your highness, I assure you.”

Rhaenyra does not like the sound of his words.

The evening is uneventful.

Of course supper has yet to be served and so much could go wrong by then.

Aemma escapes notice as everyone focused on the unlikeliest thing to happen unfolding before their eyes.

Ser Otto Hightower smiling and enjoying the company of a woman younger than his own daughter.

Aemma had very little memory of the Lord Hand save that he did not like her and that he found fault in everything.

Lady Victaria was nice? The princess wasn’t sure, most of her memories were clouded by the queen’s odd dislike of her and her ladies always seeking to embarrass her as a child to gain favor with her.

She did have vague memories of her first wedding; the bride was six and ten and had cried because she had been told she would marry her disgusting uncle who would inherit her castle. Aemma supposed after being widowed twice and her father shuffling off his mortal coil, Lady Victaria could finally have a man of her choosing.

Daemon laughs at the fear Alicent tries to ide as Ser Otto is charmed into joining the set with his lady. “I wasn’t even aware he could dance, Dorne’s going to freeze if Vicky Bulwer keeps making him human.”

“I suppose the Lord Hand may be to be busy to usurp my lady mother if they wed.” Aemma knows he won’t, but perhaps having a young wife in need of children may improve his stern disposition. For the first time in her life, Aemma had seen the Lord Hand smile at someone who wasn’t Helaena.

“Then I wish him a bounty of strapping sons and delightful daughters to keep him the fuck away from us.” The Rogue Prince whispers back as they headed back to where her oh so hated suitor awaited with her mother.

“Lord Lyonel has asked me if you could spare him a moment, Aem.” The way mother shifts as she speaks, like when she broke the news of father’s death when she was one and ten, has Aemma’s hairs at the back of her neck rise in warning.

When Lyonel escorts her outside the manse and towards the gardens, Aemma knows she’s fucked.

Aemond is bored by the time his grandfather’s dance with Aunt Vicky ends.

While keeping Lyonel away from Aemma was an easy job, avoiding the ladies mother tosses his way left and right is enough to worsen his headaches.

Aemma was dancing with Daemon and seeing how he sent Ser Corwyn Corbray running at the tiltyard this morning, Aemond was confident he could keep Lyonel at a distance.

The one-eyed prince is not alone here tonight.

There is always one who follows trying to trap him into marriage or lovers meeting for a tryst, and in this case, a man getting rejected.

Tonight, it is Lyonel pressing his suit on his unwilling target, Aemma.

He should interfere, Aemond thinks as he keeps his distance and hears his niece interrupt with a no before the man is even done with his proposal. Aemond begins to walk away until Lyonel speaks again.

“You will be mine, your highness, come hell or high water. The Queen has given me leave to marry you tomorrow if need be.” Lyonel must be lying through his teeth to induce a yes from Aemma who knows she cannot afford to say no.

Aemond’s resolve to ignore this and mind his own business is broken when he hears the unmistakable sounds of Lyonel using physical force to get that yes from the third in line for the throne.

He was never bright, but Aemond had hoped he had more sense than that.

By the time he reaches the path --- the dagger in his boot in hand as a precaution--- the unwilling bride and her attacker were at, Lyonel is doubled down in pain as Aemma bolts into the unlight portion of the gardens like a frightened deer.

Having no other choice, Aemond put away his dagger and kicked Lyonel some more. Aemma may be Rhaenyra’s whelp, but he’d be damned if he let Lyonel be conscious enough to ruin her.

[sgtbradfords]

Chenford + you mean more to me ❤️

The glowing phone illuminated Tim's face. He cursed under his breath, squinting at the brightness of the screen. Quietly he hurried out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind him before his feet shuffled down the hardwood floor towards the living room.

Before the call could be sent to his voicemail, his thumb swiped against the screen to accept the call, his thoughts immediately assuming, fearing, the worst, as his heart pounded inside his chest.

"Hey."

"Hey," she greeted back with a sniffle, clearing her throat. "I wasn't expecting you to answer."

Tim had been asleep when the incessant vibrations of his phone on the nightstand, woke him from his slumber. There were only four people who could get around his do not disturb mode, Genny, Angela, Wade and the woman on the other end of the phone.

He sat down on the edge of the leather couch as Kojo ambled over from his dog bed in the corner, resting his head on his owner's thigh.

"Why the hell would you think that, Lucy?" he failed in keeping the snark out of his voice. "Have I said or done something to make you believe otherwise?"

"No," her voice cracked at the assertion. "No Tim, you haven't. I just..." her heavy sigh filled the line and Tim found himself yearning to know what had made her call him in the dead of night. "You know, this was a mistake, I shouldn't have called. Good ni-"

"I'm sorry." Tim hurried to apologize, his voice coming out louder than he intended it to, before she could end the call. He glanced towards the bedroom door he had left open with a miniscule gap, running his fingers through his hair as he tried a different question. "Everything ok?"

The signs were subtle but Tim could tell that she was upset, by the rasp in her voice, the sniffles he had heard when he first answered the call. He hadn't been expecting an immediate answer, the silence from the other side coming as no surprise as his fingers scratched Kojo between the ears, but he didn't have to pull away the phone from his ear to know that she was still there.

"I'm not sure I can do this,"

Two weeks and three days ago, Tim had given her fleeting, parting, second glance before he left her standing in the hallway of her apartment. He had told her undercover school was a great opportunity, an opportunity worth taking, that she should go for it.

But there was something else Tim had told her that night in the hallway, that had been haunting his reoccurring thoughts. It was his own words, his insistence, that had become a double edged sword.

It was time to move on.

The problem was, it's been two weeks and three days since that night in the hallway of her apartment building and Tim hasn't been following his own advice, he's not sure he even knows how.

"You want to talk about it?" he let his body relax into the cushion behind him, having no intentions of moving anytime soon.

Last Tim had heard, undercover school in San Francisco had been going great. But he knew better than to take the word of a second party source. Just like he knew better than to believe every positive image or post, he saw on social media.

"I miss my bed," she confessed as a series of rustles came through from the other side, leaving him to believe she way laying upon the simplistic hotel mattress. "And my pillows," she pouted and he chuckled. "It's not funny!

Tim grunted, rolling his eyes as Kojo moved his head further along Tim's thigh to lick at his fingers.

"You know, I never thought I would say this, but I miss the shop," Tim closed his eyes as he listened to her ramble on about everything that she missed almost six hours away, throwing in casual comments when conversation allowed. He would never admit it to anyone but himself that he had missed hearing her voice. "Mention this conversation again and I'll deny every last word."

"Seriously?" his words came across as sceptical but Tim was anything but as Lucy adamantly hummed in agreement. "You're insufferable."

Tim could hear her grin as she spoke, the words drawing out his own. "And yet, you keep me around."

A comfortable silence filled the open line as he listened to her breathe, "I wasn't lying when I said that you're good at what you do."

"I know," her voice was small and so unlike the Lucy Chen he knew, that Tim wanted nothing more than to be able to reassure her in person. "And thinking about it now, I would have been crazy to pass up an opportunity like this. But if I'm this homesick after being away for two weeks, then what's it going to be like when I'm on assignment for months on end?"

He pressed the phone closer to his ear, "You've managed to do it before."

"It was different then."

"Then what's changed?"

The query was out of Tim's mouth before he could even register what exactly he was asking. The truth was there and it glowed as bright as a neon sign in the middle of nowhere, because essentially everything had changed. Even if they didn't intend for it to.

Silence greeted him as he murmured, "It's late."

"It is." her voice was low, sultry, in a way that had his mind going back to their time undercover and the few hours afterwards. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"You didn't."

Tim would never - could never, ignore her calls.

"Mhmm," she tiredly hummed, her voice sounding sleepy now, distant. "Anyone ever tell you Tim, that you're a terrible liar?"

Tim grins into the phone as he retorted, "Takes one to know one."

"Oh fuck off," he chuckled as she yawned. "I guess I should probably try and get some sleep..."

"Night, Lucy." Tim told her softly before she done the same and yet neither of them hurried to end the call as he listened to her breaths even out. And well, if he spent a few minutes listening to her sleep, that was no one’s business but his.

[belphegor1982]

I posted the last chapter of this on AO3 just before bed and completely forgot to post it here as well. Typical bird-brained Bel. But here it is now if you wanted to read it and missed it! I’ll ad the AO3 link in a reblog, as usual :o)

Jigsaw Pieces

Chozen, uneasy

Daniel, adrift

Amanda, sleepless

Sam, shaken

Johnny, fixing things

Daniel, not alone

Daniel can hardly believe his eyes.

Seeing Johnny and Chozen side by side, Robby flanked by Miguel and Sam, Anthony behind his sister smiling proudly – it’s just surreal.

Sure, they’re not literally all here; there are a few gaps where students should be if this were a class (like Chris, or Mitch, or Demetri who mentioned something about getting a summer job last time), but even if the group isn’t complete, Daniel’s surprise is.

These past ten minutes have been one hell of a roller-coaster. He can still feel the warmth of Amanda’s hands holding his, the breath that rushed out of him when he stepped into Mr. Miyagi’s room for the first time in eight years, the tightness in his chest that hasn’t really had time to loosen yet. Mr. Miyagi kept his most painful memories in a box, on a cabinet, but at least he was brave enough to open that box from time to time. Even after the burial, even after almost a decade, Daniel has refused to open the door to his bedroom. His own memories of Mr. Miyagi are everywhere – on the wall of his home dojo, in the power and grace of his daughter’s karate, in his own soul – but that empty room is the last, final proof that the man himself is gone forever, and facing this fact for real takes a strength Daniel’s never felt he had. Until ten minutes ago, when Amanda gently guided him in front of that door and said I’m right here. And stood aside silently, her presence both supportive and unobtrusive, while he took in everything – a thousand memories, a thousand reminders of what used to be and can never be again.

The last bonsai Mr. Miyagi was working on has lost much of its original shape, but it’s still alive. Amanda must have come in regularly to water it in the past eight years.

“Is it gonna be okay?” he hears himself ask across thirty-four years while staring anxiously at a different bonsai.

Mr. Miyagi answered calmly then, “Depends. If roots strong, tree survive.”

Between his dogged nurturing and the strength of its roots, the bonsai in question lived, and still thrives to this day. Sometimes Daniel wonders how old it actually is. But then Mr. Miyagi was always good at taking care of lost causes and pulling off miracles.

Mr. Miyagi was also the only one able to defeat both John Kreese and Terry Silver, and easily at that. Over the past week Daniel has sometimes wondered what he would have made of the current situation. He has wished, more than once, for his old mentor to make things right again, or even just to have his back like he never failed to even when Daniel was pretty sure he didn’t deserve this unwavering support. Maybe he would have approved of Daniel’s capitulation – maybe he would have advised Daniel to step off a lot sooner, before kids started to get hurt – maybe he would have urged him to keep fighting. But you can’t ask a dead man what he thinks. You can’t ask a dead man anything. Tugging on a ghost is as useless as trying to catch the wind.

Except…

Mr. Miyagi did leave something of his here, and not just in the mementos left untouched and the warmth of the little house, the wood and the shoji walls. Of all the people standing in front of Daniel in the bright summer sunlight, only two knew him well (Amanda and Sam), three met him in person but only have sparse or superficial memories of him (Chozen, Anthony and Johnny), and the rest only know him from a picture on the wall and second-handed accounts. Yet it feels like he’s here, standing next to Amanda, smiling fondly. Like he never really left.

Daniel is hit by a memory, like a flash, of Mr. Miyagi and him going out to fish the day after the Obon festival. No training, no karate of any kind – just the two of them, a little boat in a secluded Okinawa inlet, and companionable silence in the sun. Not that Daniel would have been up for much more at that point; his fight with Chozen the night before had left him black and blue and utterly drained of energy. The stakes probably had a lot to do with it. Daniel had never had to fight for his life before.

“I forgot to thank you yesterday,” he said at some point, and Mr. Miyagi turned to him, eyebrows raised under his hat.

“For what?”

“Well, you kinda saved my life with that little drum back there. If you hadn’t… You know. I think the outcome would’ve been very different if you hadn’t been there.”

Mr. Miyagi twisting the little handheld drum back and forth had not only reminded Daniel of the eponymous technique. The lone reedy taptaptaptap had grown into a loud clatter as everybody else picked up on it and banged their own drums, a clear show of support that had confused the hell out of Chozen. Daniel, bruised and bloodied and almost out of hope, walking the wire between almost laughing and almost crying, had drawn strength from his last reserves from that sound – and won, somehow.

Mr. Miyagi didn’t reply right away. He adjusted his fishing rod across his knees and nodded.

“Drum not save life, Daniel-san. You down, you pick self up. Drum just remind you… Not alone. Got people in corner. And me.”

And then, just as Daniel’s throat went a little tight, M. Miyagi tilted his head to the side and added with an eh face, “Figure of speech.”

Daniel grinned at that.

“Well, thanks for bein’ in my corner. And, uh – you know I’m in yours, right?”

“Hai.” Mr. Miyagi’s eyes softened. “Miyagi know.”

They’d shared a smile, then gone back to gazing at the sunlight winking on the sea. It had been a good day.

The people standing in Mr. Miyagi’s garden right now could all be holding pellet drums. The two situations are night and day, literally, but the emotions rising in Daniel’s chest are very similar.

Mr. Miyagi may no longer be in his corner, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone – not anymore, like Sam just pointed out.

All the students – plus Amanda – bow as one, like they’re waiting for the lesson to begin, like it hasn’t been almost two months since Miyagi-Do (and Eagle Fang) shut down. Eli, Robby, Abe, Sam, Bert, Miguel, all of them – even Anthony, for the very first time. Sam’s smile is beaming when she straightens up, her eyes very blue.

Daniel looks at Chozen on his left, a silent question – though what he’s asking exactly, he’s not sure. Chozen answers with a determined nod nonetheless. Its meaning is clear: both vow and encouragement. We can do this, all of us. And the thing is, Daniel is starting to believe him.

He hesitates for a half-second before turning to his right and meeting Johnny’s eyes. But the expression in them is familiar, if always surprising to see on the face of his old enemy/rival/frenemy/friend. The last time Daniel saw it, Kreese had just thrown the gauntlet at them, and Johnny cemented their alliance of circumstance with three words – We won’t lose – and a look that had helped quiet down the snarling mess in his chest of fury, fear, and retrospective horror at what he’d almost done. Because if Johnny Lawrence, cold and grim and with the bruises from Kreese’s stranglehold just starting to form around his throat, could stand tall and steady and say “we”, after everything, then perhaps all wasn’t lost.

Johnny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. His small nod and the look in his eyes speak volumes. And just like that night last December, Daniel relaxes a fraction, with the beginning of a smile this time.

They bow to their students simultaneously, the three senseis, and as Daniel straightens up he can’t suppress a smile that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

And a very distinct feeling of missing pieces, finally falling into place.

______________________

The end! I really hope you enjoyed this little story. I did writing it, even (especially) the parts that hurt :’) Please tell me if you did!

(Also I couldn’t help bringing Mr. Miyagi back a little, if only in flashbacks 💜)

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Actually, book 6 happen around maybe 2 or so weeks since the end of VDC. Since we did see our newly renovated dorm, and Jamil (or Kalim?) even mentioned how it has been a while since the VDC's group chat has been active and they're called to a meeting. Meaning there are quite a long time gap between the two books, hence why I said we could fit in Shido's palace between them while having S.T.YX happen between Shido's palace and the final p5 battle.

I REALLY love your expansion of my ideas. You really make it clear how hard life is for this AU Riddle. He is a nice guy that cares a lot about people, but has a lot on his plate, even much more than Ren ever has (and he has a LOT). The whole time I reading your answer I can't help but continue to feels bad for Riddle and wish to give him some hugs. And strawberry tart. Lots of it.

Also, what I meant by another Montblanc incident: it wasn't ADeuce that make it. It was Trey, or maybe the other students that decided to make a surprise Unbirthday Party. They do invited ADeuce and Yu and Grimm, who are busy with VDC, but they're merely "guests". The students already tried to follow all the rules for Unbirthday Party, it just so happen they forgot about rule number 562. It didn't help that Trey also don't remember.

But I also adore your take on his OB and the situations leading to it.

Really, poor Riddle. Happy to see Ren cares a lot and instantly rushed in to hug him. I can just imagine the shock of everyone when he just suddenly shows up and jump in to to see Riddle. Also, he totally drop all of his plans and any confidant meetings just to see Riddle.

On that note, I am curious about Riddle's confidants. While I know the other PT will be part of his confidants, I want to know who are his other confidants? Is Floyd included as one of his confidants? 👀

Also, that idea for Maruki and Malleus is interesting. Just like I said, I don't think Malleus's OB will take a long time just like the others. Considering he has the ability to stop time, it make perfect sense that it will feels as if nothing change. But from book 7 we know outside of his magic dome, the world continue as it is. So if Maruki's mendling causing a distortion in Metaverse and the bridge between TWST and P5, what if Malleus's "blessing" also the reason why Riddle is now trapped in the Velvet Room?

Now I just imagine Malleus was looking at everyone's dreams, but then get confused when he failed to find Riddle's. He know Yu and Grimm are now bothering his plan with the help of Silver and Sebek. But Riddle's is no where to be seen.

Unbeknownst to him, Riddle is currently cursing up a storm towards him and whoever this Maruki that Lavenza and Ren told him about.

Well... I will have to argue on the book 6 timeline a bit. :v

It is not entirely wrong the 'a few weeks passed since the VDC', But actually, book 6 first started with trying to find Grim in the same night he attacked us, basically on the VDC day. This ties up book 5's cliffhanger to book 6's plot, since Grim is still missing even the next days, when Vil calls in the VDC tribe to discuss about their performance. Only then we get hit with the news of the prize money parts from Vil, Kalim, Rook, Jamil and Epel being directed towards Ramshackle's renovation. That's the time when charons come and the action takes place. Now in the 'a few weeks after' scene is mentioned how Yuu and Grim had to sleep at Poemfiore and Idia still didn't return to school. Therefore the renovated Ramshackle scene is actually the Aftermath of book 6, when we finally hear from Idia and Ortho and conclude their story.

So basically book 6 starts immediately after VDC, the STIX shenanigans a few days after VDC, taking less than 2 days, than we skip our stay in poemfiore to a few weeks-almost a month, until the Ramshackle is fully renovated and the book finishes.

That's why I said the STIX intervention happens before Shido's palace, because it's very short and it actually falls better in place plot wise, without adding too much on the plate. :v

That aside now...

For the OB, the mont blanc Scenario makes much more sense now that you mentioned it. :'3

As for my take, at the base I wanted to give him a motive to hold in and endure. Just so that Riddle will have a motivation of pushing forward, only for his goal to be taken away just because of his own negligence towards a tiny detail. It just that little light and hope of things getting better being crushed right before his eyes. :)

And Ren-Riddle friendship is everything U-U9 Just 2 wildcards having a long and tight friendship.

As for the confidants themselves, mostly when I decide for them, I use tarot cards upside down meanings to establish what problems they have that the wildcard tries to help with. It's kind of the same thing in og P5. A good example would be Makoto's confidant story. The upside down priestess means a hidden agenda, harm and secrets, which describe the situation that Makoto is, trying to warn her new friend about that dangerous boy she was with.

Also there's the councilor and faith cards in royale whom I have no idea what they represent upside down so imma exclude them :'3

As for Riddle's confidants, since already I had them decided for pttw, I don't want to use the same thing, so we are going to switch them around. :3

The Fool of course is Igor, that's mandatory for every wildcard :v

The Reflection card is marked by Ren

For Floyd... Initially in PTTW I assigned to him the high priestess(that reminds me to get my ass back on those stained glass pieces)

But in here, he would hold the Hanged man arcana. It fits him more in here, although I did contemplate on the temperance arcana for a while.

Well for the Maruki and Malleus situation... We all know Aketchi and Riddle both will make a commune accord to just gun their way out of this mess.

And Malleus 100% figures out something is fishy about rosehearts, but right now silver, Sebek, Yuu and grim are messing up his plans so the redhead has to wait. :'3

One thing is for sure: once Riddle manages to get out, Malleus gotta make his prayers :'3

[copperdaisy]

Finished the storyline for Teal Mask. Not going to talk about spoilers - aside from location mentions maybe - but I'm definitely curious to see how certain things will pan out in Indigo Disk.

Instead, I am going to ramble about random bits of the lore I've been building for Araceli and some of her Pokémon. It has been a bit of a puzzle figuring out Araceli's personality separate from the game storyline, but it has been fun as well. Getting closer to a point where I'm more comfortable translating save file events into fic/lore events.

tl;dr rambling contained below the read-more.

Araceli is Paldean born, but not Paldean raised. Between the ages of six months and fifteen years she and her parents lived abroad, first in Hoenn and then Kanto. Her father is a nature photographer while her mother is a research assistant who works for both Birch and Oak. In the summer following her fifteenth birthday she learns that both of her parents were going on research expeditions. Her father will be going to the Lental Region to help Professor Mirror's team study the Illumina phenomenon. Her mother is going to the Sevii Islands to follow up on rumors of Mythical and Legendary Pokémon there. It is ultimately decided that Araceli will be sent to stay with her maternal aunt in Cabo Poco, given the uncertain timeframes of both expeditions and potential dangers therein. She is decidedly NOT HAPPY about this but fails to come up with a convincing argument to change her parents' minds. Thus she finds herself shipped back to Paldea just a few weeks before the new term starts at Naranja Academy, where she gets dragged into the game's storyline.

Some random information about her:

She initially enrolls in the Arts track at Naranja but switches over to the Sciences track following the events in Area Zero.

She has nightmares about what happened in the Zero Lab; rather than talk about them to anyone, she uses them as fuel to further her ambition to help the Paradox Pokémon in her care. Something good has to come out of the whole ordeal (besides Arven's breakthrough).

She has trouble with test taking and in-class learning. One on one tutoring sessions with her teachers are the main things keeping her academically afloat, in addition to extra credit opportunities.

The events of the DLC will be part of her lore, but there will be a two year gap between the Zero Lab incident and her visit to Kitakami. She will be spending some time in Galar during that two year gap for a semester or two of student exchange.

Chase is the first shiny Araceli sees in the wild, but is not the first one she catches. He calls the ruins above Alfornada home. It is here that he and Araceli cross paths. She stumbles across him while on a field trip and attempts to capture him. He is too high level for her and ends up chasing her off instead. She finds him again a few months later. By that point she is a much better trainer. He, however, has been worn down by territorial disputes and is in rough shape. Distrustful of her at first after she battles and captures him, her efforts to nurse him back to health make him warm up to her. Now he is part of her main team and goes where she does. Anyone who dares touch a single hair on her head will find themselves on the wrong end of a Thunder Fang if he has anything to say about it.

Victory is Araceli's baby and no one can tell him otherwise. Not that there are many who would argue with a Charizard. Hatched from an egg sent to her by her mother, Araceli is the only parent he has ever known. Her work was cut out for her while raising him. He was a cute but bitey little Charmander and an overeager Charmeleon prone to unintentionally setting fires. Patience and dedication built a strong bond between trainer and Pokémon, however. By the time he evolved into a Charizard he was as well behaved as you please - so long as you are Araceli. Victory is a heavy hitting member of her main team and has helped her out of many tight spots in battle. He loves a good fight and thinks nothing of going up against the likes of Titans. He is also quite the fan of napping in sunbeams and pestering his trainer for chin and head scratches.

Quake is not one of her usual battling partners but is much beloved by her nonetheless. Araceli developed great fondness and sympathy for the Great Tusk while observing him in the Asado Desert. Though he was a Titan she found him to be more or less peaceful - so long as he was left alone. Despite getting close enough to him to nearly be trampled on several times he never attacked her. Battling him to get the Herba Mystica was the most difficult Titan battle simply because she felt so bad about provoking him. She captured him primarily so no one else could, fearing what might happen to him otherwise. (It caused a fight between her and Arven at the time, as he did not agree with her actions at all, saying that the Great Tusk was too dangerous. She firmly disagreed.) In the time since capturing him Araceli has put a lot of effort into making him comfortable and safer to interact with. He frequently spends time with Dida and Padma, Araceli's shiny Donphan and Copperajah, as part of their 'herd'.

Kevin is another Pokémon that Araceli rarely battles with but spends a good amount of time gentling. There is little known about Kevin's species - they aren't even mentioned much in literature beyond the name Walking Wake. They have to be some kind of Paradox Pokémon but Araceli has only ever encountered Kevin, and that was while she was in a Raid den, not Area Zero. Does this mean that more Paradox Pokémon have escaped into the wilds beyond the Great Crater? It is a troubling thought. Kevin, at least, seems to be quite fond of her, which is a bit of a problem in and of itself given just how big Kevin is. She's been putting in a lot of work to make Kevin safer to be around, but there is a long way still to go.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & The Devil P.1 🌘| Harry Potter Imagine

Set during Order of the Phoenix to DHP2

Harry Potter Masterlist | Part 2 Here Final Part

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic)

Content Warnings: death, violence, profanity, angst, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Everyone has light and dark inside them. That’s what Sirius told Harry that night in Grimmauld Place. It was how one chooses to act that sets the stone of who they are as a person. It’s something Harry has to remind himself when he encounters Sirius’s cousin, the youngest of the Black sisters, Y/n. After 14 years in a cold, dark cell, Y/n’s accepted she no longer believes in angels. And the Devil himself wouldn’t want to cross her

Note: this is part 1 to a 2 part imagine where I had the idea that Sirius had another cousin, Bellatrix & Narcissa's youngest sister who has quite the age gap between them and was forced to become a death eater but has no loyalty to either side since both failed her. Part 2 should be out later this week so i hope you enjoy this!

—————————

The floors of 12, Grimmauld Place creaked beneath Harry’s shoes as he entered the room at the end of the staircase he had been following Hermoine and Ron down. What drew his attention in the first place was the wallpaper. A green based mural branching out in the form of a tree. As Harry got closer he made out the portraits embedded into the wall, as were their names, birthdates and date of death if they’d passed. Some areas were black, covering up the picture seated above the name. 

Harry flinched back upon notice of the house elf, Krecher, nestled inside the room. He mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out, then said, “Harry Potter. The boy who stopped the Dark Lord. Friend of mudbloods and blood traitors alike.” Unsure of what to say, Harry just stood looking down at the elf in silence. “My poor mistress--.” A loud voice cut him off.

“Kreacher!” It belonged to Sirius. “That’s enough of your bile.” Waving a finger, he dismissed the elf. “Away with ya!”

Clasping his hands, Krecher lowered his head, “Of course, Master. Kreacher is pleased to serve the Noble House of Black.” He stalked off and away from the two. Passing Sirius on his way out. 

Entering the room, Sirius gave an apologetic look, “Sorry about that. He never was very pleasant--even when I was a boy.” There was a slight pause, “not to me.”

Surprise took over Harry’s face, “Wh-wha-you grew up here?”

“This is my parents' house,” his Godfather explained, “I offered it up to Dumbledore as headquarters for the Order.” A hand trailed the edge of the doorway, “About the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.” Dark eyes landed on the mural, seeing it was the object of Harry’s attention, “This is the Black family tree.”

Sirius couldn’t help but land his gaze on the branches depicting his cousins. Andromeda’s was burnt out, much like his. The only cousin he was still fond of. 

Well…..she wouldn’t have been the only one. 

For Narcissa, under her name was Lucius Malfoy, with a branch leading to their only son, Draco. Sirius’s eyes narrowed on the one beside Andromeda’s.

“My deranged cousin,” Harry picked up on the distaste in his tone. Following Sirius’ gaze where it landed on the portrait of a young woman with wild curly hair and high cheekbones. Bellatrix. Beneath her name was Rodolphus Lestrange. “I hated the lot of them.” 

Looking past the next portrait, though Harry caught his posture stiffen when his eyes glazed over it, Sirius maintained his composure. Focusing back on his hateful family, “My parents with their blood mania.” Raising his hand, his fingers brushed over the blackened spot where his face once laid. Sadness laced his voice, “My mother did that after I ran away. Charming woman,” his arm dropped back to his side. “I was sixteen.”

Part of him wanted to question his Godfather’s reaction to the portrait, but knew it wasn’t the right moment. He was curious. Especially since the name was unlike the other members of the House of Black. Like Narcissa, she wasn’t named after a celestial body or constellation. 

Frowning, feeling the hurt radiate off Sirius, Harry instead asked, “Where did you go?”

“To your dad’s. I was always welcomed at the Potters,” A small smile curled on Sirius’ lips as he glanced over Harry. Kind eyes the boy had grown accustomed to. “I see him so much in you, Harry. You are so very much alike.”

The next few minutes involved Harry confessing to Sirius his connection to Voldemort. Voicing concern of the possibility he was turning into him. Sirius assured Harry he was a good person, who’s had bad things happen to him. Followed by educating the boy on how everyone had their own angels and demons. Light and dark. Good and bad. How the only thing that matters is what part people chose to act on.

The entire time Sirius explained this to Harry, he thought of the portrait behind him. Almost like her painted eyes were boring into the back of his head. Reminding him of how he failed her. Much like everyone else in their family. 

Once good. Turning bad due to the odds against her. 

Maybe there was still some good deep down. Sirius prayed so. But the chances of him ever discovering were about as slim as convincing the Minister Voldermort was back. 

“Sounds like you know from experience,” Harry said aloud, eyes trailing to the portrait behind Sirius. The one he noticed him trying to avoid. Yet managing to show how deeply this relative affected him.

Sighing, the man turned on his heel, staring at the portrait. No longer able to visibly hide his emotion as he read the name Y/n -- 1967.

“My cousin, Y/n,” his tone lacked malice compared to when he spoke of Bellatrix. “The youngest of the Black sisters. My aunt and uncle were shocked to learn they were expecting a fourth child--nearly twelve years after they had Narcissa.” Fingers brushed over her name, smiling softly as memories surfaced in his mind like a film. “Drove her parents wild with her energy. I was eight when she was born, and as I got older she’d follow me around the house. A little shadow if I must say.” Harry heard him chuckle to himself, “one summer I brought her to meet your father and Remus--didn’t tell her mother mind you. I nearly met my end at the hands of Druella’s wand when we returned that night.” It was as clear as if it were yesterday. 

Young 14 year old Sirius with Y/n, aged six at the time, on his hip as they made their way to Diagon Alley to buy sweets she was not allowed to have. She instantly fell in love with James and Remus, as did the boys adore her. She was so different from her older sisters--who had graduated Hogwarts ages ago and were off with their own lives. Meaning the child was alone majority of the time with only the house elves tending to her. Her father worked and her mother did the bare minimum. That’s why Sirius would visit her often. To make sure she was okay. Y/n clinged to Sirius like a puppy. Much like that day where she begged to go with him to meet his friends. She wanted to explore the outside world her parents isolated her from. 

Y/n didn’t display the blood mania her family was known for. And when her parents would preach it, the girl kept her attention on her dolls and drawing pictures with her crayons Sirius had smuggled her. The older cousin prayed she’d never turn out like them. Only he knew with the tensions of a certain Dark Wizard making rounds in London, Sirius feared for Y/n’s safety. And sanity. Especially after overhearing Bellatrix’s plans to begin teaching Y/n the dark arts before she entered Hogwarts.

If only Sirius took her away. Brought her to the safety of the Potters like she wanted. “You can’t leave, Sirius,” she cried, the now eight-year old grasping his pant leg to prevent him from leaving the house. Tears painted her chubby face. It broke his heart to see. “Please don’t leave me here--I-I’m scared of them. P-please, cousin. Take me with you!”

Oh how he wanted to. If he did then he’d save Y/n from her fate. From Bellatrix. From Voldemort. But a kidnapping charge he’d surely receive by taking Y/n Black away from her parents would have Sirius spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.

A reality he’d face years later for a different reason. 

“What happened to her?” Harry’s voice brought him out his thoughts. The man shrugged his shoulders to shake off the tension in his muscles. A frown painted his features.

“She’s serving a life sentence in Azkaban.” It hurt him more to say it out loud. The reality had sunk in. As though it had been a dream the past 14 years. Sirius remembered how his heart dropped when the news spread of Y/n’s imprisonment. Bellatrix’s was no shock. He’d been hoping his deranged cousin would be locked away. 

But his sweet baby cousin who cried when she saw her father yelling at the house elves. That he could’ve never imagined. Even when the headline on the Daily Prophet told him the truth in big, bold letters, ‘Life sentence for 15-year-old Death Eater, Y/n Black. Cousin of notorious mass murderer, Sirius Black and younger sister of Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange.’  Sirius didn’t believe for a second Y/n acted on her own accord.

“She was never like the rest of them,” He told Harry after a moment of silence. Noticing the boy’s worried look, Sirius softly shook his head. “My cousin is a rare case, Harry. A prime example of becoming everything she hated as a result of the circumstances around her. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel regret by not being there for her. Had I been so…,” he pictured what could’ve been, “She’d likely be here with us. The Order.”

Harry pictured it too. Sirius’s tone gives him indication that Sirius still cared for Y/n. Wishing fate had turned out different for her. For both of them. 

Hermoine appeared moments later to announce they had to leave. Sirius ended the conversation with a promise to Harry that when all was over, they’d be a family again. Living in Grimmauld Place in peace. With a hug goodbye, Harry exited the room, but not before catching his Godfather gave one last glance to Y/n’s portrait. 

Crouched in her cell, hands over her ears like they were most days, Y/n shook from the cold wind. Willing the voices in her head to disappear. A constant battle she faced everyday since the chains were first put on her. Some of them were the distant echo of Azkaban's prisoners below. Others she was sure she kept imagining. 

The first two years Y/n cried every day. By the fifth year she stopped reacting to everything around her. Once the tenth year of her sentence passed, only a shell of her remained. Staring at the wall with her hands covering her ears. The same routine. Everyday.

But today was going to be different. The voices were louder than usual. Causing difficulty to keep them at bay.

Suddenly Y/n winced with a light shriek, a burning sensation erupting along her forearm. Gaze dropping down, the ink of where her dark mark laid bolded. The feeling intensified. Y/n didn’t know how to react. Only experiencing numbness at what it meant.

A loud explosion caught her attention on the left side of her cell. Followed by the maniacal laughter of her sister. Rising from her position, Y/n’s bare feet brushed against rocks and freezing water. Rats scurried past as she walked toward where the window of her cell had been. The wind grew stronger with each step, nearly sweeping her off balance. 

When she breached the area responsible for the explosion, Y/n had a clear image of the sky above her. The ocean’s treacherous waves beneath her. And dementors flying rapidly in the distance. There was no stopping the smirk from painting her chapped lips. Her eyes that were normally empty pits of nothing, suddenly emerged with an emotion unable to contain. 

She was free. 

It was the only thing on his mind when he read the paper that morning. Plaguing his thoughts with a newfound fear. Everywhere he went that day Neville saw the headline, “Mass Breakout From Azkaban.” Following the names of the high security prisoners freed from its confines. On the front page below the headline, moving images of two women were enough to have some of the students shivering. Bellatrix, with her wild curly hair, appeared crazed. While the woman in the image beside her was in a state of despair. Neville shuddered when his eyes locked on hers. Y/n Black. 

She couldn’t have appeared older than he was now. Fifteen. 

Curiosity getting the best of him, Neville turned the page to read up more on the sisters. When he got to Y/n, Neville was shocked to learn the girl had been the youngest prisoner in Azkaban in its entire history. Aged fifteen, in her fifth year of Hogwarts. Juveniles were never sent to the hellish institution. Yet, due to the nature of her crimes and association to Voldermort, the Ministry bent laws to lock her up. 

Reading the summary dedicated to her upbringing, Y/n had been sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts, skilled in Charms, and is alleged to be an Occulmens. It’s said she failed to return to Hogwarts during what would have been her fifth year. Not long after it was reported Y/n Black had been part of the group to torture esteemed Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom to gain information on Voldermort. Alongside her sister, Bellatrix, her brother-in-law, his brother and Barty Crouch Jr. During her arrest and trial, Y/n insisted she’d been forced to use the curse for fear the others would kill her. 

Which was true. Bellatrix made it clear to the young Black what the consequences for stepping out of line would be.

But it wasn’t enough in the Ministry’s eyes. Not when the other Death Eaters, Bellatrix included, testified Y/n had complied with no resistance. And so the first juvenile, the youngest Death Eater, was locked away in Azkaban. The sentence: eternity. 

Now she was free.

Later that day, during DA practice, Neville found himself in front of the mirror showing pictures and news articles relating to their cause. The others saying goodbye and making their way out of the Room of Requirement. Neville, however, remained. His stare on the image of the original Order of the Phoenix. His parents.

Harry came up beside him, neither addressing the other at first. Then, after a moment of silence and confidence, Neville confided in his friend.

“Fourteen years ago, a Death Eater named Bellatrix Lestrange and her sister, Y/n Black, used the Cruciatus Curse on my parents. They tortured them for information, but they never gave in.” Looking down at Harry, Neville added after a pause, “I’m quite proud to be their son, but…I’m not sure I’m ready for everyone to know just yet.”

Harry nodded, understanding what his friend was asking of him. Swearing to secrecy. “We’re gonna make them proud, Neville. That’s a promise.” 

The Hall of Prophecies was dark. Eerie. The only light emitting from the group's wands and orbs lightly glowing in their stands. The group had rushed to the Ministry upon Harry’s vision Sirius had been taken hostage by Voldemort, tortured into telling him where the prophecy was. They were in for a shock when they arrived.

Sirius wasn’t there. Neither was Voldemort. 

It was Neville who alerted the boy of the glass orb dedicated to him. Grasping it in his hand, the voice of Sybil Trelawney echoed through the silence, “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not…..and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other  survives….”

“Harry!” he turned to his friends, finding them frozen as they stared at the figure approaching. Harry pushed past, standing in front of the group. The figure was masked by a silver face, cloaked from head to toe. 

A Death Eater.

“Where’s Sirius?” Harry questioned him,his wand raised. 

“You know you really should know how to tell the difference between dreams…..” the man removed his wand from a familiar cane, waving it in front of his face to remove the mask. Revealing none other than Lucius Malfoy. “And reality.” Everyone tensed, anxiety starting to consume them. “You saw only what the Dark Lord wanted you to see. Now hand me the prophecy.” Harry stood his ground.

“You do anything to us I’ll break it.”

Suddenly a maniacal laugh entered the scene. Intensifying their unease. The shadow of someone behind Lucius coming toward the dim lights. “He knows how to play. Itty. Bitty. Baby. Potter.” The group’s eyes landed on the face of one of the women plastered on every front page of the Daily Prophet. Neville was the first to address her.

“Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Neville Longbottom, is it?” she mocked with a wicked smile, “How’s mom and dad?” Lucius rolled his eyes at her antics. Neville, however, was enraged. 

“Better now that they’re about to be avenged.” In a split second he lifted his want, hoping to cast a spell on the one responsible for his parents torture. Harry was quick to stop him, just as Bellatrix raised her own wand to defend herself. 

“Now let’s…” Lucius slowly held his hands up. “Everybody just calm down. Shall we?” The group lowered their wands slightly, but not completely. “All we want is that prophecy.” 

“Why did Voldermort need me to come get this?”

“You dare speak his name?” Bellatrix’s eyes widened, appalled by the boy’s courage. “You filthy Half-blood!!”

Again, Lucius attempted to de-escalate the scene, “It’s all right, he’s just a curious lad. Aren’t you?”

Before anyone spoke another word, footsteps from the side filled their ears. “You know what they say about curiosity?” her voice was raspy and void of any emotion. Almost robotic. Harry slowly turned his head, mentally preparing himself to face his Godfather’s youngest cousin. Beside him, Neville paled. Unable to comprehend being in the same room as the Black sisters. It was suffocating.

Y/n Black’s expression matched her tone. Numb. An empty shell was the best description. Not even reacting when Harry pointed his wand in her direction. She simply stalked toward them, finishing her riddle, “It killed the cat. But….something tells me you might be the lucky bastard to live to see it, Harry Potter.” 

“Nice of you to finally join us, Y/n,” Lucius narrowed his eyes, watching her move so she was now in between the duo and group. Harry’s wand merely a few centimeters from her chest. The glowing light illuminating her face. 

Comparing her to the portrait on the Black Family Tree, Harry noticed all the striking differences. Of course, nearly 15 years had passed since Y/n was locked away in Azkaban. Her baby fat completely gone, likely due from the malnourishment prison had to offer. However, unlike her sister Bellatrix and Sirius before them, Y/n did not come across as a walking corpse. Much time hadn’t passed since her escape, yet she looked healthy. Teeth white and hair silky. Nails long and painted black. Skin blemish free save for a tiny scar on her lip. She was strikingly beautiful. 

Harry then remembered reading in the paper that Y/n was skilled in charms. Rumored to have created her own during her time at Hogwarts. She probably had one to alter her appearance. And considering Bellatrix looked rather unsettling, either Y/n did not offer her talent or Bellatrix refused. Judging by Y/n’s reaction to her associates, it was the former. 

She ignored Lucius, answering Harry’s question instead, “Prophecies can only be retrieved by those about whom they are made. Which is lucky for you, really.” Her brow raised slightly, “Surely Sirius told you. He’d be foolish not when he knows the Dark Lord desires it.”

Backing away from Harry, Y/n turned on her heel, nudging Lucius with her shoulder causing him to groan. Focusing back on the task at hand, the blonde narrowed his eyes on Harry. “Haven’t you always wondered what was the reason for the connection between you and the Dark Lord?” He moved closer, hands still raised. It was then the group noticed more Death Eaters surrounding them. “Why he was unable to kill you when you were just an infant?”

Bellatrix trailed behind Lucius. Their associates closing in on the students. Meanwhile Y/n stayed behind, not bothering to engage. Harry caught her gaze a few times, noting how disinterested she was by the entire ordeal.

“Don’t you want to know the secret of your scar?” Lucius captured his attention once more. “All the answers are there. In your hand.” Lucius encouraged Harry with a look, “All you have to do is give it to me, and I can show you everything.” 

“I’ve waited fourteen years,” Harry said, aware of the approaching footsteps of the Death Eaters getting louder. Waiting for the perfect moment.

“I know.” 

“I guess I can wait a little longer--Now!!” Simultaneously, the group all shouted, “Stupefy!!” 

After a brief fight against the Death Eaters to escape the Hall of Prophecies, the group found themselves falling to what they thought was their death. At the last second, Hermoine casted Arresto Momentum to slow time for them to safely land, grunting as their bodies met the rock. Scanning their surroundings, Harry spotted an archway with an iridescent glow to it. As he moved closer, voices were heard.  “Voices, can you tell what they're saying?”

Confused, Hermoine replied with what they were all thinking, “There aren’t any voices, Harry. Let’s get out of here.”

“I hear them too,” Luna spoke, staring at the arch in wonder. It was difficult to hear clearly what the voices were saying. But they grew louder with each step.

“Harry,” Hermoine pleaded, “it’s just an empty archway.” In the distance, the group heard the Death Eaters approaching. “Please, Harry.” Harry spun around with his wand raised.

“Get behind me!” They followed his order, ready to confront the oncoming threat. They unfortunately, however, were blindsided when the Death Eaters in their black smokey form attacked from behind. Grunts and gasps left the teens, Harry dropping to the ground, clutching the prophecy in his hand. About 15 seconds passed before he opened his eyes to discover he was alone. 

Dread consumed him, the boy standing to find his friends. He found them several feet away and spaced out. In the hands of Death Eaters. Ginny and Luna to his right, the Weasley girl gripped at the collar by Y/n Black. Neville struggles against Bellatrix Lestrange, Ron and Hermoine manhandled by the Lestrange brothers. A dry chuckle captured Harry’s attention, watching Lucius Malfoy stroll up to where he stood.

“Did you actually believe, or were you truly naive enough to think….children stood a chance against us?” Lucius made eye contact with the wicked smile of Bellatrix, whereas he met Y/n’s vicious glare. Her hold on Ginny wasn’t as tight as the others, almost like she didn’t view the girl as a threat. 

“I’ll make this simple for you, Potter,” Lucius held out his hand. “Give me the prophecy now….or watch your friends die.” Harry looked at his friends, their frightened gazes making his heart fall to his stomach.

“Don’t give it to him, Harry!” Neville shouts, only to be hushed by Bellatrix, who snaps her wand from his head to his neck forcefully. 

The Boy who Lived draws his eyes to the glowing prophecy. As if to be contemplating his choices, but deep down knew what he had to do. His friends were more important. He couldn’t risk their lives over a tiny orb. Slowly, he lifted his hand and placed the object in Lucius’s awaiting one. A satisfied smirk appears on the blonde’s lips. He had succeeded in his mission. 

Or so he thought.

Bright light filled the area, Harry’s eyes widening as he took in the sight of Sirius behind Lucius. Malfoy’s expression turned to one of pure shock, meeting Sirius’s angry one. 

“Get away from my Godson.” And before Lucius could react, he was falling to the ground from the force of Sirius’s right hook. More bright lights entered, members of the Order arriving. Tonks, Lupin, Kingsley, and Mad-Eye. 

In the chaos, the prophecy was thrown from Lucius’ hand, shattering as it hit the ground in a cloud of blue-green smoke. The man was in disbelief, and fear at what consequences awaited him. 

Beyond him, Y/n released her hold on Ginny Weasley, slightly pushing her away causing the girl to stumble off the rocks. At that moment she met Sirius’ eyes for the first time in nearly 20 years. Their last encounter when he ran from home at 16, and Y/n only 8.

She watched the horror appear on his face. Lingering with regret. She could see him fighting with himself on how to react, she too was fighting that battle. Tears threatened to spill from both their eyes, Y/n’s bottom lip quivering. Overwhelmed by the reunion. 

Where they were on opposite sides. 

His expression read, ‘I won’t fight you, cousin,” which was enough for the woman to turn on her heel and drop to the ground. Ignoring Sirius shouting her name, Y/n leaned against the rock, waiting for an opportunity to run. Above her Sirius and Harry were dueling Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange. Bellatrix was being trailed in the air by their niece, Nymphadora Tonks, her diabolical laugh echoing against the walls. 

A curse flew past her, hitting the rock causing Y/n to spin around where she met Lupin’s startled eyes. “Y/n….” the tone of his voice indicated he was surprised to see her. Likely assuming she’d been someone else. The werewolf always had a soft spot for the young Black. Thinking about the times she tagged along with them in Diagon Alley. Or when Sirius brought her to the Potter house and the two played with her in their animagi form to keep her entertained. 

Now here she was with the enemy. A completely different person plagued with darkness. Lupin sighed, laced with despair, “Oh, love…what’ve they done to you?” Somehow that question was enough to send Y/n into a whirlpool of rage. How dare he say those words to her. When the Order had every opportunity to remove her from the Black household. When they could’ve placed her in hiding like James and Lily. Anything, to prevent the Death Eaters from claiming her.

“What you all failed to save me from.” 

Before they knew it the two were dueling. Flashes of light leaving their wands, dodging those sent by the other. Despite Y/n spending half her life in prison with little combat experience under her belt, she was keeping up with Remus quite well. He noted the woman had yet to send a killing curse his way. Come to think of it, it appeared she was avoiding it all together. Unlike her associates who were not shy to use it. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Y/n,” Remus attempted to convince her to yield. Ducking when she shot a curse at his head. 

Scoffing, the woman spat, “Foolish for you to think such, Remus.” Her next attempt to get him away with a curse was more forceful, “I know how this dance between us ends, and I’d rather be sent to hell itself than be chained in Azkaban once more. So either man up and kill me, or turn away so I can get the hell out of here.” 

Remus became conflicted, “You know I can’t do that.” He referred to both options. Not having the strength or heart to kill his best friend's niece whom he once adored. But also not allowing her to escape. 

“Shame then,” she hissed, “I’ll try not to make this hurt.” After much struggle, where Remus had the upper hand in the dool, Y/n managed to send him flying back several feet, taking her chance to run to the nearest doorway. 

“Avada Kedavra!!” Bellatrix’s voice made her feeze, turning around in time to see the green light hit their cousin straight in the chest. 

It was as if time had stopped. All fighting ceased. Y/n heard a loud gasp--a scream, realizing moments later she was the one responsible for it. Hand raising to cover her mouth. Frozen as she watched Sirius fall back into the archway. Disappearing forever.

The silence was then interrupted by Harry’s wails. Held by Remus, he fought against him as though he wanted to join his Godfather. Y/n remained still. Processing what just happened. 

Sirius was dead. Her sister killed him. 

Y/n had to get out of there. No doubt the Aurors were alerted. They’d be arriving any second. 

Witnessing Harry take off after Bellatrix, Y/n met Remus’ eyes. The man silently pleading to her, completely distraught over the death of his best friend. With James and Sirius dead and Peter’s betrayal to Voldemort, he was alone. 

Y/n shook her head, unable to face him any longer. Instead of running into the main lobby of the Department of Ministries, the Death Eater looked up and allowed the black smoke to consume her, flying away from the Order. Her associates followed suit. 

When the Minister and Aurors entered the lobby to the horrifying scene, they understood the future became plagued with an unavoidable truth. 

The night officially marked the beginning of the Second Wizarding War. 

Rain pelted against the ground, falling from the gray clouds painting the sky. Strolling down alleyways of London, three sisters in black were on a mission to locate a certain home. Hiding behind corners whenever cars and people passed by. The one leading the trio was the reason for this side quest. Meanwhile the one falling back voiced opposition. For the youngest in the middle, she was rather bored. Not caring what would come out of this meeting. 

If Y/n were honest, she just hated getting her outfit soaked. 

“Cissy, you can’t do this,” Bellatrix hissed, trailing after her sisters. “He can’t be trusted.”

“The Dark Lord trusts him,” Naricssa rebutted, not sparing her a glance. Y/n simply rolled her eyes.

“The Dark Lord’s mistaken.”

“Shhh,” Y/n interrupted. While she may agree with Bellatrix to some degree, she knew better than to question his judgment aloud. Anyone could be lurking. 

Children’s laughter filled their ears, the sisters leaning against the brick walls until they passed. Once clear, they turned the corner and knocked on the door. Waiting for him to answer. 

Instead of Snape, the trio were greeted by Wormtail--who was visibly surprised to see them on the steps of Snape’s home. Y/n gave one death glare to the man and he immediately opened the door fully to let them inside. Water droplets fell from their coats, Y/n waved her wand to dry herself, feeling satisfied with a low ‘hmm’.

Wormtail escorted them to the library, where Snape sat in a chair reading the Daily Prophet. Folding the paper, the sisters were greeted by his blank stare. “Run along, Wormtail.” With a flick of his wrist Wormtail was pushed out, door slamming in his face. Y/n smirked, overlooking Snape with a raised brow. 

He matched her gaze, the two in silent conversation. Like they each had their secrets the other knew of…

In that moment Y/n thought back to the moment she and Snape reunited after her escape from Azkaban. Neither were fools to the other's facade. Both able to mask it with their talents in both Legilimency and Occlumency. 

“I know your true intentions, Severus. You are not part of his cause anymore and haven’t been for fifteen years. Do not stand there and lie to me, I don’t take kindly to liars.”

“Make no mistake then, Y/n, you also have motives not aligned with the Dark Lord. You do not care who wins this battle, only that your freedom is the outcome. He’d not take kindly to your…..deception.”

“Then I guess this means you and I….have a lot to lose if we are not careful. I’ll say no word. I expect you to do the same.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

Wine was poured, Y/n and Narcissa seated in chairs while Snape and Bellatrix remained standing. The eldest sister pacing along the fireplace. Narcissa was the first to speak, “I-I-I know I am not to be here,” Pausing she shot Y/n a hesitant look, which was ignored. “The Dark Lord, himself, forbade me to speak of this--.”

“If the Dark Lord has forbidden it, you are not to speak--but it down, Bella, we mustn’t touch what isn’t ours,” Annoyed, the woman placed the object back on the mantel. Giving Snape a look of, ‘there, happy?’ He turned back to Narcissa, “As it so happens, I’m aware of your situation, Narcissa.”

“You?” Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, “The Dark Lord told you.”

Snape briefly glanced at Y/n, “Your sister doubts me.” The woman smirked.

“She doubts everyone,” she felt Bellatrix’s glare, paying no mind. “It’s not personal.” 

“Understandable. Over the years I’ve played my part well--so well I’ve deceived one of the greatest wizards of all time.” Y/n sipped her wine to hide the smirk on her face. 

For she knew exactly who he was referring to. 

Unlike Bellatrix who simply snorted. Snape dismissed her remark, “Dumbledore is a great wizard. Only a fool would question it.”

Y/n examined her wine, acting like it was the most curious thing in the room. Rather bored by the conversation and Snape’s persistence of convincing her sisters of his motives. Bellatrix obviously had her suspicions. Narcissa, however, took the bait.

“I don’t doubt you, Severus.”

“You should be honored, Cissy,” Bellatrix told her. “As should Draco.” Of course her deranged self would see it that way. 16 year-old Draco tasked with the difficult mission to assassinate Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Punishment for Lucius for failing Voldemort too many times. The most recent being the damn prophecy he was to fetch. 

Y/n couldn’t help but feel smug at the Malfoys predicament. Lucius deserved all he got. And while Narcissa may have been her sister, Y/n harbored enough anger and resentment to not feel sympathy for her. Draco was the only one innocent in the matter. 

Narcissa’s face fell at Bellatrix’s words, pleading to Snape with her eyes, “He’s just a boy.”

“I cannot change the Dark Lord’s mind,” that was true. Nothing could alter Voldermort’s decision once it was made. Snape did have an idea, “But it might be possible for me to help Draco.” 

That was enough for Narcissa. The woman rising from her seat, “Severus--.” She was cut off by Bellatrix.

“Swear to it. Make the unbreakable vow.” She moved toward them, circling Severus as her tone turned to mockery, “It’s just empty words.” Now Narcissa’s face read she wanted the same. Bellatrix continued, “He’ll give it his best, but when it matters most,” her chin rested on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “He’ll just slither back into his hole. Coward,” she ended as she passed him. 

Y/n stared at her associate, watching his reaction carefully. It was obvious the insult poked deep in his core. Though Snape did not let it show. 

“Take out your wand.”

The sisters were pleased. Visibly showing this as they looked at each other. Y/n stood from her chair, moving closer as Narcissa and Snape held each other's wrists. Bellatrix withdrew her wand, allowing the glowing strands to encompass their hands.

“Will you, Severus Snape, watch over Draco Malfoy as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord’s wishes?”

“I will.”

Water glossed over Narcissa’s eyes, Bellatrix continued, “And will you, to the best of your abilities,” her chin rested this time on Narcissa’s shoulder, the two staring him down like a hawk. Y/n sipped her glass, leaning her head against Narcissa’s other shoulder, smirking slightly at the scene. “Protect him from harm?”

“I will.”

Bellatrix walked so she was directly in front of Snape, “And, if Draco should fail…will you yourself, carry out the deed the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?” The pause was longer, Narcissa practically shaking making Y/n move away. 

Finally, Snape made the last vow, “I will.” 

The glowing strands disappeared, leaving scars on the two. A permanent reminder of the promise made. To protect Draco from harm and finish the job if it came to it. 

Otherwise, the Devil would visit Snape earlier than planned.